#irrelief2021

[loopstagirl]

A Cup of Comfort

For @tsarinatorment and your hot chocolate prompt. It’s more TOS than TAG, but hopefully it’s okay.

In pain and bored, Virgil gives up trying to sleep. But someone else knows exactly what he needs.

There were no interesting patterns on his ceiling.

No intriguing shadows as the moonlight spilled through the open balcony door.

The breeze wasn't refreshing.

The night wasn't quiet.

Virgil groaned. He scrunched the pillow, trying to force some volume back into it before shoving it behind his head.

It didn't help. He was still uncomfortable. No amount of pillow fluffing was going to make a difference.

He'd been too hot, and the blankets were pushed to the end of the bed in a pile. Of course, now he'd cooled down, he couldn't reach them to pull them back up again. For a few moments, he lay there, eyes closed, counting his breaths as he tried to will himself to relax.

All it did was focus his attention on the reason why he wasn't asleep. The throbbing, itching weight of his left leg. His knee still felt hot – not just to touch – and his ankle ached from where he'd struggled to compensate.

It wasn't even the wrenched knee that was keeping him awake. Brains had given him enough painkillers that it had settled to a soft pulse rather than the hammer-hard pounding it had been earlier in the evening.

No. His current discomfort was the weight of the brace strapped around his leg. It was heavy and restrictive, and made sleeping curled up nigh-on-impossible. Virgil didn't sleep on his back, never had. He curled into the smallest ball he could and buried away from the world and all its problems, even when living on a tropical island. Now, though, he could barely roll over.

He also, it seemed, couldn't sleep. No amount of meditation was going to disguise the fact that he was cold, in pain, and irritable right now. He checked his watch: 2am. Even John wouldn't still be awake for a chat at this time, and Virgil huffed, feeling despondent more than tired.

There was no point lying there grumbling to himself. Pressing his palms against the mattress, he forced himself upright, scooting back until he could lean against the wall. He twisted half his body, then gripped his leg and swung it off the bed. It was a strange lurch to get himself to his feet, and it was only the hand on the wall that stopped him from falling flat on his face. It felt like a victory given his latest streak of bad luck, and Virgil took a breath, gaze fixed with determination on his bedroom door.

He'd had worse than a wrenched knee. He'd seen worse on his brothers and always come up with reasons why they were lucky the damage hadn't been more severe. A Tracy didn't let something like a strained…

Ow.

Pep talks only got so far. Even with the brace, shifting his weight hurt. By the time he reached his bedroom door, he certainly wasn't cold any longer.

When he got to the kitchen, he was breathless, sweating, and in more pain than he wanted to admit. He paused in the doorway, staring into the room, and wondering what exactly he was supposed to do next.

Hobbling across, he perched on one of the bar stools. But the angle was too severe for his knee, and he couldn't elevate it. Huffing, Virgil slid off again, leaning against the wall and looking around for ideas, but nothing came to mind.

Rather than face the trek back to his room, he let the wall take his weight and slipped down to the floor. It took some awkward manoeuvring to lower himself while keeping his leg straight, but he got there.

Resting back, Virgil stared across the kitchen blankly. He didn't know what he'd come down for, but now he was here, it all seemed pointless. He told himself it was better than staring at his ceiling, but had to admit the view hadn't improved that much.

He hadn't been there long when he heard footsteps. Virgil stayed quiet, hoping to pass unnoticed. When the light flicked on, he blinked rapidly, trying to clear his watery eyes.

"Come on." The tone was a mixture of fondness and exasperation.

Virgil was out of sight: he was sitting on the floor, wedged into a corner on the opposite side to either the fridge or the cupboards. There was no reason for anyone to look this way. He somehow wasn't surprised when he looked up to find Scott standing over him, hand outstretched.

Virgil took it. His brother gripped his forearm, steadying him with the other hand as he pulled him upright. Hooking a chair with his foot, Scott spun it around and Virgil lowered himself into it. But like the bar stool, the angle was wrong, and he grimaced, making to rise.

"Wait."

He didn't have time to ask before Scott had pulled over another chair, found a cushion from who-knew-where, and helped Virgil rest his leg on it.

Virgil sagged. He suddenly felt it was two in the morning, and he was in the kitchen rather than bed.

"What're you doing up?" He asked his brother. He watched through half-lidded eyes as Scott moved. For a man completely out of his comfort zone, his movements were assured, soothing, and Virgil relaxed back.

Scott shrugged. "Couldn't sleep," he muttered, opening the fridge.

"Why?"

It wasn't uncommon for previous rescues to play on their minds, and the fact Virgil's leg was in a brace gave away the latest hadn't been a straight forward one.

"I was just restless," Scott said, "couldn't switch off."

He gave Virgil a pointed look, who flushed. It was hardly the first time Scott hadn't been able to sleep, only to find a brother was also awake for one reason or another.

"Freak," Virgil muttered.

Scott ignored the insult. "Do you need more meds?"

