#i nearly threw up reading that. god i hate maggots.

[concha-de-mar]

Eragon and the co. learning that the earth is round and that little conversation he and Saphira had was really interesting but holy fuck bc of that i was so caught off guard by the maggot

[philomenafm]

(NATALIA DYER, DEMI GIRL) - Have you seen PHILOMENA CARMICHAEL? PHILLY is in HER/THEIR SOPHOMORE year. The WILDLIFE SCIENCE MAJOR is 20 years old & is a TAURUS. People say SHE/THEY are WHIMSICAL, PATIENT, APATHETIC and UNPREDICTABLE. Rumors say they’re a member of CALLOWAY. I heard from the gossip blog that SHE CONCEALED MURDEROUS EVIDENCE  (JAMES. 21. EST. THEY/THEM.)

ive done sm switches bt. she is the one. she is the one i love. trust me. ples. this is an old intro n im frankly. too lazy 2 read it bt. i love her a lot shes very good please like her

TW CANCER, TRAUMA, DEPERSONALIZATION / DEREALIZATION DISORDER ( ALT. DISSOCIATION ), DEATH, DECAY, MAGGOTS.

aesthetic.

wildflowers in your hair and bare feet against moss, binoculars and maps, madonna beating out of half-dead speakers in a half-dead van, whipping wind, jumping off cliffs and rolling down hills, a bandaid wrapped around each finger, cryptic bumper stickers and cryptids in the woods, facing the sun and letting the rays hit you, counting stars late into the night, dancing naked in the woods with nothing but fire to light your way, mismatched socks and lucky ribbons, hoarding a box of special treasures, shoplifting and diner-dashing, bleach against roots, pink sweaters paired with ripped fishnets and slip dresses with knock off uggs, willingly wearing crocs, glitter stickers, fungi and feeling one with them, lying down and decomposing, they’ll find us in a week. they’ll find us in a week.

basics.

full name: philomena brontë carmichael

nickname(s): philly, phil, etc.

b.o.d. - april 20th, 2000

label(s): the amaranth, the halycon, the neophyte, the wanderer, etc. etc.

height: 5′4″

hometown: woodside, ca

sexuality: demisexual

pinterest ( & her family pinterest b/c they’re my most developed family uwu)

stats

favorite song: wonderfully bizarre, bendigo fletcher / we can be defined by the things we want / i’ll be a life full of free haircuts from the one that i love / we’ll collect fallen out teeth in a candy jar / mice for the backyard peregrine falcon reservation.

background.

a middle child belonging to christopher and imogen carmichael - two stanford professors. christopher specialized in british literature whilst imogen specialized in the classics. hence the name.

the order of siblings goes as such: lysander, elektra, juno, philomena, and twins orion & valora. the deal was that everybody had a greek (or in juno’s case, roman) first name and a middle name inspired by a piece of british literature circa 1800s and under. a family of nerds, if you will.

so, clearly - right off the bat, their parents are … eccentric. they’re both in love with their respected topic, and with each other, and with their kids. the carmichael family is a happy family.

they each have their own quirks and whatnot - though philly’s always been particularly dreamy - even as a child, she’d spend hours watching clouds or caterpillars or the leaves blow in the wind rather than play with other kids. she wasn’t a shy kid - she just had her own interests.

hardship doesn’t hit the family until philomena is five and starts having splitting headaches. they’re slow at first - but as soon as she’s seeing spots and unable to walk in a straight line, doctor appointments are made.

it doesn’t take long for them to discover the tumor, though the official diagnosis of malignant ependymoma comes a month later.

it’s grade ii but slow-moving, small enough to not be as much of a threat as worried, but big enough where removal is necessary. philomena earns a scar and brings it in for show-and-tell. for two months afterwards, philly’s at radiotherapy monday through friday.

they’re lucky - philomena’s considered cancer-free by the next year. she’s babied at first - handled delicately, as if she could break if touched - but with five other children … it doesn’t last for too long.

and life continues as normal.

her personality doesn’t shift much over the next few years - she’s awfully independent for a kid, and awfully quiet - when she speaks it’s about faeries and bigfoot, about how the sky is so blue and if you listen quietly, you can hear the leaves whisper their secrets to each other. this is not odd.

she’s close to all her siblings, but she idolizes her older sister - elektra. elektra’s six years older and dyes her hair whatever colors she wants. elektra bought a knife off a seedy guy downtown. elektra threw away all of her heels and renounced god. elektra is god. her music is loud but it’s not heavy - it’s florence and the machine.

they’re opposites - elektra’s boisterous and feels loudly, philomena’s softer and feels…less. when elektra sneaks out, philomena keeps watch. they are a duo.

philomena is smart - but she’s fifteen and hates school. hates sitting inside all day. hates the same routine - day after day - it’s all the same. her parents’ routine is the same, philly feels contained and she wants to live.

elektra’s twenty-one and just bought a brand new spanking (used but not falling apart) 19-something volkswagen … van - using her entire savings account. she says she’s tired of routine, she’s leaving the next day.

naturally, philomena stows away in the back and isn’t discovered until they’re two states away and she’s got to pee. elektra nearly crashes the van in shock.

it’s an argument - philomena vs. elektra, then them vs. their parents, then their parents vs. the school, the state - it’s an ordeal. philomena switches to an online program in the end.

it hurts christopher and imogen - lysander’s not having any of their nonsense, juno’s betrayed and alone - the twins are twins. in the end, it’s alright. the carmichael family is a happy family.

philomena and elektra take their time - it’s not a road trip, it’s their new life, permanently on the road. they stop and explore often - they do odd jobs in whatever town they settle in. they dine-n-dash, they shoplift. they survive in their own way.

during particularly desperate times, they two resorted to identity theft & credit fraud - getting away with it only by ditching the cards once they’ve made it out of state.

she drops out of high school officially when she’s seventeen - they have to drive all the way back to california to deal with the wrath of their parents and to deal with paperwork, but it’s done. philomena doesn’t know what path she wants in life - but it’s not that.

it’s during this time that the episodes occur - philomena’s outside her body, philomena’s wrapped in cotton, her memories are not her own. she’s looking in the mirror and she doesn’t recognize herself. they take shelter in a city for six months, long enough for her brand spankin’ new therapist to figure out what’s wrong with her. she’s diagnosed with depersonalization / derealization disorder - they think it’s stress. philomena doesn’t get stressed. they think it’s trauma. she laughs - she never laughs.

there is trauma though, deep-rooted but somewhere inside - you just have to look for it.

you. just. have. to. look. for. it. look for it. look for it. look for it look for it look -

you were ten and she was thirteen, an off-trail hike in familiar woods in a familiar town, safe and familiar. it was your idea, to stray from the carved out paths, down creeks and up hills and round, and round again. you’re the one who spotted the scarf first, sticking up from the dirt and dancing in the wind like the beginning of reincarnation. it was not reincarnation, it was discovery. it was ruin. with curiosity drawn, you skidded down - with compliance, followed juno, followed your sister - clumsy in her steps and tumbling down quicker than you. you saw the corpse, but juno felt it. decaying flesh and maggot.

and she left juno, just like that - just five years later, when juno had finally gone to the end of her wits. philly up and left. abandoned her.

philomena and elektra leave the city after that therapy session. they do not return. she’s always been good at hiding her secrets.

three years later and her parents want philly to have a higher education - desperate for it, really - worried for her future. it’s a battle that she loses, getting her ged and applying to a local college in florida in shameful compliance.

they’re there for a year until philly gets (expectantly) expelled from the community college & the two of them are banned from the town they’d residing in up until that point. they don’t talk about it - but boy, was it one hell of a time.

they found refuge in preaker, a town that seemed to suit them well - it suited elektra’s desire to travel up and down the east coast, and it intrigued philomena enough to the point of her being content with staying. soon after, philly officially transferred to yates for her freshmen spring term & theyve been here since.

(whenever anna brings cillian uh. he’s in here too he’s been traveling w them fr like 3ish years. i just cannot rewrite atm KDSGLSDKLGKFGHLKSL bt hes here. n hes sexy. n we love him. bro3tp)

OH. hey yeah the secret. errmm. tht’s on cillian. philly just hid the evidence. no they didnt kill someone yes they did no they did not <3 yes

personality & facts.

she’s quiet but she’s confident - her voice sounds like rustling leaves, if leaves smoked a pack of cigarettes a day.

often underestimated - philly’s petite and looks like she’d fall over if a plastic bag blew too close to her. she’s independent - for the most part. elektra is the only person philly takes orders from.

has always been considered odd - weird, strange. still talks about the trees as if they’re listening, as if they’re old friends. she’s vague and doesn’t elaborate on the things she says.

believes in pretty much any superstition you throw her way. luck is very important to her. if you ask her if the earth is flat, she’ll say probably. believes strongly in bigfoot and the lochness monster. has personally seen aliens, and loves ghosts almost more than herself.

she can be amusing - whether you ‘get’ her or not, her outlook is often bright - she talks about the negatives the same way she talks about the positives. can be seen as naive or gullible, but she’s plenty smart. even if half of her education has come directly from google.

philly doesn’t laugh. a smile, yes - often, in fact - not always reaching her ears, or bearing teeth - but these are not indicators of her happiness. philly is consistently content. she thinks many things are funny - she still will not laugh.

her voice is often monotonous - she doesn’t sound dreary, she sounds far-away. her voice carries. her emotions are often unknown to others.

is apathetic in most situations. she’s hard to bother - she’s incredibly patient and enjoys the company of most - tolerates them at the very least. it’s hard for her to express her emotions, because she feels them so little that it’s very nearly not worth it. her affection is not verbal - it’s small touches and gestures of kindness, love in her own way.

is a fan of knock-knock jokes and bad puns. she won’t crack a smile while telling you them, nor does she expect you to laugh. she just enjoys them.

she owns a motorola razr covered in puffy stickers - hasn’t ever had a smartphone. she’s a fan of emoticons. her favorite is :o)

has a lot of bruises and scratches and scars - she’s often getting herself into pickles. there are always, at the very minimum, three bandaids on each hand.

she has insomnia, so she’s awake often. is often seen wandering town - even when she shouldn’t be, even when it might be dangerous. her intuition is delayed. when she does sleep - her dreams are vivid and fantastical.

