#thunderwhump

The men rescuing him had been kind. Gentle. They’d sheared through the chain around his ankle and helped him onto a stretcher, had bound his wrists and ankle where the cuffs had chafed.

And then carried him from the room.

Scott closed his eyes and tried so hard not to give in to weeping in his relief. His brain warred with itself - on the one hand not believing that this was real and on the other collapsing with relief - so, despite the relief, he held himself ready.

If this was a trick then that’s made a huge error in not strapping him to the stretcher.

But as they moved him Scott became aware of the changes in the environment. The putrid smells he’d become accustomed to were replaced with something he couldn’t quite name, the word tantalisingly out of reach. The light was getting brighter too, and was that a breeze???

Light suddenly flooded him, bright enough that Scott could see it through his closed eyes, and he couldn’t help but crack one eye open.

Sunlight! Blessed sunlight!

…but…

He couldn’t see.

It was so bright! His eyes watered and he screwed them shut in a desperate attempt at controlling them.

It was too bright!

Too big!

Too much!

The roaring of his blood pumping drowned out all sound and thought, and Scott struggled as hard as he could against hands now holding him down.

He was screaming but he didn’t know it…

Hands finally secured him. Suddenly there was a sharp scratch on his arm and a metallic coldness flooded Scott momentarily before he succumbed to the sedation.

His rescuers cursed themselves. How did they not realise this could have been the reaction? They should have known!

Quickly they loaded him into the waiting medivac helo and returned to make sure everyone had been rescued from that hellhole.

Sunday 9 May 2066, 1900hrs New York Monday 10 May, 0000hrs Creighton-Ward Manor Monday 10 May, 1100hrs Tracy Island Monday 10 May, 1100hrs Cloudbase

Secure in his private office, Jeff sipped his morning coffee and listened attentively as his campaign manager, Tobias Ghent, went over the latest updates on his work towards Jeff’s presidential ambitions. 

The little hologram of Tobias, a svelte man in his thirties, was perched on the corner of his own desk in Tracy Tower New York, tablet in hand as he began the briefing. “I've gotta say Mr Tracy, with the platform you've already got built with TI and iR, polling has been a cinch.” Tobias smiled broadly as he brought up a set of brightly coloured graphs. “You're averaging fifteen percent above all of your rivals across the board on all the standard polls. I'll forward you the raw data and stats of course, but I'm confident that with the plan we've got together we can bring that up to twenty, if not better.”   

“Good, that's good work Tobias.” Jeff allowed himself a satisfied smile. Literal decades of work were paying off and the dividends were going to be huge. “So what's the plan?”  

“We're looking to start the meet and greets in the US, that'll be your biggest and easiest voting base. We'll kick off in Houston, remind everyone that you're the first man on Mars, the pioneer of Shadow Alpha One, and the man who survived eight years alone in deep space. Then we’ll swing through the Heartlands, visit New York and finish in Washington. After that we'll go to your neighbours in Oceania.”   

Here Tobias paused to frown. “This'll require a smooth gear shift. In the USA we'll play up the ‘good ol’ Kansas farm boy’ who built his company from the ground up and made it big. The American on the street will eat that up, but in Australia, New Zealand, and the Pacific that's not going to work as well. Our research and test audiences have shown that while they’re largely positive towards you, there's still a lot of suspicion there about Americans in power in general, they hate ‘tall poppies’ and like the humble hero. The ‘big, bright, loud American’ is an instant turn off for the bulk of the voting population. We can bounce off the good work you've already done in the area and use that as a segue into all the other good you will do when you’re World President.”  

Jeff nodded as he listened, being everything to everyone had been his modus operandi for so long he barely had to think about it.  

“Now, I know you said your boys were off limits, but it'd be a big help if we can get one or two of them to walk around with you in the Pacific region, they're very big on family and family values there and your family man image will go down well.”

“No can do, Tobias.” Jeff was a little irritated with having to make this point yet again. “My boys are far too busy with International Rescue.”   

