The shove sent him stumbling forward. Gordon was so busy trying to look around that he forgot about the steps, tripped and fell, unable to put his hands out. He stayed where he was for a second, groaning. This just wasn't his day.

"What was that for?" John sounded furious on his behalf. Gordon looked up, and grinned when he saw it was taking two men to get John through the door. His brother wasn't fighting, per se, he was just refusing to move.

It was incredible, really. Knowing that Scott (probably Virgil, maybe Alan, but definitely Scott) was here meant Gordon's previous determination had rushed back. He'd protect John, but he was done playing nice.

Given that John was currently blocking the door, Gordon figured his brother was thinking the same.

It was time to do things their way.

Gordon jumped up. He'd always been nimble – neither his accident or having his hands bound changed that. He took the steps in one stride, ramming his shoulder into one man's midriff. His opponent stumbled back, and a well-place kick shoved him back through the door. John followed suit, shouldering the other man out.

Gordon threw himself against the door, slamming it shut. John did the same.

"The camera," John panted.

Gordon twisted until John saw his cuffed wrists. But then John also turned, and Gordon saw they'd only secured his brother's hands with rope. Given that Gordon was secretly impressed John was still standing, he reckoned their captors weren't expecting much of a fight from him.

Keeping a shoulder against the door, Gordon moved until he was back-to-back with John. It didn't take much to pull the rope free. John took a step away, then hesitated.

Gordon rolled his eyes.

"Go! You can free me later. I can't hold this forever."

He had his entire weight pressed against the door, keeping it closed. He'd have to shift for John to free his hands, and the couple of minutes it'd take for his brother to pick the lock were minutes they didn't have.

Gordon shifted until his back was against the door, knees bent as he strained. It meant he had eyes on John as his brother hurried across the room and grabbed the camera. If the brothers were being brought here, the chances were that the camera was already set to the right channel to connect to the island. Their dad might, even now, be waiting on a message.

His feet slipped as he felt more bodies slam into the door. The steps were the problem. Tripping down the stairs was embarrassing once; he didn't plan on doing it twice.

"John," Gordon grunted.

"I need a second." John sounded flustered in a way Gordon wasn't used to.

"You don't have a second," he said. The door opened an inch before Gordon managed to slam it closed again.

John swore, then, "Dad!"

"What's happening?"

Their father's voice had never been so welcome. He sounded calm, in control, and whatever the boss had hoped to get from him, Gordon knew she'd be in for a surprise.

"Outskirts of town, old factories," John said quickly. "Dad-,"

The door burst open.

Whatever they'd slammed into it was more than Gordon could hold. He leapt away, jumping down the steps before he could fall, turning to face the entrance. Five men spilled in, weapons drawn and expressions of fury on their faces.

Their boss was behind them. Her eyes were cold and angry. Gordon knew her plan to kidnap a billionaire's sons, get a nice little ransom and be home in time for tea (he needed to stop talking to Lady Penelope!) had been truly ruined when she settled on the Tracy family as her target.

Gordon backed towards John as they approached. It was clear things weren't going to plan, and if their captors were no longer certain they'd get money for them, then there was a chance the weapons weren't just for show.

"Step away from the camera," she ordered John. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down, one eyebrow raised.

She gave a signal and two of her men lunged, catching Gordon's arms before he could move out of reach. With his hands tied, there was nothing he could do to stop them from dragging him forward, away from his brother.

One circled behind him, slamming his knee into the back of Gordon's bad leg. It gave way, sending him pitching forward, and a fist to the stomach took him all the way to his knees, gasping for breath. But the men hadn't let go of his arms, either, and even as he struggled to breathe, they kept him doubled over.

That wasn't so much the problem as the gun pressed against the back of his head.

"I won't ask again," the woman said. John's arms dropped. Gordon saw him glance at the camera before taking a step away.

Another two men approached John, grabbing hold of him.

"Your sons are trouble, Tracy," she said. The fifth man had moved towards the camera, shifting its position until it was directly in front of Gordon.

Trapped on his knees with a gun to his head, Gordon was starting to get a bad feeling about this. Someone had changed the stakes and not told him.

"What is it you want?" His dad demanded. "Name your price. Just let my boys go."

"The price just doubled," the woman retorted. "Maybe you'll realise I'm serious if you know you're only getting one back."

