Time for another chapter...

John watched Virgil sleep, his chin propped on one hand, his gaze unfocused as he tried to stay awake. His laptop was open, balanced precariously on his knees, running a background search. He didn't have the focus for anything else. If the cops walked in, he would be in trouble.

But his father wouldn't let anyone into the room without warning. Not even the cops.

Especially not the cops.

He hadn't been able to concentrate since they had arrived at the hospital. Initially, he'd understood why – he'd needed to know if his brother was going to pull through. Then he'd wanted Virgil to wake up. Until Virgil had opened his eyes, they'd had no idea if he had been under water for too long.

Even after they were allowed into Virgil's room, the memory of the following few hours was a blur. John had spent the entire time in a haze of exhaustion. After he had escaped the nurses – smirking as Gordon had to remain and get his leg properly seen to – John had refused to leave the hospital, regardless of what argument his father put forward.

Matt woke shortly after they were allowed into Virgil's room. The three Tracys visited in turn but John knew he was not the only one who didn't feel welcome. Nicole didn't blame them; she made that clear, her hand on John's arm and tears in her eyes. But she was going to be taking care of Matt and John didn't envy Matt's doctors. He knew it was her way of dealing with what had happened and he had left after a few moments of talking to Matt to see what he remembered.

His father was harassing Virgil's doctor, Gordon was getting something to eat and Virgil was asleep. This was John's chance to start searching in earnest without any distractions. But other than setting up a search, John didn't know what to do. He had tried tracking the helicopter but stumbled into blocks rather than finding results. He was supposed to be good at this: he should have been able to get past the firewalls. But he couldn't. His fingers felt clumsy.

The same had happened the day before as well, and that had been before Virgil had made him swear he would find their brother. Gordon had eventually leant over and shut the laptop, taking it away from John and refusing to give it back until John had at least gone for a walk. Gordon's comment about not wanting John to get arrested by hitting the wrong buttons hadn't helped.

He had been furious with his brother. But as soon as he had left – been banished – from Virgil's room, he realised Gordon was right. His thoughts were sluggish and slow, exhaustion clouding his mind. Instead, he had put in a call to Brains, asking him to set up the initial checks and – to Gordon's surprise – gone and got some rest. A few hours later and he'd returned to Virgil's room, in time to relieve his exhausted father and – once again – hungry brother.

He wondered now, staring at his brother, if subconsciously he had known how Virgil would react when he woke up. He would hide it from their father and wouldn't admit it to Gordon. But if the rest of them had been afraid and desperate, it must be nothing compared to what Virgil was feeling. He'd needed to lash out, to vent his frustration over recent events, and John had somehow guessed he would be the one to take the brunt of that.

Virgil was used to Scott telling him that it was going to be okay. If he was honest, John was used to that too. He felt he had let his big brother down, being unable to reach Virgil properly in order to calm him.

John didn't notice time passing as he stared at Virgil. He couldn't say for sure he was looking at his brother – he wasn't sure he was looking at anything at all. His thoughts were stuck in a continuous loop: wanting to find Scott, not knowing where to start, wanting to find Scott…

"Breaking the law again?"

John jumped, the laptop starting to slide off his lap. Fingers fumbling, he caught it before it hit the floor, placing it on the table next to Virgil's bed. With his heart still thudding faster than normal, he turned as Gordon smirked sheepishly at him.

"Only me." He entered the room, swinging a chair around and straddling it backwards, his arms crossed across the top and his chin resting on them. He didn't look at John but instead stared at Virgil.

"I thought you were getting food?"

"I got. I ate. I came back." Gordon shrugged, finally glancing at John. "He woken up yet?"

John nodding, exhaling sharply. He wanted to keep this from Gordon – it was up to him to look out for his younger brothers, especially since Scott wasn't here. But he couldn't do this alone; if he kept what Virgil had said to himself, John knew it would eat away at him until he believed his brother.

"For long enough to yell at me for not having already found Scott."

"He doesn't mean-," Gordon began but John cut him off.

"I know," he said. He ran his fingers through his hair, the frustration building in him. He had never hit so many dead-ends. He had managed to track the plane that had taken Virgil, after all. Now, however, he wondered if that was only because Blag had let him. His dad was right about what he had said previously: Blag was the only one John hadn't triumphed over in all his years of hacking.

"I should've found something by now." His elbows rested on his legs as he sagged, his head dropping towards his chest. He felt deflated. Defeated even.

This was his fault!

He had been so convinced he had tracked down Virgil when they had found the hangar, he had never stopped to think it could be a trap. He kept seeing the explosive device waiting for them, hearing Gordon's sharp intake of breath when he realised what it was. Scott wouldn't have been taken if John had checked things properly.

But they wouldn't have found Virgil.