“Understood, but that brings us to the next point,” Tobias took the instruction and neatly rolled with it. “We're already getting questions on socials and in the pre-list for the interviews: people need some concrete information about the future of International Rescue and who'll be helming Tracy Industries. The question over iR is a new one, no candidate has had a private rescue organisation before, but people are leery about enriching the world's richest man by giving him the ability to hand plum contracts to his own company.”  

“I'll be turning iR over to Lee as the Commander and Wayne as the Field Commander,” Jeff had had this answer ready for weeks now, “as for TI, that's still being sorted out with the lawyers, but I’ll be divesting my shares and it'll be in the hands of the board with a new CEO at the helm, I’m working on recruitment now. We're already preparing to drop the World Government and military contracts when I take office to prevent any impressions of partiality.” He kept his other plans to himself. Dropping the contracts would sound impressive to the average voter, but in reality the process would take years, in fact more than enough time for his term to run, and Tobias didn't need to know he'd be keeping his fingers on the pulse at TI through his handpicked proxy, he needed his best people developing everything he needed for Elysium Base. As soon as he’d done what he needed to as WP and the ink was dry on his resignation, he’d be taking his company back and launching into the final preparations for Elysium. “I'll of course be donating the salary from being the World President, I don't exactly need it.” Jeff finished his little spiel with a conspiratorial smile. “We'll make a talking point out of that.”   

“Naturally.” Tobias made a note.  

Jeff was about to ask who was on the line up for interviews when an alert from the Island’s systems caught his eye. He almost dismissed it, then he saw the text summary. “Tobias, I'll have to call you back, something just came up.”   

“Gotcha, I'll get our notes written up,” Tobias replied, well used to the demands of rescue work on his boss’ time.  

Jeff dismissed the call with a flick of his hand and opened up the alert: the internet filters had caught something.   

When he'd finished inventorying everything that'd been done in his absence, he'd found a series of increasingly complicated parental controls on the Island's internet. They were titled ‘No, Alan’ and ran the gamut of V1.1 all the way through to V36.9.2. He'd quietly reactivated the latest version, modified it to filter out the things that weren't necessary for the others to know, and programmed it to send an alert to his personal tablet or holoscreen whenever certain keywords were used.   

When he finally got into the alert, what he saw made his blood run cold: a reporter had somehow found the Bastard and gotten her claws into him. ‘This… this could torpedo everything, years of work gone… no. Hell no. That Bastard isn’t ruining my life again!’

He immediately went for the concealed drawer in his desk, the one where he kept the notebooks with the intel passed on by his moles at various news stations, information that was far too dangerous to store anywhere that John could get at it. He flipped through the sections, found the one for Kat Cavernaugh’s station, skimmed through it, then snarled when he found nothing of value. ‘My mole said Cavanaugh was working on something big, that idiot should have warned me it was something like this!’ Jeff angrily threw everything back into concealment, pushed himself away from his desk and started pacing. ‘Okay, throttle down Tracy, work the problem. This is the only story that’s broken and my moles at the other media stations haven’t said anything like this is in the works, so this is an isolated problem. I need lawyers on this, as of yesterday. It's already out in public so I need Tobias and his team prepping a denouncement, I need to keep the others out of the way and in the dark, and I need my boys away from any other reporters and somewhere I can get my hands on them when I need them. Scott and Alan are the easy ones, Virgil will do what he’s told, so will John, but Gordon’s going to be the problem, as usual.’   

A glance out the window, then at the wall of screens beside him with different feeds, including a live stream of the weather in the area, gave him an idea. He needed to take control of the narrative and he needed time and zero distractions to do it.   

‘Okay. We're probably going to be hit by that weather system coming off Australia, so that plus catching up on deferred maintenance on the Thunderbirds will ground the fleet and keep ‘em all here and busy. I need to manage this in person, so I'm getting parts at the New York facilities. On the way I can call Charles to get Scott sent to me and I’ve already got a team prepped to find and bring in Alan. But where the hell is Gordon!? My people should have tracked him down by now! I’ll contact them along the way and get them to step up the hunt. Even if they can’t find him, if I can get two out of three, that’ll do for now and probably scare him into lying low. Should I take Lee? No, he needs to stay put and keep a lid on things here. Okay,’ he nodded to himself, pleased, ‘plan's made, go time.’   

