I wrote this quite a while ago because for some reason I wasn't totally satisfied with the first version of "Brutal." I see the first one as being TAG, and the second as being TOS. A few of you have read this already. A bit more violent than the first version (and it starts out almost identical to the first version; the changes start a little ways in).
John and Gordon strode briskly down the New York City sidewalk, expertly weaving their way through the thick crowds.
"Remind me why we didn't take a taxi?" Gordon asked, slurping up the last of his milkshake and tossing the cup into a nearby garbage can.
"Because sometimes I like having lots of people around," John said. "For a little while, anyway. It makes me appreciate the solitude more when I go back up to Five." He walked with his head held high, admiring the soaring buildings and taking in the restless energy of the crowds and the teeming traffic.
And then he tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and would have fallen on his face if it weren't for Gordon's quick reflexes.
Gordon hauled him back upright, laughing. "Been up there too long, huh? Seems like you've forgotten how to walk!"
John rolled his eyes. As much as he hated to admit it, Gordon's words were somewhat true. John used a treadmill on Five, but it wasn't the same as actually walking around on the ground, and he had a tendency toward clumsiness when he was back on earth. "Maybe we should grab a taxi after all – it's almost all the way around the block to the Pizzeria."
"I've got a better idea," Gordon told him. He gestured with his thumb to an alleyway that cut between two buildings. "Shortcut." He started down the narrow passageway.
John followed him hesitantly, shivering slightly as the buildings seemed to close in overhead, shutting out the sunshine and plunging the alley into a kind of perpetual twilight. He pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head – he didn't need them any more. "You sure it's safe?"
Gordon shrugged. "It's the middle of the day, John. Sure it's safe! And this should dump us out right next to the Pizzeria. It'll save us a few minutes of walking."
All five Tracy brothers were visiting the city on a rare day off from International Rescue. They had spent the morning wandering through some of their favorite shops and museums. When it had come time for lunch, though, there had been a huge debate – Scott, Virgil and Alan were convinced that a tiny hole-in-the-wall pizza shop was the only possible choice, while John and Gordon insisted that they go to their favorite restaurant, an old-fashioned burger joint. In the end, they had simply split up and agreed to meet again after lunch.
"I hope they're done eating," Gordon said. "They made me go with them last time, and it takes forever before you get your pizza."
"That's because they make every order from scratch," John replied absently, craning his neck to look behind them – it sure sounded like there were a lot more than two sets of footsteps echoing off the dirty brick walls.
Gordon strode confidently down the dark, narrow alley, calmly sidestepping old trash, garbage cans, abandoned tires, and all manner of nameless junk.
John trailed in his wake, feeling more and more nervous the farther they walked. He rubbed his sweating palms on his pants and sternly told himself, Stop it! There's absolutely nothing to be worried about!
But then suddenly there was something to be worried about. He and Gordon skidded to a halt, startled, as two men stepped out from behind a dumpster a little ways ahead of them. The hair on the back of John's neck prickled, and he glanced over his shoulder to see that three more men had appeared behind them.
One of the men in front of them stepped forward, grinning menacingly. "Hello, boys. What brings you two off the beaten path this fine day?"
Adrenaline resolved John's nerves into crisp focus, sharpening his gaze and straightening his lean frame. He stepped up to Gordon's side. "Just passing through," he said. "Pardon us."
This time he was the one to walk boldly forward, Gordon sticking close to his heels.
The men stood their ground, though.
"'Pardon us,' he says," the leader sneered. "Well, sorry, but I ain't in a pardoning kinda mood! Take 'em, boys!" He lunged forward.
Suddenly grateful for the long, sweaty self-defense training sessions Scott had forced upon all the brothers, John neatly dodged the fist heading for his face and kicked the man behind the knee, sending him sprawling.
Another man wrapped his arms around him from behind; John stomped down on the man's foot and sent him stumbling away with a yelp.
John found himself stumbling, too. He was in shape, and he had some training, but fighting was really not his forte. Hands seized his arms, and he struggled against them, but then there was a flurry of motion that ended with John's knees cracking hard against the pavement. He was only saved from pitching forward by the strength of the person twisting his arm painfully behind his back. He tried to jerk free, but he was effectively pinned in place.