Gordon shut his eyes for a second. They knew he was the biggest threat. Take him out and they'd be able to control John.

One of the men let go of his arm. Gordon only had time to gasp before a hand grabbed his hair, yanking his head back and jamming the gun into his windpipe.

"Let him go. We can talk-,"

"I'm done talking!" She yelled, looking and sounding completely wild. Gordon would've laughed if he'd been able to even swallow: he wasn't the only one having a bad day.

Gordon shifted his gaze as best he could. They'd forced John to his knees too, hands on his shoulders and arms keeping him down. This was getting serious… and if there was one thing Gordon was not known for, it was being serious.

"You know what?" His voice came out overly loud, his Kansas accent surfacing. "I'm really bored of this."

It was a risk. And it was stupid. But Gordon figured that given they were the ones who ran towards a burning building rather than away, it was exactly the sort of thing his brothers would expect from him.

He threw himself backwards, his body crashing into the man with the gun. Gordon fell as a deadweight, and the man let out a cry as he lost his balance, instinctively letting go of the gun as he put out a hand to break his fall. Gordon twisted, keeping his knees under him before he ended up flat out on his back, and flicked out a foot. The gun went spiralling off into a shadowed corner, sending the man monitoring the camera scrambling after it.

Jumping to his feet, Gordon dispatched one of the men who'd been holding him down with a kick that was below the belt – literally. It wasn't an honourable way of fighting, but they'd hurt John, so Gordon had no intention of playing fair.

He wasn't sure what his plan was. They were outnumbered and his hands were tied behind his back. Getting to John felt like the best course of action. But as he moved forward, a hand latched around his ankle. Gordon tried to tear lose, but it meant putting his weight on his bad leg. His cry was half pain, half frustration, but it was too late: his leg once again buckled and for the second time in what felt like as many minutes, Gordon hit the floor.

They didn't give him the chance to collect himself. Rough hands forced him over until he was on his back, hands trapped underneath him. Someone straddled him, knees digging painfully into Gordon's sides.

"Kill him," the boss growled.

The first sign he had that this really wasn't going well were the fingers wrapping around his neck. The second was when they started to squeeze.

Instinct made him try to draw in a breath; panic turned it into a half-gasp, unable to take in the air his body wanted.

"Gordon!"

John's shout sounded far away. He could hear his brother fighting off his own captors, trying to break free, but given the grip on his throat didn't lessen, Gordon assumed his brother failed.

Gordon tried kicking out, but the man was positioned too far up his body. The weight pressing down was also too great for Gordon to try and buck him off.

"A few more minutes," the woman said, sounding more collected, "then I think you'll be more prepared to make a deal, yes, Mr Tracy?"

His hands were trapped underneath him; there was nothing he could do to stop the life being squeezed out of him. John, apparently, seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

"Scott!"

Gordon didn't even know John could shout that loudly. Everyone in the room jumped.

"Scott! Virgil!"

John was struggling, his dad demanding to know what was going on and their captors were firing questions at each other. The names John had called didn't match up with what they knew about their two hostages.

But sounds were becoming muted. For years, his brothers had called him a fish – but he hadn't meant to take it as far as a fish out of water. Every gasp failed; black spots were starting to crowd the edge of his vision.

He didn't hear the door burst open. Didn't hear the surprised cries from the men. His strength started to ebb; he couldn't struggle and try and breathe at the same time.

But what he did hear, however, was a very familiar voice.

"Get the hell," Scott said quietly, "away from my brother."

The man was torn off him, his weight vanishing in the time it took Gordon to blink. He gasped, his throat burning but air! Sweet blessed air! Sucking in ragged breaths, Gordon shut his eyes for a second, focusing on consciously doing an unconscious task.

Hands touched his shoulders and Gordon's eyes snapped open, but it was only Scott. His brother got him to his feet, drew him away from the centre of the room. His own grip was gentle as he cradled Gordon's neck, forcing him to look up.

"Gords?"

He tried to speak, but his words were an indistinguishable croak. He jerked his head towards John, but it was enough: Scott understood.

"We've got him," he said with a smile. "Virg's here too."

Gordon forced himself to look up. He had to see what was going on. Even as he watched, one of the men restraining John moved forward, brandishing a gun at Virgil. Although Gordon couldn't see his brother's face, the rest of Virgil's body language looked decidedly unimpressed and, with a single blow, floored the man.