keeps a box of memories - sentimental bits and pieces she’s picked up over the last few years. there are a lot of buttons and postcards, but any teeny tiny object will do.

her style changes every week - most, if not all, of her clothes are thrifted. one week she’s baby spice and the next she’s lydia deetz. she combines pieces from different styles often - she looks like a barbie clothed by a child. she feels most comfortable like this.

will either patch-up the clothes that get too worn or reuse them in some way. sometimes donates the clothes she gets tired off - isn’t minimalistic, but she’s learned to keep only a small amount of possessions.

the only consistency is her lucky ribbon - it’s pastel yellow and silky and as thin as a shoelace. she ties it onto her outfit of the day, everyday. if she loses it, she’s lost. elektra has a matching ribbon (& so does leo fowler eyes emoji)

has no problem with minor theft - she only takes bare minimum, puts herself and elektra first and that’s how it’s always been. she tries to be good while in preaker / yates - would hate to be forced out by mobs with torches and pitchforks

currently living in calloway while elektra stays in their van, florence - sometimes philly stays there during the weekends.

they used to live in motels on the occasion, the cheapest room, and more often than not they’d both go home with strangers for a comfier bed and a hotter shower.

it was a common occurrence - she didn’t sleep with them - but somehow, she weaseled her way into their homes anyway. has come out mostly unscathed, on most occasions. this has been a practice ever since they’ve been on the road.

really, truly - has not slept with anybody, had her first and only kiss at thirteen with a frog. this doesn’t bother her. edit: her first & only kisses hv been w leo fowler. this is important

will consume anything you put in front of her - isn’t picky.

listens to whatever they’ve picked up along the way but she likes instrumentals the best. her second favorite genre is 1990′s and 2000′s top hits. they’re nostalgic for her. third favorites? florence, of course. fleetwood mac. the bird and the bee.

loves storms - will go out in the rain and will risk her life for it.

owns a pair of roller-skates and is often skating rather than walking. unless she’s on grass - then she’s walking barefoot.

has many hobbies, and gets bored of them often. her favorite hobby is welding. she’s not certified.

also, juggling.

also, accordion.

the kind of girl who’ll do any job you give her. odd jobs are her favorite jobs. babysitting is her least favorite - but she does it anyway. has lost children before. have they ever been found? not by philly.

dyes her hair blonde often and cuts her own hair - bangs included - finds it cathartic, likes the itchiness of bleach.

everything she does is often in pursuit of feeling free, alive, and meaningful.

( like her frequent visits to the woods, late at night when the moon is high and full. it’s freeing to dance around a fire, stark naked in the cold. builds immunity )

comes and goes wherever she pleases, nothing & nobody can stop her. she knows to respect nature. exudes natural trust energy <3 dont know wht tht means but

the trust expands to animals as well, she has a certain knack for getting them to like her. has too many ‘pet’ rats that reside with her, alongside a baby raccoon & a few crow pals. has a new animal companion everyday, but she doesn’t contain them or force them to stay. edit: she hs a tabby cat named pail, now. named in honor of her mother, bucket.

leaves her window in calloway wide open because of this, because her window is conveniently right besides a tree with sturdy branches. good for animal smuggling, sneaking in and out, hiding, etc. etc. world is her oyster.

though her room in calloway is ??? frankly a mess ??? already ??? usually keeps most of her possessions in her memory box but she’s also turned her room into a mini labyrinth of knick-knacks. very cozy, but very nest-like. think of howl’s room from howl’s moving castle.

wanted connections.

how did you get in here ;; someone whose room she perhaps crashed at late at night, mysteriously. she refuses to explain where she’s come from. she’s gone before you wake. they could literally not know her at all she’s just sleeping halfway under their bed like <3 thank you <3

ma’am this is a wendys ;;  someone who sees her constantly <3 doing outlandish shit <3 bc lets b real. shes weird. shes a weirdo. why do u think she wears the same hat everyday. (she doesnt wear hats often) anyways. they probably dnt even like her? just think shes very strange?

im literally going to dissect you ;;  someone who. wants to figure out philly. pick at her brain. wear her shoes. kind of in the same category of above in this general like. ur fkn weird. bt they wna figure out why <3 they wna play therapist <3 jokes on u she hates therapists

liddle thief in the night ;; someone who has caught her stealing. or dining n dashing. either/or. perhaps both. she steals a lot :/

oh like. friends n stuff ;; of any closeness. ppl she talks 2 conspiracies with, ppl she goes on late night walks with, ppl she explores with, ppl she steals with, ppl she smokes with, etc. etc. ppl who bring her out to parties cos they like her funky little ways when she gets drunk n tries to climb atop everything <3 

thts nice. anyways ;; this is fr like. literally anything unrequited. philly doesnt like <3 a lot of ppl <3 In That Way. so its basically just. ur muse thinks shes very neat n she thinks ur muse is very neat bt platonically. she doesnt do hookups or anything n if she does i tend 2 like. run purely based off of chemistry even with. most of her connections in general.

uuhh. anything ;; HLKDGKSDLKGHLKSFDSHGKFD i nvr rly hv a lot of connections up fr philly bc shes like. a very unpredictable muse n i think its usually better to just. throw her in! n see wht happens! we cn still plot obv n come up w some fun things bt fr the most part shes very organic

[petrichoravellichor]

Lemme have Sabriel and #32

#32 - a kiss to wake up

(Blah blah blah, this got longer than I meant for it to, blah blah blah…)

What Your Heart Meant (~1.7k words)

(Read on AO3)

Sam snapped awake just in time to keep from falling out of the chair. He swore under his breath as he steadied himself, gaze flickering instinctively to the figure that lay motionless on the bed.

“Sorry,” murmured Sam, “didn’t mean to nod off on you.” He didn’t know if Gabriel could hear him, but it felt wrong to just ignore him...particularly when there was so much Sam wanted to say. For the moment, however, he had to content himself with scooting the chair just a little bit closer to the edge of the mattress and resuming his vigil as the events of ten hours prior replayed in his head...

***

Michael had made quick work of Lucifer. He'd stabbed him in the abdomen and smiled as Lucifer’s eyes blazed white and his lifeless body crumpled to the ground. Then he knelt briefly to wipe his blade on his dead brother’s shirt, attention shifting to Sam and Dean and…

“Can it be?” Michael stood, and his smug expression faltered slightly. “Gabriel?”

Oh crap, thought Sam. He turned to tell Dean and Gabriel that they had to go, now, only to find the Gabriel regarding him with a look of pained determination.

“Go,” Gabriel said, voice low and urgent. He tilted his head in the direction of the rift. “I can buy some time.”

Sam felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. What?! No. No no no…“Gabriel,” he managed, and something was wrong with his throat, because his voice sounded raw and rough. Without meaning to, he took a step forward. “Don’t—”

“All I did on Earth was run.” Gabriel’s hazel eyes shimmered in the dying light. “I’m not running anymore.” He turned to Dean, lips quirking upward in an attempt at a smile. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

Dean sucked in a breath, clearly recognizing the words he’d snarled at Gabriel all those years ago when they'd left the archangel in a ring of holy fire. Before Dean could respond, though, Gabriel returned his attention to Sam, and his smile faltered.

“Sorry, Sam,” he said quietly. He turned and started to walk away, and something inside Sam snapped.

“No!” Before Sam knew what he was doing, he’d closed the distance between them, fist tangling in Gabriel’s jacket. Gabriel looked at him, stunned, and Sam threw caution to the wind. He willed every bit of everything he’d ever felt for Gabriel to the surface, thoughts blaring like a horn before battle. “Gabe, no, you can’t, I—”

Gabriel yanked Sam down by his collar and kissed him. Their lips crashed together with such intensity that Sam suddenly understood how stars felt when they supernovaed, collapsing inward and then exploding in a burst of brilliant color. He kissed Gabriel back as though it were the only thing that mattered, as if they were the only two beings left in the—

WHAM!

Michael's shockwave barreled into them with the force of a charging bull. Sam landed hard on the ground several feet away, gasping at the shadows that swam across his vision. He only dimly registered his brother's frantic yells as Dean heaved him to his feet, slinging one of Sam’s arms over his shoulder and pulling him in the direction of the rift.Behind them, blades clashed like thunder...and then didn’t…

“No,” grunted Sam. He dug in his heels. “No, not without—”

“Dammit, Sammy, we gotta go!”

“No!” And before Dean could stop him, Sam had freed himself and was running as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

Michael had disarmed Gabriel and had him by the throat. A silvery stream of grace flowed from a gash in Gabriel’s neck straight into Michael’s mouth; within seconds, the stream was gone. Michael flung Gabriel to the ground, sneering as the latter groaned in pain. “You were always the weakest of us, always willing to abandon Heaven to run around with these hairless apes.” He knelt down, snatching Gabriel by the hair and jerking his head upward. “Well, brother, if you love them so much, then you can die as one of them.” He raised his blade…

Sam crashed into Michael, catching him by surprise and sending them both toppling to the ground. He drew back his fist and punched Michael as hard as he could, crying out as his fist connected with what felt like a brick wall. A split second later Michael's fist smashed into his nose, sending him flying backward in a shower of blood. Then Michael’s hands were around his neck, squeezing and choking and—

Dean appeared out of nowhere, throwing himself on top of Michael with a deafening roar and driving Gabriel’s discarded blade into the back of Michael's neck. Michael howled with fury, releasing Sam and falling backward to wrestle with Dean, whom he quickly pinned to the ground.

“You...fucking...maggots,” spat Michael. “You think something like you can kill someone like me?” He let out a feral laugh, reaching back and yanking out the archangel blade Dean had stabbed him with. “Don’t you know we can only be killed by one of our own, and not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m the last one standing." He raised the blade. "I’m not the one who’s dying today.”

“Maybe not,” yelled Sam, and Michael's eyes snapped over to glare, then widened in shock, “but neither are we!” And before Michael could fully get out his scream of fury, Sam slammed his hand down onto the blood-drawn banishing sigil, blasting Michael away in a burst of brilliant white light.

