#autistic Virgil Tracy

[astranite]

Limp

John and Virgil!!! The whole range of hurt/comfort, angsting and fluff though leaning rather towards comforty. Scott also sneaks in for a good bit at the end. And there are hugs. Also there is autistic John and Virgil which it isnt about but its very there :)

This started off from the first line from a tumblr prompt from @aliceinwhumperland and the idea from @katblu42 to have John being the one limping then it grew from there!!! Minor warning for injury and medical stuff. Also that this reached 6k words!!

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"You think you're hiding it, but I can see that limp from space."

Virgil leaned closer to his comm, giving John a prime view of dark, angular done-with-this-shit eyebrows.

John definitely didn’t panic. He just didn’t want the totally needless scrutiny of a medic brother all up in his business. Or asking questions like, ‘What did you do to yourself this time?’

“What limp?” he replied. He could play it off as obtuse and then no one had to ever to find out. 

Virgil gave a Scott-worthy facepalm. “Do I have to worry about a concussion too?”

Okay maybe that was too obtuse. But he was running on few hours of sleep, back to back rescues and no bloody breakfast so who could blame him. 

“I’m fine, Virgil.” John rolled his eyes. 

Virgil didn’t dignify that with a response. 

Well then, John could prove it. Ignoring the ache in his left foot and that the last time he tried this was probably what had gotten Virgil’s suspicions on him in the first place, he twisted through the central hub of Five to the entry to the gravity ring. 

Lowering himself carefully in what was usually a thoughtlessly graceful manoeuvre, he landed on his feet in the grav ring, a triumphant, “See, I’m perfectly fine,” already on his lips. Except as soon as his left foot touched the ground with his weight on it, a sharp stab shot through it.

He couldn’t hold back the painfully obvious wince. Or the sudden gasp. 

Virgil’s disappointment was another blow. “And here I thought I had one sensible brother. How did it happen?”

Mechanism of injury, a completely ordinary question for a medic to ask. One he’d compliantly answered for many accidents, even ridiculous earthside ones such as, ‘Fell over again and it’s all gravity’s fault.’ But up here he was meant to be in his element. 

John crossed his arms stubbornly, wobbling on one foot. 

“Couldn’t say.”

“Johnny.” Virgil was exasperated by now. 

“Definitely not telling you anything if you call me that.”

“Johnathan Glenn Tracy.”

“Nope. That’s not even my name.”

“John.”

“Congratulations, you figured it out,” John spat. 

Virgil looked taken aback. 

A lump rose in John’s throat. 

“I’m sorry. It’s been a shit day.” 

He could feel his face growing as red as his hair with shame. It would definitely be visible over holograms. To make it worse, Virgil was probably as exhausted as he was. The last rescue had been nasty, earthquakes so often were, and Thunderbird Two had been on several more before that. He didn’t deserve to have to deal with John’s sarcastic, bitchy attitude as well. 

John admitted defeat and hopped over to the wall to hold onto a grab bar to keep his balance and take the weight off his foot. And resisted the urge to bang his head against it because that sort of thing had gotten him into this mess in the first place. 

His foot was throbbing, Virgil’s expression was soft because he’d already forgiven him and John was just over it all. 

“Please promise you won’t laugh.” He couldn’t deal with that on top of everything else, no matter how unlikely it was that Virgil would. 

“Alright, I promise. I’m not going to judge you, John.”

“I kicked a wall,” John mumbled, “On purpose, because I got mad that the bagel dispenser wasn’t working and a call came in so there was no time to fix it and I couldn’t sleep last night and I’m stressed about literally everything and just wanted a fucking bagel but clearly that was too much to ask of the universe!”

John shut his mouth with a clack. The words had come out in a torrent rising in volume that he couldn’t hold back. Over such a stupid thing too. 

When John could finally  bring himself to glance up from the stars beneath the floor outside, Virgil’s gaze held nothing but empathy. 

“You’re right, it has been a pretty shit day.”

John nodded quietly. 

Virgil continued, “Just— John, you know you don’t have to hide stuff like that from us, from me, right?  We’ve all done stupid things in anger before and probably will do so again. That big, blue splodge of paint on my studio wall? Yeah, I chucked a paintbrush at it because a painting wasn’t working out and I was frustrated and it was three am after a string of bad rescues and I lost it a bit.”

Huh. John hadn’t known that. Virgil was usually least likely to blow up as far as it went. 

“Point is, you’re not alone in this. Tracy temper, remember? We’ve all got it and we are all working out how to work with it. But it isn’t an excuse to conceal an injury that might need treatment even if it seems like it, ‘Should be fine,’ or ‘Isn’t that bad,’ or you think it’s caused by something stupid and you’re worried about us judging you. Because we won’t.”

John took a deep breath and let it out through his teeth. 

He wasn’t even getting lectured at for being an idiot, or having it brushed off as nothing because, ‘Red heads and their tempers, y’know,’ or plain old being yelled at because, ‘John, you’re meant to be better than this.’

Virgil cared about him. That was simple fact. 

So John cooperatively answered Virgil’s questions about pain, the range of motion he had and when exactly had the injury occurred this morning. That he couldn’t bear weight on it was pretty telling something was wrong. And it really did hurt. 

“You’re going to need to come down here so I can get x-rays of that foot,” Virgil said apologetically. 

John bit back the wave of disappointment, along with the accompanying urge to snap and snarl. 

“I know.”

He really didn’t want to go back to earth and deal with everyone’s concern and fussing when he just wanted to ignore them and go to bed. Up here on Five no one was close enough to be affected by his moods unless they put in a comm call which he could, as above, ignore. 

But John dutifully transferred control over to Eos and the island, packed his bag because he’d probably be there for a while but he wasn’t going to think about that and loaded himself into the space elevator. He knew how dangerous untreated injuries were in space better than anyone. 

The descent was slower than usual, as was protocol for an injury where speed was not of the essence and a less turbulent descent outweighed the need for timeliness. It gave John plenty of opportunity to stare at the rounded edge of the space elevator’s inner ceiling. Frustration over near guaranteed being grounded bubbled up until he had to screw his eyes shut and force himself to focus on the way the g-forces felt against his body so he didn’t utterly lose it. 

Landing on earth came with a jolt that managed to catch John by surprise. He flinched, then checked the systems read outs and undid his restraints. Remaining lying on the launch couch was one third to demonstrate he could be sensible and wait instead of trying to walk off a potentially serious injury, another third because he didn’t want to tangle with gravity on his own, and also so that he could childishly pretend he was still up on Five and far away for a little longer. 

Virgil knocked on the space elevator doors and a second later they slid open. John gave him a weak smile. 

The journey through the hangars to the infirmary was made with Virgil’s supportive arm around his waist and John’s arm draped across his brother’s broad shoulders as John stubbornly limped along. He did take a moment as his feet first touched the concrete floor and gravity really took hold to lean into Virgil’s half hug and just breathe. 

The infirmary was the same as it always was, with its sterile smell overloaded with the sharpness of antiseptic that made it different from the atmosphere on Five, and thankfully quiet. 

John manoeuvred himself up onto the closest bed, sinking into the stiff foam mattress as much as was physically possible. Stars, he was tired. 

Virgil was exceedingly gentle as he eased John’s foot out of his space boot. He stripped the sock off too, propping the foot up to rest in his lap to examine it. John grimaced as Virgil necessarily poked and prodded at where it was sorest.  Though the bruises and swelling were not particularly hard to spot from where contact had been made with the solid bulkhead. 

John anxiously chewed his lips waiting for Virgil to get the portable x-ray, zap him and be done with it. 

Moving his sore foot around at all the required angles for the shots was… a process. 

He did his best to be patient as Virgil took the x-rays off to Grandma for a second opinion on how they would most effectively treat him, but ended up curled in a ball on the slightly plasticky hospital sheets, stubbornly facing the wall with his foot carefully positioned in a way that it least hurt.

He wasn’t asleep, it was not late enough for that and he was far too wired but he was knocked out of his reverie nonetheless by Grandma stroking his hair. 

“Definitely broken, kiddo. No getting around that.”

Even John could see it when they showed him the x-rays. He could only be grateful the fracture was neatly aligned and wouldn’t need surgery, he’d seen plenty of worse breaks in the field. It still meant weeks of being grounded, away from Five and unable to go home to his stars. 

Virgil applied the cast under Grandma’s supervision. John shuddered at the sensations even as he tried to keep still. He was proud of how far Virgil had come in his medical education and he made sure his brother knew that. 

The usual checks after coming down from space wore on his nerves. He took the painkillers for his stupid broken foot, the anti-nausea meds as his stomach wasn’t settling from the change from microgravity and the tall lidded cup of the least disgusting flavour of electrolyte drink as directed. 

He fidgeted with his baldric, tracing over the lines of his suit; everything was a lot today. For all of them; John didn’t miss the dark circles beneath Virgil’s eyes or the way he slumped as he sat on the bed next to John once Grandma had left and the cast was setting. 

Virgil had briefly crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself, hands rubbing the flannel of his sleeves. Then he uncrossed them, hunching his shoulders to appear smaller, less intimidating, fingertips still going over the soft, worn fuzzy material of the cuffs of his flannel.

John placed his hand, palm up on Virgil’s leg. Virgil took it and John squeezed his fingers once as they sat in silence for a while. 

Changing out of his space suit for the loose pyjama shorts and t-shirt Virgil brought was difficult and awkward with his foot. And how clumsy he was here in general. 

Trying to walk on crutches was, to put it in far politer words than John vehemently used, a disaster. 

One second he was standing with the crutches around his arms, adjusted to the correct height, his casted foot off the ground, everything done properly, about to take a step. The next he was a tangled pile of limbs on the ground. 

John’s cheeks were burning red yet again. Stupid, fucking gravity and his miraculous ability to trip over nothing. 

He shoved the useless hunks of metal away from him as the room blurred, swiping at the angry tears as they formed. 

Virgil crouched in from of him, checking him over for injury. Well, further injury. 

There wasn’t any, apart from his rather dented pride. John didn’t count the damp tears trickling down his face as he studiously attempted to ignore them. 

Virgil made a soft noise as John let himself be pulled into a hug. Warm flannel absorbed his tears as John hugged Virgil tighter. Somehow it felt like he hadn’t seen him for months even though it couldn’t’ve been that long, could it? Unless they counted for quality time rather than John being periodically dragged down to earth… He missed his quietest and closest brother in age even if they’d been talking mission only this morning. 

Maybe John tried to hide from the world for a little while, and Virgil let him. They both needed this; Virgil’s face was also buried in John’s hair. 

After a while, sitting sprawled on the hard infirmary floor caught up to them with all the aches of too long days of heavy work. And broken bones. John shifted with a grimace.

Now he had to get back up off the ground when the crutches were clearly not a help, when he was pretty near useless down here, unable to resist the inevitable pull of gravity to the centre of the earth and the unforgiving ground. 

…He was probably being far too dramatic about it. Should just get it together like everyone else seemed able to do. 

But it was still a problem that he didn’t want to deal with because fundamentally, he wished he was back on Five. 

He had been going to tell someone about the injury, of course. Just as soon as he’d thought up a watertight excuse slash explanation. As soon as got himself under control and stopped being so sensitive over everything that he’d snap at anyone who got near him. So he would not end up like this, a too-emotional mess on the floor. 

Virgil once again checked his cast and his broken foot were undamaged by his fall. John wondered whether it was as much for Virgil’s sake of making sure idiot big brothers weren’t going to suddenly keel over as for John’s. John rubbed a hand roughly over his face. It was because Virgil cared. And maybe time had proven he had a right to worry.

John protested as Virgil went to pick him up, on the grounds Virgil had already been doing plenty of heavy lifting on rescues today and he had to be exhausted already, and John really didn’t want him to throw his back out or his knees or whatever other worst case scenarios John could come up with. 

He also knew he’d look utterly ridiculous in Virgil’s hold, all gangly, lanky limbs out of proportion with Virgil’s shorter, stockier build. And John was more likely to accidentally elbow someone in the nose, which had demonstrably happened before and the guilt still chewed at him, than even Scott fighting tooth and nail against being slung over someone’s shoulder when he there was no way he could even physically stand, let alone walk any distance. He warned Virgil away sharply.

“John. I know my limits, and you aren’t any worse than Scott.” Virgil sounded done with it all. “And I’d rather carry you than have to pick up the pieces or reset that cast, which I have also had to do before, because one of my brothers is injured and deserves help but they are too damn stubborn to let me.”

The fight in John left him as a hissing exhale, like a hole in a space ship venting atmosphere. 

