Apologies for the delay, real life and adulting got in the way! Hopefully should be more regular again now!

A small lamp cast the room in a warm glow when Virgil next opened his eyes.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but seeing Gordon, knowing his brother was alive, had taken it out of him. He couldn't hide his trembling hands from Scott as the crushing weight of guilt and grief had lifted, allowing him to breathe again. Virgil couldn't remember much after that, but guessed exhaustion had pulled him under.

It was dark; he'd been asleep for hours. But he felt stronger. His side throbbed and his throat burned, yet his head was clearer.

The pain had eased as soon as his little brother had appeared in the doorway.

Pushing himself up, Virgil was panting by the time he made it to sitting. The pillows were still flat though, and he didn't have the energy to do anything about it. The frame was cold and hard without their comfort, and Virgil regretted moving. It was too much like the last bed he had been on, and his heart jolted.

"Here."

Scott supported him with one hand, whipping the pillows into position before easing Virgil back and pulling the blankets up. Virgil relaxed with a sigh, his discomfort fading as fast as it had arrived. He looked around.

John was still in his chair, leaning back, his eyes closed and his breathing soft. Glancing at Scott, he saw the fond smile on his brother's face as he too glanced at John.

"He hasn't slept for days. Not properly. He'll regret it when he can't move later, but I can't bring myself to wake him."

Gordon was curled up in the next seat, also fast asleep. There was a thick blanket draped over him and Virgil could tell his brother was pale. Gordon was alive – which was a big step up from what Virgil had thought a few hours ago – but he didn't look well. Again, Virgil looked to Scott for answers.

Scott shrugged.

"He's still not told us what happened," Scott said. "Not the full story. I'll never know how we found him… he was so cold…"

Scott shuddered and Virgil guessed it wasn't a sight that would leave his brother any time soon.

"He shouldn't be here," he mumbled. Gordon should be in a hospital bed, not a hard, plastic chair. Or at home, being looked after.

"I know," Scott grimaced, "but try telling him that."

Virgil understood. He didn't want to, but he did. No matter what happened or who was in trouble, the others would come. It was how they'd always been. There was no way Gordon would have remained behind, not considering he knew better than their brothers the danger Virgil was in.

Scott would have known it, too. But that wouldn't have stopped him from worrying over whether he should have done more to keep Gordon somewhere that he could heal.

Virgil watched his little brother, reassuring himself with each rise and fall of Gordon's chest. He was alive: he was breathing.

Virgil's hand clenched, nails digging into his palm as he tried to control himself.

"They told me he was dead." His voice shook as much as his hands had. "And I couldn't do anything about it."

"What could you've done?" Scott's reasonable tone didn't conceal his emotions from Virgil: his brother was anything but calm. But Scott shrugged. "You stayed alive. That's all I could ask for."

"But…"

"Seems a good way of pissing them off, considering how hard they tried to kill you."

There was such finality in Scott's voice that Virgil nodded, then realised what he'd agreed to. He huffed a small laugh, trying to hide how much it hurt. If anyone could get through to him, it was Scott.

"Where's Alan?" he asked, realising his youngest brother wasn't in the room.

"Picking up Dad. He volunteered."

Virgil could read between the lines: John was exhausted, Gordon ill and Scott would refuse to leave his side. Alan didn't have a choice. But that wasn't the part he focused on.

"Dad's coming?"

Scott arched an eyebrow. "You have to ask?"

Virgil was only surprised his father wasn't with his brothers, which made him wonder what they'd done to be here without him.

Scott put a hand on his shoulder. His touch was comforting and reassuring.

"They'll be a while. Get some sleep."

Virgil nodded. There was no point fighting it; his eyes felt heavy and the conversation had already exhausted him.

He had no idea how long he'd relied on a drip to keep him alive, or what Max had given him at the end. Scott would know - he'd know everything on the chart hooked over the edge of the bed - but Virgil didn't want to ask. Even just thinking about it made him wince, a hand drifting to his side.
But he was running on empty and knew sleep the best medicine right now.

His brother helped him lie down. Virgil sagged back; the aches and pains easing as he relaxed.

Starting to drift off, Virgil glanced at Scott. His brother's tense posture told him enough: Scott had no intention of getting any rest. But he looked exhausted, and Virgil knew he hadn't had any decent sleep in days.

Forcing his eyes open, Virgil again dug his nails into his palm, trying to keep himself alert for a few moments longer.

"I'm not sleeping until you do."