Virgil shook his head. "It's not the pain," he said, "it's just…" He trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

"Can't get comfy?"

Virgil grimaced. "I know I'm the first to tell you guys rest is the best thing, but…" His flush deepened as he forced himself to meet his brother's eyes. "I got bored staring at the ceiling. We'd need a bigger island for the number of sheep I tried counting."

Scott's mouth twitched in a quick smile, but he didn't say anything. Instead, Virgil watched, intrigued, as he pulled down a couple of mugs.

It only took a few seconds before Virgil realised what Scott was doing.

"For a man whose main culinary skill is not burning the pizza, are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Scott gave him a scathing look as he heated the milk and started measuring out chocolate powder.

"All those afternoons sitting at the kitchen table with Grandma," he reminisced, "this is the one thing I know how to do. Don't you remember who used to make it for you guys when you got home from school in winter?"

Virgil smiled. He remembered their grandmother bustling around. But it was only now that he recalled Scott in the background, carefully measuring quantities and stirring hot milk while they demanded sprinkles, cream, marshmallows and various combinations of the above. Their grandmother handled the flourishes, but Scott made the drinks.

"Cream and marshmallows, right?" Scott said.

Virgil's smile was fond as he nodded, touched that Scott remembered his preferred mix. He was soon cradling a hot chocolate, swiping his finger through the cream before his brother handed him a spoon.

Scott had gone for the same, minus cream, and they both spent a few moments chasing gooey lumps around their drinks.

"D'you ever miss Kansas?" Virgil said.

Scott's eyes widened as he slurped some of his drink.

"Why?"

Virgil shrugged. "Dunno. Just having this-," he gestured at the mug -, "made me start thinking about it."

Scott sat down opposite him, drawing his knees to his chest. He looked young like that – the same way he'd sat as a boy, even if Virgil was impressed that he could fold his long limbs into the chair and hold the position.

"Sometimes," Scott admitted, surprising his brother. Virgil's eyebrows raised.

"You do?"

Scott nodded. "I'd never go back if that's what you're mean. What we do, who we are… it's in our blood."

Virgil agreed. Their father had done so much before starting International Rescue, and it wasn't only Scott and John who had followed his path. They all longed for something more.

Being out in the field, being active, making a difference… Scott was right: it was in their DNA, and none of them would give it up. Even when a bad rescue meant he couldn't sleep.

"But…" Scott took a deep breath. "I wonder who we could've been."

"Come again?" Virgil didn't follow, and the blank look on his face told his brother as much. Scott shrugged.

"Normal lives, day jobs, marriage, heck, even kids. Don't you ever think about who you'd be if it wasn't for IR?"

"No," Virgil said honestly. "We've got everything I ever dreamed of."

"Everything?" Scott's words were soft, but Virgil knew what he was asking this time. The whole operation had been set up because their father had been broken by the loss of their mother. Moving to the island, being part of a secret organisation, meant none of them had experienced falling in love.

"There's still a chance," Virgil said, "look at Alan."

It was different, and they knew it.

"And your degree? Everything you worked for?"

"Why do you think I chose engineering?" Virgil shrugged. It had been a tough call between that and art, but once his father had announced what he was working on, the decision had been easy.

"Maybe it's different for me because I never got a job," he mused. "You had your career, John his-,"

"No."

Virgil looked at his brother, astonished.

"No?"

"I had a job, not a career. I never would've got promoted."

"Scott-,"

"I would have turned them down. Could you ever imagine me with a desk job? I have to fly. That was why I joined, and how long would it have taken before I got annoyed with those who just sat behind a desk, risking lives?"

"And John?"

Scott's smile was small, but genuine. "For someone who is rarely on Earth," he said softly, "John's a home-boy. The lack of contact with the rest of us would have eventually driven him to some office somewhere where the only way he'd see his beloved stars was through his telescope."

"Gordon had already been discharged," Virgil said, thoughtfully. "If you don't dream about a decorated career, what do you think about?"

Scott shrugged. "You guys being safe."

"Urgh," Virgil pulled a face. "Do you really think I would have been safe fixing monorail lines or something just as boring? I'd be going out of my mind!"

Scott chuckled. "I know," he said. "None of us were ever meant for the quiet life, and heck knows where Gords would've ended up. IR gave him his purpose back."

"It gave us all our purpose."

"Even when things like that happen?" Scott asked, nodding towards his leg.

Virgil scowled – he'd managed not to think about it while they were talking, but drawing attention made him conscious of how much it still hurt.

"Even that," he said. "If that's the only way we get to have conversations like this."

He laughed at the expression on Scott's face.

"You can just tell me if you want to talk, you know," his big brother said. "Skidding down a mountain isn't the best way to get my attention."

Virgil managed a smile. The rockslide had caught him unaware; there had been no warning, and the only hint he'd got was John yelling in his ear that he needed to move. He hadn't made it very far before the debris overtook him. All it had taken was a stray boulder smashing into his leg and he'd gone down.

