These next few chapters have been an absolutely nightmare. Despite years of working with Bee, we've decided this has been the most rewrites/tweaks I've ever had to do.

For those always asking for updates, this is what this chapter has been through: writing, editing, beta-ing, editing, editing the next chapter and realising it didn't work, changing the order of this one, beta-ing for both 13 & 14, lost files/technical faults, a massive rewrite of both chapters after several discussions, editing, beta-ing, and editing again before I've finally got to this point. You could have had it earlier - filled with mistakes and inconsistencies with future chapters - or I could keep working until I was happy with it. I'm working on the story as fast as I can, but life and the muse sometimes have other ideas!

Still, this is now finally done. I hope you enjoy it!

John was aware that he was coughing even before he realised he was conscious.

Choking, he rolled onto his side, then up onto all fours, head hanging as he struggled to get air into his lungs. Acrid smoke made his eyes water as he fought for breath.

He didn't know how he was still alive, let alone relatively unhurt. He was bruised all over and his right wrist throbbed painfully. His shoulder was also smarting as the old wound throbbed. But John knew he had been lucky; the explosion had been strong enough to have killed him.

"Scott? Gordon?" His voice cracked, hoarse and painful, as he shouted but John didn't care. To his delight, an answering groan came from his right.

He lurched upright, then fell back with a cry, his ankle refusing to support his weight. A quick inspection revealed he hadn't broken it, though. He didn't try and stand again, but started crawling towards his brother, not wanting to waste any more time while his body decided what else hurt.

He knew it was Gordon before he saw him. John swore when he caught sight of his brother; blood was smeared across his face and there was a beam resting over his legs, keeping Gordon trapped. Still, the younger man grinned when he saw John moving towards him.

Once there, John took a deep breath and managed to stand. But he bit his lip as he looked at Gordon: Virgil had told him more than once that relieving pressure could cause more damage. The way Gordon was swearing at him to hurry up, however, meant John was certain he was the one in the most danger if he didn't lift it.

"I'm not going to be able to hold it," he warned, hoping that Gordon took the hint and moved as soon as he had the clearance. His brother nodded, and John took a deep breath, steeling himself. He knew this was going to hurt.

Once his vision stopped weaving, John flexed his fingers, took hold of the beam and pulled. It was heavy, but not so heavy that he shouldn't be able to hold it on his own. That wasn't taking into account a bad wrist, however, and John only managed to hold the beam long enough for Gordon to wriggle free before it crashed back down.

Panting, John collapsed back next to Gordon. His brother hadn't moved far; he didn't appear to have the energy. John examined him anxiously, but Gordon grinned and gave him a thumbs-up rather than verbally responding. He was okay.

But that didn't alleviate John's fears. After all, Gordon wasn't the only brother out there.

"Scott?"

He yelled as loud as he could. Scott had been further away. Of course he was fine; no doubt waiting for them and complaining about them being slow the way he did after every rescue. John kept those thoughts locked in the forefront of his mind, repeating them to himself. It was the only way he could think straight: refusing to admit what could have happened to Scott. But his brother was nowhere to be seen and John knew it wasn't just the smoke that was making it hard to breathe.

Gordon, however, was already trying to get to his feet, his face pale but his eyes blazing.

"Come on!"

"We have to find Scott!" John protested. He was still struggling to stand when Gordon set off back towards the car. Blood was running down both legs, but Gordon kept moving. John knew this wasn't the first time his brother had worked purely on adrenaline.

"We won't find him here," Gordon said grimly. John looked blankly at his brother.

"They took him!"

"Who?" John asked, stupidly. He knew who. His heart thudded painfully and the world swum as dizziness flooded him. Scott couldn't be gone: not again. John couldn't go through this again! Helpless anger mingled with panic and he forced himself to take a breath. Gordon needed him to hold it together, but John felt, for a wild moment, exactly like the terrified teenager who had been left behind all those years ago.

"Probably the same people who took Virg. I don't know!" Gordon stared wildly at him, desperation apparent in his expression. "I heard a plane, John. They had one here all along! They planned this!"

Gordon didn't give him the chance to answer but took off. John hurried after him. He knew what his brother was like; Gordon would drive off without him if he thought John was being too slow.