Virgil scooped him up off the ground, promising to figure the rest out later as John avoided flailing too much. 

His brother’s arms were secure around his knees and under his shoulders, holding him close so there was no danger of him hitting the ground, of the falling that some part of John secretly feared, even with the rocking movement of Virgil’s strides. John’s cheek stayed mushed against Virgil’s flannel-clad chest. 

The walls of the house passed him in a tired blur. He really didn’t want to be left to sit around in his room where no matter how tired he was he wouldn’t sleep yet. Lying there staring at the ceiling all afternoon with nothing better to occupy him than his turbulent thoughts was frankly not a good idea. 

He said as much to Virgil, probably far too bluntly. The usual multi-stage filter he sorted his words through before he ever said them had met its untimely demise in face of his exhaustion several hours ago. 

It wasn’t like he wanted to hang around amidst the noise and movement and peopleing of the lounge with everyone else either. John being difficult again, as usual, the voice in the back of his head snarked.

Virgil had mercy on John and took the back route through the house instead of past the comms room where everyone would see him, even if it was only his family who he should know wouldn’t judge him. Everyone had been in the position of being carried about when they’d fallen asleep somewhere or were injured or were about to be chucked into the pool, so except in the last situation, John shouldn’t’ve been embarrassed or really cared, except that he did. 

They passed by John’s bedroom. John curled a little closer to Virgil in something that could’ve been called relief. He really wasn’t sure he wanted to be completely alone right now; he trusted Virgil.

A booted foot nudged open the door before Virgil placed John down on one of the big, squishy beanbags in the corner of his studio. 

John melted into it. He didn’t think he had bones anymore. Or any outside of the ones he’d just broken which had plenty of painful evidence of their existence. But no bones. He could even forgive gravity just this once when it was letting him sink into the soft surface. 

He looked up at Virgil’s low chuckle. 

“They’re good, aren’t they? Gordon found them online and I chose the colours.” Virgil smiled fondly. 

They hadn’t been here the last time John had hung out in Virgil’s studio with him. A spike of sorrow stabbed at his chest. 

New beanbags were a tiny change. It shouldn’t even matter. Except they demonstrated precisely how he was missing out on the details of his brothers’ lives while he was away. 

The beanbag covers were greens and yellows, soft, earthen shades exactly what John would expect Virgil to pick. Colourful, but not in your face. Soothing and restful but not dull. 

Observations probably not as important to anyone else as John found them. 

Virgil ducked out and came back with John’s tablet, the one he used earth-side with its bulky, lilac shatter-proof case. 

John took it carefully from Virgil’s hands, not because it was breakable even dropped from quite a height, but because of the consideration Virgil gave him, to bring him it to read on when he couldn’t go get something himself. 

In space, alone, it wasn’t like there anyone to do that kind of thing for him. Even with the gifts snuck into monthly supply crates by his family, he’d sort of forgotten how it felt.

He shoved away the ever so familiar feeling of being torn in two. He loved the stars, loved being up on Five, he really did. In spite of this, missing his family while up there was a constant wound he packed with the duty of constantly being called upon, of constantly needing to be the Voice Who Answers, in hopes of staunching his bleeding emotions. It contrasted with how he never wanted to outstay his welcome on Earth. 

Why was it that no matter where he was, he still wanted to go home?

Why did anger seethe and rise only to leave him all hollow and empty?

John gulped, running his hands over his face. He tucked one into his hair, tugging at the strands in an effort to distract himself. Why the fuck was he like this?

Virgil had turned away to get something off his desk, so at least he didn’t have to see John freaking out over nothing.

John forced a smile when Virgil looked back at him in concern. It wasn't like he could do anything about it. 

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Virgil said.

He was wearing his set of large, over-ear noise-cancelling headphones, covered in green stickers, his chin nodding along to a beat John couldn’t hear. Virgil wasn’t smiling but the creases around his eyebrow scar were shallower. Today had been getting to him too. 

Left alone, John examined the art studio more thoroughly, letting himself become absorbed in the details, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

The whole place was very Virgil, in the best possible way. Storage for art materials was arranged with an engineer’s precision for putting and keeping things in their proper order, cupboards with closed doors painted olive green and neatly labeled in Virgil’s blocky handwriting. Only the pencils Virgil was currently using were left on his desk, in their tray reordered into an exactingly coloured gradient. John couldn’t deny that it also clicked in his brain with that urge to line stuff up. 

An electric keyboard lived along a side wall by a bookshelf containing folders of sheet music and art theory books. John knew from Virgil that the music was arranged by each song’s dominant colour palette according to folder, when he asked as at first he couldn't make sense of the system when of course Virgil would have a system. 

There were speakers in a few places around the room for the frequent times Virgil listened to music while creating. Good quality ones because Virgil said certain staticky types gave him the same sensation as putting gritty sand in his mouth.

It was Virgil’s space for making art and just being, so he’d adapted it to him. Virgil got overwhelmed when there was too much visual stimulation, with constant busy, bright colours and clutter of the world he couldn't put away, so here was an escape from that. 

The walls and ceiling were light, giving an airy feeling. A large landscape window joined inside and outside seamlessly, looked over what John privately thought was the best view on the island, except for the observatory. You could see right out past Mateo, over pokey trees and ocean. Late afternoon sunlight poured in, and there were shades if it got too much.

Greenery was introduced into the room itself by the massive monstera plant in the corner, its umbrella-like leaves forming pleasing shadows on the floor, contrasting with the near liquid golden light. More smaller plants were scattered about. John brushed his fingers over the monstera, to reach out and touch the tangible connection with life and the earth. 

Occasionally a piece of art was hung up for a while as it was finished before being moved to its intended display area in an other part of the house, like the watercolour sketch of playful dolphins amongst their reef obviously intended for Gordon. But mostly there wasn't anything to distract from the artwork, on canvas or as music, that Virgil was bringing to life. 

John found the studio calming too, even when he usually tended towards wanting all his bright stars, books, open screens and telescopes in his space at once. There was something about the soothing surroundings, how the faint smell of paints and real paper lingered, mixing with engine bio-oil and coffee, that meant safety and home. His brother’s mark on it was undeniable. 

John couldn’t help but search for the splatter of paint Virgil had mentioned earlier. It was blue and on a wall in this room, so it shouldn’t be hard to miss but in spite of all of his skills at searching, it was nowhere to be found. Eventually he resigned himself to the fact that Virgil must have painted over it, destroying the tangible proof that he’d acted out in anger.

The beanbags squished beneath him when he flopped back, long legs stretched out and foot smarting when he moved it, picking up his tablet for something to do. His substantial library of books wasn’t holding anything that could keep his attention right now as he flicked between them, opening and shutting pages. He tipped his head back, looking upwards, letting his tablet fall face down onto his chest.

And there it was. On the wall above him, the blue splodge of paint exactly from Virgil’s story. 

Except it wasn't just a splodge because a rainbow of lines had been added around it, faithfully following the original shape and expanding upon it, forming a bird with wings outstretched, flying freely across the wall. Something utterly beautiful from from what had begun as only painful.

John’s breath caught. He didn't know how Virgil did that. He wrung out hope from anger, forming all the emotion into art where John just flailed because he didn’t want to touch his feelings with a thousand kilometre stick.

But here, in Virgil’s studio surrounded by the calm quiet where he could finally breathe, he could try.

So he picked up his tablet. Opened up the word programme. And began to write.

He had no idea where he was going. No plot, no plan, no outline. When he usually did this, for reports, for academic works, he always had his ideas and arguments all laid out in his head and he simply had to put them on the page in front of him.

His fingers found the keyboard and he let them, doing his best not to second-guess and delete every word he put down. To think too much and bail out as it got too big and too scary even when this was just typing on his tablet sitting in a beanbag in the corner of the room, not doing anything at all that could be thought of as dangerous or would mess up his broken foot. 

It wasn't really much. In subject or in word count or in technical finesse. He hadn’t been doing this writing thing for very long, not since university and stories scrawled in his near illegible handwriting hidden in paper notebooks beneath his bed. Not for himself. 

He saved the document and slammed the window closed before he could look at it and convince himself it was all completely stupid and he never should’ve even tried in the first place.

But it was cathartic and it gave him somewhere to put the irrational seething anger, outlined by the sorrow that seeped through in the lines between, to bleed out on paper, in words that were his first language and first love. In the beginnings of stories that didn’t have to be perfect or real and contained far too much of himself to even think about showing anybody yet, but that maybe one day he would. 

When Virgil knocked on the door and opened it, John jumped like he’d been caught out. Then he glanced up and saw the blue paint splodge turned flying bird from the corner of his eye, and he could smile at Virgil with all the love in the world and more understanding of how his brother worked. Of why after hard rescues and bad days his first instinct was to turn to piano or canvas.

Seeing what Virgil was carrying on the tray in his hands had John wishing he hadn’t ever broken his foot so he could throw himself at Virgil to hug him this very second. Though if he hadn’t been injured, he never would’ve come down from Five today.

A blueberry bagel, toasted, with the special strawberry cream cheese that was his favourite but never lasted long in space. Or on Earth, unless his brothers saved it for him on purpose. 

There was a cup of tea too, next to Virgil’s customarily massive mug of coffee.

John just stared up at him, until he found his voice to whisper all his thanks over and over. He took the plate and the cup in slightly trembling hands, then placed them on the floor next to him. 

He raised his arms so that Virgil would crouch down and John could squish him into a hug. 

John clung to red flannel for a few seconds longer than he usually would. Virgil returned it in kind, smiling at him with soft, brown eyes. 

Then he was fussing over John’s foot again, propping it up on pillows and wrapping an icepack around it. John took it in because this was Virgil’s way of showing he cared. As well, it would mean he could get back on his feet sooner by not ignoring the injury. Plus it hurt less.

Before Virgil returned to his desk and pencils, John bumped their foreheads together in show of affection not as frequently done between them with the distance. It was often Scott and Virgil’s thing.  Virgil hummed happily at him even when John wobbled as he leaned forward, making the collision slightly more forceful than he intended. Instead they laughed together over Tracy hard heads. 

Enjoying each other’s company with no pressure to talk or interact was nice and exactly what they both needed. They could do their own things in parallel, Virgil with his art, a sketch forming beneath steady hands, and John with… whatever he was doing at this point.

Gathering up his courage, he cautiously reopened his word document from earlier and read over what he’d written. It was… okay actually. The typos and errors he grimaced at were numerous, but those were fixable problems.

It was a story, he’d written something. John found himself smiling down at his tablet with the urge to add more so he did.

The time passed in the light from the windows transforming from light gold to a fiery orange, stretching across their room and their island alike. As dusk grew closer, the bird calls and insect songs changed, and there were so many wonderful things about space that John could never give up loving but it didn't have this.

So maybe that was what was wrong with him. Instead of a flaw in his very humanity, it was more not enough food and too much stress, not sleeping right or talking to anyone. Those simple things he sort of… forgot about, ignored. John needed to be around family too, with the sunlight streaming in, plants in touching distance and the quiet company of Virgil and some care to feel better. 

Maybe while he was down here, he’d even go stargazing outside tomorrow, lying on a picnic blanket on the grass like he used to. Monitor work could be taken care of at dad’s desk, there’d be time to help Allie with his school work then play video games together and once his cast was off, swim in Gordon’s ocean. To hang out with Scott too and help pull his beloved biggest brother out of his own overwork spiral. He hadn’t had a chance to catch up with Grandma or Kayo or Brains in a while either. 

Only then would he return to Five, to his stars and space, his research and monitor duty proper. His little room up there, the gravity ring and central floating hub, with Eos as his companion, they were home too. Not in replacement of the island and his family but in addition. And he knew he could come down to Earth when he needed to even if, especially when it was just because he wanted a hug.

Right now, the soft patter of his fingertips on the glass screen blended with the scratchings of Virgil’s coloured pencils on artist’s paper. 

He munched on his bagel and sipped his tea contentedly. Virgil had been cupping his warm mug of coffee in his hands, happily sighing as John fought the urge to giggle.

It was with a cheerier and more relaxed Virgil that they ended up squished together on the beanbag pile once the sun was fully set. John snuggled into his brother’s side, it really had been too long but he was here now. 

Virgil’s fingers tapped contentedly against the knee of his jeans like he was playing a melody on the piano, other arm tucked around John, meaning John could feel the vibrations as Virgil hummed along. John went from messing with the case of his tablet to happily flickering his hands at his sides.

Also, how were the beanbags this comfortable? These ones didn’t even rustle and squeak like he remembered the ones they’d had as kids did. 