"Did I say thanks?" he muttered. Scott had been forced to pull him out, get him off the mountain, while Virgil had tried not to pass out.

"You don't have to," Scott said, then held up a hand, "but yes, you did. Numerous times. And in quite creative ways once the morphine had kicked in."

Virgil grinned. "What can I say? I'm a creative kind of guy."

"Like I said: there're other ways."

The two brothers smiled at each other. Virgil finished his drink and glanced at the kitchen door. Scott saw his look.

"Time for bed?" he asked. Virgil sighed.

"Can't I stay here?"

"You know what Grandma would say to that," Scott countered. He took Virgil's empty mug and put it in the sink along with his own before holding out his hand again.

Knowing Scott wasn't going to let him get away with it, Virgil huffed another sigh and once again let his brother draw him upright.

The journey back upstairs was far less effort when there was a big brother to lean on. It didn't take long before Scott had navigated him onto the bed. To his surprise, Virgil yawned even as Scott slipped a pillow under his leg and drew the covers over him.

The drink had warmed him through, comforted him in a way he hadn't realised he'd needed. Talking to Scott had reminded him that however much he wanted to grumble that he was sore and uncomfortable, he'd do it again. This was their life; he wouldn't go back, and he wouldn't change anything.

"Thanks," he murmured. The light dimmed, but Scott paused in the doorway.

"Anytime," he said. "Get some rest, Virg."

Even as Scott pulled his door closed on his way out, Virgil let his eyes shut.

That sounded like the best idea he'd heard all day.

Also available here >>

[thunderbird-one-ai]

Oldest To Youngest

So this started off as an idea then I saw someone put a prompt on the IR Relief that was similar so I just smushed a few things together and hope that you enjoy it @tsarinatorment  Prompt: Time Travel AU (bonus if it involves pre-series age Scott with series-age little bros) Science could not explain what exactly happened. To be honest, John was certain this was impossible. Yet here his brother was, doing the impossible. Not that he knew it of course. Through some strange phenomena, Scott, his older brother, the oldest of five Tracy sons, pilot of Thunderbird One, was now at the young age of twelve. John had been working himself to exhaustion to try and fix this issue, all the while looking after their brother. He had taken a break because it was either sitting with Scott or spending time in the infirmary with an overprotective big brother giving him a breakdown of what the definition of exhaustion was. So, it was John’s turn with a rather wild Scott who just didn’t want to sit down. Alan and Gordon were in their element, running around with Scott till the cows came home. But even then, they got tired and needed time alone. Funny how the tables had turned for them, realising that even big brothers needed time away from little brothers. Virgil was the closest to getting Scott to calm down their big/little brother. It was hard to tell what he was now to them; they didn’t even know if this was permanent. He held Scott’s hand as he took him to the roof where a telescope was ready and waiting for them, something John had set up beforehand when he found out it was his turn to babysit. Scott had been rather reluctant however to join John, since John wouldn’t tell him about what they were doing.

“I don’t think daddy would like me being on the roof. I’m never allowed on the roof at home,” Scott said, though he didn’t let go of John’s hand. “Dad knows you’ll be up here, it’s fine,” John said before adding another point quickly. “But don’t go near the edge of the roof. You stay near me okay?” Scott nodded, “Okay.” John gave a small smile to Scott as he led him over to the telescope, already calibrated and waiting to be used. John wasn’t really one for going out and exploring the island, or even running around. This was his last resort. He hoped that Scott’s appreciation of the stars was there even at this age. “Do you know much about space Scott?” John asked. “My daddy goes to space with Uncle Lee. He tells me all about what he does up there,” Scott said looking up to the sky. “I wanna go to space one day...” he said quietly. That quiet comment made John smile to himself. Virgil was really the only one who knew much about Scott’s childhood out of all the brothers. By the time John was old enough to understand what Scott did, he was already working with NASA on the experimental aircraft in the process of transferring to the Airforce. He hardly remembered his older brother’s days as a Rescue Scout being a few years younger of course. It was a much different time then. The family was whole. It still is in a way but not everyone is present any more, not that they told young Scott this. The fact that this Scott talked so freely about their mother was welcomed into all the conversations. Scott never spoke about mum much after her death. Everyone else did, but he didn’t. It was something that John never questioned. When mum came up in conversation, Scott would either go dead silent or leave the room altogether. To see this Scott so free, unburdened by the hellish events that were going to inevitably unfold in his life, gave John a sense of calm. He was able to see Scott giggle, smile and run around, acting his age. Their Scott had taken the burdens of the family on his shoulders, taken International Rescue, Tracy Industries, and even surrogate fatherhood to his younger brothers during his early twenties. Before then, it was helping his father keep four younger boys in check after the disaster of losing their mother. Scott never had a childhood. He had sacrificed that so his brothers could have one. John saw the Rescue Scout move over and look through the telescope. He had pointed it straight to the moon and after a few seconds heard his big, little brother whisper ‘cool’ under his breath. He watched Scott alternate between looking at the moon through the telescope and with the naked eye for a while, the night light glimmering in Scott’s eyes whenever he looked up. There was a child-like wonder in his eyes. It was an expression of pure wonder and amazement. John knew his older brother loved space still. He’d been in the great abyss a lot of times even before International Rescue started. John remembered after getting their father back, Scott requested that the space capabilities of Thunderbird One to remain in effect, using the excuse of ‘You never know if we’ll need One in space Brains’. “Have you been to all those stars?” Scott asked, making John lose his track of thought and focus on his now younger brother. “Not all of them. Maybe one day,” John said with a small smile. “But they’re so far away, and there could be monsters in space.” John couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, those monsters don’t scare me. I have a big ship up in space already and I also have a friend up there with me that helps protect me,” “But space is so big! What if there’s a big monster that is bigger than your ship?” “Scared of meeting those monsters, Scott?” John asked with a slight cocking of his head and Scott almost looked embarrassed. “I’m not scared of anything! A Rescue Scout is calm, a Rescue Scout is brave. Never scared, always prepared to help, to guide, - “ “To save,” John said, and Scott smiled brightly. “You know it!” John couldn’t help but chuckle softly and sat down, pulling the telescope over to himself to align it with the Orion constellation. “Scott you are very brave. You’ve helped so many people and saved so many more,” “I have?” Scott looked confused. “Yes, you have. You’re a great Rescue Scout,” John sad softly. Scott giggled in response. “Come over here and I can show you some really cool constellations,” “Pictures in the sky?” Scott asked as he moved over and John took the chance to pull his younger brother onto his lap, moving the telescope so Scott could hold onto it lightly and look through the scope. “Very good.”

