John stared after Virgil, biting his lip. He wanted to go with him - wanted to find Scott himself. It was because of him they had got this far, after all.

But however good Gordon was, he couldn't hold the men off on his own and they needed to stick together. Spreading out across the tunnels, with who-knew how many men searching for them, was a good way for it all to go horribly wrong.

"Don't worry," Gordon said, elbowing him in the ribs. "He's got this."

"You're the one who didn't want him down here."

"Since when did you guys listen to me?" Gordon was checking his ammunition as he spoke and John smiled. Gordon hadn't changed his mind: he didn't want Virgil there. But that was now out of their hands and Gordon was doing what he always did – making the best of a bad situation.

They could still hear the men in the opposite tunnel but John was reassured he couldn't hear anything from behind them. Blag clearly didn't have unlimited men, despite his nightmares taunting him otherwise.

He looked around. There were three tunnels: the one Virgil had taken curved down into the ground, a dark, foreboding place. The other – where the men were sheltering – appeared to slope upwards. The final led back to the exit, the way they had just come.

They were in an open space, a convergence of all three tunnels. The men had clearly been using it – bottles were strewn in one direction and the same boxes that had littered their tunnel – either supplies for the men here, or supplies from a long time ago – had been moved and used as chairs and tables.

The lighting was dim, filtering through from the strip lights John could see flickering in the other tunnels. He shuddered, his keen imagination telling him Blag had found the perfect dungeon, a place straight out of an old book.

"Here."

Gordon handed him the small handgun and unslung a rifle from his back. He tipped a crate, using it as support as he set it up, training it on the opening of the other tunnel. John tested the weight and sighed; he had never been as good with a weapon as the rest of them. It made sense for Scott and Gordon to be good shots, but Virgil had picked it up quickly as well. His hand-eye coordination had always been strong.

John, on the other hand…

"You don't have to hit anything," Gordon said, "just stop them from going after Virg. Just, you know, try and aim?"

John mock-glared but his brother didn't notice. He was adjusting the scope, looking for movement. John didn't want to disturb him and settled on checking the ammunition.

They crouched in silence, unwilling to break from their cover. Every moment they held the men off was another moment Virgil had to find Scott. But John knew it wouldn't last; the men would make a move eventually. They were hired muscle - paid thugs whose job it was to do this sort of thing.

That moment came too soon, though. Gordon's intake of breath was the only warning John received before a bullet thudded into the crate. Instinct made John rock back before he realised their cover was effective – the wood was denser than John had believed. Gordon had already let off a round; stone splintered from the wall and a figure ducked hastily out of view.

But their adversaries were done waiting. Gordon adjusted his aim but two men sprung from the tunnel. They split up, moving fast. Gordon focused on one and John belatedly raised his gun, firing towards the second. He didn't come close to hitting, but he did make the man pause and dive behind a second crate, knocking it over to shield behind it the way they were.

It was enough encouragement for the other men to break their cover. Two fell, one clutching a bloody leg and one utterly still, when they didn't move in time to avoid Gordon. But then it went quiet, a stand-off between the two sides as they both sheltered from the other.

Gordon suddenly swore, but before John could ask, a burst of light flooded the tunnel. He squinted, then realised the door leading to the outside was open. A few of the men must have bolted when they weren't looking. Gordon rose, but John grabbed his arm and yanked him down again.

John could have kicked himself. All they – he – had focused on was getting in, then covering Virgil, not wanting the men to go further into the tunnels. He hadn't thought that about getting out again.

"If they get the plane-," Gordon began, his eyes wide. The wild panic in his expression helped clear John's mind.

"They won't. You forget – Dad's served, just like you and Scott. He can handle them. We have to stop them going after Virg. Dad can handle any his end."

"One problem," Gordon muttered, although the panic was fading from his eyes. "They're blocking our way out."

John cursed. Either way, this was going to end in bloodshed. But his hand was steady as he aimed again. These men were working with Blag. They were responsible for the explosion that could have killed Gordon, they had taken Scott and they had nearly succeeded in killing Virgil. John may have been the quietest of the five brothers but when it came to protecting his family, he rivalled Scott.

"Then let's clear them out," he said. Gordon looked at him, fierce approval shining in his eyes as he gave a curt nod.

