There's some sort of commotion, as Gordon and Alan amble out of the arcade's front doors. And then a piercing, familiar whistle, the one Virgil uses to get his little brothers' attention when it's important.

"Gordon! The guy in red!"

Virgil's shout catches Gordon just as he and Alan cross the threshold of the bright arcade doors, multi-coloured lights and chiptunes heralding their exit. Alan's got both arms full of stuffed animals, Gordon's carrying a heavy hotel pillowcase slung over his shoulder. He and Virgil are practically psychic in their connection sometimes, and when Gordon spots the guy-in-red barrelling down the sidewalk towards him, Virgil and John hot on his heels-well. He takes the only natural course of action, and winds back, and socks the redshirt full in the face with $134.75 worth of quarters. The man drops like a rock, and sends a bloodied knife skittering across the pavement. For good measure, Gordon drops the bag of quarters on his head, "-and stay down!"

They've drawn attention from other people on the street now, and Gordon certainly hopes he's just broken the face of someone who deserved it, as Virgil comes trotting to a stop, huffing slightly and bright-eyed with that adrenaline high that Gordon's all too familiar with. "Virge?" he prompts, and jerks a thumb at the guy on the ground, a whimpering mess of pain and misfortune and hopefully justice. Gordon bites his lower lip. "Am I on the side of the good and the just here, or are there assault charges in my not too distant future?"

"Mugger. Grabbed a lady."

Gordon's immediately irritated, and plants a foot in the middle of the mugger's back before he can even attempt to get up. "Dude, so not okay. Jeez. Cops're coming?"

Virgil doesn't know, and he glances back at John, doubled over a few feet behind him and clutching at a stitch in his side, gasping. "...was gonna say ask the comms guy, but he'sway behind. Man, Johnny, outta shape much? Did you tell the lady to call the cops?"

"Cops?" Alan's still got an armful of brightly coloured plushies, and he's a few moments behind completely understanding what's just happened. He blinks as he looks between the other three. His gaze lingers for a moment on John, still with that stitch in his side, and all of a sudden Alan's ahead of the curve, dropping all of his stuffed toys and diving for his older brother as John crumples to his knees. "Hey! Hey, Johnny, whoa-whoa, John! Virgil, he's bleeding-what-"

A knife had gone skittering out of the man's hand when Gordon had dropped him.

Virgil spins on his heel to the sight of John, knelt on the ground with Alan holding his shoulders, both his palms and the right hip of his blue oxford shirt darkly stained in the light of dusk. Bright, bloody red trails down his pant leg. He's staring a little dazedly at his hands, and one of them plucks feebly at the hem of his shirt, trying to see the damage.

"...oh," a little vague, a little faint. And then, thoroughly out of character for calm, even-tempered John, "Shit." John gives a little further, sitting down hard on the ground. Reflexively Alan follows him down, keeps him from keeling over entirely.

Then Virgil's kneeling next to him, pulling off his (Gordon's) shirt and bundling it into a makeshift bandage. He finds the gash in John's pale blue dress shirt, tugs the sticky fabric up and swabs at the wound in his side, trying to get a better look. Gash, not a puncture; slashed not stabbed. Good. Good, that's good. Probably only muscle damage, superficial. Gordon's directing a nearby bystander to call an ambulance, still with a foot planted on the mugger's back.

The small crowd that's gathered produces two burly, no-nonsense looking gentlemen, and between the two of them they take over custody of the thief, citizen's arrest, freeing Gordon up to come hover anxiously by his brothers. There are already sirens ringing distantly down the street, but they're the short, yelping barks of police sirens, not the up and down wail of an ambulance.

"...ow." John's breath catches on the word, pained, and then ratchets up into panicked gulps of air. "W-wh...ow. What...wh..hhhn. Ow."

It's a little harder to remain even-keeled in an emergency when it's one of thier own, but Virgil keeps his head. Mostly. There's some minor babbling. "Okay. Okay, so he had a knife. It's all right, doesn't even look that bad. Easy, John."

Gordon pipes up, "Medics'll be here any minute, J, just hang on."

There's no answer outside of a low, protesting groan from John, his hands trembling as he tries to push away the brightly patterned pad of fabric Virgil positions against his side. Alan's grimacing as he catches one of John's wrists, pulls his hand back.

"You're okay, I gotcha," Alan volunteers, and his hands shift, take more of his brother's weight, looping an arm around John's chest from behind and letting the redhead lean into him.

John's nine years older than Alan is, twenty-seven to Al's skinny, boyish eighteen, but he sags weakly against his baby brother. And then, with as much vehemence as he can muster, faintly accusatory, "Ow, Virgil." As though this wasn't already clear.

"I know, I know, Johnny. It's okay, you'll be okay." Virgil starts, to try to warn him, to tell him to brace himeslf for the pain of pressure he's about to put against the bleeding gash in his brother's side. He winces in preemptive sympathy. "Gotta put some pressure on it, it's gonna hurt like hell."

Gordon's got a hand on Virgil's shoulder, peering over to supervise, and he curses under his breath, then murmurs, "Ah, jeez. This is gonna suck."

That's an understatement. "Sorry, John," Virgil mutters, and presses a broad palm firmly against the bandage. There's a half-strangled yell and a brief, scrabbling struggle to escape, but then the shock of pain wins out and then John's out like a light. His head snaps limply back, caught by Alan's shoulder behind him, and then his face drops to rest against Alan's collarbone.

Alan looks up at Virgil, and he's plainly a little spooked by this development. "Virge? Virgil, is he..."

"It's just the pain, Al, he's okay," Virgil assures the baby of the family, who's always a bit more afraid than he ever likes to admit. Virgil and John had just finished discussing this over drinks, not even half an hour ago. Alan always needs a little bit of extra reassurance. "It's not that bad, not deep. They'll stitch him up and put some pain meds in him, we'll be back at the hotel before midnight."

There's a collective sigh of sympathetic relief, and the ambulance sirens begin to be audible. With one hand still firmly braced against the bandage, Virgil lifts the other to gently pat his older brother's pale cheek, though this is cold comfort.

Gordon clears his throat pointedly. "Someone's gotta call Scott, and it's not gonna be me," he comments, and looks away, scanning the street for any sign of an ambulance. They're all halfway paramedics anyway, any one of them would've known what to do, but it's dark and dirty in the middle of the sidewalk, and the sooner they get John looked at properly, the better.

Alan blanches, and pipes up in agreement. "Not it!"

"Shut up, both of you," Virgil growls, but cedes the point. He'll make the call, it's only fair, but he's not in any hurry. "Aw, Johnny," he sighs, finally. "Talk about your collateral damage. God, what kind of luck, second to last night here and we have to run into a mugging."

"Caught the guy, though," Alan points out. "Good on you."

"Yeah! At least I got to hit someone in the face with a sack of change. Heh. You might say I gave no quarter. Right? Guys? Because of the-"

"Oh my god, Gordon. Go jump off the pier." Alan stretches his arm out, manages to snag a small stuffed penguin from the pile of animals he'd dropped. Gently he tucks it beneath John's elbow.

"And," Gordon offers, mustering some brightness in his tone, in spite of the fact that one of them is passed out on the sidewalk with a knifewound in his side and the early symptoms of shock, "technically it's not a family vacation until one of us winds up in the hospital. At least it's not gonna be me!"

This gets a grin out of Alan, but Virgil just rolls his eyes, "Shut up, Gordon."