"Here."
Virgil's voice made him jump. The car behind honked in irritation as Scott pulled off, but he ignored it.
They'd been driving in silence for a while. Scott had lost track of time but knew they must be a few hours outside of the city by now. The traffic had thinned as they moved through the outskirts and only Virgil's muttered directions had filled the quiet. Scott had been swept up his own thoughts, trusting Virgil to navigate.
The track Virgil had indicated couldn't be called a road. The car bumped and groaned, not designed for this sort of terrain. Virgil put a hand on the dashboard to steady himself as Scott fought the steering wheel, knuckles white.
But they didn't need to go far. The track continued, and Scott saw a cluster of buildings rising ahead of them. Virgil clearly saw them at the same time, as he didn't comment when Scott cut the engine. For a moment, the two brothers stared.
"Where are we?" Scott asked. They'd been following Brains' signal without knowing where they were going for the entire journey.
Virgil shook his head. He was frowning as he climbed out, hand resting on the car as he stared at the buildings. Scott followed suit. Neither shut their door. Now buildings were visible, they needed to make sure they weren't detected. Until they knew what they were up against, stealth was about the only advantage they had.
A soft gasp was his indication that Virgil had figured it out.
"The old testing factories for cell companies," he explained. "They set up shop away from the city, and each other. These places are said to be shielded, allowing them to test signals without anyone being able to hack."
Scott glanced at his watch. "I've got a signal."
"You're not in a building," Virgil said. "I doubt they left anything large behind. Probably just sheeting in the buildings themselves."
"So, while John and Gords are inside-,"
Virgil nodded before Scott finished his sentence. "Their watches won't work."
"But they got a signal out."
Virgil glanced at him. Scott knew he was thinking the same thing: what had their brothers orchestrated to be able to get the signal out? Given how quickly it had cut off again, the more worrying question was: what had it cost them?
"Come on." They'd done enough standing around. Scott reached for the bag, dumping it on the hood of the car before pulling out the gun. Virgil watched him, but didn't say anything as Scott checked it was loaded.
"Haven't got a second one stashed away, have you?"
"I'm not giving you a gun!"
Scott's protest was lost with a single raised eyebrow. Most of his brothers (sometimes all, depending on what mood Alan was in) no longer let him treat them like children. They had a point, but letting them run into a burning building somehow felt different to leading them into a hostage situation.
"Sorry," he said, "I only found one. Didn't exactly bring my toolkit on vacation."
"Then give it to me."
"Excuse me?"
Virgil rolled his eyes. "You're better at hand-to-hand. If we get into trouble, my best defence is being able to shoot my way out of it, right?"
He hefted the gun in his hand for a moment before handing it over. Virgil had a point. Not only was it his best way of defending himself, it meant he could provide cover for Scott getting in close.
Leaving the car where it was, they set off on foot. The vehicle couldn't be seen from the main road and they couldn't risk the noise of the engine drawing attention by taking it closer. But hiding it properly took too much time – and would hinder them if they needed to get out fast.
"Just… don't do anything reckless," Scott said. He already had two brothers in trouble.
Virgil gave him a scathing look. "Take your own advice," he retorted.
Scott didn't answer. They both knew he'd do whatever it took to get them all to safety, and sometimes that 'whatever' fell into the realm of reckless, dangerous, and even stupid on occasion.
It was a long walk. Or, at least, it felt it. They moved quickly but carefully, pausing now and again to ensure they hadn't been seen. Scott's emotions were making his heart pound, nails digging into his palms from his clenched fists.
It wasn't just fear of the unknown, including what state their brothers might be in. The signal had been cut off so fast: if John and Gordon had been moved, Scott was painfully aware they had nothing to go on to try and track them down.
Finally, Scott held up a hand. The buildings were close now, bigger than Scott had realised. It was a sprawling complex; the others could be anywhere.
"Let's start at the back," he muttered. It felt foolish – even by his standards – to simply walk in the front entrance. That was Gordon's style, not his.
Circling the buildings, the two brothers approached the first. They had to start somewhere. There was a small door at the back, no doubt a fire exit. Scott braced himself, ready to kick it down, but Virgil held out a hand. Scott froze, and his brother simply pushed the door open.
That was all they needed to know: no point even looking inside. The second door was locked, but the building was also empty, same with the third. As they made their way out of the fourth, Scott was starting to rethink his plan. Maybe walking through the front and finding the people responsible would be the quickest way to his brothers after all.
"Wait," Virgil muttered. Scott stopped, doubling back. Virgil had crouched, looking at something on the floor.
"Gordon's been here," he said.
"What?"