The door slammed shut, plunging the tunnel back into darkness. Before their opponents could adapt to the change in lighting, they both stood. The men opened fire, but were then forced to duck as John and Gordon returned fire. Bullets slammed into the men's shelter and satisfaction flooded John when a large chunk splintered off and Gordon's next shot went straight through the hole they had created, causing a man to yell out.

"Reload!"

John followed Gordon's command without thinking, dropping back and catching the ammo his brother tossed at him. They worked quickly and John slammed the new rounds into his gun faster than he knew how. But the men had heard Gordon's instruction and they took advantage of the respite to start shooting back. When John peered out, he realised they were splitting up again.

"We can't let them flank us."

"Impressive, Johnny," Gordon said, grinning.

John smirked. "I spend most of my life coordinating you guys," he said, "I know when you're in trouble before you do. Let's move."

"Copy that."

Gordon flung himself out, staying on his stomach as he shot at the men approaching them. John took the other side, managing to drop a man before emptying his clip attempting to stop two more approaching.

He made to retreat when he realised one of the men was attempting to skirt around him, heading towards the tunnel leading underground.

But John couldn't let him go. Virgil was down there, attempting to save Scott. With a yell, John threw himself forward, crashing into the stunned man and sending them both toppling to the ground. The man didn't have time to react before John slammed the gun into his temple, knocking him out.

He suddenly heard Gordon grunt in pain and spun around. His brother had remained low, keeping out of eyeline. But one of the men had spotted him, used his comrades as cover and got close enough to strike out. The first kick had sent the rifle spinning out of Gordon's hand and, as John turned, the second drove into Gordon's stomach, winding him. But he didn't strike again: he levelled his weapon at Gordon instead.

John fired. The shot went wide but it made the man turn his attention to John. He tried firing again, but there was only a loud click and he cursed, knowing he couldn't reload in the time it took the man to pull the trigger. As his opponent stepped towards him, smirking, John suddenly realised he was alone. Everyone else was either still and silent, or groaning in the shadows. The man had sacrificed his friends to get close to Gordon.

But Gordon wasn't the one in trouble now.

John stepped to one side and the man copied him. Slowly, the pair circled each other. John formed a vague plan of getting closer to Gordon and getting more ammunition, despite knowing it wouldn't be enough. But his opponent didn't have that problem, calmly reloading his gun even as he shadowed John's movements.

As the clip slotted into place and the man once again aimed, John froze. He was closer to Gordon now, but he didn't dare take another step. He didn't know how good the Russian was at aiming; he couldn't risk Gordon.

"No," Gordon suddenly gasped and John glanced to the side. Gordon had made it to his knees, horror in his expression as he took in the sight in front of him.

"Get them out," John ordered. There was nothing else he could say, his mind blank as he just stared at the gun aimed at him.

The man smirked, his grip shifting as his finger started to squeeze.

"No!"

Gordon was no longer on his knees. He crashed into John even as the gun fired, both of them hitting the ground hard.

Gordon's yell rang in John's ears as he struggled to sit up, staring at the blood on his hands. He wasn't hit though, he couldn't feel anything…

"Gordon!"

His brother's face was contorted with pain, one hand pressed against his shoulder. Blood was seeping through his fingers and his face was already pale.

"Behind you," Gordon grunted.

John spun sharply. The man was aiming again, using John's distraction to take his time. John didn't hesitate: he threw himself forward, colliding with his attacker, grappling for the gun. It went off, but the shot went wild, spinning harmlessly into thin air. John managed to get a grip and he wrenched the gun out of the man's hand, elbowing him hard as he did so before stepping away.

The man stepped towards them again but John shook his head and squeezed the trigger. The man dropped with a scream, his hand clutching his leg. John shrugged even as he hit him over the head with his own weapon, silencing him. No one needed to know he had been aiming higher up.

Then he threw the gun away.

"Gords…" Dropping to his knees, he pulled Gordon's hands away from the wound so he could examine it himself. While he might not have done as much field-work as the others and it showed in his weapon handling, he was more than capable at medical emergencies.

The bullet had gone straight through his brother's arm and John sat him up, leaning him back on the wall. A quick search of one of the unconscious men revealed a knife and John sliced the bottom of his shirt, creating long strips of linen that he bound tightly around Gordon's shoulder.

