When consciousness crept back in, Dave just stayed on the cold floor for a bit, dwelling in self-pity. He wasn't made for this. He'd been so afraid over the last few days. And he still hated to admit it, but he didn't do well with fear. And cold. And hunger. And pain. And he absolutely dreaded the moment, when the cell door opened and these mean people came to hurt him again.

The cattle prod had been bad, but the whip had been so much worse. Even now, his back hurt with every movement. He tried to feel with his hands how bad it was, but couldn't reach all the welts. There were a lot of them. The cuts where the whip had drawn blood were even worse. When he carefully pushed himself up to his knees, his shirt ripped away from the dried blood and the wounds reopened. Dave groaned and cursed under his breath.

He couldn't wrap his head around why his brother didn't just tell them what they wanted to know? On the other hand, John had drawn the easy part. The only thing he had to do was sit around watch while Dave was the one getting hurt. John let his own brother be tortured over a few names, only to sit around at the bars and give smart advice after.

Dave had finally worked up the motivation to drag himself up and get his food, when he noticed that John wasn't at his usual place at the bars. That was odd. Looking closer, he could make out a prone figure on the floor of John's cell. Typical! He was getting tortured and John had decided to sleep in. He could at least have had the decency to stay awake!

"John", he whisper-shouted irritably. No reaction.

Then, more timidly: "John?"

But John didn't move at all. Suspecting that something was terribly wrong, Dave finally got up with a groan and shuffled closer. He struggled to make out details in the dim light. It took him a moment to take in the ripped shirt and all the blood covering a horribly shredded back.

Oh my god! Panic rose in his chest. David closed his eyes and took deep breaths to compose himself.

When he finally took another look at John, David felt sick. For the first time he noticed the bruises and burns and tie marks on John's arms that matched his own.

David swallowed hard. Why hadn't he seen them before? Because he didn't want to? That couldn't be true, right? Had he been so determined to see his brother in the worst light possible, so eager to blame John that he hadn't noticed the injuries? Was he really that self-centered and caught up in his own misery he hadn't realized John had to be hurting, too?

David frantically thought about the past few days. Had that been pain and not indifference in Johns eyes, in his voice?

David cursed himself. He had let the fear and anger get the better of him and never even thought about the possibility that his stubborn brother could possibly hide any injuries from him. Just as he had done all those years ago, when they were kids and still close. When John constantly ran into mischief.

David continued to study his brother. John looked sick and pale and emaciated. But… now that he came to think of it. He'd never seen him eat anything. John had just held onto a small bottle of water when he was sitting at the bars and David had never questioned it. His throat constricted. He was a lousy brother.

His self-loathing was interrupted by heavy footsteps. The bad guys were back. David flinched, when he heard the door, and scrambled to get up.

To his surprise, this time it wasn't his door that was pushed open, but John's. It seemed to be Dave's turn to grab the bars and watch with a sinking feeling what was going on in the neighboring cell.

A group of bulky men entered and one of them sighed dramatically, before giving John's side a good kick. John grunted and at first tried to roll in on himself, until suddenly his eyes shot open and he took in the men around him.

"Leave him alone!" David was surprised by the sudden urge to protect his brother. Not that his demand made any difference.

David noticed that the thugs seemed on edge, keeping a very close eye on his brother. He couldn't figure it out, until it finally came to him. They acted like John was still dangerous. But that couldn't be right. John was barely conscious, hurt and on the floor. How could he be a threat to four men?

Then two of the thugs pulled his brother up by his arms. John's groan of pain hit Dave hard. How could he have been so blind?

But then, as if a switch had been flipped, Johns whole demeanor changed. He held his head higher and asked in a tone that could only be described as cocky: "Aw! Missed me so much that I'm first this time?"

Though he wasn't sure if that was the most prudent course of action, Dave admired his brother for his courage and fight. Unfortunately, John quickly got his answer in the form of a fist to the jaw. But he just spit out some blood and glared angrily at the man.