Those had met a horrific end with their guts all over the house when Gordon had wanted to know what was inside them and out of scientific curiosity John had helped find the answers, utilising his ability to read and follow the instructions on the tag of how to open the pull-less zipper with an ancient paperclip. 

He retold the story to Virgil whose eyes widened in surprise.

“So it was you!” he laughed. “I’d wondered how Gords did it, but I hadn't put anything past the fish.”

John lost his battle with holding in his own giggles and decided to let Virgil in on the secrets of a few other John-and-Gordon specials.

There was a knock before Scott ducked his head around the corner of the doorway, just as John glanced up.

Scott leant against the frame, intense blue eyes looking him over. John couldn’t tell whether they were sharper in person than over hologram or softer. They stuck on John’s cast, flicking to Virgil before scanning carefully over his body, same as if any of the others were injured in the field. 

“Scott,” John stated. An acknowledgment that his big brother was here. The tight, tangled  barbed wire ball that had been living in his stomach for days loosened further. 

“You okay?”

How was he supposed to answer that? In this moment, laughing aloud with Virgil, yeah he was. But all the rest of the day, the week beforehand? John gave a noncommittal shrug that didn’t give much either way. 

Of course that became cause for Scott to come closer. He knelt in front of John, ever so mindful of his broken foot. 

Telegraphing his movements, Scott reached out and brushed John’s hair out of his face before silently kissing his forehead, all gentle big brother who was here for him no matter what.

He repeated the motion with Virgil. 

John froze for precious seconds then threw himself at Scott. 

It hurt. He’d forgotten about his foot in its awful cast for a moment, knocking it painfully against the floor with a broken yelp. But Scott caught him anyway. Virgil’s arms went back around him too and he was still humming but in a steadier pitch. 

John was sniffling against Scott’s chest, soaking up his brothers’ warmth and all the love in the room, even as he wasn’t sure whether he was crying again from sorrow or pain or because they both cared about him so, so much and the happy-overwhelmed feeling got stuck as a lump in his throat.

Maybe together they could fix this mess John had somehow made. But right now John let them hold him close, let Scott rock them until the calm of the room could creep back in.

A cuddle pile formed on the beanbags once again, this time with Scott too. John leant back on Scott’s chest, still hiccuping occasionally from the tears. Both sets of their long legs alongside each other were tossed over Virgil’s lap, who’d very fairly called them a lanky, boney weighted blanket, while snuggling in with no suggestion they move. He could feel Scott’s chin resting on top of his head, breaths lightly tickling his hair.

Virgil had had to check again, with the medscanner he kept in his studio first aid kit, that John hadn’t screwed up his foot in its bright orange cast. Yet he hadn’t and even though John could still feel the pain of the impact, Virgil had given him another dose of ibuprofen which would take the edge off soon.

John’s eyes slid half shut with exhaustion. Scott let him fidget with his hands as he gripped them. Virgil was tapping out piano pieces again, a more relaxed melody now against the top John’s bare shin, the sensation grounding and reminding him Virgil was close.He had his brothers. All of them. All of his family. They loved him and they’d help him figure this out and that was more that enough, it was everything.

[squiddokiddo]

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.

🍦 SOFT ICE CREAM — what is/are your oc's favorite ice cream flavor(s)?

🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?

Any of these for Squirt if you wish :)

Hey, thanks for asking.💛💛

💯 ･Share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.

1 ･Squirt is constantly covered in plasters/bandaids because they're constantly having accidents. If they can hurt themselves on something, they will.

At some point nearly every day in the Tracy household you can usually hear:

"Ouch."

"..."

"Squirt, what did you do?"

If they don't express their pain it's definitely more than just a little scratch, silence is always suspicious.

2 ･Squirt hates cucumber, they think it's icky and absolutely refuse to eat it. There have actually been arguments over Squirt not eating veggies until there was a realisation that they're only refusing to eat things that they don't like.

As soon as the family stocked up on more food they liked, getting Squirt to eat their vegetables just wasn't a problem anymore.

3 ･ Under Scott and Grandma's rules, Squirt isn't actually allowed to have caffeine but Gordon sneaks iced coffees and frappés to them anyway. Gordon thinks no one else knows but Virgil is actually well aware of what's going on and also sometimes buys Squirt a secret coffee as a little treat.

🍦 ･What is/are your oc's favourite ice cream flavours?

Pretty much anything with lots of fruity sauce, fizzy dip and popping candy but they usually like bubblegum, coffee and vanilla flavours. Not that they get to have anything other than just plain vanilla very often because all the sugar makes them hyper.

🩹 ･Does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?

The Tracys suspect that Squirt might be autistic, they show a lot of signs but with their abusive upbringing it's hard to tell because a lot of the autistic traits they have could just be symptoms of the trauma they've suffered. It could be a mixture of both.

Personally, Squirt possibly being autistic is also a story element I'm working out so at this point I'm leaving it vague.

Ask game

[rocket-man-major-tom]

I'm aware that whether or not certain characters are neurodivergent or not in Lackadaisy isn't something Tracy will be going into detail about (as far as I'm aware, that is).

In light of this, I have decided that I headcanon Virgil as autistic.

[astranite]

I did make a post a while ago and there are a few bits and pieces around of neurodivergent Tracies.

Autistic John is definitely one of the head canons closest to my heart. Also adhd Scott, it fits so well!

For the others, definitely autistic Virgil and autistic adhd Gordon. And either adhd or autistic and adhd for alan.

Everyone’s neurodivergent around here!

I haven’t thought of dyslexic alan but it definitely works. Theres a good dyslexic gordon fic around somewhere too!

Scott… didn’t get it. It was obvious. And John didn’t really blame him for it- he was so aggressively normal. It still hurt when John caught the I’m really too busy to talk about this right now vibes from his brother. And the excitement dwindled like someone had blown out a candle and John would just leave, mumbling an apology. He knew Scott felt bad about it, but it didn’t change anything. Scott would never get it.

Virgil tried. Bless him, Virgil tried, and he listened better than Scott, but it was the semi-distracted listening that came from being excited about other things. John couldn’t fathom how deeply into art Virgil was any more than Virgil could see the glowing lights etched into John’s heart. But Virgil tried to listen and that was important.

Gordon was a trial, and John had long since given up trying to enthuse around him. Gordon was too much of a talker to be able to truly listen. And still John sat down and listened when Gordon gushed over aquatic life and swimming and boats, knowing the importance of someone who would take time out to just listen, even if it wasn’t his passion.

But Alan– Alan listened, and Alan understood and he clicked like nobody since Mom. When John talked and rambled and gushed, Alan listened with the light of stars in his eyes. And when John lost himself in facts and charts, Alan wanted to know everything. With Alan, John could let go of the tight control and let his deep love of space and everything in it flow uninhibited. Because he knew Alan loved it too.

There’s so much sad, hurt John stuff around Tumblr right now, (and I’ve been part of it I know) that I just really really wanted to draw him HAPPY and excited and SPACE.

Sorry for anyone who doesn’t share my Autistic John headcanon, but for me, it’s kind of a big deal. I may never call him Autistic in my stories, just to not step on the toes of canon, but he will always be to me, and I will always write him so. And like any of us, if you get him started on his special interest, he will talk for hours.

[yourfavehatesautismspeaks]

Virgil Tracy from Thunderbirds hates Autism Speaks!

A special post from Mod Rowlf!

[its-lovelyhappycollection]

for @thunderbird-one-ai​ who requested scott+suicide attempt. sorry this took so long.

Scott Tracy couldn't take it anymore, ever since the death of his mother a few months ago his father had shut himself away, buried in his work and expected him to take care of his younger siblings. But when dealing with an upset Alan, a misbehaving Gordon, a grumpy Virgil and an autistic John it was becoming too much for him. He was barely able to keep his marks up and deal with his four younger siblings, making sure they did their homework, keeping Gordon out of trouble and helping a struggling Virgil through school it was becoming too much for him.

Usually, Scott was not a big fan of blood, but he felt like he needed a release from his responsibilities and the razor blade was always there when he needed it, he started to wear long sleeves to hide the scars that were littered on his arms. He desperately hoped that someone in his family would notice and ask him if he was ok. But they never did. That hurt. Did they not care about him at all? Would they even notice if he decided to give it all up?

Scott didn't know, what he did know was that he fell asleep after one of his releases and heard the distant voice of Virgil yelling at him. Usually he would immediately be concerned that his younger brother was shouting, but for some reason his eyes wouldn't open and he found that he didn't care. for he was content to drift in the dark. For a long time, he drifted in the dark, wondering how easy would it be to just let go of everything. Let go of his worries, his stress, everything. But for some reason there was something stopping him, suddenly a door appeared in front of him, carefully he opened it and was met by a blinding light. He squinted through but didn't see anything, but he did hear his brothers' voices

"come back Scott" Virgil said

"we miss you" John added

"please Scotty" Gordon begged

"come back!" Alan pleaded

"son, please come back. I'm sorry for what I've done. But you should know that I've always loved you. All of you" his father said, Scott found himself running into the light and found himself staring the ceiling and a heart monitor beeping beside him.

"he's awake" a relieved voice said beside him. He turned and found the relieved face of his father, next to him was Virgil with Gordon on his lap, John stood beside them with Grandma carrying Alan. And they were all smiling. Scott gave a small smile as he realized that he made the right choice. He was meant to be with his family.

[astranite]

Protective is an Emotion

John and Virgil, with younger Tracies. This started off with me wanting to write John being the protective big brother and went from there. Might be a 2nd and 3rd chapter as there be ideas for them. Rather angsty so far but there shall be some hurt/comforting. John and Virgil are both autistic as I am always writing them that way tis just more obvious here.

Warnings for bullying.

---

John walked through the crowded school yard, head down, one hand tightly wrapped around the shoulder strap of his backpack. The cacophony of bodies and noise pressed in on him, the typical state of students at break time, rowdy, clamoring and far too numerous. 

He wouldn't have stopped usually, have kept pressing through until he got to the doors of the library and inside, where it was finally, thankfully quiet and he could breathe. But something caught his eye, an aberration in the pattern of swirling students and harried staff members. 

At the base of the concrete stairs leading to the art block building was a knot of students. It wasn't out of the ordinary for teenagers to gather there, half blocking the walkway for people who wanted to get past until a teacher inevitably told them off and then they inevitably returned to position as soon as said teacher was out of sight. But it still pinged in John’s brain as an important detail even before he quite realised. 

The teenagers looked to be a couple of grades below him. They formed a wall of bodies against the art building, intention all focused inward. John caught a glimpse of dark hair and flash of colourful canvas between them.

The final piece of the puzzle: Virgil had started attending the same highschool as Scott and John, beginning this week.

It could be fine, maybe it was fine, maybe the kids in Virgil’s grade would treat Virgil better than John’s supposed peers had ever done to him.

But John preferred hard evidence and he didn't put much stock in the good of humanity when it came to teenagers forced into close proximity by the mass education institution known as a school. 

Best case scenario, John could say hi and check in on Virgil, then leave him to hang out with his new friends without his weird ginger brother butting in on the conversation, and ask Virgil to tell him about them and how his day was on the bus home from school.

Worst case scenario? Well, that was why John was striding towards the group, chin up and shoulders back, doing his best to use his lanky height to get through the crowd and mimic Scott when he had something to prove. Because he was the big brother here and if there was the slightest chance Virgil needed him, that meant John was all the way in a heartbeat.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” John smiled, showing his teeth. 

Start nice, start friendly, better not to let them see a potential threat coming. If there needed to be a threat, which John sorely hoped there wouldn’t.

Several of the students jumped, whipped their heads around.

“Who’re you?” One challenged.

John made full eye contact with the teen. “I’m John Tracy.” 

The other boy looked away first. 

“We’re just talking. What’s your problem?” Another teen, closest to Virgil and pressing in on his personal space as Virgil leaned away added.

“Yeah, we’re talking,” A different student, John couldn't keep track of the faces. Then directed at Virgil: “Aren’t you going to tell us what you drew?”

They all looked to Virgil, like this was some kind of gotcha instead of an innocent question as John’s instincts screamed this was a trap.

He’d been here before. John swallowed hard.  They weren’t— It wasn’t— Appearances could be deceiving and some people didn't know when to stop because they liked the feeling of having power over others.

“Come on, give us an answer. Or is it music again, which is a sound that you hear?” A voice twisted to mocking.

Virgil was clutching his sketchbook and a canvas covered in vividly painted patterns to his chest. The concrete stairwell wall was up against his back, blocking off the exits as pleading brown eyes found John, lips mouthing his name. 