That’s how Virgil found them after repeated calls to John’s watch that dinner was ready went unanswered. It was a rare sight to see John down on Earth for so long, but this situation demanded that John stay down. International Rescue was slightly compromised with the fact they didn’t have Scott to pilot Thunderbird One for now. But the issues of the day were blissfully blown away by the light wind on that roof as he took in the memorable sight in front of him. Scott’s giggles filled the air and Johns soft, genuine smile was gleaming in the moonlight. Dinner for them could wait. Virgil would make sure to leave them some and not let the terrible two eat their share since, after all, he was the eldest Tracy now. He had to take responsibility for Gordon and Alan. For now, at least.

[angelofbenignmalevolence]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Gordon Tracy, Scott Tracy, John Tracy Additional Tags: Sibling Bonding, bar bets, Fluff Summary:

Gordon wants a new pair of diving gloves, and he thinks he has just the bar bet to use on his brothers. Scott and John become the victims of Gordon's unwinnable bet...but is it really so unwinnable?

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This might fulfill @tsarinatorment‘s prompt “Scott vs any brother(s) in a prank war” for IRRelief but they would have to tell me if I can call it such :D Also tagging @agentfreelancer1 and @thunderbird-one-ai for reasons.

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Gordon was elated. He had found a new prank to try on his unwitting brothers, and it was one that, if he played his cards right, he would have enough money for that new set of diving gloves he had been eyeing for weeks. An expensive treat for yourself was, after all, always better if someone else paid the price for it. Gordon grinned and took the stairs nearly two at a time as he made his way to the kitchen.

Scott leaned against the countertop with his hands around a mug of coffee, sipping it with a relaxed air. Alan had just checked in from where he had taken John’s place on Five. The aforementioned red-haired astronaut had pretty much gone straight to bed and it seemed that the world was going to be a little quieter today. So far, the distress signals that had come through on the monitors had been simple things and the GDF had been happy enough to go and take care of them.

However, Scott’s relaxed grip on the cup of coffee tightened when Gordon came into the kitchen. When Gordon came in with that kind of predatory grin, it never ended well for any of them. Scott set his mug down and started to push himself off the counter, but Gordon bypassed him, moving over to the cupboard and beginning to pull down some cups.

“Gordon, what are you doing?” Scott asked warily. Anything involving liquid, especially when many in the house were still asleep, could be a dangerous thing. Gordon ignored his brother’s question and set four glasses and a shot glass on the counter. Scott arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t it a bit early in the day to start drinking?”

“What?” Gordon asked, looking confused. “No…no one’s drinking. Not alcohol anyway.” Scott frowned in confusion.

“Do I even want to know?” Scott asked, folding his arms as Gordon made his way over to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice. He began to fill up the four glasses part way and then filled the shot glass with orange juice as well.

“Will you relax, Scott?” Gordon asked as he capped the orange juice. “Honestly, what harm could I do with five glasses of orange juice?” Scott arched an eyebrow.

“Do you really want the answer to that question, Squid?” he asked. Gordon paused mid action of putting the orange juice back in the refrigerator to give Scott a look of mock injury.

