Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.

Characters: Scott, Lucille. Rating: T. Warnings: None

Drabble challenge from JanetM74: "Kidnapping and Street Corner" with Scott.

Fridays were good days. The end of school for the week, a weekend of freedom he could spend with his brothers, or his friends (although not both… there were some groups you just didn't mix). Friday afternoon was the start of fun.

At least, that was how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to be going swimming with Gordon after school, an activity he always loved doing because even if Gordon was only five, they were equally matched in the water, and the eight years between them melted away. His friends didn't get it, thought hanging out with a five year old in the local pool was lame, but they didn't have a fish brother so it wasn't like they knew any better.

Scott had been looking forward to it. True, Mom and the rest of his brothers would be there, too, but John and Virgil couldn't keep up with Gordon and Mom had Alan, so they'd inevitably be pairing up like they always did since Alan had been born. It would have been a great time.

But then he'd just separated from his last friend on the way home, turning the second to last corner before his own house came into view, and there'd been screeching tyres, too many hands, and none of his sports training had been able to prevent them from dragging him into the van.

He'd shouted and screamed, heard the commotion from nearby houses as they realised something was happening, but the tyres had squealed again, the van had turned so sharply he'd been thrown into the lap of the biggest man he'd ever seen, and he didn't need to be able to see out of the vehicle to know they were going way above the speed limit.

Any fight he'd been able to put up had been squashed, a thirteen year old boy useless against three grown men built like tanks, and there was duct tape on his mouth, his wrists, his ankles. Cloth over his eyes, too, tied tightly for all there was nothing to see in the van anyway.

He was scared. He'd heard stories like don't talk to strangers and what happened to kids who ended up in vans.

They hadn't had happy endings. Either it was a body in a ditch, a lake, a forest, or they were simply never seen again. Scott didn't know which would be worse.

A hand grabbed his hair roughly, jerking his head up painfully. Tears watered in the corners of his eyes and he was glad the cloth meant the men couldn't see that. He had to be strong. Had to find out how to escape. How to get home.

Gordon had been so excited to go swimming with him. He couldn't let his little brother down.

Something went shnip and then his hair was released suddenly. Unable to catch himself, he face-planted the floor of the van.

Ow.

"You sure this'll work?" one of the men grunted.

"Tracy's off the planet," another voice replied, from further away. Shotgun, then, if not the driver. "His missus'll have no choice but to cough it up if she wants to see her son again."

"Doesn't she have four more? What's a clump of hair gonna do to persuade her he's worth the trade?"

"She's a woman. Sentimental creatures. You know they always keep locks of their kids' hair. This is just a reminder. Besides, if she decides this one's not worth the trade, we'll just get the next one. Sooner or later she'll decide one of them's worth it."

We'll just get the next one.

If Mom didn't give these men what they wanted, they'd take his brothers, one by one.

Scott couldn't let that happen.

Everything hurt. His lips stung from the repeated removal of the tape to force food and water into his mouth before they re-applied it. He was sure he could taste blood. Breathing was agony, every inhale and exhale aggravating his ribs.

He'd tried to fight smart, knowing he couldn't win head-on, had tried to escape when they weren't looking, but they'd caught him, he'd failed, and now he was shaking from fear or exhaustion or both while the men surrounded him. Every so often, another boot would fly in from somewhere, kicking him wherever it could reach.

He didn't know how long it'd been. Days, probably. No doubt Gordon had been disappointed that they couldn't go swimming together. He'd let his little brother down.

Would he ever get the chance to make it up to him?

Scott's musings were cut short by a large, meaty hand grabbing him by the scruff and hauling him up. It wasn't the first time they'd done this, and he swallowed hard, trying to keep his stomach under control as he was swung up, and slung over a mountain of a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He couldn't bear a repeat of the first occasion, when his stomach had protested the treatment.

That had been worse than the beatings.

"It's time," one of them said. Scott was fairly sure that voice belonged to the leader. He certainly seemed to be the smartest of the bunch. "She's here."

Mom is?

He could hear her voice, sharp and demanding to see him as they carried him towards her. She didn't use that voice often. The last time, Scott had dared John onto the roof and his little brother had broken his arm.

When Mom used that voice, she was beyond angry.

"You came alone?" the leader's voice said.

"I am alone, I have the jewellery you demanded, and you will not be getting it until I see my son," he heard her reply firmly.

A door opened, and Scott still couldn't see, but he knew Mom was there.

"Your son, as you wish," the leader said, and he was picked back up off the mountain of a shoulder and placed on his feet. Except his ankles were still tangled together, the food had been barely enough, and he was exhausted.

The moment the hand let him go, he crumpled.

"Scott!"

"The jewellery, Mrs Tracy?"

Something was about to happen. He could feel it in the way the air was charged, in the way the hair on the back of his nape was standing on end.

He didn't know what, but his instincts told him to stay where he was, unmoving on the cold, hard ground.

"Right here."

Something dropped. It was heavy enough that he felt the ground shake, but he couldn't tell what it was.

Whatever it was, though, the men didn't like it. They roared, the ground rumbling as they stampeded towards Mom, and there was nothing Scott could do except lay still and hope he wouldn't be trampled.

Gunshots rang out. Scott knew what a pistol sounded like, even if Grandpa Tracy had only shown him how to use a rifle. More heavy things dropped, and he squeezed his eyes shut behind the thick, heavy, blindfold and prayed there wouldn't be anything lighter.

Anything that might be Mom because there was someone shooting a gun and Mom was there and who was going to look after his brothers if Mom got hit?

It didn't last long, but it lasted an eternity. The silence was deafening in its suddenness and Scott tensed, not knowing who was still standing, if they were going to kill him, if they'd killed Mom-

"Scotty?"

Mom sounded close. He could hear her breathing, could hear the gentleness in her voice, the worry.

"Mom?" he tried to say, but he still hurt, the duct tape was still over his mouth, and the noise that came out sounded nothing like it.

"It's okay, Scott," she said, soothing him like he'd just had a nightmare. "Let's get you out of here."

Arms wrapped around him, and Scott was thirteen, a teenager, and one of the tallest in his class, but Mom was Mom and picked him up just as easily as she had when he was younger. As she still carried his youngest brothers.

The blindfold was still there. The duct tape was still there. He hurt. But Mom had always meant safety, and this time was no different.

Ah, the good old kidnapping trope, although I decided to mix it up a bit. We know Jeff and Grandma and the boys are badass... so time for Lucille to shine in defence of her children!

Thanks for reading!
Tsari