As he drew level, John realised just how pale his brother was. "Gords-,"

"Don't!" Gordon snapped. "We need to go after them! How long have we been out for?"

John glanced at his watch, wincing at the crack in it. No wonder his wrist hurt. He knew it wouldn't be working as a communicator any more, not with that sort of damage. He shook his head. He wasn't thinking straight; he couldn't figure it out.

"When did they take him?"

"I don't know!" Gordon's voice was distressed and John knew it was partly his fault for asking stupid questions. Gordon had been trapped; it wasn't up to him to monitor everything that had happened. John took a deep breath.

Without another word, they continued to run. John cursed that they had been cautious and parked the car so far away: moving hurt. But he also knew he wasn't stopping. Not only was Virgil gone, now Scott was, too. It felt like a net was closing in on them - and there was no way he was letting Gordon be caught next.

The car came into view and Gordon gave a cry, speeding up. Gordon had left the keys in the ignition upon arrival, but John had pocketed them. His brother held out his hand impatiently even as John drew them out.

"C'mon, gimme the keys and get in. We have to go!" Gordon snapped, not understanding why his brother wasn't hurrying. But John calmly slipped into the back seat and – to Gordon's frustration – opened his laptop.

"John!"

"Where do we go? I can't track a plane – I never found a location for Virgil, remember?" John said bitterly, looking up at Gordon as he waited for something to load. Gordon opened his mouth, a retort on the tip of his tongue before it dawned on him that he had no idea.

"Exactly," John muttered, bending over the screen. Gordon slipped from the driver's seat and climbed in behind him, looking over John's shoulder as he pressed a few buttons.

"Is that a map of the area?" Gordon asked. John nodded, letting the map zoom out as he searched.

"What's that?" Gordon asked, indicating a flashing dot. John glanced at him and grimaced. He was within hitting distance and there was nothing he could do about it.

"You."

"Me? What?"

John raised his eyebrows, waiting for it to click with Gordon. It took Gordon a moment but then his eyes widened.

"You put a tracker on me?" he yelled, staring at his brother, anger in his expression.

John felt heat flooding his cheeks but he stared back.

"Not just you," he said, tapping away at the keyboard until the map zoomed out and started to pan.

"You put one on Scott as well?" Gordon asked.

John nodded, scanning the map as it moved.

"It's in his jacket pocket," he muttered, grinning when another dot finally came onto the screen.

"Got him! They are heading to Kansas."

"Come again?"

"Something Scott said," John muttered, as much to himself as his brother. "He thinks that's where Blag took Virg. He's going in the same direction now. We need to move."

"We should call Dad. Call the cops," Gordon said.

John bit his lip. "Dad," he said, "Dad needs to know what happened."

Their father could pass the message onto the cops. No doubt the man would call them as soon as he realised his sons were absent, even if it was just to try and bring them home again. It would save them time though – they could start moving while their father liaised with the authorities.

"Let's go." Gordon grabbed the keys and raced back around to the driver's side. John was quick to follow him, climbing in and belting up. They were on their own out here; they needed help.

Gordon started the engine, but then, to John's surprise, he stopped.

"There was only one light."

"I know, I didn't put them on you until we got here, that's why Virg hasn't got one. I bet he is…"

"Not Virg." Gordon's voice was heavy with emotion as he turned to face John. "Why haven't you got one?"

"Why would I bug myself?" John asked, nonplussed.

"For the same reason that you bugged us? This is the only thing we have leading us to Scott. What if it was you they had taken? We wouldn't even know where to start. Did you think it wouldn't matter if it was you?"

John stared, flushing at the anger in Gordon's tone. But he knew from Gordon's expression that his brother wasn't angry; he was upset.

John didn't know how to admit that it hadn't even crossed his mind to put one on himself. It had been a task and a half getting the trackers on his brothers without them finding out (he knew what they were like!) and it hadn't dawned on him that he was in the same danger they were.

"Gordon, I… I just didn't think."

"For someone who is supposed to be clever, you really are incredibly stupid, aren't you?"