Virgil was scared, these teens were taunting him, even though there was nothing he would have done to deserve it, no one deserved it, especially not his kindest brother who wore his heart on his sleeve and wanted to help everyone. He wasn’t as strange or sharp-edged as John…

“Stop. Just stop,” John said. Blurted out, because he wished Scott was here, Scott would know what to do to fix this. John needed his big brother right now too.

One of the teens nudged Virgil in the ribs quicker than John could cross the circle to get to him. Virgil flinched and shrunk further inwards on himself, humming under his breath, the pitch rising. 

John saw red. He forced his way through the gathered teens to put himself between them and Virgil, protectiveness surging enough to take his breath away. He’d tear them apart with his teeth if that would make them leave Virgil alone. 

But it wouldn’t. And he wasn’t Scott, he was just John. He could calculate the forces involved better than he could throw a punch because he was too clumsy to be on the sports teams and didn't really want to be anyway, and he was tall like a plant that grew too fast without enough sun instead of tall and athletic, and he was only a year older than these kids no matter that he was in Scott’s grade, and he’d never won a fight when it was him because it had never ended.

Analysing variables was his language: a) he and Virgil would never win now if it came to fighting because bullies liked to outnumber you, b) getting himself suspended trying would only mean he wasn't there to protect Virgil and it would be another thing Scott would have to deal with dumped on his shoulders, and c) the smart option was to get out now.

The teens were between laughter at them and indignation, a volatile combination. Spilt rocket fuel in the school yard. 

John dropped any semblance left of the polite expression he’d been wearing. Gave the blank, emotionless, nothing look, because he knew it unnerved people even though it was just his normal face. Stared unblinkingly into the eyes of the teen directly in front of him, because apparently it was uncanny even when he didn’t mean it as a threat, the same intimidation of a barn yard cat eyeing up its prey. Somewhere that hurt but it was buried amongst John’s roiling emotions. He could use it though.

“We are going,” he stated flatly. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, the protagonists in John’s books always had a snappy line at this point except he didn’t.

He tried to give Virgil as much warning as he could, saying his name before seizing his hand.  

John broke the path, somewhat dragging Virgil with him even as he did his best to be gentle because he really didn't want to hurt his brother and he knew how scary it was, but getting away was more important right now. 

He pushed past the other students, shuddering when a grab was made at his arm and shaking it off. The boy in question loudly played what they’d done to Virgil like it was a big, friendly joke, like it wasn’t one hundred percent purposeful, couldn’t any Tracy just take a joke.

“Can’t even say anything about his own stupid drawing,” The same teen muttered to their retreating backs. 

By how Virgil’s grip went suddenly crushingly tight on his hand, John knew he had heard every word.

[astranite]

Neurodivergent Tracies Headcanons!!

I've been thinking about this for ages (pretty much ever since Ive been into Thunderbirds) and lately seen and had more discussions with people, so I've decided to finally make this post! And hoping it might spark even more discussions! Also given how many Thunderfam members including myself are neurodivergent, and how positive I have seen the fandom be towards it :)

I'll elaborate later, at some point, about why I think these and specificities. Because I have many thoughts. Too many thoughts for right now!

I also decided to include stuff as well as autism/adhd, because neurodivergence has so many things to it.

Scott: ADHD, C-PTSD.

John: Autism, anxiety.

Virgil: Autism, depression.

Gordon: ADHD, autism, PTSD (hydrofoil accident and medical).

Alan: ADHD.

I also reckon Brains is autistic. I don't feel like I know Kayo well enough yet to have any headcanons in particular, but I wouldn't say she's not neurodivergent. Same with Penny. I also headcanon Grandma, Jeff, and also Lee as having ADHD. And I write Lucy as autistic but that is very because I said so and I want to.

So, thoughts? Headcanons? Neurodivergent Tracies stuff you want to see more of?

[astranite]

Trick or Treat: The Fic!

Here are all of my tricks and treats from the Thunderfam Trick or Treat in their final form, all together as the whole fic!!!

Lucy takes her kids trick or treating! Shenanigans, cute costumes and too much sugar inbound! Much fluff!! Plus a bonus extra snippet!

----

Lucy pressed a hand over her mouth trying not to laugh. Scott looked so much like Jeff in his dad’s old airforce flight suit, complete with aviator sunnies and troublemaking grin. Apart from how the arms and legs had to be rolled up several times as Scott hadn’t yet hit his growth spurt, and were already coming down as Lucy attempted to pin them in place while the not quite teen bounced with excitement, candy bucket in hand. 

John adjusted his cat ears for the forth time in not as many minutes, fidgeting with the headband, a nervous frown crinkled between his eye brows. Lucy knew her second eldest wasn't much of a fan of noisy crowds of people or spooky surprises, when it came down to it neither was she, but John wanted to go, had picked out his costume of a black and ginger cat and even let a very careful Virgil draw whiskers and a nose on his face with Lucy’s eyeliner. A set of noise cancelling headphones in her bag and the promise that he could stick by Scott the whole time and go home with her if he needed to, had  a small smile once again on John’s lips, as he rocked on his heels in anticipation.

Virgil’s costume had been the easiest out of all of them, in terms of choice. Lucy thought it would be a phase but ever since the local fire engine and crew had come for a demonstration at the primary school several months ago, wanting to be a fire fighter had been all Virgil could talk about. Bundled up in yellow rain jacket far too large to go to Gordon, covered in reflective tape stripes because ‘That’s what the real one’s look like, mummy,’ Tracy spelt out across the back, the red plastic hat jammed on his curls, falling over eyes, Virgil was positively ecstatic. If only they could keep him from trying to practice with the garden hose turned full water pressure on their thankfully very much not on fire house. 

Kyrano’s kid staying with them, Tanusha or as the boys had started called her, Tin Tin, resolutely refused to dress up. Eventually, with much suspicious glancing around, she whispered in Lucy’s ear that she was already dressed up, because she was a spy and didn't need a costume. In the kid way like it was totally obvious and how didn't Lucy already know this, Tin Tin stated, “The only spies that look like spies are dead spies.” Lucy manage to keep a straight face through that rather threatening sentence delivered by a kid with pig tails, missing front teeth, and a expression she likely throught was intimidating with a wrinkled up nose and screwed up eyes, but to Lucy was adorable. 

Gordon had been utterly thrilled when Lucy had said, yes, he could go as both a pirate and a clownfish, if that’s what he wanted. The toddler hadn't taken off the patterned aquarium shirt or pirate hat since this morning, despite several narrow misses with the bath, the full kitchen sink and the garden hose. Orange, black and white paint, hastily applied as Lucy chased a laughing Gordon around the house, plus a rubber duck attached to his shoulder at Gordon’s insistence with some creative duct taping, completed the costume. 

Little Allie had the dubious honour of the astronaut baby costume Jeff and Lee had found online. Speaking of Jeff and Lee, Lucy followed the sound of cursing to the hallway where both astronauts were trying and failing to unfold the double stroller for Alan and an inevitably exhausted Gordy. Lucy instructed while laughing, ‘There’s a catch under there, somewhere,’ while she jiggled Allie on her hip as he tried to chew her hair.

Finally, they were all ready to go. Mini Maverick held hands with a ginger and black cat and a fire fighter, ready to surge ahead towards the streets and sweets being handed out. The undercover spy dodged from shadow to shadow, and Lucy made note to keep an extra eye out so she didn't disappear. A clownfish pirate or pirate clownfish, there was no consensus come to about that, was perched on Lee’s shoulders, the stroller predictably refused. The pint sized astronaut gnawed on a rocket shaped teether, in the pram pushed by full-sized astronaut two, or Jeff ‘We don't need costumes, we’re already famous,’ Tracy. Every year, he and Lee got a kick out of telling sceptical children that they really were the real deal. 

Lucy’s lab coat, her work one because she’d run out of time for a costume for herself, swished around her, covered in definitely artful and not because it had been a day, explosion marks. Well technically, it hadn't been an explosion-explosion, rather a spill and the chemicals were safe, but that was only for her to know and everyone else to worry about. With her mess of unbrushed red curls and ability to spout off physics and astronomy facts at a million miles a Cminute, she made quite the mad scientist, if she did say so herself. Especially as she dashed down the street after her eldest three, because they most definitely still needed supervision, after the sticky toffee, climbing tree, near miss with the emergency room trick of last year!

---Bonus!!!---

Virgil took his brand-shiny-new firefighters uniform from Chief McCready’s hands, grinning face splitting wide. His own uniform, because for the next few weeks he was a proper part of Blue Watch, and a firefighter! 

It had even been modified to incorporate his IR tech and most importantly his green baldric over the top because couldn't imagine feeling properly prepared for rescues without it. 

He tugged the new jacket on right away over his flannel, feeling like a kid on halloween. He gave it a spin, the coat flaring out around him. Heh, if little Virgie could see him now, a proper firefighter.

“Whatcha laughing at, Tracy?” Cass clapped him on the shoulder. 

As soon as Virgil explained what had been his halloween costume for every year of his childhood, he was surrounded by Blue Watch, good naturedly demanding that they had ‘got to see photographic evidence.’

Virgil rolled his eyes, but called up John, the keeper of all the family photos on Five’s massive storage banks.

John obliged, and firefighters crowded around the holos projected from his wrist comm.

“Aww, you were an adorable kid, Tracy!” 

“Cuuute!” 

“You sure did grow up, but I don’t think the expression has changed at all!”

Then a snickering John decided to chime in with the whole practicing fighting fires with the garden house incident, and the consequences to hanging laundry and open windows.

Cass, serious, no nonsense Chief McCready was giggling, tears streaming down her face, hanging onto his shoulder to stay upright. 

Virgil snorted, then couldn’t help but burst out laughing too.He was proud of his achievements to become a firefighter, they were all laughing with him, not at him, they were his team. He threw his arms around them, grinning along.

[astranite]

Love is Stored in the Pasta

Scott, John and pasta.

This started off from a tumblr post 'cause somebody needed to cook that guy some pasta!!

Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, really very mild scott is hangrysad, ft john's space issues, Chronic Illness, as thats what im treating it as and its not the focus here he's just living with it, Scott Tracy has ADHD, this is important, Autistic John Tracy, lowkey here but also Important to me, this is fun and fluffy and i love them, i hope this is like a warm comforting bowl of pasta to you too

---

“We need to talk,” John said.

On the other side of the call, Scott’s hologram slumped over his desk, his head landing in his hands. “Oh God.”

“I found your search history…” John began.

Scott peered out sheepishly from behind his fingers. “I can explain!”

“It’s just pages and pages of pasta?” 

John was puzzled, honestly. Five to ten recipe blogs and that was Scott trying to decide what to make for dinner during a meeting or while he was struggling to concentrate on work. During lulls between callouts, he and John would sometimes debate options together. More than forty separate sites visited at 3:12pm on a Tuesday afternoon and Eos had flagged it for John, on suspicion that Scott’s computer had been hacked by a malicious entity or some other AI virus.

Scott went from double facepalm of despair to full on faceplant, his head hitting the desk with an audible thunk.

“Why so much pasta?” John questioned. Now his curiosity was piqued, he couldn’t let it go or he’d be doing EVA work later, still turning over possibilities in his mind, which wasn’t conducive to the constant concentration needed while floating around in the vacuum. Outside, any misstep would be your last.

“I dunno. I just feel like pasta,” Scott mumbled into the wood.

Scott sounded…weird. Like he was about to start laughing, or coming down with a cold.

“Scott? Are you okay?”

It had better not be another flu; corralling Scott to take care of himself was hard enough even if he wasn’t feverish. John wouldn’t be able to come down either, quarantined up in Five unless he already had it. Was the slight tug of a headache at his temples from his sinuses beginning to clog up too?

Scott hadn’t looked up yet; his shoulders were shaking. John wiggled his fingers anxiously.

“Scotty?”

Big brother’s head shot up at the nickname John so rarely used. Had John intended to provoke that reaction? The name had been a slip of the tongue but if he was was honest, he sort of had meant to jar Scott out of his thoughts. He never called Scott, Scotty unless he was scared though. And Scott not answering him did tick tick tick up his system from yellow alert into red.

“I’m fine, it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” Scott’s words ran over each other in an attempt to come first. His voice sounded oddly wet.

Tears, yes those were indeed tears dulled by holographic format, tumbled down Scott’s cheeks.

As soon as he saw John looking, Scott turned away.

Suddenly, John landed on the spark of insight that he had a hunch would crack the code to his big brother’s distress. “Have you eaten anything all day?”

Scott dug around for tissues in a drawer of the desk and gave a half shrug. “I guess not—not really? I tried to before you say anything. Got a mouthful of breakfast in and then there was a call out. Lunch didn’t happen, there was a meeting, I had to make coffee, I ran out of time. I don’t really feel hungry though…”

That did explain a few things. It was well known family lore that Virgil and Alan got hangry, and Gords went all sad and mopey. Scott and John himself though, they got …really, unstably emotional. 