"Virg-," There was fond amusement in Scott's voice. It wasn't the first time Virgil had been adamant he was staying awake just because Scott was. But they weren't children this time, and Virgil glared.

"I mean it."

"You need the rest." Scott's tone didn't change.

"So do you. When did you last sleep?"

"I'm fine, Virgil. Get some rest, you'll feel better for it."

Scott didn't meet his eye. Virgil recognised the stubborn set to his jaw and knew Scott had no intention of getting any sleep. He shifted, leaning over and grabbing Scott's wrist, forcing his brother to look at him.

"Please?"

He knew Scott – this wasn't out of the ordinary for his overprotective big brother. But when Scott just looked at him, not attempting to change position, overwhelming frustration rose. He wanted to pin it on Scott: blame him for being stubborn.

It was more than that, though. He'd thought he'd lost Gordon and hadn't been able to do anything about it. At this rate, Scott was going to end up in a bed next to him, and there still wasn't anything Virgil could do. He hated feeling this weak… and knew full well it had nothing to do with Scott's refusal to get some rest.

He twisted, facing the other way so his brother didn't see his expression, but couldn't bring himself to let go of Scott's wrist.

"Sleep, Virg," Scott whispered. "Just sleep now."

Virgil tried to resist, tried to insist that Scott also rest. But he couldn't. He felt safe, knowing Scott was there.

The others needed Scott too, needed him alert and rested. But all Virgil really knew was, with his big brother watching over him, no one would hurt him.

He had no chance of resisting and fell asleep, still gripping his brother's arm.

There was a hand stroking his hair softly when he woke. Virgil didn't need to look to know his dad was there and, for a moment, he was tempted to drift back off again. But as he shifted position, a flash of pain made him grunt, and the hand stopped, resting on the top of his head.

"Virgil?"

If Scott had sounded tense, his father took it to a whole new level.

He opened his eyes, looking around. His dad was sitting next to him, close to the edge. But he wasn't alone. Scott was still in his chair, but his upper body was cushioned by the bed, head rested on his folded arms. His eyes were shut and his breathing even.

The rest of the room was empty.

His heart-rate sped up as he looked at Gordon's vacant chair, the monitors beeping their unhappiness at the change. His dad's hand resumed its movement, a soft smile on his face as Virgil calmed under the touch. He didn't need to say anything for the man to know what was on his mind.

"They've gone to get some rest," he said quietly, "somewhere I can keep an eye on them. John's watching the others."

His brothers weren't children - John didn't have to be watching them. But it was comforting to hear it. His father's words also helped the pieces come together, and he guessed his siblings had left the island without permission. He'd smile if he had the energy – he wouldn't be the only one monitored over the next few days.

"Him?" He nodded at Scott's sprawled form, unsurprised he was still here. Virgil's reaction as he'd fallen asleep meant no one would have persuaded Scott to leave.

"What do you think?" His father's tone was fond even as he sighed, shifting into a more comfortable position. "I thought he'd wake you if he carried on. It was easier to let him stay. For now."

Virgil swallowed as he moved, tense against the pain but leaning against his father and blowing out a long breath.

"Dad?" His hand was shaking again and Virgil clenched his fist. Then he relaxed – there was no point hiding things from his dad.

"Son?"

"I-," Virgil gulped. He didn't know what to say, but needed to process something. "I...I didn't think they were coming."

His voice was scarcely audible, but he felt his father freeze.

"I owe you an apology, Virgil," he said, his tone grave. "I tried to stop them, tried to wait until the authorities had scouted the area. Scott didn't know about his connections until they arrived – he would have told me he hadn't spoken to the army, hadn't insisted on doing everything himself, I don't know how they would have found you."

Emotion constricted his father's voice. Virgil sat up with gritted teeth so he could meet the man's gaze. His dad looked drawn, haggard in a way Virgil had never seen before, and he couldn't imagine what it had been like for him, left behind and not knowing how to help.

"It's not your fault, Dad," he said. "I wouldn't have wanted…I mean, if anything happened to…I just…I was scared."

If any of his brothers - even Scott - heard the way his voice cracked, Virgil would have been ashamed. It was different with his father though.

His dad said nothing. Instead, he pulled Virgil closer, holding him in a way he hadn't done since Virgil was a child.

Virgil surrendered to the hold, trusting his dad to keep him up as he let the emotions flow through him. Scott made him feel safe, but it went deeper than that with his father. It was the absolute certainty that everything would be okay, because that was what the man did. He took the world's problems, and he fixed them.