His friend didn't know what'd hit him. One moment he was holding down his prisoner; the next, he was on the floor, one arm twisted behind him and John's knee in his back.

Apparently, a little brother being strangled was enough to make John forget his own injuries.

"What is going on?"

Despite coming from the camera, their father's voice still thundered around the room.

Gordon looked around properly. The man who'd been strangling him was unconscious, sprawled in a heap on the floor. The one Virgil had hit was struggling to sit up and John was casually keeping his own down. The remaining two had retreated to a far corner, although their hands were well away from their weapons and their eyes wary. Apparently, his big brothers had made quite an entrance.

Their boss, however, was edging towards the door. Scott dropped a hand from Gordon's neck, reached over and grabbed her wrist with deceptive ease.

"Don't think so," he said.

"Scott! Virgil. One of you better answer me."

Gordon leant against the wall, smirking. He knew that tone. It was a mixture of relief and exasperation: a tone he knew well from pranks getting out of hand growing up. It was amusing to hear it directed at those two. As far as Gordon was aware, Scott had never warranted it before.

"Um," Virgil said helpfully. He moved until he was closer to John, encouraging their brother to stand up. John released his hostage but the man only scurried over to join his friends in the corner.

But as Virgil's hands started on the makeshift dressings, Gordon realised he'd positioned himself in a way that meant he didn't have to look at his father. John shrugged him off, gesturing towards Gordon instead.

"Thought we'd come and help," Scott muttered, keeping a hold on the woman. He now had both wrists trapped after avoiding being raked across the face by her nails with a quick dodge. She kicked him on the shin instead.

"I expressly forbade you from coming out here alone."

"They just saved our lives," John muttered. He gave Scott a grateful nod as he approached Gordon. He disappeared but Gordon stayed still when he felt fingers against his wrists. John was making good on his promise to free his hands. But with John behind him, Gordon suddenly found himself trapped between two big brothers as Virgil's gentle fingers grazed over the red marks on his neck. It felt like a dangerous place to be given his recent asphyxiation and their tendency to overreact.

"The cops were supposed to be keeping an eye on you."

Gordon would've whistled if he could. Their father had gone to some lengths to try and keep the others out of trouble. He understood why, although how the man thought it would work, he had no idea. Telling Scott 'no' when a brother was in trouble, let alone two, was definitely speaking to a brick wall.

Virgil glanced over his shoulder at Scott. John gave him a few seconds thinking time as he handed over Gordon's handcuffs. Scott busied himself securing the boss, pushing her to her knees once her hands were cuffed.

"I'm waiting."

"Alan's… distracting them," Scott murmured. He shared a look with Virgil, and neither would look towards the camera.

Gordon grinned. He couldn't help it. It was such a classic Scott move: head straight into danger himself but orchestrate a way to ensure a younger brother didn't follow him. Being arrested certainly put a stop to any plans Alan had. Gordon was momentarily surprised Virgil hadn't been caught in it as well but then he checked himself. Scott wouldn't be able to fool Virgil.

"Look, Dad, we'll check in later. Can you send the cops to our co-ordinates – Brains has them if you can't get a lock. We need a team to take out the trash. I want to get Gordon to the hospital."

Gordon finally looked over at the camera himself. Despite his words, there was only relief in his dad's expression. He was sitting forward, a concerned gaze locked on both John and Gordon.

"This conversation isn't over," he said. Gordon wondered if most parents gave two sons a dressing down while they were in the process of saving another two. "Just make sure there's a mess there for the police."

He reached out, intending to disconnect. "John, Gordon…" He didn't say anything else; didn't seem to know what to say.

"We're okay," John answered the unspoken words.

Their father smiled, his eyes softening as he nodded at them and disconnected. Gordon stayed staring at the blank screen for a moment before Virgil's hand on his shoulder drew his attention.

"C'mon," his brother said. "Let's get you two out of here."

"J'hn," Gordon croaked. They might have arrived in time to witness him being choked, but it was John who'd been beaten unconscious only hours before.

"It's okay," Virgil said.

When he looked at Virgil, it was to find his brother's gaze locked on John and a smirk on his face. John backed off a few steps, only for Scott to move in closer. Gordon grinned: there were no fooling those two, whatever John tried.

"I've got him," Scott added. There was no going against that tone. They knew John was hurt and however many hasty steps John tried to take, Scott wasn't letting him go anywhere.