So yeah, hence the unexpected bursting into tears. John got the whole shit interoception and not even noticing if you needed to eat while you were buried in work thing; Scott was way too used to ignoring his body too. 

John took a deep breath. “Scott, and I’m one-hundred percent serious about this, do you want me to come down there and make you some pasta?”

Thunderbird Five systems whirred around John in the quiet as Scott hesitated.

“Maybe,” he whispered. “Or you don’t have to, I’ll wait, Virge’ll be doing dinner in a bit anyway.”

“Virgil won’t be up until past sunset after the hours Thunderbird Two was out yesterday and into this morning,” John said gently. “You need to eat before then.”

Nor would an overwhelmed Scott and the kitchen be a good combination at this point, and John saw the moment Scott realised this, while fidgeting with the rubix cube on his desk. 

“I want to do this for you,” John told him.

Scott dashed at his eyes, sniffled a few times and finally capitulated. “Okay. Thanks, Jay.”

John smiled and signed off, heading for the space elevator. He was usually so far away, he was right now, but it was in his power to close off that distance when he needed to and today he could use that. 

He farewelled Eos; she so often missed him but the opportunities to run the space station on her own that weren’t emergencies where he was incapacitated excited her. They showed how much he had come to trust and rely on her. Plus she got full reign of their virtual chess set.

On Earth, Scott was waiting for him as the elevator docked, his hands stuck casually in his jeans pockets but looking as pale and wobbly as John felt. His face was still tearstained.

“Hey.”

“Hey to you too.” John took a few heavy steps before throwing himself at Scott, wrapping his arms around his brother tightly, all the while careful not to knock him off balance. Scott stiffened then melted into John. 

Usually that interaction went the other way around. 

Scott used the extra height space gave John to rest his head on him without having to duck down like with everyone else. John hugged him close and comfortingly as his fingers tap tap tapped their rhythm at Scott’s shoulder. All of it meant I love you.

“Pasta time?” John said eventually.

Scott nodded silently, following when John started off towards the kitchen. The raw rock wall of the hanger was rough and vividly solid in its three dimensions, as John ran his hand along it for balance as he walked that initial part. He was touching the Earth, he was in the Earth, he was on Earth.

With cold water from the fridge dispenser and the fizzy, brightly coloured tablets shook out of their tube, John made up lidded cups of electrolyte drink for himself and Scott. John needed to be sculling the stuff perpetually to stay upright down here, and he would not be at all surprised if Scott was dehydrated too. It might to something for John’s headache, could go either way for the nausea coming on.

He put a large pot on the heat. One advantage of having a stove so high powered that it could nuke anything it touched was that any volume of water boiled fast. 

An entire packet of fettuccine got tipped into the enthusiastic cacophony of bubbles. John poked at it with a pasta scoop, regretting that he hadn’t snapped the long pieces to actually fit in better. Ah well. 

He shook in an excessive-to-anyone-not-him amount of salt with a shrug ‘cause he needed it, before having another go at separating the pasta. The pasta scoop was quite an effective implement for that, there were reasons after all it was Gordon’s favourite utensil as John remembered from previous discussions. One could also use it to mash potatoes when held vertically, if one so pleased. His second favourite was the tongs as they could be clicked like crab claws and used to pinch unsuspecting siblings. 

Scott watched from his place slumped over the kitchen bench on a stool, chewing on the ragged skin at the edge of his thumbnail. He was trying to work on a couple of screens pulled up as holomonitors, as unsuccessfully as could be expected. John came over and hopped up to sit on the bench, clipping through the projected email inbox and meeting minutes so Scott dismissed them. It was with a sigh of relief.

They smiled tiredly at each other.

The pasta! John tapped at his uniform comms watch. “Eos, set a timer for the pasta, please?” John shaved the minute that had already passed off of the box time and then another couple to ensure it wouldn’t come out mushy.

“So what sort of stuff on pasta do you feel like? There’s a good lot of options you were looking at earlier.”

“We don’t have the ingredients for most of those, I checked. No eggs and no mushrooms so no carbonara. Technically that wouldn’t be authentic carbonara though. No cream cheese. We missed this week’s supply run so we don’t even have any frozen peas!” Scott threw his hands up in the air.

“Hmmm. You feel like something creamy?”

“Yeah. Honestly at this point I’d eat anything.”

John swung his legs and tapped his fingers on the counter while he thought.

“I believe some bacon is hiding in the bottom of the freezer so that’s something. And…” he trailed of as he moved his head too fast and set off a wave of dizziness as he looked around the kitchen.

“Avocado!” Scott exclaimed.

“Avocado?”

“Funny story, we ended up with several cases of them after that rescue on that farm where we saved the whole village and nearly all their trees from catastrophic flooding. They really need eating too and there’s only so much toast you can stand.”

“I have heard theoretically of putting avo on pasta and it does sound good. Mmmm bacon and avocado, John hummed. “Worth a shot?”

Scott reached towards the fruit bowl in answer, grinning at John. “Soon we will have pasta!”

John peeled off the upper half of his uniform and tied the arms around his waist in preparation. In the subtropical summer down here he was already getting too hot and while the temperature regulation built into his suit would do its best to make up for his own body’s lack thereof, it felt weird to have everything covered up from fingertips to neck down here while he was cooking.

Scott began to giggle.

“Huh?” John said, extremely eloquently.

Scott gestured at him. 

“My suit?” Was something up with his suit? The full gloved hands and sleeves flopping about without John in them had been known to amuse the lot of them on occasion, ever since he’d used the empty suit as a phoney decoy of himself to trick Eos. It was pretty funny now no one was in mortal peril and Eos was his friend.

“Your face!” Scott exclaimed.

“What’s wrong with my face?” 

John frowned. Was it his fringe that never could survive true gravity? He hadn’t gotten freckles while he’d been down all of half an hour and inside, had he? Then he looked down.

His t-shirt had a photograph of his face printed on it, and across the chest, emblazoned in neon orange read the words ‘Space Face’, courtesy of one particular fish brother. Ah yes. That.

John sighed, resting his chin on his hand to hide the smile he couldn’t quite control. “Not exactly subtle, is it? In my defence this was the only one in my closet that was clean and you can’t exactly see it beneath my suit. It’s all Gordon’s fault anyway!”

Scott was still laughing, albeit a touch hysterically and at him, but John took it as a win regardless.

Eventually Scott grabbed himself a cutting board and knife to get to work on the avocados as John carefully slipped off the bench, steadying himself on the counter as his ankles went noodley so he could handle the bacon. 

Bacon, bacon, now where had he seen that bacon? He had the image of it in his head, but that was only one piece of the puzzle, a photograph, humanly imperfect, memory woven out of instinct. Digging about in the deep freeze which the evidence pointed to as best John could tell had his fingers feeling like he’d stuck them out in space with out gloves on. They ached sharply as John cursed his crappy circulation. 

He gladly found the bacon though, lurking at the second darkest depths. He would not be willing to venture into the midnight zone of Unidentified Frozen Objects and charred dinner leftovers put away for ‘later’. He chucked the packet into the microwave and thawed out his hands by running them under lukewarm water, wincing all the while. If he’d thought this through, if he’d been smart enough, he would’ve put his suit gloves back on—his space rated, cold proof, most definitely impervious to domestic appliances gloves— and saved himself the pain.

Scott came over to rinse his avocado green hands. He dried them off then wrapped his arms around John’s waist so he could lean on him, giving in for a moment in face of daunting gravity. With Scott, he could because Scott got him; they both could.

“You alright?” And there was big brother smotherhen coming out.

John flexed his defrosted fingers. “I will be.” He turned and smushed his face into Scott’s neck for a little bit, hugging back, Scott rested his head on John’s, and they stayed there for a while.

They were both fading. The pasta would help with that, Scott really needed to eat and so did John at this point, the half a dry bagel for breakfast and another at lunch hadn’t really been enough. The trick now was finishing the task that felt as if it expanding faster by the second than the Universe, as measured by the Hubble Constant was. They could do this though. Together.

Scott chopped up the bacon roughly and John cooked it, hissing back when it spat hot oil at him. 

When Eos notified them the timer had gone off, and John had very scientifically tested the pasta was done by nomming on a bit, he called Scott over carry the large pot to the colander in the sink to strain. 

“Gravity plus boiling water plus my space noodley arms are probably not a good combo,” he laughed. 

He was getting better at knowing his limits. Scott’s smile was small and proud, he saw John.

Scott stared at the bacon with the intensity of a starved wolf with its mouth watering, then stole some pieces hot from the pan and burnt his mouth. Scoff Tracy strikes again. 

They dumped the pasta in a big mixing bowl with the mashed avocado, a little lemon juice, the bacon, and a whole lot of salt, pepper and parmesan cheese, mixing it together with the big pasta scoop.

John swayed on his feet then, grabbing onto Scott to stay upright for long enough to decide actually the best place for him right now was sitting on the kitchen floor just here. John folded himself down to the ground in a slithering pile of too long, too bendy limbs, Scott wordlessly guiding his descent. 

“You want me to grab some sporks to eat with?”

“They’re splayds, technically,” John remarked. He gave Scott the thumbs up anyway, while he rested his spinning head on his knees.

Scott waved about his ‘sporks’ acquired from the cutlery draw with a victorious grin before he sunk to the ground to join John.

John took one, passing the pasta to Scott once he was settled, lanky legs stretched out for miles, bumping into John’s.

“We forgot plates,” Scott said.

John shrugged. “At this point, who cares. We have pasta.”

“We do.” Scott blinked for a moment. “I didn’t before and I wouldn’t’ve but now we do.”

He hugged the warm pasta bowl to his chest, and when John observed more closely he saw the tears collecting on Scott’s eyelashes, sparkling in the kitchen light as he looked up at John.

“Thanks. I love you so much, Jay.”

John gave him a gentle smile, ducking to knock his forehead against his brother’s shoulder like a cat. “Love is stored in the pasta.”

Scott smiled back at him and they both dug in.

It was good pasta.

Really good pasta, because he was here with Scott and through everything they had made it, together.

[astranite]

Here's a few questions lmao

3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

5. What’s a fic idea you’ve had that you will never write?

6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?

10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

20. What’s a favourite title for a fic you’ve written?

27. Is there a fic you were nervous to post/share? Why?

Thank you!!!

3. Edges of the Universe is definitely my favourite fic because it explores both John and Scott's relationship and who John is and how that is interwoven with being autistic. All of my neurodivergent Tracies fics have a special place in my heart because even though in my head they always are I love exploring it on a textual level. Though I actually love all of my fics for their own reasons!!

5. Hmmm I am often trying to write all the ideas I am having but some are fun just to play with and imagine! For a very random one I've got some ideas for a crack treated seriously body swap trope fic mostly because giving them each other's strengths and weaknesses quite literally has the capacity to be interesting for characterisation. I might write up some notes to post if people were interested but its not something id write as a fully fleshed out fic. Though I do enjoy a plot-device mad science we dont explain makes things happen presmise!

6. So many fics I love!!! There is Suffering in Silence by @janetm74 which has John and always gives me emotions, Nowhere Else by @silverstarfics because its scott and john and my birthday fic and i adore it, Trochilidae by @idontknowreallywhy for ADHD Scott that I am very fond of, and Sweet Chariot by @edutainer2022 particularly CH2 Puzzles for a beautifully described cuddle pile.

10. It would probably be that my fic of John and Virgil got more of a reaction of many people enjoying it than I expected as its not really a combination i have seen very often (but if anyone has any recs!!!).

20. Two titles of note are Protective is an Emotion because that encapsulates the core of the fic in John protecting Virgil, and Respite (Spun Glass and Golden Light) because of both poetic and metaphoric reasons. Though I occasionally use song lyrics or single words, I enjoy finding the right set of words for titles particularly in a phrase.

27. Again probably that would be Edges of the Universe most as it is very close to my heart, intensely emotional and personal from the experiences it is drawn from and I'm very proud of it.

[astranite]

Stargazing

Sky and star!! Scott and John!!! Stargazing, honest talks on rooftops, some tears, and many hugs.

The tags copied from ao3 because Im pretty much too tired to see straight but I just finished this and Ive been working on it for a while now and here it is!!! Im very proud of it :)--Hurt/Comfort Angst Fluff its got all of them Stargazing which you just may have guessed given the title Hugs Crying Panic Attacks Self-Esteem Issues Scott's having a bit of a time of it and so is John but they've got each other there is much hugging and hot chocolate too and definitely some ADHD Scott and autistic John

Comes in at a scraping under 6000 words, so a nice long one!!

