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Summary:

After too many years Scott is finally beginning to heal from his Bereznik experience.

Unfortunately he wasn’t the only one left with lasting injuries at that time.

Notes:

This will make a lot more sense if you read Presence first.

For context, this part of the story is set at some point BETWEEN:

- Scott’s malaria relapse (pretty much everything I write is now heavily informed by Recrudesence) which results in his realisation that with help (and actually allowing people to SEE him at moments of weakness) he can start to process his Bereznik experience and move on rather than just bury it until the next time it jumpscares him. He’s doing pretty well actually… it’s just that secretly not everyone else has recovered from that time.

And

- Jeff’s return. He’s not back yet, the bros have to figure all this stuff out on their own.

Chapter Text

Scott adjusted the tie and straightened the collar by feel alone then kept his eyes tight shut as he fastened one, two, three weighty buttons and smoothed the lapels of the coat. He took a deep breath and a side step to line himself up with where he knew the mirror was. Then another couple of slow breaths were required before he opened his eyes.

The hairs on the back of his neck shivered but he didn’t panic. That was… good.

He looked over at the framed photograph, liberated from the back of a drawer in Dad’s office and temporarily propped up on his bedside table, and then back at his reflection. His first identifiable thought was that he’d definitely aged. A highly active job meant it all still fitted, which was a relief. Although things were perhaps a little more snug around the upper arms than before, he’d not developed the ‘Officer Gut’ that usually compelled ex-forces personnel to purchase a new dress uniform in order to attend certain events. His face was leaner though, with more shadow around the eyes and slightly more pronounced lines at the forehead. Well. Inevitable really. And the greys… he’d blame Gordon for most of those.

The other main difference was the second silver bar. That made him uncomfortable. The promotion, along with the handful of medals, had been awarded ‘posthumously’ presumably for the dubious achievement of having been missing long enough for them to assume he’d given his life in service. He hadn’t earned it. Dad must have pinned them on before hiding the dress uniform away in the back of his old closet the best part of a decade ago and it had been packaged up with all the other clothes and moved out with them to the island without any real thought. Until now, Scott had never taken the uniform out of the protective plastic covering to see. He’d removed the medals, straight away, no way was he wearing those, but his First Lieutenant bar was missing so he was stuck with the Captain. Fine. It was only for an evening. He could fake it for an evening.

He frowned at himself and straightened his shoulders, since when had he got so slouchy? He looked again at the photograph - his younger self smiling proudly at the camera, smug in his naivety. He could see the desperation in the young man’s eyes to prove himself to be as impressive as the outfit made him look, unaware of the weight of it all.

He looked back at older Scott and raised an eyebrow. Maybe he wasn’t slouching, the damn thing had just got heavier over time. He was roused from his musing by a muffled double thump at the door which he presumed was the toe of his brother’s boot. He called out an invitation without averting his eyes from the mirror.

His little brother pushed the door open with his behind and entered the room with the two huge mugs of coffee Scott had hoped might be in the offing. Caffeine was denied him though as a split second later there was a crash, a faint moan and Virgil was gone, empty cups rolling across the floor and coffee soaking into the carpet.

Chapter 2: React

Summary:

How has Virgil managed to disappear?
Scott can’t think about the ‘Why?’ right now. That’s a question for later. Once is brother is back safe by his side…

Chapter Text

“HOW CAN HE HAVE DISAPPEARED? WE LIVE ON AN ISLAND!!”

“I’m doing my best, Scott, but the solar flare is overwhelming some of Five’s sensors… there are only so many overrides EOS and I can…”

“Sorry. Yes. I’m sorry, John, it’s just…”

“I know.” The precise set of John’s jaw revealed his tension but otherwise he was projecting calm, sympathetic professionalism.

Scott looked around at the various shades of brave face the remainder of his family were wearing. Allie looked sick as a dog but stood tall and his shoulders were squared. Gordon was muttering aggressively and glaring at the island infographic as if it was deliberately withholding information. Brains was whispering to MAX and recalibrating scans at the speed of desperation. Kayo’s expression had set into neutral with the slightest tension in her frame which he recognised as her readiness to spring to their defence against… whatever was happening.

What WAS happening? It had been so fast and Scott had been so absorbed in his own thoughts he didn’t have any answer for what happened in the seconds between Virgil cheerily entering the room bearing coffee and him bolting like a startled hare.

“And he’s not been hiding an illness? His vitals were…”

“Entirely within normal range until 14 minutes ago when there was a sharp spike in heart rate and blood pressure for 6 minutes then he…”

“Disappeared.”

“Became invisible to Five’s scans, yes.”

“Maybe he took one of the boats?” Gordon ventured.

“Negative, EOS has scanned the dry dock, they are all still down there.”

“And no unexplained life signs?” Scott knew they’d covered this but he just couldn’t accept the answer.

John sighed but answered patiently “No, Scott that was the first thing we checked.”

Scott paced and tried to drag his mind out of the spiral of imagining the various scenarios in which his brother could be somewhere a life sign wasn’t. He needed to compartmentalise. This was just another search and rescue mission.

Rescue. Not recovery. Please not recovery.

“Ok. Manual search it is. Brains, you and Max use the drones to access the caldera and the more remote parts of the western slopes. Kayo, Gordon take Thunderbird Four on a clockwise sweep to check the beaches. Alan, you and I will…”

“JOHN!” EOS‘s voice was shrill and Scott’s heart froze.

“Thunderbird Shadow has commenced her launch sequence!”

Kayo’s eyes widened in shock.

“SHADOW? What? Why?”

Everyone looked blank.

“Is Virgil in there? Can you reach him?”

“Sorry Scott, she’s already cloaked and there’s no reply on comms.”

“Stop the launch then!”

“I can’t, we’re locked out.”

“I can.” Kayo, pulled up her remote access and wrestled with the controls for a few seconds before breathing a sigh of relief. “Ok, she’s not going anywhere. Um…”

Scott was already heading for the elevator to the hangars when his sister’s uncharacteristic uncertainty arrested him. He looked back. She swallowed.

“We may have a slight problem.”

“What? What is it Kayo??” Scott knew he was raising his voice but it was that or burst into frustrated tears which was… not an option.

EOS answered first.

“Thunderbird Shadow halted her sequence on the outside of the cliff face.”

Virgil was suspended over a death drop.

“Can we lock him inside?” Gordon had clearly reached the same horrified conclusion as his eldest brother had. Kayo shook her head.

Brains stepped forward “Unf-fortunately n-not as currently configured. The p-pilot’s ability to exit is always p-prioritised over remote a-access in c-case of… c-compromise.”

“I get it. Not your fault Brains. EOS?”

“I’m working on it Scott.”

“Good, in the meantime I’ll grab a couple of jet packs.” Scott headed for the hangar again.

“SCOTT! Wait!” John had dropped the professionalism which arrested Scott’s momentum faster than a brick wall.

“What now John??”

“Let the others go. You have to change.”

“WHAT?!”

“He can’t see you wearing… that.”

Scott looked down at the dress uniform he had forgotten he was wearing and ice crept down his spine. This… was the problem? He suddenly realised John knew something that he didn’t and cursed himself for not finding out what it was already. But now wasn’t the time.

“Right. You three, take jetpacks and get up there but don’t let him get out before I’m with you. I’ll be there asap.”

“FAB.”

Chapter Text

Scott raced through his bedroom door and vaguely acknowledged the squelching noise and the probably related damp sensation seeping through his socks. Later. He slammed the door and tore the coat off so hurriedly one of the buttons became detached and rolled somewhere out of sight. Later. Slinging the offending item over the back of the desk chair he turned his attention to the rest. Did he need to shed the shirt as well? Probably… he was never wearing any of this again anyway. It had been a terrible idea even to consider it.

He’d always intended to find out what Virgil’s deal had been in the aftermath of his capture. He knew about the others, mostly from school reports, little hints picked up here and there. But he’d seen  nothing recorded about Virgil and any conversation about that time seemed to slide away from the topic of his brother and on to himself. He’d tried asking directly just once… all he’d got out of his father was a hurriedly suppressed agonised expression and “He really missed you.” He was going to quiz John at some point but had never quite found the courage to ask. He knew it had been bad but… nobody spoke of it. That’s how he knew.

All Scott could say was that Virgil had been there for him, his first clear memories of the hospital his brother’s eyes and his voice and he’d been singing and Scott knew he wasn’t in prison anymore because music had been banned in Bereznik. His little brother had been his rock, unfailing, unflinching… unmoving in the main. He had a vague recollection towards the end of his incarceration on the ward of nurses giving up and just working around the snoring figure hunched over his bedside.

But he had no idea what had gone on before. And he now realised he really should have made more effort to find out.

He crossed the room to where he’d left his civvies folded neatly and stumbled as he failed to get his left leg fully free of the narrow legged pants. Reflexes saved him, but not the photo frame he swiped off the bedside table with a rogue elbow. Broken glass joined the coffee in the chaos that was now his bedroom carpet. No matter just a photo frame. Dad’s photo frame though. He picked it up guiltily and then gasped as a sudden bolt of clarity hit him. As he suddenly realised when this framed photo of his past self had last seen the light of day. That Virgil probably hadn’t seen it since it graced the top of his empty coffin.

He flung it away from himself and bellowed a string of curses at the ceiling. How could he have been so STUPID?

Hands shaking, he wrestled with the buttons of his casual shirt and probably missed one or two. Later. Leaping over the wet patch and the glass he left his door swinging and ran for the lift before cursing again and hurrying back. As he struggled into his jeans he realised that this time he hadn’t avoided the glass and that at some point that was going to STING. Later.

The lift took 6.8 seconds to descend to the hangar and it was at least 6 seconds too slow. Snatching a spare jetpack from the store he ran past Two towards the pedestrian exit for her runway and she loomed over him. His brother’s ship was never cross, but right now he felt her disappointment. He silently promised her he’d fix this and fired up the pack as he slammed the door open with his already aching shoulder and shot into the sky.

Chapter 4: Reel

Summary:

Everyone might not 100% ok…

Chapter Text

The first thing Scott noticed was Shadow stationary and clamped firmly to her ‘roost’ on the cliff side, with two figures buzzing around the cockpit.

The second thing he noticed was Alan perched on a rocky outcrop about 40m below where Shadow clung to the cliff.

The third thing was that there were tears running down his baby brother’s face as he squinted into the sky overhead.

The fourth thing was the telltale glint in the rosy blue of early evening that meant the space elevator was on its way down.

He flew over to Alan and made a hurried enquiry as to his health. Alan dashed the wetness from his face and said he was fine. Scott didn’t believe him and said so. Alan shrugged and clamped his lips together but then his face crumpled and he blurted out:

“They said I had to leave. That Virgil wouldn’t want me to see. But I already did so what’s the point. I want to help! What use am I down here?”

“Alan, what did you see?”

Alan looked guilty. Scott looked up to where Gordon and Kayo were hovering either side of Shadow’s windshield which appeared to be partly raised.

“Alan!”

The response was barely a whisper.

“He thinks you’re flying Shadow to… to…” nothing but a strangled sound came out here but Scott knew exactly the word Alan couldn’t bring himself to say. “He says he has to go too… but there’s nobody in the pilot’s seat Scott.”

“Right.” Scott had no idea what to do with this information and hovered impotently in midair for a moment.

“I’m scared.”

Big brother instinct triggered, Scott snapped out of his panicked indecision and took change.

“I’ll look after him I promise. Please go and fetch the big blue first aid kit, Allie? The one with the… uh, the everything in it.” The word “tranquilliser” was almost as dirty and unspeakable as “Bereznik” was in the Tracy household, but at that height Scott wasn’t going to take any chances with his stronger, heavier brother.

“FAB Scott.”

He watched his little brother leave then made a beeline for Shadow, popping up beside Gordon who was pale and ever so young-looking and Kayo, unflappable Kayo who… whose face was as tear stained as Alan’s had been. Scott swallowed hard and peered through the semi-raised hatch to meet his best friend’s eyes.

“Virgil?”

“Dad!”

Chapter 5: Return

Summary:

What on Earth is Virgil up to?

Chapter Text

Everything would be fine if it wasn’t for the whistling in his ears. Maybe he’d got water in them swimming. Or they were waxy… but he was pretty regular with that kind of personal maintenance so, probably pool water.

Obviously he was nervous, yes. He’d be crazy not to be, the place was an active warzone. But Scotty was an ace pilot and with Virgil at his back nobody would shoot him down this time.

Virgil was slightly embarrassed at his initial reaction to seeing Scotty in his smart uniform. He’d run away and hidden in the hangar. But then his brother had come and found him and stroked his hair and made him understand why he had to go. He promised he wouldn’t be long but Virgil had argued back and said if he was going then Virgil had to come too because they were wingmen these days. Scotty had laughed and said Thunderbird Two was too slow and chunky.

That had made Virgil sad until Scotty had held him by the shoulders, looked him in the eye and said he meant the ship not the pilot.

Scotty didn’t have a proper fighter plane anymore though and this was a problem. Thunderbird One was too noisy and would get shot at. And she didn’t have any guns. Tracy Two wasn’t very agile and also had no guns. Then Virgil remembered that Shadow was fast and agile and sneaky and she did have guns. Scotty hadn’t known about those, only Brains and Kayo were supposed to know but Virgil knew everything because he studied the schematics and had challenged Brains. He was absolutely not supposed to tell the Commander about it and Virgil had hated that, yet he’d promised and that was important. But Scotty looked so sad he had to help him and so he told him how Shadow could be the deadly weapon he needed to destroy the Bereznian forces before they hurt any more of his friends.

Scotty’s eyes had twinkled and he’d hugged Virgil so tight. Virgil had helped him into Shadow and then showed him how to start her launch sequence. The fact he hadn’t known how nagged at Virgil and worried him. Scott had test piloted Shadow so he should know all the buttons. But… his big brother did forget some things because he had so many to think about these days and was so tired all the time.

He looked so happy and cheerful now though. And young… the uniform made him seem younger. It made Virgil feel younger too, small and afraid like when Scotty had gone the first time. But now he was older and a pilot himself and he could be helpful.

And Scotty trusted him to come this time and that… that was everything.

Chapter 6: Recoil

Summary:

What’s worse than being shot?

Chapter Text

“Virgil?”

“Dad?”

Scott had been shot once. Unsurprisingly the memory had stuck with him quite vividly.

Having dodged a number of bullets during actual military service, months of incarceration and torture then escaped the grasping claws of malaria, not to mention miraculously surviving a huge range of deadly situations over years of rescues… well, he could have been forgiven for feeling a little invincible.

It had just been an angry farmer. Who didn’t understand why they were on his land. Who wasn’t aware of the ancient cave system beneath. Who didn’t appear to understand that when lives were at stake, a small area of scorched crops and a new entrance to said caves were a necessary sacrifice. Who didn’t care who they were. Even after patiently absorbing the wild eyed ranting, none of them were prepared for the bang.

He remembered the wet thud to his abdomen, the moment of shock before the sudden rush of hormones screaming in panic - the certainty this was the worst it could ever be, that this was actually… it. All the while on the surface he had calmly applied pressure to the entry wound and told Virgil he was fine and to stop worrying. Which he had been sure was pretty believable, right up until the point he passed out.

He couldn’t succumb to unconsciousness this time. Had to ignore the chemical alarm bells telling him this was an injury he couldn’t survive. There was no danger of bleeding out on this occasion, at least… but blood could be replaced. Whatever life force was pumping out of his soul right now… he wasn’t sure it was possible to put back.

But on the surface…

He focussed on smiling, on forcing it to reach his eyes. He kept his voice light, friendly. Unthreatening.

“Hey Virgie, do you reckon we could head inside and talk this through?”

“It’ll have to wait. We’re on a deadline, you know - lives to save!” There was a hardness in his brother’s voice that chilled him to the bone. Virgil eyes locked on his and Scott was appalled to see the anger churning just below the surface. Appalled and… afraid.

“That’s what we do right, Dad? That’s what we’re FOR .”

Another silent gunshot.

 

Chapter 7: Reject

Summary:

Virgil is not happy

Chapter Text

Virgil hadn’t felt this furious in a long, long time.

Normally things that made him angry required practical action - stem blood flow, ensure an injured brother was safe from the threat, if not, get brother away from the threat. Then there was the task of watching over them as they recovered, monitoring stats, recording dosages given. Checking and cross-checking

He would quietly mourn the souls they couldn’t save, making a note of names and dates. Calmly write engineering reports that would ensure particular persons found themselves unable to take such risks again. Maybe go on a design binge with Brains to find ways of making next time better.

The remaining rage he couldn’t expunge through practical, constructive solutions he threw into art or music, forcing the bitterness and pain out through his arms on to canvas or keys before collapsing, empty and exhausted, into bed in the small hours.

But this… this anger had come out of nowhere. It had, he realised been lurking there for years, unacknowledged, perhaps even unnoticed. It filled his veins with a bitter, stinging substance and he had to battle to keep it in check. He was the calm one. Scotty needed him to keep his head.

Scotty needed him.

“Can I come in, Virgie?”

Virgil glanced at Scotty who was no longer happy and smiling and didn’t show any sign of having heard what Dad said. He had gone quiet and was fiddling with some of Shadow’s switches with a worried expression on his face. So, even though he wasn’t the pilot in charge, Virgil answered for the both of them.

“There isn’t room. We’ve gotta go.”

“It’s ok, you’ve… you’ve got plenty of time. Look I’m just going to slip in here so we can chat alright?”

His father had clambered into the pilot’s seat before he could shout at him not to squash Scotty and then… no. NO!

“Where did you send Scotty? Dad! Please, no, don’t let him leave without me. Not this time!”

His blood was fizzing violently and he knew his voice was shaking but he tried not to shout. He mustn’t shout. Dad shouted when he was cross. Scott shouted when he was cross.

Virgil was the calm, logical one.

Virgil made it better.

“Um… Virgil I think… uh… Scotty is needed inside, for uh, a briefing. Ok? Can… can you come too? I’ll give you a lift down?”

Dad sounded oddly unsure of himself and Virgil knew he was lying and he… he couldn’t be calm Virgil anymore. Everything burned.

“You’ve upset him and he’s run away! How can you not see what you’ve done to him? All these years you just won’t stop asking and asking. He’s killing himself trying to please you Dad and I can’t make him see. I can’t make him stop. He won’t stop. He… can’t stop. Because of YOU! But this would have made him happy, if he can save his friends and I was going to make it work for him! You can’t just waltz back in here and take over and send him away! Not again!”

Those blue eyes, so very much like his brother’s, were wide and sad and… scared.

Dad was never scared.

Dad was scared… of him?

Virgil didn’t know what to do with that because people shouldn’t be scared of him because he was the calm kind one. He felt dizzy and sick.

With an effort he unclenched his fists, closed his eyes and pressed his face against the cool plexiglass window, trying to find his balance, trying to bury the confused but overwhelming memories of when he’d last been so angry that he’d hurt his father.

Everything fizzed and buzzed and burned but then something scratched his neck and the fizz started to become fuzz and there was a voice and he strained to hear but couldn’t make out what Dad was saying anymore…

Chapter 8: Remain

Summary:

Not knowing is the worst kind of torture

Chapter Text

Scott paced the length of the infirmary, kicked the wall ever so lightly with the toe of his left shoe then paced back towards the door, tapped the doorframe with the back of the knuckle of his right index finger, spun on his heel and repeated the journey. He had shortened his natural pace slightly to fit in eight steps in each direction. A quiet unused part of his brain kept count, while the rest raced. Thirty seven-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight, thirty-eight-two-three-four…

“Would you please sit down? You’re supposed to be keeping off those feet.”

“They’re fine.”

“You’re making me dizzy.”

“Look the other way.”

“Scott…”

“Sorry.”

There was a pause. He kept pacing.

“You know this wasn’t your fault?”

“Yep. But I need to wait for him to wake up anyway. And if I’m waiting I need to move so… Sorry.” He spun on his heel. Forty-two-two-three…

“He’s not going to wake for a while yet. It was a pretty hefty dose and he doesn’t metabolise it at the rate you do.”

Scott paused.

“Why do we keep it in such large doses?”

“Always have. Ever since… uh… before we moved here.”

For him then. Right. Well. That was… something to probe later. He started pacing again.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me? I should have been made aware of any potential vulnerability in my team.” He would stick to calm, logical arguments.

“There was a strong likelihood it was a one-off episode triggered by the extreme circumstances and would never reoccur.”

“I should have been told.” He was the Commander after all. It was a simple matter of good leadership. Nothing at all to do with any silly feelings of hurt at being kept in the dark. At not being trusted.

“Dad decided not to.”

“Dad’s not here!” Ok, calm. Calm down. Calm and logical.

“Maybe not but it’s Virgil’s medical history, it’s not my place to tell you!”

“We should all know about anything like this that we need to be ready for, that we might need to know how to deal with!” Scott stopped and swivelled to face his brother.

“Right, like we were all forewarned about the malaria, Scott?”

Ouch. John had clearly reached the level of stressed out where he started biting.

“That’s different.” He started pacing again.

“Sure it is. Because you knew there was a strong chance that would come back. For Virgil, we thought not.”

Scott reached the wall, counted forty-three and kicked it slightly harder than he intended, adding a slightly squashed toe to the list of objections his feet had about the quality of the brain they were distantly connected to. He stopped and rested his forehead against the cool surface. His heart was pounding as if he’d done three laps of the island.

“Before you say it, no, it’s not different because it’s you.”

“But if I’d known… I could have stopped it happening again. This was my doing. I should have thought… I was so wrapped up in my own feelings about it I never even considered how he might react.”

“We don’t know that the uniform was the trigger, Scott.”

Scott didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Alright, it does seem likely I will give you that.”

Silence fell for a few minutes, Scott focussed on the unfamiliar pace of his sedated brother’s breathing.

“What happened, John?”

“He developed Brief Psychotic Disorder and had a number of episodes within the space of a few weeks. After the first he was sectioned.”

“Grandma’s already told me that. I mean WHAT HAPPENED? What made it so bad he had to be hospitalised?”

“It was a long time ago and I don’t remember precisely.”

Scott turned to face John again and saw his usually unintimidatable brother quail slightly at his expression. 

“I’ve… spent a long time trying not to remember precisely.”

“I’m sorry but I need to know so we can work out how to manage this. It’s not like Virgil’s in a position to tell me.”

“No, and even if he could he probably doesn’t actually know.” John’s voice had slipped to barely audible. 

Scott walked over to where his brother sat, hugging his tablet to himself, legs wrapped tightly around the chair legs. He crouched beside him, wincing as the skin on the soles of his feet pulled at the steristrips. Rethinking, he got up and dragged a chair over and they sat side by side watching Virgil’s chest rise and fall.

Leaning to the side, Scott gently laid his head on John’s shoulder and John tilted his head to rest on top of his brother’s. Scott waited until he could feel him relax, just a little, then tried again.

“Please tell me, John.”

Chapter 9: Rebalance

Summary:

Checking in on how the Tinies are getting on…

Chapter Text

Thunderbird Two sat steaming on the icy concrete of the hospital’s helipad. It was a bright morning in Calgary but everything was deeply, deeply white. It was only marginally above eyeball-freezing temperature and it would definitely have been more sensible to wait for Grandma to finish whatever argument she was having with the pharmacy inside… either inside the ship, or the hospital. But Gordon didn’t seem to want to do either of those and Alan sort of got it, so… here they were.

Alan paced the length of the big green behemoth. Slowly. Carefully, testing each step before putting his weight on that foot. He didn’t want to slip and cause an incident. If only they’d suited up his uniform boots would have been far more grippy… and warmer. Still, he needed to concentrate on something and the act of walking was, ironically, safer ground than most of the other options. He shivered.

“You alright, Allie?”

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” He didn’t look around. Focussed on placing his feet one at a time into the footprints he left on the last pass.

“Well I dunno, perhaps the horrifying experience of our most consistent, reliable elder brother suddenly losing his sanity, yelling at our dead father and nearly throwing himself and Scott down a cliff?”

Alan flinched. Then looked down at Gordon who was crouched by one of Two’s struts, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. He looked young, and lost and in need of a big brother. But right now there weren’t any available, only Alan the perpetual younger brother. Alan the baby who needed protecting from everything. Alan the small and incompetent who hid a terrible secret inside.

If Gordon knew… if Scott and John knew… what if Virgil told them? Did Virgil even know?

He may only have been a little kid but he had been smart enough to know he’d messed up. Smart enough to join the dots between his clumsiness and Virgil getting sick. He hadn’t been smart enough to understand why one brother had left him, but he had known he was to blame for nearly losing the second.

He grit his teeth and started pacing again.

And then paused and made a U-turn back to where his usually irrepressibly sunshiney brother huddled, stony-faced in the shadow of his wingman’s ship. Alan crouched alongside him and they both stared into the distance for a while.

“This sucks.” He ventured.

“Yup.”

“You alright?”

“No.”

Alan let out a humourless laugh.

“Sorry, stupid question.”

“I asked it too.”

“Yeah, and I lied. Sorry.”

“S’ok.”

He really wasn’t very good at this. He tried to think what Scott or Virgil would do, and mostly the talking bit happened later… the first response to a sad sibling usually boiled down to one of those magical all-encompassing big brother hugs. But surely he needed to be bigger than Gordon for that to work? Alan was the baby, he didn’t have the arms for it. Didn’t have the presence.

Yet… maybe it wasn’t about size. Thunderbird Three was, after all, a lot bigger than Two. But Two’s wings had an unparalleled ability to shelter them all. While Three was adventure, Two was safety. And Four, Alan realised, depended on her more than any of them.

Right now Four needed Two badly.

But Three was better than nothing.

He held his breath and reached around Gordon’s shoulders and pulled him close. His elder brother stiffened for a moment, clearly conflicted. Then seemed to melt into Alan’s side with a gasp. Alan wrapped his other arm around him and squeezed tighter.

“What if we don’t get him back, Alan?”

