Sleeping Wounded

Title: Sleeping
Wounded

Author: Gumnut

30 Dec 2018 – 2 Jan
2019

Fandom:
Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: He
deserved it.

Word count: 3367

Spoilers &
warnings: Possible spoilers up to end S2. Some whump.

Timeline: Standalone.

Author’s note: This
is an answer to a prompt from @i-am-chidorixblossom who asked for something
sleep related. It started there and ended up somewhere else, but that happens a
lot in my head 😀 I hope you enjoy it anyway 😀

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

-o-o-o-

“Goddamnit,
Virgil, strap yourself in!”

“If I don’t fix
this, we are both dead.”

Virgil had his
head inside Thunderbird Two’s control panel while Scott desperately tried to
keep them level, ever so low over thick forest.

They had lost
both VTOL and main thruster control thanks to yet another Fischler invention.
The little mobile solar collector had been attracted to TB2’s rear thrusters
and had shown that attraction by flying into one, despite Virgil’s desperate
manoeuvres. The resultant explosion had taken out not only that thruster, but
interfered with its partner. The electrical shock had travelled through her
circuitry and disabled VTOL control in the process. The only reason they were
still airborne was because Virgil knew his own ‘bird so well, he had been able
to get her into a glide long enough to dig into her circuitry and slap together
some partial control.

They were going
down in any case. It was just a matter of how badly.

Scott felt the
controls wallow in the lightest of crosswinds, the missing roar of his
brother’s bird as bad as a missing heartbeat.

There was a
muffled expletive, a yelp, and suddenly VTOL roared to life.

But only the two
front thrusters fired. Scott struggled to keep her in the air. Treetops began
to scrape across her underside. “Virgil, strap in!”

And they went
down.

-o-o-o-

Scott sat on the
lounge and stared at his brother.

Virgil had
slipped sideways on the couch and curled himself up in the corner against the
armrest, snoring softly. Dressed in his usual red flannel, but barefoot and in
shorts, he looked young and vulnerable. A bandage clung to his forehead,
emphasising the deep purple of a black eye and tousling his hair into a more of
a spike than usual. One arm was in a cast and his red flannel shirt was
unbuttoned, the familiar grey undershirt missing, leaving bare skin mottled
with bruising and the strapping required for broken ribs.

His little
brother was the sleeping wounded, but it was thanks to him that they were
alive.

-o-o-o-

Thunderbird Two
was the toughest ‘bird of them all. Her cahelium hull was designed to withstand
the rugged heavy lifting to which she was continually subjected. But she was
not strong enough to take the repeated beating of ancient hardwoods. Eventually
her momentum was no longer enough to keep her going and a great tree stood
firm. There was the godawful screech of wood versus metal and her path was
warped, the whole plane spinning sideways.

And a ripping
groan as her port-side wing was dismembered.

Scott clung on
for dear life, praying what little control he had was enough. Beside him,
Virgil staggered away from the open control panel, clinging to every purchase
hold he could find, making for his pilot’s seat.

Until that final
massive tree said no.

Thunderbird Two
came to a sudden and violent halt.

As Scott was
thrown against his harness, Virgil was lifted from his feet and flung up and
over the control panel and landed hard against his ‘bird’s windows.

The rear of the
great green Thunderbird lifted as momentum was shed into her environment, and
she hung suspended for one breathtaking moment, before she dropped back to
Earth with a scream of splintering wood.

The forest
groaned.

-o-o-o-

Scott blinked and
fought off his own need for sleep. He still had a headache and his wrist was an
annoyance, but it was nothing.

Virgil frowned in
his sleep, his whole face grimacing.

Sporting his own
frown, Scott wobbled to his feet, grabbed a throw off the end of the lounge and
made his way slowly over to his brother. His ankle annoyed him almost as much
as his wrist, but it was only twisted, only rating a wrap support, unlike his
wrist, which was in a splint.

Another grimace
crossed Virgil’s face and Scott let the soft throw drift slowly over his
sleeping brother. He stood there a moment, watching as Virgil instinctively
snuggled into the material.

A sigh and Scott
awkwardly folded himself onto the floor beside him and let his head rest against
the same armrest on which his brother had lain his head.

He closed his
eyes.

-o-o-o-

Scott lost a few
moments immediately during and after the crash. His head must have his the
headrest just that little bit too hard, because when he did open his eyes,
everything was blurry.

“Scott?”

A brother?
Virgil?

There were other
sounds. Creaking, groaning, something was buzzing, something else was sparking.

The smell of
burnt plastic and tart metal. He let out a breath and it turned into a cough.
Smoke. It crept into his lungs and tried to strangle him.

“Scott, we need
to get out of here.”

