#Scott Tracy whump

[waty-art]

Five Times Scott Agreed And One Time He didn’t.

A Thunderbirds Are Go fanfiction

“Gordon, where is my paperwork?” Scott demanded slowly while Gordon gently pulled the coffee cup out of his hand and set it on the cleared desk.

“Where you'll never find it.” Gordon shot back cheerfully, pulling his shocked brother down to where the ground lowered in the center of the den.

Or

Five times Scott gave up arguing and agreed with Gordon, who just wants Scott to take care of himself, plus one time he didn't.

[etrnlvoid]

Here's my most recent fanfic on AO3

Bewarned!! It's a Scott Whump hehe

[idontknowreallywhy]

Expert

I left a little idea hanging in this fic which really needed some investigation. And the muse finally returned on my commute yesterday so, while this isn’t my most well thought through or deviously plotted fic, the idea entertained me so I hope you’ll enjoy it too :) Wee Tracy fluff!

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“Scooooo-ooooott!!!!!”

“Scottyyyyyy?!!”

Don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic.

“You win, little man! You’re so clever! Can you come out now?”

A little bead of sweat tickled its way past Jeff’s eyebrow and he swiped at it impatiently. It was important to keep the panic out of his voice so he kept up the singsong tone:

“Where aaaare you, Bluejaaaay?”

He was missing something.

“Please come out now? Daddy needs a cuddle!”

He’d checked all the usual places. Twice.

“Do you want a snack, Scotty?”

Surely that would…?

“Snack time!!”

Nothing.

What was he missing?

Jeff Tracy was 3 months into being a stay at home Dad while Lucy was off being incredible at the university.

And while the first few days had been inevitably shaky, until this morning he’d been pretty confident he was nailing it.

Sure, he had to confess (and did so with a great deal of admiration most every evening) that he couldn’t work out how Lucy had been doing all this AND working remotely while he’d been up on Alfie. She’d just smile contentedly as he nuzzled her neck and reminded her she was a goddess walking on earth. Usually she would have denied this vehemently, but sharing a house with a child whose sleep-in-his-own-bed record was 30 mins 47 seconds meant neither was willing to waste a single moment on pointless humility…

Anyway, she clearly had Powers he did not.

For a standard issue human, however, he was doing ok. He’d read the toddler-wrangling manual cover to cover. His son, apparently, had not, but there were one or two tips that seemed to hold fairly true. Most of the time. But he was beginning to think he could write one of his himself, because while Dr Whatsherface might be an expert on the average toddler, Jeff Tracy was an expert on his own rather unique version.

Rule number one - never blink. The kid moves faster than sound.

Rule number two - Accessorise.

Jeff had taken to wearing combat pants with multiple pockets and thus perpetually had snacks, wet wipes and toy planes on standby. He had a tennis ball to hand at all times… turned out that what worked for a puppy sometimes worked for a two-year old too.

The squeaky chew toys were their little secret.

Yes, the key to his success was in the gadgets. The baby swing he’d fixed into the door frame had been a great way to enable the little whirlwind to let off steam while remaining in one place. The delighted squeals of “‘Cotty fwwwyyyy!!!” really brought a tear to the eye. The height and speed his child managed to achieve using the thing brought a slightly anxious twitch to the eye also, but it was all fine. He just needed to be close by enough to intervene…

He solved Going Out with a gadget too. Scott wasn’t really a pushchair kind of a guy but wasn’t yet able to appreciate that tugging his little hand out of his Dada’s and sprinting out into the traffic wasn’t ok. After a few days of hanging limp from it, 12 kilos of dead weight, in protest, Scott had eventually taken to the cunning harness-leash device which meant their little trips into town were less of an adrenaline rush. Marginally.

At some point Jeff was definitely going to get punched for barging his way through a crowd by some irate person who didn’t appreciate he was attached to a tiny rocket on a string.

But the main thing was he wasn’t getting lost. Or flattened.

Yep, Jeff was nailing this parenting thing.

Tying the kid down while he made a hasty trip to the bathroom had seemed a step too far, however. Scott had been enclosed in his supposedly escape-proof playpen, temporarily absorbed in nyoooming a plushie space ship from one duplo planet to another.

Jeff had been three minutes, tops. Barely 180 seconds.

Where could he go in 180 seconds??

He cursed himself for the rookie error of under-estimating his first-born and stood at the kitchen door, running through a mental checklist of all the places in which he had located his feral offspring to date.

Cupboards. Check.

Curtains. Check.

Top of bookcase, window sills, under the beds. Check check check.

On top of the big wardrobe in the master bedroom? One of spider-baby’s favourites that one. Check.

He’d looked there three times actually, nearly got himself wedged the third time as he clambered up and reached all the way to the back just in case his eyes were deceiving him and a cherubic blue-eyed menace was hiding in the shadows.

A face-full of cobwebs: No Scotty.

“Daddy’s getting pretty lonely out here, I wish you’d come and play with me!!”

The house wasn’t that big. Where on earth…?

The windows were still locked shut.

The front door was still shut. With the chain in place… even tiny Houdini couldn’t have put that back on behind him.

The back door was locked, key still on the hook.

So he couldn’t be outside.

So… no need to panic. Unless he was stuck or hurt somewhere and Jeff wasn’t with him!!

“SCOOOOOOOTTYYYYY?”

It had got to the stage where Jeff was doing ridiculous things like looking behind lamp stands and under cushions that were far too small to hide a human toddler, particularly one that moved so constantly he even vibrated in his sleep.

But there wasn’t anywhere left!!!

… or was there?

In desperation, Jeff pulled down the telescopic ladder and stuck his head into the attic-space, in case somehow his child had suddenly developed both the ability to fly and to pass through solid objects during those three unforgivable minutes of inattention.

Obviously Scott wasn’t there.

This was wasting time.

He retraced his steps to the kitchen, calling as he went.

“Scotty I really need you to come out now please? Daddy’s getting worried!”

The cupboard under the sink? It was big enough… The child-proof door closures should have made it impossible but this was Scott Tracy: Tiny master of impossible feats. Jeff really hoped he was wrong because if he’d got in there… where the cleaning things were kept…

“Scotty!”

He sped up and began to reach down as he covered the last few metres… then gasped as his foot slid from under him and he skated, flailing wildly, across the linoleum.

“Sco-aaaaaaaaaaaaggghhh!!!”

Jeff’s graceless ice dance was halted abruptly as he slammed head first into the fridge and crumpled to the floor.

Jars rattled.

Jeff’s teeth rattled.

The fridge said “Dada?”

Jeff’s ears said “riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing”.

The floor was sticky. Feeling a little hazy Jeff lifted a hand and sniffed it cautiously… cinnamon? What?

Wait.