“We will. He will be ok.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, but… I’m hoping really really hard.”

“I guess that’s all we’ve got.”

“That and… we always have each other? Tracys stick together no matter what, right?”

Gordon huffed a small laugh from somewhere in the vicinity of Alan’s armpit.

“What?”

“You’re just a teeny tiny Scott clone, you know that right?”

“I’m not that small!”

Alan flicked Gordon on the ear. Gordon jabbed him in the side which made him squeal uncontrollably. They scrabbled for a few moments before both tipped over and lay there for a minute, laughing the kind of laughs you laugh when the only other option is to cry.

💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️

Sally hurried out of the lift, dragging a small suitcase and clutching the paper pharmacy bag she’d had to shout down three junior pharmacists and two senior to obtain. Turned out, even when you have the consultant psychiatrist convinced, the pharma team were very reluctant to dispense an older drug, even if it had been proven to work well on a particular patient in the past. She didn’t have time to mess about with the shiny new third gen antipsys when she didn’t know how her boy would react. She just needed some certainty. They all did. That she’d managed to make them see sense without having to use the Name was professionally satisfying. She didn’t really want to risk that kind of speculation right now. People could be unkind about things they didn’t understand.

Somewhat apprehensive as to what state Gordon and Alan might be in, she was surprised, although not unpleasantly, to find both younger brothers on their feet, brushing slush from their clothes and hair… flicking it at each other just a little more than seemed strictly necessary. She raised an eyebrow in askance then lowered it, deciding not to go there. Whatever kept these two going right now was fine by her. She hugged them both briefly but hard, then heaved the case on to the platform.

“Right boys, let’s go home.”

Chapter 10: Recall

Summary:

Adventures under sedation…

Chapter Text

He floated in the darkness, weightless yet weighed down. There was nothing to see, nothing to feel. Nothing to smell. Yet he could SEE the dark in an overwhelming level of detail and his nerves rejected the empty tactile nothingness and told him cold instead.

There was sound in the void, but it was intermittent and muffled, as if he was underwater. Voices… familiar but unhappy bubbled past him. If only they’d speak more clearly perhaps he could fix whatever the problem was… but he found he couldn’t move his arms or… his head or… anything so fixing was probably out of the question. He wondered if there anything of him left to move?

He wondered if he was… gone… and found he couldn’t feel too strongly about the idea. Hello darkness, Virgil was ready to succumb.

Oh… Virgil. He had a name. Well there it is.

He knew he was supposed to fight the dark but he was so tired. He was also aware the reason he kept fighting was no more. Although he wasn’t entirely sure what that had been… it nagged at him. It had been important. He was pretty sure it had been everything - there was just a hollow space where he imagined his chest would be. Was odd he couldn’t remember. If he could move his face he’d frown at that.

Maybe it was just that Afterwards you didn’t remember Before?

He only hoped this nothing wouldn’t be everything - the lack of comprehensible sensory input was maddening. Not to mention he had an irritating earworm that was disproving his theory about not remembering. And that would be really annoying to think about for eternity. What even was it? Some kids’ film…

Can there be a day beyond this night? I don’t know anymore what is true.

Huh. Pretty dark for something aimed at children.

Mind you, children felt things pretty strongly. He’d always had, as far as he could tell. It’s why art and music worked for him. He remembered that too. Alright, memory was a thing then. Given the lack of anything else to do he cast his mind back, trying to recall something, anything… about who he was.

Trees. He could picture trees and feel the drop in the wind as he stepped amongst them. One in particular which was taller than the rest… a pecan. The scaly bark scratched at his fingertips as he peered up into the rustling branches overhead. Wait! He tried to shout but no sound came out! Wait! He wasn’t tall enough! He couldn’t follow! He stood on his tiptoes and stretched towards the hand that reached down out of the leaves but his fingers only brushed the air. He gasped, a bigger hand landed on his shoulder and it all went black again.

He was on his knees on the dusty tarmac and his knees were stinging but not as much as his eyes. The back of the big yellow bus blurred as he cursed his little legs for not being able to catch up with it. He squeaked in horror as a truck thundered past, horn blaring and then large hands were pulling his shoulders, dragging him to the grass. Sharp words, scared words. They told him he couldn’t follow. He wasn’t big enough for big school yet. He couldn’t always follow. He lifted his hands from his knees and stared at the redness that highlighted the wrinkles in his palms. A sob choked him and the red spread out and covered everything.

That large hand was tugging at his elbow, but Virgil wasn’t easy to move against his will. He relented and took one pace backwards, moving his right foot down one of the stone steps leading away from the ornate doorway with a lone figure standing in it. The others had gone back inside to continue the celebration. But one remained, watching them leave, smiling. The stupidly massive doors made him look small and he’d never looked small before. The left foot wouldn’t move. The arm tugged at him but he couldn’t. He couldn’t not follow. The figure waved again, straightened the smart blue coat with the silver buttons and gave a cheeky salute before turning and walking away. Virgil had no breath to cry out to him to stop, he could only reach out silently towards the retreating blue.

I follow you around, I always have, but you’ve gone to a place I cannot find.

No. The song was wrong. NO! He thrashed against the nothing and gagged on the bile that rose up in a throat that could suddenly feel, could suddenly burn, could agonisingly scream out loud:

”SCOTT!”

Chapter 11: Revise

Summary:

Err… sorry John…

Chapter Text

John growled and swiped his organic chemistry notes off his desk. The file sailed over the bed, slammed into the wall and, inevitably, the pages popped out of the binder and fluttered all over the room.

It was useless anyway, he couldn’t focus. None of it was making sense. Chemistry made no sense. His lack of ability to THINK made no sense. Probably because his entire life, right now, made no sense. His scattered notes had more chance of putting themselves back together than his family did. But he couldn’t let himself start thinking about that.

Not now. Not yet.

John had managed to get nearly back on track over the last couple of months, after that first four weeks of agony. He’d have respected the determination, the sheer bloody-mindedness that only John ever came close to taking his title for.

John just had to get through the next 3 weeks then he could… fall apart or whatever.

He clawed at his scalp in an attempt to release the constant tension that was making his eyes hurt and to distract himself from the suspicion he already had fallen apart or whatever.

Everything was… too much. He had so much to do. And 418 hours 47 minutes in which to do it all. So much still to get in his head. Which was way too full of all of the other thoughts he couldn’t compartmentalise properly because apparently he was weak minded and about to throw everything away. And on top of all that, with Dad doing whatever he was doing with the GDF big wigs, John was expected to cook for everyone and look after the kids and generally pick up the slack Virgil had just abandoned for a five day binge of complaining of a headache and creeping around the house muttering nonsense to himself.

John was actually a little worried about that. More than a little. But he forced himself to shut it away. It would be fine… Virgil would be fine. He had to be fine. Just like John did. Was. Fine was the Tracy way. Scott was always…

No. Stop.

Later.

He dug his fingernails into his thighs, bending one of them slightly back on the thick seam of the chinos he’d been wearing for 19.7 days. Nobody had noticed. All the other pants he owned were annoying. So. Whatever.

Scott would have noticed and quietly ordered him a second pair…

His fingertip throbbed angrily.

Argh, this had to stop. None of these thoughts were a good use of time. All of it was irrelevant, except the work.

A tiny voice asked how he could possibly betray his brother’s memory by adding him to that list… he quashed it with a mental fist of steel. He’d want him to do well. He’d always been proud, cheered him on… been sat in the front row between Dad and Virgil and clapping excessively loudly as John reluctantly shuffled red-faced on to the stage at high school prize-giving...

Breathe, John.

He picked up a well thumbed tome on astrophysics… it may be a waste of time - this was easy and didn’t need revision, but he needed to stop these unproductive trains of thought. This was easier to get absorbed in.

Approximately 8.25 minutes later his focus was broken yet again by a scratching noise above him. Aaaaah. Not bats again! Please no, they gave him the creeps but it was illegal to shift the things once they took up residence. He’d have to swap rooms with Virgil. He couldn’t sleep up here if there were…

Hell, they were massive sounding bats…

John flung open the window to peer up into the eaves… Dad had blocked the hole last year so how had they got in there to…

Some sixth sense made him suspicious of the volume of the scrabbling noise overhead and he ducked his head back inside, very narrowly avoiding having his face smashed in by a falling roof tile. Closely followed by… a shoe. A big shoe.

What? It hit the ground with a thud and John squinted down at it. A boot? One of Virgil’s he was sure of it but why on earth…?

A thud overhead, a clatter, a muffled curse in a very familiar baritone and two more tiles slid past his horrified face in quick succession.

Everything in his head went grey and screechy. He rushed from through the house yelling for Dad. Screeching for Dad. It was him screeching. He had no control over his vocal cords anymore, they had short circuited with his amygdala and were bypassing all coherent thought.

There was only panic.

Chapter 12: Remember

Summary:

So… we finally find out what happened on the roof…

Chapter Text

He’d done what he was asked. The kids were “kept out of the way” even if they were yelling and crying and rattling pointlessly at the door handle he’d wedged the chair under. He felt awful about it but they had to be safe, not see anything… worrying. Anything that could cause them more problems than they already had. But he couldn’t just stay and babysit when everything might be going wrong. Dad might need help.

John should have seen this was coming. He should have paid more attention. He should have stopped it. He should have been less selfish. Pressing his knuckles into the spaces between his nose and his eyeballs he swallowed hard then raised his voice above the yelling, told Gordon and Alan he’d be back in just a minute. Then with suddenly trembling limbs followed his father up the fold down ladder to the flat part of the roof they used for stargazing.

The sky was cloudless, the sun had just set and blue hour was upon them, the iron oxide-soaked sandstone gleaming as red as any of Dad’s Martian landscape images. Here, in the lee of the dormer there was a dead calm, as if the wind was anxiously holding its breath in the same way John was. His father, about 5 feet above him was edging carefully across the ridge towards where the peaked roof of John’s third storey attic room loomed over the rest of the ranch. Dad looked back over his shoulder and frowned, silently demanding silence.

John complied. His throat had seized up anyway. As had pretty much every nerve in his body the moment as his eyes drifted past his father’s clambering form to the figure standing tall at the highest point of the roof. He clung to the railing at the top of the stairs and prayed to anyone that would listen that this wasn’t what it looked like.

Virgil was stood at the highest point of the roof, one hand resting atop the chimney stack, the other gesticulating as if he was engaged in a passionate debate. His posture was so familiar, the unstyled hair hanging in his face, less so. He couldn’t hear exactly what his brother was saying but his tone was friendly, good humoured even. Which, given the circumstances, was downright eerie.

A solitary bird of prey wailed impatiently as it hovered overhead. Peregrine, probably, John realised with a pang. Scott would point them out as they passed through every spring and every fall. He remembered the otherwise ‘so much more grown up than you lot’ fourteen year old bouncing gleefully around the yard the day they’d seen a female stoop on a pigeon right overhead. Every Tracy knew, because he reminded them often, that that was the fastest any living creature could travel under its own steam, although Scott was determined to break that record one day.

John was aware it should probably be ‘had been’ but was not in any way ready to make that shift. Not in any way at all. He swallowed hard at the lump threatening to close up his throat and returned his attention to his next biggest brother. He edged slightly closer as Dad finally reached Virgil and held out a hand.

Virgil didn’t take it.

More wailing from above, multiple voices this time. John, unable to resist glancing up at the sound, counted a group of four hastening through the sky towards the lone dot in the distance which he imagined wheeling back around at the cries of waaaaaaait-waaaaaait. Scott’s reverent voice reminded him that these birds travelled alone except for newly fledged siblings who would undertake their first big migration together for protection and moral support.

“YOU’RE UNBELIEVABLE!”

Virgil’s raised voice dragged John’s attention back - how had he lost concentration? What had he missed? His father was talking in a low voice, but John detected an edge he could quite place? He was… uncertain? That wasn’t like Dad at all. To hell with it, he had to get over there. He abandoned stealth and scrambled along the roof until the frustrated pain in his brother’s shout stopped him in his tracks.

“WHY WON’T YOU LET ME HELP HIM?!”

Virgil’s back was to his father and he flinched away as Dad reached out to touch his shoulder.

“HE’S GONE, VIRGIL! THIS IS JUST… A… A FANTASY…! YOU HAVE TO COME DOWN! Please…”

His father’s voice was finally raised but then cracked, agonisingly, on that last word and Virgil spun to face him, fury in his eyes.

Time slowed. John felt tension thicken the air, as potent as the moment before a storm breaks and it resolved in much the same way: With a roar of anger and a strike of pent up energy from Virgil’s muscular arm.

Dad crumpled to his knees and leant heavily against the chimney breast. There was absolute silence. John tore his eyes from his father to gape up at his strongest yet most determinedly non-violent brother, in time to see the horrified expression on Virgil’s face, staring at his own clenched fist as though it belonged to someone else entirely. He looked around in a panic and began to shuffle backwards away from his father, more like a small, frightened animal about to bolt than the broad, reassuring presence John knew him to be.

John was moving before his mind even registered the implications. Of course he was too slow, he should have been there to start with. He called out to try to warn him but only succeeded in causing his brother’s eyes to lock on to his for the split second before they widened further and he disappeared from view.

Chapter Text

John hadn’t taken his eyes off Virgil the entire time he had been speaking. Scott had remained as still as possible, maintaining the limited physical contact between them but trying not to do anything to interrupt the sudden flood of words. Once he got going, his usually reticent brother could paint a vivid verbal picture from that incredible memory of his. It was just John was very rarely emotionally unrestrained enough to get going in the first place.

Scott was torn between needing to know every last detail that could possibly help him understand what to do next and wanting to envelop his rigid little brother in a crushing hug and tell him to stop. To stop because it was ok now and Scott could fix it by himself and wasn’t going to make him relive it again.

The need to know won. Because he needed to know this now to help save another little brother from an unknown threat. And he couldn’t do it alone - this one couldn’t be a solo op.

Scott was not oblivious to the fact there could be a secondary rescue mission of sorts once the primary one was dealt with.

He was doing a fairly good job of compartmentalising so far. He restrained his emotional reaction to hearing Virgil had punched Dad. He kept still, tried not to flinch. He locked away the creeping sense of horror and focussed on the fragments on information that might help now - John’s account of Virgil’s demeanour, the words that had upset him and triggered a violent reaction. Trying to pinpoint precisely what Dad had got wrong and Scott could try to do differently. John hadn’t heard much of their conversation which complicated matters and Scott forced himself to put to one side the question of whether he could fix whatever Virgil’s issue with their father was - that was a question for later. Right now, they just needed to retrieve Virgil from wherever he had got lost.

So focussed was he on analysing that interaction, in fact, that he almost missed the next part of John’s story and when the meaning of his words filtered into his brain all the carefully crafted compartments crumbled to rubble.

“HE FELL?!”

John started and twisted to look at Scott.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t get there in time. I should have been closer. I should have been better…”

Scott gave in to the crushing hug urge and John did not appear to object. They sat there a moment, John, seemingly entirely drained, had melted into Scott’s chest, his big brother repeating reassuring things about how John couldn’t have known, that he wasn’t to blame for events out of his control. A little voice in the back of Scott’s mind suggested it wasn’t only John that needed to remember this. He ignored it in favour of trying to work out how on Earth Virgil had survived a 3 and a half storey fall and how Scott could possibly have remained unaware of it.

John appeared to read his thoughts and pulled back to look him in the face.

“He didn’t fall the whole way. I think his clothes got caught, or he managed to grab on to the edge of the roof which slowed his momentum. He fell from there to the glass overhang of the verandah. Hit his head pretty hard though… we heard it.”

That part of the glass roof had remained cracked for years… Brains eventually replaced the whole thing with a more durable material during his upgrades to the ranch. Scott had never thought to ask how it had become damaged, everything in the aftermath of getting home was such a blur perhaps at the time he hadn’t even realised it was new.

“Hence the ambulance.”

“Yes. I don’t know how they got him down. Gordon and Alan were… upset… and I had to be with them, not let them see… just in case…” John tailed off uncharacteristically and looked up at the ceiling, then rallied himself.

“Grandma arrived some hours later and told us he’d survived the fall but was sick. And then it was just the four of us for a while - Dad stayed at the hospital with Virgil.”

“Wait, Dad didn’t call to tell you before that?!”

“He had a lot going on. I’m not sure he wasn’t slightly concussed as well actually.”

Scott’s blood was unnaturally chilly as he contemplated what that meant.

“All that time you didn’t know…”

John blinked rapidly, wrinkled his nose and cleared his throat before looking away from Scott and fixing his gaze on Virgil.

“I thought I’d lost both of you, yes.”

Chapter 14: Revive

Summary:

Scott and John are playing the waiting game…

Chapter Text

It was an unfortunate but inevitable side effect of their occupation: Every Tracy had spent far too much time waiting by the bedside of a brother, willing them to open their eyes and say something to prove they would be ok. Scott, due to being able to thrive perfectly well for several days on catnapping alone, probably held the record. Virgil likely came a close second, although he was much more adept at snoozing heavily while he waited.

Scott kept a wakeful vigil as always.

This time, though, it felt different. The longing to see his brother’s eyes peer up at him had never been tinged with dread before. He had never been afraid of what would happen when a brother awoke before. Of what a newly awoken brother might say. That… was new.

John waited too. Aside from chivvying each other to visit the toilet occasionally, neither were keen to leave each other’s presence, or Virgil’s. The others wouldn’t return with Grandma for a couple of hours yet, and Kayo was working with Brains on a better failsafe for Shadow and the other birds. For now, it was just the three of them.

The sedative had been wearing off slowly. Really, really, really slowly.

Agonisingly slowly.

There were two signs - the occasional bumps in heart rate were the easiest to track and John monitored these with his usual precision, occasionally passing a quiet comment as to the length and volume of the spikes.

Scott was more focussed on the other - the tiniest of movements in Virgil’s hands which had been lying limp on top of the covers, and which Scott had gently arranged and rearranged to try to find the most natural position for muscles and ligaments to rest in. He watched and waited and pondered whether he should move his brother’s right thumb a little to the left - was the hand too curled up, or was it meant to be that way? He was aware that there were probably much bigger issues at play right now but he didn’t want his brother to end up with aches that might hinder his playing or drawing. And this… this he could do something about.

He sighed and adjusted the thumb minutely, then pretending he hadn’t noticed John pretending not to notice.

It occurred to him that he never really saw Virgil’s hands at rest. His brother was always either tinkering with something, gesticulating expressively as he conversed, or tapping out a rhythm on the biceps of his folded arms… his denim clad thighs… or whatever surface happened to be nearby. Scott’s shoulder was not exempt as a surface but he never mentioned it for fear Virgil would become self-conscious and less inclined to casually throw his arm around his big brother at every opportunity.

Scott could never adequately explain even to himself how much it meant when Virgil did that. Neither could he articulate how when the arm eventually lifted and they went their separate ways, Scott would sometimes feel as he couldn’t be properly warm again until his brother’s arm was back where it belonged… his fingers unconsciously sharing with his big brother whatever pulse had captured his soul at that moment.

As children it was always Scott’s inability to stay put that people noticed: ‘If only you could stay still like your brother, look he’s sitting so nicely.’ Even then Scott knew, as had their Mom, that they weren’t so very different. Scott’s need to move was expressed on the macro plane, Virgil’s was no less insistent but hidden from the inattentive on the micro level.

And so Scott waited and watched for the familiar movement to return. John’s comm pulsed and he stepped out of the room to answer the call.

A stronger twitch of the fingers was accompanied by the slightest hint of tension in Virgil’s jaw. Scott reached out and placed his hand over one of his brother’s, seeking connection with that flicker of life… then picked up his hand and held it close to his chest. He found himself leaning forwards so that he could feel his brother’s breath on his cheek, seeking reassurance that Virgil was in there and would come back to him.

This meant, of course, that Scott’s eardrum was in prime exploding distance when Virgil yelled his name.

SCOTT!”

The despair in that scream resonated through every cell of his body and Scott couldn’t do anything but wrap his brother in his arms and screw his eyes shut. Ear determinedly ringing, he felt the vibrations of Virgil’s pleading as clearly as he could hear them:

“Don’… pleee!! Sco…. I can’d w’ou… Da… NNN… Scoddy nnnnn…”

Scott hated waking from any kind of sedation - the sensation of being trapped, helpless between worlds, where the nightmares were stronger than reality. What kind of nightmare was Virgil experiencing? Or… Scott felt his throat constrict and buried his face in Virgil’s hair… was it worse than that? Was he, in fact, reliving emotions no brother should ever have to experience even the once?

“Sssshhh I’m here, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. I’m not leaving you Virgil, I promise. I’m here.”

John had come running at the shout and Scott felt rather than saw his presence in the doorway, radiating questions and concern. Scott glanced up and shook his head minutely.

Even that slight movement was too much - Virgil gasped and his fingers tightened in a vice grip around Scott’s biceps, his face pushed hard into his collarbone. Big brother kissed the top of his head and little brother relaxed a little, taking a long breath in through his nose before going limp in Scott’s arms, apparently unconscious again. Scott laid him back gently on to the pillow and gently stroked the hair from Virgil’s damp forehead.

The mattress dipped as John perched carefully on the side of the bed, taking hold of Virgil’s hand and resting his other lightly on Scott’s shoulder. He squeezed gently and Scott placed his free hand on top of John’s.

And they waited.

Chapter 15: Relegate

Summary:

The next time Virgil awoke things did not go entirely as Scott hoped…

Chapter Text

Scott could make himself really quite small when he wanted to.

The height could be useful - not only for helping people reach objects on high shelves and seeing over a crowd to find a wayward baby brother - but it gave him a certain extra presence in a room, particularly useful when said room was full of older, more experienced egos.

But it was deceptive. The gangly limbs folded up very efficiently and he could squeeze into unexpectedly tiny spaces if required. It came in useful for hide and seek. And other times.

Gordon snuck out of the infirmary and moved swiftly down the corridor intent on fetching snacks for John and Grandma who were on Virgil-duty.

About half way down, while lost in his own thoughts he nearly leapt out of his skin when a quiet voice greeted him from a knee height storage alcove.

“Hey, Fish”

“Geeeeeez, Scott!” Gordon took a moment to collect himself and leant heavily on the wall.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to make you jump.”

“No worries. Uh, silly question but… humour me. Why are you lurking in the cleaning cupboard?”

“Just… waiting. How’s he doing?” Scott unfolded himself and emerged like an octopus from a crevice.

“He’s sleeping right now. The anti-psychotic meds will make him a bit drowsy even without taking the sedative.”

“Yeah. Grandma said. D’you think I can…” Scott gestured half-heartedly back towards the infirmary door.

Gordon cringed and watched his big brother’s face fall.

“I’m sorry, bro… Grandma thinks after… earlier… it’s best if when he wakes you’re not… you know.”

“There.”

The volume of bitterness contained in that one word made Gordon flinch again. His heart ached for Scott but having witnessed the scene when they’d arrived back - John desperately trying to calm a newly woken and intensely distressed Virgil and Scott, utterly defeated and cringing back against the wall… he was rather inclined to accede to Grandma’s point of view.

“It’s not forever, he’ll get better and then realise that you’re the real one and not…”

“Dad, who he apparently hates.” Scott slumped against the wall alongside Gordon and picked at piece of loose plaster.

“I don’t think he hates him, exactly. He’s just… confused.”

“Is he still… I mean… am I… err is the…other me still on the scene?”

“Apparently so. He was chatting away earlier. He’s not unhappy right now, he’s… well as ok as he can be.”

“Yeah as long as I’m not around.”

“Well… as far as he is concerned you are. He doesn’t think you’ve abandoned him or anything, Scotty.”

Scott swore quietly and kicked the wall. The swore rather more loudly and shook his abused foot.

“I hate this.”

“I know. It sucks. Look, hopefully it won’t be long. Why don’t you go and get some sleep, you’ve been awake for…”

Gordon registered the immediate threat to his survival being telegraphed from the sky blue and shifted tack seamlessly:

“Can I get you something to eat?”

Scott shook his head and curled himself back on to his shelf, eyes fixed on the infirmary door. Gordon knew he was dismissed and headed onwards, quietly deciding he would bring back something calorific that his big brother might be tempted to consume when nobody was looking.

And maybe a chair.

Chapter 16: Regard

Summary:

In which we find out why Scott really couldn’t do John’s job…

Chapter Text

A digital landslide of distracting paperwork loomed entirely unheeded as Scott sat perched on the edge of the desk with his back to it, sipped his coffee and focussed intently on the security feed John had routed to his tablet.

Virgil was sleeping again.

Gordon had unloaded the contents of a cabinet on to an empty bed and was methodically sorting through, discarding some items, probably expired, and placing the rest neatly back into place. On another occasion Scott would have commented on the contrast with the squid’s approach to just about every other space he inhabited, but recognised the action for what it was. He touched the screen as if to stroke tiny Gordon’s head than jumped a little as his fish brother looked up suddenly like he was aware of it. The door opened and Grandma popped her head through and Scott let out an embarrassed breath. Of course, how could Gordon have felt anything? Scott grudgingly acknowledged that it may have been possibly a little too long since he last slept but it was what it was. Sleep wasn’t an option yet.

He watched, as Grandma and Gordon conversed and, seemingly satisfied, she left again. Gordon dropped himself into the chair next to Virgil’s bed and rested his head back. Within a few minutes he appeared to have nodded off.

A cloud shifted and a ray of sunlight crept across the floor and nudged him. Scott stretched like a cat and basked in it for a moment, before carrying the tablet over to the window. He spared the ocean a glance - it continued to do its thing, oblivious of the turmoil on the island it held in its arms.

He returned his attention to the feed. Gordon definitely sparked out, slumped down in the chair until he was nearly horizontal. Virgil was… Scott squinted… ok he was still sleeping too. The lack of sound meant big brother was spared the overwhelming sensory experience of the wingmen snoring in concert.

