A specimen of staggering banality, Henry found himself somewhat offended by the cliché, non-descript white panel van. Parked behind his garage, it was undetectable from the beachfront where they had spent the bulk of the evening. He must have balked a second too long as he was shoved from behind, forcing his legs to catch himself before falling. He swallowed hard, forcing the retort back down.

One of the armed men walked ahead of the rest, reaching the van first and sliding open the side door before stepping to the side.

"Get in." The more experienced of the group, according to Henry's observation, reinforced the grunted command with saccadic gestures of his shotgun.

Climbing in was easier said than done as the cargo area of the van severely lacked in available floor space. Heaps of scrap metal, fixtures, wiring, and gutters were piled haphazardly. Heaving some of the larger pieces over took some effort but yielded a serviceable seating area. He and Bill carefully climbed in. The younger of the two men had already circled around the van and took his place as driver. The older slid the door closed; the grating noise heavy while symbolically shutting off a level of hope within.

"Where are you taking us?" Henry decided to take a chance at getting some information. If he was going to die, he was determined to find out why.

"Quiet." The words were spoken without emotion, prompting him to push just a bit harder.

"Okay, then why are you taking us?"

"You'll find out soon enough, now quiet." He left it at that, for now. They had just passed the last line of streetlights as they ventured farther from the residential area. Without the cast of filtered light, it was nearly impossible for Henry to gauge the facial expressions of the two men up front which would directly conflict with his 'playing it safe' game plan.

Despite what his son would tell anyone who would listen, and everyone who wouldn't, he could do patience. After all, he had allowed Shawn to survive thus far. When Shawn was safely tucked away in a hospital bed, he would be sure to remind him of just that.

The van swerved sharply to the left, throwing the two rear passengers roughly into the scrap piles. The pained grunts formed a striking contrast to the sadistic mirth barely absorbed by the engine noise.

"Good one, Dawes." The passenger's commendation for the driver, apparently named Dawes – Henry noted, with a slap to the arm. 'Dawes' pulled off his dirty baseball cap and returned the compliment with a fraternal thwack of his own. The action served only to further steel his resolve as he watched the perversion of brotherhood before him. It should be Shawn and Gus exchanging friendly - and not so friendly – whaps, smacks and pinches. Taming back down the anger, Henry calmed himself again. Emotion would only cloud his judgment and prevent him from observing the entirety of his surroundings.

Henry found if he quieted his breathing and didn't jostle the salvage he could piece together the muted conversation taking place up front. Motioning to Bill to do the same, he was content to bide his time until the right opportunity presented itself. Until then, he would collect as much Intel as possible on their captors and their motivations. He had a gut feeling that these punks simply chose targets based on location and that they had no idea the identity of their victims. Their ignorance was, and would remain, his most valuable advantage.

Taking another careful look around, Henry noted that all of the scrap contained within the cargo area was comprised of copper. He had heard through various channels (and possibly a police scanner) that, due to the high scrap value of the metal, copper theft was the newest and latest crime wave to sweep the country. Ironically, and with absolutely no humor, he also realized that it was no longer the victimless nuisance crime that it had been touted. His son was likely at death's door even now. He had no idea the fate of Gus or Winnie. Henry could see the oppressiveness of that burden reflected on Bill's countenance as well.

Least importantly, but indicative of the mentality they were up against, Henry's house had been trashed. Plumbing could be replaced - newer and better. Wiring could be updated. Energy efficient fixtures could be installed anew. Though it would take weeks and thousands of dollars, the house could be restored – with no small amount of insurance bureaucracy.

If anything happened to Shawn, though, nothing else mattered.

The sudden flood of gripping terror of an hour ago had receded with the tide of numbing shock. Grateful for the reprieve that lack of sensation provided, Winnie Guster once again removed the warming cloth from her son's forehead. Pushing up her sleeves, she dropped the used cloth back into the bucket of iced water at her feet. Pulling out a cooled cloth, she carefully wrung it out before folding it in thirds and placing it back on the abused temple of her son. Seizing a few more moments, she placed her hand on top of his head in a soothing gesture. The grateful moan was enough thanks for her. No, that wasn't quite accurate. Knowing her son was alive and awake was all the reinforcement she needed. These hooligans had no idea what they messed with when they decided to do battle with Winifred Guster.

Sensing that she had overran her stay at her favored station, she regretfully pushed herself off of the bench and picked up the small first-aid kit and water bucket. Slowly, she turned her back on Gus and made her way over to the couch, stealing one last look over her shoulder. With a minimum of sloshing she set the items down and repeated the process with the young man on the couch. Unlike her son, Shawn had yet to really regain consciousness. It appeared to her that he was attempting to surface but was just underneath the ability to do so. As she laid the fresh cloth on his forehead, she was startled by his sudden response.

"Mmmmmggggg" The whining cry was cut off as he started to move his head back and forth.

"Shhh!" She whispered sharply as she bent next to his ear. She knew nothing of what had happened to her husband or Henry. They were quickly separated, early after they had found the boys injured in the living room. Winnie only knew that their captors could come back any moment. Her intuition screamed at her that keeping the boys quiet was her only option to keep them safe. For now, they would just ride low and hopefully the young man serving as their jailer would continue to ignore them. She dared not try and find a phone or call for help. Every time she had entertained the thought, the kid would magically appear nearby. For now, her ministrations were allowed and she yearned to maintain status quo by not drawing any attention their way.