"Grandma is going to kill you," Gordon muttered, his voice tight with pain.

"What did you do that for?" John ignored Gordon's attempt to be funny. He tied the last knot and curled his hand around Gordon's neck. "You idiot. You could have been killed."

"You-," Gordon eyes screwed up as he attempted to shift position, his opposite hand cradling his arm as he tried to prevent it from moving. John didn't need him to explain what he was doing: it was an action he was all too familiar with.

"You did it for me," Gordon rasped. "Time to return the favour."

"You're an idiot," John told him again. Checking none of the men would be a threat to his brother, he moved across the room, dragging another crate towards them. It was littered with bullet holes and wouldn't stand another onslaught, but it made John feel better. He fetched Gordon's rifle and reloaded all the guns. This time, he handed his brother one of the handguns.

"Can your shoulder handle that?" Gordon muttered, nodded at the rifle and looking utterly perplexed when John laughed.

"Better than yours can," he said.

"Oh…yeah…." Gordon's voice was faint with pain and John knew his brother was in shock. The gun dropped from his limp fingers as he tentatively hovered his hand over the bandage. "Why didn't you tell me how much it hurt?"

"Not the kind of question I'm going to be truthful about to my kid brother, is it?"

"Not a kid."

"No." John looked at his brother and smiled. "Thank you. You saved my life."

Gordon waved his uninjured arm dismissively. "Like I said: repaying the favour."

John didn't have anything to say to that. He took off his jacket and draped it around his brother's shoulders but shivered when he sat back against the wall, his gaze locked on the tunnel where his brother had disappeared.

"Johnny?"

"Yeah?" He glanced at Gordon. His eyes were shut but his body tense.

"What if Blag's down there?"

John didn't answer: he assumed that Blag was there. Gordon continued.

"Can Virgil handle him?"

"He has to," John said. Virgil had made the call to follow them in and John hoped whatever his brother had taken to make him move so swiftly kept working long enough for him to find Scott and get them both out. But Virgil was on his own now – John couldn't leave Gordon here and his brother wouldn't be able to handle moving deeper into the tunnel. He debated whether he could get Gordon back to the plane but knew Gordon would refuse to go.

They had come here together. They would end it, together.

John stared into the darkness of the tunnel. He was used to monitoring everything: signals, communications, heat spots: he knew where everyone was and what they were doing at all times in a dangerous situation. Only this time, he was blind, relying on instincts rather than his beloved computers and he didn't like it.

"He has to," he repeated softly, as much to himself as Gordon. All he could do was wait and continue staring at the tunnel, praying the next people to emerge from it were his brothers.

Virgil watched as Blag came closer. Instinct was telling him to duck to one side, get behind the man so Blag couldn't force him into a corner. But he couldn't. He couldn't leave Scott undefended. He risked a glance at his brother but had no way of telling whether he was conscious or not.

Blag closed the distance between them and Virgil stumbled, dazed, when the man punched him. His tactic wasn't working. He couldn't help Scott if he didn't survive and while it went against his nature to leave his brother, drawing Blag's attention away gave Scott more of a chance.

He moved back, keeping in reach so Blag could swing for him again. This time, Virgil ducked, goading the man into stepping towards him.

"You've got no lackeys to hold me down this time," Virgil said, jabbing out himself. His words had distracted Blag just enough and Virgil felt a rush of satisfaction as his punch landed and Blag backed off a pace.

"Haven't I?"

Blag pulled a radio out of his belt, his gaze never leaving Virgil. He pressed a button.

"Chekov, come in."

There was no answer, just as Virgil knew there wouldn't be. He had taken the radio and dropped it outside Chekov's cell, worried the man would regain consciousness. Blag tried again.

"Chekov?" He suddenly noticed Virgil's smirk. When Blag glared at him, Virgil shrugged.

"Chekov can't come to the phone right now," he said in mock-seriousness. "But if that was your idea of a welcome party, thanks. Gave me the chance to repay a debt."

Blag lunged for him. Virgil held him off, but just as he was gaining the upper hand, Blag landed a blow to his midriff. Virgil struggled to catch his breath, shoving Blag away to give himself to recover from the blow.

