I own nothing. Companion piece to Standing Sentry. We saw Murphy's perspective in the hospital, now for Connor's. Please review!

It wasn't a gradual awakening, like one sees in the movies, where eyelashes flutter against pale cheeks, the patient lets out a gentle little sigh and then there they are, radiant and beautiful and lucid despite the fact that they've visited the edge of death.

No, this wasn't that sort of awakening. This was sudden, violent, frightening. One minute was oblivion; the next was choking, searing pain. One minute was peace; the next was panic, and the vivid memory of falling, falling so fast and so far…

The first realization, like a lightening bolt, was that he couldn't breathe. His throat was full, jammed tight with some obstruction, and a violent gag curled his body in on itself, trying to expel the invader. Somewhere far away he heard a voice calling his name, but he couldn't answer, couldn't breathe. Other distant words followed but were only noise as every particle of his being turned its attention to the fact that he was choking to death.

His shaking hands found his face, discovered the snakelike thing that was strangling him, and he summoned his meager strength to try and yank it from his throat. Foreign hands grasped his own, stopping him, letting this inanimate killer continue its work and he wanted to scream but could only choke out non-words, noises full of terror.

He felt hands on his body, intrusive, unwanted, probing and violating, but he couldn't fight them off. Frustration joined confusion as he, warrior son, was rendered helpless by a myriad of tubes, wires, straps, bonds. Why, he wanted to shout, why are you doing this? Why won't someone help me? But he could only choke.

For that long first minute, he could see only white light, retinal burning fire, that terrifying don't-go-into-the-light illumination. But as seconds ticked by like eons, the light faded and details swam into clarity. The speckled ceiling tile above, with fluorescent tube lights buzzing and flickering. A face zoomed into view from the side, thickly bearded, unfamiliar. The mouth, with brilliant straight teeth, was speaking but he could not hear the words over the buzzing of terror in his ears. Friend or foe?His mind screamed at him but his body was helpless to respond, unable to save him.

He forced himself to find enough control to let his eyes roam the room, seeking aid, searching for salvation. A gagging gasp caught in his chest as he found a familiar face. Those eyes held their own terror, their own helplessness, but the sight of that face, pale with fatigue and fear, the cut on his forehead reopened and oozing blood...looking so young, though he was just the same age, it was like a physical blow. Not alone.

His body still choked, still rebelled against that intimate intrusion, but clarity flooded his mind at the sight of his brother and a new purpose, more important than breathing, filled him. Murph. Murph is okay. He's okay.

And Connor's fluttering hands stilled, clasped over his chest, and his muscles relaxed as he willed peace into his rebellious body, peace in knowing that his world was still whole, and everything was going to be all right, because they were together.