Scott dropped to his knees next to him. For a second, he couldn't make out what Virgil was seeing. Then he saw the tiny pieces of paper in a pile, shredded in an unconscious manner.
"That doesn't mean-," Scott began but Virgil shook his head.
"He wouldn't even know he'd done it," he said, anger in his eyes. "But you know as well as I do, give Gords any piece of paper and he shreds it. I'm telling you: he's been in here."
Scott didn't see the point of arguing. Their siblings were around somewhere, there was no point denying a clue, however small, when it was in front of him. But as Scott made to rise, something else caught his eye.
His finger traced the mark on the floor, but he already knew what it was. Blood. Only a small amount, but that meant nothing. At least one of his brothers was injured. Scott hoped it was nothing serious, partly for his brother's sake, partly because their whole plan hinged on being able to get out fast.
"Where're you, guys?" he muttered as he looked around. They certainly weren't hiding in the shadows waiting to jump out at them.
"They'll be here," Virgil said, also standing. "Somewhere."
Virgil was trying to reassure himself. Like Scott, he clearly realised that if their brothers were no longer in this complex, they had no idea where to look for them.
"Come on." Scott didn't go for the back door this time. He went for the front, slipping out and checking there was no cry of alarm before gesturing Virgil out. They closed the door, and both smiled. It was secured by a bolt. All the buildings so far had been laid out in the same manner. Scott assumed that would be true for the rest of the compound and if it was only a bolt – albeit a strong one – locking the door, it would be easy to get the others out.
"We'll stay around the front," Scott decided. "There's enough cover if we need it, and breaking the locks on the doors is taking too long. We'll be able to tell at a glance if a building is locked or not."
Virgil nodded his agreement. There was no point searching the buildings with the bolts already thrown.
Virgil stepped forward, then gasped as Scott grabbed his arm, hauling him back into the shadow of the building. Virgil followed his lead without a sound, both of them pressing their backs against the wall. Scott inclined his head and Virgil followed his gaze.
Movement. Scott wasn't sure what he'd seen, but there'd definitely been movement. They crept forward, keeping in the shadows until they could see the wider space in front of them.
"Wha-?" Virgil's question was barely a breath, but Scott elbowed him anyway. He understood what his brother was asking though: there wasn't anyone around, the place as deserted as it had been previously.
But Scott knew he'd seen something.
"There," he breathed. A door was open on one of the buildings. Even those that hadn't been locked had still been shut until now. Scott realised the movement had been people disappearing into the building. If that was the central base, Scott realised they could be in for a long wait unless they went in after them. It would be one way to find their brothers.
But he didn't have to plan further than that. Just as he shifted his weight, there came an angry shout. A familiar angry shout. Virgil breathed a sigh of relief: their brothers were here.
Neither of them could relax, though. It took a lot to make Gordon voice his anger and his words… Scott needed to know what was happening in that building.
He edged along the wall. They were still too far away though.
"There," Virgil said, nodding to the next building along.
It still offered shelter but they'd be closer. Scott nodded. He tapped Virgil's shoulder and held up three fingers. Virgil's gaze remained on him as he dropped one, then a second, and they were both moving even as he folded the third.
Once again, they pressed themselves against the building, waiting to see if they'd been detected. They hadn't. Virgil made to move again but Scott grabbed his arm.
"We don't know how many," he whispered. Gordon and (he assumed and hoped) John were in that building. But no doubt their captors were between them and the door. The risk was too high. Frustration flickered across Virgil's expression but he nodded.
They didn't have to wait long though. Men appeared, dragging a struggling Gordon, who clearly had his hands tied behind his back. He was fighting not to get away, but to return to his prison, only falling still when another two men appeared, flanking John.
A low growl came from the back of Scott's throat. John was stumbling. Even from this distance, it was clear he was hurt. This time, it was Virgil's hand on his arm that stopped Scott from racing forward. His previous thoughts had been right: they were outnumbered. They couldn't get their brothers away out in the open like this – they wouldn't even be able to get close.
They watched, silent and tense, as their family was escorted across the compound. As they disappeared into another building, Scott let out a long sigh of frustration.
"What'd we do?" Virgil asked, leaning back against the wall.
The answer killed Scott.
"We wait."
"What?"
"We're outnumbered and have one gun. If the guys knew we were here, it would be different: they could support us from inside. Our best chance is to wait for them to bring them back out and jump on them as they're coming out the door."
"You want to wait?" Virgil said, his tone deadpan.
"It's the right thing to-,"
"Scott."
"No." There was no point pretending; patience was not his virtue. "Let's close in."