@idontknowreallywhy Thank you for all of your encouragement along the way. I doubt this would be what it is without you. Hugs :)

A headcanon in it, which you shall see, I believe originated from a fic by @edutainer2022 Sometime in 2023. The depths of tumblr. (cites sources)

-----

A thump followed by multilingual cussing out of the very concept of gravity were not uncommon sounds when John was earth side. Scott still looked up from his paper work in concern. 

John was juggling a telescope, a blanket over his shoulder and his satchel while attempting to pick up several books. Massive, heavy astronomy books splayed out on the floor around his feet. 

He swayed, nearly losing his balance and dropping the telescope at the same time. Scott leapt up to help. He crossed the comms room from dad’s desk to where John was in quick strides to get to his brother, worry blooming. 

John straightened up when Scott reached his side, his brows pinched and face pale. 

“Johnny, are you okay?” Scott questioned. He needed to know whether this was just a momentary thing or he needed to call Grandma and/or Virgil. He’d rather not have John fainting on him. 

“I’m fine, just a bit dizzy.” John said, “Probably my blood pressure from leaning down too fast.“ 

Scott let out a relieved breath. John’s space-related health issues weren’t uncommon to be dealing with but Scott hated to see any of his brothers potentially sick or hurting. At least without a mission in the way, Scott could trust John was being truthful and not pushing past his limits.

“And don’t call me Johnny,” John added in disgust. 

So John was just fine, with that level of vitriol. Just as it should be.

“Good to hear.” Scott put on a shit eating grin. “Johnny.” 

It was his big brotherly duty to be infuriating, at least now his concerns had been allayed.

“Fuck you,” John said good naturedly.

Scott gathered the books up. John paused, hesitated, then stepped back to let him.

With both hands still full, John leant against the wall for support, eyes half closed and head tipped back.

On the biggest book, ‘ Dr J. G. Tracy’ was written across the planet pictured on the purple cover, followed by the extensive list of letters standing in for qualifications after John’s name. Scott smiled proudly to himself.

When he had them all, and they were heavy, how had John managed them with everything else, Scott reached out to take the blanket too, which was slowly but surely sliding from John’s grip. 

“Thanks Scott. I thought I had it but—“ John gave floor where the former pile had been a glare. 

“Gravity?” Scott smiled.

John rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”

Scott shifted the books up in his arms. “Now where do you want this all?”

Since he was carrying them already, he may as well help John the rest of the way. It was easier, honestly, he wasn’t just being a smotherhen.

“Uh. I was planning to go to the roof,” John admitted sheepishly.

Scott nudged him gently. “I should’ve guessed.”

Long ago, Scott had gotten used to how John took every possible opportunity to see the stars. He’d thought the constant fixtures of their childhood would disappear when John made his dream of living in space, but they’d stayed. The telescopes from John’s bedroom window, the expeditions to every nearby and not so nearby observatory, lying outside on picnic blankets waiting for meteor showers. 

Turns out stargazing, even on earth, was just a part of who John was. The stars were constant in his universe and Scott loved how his brother loved them so much.

At night, out on the roof was always the first place Scott looked for John. In the day, so many times Scott had found John in his room, staring at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling. Scott had helped him put up the first set, way back in Kansas when John was shorter than him because he hadn't been to space yet, and couldn’t reach even standing on a chair. When they moved to the island, the first thing John decorated his room with were more stars here too. Sometimes, when John was up on Five for long stretches, Scott would go sit beneath them, surrounded by John’s shelves of paper books and looking upwards.

They made their way out now, Scott matching John’s cautious footsteps, slow and unsteady. The balance issues from constantly being in space were worse when John was fresh down for orbit, though they never truly went away. It worried Scott, when he thought too much about it, but Thunderbird Five was never something he could take from John without breaking his heart. So Scott was always happy to slow down, to let John take his time to feel his way along, whenever he needed to. For his brother, Scott could take it slow.

The door to the roof and the wide, flat expanse were both very deliberate in their design. Having their own observatory wasn't going to stop one space brother or two from sitting up there.

Passing from the warmly lit villa into the night was sudden and jarring. Scott realised he hadn’t been outside of a building or a cockpit for too long. He took a breath, filling his lungs with cool ocean air. The clear view and barely there breeze would make landing a dream if he was flying. 

Stars covered the sky, spread horizon to horizon. John stared up at them with open delight. He placed his telescope and bag down on the roof, then stretched out his arms as if to touch the inky purple expanse above them. When John glanced back at him, Scott repeated the gesture because this was something he understood. On a perfect blue day, as the sun shone, burning away the last whisps of white clouds, the skies pulled him in with the urge to be amongst it all. That was why he flew and John launched into space. 

Scott spread the blanket out next to where the roof slanted sharply upwards, so they’d have shelter and were far away from the edge. He put the books down on a corner, preoccupying himself with neatly stacking them. John dropped to sit cross legged, immediately beginning to set up his telescope.

Scott lingered watching him as he attached it to its stand, screwing it securely in place. Long minutes passed while John fiddled with various knobs and dials. Scott knew he had a million other things he should be doing, the paperwork lurking at his desk to name one example, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

John wouldn’t want him here. He’d enjoy his evening far more without his older brother breathing down his neck. Scott should go. He made an awkward gesture at the door back off the roof, but made no movement towards it. He was probably driving John crazy just by being here, distracting him from his stars with his indecisiveness. 

Shuffling the books around had already been a thin excuse once and messing with them more would be pushing it too far, no matter how the volume second from the bottom was botheringly skewed. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms to resist straightening it. He was already pushing it too far.

Scott forced himself up, made it halfway to his feet when John pulled himself away from his telescope. His breath caught when John opened his mouth to speak.

Scott knew he was overly clingy.

The times people had called him suffocating stung. They still stung, even when he knew they were words hurled in anger and not truly meant. He couldn’t stand to hear more, because surely that’s what John was going to say. Maybe more diplomatically, more politely, but he braced himself anyway.

“Do you want to look at the stars with me?” John asked.

Scott’s mouth was glued shut. He just stared at John.

“It’s fine if you don’t.” John glanced down at his hands, now in his lap instead of on the telescope, fidgeting with his sleeves. “I just… We haven’t spent time together for ages.”

“What— what about last week?” Scott managed. John had been down last week, they’d seen each other last week.

“That was with everyone,” John said softly. “I meant just us.”

Oh. So John wanted— John wanted him to stay? 

Scott tentatively settled to sit on the blanket, next to John. He couldn’t not. If there was the slightest chance John wanted him here, he couldn’t not take and take and take. But he had to believe John, in John’s words and soft, unsure tone of voice. That John knew what he was asking for and was saying it because he wanted this too. 

After so many rescues and times in his life where John’s voice was his anchor at the end of a comm line, it was second nature to believe John. Maybe the waver in his voice was because he had trouble asking for this too.

Their knees bumped and John gave him a small smile.

Slowly, Scott unwound, letting out a breath and relaxing every muscle he’d tensed up. He leant back, bracing his hands behind him to look once more to the sky. The stars and moon seemed brighter now. What John was searching for up there, Scott didn't know, but he’d be here as he did, with John’s calm presence by his side. 

He listened to the brushing of the breeze through the trees and the rushing whisper of sea against the shores, interspersed with the fluttering of paper as John turned the pages of his books. 

John didn't need to reference his books to point his telescope at the right bit of sky, but he always brought them anyway. It was part of the routine, the ritual, a familiar comfort too weighty to bring to space. Flicking through pages of calculations, hands on the well worn covers, opening them where they fell, because they’d been read so many times before. It was another night, like this one but a long while ago, shared together when John had told him that was why he had them, connected all the way back to memories of John as a kid with mum’s astronomy textbooks, reading them by torchlight. For Scott, there was something reassuring about John surrounded by his books and his stars, his brother as he always was and was meant to be. It wasn't silly, he’d told John, that he brought old fashioned print books instead of even just a tablet, when they made John happy. 

Tonight, without the usual jets coming and going, and people hustling to emergency alarms, the island was quiet. Calm, even. 

Alan and Gordon were up on Thunderbird Five. Alan because he needed more training before he was prepared to run the station solo, and Gordon, who’d good naturedly volunteered to partner up, given John had long exceed his space hours this month. How it was going was anyone’s guess, particularly for Gordon’s mood, when Alan was likely using his temporary commanding status to full extent in bossing around his big brother. Scott snorted.

John turned to him at the sound. “What’s up? What is it?”

“Thinking of how Allie and Gordo are doing,” Scott replied. He relayed his thoughts about their younger brothers.

The corners of John’s lips turned up. “Eos is likely more trouble, even with the talking to I gave her.”

John’s code baby slash evil AI was thankfully now into causing the inconvenient type of mischief instead of the life threatening. She could be almost sweet when she’d gotten over the murderous tendencies and Scott got to know her better. He could definitely see the John in her. 

“They’ll be just fine. Might even learn a few things.” Scott had faith in his brothers’ abilities, and in the restorative properties of the celery crunch bars he’d put in the care package for Gordon.

The conversation lulled for a moment as John refocused on his telescope, before John chipped in, “Do you reckon Virgil’s figured out his masterpiece yet?”

A paint covered Virgil had been briefly coaxed out of his studio earlier in the evening with the promise of dinner. He’d made distracted conversation with Scott and John, mind clearly still elsewhere, before shovelling the last mouthfuls of food in his mouth and running off. 

Virgil hadn’t noticed the streak of violet across his forehead, emphasised by the expression he made, all raised eyebrows and gleeful realisation, when the new idea struck. To be fair, neither Scott nor John had chosen to point it out to him. He’d either see it eventually or he wouldn’t, and time would tell how many other colours joined it. 

But a Virgil in his art zone, with music coming from beneath his door, was a happy one. Reassuring for Scott too, after the weeks and months and rescues they’d all had. 

“He’s all good,” Scott said fondly. 

John echoed it with a wider smile, both of their minds on their artsy brother in the house below. 

“So, what are you searching for tonight?” Scott gestured to the sky and the telescope in a sweeping movement. 

John startled. He paused to consider then asked, “Does that mean you actually want the whole version or just the five second summary?” 

“Hit me with all of it,” Scott said. He was rewarded by John’s face lighting up. 

John’s excitement as he explained his star stuff was contagious. Scott found himself grinning. The way John flickered his hands through the air, sketching out astronomical diagrams, was mesmerising, and the way he pulled facts and figures off the top of his head was astounding.

When he showed Scott the contents of his books, Scott barely knew where to start with the calculations, because this was John’s area, not his own field of mathematics. Half the concepts went over his head until John explained them, bit by bit. 

Scott asked questions, because it had been a while since he’d looked to the stars and he was rusty on most of the finer points other than those used for emergency navigation. John was more than happy to answer them. 

They bounced questions and answers back and forth; John got to talk about his stars and Scott got to listen to his brother’s joyous excitement which he hadn’t heard for far too long. He reminded himself to call John up more often, even if it was just on the holo, to listen to him ramble about his latest research.

“You wanna see?” John asked. “The telescope is set up and tonight’s has the best conditions there will be.”

Handling any of John’s telescopes was usually a privilege reserved for a very careful Alan. Several childhood instances of toppled stands leading to cracked lenses had instituted the rule of no brothers allowed anywhere near touching range. Or, Scott cringed to think about, amateur soccer range.

When Scott agreed, John flashed a rare grin, delighted to share the stars with him.

The stars weren’t Scott’s domain the way they were for John. Both of them loved the sky but the difference was the distance. Scott much preferred to remain within the atmosphere, outside of it wasn't for him. But the sky was for them both. Him and John, who were the first ones to love it, before any of the others came along. 

Scott looked through telescope to see what John sees. 

It was… he could only describe it as beautiful. Bright pinpricks of light forming their constellations against navy sky. The planets and the stars seen from their own tiny planet in the galaxy. All brought closer by the telescope than he could see with his eyes, brought closer by sharing this moment with John.

When Scott pulled himself away from the telescope, John was watching him in nervous anticipation, twisting his hands in his lap. 

“So, what did you think?”

“They’re amazing John, thank you for showing me.” Scott poured all his honest wonder into the words.

John looked up. “They really are.”

“I missed you,” Scott blurted out. 

Immediately, he wanted to take the words back. What made him admit it, even on the solitary rooftop where no one could overhear them? Not because they weren’t true, it was always going to be true that he missed John when he was away. But usually that was something he kept close to his chest, an ache curled around his heart. His family spent plenty of time with him, even John, they just… hadn’t lately, that was all. He was being needy, asking for too much and wanting more, more, more after people already gave.