Good. This was good. Both their minds needed the rest and time to heal. Scott could keep an eye on them from here.

Was this what it was like for John all the time? Observing from above but unable to reach out and touch? Scott didn’t rate it at all. His need for physical proximity to a brother in distress was like an itch. No… a bruise… a nasty deep bruise… or… or perhaps the feeling left behind when one lost a limb. He grudgingly admitted this was better than lurking outside the door, however.

When John had appeared through it moments after Gordon had left, Scott had rolled his eyes so hard it made the tense muscles behind his eyebrows throb. He knew when he was about to be Managed, but when John still looked so vulnerable Scott couldn’t upset him more. So he allowed it. And thus he was up here in the sunshine with access to coffee and what he suspected was the spoils of a Gordon-related raid on Kayo’s secret candy stash. The consequences of that could be dealt with later.

He felt a little… uncomfortable… watching this way but was it really any different to sitting by his brother’s bedside? Not really. Well. Maybe a little. There was the consent issue… what would Virgil say if he knew? Would he be angry?

But… he reminded himself yet again… it wasn’t actually that Virgil didn’t want his big brother around, it was just his brain was struggling to explain the presence of two of them at once. And while all the articles Scott had consumed in the last 29 hours confirmed one shouldn’t play along with the delusions, they were also clear that it wasn’t a good idea to challenge or to try to reason him out of them. And Scott’s physical existence was currently proving to be such a challenge. Grandma had spoken to the psychiatrist and established they just had to wait until the meds started to kick in and the hallucinations lessened enough for reality to take precedence and then Scott could take his rightful place by Virgil’s side again.

Which was fine. At least he could keep an eye on things from here. He was an adult and of course he could be patient and focus on how fortunate it was they had a solution they knew would work for Virgil.

The fact that Scott was constantly fantasising about drop kicking this “other” Scott into the ocean was one he needed to keep to himself. He put the tablet down, drained his coffee and went to make another, tearing himself away from the screen for long enough to give himself a brief reprieve from the eye-strain headache that was developing. He leant over the kitchen sink and splashed cold water over his stinging, reddened eyes.

It was going to be fine.

Chapter 17: Redraw

Summary:

Virgil arts…

Chapter Text

It had been a little over 48 hours since Scott had last been in the same room as Virgil. While at one end of the feed a brother was happily chatting away to his invisible-to-everyone-else best friend, the unseen brother at the other huddled on the couch, curled protectively around his tablet lifeline and was politely rebuffing anyone who hovered with offers of irrelevancies like sustenance and reassurance. And company.

He felt bad about that. He had a nasty suspicion John was berating himself for revealing those details about the past and at some point very soon Scott was going to need to fix it. But it wasn’t now. The rest of them needed to concentrate on Virgil anyway.

Speaking of which…

Virgil had got fidgety and was stretching his arms behind his head in an achingly familiar way. Gordon, who was on duty again, was heavy-napping on one of the other beds and didn’t stir. The squid had taken the brunt of his brother’s care upon himself and he needed the sleep and so this was fine. Kayo and John were distracting Alan. Scott was keeping watch and could raise the alarm if the patient got out of bed. He didn’t though, merely shuffled his pillows around a while before appearing to notice the sketch pad and new set of pencils that had been left on his bedside table at his big brother’s insistence. Scott felt a little rush of justification as Virgil seized the pad and opened it to a fresh page, tapping his chin thoughtfully with the end of a pencil.

Scott watched as his brother began to sketch some light sweeping strokes across the page. The tension in Virgil’s expression melted away and Scott felt a little of himself beginning to thaw too.

After a few minutes, the artist laid the pad down beside him while he reached over to to select a different grade of pencil from the tin. Even upside down Scott recognised the sketch as the beginnings of one of Virgil’s many sky backgrounds - rays of sun peaking through soft clouds, the hint of a light wind mysteriously depicted through graphite on white. So many things could emerge next - a cityscape, a portrait, a whale leaping from the ocean… It could be an abstract of a solar eclipse or a detailed study of one of their ships. Perhaps a flock of birds over a silhouetted volcanic island. Whatever his eventual intention, Virgil so often began with the sky and everything else followed.

He picked the sketchbook up again and proceeded to add something smaller and more detailed. Scott entertained a hope that it might end up being Two and One flying home side by side - had three of those displayed in his suite - one watercolour, one acrylic, one mixed media collage and he was more than happy to add a pencil version too if Virgil allowed it. The eyebrows of intense concentration had been deployed and Scott had begun to smile at the familiarity of this when the merely concentrating look hardened into something else.

Virgil started to add much heavier lines, the knuckles of his right hand white as he held the book steady and the left almost a blur as he dug the pencil in hard and dragged it rapidly to and fro across the page. Scott wondered how the paper could possibly withstand such a ferocious onslaught of carbon - he half expected it to catch fire if his brother didn’t gouge a hole straight through it first.

Scott watched in helpless dismay as his the look of distress on his brother’s face deepened and was on the point of calling Gordon to wake him when Virgil seemed to run out of steam and slumped back into the pillows, sketchpad clutched to his chest. He closed his eyes and took a couple of breaths before propping himself up again and gazing at what he had drawn. He didn’t move at all for several minutes. Scott unconsciously leaned sideways as if he could change the angle of the security camera to see what it was then swore to himself. This was wrong. He should just be able to go and ask… he always asked and Virg always showed him… maybe somewhat shyly but he’d always show him. He didn’t dare defy Grandma, not when he was so clueless about all of this, but his gut told him she was wrong - Scott should be there by Virgil’s side.

This was wrong. She was wrong.

He had to try again.

He stood and started towards the stairs to go and reason with her when another movement from the screen caught his attention. Without removing his eyes from the sketch pad, Virgil leaned over to the bedside table and patted around until his fingers closed over a large eraser. He spun it in his fingers for a few moments then appeared to remove something then added some small detail, his expression intense but unreadable, even to the brother who knew him best.

Some small noise must have alerted Gordon who suddenly flung himself on to the bed and enveloped Virgil in a hug.

The sketchpad slipped to the floor and Scott slowly sat back down again.

Chapter 18: Reverie

Summary:

A little forgetful interlude…

Chapter Text

The softly spoken and consequently often-ignored part of Scott’s brain that craved sleep whined pitifully as he dragged himself back towards consciousness. He was warm and his dream had been nice and ugggh… nope. He did not want to move. But the more vocal majority part of the same brain pointed out there were probably Things to be Doing, that his left foot was tingling, and that the side of his face was disconcertingly adhered to a hard surface.

An experimental twitch of his jaw then a slight frown as his neurons aligned and informed him he’d been drooling in his sleep… lovely. He sighed and dragged one eyelid open.

The moonlight cast familiar shadows at an unfamiliar angle. He was in the lounge, but not at the desk. His brain was taking an unusually long time to reboot which from past experience meant the nap had been a long time coming but had not been of sufficient length to negate the need for another. A vague sense of unease told him he should be doing something important, probably with a deadline he was about to miss… but why wasn’t he at the desk in that case?

He’d obviously crashed out on the couch, the curve of the wooden armrest pressing into his jawbone made that clear… but wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as he should be. A little shuffling investigation revealed a ball of soft, familiar material tucked into the gap between the armrest and his shoulder, meaning his neck was well supported. He smiled to himself as his sense of smell came online and the aroma of coffee, paint and a side note of engine grease revealed the padding to be one of Virgil’s shirts. At which point he also realised the other reason he felt so warm and contented was that he was snuggled under the weighted blanket Virgil had bought for him months ago. His brother had also apparently removed his shoes and tucked the blanket under his feet.

The only odd thing was that he was here at all and Virgil hadn’t dragged him to his actual bed. On one occasion his younger, shorter but not in any practically meaningful way littler brother actually threatened to literally drag him, seizing hold of one foot and forcing Scott to scuttle-hop across the floor after him like a three legged crab before he relented and agreed to leave the desk under his own steam.

And they called Scott the smotherhen! Sure, he tried his best but he was a pale, lanky imitation of the real deal. When it was stormy outside, Scott might strut and crow to try to scare away the darkness but Virgil could always be relied upon to gather all the chicks under his broad wings and keep them feeling safe.

Woah, he really was tired if he was getting poetic. He sighed silently, still unwilling to move and thus accept he was awake. All was quiet so maybe… maybe he could hang out here a little longer? Shifting his body down the sofa, he peeled his face from the armrest and buried it in Virgil’s shirt instead. Scott revised his already tortured metaphor - he wasn’t the cockerel but just as much a chick in need of shelter as any of them. It was possible he needed to get better at acknowledging that… poor Virgil had his work cut out trying to keep this fuzzy little chicken in line. He’d complained about it recently… what was it he’d said? “I can’t make him stop, he won’t stop…”

As if reality had thrown a bucket of iced water at his face, Scott leapt up still clinging to the flannel shirt. VIRGIL! Still bleary-eyed, he felt around desperately for the tablet but it was gone. How could it be gone? He stood, rifled through the heavy folds of the blanket, down between the cushions, and was halfway under the couch when a soft sigh caught his attention.

John was curled up on the seat opposite, another bundle of red plaid clutched to his chest with one hand, the other trailing to the ground, fingers just looped over the edge of… YES… Scott’s tablet.

Ninja-like, Scott tiptoed across the room and edged the precious device from John’s limp fingers. He looked apologetically at the ceiling, feeling EOS watching him with disapproval but she remained quiet.

The same moonlight flooded the infirmary making everything look cold and alien. Virgil looked deathly pale and for all Scott’s logical reasoning that moonlight drained the colour from everyone he just needed to be sure…

He replaced the tablet and stood looking down at John’s sleeping form, wishing he could do something to stop them all hurting so badly. Shaking out the red shirt he had tucked under his own arm, he laid it gently over John’s shoulders before sneaking out of the room to check on its owner.

Chapter 19: Reveal

Summary:

Scott demonstrates why his imaginary counterpart is such a bad influence because of course he’s going somewhere he shouldn’t be.

Chapter Text

By the time he got down to the infirmary, Scott was hobbling slightly and this irritated him. It certainly wasn’t helping with his need to be stealthy. He paused for a moment in the corridor and wrapped his hands tightly around each foot in turn, as if pressing the dressings into place would speed up the healing and prevent the cuts from reopening. He didn’t have the time or energy for that right now. Again he wished he’d slowed down, just a little, and avoided creating an unnecessary distraction with a pointless injury.

But how could he slow down when a brother was in danger? When anyone was in danger? When the split second could make all the difference? Everyone told him he had to… Virgil, Kayo, John… even Gordon lost the plot and yelled at him on occasion but Scott just didn’t see how he was supposed to make that call. How did everyone else see that bright line demarking “this far but not that far”? He knew he had to find it, learn to see it… if only because, as Virgil kept pointing out, Alan was beginning to follow in his footsteps and he’d never forgive himself if the kid got hurt because of it.

He silently eased open the door and crept into the infirmary. As if conjured there by Scott’s musing, Alan stirred a little and he froze in the doorway but almost immediately his exhausted little brother’s breathing slowed again. In another example of littlest brother imitating the biggest, Scott realised with a jolt that Alan had precisely mirrored his own habitual bedside position. Perched on the edge of the chair, leaning forward and to the right, the weight of his upper body supported by his right upper arm which tucked in alongside the pillow, head propped up by the right fist and left hand gently holding that of the patient. The only difference was that Alan had clearly slumped in his sleep and so his face was buried in the edge of Virgil’s pillow while his right hand fell limp over his own shoulder. He was going to get cramp if he stayed like that for long…

The urge to interfere was strong - to scoop his baby brother up in his arms and tuck him into his own bed, away from sights and sounds that might distress him. But Scott resisted. Just. He sent Alan into space on a regular basis, the kid had earned the right to watch over a sick brother the same as any of them.

The shirt fairy had visited here too, it seemed, and had left their bounty of neatly folded clothing piles arranged around Virgil’s sleeping head like a halo in some bizarre classical artwork. Scott spotted Alan’s t-shirt, a violently patterned item of Gordon’s and an equally-painful-to-the-eye-for-different-reasons one of John’s. There was something of Kayo’s and Grandma’s there too. Virgil was surrounded, guarded in a way, by all of them. But… Scott felt a stab of hurt in his gut as he realised… not something of his? Was he to be written out of existence entirely? He was about to storm out and hide himself away somewhere they couldn’t find or be bothered by him when he realised that the cover tucked tightly up to his brother’s chin wasn’t a duvet or blanket or any other bedding found in the infirmary. Virgil was snuggled up in Scott’s own fluffy blue hooded bathrobe, clearly pilfered from the back of his bedroom door.

Oh.

Oh right.

The wave of rejection panic receded and he felt a little silly. The whole being excluded and replaced by a hallucination thing was clearly getting to him.

Virgil was sleeping soundly, and the sound of his sleep was as loud as it ever was. At least that hadn’t changed… Alan despite being at close range was oblivious and Scott allowed himself a smirk at how they were all so accustomed to that particularly niche white noise.

He crept a little closer and his toes nudged the discarded sketchbook. Overcome with curiosity he knelt down and lifted it so that the moonlight from the window fell upon the most recent addition.

Virgil had depicted a storm.

The clouds were heavy and dark. A lightning bolt tore the sky in two from the top right to the bottom left where a carefully drawn silhouette of a fighter jet dived towards the ground, smoke and fire billowing from its tail. Scott’s stomach clenched as he realised it wasn’t intended to be lightning at all, but a streak of burning fuel. The violence and despair radiated off the page at him.

Scott knew that during his… absence… some top secret photographs had been leaked to the press and splashed alongside that same formal photograph of himself that had caused all the recent trouble. It was too much to hope that the sensational front pages hadn’t been seen by his younger brothers. Later, Scott had been required to comment on the same images at the war crimes tribunal. The high res arial photographs of the blackened and twisted cockpit of his plane had been unpleasant viewing even to someone who knew the pilot had escaped. It wasn’t surprising that this was the image conjured by a grieving artistic imagination who’d believed he hadn’t.

His hands shook a little as he fought back the nausea. It wasn’t much of a leap to put himself in his brother’s shoes… he’d had enough nightmares in which Thunderbird Two or one of the others had been in a similar condition. But every time that happened, Scott had woken up to realise it wasn’t real.

Virgil had woken every day for months to find that it was.

Scott couldn’t imagine how his little brother had kept it together as long as he had. If the roles had been reversed… he shuddered.

He lifted his left hand to brush a prickling of cold sweat from his brow and noticed the patch of light in the very top left of the drawing previously covered by his thumb. The black clouds had been erased leaving a spot of clear sky, in the middle of which was a tiny silhouette of a person dangling from a parachute.

Scott swallowed as, for a moment, he hung again in mid-air and watched his only way out of hostile territory smash into the earth in a ball of fire. It was as if Virgil had known.

HAD Virgil known, then?

Had he known THEN? Scott could almost believe it… that his closest brother would somehow know, despite all the evidence to the contrary, that he wasn’t dead.

Or maybe it was just that now the facts from the present were seeping back into his understanding of the past. Which must be a good sign.

He hoped it was a good sign.

Unable to tear his eyes from the drawing, it felt a little like time itself had been put on hold all around Scott in the same way the sound had. He suddenly realised that this was odd - the quietness almost oppressive in its emptiness. Then he realised what was missing:

The snoring had stopped.

Scott looked up in alarm to find a pair of inscrutable brown eyes looking silently down at him. So familiar, so beloved yet somehow also unfamiliar, unnaturally dispassionate. Virgil had never looked at him that way and it stripped all the courage from Scott’s bones as he struggled to maintain eye contact with his best friend. He had absolutely no idea what to do. His whisper when it came was barely audible:

“Hi short stuff… I missed you.”

Chapter 20: Reason

Notes:

This section didn’t go the way I thought at all. I had a very definite plan but… in the end, it felt trite and certain characters weren’t yet in the place they could either adequately deliver or receive the lesson that is needed. It’s not the right time.

So… instead we have Scott making some questionable decisions and Virgil… well… um… you know… *gestures helplessly*

Chapter Text

“Hi short stuff… I missed you.”

Virgil’s eyes widened momentarily then narrowed before he turned away and started pointedly at the ceiling.

“Stop it.” The whisper was quiet but the command was clear.

“Stop what?” Scott hissed back.

“Stop pretending.”

“I… I’m not!”

The hurt indignation nudged both the pitch and the volume of his denial up a notch too far and Alan was suddenly bolt upright. Scott didn’t miss his youngest brother’s hand curling protectively over Virgil’s. Where Scott’s should have been.

“Alan, please would you fetch Grandma?”

Virgil tensed and shuffled closer to Alan, whose gaze darted between the two of them like a puppy not knowing which whistling owner’s heel to run to.

“But… Scott, she said… I mean… um…”

“Damnit, Alan I’m not going to hurt him!” Scott’s voice cracked painfully and he gritted his teeth to steady his jaw.

“If you’re not here to do your job and give him his life back I don’t want to talk to you.” The voice from the bed was deadly calm.

“Alan, Grandma. Now.”

Alan prised his hand from Virgil’s grip and hastened to the door with many a panicky backward glance.

Scott collected himself and walked slowly and around the foot of the bed towards Alan’s vacated seat, focusing hard on maintaining a relaxed, unthreatening posture. Which clearly didn’t work at all because he was surprised by the snarl from the bed

“Get away from him. You’ve done enough.”

Scott couldn’t restrain the double take. Nor could he ignore the sinking feeling as he noticed how, despite having shuffled into a seated position, Virgil’s hand remain curled on the sheet as if Alan still held it. And… there was the cat-like movement of his brother’s head as he leaned into a ghostly hand for comfort.

Scott retreated hurriedly until his back hit the wall, sending a throb of pain through his left shoulder. What was he doing? This was precisely what the psychiatrist, via Grandma, had warned him about. But he just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

He couldn’t just stay away.

Which was why he was edging forward again, but on the other side to where… the other one… appeared to be. He knew he mustn’t pose a threat to… it. Him. Ugh. He bent to pick up the sketchbook and placed it carefully on the bedside cabinet.

Alright, so for the moment he had to pretend be Dad. Ironically not a new role for this life-long Jeff Tracy understudy. Only… this time he needed to handle things better than his father had. Taking a breath he tried to ignore the feeling he could combust under his brother’s glare and to work out how best to defuse the situation.

The height difference wasn’t going to help, so he crouched again, wincing at the strain on soles of his feet and looked up into the brown eyes with as much love as he could convey.

“I’m sorry, Virgil.”

“Hmmm.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or scare you.”

“It’s not about me!”

“Or Scott. Or any of you.”

Virgil’s hand curled tighter over the sheet.

“I’m sorry I left. I didn’t mean to.”

Virgil glared at him and Scott fought the urge to gulp and look away. In the end Virgil broke eye contact first with a sigh and redirected the laser gaze to the ceiling again.

“This is pointless. I knew you wouldn’t get it.”

“What don’t I get? I want to get it.” The eye roll encompassed Virgil’s entire face. “I really want to understand. What I did. Please tell me what you are thinking… I promise I didn’t mean to leave you all… I didn’t know…”

“For goodness sakes Dad get your head out of your ass! This isn’t about your accident.”

Scott mentally scrambled to regain control of his jaw.

“Then… what?”

Virgil emitted the kind of frustrated yell usually reserved for when he found celery crunch bar wrappers in Two’s air intake for the third day running. Only worse. Much worse.

“It’s what you left behind.”

Dad would probably have some kind of a clue what this was about… so Scott tried to pretend he did too, forcibly restrained the bewildered look trying to make its way on to his face and inclined his head encouragingly the same way he did to ranting Board members… the same way he remembered his father doing those times when younger Scott got himself all worked up over a problem.

“Go on. Please.”

Virgil seemed distracted by whatever… whoever… he saw on his left… Scott recognised the eyebrow-based form of argument usually directed at himself when they were in public. Then he shushed the interloper impatiently and turned back.

“It’s Scott… you shouldn’t have… it’s too much! It’s not right! He…”

Suddenly something snapped inside. Scott found he couldn’t sit there and calmly listen to Virgil tell his father why it was a mistake to have left them in his care, that he wasn’t coping. That he wasn’t enough.

He had to fix this.

He grabbed his brother’s right hand in both of his and struggled to his feet.

“Virgil? Virg, buddy it’s me. I’m Scott. Please… I… I need you to see me. Please look at me. Really look. It’s me.”

His little brother stared at him, his eyes full of pain and confusion. His expression softened for a moment and Scott’s breath caught as he hardly dared hope. But then he looked to his left and up, tilting his head slightly as if listening to someone Scott couldn’t see or hear. Someone the same height as him who inspired that look of devotion Scott had never even realised was there until it was gone. The ‘other’ Scotty - the one Virgil seemed to be putting his trust in right now.

Real life Scott did not trust him one bit and his racing heart was pumping blood so cold a tiny part of his mind was distracted by wondering if his organs could get frostbite.

“Prove it.”

Chapter 21: Rely

Summary:

How do you prove you are who you say you are?
With a little dose of DINKY EARTH&SKY STORYTIME.

Notes:

I agonised over the flashback being from Virgil’s POV rather than Scott who is supposed to be the one telling the story… but Virg very much took front and centre (is about time tbh cos it’s HIS story after all and Scotty keeps muscling in). So yeah it might be a jarring shift, hope you’ll forgive me if so and enjoy the mini earth & sky antics anyway 💚💙

Chapter Text

“Prove it.”

“I… what?”

“Prove you’re not Dad just trying to talk me down off the roof again so Scott has to leave without me.”

Scott’s blood was now red ice-slushie and his heart seemed to be struggling to pump it where it was needed. He was going to mess this up. He was going to let his brother down again. Was it even possible to logic him out of this? Probably not. But, now they were here, he had to try. He had to fix whatever it was that had prompted his brother’s fractured psyche to replace him with… a better version? His mind raced.

“Uh… ok. Ok! How about you ask me something Dad wouldn’t know.”

Virgil silently consulted to his left again, his eyebrows raising with a sudden idea. His head snapped back around and his eyes narrowed on Scott before he raised one finger to his own face and slowly drew a short line along the bottom of his jaw towards his chin. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Scott had already unconsciously mimicked the action, tracing the marginally firmer texture of the almost invisible scar he carried there. A slight wash of relief ran through him as he realised he could answer this one very easily but their father could not have.

“Well it certainly wasn’t an argument with a barbed wire fence like we told Mom and Dad…”

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

“The math works, Virgil! The lift from the drones will be just enough to support the two of us into a glide then the wings will do the rest.”

Virgil eyed Scott’s pride and joy with a bucketload of awe mixed with a few shovelfuls of suspicion.

The flying machine’s body was the old carbon fibre kayak, consigned to the garage long ago when their attempt to navigate the nearby stream in midsummer left it slightly… holey… in places. The two of them had manhandled it on to the roof via the internal ladder in the middle of the night about three weeks ago. The swarm of eight small tricopter-drones Scott had requested for his birthday were attached (four across the front, one each wing and two to the back) with lots of complicated-looking knots Virgil hadn’t learnt at Rescue Scouts yet but his brother had practised for hours to perfect.

The main event - the wings themselves - were an ingenious combination of fishing poles, some chicken wire fencing Scott had liberated from behind the shed and a patchwork of pieces of an old parachute Mom had stashed away for a rainy (or last minute fancy dress costume) day.

It did look impressive but also maybe a little more… home made… than Virgil had pictured when Scott had explained his Big Idea.

“I’m not sure your math is the same as real life, Scotty…”

“Sure it is! In high school you do real life math - it’s called physics and its all about balancing up forces with down forces. I checked my calculations with my physics teacher last week. She thought it was brilliant. It will work.”

“Did she know you were planning to do it in real life though?”

“Of course not, 11 year olds aren’t meant to be able to fly. It’d cause a fuss.”

“Hmm.” Virgil scratched his head and tried to figure out why the flying machine made him uneasy. It wasn’t just that the stitching of the parachute to the mesh was somewhat wobblier than Virgil had drawn in the neat plan they’d sketched together. nor was it the fact he could see daylight through some of the gashes in the boat.

“Did your sums include using duct tape?” Scotty had for sure used a lot. A lot of a lot.

“It’s really strong. Ever tried to unstick it from something? Impossible! Nothing unsticks what duct tape says should be stuck.”

“Ok.” Virgil’s voice was small because it was being squashed by big feelings. Some excited and proud ones. Quite a lot more scared ones. And some guilty ones.

And some deep misgivings about whatever “physics” was.

Since leaving them to go to High School Scott’s brain had been full of so many clever new things and he was so confident and excited. Virgil felt bad for not trusting him. After all, Scotty always made the crazy ideas work and then his eyes would twinkle with the annoying “told you so”. They always came out ok because Scotty wouldn’t let Virgil get hurt.

His big brother suddenly crouched down to look him in the eye. His eyes were soft behind the sparkle.

“You don’t have to do it if you’re scared Virgie. 11 years olds aren’t supposed to fly so I guess 9 year olds are even more… uh… not supposed to fly. It won’t matter, you could just watch instead and…” he frowned in thought “I would just need a weight about the same as you to strap to the seat behind… so the math still works. Hmm, maybe a rock or something…”

Scott trailed off and looked around them as if expecting to find a ideal Virgil-sized boulder just waiting there on the rooftop. Virgil hoped he wasn’t going to have to help carry one up the ladder.

Except, no. Of course he wasn’t. Scotty wasn’t going flying with a rock. Not while Virgil was around. His brother could always rely on him to always be right there at his side. He gave himself a little shake, put his hands on his hips and pulled what he thought might be a strong, reliable face:

“You need a wingman. That’s gotta be me. It can’t be a rock, that’s just silly!”

Scott beamed with obvious relief. “Alright short stuff, if you’re sure?”

Virgil was developing a talent for deadly glares and directed his best scowl at the lanky beanpole towering over him. His brother just seemed amused rather than appropriately terrified.

“I’m not that short Scott. I’m nearly as tall as Mom.”

