The ramblings of a Nut who should be doing something else – Adelaide, South Australia

More of that court fic.

Scott took a moment to clean up the mess of glass in the corridor after administering Virgil’s medication and to give his brother a chance to drop off to sleep without a witness.

He knew why Virgil had done it. He had suspected it during the day, but hadn’t had the chance to corner him and, in part, understood the necessity. But it still hurt to see his brother hurting.

His ribs were healing, but they were tender and movement remained the biggest challenge. The strain of the day and the emotional pressure on taxed resources couldn’t have helped.

All because Scott had let sense be overtaken by emotion.

He sighed as he poured glass into the rubbish.

It wasn’t the first time Virgil had had to pay for his rashness either.

Another sigh and he resisted the urge to kick the trash can.

When he returned to his room, entering quietly, Virgil was exactly where he had left him, hunched under the covers, forehead wrinkled with pain.

He crept around the bed, and gently sat down on the other side.

“I hate you.” It was quiet, muffled and slurred a little.

Scott shucked off his slippers and climbed on top of the covers, laying down beside his brother. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“These damn drugs suck.”

“Yes, Virgil.”

“Everything is wonky.”

“Yes, Virgil.”

“Your bed covers smell like you.”

“Yes, Virgil.”

“You smell like a pineapple.”

“A pineapple?”

“Yes, Scott.”

“Go to sleep, Virgil.”


“Yes, you can.”


Scott sighed, wondering if there were any studies that linked medication sensitivity with age regression.

“Give the medication time to do its job.”

“Don’t want medication. Need to be there for you.”

“You were there, Virg. It is over now. You can sleep.”

“Don’t want to sleep.”


“Need to be there for you.”

“You need to sleep.”

“Sleep means dreams.”

Scott’s eyes shot open and he involuntarily turned towards his brother. “What sort of dreams?”

Virgil didn’t answer.

“Virgil? What kind of dreams?”

“Don’t want to talk about it.”

Scott bit his lip. Technically this could be considered as taking advantage of Virgil’s drugged state. “Virgil?”

“Gotta be there for you.”

“You are.”

“Good.” Virgil shifted slightly and groaned through his teeth. “Can’t lose you.”

“You didn’t. I’m here.”

But the medication had taken hold properly, his brother’s voice dropping to little more than a chanted whisper. “Can’t lose you. Can’t.”


“Would rather die.”


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