Blinking the stars from his eyes Jeff, dragged himself to his feet and hauled the door open to find his son tucked neatly on to a high shelf, curled around a pie dish.

Jeff’s jaw dropped.

He snapped it closed it again and bit his lip lest any inappropriate words escape.

“Dada! ‘Cotty duck in fidge. Oh no!”

The tiny child lifted his apple sauce covered hands and looked at them as if suddenly realising they were attached to his arms. Bright blue eyes gazed down at him with an expression of extreme innocence:

“Oh no! ‘Cotty all messy! Ooopsiiiieee!”

A chunk of apple fell from his little eyebrow and Jeff nearly burst a blood vessel trying to keep a straight face. Don’t reward the unwelcome behaviour with a reaction, the book had said. If he laughed now, Scott would only do similar again. And he needed to impress upon him that it wasn’t ok to hide away like this.

Or consume the majority of a family sized dessert by himself.

His lip twitched.

Jeff would have put serious money on the supposed expert never having anticipated this scenario.

Clearly realising his father had no follow-up questions to his comprehensive situational update, Scott plunged his hand back into the dish and shoved a fistful of pie crust into his mouth.

Jeff covered his face and screamed silently into his palms. Then realised he had given himself a matching set of apple pie eyebrows.

Piebrows.

He snorted.

Scott snorted like a pig in response and burst into giggles, spraying pastry crumbs into Jeff’s hair.

Expert schmexpert.

Jeff laughed loud and Jeff laughed long. Scott giggled and clapped his sticky hands together then reached for Jeff with one of them, the other clutching the edge of the pie dish possessively.

“I think you’ve had enough pie, Bluejay, don’t you?” Jeff prised the little fingers free and realised his son’s skin was incredibly cold.

“Bloody hell, kiddo you’re freezing! Come ‘ere …” he plucked the small icicle from the shelf and hugged him close. “We’d best get you in a warm bath. What are you, Elsa?”

“Leddid gooooo!!! Leddid gooooooooo!!!” The little lad closed his eyes and waved a sticky fist in the air as he sang.

“Yes, son, let it go.”

Scott hid his last handful of pie behind his back and shook his head vigorously.

“No Dada!! ‘Cotty’s abble bie. Buddy ell, Dada! Oh no!”

Jeff swallowed hard. “Oh no” indeed.

Maybe he’d put a pin in the book idea, just for a little while.

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[scribbles97]

The Nightmare Come True

A direct result of This Fic of @loopstagirl 's. I'm afraid to say it spiralled into something much larger than planned and there may or may not be a Part 2 lurking. TW: POW

“Daddy!” Alan’s wide blue eyes shone bright in the snowy landscape, “When’s Scotty comin’ home?”

Jeff gaped, trying to reach out for his youngest only to find he was just out of reach downhill from where he stood. 

“He’s not.” Virgil appeared, hunched up under a tree off to Jeff’s right, the snow mounded up all around him, “Dad sent him to the Air Force and he’s not coming home.”

“No,” He found himself answering, “I-- I didn’t.”

He hadn’t forced him to go, it had all been Scott’s choice. 

Hadn’t it?

To his left, Alan screamed, begging for Jeff to bring him back, for his Scotty to come home. 

To his right, Virgil continued to rant, “He just wanted to make you proud, he just wanted to do everything just like you, he just had to follow your footsteps.”

Jeff shook his head, unsure of which son to turn to first, which to beg more forgiveness of. He knew he hadn’t been there enough and had been trying to do better, to be the father they deserved. He had stepped up so Scott could step back and be the teenager he should have been. He’d taken the interest he should have in all of their hobbies, supported them in their aspirations, encouraged them to make their dream jobs a reality. 

He stumbled back as Virgil shoved him, falling back into the snow but not feeling the bite of its chill. 

“It’s your fault he’s gone!” Virgil yelled, “Just like Mom. It’s all your fault!”

Before he could speak, the hillside shifted to a mountain, a low threatening rumble filling his senses as he looked for both Virgil and Alan as the snow around him started to move. 

“No!”

He caught himself, the yell a gasp of breath on his lips. 

He was home, the farmhouse in Kansas familiar and warm as it always was in the summer months. 

His bedsheets were tangled around his feet, twisted in the way as they always were after the nightmare. 

Rubbing his face, Jeff forced his breath to slow, forced the racing beat of his heart to settle into something healthier. 

It was just a nightmare. 

The same nightmare he had been having for months, ever since the news had broken of the Bereznian war and he had known. 

He had known that Scott would be amongst the American Service Men and Women that would be deployed to the area in some capacity. There had been no doubt in Jeff’s mind that his eldest would face the same dangers as he had himself during the Global Conflict. 

There had been a handful of precious days before he had been deployed, Jeff had gotten John home from Oxford for the occasion, determined to have all of his boys together and in arms reach for just a moment. He had spoiled them all rotten, and if the eldest three had cottoned on to his reasoning, none of them had passed comment. Scott had laughed and joked as bright as any of them, beanpole arms and legs toned with muscle easily scooping up both youngest brothers, much to their delight. 

It had been on the kid’s last night that Jeff had pulled him aside to share a measure of whiskey out on the back porch, a memory that he clung to in the long minutes after his nightmares. He had held his son close and Scott had leant into him like he had done when there had been far fewer brothers around. They had talked about the Air Force and what likely came next for Scott after deployment and what challenges he would likely face. 

Then, when the drinks were finished and Scott had clung to his father for just a moment too long, he had promised Jeff one thing that neither knew he could guarantee. 

“I’ll be fine, Dad.”

Jeff hadn’t corrected him, instead he had laughed and nodded, agreeing that the kid would be home for Christmas. 

The Holidays had been months ago, but at least had been accompanied by letters and holo-calls, even if the latter had been static-filled and intermittent. Scott had still been smiling, but Jeff had caught the weariness behind his eyes that not even the hologram could hide. He had wondered at the time if he had looked the same when calling his young family from far off lands. 

It had been after that that the nightmares had gotten more regular. Though only when John had gone back to College and Virgil had started spending more time in the library after school that his mind had started to trick him into believing that his sons were drifting out of his reach. 

He’d gone through enough psych evaluations as part of his NASA training to know it came from a deep rooted fear that he wasn’t enough for them. So he’d gone to his therapist and talked about his fears, and gone home and made sure his remaining four son’s knew he loved them and was there for them, whatever they wanted in life. 

It had been Virgil who had clocked on to Jeff’s sudden overtness, and who had gently called him out on the matter one afternoon whilst the pair had replaced a broken fence post on the driveway. Jeff had admitted as much as he had dared, not wanting to feed into the fear he knew the middle child held for his eldest brother. They had paused in their work long enough for Jeff to apologize for not being there sooner, for not being more and doing better, and Virgil had forgiven him. 