“That hurts, Scott,” he said. “It hurts that you don’t trust your little brother.” He put the carton away and moved over to the row of glasses. “Just…humor me, ok?” Scott hesitated before letting out a long suffering sigh and moving over to where the glasses were lined up.

“Ok?” The wariness in Scott’s tone might have offended anyone if they weren’t the resident prankster in front of him. Gordon grinned and indicated the glasses.

“I bet you $100 that I can finish drinking all of these four glasses before you can finish that shot glass,” Gordon said. Scott frowned. There had to be a catch somewhere. Gordon wouldn’t make a bet he wasn’t confident he would win. He sensed a sucker bet, but couldn’t yet see how this could go sideways. “There are two rules, however.”

“Of course, here’s the catch,” Scott said. “Alright, let me hear them.”  Gordon held up a finger for each rule.

“Number one: I’m allowed to drink my first glass and put it down before you start. Number two: we can’t touch each other’s glasses,” Gordon said. “So what do you say, Scott?” Scott thought about it for a second, muddling over every aspect of the bet, still not seeing where this could possibly go wrong for him. Scott took a breath.

“Ok, Squid, but I’m going to make you actually cough up that $100 when I win,” Scott said. Gordon’s grin nearly made Scott rethink his acceptance of this bet.

“You’re on, Scott,” Gordon said, reaching for the first glass. Gordon knocked it back and Scott looked ready to pounce on the shot glass to protect that $100 and to teach his little brother a lesson. Gordon gave an angelic smile as he overturned the glass he had just emptied and placed it over the shot glass, thoroughly encasing Scott’s shot glass inside his own. Scott sputtered in frustration.

“Gordon that’s cheating!” Scott said. Gordon casually picked up the second glass and sipped the orange juice slowly with a grin.

Easiest hundred bucks I’ve ever earned, Gordon thought to himself as he made his way casually through the other glasses, placing the last empty one down and holding out his hand for the money he had just conned his brother out of. Scott grumbled as he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet, pulling out five twenty dollar bills and putting them in his brother’s outstretched hand.

“I hope you choke on your next glass of orange juice,” Scott said ill temperedly. Gordon laughed and downed the shot glass as well.

“No one likes a sore loser, Scott,” he said. “And you know what? To prove that you aren’t the only sucker in the family, the next brother that walks through the door, I’ll try the same thing on. I’ll even double the bet so you aren’t the biggest loser. But you can’t tell them anything or it will ruin the fun.” Scott rolled his eyes and returned to his coffee, picking it up to help nurse his wounded pride.

Gordon didn’t have long to wait for another brother to awaken. He pulled out the carton of orange juice again, filling up the glasses with a heavy pour as he heard footsteps descending the stairs. He gave a smile as John came into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes sleepily and stifling a yawn. John was always a little tired when he was readjusting his sleep schedule back to earth time.

“Hey Johnny,” Gordon said. “Got a bet for you.” John gave a sleepy glare.

“What kind of a bet? And don’t call me Johnny,” he said grumpily. While Virgil might have been a bear without his coffee, John during his circadian shift was a wolverine. You didn’t really want to incur his displeasure, yet Gordon smiled and pushed on.

“I bet you $200 that I can finish drinking all of these four glasses before you can finish that shot glass of orange juice. Only two rules are that I’m allowed to drink my first glass and put it down before you start and that we can’t touch each other’s glasses.” John looked at the glasses with a calculating expression. Gordon waited as John seemed to consider every angle.”

“Two hundred dollars you say?” John said, hiding another yawn. Gordon nodded.

“Two hundred dollars if you win,” Gordon said. John shook his head.

“I’m not concerned about that,” John said. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” Gordon’s grin widened into one that was almost more piranha than human. Scott pinched the bridge of his nose as John accepted the bet. He really didn’t want to see his smartest brother outwitted by the resident prankster.

“Ready, John?” Gordon asked. John nodded, folding his arms. Gordon picked up the first glass, raised it in a toast and drank it down easily. Gordon looked John in the eye as he encapsulated the shot glass once again. John looked unbothered. “Are you really going to make me finish all these, or are you just going to hand over your two hundred dollars now?” John maintained eye contact with Gordon, continuing to look unruffled.

“Hey, Scott?” John asked. Scott looked surprised at being addressed. He had honestly expected John to be a lot angrier about the outcome of all of this.

“Yeah, John?” John motioned to the cup over the shot glass.

“Mind moving the glass for me?” Gordon’s face paled.

“Hey, hey, hey! That’s cheating!” Gordon said. There was no way that he could finish the glasses before John could if Scott moved the glass. John shook his head.

“You said I couldn’t touch the glass, Gordon. You said nothing about outside help,” he said, as Scott moved over to lift Gordon’s glass. Gordon sputtered protests as John took the shot glass, raised it in a cheers before drinking it down, putting it on the counter. John looked at Gordon.

