Gordon's heart was pounding as he ran, his skin cold and his ears ringing. The wet splash of each step seemed to reverberate throughout his head, muddying his thoughts. His mind was racing and frozen at the same time, showing him over and over flashes of his father's face, of Dad tackling that guard, of seeping blood and rising water.

He was pretty sure he was in shock, but he didn't have time for that.

It's him, Gordy.

John. John was down here. John was alive.

"I'm on my way, Al," he said as he ran, following his brother's signal on the projection from his wrist cuff.

"Hurry, Gordon." The desperate edge to Alan's voice made Gordon's heart pound that much harder, and he picked up his pace.

"Gordon, what the hell is going on down there?" That was Scott's voice now, sharp and demanding.

"What was Alan saying about John?" Virgil asked before Gordon could get so much as a word in. "He's not- I mean he can't be-"

"I don't have anything to tell you yet," Gordon interrupted, distracted and impatient. He knew it had to be killing his older brothers to be stranded on the surface, unable to do anything but listen to what was turning into a real perfect storm of a situation, but he didn't have the capacity to deal with them just then. "You'll know as soon as I do."

He ran into the most central sector, his wet boots squeaking on the dry floors. He didn't look through any of the doorways that he passed, his original mission having taken a decided backseat to this new one.

After a minute that felt like a week, his map showed the dot representing his position to be just about on top of his little brother's.

"Alan?"

"In here!"

Gordon spotted the open doorway from which his brother's urgent voice was emanating, and he sprinted the last few meters towards it, skidding to a halt and nearly overshooting the opening. He caught himself on the doorframe, and found himself staring into what looked like some kind of supply closet. Two bodies were crammed into the tiny space, one in familiar IR blue, the other barefoot and bruised in nothing but a ratty t-shirt and shorts.

The scene looked like a horror movie under the flickering red of the emergency lights, so Gordon tugged a flashlight from his belt and bathed the scene in white light. It didn't do much to improve matters.

Alan looked up at Gordon. His eyes were wet with tears, although whether they were from joy over finding John alive, or horror over his condition, Gordon wasn't sure anyone could say. Because John…John looked like hell. He was slumped half against the wall and half against Alan's shoulder, his eyelids fluttering in his ashen face. The only color to offset his alarming pallor was the unhealthy red of the fever spots on his cheeks, and a dusky bruise on his temple. His blue-tinted lips were chapped and stained a rusty red, and his face looked…cracked, almost, like he was an oil painting that was drying wrong. Looking at him, Gordon would have been terrified that he was already dead, if not for the shivers that visibly wracked his body.

Waterboarding, Dad had said. So why did Gordon feel like he was the one drowning again?

"Help me with him," Alan snapped when Gordon could only stand there, horrified.

Gordon snapped out of his stupor at once, reassessing the situation.

"No, you help me," he decided, knowing that his stockier, more muscular build would be better suited to supporting John's tall frame. "I'll carry him on my back."

He knelt before Alan could protest, leaning in to look at John. His big brother looked even worse from up close, but he was alive.

"Hey, Johnny, it's me." Gordon felt his voice crack, and he had to clear his throat. "It's Gordon. I figure it's time for me to pay you back for the piggyback rides you gave me when we were kids. Sound okay?"

John lifted his drooping head at the sound of his voice, but his bloodshot eyes seemed to be devoid of recognition, of much life at all. Gordon frowned at him, looking him over again. He was wearing a plain grey T-shirt, but his pale arms were speckled with drying blood, and there was an ugly bruise on the inside of his left forearm, its color a combination of old yellow-green and newer purplish-black. A small puncture wound at its center was still bleeding sluggishly.

"John, can you tell me what they gave you?" Gordon asked, his stomach turning. He'd never been good with the medical side of rescues, with the problems he couldn't see, couldn't tackle on his own. He wished Virgil were here.

"He's really out of it," Alan whispered when John didn't respond, fear like Gordon hadn't heard from him in a while straining his voice. "He keeps trying to talk about Dad."

At the mention of their father, John jerked, his eyes clearing slightly. He fumbled weakly for Gordon's wrist, wrapping his long fingers around it with what was probably supposed to be an urgent grip.

"Dad." His voice was a weak ruin of the one Gordon had so relied on in his ear during missions. "He's-"

"I know, Johnny," Gordon told him, clasping his hand. "I know, it's okay." He turned his head to Alan. "C'mon, help me with him."