“Yeah well Mom’s teeny. Dad calls her his Li’l Lightning Bolt cos…”

“She’s not! She told me we are the normal ones and you and Dad are secretly Sasquatches hiding from the FBI!”

Scott’s chirpy cackle was loud and long and Virgil glowed with pleasure at making him laugh, even if it hadn’t been his own joke originally. Then a little pang of worry hit him.

“Do you think they are alright?”

Scott squeezed his shoulder. “Of course they are, I promise. Baby Gordon just needs a bit of looking after at hospital because he’s even teenier than you…” Virgil gave him his best killer glare “… and Mom and Dad are just keeping him company. She’s alright Virgie.”

“Yeah.” Another squeeze then his brother stood up tall and together they surveyed the view.

Scott checked his new watch then licked his finger and put it up in the air. His very serious and important expression was a bit spoiled by his tongue sticking out to the side as he concentrated on working out the wind direction but Virgil suppressed the giggle. This was Scotty’s big moment.

“Alright, if we are gonna do this it needs to be now. Wind’s good and Grandma and Grandpa will be back with Johnny in about 20 minutes.”

“Aye aye Captain Scott!”

Chapter 22: Rescue

Summary:

In which 11-year old’s Scott’s physics and construction methods are put under a little strain…

Notes:

Honestly the biggest challenge here was trying to keep it in 9 year old Virgil’s voice / understanding rather than nerding out about how this could actually work and so on. I mean it probably couldn’t. But, let’s just assume drones are pretty good by 2040 or so, ok?

Chapter Text

“Helmet on, Scotty!”

Scott paused mid-clamber into the kayak and came back to take his his cycle helmet from Virgil, fastening it on before giving a big thumbs up. Virgil tried to tighten the strap under his own chin but his hands were sweaty and clumsy and he was relieved when Scotty’s long nimble fingers appeared and made it just right. Scott knocked gently on the top of the helmet just like Dad always did and they both chanted “Use your head - Use a helmet.”

As his brother climbed into the seat at the front the flying machine wobbled alarmingly. Virgil wondered if it might have been better to have launched from a flatter part of the roof but… well Scott said it had to be high and this was the highest bit. Too late now.

“Ok, can you steady her for me?”

Virgil nodded. Then squeaked a “yes” as he realised Scott was looking elsewhere. He clutched the back edge of the kayak and pushed downwards using his own weight to counter his brother’s. He glanced at the safety line wrapped around the chimney and secured with a tumble hitch knot - luckily that was a knot he did know and so he knew how to quickly release it when Scotty gave him the signal. Not yet though, he’d need to be in the boat first.

A crescendo of whining filled his ears as Scott started the lead drone and the rest of the swarm picked up the signal and followed. Sure enough the nose of the kayak lifted slightly into the air, so instead of pointing straight down the pitch of the roof it now looked off into the distance.

Maybe the math did work after all?

Scott looked back at him, eyes aflame with excitement. Virgil couldn’t help grinning back - they were going to do this! At his brother’s nod he climbed carefully into the back of the kayak, and settled into the seat, bracing his feet against the footrest and his knees against the sides.

Scott looked back and gave him a nearly-actual-wink “Ready First Officer Virgie?”

“Ready Captain Scott!”

Scott twisted back to face the front and stuck three fingers in the air, then two, one… he swooshed his hand downwards and Virgil pulled on the working end of the knot and it unravelled, smooth as anything.

The flying machine jolted forwards and downwards and Virgil’s stomach jumped into his neck but then the front wobbled back up again as the drones increased their intensity to fight the sudden pull of gravity. He could feel the part of the kayak immediately under his bottom go thud-thud-thudthudthudthud down the ridges of the tiles until it stopped halfway. The drones strained as Scott increased the power and pushed them forward as well as up and there was a tugging feeing which made Virgil wonder whether the flying machine was trying to escape from the claws of a monster.

Then there was a crack which made him jump and then a tearing noise and the machine slid forwards suddenly, but one of the wings stayed behind and everything tilted sideways. The drones were swaying wildly, all terrifying spinning blades and their pitch raised up another notch to frantic and it filled Virgil’s head with stinging fuzz. He couldn’t help squealing in fear but that was nothing compared to the howl of pain and horror from in front of him.

Without even thinking he dived forward and wrapped his arms around Scott’s waist just as the kayak flipped over and dumped Virgil on the roof tiles. His legs were trapped beneath it. His arms and neck and back and every muscle in him screamed at the sudden strain and he couldn’t work out why but just squeezed his eyes shut and held on tight because as long as they were together it would be alright.

The outer edge of the gutter was pressing into his cheek and Virgil fought against the relentless monster that was trying to pull Scott away from him.

Chapter 23: Recognise

Summary:

Sorry Scooter, but you had to figure it out one day…

Notes:

The emotional whump train continues… but there is a hug! Well, kinda… sort of. Um. *coughs awkwardly*

In my defence these boys have a lot of mess to exorcise and everything will be much better once it’s all out in the open. I promise.

Chapter Text

“You saved me Virg. If you hadn’t been there…”

Virgil barely heard the words, every muscle strained to the limit and locked solid at the memory of trying to lift his bigger, heavier brother just enough so he could grab hold of the gutter. Scotty’s eyes were wide and scared in a way Virgil had never seen and his face was splattered with red.

He could almost feel the pins and needles in his ramrod straight legs, pressed hard against the mattress, bracing against the sheets which were suddenly much heavier than he was. The terror at his legs being trapped and the dread of what would happen if they suddenly weren’t trapped swirled around each other in his mind.

His arms trembled. He wasn’t strong enough. Scotty needed him to be bigger and he was too small. He was always too small and he wasn’t going to be enough…

But then suddenly he was. He was enough! He’d done it! And Scotty was there beside him and he was ok and Dad was there too and…

No! NO! Nonono Dad couldn’t find out! He’d promised so faithfully he wouldn’t tell.

He looked up at Scotty who was quiet. He’d been ever so quiet. He hadn’t approved of Virgil telling Dad those home truths but when would he ever hear a word against the man? He’d not spoken up on any of the occasions when Dad had been there. Each time he’d gone quiet and small and almost… faded. Metaphorically, of course. Virgil guessed he was so convinced Dad thought he was a failure he wouldn’t even say anything anymore. The colour drained from him just like the day he put on that stupid grey baldric.

The fury bubbled up again but he squashed it back. He needed to focus on the moment so instead he opened his mouth to beg his brother’s forgiveness for accidentally telling their greatest secret to the one person Scotty had never wanted to know it.

But Scotty was walking away. No! Please wait!

He threw the shattered remains of the flying machine off of his legs and followed his brother towards the infirmary door, dodging under his father’s outstretched arm.

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“You saved me Virg. If you hadn’t been there… I’m so sorry. I should never have put you in that position. I could have killed you, killed us both… I… I was such…”

Scott tailed off as he wondered at the impact that day must have had on his nine-year old saviour. He hadn’t thought about it for years, they’d had so many near death experiences since then it barely registered but… he felt himself flush with shame as the realisation crept over him… The way Virgil sometimes reacted to those subsequent situations made a lot more sense.

The pleas to be more careful that Scott shrugged off or argued away, the quiet moodiness that could last for days, the fake laughter at a younger brother’s jokes he knew Virgil hadn’t really heard, the endless gym sessions… it all gleamed out at him now like invisible ink under a black light.

And the petrified brown eyes of his baby brother stared down over the edge as he pulled Scott back again and again and again.

Virgil himself had dropped the relentless eye contact and was instead twisting the bedsheet viciously in his hands, no doubt reliving in his own way the same experience Scott had tried to summarise in halting, insufficient words. His face was so full of fear Scott wanted nothing more than to take him in his arms and scare away the monsters.

But he wasn’t sure now that the monster wasn’t him.

All of John and Grandma’s insistence that he couldn’t blame himself for Virgil’s condition, that it wasn’t his fault he was shot down and captured and Virgil had just got sick because he loved him so much… the reassurance he was slowly beginning to let himself believe suddenly crumbled to dust.

It WAS his fault.

Virgil had been hurting for years.

Even after Scott came home.

… no.

Especially after Scott came home. And ever since.

Scott had been wounding his best friend over and over and over.

He’d been traumatising his faithful shadow for most of their lives.

The guilt was acid. It was eating away at the fibres of his muscles. He wasn’t sure his legs were really capable of supporting his weight anymore but he forced them do it anyway. He couldn’t crack now. He couldn’t cry now. He mustn’t. He was. Damn. He wiped his face impatiently. He got a steely grip of himself and focussed back on his brother.

Who suddenly looked over at the door, flung his sheets back and leapt out of bed.

Virgil’s face was twisted in such desperation there was not a cell in Scott’s body that could prevent what happened next.

He threw himself into Virgil’s path, spun as his brother evaded his reach and caught him on the second attempt. Clutching his big-little brother in more of a vice grip than a hug, he buried his face in fluffy un-styled hair. The same fluffy hair that had been little Virgil’s trademark, that he had tried to blow out of his eyes as the two of them hung on the edge of disaster. The hair Virgil had never allowed to stay fluffy again because after that day he declared he was too grown up for crazy baby hair. It wasn’t practical. It got in the way of things he had to do. The style had changed wildly over the years but was always solid, always controlled. Scott had missed the fluffy.

The crack was unstoppable and Scott’s voice emerged in a ragged sob:

“Virgie don’t go! Please? I’m so sorry!”

Virgil struggled and tried to wriggle away but Scott couldn’t make himself let go. He heard his brother take a deep breath in through his nose and braced himself for being thrown off by the much stronger man. It would be deserved. Virgil didn’t want this right now, that was clear… this hug was solely for Scott’s benefit not Virgil’s and it wasn’t ok to do that.

But he couldn’t let him go because he didn’t know when he’d get another chance to tell him… he raced to say how sorry he was for everything and how much he loved Virgil and how he couldn’t do any of it without him and “Please Virg, forgive me and come back…”

The expected push didn’t come. Virgil had frozen.

Scott stopped talking.

When it came it came as barely a whisper:

“Scotty?”

 

Chapter 24: Repair

Summary:

FINALLY THE HUG!
Was it worth the 23-chapter lead-up?

These things aren’t fixed in a snap, and healing sometimes HURTS but the boys are on their way up…

Bonus points for spotting the double meaning of the title ;)

Chapter Text

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Something deep inside Virgil’s soul screamed in bewildered frustration.

Why was Dad so determined to keep them apart? Why couldn’t he see how much danger Scotty was in when Virgil had to stay behind? What if his brother fell and Virgil wasn’t there to catch him?

He knew it would happen one day. His luck would only last so long. One day he would be too slow, too small, too weak… and Scott’s hand would slip through his and Virgil knew that on that day he would plummet as well.

Gordon always joked that he and Scott were like Earth&Sky and everyone knew that when the Sky fell the Earth would burn.

But every time he defied that inevitability, every time he pushed that day away into the future was a victory. Each won precious time back from the darkness.

But Virgil was so tired.

And Dad kept pulling him back: “He’s gone, Virgil! This is just a fantasy!”

Maybe he was right? Maybe Virgil should accept it and let Scott go.

Maybe he should. But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t stand back and allow Scott to fade to grey. He deserved to be bright, shining blue like the sky he loved so much.

Dad was sorry, he kept saying so. But that didn’t change anything. Virgil needed to fix this himself. As always.

He tried to wriggle free of his father’s grip… he truly didn’t want to hurt him again…but the more he squirmed the tighter he was held. His father’s presence solidified around him like some kind of non-Newtonian fluid. He knew he could break free as he had the advantage of size - Dad’s arms were strong and he was tall but his shoulders were not as broad as they used to be. A small part of his mind puzzled over that while the rest of him braced, ready to force the issue. He took a deep breath, tensed the muscles in his chest and arms and…

He was home.

The melody that he hadn’t realised was missing swirled around him.

Scott.

Scott had him.

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“Scotty?”

“Yea ‘sme… It’s me, Virg, am here.” Scott tried to get a grip of himself and make his voice sound normal, familiar, unscary…but utterly failed and croaked “Am here, ‘m right here.”

Virgil’s eyes met his and widened momentarily before the bear hug was returned with interest. For a few moments. Then Scott’s little brother began to shiver violently and suddenly melted into his arms, a deadweight clinging to him for dear life.

Scott’s knees finally gave out and they hit the floor together with a thud. He winced at the impact ricocheting through his skeleton but there were more important things to think about - Virgil’s respiratory rate was high. Too high. He was peering over Scott’s shoulder, brown eyes wide and flicking back and forth between the door and Scott’s own face, his breath coming in short squeaky gasps.

“I don… I can’t… what…?”

“Sssssh it’s ok you’re safe, I’ve got you.”

Virgil responded with a sound like an animal caught in a trap which made Scott’s every hair stand on end. The hyperventilating worsened as he tried to speak.

“Hel… help me… aaah… how… why are there… two… of… I don’t… you… aaaah… amsoscaredScott… Please don’t… please don’t leave… me.”

Scott held Virgil and rocked him and kissed his hair and did his best to soothe the panic away. His eyes burned again.

“I’m here, Vee. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Virgil calmed a little, then raised a hand and clumsily examined Scott’s face with it. Scott was reminded of baby Allie grabbing at his nose only this time the hand was far bigger and more desperate than curious. He felt a shaky finger trace the scar on his chin before Virgil curled into his chest again and squeezed his eyes shut. Scott continued to rock him ever so gently.

“I’m not ok.”

It came as a whisper.

“Can see two of you Scotty, clear as day.” A shiver and Scott squeezed tighter. “What is wrong with me?”

“You’ve just been poorly, it will pass.”

“Don’t like it.” More breath than words but Scott got the message.

“Me neither bro, one of me is definitely more than enough.”

Virgil snorted.

“But you’re getting better, I promise. It’s gonna be ok.”

“Love you Scotty, y’know that right?” Brown eyes stared up at him.

“Course I do. Love you too.”

Scott kissed the fluffy hair again.

“I couldn’t do it. I’m so sorry. They needed me and I… I know I promised but I couldn’t do it without you. I’m sorry.”

“You did great, I know you did.”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.”

“Not again… I couldn’t… not again.”

“Really trying not to Virgie. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m so sorry.”

Virgil sniffed and shook his head as if to clear it. Then shook it again and winced as if it had hurt.

“Don’t want you to be grey.”

“Grey?” Scott couldn’t hide his confusion. Virgil dissolved again and sobbed:

“Please don’t go grey.”

Scott didn’t understand the words but the pain in them was crystal clear. He was supposed to be strong and support Virgil who was so small and so broken but found himself falling apart all over again.

They clung to each other the same as they had at the edge of the roof, shaking and crying with dissipating terror and overwhelming relief and vowing never to let go of each other again.

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Sally slowed her pace as she approached the not-quite-closed door of the infirmary, holding her arm out to slow Alan who skittered to a halt behind her.

All seemed quiet.

The lack of yelling was promising as it was fairly unlikely anyone had actually killed anyone and so her heart lifted a little, hoping she had been right to take her time getting down here. Perhaps Scott in his unsubtle, frankly cannonball-like way might have made things work after all.

She did feel for the lad - knowing full well that being kept away from his sick brother was nigh on torture for him, but the consultant psychiatrist had been quite specific. And Sally had passed on the advice as far as she could because this wasn’t her area of specialism and, well, she had to didn’t she? But in the end… did she have any more say over Virgil’s care than Scott did? He was his next of kin after all, not her. But he’d deferred to her as medic as they usually did, which meant she carried the weight of the prohibition even if she had deliberately made no real effort to enforce it.

Taking a deep breath she eased open the door and peered around. After an initial double take at seeing the bed empty her eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness and she spotted the huddle on the floor. Virgil was curled in Scott’s lap and the older boy had wrapped himself around him. No, not boy. Neither were children anymore but something about the position they had adopted… it instantly took her back twenty years to when the two would gravitate towards each other after lights out, teaming up against the monsters in the shadows.

Virgil seemed peaceful but Scott’s breathing was laboured in that stuttering, convulsive way that spoke of a long overdue cry only recently concluded. He glanced up at her, guilt written all over his face but very definitely not relinquishing an inch of the contact he had with his brother. Nor should he.

They were both where they needed to be.

She smiled gently to reassure him and ruffled his hair and her heart faltered as he leaned into her hand. Sally couldn’t remember the last time she had done that… had she been too taken in by his Commander & Protector act to notice how badly he needed looking after too? She’d always been so distracted by the younger boys… and of course he would never ask… Oh Scott!

She bent to kiss the top of his head and he closed his eyes as she whispered “You’re doing great honey.”

The tension in her eldest grandson’s shoulders dissipated as she gestured at her youngest and together they began to pull all the pillows and blankets from the beds.

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Chapter Text

Scott woke in a nest.

He was fairly sure he hadn’t gone to sleep in one.

However, given he was not alone and that the sounds of slumber surrounding him were so familiar and beloved, he decided to go with it for now. There was time for for a subtle situation assessment at least.

It was warm and his situation was objectively comfy, despite being on the floor. A department store’s worth of pillows had been deployed around him at some stage, there were many blankets and numerous other… as yet unidentified fluffy objects. The comfort-level was actually almost aggressively high.

Subjectively though… everything ached like it would with an intense bout of flu. All his bones felt wrong, as if his skeleton had been taken out, thrown down the stairs, and shoved back in at random. There was a constant background throb inside his skull. His throat, his eyes, his nostrils… all felt swollen like they’d been attacked by angry bees. Had he been sick? His heart dropped a little, if he was sick he shouldn’t be sharing his nest - he’d be infectious!

He thought about moving and sneaking away but every muscle point blank refused. His family were in the nest and he really needed them right now. He always did, but the need to be physically close felt suddenly emotionally overwhelming, like trapping a cold finger under something heavy or walking on a block of Lego… for a few seconds his brain couldn’t process any other information.

When the bunch of mush inside his head did reboot, it noted the soles of his feet were stinging sharply. That was both new and distinctly unusual for flu…

OH! The glass. Of course.

That.

All that. Oh.

Oh Virgil.

He tightened his arms around his biggest little brother who rumbled some sleepy nonsense in response. The two of them appeared to be covered in Scott’s old bathrobe. And what Scott had initially interpreted as Virgil’s arm slung over the both of them from behind him in fact ended in one of John’s elegant hands… a John who happened to be wearing one of Virgil’s flannel shirts. No, wait… Scott squinted at the cuff in the half light… Two. John was sporting double plaid.

You know what, fair enough.

The squid was squidding on Virgil’s other side, limbs locked on and only a shock of dark blonde hair visible as his face was buried between Virgil’s shoulder blades. A long time ago Scott would have worried at his ability to breathe in that position but although their little fish had not yet developed the ability to respire underwater (much to his obvious frustration), he had long proven himself perfectly able to obtain sufficient oxygen through apparently impermeable brotherly surfaces.

Scott reached out with all available senses to locate the final piece of the brother puzzle and it didn’t take long. Allie’s pointy chin dug into his thigh and… yeah he’d been drooling in his sleep the same way he had ever since he was a toddler. The soggy patch on his jeans was going to be hard to ignore now he’d noticed it but, aww, Allie.

A lithe dark shape reclined in the bedside chair, ever on guard even in slumber. A smaller stockier one was tucked into the bed, snoring ever so gently.

As Scott’s eyes adjusted to the gloom he noticed a mysterious green glow in the armchair in the far corner - lifting his head ever so slightly he could identify MAX’s standby light glinting off a pair of glasses.

Truly, everyone was here.

As if knowing she’d been left off his mental checklist a hologram popped up from the bedside comm at 10% brightness, still a surprise that made him blink his eyes rapidly to adjust. The familiar ring of lights flickering then shifting into a single question mark.

He wasn’t sure when his feelings had shifted from being creeped out to being comforted by her constant watch over them all but, his heart warmed by the enquiry, he raised a hand, ever so gradually, to form a thumbs up.

The lights shifted and spun in a rainbow of colours before mimicking the thumbs up symbol, shifting quickly to a heart shape and then a series of Zs before blinking out.

He couldn’t decide whether he was more amused that EOS was now communicating via teenage emoji-speak or that she was now also nagging him to sleep. Virgil had started snoring slightly and that always had a soporific effect and so a large part of Scott’s brain was inclined to take her advice. He screwed up his face trying to suppress a huge yawn. After all… given he knew someone was keeping an eye on things…

Perhaps it would be ok to let himself… drift… just a little…

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Virgil woke in a symphony of family.

It was not, he would acknowledge, what most people would understand as music. Sure, he could hear them, could pick out their individual ways of breathing and all their other little sleep noises as easily as if they spoke their names in a roll call. But it wasn’t entirely an auditory thing. Nor was it entirely a visual, olfactory or tactile thing either… not entirely, although they all played a part.

He felt them all, their presence surrounded him in full technicolour. And he could hear the colours and see the inaudible sounds of the music they made merely by existing.

He knew each brother’s melody, and those of Kayo, Grandma and Hiram too… they wove around and through him and harmonised with his own motif, supporting it, lifting it, enhancing it into something more beautiful. He made sense. He knew he was home precisely where he belonged. He was safe. Everyone accounted for.

And yet…

There was another here too.

Hollow. Barely tangible. No life force of his own, he… it… was fuelled by desperation and denial… memory mutated. Virgil knew he was there and yet his presence was only a shadow.

He opened one eye with a sense of trepidation and, suspicion confirmed, closed it again, curling his body back into the embrace of the real and the solid.

Gordon clung to his left, Scott surrounded his right, the scent of both flooded over him, he could feel their breath. But he could feel Him too.

Virgil knew what was happening - he’d been here before, after all. And now he knew, he knew it would pass soon and in a significant way that made it less horrifying, albeit still deeply deeply uncomfortable. But… perhaps… he could approach this with a degree of curious attachment. Virgil opened his eyes and allowed the light of dawn to enter his pupils and wondered how much of what he would see was actually entering his mind that way.

Standing, head bowed, by the end of the bed was Scott.

His Scotty. His best, most faithful friend, familiar as his own soul.

Broken.

Bearded, battered, bruised… he raised his face to meet Virgil’s gaze from within darkened, swollen eye sockets, blue only just managing to penetrate the mess of yellow, purple and red.

Cheekbones like knives, skeletal hands peeking out from sleeves of that cursed blue, the wrong blue. Not Scott’s bright astral blue. Too dark, too formal. It smothered him.

He looked so tired and so faded he was almost grey.

Virgil’s heart stuttered - how could he have let this happen? He was supposed to look after him! He was supposed to prevent…

The big brother Scott that was his conscience frowned, the haggard wraith Scott that was his sickness shook his head, the sleepy but solid Scott who held him close tightened his grip as if to stop him launching himself down that mental rabbit hole. Virgil allowed himself a tiny amused smile as he briefly closed his eyes to savour the hug - no version of Scott, real or illusory, would ever stand by and let him take the blame.

He looked up again, intending to whisper an apology anyway…

But he was gone.

And he was here.

He was right here.

Chapter 26: Replay

Summary:

As tempting as it might be to end the story with the last chapter’s snuggly puppy pile, a lot is still wrong here and needs fixed because the boys aren’t fab at Talking.

So there will be a couple more chapters (maybe 5?) where I try to fix what I repeatedly broke. Some of the fixing may be violent (like orthopaedic surgery?).

My weapon of choice today? Squid cannon.

Chapter Text

“You’ve upset him and he’s run away! How can you not see what you’ve done to him? All these years you just won’t stop asking and asking. He’s killing himself trying to please you Dad and I can’t make him see. I can’t make him stop. He won’t stop. He… can’t stop. Because of YOU! But this would have made him happy, if he can save his friends and I was going to make it work for him! You can’t just waltz back in here and take over and send him away! Not again!”

Scott pressed pause, dragged the progress bar back 17 seconds and pressed play.

“All these years you just won’t stop asking and asking. He’s killing himself trying to please you Dad and I can’t make him see. I can’t make him stop. He won’t stop. He… can’t stop…”

He stabbed the pause button again. This was the one brief moment where his own great big head wasn’t blocking his brother’s face from view of Shadow’s pilot-facing camera. Scott studied Virgil’s expression, the familiar and oh so beloved features distorted by emotions Scott didn’t often see.

Unlike himself, Virgil had control of his emotions most of the time. He managed them expertly during moments of stress and then released them safely in his music or his art or… or sometimes after yet another failed rescue when they sat together staring out at the relentless wash of ocean against the shore he would lean against Scott’s shoulder and quietly demand answers from the sky. And when the sky stayed silent Scott would try to reassure him the same way Dad would have - They could only do their best, it was better to die clinging to hope than in despair. He struggled to believe it himself but he’d say it anyway and hold his brother close until the furious tears eased and they somehow got up, shook the sand out of their shoes and did it all over again.

In Shadow, in the heat of the moment, Scott had only seen the white hot rage and it had terrified him. Now, on replay, he could see what he’d missed - he zoomed in so the hologram was life size… and the despair and anguish on Virgil’s face dragged his heart from his chest and stomped on it. Then threw it in the path of Two trundling down her runway.

The mighty ship ran over it without hesitation. She was disappointed. Devestated.

Just like Virgil.

Had that expression been there all along and Scott had refused to see it? Too arrogant to acknowledge the heart behind the nagging?

Had John known? Had Gordon? Had they seen what he had not?

Rewind.

“He’s killing himself trying to please you Dad and I can’t make him see. I can’t make him stop…”

“I’m preeeeetty sure you’ve memorised that little speech by now, bro.”

Gordon was a great deal stealthier than his reputation suggested but Scott absolutely did not jump from his seat and reflexively swipe away the footage as if caught watching something embarrassing or shameful. Absolutely not.

Ok maybe a little.

Gordon perched an impertinent butt cheek on the desk and eyed him. “What gives, Scooter?”

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Scott cleared his throat and evaded the question. “How is he?”