“I’d like my winnings in big bills,” John said, moving over to the pantry to extract a bagel for his breakfast.

“I hope you choke on that bagel,” Gordon said testily. Not only had he lost the $100 he had won from Scott, he even was out $100 from his own pocket. Scott laughed and smiled over his cup of coffee.

“Come now, Gordon,” he said. “No one likes a sore loser.”

[thunderbird-one-ai]

Oldest To Youngest Pt2

So this turned into a multi chapter. I had so much fun writing the first section and so I thought I’d include Gordon since Scott and Gordon are @tsarinatorment fav bro pairing. (I apologise for Gordon because I cannot write him to save my life)

I also changed Scotts age a little, to kind of make it fit better as I got some nice feedback on this on A03, so if that person is here another thanks to you to!

I apologise to @angelofbenignmalevolence for having to beta my work ^^’ [Part 1] - John

Gordon knew that he and Alan were the best pranking duo on the island, maybe even the world. But Scott had given them a run for their money. It had been almost a week now since they had found the oldest Tracy now younger than any of them. It was Gordon who had found him.

It was after a rough rescue, everyone went to bed including Scott, which took everyone by surprise. Apparently, he had taken the rescue hard, which they could understand. They couldn’t save everyone, and Scott took those losses personally, more than anyone else. When the sun rose, everyone was already up except for Scott, which was out of the ordinary. After a bad mission, Scott would normally be up at first light, push himself throughout the day to keep his mind busy. Gordon thought that maybe he was blaming himself too hard again. Nothing a little prod and maybe a small prank wouldn’t solve to get him out of his room at least.

For someone who would always want to make everyone know he entered the room, Gordon was light on his feet, making sure to not stomp around to ruin the surprise prank. However, when he opened the door, Gordon was met with a seemingly empty room. The bed was unmade which wasn’t like Scott at all. The bathroom door was wide open, so Scott definitely wasn’t in there either. He knew Scott hadn’t left his room, so he had to be in here somewhere. Gordon quietly made his way into the room, keeping an ear out for any signs of his brother. He did eventually hear some movement, coming from the wardrobe of all places. No way Scott could fit snugly in there without the door being somewhat open.

“Scott aren’t you a little old to play hide-,” Gordon opened the wardrobe to be met by bright, scared blue eyes that belonged to a young teenager. “Scott?”