He wished he could work out which was the stronger emotion: guilt or relief. Of course he had wanted to find Virgil and get his brother away from a madman intent on destroying them. But he hadn't intended sacrificing Scott in the process.

"I found this."

John looked up as Gordon tossed him something. He caught it, then smiled gratefully when he recognised the candy bar. He kept sending Gordon to get food but had forgotten he hadn't eaten himself. Gordon clearly knew there was no chance of him leaving and he was thankful to avoid the argument.

"Have you seen Dad?" he asked, tearing open the wrapper and taking a bite. Gordon rolled his eyes.

"He was leaving Matt's room as I was heading back. I tried to tell him to go and get some rest but…"

"He hasn't turned up here," John said, knowing Gordon hated feeling helpless.

His brother had literally saved Virgil's life. Since then, there had been nothing for him to do apart from sit around and try to persuade their father to rest and eat – despite the man not listening. John might be failing at finding a trace of his brother but at least he had something to occupy him. Gordon was a man of action: their lifestyle suited him. Hanging around a hospital waiting for something to happen didn't.

Gordon gave him a terse smile, both of them daring to hope their father had finally listened and gone to get some rest.

But the pain and frustration still lingered in his eyes and John sighed. This wasn't just the emotional pain of sitting around doing nothing.

For Gordon, the physical pain of doing exactly that was starting to take its toll. John, too, was still feeling the aches and bruises of the explosion and knew Gordon was uncomfortable.

"The hotel has a pool," he said quietly.

"Congratulations," Gordon said. His scathing tone didn't fool John: the sudden stiffening of his shoulders indicated he knew exactly what John was referring to. John sighed; he should have guessed Gordon would protest when it came to looking out for himself: he was a Tracy after all.

"Gordon."

"No."

"Gords-,"

"No, John," Gordon glared at him, "I'm staying. You go if the pool is so great."

There was one thing that made Gordon snap: talking about his past. John watched him steadily for a moment, working out what to say to make his brother listen to him. He had previously joked about having the man admitted if he refused to get some rest. The only thing stopping him right now that lying in a hospital bed wouldn't ease Gordon's back.

"You're no good to Virgil - to Scott - if you can't move," he said quietly. "You're Virg's co-pilot – he knows more than the rest of us what sitting for a long period of time does, he's had to hear you moan about it. When he wakes up and sees you sitting like that, he's gonna flip."

Trying to make it about Virgil was the only thing John could think of doing. But Gordon still opened his mouth, protests at the ready.

John spoke first.

"Please."

It was the only tactic he had left. But John knew – deep down – he didn't want Gordon on form just for his brother's sake. He needed one of them functioning, lightening the situation and defusing tempers. He couldn't take Virgil accusing him again without Gordon there to promise he didn't mean it. Unless his brother helped himself, Gordon would be in no state to help anyone – even John.

But it worked: Gordon shut his eyes and sighed before climbing to his feet. His movements were stiff and John knew it wasn't just reluctance.

"I'll be an hour-,"

"You'll be all night," John interrupted. "Get some sleep, Gords."

"No way!"

"You can sit with him all day tomorrow while I sleep," John lied. Gordon wanted to watch out for Virgil just as much as the older ones. John felt bad for trying to play his brother, but the look on Gordon's face indicated he was seeing straight through him. It worked though – Gordon started scuffing towards the door.

"You realise how early I wake up, right?" he grumbled, his voice barely audible. John grinned but didn't say anything. Gordon was leaving; he wasn't going to jeopardise that.

"Nicely done."

John jumped, glancing at Virgil. His brother's voice was hoarse but his eyes were open. Virgil gave him a weak smile.

"How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough to hear you go all big brother on Gordon's butt."

John sagged in relief, then glanced at Virgil. His brother was too busy trying to stay awake to notice. But there was no indication he had heard Gordon attempting to reassure John about his previous outburst. John hadn't taken the words to heart, but he knew Virgil would regret them if he understood what he had actually said.

He leant forward, one hand resting on the bed to support himself.

"How're you-,"

"Don't ask." Virgil's tone was blunt and, despite the answer, John grinned. He could see (and hear) how bad Virgil was feeling. No wonder his brother didn't want to have to put it into words.

But before he could say anything, Virgil shifted until his hand momentarily rested against John's.

"About before…"

"Virg-,"

"I shouldn't have said it." The distress in Virgil's voice made John withdraw his hand and rest it on his brother's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. He had hoped that Virgil wouldn't remember what he had said.

"It's okay, Virg," he said softly.

"No. No, it's not." Virgil shook his head and John flinched – his brother sounded more upset than previously. "He's going to kill him, Johnny," Virgil whispered, "or worse."

"Worse?" John didn't want to know. But he had to.

"Everything he did to me," Virgil whispered, his voice cracking. John was startled to see tears in his brother's eyes, although he didn't know if they were pain, frustration or a combination of both. "It was just to get to Scott. He didn't care if any of us lived or died. Me, you, Gords, Matt… It was all just to hurt Scott."