“Asleep. He’ll be fine. The drugs will do their thing. They are already doing their thing. He’ll be fine.” Gordon knew Scott knew he knew Scott knew all this. But it had been the accepted conversation opener for the last 72 hours and so he wasn’t going to mess with the system.

Big brother nodded and looked back at the space where the holographic video no longer was.

“You did get the point that Grandma sent you up here to get food and some fresh air, yes?”

Without averting his gaze, Scott pointed silently at the empty tub of cinnamon-apple icecream in the waste paper basket.

“Hmm. And the air?”

The finger moved to the half open balcony door.

“Somewhat technical compliance but I’ll allow it for now.”

Scott slumped on to the desk and rested his chin on his hands, still staring at the empty space. The glow from the device embedded within the surface of the desk emphasised the bags under his eyes, the stress-lines on his forehead… and the silvery hairs caught the light and seemed to multiply. Gordon shivered for a moment - his brother had no business looking that ancient. He was about to lighten the mood with a little light ribbing on the topic but realised Scott was no longer paying attention and was muttering to himself:

“Why, Virgil? I don’t understand…”

“You don’t? Which part? It all seems fairly straightforward to me.” Gordon dragged over a bar stool and perched atop it with his feet crossed neatly at the ankles placed deliberately in between Scott’s head and the patch of air Virgil’s face had recently disappeared from.

Scott glared at the feet.

“I get that I’ve scared him. He’s had to save me too many times.”

“Uh huh…”

“But we all do it all the time… you end up imperilled at least as often as I do. Usually worse!”

“Mmm… not entirely true. Also, not usually after the whole family has yelled “NO SCOTT, NO!” down the Comm...”

“Well, you’re Gordon.” Scott countered, as if that was a conclusive argument. Gordon merely raised an eyebrow.

“Fine. I’m an idiot. I mess up a lot. Happy? But that isn’t the point right now. Why is he so angry with Dad? How can he…? Dad didn’t…? He hasn’t even been… He didn’t do anything wrong?!”

“I think you’re going to have to talk to Virgil about that one bro.”

A minute shake of the head somehow conveyed absolute conviction: “He’s got enough on his plate. He probably won’t remember so I can’t go dredging it all up again.”

Scott closed his eyes for a moment before they were drawn inexorably back to the empty holo display.

“He doesn’t believe I can handle it.”

“He… I’m sorry, WHAT?!” Gordon barely restrained himself from slapping his brother upside the head. With his foot.

“Do you all think this? I thought I was doing a better job than… I thought I was managing to stop you having to… I thought I was keeping you out of it… I can do better. I have to…”

“You are UNBELIEVEABLE!!!”

Scott startled at Gordon’s explosion as if he’d forgotten he was there.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For not…”

“I swear Scott Tracy if you say anything about not doing enough or not being good enough I am going to fill your pants with jack mackerel and throw you in the sea.”

Scott paused.

“That’s a weirdly specific threat, Gords.”

“Yeah, well, we used it last week in the trench and the rattails went mad for it.”

“Right. Which ones are the rattails again?”

Gordon took a breath, always ready to embark on a marine-life lecture then realised he was being played and glared at his eldest brother who could apparently still do devious even when half-mad with self-loathing. “Nope. You’re not going to distract me. Nice try.”

Scott straightened up and did that maddeningly calm face none of them trusted.

“Forget it Gords, it’s alright. We’ll be alright. I’ll… I’ll sort it all out, you don’t need to worry.”

“No! No you can’t! That’s the point… DON’T LOOK LIKE THAT, THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEAN!”

Gordon reflexively cast his eyes to the ceiling but John wasn’t floating omnipotently above as he was hovering in a far more solid fashion down in the infirmary. EOS was up there but even access to the sum total of human knowledge throughout history wouldn’t help get through the thick skull in front of him. Right now Gordon wasn’t sure he had a big enough pickaxe.

The flicker of despair shifted back into calm reassurance mode which hardened into steel. “It’s perfectly clear what you mean. I’ll sort it.”

“Scott, please. Can you stop shutting me out for a minute and just listen? Please? I need my big brother to listen to me.”

Most people would have missed the faint twitch of Scott’s jaw and the slight softening around the eyes but Gordon did not and he seized his moment:

“We don’t want you to do everything yourself. I know you think you CAN but it doesn’t mean you should. You shouldn’t. It isn’t right!”

“I have to, Gordon! Look what happened when I wasn’t there and Virgil had to…”

“Ok firstly, it wasn’t looking after us that broke him. It was burying his grief and pretending to be fine. It was losing you, Scott.”

“But…”

“But that isn’t the point! You aren’t making his life any easier by not letting him help! Can’t you see? It’s like…. It’s like you’re Frodo!!”

“Frodo?!”

“And Virgil is Sam Gamgee!! You think you have to carry it all and you’re saving him from the burden but he’s all “I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you!!”

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Gordon had dropped his voice and done an eerily good impression of their brother which was a surprise for several reasons, not least that Scott would have expected the hammed up Sean Astin he’d heard on many retro movie nights. Gordon was not kidding around this time. And when Gordon stopped kidding around only a fool failed to pay attention. Scott was many things, but he wasn’t a fool.

“He’s always going to try Scott. And it’s eating away at him every time you put up that wall. I see it but I can’t help him and I can’t bear it.”

Gordon held his eye for several seconds and then, the stubborn determination to say his piece apparently exhausted, Gordon sagged and then flinched as the stool wobbled and he tried and failed to adjust his balance to compensate. He clearly hadn’t been looking after his back the way he should have the last few days and Scott had been too preoccupied to notice.

Pure instinct had Scott vaulting over the desk to scoop his little fish off the unreliable perch and safely into his arms. A few moments passed before he settled him on his feet. Gordon nodded his thanks and then hugged him so hard it hurt Scott’s ribs before adding words which applied similar pressure to the heart beneath them.

“Please let us in, Scott. At least let him in. Else I’m not sure which of you I’m going to lose first.”

Chapter 27: Resurrect

Summary:

When you whack one Tracy with a big stick, it’s a given all of them will get eventually go blurry-eyed and fall over…

I mentioned a bit of a rollercoaster before the end didn’t I…?

Chapter Text

Day seven of being dosed up on haloperidol and Virgil felt like a bear woken midway through hibernation by the smell of bacon. Everything but his stomach and that nagging sense of the world moving on outside without him was dragging him back towards blissful slumber. And yet he was SO VERY BORED of lying around doing nothing and that made him moody and petulant… in a drowsy, ineffective kind of way.

Grandma wouldn’t even let him have proper coffee, and no amount of the insipid-brown, barely-caffeinated dishwater he was given in its stead even touched the edges of the lethargy.

It was displeasing.

He’d had a couple of short holocall chats with a Dr George Clifford, highly recommended by Patricia who was consultant psychiatrist to half his family. Scott and Gordon were both keen he talk to Patricia herself, both clearly of the view the woman had Powers unavailable to the rest of humanity. John and Grandma were less convinced it would be appropriate. For Virgil’s part - the idea of talking about Scott to someone who Scott had actually properly talked to, who likely knew more about Scott than he ever would? Well it made his teeth itch.

Clifford seemed to know his stuff, however. He’d been unfazed by the sleepiness and unfinished sentences and had given emphatic reassurance as to Virgil’s prospects of a full recovery PROVIDED he addressed the issues that triggered both episodes. The conditional element made the reassurance hard to swallow, emphatic or otherwise, but he’d nodded and said he’d make a start.

When he was properly awake and able to form coherent sentences anyway. Which felt like it might be never the way this was going.

Scott had seemed to understand the caffeine-deprived rant about how the infirmary made him want to systematically remove his own skin and took pity. Eyeballing anyone who might possibly object (well, Grandma, and she just smiled knowingly) big brother had escorted Virgil slowly upstairs so he could at least be Ursus Iratus by the pool rather than stuck in the bowels of the earth.

It seemed to be working. The edges remained fuzzy and grey but the bright sunlight and the sound of the sea were bringing the majority of his brain back online. He began to wonder if, finally, he might be able to hold a train of thought long enough to have a half-decent conversation.

He glanced over at Scott who hurriedly switched on his trademark Encouraging Smile and tried to pretend the Troubled Eyebrows hadn’t been deployed in Virgil’s direction seconds before.

Virgil bit his lip and tried to hide the sigh. He certainly wasn’t ready for That Conversation yet. Nor was he entirely sure what it was going to be about… exactly… except that clearly Something had been said that he couldn’t remember and his brother was chewing it over like a starving coyote might keep returning to Grandma’s meatloaf surprise…

Selfishly, at the moment, Virgil didn’t really want to know. Well he did, in the same kind of morbid way one pokes at a wound. But he didn’t have the mental energy to know. Last time he’d been this sick he’d done something awful and his relationship with Dad hadn’t ever quite been the same afterwards. The idea that the same could happen with one of his brothers? If he even started to think about it a nausea roiled that he knew had nothing to do with the medication and everything to do with the what if he’d ruined everything?

Maybe if they left it long enough he’d never have to find out?

Ha. He snorted softly. As if Scott and his mental cyclone would ever let something he was worried about slide with time.

Virgil himself was possibly not a brilliant example of someone able to let the past stay in the past either.

Maybe it was genetic?

A distinctly Alan-flavoured screech of rage pierced the humidity of the afternoon and it seemed as if even the seabirds swooping over Mateo were silenced in shock.

Virgil and Scott looked at each other across the pool, the quirked eyebrows of amusement wavered simultaneously as a quieter voice drifted out from the kitchen, quieter but urgent, soft but tainted with panic:

“Breathe! Allie, please it’s ok… please, look just wait. Let me help… no, put it down! Let go, please you’re hurting…”

The first time Virgil was really aware he’d moved was when his shoulder collided painfully with Scott’s as they both tried to run through the narrow doorway at once. The reinforced glass continued to shudder with the echo of that mistake as they remembered how to work together, spun 90 degrees and sidestepped smoothly through into what seemed to be an entirely empty room.

The expected kerfuffle was strikingly absent - all was as it should be. All except for the bright yellow smoothie crawling across the counter top and the gleaming red spots splattered across the tiled floor.

“Alan?! Gordon?!” There was a fragile edge to the Commander’s voice that usually didn’t appear until many hours into an overwhelming Situation. The response came from low behind the kitchen island:

“Could do with a little help over here, Scotty…”

Gordon sounded pale.

That was enough to galvanise Virgil into action and firing on perhaps 3 out of four engines he took one barefooted step forward, noting absently how the floor sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight…

Scott yelped and pulled him backwards, nearly toppling the both of them.

“Glasssssssssssssss…”

The elongated hiss persisted as Scott’s mind raced for a solution and sidelined irrelevant concerns like finishing words.

“Stay.”

Even at full capacity Virgil couldn’t have disobeyed that tone of command.

Scott pressed Virgil’s shoulders down as if trying to ensure his feet were properly glued to the ground and then ducked back outside. A little mild cursing preempted the contents of the pool toy cupboard flying out on to the deck and within moments the two largest foam floats returned though the door, closely followed by his brother. The first quickly became a path to the far side of the counter and the other was flung to the floor only a split second before Scott’s knees landed on top of it with a strangled “ALLIE, WHAT THE HELL?!”

Virgil crawled along the mat as quickly as he could and peered over Scott’s shoulder to see Gordon, jaw set hard and his hands clamped around Alan’s wrists. Their baby brother, colourless and trembling clutched the jagged remains of a tumbler in his bloody fists. He looked up into Virgil’s face, gasped and whimpered:

“‘m so sorry, Virgil, I’m so so sorry.”

Chapter 28: Rend

Summary:

Things are broken…

Notes:

I’ll be honest - this next section has fought me because while it’s easy enough for me to say “Noo the puppy pile makes us feel better but isn’t going to Fix them, they need to Talk like Grown Ups”, it’s been tricky to drag them into a place where they are ready /willing to do it, big bros especially.
Thus it seemed possible the motivation that might be most effective might come from a littler bro-who-must-be-protected actually needing that talk. Hence Alan needed to be broken first.
Except then Gordon had a bit of an internal breakdown himself (because I couldn’t just make Alan cry, nooo I had to make him bleed didn’t I? 😏) so this next part is a bit of a scene set for that / catch up on all their mental states from the POV of a certain squid who could challenge big bro for his racing inner monologue crown…
Apologies if it’s kind of slow / doesn’t seem to go anywhere. I promise I’ve written the end and I think it’ll be worth it when we get there.

Chapter Text

Gordon leant heavily against the kitchen sink and dabbed ineffectively at his damp hands with an even damper towel.

They looked clean now.

They weren’t.

Something about a brother’s blood lingered, invisibly, and when he closed his eyes to catch his breath he could still feel the warm slickness of it. Somehow oily, it made his fingers unnaturally frictionless as they moved against each other and his stomach churned at the sensation.

Once lowered, his eyelids felt heavy, itchy. Swollen. Realistically at least one of them was going to end up blackened by the dizzying impact between his face and a fury-fuelled elbow. He’d not seen that coming…

Leaden as they were, his eyes shot open again in surprise as something tickled his big toe. The cleaning bot having finished with the broken glass was nudging at his foot. The googly eyes he and Alan had superglued to it on a carefree whim so many months ago were jiggling away and it looked for all the word like a sentient being trying to reassure him.

It wasn’t of course, but he suspected there was one behind its behaviour and glanced instinctively up at the ceiling.

The bot butted him more sharply and he redirected his attention to the rest of his family. Apparently unaware that the glass threat had passed, they were huddled on a pool float island in a kitchen floor sea. It would be comical if there weren’t so many things wrong with the picture.

The first one was obviously that his only little brother had been leaking blood all over the place from several nasty slices to his hands and fingers. It was nothing short of a miracle none of the tendons were compromised and - he knew they should be thankful - but it was hard to focus on that right now. Not in these circumstances… when the injuries were… recklessly… bizarrely… self-inflicted. Where a frenzied Alan had tried to force the tumbler back into its proper shape with his bare hands, as if he believed he could fuse glass with sheer willpower. And when he failed Alan had actually fought Gordon rather than allow him to help prevent the cuts getting any worse.

That had been… well. Very Wrong.

Scott and John were nearly as pale as the little guy was. This wasn’t unexpected, he supposed - there was something about Alan being hurt, even relatively trivially, that really messed with all of them on a kind of primal level.

Another big problem with the picture was that the person doing the patching up wasn’t Virgil. It was always Virgil, unless it was Virgil doing the bleeding then… well, it was usually Gordon actually. They were all highly trained first responders and perfectly competent, and Gordon in particular had worked hard under his wingman’s eagle eye to become nearly as proficient. However, it was an unwritten Tracy law that when ol’ Steady-Hands Virg was present, he did this stuff.

But he wasn’t. He was there, sure, holding Alan on his lap, but no more than that. Not advising, not encouraging or doing any of the other Virgilly things he should be doing. Just… watching, not entirely present, like he was stuck behind some bloody curtain.

And obviously nor was it Gordon armed with the suture needle, which was just as well because he wasn’t feeling so steady-handed himself right now. Which was not unrelated to how Done he was with that curtain. And the fact Alan’s grip on things had shattered more violently even than the glass he’d sideswiped with a wildly gesticulating arm… Gordon was a split second too late seeing crunch coming. He hasn’t seen the result coming.

He should have seen it coming. Of course he hasn’t been as fine as he’d pretended. Alan had pulled a Scott on him and no mistake.

Grandma would have been the obvious next candidate for first aid administration but had backed away quietly at the high-intensity-blue-lasered command even she knew it was best to heed without argument.

It was Scott. Scott who snatched up the tweezers to painstakingly remove the remaining shards from shredded flesh, Scott who now wielded the needle. Because for some reason Scott wouldn’t contemplate anyone else doing it. Gordon suspected that the chance to fix anything… to do one practical thing to help was something his biggest brother desperately needed before he fractured too. Gordon was a little concerned someone would have to stitch the Commander’s bottom lip up next, such was the abuse it was undergoing. John was watching Scott’s every move with the mind of calm, neutral expression that failed to conceal, to Gordon at least, a few fault lines of his own.

The only one missing was Kayo. And Kayo was likely burning out Shadow’s engines somewhere over the Pacific Ocean as she hurtled back towards the Island. Nobody hurt Alan on her watch, not even Alan.

Hell they were a mess.

A sudden release of breath and Scott presented Alan’s hands for Grandma’s approval. Then there were bandages gently applied, baby brother knuckles kissed twice by the only real father figure the kid really remembered and then a pause while everyone avoided everyone else’s eyes and wondered what on earth to say next.

In the end Scott took the blunt approach:

“Why, Allie?”

“I had to fix it. It was for Virgil and I had to fix it.”

“Fix… your glass?”

“The mess… I had to… You don’t… you wouldn’t understand!!!”

Scott’s face was evidence enough of that but his voice was far calmer than the turmoil Gordon could see in his eyes

“No… I really don’t but I need to, what’s got into you Allie?”

“It was all my fault I’m sosorryVirgil. I’m so sorry, I’m always so damn cl-clumsy.”

The only one not looking baffled by now was Virgil but Gordon couldn’t be sure if that was because he was still a bit out of it and hadn’t been following. Alan huddled in his lap, Virgil had wrapped his arms around his little brother and his chin rested on the top of his head. He looked tired…

No. Not just tired… Virgil looked… resigned?

Gordon knew his eyes had widened as the realisation hit - Virgil knew. He knew what was going on? What on Earth had happened between the two of them that nobody else had noticed?

“Allie, talk to us. What is your fault? Whatever it is, Virgil isn’t holding it against you, right Virgil?”

Virgil just pressed his lips into Alan’s hair and closed his eyes.

Alan himself took a breath and appeared to steel himself.

“It’s my fault Virgil got sick.”

Chapter 29: Reassure

Summary:

Sometimes the time to talk comes before you think you are ready… sorry Virg…

Chapter Text

“It’s my fault Virgil got sick.”

To Scott’s credit the look of incredulity had passed very quickly and returned to concerned big brother as he prompted “what makes you think that?”

Alan was several sentences into his attempt to turn a confused childhood memory into a coherent narrative before Virgil suddenly realised he should have objected to that initial statement. Damn. Not that it would have made any difference, probably… a Tracy determined to accept blame was difficult to redirect… but it wasn’t a great look not to have disagreed at the outset.

Maybe he should say it now, just in case?

He sat up a little and opened his mouth but belatedly realised the rest of the family were now hearing about something deeply personal Virgil had hoped none of them would ever find out. Especially not Scott. He blushed, well aware that objectively his little coping mechanisms from that… time… could sound desperately unhinged, even before he got sick and he hadn’t even properly heard how Alan had described it so he could explain and damn he’d stopped listening again and Alan was still talking

“… and of course I was a compete idiot wasn’t I because it wasn’t a ghost hug Virgil meant at all it was… more like a memory? Of a hug? And I knew I shouldn’t go in there but… but I missed him…”Alan suddenly looked back up at Scott who had frozen in place, both hands still wrapped around one of Alan’s “… I mean you. I missed you too and I… thought maybe if…if I went in you’d come and I’d get a hug again as well but then… tried to balance the mug… so stupid and I ruined everything… and he… he looked so sad I couldn’t breathe. And then he got sick… so…”

Virgil just shook his head and moaned a little in lieu of speaking. His eyes were squeezed shut but could feel them all looking at him. He had to clear this up, he had to get his brain in gear. He focussed on the pressure of Alan’s skull against his clavicle and forced himself to lift his eyes to meet those of his older brother…

… who stared back at him, his face bewildered and bloodless. Scott’s lips parted as if to speak but he didn’t seem any more capable of forming words than Virgil did.

“It’s been you with the clothes!” Gordon suddenly burst into the awkward silence. “I was blaming Grandma…”

Alan flushed and looked down again.

“I just… didn’t know how to help and I hoped it might… help.”

Big brother mode re-engaged, Scott put a hand back on Alan’s arm and offered firm reassurance without moving his eyes from Virgil for a moment.

“It did.”

Alan nodded, then buried his face back into Virgil’s shirt.

“I’m so sorry, Virgil”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Allie.”

Virgil’s voice came out rather squeakier than he’d intended so he held his little brother close and swallowed hard.

He knew from observing both Scott and Gordon as they underwent therapy that it was supposed to be good to revisit this stuff - it was good to deliberately remember and to vocalise the things that haunted you… all of them. He’d reminded them often enough. Gordon had quite naturally found himself able to vent to Scott or to Virgil. Scott… well despite Virgil’s efforts he hadn’t let them in for a very long time, not until quite recently when circumstances forced his hand. Even now Virgil could tell Scott’s instinct to protect them from But he had always spoken to his therapist and so Virgil had had to be content with that.

And Virgil had confided in… precisely nobody. Because really, compared to what they’d each been through… well. Dr Clifford had pointed out only a couple of hours ago that the same advice applied to Virgil too - that eventually the acknowledging and the speaking would take the power of the memories away, the ones that lurked and gnawed at his very being.

But of all the times and places to start… the tiny incident Alan was torturing himself over was one of Virgil’s hardest moments. It had been the tipping point between the living nightmare he recalled and the one he… didn’t. The time reality caught up with him and he lost hope. The moment he had finally let go.

The moment he’d actually lost Scott.

And lost Virgil too.

But Alan didn’t know that, all the guilt-ridden child of his memories knew was he’d upset his brother, that after that Virgil hadn’t wanted to look after them anymore.

This really wasn’t the best time. He wasn’t quite sure he’d know how to put it into words when at his best and he definitely wasn’t. And he really, really needed to get this right. Because even putting therapeutic best practice aside, this wasn’t just about him anymore. It was about Alan, Scott… all of them.

“Ok. Ok, so… I guess I should explain some… uh… stuff.” Virgil’s voice was still shaky and he paused as he was suddenly hemmed in by a Gordon on one side and a John on the other. Scott dropped one of his hands from Alan’s to rest on Virgil’s foot. Thus surrounded, he found the words suddenly came a little easier.

“Allie… it really wasn’t your fault. Uh, I’m going to be honest, because you’re not an idiot but you have to hear me out… Right to the end, ok?”

Alan nodded and pressed the side of his face to Virgil’s chest. Scott hovered in front of him, looking stricken, but didn’t interfere.

“I still don’t remember a lot of it very well.” He used the back of his hand to wipe non-existent sweat from his forehead then ran his hand through his hair while trying to summon up the strength and focus to say this the right way.

“But I do remember that night quite clearly and, yeah I was… upset. Not with you, not really with you, but the circumstances and… yeah you’re right that was when I started to… lose my hold on… um, things.”

Alan closed his eyes and tightened his grip on Virgil’s shirt. Virgil watched his face for a moment, his heart squeezing as he noticed the depth of the shadows across his little brother’s cheekbones. He’d clearly been tormenting himself the last week or so and it had gone undetected. Cut from the same cloth as his eldest brother, said torment had clearly done a number on his sleep schedule.

“But, Alan you have to understand this, it wasn’t because of your little accident. If it hadn’t been that, it would have been something else… maybe something Dad said in passing, or something Gordon made for dinner, or looking at the colour of the sky and thinking how much Scott would have liked it.”

“But it WAS that. I made it happen. It was me messing up.”

“No, Allie, no. Listen to me, it happened… inevitably… because I wasn’t coping. I couldn’t do it. No, don’t look at me like that John, it’s true… I have a go at Scott for trying to do everything, be everything but I’m such a hypocrite because when it was my turn I tried to be Scott AND be Mom AND Dad all at the same time and I didn’t know how to… be me? Without…. Without Scott, you know? I didn’t give myself even a moment to work that out because I was scared I wasn’t enough on my own and so… I kind of pretended he was coming back still and it all had to be… ok… when he did come back… and so….” John’s fingers had tightened almost imperceptibly on his shoulder and with a little start Virgil realised he was still verbalising all these thoughts and everyone was looking at him.

He cleared his throat.

“Uh, anyway. The point is it wasn’t you, Allie. It wasn’t working. I was barely sleeping, wasn’t really eating. I knew it at the time but didn’t admit it because I thought I was letting Scott down… because I promised him to always look after you all, no matter what.”

There was a quiet moan from his older brother and Virgil suddenly had absolute clarity about what he was going to say next. Because Scott needed to hear this. They all did.

“The thing is Allie… the thing is… Sometimes people ask you to make promises that… aren’t fair. Promises that are so much bigger than they seem at the time. And when that person is gone, if the promise isn’t really possible… if it isn’t healthy to try to keep it… well… What I should have done is asked myself what Scott would have told me to do.”

He looked up and met his big brother’s eyes which were shining with unshed tears.

“You should have taken care of yourself! You shouldn’t have burned yourself out for me. I never wanted that, I never meant to ask that! I’m so sorry, Virgil.”

“I know you didn’t. And I should have then too, I was just too busy trying to do everything and be good enough to let myself think about it.”

Virgil paused, watching the emotions flicker across Scott’s face, wondering when the penny would drop. He’d know when it did, in some ways his brother would always be an open book to him.

Ever such a slight widening of blue eyes and then an almost but not quite concealed frown in his direction told Virgil his point had landed and that more words would inevitably be exchanged on the subject.

Later. He’d deal with that later.

For now, he could almost feel the adrenaline dissipating and for once he allowed himself to drift without complaint. He knew he couldn’t go far this time, grounded as he was by the not insignificant weight in his arms and held up by the unrelenting affection on every side.

 

Chapter 30: Reposition

Summary:

Do they actually get to the point yet? No. No they do not. But they are thinking about it.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

There were a lot of hugs over the next couple of days. Pretty much wherever Virgil chose to sit he’d find himself sharing the chair, or at least the elbow room, with at least one family member. Usually more. During waking hours they moved around the villa like iron filings trailing a magnet.

The filings weren’t generic in their behaviour of course. Alan favoured a hand hold and a continual commentary on whatever happened to be crossing his mind - Virgil encouraged this, still not entirely persuaded by his baby brother’s assurances that he now accepted nothing had been his fault. There was perhaps more of the eldest in the youngest than in any of the rest of them, yet Virgil didn’t have the same instinctive read on the younger man’s expression. He was more than content to keep him close until he could be sure.