It was a foolish plan to burst in there. He wouldn't put Virgil in that sort of danger, the risks were too high. But he couldn't stand here and do nothing and he couldn't ask Virgil to remain behind – this wasn't the time or place for that argument.
"C'mon," he murmured. "Let's get closer. At least we can try and figure out their numbers. Our priority is getting John and Gordon out: the men can wait. We'll come back if we have to."
"To any empty compound?" Virgil asked, eyebrows raised. If they left their brothers' captors here, they'd hardly stick around to be arrested.
Scott shrugged. "They won't have a choice."
Just because his intention was to get his brothers out didn't mean he intended to allow this group to get away with what they had done. This was supposed to be time off! A vacation! All of them together for once without having to save the world.
What did a guy have to do to get a break?
They would pay, whatever Scott had to do to make sure of it.
There were a lot of things Gordon suspected he should be feeling while being held hostage.
Bored was not one of them.
But he was. John had fallen into a light sleep and Gordon didn't want to wake him. He'd patched him up the best he could with the meagre supplies but if sleep let him escape the pain for a while, Gordon couldn't deny him that. He still routinely found himself checking his brother was breathing, however.
Not knowing what else to do, he'd spent the last twenty minutes pacing their prison. It went against his nature to sit still and, if he was honest, the concrete floor and cold wall was not doing his back any good. He needed to be moving. It didn't give him any release though, or any ideas of how they'd get out of this. It just made him more frustrated.
"Keep going and you might wear through the floor. We'll get out that way, great escape style."
Gordon whipped around. John was watching him, awake and amused.
"Did I wake you?"
John shook his head and (although Gordon didn't think it was possible), went paler than before. Gordon hurried towards him but John held up a hand, stopping him.
"Other way."
"What?"
Could the blow to his head done more damage than he feared? It was unlike John not to make sense…
"Door's the other way."
"I don't-," he had no idea what his brother was talking about.
"Gordon. You're not going to get us out if you're fussing over me. Need something to do? Go see if the door can be forced, or if there's another one."
That second part wasn't an option. There was a second door, set in the far wall. But there were old shelving units piled haphazardly in front of it. Even if they had the strength to move one, it would likely bring the entire lot crashing down. He could already hear Virgil's lecture on heavy lifting.
Apparently, John was still making sense, even if he was concussed. Gordon moved to the door, but he was humouring his brother. Even if they could get it open, then what? John wasn't in a state to make a run for it and while he'd never admit it, Gordon was feeling the beating he'd taken too. He wasn't sure how long he'd be able to support his brother for.
He shook the door, to no avail. He'd seen the heavy bolt from the outside, heard it slam into place after the supplies had been dropped off. One of Brains' laser cutters would have it open in seconds, but Gordon forgot to pack one for a few days in the city.
He lent against the door, fed up and tired of losing. Just as he intended to return to John, he heard something. It was faint through the door, but there was no mistaking the sound of people approaching. Even as he straightened up, he heard the bolt being drawn back.
Gordon didn't hesitate. He darted across the room, snatching up the cuffs that had previously bound John before returning to his position. As the door creaked open, Gordon reacted.
The first man didn't stand a chance, stumbling back, then sitting down abruptly after Gordon's fist had made contact. The second man flinched back as the cuffs whipped towards his eyes. Not exactly Gordon's weapon of choice, but he'd take what he could get.
As the man backed away, Gordon hauled the door shut.
"Help me," he asked John. But although his brother had – unsteadily – made it to his feet, he shook his head, looking resigned.
"Let it go, Gords."
"No way!"
"How're we going to get out if you keep the door shut?"
He had to admit, he hadn't thought that far ahead. He just wanted to deny their captors as much as he could: they wanted in; he'd keep them out. He groaned in frustration: Gordon hated losing.
But he let go. The door jolted violently; whoever was the other side had clearly expected resistance.
Gordon used that time to move back to John. When the door opened, it came as no surprise all the men who piled in were armed. Their leader was nowhere to be seen: no doubt sending her cronies to do the physical work. Although from what he'd seen, Gordon knew she'd have no trouble holding her own.
"Hands on your head," one of the men barked.
"Go to hell," Gordon shot back.
He'd had enough of being told what to do! The guns were no doubt just to intimidate them. They'd have shot them by the side of the road if that had been their plan.
Gordon refused to play nice. He let out a shout, charging forward. He took them by surprise, colliding hard and making two men lose their balance. The rest had stepped aside though, letting Gordon's charge lose momentum before they stepped forward.
He hadn't eaten for hours, had taken more than one beating and was worried about John. It didn't take long until Gordon realised the uncomfortable truth that he was losing.