John couldn't initially speak. He couldn't offer false reassurances, not this time. Virgil knew better than he did what Blag was capable of. He also knew how much it would be killing Scott to not know if they were dead or alive.

But it was up to him now. He had to banish that expression from Virgil's face. He had to give his brothers, his family, hope. It was what Scott would have done.

He gave his brother's shoulder another squeeze.

"No," he said, his tone firm. "We're going to get Scott out. Besides, he's going to be giving them hell for what they did to you. Don't worry; he'll be okay."

Virgil's look told John he knew what his brother was trying to do. He didn't argue though but gave up on his fight to stay awake.

As he watched his brother fall asleep, John reached for his laptop again.

"You hear that, Scotty?" he murmured as he opened the lid. "Give them hell."

TBTB

Cold.

He was so cold.

For a long moment, consciousness slowly trickling back, that was the only thing Scott was aware of. Violent shudders wracked his body and his teeth were chattering. A groan attempted to escape but he stopped it. He had to keep silent.

Why didn't he want anyone to know he was awake?

Feeling started to return to his numb body. He was sprawled across what felt like a concrete floor, face down. Opening his eyes, Scott looked around the best he could without moving his head. He couldn't see a lot but mainly because there wasn't a lot to see. Blank, grey concrete walls meeting a blank, grey concrete floor met his searching gaze.

He involuntarily shifted, tensed, then relaxed when nothing happened. His movement brought a wave of memories with it and he suddenly understood why he was being careful. This wasn't the first time he had woken up. Only last time, he had given away that he was alert and the next thing he knew, there was a needle in his neck and blackness had closed in before he had done anything more than moan.

There was no reaction to his movement. He risked another look around – properly this time – and realised he was alone. Sitting up, he crawled across to the wall and leant back against it, hugging his knees to his chest in an attempt to conserve heat. The room he was in couldn't be bigger than ten paces wide or deep. There were no windows and a heavy, solid door that had a small grille in the top. Scott shivered again, and this time it wasn't the cold.

He could only remember the second drugging. He had no idea if it had happened more than that: he could have been here for days and been kept unconscious and he wouldn't know.

If he had been missing for days, had anyone found Virgil? Did this family know what had happened? That Virgil was…

He stopped there.

Virgil wasn't dead. Scott refused to believe it. He couldn't piece together a situation in which his brother had miraculously freed himself before the water had been too deep, but he had to believe it had happened. He would know if his brother was dead. He and Virgil had always been close as children but that had cemented into something more as they fought against nature and death time and time again as adults. They had a bond and Scott would know if his brother had been killed.

But he was so cold, so numb… Could he have lost Virgil?

John and Gordon as well. He had no clue whether his brothers had survived the explosion. Blag knew – Scott was certain of it. But he hadn't seen the man since he had been pulled from the crypt and had no indication either way.

His brothers were fighters… they had been so much closer to the blast than him… they had survived worse…

Blag's men had been waiting for them…

Scott snarled, digging his nails into his palms. The sharp pain cut through his spiralling thoughts. He couldn't give in to helplessness. He had to believe his brothers had survived, all three of them. And if not… If he couldn't save them, Scott was going to make damn sure he avenged them, even if it was the last thing he did.

He couldn't just sit there and wait for whatever Blag was going to do him. Lurching up, Scott grabbed at the wall as the entire room span around him. His stomach rolled and he wondered if he was going to be sick. Lethargy pulled at him, dragging him down and he scrabbled wildly for purchase as his legs gave way. He sank back down the wall, fighting to hold onto consciousness. But he couldn't and darkness flooded his vision before he noticed he was passing out.

His mind was clearer when he next woke. He stayed still, knowing moving too suddenly would risk him blacking out again. He tensed, slowly moving each limb one at a time, trying to work out how he was feeling. He looked around as he did so.

His previous thoughts about the room were correct. It was small and bland. Scott had only experienced claustrophobia once before but he tried to not to think about how close the walls felt.

He suddenly realised there was something in the far corner. Steeling himself, he carefully drew himself to his feet, keeping one hand on the wall as he moved across. His estimate about the size of the cell was correct.

It was a blanket, as non-descript in colour as the rest of the room, thrown in a heap. Not thinking about what he was doing, Scott picked it up. It was of reasonable quality and his fingers closed around the fabric for a moment. But he wouldn't give Blag the satisfaction. Automatically, he folded it with military precision and put it back on the floor. He could practically see Virgil's disbelieving expression, but right now, his pride was the only thing left to him.

Scott glanced around. Then he picked up the blanket, shook it out and went through a show of refolding it, all the while using his movements to disguise the fact he was checking for surveillance. He couldn't see anything but knew from years of living with Brains that didn't mean anything.