John, by contrast was quiet, watchful and specialised in the almost undetectable shoulder nudge. His presence was most striking for its tangibility and yet again Virgil found himself wishing it didn’t always take something awful happening before he could enjoy it.

Gordon, unfussy, tended to cling to whatever part of Virgil was available and on one occasion had abandoned all pretence of cool and leapt on to his back to be transported around, limpet-like, until Virgil threatened him with Four’s sonic hull-scraper.

Kayo had become surprisingly obsessed with ruffling his excessively curly, unstyled hair at every opportunity. Except today she was pouting because in celebration of waking up with the last traces of meds almost entirely expunged from his system, Virgil had reached for his beloved pomade (the recipe for which he’d only slightly tweaked from the version his father had used) and finally tamed the floof so he could look as well as feel more like himself again.

Even Brains had been unusually present recently, having just transferred his hours of poring over technical specs on his tablet up a few thousand stairs. Which meant Virgil got to join in and they’d exchanged some useful ideas for modifications with Alan chipping in not unintelligently. Until the engineer started to ask Virgil’s thoughts on some upgrades to Shadow at which point a series of crashing noises from the kitchen area had spooked him and he’d darted for the stairs muttering something about time-sensitive testing. Gordon had snorted about how at least Scott might reduce the washing up carnage he always produced while on meal-prep if he smashed it all as he went along. Virgil chuckled but it felt a little hollow and his throat was dry.

Scott… well… Scott had taken on the brunt of the food prep duty and had thrown himself into it with his usual energy. It had not gone unnoticed that every single one of Virgil’s childhood favourites had appeared on the table at some point over the last week. A steady stream of cookies and pastries had also been emerging because “Virgil needed fuel for his recovery”. Given his freakish lack of activity Virgil wasn’t convinced he needed quite so much extra fuel but had had more than a little assistance in consuming them. Alan had enthusiastically proposed shutting down Tracy Industries altogether as they could make just as much profit with a bakery if only Scott would get his priorities right more often. The chef had been toasted heartily for the good fortune of avoiding Grandma’s genes.

John and Virgil had exchanged a glance, both remembering what the younger two did not - that on the occasions where the messages from the moon base, or from the Mars mission had dried up - their Mom had channelled her anxiety and helplessness into frantic baking sprees. The community cake sales were never so well stocked when Jeff was safely planetside.

When not engaged in destroying the kitchen, Scott had hovered as expected but he hovered at the edges of the pack. Encouraging smiles, chuckles in all the right places as affectionate banter flowed. He teased a little, he ticked the tinies off for their excesses and he argued with John about a mathematical theorem Virgil knew his normally fastidious brother had deliberately misquoted to get a rise out of the older man.

Unlike with Alan, Virgil was entirely immune to this particular facade - a lot was not right with his best friend. His voice was wrong, too steady, unnaturally even. He was constantly just out of reach which was utterly wrong for Scott who was the most tactile human he knew. The man even looked wrong for some reason Virgil couldn’t put his finger on.

Grandma had been keeping a weather eye from a distance, albeit usually in the same room, or perhaps one away. Virgil glanced up and caught her eye as she leaned on the balcony of the mezzanine. She’d smiled, initially, and then frowned a little, raised her eyebrows and looked deliberately towards Scott, who was currently entirely unnecessarily explaining to Alan why he needed to finish high school. The woman had never been one for the subtle hint.

His brother was lost at sea, caught in a rip tide and drifting from the safety of the beach and Virgil had the only life preserver. It was inevitable that the circumstances of his illness would have knocked his eldest brother off course and Virgil still didn’t know exactly what had happened. All the possible implications rushed and sucked menacingly just below the surface and he knew the only way to reach Scott in time would be to face his terror and dive into the current to find out for himself what it carried.

Yet he never seemed to be in quite the right position at quite the right moment to make the leap…

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

Sometimes the boys just needed dragging into the right places.

“I’ve taken the liberty of informing Casey that International Rescue is on hiatus for at least another seven days.”

Sally released Scott’s arm and insinuated herself between Virgil and the coffee machine - the one piece of kitchen equipment with which she held no beef.

“The GDF will cover what needs to be covered. EOS is monitoring and will let us know if that appears to be falling apart.”

Her eldest grandchild rolled his eyes and somehow his entire body followed.

“Give them a chance, Scott, they may surprise us yet. Tracy Industries is in the perfectly competent hands of your COO and all the regular SMT meetings are postponed for a month due to your sabbatical…”

“My… my what?”

“You heard.”

Scott stood, hands on hips and gaped like a fish while Virgil tried to surreptitiously cover his grin by resting an arm on the kitchen island and leaning on his hand. Sally struggled to keep a straight face as he misjudged and his elbow slipped off the edge.

“The regular maintenance schedule has been paused - Brains has pulled the guts out of Thunderbird One and spread them all over the hangar and Two is both wing- and engine-less so neither is going anywhere fast. I believe Shadow is next on his list…”

Sally found herself wishing she had a camera to catch the identikit expressions of horror on both the boys’ faces - the same one they thought she never saw when she announced she’d been baking.

“Gordon has taken John, Kayo and Alan diving off the new reef. There is nothing left you boys need to do other than have that conversation you’ve been avoiding.”

She placed two steaming mugs of coffee on the countertop, reached up her hands to effect simultaneous destruction on both immaculate hairstyles and left them to it.

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

Scott ran an anxious hand through his hair, trying but not quite succeeding to recover the precisely gelled arrangement and Virgil suddenly realised what had been bothering him about Scott’s appearance. Something HAD changed.

He peered at his brother’s hairline.

“You’ve dyed it!”

Notes:

While I’m here… please do not treat my all-advised and much-mangled metaphor as legitimate advice on how to save someone from a rip. I’m a seaside girl so feel compelled to say - DO NOT DIVE INTO RIP CURRENTS PLEASE AND THANK YOU.

Chapter 31: Review

Summary:

They had to start somewhere… literally at the top is as good a place as any, right?

Chapter Text

“You’ve dyed it! You’ve dyed your hair!”

Scott blushed and his hand returned to his forehead, as if to hide the evidence.

“Uh, yeah… thought I might give it a go…” he cleared his throat awkwardly “I couldn’t find exactly the right colour it was kind of hard to tell on the website… who knew there were so many types of brown, huh?” He paused and grabbed a dishcloth to rub irritably at the gel residue on his fingers before glancing over at his brother. “I mean, obviously YOU would.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. Scott wasn’t kidding, the former greys were a much redder shade of brown than the rest and on close inspection looked a little… odd… but he wasn’t about to make his brother even more self-conscious by pointing it out. He picked up his coffee with both hands and took a long sip to buy himself some time to work out what to say.

“You don’t approve?” The chuckle was more than a little forced.

“You don’t need my approval, Scott. I’m just… surprised, I guess? You’d always swore you’d never dye it. Didn’t you say you’d earned every last one of them and had nothing to be ashamed of?”

His brother snatched up his own coffee and feigned a sudden interest in the view from the window.

“Is no big deal… you were bothered by it so I just sorted it out.”

I was bothered by it?”

“Uh, yeah. When… the other day when you were really… err…” Scott cleared his throat “… upset, you said so and I figured maybe you were worried I was getting old or… or maybe I was looking too much like… uh, well…”

“I complained… about your hair?” Virgil was baffled. The silver streaks were the subject of much banter in the Tracy household but for a long while had been a part of who Scott was. While in theory Virgil might have said almost anything in his state of confusion, he had still been himself even while his perception of the world around him had been faulty. He just couldn’t imagine being negative about a feature he’d always felt rather affectionately for.

“Well, not in so many words but…”

“Can you remember my exact words?” Virgil knew full well that if Scott had been worrying about this enough to break his avowed hair dye abstention he’d have gone over what had been said again and again and again. And then probably again just for good measure. Sure enough, the response was immediate:

“You said you didn’t want me to be grey. And then you literally begged me not to go grey. So I decided not to. It’s not a big deal.”

Virgil closed his eyes.

Ah.

Sometimes it would be handy to see the world in the simpler, more solid way other people did, as if everything was a hollow photograph existing in straightforward three-dimensional space. He’d never choose to live life without the full range of his sensory experiences and feelings overlaid in glorious technicolour… but he learned very quickly other people, even artists, did not see the same and thus he tended to avoid any accidental references to it.

Obviously he was less careful when he was out of his mind.

He suppressed the sigh and took a measured breath.

Virgil opened his eyes to see his brother had already drained his coffee and was almost vibrating with the effort of maintaining his fake casual stance leaning on the kitchen island. He’d have expected pacing by now except that this was his big brother’s way of showing that not only did he want to hear his brother out, he wanted to reassure Virgil he was, definitely, listening.

He grabbed Scott’s hand which was discharging some of the discomfort via quiet but incessant tapping on the work-surface and interlaced their fingers. The relentless movement continued more softly and for a moment Virgil allowed himself time to notice the vibrations travelling through his knuckles and up his arm and for his mind to quietly acknowledge the subtle shift in rhythm from need-to-explode to need-to-connect. He mirrored it back and Scott squeezed his fingers in response.

“Let’s walk for a bit?”

Virgil knew it was the right call even before the relief flooded Scott’s face and he made a beeline for the door.

They made their way down on to the deck and then up the stone staircase via the roundhouse and took the path towards the caldera.

“I didn’t mean your hair, Scooter.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I don’t think so. I reckon I can explain but you’ll need to give me a minute and try not to be too… literal about it?”

“I can do that.”

“Right.” The path narrowed and demanded single file. Virgil gestured for Scott to lead the way and smiled wryly to himself as the steep incline accentuated the slight height difference between them to the extent that his current view of his brother was very much the waist region. Nevertheless, he could see from the slightly uneven movement of his hips that the leggier man was moderating his stride so as not to get too far ahead to hear.

Ha, he was so familiar with his brother’s body language he could even read his…

“So…?”

Oops.

“Sorry, got lost in my own head there.”

“It’s not a problem.” Scott’s hurried response betrayed his even-worse-than-usual anxiety for a brother and Virgil really needed to fix that asap. But first he needed to sort out the immediate confusion.

“Ok… you know I see a lot more things in colour than most people do?”

“Two makes forest green noise and One makes gold and light blue.” Scott immediately confirmed and Virgil experienced a little rush of warmth at the thought his big brother had felt the detail important enough to commit to memory.

“Yeah! Yeah, that’s the kind of thing. Well it isn’t just sound it’s… everything? Smell, taste, heat… and err… kind of… mood? Not exactly mood… um... The way people are? Their personalities, almost?” Virgil faltered a little, desperately searching for better words to form a neat box around the web of overlapping sensations in his head, but it felt much like the time he’d tried to explain to Alan why magenta made his teeth fizz. Some things just… were. Maybe if he tried to tie it to something easier to pin down:

“Ok, maybe the best way I can explain is - you know it was me that picked the colours of the birds? Well, One, Two and Four anyway…”

“I didn’t!” Scott was evidently curious “I never thought to wonder who did.”

“Well, it was me. Mostly. Well a bit. Brains was going to have them all in silver and I suggested that some form of colour coding might be a plan, for easier recognition compared with other organisations’ ships and machinery and bright colours are a more friendly sight for scared rescuees, you know?” Virgil paused to use his breath to navigate a particularly steep part of the track. Scott, possibly misinterpreting the pause for uncertainty sent encouragement over his shoulder: “Makes sense to me. Our public face needs to be unthreatening.”

“Yeah, exactly and in that time just after the… um, well it needed to be clear they weren’t military ships…” there was a grunt of agreement from in front. “It took a while to decide which would be which colour. For Three Dad picked red because in little Allie’s mind rockets were always red and it was his way of reaching out to the little guy I guess. But it’s not right really, Alan is light blues and bright purple. And of course One should have been primarily Cerulean to contrast with the Maya Blue but he wanted silver to represent speed and so… we had to compromise on her design but I did win with Four because he thought she should be orange, like a life buoy, you know? But I said no - Gordon’s bird couldn’t possibly be anything other than sunshine yellow. John picked his own so I didn’t get involved there but…”

“Virg, you’re losing me a little. Alan is… blue and purple?”

“Light blue. Bright purple. When he’s cheerful, yes. He gets steely blue when he’s angry same as you.”

“So we all have a colour?”

“Yeah. Well, a palette of them. Kind of. It’s… I’m sorry it’s the best way I have of describing the presence you have. Words can be a bit limiting sometimes.”

“Maybe you should try painting it?” Scott‘s voice lifted a little and he was looking at him intently. “I’d like to see us the way you do.”

They had finally reached the top of the volcano and stood together admiring the view to the east. A vigorous breeze, sharpened by the bright metallic tang of salt, dried the moisture from Virgil’s lips and he pressed them together with a doubtful hum.

“I’ve tried before and it didn’t really…” the glimmer of eagerness dulled and Virgil hurriedly sought to breathe life back into it “but I guess I could give it another go?”

His big brother smiled and lit up again for a moment before the cloud crossed back over his face and his eyes dropped from Virgil’s.

“And I’m… grey, then?”

“No! Not usually! You’ve always been blue, like the sky… there are so many shades of it, with hints of yellow or gold…”

“There’s a but coming, I can feel it.”

Virgil grabbed Scott’s hand again as if to reassure himself his brother wouldn’t float away before he managed to express this.

“Sometimes it’s like you fade a little.”

“I fade?”

“You try to be a lot of things, Scotty and it’s admirable, it really is, and you do it so well but sometimes I worry there isn’t enough of you left to be you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re blue when you laugh at your own jokes, or smotherhen us and make a leaning tower of pancake… when you beat Gordy at his own prank game or act all melodramatic when you’re smuggling in the sweets Grandma doesn’t approve of. When someone says pie and your eyes gleam and when you randomly recite Shakespeare inaccurately and out of context or run up the stairs for no reason and surprise hug Allie… those times you’re a rainbow of blues. In the field when you’re problem solving at the speed of light and oh! That time you flew Shadow just for fun you came back shining so brightly…”

Yet again at the mention of Shadow, Scott had startled but recovered quickly and deflected:

“My Shakespeare is always in context.”

“Sure it is, Scott. And it’s very YOU.”

A flicker of resolve hardened his brother’s expression and Virgil was suddenly terrified as to how his clumsy explanation could have been interpreted by someone who was already chronically shackled to the ‘brave face’ impulse…

But Scott, listen to me, this is important.”

He waited until his brother dropped his eyes from the horizon and met his own.

I’m not saying it’s just when you are happy, you know? When you’re worried or angry or even sick or even… no, especially when you let yourself be vulnerable for one damn second, you’re you then too.”

“Then…” Scott sagged a little and an edge of indigo desperation coloured his voice “I don’t understand what the grey thing is meant to mean!”

The grey thing… I guess it’s how my brain interprets the way I sometimes miss you when you are right in front of me. When you get hidden by everything else you think you are supposed to be. You lead so naturally, you do it without even trying but sometimes… sometimes you put on that damn grey baldric and it smothers you.”

“But the baldric is silver. My baldric is silver to match One!”

“It used to be blue though. Blue to match you.”

“Oh. And that’s what is bothering you?”

“No! No, I’m not saying the baldric needs to change. You can have salmon pink or zebra stripes if you like - that’s what I meant about not being too literal about this. I just… I wish you wouldn’t feel like you had to act like someone else. Just… be you, you know?”

A slight squeeze of the hand said message received but Virgil knew it might take a while to process. An unspoken agreement saw them taking the shallower broader path down towards the shore.

“Please don’t say that thing about the baldrics to Gordon, you know he’ll come up with something hideous.”

“He really would. It’d be burnt orange with pink polka dots within minutes.”

“I can just see it now.” Scott facepalmed melodramatically then ran his fingers into his hairline.

“So you weren’t worrying about the hair?”

“No, Scott. I don’t have any problem with your hair. I’m sorry I confused you. I just want you to be happy and be yourself. That’s literally all I would have meant by it.”

“I’m trying, Virgil, I really am.”

“I know. I’m proud of you.”

He really had been trying. Scott’s attempts to reconcile his past and present and figure out who he was again had actually been a source of real joy to Virgil. It had been so long coming.

Years of encouraging, nagging… in all honesty borderline-harassing his big brother to break out of his self-imposed exile from life, to take the opportunities to enjoy himself when they came… and finally, FINALLY there had been some movement. Previously there were deleted emails, invitation cards hidden in drawers… if it wasn’t for Penny’s sake or for the good of the business, Scott didn’t see it as worthwhile. But this time, Scott had pinned the gilded rectangle of card to the noticeboard with a hurried circle around the date and a carefully inked question mark.

It was bitterly ironic that after all that time… even after actually standing over Scott with folded arms and while he messaged his friend to RSVP in the positive… when he’d nearly actually succeeded in nudging his brother into the light somehow as a result Virgil himself had run headlong into the dark. A cold, slimy tendril of fear crept into his heart and asked who on earth Virgil thought he would be if Scott didn’t need him anymore…

He shook it off because it was ridiculous.

Not to mention selfish.

“Scott, I’m sor….” he began but his brother had not been party to the developing inner monologue and was still some way behind him, despite leading the way off the rocky track on to the beach.

“So I can get rid of this?” He gesticulated irritably at his own forehead

“YES, Scooter.”

“Thank heaven, I hate it. Will it wash out?”

“Eventually. I have to top mine up every few washes.”

“Yours literally obliterates light particles though.”

The affectionate shoulder nudge was brief but it heralded a return of the easy natural proximity he’d missed so badly. His brother was back by his side and Virgil realised with a shock that breathing was suddenly effortless again.

There were other things they needed to discuss, difficult things he knew were coming and no doubt even more difficult things he was still as yet unaware of. But for a few moments, Virgil was more than happy to enjoy the respite of their well-rehearsed haircare banter:

“That’s not the dye it’s the secret ingredient. I told you, quit the super shiny addiction…

“SUPREME shiny…”

“Pfft, you know it’s the same formula, you’re just paying for the fancier packaging.”

“Not true, it’s a far higher quality product.”

Virgil poked his brother in the side of the head “And yet by some miracle, chemically identical.” He made a show of wiping the tip of his finger off on Scott’s shirt while meeting the faux-glare dead on. His brother’s eyebrows said outraged, the sparkle in the blue said bring-it-on. “Ditch the dark side Scotty, leave the slimy stuff to the teenagers and join team pomade. More natural, less greasy. Best tip Dad ever gave me.”

His brother’s flinch was fleeting but sent a shockwave through the narrow pocket of air between the two of them. Scott’s eyes slipped from his, the pocket widened and the warmth suddenly drained out of the sun.

Chapter 32: Resolve

Summary:

What can I say, once I actually got the two of them talking everything just… resurfaces 😏

Chapter Text

“Scott? What’s wrong? What did I say?”

“It’s nothing. We should probably head back.”

“No. No, we clearly need to talk about this.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not! You’re been like this since… You need to tell me what happened! What did I do? Scott? What did I say?”

Scott looked pained. Virgil’s heart sank a little further.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. You weren’t… well.”

“And yet despite that you clearly aren’t able to shrug it off as hallucinogenic nonsense? Whatever it was has clearly been bothering you, Scott.”

His brother looked as if he were about to respond but then spun on his heel and walked the few metres down to the shoreline and stood for a moment staring at the horizon, before kicking a large pebble into the path of a wave.

The resolved look on Scott’s face as he turned back had Virgil bracing himself but then it dissolved into doubt and his brother couldn’t meet his eye.

“Just tell me Scooter. Please? I really really need to know.”

Scott crouched to pick up a small shell and turned it over in his fingers. His voice was small, uncertain and directed somewhere in the region of Virgil’s ankles.

“You were… angry.”

Virgil’s memory of the first few days of his illness was… patchy at best. Mostly grey fluffy confusion, there but not there. Like hearing dialogue of a film from behind several closed doors. There were a few moments of bright, highly saturated emotions but bigger areas of deep overwhelming darkness. He thought he could remember being angry, the sense of losing hold of his calm… but when he tried to recall why the reason slid sideways and he hit one of the dark spots. All he had was the impression he was being held back from something he needed. But it was so faint it could have been a distant childhood memory.

“I didn’t hurt someone??” He didn’t say the word ‘again’ but his mind shouted it at him.

“No! No, we were all fine.” Scott sprang to his feet as the need to reassure obviously kicked in but hesitated midway through reaching out to catch Virgil’s arm. Somehow that restraint hurt more than anything else.

Virgil squared his shoulders. “But I tried to hurt someone… didn’t I?”

“You… you may have tried to push me down a cliff”

“Oh. Oh Scott… I’m so sorry…”

“It’s alright, you missed, ha. We had to catch you in the end, you weren’t very coordinated and um… Yeah it was all fine. And err… well. It was clear you thought I was… someone else.”

Blurry pieces drifted together and seemed to snap into place as if magnetised.

Oh. That again.

“I thought you were Dad didn’t I?”

“Um, yeah.”

The irony was definitely painful.

“Ah.”

“I don’t understand Virgil, why do you hate him so much? What did he ever…? Did he…?” Scott closed his eyes and clenched his fists by his side“Did he hurt you? Did he DO something to you or… or the others that I… I should know about? Because you need to tell me if…

“No! Nonono, Scott, not… nothing like that! He didn’t do anything to me! I don’t hate him! It’s just…”

The relief flooding through Scott’s features made the words stick in Virgil’s throat. Was there a way of explaining this that didn’t damage the vision he carried of his idol?

“Then why were you so angry? There was… something in your eyes that… I’ve never seen it before. I’ve never seen you so full of hate, it… I won’t lie, it scared me, Virg.”

“Look, Scott I don’t hate him. I have never had any desire to hurt him. I don’t really remember what I was thinking…”

“But you don’t look all that surprised?”

Virgil sighed heavily.

“I guess you know what happened last time.”

“I made John tell me what he could, yeah.”

“Then you probably know more than I do. Somehow we never got around to discussing it. But I sometimes get these nightmares that might be related to back then… where I’m trying to save you from falling and Dad is holding me back.”

“That’s why you ended up on the roof that time.”

“Perhaps.”

“But you know Dad would have helped save me? Any of us? That was kind of his thing!”

“Sure he would.”

Scott looked at him appraisingly “But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“It’s just that… I just… get frustrated at… how he… uh…”

Virgil realised he was gesticulating at Scott as if he was the problem and hurried to explain before his brother could assume the worst:

“I hated how he treated you! You always just said he pushed you only as hard as you needed to be pushed but you didn’t! You didn’t need it! All that happened was you never felt you were good enough!”

“I… wow, ok. But maybe I wasn’t, Virg? That’s ok! It’s… it’s ok? It’s alright to know you have things to improve, areas to strengthen. Look, you were younger and maybe it’s hard to see fault in your older…”

“NO!”

Scott paused with his mouth half open but Virgil didn’t even notice. Decades of frustration at never being able to win this particular battle in any of its myriad forms surged up like gas hissing from an opened can. Virgil didn’t shout. Virgil was the calm one. But he couldn’t hold the bubbles back anymore - the words overflowed before he realised they were in his head:

“Don’t even think about making this out to be some kind of unthinking hero worship. At least not on MY part - believe me I am well aware of your many faults. They drive me crazy on a daily basis!”

Even before Scott had time to flush with hurt Virgil was regretting he’d let that one slip out.

“I’m sorry. That was unfair. I didn’t mean…”

Scott appeared to skip over the personal slight and interrupted:

“I don’t worship him, Virgil. I know he has his faults. But I think maybe you forget everything he achieved and the least I can do is try to honour that by not screwing it all up now he’s… gone.”

“Do you know how I know he thought you were good enough, Scott?” Virgil interrupted.

“I… he thought I what?

“He told me. Repeatedly.”

Scott looked blank. Uncomprehending. And if that didn’t just sum the whole bloody thing up. The bubbles fizzed at the edges of Virgil’s temper:

“Did you see what Scott just did? Did you hear about Scott? Isn’t he smart? Isn’t he clever? Watch Scott, Virgil, he’ll show you how. Look at Scott, he’s so brave. Just try to be like Scott and you’ll be ok… Stick with Scott, he’ll see you right…”

The fizz subsided a little and Virgil took a breath. He wasn’t convinced Scott was going to do the same without a reminder so he took a side step and nudged him in the ribs with his elbow until his brother gasped and drew in some much needed oxygen. He reached down and took his big brother’s hand again. It wrapped around and squeezed back. They walked in silence like that for a few moments and Virgil suddenly felt 8 years old again, exploring the countryside around the farm, trying to elongate each step to match his big brother’s longer gait and not slow him down. The same sun beat down on them.

The silence broke that illusion though - young Scotty had always been talking at a mile a minute on their walks, either pointing out birds, the tiny rustlings of animals on the move or how that lump of rock looked like a ship and that cloud that looked like a plane and Virgil-did-you-know-there’s-a-way-you-can-solve-rubix-cubes-and-always-get-the-right-answer?

Older Scotty was quiet.

“He didn’t need to tell me any of it. I knew. But he never told YOU did he?”

“Of course he… I mean… I mean, well… he… he was… encouraging?”

“He never told you and you never believed it when I told you and do you know how hard it is to grow up seeing the person you love most in the world not think they deserve it?”

“I… I’m sorry?”

“No. Don’t. Please don’t do that. That’s not… this isn’t about me.”

“It should be - you’re the one who got sick! And you shouldn’t have been worrying about… things like that! About me. I made your life harder by making you worry and that’s on me. And so I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Well, I don’t think it was all his either! He…” His brother’s voice cracked a little and he stared up at the sky. “He was a great man. A good father.”

“Scott listen, I don’t think he was a bad person, I loved him dearly and I think he was doing his best and… maybe there’s a lot of people who thinking being a good parent is all pushing your kid to greater and greater heights but… you deserved better. You deserved to know you were enough. That you always were! That…” Virgil waved wildly with his free hand “… that you would have been more than enough even without ANY of the impressive achievements and you know what? I am furious at him. It makes me so angry that I grew up knowing that and you didn’t. You are more than enough and I am so very sick and tired of him pushing you and pushing you from beyond the grave!”