Get back to John.
If they could team up, watch each other's backs… It was what they should've done from the start. It was hard to remember that just because John wasn't out on the field as much didn't mean he hadn't gone through some of the same training. Scott had made sure of it.
He wriggled free from grasping hands. But just as he took a step, one of the men groaning on the ground grabbed his ankle and pulled. It was his bad leg – and screamed its protest as it jerked. The limb buckled beneath him and Gordon crashed to his knees. His attackers wasted no time forcing him onto his stomach.
A hand grabbed his wrist, and it was only then that Gordon realised he was still holding the cuffs.
"Since you like these so much," the voice hissed in his ear, trying to prise his fingers off. Gordon hung on tighter, cursing as a foot stamped down.
"Enough." The voice was calm.
Gordon looked up, then shut his eyes in dismay. He hadn't kept all of their captors occupied. Three had gone for John. Two had a tight grip on his arms, although whether they were restraining his brother or holding him up, Gordon couldn't be sure.
"Let them go." The same calm voice said. The man's gaze was locked on Gordon and he motioned for the handcuffs.
"Don't." John tried struggling. They both knew once the men had the metal locked around Gordon's wrists, it wouldn't be easy to free him again. This group were starting to realise it was no easy feat holding Tracys captive: they weren't going to take any more chances.
But Gordon didn't have a choice. Not when the calm man drove a fist into John's midriff, doubling him over with a gasp. Now Gordon knew for sure it was the grip on his arms that was keeping John upright.
He let go.
It took seconds, mere seconds, for them to wrench his arms behind his back and lock them there. Gordon didn't struggle as they hauled him to his feet. He knew how this went, and while he was certain they wouldn't be killed, John was in enough pain. He couldn't take more, and Gordon wouldn't be the reason why.
He lifted his chin as the man who'd spoken approached. There was a glint in his eye that said he was going to enjoy this. Gordon wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"Get away from him."
John was being held up, semi-conscious. But there was something about his tone, his expression. The man side-stepped Gordon, shrugging nonchalantly, but Gordon saw him visibly swallow. He was going to have to rethink overprotective big brothers: he wasn't sure even Scott would've stopped a beating with four words while barely able to keep his eyes open.
"Take him," the man said instead.
Hands grabbed his arms, tugging him towards the door. He glanced back, to find the man watching John.
"Leave him alone!"
He didn't say it. He didn't even shout it. Gordon's words exploded from him in a roar. He'd had enough! He managed to free himself from one man before the others tightened their grip.
"Take them both," their captor snapped. He turned, striding past Gordon. His expression told Gordon he'd really had enough of them, and that the sooner the Tracys were on their way, the better. Gordon bet he was going to have words with his boss about who their next target was going to be.
They bundled Gordon outside. He didn't fight, not when they were bringing John out as well. Gordon bit his lip. As much as he refused to go quietly, he could see what this was costing John right now. He stepped closer, relieved when the men let him. They'd hopefully realised keeping the brothers together was going to make their lives a lot easier.
"You okay?" Gordon murmured. John was pale but, more concerningly, he seemed to be staring at one of the other buildings, a small frown on his face. Gordon glanced over, but couldn't see anything.
He elbowed his brother best he could with his hands tied behind his back. The last thing he needed was for John to pass out. Now he was bound, he figured his brother's method of fighting may be a better way of getting out of this.
John gave a short gasp.
"What was that for?" he demanded through gritted teeth. Gordon shrugged, unapologetic.
"Are you okay?" he asked again.
To his surprise, John looked him straight in the eye.
"Yes," he said firmly. "I am."
Gordon blinked at him. He didn't have the chance to ask anything else – like, what the hell? There was something he was missing, that much was true, but he'd been here as long as John had and if his brother had suddenly thought of an escape plan, Gordon had no idea what it was.
But the men prodded them to start moving and the distance between them meant Gordon couldn't say anything else without being overheard.
He tried looking around as they were moved. Something had caught John's attention, but what? Once, he thought he saw a flicker of movement in the shadow of one of the buildings, but when he looked again, there was nothing there. Just his eyes playing tricks on him.
Or… A thought slipped into Gordon's head. Shadows playing tricks, or a man who'd been trained by the USAF to move with stealth through enemy territory?
His lips parted in a soft gasp and he looked at John. John caught his eye and, as usual, accurately read Gordon's expression. He nodded, a soft smile on his face.
Gordon hadn't even noticed they were being led back to the central building, the one with the camera. But even as he was shoved through the door, he could breathe a little easier.
His brothers were here. It was going to be okay.