He couldn't detect anything. Slowly, cautiously, he started searching his cell. They weren't in Kansas any longer, that was certain. But with no windows, Scott had no idea where they were. He only assumed it was somewhere cold as he attempted to stop his shivering.

He avoided the door. If there was surveillance anywhere, it would be covering the door. He wanted longer to prepare himself before he alerted his captors to the fact he was conscious. They might already know, but all Scott cared about was that they were leaving him in peace for the time being.

He wasn't certain what he was looking for. Some indication of where he was, some hidden weakness or item he could use to defend himself. It was unlikely, but Scott methodically searched every inch of the room, ignoring the growing thirst as he worked. Not knowing how long he had been there was an overwhelming and uncomfortable feeling, so he did his utmost to avoid thinking about it. He couldn't deny it had been a long time since he had last drunk, though.

Eventually, Scott neared the door. The grille was at head-height, three bars preventing him from getting his hand through. He peered out. The same grey stonework lined the corridor beyond but, although Scott checked in either direction, he couldn't see anything that would identify where he was being held.

He shook the door, tried pushing and pulling. But it didn't even rattle. He tried to examine a lock, only to find there wasn't one. He guessed it must have been bolted from the other side. Reaching out, Scott grasped the bars, wrenching against them. They refused to give and he settled for attempting to force his hand through a too-small gap, trying to stretch for a bolt that was out of reach.

There was no way of keeping track of time: his watch was long gone and the lack of natural light meant it could be dawn or dusk for all he knew. Scott had no idea how long he fought against the door. All he managed to achieve was a long scrape up the side of his hand.

Finally though, he realised he could hear footsteps. A glance down the corridor revealed which direction the person was coming from, but that was all Scott had time for before he backed away.

He didn't know if they had been watching him fight the door. But he had no intention of making things easy.

By the time a face appeared in the bars Scott was slumped against the wall, the blanket spread over him, hiding the tension running through his body. The man was one he didn't recognise – another lackey at Blag's disposal, no doubt. Scott blearily looked towards him as the man chuckled darkly, opening the door.

The man left it open as he entered. There was a bundle in one hand and a gun in the other. Scott knew by the way the man handled the weapon that he knew what he was doing.

The man threw the bundle at Scott. It landed next to him and he realised it was clothing. It looked the same grey as the rest of the room and he shuddered. He didn't know where he was but he knew it couldn't be anywhere good. He looked at them, then glanced back at the man.

"Change," the man ordered. He gestured towards the clothes with his gun before training it back on Scott. Scott didn't move, pretending to look confused despite it being obvious what the man wanted from him.

"Change," he repeated, a menacing tone in his voice. Scott slowly stood up but kept the blanket over his body.

"I can't," he said. He glared at the man. "Not while you're watching."

The state he and his brothers had got into over the years, especially on rescues, meant this would hardly be the first time he had changed in front of a stranger. He kept himself in shape – he was proud of the fitness level he had achieved. But right now, a dull blanket and a childish whine in his voice was the only defence he had as an idea formed in his mind.

Anger clouded the man's mind and he gestured with the gun. Scott stared obstinately back. If this man worked for Blag, then it shouldn't come as a surprise that Scott was digging his heels in. Eventually – with an elaborate eye roll - the man moved. He turned his back but planted himself directly between Scott and the door.

Scott moved fast. He darted forward before the man had finished moving, not giving him the time to find a balanced position. He threw the blanket, luck more than judgement meaning it landed over the man's head, momentarily blinding him. Scott crashed into his back, grabbing hold of the fabric so the man couldn't just pull it off. They fell to the floor in a tangle but Scott got the upper hand, planting his knee in the man's back as he tried to wrestle the gun from his grip.

Finally, panting hard and with his vision swimming, he got a grip on the weapon and wrenched it from the man's hand. Without pausing, he slammed it into the guard's head and his struggles instantly stopped. Ignoring the fact that he was shaking, Scott dragged the unconscious man across the room before draping the blanket back over him. He hoped, at a glance, someone looking in would be fooled as to who it was.

He didn't wait around to see if his ploy would work. Instead, he darted to the open door and out into the corridor beyond. While he still couldn't see cameras, he knew they would be there. This complex – from what Scott could see – looked secure. Blag wouldn't risk Scott being able to run around and not know about it.

But Scott still took a moment to shut the door and took great satisfaction in driving the bolts home. The more time he could buy, the further away he had a chance of getting before anyone even realised he was gone.

With the door secured, he glanced each way before setting off. He went in the direction he had seen the man come from. It increased the chances of finding other people, but he also thought it might increase his chance of finding the way out.

He couldn't think about his brothers right now, couldn't dwell on what their fate was. If he wanted to avenge them, then he had to find Blag.

He had to get out of there.