He looked around wildly for Gordon, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw his younger brother facing off against the other four men. Gordon's face had gone hard and cold in a way that John had only seen once or twice before – and he remembered recalling that he had hoped he would never see Gordon wearing that expression again. It went back to Gordon's WASP training, John knew – and that was about all that he knew. Gordon rarely spoke of his time in the military.
Gordon was quick and light on his feet. The big men he was fighting looked like clumsy oxen, stumbling around him as they tried to land a blow. As John watched, Gordon easily dodged a huge swinging fist and stepped into the opening to down his opponent with a sharp, fierce uppercut.
John knew the power in his little brother's arms and shoulders – he'd held the punching bag for Gordon a few times – and he winced involuntarily as another man lunged forward, only for Gordon's fist to crack against his jaw, sending him staggering back against the brick wall.
The other two men eyed Gordon, circling him warily. Gordon, for his part, kept his stance loose and relaxed, ready to move in any direction.
Both men charged Gordon at once, one grabbing Gordon from behind while the other swung back his arm in preparation for a mighty punch.
A strangled cry rose in John's throat, and the man holding him laughed.
But then, Gordon kicked up with both his legs at once, and his feet caught the charging man full in the gut. Both of his antagonists lurched backward, one winded and the other caught off guard by suddenly having all of Gordon's weight shoved back against him. The man holding Gordon crashed against the brick wall and let go of him.
Gordon turned and strode toward John and his captor – but then he suddenly froze, his eyes fixed on something just behind John, his face going pale.
John started to turn his head, and then he found himself frozen too, as something cold and smooth slid under his jaw line and lightly rested against his jugular, poking ever so slightly into his skin.
"Okay, kid, time to give it up," the man snarled.
Gordon slowly raised his hands, his mouth tightening into a thin line. "Fine," he said quietly. "Just don't hurt my brother."
The leader lurched toward him, his face beet red and his nose sluggishly dribbling blood. "Oh, I don't think it's him you gotta worry about, kid!" he growled. He grabbed Gordon by the collar and slammed his fist into Gordon's stomach.
Gordon nearly crumpled, but the man jerked him back upright and followed up with a punch to the face that split the skin on Gordon's cheekbone.
And then the other three men crowded in, pounding at Gordon from all sides with vengeful fists.
John screamed and raged, fighting against the man holding him down, but he couldn't get any leverage to pull free. "No!" he shouted. "Gordon, fight back, fight back!" There was a sudden sickening pop in his shoulder as he pulled too hard, and the lightning bolt of pain made things go fuzzy for a second. By the time John could focus his eyes again, Gordon was curled up on the ground, his arms wrapped protectively around his head and his knees drawn up to his chest, and the men were kicking him.
"No," John choked out, still straining forward even as pain blazed through his shoulder. "Stop it, please stop it – you're going to kill him!" He flinched as the leader's toe connected hard with Gordon's lower back, wrenching an involuntary cry of pain from his little brother. "Stop it!" John yelled one more time. Then, not knowing what else to do, he tipped back his head and screamed at the top of his voice, "Scott! Help!"
The man behind him chuckled. "Ain't nobody gonna help you," he muttered, sliding the knife blade lightly along John's collarbone.
Just then, though, the leader took a few steps back away from Gordon, breathing hard. He glanced over his shoulder. "Hey, I think someone's coming! Quick, grab their wallets and let's get outta here!"
The man holding John shoved him roughly forward; unable to catch himself, John sprawled onto the dirty pavement next to Gordon.
He dragged himself closer to his brother, hardly even noticing the hands hastily pulling his wallet from his pocket.
His second-youngest brother was pale, limp, and very, very still. John reached forward with his good hand, wrapping his fingers around Gordon's wrist and fighting back a stirring of nausea in the pit of his stomach. He breathed a little easier as he felt the flutter of Gordon's pulse beneath his fingertips.
Shouts sounded from down the alley, and John gave a shudder of relief. "Scott, Virg, and Alan are here," he whispered to Gordon, the words rasping in his raw throat. "It's gonna be okay now." He pushed himself up into a sitting position, hunched protectively over Gordon.
