"Johnny?" Gordon's hand shook as he reached out, touching his brother's shoulder. His voice wasn't much better. The surge of relief as John's eyes opened was dampened by how long it took his gaze to focus.

"Gords?" John's voice was weak: he sounded barely conscious.

"I'm here." Gordon smiled reassuringly, squeezing John's shoulder before backing off a step. He needed to see the full picture to know what they were dealing with.

John's face was a splash of colour. His nose had been bleeding, although it seemed to have stopped. A black eye and a split lip added to the picture. But Gordon wasn't worried about what he could see. It was what his brother's clothes hid that gave him cause for concern. John's breathing was fast and shallow, and Gordon was certain having his arms restrained behind him was not helping. It was a feeling he was currently far too familiar with.

"I've got you," Gordon murmured. He reached for his watch, slipping out a small pin. It was time to return the favour for all the times his brother had freed him over the last however many hours. It wasn't the first time Gordon had been grateful for Brains' paranoia. It only took him moments to uncuff John's hands and pull the rope away from his feet.

"What happened?" he reassembled his watch as he spoke, but there was no answer. Looking up, Gordon saw John's eyes had shut.

"No, you don't," Gordon said, tapping his brother on the cheek. "Up and at 'em, sunshine. You know you gotta stay awake."

He took first one hand, then the other, gently drawing them into a more natural position. It wasn't his imagination that John's breathing instantly eased. As John's eyes opened again, Gordon caught his gaze and held it, repeating his question in a tone that meant he wanted an answer. It wasn't a tone he usually employed on big brothers, but that didn't mean it wasn't effective.

"I got the signal out," John mumbled, "but they came too quickly. I don't know-,"

"It's okay." Gordon knew what his brother was going to say. "They've sent a message to Dad. But he already knew. The others are on the case; they'll be scanning for a signal. Even if it was only a split second, you know Brains will've picked it up."

It might have been too fast if no one knew there was a problem. But if anyone thought they could kidnap two Tracys and Scott's sensors wouldn't be going into overdrive, they really didn't know their family. The others had probably known before Gordon had regained consciousness in the van.

Even as he spoke, he kept his voice low. They were alone, but Gordon hadn't had the opportunity to check out this new prison. He had no idea if anyone was listening in on them. But it didn't matter: John needed to know he'd done good.

"They… messaged Dad?" John's voice was slow, but his eyes were gaining focus. When Gordon nodded, John's expression turned shrewd, making his younger brother squirm as he realised what John was doing.

"I'm okay," he said, "they only got you."

John might've only been half conscious, but he was trying to check Gordon over exactly the same way Gordon was trying to examine John. He didn't blame John for being concerned though: Gordon was not the type to sit quietly and do as he was told. Their captors had proven they were more than willing to use force if necessary.

But Gordon didn't care about what they'd done to him. He needed to know how far it had gone with John.

He reached forward, fingers brushing John's collar.

"Don't." John's voice sounded stronger, but there was also a plea there.

"John." Gordon tried to adopt the 'no-nonsense' tone that every older member of his family could carry off. John, however, struggled into a sitting position instead.

"There's nothing you can do," John argued. "You don't need to see."

If John hoped to be comforting, he failed. Gordon's worry increased ten-fold. But his brother – annoyingly – had a point. There wasn't anything Gordon could do: his cursory glance around had all revealed there was nothing to assist him with treating an injury.

Instead, he helped John lean back against the wall, accepting the small smile of gratitude with a nod. He kicked the handcuffs, sending them spinning across the floor and (satisfyingly) under some shelves before sitting next to John.

"I tried to play the rich-boy act," John said. Bitterness lined his voice. "As soon as they appeared, I knew what they were going to do. I tried to pretend I was defenceless. I realised too late that they didn't care. By then, I was defenceless."

Gordon made a noise in the back of his throat. He could take a beating – WASP plus an inability to shut up meant he knew how to handle it. But while John had gone through the training that Scott had set out, he was barely in the field, let alone in a hostile situation. As soon as those handcuffs were on, there was nothing John could've done.

He gave his brother a soft nudge with his elbow. It was nothing compared to what he'd usually do, but he suspected a fractured rib. Not to mention his own body was protesting the last day or two. Being able to take a beating didn't stop the pain, only hiding it.

"You did good, Johnny."

John snorted.

"You did. You did what you meant to do. We're outnumbered, big brother. Even we can't take on that number with our hands tied."