Yet still the nightmare had come. 

Life went on though and the family had adapted to their new normal, Scott’s holocalls becoming more infrequent until they had stopped altogether. Jeff had assured the rest of the family that it was simply signal issues, that a good old fashioned letter was undoubtedly in the post on its way to them to tell them as much as he could about his latest missions.

Jeff’s words had sounded hollow to his own ears as he had remembered his own most dire moments of the Global Conflict and how he had still found a way to get a message home to his family. Scott would have found a way. If there had been any possibility, Scott would have sent them something to let them know he was fine. 

The missions weren’t long, Bereznik wasn’t a large country, Scott himself had told them as much. A couple of days was usually the worst of it, newer rules of flying hours and rest periods forcing the Air Force’s hand in ensuring their people were well looked after. Jeff had tried to tell himself that they would hear something soon, that Scott was just busy and the storm system Jeff had watched sweep over the foreign country on the Weather Channel had knocked out comms. 

Then his nightmare had come true. 

It had been whilst the kids had all been away at school and Jeff himself had been in the middle of a business meeting. The incessant knocking at the door had been a mild irritation right up to the moment when he had identified the CAO. 

“No.” He had stated, stepping back from the doorway, “Tell me he’s not--”

“Captain Tracy’s Squadron has been MIA for a month.”

They had refused to tell him more, no matter how much he had yelled and how many times he had stated his rank in the same damned Air Force. Even when he had begged, finally clocking what day it was in April and using it as part of his reasoning, they had still given him nothing more to go on.

Val had been his first call, and then Kyrano. 

The third had been his mother. 

His brilliant mother who had never pulled her punches, had listened as he had berated himself for letting Scott follow his footsteps and enlist. Never once did she tell him that it would all be okay. 

Instead she had listened, patient as ever, despite her obvious horror at the thought of what could have happened to Scott. She had waited out Jeff’s rant and hugged him when he had finally burned himself out before she had asked what he was going to do about it. 

She had looked after the boys whilst Jeff had made calls to every contact he had. He had found the version of himself that had once been a Colonel and used it as the strength he needed to get through each of the calls when one after another ended in promises he knew would be empty. 

His demands had gotten him a story though, a squad on an aid mission to support a supply drop to civilians trapped in the mess of war. They had been shot down in enemy territory but had made contact from the village they had been trying to assist. There hadn’t been any further contact, too risky Jeff had been told, but when recovery crews had finally made it to the village three weeks later, the whole place had been razed to the ground. 

It was a sanitized version of events, Jeff knew that much from his own experience, but it was something to work off of.

So he had, throwing the business and his projects on the back-burner to focus everything he could on one tiny village in the center of Bereznik and the fact that nothing of the Air Force Squadron had been found there. 

As spring had turned into summer and new updates had gotten fewer and farther between, he had finally accepted a need to tell the boys. 

He had tried to explain that MIA was good news, it was better than the definitive alternative, it meant there was still hope. None of them had really seemed convinced by his reasoning, Alan screaming and begging in the same way that Jeff had pictured in his nightmares, Virgil staying solemnly quiet as he shed his own tears in a way that was entirely opposite to the reaction Jeff’s mind had conjured up. John and Gordon had both frozen, each wide eyed and horrified at what they were hearing, he had seen Gordon’s tears later when the kid had pulled himself out of the pool at training. 

As far as he knew, John had never cried. 

Despite their reactions, the nightmares had come the same as they always did. 

In his gut, Jeff hated himself. 

Even as he knew there was nothing more that he could do, not without something key in finding where Scott could have ended up. He hated that he was stuck, on the opposite side of the world, with nothing more to do than wait for one of the few that would help to call and tell him they’d found something. 

He knew he wouldn’t sleep for a while after the nightmare, the what-ifs too loud in his mind for him to shut off. So, as he always did, he pulled himself out of bed and slipped downstairs to the office, hoping to at least be productive with the few hours before he needed the boys up to get Gordon to training. 

It took him a moment to realize the vid-message icon was coming from his personal comm, not for business. 

He opened it quickly, knowing only a handful of people would leave a message for him overnight. 

Val’s hologram popped up, bathing the whole room in a soft blue as her pinched brow looked up to him.

“I’m not calling because I haven’t time.” She started, voice soft like she couldn’t afford to be heard, “So you’ll get this in the morning and maybe I’ll have more answers. The GDF have been called in to retrieve Prisoners of War from a base not far from the village. I’ll call you when I have answers.” 

His hand reached out instinctively to call her, needing something more after the long long months of nothing. 

The call didn’t connect. 

“Dammit, Val.” He uttered, rubbing his hand over the stubble that had begun to form along his jaw, “What am I meant to do with that?”

He was still too far away, needed to be closer than he was in that moment. He needed to be there. 

Jeff couldn’t go to Bereznik, but he could fly himself to London, that was only an hour from Paris, where he knew they had been taking the worst injured. 

A few phone calls later and the plan was set in motion, his mother would take the boys, he would fly himself to London and meet Hugh, an old friend he’d not caught up with in too long. 

What he hadn’t expected when he stepped out onto the tarmac into a gray London morning, was for Kyrano to be standing next to Hugh. Jeff hadn’t even been aware that the pair had known one another, let alone that Kyrano was in London. 

“Don’t look so surprised, Jeff.” Hugh had laughed, clapping him on the shoulder, “Kyrano and I have been crossing paths since before you knew me.”

Jeff looked to the Malay, raising an eyebrow, “You have?”

Kyrano smiled in that soft, knowing way that betrayed the kind of man he really was, “You don’t know everything Jeff, even if you wish you did.”

He shook his head in admission as Hugh gestured towards a truck. Where it would take them, Jeff wasn’t quite sure, but he didn’t doubt that the pair that had met him would have some kind of plan in place.

“Is there any news?” He asked as they pulled out of the airport.

“No.” Kyrano shook his head, from the passenger seat, “Val told you she would call.”

“Do we know why they’re releasing them?”

“Also, no.” Hugh answered, glancing back in the rear-view, “Though sources suggest it’s less of a release and more of a trade.” 

Jeff couldn’t say he particularly cared for the semantics of release versus trade, he needed to know the details, who and why and when. The Bereznian forces weren’t the sort to simply let people go, not without a valid reason or a high price. The opposition had to have had something that the other had desperately wanted.

“They’ve not taken people back this whole war, why now?” He murmured, “Who did we capture?”

“That, my friend, is what we’re going to find out.” Hugh answered without looking back, “Might as well get comfortable, it’s a couple of hours to Norfolk.”

Jeff took the hint, settling back in his seat and managing to doze for a brief time before the familiar roar of jet engines woke him. 