John couldn't work out if Gordon was being serious or not, so he gave half a shrug and focused on settling the laptop on his lap.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly after a few moments, as Gordon got the car moving. He sensed his little brother glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Just think of what it would do to us if you were the one taken. What it would do to me." The last part was said quietly and John gave his brother's shoulder a squeeze.

"I really am sorry."

"Jerk."

That was all it took for John to know that Gordon had forgiven him. He didn't look up from the screen though, not thinking about where Gordon was going. He had no intention of losing Scott again. After a while of silence, Gordon spoke again.

"I know what you can do to make it up to me."

"What?" John said slowly, instantly suspicious. Gordon gave him a sideways look, a grin tugging on his lips.

"Call Dad. We took the Jeep without him knowing. Taking his plane is going to be a little harder."

John grinned as Gordon put his foot to the floor and the car bounced over rough terrain. John had landed on the far side of the city when they had arrived in New York – it was the only airstrip which had clear airspace at the time. But his father, Scott and Virgil had come in on this side – the family jet was safely stored in an airfield not far from where they currently were. He could contact his father and get permission, then be in the air before his dad realised they had no intention of waiting. His only hope was that despite the head-start Scott and his captors had on them, Brains' modifications would soon make up for lost time.

TBTBTB

Jeff opened his eyes, disorientated. He didn't remember going to bed. But most of the previous day was also a blur; the constant fear was clouding his mind. Swinging his legs off the bed, he sat up but rested his head in his hands, taking a moment to just breathe.

It was harder than it should have been. He had brought the boys here because he wanted to banish the nightmares once and for all. Instead, his actions had catapulted them straight into one, and this time, there was no reassuring hand to wake them up and promise everything was okay. One thought kept echoing through his mind and Jeff couldn't shake it off.

How could this have happened?

He knew they would be extraordinarily lucky if they found Virgil in time. It wasn't that he doubted his son; Virgil could handle himself and was more than a match for most men. But Blag wasn't most men: he wasn't sane, for one thing. For another, Jeff was well aware that the madman had plagued his middle son just as much as his eldest. It wasn't physical attacks that Jeff was most worried about.

Realising that sitting there, dwelling on what could be happening to his son rather than doing something productive about finding him wasn't helping anyone, Jeff stood.

"Scott?" He moved towards the door, running a hand over his face as he did so. Stubble littered his face and he knew he looked as haunted as he felt. "John? Gordon?"

There was no answer. Jeff's heart skipped a beat. He took another deep breath. Surely they were as exhausted as he was; they were getting some rest while they could.

But he couldn't shake the unease at just how silent the apartment was.

The lounge was empty.

Nausea rolled in his stomach. It wasn't the same fear as with Virgil, the terror that someone had taken his sons from under his nose – again.

It was the fear that they had gone and done something stupid.

The thought lodged in his head and Jeff couldn't shake it. He knew that Scott would do anything to get Virgil back. His eldest would have forbidden the others to come but it wouldn't have worked. John would have calmly stated all the reasons why it would take all of them and Gordon would just follow if he thought he was being left out.

Shoving open Scott's door, Jeff's breath caught. It only took seconds to check the other rooms. They were all empty and the beds hadn't been slept in.

"Oh boys," he groaned. For a moment, he stared around the apartment, wondering what to do. He should call the cops and have the boys escorted home. But he knew the police were no closer to finding Virgil and that his sons were good when it came to getting what they wanted. There was every chance they had found a lead and were on their way to finding Virgil.

Should he risk three sons for one?

Was it even his choice?

Jeff crossed to the door. There was a chance the boys were only just leaving and he could talk to them. Not that he had any idea what he would say.

But the corridor was empty and the boys long gone. Sighing, Jeff turned back, but something caught his eye.

There was something on the floor, hidden in the shadow of the door. He stepped out to get a better look. A sharp pain restricted his breathing as panic – a rare emotion for a billionaire – clutched his chest.

This was all too familiar.

Shaking hands reached down and he picked up the laptop. He wanted to leave it. If he never saw it, he wouldn't have to open it and witness something he was certain would haunt him. He could vividly recall the image he had been presented with last time he had opened a mystery laptop.

But he couldn't abandon Virgil. He had to know.