It was then when Dave began to realize that his brother in fact knew what he was talking about. He had to grudgingly admit that maybe, maybe there was more behind John's annoying happy-go-lucky attitude then hit the eye.

And that John probably wasn't the coward nor the paper pusher he always took him for. John was a soldier, a fighter, there was no way he could deny this right now. But even the toughest soldier had his limits and John looked dangerously close to his.

Not that any of their hosts seemed to care.

They were about to tie John up again, when Dave suddenly heard shouting from outside the cells. And was that gunfire? John's door that had been slightly ajar. Now it flew open, and several black-clad figures carrying rifles poured in and made short process with the thugs.

John couldn't hold himself up alone and hit the floor hard, before one of the new arrivals could step in. One of the spec ops guys (they had to be, right?) gave orders to the others in a low voice.

Dave stood there, dumbfounded. It all had happened so fast. He looked down at his hands and realized they were shaking. He balled them into fists and tried to regain what was left of his composure.

David could hear someone at his door now, too. His first reaction was to shrink back into a corner, but then his need to get to his brother won. So he let one of the men in black take him by the arm and lead him to the other cell, to his brother.

Another guy approached him, offering a bottle of water. David gratefully took the bottle and drank a few deep gulps.

"Are you okay?"

The question didn't register with David. He was distracted by the soldiers checking his brother over. They had pushed up his shirt and even in the dim light Dave could see layer upon layer of bruises.

One of them indicated the bruises. "You got quite the collection there, Sir."

John frowned as if he didn't understand at first, but then nodded. He tried to say something, his throat working and finally just croaked: "Water." Instantly, someone held a bottle to his lips and John took a few sips.

Meanwhile, the leg of John's pants was cut open to reveal a nasty, swollen and oozing hole. David stared dumbfoundedly at the sight. Was that a gunshot wound? When… how?

The medic started to bandage the leg, when John cursed. "Couldn't just leave it alone, could you, Smith?"

Dave cringed at the tone, but the medic took it in stride and countered: "Any injuries that I need to know about, smartass? Anything we need to take care of right now?"

John only shook his head. "Sorry buddy. Just patch up my leg, will you?"

Smith continued to tend to the wound with steady hands. "As always…"

Standing there helplessly beside his brother, taking in John's battered form, David swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry, John!" David really meant it, but John just waved him off.

Finally, he realized that someone tried to talk to him. "Mr. Sheppard, I'm Cam Mitchel. How are you? Do you need medical attention?" His savior pressed.

"The roughened me up. But John. He's much worse off." It seemed wrong to go into detail about what had happened to him, when John was in much worse shape. Suddenly the whole ordeal didn't matter to him that much anymore.

But this Mitchel only gave him a stern look, seemed to insist on a more elaborate answer. To be honest, at the moment David felt just bone tired. Nevertheless, he quickly summed up his injuries, and allowed Mitchel to have a look at his back. But his attention was drawn on his brother.

John endured all the administrations with a glassy eyed stare. He seemed pretty much out of it, until the medic pulled out an infusion kit and some syringes with what Dave assumed were painkillers.

John slapped the hands away and jerked his chin at the syringe. "Thanks, but no thanks. We still have to get out of here." He sounded hoarse, but firm.

For a moment, the medic seemed to contemplate knocking him out for good, but then put everything back in his pack.

When everyone backed up a bit, John managed to prop himself up on a shaky elbow, scrunching his eyes shut against the pain. He tried to get up further, but hissed through clenched teeth and sunk back.

More men poured in and stood by the wall. An older laid-back guy seemed to be in charge. He curtly nodded in David's direction. "Mr. Sheppard."

Then he focused on the team working on John. "Sitrep."

The medic looked up. "Nothing immediately life-threatening. We should have him ready to be moved in a few minutes.

"Can you walk? Or do we need to carry you?" Old guy asked John.

"Walk." John answered determinedly.

David looked at him incredulously. "You can't walk!" What on earth was John thinking?

"Watch me!" John had the nerve to wink at him. He then gestured to another of the newcomers. "Help me up, buddy!"