The base was familiar, likely one he himself had stayed at for a stint during the Global Conflict, though he knew he’d have been lying if the bases hadn’t all come to look the same over the years. 

Their car was waved through after Hugh had given the guard on the gate a few choice words, drawing Jeff straighter as they weaved through the buildings to one closer to the airfield itself. 

Hugh had ordered the pair to stay put as he had slipped out the car and strode towards the offices, pausing to salute the man on the door before vanishing inside. Neither had spoken as they had waited what felt like hours, both able to see the silhouettes of people arguing through the unshuttered windows. 

In all the months he had been waiting for news, he had never seen the action his friends had been taking in person. It had always been from a distance, vid-calls and messages that left out what they had all been doing behind the scenes for him and his son. 

He had always been grateful, but never more so than after seeing all they had been doing for him in action.

Hugh’s sigh was heavy as he got back into the car, slamming the door harder than necessary as he did so.

“I don’t know what new Colonel Casey is going to call you with later, but I wouldn’t expect it to be good news, Jeff.”

It hadn’t been good news. 

It hadn’t been until the next day that Val had called on a secure line, and after tutting when she had discovered he was in London, she had filled them in on everything she had known. 

A group of highly decorated Bereznian Soldiers had been caught by the Opposition on a takeover of a base close to the border, intel had suggested the loss had been devastating to the Bereznian army and left morale sinking quickly. It was no surprise that the country wanted them back, if only to boost the confidence of the young men in their forces and renew their efforts. A swap had been agreed, the handful of captured American and French soldiers were to be released in a man for man exchange.

Except the Oposition had refused to release a captured Colonel, and the Bereznian’s had accepted without argument. 

Scott’s squadron had been amongst the men and women released. 

Scott had not.

It had stunk of horseshit. 

Val had agreed as much. 

“They’re not in a good way, Jeff, but when I can I’ll try and get something out of them.” Val had promised before she had ended the call. 

So he had been left with nothing else to do, but wait. 

He was sick and tired of waiting. It had been months since he had heard his son’s voice, even longer since he had held him close and been able to tell him just how much he loved him. There had never been anything for him to do other than stand by and wait for others to make their move. 

Just where had that gotten him?

“We need to find out where that base is.” He had told Hugh and Kyrano over dinner, “I’m not waiting any more, I’m going to find my son.” 

Both had shared a look, one that Jeff knew as a question of if there was a son left to even save. 

Jeff didn’t want to think about that as a possibility. 

Hugh had eventually nodded and cleared his office though, setting up a map in place of the encyclopedias that had filled the desk space. Jeff had raised an eyebrow when the man had produced the copies so quickly, but Hugh had simply shrugged and told him how it was best to be prepared. 

They had plotted late into the night, and long into the next day. Jeff had caught catnaps as the other pair had discussed security protocols, and they had slept as he called in favors from old friends still in the forces in the hopes of someone letting slip of a location.

Time moved slowly, like the whole world around him was moving through molasses, everything just taking that much longer than he wanted it to. 

In the end, Val didn’t need to find out anything for him. 

It had come from his secretary in New York, an innocuous little box that Jeff had been too intrigued by to not open. Inside had been a letter with a number, and his son’s dog tags. 

It had been with Hugh and Kyrano at his back that he had made the call. 

“You have my attention.”

“How much does your Son mean to you, Jeff Tracy?”

“I don’t bargain for lives. Where is my son?” 

“We are not bargaining, and you are in no position to make orders of us.”

“What do you want?”

“A million of your American Dollars. A secure wire transfer.” 

“I want proof of life.” 

“Oh, we can arrange that, just listen.” 

Silence on the other end of the line for a moment before…

“Let me out! Please! Let me-- Let me out!”

Jeff’s heart stalled in his chest, a memory of his son being so much younger and getting himself trapped under the bed echoing with the cry of fear. His little boy, terrified of whatever happened next with nobody to come to his rescue.

Kyrano’s hand on his shoulder snapped him from the memory, a sharp nod as the man pointed to one of the maps where Hugh had drawn a big red circle. 

They’d gotten a location, the final piece they had needed. 

“It’ll take time to get that sort of money together.” He forced his voice to remain steady, “A week at least.” 

“We can wait that long. Let us hope your son can also.” 

And then the line was cut. 

Jeff had wanted to collapse in a heap, to sob and beg of someone to save his little boy and fix everything for him. 

“They didn’t bother about their Colonel because they need money more.” Hugh stated, “If you pay up, they’ll likely keep Scott and barter for the Colonel as well.”

Instead Jeff forced steel into his spine and cleared the lump from his throat. His heart restarted with a fire burning in its pit, anger at the players that had decided his boy wasn’t worth it, anger at the Bereznian’s that were hurting him, anger at the whole damned war for trying to take his son. 

They had confirmation, Scott was alive. They knew where he was. They had a plan to get to him. 

It all fell into motion perfectly quickly, the molasses cleared and everything suddenly running at double speed.

He had only paused long enough to visit his son’s rescued squadron when Val had finally given the all clear. Men and women, shells of their previous selves that Jeff had met in passing. Kids just like his son who had gone into the war thinking they could survive anything the world threw at them. 

Jenny, Scott’s co-pilot, once as quick witted and bold as his son had always been, had barely been recognisable, her cropped hair uneven in the way it had grown out, her cheeks hollow, and her eyes without the spark that Jeff had always seen when the crew had been on leave. She was small in the bed, a shadow, not the strong bold woman that had challenged his son. 

She had grasped onto Jeff’s hand the best she had been able with fingers that evidently hadn’t healed in the way that they should have, her voice barely above a whisper as she had told him how their superiors wouldn’t listen to a trio that would undoubtedly receive an Honourable Discharge in weeks to come. Jeff would have words about it later, once he had his son safe he would tear a new one to anyone who had considered it acceptable to leave a man behind.

“Scott’s alive.” Jenny had hissed, “Of that I’m certain, Colonel.”

“We’ll bring him home.” He had assured her, closing his hands over hers, hoping and praying that she was right. 

“He’s the strongest of us all.” She had nodded, the tiniest spark coming back to her features for a brief moment, “He’ll keep fighting, if not for us, then for his family.”

It was with that Jeff had left, his own hope quietly fanned from a spark into a smoulder. 

All that was left to do was arm themselves. 

In abstract, Jeff had always known Hugh had held an armory of sorts, though he had never seen or imagined just what such a place would contain. Never in a hundred years would he have pictured the secret room the Aristocrat had led them to, weapons old and new lining the walls on all three sides. 

Kyrano took free reign, but as Jeff reached out, Hugh stopped him. 

“You’re not coming that far, Jeff.” 

“What?” He had spun, thinking back to the plans they had made, and what they had agreed would happen once they touched down in a clearing just beyond the base.

Hugh had held both hands up, almost like an apology, “You’re too involved, too at risk yourself.”