He checked the corridor again but it didn't reveal anything new: it was empty. Jeff made a mental note to have the security cameras checked; someone had walked up to the door to leave it there despite the supposed police presence. The idea that one of Blag's men had been there, without being detected, filled him with dread. The boys had gone – but what if they had still been there? It wouldn't be the first time that Blag had sent someone back for another Tracy.

He stopped there. His sons had put up a fight as children. The apartment would have been destroyed if someone had tried to force entry and threaten one of them now. Jeff was also certain that he wouldn't have slept through a fight. No one had tried to enter.

But even as he closed the door behind him and sank shakily onto the sofa, another unpleasant thought crossed his mind. The cops were supposed to be watching the apartment. Why hadn't the boys been prevented from leaving?

Deciding to deal with one problem at a time, Jeff opened the screen. There was a frozen image waiting for him and it took him a moment to realise it was a video clip. His hand shook as it hovered over the mouse. He didn't want to see: he had to watch. He had to find out where Virgil was.

He hit play.

Then realised it had nothing to do with Virgil's whereabouts.

Instead, he could see the other three.

They were moving towards what looked like a hangar, their movements cautious even though they were running. He watched as something caught Scott's attention, allowing the other two to pass him as he stared towards the camera.

But then everything happened so fast Jeff wasn't certain he processed what happened.

Gordon and John entered the hangar.

They came sprinting out.

Then the entire building exploded, the force knocking the camera to the ground and causing the picture to go fuzzy.

Jeff's hands were clenched into fists and he was on the edge of the sofa, staring at the screen as he waited for some movement from his sons. Smoke billowed across the screen, a large crack distorting the image because of the force of the camera. He heard shouting, but he couldn't be certain that it wasn't just in his head. If one son could make it, so could the others and he willed himself to hear their shouts and calls.

But no one came into view. There were no clear sounds, certainly no voices. Nothing moved apart from the smoke swirling in front of the camera. Then the screen went black.

Jeff sat back, his strength disappearing and his breath coming in shaky gasps.

Could he have just seen three of his sons being killed?

That was when his cell rang and John's name lit up both his screen and his heart.

TBTBTB

Scott felt himself rocking from side to side, but his sluggish mind couldn't work out how. It wasn't his own doing, as he was trying to make sure he didn't move. He hurt all over. His arm throbbed uncomfortably and he felt blood drying on the side of his face. His mind was woozy and Scott wasn't sure why.

Focusing on the movement allowed some clarity to return and he knew he had to get to his brothers. They needed him. They were hurt or….

Scott managed to lurch to one side, eyes burning as his stomach emptied itself. He told himself that it was the smoke. Then he vaguely remembered being drugged. Any excuse other than the idea that his brothers might be dead and there was nothing he could do...

His movement and subsequent actions revealed there were people surrounding him as rough hands grabbed his shoulders and forced him to roll back until he was flat. Scott tried to struggle and sit up. Didn't they understand that John and Gordon were hurt? That Virgil needed him to hurry up and get there?

"Tie him down," a voice muttered gruffly and Scott's mind cleared.

Of course these people didn't care; they were the ones who had caused the explosion in the first place! Anger flooded him and Scott tried to wrench free of the hands holding him down. The space around him – Scott had yet to work out where he was – lurched dangerously as he moved, but he didn't care. He seemed to be on some sort of trolley in an enclosed space, but all Scott focused on was swinging his legs over the side.

This time, two men grabbed his arms, forcing him down again. Scott struggled, but he was too weak in his current state to be able to pull his wrists free. Another man wrapped a strong arm around his feet, clamping them down and stopping Scott from kicking out. From what he could make out, they were threading thick leather cuffs through the bars of the trolley, one on either side and then another on the end. Once they were secured, Scott's wrists and ankles were wrestled through them, more men adding their weight as he struggled to stop them from doing up the buckles.

It didn't matter what he tried, though - there was nothing he could do to stop them from strapping him down. The men stepped back, panting as they sat down again, leaving Scott struggling in earnest against the restraints. He gave up after a few moments, knowing that he was better conserving his strength. He wouldn't be able to break free of the straps. Falling still, he let his gaze roam around his prison and tried to work out where he was.