He swallowed back the lump in his throat. The stars were blurry as he looked away.

Scott flinched when John gently took his hands in his own. 

John squeezed his hands, slender fingers wrapping around Scott’s as he automatically squeezed back. 

Gripping John’s hands, holding onto him, was a lifeline built up over years and years. So deeply ingrained in who they were that it could pierce through Scott’s racing, sharp edged thoughts. 

Looking back, him and John holding hands had started when they were kids. The first time he remembered was on a trip to an aeronautical museum, with Mum telling them they had to stick together, to hold hands and not let go. Because as a kid, John would wander off out of curiosity and get left behind when he slowed down to read all of the informational signs. It had happened many times before. In hindsight, Mum was probably trying to keep Scott from running around and climbing everything too, by recruiting him for big brother duty. 

Later the gesture was an anchor for John, to lead him out of overwhelming situations, where Scott could see him shrinking in on himself at every sound that made him want to press his hands over his ears but he couldn't for appearances sake. 

For Scott, when he’s falling apart too. For John to pull him aside with a polite excuse, then away from old guard board members at Tracy Industries meetings, and out of the surveillance of crowds and reporters alike at the awful high society galas PR made it necessary to attend. Away from where people wanted, no expected, Jeff Tracy and all they got was his son, and the cordial smiles of how much he resembled his father tore Scott as deeply as the thinly veiled whispers of how much he didn’t, and he couldn't keep it up any longer.

And right now, he was falling apart, in a different place for different reasons but the chunks of his careful facade of fine fine fine are breaking off and clattering to the ground. John bears witness to it, within touching distance, within the blast radius, instead of a million miles away. 

Scott could blame his emotionalness on exhaustion. On too many caffeine fuelled late nights bleeding into early mornings this week. On hard rescues in poor conditions. Anything instead of this boiling hurt that builds and builds.

He blinked quickly, his tears stuck to his eyelashes, hot and stinging as they welled up. He tipped his head back in hopes he could keep them from running down his face. 

If he let go of John’s hands, he could wipe them away, and he and John could both pretend they were never there. But he couldn’t let go of John. 

There was no way to hide his tears from John.

Scott hunched his shoulders. He closed his eyes. He still didn’t want to know what John really thought of him. 

John’s hands gripping his own were the only point of reference he had. Scott was failure after failure, drowning in them, and John was too clever not to realise it soon enough. 

“I missed you too.” John entwined his fingers with Scott’s before he could pull away. 

The urge to tug his hands back, to take them away from John, whether in shock, or surprise or disbelief because the voice inside his head screamed he’s lying, he’s lying. Or so John couldn't pull away first, because he would, it was only a matter of time. It was always just a matter of time until everyone found out how messed up he was. Then—

Scott didn’t know anymore. He shuddered, curling in on himself, making himself smaller, making himself less of, of everything that he was.

But John was still there. Gently holding his hands. Not letting go. 

Even as Scott felt tears dripping from his chin, the tracks burning down his face. Even as he shook, heart pounding, breaths catching loud and raspy, shattering the quiet of the night.

But why, but why but why would John miss him? The thoughts whirled, as cutting as blizzard ice, through his head. And mumbled aloud, falling unbidden from his lips, they were just as awful, the same slicing edges, now out where they could harm.

John’s voice washed over him, quiet, soft words he couldn't make out. They were buried beneath the howling thoughts.

But why?

There was no reason.

No reason at all.

Nothing was left in the dark, but Scott’s worst fears, tearing him apart with no up or down or direction, his own avalanche eating him alive.

Then something broke through. Reached out into the dark to rescue him. John squeezed his hands, pulling him out of the snow, never letting him go.

And John’s voice was gentle, filtering back in like a lost radio connection.

“Because there are as many reasons we all love you as there are stars in the sky.”

“As many reasons as stars I have yet to discover.”

“More reasons than all the stars, in all the universe, that ever were or ever will be.”

John paused for a moment, taking in a breath. “Because you’re Scott.”

Slowly, Scott opened his eyes. John was close, a blur of pale face and red hair that swam into focus as he blinked. Wide, earnest turquoise eyes that saw right through him.

Heartbroken was far too easy an expression to recognise on John, not when you knew him. But so was love. His expression was a mixture of both Scott wasn’t sure what to do with.

He stared until something jagged lodged in his chest and he forced himself to look away. 

To the stars. Then down at their interlocked hands, where his own still trembled. 

He watched as John’s fingers tightened briefly. His vision blurred.

“You back with me?” John asked. The same tone he’d heard him use over comms on scared rescuees and brothers alike, but now without the static.

Scott nodded slowly. He wasn’t sure he could make his voice work.

Somehow, John understood. Somehow John understood him and that hadn’t sent him running.

“You want to take a few deeps breaths, and then we can talk?”

He nodded again, listening for John’s count. He pushed his thoughts towards the back of his mind as hard as he could.

He tried, to time his inhales and exhales to John’s voice, he really did. 

But his chest hitched, sobs tearing from his throat on every breath.

He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t do it. 

He couldn't even breathe calmly, not even with John counting for him, John was wasting his time.

Except John said, “Scott, Scotty. Listen to me. However long it takes, it’s okay. I’m here.”

Scott was still crying, and this wasn't how the evening was supposed to go. John was meant to be watching his stars, not having to hold Scott’s broken mess together. 

Scott probably wasn't meant to be here at all. He was meant to be doing mission reports, he should have stayed doing mission reports. Reliving awful memories of wrenching metal and screams to put lives saved and lost into official sounding sentences, at least would’ve only hurt him.

It took far too long for his sobs to lose their edge.

Too long to get his breathing back to shaky hiccups instead of hyperventilating.

For him to be left exhausted, with tears still flowing that nothing he could do would stop.

Over and over, John repeated, “You’re okay, we’re okay,” and, “I’m here.” 

Because he was still here, with Scott, and he wasn't leaving.

And maybe that meant something.

Scott couldn’t hide his tears from John, but maybe he didn't have to. Not when John was so close, not when he cared. Because John still had his hands in his own. Because John showed him the stars that were his entire world. Everything said he cared about Scott, no matter what he did.

“Would you like a hug?” John asked. 

The contact would be nice. But whether John wanted a hug, when he so often kept himself far apart. Scott shook his head then nodded. He didn’t know. He could barely think in the come down from his emotions. 

But he didn’t have to figure it out as John pulled him close.

Their hands were pinned awkwardly between them because Scott still couldn’t let go, but he leant into John, tucking his face into John’s neck, hidden from sight. 

John was wearing a navy blue hoodie which had gone through several brothers and might once have been Scott’s own, given the peeling aeroplane decal, but it was difficult to tell beneath the paint stains. 

The soft fabric soaked up his tears. Eventually he let one hand go, carefully, bit by bit and John wrapped his arm securely around him. 

Okay, he was okay. John was here. He just had to keep telling himself that. 

John didn’t pull away to ask, “Do you want to tell me what happened there?” He just spoke quietly, chin still resting on top of Scott’s head where he was curled around him. 

Scott swallowed. “Not particularly.”

“Is that because you actually don’t want to or because you think you’re fine.”

Scott shook his head. Even he had enough awareness to know he wasn’t entirely fine right now. Not with tear tracks barely dry on his cheeks.  Or clutching John like his world would fall apart otherwise because something inside him told him it would. 

“It’s I don’t know what you’ll think of me,” he mumbled into John’s hoodie. 

John’s arm tightened around him. He whispered, “Oh, Scott.”

Scott tensed up. 

“I’m not going to be upset with you, no matter what you’re feeling,” John added, quickly, tripping over his words to reassure Scott. 

“Promise?” Scott asked, stupidly, childishly, because he couldn't help it even though it wasn't something John could promise. 

“I promise,” John said solemnly. 

The words, their words, went all the way back to their childhood, of Scott gripping John’s hands, making him promise not to tell mum and dad where Scott’s super secret fort was built in the backyard. John had never broken one of their promises. Not even as they got older and it was a teenaged Scott crying his heart out in the far too tiny tree house, because he didn't want dad to see him getting upset over little things like trying hold their family together and looking after his siblings.

Their exchange soldified something between them. Their bond that had always been there and maybe he could believe always would be there. It let Scott lower his walls inch by inch, until he found the courage to speak, even if it was barely audible and he still wasn't looking at John.

“It’s fine. It’s just… You never seem to want to spend time with me anymore,” he admitted.

“Of course I want to spent time with you,” John stated gently, “Why would I not?” 

Scott choked on bitter laughter. “Why would you want to?”

He felt the moment John’s breath caught. How John hugged him close, pressing Scott to his chest. 

“Scotty,” John asked apprehensively, the childhood nickname coming out for the second time tonight, “Is this really how you think of yourself?”

Scott shrugged against John. “What does it matter.” 

John’s voice was thick, “It matters because somehow you’ve got it in your head that there’s no reason I’d miss you, and that’s not true and never will be true. It’s so, so not true.”

“When you’re earthside, you still spend all your time with the others,” he muttered in ugly, hurt words.

The sharp intake of breath from John was another regret. 

Scott was torn between running where he’d never hurt John again and holding him closer. 

As he pulled away, John’s hand still in his own brought him back. John always brought him back. So he clung on to John too, and starlight glinted from both their tears. 

He held on, and they were both shaking now. 

John’s “I’m sorry—I’msorrysosorry—’msosorryScotty,” was distressed and near silent. 

“But why?” Butwhybutwhybutwhy?

“I thought you wouldn't want to star gaze with me!” John burst out.

It was Scott’s turn to squeeze John’s hand. To have John’s trembling fingers gripping back. 

Scott swallowed hard. This was on him. He’d upset John. His own fresh tears cooled on his face, the sea breeze picking up to give them freezing bite. Scott had failed. Like he always did. But this was at the one thing that mattered above all others, of keeping his brothers safe and happy. 

Guilt laced John’s voice, heavy and suffocating. “Alan loves space nearly as much as I do, so I try to take him out whenever I can. Virgil will draw anything whether or not it sits still for long enough and he wanted to try painting the sky with watercolours.”

Scott almost didn't want to ask, “What what about Gordon?” Because why was it just not him?

He heard John sniffle. “We usually sit near the beach. Gordy watches the waves and I watch the stars. Then he wanted to know about the stars because apparently they look kinda like the constellations of bioluminescence in the deep sea.” John’s words got stuck and he choked out, “I’m so sorry Scott.”

“It’s— it’s fine,” Scott said, effect ruined by the break in his voice. By how he couldn’t let go of John’s hand, even as he felt more tears trickling down his cheeks. “You don’t need to worry, just spend your time with the others, I know you don’t get much.”

He wouldn't want to hang out with himself if he had a choice about it. 

John pulled his face away from where it was tucked in the crook of Scott’s neck. He still didn't look at Scott.

“I know you don’t want to spend time with me,” John said in a small, wet voice, “I’m boring. All I can talk about is astronomy and most normal people don’t care about it. I’m just weird and wobbly and awkward.”

“John—” Scott tried. 

“When I’m not in space, I only slow you down,” John continued.

“Johnny!”

That got John’s attention. “What,” he snapped.

“I do want to spent time with you,” Scott said, “Of course I do, I always do.” 

“But I didn’t really know. Most people don’t like me,” John stated, far too matter of fact. 

That hit Scott like a punch to the gut. “You’re just like me,” he whispered. 

Something he didn't want for any of his brothers.

“You feel like this too,” John whispered back, low so not even the stars could hear them. 

Like they were both back in that tree house, amongst their old promises. Tangled together because that was the only way they would both fit now they weren’t children anymore. All lanky limbs, knees and elbows and sharp edges digging into each other. 

At the same time, in the same motion, he and John hugged each other tighter. They were still the same jagged edges that fitted as closely as puzzle pieces, if they lined it up right. 

“It’s why— why I thought you wouldn’t want to spent time with me,” Scott said, unsure now. “Because why would you.” 

Scott took a deep breath and quoted, “Scott’s too clingy. Too needy. Too much, going too fast.” He kept his voice soft, pouring out old hurts, recent hurts, for only John to hear.

“And here I was trying not to drag you down when I could’ve held you close instead,” John murmured.

“Yeah,” Scott said thickly, “I could’ve been there for you.” 

“For you too.” John’s voice gained an edge, “That you can’t think of a single reason I’d miss you means I must be doing something wrong.”

“It’s not your fault.” If there was something Scott was adamant about, it was this.

John raised his head to look Scott in the eyes, brief, burning turquoise. “Then it can’t be yours either.”  