Whilst it had been true, it wasn’t the biggest problem that Jeff had foreseen. He had a son to save, a son he was going to fight to get back, a son that he had left to face the world long before he had been drawn into a war. Jeff wasn’t going to leave him to struggle through on his own, not again.

Hugh and Kyrano of all people should have understood.

“You both have daughters,” He started, waiting until Kyrano had turned to look at him, “can you truthfully tell me you wouldn’t see the world burn for them?”

“The difference is, Jeff, we have.” Hugh shook his head, “That is a place we have both been to and a place neither of us would choose to send another parent to. We do not know your son’s status, and whatever we find there you will undoubtedly carry with you for the rest of your life.” 

Kyrano set the rifle down that he had been examining, “What Hugh means is, you might know what Prisoners of War go through and have seen the extent of Jenny and Gary’s wounds, but Jeff, that will not prepare you for whatever they might have done to your own son.”

Jeff held his hand out again for the gun Hugh had taken from him, “I’m coming with you.”

The pair had shared a look but hadn’t argued. 

Jeff had helped himself to whatever weapons he saw fit. 

Then they were there, the three of them and a car of Hugh’s own design tucked safely away in a clearing barely a mile from the base. Night had fallen and wordlessly they had moved, the plan working seamlessly as they had slipped in through a disused entrance. 

There hadn’t been as many guards as they had expected, and the reason for everything fell into place as Jeff had pulled a man he had knocked out into a small cell. Their uniforms were grubby, tattered and frayed at the edges, the men themselves skinnier than a soldier on home soil should have been. 

The country was bankrupt. 

That was why they wanted money. Why they had kept hold of Scott and used him to bargain. 

It was why the Oposition hadn’t bothered to bring Scott home, they must’ve believed that soon enough the war would be over ayway. 

All the while, his boy, his strong, brave boy, had been left to suffer. 

It was with anger in his heart that he no longer hesitated in pulling the trigger with each soldier that had come to face them. 

Jeff was finding his son and taking him home. 

And nobody was getting in his way.

[gumnut-logic]

I need to tell you something (Bit 1)

From this prompt :D a little random virgil!whump before breakfast.

-o-o-o-

Virgil tripped over a chunk of masonry and nearly fell flat on his face. At the last second he caught himself and only staggered.

For the zillionth time in his career, he thanked the specialised rubber in his boots. They made him slightly less agile in the field, but he had compensated over time and his boots had saved so much skin and bone they had proven themselves essential and a blessing.

He blinked, the grey of post-disaster blurring a moment. Scott was in the distance liaising with the GDF. Virgil knew he would much rather be pulling people out from under the rubble, but they were at the stage of the mission where ‘liaising�� was necessary. A good part of the time John managed to handle that, but onsite it was usually Scott.

You would think Virgil’s calm and calculating mind would be better suited to speaking to the local authorities than Scott, who despite being an excellent commander had been known to fly off the handle at the occasional idiot. However, Virgil had also been known to calmly ignore idiots and just do the job of saving whoever needed saving at the time.

It was probably the incident where Virgil had backed Firefly over the top of some guy’s car because the idiot refused to move it. In Virgil’s view it was simple practicality.

Scott and John did the majority of liaising from that point on. Apparently some people did not agree with Virgil’s efficiencies.

A grumbling thought. Didn’t stop Scott from torching a car or two with One’s exhaust.

It was a matter of style, apparently.

“Virgil, what are you doing?” John’s cool voice was ever reassuring as it bounced down from orbit.

“I need to speak to Scott.”

Scott blurred again as he gesticulated with aggravated arms. Great, he was pissed about something.

“Is there something wrong?” There was sudden suspicion in John’s tone.

Virgil grunted at him. “Just need to speak to Scott.”

While Virgil loved John with all his being, Scott was the big brother Virgil was drawn to when he needed help. Scott was his leader, best friend, support, someone he couldn’t do without.

Virgil had a problem? He went to Scott.

“Scott?”

The gesticulation stopped and his big brother turned. “Virgil? What? You’re supposed to be on the east side.”

“I know.” He swallowed. “But I have to tell you something.”

Blue eyes stared at him through two layers of plexiglass, his brother frowning.

“Excuse me, Commander, but you still need to move your craft.”

Virgil blinked away blur and realised Scott had been talking to two people, not one. One was GDF, yes, but the other was some guy dressed in a suit. His expression was one of outrage.

Oh, great, one of those.

“What is it, Thunderbird Two?”

Yay for name dropping, muscle flexing, and…he located Thunderbird One and sure enough, she was perched on the road, blocking a fancy looking car.

Hmm, Virgil could whip up a Firefly. She’d climb nicely over that polished hood.

“Virgil, are you okay?” A gloved hand landed gently on his shoulder.

“Huh?” Turning his head back to his brother, the world took a moment to catch up. Oh. Urgh. “Um.” His stomach clenched.

“Virgil!” Two hands were suddenly holding his arms. “What the-?”

“I’ve been shot.”

The specialised leather of his boots did nothing to help as his legs suddenly decided they no longer wanted to hold him up.

But strong arms disagreed and as his big brother caught him, he knew he’d made the right decision to tell Scott. Scott would look after him. Scott always did.

He did yell, though. Virgil attempted to blink away the blur but this time it was persistent and wouldn’t clear. It only got worse.

Scott was calling his name, and swearing, so much swearing. And the other guy, the guy with the car…

Virgil really needed to construct a Firefly and trash that guy’s car just to shut him up.

But as the world faded, he focussed on Scott’s voice.

His big brother always knew what to do.

-o-o-o-

Next

[such-a-random-rambler]

You know when a paragraph just arrives fully formed in your brain, but with zero context? Well, that's what's just happened.

What's going on here? No idea. You got any?

"Scott?" Not from a hologram as expected, but from right here in the room, John’s voice quavers uncharacteristically, and that has Scott’s hackles rising as much as his unannounced visit.

His head whips round from his paperwork to where his brother is standing, leaning heavily on the wall, face pale. His suit is no longer pristine blue, but torn and covered in blood. John shudders, loses grip and slides down the wall. Scott launches himself over the couch and catches him just before John's skull cracks on the cold floor, cradling his head in his lap.

John clutches weakly at Scott's wrist as he runs frantic hands over his little brother, and gasps deeply when Scott finds a deep laceration across his abdomen.

"What the hell, John?" Scott applies pressure to the wound with one hand while taking John's pulse with the other.

John's eyes slide closed and when he answers it's only a whisper. "It's ok. I think I killed it."

[i-am-chidorixblossom]

Um, hi. Long time no see again. I hope the Thunderfam doesn't mind me sneaking in after being gone so long and popping this here. Much has happened but I really missed writing and want to finish this fic, so I have finally got chapter 17 done. I hope some of you will take the time to read it and let me know what you think and also how you are. Best wishes, Chiddi.