“I want to go home…” the young brunette mumbled, tears brimming at the edges of his eyelashes. “Hey kid, it’s okay. How did you even get here?” Gordon said, still shocked that there was a young child in his brother’s room, which if he thought a little harder, this kid looked a lot like his brother just almost twenty years younger. “Dad says I’m not allowed to speak to strangers…” the kid said, though he sounded far from confident in his own words. The poor kid looked terrified. “I’m not a stranger okay? I’m… a friend,” Gordon said, giving a small smile and kneeling down in front of the young boy. “I’m Gordon and I’m not here to hurt you, I promise okay? I’m just confused as you are right now,” “I don’t know where I am…” the young boy mumbled. “Well, this is my house, and this is my brother’s room,” Gordon said calmly. He didn’t want to make the boy more fearful than he already was. “So, you know my name. What’s yours?” The young boy looked reluctant to speak more at first. Gordon gave a small, warm smile to help the kid feel more at ease. He even moved back away from the wardrobe so the kid could make a quick getaway if he wanted to. “Scott….” The boy finally mumbled. Gordon forced his jaw not to hit the floor. No way. No way could this be his brother. Impossible. Nope. None of Alan’s sci-fi movies ended well when something like this happened. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Scott. Now I want to help you get home as much as you want to get home, back to your Dad. But we can’t do that with you hiding in a wardrobe now, can we? I have a really, really smart friend who might be able to help us,” Gordon said as he slowly held out his hand for Scott to take. It was obvious Scott was scared; he had seen that same lost expression on many children’s faces when Gordon had to rescue them from less-than-ideal situations. This wasn’t so different from a rescue, so Gordon fell into this role easily, though this was a very unique and strange situation. After some tense seconds, Scott’s hand slowly held onto Gordons. It was a big step, sometimes it took minutes for kids to grab his hand. Gordon stood slowly, matching Scott’s speed of ascension, everything had to be done at their speed, otherwise, they’d be back to square one. “Now we’re standing again. Are you feeling okay? No injuries?” Gordon asked, years of training not easily lost. “I’m okay, head hurts a little though,” “Headache maybe?” Scott nodded and Gordon made sure to continue to take things slow. Head injures seemed to be a running curse on this island. Not in the family because this wasn’t Scott. Nope, this wasn’t his older brother now young again. Definitely not, because that wasn’t possible. He kept a reassuring smile on his face as he led Scott out of the room and into the overhead balcony. “Er…guys, we er…have a situation,” Gordon said and that statement sounded very weird since it was coming from him and not John. The entire room went dead silent when each Tracy looked up to see Gordon holding hands with a child. Jeff was the first to move. Gordon saw his father bolt up the stairs, a confused and slightly fearful look in his eyes as though it looked like he knew this child. A child he hadn’t seen in a long time. Scott clearly was the same because the word Dad echoed in the large quiet room. Scott had let go of Gordon's hand in favour of wrapping them around his father’s neck, holding on tightly, looking scared just like when Gordon first found him. “I didn’t mean to hide. I didn’t know where I was,” Scott said in between happy and fearful sobs, making Gordon’s heart lurch. “It’s okay, Scooter. You’re okay. Do you know what happened?” Jeff said, holding this child in an almost suffocating embrace. Who was Gordon kidding? This was Scott. He’d seen family photos from when they were all younger. This was Scott Tracy. His older brother. Gordon didn’t even begin to try and think how in the world this happened because it would make his head hurt. No, scratch that, it would make Johns head hurt and give Gordon a migraine. Gordon saw Scott shake his head. The kid really did have no idea what was going on. He didn’t even recognise Gordon. “Why do you have grey hair Dad? Did they do that to you?” Scott asked looking a little more at ease now he saw a familiar face. “Well…I thought it was time for a change,” Jeff said clearly lying through his teeth, “Let's get you to the infirmary and give you a once over to make sure you’re okay hm?” Scott nodded and Jeff picked him up with ease despite Gordon's quiet protests that he could do it. His father wasn’t exactly a spring chicken anymore, not that any of his sons would say so, but Jeff seemed very set on carrying his son to the infirmary. Everyone moved in unison to follow them. A quick check over showed that this indeed Scott Tracy and that he was healthy, apart from the obvious headache and stress. Everyone seemed to sigh, relieved that he was okay, but the main issue of ‘what the hell happened’ and ‘how do we fix this’ came into the conversation. Jeff had moved over to one side with Virgil and John as they discussed what to do. That was over two hours ago. Gordon and Alan were able to set up the games system which Scott looked very interested in, much to their surprise. After a few games, Scott seemed to have calmed down and even moved to sit next to Gordon for the next game. Scott wasn’t great, in fact, he was losing every time, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. The real challenge was with Alan, who was pulling out his old tricks to beat Gordon again. One of which, resorted to throwing a cushion at Gordon’s face to distract him to take the lead. “That’s hardly fair. You’re playing dirty! We have company,” Gordon protested. “You cannot use Scott as an excuse to be bad at the game, Gordon,” Alan replied grinning and storming ahead in the game. Gordon glanced to Scott; he was not about to lose this game in front of his big/ little brother. He had a reputation to uphold! Gordon focused on the screen in front of him, desperate to get ahead of Alan and prove who the real gamer was out of the two of them. He then noticed Scott’s character was well behind the rest of them in comparison to the previous round and then noticed Alan’s character suddenly halting. “Hey! No fair! Stop I’m going to lose!” Alan shouted suddenly as Gordon crossed the finish line, claiming his victory. Gordon then looked to his right and started laughing out loud. Scott, his cool calm collective brother, had picked up the very cushion that Alan had hit Gordon with before and started hitting Alan instead with it. No wonder Alan’s character lost; Scott was distracting him. “Come now Alan, you can’t use Scott as an excuse for being bad at the game,” Gordon replied grinning. “Thanks, Scott. You’re the real best player,” The comment got Scott grinning widely and giggling. Gordon noticed that Alan was in his annoying playful mood due to the fact the youngest (second youngest?) had picked up a cushion. “Now you’re in for it, Scott,” Alan said, and Scott starts running. Grabbing another cushion and giggling louder, Alan was on the chase. Alan was easily faster, Scott being younger and not quite as fit as his older counterpart was losing his lead. Gordon was going to be on Scott’s side in this game. Gordon was above the two as Alan and Scott raced around the table. Gordon held out his hand above the sofa and Scott grabbed it. If Scott didn’t love flying, he was about to now. Gordon lifted him up high in the air above the sofa and Alan. “Target acquired! Throw it!” Gordon shouted and Scott threw the pillow, hitting Alan square in the face, “Direct hit!” Both Scott and Gordon cheered in victory. Gordon moved Scott slightly, so Scott was now sitting on his shoulders, something Gordon never thought he would ever witness. He’d had Alan on his shoulders once but that was it. Gordon had been on Scott’s shoulders many times growing up. Maybe now it was time to repay the kindness. Gordon did not know what the future held for the family. But he would protect his brother to the ends of the earth. Just like Scott would always protect him.

[louthestarspeaker]

*waves hand a round wildly* I'm very much interested!! Goodness knows the world needs some Tracy fluff, plus I'd just like to take another crack at it 😁😁

Okay, the world is up shit creek without a paddle. For most of us this means lots of anxiety, confinement and the need for distraction.

I likes distraction, lots of distraction. It is often the only way my hyperactive brain can stay sane. So, this is my proposal…

A fluffy prompt fest.