Gordon was glad. He should've done more to protect his brother – he was the one with the military background, after all. At least now he could make sure John got the medical help he needed.

"Let's go," Virgil said. He took Gordon's arm, leading him forward. "This place gives me the creeps."

Gordon shook his head. "John," he said again, glad when his voice was a little stronger.

"Scott's got him; I've got you. Do me a favour and give me the better end of the deal," Virgil said. He looked over. "John's not the only one hurt, Gords. And I don't mean what we just walked in on."

Gordon had been so focused on John, then actually staying alive, that it had been a while since his body reminded him of his own beatings. Of course, as soon as Virgil drew attention to it, every bruised throbbed in protest of being forgotten and Gordon bit back a groan, refusing to give his brother the satisfaction.

"I c'n w'lk," he muttered as Virgil helped him up the steps.

"I know. But this makes me feel better, okay?"

"'kay." He was being played but just because he knew that didn't mean he wasn't prepared to go along with it. The adrenaline was fading, and a few nutrient bars and a bottle of water was not enough for how long they'd been missing.

Scott propped John against the side of the building and went back inside. The five men were left there, their leader escorted to the next building along with her hands still cuffed behind her back. Both Scott and Virgil drew the bolts across on both doors. Scott's hand lingered for a second, and Gordon knew what it was costing him to walk away. But he'd spent hours straining against those bolts: there was no getting out.

"How're you going to explain this?" John asked.

Gordon glanced at him, then did a double take. Out in the daylight, his brother looked even worse. He saw Scott and Virgil exchange a concerned glance before they started escorting the two of them down a rough road.

"Dad'll come up with something," Scott said, tone dismissive. Gordon knew what that meant: they currently had no idea, and didn't actually care.

Gordon agreed. All he wanted was a decent meal, a hot shower and bed. Maybe a couple of painkillers when no one was looking. He suddenly realised just how grateful he was to be out of there, and lent against Virgil a little more to express that gratitude. He'd known they would come.

He zoned out, letting Virgil lead him. As long as he wasn't expected to walk back to the city, he was happy to just let his big brothers handle everything.

But their destination was much closer than the city. They hadn't been moving long before they came across a car, all doors thrown open.

"We were in a hurry," Virgil explained.

Gordon gave a soft chuckle, letting Virgil settle him in the back. He told both himself and his brother it was for Virgil's sake that he was allowing the help. Scott did the same with John, only John didn't even try to deny he needed the aid. He was shaking.

As their brothers moved to get into the front, Gordon turned to John.

"You okay?" his voice was coming back. John nodded, giving him a tired smile.

"Want a coffee," he grumbled.

Gordon snorted then, when he caught John's eye, burst out laughing. It hurt like hell, and there wasn't anything remotely funny about what John had said. But his brother's answering grin told him John felt the same: pure and utter relief. It was over.

"Let's get you back," Scott said, starting the engine.

"No hospitals," Gordon murmured. He shifted into a more comfortable position, feeling every blow he'd taken. John must be feeling ten times worse.

"Mm hmm."

"I meant it. I just want to go home."

"We'll get you there," Virgil promised.

As Scott pulled onto the main road and the rough terrain gave way to smooth tarmac, Gordon realised John had his eyes shut. It was the best idea his brother had had for a while.

He was asleep before they'd gone a mile, missing the relieved looks passing between the two conscious Tracys.

He knew nothing of the journey until Virgil shook him awake, an apologetic smile on his face.

One glance over his shoulder, and Gordon tried to scramble out the other side of the car. John was already arguing with Scott and there was nothing Gordon could do when Virgil dragged – albeit gently – him out of the car.

"Nice try, kid," Virgil said with a smile. Scott now had hold of John's arm, as if physically preventing him from running. "We've got to get you properly checked out."

"I'm fine."

"John needs to be checked over."

Gordon hesitated.

"Damnit," he muttered, giving in. The look on Virgil's face revealed he'd known that would work. John looked over at that very second, and Gordon knew Scott had just delivered the exact same argument.

They were right. John needed to be checked. If they were going to have any luck mollifying the police, coming straight to the hospital was the thing to do as well. It was what any sane person would do.

It wasn't giving in. He didn't do that. But for John's sake, Gordon let Virgil lead him into the hospital.