"You may have been saved," Blag said, "but you're not strong enough to fight me. You're not strong enough to save him."

"I've always managed it up until now," Virgil spat. Blag's glare deepened and Virgil knew he was not the only one thinking of his interruption at the hospital all those years ago.

"Maybe I underestimated you," Blag said. "Maybe you should be the one I try and break."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Virgil said, straightening up, "but I'll pass. Thanks."

Blag moved forward again. Virgil waited until the last second, making Blag's movements overconfident before darting to one side, then slamming into the man from behind and sending him stumbling into the wall.

He might be weak considering his brush with death. But he had an active and healthy lifestyle and he was fighting for something other than himself. It was obvious Blag hadn't avoided the prison gym though; Virgil hadn't previously realised the man was fit and strong. He didn't know what he had expected when he had come down here, but he knew Blag matched him for physical strength right now. He was going to have to rely on planning and wits.

"Give in, boy," Blag snarled, "and I'll make it quick. You can save your brother the suffering of watching you die slowly."

"I will never give in to you," Virgil said. He backed across the room, counting his steps in his head. When he reached what he hoped was the right place, he bent down quickly. He had misjudged it by a pace or two and had to lunge for the gun on the floor. Blag saw what he was doing and gave a shout, crashing into Virgil's back and driving him to the floor.

Virgil managed to flip, his hand grasping the gun, but Blag was on top of him. The man's knees pinned Virgil's arms to the ground, leaving his legs kicking helplessly as he tried to dislodge him. But Blag's weight holding him down wasn't the problem: it was the hands around his neck, squeezing, that he had bigger issues with.

Virgil choked, fighting for breath. He wasn't strong enough for this! Panic seeped into his mind, vividly remembering the last time he couldn't breathe. The corners of his vision started to darken…he couldn't breathe….

Then he remembered the gun in his hand.

He had no idea what direction it was pointing. He pulled the trigger though, half expecting to shoot himself. He saw Scott stir again out of the corner of his eye at the noise but more satisfying was Blag's howl of pain as he let go of Virgil's throat. Blood was staining his leg and Virgil wrenched his arm free, shoving the man off him.

He scrambled to his feet, coughing, keeping the gun covering Blag. Blag shuffled backwards, leaning on the wall with his hands clutched around his leg.

"It's over," Virgil repeated. He backed up, making sure he didn't lower the gun until the far wall hit his back. Still not looking away from his enemy, his free hand searched until it rested on Scott's shoulder.

"Scott?" he said gently, squeezing his hand. "Time to go."

He had a vague idea of getting Scott out of the door before locking Blag in. As long as they could contain the rest of the men, they could leave them locked up, knowing the authorities were on their way. It wasn't enough for Virgil, but his priority was Scott. His brother was vulnerable and Virgil wasn't certain he could defend them both for long.

Scott groaned and Virgil risked a glance down to see Scott fighting to remain conscious. His breathing was shallow and fast and, despite his earlier paleness, Virgil was convinced there was now an unhealthy flush to Scott's skin. He dropped to his haunches, switching hands with the gun so he could pull Scott's good arm over his shoulder.

"C'mon, big brother," he whispered, "let's get you out of here."

But just as he made to draw Scott to his feet, his gun was suddenly blasted out of his hand. Virgil hissed in pain, drawing his arm to his chest and having no choice but to lower Scott back to the floor.

Blag hadn't moved to the far side to support himself. He had gone there because that was where the other gun was.

"Move away, Virgil." Blag's voice was cold and calculating and his hand steady despite the pain he must be in. Virgil glared but knew the gun wasn't aimed at him. It was aimed, with unnerving precision, at Scott's head.

"Move away or I kill him."

"What's to stop you doing that once I move?"

"Haven't you got it by now? Shooting him is too easy. But I'll do it if you don't move."

Virgil didn't see what choice he had. Blag had shot the gun out of his hand: there was no denying his aim. He hadn't come this far just to watch Scott be killed in front of him.

"Don't…" Scott's cracked whisper made Virgil's mind up for him. He had to protect Scott. He took a tentative step to one side. Blag raised an eyebrow and Virgil took another step.

"Face the wall."

"No… Virg, no."