Exhaustion clawed through his inner turmoil, making it hard to keep his eyes open. But when he fell back to sleep, it was leaning against his father, knowing everything would work out.

A shrill ring jerked John from sleep. He fumbled for his cell, knocking it on the floor with a thud before connecting. The room was still dark, although the smudge of colour coming through the blinds gave away dawn was just breaking.

"Wha-?" He was used to being woken up, but had underestimated how draining the last few days had been.

"Meet me outside." Scott hung up without another word and John glared at his phone.

He was tempted to stick his head under the pillow and go back to sleep. He'd been adamant he wouldn't be able to rest when they left the hospital, but his dad had asked him to watch over the others and John couldn't refuse. But as soon as he knew they were asleep, he'd sat down… and Scott's call was the next thing he was aware of.

He groaned as he rolled off the bed, fumbling for his shoes. The hotel was luxurious, a far cry from where they had been staying before. It wasn't their father flaunting his wealth though: it was the two burly security guards they had passed on their way in, the security and protection offered. Shawn and his men might have shut down the entire operation, but that wasn't enough for their dad.

It made John feel better, knowing no one – no press and certainly no kidnappers – could get to them now.

Pocketing his keys and phone, John paused at the door. Alan was fast asleep, but Gordon mumbled something incoherent, rolling over. Whatever Scott wanted, John hoped he was quick. Gordon wouldn't stay asleep much longer, and John intended to be there when his brother woke up.

He let himself out, the door giving a soft click as he locked it behind him. The hotel was silent. John guessed everyone was asleep or, given the clientele, hadn't yet made it to bed. He stifled a yawn as he waited for the elevator, feeling that while the sleep had done him good, he wanted more. But Scott had refused to come, refused to rest, and John knew that however tired he felt, his brother would feel worse.

He moved through the lobby in a daze before stumbling outside, looking for Scott and shivering. The sun hadn't fully risen and John wasn't used to temperature changes.

Scott was leaning against a wall, arms folded. As John drew closer, he saw his brother was picking at the corner of a nail. Virgil was the only other person who noticed Scott's rare signs of stress, and he hurried over, wishing he'd grabbed a jacket.

"What's going on?" he demanded. "Is Virg okay?"

"No."

The world lurched. John reached out, his hand brushing against the wall as he tried to stop everything from spinning. Virgil had been stable when they left. If anything had happened, if he hadn't been there…

"John?" Scott sounded alarmed, his grip on John's shoulder helping to ground him. John couldn't speak, but his brother realised what was going through his head.

"God, John, no. Physically, he's okay. He's with Dad. He's okay."

It took a moment for the words to filter through. John took a deep breath, his vision clearing as the panic faded, and punched Scott on the arm.

"Don't do that," he muttered, dragging a hand over his face.

He was more exhausted than he realised. If something had happened to Virgil, Scott wouldn't be here. John leant against the wall, mirroring Scott's position as he folded his arms and stared at the man.

"How'd you get here?"

"Ran," Scott admitted. He dragged a hand through his hair, fingers twisting.

The hospital wasn't far but it wasn't even light out. John knew Scott ran when he was troubled, but to do the journey before the sun had risen meant something was seriously wrong. If Virgil was okay physically, then John had a feeling he knew where this was going.

"Come inside," he said. "We've got a kitchenette - I'll make you a coffee." He stepped towards the door, but Scott shook his head.

"No. The others can't hear this."

"Scott, what is going on?"

"He… Virgil…. That is…" Whatever Scott was trying to say, he couldn't find the words.

Then, to John's horror, he turned and punched the wall. His knuckles split, tearing through the scabs John had noticed the night they left the island. He gaped at his brother, then realised Scott was trembling. It wasn't pain or even worry, though. Scott was angry. No, it was more than that… Scott was furious.

Grabbing his arm, John marched him into the hotel. Scott protested until John dragged him into the bar and shoved his brother into a seat. He'd suspected it would still be open: hotels like this catered to the rich, even if that meant drinking until six in the morning.

John ordered two coffees – requesting Scott's to be decaf – and some ice. If the request surprised the bartender, he hid it behind a courteous nod, and went to fetch their order.

John didn't ask what was wrong. Not until there was a drink in front of him and a bowl of ice at his side. The bartender also brought over some warm water and clean cloths, noticing the blood on Scott's hand.

John thanked him, grabbed Scott's wrist and began cleaning the cuts. When there was an ice-filled cloth draped across Scott's knuckles and a coffee in his good hand, John spoke.