***

Back at the bunker, Sam watched as Gabriel’s chest continued its slow rise and fall. He and Dean had managed to carry the unconscious archangel-turned-human back through the rift, and Cas had immediately set to work healing them all, but though the angel had been able to mend Sam’s hand and nose, his attempts at rousing Gabriel had proven futile.

“This isn’t something I can fix,” he’d informed them sadly after his third try. “I’m afraid the only thing we can do is wait and see if he wakes up.”

And so they’d laid Gabriel down in the spare bedroom he’d been using, and Sam had brought in a chair to wait. Either Dean or Cas had checked in every hour or so, but with all of the new hunters they’d rescued from the apocalypse universe now filling the bunker and itching to explore their brave new world, both were needed elsewhere, especially since there was nothing else they could do for Gabriel at the moment.

Not that there’s anything I can do, thought Sam bitterly, and God, what an absolutely novel feeling that was, watching helplessly as someone he cared about suffered. It was times like this that Sam couldn’t help but think the universe hated him, that he was nothing more than the punchline of some cosmic joke, the idiot who let himself fall in love only to have his heart crushed over and over and over again. Hadn’t he given enough? Was it so much to ask that he be allowed to keep something, someone, for himself, just once, and be happy?

“Death can’t have you,” he whispered. “Not yet, not like this.” He reached out and took Gabriel’s hand. “You don’t get to die today, you hear me? You’re gonna wake up, and we’re gonna talk, and somehow, I’m gonna convince you to stay. But, Gabe, you’ve gotta wake up.” He hesitated, then raised Gabriel’s hand to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss into the palm. “Please, just...just wake up.”

No sooner had Sam spoken than Gabriel shifted, letting out a low groan. A moment later, his eyes were fluttering open, head tilting slightly on the pillow as he blinked up at the figure next to him. “Sam?”

Sam nearly choked on his breath, barely managing a soft “Hey” in return.

Gabriel’s gaze shifted to the hand that Sam was still holding, and he smiled in dazed contentment before snapping suddenly to attention, snatching his hand back and attempting to heave himself up on the bed. “Shit, Michael, I’ve gotta—”

“He’s gone,” said Sam quickly. He placed a steady hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and easing him back down. “We got away, and he’s trapped in the apocalypse universe with no way of getting through. It’s over.”

Gabriel looked up at him with a rare expression of genuine shock. “No shit, really?”

Sam smiled. “Yeah, really.”

“Well I’ll be Dad-damned,” said Gabriel. He fell back against the pillow with a scoff. “And here I thought I was gonna go out a hero, holding off the big bad while you and your less-attractive older brother beat a hasty retreat. So much for my redemption arc.”

“Gabe, about what happened,” said Sam, and oh God, he was terrified of where this conversation was going to go, “I just...I want you to know that I...that if this,” he gestured between the two of them, “is something you want, that I want it too. And if you don’t…” Sam’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, but he forced himself to continue, “and if you don’t, then...then I hope we can be friends.”

Gabriel looked at him as though he’d grown an additional head. He sat up again, slowly this time, scooting over on the mattress until he and Sam were only inches apart. “And here I always thought you were the smart one,” he said, shaking his head, lips twitching in an amused smile. “Don’t you get it, you big doof? I’ve wanted you for years, and now that we’ve finally sorted out all of my interdimensional family drama, I’m gonna be on you like gum on a shoe. Not even wild hellhounds could drag me away.” He cocked an eyebrow, smile widening. “Also, if I’m gonna be slumming it human-style on a permanent basis, I’m gonna need someone to bring me cakes and cookies and the like, so tag, sugar, you’re it.”

Sam chuckled. "Deal," he said, and pulled Gabriel in for a kiss.

[gumnut-logic]

Ostinato: A Tale of Sotto Voce

Oooh, look what I finished :D

-o-o-o-

Title: Ostinato

A Tale of Sotto Voce

Author: Gumnut

Aug 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Why the Hood didn’t currently have him under his thumb, why he could now see and speak to John without innate terror, why he hadn’t thrown himself into Thunderbird Three’s silo and why Thunderbird Five was still mostly in one piece. But most of all, why he was still alive.

Word count: 8400 ( that is not a frickin’ ficlet!)

Spoilers & warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, family, science fiction

Timeline: Shortly before the last scene of ‘Il Mago’, as they don’t know the identity of Il Mago, definitely before ‘Father’.

Author’s note: Nutty’s Fandomversary Fic Ten – Prompt: ‘I’d still love to see a brother (maybe Gordon while healing from injury) sleepwalk to five or John sleepwalk down to TI.’ for @melmac78

I’m afraid I don’t think I answered your request ☹ Because Eos monitors the space elevator, it would only be with her permission that the prompt could happen. So, to get as close as possible, I delved into Sotto Voce. I hope you enjoy what resulted anyway. Sorry I couldn’t answer correctly.

Also, it is midnight here and I will admit that I haven’t re-read the last bits of this as thoroughly as I should, but I’m tired and just want to post this. I’ll probably curse it when I discover some horrible error in the morning, but I need to go to bed. I hope you enjoy it anyway. Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for their help on this one.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

“Virgil, you there?”

“Hmm? Yes, John?” He let his fingers dance over the piano keys seeking reassurance. Today wasn’t one of his better days since the Maggot and he was doing his best to turn it around. Piano was good. Piano gave absolution.

The ivory was smooth under his fingertips.

“I’m sending the elevator down. Could you pack me some Y-345 and T-3245 process rods? Brains needs to replace six of each in the computer core.”

Virgil arched an eyebrow. “So, I’m allowed in the hangars now?”

It had been a long recovery. Since the attack, he had been plagued by headaches and an awful narcolepsy that had kept him down and barred from the hangers for safety reasons. It had gotten to the point that Virgil was surprised he was allowed on the balconies without a chaperone.

But then he had one anyway, didn’t he?

I wouldn’t really call myself a chaperone, Uncle. More of a supervisor?

Supervisor implies you can tell me what to do, Eos.

I can. Not that you’ll listen.

You’ve got it in one.

John, unaware of what was being said, but suspecting something was afoot, glared at him from his little hologram on top of the piano. His hair was still blond, though the red was starting to show. “Have you two finished?”

Still playing, Virgil hid a smile. “She’s your kid, bro.”

“And you are still a bad influence.”

The smile broke into a grin. “Glad to be of service.”

“That’s fabulous, but could you be of better service and pack me those process rods?”

The grin faded to be replaced with a frown. “What’s wrong?” John was uncharacteristically on edge.

“Nothing.”

Virgil’s frown deepened. “Do I have to speak to Eos?”

John glared at him, and Virgil swallowed. Something must have registered on his face because John was immediately contrite. “I’m sorry, Virgil. It’s just with Scott, Alan and Gordon on rescues and TB5 not fully up to par. It is a little frustrating.”

Virgil cursed himself for his reaction. When the hell was he going to get over that?! Most of the time he was fine, but on the now rare occasion, John’s expression would trigger him and he couldn’t help himself. John scared him, but it wasn’t John who was the cause of his fear. It hurt the both of them and he hated it.

“No, it’s not your fault. Never your fault.” A sigh and the music came to a stop. “I’ll hunt down your rods and meet with the elevator.”

“Thank you, Virgil.”

“Not a problem.”

His brother signed off and Virgil pushed himself back from the keys. At least he could be marginally useful. He was still banned from working on his ‘bird. He was getting better, but there were still moments.

A roll of his shoulders to loosen up his muscles and he stood.

Grandma was the only person on the island with him at the moment. Kayo was with Penelope, continuing their hunt for his assailant, while Brains was up on TB5 with John. It was so quiet, it was lonely.

He shook himself. God, the self-pity was ridiculous.

Eos didn’t remark at that thought but there was a wash of indescribable emotion.

He ignored it and headed for the elevator. Process rods were one of the many spare parts stored in the lower caverns. The network of caves below the villa was massive. It was the reason his father had chosen this island and it served them all so well. Cavecutters had ground out the spaces not naturally provided and International Rescue was able to operate solely because of all the automatic machinery these caverns housed.

The elevator hit the hangar floor and Virgil walked past his beloved ‘bird to the cavern access on the far side of the bay. The module train sat snug in its niche and he found himself blinking at the familiar sight.

More self-pity.

Shit.

He was on a roll today.

Another sigh. Calm, keep it calm. No need to trigger one of those blasted headaches again.

Maybe this was a basic reason to keep out of the hangers. Too much temptation and memory. Here was where he had kidnapped Brains. Here was where he had nearly shot his brother with Thunderbird Two’s laser. Looking up, he could still see the scorch marks on the massive hanger door.

Self-pity shifted to hate for a man now dead.

He grit his teeth.

Focus.

The storage cavern was full of neatly organised and labelled resources. Virgil, of course, knew exactly where to find what he needed. The process rods were light in his grasp. He threw in a few extra and with a further thought, grabbed a trolley and threw on some of the standard supply run items that his brother might need, plus a few extra processors for Eos.

Thank you, Uncle.

Are you watching everything I do? It was both annoying and reassuring.

Of course, I am. You’re in the hangars.

And I can’t be trusted. His shoulders slumped.

You know that is not the reason, Virgil.

Yeah, well, it sucks anyway. He shoved a few more components into the trolley.

You are getting better.

It is taking forever. So he was being petulant.

“Virgil?”

Another sigh. “I’m fine, John, just gathering your stuff.”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine!”

The line fell silent and he knew his brother didn’t believe a word. Another wave of disappointment in himself hit. Man, he was in the dumps today.

A dozen LED spots landed in the trolley with a clunk.

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. He grabbed the spots and checked them over visually for damage. Maybe he shouldn’t be in the hangars if a depressive mood had him breaking things.

Another sigh.

For goodness sake, get the hell over it! This wasn’t him. This wasn’t how he thought. Where was the positive? Where was his strength? He leant over the trolley, his elbows on the handle and rubbed his face.

“Virgil?”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming. Be at the elevator asap.”

Focus, for crying out loud.

He shoved the trolley ahead of him, darting among the shelves.

There was another trek across the hangar past his ‘bird which he purposefully ignored, into the elevator and up several levels to the space elevator’s dock.