Somebody was
fumbling at his harness. Yes, harness…Thunderbird?

That somebody was
suddenly coughing. A gasp and a groan.

His stomach
roiled both with sudden panic and some nasty nausea. Before he could think, he
was folded double, coughing and attempting to breathe, his innards clawing
outwards. A strong grip caught his arm and he didn’t complete his fall.

“Scott, help me
here, please.” There was pleading in his brother’s voice and something else.
Scott’s eyes slipped closed. “No, no, you gotta….gotta…Scott!”

The panic
returned. Virgil! It was Virgil. Where? He flung his eyes open, but there was
only blur and mostly darkness.

The grip on his
arm was trying to drag him somewhere, but it didn’t seem to have the strength.

“Virgil?” Oh, and
now the world was spinning.

“Scott…argh.”

He frowned. What?
Virgil, he assumed it was Virgil, was still attempting to move him. Smoke
curled up his nostrils and built another cough. The world tipped on its axis
and blanked out for a moment.

-o-o-o-

He let himself
drift sitting there beside his brother. His mind flipping through an
involuntary mental scrapbook of life. He remembered faces, moments, so many
moments. He had four brothers and one sister who shared his life and were so
precious to him, but one always surfaced above the others. One was always
there, had been the first, and stood by him ever since.

Brown eyes, solid
dependability, the one who stepped up to keep him up, his prop, his support,
his first brother, his first officer, his best friend.

Who snorted in
his sleep.

Scott opened his
eyes and turned his head just slightly.

The frown was
back, Virgil was in pain.

Pain acerbated by
him.

-o-o-o-

He was being
dragged. There was no other word for it.

Someone was
pulling on his arm and he was being inched across a rough metal surface. There
was smoke in his lungs.

He wrenched his
arm back and curled up coughing.

A hand grabbed at
his uniform and began dragging him again.

“Wha-?” And the
coughing took away his voice.

The dragging
stopped, metal groaned, and the floor dropped out from under him. It didn’t
drop far, but it frightened the cough out of him. A warm breeze of fresh air
wafted over his face and the dark blur became a light one. He squeezed his eyes
shut at it pierced his retinas.

Off to his right
there was a sudden groan of pain. The floor shuddered as something hit it.
Scott frowned, his brain attempting to piece together the information it was
receiving. Virgil? Where was Virgil?

“Virg…?”

“Hi’m okay…okay…”

Harsh breathing,
and the panic swirled up in his gut, something was wrong, something beyond the
smoke and the blur.

He reached out
and his fingers encountered uniform material, but before he could investigate
further, a hand caught his and gripped it tight.

Off in the
distance something exploded.

“Shit!”

The hand left his
and he was bereft. A gasp, a strangled sound as the floor wobbled under him.
“Virgil?”

Another groan.
The floor dropped out from under him again. And again. Shudder by shudder he
felt himself lowered until the metal under him encountered something more
solid.

The fresh air
felt so wonderful.

A shadow passed
over him and the hand was back. “C’mon, S-Scott. Need to get out of the
blasss…radius.”

Blast radius?
What? God, focus!

He shook his head
and immediately regretted it. Augh, the world was spinning again.

The hand was
pulling at him again. “S-Stand up, pleeease.” The parched voice was full of
desperation. Virgil was desperate.

His brother was
desperate.

Scott pushed
himself up slowly and shoved his feet under him. That hand steadied him as his
world wobbled and then began leading him.

Still confused,
he followed.

-o-o-o-

Scott twisted
around, ignoring the twinges from his bruises, and gently brushed his fingers
through his brother’s hair. He avoided the bandages and caught the tuft that
always stubbornly stood at attention. Ever so softly, he tried to give comfort
to his brother without disturbing his slumber.

Ever the
sensitive, Virgil immediately relaxed with a sigh.

Scott smiled ever
so slightly. His brother was a deep sleeper, always had been, but as sensitive
to stimuli as he was when awake. Scott didn’t understand it, guessed it was
something to do with that artistic streak of his brother’s, but he did take
advantage of it.

Making his
presence known ever so quietly, his brother’s sleeping mind would respond and
be reassured. It had helped with nightmares when they were young. It helped
with injuries now they were adult. Whether Virgil knew about it, Scott did not
know, but there had been many a bedside vigil where Scott had reached out to
touch and reassure his brother.

He cherished the
ability to help him this way.

It was the least
he could do.

-o-o-o-

“I-I can’t.”

The hand left
him, Scott stumbled, catching his foot on something. His ankle yelled at him
and suddenly he was on the ground again.

They had been
stumbling through forest. He knew that much. He could smell the trees and the
decaying vegetation underfoot. The blur that was his eyesight was getting
better and now he was beginning to see shapes and sharper colours, though still
with fuzzy edges.