"Now tell me what this is about, without punching me in the face."

Scott gave a soft huff before blowing on his drink. It was enough for John though – he'd got through to his brother and Scott was thinking rationally again.

"I fell asleep," Scott admitted. John rolled his eyes.

"Stop the press, he's human, after all."

"And when I woke up," Scott continued, ignoring him, "Virgil was talking to Dad. He didn't think we were coming for him. He said… John, he said how scared he was."

Scott's anger made sense. John didn't realise his own hand had clenched until Scott gave a pointed cough. He forced himself to relax.

He'd known Virgil was terrified. No one went through something like that without being afraid. Especially as he'd believed they'd killed Gordon, and there was nothing stopping them from doing the same to him.

But one thing all the Tracys – including their father – had in common was not admitting their emotions. It didn't matter how they were feeling, they didn't say it out loud. The fact Virgil had done so, even if it was just to their dad, revealed the depth of that terror.

John took a sip of his drink before looking at Scott.

"Why are you here, Scott?" He knew his brother too well, and Scott had not run across town to vent his fury on a wall.

"I want to see him," Scott said, his tone cold. "I want to look him in the eye, and I want to make him pay."

"How do you propose we do that?" John said, his own voice mild.

"I'll persuade Shawn to let us in."

"And then what? I hold off an entire army in the middle of their own base while you take on the guy?" He understood Scott's anger – he felt it too. But the men were all in custody and Shawn had broken enough rules for them so far. Scott wouldn't be able to get close to the people responsible, and John knew even he couldn't get them in this time. He just hoped no one tried to cut any kind of deal.

Revenge sounded great, but it had never been who they were. For someone who could remain relaxed in the face of the worst disasters the world had seen, Scott wasn't good at controlling his temper when dealing with people. It was up to John – as usual – to calm a hot-headed brother down.

His sarcasm hadn't helped, though.

"I can't just sit here," Scott exclaimed, louder than before.

"You don't have a choice," John said, taking a swig and cursing at the heat. "Not right now, anyway. You can't charge in there and get yourself arrested again, especially not as you'll drag me with you."

"You're just going to let the army deal with it, then?" Scott scoffed, but John rolled his eyes.

"Of course not! But have you forgotten who our father is? Dad won't let those bastards see the light of day and personally, I'm going to help bury them in any way I can."

"That's not enough for me." Scott glowered at the bar. John grabbed his arm, tugging him up from his seat.

"Me neither. But it's what we have to work with right now. Come on, come upstairs."

"I have to get back to the hospital," Scott muttered, looking at the main door even as John pulled him past it.

"They can wait half an hour while you have a shower."

"I don't-,"

"Scott, you just ran halfway across town, you're showering first."

His brother didn't answer. John dragged him to the room, shoving him into the bathroom. It was only the sound of running water that stopped him from blocking the door as well.

Moving to the small kitchenette, he made some more coffee, knowing it would be a long day of not doing a lot. As the water boiled, Gordon stumbled through, bleary eyed. John slid a drink to his brother and leant on the counter, frowning.

"Did you sleep?" Every time he'd checked on Gordon, the young man had seemed asleep. But Gordon looked awful in the morning light.

His brother nodded, but John caught his wince as he did so. He waited until Gordon had picked up his drink, cradling it, before speaking again.

"Feeling okay?"

"Never better," Gordon muttered, his voice hoarse. John put his mug down and straightened up just as Scott came out the bathroom behind Gordon.

John caught Scott's eye, tilting his head towards their brother – who didn't notice – and lifting an eyebrow. It was all Scott needed, and he nodded, moving in closer.

"Are you sure?" John pressed, as much to distract his brother, "'cos you don't sound so hot."

"I'm fine."

Scott put a hand on Gordon's forehead without their brother knowing he was there. Gordon started, jerking around as he stared.

"Where the hell did you come from?"

"You," Scott said pointedly, "need to be in bed."

"I'm fi-,"

John stepped forward. He'd seen Scott's expression and knew Gordon had a temperature.

"We've all stopped running on adrenaline," he said. "You never gave yourself the chance to recover. Go back to bed, Gords. Just for a few hours."

"But-,"

"If you get worse, they won't let you in to see Virgil," Scott said. Gordon bit his lip.

"And if he knows you are sick, he won't rest," John added.

Gordon scowled, putting his mug down and moving through the room without another word.

John glanced at Scott and they both grinned. They might not be able to do anything about Virgil's fears, but they could still handle the others.