The muggers scurried down the alleyway in one direction, while from the other side came the sharp patter of shoes striking the pavement fast and hard.
Scott arrived first, his brilliant blue eyes practically shooting sparks as he glanced after the fleeing criminals. But then he dropped down at John's side, and his expression changed instantly to deep concern. "What happened?" he demanded, giving John a quick once over and zeroing in on the front of his shirt.
John glanced down to see what Scott was looking at and was startled to discover that a considerable amount of blood had seeped from a long, thin cut across his collarbone, soaking into his shirt. He hadn't even felt it. "It's nothing," he said. "Help Gordon – he could be badly hurt."
Virgil and Alan slid in next to Gordon at that moment. Virgil took one look at Gordon and started to lift his watch to his mouth, but then he shook his head in frustration – there was no one on Five to patch his communicator through to the local rescue service. He turned to Alan and snapped, "Go get an ambulance."
Alan nodded and took back off toward the main street at a sprint.
Virgil bent over Gordon. "What happened?" he asked sharply.
"Just a mugging," John replied bitterly, watching Virgil's nimble fingers as he examined Gordon. "We fought back, and Gordon was winning – until they threatened me with a knife. After that, he just stood there and let them beat him up!" He tensed up as the frustration washed over him again, then hissed in pain and reached for his shoulder.
Scott caught the movement and carefully inspected the injured joint. "Virg, he's got a dislocated shoulder."
"I told you, I'm fine," John snapped. "Gordon's more important right now – they had him down on the ground and they were kicking him!"
A softly muttered "Ouch" drew all their eyes back to Gordon.
Their redheaded brother slowly pried his eyes open – although the left one wouldn't open all the way – and blinked up at them. "Ouch," he said again. "John, why'd you let me take that shortcut?" His words were sluggish, and he couldn't hide his pain behind the levity.
John sighed. He knew Gordon expected a sarcastic response, but he simply didn't have the energy to make light of the situation. "Sorry, Gords," he said softly.
Gordon frowned at him. "Did they hurt you?" His eyes fastened on the blood stain on the front of John's shirt, and his face darkened. "I'm gonna kill them," he muttered, trying to push himself up. He fell back with a cough and a groan, though, his eyes fluttering shut again.
Virgil growled, "Stay put, you idiot! You might have broken ribs."
"I'm fine," Gordon breathed.
Scott snorted. "Maybe that should be our family motto."
They heard sirens approaching, and a moment later, the ambulance backed as far as it could down the alley. Paramedics rushed onto the scene, and the brothers stepped back to give them room to work.
There was a flurry of activity, and just a couple minutes later, John was sitting next to Gordon's gurney in the back of an ambulance, listening to the dismal wail of the siren as they headed for the hospital.
He sighed, wishing he had something he could use to wipe some of the blood off his brother's pale face.
Gordon heard the sigh and opened his eyes. "You okay?" he asked softly.
John snorted. "Am I okay? You're the one who just let himself get beaten almost to death!"
Gordon shrugged. "I figured it was a better alternative than you getting your throat slit." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Sorry I led us into a trap," he mumbled.
"It's not your fault, Gordon," John replied. "Those guys were just brutal. You couldn't have anticipated something like that."
For all the horrors in their job, they didn't often see brutality. Fear, yes. Anger, definitely. Selfishness, fairly often.
But sheer cruelty? It was jarring, and John was intensely grateful that they didn't come across people like that very often.
"Maybe next time we should just get pizza," John sighed.
Gordon smirked. "Now where's the fun in that? Don't let these guys get you down, Johnny! You've gotta get out there and live, not go into hiding at the first hint of trouble!"
"My brother, the life coach," John said dryly. He shook his head fondly as he looked down at Gordon. Even on the way to the hospital, Gordon was still his normal ebullient self.
"I bet I would've made a good life coach," Gordon said. His eyes were drifting shut again. "Wake me up when we get there, okay?"
"Sure, Gords," John said. He watched his brother fall asleep, noticing that he still had a slight smile on his lips.
Well, if Gordon could still smile after the brutality he had endured, then John supposed he could smile too.