It was definitely
Virgil who was with him, his dark hair, blue and green uniform, but he was
still missing the details and his brain still wasn’t functioning properly. It
faded at times, spun at others, but every now and again it would connect dots
and realise things. He clung to those moments.

This was one of
them.

He was on the
ground, leaf litter caught between his fingers.

Virgil was beside
him, gasping.

Scott could see
the shapes of his face. His eyes, nose and mouth, but their edges were blurred
by a mass of red.

Blood red.

Scott blinked,
desperate to clear his vision, and for a moment it flashed crystal in the dappled
shade beneath some ancient tree.

Virgil lay beside
him, face screwed up in pain, blood smeared across half of it, one eye swelling
shut. One arm had some hasty looking bandages wrapped around it and was
obviously broken.

His brother
whimpered. “John, I-I can’t…”

“It’s okay,
Virgil, you’ve made it. You are far enough away.”

“S-sure?”

“I’m sure.” And
Scott could hear the gentle reassurance in his younger brother’s voice. “Rest
now, Gordon and Alan will be there shortly.”

Virgil’s body
just sagged as if all the air had been let out of it. A strangled sound that
couldn’t be defined.

The world was
getting fuzzy again, and before he lost it, Scott reached out and grabbed his
brother’s hand. “Virgil!”

The head turned
towards him. “S-Scott, you with m-me?”

“Yeah.”

“Th-thank god.”

-o-o-o-

He kept his
fingers continually moving, brushing dark hair ever so softly.

Virgil had
dragged him out of Thunderbird Two, across he didn’t know how many metres of
forest, to a safe distance away from his ‘bird in case she exploded. John had
urged him on, despite his injuries and Scott’s disorientation. It was unclear
if Virgil had injured himself further doing such a thing, but it certainly
couldn’t have helped. Broken ribs, broken arm and a head injury, yet somehow he
had managed to make the distance dragging his eldest brother, despite his
resistance.

Scott had faded
in and out for the rest of the rescue. he vaguely remembered a concerned Alan
and Gordon. Virgil attempting to get his attention again. His concussion had
been persistent well into his hospital stay.

A blessed sleep
of his own had eventually put his brain back together and now it was down to
just the headache and occasional dizzy spell.

Virgil had the
more serious head injury, yet had escaped the concussion long enough to get
them out of there.

Scott leant over
and kissed his brother’s hair. Whispered. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”
His brother’s deep voice startled him and he fell back on his ass.

With a grunt
Virgil looked up at him and grinned. “Hey, Big Bro, how’s your head?”

“Less broken than
yours.”

“That is a matter
of opinion.”

“No, I have proof
this time. I downloaded your medical chart.”

Virgil frowned at
him and immediately regretted it. “Ow.”

“More proof.”

“Shut up.”

Softer. “How are
you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

“That explains
why you look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“You are welcome.
I aim to please.” But he reached out and grabbed Virgil’s hand and squeezed.

A tired eye
caught his, and Scott smiled just slightly.

His hand was
squeezed back.

“Is he still
going through with it?”

Scott reached
over to the centre table and grabbed his tablet. He didn’t let go of Virgil’s
hand.

“Apparently so.”
A one handed fumble and he brought the legal document on screen before holding
it up for his brother to see. “Summons and everything.”

Virgil sighed in
exasperation. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope.”

There was silence
for a moment, and Scott let the tablet drop to his lap.

“You know he is
an idiot. Our lawyers are going to eat him alive.” Virgil’s voice still had a
hint of the smoke inhalation rasp.

Scott frowned. “I
can hope.”

“Munch, munch,
and then spit him out between their teeth.”

Scott smirked.
“You sound so sure.”

“That’s because I
am. The bastard deserved it.”

-o-o-o-

Scott made his
way through the hospital corridor with one hand clutched to his head. It still
ached abominably, but he could at least function now.

As he rounded the
corner to his brother’s room, he ran into Langstrom Fischler. Literally.

His head pounded
as he bounced off the man.

“Can’t you watch
where you are walking? You’d think this place was full of blind people.” The
whining voice was worse than the collision.

“Mr Fischler.” Be
screwed if he was going to apologise.

The man stared up
at him for a moment, obviously realising he was familiar but not placing his
identity.

“Scott Tracy, Mr
Fischler.”

“You!” And he was
being pointed at. “You’re one of that Rescue mob who stole my solar collector.”

Scott blinked.
“Your collector damaged our cargo plane and caused it to crash while we were
attempting to save your life. Again.”

“Well, I want it
back.”

