Written for the guest reviewer over on Normal Days - your prompt deserved a fic of its own! So here we are, I don't know how long this will be but... Thank you, thank you, thank you - this is for you! You reviewed at a time when it was needed most, spaseeba! Da!

God bless!

Beeping. Somewhere, he could hear beeping - and he couldn't decide if it was too loud, or too quiet. Constant, never-ending, droning on, and on, and on... Shock, like a thousand needles jabbed into his skin all at once. His back arched then dropped back down. Pain was suffocating. Murmuring voices filled his ears and the more they spoke, the more it hurt.

Never had he felt anything like it. Not even in the three years of prison.

Vladimir. Vladimir. Bratok. It meant so much, and the last thought he had was - why?

*****DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL DAREDEVIL ****

"Vladimir." Sergei's voice was growly and low even over the phone, and it was better that way, it hid the exhaustion. He waited for an answer.

Vladimir had been calling... and calling, and calling more. It had been almost two days since he'd been in touch with his brother, and now... he knew; something had happened.

So when he'd gotten the call from Sergei, he answered imediately, without waiting any longer than he had to. "Da?" He waited, one hand clutching the phone, the other fidgeting with a paper on his desk. His eyes scanned it over and over, but he never read the words. It was like the silence was crushing as he waited for Sergei to go on.

Sergei spoke in their native tongue. "We found him." Sergei paused, before repeating a hospital name and directions that the paramedics had briefly given him. It was enough.

Vladimir tensed, frowning and gritting his teeth. "Spaseeba..." He took a moment, then headed toward the door, yanking on his jacket with one hand, keeping track of the phone with the other. He muttered in his language, mind running a million miles an hour, imagining what must've happened to his brother that landed Anatoly in the hospital. He could imagine too much-FAR too much.

"Coming, Ooveedeemsya." He switched from English to Russian, and walked out the door. He said nothing, only walked silently through the halls. He was angry... and worried. (Though he wouldn't admitt to that.) What had happened? The last thing he'd said to Anatoly was "Make the deal..." A sickening thought hit him... what if-heaven forbid-but what if Anatoly didn't...?

Vladimir shook his head, not letting that thought gain ground. He stalked through the halls, finally winding up in the garage. Without explanation, he got in one of the cars, started the engine, and drove out, on his way to the hospital. His thoughts jumped back and forth. Partly, he paid attention to the road... However, his focus was mainly on what exactly he would see when he reached his destination.

He gripped the steering wheel-perhaps a little too tightly-as he drove. He nearly caused four accidents, all without giving it a second thought. He wondered... who had caused this? The man in black? Maybe... Fisk? Anatoly had been going to see Fisk... had he done it?

Vladimir's blood boiled at the very thought. His expression darkened, eyes flashed with anger, and he sped up...

After a short drive, (only short because he was driving BIT too fast) he arrived at the hospital Sergei had told him. He parked, got out, and quickly made his way toward the large-and rather intimidating-building. Granted, hospitals weren't usually a problem, but he'd never visited Anatoly in one...

Once inside, he found his way around to a waiting room, in which, he found Sergei. "Sergei..." he called quietly, voice tense.

"I already signed for him," Sergei replied, standing up. Although he'd lied and said he'd been his uncle, no one had questioned it - despite it having obviously been far from the truth. "He's in surgery."

Vladimir's jaw clenched. His eyes darted back and forth as he scanned the room. His gaze landed on a large screen with names, and colors, running down the screen. He bumped past Sergei on his way toward it. He looked over it (a bit desperately) and finally found the name. The color on the name was red... red meant something bad-that much, he knew.

"What happened? Where?" Vlad was speaking before he'd even turned back to Sergei.

"We found him in a lot a block away..." Sergei cautiously stood behind the other Russian, staring at the screen hanging above them.

Turning to look Sergei in the eye, Vlad's eyes narrowed. He nodded once. "What happened to him?"

Sergei tried to choose his words carefully. "Someone tried to take his head."

Vladimir's hands tightened to fists and his eyes widened. "Shto?" He didn't need it to be repeated... he'd heard. He didn't know what exactly it meant, but it had an ominous sound. He moved away from the other Russian, toward a doctor-he'd know what was going on.

Without putting much thought into his actions, he cornered the doctor. "Where is my брат?"

The doctor looked a bit concerned. He stared up at Vladimir through worried eyes. Vlad realized that he might cause them to call security, and that wasn't what he wanted, or needed. He backed up, took a deep breath, and tried again. "My brother..." He quickly explained what little he knew of what happened, then asked where he was.

"Oh, Uh... he's in surgery, you can't see him now."

Vladimir's expression darkened, muscles twitched, and he breathed a curse under his breath. "When?"

The man paused for a moment, seeming to try to understand what Vlad meant by "when?" "Oh, Uhmm... I'll have someone come talk to you, all right?"

Vladimir was tired of people getting other people because they didn't know what was going on. He just needed to know Anatoly would be all right, that was all that mattered-then, he would kill whoever it was that had attempted to take his brother's life.