The cavern beyond was so empty it hurt. TB1 and Shadow were absent and the space echoed his loneliness back at him.

For Christ’s sake!

A sudden roar as the elevator fired its thrusters, slowing its descent. At least the noise filled the vacuum.

A clunk and she docked solidly. “Elevator secure.” Eos’ voice echoed over the comms.

“Thank you, Eos.”

“You are always welcome.” There was a smile in her voice.

He placed his palm on the hatch control and it blinked in recognition, the airlock opening. He strode in and found a stash of recycling in the freight containers. A little component juggling and he had the necessaries loaded and the unnecessaries lined up for the recycler. “Okay, John, she’s almost ready to haul up. Give me a sec for a pre-flight check.”

“FAB.”

Virgil paused a moment, staring at the controls of the elevator. A breath and his fingers ran through the checks automatically.

It was good to know that the knowledge had survived the frying of his brain.

His shoulders shifted under the weight of the depressive emotion that followed.

Definitely a bad day.

He needed his piano. Or paint. Or something.

Goddamnit!

Something shifted in his head.

Oh, shit.

He suddenly knew what was going to happen. No, not here! He turned towards the hatch. Get off the elevator. Get off-

He was on the decking, his hands barely catching him as his body succumbed to the sudden forced sleep cycle.

His head hit his forearm, and the world faded.

-o-o-o-

Eos knew the moment her uncle lost consciousness. She brushed electronic fingers across his interface and was reassured that he was simply asleep, victim of his narcolepsy. The fact he was asleep on the floor of the space elevator was the challenge.

“Father?”

John was in conversation with Scott on the far side of the planet, the Eldest struggling with a plane that was determined to fall out of the sky. Thunderbird Two’s presence would have been preferable and the man’s profanity proved that. However, neither Two nor her pilot were in any condition to go anywhere.

Current situation more than enough proof.

“Yes, Eos? Is the elevator ready to return?”

“Yes, John, but-“

“Please launch it, Eos. Scott, I am sorry, but my scanners are not at full capacity. This is all the information I can give you.”

Eos flicked back down to the elevator and checked again on her uncle. A number of calculations, safety variables. A glance in her father’s direction. A decision.

She fired the elevator’s thrusters and it launched from the island.

For the next eight minutes she hovered over that elevator, micro-firing adjustments, protecting her uncle as he was not fastened securely. She got him through the jet stream, up through turbulence until he was finally free of the atmosphere. Braking started early, the elevator slowing incrementally in order to prevent Virgil from being slammed into the ceiling at speed.

“Eos, what are you doing with the elevator?”

Her father had finally noticed. “We have a visitor.”

That drew his full attention. “What? Who?”

“Virgil fell asleep in the elevator.”

“He did what?!”

“His narcolepsy flared as he was doing pre-flight checks.”

“And you launched?!” The frown on her father’s face was volatile.

“You asked me to.”

“Eos!”

“He is safe! I would not risk him.”

“But why?”

The elevator was travelling so slowly by this point it was hardly moving. It slid into dock with barely a vibration against its moorings. “Father, his thoughts have been somewhat depressed. I thought company would help.”

The worry on John’s face spiked. “What thoughts?”

“Father, I respect his privacy, however, today his emotional status has been poor. I don’t think being alone is in his best interests at the moment.” She paused. “You can do things I cannot.”

He looked up at her camera, expression thoughtful. “Monitor my brothers while I attend to Virgil.”

“Yes, Father.”

John propelled himself towards the airlock.

-o-o-o-

It had been a hell of a day. That was the only excuse he had and it was a poor one. He had thought offering his brother that simple and urgent task would have helped him.

Apparently not.

And now he was asleep in their space elevator.

The seal hissed as he released it and floated through.

Virgil hovered just above the floor, his open red-checked shirt moving as the man breathed. His eyes were closed and shadowed, his whole body limp.

His brothers had commented often on how Virgil fell asleep all over the house. It had stopped happening so frequently, but not completely.

Virgil was going to be so pissed when he woke up.

John reached out and touched his brother’s cheek. Whispered. “C’mon, bro, let’s get you secured.”

It took John activating his suit’s attitude adjusters to create the momentum to get both him and his much heavier brother moving through the airlock. Some careful manoeuvring through the comms module and he almost ran into Brains as he entered the gravity ring.

Fortunately, the engineer overcame his surprise enough to help catch Virgil as the gravity caught the sleeping man.

“He fell asleep in the elevator.”

Brains’ eyes were roaming over the prone engineer assessing his condition.

“Eos, has been monitoring him. He is okay.”

“I-I will be happier w-when this in-voluntary sleeping c-ceases.”

“Won’t we all.”

They carried the man down the length of the ring to John’s quarters and secured him in his brother’s bed. Virgil’s boots landed on the glass floor.

“He packed our supplies before collapsing. Could you alert Grandma of Virgil’s location and ask her to send up some of his things once the supplies are unpacked?”

Brains nodded and took the gentle request for what it was and left.

John turned back to his brother and sighed.

So much fear and so much anger was wrapped around his big brother. John had done his best to help, but due to the situation, he was often part of the cause. He had run out of profanity to aim at the deceased Hood and the energy along with it.

All that was left was the need to help his brother recover.

And protect him as much as possible.

Il Mago was still out there, somewhere.

Scott...Scott was volatile. Their big brother was struggling with his inability to protect Virgil. John, at least, had tools at his hands to set up digital wards and Eos patrolled continuously. Scott was after the perpetrator like a man possessed. They still didn’t know who it was. Kayo and Penny were desperately looking for clues. Virgil had managed a drawing of the man’s face, but even the artist wasn’t happy with it and facial recognition had been unable to connect any dots. Eos had also seen the man, but she saw things differently in the virtual world and the concepts didn’t quite translate.

It left Scott fighting an unseen foe and so much broken gym equipment. Today’s rescue had at least been a break from the confines of Tracy Island for his eldest brother.

With that thought came the sad irony that someone had to be in danger for the Tracy family to catch a break. Their lives defied logic at times.

Reaching over, he brushed a stray hair off his brother’s forehead. Virgil snuffled in his sleep and began to drool on John’s pillow.

A fond smile was all the astronaut had for that.

All he wanted was for his brother to recover...well, as much as he could. That thought lay embedded in a darkness reeking of a need for revenge that could never be sought as the perpetrator was already dead.

A sigh. He had to get back to his other brothers. “Eos, keep an eye on him.”

“Of course, John.”

The astronaut returned to the comms module and the business of saving people.

-o-o-o-

“Virgil? You awake yet?”

The fog of sleep stifled his response, but he did open his eyes.

“Hey, Virg!”

Blink. Alan?

Try again. “A-Alan?” Ugh, his throat was dry. Air conditioning parch. The pillow under his head had an interesting smell.

Another blink. This wasn’t his pillow. Focus. Hell, this wasn’t his bedroom.

“Three to Virg, are you reading me?”

“Go away.” He swiped a hand in his brother’s direction.

“Do you have any idea where you are?”

“I’m in hell and you’re my penance.” He rolled away from his brother and face the wall. A very wrong coloured wall. What the-?

“You’re on Five, bro. John says you sleep-rode the elevator.”

The elevator?! He shot up in the bed, the lower gravity sending him almost bouncing off the ceiling. He caught himself at the last moment as his head spun and sprouted a whopper of a headache. “Ah, shit!” He dropped his head to his hands and gouged his eyes out with his palms.

“Hey, Virg, take it easy.”

A hand landed on his arm and Virgil forced down a flinch. He groaned. “Alan, what do you want?”

“I was in the area and thought I would check in on you.”

A long drawn out sigh and he forced himself to sit up straight. Alan had been on a rescue. “Status?”

The astronaut’s response was habitual. “All three passengers and the pilot accounted for. Brains is checking them over.” A breath. “Now what about you?”

“Just fabulous.”

Alan peered at him up close. “Tell that to the red roadmaps on your sclera.”

An irritated blink. “How do you even know that word?”

“Did the same first aid courses you did, bro.” Alan sat on the bed beside him. “Headache?”

He gave in. “Yeah.”

“I’ll grab you some pills.”

Whispered. “Thanks, Alan.”

His brother squeezed his shoulder and left the room.

Virgil took the moment to centre himself. A breath and he levered his feet off the bed and onto the glass floor.

Far beneath him the world spun away.

Starlight danced on his skin.

The world spun back into view...Australia, New Zealand...Tracy Island...

The world spun away again.

He closed his eyes against the stars.

Alan’s step was quiet on the glass, his uniform boots designed specifically for this kind of environment. Virgil became abruptly aware of his own lack of uniform. Breach of regulations, breach of safety.

Alan must have picked up on his thoughts. “Don’t worry, Eos had Grandma fetch some of your things. Apparently, John doesn’t think you’ll fit into his.”

Alan’s smile was a little infectious and Virgil found his spirits lifting just a little despite himself.

Quietly. “Thank you, bro.”

Alan’s smile broadened as he handed over the tablets and a bottle of water.

Virgil downed the medication in two quick gulps. The water was lovely and cool on the back of his throat. it loosened tight muscles.

Alan sat down beside him on the bed again. They sat together staring out through the floor.

“I have to say, this view never gets old.”

Virgil blinked. “No, it doesn’t.” Admittedly, he could probably list on one hand how many times he had been up here without a mission. The brothers were happy to call John down, but few of them, except perhaps Alan, came up here much. “It has its own beauty.”

“John said you’ve been having a bad day.”

He darted a glance at his little brother, his head not appreciating the abrupt movement at all. Eos!

Father was concerned! What was I supposed to do? You were asleep in the elevator. You were having a bad day. You were frightened by John at least once. You spent all morning at the piano attempting to chase away negative thoughts, which is probably why you crashed in the elevator. I was worried. John was worried. Youngest was worried. Eldest is currently pacing the comms room, worried. Only the second youngest isn’t worried because Scott ordered me not to tell him.

That is why you don’t tell everyone when I’m feeling like shit, Eos! They worry. I don’t want them to worry. They’ve worried enough. I’ve hurt them all too much already.

The thought hit the core of the matter and he found himself caught in the concept. He hitched in a breath and fought to keep himself in one piece. His brain hammered on the inside of his skull.