Scott frowned.
“It is in pieces, Mr Fischler. Many, many small burnt pieces scattered across
the Amazonian rainforest.”

“Unacceptable.”

Another blink.
“I’m sorry, but there is nothing I can or care to do about it.”

“Well, where’s
the other one? The one who shot them all down?”

“Why?” Virgil had
given up and ended up deploying his laser and cutting them from the sky before
they could move to a populated area.

“I want to give
him a piece of my mind.”

“I don’t think he
needs it, Mr Fischler.” Scott took a step forward.

Fischler took a
step back, but fussed at one of his assistants who was hovering behind him and
grabbed a tablet. “Then give me his contact details.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

And Scott was in
the stupid man’s face. “Do you have any idea what you did?”

The man’s face
was completely blank of any comprehension. “Do? What did I do? I didn’t do
anything. It was you and your buzzy machines that got in the way.”

“Your solar
collectors were flying bombs. Out of control flying bombs.”

“They were just
doing their job. You got in the way.”

Scott’s hackles
rose just that increment more. “We could have been killed.” Virgil could have
died. “You have no idea.” What he had done to his brother.

“No, I think it
is you who have no idea what trouble you have put me through. You and that
stupid pilot of that green monstrosity. I want to speak with him, the fool.
What right did he have to-“

Fischler was on
the ground, nose bleeding profusely.

And Scott’s wrist
was screaming at him, his own breathing harsh in his ears. Every eye in the
corridor was staring.

He could blame it
on the concussion. Possibly. Maybe.

No, the man
deserved it and he meant it with every fibre in his body.

-o-o-o-

“I wish I could
have seen it.”

Scott arched an
eyebrow at his prone brother. “Really?”

“Hey, I think you
earned that one. Wouldn’t mind a turn of my own.” He grunted as he moved. “In a
few week’s time.”

“Aren’t you
usually the one holding me back rather than cheering me on?”

Virgil shifted
where he lay and groaned, suddenly struggling to sit up. Scott scrambled to his
feet and helped him right himself. Sitting upright and panting, “Okay, h-he
definitely deserves it. Shit.” Virgil closed his eyes and stilled for a moment.

Scott held his
shoulders and knelt in front of him. No good asking his brother if he was okay,
he obviously wasn’t.

That one deep
brown eye opened. Raspy. “Thanks.”

Scott smiled just
a little, his grip tightening.

“After what he
did to my ‘bird, I want to kick his ass.”

“Should I hold
you back?”

“You could join
in. It will be fun.” And there was a ghost of a smile of Virgil’s face.

Scott mirrored
it. “He’s not worth your time or your effort. And Thunderbird Two will fly
again.”

Virgil dropped
his gaze. “I guess.”

“Besides, I’m the
big brother here.” This time he did grin.

And Virgil was
grinning as best he could with his swollen face. Almost immediately replaced by
another grimace. “Ow.” Scott wanted to hit Fischler again.

“C’mon, let’s get
you up to a real bed.”

“Was comfy here.”
Was that a pout?

“Really?” He
poked the tablet. “The terrible two will be down in a couple of hours, you sure
you want to be here then?”

Lips twisted. “I
guess not.”

But there was
something…

“C’mon.” He
offered to help his brother off the lounge.

With a great deal
of swearing, Virgil was eventually upright, in a hunched over kind of way. “I
am so not taking the stairs.”

“Neither am I.”
Scott limped ahead to the elevator, Virgil shuffling behind him. “God, we are a
great pair.”

“We are damned
lucky.”

He didn’t answer
that, just hit the button that would send them to the residential section of
the villa.

Another slow trek
down a corridor and into Virgil’s rooms. His brother didn’t comment as Scott
followed him in. Scott didn’t comment when Virgil didn’t bother to change his
clothes, but simply lowered himself onto his bed and groaned onto his least
damaged side. Scott grabbed the covers and lay them over the aching man.

A smirk. “Do I
get a bedtime story?”

“Do you want
one?”

“It was a joke.”
Virgil closed his eyes and smushed his face into the pillow as best he could.

But it wasn’t a
joke, Scott could see that much.

On a whim, he
reached over and ran his fingers through his brother’s hair again. Virgil
melted just slightly, a sigh passing his lips. “I hate you.”

Scott smirked and
brushed his hair again. “Yes, that’s why you dragged my dopey ass through
several hundred metres of dense forest while sporting a broken arm, ribs and a
skull fracture.”

“Had to move
anyway. Needed the company.”

“Uh huh.”

“Y’ need to go
t’bed. Headache.”

“Uh huh.”

“Rest…”

“Uh huh.”

“Hmm-mm.”

Scott grinned as
Virgil drifted off to sleep.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

Leave a Reply