We want fluff, we want positivity, we want feel good stuff…with maybe a little whump that ends with buckets of fluff. Like buckets. I’m talking Thunderbird Two sized buckets of fluff :D

TO PROMPT:

Reblog this post with a prompt you think you’d like written into some kind of short story. I’m emphasising short here. Many of us writers already have megatomes in progress and answers to these prompts may be quick fics on the side. I’m thinking short and fluffy :D If a writer chooses to turn it all into the next War and Peace, yay, but the aim will be no pressure and short.

The prompt can consist of a character/s, a pairing or a word/s, a particular genre (as long as it has fluff and happy), a photo, a mixture of things or whatever. But keep it short and not too detailed. You can prompt as many times as you like over the prompting period, which is at the moment at least the next three months.

This will generate a list of prompts on this post for writers to choose from. Be aware that your prompt may not be taken up. This is a no pressure zone and most of us writers have very little control over what inspires us and keeps us going, so…

Please do not be offended if your prompt does not get answered. There is no obligation here. Consider your prompt just a suggestion or a possiblity to spark something. We still love you even if we don’t answer your prompt or even if we don’t interpret it the way you wanted. Inspiration is sometimes like a lottery.

Please do not tag a particular writer. This is an obligation free zone. What gets written gets written. Do not have any major expectations.

TO WRITE:

Take any prompt from the list and write.

Do not worry if someone has already answered that prompt. If it inspires you, go for it.

When you’ve finished writing don’t forget to tag the prompter in your post and to add the tags irrelief and irrelief2020 so we can find your fic at a later date.

And then read fic :D

TIMESPAN:

Apparently shit creek will be from three to six months long. I’m going to try and be positive and have a review point for this little exercise at the end of June. But honestly, I’ll just keep an eye on it and try to make it easy to find.

But anyways, in summary:

Reblog and add a prompt.

Grab any prompt and write something.

Tag and share the joy.

You can find a masterlist of stories and prompts that is regularly updated here:

https://nutty.gumnut.net/irrelief/

Don’t forget to check it regularly for new goodies.

I’m sure the Tracy brothers would love to be helping us out in these times. So let’s let them :D

Nutty

(any questions give me a yell, but if you think I know what I’m doing, I’m going to point and laugh :D)

[gumnut-logic]

Wow! This is wonderful ::gloats over it with glee::

A @loopstagirl fic and a Virgil one, too. ::loves it so much::

I could feel that knee...ow. But Scotty’s bro-radar is pinging. I just love these two in moments like this.

Thank you so much for all the feels.

Nutty

(Who needs to update the archive)

A Cup of Comfort

For @tsarinatorment and your hot chocolate prompt. It’s more TOS than TAG, but hopefully it’s okay.

In pain and bored, Virgil gives up trying to sleep. But someone else knows exactly what he needs.

There were no interesting patterns on his ceiling.

No intriguing shadows as the moonlight spilled through the open balcony door.

The breeze wasn’t refreshing.

The night wasn’t quiet.

Virgil groaned. He scrunched the pillow, trying to force some volume back into it before shoving it behind his head.

It didn’t help. He was still uncomfortable. No amount of pillow fluffing was going to make a difference.

He’d been too hot, and the blankets were pushed to the end of the bed in a pile. Of course, now he’d cooled down, he couldn’t reach them to pull them back up again. For a few moments, he lay there, eyes closed, counting his breaths as he tried to will himself to relax.

All it did was focus his attention on the reason why he wasn’t asleep. The throbbing, itching weight of his left leg. His knee still felt hot – not just to touch – and his ankle ached from where he’d struggled to compensate.

It wasn’t even the wrenched knee that was keeping him awake. Brains had given him enough painkillers that it had settled to a soft pulse rather than the hammer-hard pounding it had been earlier in the evening.

No. His current discomfort was the weight of the brace strapped around his leg. It was heavy and restrictive, and made sleeping curled up nigh-on-impossible. Virgil didn’t sleep on his back, never had. He curled into the smallest ball he could and buried away from the world and all its problems, even when living on a tropical island. Now, though, he could barely roll over.

He also, it seemed, couldn’t sleep. No amount of meditation was going to disguise the fact that he was cold, in pain, and irritable right now. He checked his watch: 2am. Even John wouldn’t still be awake for a chat at this time, and Virgil huffed, feeling despondent more than tired.

There was no point lying there grumbling to himself. Pressing his palms against the mattress, he forced himself upright, scooting back until he could lean against the wall. He twisted half his body, then gripped his leg and swung it off the bed. It was a strange lurch to get himself to his feet, and it was only the hand on the wall that stopped him from falling flat on his face. It felt like a victory given his latest streak of bad luck, and Virgil took a breath, gaze fixed with determination on his bedroom door.

He’d had worse than a wrenched knee. He’d seen worse on his brothers and always come up with reasons why they were lucky the damage hadn’t been more severe. A Tracy didn’t let something like a strained…

Ow.

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