A quick email scribbled out to Tobias alerted his campaign manager to the threat, then three button clicks sent a long-prepared message to the men he'd organised to pick up Alan from Yale - that it was nighttime and Sunday there would make it easier for them to find him. He was about to summon Wayne and Lee to give out their orders when another thought stopped him. ‘Penelope has to be involved in this. Odds are if I go to her, I'll find Gordon or at least clues to where he is, and my men can secure TBS at the same time.’ He quickly sent an email to the team he'd readied for the moment when his former London agent crossed the line from ‘ignorable’ to ‘threat’, then reached out to make his summons.  

T H U N D E R F A L L  

"It looks like that atmospheric river is going to slam right into New Zealand. Projections show -  

((JOHN!!)) 

- that it should head south and bypass the Island altogether, but better safe than sorry Wayne." John didn't react to EOS's shout in his mind, even if Wayne and Dosela knew about 'Dawn', he wasn't going to give anything away. 

(Yes, EOS?)  

In answer a window popped up in the hologram from Tracy Island showing the advert for The Kat Cavanaugh Show that was going to air on Monday, followed by emails that had been sent by UnNamed. John stilled for a moment and ran through the contingencies that had been set up, while Wayne went on about storm prep. 

(Understood. Please start the Thunderfall protocol.) "That sounds good Wayne, just make sure that the storm shutters are in good shape. We don't want another thunderfall."

Wayne's eyes got very big for a moment at the mention of the code word, then he gave a brisk nod. "Copy that, Five. I'll get the others on that right away. Tracy Island out."  

John was moving even before the image fully vanished. "Time to Cloudbase?" He launched out of the comm hub and hit the gravity ring running. Around him he felt more than heard the rumble as Thunderbird Five’s thrusters fired and she started to move.   

From our 'known' position, four hours. From our actual, one hour.  EOS's voice was the epitome of calm as her camera glided alongside him. They are still holding station over New Caledonia.  

Reaching his bedroom, John shoved the last few things into his space-proof go bag; he'd kept one ready ever since he'd come back 'upstairs'. "Excellent. Are you going to take Five over the South Pole?" Hiding Five Actual was important for a lot of reasons; not the least of which was to keep Jeff from destroying it out of spite. He and EOS had been fudging Five’s actual location for weeks now, keeping her as close to Cloudbase’s location as they could get in preparation for this day.

No. Once you are safely away, I'll take Five to the Southern Magnetic Anomaly. Between the optical camouflage and the Hall Effect of cahelium, finding Five Actual will be nearly impossible.  

John froze, then turned to face her camera. "EOS, if you do that, I can't bridge you to my location."  

We've discussed this, John. This is the best plan, you know this.  

John took a slow deep breath and the now-repaired link flared to life with the rush of warmth that had become their version of a hug. 

I’ll be fine.

(You've never jumped from the Anomaly.) The switch to internal communication was habit. This was too big of a concept for mere words. Using the link, he could show her all his fears and concerns, everything raw, unfiltered and unlimited by abstract concepts like words that sometimes could communicate so much, but also so little.

((I will be fine. We designed this. We built this. It's been tested and I trust us.))  

John took on her words, her faith in him and what they could do together lending him courage. (F.A.B.) He nodded sharply, then headed to the space elevator to make his final preparations for the jump.  

T H U N D E R F A L L    

Standing in Jeff’s office at parade rest, Wayne chewed on the inside of his lip while Jeff laid out how they were finally getting to the deferred maintenance on the 'Birds and going off-line since it looked like the weather front was going to pass right over them. ‘Perfect timing and the world can do without iR for a couple of days’, Jeff had drawled - a statement that only years of military service kept Wayne from reacting to. As far as he could tell, Jeff could no more let the world survive without him and iR anymore than the sun could stop fusing hydrogen. Not knowing where Jeff was going or what he was actually doing wasn't good. Especially with John calling for Thunderfall, which he still hadn't been able to tell the others about!  