[tinytracys]

MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN!

We have a Situation!

[lenna-z]

Prompt list:

Holy crap, you look like hell!

Thanks to @janetm74 for the prompt! Also thank you for always answering my questions about english!

The prompt list is here.

I don't know where it came from but this might be a little emotional... I hope you like it!

Warnings: Blood and Injury, mentioned about being under debris/dent, Explosion (mentioned), indefinite end.

-Yearn -

"Scott? Are you still with me?"

The gasping breaths from the comm filled his heart with hope.

"Yeah, Vir-gil."

He continued digging the rubble. He should have been there in just a few minutes.

"I'm almost there."

So please hold on a little longer.

He reconfigured comm. So they could hear Scott, but Scott wouldn't be able to hear them talking.

"John? What are his last vitals?"

"His blood pressure is still low and his breathing is still slower than normal."

They knew part of his arm had been burned by the explosion, the information they could get from Scott was inconsistent, which was probably due to a concussion.

Information from his uniform indicated possible internal bleeding.

"You will need to give this information to the nearest hospital here, he- he will need surgical intervention as soon as possible."

He was also out of breath, and the hellish heat wasn't helping at all.

No wonder the factory exploded.

"I already did, a surgeon is already preparing for this. Gordon is about two minutes behind you, coming with the stretcher."

"Keep Scott talking, John. I'm almost there."

He took a deep breath and started digging faster.

"Scott, are you there?"

"I- I was fly-ing."

"In the sky?"

After a gasp, the answer came.

"Hmm- It was beauuutiful."

"That's great, Scott. Do you want to tell me what you saw there?"

"There- there was a star. I- I saw m- ...mother in it."

He took a deep breath and swallowed. There was no word from John either.

Yes, it was probably a concussion.

But Scott hadn't forgotten that when their mother died, they gave her a star from the sky.

"She was- sooo beauuutiful. Like an- ...an-gel. I miss her."

He missed her too.

They were staring at that star every anniversary... god... he missed her so much.

"I couldn' see m- ou- father. I missed- him t-too."

He touched his comm.

"John-"

"Didn' Dad miss- us, Joh-n?"

God...

"I'm sure he misses us too, Scott... Listen- Virgil is coming. I want you to close your eyes, Scott, can you do this?"

"Yeah- but- ou'r- ...mot-her is no longer h-here."

"It's okay, he's coming for you. Have you closed your eyes now?"

"Me? Yeah-"

Even if he was in a position to cover his mouth and nose, he didn't think he was in a situation to, so he quickly but gently dug the last inches.

Scott's current location was wide enough to stand in some places.

Finally, when a big enough hole was drilled, he could see Scott.

"Hello lit-tle bro."

"Holly crap, Scott..."

His uniform had mostly protected him from the explosion.

He had some burns from his wrist to his shoulder.

One of the wounds on his forehead was still bleeding.

He wasn't sure if the internal bleeding was caused by the blow to the head or the steel pipe resting on his chest.

"You look like a hell..."

They could fix this. Scott would be fine.

"John, any ideas for removing the pipe pressing on his chest?"

"Almost yes. We have to wait for Gordon to arrive. And I thought you'd like to know, Kayo caught the bastard."

Kayo had come here after Scott mentioned that the manure had been stolen. After she left to chase the thief, the factory exploded...

Nobody wanted to be in that bastard's place.

"At least there is good news." Gordon got off from where he had just landed, with a stretcher in front of him.

"See, Scott? Gordon's here too, we'll get you out of here, you'll be fine, okay?" He wasn't sure if he was telling it more to himself or to Scott.

"I promised her I'd be fine- Virgil. She loo-ked upset, so I promised her."

But his eyelids were slowly sliding down.

"No! No, Scott- To who? Who did you promise, Scott?"

"Didn' father miss us, Virg? I- I miss him- so much."

A mark was sliding down his dusty cheek, and his own tear fell with his.

[edutainer2022]

On WIP Wednesday I'm challenging myself with this bit to maybe finish the story - it's been written out in my head for months, but it doesn't translate to pixels. Jeff is really trying in this one, but it ain't easy. Scott gets in a lot of trouble.

ANYTHING HE COULD EVER DO WRONG (Bit 1)

Jeff could maybe remember why it seemed like a good idea at the spur of the moment. Lord Hugh Creighton-Ward had unexpectedly arrived accompanied by his daughter on a visit to Tracy Headquarters in NYC. A courtesy visit on paper, it was to be a trial run of Brains' newest development - the heavily augmented, armored state-of-the-art limo-jet FAB0. Besides, the two men had a lot to discuss on a different project Jeff had in the works, that was to change everything.

As it was summer break, Jeff had Scott with him for an impromptu internship at the office (and a bit of bonding time, as Jeff Tracy was in so many words scolded by his mother, who stayed behind on the farm with the rest of the boys). Scott was to shadow Jeff in meetings and to get to know the grassroots workings of different departments. In whatever free time was left the boy was taking extra credit courses over the summer, fully intent to graduate early. So Lord Hugh's visit with his girl formulated an obvious easy plan - have the adults talk shop, and have Scott be a cordial host and show Penelope around the Tracy Towers. Penelope, about John's age, prim and precocious, was already every inch a lady. And if Scott's disarming smile and roguish demeanor was a bit of a bane of feeble hearts among the co-ed interns and younger assisstants, Jeff tried to chalk it up to the boy's blooming people skills for his own peace of mind. It was good to see his son smile again, at least. All in all, what could possibly go wrong?

Well... A LOT it turned out, as Jeff was looking at a smoking pile of pink-tinted cahelium and chrome in mind-spinning horror. Nobody knew how the kids managed to sneak away from the Creighton-Ward driver/bodyguard - Parker - hotwire the controls and take the prototype FAB0 for a spin in the air. Well, Jeff maybe had a vague idea of the Actual British Princess and the fifteen year old Han Solo wannabe situation possibly going on, but that was the furthest on the list of his concerns at the moment. Penny was conscious and for the most part appeared unscathed, when a blanched Parker and Lord Hugh helped her out, but Jeff could see the brown locks slumped on the safety cushion at the wheel and a trickle of blood down his son's face. Scott was unmoving. And Jeff's mind blanked out on the spot.

It was a testament to Brains' engineering genius and safety measures obsession, or the fact Scott grew up at flight controls in his father's lap and was naturally predisposed to fly anything, or maybe Jeff had used up all his lifelong limit of tragedy and loss - the kids were, indeed, alright. Relatively so. Penelope was shaken and more afraid for getting Scott in trouble, it appeared. Admittedly, it was her idea. Or maybe a dare. Scott got a broken wrist and now sported a bright blue cast, and a gush on the forehead that needed stitches. And a vehement, if admirable, insistence to take the fall for the lady.