Gordon had forgotten about the gun he'd stuck in his belt, but Alan's eyes went wide when he saw it. Gordon grimaced and set it on the ground, wishing he could kick the damn thing and everything it represented away from him.

"There are some bad people down here," he said, echoing Dad's words. "I meant it when I told you to be careful. Don't let your guard down for an instant."

Alan lost another shade of color at the seriousness of Gordon's tone. He said nothing though, just helped get John more or less settled on Gordon's back. John did his best to help, but whatever strength he'd had was fading fast. He'd made a pained noise as Gordon and Alan had moved him, involuntary tears pooling at the corners of his clouded eyes, but he didn't lose the tenuous consciousness he had left. He just threaded his fingers under the cheery yellow sash across Gordon's chest, his head drooping to rest on his younger brother's shoulder.

Pressed against him like this, Gordon could feel the surprising chill of John's body, the tremors rippling through him. He knew enough about pneumonia to understand that it was when the fever broke, when the temperature dropped below normal, that a person was really in trouble. It meant their body was out of fight, was giving up. It filled Gordon with unbearable urgency, but he couldn't start moving yet.

He turned to Alan, struggling to punch a command into his wrist monitor and hold onto John's legs at the same time.

"I'm gonna get John back to Thunderbird 4, but I need you to follow that beacon," he said.

"What? No way! I'm coming with you and John."

"We don't have time to argue about this! John's not crazy, Dad really is down here, and I gave him that beacon because he's hurt and couldn't follow me! He needs you, Alan."

Not the most delicate way of breaking the news, but Gordon was under just a little bit of pressure. His brother stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"That's not funny, Gordon," he said, his voice trembling.

Gordon more than understood his reaction, and frankly he wasn't so sure he was past it himself, but they didn't have time for it.

"Do I look like I'm laughing?" he asked. He jerked his chin at the red smears staining his uniform. "This blood is his, Alan."

Well, some of it was probably John's now. God.

Alan's gaze was frozen on the stains now. He looked painfully young all the sudden. Gordon glanced at the gun on the floor. Dad had said that John in particular was in danger, but Gordon would be with him, and he was sending Alan out alone.

"Do you remember the shooting lessons Uncle Carter gave you last year?" Gordon asked. Alan swallowed hard and shook his head. "Yes, you do. Alan, pick up the gun, take it with you, and go find Dad."

Slowly, Alan bent down to pick up the handgun. He made no move to leave his brothers though.

"Go!" Gordon hated to shout at Alan in such a state, but a barked command from Dad was what had gotten him moving, and he was hoping to do the same for his brother.

He didn't know if Alan could really believe him yet, but that did get him running, with just one last look thrown over his shoulder at his brothers. Gordon took off at the same time, although in the opposite direction, toward where Thunderbird 4 was docked. John was slighter than he remembered, but his tall frame still weighed him down, limited him to a steady jog that felt slow as molasses.

He activated his comms.

"Virgil, be ready for two incoming medical," he said. His throat was tight when he added "critical."

"Gordon, is- is John really…?" He couldn't seem to make himself say the word, and Gordon didn't wait for him to figure it out.

"Yeah, he is. But he's in bad shape, Virg. He…" Gordon grit his teeth. "Tallahassee."

There was a beat of silence as Virgil processed the codeword. It had been a long time since they'd needed it. There was a beep, the sound of their connection to Alan being muted. The rest of them would still be able to hear him, but nothing they said would get through to him.

"Okay."

"He was tortured." The two horrified gasps resonated in Gordon's chest, but he couldn't stop. "Waterboarded. He's got pneumonia, and he's hurt. I think he might've been drugged too."

"M'all'ight," John mumbled.

"Is that- is that him?" Scott asked, and Gordon had never heard his voice sound like that.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that was him being the dumbest genius in the solar system," Gordon managed between breaths. "Because if I heard right, he just tried to tell me that he's all right, which is a bigger crock of bullshit than we had to deal with at that fertilizer warehouse fire."

John mumbled something unintelligible but vaguely protesting. Gordon ignored him.

"John." That was Virgil's voice again. "John, just hang in there, all right? Give us a chance to help this time."

John struggled to lift his head.

"I am," he promised his twin, his voice weak but determined.

Gordon tightened his grip on his brother.

"Guys," he puffed as he ran. "I've gotta tell you something else, and you're not gonna believe me, but just keep in mind that twenty minutes ago we thought John was dead too and you're gonna see him soon."

"Gordon, what-?"