“It'll be good to catch up on maintenance,” Lee commented from his position at Jeff’s shoulder, once again the yes-man marching in lock step to the tune Jeff piped. “One's bein’ a fussy girl again and Three's thrusters are sluggish.”   

‘That's because you fly a Thunderbird like you're flying a brick.’ Wayne kept a very straight face and said nothing. Lee piloted with a proverbial lead foot, to the point they were deep in the double digits tallying the number of times he’d brought back a Thunderbird with engine trouble because of it.  

"Make sure that everything is locked down as tight as you can, Rigby." Jeff pushed off his desk and started toward the hangers, motioning for Wayne to follow and leaving Lee behind. “I don’t want that weather getting in. Lee, you go tell Casey what the plan is.”  

“You got it, Jeff.”

Wayne switched to chewing on the other side of his mouth and fell in behind Jeff, two steps back and one to the right, and followed him into the elevator. "Yes, sir."

"I want you to keep an eye on Virgil for me." Jeff sent the elevator down. "He's not been getting enough rest and looks it."

"Yes, sir." ‘Of course he's not getting enough rest! You're running him ragged, you jackwagon.’ But he kept that thought strictly to himself. "Anything else you want us to cover, sir?"  

"Not right now. But if any of my other sons contact the base, let me know right away. Especially Gordon."  

 “Yessir,” Wayne replied as they entered the civilian hangar, his mind racing. If they could get Jeff off the Island, he could start warning the rest as soon as the jet hit the runway and they'd be ready to bail as soon as their evac arrived. Lee was good, but he was just one guy. If he caused any issues, they could deal with him.   

A buzz from Jeff's watch interrupted his planning.   

“Jeff,” Lee's voice issued from the device. “I just had a thought, why don't ya take Brian with you? He's fussy about how they do the CNC and machining of the parts, if you take him there he can supervise an’ we'll be done quicker.”   

For a split second Wayne was certain that Jeff would refuse, he was extremely reluctant for Brains to leave the Island, then his heart sank as Jeff nodded. “That's not a bad idea, Lee.” He turned to go back towards the elevator and down to Brains’ lab in the heart of the Island. “Come along, Wayne.”   

Falling into step behind Jeff, Wayne discreetly contacted John on his own watch and tapped a message in Morse: EVAC. While they’d all preferred to do this on the quiet, without the mass alert, he knew with absolute certainty that if Brains left the Island with Jeff and they escaped without him, they'd never see the engineer again. ‘Time for Plan B for Bug-out.’ He knew of three escape routes he, Brains and MAX could use from this level, and there was another one two levels up. ‘I just hope I got the warning out in time for Brains and MAX to get moving...’ 

Jeff led the way as he detoured to Brains’ lab, marshaling the orders he needed to make and how to phrase them to keep Brains from bringing MAX along. The stupid robot wouldn't fit in Tracy One and Jeff was very leery of robots ever since the mess at the Viseu plant. Even the one that Brains had built and programmed, he just didn't trust them. 

He paused outside of the lab, this was the one place that he didn't just barge into. Delicate experiments, things flying around (or crawling, walking, slithering) or that damn robot all posed a danger to life and limb. He rapped on the door twice before pulling it open and entering. "Brains! I want you to come with me…" 

He halted just inside the doorway, the lab was empty! No Brains leaping up to greet him, no MAX rolling about, no nothing. It was completely still and quiet. "What the Hell? Rigby!" Jeff twisted around, "Do you kno - " The one time GDF Captain and now Pilot of Thunderbird One was gone. "What the HELL?!?" He darted out into the hall, looking up and down it and seeing no one. 

‘They know, somehow those treacherous bastards KNOW!’ "LEE!" Jeff roared into his comm, "Lock the Island down! Lock EVERYTHING down!!" 