Far be it for the young man before her to actually start listening now. She tried not to be irritated with him since she knew he couldn't help himself. He was seriously hurt and obviously in a great deal of pain. Her first knee-jerk reaction with the younger Spencer was always irritation first, then investigation for inevitable damages, followed up by vindication as her prodding always yielded evidence that her initial irritation was perfectly justified. Twenty five years of experience with the young man was not easily set aside. Considering the unknown status of her husband and her concern for her son, she had to again remind herself that she couldn't afford to dwell on old irritations. She simply had to care for her son and his friend until her husband and Henry came back.

They were coming back. And when they did, she would allow herself to panic and wail and fall apart.

Shakily wiping her hand on her slacks, she demanded that they too quieted. Three deep calming breaths and again she felt herself centering.

Offering up another prayer for the safety of her family, she again pushed herself up and readied herself for another change in her duty station. Stooping to pick up the traveling items, she noticed Shawn's growing unrest. Gently, she smoothed the stray lock of hair back on his forehead and whispered quiet assurances she didn't quite believe; satisfied when he quieted down she continued her interrupted task and wearily made her way back to check on Burton.

Her fatigue must have given herself away in the less than graceful way she eased herself back onto the bench beside her son.

"Mom? You doing okay?" His voice didn't have the same depth that she always associated with Burton. Never a strong or athletic voice, it did always have a tenor that was uniquely his – strong in its own way.

"Don't you worry about me any, Burton." She took the cloth from his hands, before plopping it back in the bucket – uncaring of the splash on the floor. Once again, she draped him with a fresh, cool cloth.

"Now, how is your stomach?"

"The same. Nothing you can do about it."

"I know. I'm sorry." It was hard for her to admit. She was a fixer. There was never a scrape she couldn't kiss or a hurt she couldn't feed away when he was a boy. There were many hurts and scrapes all through his growing years; the result of his chosen alliance with the Spencer boy.

"Not your fault." Her Burton – always wanting to take care of her. He was a good boy, just like his father in that regard. If he ever got himself married, he would make a wonderful, caring husband. Another sigh of regret couldn't be stopped.

"How's Shawn?" She debated how much to keep from him. After all, she was a keeper too. It was her nature to protect and nurture with a fierceness that would rival any mama bear, post-hibernation. This, however, was an altogether different situation. She knew she couldn't do this alone. She wasn't equipped for this, and though it pained her, she would have to lean on someone else for some support. She didn't know if Burton was any more equipped than she, but what choice did she really have? She desperately tried to fight back the nagging feeling that they may only have each other to lean on in the future. Once again, her fear for her husband threatened to overtake her.

Biting back those negative thoughts and focusing again on the issue at hand, she forced herself to meet his half lidded gaze.

"He hasn't really woken up yet." She immediately placed her hand on his chest and forced him to recline back in position. She wouldn't have him getting up and hurting himself again.

"I have to check on Shawn."

"You will stay just where you are, young man."

She gave him a few more minutes to collect himself as he considered whether or not he wanted to relieve himself of his dinner now or continue his attempt to get out of the chair and lose it a few steps away. Apparently he made his decision as he leaned back with a shaky moan.

"What did they do to him?" Gus asked as he peeked out from the cloth he pressed tightly to his head.

"He was shot in the back. I don't know how badly, but he doesn't look good."

"No! Let me go!" She shouldn't have been surprised by his sudden attempt to launch himself out of the chair. She was surprised, however, by the speed with which he did so. The outburst was short lived and for a moment she thought he might pass out.

"Burton - settle down this instant! If you want to help Shawn, you will stay put." She eyed him with a hard stare, just long enough to distract him for his dizziness to settle him back down the rest of the way. She noted that he never took his eyes off of his friend even as he painfully tried to regain control of himself. She appreciated his loyalty. She always did, really, even if she didn't understand it.

"Where's Dad?" She really didn't want to go into this. They couldn't afford the risk of his outbursts and he couldn't afford aggravating his head and upsetting his stomach. But, he was a bright boy. It's not like she could keep his father's obvious absence a secret.

"Two men took him and Henry a little while ago."

"What? No!" The weak struggle was quickly aborted with another well placed hand. Winnie again, pushed back her concern at the slight pressure it took to keep him down.

"Son, you have to stay quiet." She continued in a whisper. "There's still a man in this house. We can't make any waves. We just have to hold on until your father gets back."

She allowed him to settle again. The stress lines never left his face and his worry was palpable. She was sure she could hear his pulse through the floorboards. She was also well aware that she would have her hands full keeping him in his seat once he started feeling the slightest bit better. She would have to spend more time with her other charge in order to satisfy her son's overwhelming concern.

"Burton – you listen to me. Your father will be fine. He's a strong man and he keeps his head. He and Henry can take care of themselves. They would want us to be strong and keep our heads too. We have to for Shawn's sake. Do you understand?"

She briefly thought that he didn't understand; that the effects of the concussion were pulling him under again. After he exhaled a shaky breath and took in a few more, he looked her square in the eye and nodded. There was her Burton. She needed that focus and determination.

Maybe…just maybe, they would make it after all.