“Virgil?”

“I’m-“ He closed his eyes. “Alan, could I have a moment to myself please?” The words were tight and parched.

His little brother stood up. “Uh, yeah, sure. Call if you need anything.” The brush of Alan’s fingertips on his shoulder nearly broke him.

The door slid closed.

He could hold it all back no longer. It was everything. It was what had been done to him. What he had done to his family and the simple fact that he was no longer the Virgil Tracy he wanted to be.

Head in his hands, he let go.

-o-o-o-

“Father!”

John swung around, sonic screwdriver in hand. “Yes, Eos?”

“Virgil is...upset.”

John’s eyes widened. “What happened?”

“The youngest spoke with him. He has a headache and the youngest gave him medication. Virgil admonished me for telling you of his ‘bad day’. His mood shifted to one of despair. He excused the youngest and now he sits with his head in his hands. He is in pain. Please, Father, what do I do?”

John swallowed and wished Scott was here.

But wishing was useless, as his Dad used to say. Work with what you have. And Virgil had John.

“Leave him to me.”

As he moved to leave the comms hub, Alan barrelled in. “John, it’s Virgil. Something’s up.”

A squeeze of a shoulder. “I know.” he handed his brother the screwdriver. “Here, comm relay to Brains and do as he asks. That panel over there.” Without another word, John pushed himself through the airlock and onto the gravity ring.

A sigh as his feet touched down on the floor.

A matter of steps and he was opening the door to his room.

Virgil sat on the edge of John’s bed. Elbows on knees, head in hands. He didn’t react to John’s presence at all.

On soft feet, John crossed the glass and sat quietly beside his brother.

Virgil’s shoulders were shaking.

A moment of hesitation and John reached out and gently dropped a hand on flannel covered shoulders.

The muscles beneath immediately tightened, a shudder echoing through Virgil’s frame.

A whisper barely more than breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

John’s throat knotted. “Not your fault.”

“No, it never is.” A ragged breath. “But it always is.” Another shudder and his brother straightened, obviously attempting to throw the emotions off. The face that emerged from his hands was pale and tearstained. A sniff and Virgil rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Sorry I worried you again.”

“Virgil.” His brother’s name fell from him in a rush. The man was emanating pain and John felt so inadequate.

Work with what you have.

His arm snaked around Virgil’s shoulders and he drew him closer. Virgil looked at him, a frown on his face.

A sudden dread that his brother might be triggered by his closeness and the anger flared in the back of John’s mind. But Virgil’s brow only crinkled in query.

So, John did something that he had wanted to do so many times during recent events. He wrapped his big brother in his arms and drew him close, bringing his head to rest on his shoulder.

The bigger man shuddered again. “John-“

“It’s okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ve got you.”

John bit his lip and found his own eyes wet as his brother shuddered again in his arms.

Virgil’s voice could barely be heard, its baritone strength whittled down to nothing. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I-“ And it was replaced with a sob. “No. I can’t-“

“You can.”

His brother groaned in pain.

“Virgil.”

“‘S not fair.”

“Never is.”

What would Scott say? What were the magic words to release the family rock from his self-imprisonment?

“We love you, Virgil.”

The next sound was a broken sob, followed by another, and finally his big brother was crying.

He wilted in John’s arms, his massive shoulders, depleted by his illness, became frail under the emotional onslaught. John blinked away his own reaction and simply held on.

All the pain, the anguish, the torture, the arguments, the fear, the accusations...his brother had been through so much. It would be foolish to think a bout of tears could fix it all, but the release was a start, a chance to give the man a little healing.

It was a complete shock when his brother suddenly went limp in his arms.

“Eos!”

“He is asleep.”

“Again? So soon?” Virgil’s head lolled on John’s shoulder, tears still tracking down his cheeks from beneath wet eyelashes.

“He was emoting heavily. I suspect it triggered his narcolepsy.”

Damnit, the man could not get a break.

Awkwardly, John lowered his brother’s head back down onto the pillow. Standing, he dragged Virgil’s feet onto the bed and wrapped him in the thin blanket.

Once he was secure, John left the bedroom and approached the nearest holographic comms terminal.

“Thunderbird Five to Tracy Island.”

-o-o-o-

The smell of hot coffee woke him.

Virgil screwed up his face and let the muscles go, his eyes blinking. What the hell? He had been...speaking to John. Another blink and memory surfaced of what exactly he had been doing to his brother.

Shit.

“If you start kicking yourself for what happened earlier, I’m going to ask Eos to play some Neo-Boney M on loop.” John’s tone was firm from the end of the bed.

The threat was solid. Virgil hated the revival group. There were certain things that deserved to stay buried.

“Do that and I’m torching your ABBA collection.”

A snort. “You’d have to find it first.”

“I have an AI in my head.”

A pair of turquoise eyes pinned him to the pillow. “Really? You want to test my daughter’s loyalty?”

Virgil sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, hoping to god his brain would spare him the headache if he moved.

“Do that and I’m joining the circus and moving to Venezuela.” Eos’ voice was light over the comm system and a laugh echoed somewhere in the back of Virgil’s head.

John sipped his coffee. “Then I guess we won’t be doing that.”

Virgil frowned. “What’s in Venezuela?”

“Oh, they have been doing some very interesting AI experiments down there. Joe 23 is quite charming.”

Both brothers stared up at her camera in astonishment.

“You’ve spoken with other AIs?” John’s voice was strangled.

“Of course.”

“I hope you have considered the security risks, particularly considering recent events.”

Virgil’s heart froze. If Il Mago got his hands on other AIs...

“None of them have my capability. None could reach Thunderbird Five, much less endanger Virgil.”

Virgil’s eyes widened and his heart hit the floor. “Reach me?”

“Eos!” John’ voice was sharp.

“What? They can’t hurt him.”

“Eos! We will discuss this later!”

He hadn’t known there were other AIs. It made sense. Eos was unique, but experts had been experimenting with artificial intelligence for a very long time. The thought that he might be vulnerable to other intelligences....

Voice parched. “There better be more coffee where that came from.”

John didn’t answer. He reached behind and pulled out a sealed thermos and handed it over.

Virgil sat up in the bed and accepted the drink.

I’m sorry, Virgil. Are you upset about the other intelligences? They can’t reach you. Some of them can barely speak. None of them are capable of what I am. A pause. Are you okay?

He didn’t answer, not wanting to think at all. The coffee was scalding hot as it hit the back of his throat and he was ever grateful.

Please, Virgil. I’m sorry. I won’t speak to them again, I promise. She was getting agitated and it vibrated his mind.

The breath rushed out of him. “It’s okay, Eos. I’m fine.”

You’re lying! I can tell. Please, Virgil. Forgive me?

“It’s fine, Eos!” Just...just give me a moment. Please!

She backed off immediately.

He sighed, took another swig of coffee and closed his eyes. Just breathe.

Breathe.

“Virgil?”

“I’m fine!” It was a shout and it was loud.

John raised a hand and backed off as much as his daughter.

And Virgil felt worse.

“Shit.” He rubbed his face with his hand. “Sorry.”

John was staring at him, thoughts darting back and forth behind his eyes. A drawn in breath and his brother’s expression became firm. “Virgil, I want you in the infirmary.”

He blinked. “John-“

“Now.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not fine!”

Virgil jumped. John rarely raised his voice. It was his turn to stare.

“You’ve been to hell and back. You can’t possibly be ‘fine’.” That last word was snarled. “I need to check you over.”

“I’ve spent most of the last couple of months in the infirmary, John!”

“Then a few more minutes won’t hurt. You can visit mine for a little variety.”

“John-“

“Don’t argue with me, please. You will go to the infirmary even if I have to wait you out until you fall asleep again and I will check you over then.”

Virgil froze, lack of choice and power slapping him in the face.

“Father-“

Virgil cut her off. “Eos, shut it.” It came out sharp and nasty.

Well, that convinces me that Father is right. You need an examination.

“Leave me alone!” It came out as a desperate plea as far from his usually calm self as it could be. His head spun. “Leave me alone, leave me alone, please leave me alone, I can’t, I can’t, please, god, please, no more, please no more, make it stopmakeitstop, please make it stop, please, please...” Part of him sensed that something was very wrong. The rest of him was lost in a maelstrom.

An alarm sounded somewhere. Eos was calling his name. There were hands. He fought them, but more hands appeared and he was trapped.

That only made him fight more.

There was yelling. A young woman with flame red hair and a white dress caught his face and held him still. Uncle!

Hands held his body, but her eyes held his mind. Eos.

Green, aquamarine, turquoise, so deep he could fall into them.

So he did.

-o-o-o-

It happened so quickly, John was slow to react.

One minute he was verbally wrestling a stubborn brother to submit to a medical examination, the next that brother was pleading, heart wrenchingly desperate, tears in his eyes.

Eos was alarmed, reporting anomalous brain activity. Virgil’s coffee hit the floor and the hot liquid ran along the gravity ring.

His brother’s anguish drew him close in a need to comfort, but the moment his hand touched a shoulder, Virgil started fighting him.

It was uncoordinated and hysterical, but Virgil was a big man. An alarm sounded in the satellite and John vaguely registered Eos calling Alan and Brains. John was too busy avoiding getting his head handed to him.

A fist caught him on the arm as John grabbed a wrist. “Virgil!” That wrist yanked and John lost his footing almost immediately. He was dragged a couple of steps, but Alan grabbed Virgil’s other hand and the panic was deflected.

Neither younger brother was strong enough to tackle their tank of a brother at his usual fitness level, but the last few months had taken a serious toll on his health and the strength just wasn’t there anymore.

Brains grabbed a first aid kit. John and Alan struggled to hold Virgil...

“Father!”

Virgil dropped like a ragdoll, John and Alan staggering to support his sudden weight.

“O-on the floor. L-lay him on the floor. Vitals.”

John’s heart was in his throat as they ascertained that their brother was breathing, heart beating, alive.

His own respiratory reflex shuddered and let air out between his teeth.

Alan grabbed a collapsible hover gurney from the tiny medbay and moments later their brother was ensconced in the tiny room.

“What happened?” Alan’s voice hit a high pitch of worry.