“But for everything…” Scott trailed off.

“I’m not going to love you less. None of us are. Not for being you.”

“I failed.” He had to say it, had to make sure John knew.

“No,” John said vehemently, “You were hurting too.”

Scott could feel John’s thundering heart pressed against his chest.

“Neither of us knew and we’re both trying, that matters,” John continued, “There’s also what we do now.” 

John was Thunderbird Five, but he was also John Tracy. He knew. He knew Scott. Scott had to trust him.

“We make each other stronger. And we hold each other up,” Scott said quietly. Because of who they were, not just in spite of it.

For John, with John, maybe it was just one day possible. 

They stayed like that, fused together in a hug, surrounded by John’s stars and Scott’s sky, for a long time. Scott couldn't remember when he’d last hugged John like this. To keep each other close, like they’d promised they would. He needed to do it more often. 

When they finally moved, because sitting in one place on a rooftop for so long wasn't exactly comfortable, neither of them went far. 

John dragged his satchel nearer and pulled out a thermos flask. 

“I’ve got hot chocolate,” he smiled, opening it to take a sip then holding it out for Scott. 

Scott took it, wrapping his hands around the warm thermos before raising it to his lips. 

Closing his eyes, he savoured it. No one made hot chocolate like John. No one except mum did.

He pressed his shoulder against John’s in silent appreciation. 

They passed the thermos back and forth, no words needed. 

When it was empty and they were both full of hot chocolate, the night was late, the stars turning overhead. They perhaps should have gone in, would’ve on another evening without all the everything that had occurred tonight, but Scott had worked up the courage to ask John to stay, just for a little while longer, and John wanted to.

John returned to his telescope and Scott settled close, with John happily leaning back on his chest, Scott’s arms wrapped around John’s middle and chin on his shoulder. John could still look at his stars and Scott got to hug him so it was a win for them both. 

The ocean breeze was picking up, becoming chilly in shirtsleeves when Scott hadn't brought a jumper because he didn't think he’d get to be out here so long. But John was warm and his hoodie soft, plus Scott could stick his hands in the front pocket, partially to annoy John ever so slightly, but also because his fingers were cold. 

He got a close up of that characteristic irritated but fond expression, caught in a John half smile, when John tipped his head to look at Scott. Scott couldn't help but smile back. 

Then John also stuck his absolutely freezing hands in the hoodie pocket with Scott’s finally warm fingers, vibrating with laughter because he did that on purpose. 

They both settled back, hanging onto each others hands again, staring upwards at their sky and stars.

[astranite]

WIP Whateversday.

I've been working on a bunch of things, none of which are yet completed. But they're getting there, bit by bit. @idontknowreallywhy Thank you for all the chats and encouragement :)

So without further ado:

From a fairly fluffy piece with Scott and John-

A thump followed by multilingual cussing out of the very concept of gravity were not uncommon sounds when John was earth side. Scott still looked up from his paper work in concern. 

John was juggling a telescope, a blanket over his shoulder and his satchel while attempting to pick up several books. Massive, heavy astronomy books splayed out on the floor around his feet.

Also Scott and John, but with some heavier topics and more angsting before the hurt/comfort. Written based on several prompts, (we haven't gotten up to that in this snippet but we will) from @smallfrysblog! They have some great whump prompts so *dramatically gestures in that direction* Also thank you for the writing chats!

Scott crept through the house, sneakers in hand, socked feet near silent on the wooden floors. He edged past his brothers’ rooms, wary in spite of the heavy sound proofing built into the walls. At Virgil’s door, he paused for a moment to listen to the soft snores from within. His Virgil, fast asleep, at home and okay. Not the set of blank brown eyes staring at him in his dreams.

Entering the comms area, Scott tensed at the silhouetted figures lined up against the wall. They loomed in stiff formation. He stumbled back, exhausted mind racing with threats, searching for cover. 

Seconds stretched out, oozing and thick as tar. His heart raced. Then logic caught up, snapping into place. 

Their portraits.

This one's been nicknamed "Scott goes to therapy and gets a hobby." Because the Recharge episode really hammered home for me that he needs something that is not IR related and is just for himself. And as a very long way round reply to @edutainer2022's bit of fic on Scott listening to Virgil ramble about art stuff, and me thinking Scott needs to have something to get excited and talk about too, then it spiralling from there. Scott centric but there shall be Virgil!

Scott was at a loss. He scraped a hand through his hair, tugging at it in frustration. 

This should be simple. A normal person wouldn't even have to think about it. It should be an easy assignment.

But deadline was ticking closer and he still had nothing to show for it. 

Find an activity to do that wasn’t related to International Rescue, and report back in the next session, his therapist had told him. 

At the time, he’d almost laughed. Wasn’t like it was that hard. 

There were dozens of examples he could give right off the top of his head. He’d been helping Alan out with his latest school project yesterday afternoon. He ran and rock climbed regularly for his fitness. Tracy Industries paperwork kept him up the other half of his nights. John’s conference in Switzerland he’d attended to support his brother could even count towards getting out and off the Island.

The week before, he’d spent the day with Virgil and Gordon, fixing the cracked tarmac of one of the runways, where the close proximity to the sea had damaged it. The runway wasn’t even used by any of the Thunderbirds, only their Tracy series of light passenger aircraft, so it had no relevance to International Rescue whatsoever. 

See, he had plenty of things to keep him occupied without IR. 

Then his therapist had vetoed them all and specified, “Nothing related to work, or helping out your brothers either.”

Also I haven't completely forgotten about the autistic John fic from last wip Wednesday, I'm still writing it, I've just been temporarily waylayed!

[idontknowreallywhy]

Aaah I never posted the comment! Better late than never…?

This is simultaneously heartbreaking and heartwarming. And chilling, ugh humans can be so awful in packs.

The fact they are using Virgil’s art as a means to bully him?!! Argh! And being able to see music is such a gift, I am so enraged for him.

Love how you do John’s inner monologue, how he sees and pays attention to a difference before realising why it’s important. Little high school newbie Virg in trouble 😭

John was all the way there in a heartbeat. 🥰

John’s view of himself and contrast with V makes me sad “he wasn’t as strange or sharp edged”… as if it’s less ok to be bullied for one kind of difference than another? I guess that’s what it does to you long term.

Virgil humming 🥹

John getting right in there even though he knows he can’t do the same kind of fix Scott would. Although whatever that was it clearly didn’t long term fix it for John in the past… but then the hint at a suspension being “another thing Scott would have to deal with dropped on his shoulders” makes me realise this is post losing mom Tracys and Scotty has a lot going on.

I love how he calculates the variables and comes up with the plan. How he uses eye contact to freak them out. Clears the path.

I always wish I had the snappy line too, John…

Your jokes *suck* random teen boy. But bros are forever and John has Virgil’s back this time.

*hugs them both and you*

Protective is an Emotion

John and Virgil, with younger Tracies. This started off with me wanting to write John being the protective big brother and went from there. Might be a 2nd and 3rd chapter as there be ideas for them. Rather angsty so far but there shall be some hurt/comforting. John and Virgil are both autistic as I am always writing them that way tis just more obvious here.

Warnings for bullying.

---

John walked through the crowded school yard, head down, one hand tightly wrapped around the shoulder strap of his backpack. The cacophony of bodies and noise pressed in on him, the typical state of students at break time, rowdy, clamoring and far too numerous. 

He wouldn't have stopped usually, have kept pressing through until he got to the doors of the library and inside, where it was finally, thankfully quiet and he could breathe. But something caught his eye, an aberration in the pattern of swirling students and harried staff members. 

At the base of the concrete stairs leading to the art block building was a knot of students. It wasn't out of the ordinary for teenagers to gather there, half blocking the walkway for people who wanted to get past until a teacher inevitably told them off and then they inevitably returned to position as soon as said teacher was out of sight. But it still pinged in John’s brain as an important detail even before he quite realised. 

The teenagers looked to be a couple of grades below him. They formed a wall of bodies against the art building, intention all focused inward. John caught a glimpse of dark hair and flash of colourful canvas between them.

The final piece of the puzzle: Virgil had started attending the same highschool as Scott and John, beginning this week.

It could be fine, maybe it was fine, maybe the kids in Virgil’s grade would treat Virgil better than John’s supposed peers had ever done to him.

But John preferred hard evidence and he didn't put much stock in the good of humanity when it came to teenagers forced into close proximity by the mass education institution known as a school. 

Best case scenario, John could say hi and check in on Virgil, then leave him to hang out with his new friends without his weird ginger brother butting in on the conversation, and ask Virgil to tell him about them and how his day was on the bus home from school.

Worst case scenario? Well, that was why John was striding towards the group, chin up and shoulders back, doing his best to use his lanky height to get through the crowd and mimic Scott when he had something to prove. Because he was the big brother here and if there was the slightest chance Virgil needed him, that meant John was all the way in a heartbeat.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” John smiled, showing his teeth. 

Start nice, start friendly, better not to let them see a potential threat coming. If there needed to be a threat, which John sorely hoped there wouldn’t.

Several of the students jumped, whipped their heads around.

“Who’re you?” One challenged.

John made full eye contact with the teen. “I’m John Tracy.” 

The other boy looked away first. 

“We’re just talking. What’s your problem?” Another teen, closest to Virgil and pressing in on his personal space as Virgil leaned away added.

“Yeah, we’re talking,” A different student, John couldn't keep track of the faces. Then directed at Virgil: “Aren’t you going to tell us what you drew?”

They all looked to Virgil, like this was some kind of gotcha instead of an innocent question as John’s instincts screamed this was a trap.

He’d been here before. John swallowed hard.  They weren’t— It wasn’t— Appearances could be deceiving and some people didn't know when to stop because they liked the feeling of having power over others.

“Come on, give us an answer. Or is it music again, which is a sound that you hear?” A voice twisted to mocking.

Virgil was clutching his sketchbook and a canvas covered in vividly painted patterns to his chest. The concrete stairwell wall was up against his back, blocking off the exits as pleading brown eyes found John, lips mouthing his name. 

Virgil was scared, these teens were taunting him, even though there was nothing he would have done to deserve it, no one deserved it, especially not his kindest brother who wore his heart on his sleeve and wanted to help everyone. He wasn’t as strange or sharp-edged as John…

“Stop. Just stop,” John said. Blurted out, because he wished Scott was here, Scott would know what to do to fix this. John needed his big brother right now too.

One of the teens nudged Virgil in the ribs quicker than John could cross the circle to get to him. Virgil flinched and shrunk further inwards on himself, humming under his breath, the pitch rising. 

John saw red. He forced his way through the gathered teens to put himself between them and Virgil, protectiveness surging enough to take his breath away. He’d tear them apart with his teeth if that would make them leave Virgil alone. 

But it wouldn’t. And he wasn’t Scott, he was just John. He could calculate the forces involved better than he could throw a punch because he was too clumsy to be on the sports teams and didn't really want to be anyway, and he was tall like a plant that grew too fast without enough sun instead of tall and athletic, and he was only a year older than these kids no matter that he was in Scott’s grade, and he’d never won a fight when it was him because it had never ended.

Analysing variables was his language: a) he and Virgil would never win now if it came to fighting because bullies liked to outnumber you, b) getting himself suspended trying would only mean he wasn't there to protect Virgil and it would be another thing Scott would have to deal with dumped on his shoulders, and c) the smart option was to get out now.

The teens were between laughter at them and indignation, a volatile combination. Spilt rocket fuel in the school yard. 

John dropped any semblance left of the polite expression he’d been wearing. Gave the blank, emotionless, nothing look, because he knew it unnerved people even though it was just his normal face. Stared unblinkingly into the eyes of the teen directly in front of him, because apparently it was uncanny even when he didn’t mean it as a threat, the same intimidation of a barn yard cat eyeing up its prey. Somewhere that hurt but it was buried amongst John’s roiling emotions. He could use it though.

“We are going,” he stated flatly. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, the protagonists in John’s books always had a snappy line at this point except he didn’t.

He tried to give Virgil as much warning as he could, saying his name before seizing his hand.  

John broke the path, somewhat dragging Virgil with him even as he did his best to be gentle because he really didn't want to hurt his brother and he knew how scary it was, but getting away was more important right now. 

He pushed past the other students, shuddering when a grab was made at his arm and shaking it off. The boy in question loudly played what they’d done to Virgil like it was a big, friendly joke, like it wasn’t one hundred percent purposeful, couldn’t any Tracy just take a joke.

“Can’t even say anything about his own stupid drawing,” The same teen muttered to their retreating backs. 

By how Virgil’s grip went suddenly crushingly tight on his hand, John knew he had heard every word.