As the whole room seemed to wobble, understanding dawned on him. He wasn't in a room, but the back of a truck. He was also certain he hadn't been in the truck the entire time; he remembered regaining consciousness just long enough to feel a familiar swoop in his stomach that could only mean one thing: turbulence. They must have had a plane waiting at the hangar, crossed a few states in it before landing and switching to the roads for the final part of the journey.

Despite the dread forming in his stomach that their destination might involve Blag, Scott felt a surge of hope. Their location – if he knew the way Blag thought (which he thought he did by now) – might also involve Virgil. It was going to be so much easier rescuing his little brother if he was in the same place as him.

Scott would have tried to figure out where he was being taken – planning would be easier if he knew where he was. But, having no idea how long he had been unconscious or in what direction the truck was travelling, Scott knew it was a pointless exercise.

Struggling wouldn't work, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try and escape somehow. By rocking his body from side to side, Scott quickly established that the trolley seemed to be actually attached to the truck itself rather than being something they had wheeled in. While that made it harder to break free of it right now, he knew in the long run that it was going to help. They would have to untie him to get him out, meaning that Scott would have an opportunity to escape when they released the straps.

With that in mind, the pilot soon lost himself to the rocking motion of the vehicle. The sedative was still strong in his system and none of the men were paying him any attention. Scott drifted off.

Sleeping allowed his mind the escape that his body was denied.

It stopped him from thinking about John and Gordon's fates.

He wasn't sure how long he slept for, but Scott's eyes peeled open when the truck stopped moving. He instantly tensed under the straps, his entire body rigid as he prepared to fight to get away with everything he had.

The men all stood up, the majority throwing up the doors and jumping out. Scott felt his hands closing into fists, preparing to drop the men the second they unstrapped him.

He was never given the chance.

One of them stepped right up to the trolley and, before Scott could so much as glare at him, forced a gun under the pilot's chin. He was pressing hard, forcing Scott's head to crane up in order to be able to still breathe.

"Listen to me, and listen well, boy. You're about to fight for your life, I can see that. But hear this – every one of my men you hit, I'll deliver that number of blows to your brother. If you leave this truck without my men, I'll shoot him in the head. And don't think you can find him first. I'm in direct contact with someone who is keeping Virgil company, you understand?"

The gun disappeared and Scott stared at him. The man held his gaze before nodding and stepping back. Two more men took his place - one either side - and began to unstrap his hands. When they were free, Scott glanced over at the one with the gun. He was toying with it casually, but raised his eyebrows at Scott's glance. It was obvious he was waiting to see what would happen while the men unstrapped his feet.

Scott wanted to call his bluff, wanted to be able to floor all three men, make a run for it, find Virgil and get away with his brother safe. But it wasn't worth the risk. Even if his captor wasn't in contact with someone else, Scott had no idea where he was. He was certain that he would be the one to be shot if he ran. It wasn't as if these men seemed to care whether he lived or died, not considering the force of the explosion.

But if he was shot, it would mean his father would be no closer to finding Virgil.

He forced the tension out of his body as he was untied and didn't resist as the men hauled him off the trolley. Their grip was tight and harsh, his arms twisted awkwardly behind his back as they bundled him from the truck. It took more effort to not resist than it did to struggle, but Scott somehow remained limp as he was pushed out and forced along. The afternoon sun blinded him. It had been morning when they had stormed the hangar and, despite feeling like he had been out cold for days, Scott knew only a matter of hours had passed.

Their grip didn't lessen as the man with the gun led the way. To Scott's bewilderment, they seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. A large house could be seen in the distance, and a forest just beyond that, but where he was – nothing. They stopped, causing Scott to look down. Set in a concrete slab was a pair of locked doors and Scott knew they would lead down into the earth. The gun was pocketed as a key was pulled free and the doors unlocked. Two men pulled Scott's arms behind him, binding them there as the doors were thrown open.

Scott didn't have time to question anything, however, for a shove in between his shoulder blades sent him falling through the door and rolling down a set of stone steps. He grimaced, his body protesting as he raised his head, attempting to see where he was. He wasn't alone, though.

"Scott?" a very familiar voice breathed, before there came a sickening thud and a groan of pain.