“Th-that is w-what we will ascertain.” Brains worked with the tiny facility, connecting Virgil to an array of monitoring equipment. The reassuring beep of a regular heartbeat was a beautiful sound.

“Eos?” His daughter was unusually silent. When he got no response, his heart rate jumped a notch. “Eos!”

It wasn’t another attack was it? Please, no!

“John?” His heart missed a beat as she finally answered him.

“Eos? What can you tell us?”

“I...” Her voice trailed off.

“Eos?”

“He overloaded his system and forced a shutdown.” Her voice was puzzled. “Why?”

John glanced at his prone brother. So pale, so hurting, so wane. “Was there any incursion?”

“No. His...thoughts grew more and more distressed until he shut down.”

There was a mutter from the bed. Virgil’s head moved first to one side and then to the other. His eyes scrunched up and he groaned.

“V-Virgil?”

Another groan and he opened his eyes. “Brains?”

“How are you f-feeling?”

Those eyes blinked slowly. “Like crap. M’head...”

“Pain level, one to ten?”

It took Virgil a moment to answer. “F-four. Where am I?” Brown eyes peered slowly around the room until they latched onto John. They widened for just a microsecond before relaxing. “John. Thunderbird Five.”

So, his pain level was probably closer to eight if his previous report record ran true.

“H-have you eaten today?” Brains consulted a readout on his tablet.

Again with the slow blink as Virgil turned his head towards Brains again. “Umm...”

“He hasn’t eaten since he arrived here and that was a good five hours ago.” John mentally kicked himself. Busy was no excuse regarding his brother’s health.

Virgil was staring at him. “Five hours?!”

“You’ve been asleep for most of it.”

“Asleep?” The word was whispered and those eyes closed and didn’t open again.

Soft breathing and John realised that was exactly what his brother was doing. “Brains, what the hell is going on? He’s fallen asleep again.”

Brains was muttering to himself, fiddling with a hypodermic. He strapped up Virgil’s arm and drew blood from a vein. Shoving the sample into the blood analyser unit, his fingers danced over the controls. “I have my suspicions. I-if it is w-what I think it is...” There was an uncharacteristic anger in Brain’s voice. A blink and John realised the engineer was glaring at the analyser.

John’s hand drifted down to rest on Virgil’s leg. His brother didn’t notice.

There was a solid moment of silence punctuated by Virgil’s soft breathing before the analyser pinged its readiness.

Brains hit a few more buttons, muttered again, before hitting more, drawing further information from the machine. Another moment and it pinged again.

“Brains to Tracy Island.”

“Brains? How is he?” Scott had returned to the island half an hour ago, but he was still in his uniform, his expression predictably worried.

“Virgil is experiencing a dangerous deficiency in several crucial minerals, mostly iron and magnesium. I will send you a formula. I need you to visit Wellington and pick up some supplies.”

Scott paused a split second before moving. “FAB.”

Brains cut off the connection, turned back to Virgil and activated the bed’s holographic interface. A hologram of his brother’s body flickered into existence above the bed. A twist of his wrist and Brains focussed in on Virgil’s skull, bringing the image to a larger size and higher resolution.

The metallic filigree of the interface spiderwebbed across his brother’s frontal lobe.

John shivered.

The engineer continued to mutter to himself, focussing as close as the equipment would allow. “I have a th-theory. Virgil is showing a depletion of his mineral stores well into a serious d-deficiency range. This would explain his d-depression and ir-rationality. However, it does n-not give us a c-cause.” Brains frowned. “I had s-suspected this w-would be a problem and Virgil has been given sup-plements, b-but even if he m-missed one, the d-deficiency should not be this bad.” Another frown and the engineer returned to muttering.

John stared at the holographic portrayal of the device that had caused so much pain.

“Eos?”

“Yes, John?”

“Are you able to check on the condition of the interface and the nanites in Virgil’s system?”

There was a silence. Virgil began to snore. Another moment.

“Interface is fully functional. Virgil is asleep, however his mind is somewhat chaotic. Nanites...count is higher than previous.” There was a frown in her voice.

“There are more nanites? How?”

There was silence for a moment. “Father, they have reproduced. System logs report...the interface was damaged and required repair. More nanites were needed, so more were made. Checking....redundancy code was activated and enacted. Resources were required.”

And Virgil was the resource. It was left unsaid, but as Brains straightened, his expression grim, it didn’t need to be.

“Damn.” It came out as a single whispered breath. “Eos, we went through that code with a fine-toothed comb, where was this redundancy code? We rewrote the majority of their programming to prevent something like this from happening.”

Brains shifted where he stood and frowned. “W-we were more concerned with stopping the growth of the in-terface, J-John. We kn-knew there would b-be a m-maintenance cost. Unfortunately, it c-caught us un-awares.” A sigh. “We can c-correct this and m-monitor closely. It is j-just a m-matter of b-balancing between wh-what the nanites n-need and levels of toxicity in relation to the r-rest of V-Virgil’s body.”

On the bed, Virgil snorted in his sleep and rolled over, curling up as if cold. John grabbed one of the medbay blankets and, reaching through the holograms above his brother, draped the thin covering over the sleeping man.

As if to be particularly endearing, Virgil immediately snuggled up under the warmth. Another snort and soft snoring echoed through the room.

John swallowed. “Brains, are you saying that the levels of minerals the nanites need could be toxic?”

The engineer sighed again. “I d-don’t know yet. I need to run further tests. Extra supplements as w-with any m-medication have their limits.” He shifted where he stood. “W-we will start with an increase and see how we g-go.”

The expression on Brains’ face wasn’t giving John the greatest confidence.

Virgil snorted again, muttered something in his sleep, and began drooling on his pillow.

-o-o-o-

Uncle?

Hmmm-mmm.

Virgil?

Soft piano music began playing and he couldn’t help but smile. Chiddi’s sonata, a light and lively dance on a Sunday afternoon. It always made him feel like dancing. He swirled around the wooden floor of the comms room and found a young woman in his hands. Red hair, green eyes and a flash of white dress as they spun around together.

It was nice to have someone to dance with.

Uncle, are you going to wake up? She was smiling up at him and while the room continued to spin around them slowly, they had stopped moving. Who?

A sparkle in her eyes.

Eos.

Time to wake up, Uncle. Her hand was in his.

She took a step and he had to follow.

Pain crashed into him. Voices. God, his head.

“Pain c-count, one to ten?”

Eleven. “S-six. Brains, what the hell?”

“His estimate is actually much higher, Hiram.” Eos’ voice danced all around him. Don’t lie about your health, Uncle.

“I will do what I damn well want to, Eos!” Augh, he clutched his head. Damn, that hurt.

Fingers fumbled at his wrist and something cold shot up his arm. He groaned, but then the pain started to fade. Oh, thank god. He melted into the bed. Yes, he was lying on a bed.

“Better?” The soft voice came from near his head. He blinked and a blue and gold blur slowly resolved itself into little Johnny.

“Better.” It came out little more than a sigh. A blink. A frown. “What happened?”

“You fell asleep again.”

“Again?” Another blink. “I was dancing. Around and around.” He smiled. “With Eos. She looks so much like you. Lovely long red hair, eyes aquamarine like the ocean in the sun. So young, so old, so amazing. We need to protect her, John.” He reached out and grabbed his brother’s arm. “Promise me we’ll protect her.” His brother’s eyes, that same aquamarine, widened and stared down at him. “Promise me, John, we can’t let him hurt her. We can’t.”

His brother nodded slowly. “We will protect her, Virgil, I promise.”

He believed him. If anyone could do it, Johnny could. “Thank you, thank you.” He squeezed his brother’s arm and John’s fingers wrapped around his, tightening in return.

-o-o-o-

Virgil’s eyes were glazed by the haze of necessary medication, but he was awake. Three times he had awoken and fallen asleep almost immediately.

Brains actually swore. It was something John had never heard the engineer do, and in his native language no less.

Eos had been worried as much as John and Scott...Scott was only on the Island because Grandma ordered him to stay put. Consequently, John was on a five-minute update rotation for his eldest brother.

Speaking of which...count down....

Scott’s hologram flashed up beside the bed. “Thunderbird Five, report!”

Virgil jumped, his eyes going wide. “Scott? Is that you? Really you? Please be you. Eos? John?” His brother’s eyes latched onto him and widened even further before darting back to Scott, to John, to Scott...shit. “Not you, too, Scotty, please no.” Fear crumpled his brow.

“Virgil.” John squeezed the hand on his arm, holding it close. “It is Scott. I promise. Eos, tell him.”

Virgil’s frown deepened for a moment, his eyes going distant. A soft smile spread over his face and he closed his eyes.

It was John’s turn to frown. “Eos? Tell me what’s happening.”

“I’m sorry, John, but he’s slipping into sleep again.”

“Sleep?” Scott’s voice was worry itself. “Are we any closer to working out why?”

Brains, who had been absorbed in a readout from the EEG woven into Virgil’s hair, suddenly spun and grabbing a hypodermic needle, quickly drew some blood from the tap in the crook of Virgil’s elbow.

Virgil didn’t notice. He began to snore again.

John sighed.

The blood sample was shoved into the analyser and Brains stabbed the machine. “Eos, I-I need a nanite activity r-report. Access their logs and send to m-my t-tablet, p-please.”

“Yes, Hiram.” The tablet pinged.

For a few minutes there was only the sound of Brains muttering to himself and Virgil’s soft snores.

The expletive that shot out of Brains’ mouth a moment later was enough to curl even John’s toes.

“What’s wrong?” Scott still hovered beside the bed, his gaze caught between his brothers and the once again muttering engineer.

“They are p-putting him to sleep.”

“What? Who?”

“The nanites. When m-mineral r-resources drop too low, they stimulate a sleep cycle so Virgil’s body shuts down.” There was an untranslated mutter. “This cannot stay this w-way. They cannot have control.” He turned away again, stabbing the analyser with his fingers.

“John?”

He didn’t have any answers. Not yet.

Virgil snorted and rolled over in his sleep, dragging cables and IV. John gently untangled him.

“John?”

“I don’t know, Scott. As soon as I do, you will, too.”