He didn't mean literally. They didn't know where they were and had no clue how long until help arrived. Gordon realised he'd grown used to having IR technology at his disposal. They were in this on their own, and it was a hindrance in more ways than one.

"You could." John's eyes were closed again but while he was still talking, Gordon let him be.

"No, I couldn't. They're proving that quite nicely." Every time he'd tried to fight back, he'd ended up unconscious and/or handcuffed. That wasn't a good track record.

John opened his eyes. "What'd they do?"

Gordon swore quietly but grinned. He hadn't mean to let anything slip.

"Nothing I didn't ask for." If he'd done as he was told, he doubt he'd be hurting this much.

"You've always been an idiot," John said. Gordon only rolled his eyes: he was too familiar with the fond undercurrent to John's words to miss it.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Gordon knew he was brooding, but he couldn't help it. He meant what he'd said to John: he'd goaded them, forced their hand. But John hadn't. Gordon could feel a slow anger starting to build. Other than getting out of here, all he wanted right now was a chance to take on these guys without his hands tied behind his back. They'd hurt his brother: Gordon wasn't going to let that go.

Silence wasn't uncommon with John. This quiet, however, didn't feel right. Gordon glanced over to see his brother's eyes were shut again.

"John."

"Mmm?"

"Stay awake."

"I am awake," John murmured. He didn't sound it. "You worry too much."

Gordon snorted. That was the last thing he'd ever been accused of doing.

"The others will be on their way," he said. He shifted from the wall until he was kneeling in front of his brother. "I just need you to stay awake until they get here."

"Bossy," John muttered, but his voice was slurred and he didn't look up.

"John!" Gordon gripped his brother's shoulder, giving him a small shake. "Open your eyes."

John obeyed, but the effort it cost him told Gordon enough. He stood up and crossed the room.

"Hey!" He yelled, hammering on the door. "He needs help."

"No."

Gordon glanced over. Now John was looking at him.

"Gords, no."

Gordon shook his head and pounded on the door again. To his delight, he heard locks being drawn back. Gordon took two quick steps away from the door, holding out his hands to the side to appear as unthreatening as possible. This time, there were no tricks.

The door opened a crack.

"What?"

"He's hurt," Gordon said, "please. Give me water, bandages… let me help him."

Begging went against every fibre of his being. He didn't care. He'd never ask for himself; his pride wouldn't let him, no matter how many times they beat him. But John was a different story. His brother's weak protest showed he felt the same.

"I don't think-," the man the other side of the door began.

Gordon had had enough.

His hands dropped to his sides and he stood up straighter.

"Unless your next transmission is to tell my father you let his son die, or you're planning to report that to your boss, you'll get me what I want. Water. Some food. A first aid kit – anything you have. He needs help, and you're going to get it."

There was a pause as the man just looked at him.

"Now!"

The door slammed; bolts hastily thrown. It wouldn't have mattered if he'd left their prison wide open – John was in no state to make a run for it. If he was honest, Gordon wasn't sure he was, either.

He returned to John, crouching by his brother's side. To his relief, his brother's eyes were open and watching him.

"You'd make an impressive commander," John said. "You sounded just like Scott then."

Gordon gave a mock-shudder. "Don't insult me," he said. "Since when did I take on anything that resembled responsibility?"

"I'm not even answering that," John said with a scathing look. He shifted position, wincing as he did so, and Gordon's levity fell away. He put a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"You'll be okay," he said gently.

They didn't have long to wait before the bolts drew back again.

"Stay there," a voice commanded. But then a figure slid through the gap, dropped an armful of items, and retreated again.

Gordon stayed where he was until the door was secured before he leapt up, grunted, and hurried across the room.

There were two bottles of water, some kind of snack bar and a small first aid kit. Better than nothing. Scooping up the lot, Gordon returned to John.

"Right," he said. "Now you have to show me."

He wasn't asking permission anymore.

John gave in.

Gordon worked in silence as he wound a length of bandage around his brother's chest, trying to support his ribs the best he could. He used the water to dampen a cloth, carefully wiping away the blood before encouraging John to eat and drink, following his own advice even as he stared at the door.

He was getting bored of this. His brothers better hurry up and come and get them before he did something stupid.

-x-

Shutting the door, Scott yawned as the cops left. Alan was sprawled across the sofa, barely awake, and Virgil was staring into thin air with a vacant expression. The police had been there all afternoon, going over minute details: how they'd known something was wrong, where John and Gordon had been going, who might have a grudge (a worryingly long list that they could only mention half of). It was long and tedious, but it meant they were being taken seriously. Scott didn't complain.