"Dad's alive," Gordon blurted. There was absolute silence from his comms, so he kept talking. "I found him when I was looking for people to evacuate. He was fighting some commando guy I think he and John have been held here but I don't know why. There's a lot of weird equipment in some of the labs, and…" He stumbled over the memory of that awful cell, that stark room. "…And other stuff. But it's him, guys, it's definitely him. He called me Captain Nemo, you remember, from that 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea phase I had?"

He rambled on for a few more sentences before Virgil finally collected himself enough to speak.

"Gordon, where's Dad?" he demanded.

"Alan's getting him. He's hurt, and he sent me to find Alan and John and I couldn't carry him fast enough."

"Hurt how?" Scott asked.

"Shot in the leg."

Gordon wasn't sure which of them let out the pained noise. John's arm tightened around him.

"It missed his artery," he said, because he had to believe it just as much as his brothers did. "He'll be all right until Alan gets to him. He'll be fine."

"All right." Virgil's voice was as steady as could be expected, under the circumstances. "All right, we'll handle it. We need to open the channel back up to Alan now though."

He did while Gordon kept running. Alan didn't seem to have noticed anything. Not all that surprising, considering what his own mission was.

Gordon was growing more tired by the second, but he kept up his pace, and it wasn't long before he was arriving at the airlock that connected to his faithful submarine.

"We're on Thunderbird 4," he announced. He crossed the cabin of the small vessel and tapped at a control panel on the opposite wall. One of the emergency evacuation capsules folded out from the bulkhead. "I'm sending John-"

He broke off as John's arms tightened around him suddenly.

"N-no."

"No, what?" Gordon tried to look at John, but the awkward angle made it impossible to read his expression. "We have to get you topside."

"'ll go with you," John insisted.

"I can't leave yet. I have to go back for Alan and Dad, and this base is still an emergency situation. There must be other people down here."

"I c'n wait."

"No. You can't." Gordon was no doctor, but he could tell that much.

He gently but deliberately broke John's grip on him. The fact that it was so much easier than it should've been was just more evidence that it was necessary. But when he tried to get John settled in the bed of the dry tube, his brother tore away from him and half stumbled, half fell to the other side of the cramped cabin, fetching up against the opposite wall.

It reminded Gordon too forcefully of the moment not so long ago when his father had done the same thing, had pulled away from him and the aid he was so anxious to give. Gordon had been through far too much today, and he was sick of his family refusing to let him help.

But then he actually took in his brother's expression, and his irritation froze instantly into something else. He'd never seen John so terrified.

His glassy eyes were fixed on the scene beyond Thunderbird 4's front viewport. Her headlights were still on, illuminating the murky waters beyond. Gordon had seen so many wonders through that portal, had always felt most at peace when he was in that cockpit and surrounded by the sea. But looking at his brother now, he realized that John saw something very different.

"He's got pneumonia," Dad had said. But the haunting in his eyes had said so much more. "From…from waterboarding."

Oh. Oh.

Gordon's stomach turned. He closed his eyes for just a moment, swallowing hard. Then he crouched in front of John and gripped him by the shoulders.

"Come on, John," he said, far more gently. "You can do this."

He tried to help his brother to his feet, but John still shied away from him.

"Gordon, no, please don't. Please-"

"It's the safest way to get you to the surface," Gordon said. "You're hurt, John; you need help, and I can't leave yet."

Just then, looking at the wreckage of his big brother, a deep, ugly part of Gordon didn't want to go back for those people. He wanted to turn his back on that hellish facility and get John safely to the surface, leaving behind the torturing bastards that had created their own fates.

But that wasn't who they were, wasn't what they did. And it wasn't just the people who had done this that were still in the facility, it was Alan and Dad too.

"Do you trust me, Johnny?" Gordon asked, gripping John's shoulders and holding his frightened gaze.

John squeezed his bloodshot eyes closed, but after a moment, he nodded tightly. He allowed Gordon to help him to his feet and hoist him into the lowest dry tube. The moment he lay down though, the quality of his breathing audibly tanked. He struggled to sit up, his eyes going wide with panic.

"Whoa, hey," Gordon protested. "You've gotta stay calm, John. I know it's hard to breathe, but it's gonna be a short trip."

Yeah, because that would make everything just fine and dandy.

Gordon ran a hand through his hair, wishing more than just about anything that Scott or Virgil or Dad were here instead of him. He wasn't cut out for this kind of thing.

But they weren't here, and John was depending on him. Which meant that he had to suck it up, do his best, and hope it was good enough.