Scott stopped walking and Virgil’s shoulder jerked a little as his body tried to leave his hand behind in his big brother’s vice grip. He turned back and used the free arm to pull Scott into a hug. Aware that his mouth was now right next to his brothers ear he made sure to moderate his volume, but that meant it was harder to stop his voice shaking.

“Since I was ten and I found you curled up in the hayloft sobbing your heart out because HE couldn’t see how hard you tried, I made it my mission to get you to see how good you are but it feels like I’ve failed over and over and over because no matter what I say, HIS voice is always louder. Just a bit more, just push harder, be more like me.”

He dropped his head onto Scott’s shoulder and drew in a couple of breaths. Then pulled back and looked him in the eye,

“I wish you’d listen to me and not him. The world doesn’t another Jeff Tracy. It needs Scott. We need Scott. I… I need Scott.”

“You still have me. I’m right here!”

“Sometimes there is so much Dad when I look at you that I can’t see Scott anymore. It’s like the part of you that’s you fades to… to…”

“Grey?”

“Yeah…”

Scott sighed heavily.

“But Virg, isn’t that just how I am? It’s always been that way. It was a standing joke as long as I can remember. I’ve always been his mark two haven’t I?”

“Not exactly… you were always a bit like him but a lot more like you. Even after Mom… when you took on so much, you did it your way. Then he… left and… you got more frantic. You were always fast, impulsive but before Dad left us it was different. You were fast and impulsive in your own way but I didn’t spend every mission worrying that this would be the one when I couldn’t catch you if you fell.”

Scott sank down on to the sand.

“And now you do.”

Virgil hummed then dropped down next to him and dipped his head on to his brother’s shoulder.

“I’ve scared you so many times. I’m so sorry.”

He bit back the automatic response that it was ok. It wasn’t. He wasn’t. That had been made abundantly clear.

“What if I don’t know how else to be? All I want to do, all I ever wanted to do is to look after you all and yet somehow I’m just upsetting you… I’m screwing it up so badly it’s making you sick with stress but I don’t know how to fix it!”

The world seemed to go silent around them as Virgil realised this might be a threshold moment - what he said next might be the one chance he had to change things. He straightened up and took hold of Scott’s hand again:

“Could you listen?”

“I am! I’m listening, Virgil, I’m trying! I just don’t know what to…”

“I don’t mean now. I mean out on a rescue”.

“I always listen, I need your expertise, we’re a team! All of us.”

“When I say stop. Will you listen?”

“I…”

“When John says ‘wait’ because he doesn’t know if it’s safe, will you listen?”

“I… I do?”

“You don’t. Whatever voice you’re listening to every time you leap into the unknown, Scott, it isn’t ours. Or John’s. Or Gordon’s. Even Alan and Kayo sometimes…”

“What, so I’m supposed to ignore my own judgment and experience as to my capabilities and prefer a literal child’s opinion?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what?”

“I mean those times when even you can’t see a way through… but you dive in anyway and hope? I think you’ve performed so many apparent miracles your default Plan B is now to throw yourself in between and rely on whatever lucky streak has kept you alive to date because that’s what…”

“That’s what Dad would have done.”

“Yeah.”

The sound of the sea intruded again and Virgil counted the waves as he waited.

After the water had hissed back and forth over the sand twelve times, Scott took a deep breath.

“I can do that.”

 

Chapter 33: Restless

Summary:

Promises cost more than just words…

Chapter Text

The first time Scott listened, thirteen people died.

John was waiting in the lounge.

He often did after the more disastrous mission failures. It was good for them to be all together at those times. Physically together.

Scott knew this.

Scott himself had strongly encouraged it in the past. So strongly, in fact, nobody needed to suggest it now - John would just appear and when Scott got back upstairs from the hangar, John would have made them both a coffee and he would sit and watch Scott pace the floor and not much would be said but they’d be together. And together they’d wait for Virgil, the Tinies, Kayo… for everyone to be back before events were discussed.

But Scott didn’t want to see John.

And he definitely didn’t want to see Virgil who was chasing him home as fast as his unopened cargo ship could travel. So he skipped the shower, changed straight into his running gear and headed out via Two’s hangar entrance before the green behemoth was even within sight of the island.

A beast of a storm was brewing, but he could get a couple of laps in before it landed.

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

Virgil didn’t need to look at the barometer read outs. The colour of the clouds and the niggling pressure in his head told him everything he needed to know as soon as he approached the Kermadec Ridge.

It was going to be a doozy. The kind of storm where it seemed the very sky would crash down upon the trembling Earth below and all the Earth could do was absorb the fury and wait… and hope… for it to pass.

Virgil knew how it felt.

“Scott’s not here?”

“Running.”

“Ah. Did he say…”

“He didn’t come up.”

“Oh.” Virgil eyed the large blue cup of stone-cold coffee on the countertop then picked it up and drained it in one. “Right.”

“I’ll make you a fresh cup.”

“Thanks, but it’s fine. I had one in Two.”

John raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the empty mug Virgil still clutched.

Virgil looked down at it.

“Oh… well… we can’t leave it sat there to… to fester… and it seemed a waste to just…” he gestured vaguely with the mug by way of sentence completion before striding over to rinse it in the sink. A quick wipe with the tea towel and he placed it back in its spot by the coffee machine. Next to the green one.

Frowning slightly, he bent down to buff a watermark from the handle. Then glanced back at the man observing him from his perch at the breakfast bar.

John had his concerned face on.

“I’m alright, John.”

“Sure you are.”

The air was so thick Virgil felt he was swimming through it. He massaged his temples. Come on weather, just break already.

“I need to show you something.” John tapped at something on his tablet and brought up a schematic of the scandium mine.

Former scandium mine.

“Can this wait? We should wait for Scott.”

“You need to know you made the right call.”

Virgil lifted his fingers, one at a time, from the counter top and noted the sensation as each set of ligaments stretched. Maybe he should play a little piano, take his mind off things…

“Virgil.”

“I do. I know I did. It was too risky. But I’m not the one needs convincing, John. He’s never going to forgive me…”

“Virgil!”

He looked up at his brother who swiped through a series of animations modelling l the sudden shift in the underlying geology that had caused the mine to entirely collapse in on itself in the space of less than seven seconds.

“If you hadn’t stopped him he’d be gone. There was no way out of there, no time for a warning. 100% certainty.”

Virgil wasn’t sure how this was meant to help. He’d already pictured it a thousand times on the agonisingly long journey home - the dark tunnel disappearing with his best friend inside. Over and over. He’d felt his own ribcage cave under the pressure of those rocks as he lost hope…

“They aren’t even contemplating any attempt to recover the…”

“Enough.”

John paused then conceded with a slight inclination of the head. Virgil gave a small smile of gratitude and went to observe the gathering storm from the balcony doors.

“Virgil?”

A breath. He tugged on the lever to open the vents, to get some damn air in the room. If anything the outside air was even more soup-like but now they could hear the faint rumbling in the distance. It was coming.

“Yes, John?” He knew his voice was higher pitched, tighter than usual and he also knew John would see that for the warning sign it was, because John did the same and both brothers knew each other well enough to know when they needed each other to leave well enough alone.

Which made it particularly surprising that he walked right over to where Virgil stood and spoke again.

“I don’t know what you said to him, but whatever it was… thank you.”

Virgil didn’t answer, he was watching the palm trees bend and sway in the gusting wind. John slipped his hand into Virgil’s and they stood together as with the sound of a thousand needles the clouds finally burst and rain hammered against the glass, blurring the trees to grey.

💚🧡💚🧡💚🧡💚🧡💚🧡💚🧡💚🧡💚🧡

 

Chapter 34: Redux

Summary:

Habit change is hard… second time lucky?

Notes:

lenle-g was kind enough to make the most INCREDIBLE fanart of one of the moments in this chapter, which, until I can work out how to embed it, is on tumblr here:

https://www.tumblr.com/lenle-g/760333481233547264/

Please go and look because it ia most wonderful!

Chapter Text

Have you got a plan?

Scott’s run had lasted just over 135 minutes so far. According to EOS, he had achieved three new personal bests over some of the steeper segments of the Island’s well-worn tracks despite the relentless downfall making his footing treacherous. He laser-focussed on the familiar path ahead, compensating for the slip risk. He wasn’t a fool, well aware that he was likely to fall and turn an ankle or sprain a wrist or something similarly irritating if he didn’t concentrate and he didn’t have time for that. So he concentrated. Because stopping wasn’t an option. He couldn’t even ease up the pace yet. Because if he did, he’d have time to think and… and… no.

He couldn’t let that happen.

He’d let too much happen already today.

He hadn’t even tried.

Scott! Have you got a plan?

Not yet. But I will in a minute…

What if he’d said yes? What if he’d been quicker to think? Was there something he’d missed? Some way through…

Wait, Scott! We need more data. Wait?

If I can just get down there…

Please, Scott, listen?

He spluttered as a gust of wind blew the deluge directly into his face.

Could you listen?

He’d promised he would, so he had.

He had. He’d listened and he’d done nothing and…

Aaaaaaagh.

He growled, shook his head and pushed harder, trying to drown out the memory of his brother’s voice, of all the other desperate voices, with the harshness of his own breathing.

Just… run. Uciec.

Every life he’d failed to save since the very first, clawed at him from the sides of the track. So many of them now. He pressed on, trying not to step on their hands.

Listen!

Wait?

RUN. It was the only plan he had for now.

His pulse thundered in his head as, predictably, the brother he least wanted to see right now joined the trail just ahead of him and jogged easily alongside. The only surprise was that it had taken so long.

Scott pushed his speed up a notch and his quads screamed at him. Good. Focus on that. The rain provided enough white noise that he could almost ignore the sound of the second set of feet pounding along the track.

He counted his own steps under his breath:

Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneight…

His pace slowed a little as the path sloped upwards more steeply, his breath little more than gasping now… nine-ten-eleven-twelve-thirteen. Thirteen. Thirteen families torn apart. He staggered a little and immediately noticed but ignored the hand brushing his elbow. He pushed on.

Fourteen-fifteen-sixteen-thirteen-thirteen-thirteen-thirteen-thirteen…

All those people had believed in International Rescue. Believing for a miracle in blue.

Believing in him.

And he’d stood there… waiting… USELESS… and then it had all come down and it was too late and they were gone.

He hadn’t even TRIED.

“Scott, slow down. Please?”

No.

Can’t.

Uciec…

“Did that already. Didn’t turn out so well.”

“I’m sorry. But can we…”

“I need a minute.”

“You’ve had plenty, Scott it’s been…”

“You know best of course.” He regretted the snarling tone as soon as it emerged but he’d just have to add ‘being a good brother’ to the list of other stuff he’d already failed at today.

And when Scott Tracy started failing he really went to town.

His breath caught painfully in the back of his throat and his eyes blurred in a way he couldn’t blame on the rain streaming down his forehead. All those people. He hadn’t even tried… he hadn’t even…

With a hiss he shook his head and tried to blot it out. Something twinged in his thigh and he weaved slightly as he tried to shake it out. Of course little brother would have seen but he didn’t mention it and Scott ploughed on. The path turned and began to climb the shoulder of the caldera. Thunder grumbled away in the distance but he hadn’t noticed any lightning amongst the deluge.

“You know I was right, Scott!”

“THEY DIED! THEY ALL DIED, VIRGIL! GONE! JUST LIKE THAT!”

“AND YOU WOULD HAVE TOO!”

The unexpected volume finally brought him up short. Virgil didn’t shout…

But Virgil’s expression wasn’t angry. Scott turned away again, unable to process the agony in his brother’s eyes just then.

“Maybe I wouldn’t… there might have been something I could have done.”

“Sometimes there is nothing that can be done, Scott. Even by us. Even by you.” Virgil’s voice was small now. And it shook.

Scott keened quietly and hugged himself in an effort to control the muscle fatigue shivers that were beginning. He slowly shook his head from side to side, as if denial might yet change the outcome.

Virgil’s arms appeared around him and held on tight. The rain continued to slam into the earth around them.

“Sometimes there is nothing that can be done.” He repeated softly.

Scott had already parroted these exact words to the GDF officer who had, as usual, turned up too late to be of any use. His heart hadn’t been in them. Where his heart had been at that very moment was in the clenched fists of the woman he could see over the uniformed shoulder. Whose eyes had pleaded with him to make it untrue. The wife of one of the local first responders who had been trapped in the mine as it collapsed. The raw agony on her face as she hung limply over the linked arms of two friends and howled was too familiar.

A freak avalanche obliterated all in its path. A sabotaged fighter jet exploded on the runway. A prototype spaceship exploded into atoms.

The second solid hour of pushing past his limit wandered over and presented its bill and Scott folded at the knees.

Virgil caught him and held him up, like he always did. Even when Scott was unwilling to admit it was required.

“We can’t save everyone Scott… you know that. Dad always said so.”

“I didn’t even try.“

“You would have if there’d been a chance. So would we all. That’s why we flew all the way there. That matters!”

Scott blinked the sweat-rain-weakness out of his eyes and glared at a rock.

No, not weakness. She always said so.

He kicked at the rock and missed.

He wrestled back control of his limbs and straightened up and but continued to avoid Virgil’s eye which took some doing because his he could feel his brother eyeballing him as determinedly as the amply muscled arms were holding his torso hostage. Scott pretended to himself that this was why he was struggling to catch a breath. The rainfall increased in intensity and the sound of it filled his ears with fuzz.

“One of the wives… she just looked at me and I… I had nothing. Nothing to say to her. Nothing.” His thoughts sped away from his control even as his brother restrained his body from chasing them. “But what could I say? We’re supposed to stop it happening! I’m supposed to try… Can… can you even imagine…” he dragged in a breath and tried to stop his head swimming as the nausea rose “… how they feel when we fail? To know the person who made their life make sense… who they exist for, is gone? Just like that?”

“I don’t have to imagine.”

Virgil’s voice was quiet and flat, but cut through the air like a scythe.

Scott‘s racing mind ran smack into a wall. The chill of the rain was nothing compared to the ice that suddenly crystallised in every vein.

He swore, silently - he had no breath left to make a sound.

How could he have forgotten?

Already?

It hadn’t even been two months since he’d held his tormented and terrified brother in his arms and sworn he’d do anything. The reason he’d stopped today, for the promise he’d made was the knowledge of what he’d driven Virgil to. And yet somehow as soon as the path between he and the trapped ones had disappeared, the guilt had driven it from his mind. He’d lost his way. Again.

The thunder rolled more insistently. This time the flash was bright enough to penetrate his scrunched up eyelids.

Even if he had the breath he didn’t yet have the words. So he dragged an arm out of Virgil’s vice grip and hugged him hard. Virgil sagged into the embrace and Scott shifted the angle of one leg such that he was better able to support his larger brother’s weight. He had nothing left for anything more. The fury was gone, leaving only a gaping chasm where the pent up energy had been.

Scott’s breath deepened and slowed as they stood there, propping each other up. Even here, even like this, his brother’s presence was soothing. It always was. It was why Scott had been avoiding him… he hadn’t felt he’d earned that comfort today.

The storm was right on top of them now, the roaring and the flashing almost synchronous. The palm trees creaked and groaned, the rain slammed into their skulls and gushed down the rocky track. The sea howled and tore itself apart on the shore.

And yet all Scott could hear was Mom’s song. Not with his ears, he heard it in his bones as Virgil hummed quietly into his chest. Suddenly he was in the deepest pit again, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to hold on to anything but his brother’s voice calling him home.

Only this time, he could answer.

And so Scott sung her lullaby to his little brother as the storm raged its way over their island and out across the Pacific:

 

You’ll soar through the sky

Or sail on the sea

And when you get home

That’s where I shall be

 

Go find your adventures

So fearless and free

I’ll wait for you always

As proud as can be

 

And if there is darkness

No hope you can see

My heart holds you safely

You’ll always have me

 

At the last line Virgil was gripping him so hard Scott could feel the skin bruising under his brother’s fingers.

“I am such a fool, Virg… I don’t deserve you.”

Virgil huffed a sigh.

“I’m sorry.”

“S’ok.”

“It’s not.”

“Was never gonna be easy. Thank you for stopping.”

“Thank you for asking me to.”

Virgil looked up at him, doing an impressive impression of a half-drowned puppy. But for once Scott’s heart didn’t melt at the sight of an adorable younger brother.

Instead it clenched with dread. Pale, heavily shadowed and his eyes dilated to almost black in the fast-fading light, Virgil seemed almost wraith-like.

This had to stop. He couldn’t keep doing this to them. He could see it so clearly now. The empty space in his chest where the hurt and the guilt and the rage and the despair and the fear had resided began to fill with a steely glow of determination:

He would burn the world to protect his family.

He’d do it without a second thought.

So why was he risking hurting them every time he tried to save it?

He kissed Virgil on the forehead then stepped out of the embrace to take his brother’s shoulders in his hands. Blue met brown and held them steady.

“I will get better at this. I promise. I… I don’t want to leave you guys. I swear it, Virg, please believe me. I never have. The only reason I didn’t give up and die back… back then was because I needed to get home to you. Because you called me home. I knew you were waiting for me. That hasn’t changed. It has never changed, not for a second.”

“Then… why?”

“I don’t knooow.” The bewildered schoolboy inside Scott betrayed his presence with a faint whine. “I don’t mean… It’s not… It’s just…” He took a shaky breath. “It’s hard for me to choose NOT to act. It’s hard to not TRY. It feels… I… I think I’m scared of the what if? What if I had done more… pushed a little harder and… it had turned out better? It’s hard to see the line where it isn’t worth the cost to try.”

“You can see it well enough when one of our lives are in the balance.”

“True… True. I guess because its the opposite? I’ve spent all my life worrying about how I can protect you all, so I have to restrain myself from stopping you going out there in the first place and… yes I know, I know…” Virgil’s single raised eyebrow said it all. “I’m the world’s biggest hypocrite.”

Scott sighed. Then shivered. His leg muscles sent a polite three-second warning.

“Could we sit down? I might have, um, overdone it a touch.”

“Who could possibly have predicted that?” There was a welcome undertone of humour in Virgil’s snort.

They landed inelegantly but side by side in the mud. Scott took his hand again and they rested a while, their clothes steaming gently in the warmer evening breeze that had pushed the storm ahead of it. A sprinkling of early stars peered through a gap in the diminishing cloud cover.

“I can see the line for you so I can learn to see it when it’s mine too. I’m going to keep listening, ok? Until you don’t need to tell me anymore.”

“Thank you.”

“But…”

Virgil stiffened.

“I need you to do something else for me too.”

“Anything.”

Scott considered his words carefully. He didn’t want to make the same mistake he had ten years prior and shackle his brother with an impossible vow.

“I need you to change your mission.”

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“The task you gave yourself when you were small… to show me that… that I’m worth more than I thought. You have Virg, you always have been doing that but now I see things more clearly… well… I have to take that one on myself.”

Virgil’s hand shifted in his as the younger brother sat up straighter, Scott could sense rather than see the shoulders being squared.

“That makes sense. I can’t be your self-esteem for you. But I will make damn sure you keep making progress on it. Weekly mission status updates, minimum!”

Scott laughed quietly at the grin in his brother’s voice. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. And you have your own now too.”

“And what is that, Oh Great Commander?”

“If I’ve let Dad’s shadow shape me too much, you’ve let my… issues… shape you. I need you to find yourself again.”

Virgil tensed as if he was going to speak but no words came. Scott pressed on:

“You are so very much more than my keeper, Virg, but I’m worried you’ve pushed a lot of yourself to the side for me and I didn’t even see it happening. If I give you a break from being Scott’s 24/7 bodyguard and cheerleader, can you use it to give Virgil time to shine instead? I’d really love to see what might happen if you did.”

It was too dark to see his brother’s face but the happy relief in Virgil’s voice was light enough for both of them:

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Chapter 35: Reappraise

Summary:

Some time has passed, some changes are underway and some healing has happened. But our boy still has some demons to exorcise and needs Scott to help him.

Notes:

Art!Virgil takes front and centre in this one.

Points to anyone who spots a cameo from an old friend 😈

Chapter Text

The view from Virgil’s balcony was very similar, but subtly different. They weren’t adjacent - both John’s often-empty and Dad’s always-empty room lay between - and the shift of a few metres to the left meant the light reflected off different facets of the damp rocks of Mateo and the shadows changed shape. The sea met the shore at a marginally different angle, the light refracting through the shallows and hitting the greener end of blue. Two of the trees visible from Scott’s were hidden by the curve of Roundhouse Peak.

Scott hadn’t noticed any of this before Virgil pointed it out. What he did know was that on his own the breeze was stronger and there was fractionally more sky. On a hot day he’d always advocate for the cooler, more exposed position. Where he could see as far as possible. Where he could breathe.

But on a cooler evening, there was something comforting about how the sun’s residual heat radiated from the stone and bathed Virgil’s preferred haven in a warm glow.

Virgil had added to the warmth that evening by opening a bottle of Scott’s favourite scotch which he’d clearly stashed away at some point. Had it been one of the others who produced such a thing, Scott would be waiting for ‘The Favour’ or ‘The Difficult Question’. In Gordon’s case, quite frequently ‘The Confession’.

Virgil, however, often just did it to be nice. And Virgil knew that, unlike Dad and himself, Scott preferred his liquor without rocks. He took another sip and rested his head back with a contented sigh, allowing the liquid to rest on his tongue.

“Scott?”

“Mmmmhmm?” The heat spread through his sinuses as he breathed over it.

“Can I ask you a favour?”

Oh!

The whiskey hit the back of Scott’s throat and his eyeballs burned. Virgil seemed hesitant which mean this was going to be important! He coughed and croaked out a hurried confirmation:

“Always.”

Virgil, staring out to sea, appeared not to notice his brother’s nasal passages vaporising which, again, indicated something was Up. Scott scrubbed at his eyes with a sleeve and with an iron will, forced himself to get a grip of his respiratory system. He was about to say something else encouraging when Virgil suddenly spun to face him and in a voice of utmost seriousness stated:

“It’s a weird one.”

Scott raised an amused eyebrow.

“I can do weird.”

“Would you wear it again?”

The other eyebrow joined it with vigour.

“Wear what? If you’re asking about Halloween and that cursed Superman costume, Alan beat you to it and it’s a hard no. I might be persuaded to consider Batman but only if you’re Robin.”

Virgil snorted and swirled the ice in his glass. The not ungenerous measure he’d poured himself having already disappeared.

“As you very well know I don’t do tights. Not after the Christmas debacle.”

“I think you made a lovely elf.”

“You’re deranged.”

“Yeah but you love me.”

Virgil threw an ice cube at his head before conceding: “I do. Yes.”

He then frowned.

“Scooter, are you CRYING?”

“Nope. No no I’m just… enjoying this with ALL my senses.” He raised the glass and winked.

Virgil narrowed his eyes as if invisibly scanning his brother, then with a quirk of an eyebrow seemed to conclude there was no sudden emotional devastation and released him from scrutiny. He looked back out towards Mateo and tracked the petrels swooping to and from their rocky nests.

Scott followed his line of sight and started a little. There was a small cave at the base of Mateo which was invisible from Scott’s balcony. How had he never seen that before? He was about to point it out when he realised he’d distracted Virgil from his question.

“If you didn’t mean Halloween… what are you asking?”

“Your uniform. The, uh, air force one.”

“Hell no. I’m planning to burn it. That’s not part of my life anymore.”

“That doesn’t sound very environmentally friendly…”

“Alright bury it then. Shred it and bury it. No… shred it, dissolve it in acid then bury it.”

Virgil blinked. “Have you been watching murder mystery reruns again?”

“They’re relaxing.”

“Riiiiiiight.” Despite the feigned disbelief, Scott knew that Virgil had been the one to add three hundred and thirty-six hours worth of ‘A Century of Detective Classics’ to the family server and he knew Virgil knew that he knew that he’d done it as a cunning way to tempt Scott into some downtime. Devious little brothers… who… needed reassuring, immediately.

“It hurt you so it’s got to die. Don’t worry. I don’t even want to touch it again. If Grandma hadn’t spirited it away somewhere to clean it would be gone already.”

“Oh.” Perhaps imbibing scotch straight into his brain had slowed him down, but Virgil didn’t seem as reassured as Scott had intended.

“Don’t you need it for Ash’s dinner? You should go to that, it’s important.”

“I’ll work something out.”

“Oh, ok.” Virgil went quiet again and Scott realised he’d given the wrong answer somehow but wasn’t quite sure how to change it.

“What’s on your mind, Virgil?”

He sighed and cracked his knuckles one by one, making Scott cringe.

“Would you… um, would you wear it once more if… I… for me to… uh…”

“For you?! But… I don’t understand! It made you so unwell? I thought you hated it?”

“I did. I do. But… I don’t want to carry that fear anymore, I can’t be scared of CLOTHES. It’s… I just can’t. It’s ridiculous. And, well… and I was thinking perhaps if I was prepared… if it wasn’t a surprise… it might… I might not react quite so badly? My last memory of it wouldn’t be… uh… so heavy? And maybe I could finish my book.”

“Your book?” Now Scott was really bewildered.

Virgil put down his glass and disappeared into his suite, returning swiftly with one of the large black ring-bound pads of thick art paper the like of which Scott had seen many times. This one was more battered than most and his little brother clutched it to his chest for a moment then cleared his throat awkwardly as he sat down.

“I found it when I was hunting for a sketch I wanted to work up for the exhibition next month. Some of them aren’t… very nice. I was going to just throw it away but Gordon thinks I should complete it… finish the story.”

“Gordon’s seen it?” Scott wasn’t actually jealous, he was relieved to discover - the little snakelike green monster’s appearance seemed to have been limited to the ‘other’ version of himself. But he found himself kind of intrigued that their fish brother was apparently giving art advice these days.