T H U N D E R F A L L 

Still in Jeff’s office, Lee lunged for the security panel by the desk and started the lock down procedure. "Jeff? Lock down started. What's going on?"

"That Bastard, that's what! Get ahold of Virgil. Dosela too if you see her! It's all hands on deck!"  

Lee didn't question how Steven could be involved with this, he just raced for the residential level. If Vinny wasn’t working on his 'Bird, he’d usually be sleeping in his rooms. Which was damn lazy if you asked Lee, but no one had, so he kept that to himself. He pounded through the open door. "Hey Vincent! Yer' dad…" It clicked in Lee's head that he'd gone through the open door. Vern never left his door open. He triggered his comm again. “Jeff, he’s gone!” A few running steps and he was throwing Suzie’s door open, the emptiness telling him louder than words could that she’d already rabbited too. “So’s Sara!”   

“FIND THEM!” Jeff roared down the link, his rarely shown fury exploding in a way that Lee had never seen before. “I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO, JUST FUCKING FIND THEM!”   

If the Thunderbird wasn’t made of cahelium, she would have been so much debris littering the mountainside.  Even made from the strongest metal known to man, her smooth cylindrical shape was crumpled and torn.  Streaks of green against the silver fuselage just above the blue of the engine housing drew his unwilling eye: the point of collision.

Thunderbird Two had hit Thunderbird One.

“Virgil!”  Gordon was on his feet, white as a sheet and trembling but determined.  “Virgil, I’m going down.  Hold her steady for me.”

Scott.

“No,” he said, voice rasping.  “I’ll go.”

“You’re the better pilot,” Gordon argued.  “Two’s damaged; she needs you in control.”

“Both of you go,” John interrupted, flickering into view over the dashboard.  He looked furious in a way Virgil had never seen before.  It was chilling.  “I’ve got Two.”  The comforting symbol of Thunderbird Five draped itself over the controls, and Virgil jumped out of his seat, scrambling for the emergency kit.

“F.A.B.”

Gordon grabbed the hoverstretcher, yanking it from its ports hurriedly, and then both of them were on the rescue platform as it lowered towards the broken Thunderbird.

She looked even worse up close.

The moment they were close enough, Virgil leapt from the platform to land on rugged rocks.  He didn’t wait for Gordon to join him, charging straight for the red nose cone – now more scored silver than red, and crumpled in on itself.  It was designed for slicing through the air, not colliding into mountains.

Virgil didn’t even bother with any of the conventional entrances to the downed ‘bird, instead creating his own using his shoulder laser and charging inside the cockpit, Gordon hot on his heels.

“Scott!” he shouted.  His voice echoed back at him, distorted acoustics from the warped shape of the hull, but there was no reply from the figure in the pilot seat.

At least Scott was in the pilot seat, and not strewn across the interior of his ‘bird.  The same could not be said of the contents of some of the lockers, which had been dented so far they’d split open, spitting their guts out onto the floor.  Virgil stepped around the debris to reach him, looking up at the brother suspended above the floor in his flight position.

Blood trickled down Scott’s face, skin split by what was presumably something from an overhead locker.  More blood matted his hair, a second injury concealed beneath brown locks.

“Scott?” he asked desperately, fumbling for the medical scanner and almost dropping it twice before he managed to get a lock onto his older brother.  Scott still didn’t respond, slumped over as much as the restraints on the pilot seat allowed.  Crimson dripped onto his knee, the red stark against the blue.

“How the hell did this happen?” Gordon growled, stepping up beside him.  Virgil only had eyes for Scott and the medical scanner as it flashed up broken bones, including a cracked skull, and internal bleeding.

“Working on it.”  John’s voice drifted out from the yellow baldric, as cold and unforgiving as his beloved space.  “Get Scott to hospital.  Leave Thunderbird One.”

Scott would have complained loudly at that, but Virgil had been planning on it anyway.

Getting their brother out of the seat wasn’t simple.  With it suspended a little way above the floor, they had to reach up to release the restraints holding him in place, and stop him from tumbling all the way down.