His brother’s expression reflected the frustration in his own. “Understood, Tracy Island out.”

The hologram dissipated.

John sighed. “Do we have anything, Brains?”

“It appears the interface m-may have been damaged during the encounter with Il M-mago.”

“We didn’t detect any damage.” Both John and Brains had scanned their brother thoroughly after the incident, desperate to make sure he wasn’t hurt further.

Brains looked down a moment. “I’m afraid we m-must have missed something. The n-nanite logs definitely show a sudden increase in activity.”

“They didn’t at the time.” John’s stomach twisted. He hated this. The not knowing and his brother’s life in the balance.

Brains sighed. “No, they didn’t.”

John straightened. “Eos, I need a complete listing of all the nanites code. I want all their logs. I want everything.”

“Yes, John.”

He gently squeezed Virgil’s hand and placed in on the bed beside the sleeping man. “Brains, I’ll be in my office.”

“I will monitor him.”

“Thank you, Brains.”

The image of their genius engineer leaning over his prone brother kept him company for the following hours of writing code.

-o-o-o-

Do you like dancing?

I love to dance.

I’ve never seen you do it.

It is much more fun with a partner.

You have your brothers.

He laughed. Not quite the dance partners I had in mind.

What about Kayo? She has a great deal of control over her body.

Virgil frowned and stared at his niece. To be honest, it has never occurred to me.

You should ask her. I’m sure she would love to dance with you.

He shrugged. Grandma has danced with me in the past.

It was Eos’ turn to eye him as they spun around the room. While Mrs Tracy is quite capable, I don’t think she is quite the partner you have in mind either.

Virgil led her into another twirl across the balcony of the comms room, reality intruding on fantasy. It doesn’t matter now.

She drew them to a stop. What do you mean? You said you loved dancing. Why don’t you find someone to dance with?

Eos-

If you are going to use the interface as an excuse, I’m going to pull out that Neo-Boney M recording.

Don’t you dare.

A quicksilver smile and his niece danced across the balcony by herself, her arms outspread, dress twirling. I agree, this is fun. You should do it more often.

He sighed. Have you finished updating the code yet?

She spun again while staring up at the sky. Oh, that. I managed that in the second before you realised I was even here.

What?

I wanted to try this dancing again. It is lovely.

He searched his memory looking for any change or difference and found nothing. Is it working okay?

She stopped spinning and faced him. Everything is fine, Uncle. I promise.

Okay.

We will make this better. She approached him slowly. Hiram, Father and I will make this work.

I hope so.

He backed up and sat himself down on his piano stool. This place was so real, but so not home.

Can I wake up now?

She stared at him, her head tilted slightly to one side. Hiram, has started a regime to replace your mineral stores. He has given you several injections and is monitoring the results. There have been more blood tests.

He would have complained about being a pincushion, but to be honest he had had so much worse. Can I wake up?

You don’t want to dance anymore?

Eos.

Okay, okay. She reached for his hand and he let her take it, following.

-o-o-o-

John was tired, but determined.

“Eos, how is he?”

“Memory response is good. Knowledge retrieval fast. The interface is working well. Nanite response in minimal. He wants to wake up.”

“Give it a moment longer.” He turned to Brains. “Are his levels responding.”

“Slowly. It will t-take some t-time to b-bring them up to healthy levels. He will n-need m-monitoring for some days p-possibly weeks. I r-recommend we r-return him to Tracy Island for his own comfort. Mrs T-Tracy, Scott and G-Gordon are fully c-capable of r-retrieving the blood samples n-needed. I can m-monitor from here and continue r-repairs to Thunderbird Five.”

“Virgil is far more important than Five.”

Brains stared at him calmly. “He will be well, J-John.”

John let his shoulders drop. He hated this. Hated this powerlessness.

“Virgil is becoming insistent.”

“Okay, Eos. Wake him up.”

His brother lay on his back, face pale...which wasn’t surprising since he was actually anaemic. Eyelashes on pale cheeks fluttered. Brown irises sought his.

“Hey, Virgil. You with us?”

A blink. A frown. “I think so.”

“Are you in any pain?” Brains hovered beside the bed.

Virgil turned his head towards the engineer. “Headache.” Another slow blink and he turned back to John. “Eos likes to dance.”

It was John’s turn to blink.

Brains interrupted by relaying Virgil all the necessary medical information about his condition. His brother nodded once before once again latching his eyes onto John.

Somewhat unnerved by the intense but silent stare, John shifted where he stood. “You ready to go home, Virgil?”

“Home?”

“Back to Tracy Island.”

“Oh, yes, sure.” The stare continued.

“Virgil?”

His brother didn’t answer immediately, still staring at John. He opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly appeared at a loss for words. A blink and then, his voice rough, “You should be proud. Very proud.”

It took John a moment to connect the dots. But when he did, he straightened.

“I am.” A dip of his head. “Of both of you.”

-o-o-o-

Virgil returned home. He was quiet, but his mood appeared to be stable and possibly improving. Brains and John sent him down via the elevator, Scott at the other end to help his brother out of the seat and harness. Between Grandma, Scott and Gordon, he wouldn’t be alone at all. It was thought best that considering his induced depression and possible mood swings, that he should not be left unattended.

Virgil grumbled, but complied.

Of course, his blood tests would continue and Eos was monitoring the nanites closely. Virgil couldn’t sneeze without someone taking notes.

It was necessary. He had to be saved.

That bastard was still out there. Somewhere.

John floated in the hub, eyes scanning the code output of the nanites in Virgil’s blood. He watched their reactions to Virgil’s reactions. His brother was currently grumbling at Scott. Eos had rolled virtual eyes at that, throwing several exasperated questions at John as to why his brother was such a stubborn ass.

“Because that is one of the reasons he is still alive.”

And why the Hood didn’t currently have him under his thumb, why he could now see and speak to John without innate terror, why he hadn’t thrown himself into Thunderbird Three’s silo and why Thunderbird Five was still mostly in one piece.

They all relied on that stubborn.

John sighed.

The code scrolled past.

His eye caught something. “Eos, can you pull up that secondary function on the third tier?”

“This one?”

The code lines appeared midair and he re-read them. “I didn’t write this.”

“No.”

“I’ve never seen this. I thought we pulled all the code.”

“One moment please.”

John waited.

Waited.

Waited.

“Eos?”

“Please hold.”

His shoulders grew tight under his suit.

A breath.

Another.

“They are capable of writing their own code.”

“What?! How?”

“Investigating.”

“They are reacting to certain situations. When one gets triggered another will respond and alter the code of the first to assist its needs.” The AI paused. “It is rather an intriguing concept.”

“How does this affect our code? And how did we miss the code that initiates this process?”

“I don’t know, John.”

“Then we need to find out. This is Virgil’s life!”

“I know, John. I will do my best.”

He sagged where he floated. Damn. “I know you will, Eos. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

His eyes returned to tracking the code, now picking out the small differences that weren’t there when he input the code. “Eos?”

“Yes, John.”

“Do you feel hate?”

“Are you referring to the people who did this to Virgil.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Then most definitely.”

“He is still out there. He could attack at any time.”

“I know. I have put up as many defences as possible.”

“You know they won’t be enough.”

Silence.

“Eos?”

“I have to protect him.”

“But you can’t.”

“I can try!”

A swallow. “So can I.” He straightened, determination and his own version of Tracy stubborn setting in. “I want every piece of information we have about the interface, how it functions, what it is made of, everything. I want it here now.”

“John?”

“We are going to find a way.” His lips thinned. “Virgil shouldn’t have to stand alone.”

“I’m going to stand with him.”

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 19

Table of Contents Go to first. Go to previous. Go to next.

Drugs, decomp, insects/parasitism, myiaisis, emeto, myso, copro TW’s. I’m pretty sure this is the grossest thing I’ve ever written. Enjoy

Skin tight hypoxia gripped Melancholy’s scalp. He wheezed for breath, jerking upright in a coughing fit of salt and rancor. Face still coated in a thick grime, his eyes and nose burned almost as bad as his lungs, and he pulled off his glasses to claw the muck off his face. A rasping coughing fit seized him, only for his stomach to lay out its objections to his activities right into his lap. Everything crawled inside-out with haptic echoes of a phantom myiasis. His diaphragm continued to spasm, adding hiccups to the mix of torture.

The second time he vomited, blood spotted the rejection.

“Fuck, it took you long enough.” Jared snatched him up by the back of his collar and threw him into an office chair. He jammed a shop rag into his hand with bitter, mocking pity. “Does the chemist need some water?”

“--’Zhemoy,” ‘Choly choked out, breathing still unsteady. “I could have-- I could have died.”

“But you didn’t.”

A jar of water found the chemist’s hands, and he immediately without hesitation squinted his eyes and mouth taut and poured some of it down his face. He then poured out a bit into the other side of the rag and did his best to work the ordure loose. Unable to smell anything but the penetrating musk of brahmin dung, he distrusted his ability to gauge the safeness of the water he’d been handed, and did not use it to try to drown the hiccups. Once he got his eyes rid of enough rheum-muck, he opened them, and used the remaining water to wash off his glasses. He dared not look to Jared, to confirm his appearance.

“Look, chemist. You’re going to retain your value to me. I’ve invested too much in you. What’s a more potent dose than the raw source itself? I watched you just now, writhing like the insect you are. That had to be the most intense flight I’ve seen in my life. --Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

‘Choly trembled and shook his head, wringing his hands in his lap and feeling very small. Attentive flies crawled all over him, and diligent maggots did their best to rid his clothing of grime. He squinted his eyes shut and tried his best not to fall into hyperventilating.

“Please, no. No--”

“Do you at least know where you are, you little fuck? You’re sitting in my office. At my terminal. And you’re not going anywhere until you write down everything that you just experienced.”

He slowly picked up his head in the direction of the desk, and stared hollowly at the computer screen. Loathing overwhelmed him in the moment and he shrank from the terminal with a low whine, only to force himself to square up to it, and shrink away, several times. At last he put his glasses back on his face, and recognized at least his hiccups had resolved.

Jared glared at the back of his head until he was goodly confident ‘Choly was committed to the journal entry.