At second glance David recognized Ronon from the funeral, clad in black like all the others. Civilian, my ass.

The alleged contractor pulled John up in one swift movement. John couldn't fully suppress another moan and looked like he might faint at any moment, but he took a few deep breaths and stayed upright, though he was clearly unsteady on his feet.

Old guy gave John, who was still panting hard, another once-over. "I'm sorry Shepherd that it took us so long."

"Better late than never. Thank you for the rescue, sir!" John smirked.

Sir? So this was John's superior? David was dumbstruck.

What was that guy doing all-commando on a rescue mission? Why would he leave his desk to get John? Dave desperately tried to make sense of the situation. He had the distinct feeling there was a lot left unsaid. Especially John looked like he wanted to add something, but then thought better of it. Instead, they exchanged a peculiar look.

"I couldn't just leave you here, could I?", older guy stated dryly.

"Aww, O'Neill, I always knew you had a weak spot for me!" John beamed. O'Neill looked pensive for a moment and seemed tempted to reconsider.

David filed the name away for later. If O'Neill really was John's CO, why would he act around him like that?

But John already continued: "How did you find us, anyway? How did you get in here?"

"Oh, please! A simple abduction and a few guards and steel doors? Don't insult me." O'Neill looked at him with disgust.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Sir!" John flashed him a grin.

"Let's get you of here." O'Neill hadn't made it an order, or even raised his voice, but everyone prepared to leave.

John had to lean heavily on Ronon until he had found his balance. Then he looked at O'Neill. He suddenly seemed stronger, all exhaustion and pain gone from his features. "Do I get a gun?"

O'Neill wordlessly reached into the back of his vest and gave him his handgun.

John weighed it in his hand for a moment, looking content. Then he gave the older man a nod and they got going. He was limping badly, but managed to keep up with the brisk pace Mitchel set. When they were held up a moment though, David noticed that John was heaving in laborious breaths. He was drenched in sweat, looking like he could drop at any moment.

But then Mitchell yelled "Go, go go!" and John squared his shoulders, clenched his jaw and went on.

During their next stop, Dave tried to talk to John. "John, are you sure you should be doing this?"

John reacted with a shadow of a smile. "Not much choice right now…", he drawled.

David cleared his throat. "Who are these people? Is that your CO?"

When John didn't answer, David felt the familiar anger rise up in his chest. It was driving him crazy that he still didn't know what exactly John was involved in. "Dammit, John! Don't you think I deserve some answers?"

That Ronon dude really had the nerve to hush him and John rasped out: "David! NOT! Now!"

So David bit his tongue and kept following the others. He observed the cat-like movements of Ronon and Mitchel's graceful strength. Even O'Neill moved with fluent movements that spoke of years of experience.

Everyone was focused on clearing the way out and pressing forward, as suddenly all hell broke loose. There were shots fired up ahead and from behind them. David flinched hard and tried to make himself as small as possible, when someone started shooting at them from another corridor to their right.

Mitchel was too far ahead to have a shot, O'Neill and the other soldiers were engaged in a fight further down the corridor. That left Ronon, who was hindered by John. David thought his heart might leap out of his chest. That's it. We're all going to die, after all!

But John just leveled his gun and dropped both attackers, before David could even duck properly. Slack jawed he looked at the brother he didn't seem to know anymore. He looked like one of the heroes of an action movie. He might not even be able to stand on his own, but his arms were steady. This definitely wasn't the first time he was doing this.

David realized he was gaping and quickly closed his mouth.

Luckily, they had nearly reached the exit by now and there were no more delays. Once outside, O'Neill helped Ronon to maneuver John into the back of a waiting SUV and motioned to Dave to get in, too. While part of the soldiers went back to secure the facility, Mitchell got behind the wheel and O'Neill rode shotgun. David and Ronon tried to make John more comfortable in the back.

O'Neill turned in his seat and gave John, who was still panting hard, another once-over. "It won't be long now." John only gave him a nod, he really looked like death warmed over.