Virgil couldn't look at his brother. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Scott trying to get to his feet, but his brother was doing little more than clutching at the wall, trying to stay upright.

Biting his lip, hoping he didn't regret it, Virgil turned to face the wall.

"Virgil!"

Scott's voice was stronger this time and Virgil turned back. But he was too late. Blag had thrown his weight forward, lurching across the room. The blow that would have likely knocked him out was just a passing glance but it was enough to make him stumble. Blag grabbed his arm, wrenching it behind his back before slamming him back against the wall.

"I've come too far," the man snarled, "you will not stop me now."

Virgil tried to kick backwards, convinced if he could land a blow on Blag's injured leg, it would be enough for the man to back away. But Blag had shifted his weight in such a way he was pinning Virgil against the wall. He couldn't move and his attempts to throw Blag off only resulted in his arm being bent higher up his back.

An involuntarily gasp escaped him as he rose on his toes, trying to stop his shoulder from being dislocated. But Blag kept him pinned and suddenly, there was a gun pressed at the top of his neck.

"There will be no mistake this time," Blag said, his voice deadly quiet. "This time, you will watch your brother die."

Virgil struggled but the adrenaline had worn off and he felt shaky and sick. Blag's anger was masking his pain – or the man was truly a maniac – and his grip was unrelenting.

"Don't…" Scott's word was a breathless gasp. Virgil shut his eyes. He knew what expression would be on Scott's face: the same terrified helplessness that had been there when Blag's men had widened the hole in the wall.

Blag let go of his arm and his weight shifted back. But Virgil still felt the gun pressed against his neck. Blag's hands were steady: he had no idea how he was supposed to get out of this.

"You've been a thorn in my side too long, Virgil Tracy." Blag said. Virgil murmured a silent apology to his brothers and flinched when the sharp crack of gunfire burst through the cell.

Then he opened his eyes.

He was still alive.

Again.

There was no way Blag could have missed so…how?

Slowly, hardly daring to move just in case, Virgil turned around. Just in time to see Blag stumble back, his face a picture of bewilderment. A red stain was spreading across his chest and, as Virgil watched, the man collapsed, landing in a heap.

Virgil looked the other way. Scott was standing – and Virgil knew he wasn't the only one who didn't know how his brother was managing it. There was a gun in his hand and an expression of pure fury on his face. As Virgil watched – stunned – Scott staggered forward a step until he was standing over Blag. The man was still alive, but only just.

"She'll know I stayed true to my promise," Scott whispered. Virgil had no idea what he was talking about.

"That I always stay true to my word." Scott fired again and Virgil looked away. Point blank range meant there were no miracles this time.

It was over.

"Scott-," Virgil stepped towards his brother, reaching out and prising the gun from his hand, flipping the safety on and sticking it in his waistband. There was a dent in it from where Blag had shot it out of his hand and Virgil was amazed it had fired once, let alone twice.

But Scott had come to the same conclusion as he had: it was over. He dropped almost faster than Virgil could move and he found himself on his knees, supporting Scott's dead weight. His brother's eyes were closed and Virgil was doubtful he would wake up again while they were still in this place. That final movement had taken any of the limited strength he had left.

"Come on," Virgil murmured. "Let's go home."

His entire body was shaking and he ached from the fights with Blag and Chekov. His hand ghosted over his watch, but he didn't press anything. If the others were still in a fight, Virgil didn't want to distract them. He'd wait until they were closer.

He didn't know how to move Scott though. He couldn't lift him. Instead, Virgil hooked his hands under his brother's shoulders and started pulling, desperately hoping that Scott remained unconscious and couldn't feel how this was jolting his arm. But until they were back on the plane with the doors sealed behind them, there wasn't a choice.

What unnerved him was that he could move Scott. The adrenaline had worn off and as his brothers liked to remind him, he had died. Virgil wondered if Scott had eaten anything the entire time he had been here. Then he forced himself to stop thinking and just put one foot in front of the other.

Everything else they would deal with once they were out of there.

John had no idea how long they remained crouched behind the table. Gordon was shivering but his glare still burnt when John suggested going back to the plane and their father. His brother's adrenaline was dropping, lowering his body temperature as pain and shock took hold. Gordon murmured something about needing to help John, but it was obvious he would be in the way in a fight now.