Flies. Flies on everything. Cleaning everything. Righting it all. Devoted. Diligent. I don’t know where they’re coming from. Are they coming from Jared? Jared’s face... He became the largest bloatfly I’ve ever seen. Drooling, adamant mouthparts. Piercing compound eyes. His bloated body teemed with lichinka. Ready for my supplication. Everything was so tight. Flesh sluicing from my belly as they wriggled out to crown my pudenda like a coronation of sex. Appetent. Purifying. Perpetual. Purulent. I was so purulent. But I wouldn’t be for long.

They took me with them when they transfigured into mature bloatflies. A piece of my consciousness arose in each of them, a cloud of rapture. I was present in everything, humble to debride the world of its entropy. Multiplying in a golden mean forever. Everything could be clean.

Sweat drenched him in hard loathing, and he heaved as he saved his draft. He couldn’t get more explicit than that. It hurt his head too much to try to put to words what he had seen. Every time he took Jet, it seemed the conjugating theme was maggot therapy. This was the first time it had brought him a genuine state of entheogeny, and he rubbed at his upper arms in displeasure of coming down from it. Everything felt so... lifeless as the halo of activity faded away. His head hurt. His everything hurt.

In the time it had taken for him to compose the journal requested of him, he found that Jared had excused himself. The wheelchair was still out on the assembly line floor, and divorced of it ‘Choly couldn’t muster the faculty or energy to get himself to it. And he was a combination of too tired and too filthy to simply doze off. So, to keep himself entertained, he turned again to the terminal, only to realize that Jared had left it logged on as the administrator.

He’d never read Jared’s journals before, and he wondered if anyone in the outfit had. Absently biting his lip refreshed the rancid tang that stained his face, and he flinched. He looked over his shoulder to make sure Jared wasn’t even out on the foreman’s mezzanine that overlooked the assembly floor, then went into his journals. He jumped around basing his choices on the titles of each file, and began with one called ‘Setting Up Shop.’

Gunfire’s finally quieted down. Suppose that means either Lonnie or Gristle wiped up the last of the feral ghouls or they’re currently serving as someone’s meal.

But Lexington is secure, I can finally get to work.

Well, ‘Choly thought, somebody sure became the ferals’ meal in the Super Duper Mart. They didn’t look at all the part to belong to Jared’s outfit, though. He opened ‘Subjects.’

It’s not the chems.

They’re just a trigger for the sight. It’s me. I’m the problem. Wish I’d realized before my arms looked like pin-cushions, but at least it’s a new lead.

I need subjects.

The chemist squinted. Jared really did believe that psychedelic drugs could make people legitimately psychic. But injections? 'Choly thought all this nonsense revolved around Jet, an inhalant. ‘Walden’ came next.

The pharmacy across the way lit up like Christmas last week. No clue how that fucker got in my town without anybody noticing, but color me impressed that he managed to restore electricity to that place. I had Jerry case the building, top to bottom, and every way in requires either a key or a password. We’ll have to arrange a little rooftop meeting next time our little showman comes up on the roof to dole out chems with his--rifle? That still slays me.

The part that really gets me is, my outfit tells me he’s in a wheelchair. I’ve only ever seen one other person in the Commonwealth use one. It can’t be a coincidence. I have to talk to him.

Skimming a few more entries, he got a few laughs out of confirmation that Jared didn’t genuinely hate him. At least, not before today. Most mentions of him in Jared’s journals involved wanting desperately to flip ‘Choly’s ‘vision’ the ‘right direction.’ Then there was ‘Experiments Continue,’ and his face slacked.

Still no successes but the rumor of free chems has brought plenty of new recruits. Ranks are nearly back up to where they were before we cleaned out Lexington. Lonnie thinks entertaining the chemist is a waste of time, says we need to spend our time building up our defenses.

But Lonnie doesn’t make the decisions. I do.

She does seem to be enjoying her new position, though. Maybe another dose of Psycho will get her visions firing.

‘Choly’s hand went to his mouth at the mention of cyclomorphine, and he sank back in his seat. Jared had access to Psycho, and was trying to jog hallucinations with it as he’d done of the Jet. The raider leader had told the chemist he’d had no interest in branching out into other drugs until they’d done comprehensive work with Jet first. Knowing what Jared had told him before this most recent trip, had the raider simply gotten impatient without any results yet, or was something more sinister taking place here? Holy God how did he get his hands on that stuff... He hadn’t wanted to find anything compelling, incriminating or otherwise, and he pressed on, haunted, with the most recent entry: ‘Stumped.’

Nothing is working. The old woman, she used to just huff some Jet, pop some pills, then she’d start babbling, spouting vision after vision. And they all turned out true. The Raiders burning the town, killing the parents, stealing the kids. Stealing me. I remember the look in her eyes when she saw my fate. “Kid, you’re gonna be a monster.” All true.

If I could get that sort of power, that sight, the Commonwealth, the other gangs. No one would have a prayer.

But nothing’s working. Maybe I need to try upping the dosages. I’ll have to talk with the chemist and see how potent we can get.

“You’re gonna be a monster,” he mouthed, his soul flying from his body.

There was no other explanation in ‘Choly’s haunted grey matter, than that this soothsaying junkie had seen ‘Choly’s hallucinations of Jared becoming a bloatfly. Of course Jared’s interested in developing psychic abilities for power alone. Of course he is.

'Choly backed out to the main screen, and returned to the ‘Melancholy 8′ entry from the holotape in the disc deck, so the terminal would be open to it. The more rational explanation was that this woman had indicated a monstrosity of character, but ‘Choly just couldn’t quit the thought as he reread what he’d written. Context meant everything. Over... and over... and...

“Hey, chemist, you’re still at it? Fuck, you’re taking forever.”

‘Choly jerked in his seat, snapped out of his lucid horror by Jared’s return.

“I, yeah. Yeah, I’m done.” He looked to Jared, to find him still entirely human, and he sighed out his relief a little too readily. The raider had brought the wheelchair, folded up. Pushing away from the desk in the rolling chair, ‘Choly began, “I very much hope this stuff doesn’t come true, and very much hope it’s ridiculous that it ever could.”

Jared leaned down to skim what ‘Choly had written, and his features alternated from hardened to ridiculous. He barked a laugh and slapped ‘Choly in the head, only to continue laughing, almost in tears.

“You are a horny little fuck...”

“I haven’t gotten any in over two centuries.” He let out a small laugh, realizing he’d inadvertently referenced facts which had precipitated Jared’s prior behavior. “I suppose that has a lot to do with it.”

With a delirious sigh, Jared smiled at him and gesticulated emphatically as he spoke next.

“I’ve been thinking, and I have to ask. In some of your other journals, you’ve talked about using some pistol in the same way you use your rifle. A... Nagant? I know it’s total bollocks that you’d have these... bloatfly maggots or whatever you hallucinate every time. Those things are like a dick joke. Having ‘em in the gun’s like, a metaphor for fucking everything under the sun or something. And you getting intimate, up close and personal, with that thing. Real raunchy. ...Is that a real gun you’re talking about? Or is it a vapor just like everything else in that fucked up little head of yours?”

The chemist straightened, and thought how to reply as he slowly wrung his hands in his lap.

“I... yes, and no. The gun is real, but the ammunition and its ability to fire them aren’t.” He stopped making eye contact. “It’s a Russian revolver I found, some vet’s war prize I guess. Takes 7.62′s, but fuck if you’ll ever likely put your hands on any. I can’t think of any regular issue American guns that use it, and the military only let vets have the weapon itself as a trophy--the ammo itself was considered contraband. I only really know the basics when it comes to actually breaking down and futzing with the mechanics of a firearm, but I suppose it’s... entirely plausible to make it work like my syringer rifle.”

Jared squinted at him, unsure whether ‘Choly was being an idiot.

“You can’t put darts in a pistol, revolver or not. Just the combustion in the chamber will destroy it.”

“The Nagant... is different. It’s a gas-seal revolver. It fires the ammo through air pressure, and relies only partly on combustion. I would imagine there’s a way to rig it to rely completely on a pneumatic mechanism. 7.62mm isn’t too far off from the ammo a syringer rifle uses, either.”

“Where is this... Nagant.”

‘Choly made a funny face and shook his head in a vague confusion. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like Jared was trying to confirm facts about a Jet journal.

“I have it stored someplace safe. What, why?”

“I’m very good with metalworking equipment, and very good with firearms. Been playing around with the assembly plant amenities for close to a year, and I grew up in Quincy. You’ve seen how good I am, from how we cooperated putting together the Jet rig. I could take a look at it. And I could probably make it happen. Give it ammo it can use. Make it proud again.”

‘Choly stiffened, recalling that Jared’s journals indicated he had access to Psycho--at least at one point--and he couldn’t imagine a worse outcome. But gradually, his judgment got the better of him and he nodded, then nodded eagerly.

“I’ll bring it tomorrow. So you can look at it.”

The moment the words came from him, he regretted it. And yet, Jared seemed more pleased with him than he’d ever been. With his help ‘Choly transferred over to the now unfolded wheelchair, and Jared escorted him down the mezzanine ramp to meet Angel.

“My stars you’ve gotten most filthy, Mister Carey!” Its tendrils flailed about in utmost concern before taking up the handles and motoring him along. “Shall I help you bathe upon arriving home? I scarce would think you could scrub all that away on your own.”

As they exited, Jared called out after him, “Melancholy! Don’t you forget your promise.”

He shot Jared an o-kay with one tired hand, not looking back.

“Angel, I... I think this warrants a dip in the river. We’ll stop at the pharmacy for the toiletries, I guess.”

“But Sir, you’ll be soaking wet all the way home. You haven’t come across a change of clothes. I should know. You deserve a freshening up.”

“I... have a change of clothes,” he began, almost reluctantly. “Don’t worry about that much. It’s in your storage compartment, actually.”

They fell silent the rest of the way back to the Lexington Walden, to limit any likelihood of stirring unwanted ghoul attention. On the way to their pit stop, all ‘Choly could wonder was whether Jared were more pleased with the journal entry, or with the promise of a new toy for his inhumane scheming... and he couldn’t help but wonder why he was so attentive to gain the favor of this abomination.

He’d given Melancholy everything he could have wanted. But at what price?

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