There was no damage to his spine.  That was the saving grace as they gently slid Scott, pale and still unresponsive, onto the hoverstretcher and secured him in place.

Thunderbird One was abandoned.  Above them, Thunderbird Two was wavering, streaks of silver all along her side and a nasty dent near her nose.  Virgil didn’t let himself focus on that as John lowered the platform for them to board.  His ‘bird came second, after Scott.

“I’ll pilot,” Gordon said.  Virgil barely acknowledged him as he started to treat what he could of Scott’s injuries.  There was little to be done for the internal bleeding except pray, but he could strap broken bones and clean open wounds.

“No,” John said.  “I’ll pilot.”

Virgil’s focus was on Scott, but he could still sense Gordon’s indignation.

“It’ll be faster!”

“It’s not safe!” John snapped back.

“Hey!”  Gordon sounded hurt, and Virgil growled.

“John-”

“Your Thunderbirds were hacked,” his older brother cut him off.  “One and Two.  I barely managed to hack them back before you collided.  Right now, One is dead but EOS and Five are shielding Two.”

“Hacked?”  Gordon’s voice came out scrambled.  “But… how?”

“I’m working on it,” John said.  The rage was still all too clear in his voice.  “Until I know more, you’re staying shielded by EOS and Five’s systems.”

“What if they hack Five?” Virgil asked, not pausing as he cut away Scott’s uniform to get at a dislocated shoulder and broken collar bone.

John snarled.  “I’d like to see them try.”

“I have upgraded all International Rescue’s security systems, including that of Thunderbird Five,” EOS interrupted.  “Additionally, I am providing a further ten layers of defence for Thunderbird Five.  They will not get past us again.”

Her voice was eerily reminiscent of their first encounter with her – cold and furious.  It should have been concerning, but instead it was reassuring.  They’d seen what she could do back then; they had that on their side this time.

“How far until the hospital?” Virgil asked, returning to the more urgent matter at hand.  Scott was showing no signs of stirring, and with two head injuries he was worried.

“Another five minutes,” John said.  “They’re expecting you.”

As always, John was right.  By the time they’d descended to the tarmac, there was a team waiting to take Scott inside.  Virgil followed, leaving Gordon to stand guard over Two and start assessing her damage.

“D-dad? Sss… sorr… ‘M sorry. I wanna come home. P-Please?”

“Nobody’s coming for you. Not after what you did. Nobody wants a murderer for a son. Or a brother.”

“No! No! I didden…” there was blood on his tongue but he couldn’t seem to spit it out “Da… I didden mean… nnnn…”

“Just do what they say son, they know best.”

He tried to shake his head and his left shoulder screamed at him. “Nnnnn…ooo!” He forced the word out past swollen lips.

Even if… even if he had… even if he had done… what they said. That wasn’t who he was. Dad knew that? Surely? He wouldn’t be a traitor too.

Dad’s hand shifted to the back of his head, fingers winding through his hair in a soothing manner. Scott relaxed a fraction before yelping as the grip tightened, and wrenched his head around to the left. To hover over the bucket waiting quietly on the table. His breathing calmed as his surroundings crystallised around him.

Oh. Primitive.

Boring. He welcomed it. Far easier to bear than the other options. Far easier to bear than the incessant talking.

The surface was calm, glassy. The reflection of the spotlights shimmered like stars and he saw his face among them. Bruised, dirty. Bearded. Unfamiliar. But he knew the eyes. Blue, pleading with him. In a rush he was gone and it was little Allie gazing up at him as if he’d hung the moon begging for another story. And there was Gordon giggling hysterically as Scott wound him up with fish puns. John catching his eye with that little grin as he clocked the smart remark the rest had missed.

And Virgil. Virgil who held his hand. Virgil who believed in him. Virgil knew he wasn’t a murderer. Virgil knew how hard he tried to be a good person. Virgil believed he was a good person. And if he did maybe Scott could too.