He'd much rather be out there, dealing with it himself. But with their dad's threat hanging over them and the police in the same room, he couldn't risk it. Knowing the man was only trying to protect them didn't help: that had always been Scott's job as much as his dad's.

He crossed to his brothers, dropping a hand on Virgil's shoulder and making him start. While Virgil blinked himself back to full consciousness, Scott gently pulled Alan to his feet.

"Go to bed," he ordered in a gentle voice, "tomorrow's going to be long."

To his surprise, Alan stumbled off without protest. He was more exhausted than Scott realised. The emotional toll of what was going on was draining and Scott was just glad Alan didn't fight him on this out of principal.

By the time Alan's bedroom door closed, Virgil was looking more alert. Scott sat down opposite him.

"What's the plan?" Virgil asked.

Scott blinked, then gave a sheepish grin. He should've known: Virgil knew him too well to believe Scott would sit here doing nothing. He was pleased the police were taking it seriously, but that just meant they'd have back up when they needed it.

"Out the back first thing in the morning," he answered with a shrug. They had no idea if their dad had actually said anything yet. "Give them the slip, get back to the crime scene. Get Brains to tell us where that signal came from."

They'd all felt it. In the middle of the afternoon, surrounded by the authorities and unable to do anything to react, their watches had buzzed. It was short, cut off before Scott could be certain it had happened. But Alan had jumped and Virgil had frozen, and he knew he hadn't imagined it. The emergency signal had gone off.

Brains would help them. He wouldn't want to disobey his boss, but Scott knew he was worried about John and Gordon too. He wouldn't be able to say no when they asked – and Scott wasn't a fool. He'd just make sure his dad wasn't in earshot when he sent the request.

"And if we're outnumbered?" Virgil asked. He knew the next step of the plan without Scott telling him. Follow the signal, find their brothers.

"Never stopped us before," Scott shrugged. "We're going for John and Gordon – nothing else matters."

He wanted to make these people pay, sure, but not if it meant losing the chance to get his little brothers to safety. He'd go back on his own if it came to it.

Then again, judging by the look Virgil was giving him, he wouldn't be going back alone.

But Virgil didn't say anything. He stood and stretched instead. "Get some rest, Scotty. You're going to need your energy tomorrow and I know you're as beat as I am."

Scott nodded and watched as Virgil stumbled to bed. He gave him half an hour, then checked first on Alan, then Virgil. Both were asleep: the day had been emotionally exhausting even if they hadn't been allowed out of the penthouse.

But Scott returned to his chair, and stayed there all night. His mind wouldn't quieten. Where were his brothers? Were they okay; injured; separated? Was it the right thing taking Virgil and Alan to go after them, was he just putting more siblings in danger?

It wasn't just worry. Anger was burning deep inside him, making rest impossible. Someone had taken his brothers against their will, forced them off the road. Who knew what else they'd done? Rescuing John and Gordon came first, but that didn't mean Scott was going to let anything go, no matter what he said to his brothers.

He wasn't the only restless one. Virgil stumbled in just as the room started to lighten – an impossible time of day for him usually. He didn't say anything when he saw Scott exactly where he'd left him. He just sighed, and turned to the coffee machine.

Scott's fingers curled around a steaming mug appreciatively a few moments later, breathing in the comforting smell of fresh coffee. The aroma was enough to start clearing his mind.

"I checked outside," Virgil said. "There're cops everywhere. No idea if it's Dad or they think they're protecting us."

Scott hid a groan. He wouldn't be surprised if the police had taken it upon themselves, unwilling to lose any more Tracys while they were in the city.

But Scott's gaze flickered to Alan's door, a thought beginning to emerge.

"I'm assuming you're not thrilled about taking Al with us?"

If he was honest, Scott wasn't ecstatic about taking Virgil either, but he couldn't do this on his own. Virgil's arched eyebrow revealed he knew what Scott was thinking.

"Ditch me, and you'll regret it," he said calmly, before also looking at Alan's door. "He is part of the team," he said, "but… yeah. I've already lost one little brother. Don't really fancy putting another in danger."

Scott bit back his retort that he had twice that number missing, and felt the same way about putting a younger sibling into a situation he knew nothing about – it went against his nature – but Virgil wouldn't stand for it.

Now wasn't the time, though. He gave a guilty grin.

"I know how to distract the cops – and keep Alan safe."

-x-

"You're sure the front is a good idea?" Alan sounded doubtful. "Hasn't Dad told them to arrest us if we step foot outside?"