"Uh…here." The dry tubes were configured to supply an atmospheric mixture of oxygen and nitrogen, but the bluish tint to John's lips had Gordon reaching for the pressurized mask that would force pure oxygen into John's struggling lungs. "This'll help until you get to Virgil."

He hoped.

John still looked dubious, but he allowed Gordon to ease him back down. He lost a shade of color Gordon hadn't think he'd even still had, and his breathing got worse again, but he didn't try to sit up this time. Gordon squeezed his shoulder, and reached for the lid of the dry tube, preparing to close it.

The fresh terror that flared in John's expression hit him like a missile.

"Virgil's waiting for you up there, okay?" he said, wishing he had more to offer. "Two minutes, and then Virgil will be getting you right back out."

The dry tubes had little windows built into the front, to keep their passengers from getting crippling claustrophobia. Gordon got the feeling that John would take claustrophobia over a view of endless water three inches from his face in a heartbeat though.

"Just close your eyes and start counting," he said. "Virgil will be getting you out of here before you hit 120."

John looked at him for one more long moment, before squeezing his eyes shut. Gordon took that as his cue to close the pod. He checked everything a final time, and then launched John into the sea.

"First dry tube is away," he declared automatically to his brothers on the surface. More quietly, he added, "talk to him, Virgil."

"F.A.B.," Virgil said at once, and Gordon knew he understood. John was in good hands. John was alive.

Gordon let out a relieved huff of air, his mouth stretching into a smile for an instant. But he couldn't relax yet.

"Alan?" he called as he climbed out of the familiar safety of his Thunderbird and back out into the underwater station. Water was sloshing around his knees now, even in the main hallway. "Did you find Dad?"

"Yeah, I've got him." Alan's voice was strained and breathless. He was probably bearing most of Dad's weight. "We're on our way back to you."

Gordon pulled up the location of Alan's comm. Only two turns separated them, and it was less than a minute before the rest of his family was in sight. Gordon had been right about Alan supporting most of Dad's weight, but their father was still conscious and upright, and he'd take it.

He hurried forward to Dad's other side, adding his support.

"John?" Dad asked, his voice strained and breathless.

"On his way to Virgil now."

None of them spoke after that. They made it back to Thunderbird 4, and Dad sent Gordon a questioning look as he led his father to another dry tube.

"You should get to the surface while we look for other survivors," Gordon explained. Dad may not have been as critically wounded as John, but he could still use immediate medical attention, and Gordon wanted him out of danger as quickly as possible.

Something darkened in Dad's gaze though, his expression tightening. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath. There was a beat of silence.

"Be careful," Dad said at last. "Make sure Alan holds onto that gun."

After a nod from Gordon, Dad settled into the dry tube. A moment later, he was rocketing towards the surface.

Gordon turned to Alan.

"You know what to do."

Despite now knowing how dangerous it was, they split up again once they emerged from Thunderbird 4. The water would be up to their waists soon; they were running out of time to pull off a rescue.

But as Gordon made his way through the facility, it continued to be eerily empty. Such a massive place, and he had yet to see a single person who wasn't a blood relative.

"I haven't been able to find any other prisoners," Alan told him after several minutes of searching. "And most of the staff seems to have evac- ah!"

"Alan?" Gordon started running even as he called his brother's name, bringing up a holographic map from his wrist. He could hear the sounds of a struggle for a long, tense moment.

"Okay, so it seems like all of the staff have not evacuated," Alan said breathlessly.

Gordon skidded around a corner to find Alan standing over a kneeling guard, yanking cable ties tight around his wrists.

"Seriously, who tries to attack someone who's here to rescue him?" Alan demanded when he saw his brother.

"Evil, twisted idiots," Gordon said grimly. "Come on. We've got to move."

He hoisted the guard up by the arm, ignoring the petulant look the man shot him.

"Where are the rest of your…colleagues?" Gordon asked him.

"Gone."

"What?"

"They're gone, okay? They left without me. This godforsaken bubble has four escape pods, and they took all of them."

The bitterness on his face was too real for his story to be fake. Gordon swore. On the one hand, it made the rest of the rescue considerably easier, but it also meant that the monsters who'd taken his family were getting away.

"Guys, something's wrong."

Gordon was getting very tired of hearing those words.

"What kind of something?"

"Dad's dry tube just surfaced."

"Sounds like good news to me," Gordon said.

"Yeah, except John's didn't."

That one took a moment to land.