Virgil rolled his eyes and growled quietly. “You know what he’s like… I foolishly tried to hide it when he burst into the room and of course he noticed and he wouldn’t let up until I showed him.”

“May I see?”

Virgil chewed his lip and nodded. Scott shuffled his lounger closer such that they were shoulder to shoulder and felt his jaw drop as Virgil opened to the first page and he saw a vivid recreation in pastel of his toddler self proudly holding a tiny baby Virgil, Mom and Dad hovering in the background. The baby’s fingers were wrapped tightly around his thumb and Virgil had sketched several enlarged views of their chubby hands in pencil along the bottom.

He turned the pages slowly and Scott saw several scenes he definitely recognised from childhood photographs and some he thought must have come from Virgil’s memory. They paddled in a watercolour sea together, rode their bikes in oils, Scott dangled upside down from a charcoal tree with chalky Virgil underneath, arms stretched upwards. There was a cartoon school bus with a dimpled stickman waving from the window.

He smiled as he recognised the two of them with the flying machine on the roof, although he remembered it as much sturdier than the painting suggested. The faded but detailed cross-section taped in to the next double page disabused him of that impression. This one was covered in his own scrawly handwriting. Scott chuckled and raised a hand to the scar on his jaw.

“Oh DEAR, I’d thought it was a much better design than that!”

“Hmmmm.” Virgil rumbled “The basic concept was sound but the materials and our duct tape-biased construction methods left something to be desired and yeah… your “math” was a touch… shaky…”

Virgil smiled and turned over to another cross-section, only this time of a much more elegant design which was surrounded by small sketches of joints and diagrams showing balanced forces, each with the appropriate calculations painstakingly recorded in Virgil’s neat handwriting.

Scott gasped as he realised that this… this could work. Who was he kidding - it was Virgil’s design - of course it would work.

“You fixed it!”

“I did. I felt… bad that we never tried again and you didn’t get your moment.”

“My moment?! Virgil! I nearly killed us both!”

“You were only eleven.”

“Even so…” Scott tried very hard not to think of all the occasions since then when he hadn’t had ‘being only eleven’ as an excuse but the more he tried the more of them bubbled up in his memory like some kind of noxious gas polluting his only fresh water source. No. They were past this now… it was better. Things were changing. He was changing.

“I guess I had this idea that I could build it and if… if you ever came back…” he shook his head “it was just a silly…”

“No.” Scott interrupted, grabbing his arm and pressing his forehead into the side of Virgil’s head. “Not silly. Thoughtful. Ingenious. Seeing the potential in an idea and making it work? Very… YOU.”

Virgil gave a small smile and turned back to the book. Scott felt himself blush at page after page of sketches, all of himself - as a wide eyed child, a cocky teenager winking, a laughing adult flipping pancakes… even a few where he had apparently sprouted falcon wings, one where Virgil had them too.

Scott couldn’t imagine how many hours these must have taken to create

“When did you do all this?”

As soon as the words had left his mouth he knew it was a stupid question. Virgil shrugged and turned the page.

“When you were gone.”

Scott put his arm around Virgil’s shoulders and squeezed as he turned again, seemingly keen not to linger on any one image.

A blazing sun burned out of the page, the wall of colour marred only by a silhouette of the falcon-winged man, clearly falling, curled in on himself as the wings trailed limply behind, the dark shapes of lost feathers becoming larger and more detailed towards the top. No prizes for spotting the reference there. The real sun, heading swiftly towards the horizon seemed to lose most of its heat and a modern day Icarus-but-for-Many-Miraculous-Escapes wondered yet again how he could have been so blind.

If that one gave him a chill, the next made him shiver, the warmth from the whiskey had now entirely dissipated - a faint pencil outline Scott holding a heavily shadowed Virgil in his arms. Then… there was that same Air Force Grad photo, reproduced in a dozen different styles. The last one almost photo-realistic but crossed through in heavy red pen.

Virgil tried to skip several pages but Scott gently took his hand and turned back. He recognised the image of the crashing jet, over and over… pencil drawn, painted, scratched with a blade into a thick black layer of wax crayon. There followed a page solely of fire. Skeletal outlines of fighter jets. Storms. Crowds of agonised faces. An incredibly detailed map of Bereznik decorated with vicious-looking black insects.

The last few pages shocked Scott the most - all the pictures were drawn on scraps of paper, and then glued in. The largest was a drawing in black ballpoint pen of an almost unrecognisable bearded stranger in a hospital bed, covered in bandages and tubes. There were smaller pencil studies of bruised hands, a foot, an ear, eyebrows over sunken eye sockets, a nearly skeletal chin with a scar… his scar. Scott swallowed hard - he’d looked that bad?

One smaller image stood out as it had clearly been screwed into a ball before being flattened out to stick on to the page. Scott’s younger self winked and laughed up at him from behind the creases, one arm wrapped around a huge box of popcorn, the other hand reaching out of the page towards him. Virgil had clearly got hold of a blue ballpoint pen for this one and had skilfully used it to produce a rainbow’s worth of blue shades. The picture somehow gleamed at him and Scott felt the green serpent stir in his gut. He bit the side of his tongue and motioned for Virgil to turn over to the next.

The very last page contained only the sky in vivid shades of blue with light wisps of cloud: Virgil’s starting place.

Scott swallowed hard as he realised Gordon hadn’t been giving art advice at all.

“I put it away when dad brought you home.”

“It’s… Wow…”

“It was an outlet.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Scotty.”

“Not all of it. Some things though.”

He pulled his brother close again and planted a kiss in his hair.

“So how do you want to finish it?”

Chapter 36: Resurface

Summary:

Virgil has decided to be brave and face something but that comes at a cost because none of these things happen easily or quickly.

(I also had to apply some very very minor whump to Scott just because it amuses me so to do and he was RIGHT THERE being a doofus and asking for it.)

Chapter Text

Virgil’s studio was recessed into the cliff which meant it was protected from the elements. It was accessible only via his bedroom and a key coded door meant it was protected…ish from marauding younger brothers.

Although a huge picture window dominated one wall, very useful for those sky paintings, this could and often would be shuttered at the press of the button, transforming the room into a haven over which he had unfettered dominion.

Advanced atmospheric regulation meant he could ensure the air it wasn’t too arid for sculpting or too damp to allow a painting to dry. An objectively impressive array of light fixtures popped out at various levels, the angle and tone of each completely customisable at the flick of a slider (or twelve) on his tablet, meant he had absolute control of what bounced off his surroundings into his eyeballs. And the sound system…

Well.

What would be the point of a soundproof room if you couldn’t occasionally crank it up to symphony orchestra brass section volume. Virgil had played the French horn in high school and fully appreciated the sensation of his ribcage vibrating when the trombones sat behind him got into their groove.

He was safe here.

And yet, he couldn’t settle. Everything felt, off. Scratchy. As if sand had got into a sensitive mechanism and no amount of oil would flush it out again.

Virgil tucked the sketchbook under his arm and got up to adjust the brightness of the overhead spots down a little and nudged the temperature control up another increment. He’d been fiddling with it all morning but couldn’t quite find the precise balance he needed. Turning his back on the easel stool, he sat down heavily on the couch, removed a pencil from behind his ear and glared at the page.

He’d thought it might be a good idea to sketch out a few anatomical poses to build the detail on top of… to save Scott having to hang around while he got the basics done. Despite having shut himself in here all morning, he’d barely got beyond sketching a vaguely humanoid shape. Perhaps he’d got a little more fixated on the angle of an arm than strictly necessary… in fact he’d roughed it out in so many positions his graphite brother was giving off distinctly octopoid vibes.

The real one had been popping in and out all morning, providing coffee and snacks and unspoken reassurance but now was Here and Getting Ready and Virgil was also supposed to be Ready do some Healing. Find Some Closure. Desensitisation. All that healthy stuff. He tried to ignore the creeping doubt as to whether he was, or would ever, in fact, be ready to…

“Can I make a suggestion?”

He jumped a little and dropped his pencil as Scott called out from behind Virgil’s bedroom door. He put the book to one side and crawled under his chair to locate it.

“Virg?” The door opened and he could imagine Scott peering around it, with all the darkness creeping up his neck and around his throat… his heart raced and his breath escaped in a tiny squeak.

Uuuuh… he wasn’t ready. Not ready at all. Maybe he never would be. Maybe this was… maybe he was just…

“Virgil, are you alright?”

Realising he’d frozen with his upper body wedged under the couch and that Scott was inevitably now aiming the Concerned Eyebrows at his behind, Virgil forced out an airy “All good, I just dropped my… my… err…” he huffed a fake laugh to cover up the gap. Stifled the panicky breathing… the word had gone. Just gone. He spread his fingers out, feeling the grain of the wood beneath him, sanded almost-but-not-quite smooth, and focussed on drowning out the whistle in his ears with an inane little tune Gordon was humming earlier. This was transient…

“Pen. I mean pencil. Pencil!!”

The floorboards vibrated a little as knees slid into view just beside him. Navy blue knees. No, not navy. Shade 1620 “Airforce Blue” - he had a tube of it on the easel. He squeezed his eyes shut. Hex 00308F. Several paint tubes, just in case. And some inks. Zero zero three zero eight eff. Navy blue was 000080. The three and the F somehow changed everything.

A hand on his shoulder, unnaturally tentative as they all still were around him. Still. He scrunched his eyes still tighter and tried not to let it bother him, he wasn’t the type to be bitter about being ‘Poor Fragile Virgil best-not-surprise-him-lest-he-freak-out-and-see-things-again…’ ok, he was still a little bitter perhaps. And being not very kind to himself either. He’d tell Scott off for that.

Scott…

He pressed his fingertips into the floor just enough to stop them shaking, just enough to hurt. As his neck and shoulders tensed in sympathy he felt his brother’s arms curl around him, holding him steady, keeping him from bumping his head on the wooden frame. Holding him steady, keeping him from sinking through the floor into who knew where… he dragged in a breath, cursing his vocal chords for the little whine that caused.

“I’m here. What do you need?”

“Pencil.”

The harmonic skitter of light wood rolling over heavy before the pencil was nudged up close to his hand and he grasped it like a lifeline.

He couldn’t open his eyes, not yet. He was terrified he wouldn’t be able to trust what he saw if he did.

He could feel Scott breathe, the weight of his arm. He could hear the repeated “It’s ok, I’ve got you.”

Yet both those senses had betrayed him before too. Only one had not. It had never lied to him, but, quiet and unshowy, it was easier to ignore if the others told him a better story.

Right now, the impersonal fog of the dry cleaning spray Grandma had used almost overwhelmed him. It was a white noise.

A grey noise?

He reached past the grey for something familiar, something safe - something to prove this wasn’t hollow. There was the ever-present scent of coffee on his brother’s breath and the subtle hint of super-shiny gel… no, he corrected himself, he’d upgraded to the pricier ‘sublime shiny’ recently… which he swore was better despite Virgil pointing out the identical ingredients, smell and, even taste… alright he might have taken the debate a little too far but when Scott had poked his tongue out at him Virgil hadn’t been able to resist giving him a sample. For science’s sake.

The look on his brother’s face had been spectacular.

He chuckled and a little of the dread melted away.

He still needed to sneak some down to Brains’ lab to run a chemical analysis actually…

“Virg? You with me, short stu…OOOFFF”

Scott had clearly ducked his head under the couch to try to see what was going on and the resulting clunk demonstrating he’d immediately forgotten that he’d done so vibrated through Virgil’s teeth.

“Scott! Your head!”

“Is fine. Thick skull, remember?”

“The thickest.” Eyes still resolutely closed, Virgil assessed his tone. It was light, but not the too-light tone Scott adopted when trying to conceal an actual injury from a brother… There was more than a hint of worry, obviously, which Virgil needed to Do Something About because he was painfully aware it was him causing it.

“Virgil, are you ok? What do you need?”

“I’m ok. I… yeah. I’m good.” He was. He could do this.

“Alright.” The audible skepticism was perhaps justified but Scott had clearly decided to let him call the shots today.

“I’m not criticising your process here but would it be easier to do the arting somewhere other than under the couch.”

Virgil grunted, which was frankly all the response the question deserved. Then, eyes tight shut he shuffled backwards. The sensitive skin just below the edge of his little finger brushed against Scott’s leg and he shivered as he recognised the fabric. Polywool. Strong but soft. Permanent military creases. More capable of withstanding a worried brother knee-sliding across a wooden floor than the string of ludicrously expensive but patently unScott-proof suit pants that the CEO wore to TI meetings and managed to destroy on a regular basis. But not robust enough for any kind of action. This was dress uniform. Just for show. He’d never have got in a jet wearing it.

But without it he’d never have got in that jet…

The voice of dread in his heart hissed at him. Virgil tried to squash it, but the edges were sharp and tried to steal his breath. He could feel his pulse begin to race again, echoing back through the thumb-tips he had pressed so firmly into the floor. No, that wouldn’t work. He knew this. He knew how to deal with this now. The hand on his shoulder tightened infinitesimally, lending him strength. So, he forced himself to take a slower breath and let himself acknowledge the thought. It was a logical fallacy, he knew that, but as the counsellor had advised he resisted the temptation to be angry with himself for thinking it. He could see where it came from. It wasn’t unreasonable or stupid for his subconscious to reach for something, anything to blame. It just wasn’t helpful. It wasn’t true.

What was true?

He’d come back. Scott had come back. He was here right now, humming Mom’s song as he rested his head on top of Virgil’s and stroked his arm.

Virgil opened his eyes. Brown floor. Black pencil. 1620… Scott’s legs. He raised his head a little, braced for the darkness…

Light blue?

Light blue shirt? Airforce shirt, yes, but not what he was expecting.

Scott interpreted his frown of confusion before he realised he’d formed it.

“I was going to suggest maybe I don’t wear the jacket just yet? I could, I dunno, just hold it or something. Till you’re used to it?”

Virgil realised he wasn’t blinking enough and pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets for a moment.

“Right. I… yes. I’m sorry I…” he huffed irritably “This is so ridiculous.”

“No it isn’t.” Scott squeezed his shoulder again. “And you told me not to say things like that.”

Virgil swallowed the impulse to point out that for Scott it was different. Maybe, after all, it wasn’t so different. In the absence of anything constructive to say he removed his hands from his face and made an attempt at a reassuring smile. It was going quite well until his eye was caught by a rush of movement as the hastily slung jacket slithered off the back of a chair and curled into a pile of darkness on the floor. He averted his eyes and returned his attention to his brother’s face.

“So, what do you want to do?”

Here, Virgil drew a blank. Beyond his request to paint Scott wearing the dreaded dress uniform, he was surprisingly unsure about what he wanted to do. He hadn’t got much past the idea to get himself, Scott and The Uniform in the same room and not go mad.

As the heap of fabric continued to noisily suck all the light from the room, he wasn’t sure the latter part was going as planned.

“I don’t… I don’t actually err…” he tailed off but the point had been conveyed.

Scott hummed again, but not in a musical way this time. That was the ‘IR-Commander-is-formulating-a-plan’ hmmmmm.

“We have all day… no need to rush anything. Do you want to go outside for a bit? It’s really nice out there?”

Outside was Scott’s go-to fix. If things were difficult, he did better in the open air… or at least somewhere with a clear view of the sky. Virgil suspected he knew why and tried not to think about that too much. What he did know was that it was when his brother tucked himself away - when he found a hidey hole, enclosed and dark - well that was when little brother’s alarm bell needed to ring. Outside was good.

Yet, Virgil knew Scott hadn’t suggested it for his own benefit this time. It wasn’t for the air but for the sun.

Virgil’s comfort instinct was more towards warmth. The flannel wasn’t purely a fashion choice after all. It didn’t matter where he was - snuggled in bed, melting his face off in the sauna, taking an excessively long hot shower, hibernating on a sun lounger - it was all good as long as the goosebumps were kept at bay. Gordon had long ago given up trying to persuade him to lower the cabin temperature of Two. If Virgil’s skin was warm and relaxed he had at least a chance of thinking clearly about everything else.

Outside in the sunshine sounded good. It had a decent chance of being better than here anyway, in the bowels of the earth where the darkness was closing in and an icy draft scraped across his face.

So Virgil nodded and allowed his big brother to steer him towards the doorway. Where he stood helplessly for a few moments as he realised the hand with which he’d reached for the handle was a white knuckled fist clutching a pencil for dear life… and he didn’t quite seem to know how to put it down. He shivered again.

Scott rushed around behind him, chattering away and collecting whoknewwhat, then took charge of the door-opening and, taking a firm grip on Virgil’s pencil-free hand, towed him up the stairs and out into the daylight.

 

Chapter 37: Ready

Chapter Text

The sketchbook was heavier than the jacket.

Both were tucked under Scott’s right arm as he clung to Virgil’s hand with his left. His brother seemed to float along after him, unresisting, barely aware of his surroundings. That was… not ideal. The jacket just hung innocently from his forearm, as if it hadn’t been the cause of all this… but the book? The book and all it contained was conspiring with gravity and actively trying to escape him. He pressed it hard into his side with his elbow to prevent it slipping any further. The spiral binding wire dug into his hip.

The temperature in the villa was as perfectly climate-controlled, as ever. But Virgil was shivering despite the flannel and undershirt.

Time to get him up into the sunshine. He pulled a little more firmly and they passed into the kitchen.

Gordon, looking up from his plundering of the fridge, raised an eyebrow as they passed. Scott inclined his head - he had it in hand but had no objection to the squid covering his six. Gordon snapped his heels together and raised a half-eaten bratwurst to his forelock in a snappy, if objectively ridiculous, salute. Scott rolled his eyes before calling “Bear snacks would be good actually, Gords” over his shoulder.

Virgil didn’t acknowledge any of this at all, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. However as they stepped outside he closed his eyes and turned his face towards the late morning sun then murmured:

“It’s ok, I’m not, uh, seeing anything I shouldn’t be. I’m fine.”

Scott snorted. “Your definition of fine is worse than mine.”

Virgil sucked in a breath and huffed a small laugh “Pretty low bar that.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Steering him carefully across the deck and around the pool, he engineered his little brother into a lounger then pulled another alongside. Gradually the tension eased in Virgil’s shoulders and he melted into the chair with a sigh and a muttered “Sorry Scotty”.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Vee.”

A little wrinkle between the eyes betrayed some disagreement with that statement but Virgil didn’t appear to have the energy to argue.

The sun beat down on both of them.

Scott leaned back in the chair and pretended to relax too, while carefully assessing Virgil out of the corner of his eye. His breathing seemed to have evened out. That was a good sign. He closed his own eyes for a moment and tried to steady his own stampeding heart rate.

Watching his brother in the throes of the kind of panic attack he recognised so vividly but had always tried to kid himself into believing most of his precious family would never have to understand first hand… it felt like something was clawing at the inside of his rib cage. None of them should ever have had to have known it… Gordy sadly excepting, of course, but at least nobody, even Scott himself, could truly believe that what happened to his little fish has been his fault, whereas this… this was more complicated. At the moment he couldn’t work out if he was more sad or angry or… something else entirely.

It was taking everything Scott had in him not to suggest they abandon the whole scheme. And then to wrap his brother up in something fluffy and build a 12ft wall around him.

And fire the uniform into the sun.

He reached a hand over to take hold of his brother’s but found Virgil still had the pencil clutched in his fist.

“I’ll be ready in a minute.”

“It doesn’t have to be today.”

Virgil looked up, exhaustion painted all over his face. “If not now, when? I have to beat this, Scott.”

“Do you, though? I can just get rid of it. You never have to see it again?”

His little brother closed his eyes again and shook his head.

“It’s not… really about the clothes though is it? I have…” he gestured irritably at his own head “neural pathways to fix.” Another little frown “No, not fix. Retrain.”

“I understand.”

“I know you do. Look maybe I’ll never really be actually ready but I think I’m going to have to just do it anyway?”

“Ok, as long as you don’t hurt yourself in the process.”

Virgil grimaced. Then pushed himself upright and held his hand out to Scott. It was almost steady. Scott took it and squeezed but his brother didn’t open his eyes.

“Pass it to me.”

“Now?”

“Right now. Please.”

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Virgil pulled the jacket across his lap and tentatively laid a hand on it. The adrenaline rushed back - he shivered again - then took a deep breath and lifted a sleeve a little to study the weave .

“Do you find the texture unpleasant? Is it like me and crunchy towels?”

He scratched at it gently and noted the whispery hiss of the robust fabric under his fingernail. “Hmm no, not really. It’s only that… it’s kind of unique isn’t it? Nothing else we wear is made of this and i guess it reminds me of when we left you the first time… I was hugging you and… and dad dragged me off because I was embarrassing you and I tried to grab your hand and missed and just caught the sleeve.”

“You weren’t embarrassing me. I nearly ran after you actually.”

Virgil smiled weakly. “But it makes no sense because it’s not as if you were wearing it the last time before… uh, before you didn’t come back. If anything it’s that white USAF hoodie I should have a problem with.”

“Just as well, I still wear one of those. Or at least I did… not seen it in a while actually.”

“Gordon.”

Scott rolled his eyes and groaned “Whyyyy?? My stuff doesn’t even fit him.”

“Bad rescue. He couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.”

They both looked over at the kitchen where the little brother in question was busying himself with making ludicrously extravagant cocktails.

“I guess… none of these things have to be completely logical, right?” Scott glanced back and reached over to squeeze Virgil’s shoulder.

“Hmmmph. Maybe. Would be easier if it was.”

In fairness there wasn’t much his brother could say to that. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Scott was holding himself very still in a way that betrayed he was trying very hard to look relaxed. Virgil wasn’t fooled and slyly observed him - every so often his eyebrows would raise a little as if he was about to say something but caught himself.

“What do you want to ask, Scooter?”

“I was just wondering… look we don’t have to talk about it now. Don’t worry.”

“I’d like to though. What are you wondering?”

“Ok I was wondering… What happened, Vee? In the hospital? I know you were there, you were the only reason I knew I was out of… There but… my memory is, well it’s pretty hazy. I looked up your records… I’m sorry” he chewed on his lip “I guess that was out of order but I needed to know how to help and what the psychiatrist and grandma were talking about. But all I could see was you were admitted and there was some security incident but no details and then you were seemingly staying in the same ward as me but as a patient? And you… you had an injury? And… I was just worried whether…that, that wasn’t me lashing out, was it? When I was… I didn’t…?”

“Scotty it wasn’t you. I promise, you didn’t hurt me.”

“Ok. Ok that’s good. So what… did… how were you?” Scott trailed off inarticulately and in the face of his brother’s confusion, Virgil found himself suddenly, finally equal to the task of talking about the time he’d spent a decade trying to pretend was a horribly vivid dream.

“I don’t remember it so very well myself. I got told later that I wasn’t compliant with the meds and so most of what I remember isn’t exactly… y’know... uh reliable? But I believe you and I escaped a secure ward and scaled the side of the building in quite unsuitable pants. Well it was only me in the bad pants, you were…” he frowned and shook his head “Well. Not… not there. Actually. So… heh. It’s academically quite interesting because I can see you there in my memory as clear as anything else. But you weren’t of course… anyway at the time I was adamant it was all your idea which, err, concerned them. Obviously. Dad was… well I dread to think about his reaction. You were on the seventh floor so um… yeah. It was probably nuclear. But he was unusually gentle with me. And I guess somehow during that I cut myself on something. And after that I slept in your room which must have been contrary to every policy in the book but he’d probably threatened the entire hospital administration with something unpleasant and legal so… yeah. I was there while you were getting better.”

“You climbed out a seventh floor window?”

“In. My room was lower down. Maybe only a floor or two. To be honest I mostly just remember having to hold up my own pants as they had no waistband to speak of… you were entirely unsympathetic about that, by the way.”

Scott blinked then tried to school the smirk off his face as Virgil blushed.

“So even while unconscious in a hospital bed I still managed to get you into a ludicrously dangerous situation.”

“That’s about the sum of it, yeah.” Virgil grinned back, suddenly feeling a weight lifting as the incident became a source of humour rather than fear. Catching amused blue eyes he added in a quieter voice: “I had to find you, didn’t I?”

Scott reached for his hand again and seemed to be searching for the right thing to say when Gordon materialised bearing a broad grin and a tray precariously loaded with a wide range of comfort foods and brightly coloured cocktails.

Scott cleared his throat, accepted and took a tentative sip of the blue one. Then screwed up his face and spluttered:

“Fie, Squid! What treachery is this?”

“Sherbet! Some fruit purées. Rums. A smidge of chilli, that blue stuff. Standard summer cocktail fare Scotty boy.”

“Rums PLURAL?”

“It’ll put hairs on your chest! Relax you a bit.” Gordon added something under his breath but Virgil was distracted from asking him to repeat it by the more pressing matter of observing his elder brother’s attempts to scrape the fizzy residue off his tongue with a cocktail umbrella.

Virgil eyed his green-containing glass with some trepidation.

Yours is virgin, Virgie-oh. I’m not stupid. Last time you painted a portrait whilst drinking, John had a giant eye on his cheek.

“It was a cubist piece! You’re even more of a heathen than he is!” The tiny head jerk towards Scott was unnecessary.

“Hey! I get art!”

Virgil conveyed his skepticism through the medium of eyebrows.

“Well… once you’ve explained that’s it’s meant to be art… then I get it!”

“So, gentlemen,” Gordon cut in before Virgil could launch himself into a distracting but satisfying lecture on art appreciation, “have you got a plan?”

Virgil tried to remember how to swallow and let Scott confirm that no, they hadn’t got that far yet.

“Well lucky for you chumps, your genius little brother does!” He grinned like a trashy quiz show host from the 1900s then pointed at Scott and the glass of blue stuff:

“You - drink that. Ideally in one. And you…”

His wingman’s finger of inevitability swung to rest on Virgil’s nose.

“You’re ready.”

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