He shook his head again and everything throbbed with pain.

The water was a shock but not unpleasant. It cooled his injuries, quenched the words that burned at his heart. The harsh voices were muffled. It also cleared his mind: It wasn’t Dad, of course. Dad wasn’t here. He slowed his heart rate and let himself drift, they’d get bored or worried and drag him back into hell far sooner than he would need to panic about breathing.

The private room at the end of the building was too quiet, if taken on its own. Any room that contained Scott shouldn’t be this silent, John was nauseous even thinking about it, but there was his big brother swathed in pale hospital sheets, lying limply on the mattress instead of tossing, turning and pacing even in distress. He wasn’t meant to be still. If he was happy, he’d be in constant motion, in constant, running flight. He’d fidget, he’d lazily sprawl across the couch one second then dash across the room the next and wind up perched on a counter or desk, and when he had to stand in the same place he’d be even then wriggling his toes and shifting his weight between his feet, swinging his arms between broad gestures and parade rest. If he was upset, the movements would be louder, suddenly explosive even but he’d be moving. 

This was the antithesis of a joyful Scott. Unnatural consciousness wasn’t something John hadn’t seen before, he’d seen Scott knocked out and concussed, or dosed up to his gills with painkillers. This here wasn’t even that, Scott’s body needed the rest with words such as hypovolemic shock thrown around too few hours ago. 

John should only be glad he was getting some sleep. Should stop being such a child that he wanted to tug on Scott’s hand, to yell talk to me, play with me, let’s read about piloting space shuttles together, to wake him up. Selfishly, he wanted to drag Scott right back to him. No matter that it was John’s fault he was here, when came down to it. John could run every calculation so that the answer pointed back to himself.

Grandma and all the doctors and nurses said that Scott needed to rest. Virgil had said it as he left the room at the beginning of their nightshift turned over to John, brushing Scott’s curls off his forehead with a gentle, unsteady hand, blue eyes trying to follow him, dark bruised stamped beneath dark brown eyes. Virgil had been the one with Scott when it happened, the one to hold him stable by his fingernails, packing the gaping hole in his side around the shard of metal that had once been part of a home, as Gordon flew Two to [auckland general??] as if chased by all the hell hounds of the underworld. John had been the one to cut off camera feed to Allie sitting on the Island doing his school work. He had arranged the trauma surgeons to be ready upon touchdown. 

Virgil had murmured Please don’t let anything happen to him, towards the windows at the back of the room beyond Scott’s bed, looking out to the stars. John didn’t know if it was meant to be a prayer to the universe at large or to him. When it all came back to it, it meant him. Virgil had squeezed his shoulder lightly before he left; whether he was seeking comfort or to comfort John, John had ran his hand down Virgil’s arm to grip his wrist, fingers rubbing at the protruding bone beneath flannel cuff.

Scott hadn’t moved since then, stirring only when nurses woke him up like John didn’t get to to check his responsiveness and note it down on their charts. The endless glowing boxes had twisted and melted the harder John tried to decipher the number, orange, black and blue bleeding into each other. 

One had paused in their rounds to drape an extra blanket around John. He hadn’t noticed he was shivering. The nurse had a rainbow sticker and googly eyes stuck to their identification badge. The eyes wobbled with their every step. John wobbled with his every step when he came in, wasn’t that special.

He and Scott were still in the same places.

His brother looked dead. 

John flinched from the thought. 

He so easily could’ve been because someone had done this on purpose and the others might be oh so grateful they didn’t ‘succeed’ but to John this looked pretty fucking like success. Scott was hurt. John had been supposed to keep him safe, to see the threats and deal with them before this happened. Therefore he had failed. John had. Not Scott, never Scott, not even when he’d fallen on the pile of debris after fighting an armed and armoured assailant until the aggressor fled.

Was it bad luck that a twist of metal roofing had broken Scott’s fall? Was it good luck it wasn’t immediately fatal, was it good luck that it had missed his vital organs, taking only blood? 

Did the universe, no matter how much John loved it, simply not care?