But no one came. They had obviously cleared the men that had tried to stop them from entering but no one came from behind them either. John figured there were more men down there – Blag wouldn't have done this entire thing with just a handful of men. John had seen the type of men Blag had been trying to contact when he ransomed Scott – he would try and protect himself from the criminals he was luring in. John was convinced Virgil had handled them though – if something had happened to his brother, the men would have been sent up here to deal with the two remaining Tracys.

"Johnny?"

John looked at Gordon. His brother's eyes were half-closed but he was more alert than he looked.

"Can you hear something?"

John listened. He realised Gordon was right; slow, hesitant steps, followed by a strange dragging sound was coming from the tunnel behind them. John stood and locked the rifle into his shoulder.

"Stay there," he ordered, advancing on the opening. He squinted into the darkness, but with the light behind him, he couldn't see anything. The sound stopped and he realised too late that what blinded him meant whoever was down there would clearly see him standing there.

"John?"

John gave a half-gasp, half-laugh and lowered the rifle.

"Virgil?"

"John?"

He glanced over as Gordon called him and caught the small flashlight his brother threw him. Shining it down the tunnel, he saw it was, indeed, Virgil, staggering up the tunnel, backwards, pulling something with him.

Or rather…someone.

"Scott," John breathed. He dropped the rifle and ran into the tunnel. Virgil stopped, waiting for him. John put a hand on Virgil's shoulder as soon as he reached him.

"Are you okay?"

His brother was standing, for what that was worth. Virgil nodded and in the dim light, looked utterly spent.

"Blag's dead," he said, his voice hollow. Gordon wasn't the only one dealing with shock right now. John's eyes widened.

"Did you-,"

"No," Virgil said. "Scott did."

They both looked at the prone form of their older brother. John squeezed Virgil's shoulder.

"Get out of here," he said softly. "I've got him."

Bending down, he swore when the light revealed the state of Scott. He had to roll his brother to avoid his broken arm, but John eventually managed to get his brother over his shoulder. He winced: he was being careful of his brother's injuries, but it was too easy to hold him.

"Gordon!" Virgil's cry of alarm made John shake his head. They were all in a state.

By the time he reached the room, Virgil had Gordon's good arm pulled over his shoulder and his free arm wrapped around Gordon's waist, holding him up.

"You thought I was the one who would get killed," Virgil grumbled, forcing Gordon to take a step towards the exit.

John raised his eyebrows. "You haven't seen your throat," he said. There were vivid marks around Virgil's neck and John didn't need his usual over-active imagination to know what had caused them. He saw Gordon twist to look at the marks himself and smirked at the glare Virgil shot him.

It didn't matter though. Compared to Scott, they were all fine. They were all breathing and moving (if awkwardly), and that was enough for John.

"Let's go home," he said, shifting Scott and wincing, hoping he hadn't really felt him stir. He wanted to be able to get some morphine into his brother before Scott woke up.

They made an odd sight, staggering towards the exit. John screwed up his eyes as he drew closer, squinting as the light reflected off the snow. Virgil shoved the door open a little wider so he could get through by Gordon's side and they disappeared from sight.

John followed, breathing deeply once he was clear off the complex. It was colder out here than it had been below, but the air was fresh and he relished the icy burn in his lungs.

This time, there was no doubt he felt Scott stir as the fresh air hit them both. If he was enjoying breathing the free air after only a few hours below ground, then he had no idea what it would mean to Scott.

"John!"

Looking up, he saw Virgil and Gordon had reached the plane. The steps were unfolded this time and he watched, satisfied, as his two younger brothers climbed into the safety of the jet. His father was hurrying through the snow towards him and John stumbled forward.

His dad reached him, his anxious gaze roaming over John for a moment before he fleetingly touched Scott on the back of his head, clearly not knowing what else he could do.

"Come on," the man said softly, "let's get him somewhere warm."

His father's voice gave John the strength to close the distance between the plane and the bunker. He knew his dad wanted to take Scott from him, but it would take longer than for John to make those few extra steps.

Virgil was waiting for him at the top the stairs, ready to help take Scott. John managed to smile as both his brother and father worked to relieve him of his load.

This time, it wasn't just Scott's physical weight that lifted from John when he reached the warmth of the interior of the plane.