"You don't have John?" he asked, hearing the edge of near panic in his voice. That tube should have surfaced at least ten minutes ago.

"John's pod has been intercepted," EOS reported. "According to the installed tracking device, it's still underwater and moving at high speeds."

Scott was reeling as he listened to the frantic chatter over his comms. There was too much information coming at him too fast, too many earth-shattering revelations in the span of less than an hour. He wasn't even sure he knew which way was up anymore. But he was certain that John was in trouble. And this time, Scott wasn't going to fail him.

"EOS, send me the tracking data from John's dry tube," he ordered.

It was at his console in an instant, and he engaged his thrusters, sending his rocket shooting off in the direction of the signal. John must have been snatched by some kind of submarine, because no ordinary escape pod would be able to carry him that fast. But Thunderbird 1 was faster, and soon Scott's instruments were picking up the enemy craft.

He studied the readings. The beacon from John's dry tube was coming from just beside the signal from the submarine, which probably meant that it was caught in some kind of external grasping arm. That was good; it would make him easier to reach.

Scott lowered his ship closer to the water, fighting against the winds that tried to knock him from the skies. He brought up his targeting software, gritting his teeth in concentration.

"Scott-"

"Just give me a second, Virgil!"

He locked on, fired a cable. A few tense seconds later, his instruments told him he'd gotten a solid lock. A few seconds after that, Thunderbird 1 jerked violently as the line went taut, the unknown vessel still doing its best to speed away. Scott fired his reverse thrusters to compensate, feeling his ship vibrate with the strain. Whatever this thing was, it was powerful. He wasn't sure how long he'd be able to hold it.

"Thunderbird 4, where are you?"

"Still at the facility! Whole sections are flooded and collapsing; we had to find a different way out. We'll be there as soon as we can."

That wasn't soon enough. Not for John.

Scott engaged the autopilot and scrambled from his seat, making his way to the modest reserve of personal rescue gear he kept on the ship. There was no time for anything fancy; he just grabbed a regulator mask and a few other tools. And then he was opening the access hatch and clipping himself to the cable that now stretched down into the roiling sea.

He dove from his ship, sliding down the line for a few seconds before he hit the water with a breathtaking splash. It was icy, but that didn't matter. Only one thing mattered now.

"Scott, what the hell are you doing?" Virgil demanded.

"Just be ready to pick him up," Scott said, his voice muffled by his mask. "And start for the nearest hospital the second you have him."

He squeezed the trigger on the small mechanized motor securing him to the cable, and let it pull him down the line, deeper into the murky water. The currents battered him, tried to pluck him from the line, but his equipment held. Pain began to build up in his ears, and within seconds it felt like he was being stabbed in the brain. He worked his jaw to relieve the pressure, but he didn't slow down. He couldn't.

He saw the bright dry tube first, its normal cheery yellow dimmed to a sickly green by the water. His heart jolted; John was right there.

As he drew closer, he saw that the dry tube had been snagged by a large grasping arm that extended from a large black submarine. Scott planted his feet on the top of the sub, activated the magnets in his boots, and unclipped himself from the cable that had carried him down here. He flattened himself as best he could against the surface of the sub, and started making his way towards the place where John was stuck.

The water swirled around him, tugging at him. He resisted it, dragging himself the last few feet to the base of the arm that held his brother prisoner. He withdrew a small metal disk from his belt and reached through the churning current to slam it down onto the junction where it met the body of the submarine.

He studied the placement, making sure it was secure. Every second counted now, and he began to move back, battling the currents again as he-

The explosion ripped Scott from the surface of the submarine, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him tumbling helplessly through the water. A flash of yellow-green shot past him, and he tried to follow it with his gaze, but everything was spinning around him. No, wait; he was the one spinning.

"Scott, if you can hear me, you need to be careful," came Gordon's anxious voice. "You dove way deeper than your equipment is designed to handle, and if you try to get to the surface on your own, you're gonna get the bends. Alan and I are on our way to you now; just hold tight."

Scott wished there was something he could actually hold onto down here. He wasn't even sure which way was up anymore. He felt himself gasping, sucking in rapid, shallow breaths that had to be burning through his oxygen supply way too fast. He couldn't find the words to reply to Gordon.

"Almost there, Scott. Almost there."

And although Scott could hardly breathe, could hardly see, some of his instinctual panic receded. His brothers were coming for him; what other reassurance could he possibly need?

A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long, folks. I took a hard left into the X-Men fandom and got distracted. Hope it was worth the wait :)