"Always dramatic, Al," Scott said. He tugged the cap down further onto Alan's head. "They won't notice us. We'll just sweet-talk them into letting us go back to the crime scene. You're good at getting what you want."

Thankfully, Virgil was behind them. Scott wasn't sure what his brother's expression would be saying, but he was certain it would give them away.

There was a bag on Virgil's back. They'd come here for vacation – there wasn't a lot they could bring that would help. But they'd learnt to improvise over the years and their dad had a couple of things stashed. While the penthouse had state of the art security, it paid to be cautious when you were rich, famous, influential… and had a secret to hide.

Alan took two steps, then stopped again.

"I dunno," he began, hesitantly. It took every ounce of Scott's self-control not to groan or shove his brother in the back, or both. "Why don't you go first, Scott? You're used to going first."

Virgil's weight shifted behind him. It was a sketchy plan at best and every delay could be costing their brothers.

"Thought you wanted to take the lead more," Scott retorted, hoping his impatience wasn't evident. The one time he needed his kid brother to do his usual trick of barging in headfirst and of course it was the one time Alan was hesitating.

"Fine."

Alan stepped forward, the doors already opening. Scott didn't dare breathe yet – this was the easy bit.

"I still don't get-," Alan was still talking as he disappeared outside. The cops moved instantly, demanding he return inside for his 'own safety'. They'd hemmed him in, making sure he couldn't step further out.

But by the time Alan turned for help, Scott and Virgil had gone.

As soon as the first policeman stepped forward, the two brothers had turned, run through the building, out the back and around the side. There had been a man on the corner of the building to stop them doing exactly that – but he'd been distracted by Alan and the flash of movement of the fleeing Tracys came a second too late for him to call for back up.

Scott didn't dare slow, urging Virgil to keep running. They skidded into the underground parking lot, Virgil scrambling for the keys as Scott kept watch. Their entire plan banked on Alan releasing one of his famous strops, keeping the police occupied enough that no one listened to the lone cop trying to make himself heard.

Finally, the car was unlocked, Scott caught the tossed keys and they both slipped in. With their other car a burnt-out wreck, there was no way for Alan to follow them even if he did manage to shake off the cops – which Scott doubted.

Scott sped out of the garage and into the traffic before easing off. Now they were out, drawing attention was the last thing they wanted. As they coasted past the front of the building, Virgil ducked but Scott glanced over. Alan was still outside, gesturing wildly, making it impossible for them to shepherd him back in. Scott grinned even as they drove past.

The longer Alan kept up a fuss, the closer his brothers would be to finding their missing siblings.

"He's not going to forgive you," Virgil said. He sat back up, pulling the bag onto his lap and beginning to sort their meagre supplies. They had food and drink, as well as medical supplies: they had no idea what state they were going to find their brothers in. Scott had pulled out a single gun from a hidden compartment in the coffee table. It was all they had though: surprise needed to stay on their side.

"Why me? You were there, too."

"Your idea," Virgil shrugged. "You're the one who goaded him out the door."

"I didn't go- forget it. So, no back-up?"

"Nope."

Scott rolled his eyes even as Virgil smirked at him. They were used to finding ways to break the tension. Sometimes, it was the only way to even get started with a rescue when they arrived at an already devastated scene.

Thankfully, it was too early for the traffic to cause problems and it didn't take long for them to leave the city, heading once again to where they'd found the wreckage. Virgil connected to the island and Brains, and it didn't take much before their friend told them to head east.

For all his bluster about having them detained, Scott guessed their father was fully aware they'd go after their brothers. If he was responsible for the police stopping Alan (which Scott doubted, more likely NYPD had taken it upon themselves), he must have realised it wouldn't be enough to stop Scott. Now they were out in the open, their dad wasn't going to stop them: he wanted his sons found just as much.

Once he had a heading, Scott sped up. None of them could drive like Alan, but Scott wasn't in the mood to stay behind a lorry and drift along. His hands tightened on the wheel, knuckles white as his jaw locked.

"They'll be okay," Virgil suddenly said, his voice soft. Scott glanced at him before swerving past an elderly couple in their old car and cutting back in to avoid a slower moving van.

"It's John and Gordon. If anyone is going to get themselves out of trouble, it's those two."

Scott didn't answer. Virgil didn't need him to. He wasn't certain if his brother was even talking to him, or to himself. Scott understood though; he too was doing everything he could to persuade himself they'd be okay.

Nothing else was an option.