Jeff wasn't particularly proud of the way he handled it - there might have been yelling, a grounding for the rest of the year, a confiscated phone, no TV or movies, or games privileges, and a strict prohibition to use the computer or tablet for anything other than schoolwork, a crisp "Yes, sir" and possibly a slammed door at the upper level of their Tracy Tower penthouse.

To his credit Jeff had to say that a sight of a son, unconscious amidst the metal debris, covered in soot and blood, was to haunt his sleeping and wakeful hours for many, many years to come, liberally transforming the former into the latter. It was unable to rest a wink and needing a stiffer insentive than an Advil, that Jeff staggered down from the master bedroom to the sitting area, nearly stumbling in the dark over something soft, warm and slumped against the wall on the stairs. The ball of tousled curls and blue pajamas keened painfully in his eldest voice. Scotty!

[etrnlvoid]

Next Scott whump is done!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44740225

[idontknowreallywhy]

An Eyebrow-Razing Incident?

Part 3

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Virgil may have gone to the dark side…

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Admittedly leaving the broken apart kiln open to the elements while he ran back to the villa to announce that The Barbecue would be today, at lunchtime and then not returning to it until after his flight to the mainland for urgent meat supplies was… a tactical error.

One of their frequent three-minute tropical rainstorms had dumped its load on the island in his absence. Perhaps he’d have made it back in time if he hadn’t made a detour to pick up a vat of heavy duty antihistamine cream for his itchy, well, Everything.

As it was, the beautiful black gold was more than a little dampened by the experience and for several minutes, so was its creator.

To add further insult, the devilish little creature, or creatures had even snacked on the skin beneath his eyebrows and ever since desperately rubbing the cream into those the hairs just weren’t lying flat as they should. And that made him itch almost as much as the bites did.

After precisely applying the Jeff Tracy fix to the errant pile of fuel and getting black dust all over his TBTwo-green bootlaces, Virgil got a grip of himself.

Even damp fuel could be persuaded into flame with enough accelerant. The show would go on and nobody need know.

He loaded up a sack of coal and hefted it to his shoulder like a particularly miserly Santa.

It had to be a food grade accelerant, though. Rocket fuel had a certain… tang…to it that even that spray on taste-bud torturer wouldn’t conceal. Grandma would be on to him quick as a flash.

No. He had to be cunning about this. What would Grandpa have done?

Ethanol was flammable…

At high enough concentration anyway, about 80% should do it. Pity none of them were habitual vodka drinkers. Well, maybe only for current purposes.

The craft beer wasn’t strong enough. And Virgil had plans for that which didn’t involve throwing it on a fire.

Gordon’s tropical-flavoured rum collection was more sugar and water than alcohol. Similar story re Alan’s alcopops.

Scott… Scott had whisky. Cask strength. Expensive.

Very expensive.

But also very flammable…

He deposited the sack next to the newly constructed, gas-free, poolside barbecue.

It was a terrible idea. Big brother would kill him if he found out.

But Grandma’s disappointed face would kill him more slowly and painfully.

His heart told him she would forgive him in time and that he should just come clean.

His itchy eyebrows said BURN IT ALL.

He scratched at them again. Three perfect dark hairs came off on his fingertips.

Horrified, he applied more cream then stashed the tub back in his pocket before strolling casually into the house, grabbed a large bottle of cola from the kitchen and sauntered past the rest of his beloved family who were huddled together in the lounge bickering over a notebook of some kind.

So focussed was Virgil on appearing natural he didn’t realise until after he was halfway up the stairs that Gordon had slammed the notebook closed as he’d entered, and had had a look of intense innocence on his face.

And Scott… his bestest big bro Scooter, who had been a fraction slower to achieve the nothing-to-see-here expression, had been clutching a fistful of hundred dollar bills.

Those only ever made an appearance for two reasons:

Either Virgil was missing an 11am poker session, or Gordon was taking bets on whether he was going to pull this off.

And Scott was betting against him.

Virgil wasn’t offended in the slightest. But his eyebrows screamed for vengeance.

Virgil waited for the bickering to recommence before quietly doubling back and sneaking his way into his way into Dad’s office. That was where Scott hid the really good stuff.

Sure enough, in a small cabinet in the corner were four beautifully sculpted glass bottles. Only the smallest amount missing from the first, it didn’t come out often, and so it wasn’t safe to take that one. Instead he eased the bottle from the very back and studied it. It whispered to him in numbers with too many zeros.

Pffft, Mr Billionaire of the Year could afford another when he eventually noticed.

But if Virgil walked past with the ornate bottle he’d notice rather too soon.

He had a plan for that though.

Unfortunately there was no sink in here so Virgil downed one and a half litres of sickly sweet caffeine before inflicting the last quarter on a slightly dry-looking pot plant.

Bleugh.

The speed and steadiness with which he decanted the whisky would have earned him a surgical scholarship on the spot.

The glass bottle was returned to the cabinet. The cola bottle was stripped of its paper label and a new one proclaiming “Bessie’s Artisinal All-Natural BBQ lighter fluid” in a somewhat hurried calligraphic script was stuck in its place.

The Perfect Crime.

Next Step: The Perfect Barbecue.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

[phading]

Shots of Various Kinds - Chapter 3, I PROMISE, is Up!

Final chapter just posted on A03. Where would he go? He’s cornered, trapped, hurting, betrayed, stuck in the past, terrified. Think like Gordon. Think! Where would he go?

Suddenly Virgil knew. He just knew.

[gumnut-logic]

Scott had blood on his hands.

It wasn’t a new thing. It happened far too often to really be anything out of the ordinary. But it was different when it was his brothers’.

Oh, so different.

Technically, his hands were clean. After all, between his uniform gloves and the first aid gloves, his skin was sanitary.

But it wasn’t.

He could feel it.

Virgil woke the moment his ‘bird’s engines flared up. It was almost predictable. It was actually a good thing. But he hadn’t been coherent, stuck in the moment he last remembered. Gordon was his entire concern and it took every reassuring word and action Scott could think of to calm his brother down.

And behind him, Gordon had slipped into unconsciousness.

Fortunately, the trip was ever so short and within minutes they were on the ground again.

Virgil was still fretting. Scott had to strap his head down to prevent him from moving it, but his brother wasn’t aware enough to realise why.

His distress broke Scott’s heart.

Gordon’s silence just scared him.

But now they were both in expert medical hands. The fact Scott knew the doctor on duty was both a reassuring and ridiculous thing.

But now, alone in the waiting room, he only had himself for company and the images and the beating of his overtaxed heart thudding in his ears.

There were a multitude of things he should be doing - checking in with the GDF, following up on the danger zone, checking in with John, Grandma...Alan.

But for one moment, just one, he let himself sit down on one of those blasted plastic waiting room chairs he hated, and dropped his head into his hands.

It was far from the exemplary conduct of the Commander of International Rescue. His uniform grated against his skin, but he needed to clear his head, calm the panic and reset to face it all again.

A gentle hand on his shoulder startled him enough to gasp.

Familiar and kind aquamarine eyes caught his as John crouched down beside him. “Hey.”

Scott let out a breath. “Hey.” He straightened and sat back in the chair giving himself space. “They’re going to be okay.”

Voice soft. “I know.” John unfolded again and sat in the chair next to him. “How about you?”

“Me? I’m not injured.”

“No. But it hurts anyway.”

Scott’s lips thinned, but he didn’t answer that. There was no purpose in answering. It was acknowledged, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Instead, he pushed off from the chair and threw himself to his feet.

He had things to do.

That hand caught his arm. “Scott, wait.”

He turned to watch John stand up and face him. Quiet and calm. “Stay. Eos is managing the rescue. Aunt Val is managing the GDF component. Grandma is on her way.”

Scott looked down at the floor a moment. He needed to be doing something. Virgil’s cries were still bouncing back and forth in his head and Gordon’s silence was echoing. Blood and metal and mud.

But most of all it was the senselessness. He was willing to give his life to save others. He knew his brothers felt the same.

But this?

No one was saved. It was a random fluke of nature. A mindless tornado that could have taken everything as easily as it took the lives of the people they were trying to help.

And no one had been rescued.

His brothers hadn’t even had a chance to start.

It reminded him of an equally mindless avalanche, oh, so long ago.

The blood was sticky on his hands.

“Why don’t you get cleaned up?” John’s voice was soft as always, calm as always. This was why he was the Thunderbird he was. Why Thunderbird Five worked as well as she did. His brother was his ‘bird.

John’s hand shifted from Scott’s arm to wrap around his shoulders. Hell, the man was still getting taller. Scott wasn’t used to looking a brother directly in the eye and god forbid he have to look up.

He was the eldest, after all. It was fit he be the tallest.

“C’mon, I’ll keep you company.”

And before Scott could protest, John herded him out to Thunderbird Two and her ample bathroom facilities. A shower and his mud and blood-spattered uniform was replaced with a red flannel shirt and a pair of jeans both too big and too short at the same time.

He had Virgil poking him for not restocking his spare clothes since London three days ago.

He idly wondered if the rest of his brothers sported a Virgil voice in the back of their heads.

Scott knew that his, at least, never neglected a smart-assed word at any appropriate moment.

Today he almost welcomed them.

But the shower and the fresh clothes helped clear his head and slow his thudding heart. It didn’t clean the blood off his hands and he still had the urge to scratch them raw. He curled his hands into fists.

Returning to the cockpit he was confronted by the missing hover stretchers, but worse was the hologram playing in front of John.

Obviously, Two’s external camera, he watched as nothing other than a combine harvester attempted to kill his brothers. John played with the controls, flipping the scene back and forth obviously attempting to ascertain exactly how his brothers were injured.

But Scott’s eyes just latched onto that massive airborne machine. A killing machine that tried to take his brothers.

Holographic pixels measured out how close.

Ever so close.

“Shut it off.” His voice was sharp and cold.

John jumped as if caught with his hands in the till and the hologram vanished. “Sorry.”

Scott bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m going back to the hospital.” He didn’t bother to wait for an answer. He just lowered himself through the hatch and strode ever so fast back into the building that held his injured brothers.

-o-o-o-

Two Birds with one Stone

[such-a-random-rambler]

It took me a looooong tome, but I got there

[tanushakyrano]

febuwhump day 15: self-sacrifice

okay um. sorry in advance

characters: Scott, Alan, John

additional warnings: nothing specific. it's just sad

________________

Thirty seconds.

The number flashes blood-red on the tiny digital clock at the heart of the tangle of wires and metal. Blue and black and green criss-cross, spilling out from the casing like guts from an abdominal wound. The thing is so absurdly tiny - able to easily fit in Scott's palm - that it's hard to believe that it packs the power to completely obliterate anyone in a radius of over fifty metres.

Twenty-seven.

Scott's eyes flicker around the room. It's small, sparsely decorated, as most rooms in space stations are. Practicality over aesthetics and sentimental decor. The walls are panelled - likely each one has in-built storage of some kind, hidden mechanisms in the designs that will pop open a compartment upon being activated. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flooding the room with an ugly and jarringly bright white light. The metal grating of the floor echoes hollowly as he takes a half-step backwards.

Twenty-five.

Scott's gaze falls upon his brothers.

John is speaking urgently and desperately to Brains over the comm channel, the scan of the bomb having been sent as soon as they found the stupid thing. He's keeping a cool head, somehow. John's always had that uncanny ability to stay in control of any situation, regardless of the risk or complexity; it's what makes him perfect for his role. Scott's lost count of the number of times John has saved his ass over the years.

Twenty-two.

Alan's looking from him to John, as if the solution to the problem will be written on their faces. Problem. Scott nearly laughs at his own train of thought. Yeah, the deadly explosives stuck to the wall are a problem. Their imminent deaths at the hands of said deadly explosives are definitely a problem.

Twenty.

His kid brother looks terrified. He's trying to hide it, Scott can tell, but he knows Alan too well. He can see his clenched fists where he's trying to disguise the tremor in his hands. He can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his breathing quickens.

Eighteen.

They should never have ended up in this situation. So many alarm bells had blared in his head about the distress call John had received, so many things that hadn't quite added up. But International Rescue was founded to help, to save, and his father would never dismiss a call out of hand so Scott didn't even consider it an option.

Sixteen.

He'd made a lot of mistakes, hadn't he? So many missed opportunities, so many failures, so many people he'd let down. Maybe he could make up for them.

Fourteen.

Scott makes his choice.

"Move. Move!" he barks, ushering Alan and John towards the escape pod at the end of the corridor. Alan looks puzzled - understandably, since the pod had long since been ruled out as a potential escape path off the space station because it could only be ejected manually from the external control panel.

Scott has taken this into consideration, of course. But Alan doesn't know that yet.

Eight.

There's a glint in John's eye that indicates he has an inkling of Scott's plan. He opens his mouth to protest - starts moving back towards the mouth of the escape pod - but Scott slams the hatch closed before John can make it out.

Five.

Alan's eyes widen.

Four.

Scott hits the eject button, berates himself for leaving it so late. He prays that he's not cut it too close. None of this will have been worth it if his brothers die.

Two.

"Scott! SCOTT!"

One.

He closes his eyes. He hopes that he will see his parents again.

Zero.