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Gordon helps to remove the green and silver baldric-harness from the larger frame that is — or was — his little brother. Virgil’s steel-capped boots have already been removed and placed to the side of the bed along with John’s gloves and parts if his leggings, both of which were sheared off carefully from the body-piece of Scott’s suit. The yellow wristwatch has been set nearby on a table within Alan’s line of sight.

“I used Virgil’s laser amplifier to weld the spare suits together.” Alan obliviously breaks the violent silence. “I turned it into an ultrasonic welder and used it to weld the seams between John and Scott’s suits… To make… All this.” He gestures to himself.

Not even wanting to question how, the aquanaut brother’s frown barely shifts. He simply nods and continues shearing from the sleeves up to the collar, where the upper part of the suit can now peel off easily.

From the corner, Scott observes the newly revealed, toned muscles along the biceps, developed evidently not from exercise, but from years' worth of manual labour. The Commander stands at parade rest, observing coldly.

The suit’s torso peels off easily, at some point Alan’s palm makes contact with Gordon’s wrist. “I can do this myself, you know?”

Before Gordon can argue, the roughness of the brother’s palm startles him to a halt. He quickly steps away to hide his rapidly blinking eyes, giving Alan the space he needs to take off the suit on his own. He's oblivious to the shock in Gordon’s shining eyes at the sense of texture from Alan’s palms, where faint tan lines met and ran upwards, almost to his elbows.

“What happened to your hands?” Gordon can recognise the texture of a burn scar any day, but he softly asks anyways.

Unaware of the tone in his fish brother’s voice, Alan answers in his gruff voice. “I burned through the gloves of my old suit while I was trying to turn some broken thrusters into a makeshift smelter, kinda like Dad said he did back on the Oort Cloud.” He smiles and flexes his coarse palms. “They healed after some time, and then I burned them again on some rope.”

Scott’s hidden fists tighten further as he shares a look between his fellow military brother, mixed between concern, worry, and sorrow. The aforementioned fists are white knuckled from pressure, but of course he'll never let his younger siblings learn that.

With the torso piece now off, the two swiftly turn back. “Let’s get you to the showers.” Scott offers, guiding the survivor down the corridor. “I’ll get you some clothes when I find something large enough to fit you.”

Smiling, Alan walks through the door, leaving Scott with a head-nod as he closes it. “I’ll knock when I’m done!”

A small simper seeps through Scott’s frown but immediately fades away as the last thing he catches before the door closes is Alan reaching for the back of his head with both arms, tugging on a black electrical wire looped around his tied-up hair. The star-bleached locks come loose and hang over the stranger’s shoulders before the door completely closes.

“Oh my God, Scott.” Gordon breaks his facade, wide, glassy brown eyes connect with Scott’s blues.

“I know...”

“Oh my God.” The squid brother does his best to keep his voice low; they haven’t told Alan the truth yet and he clearly hasn’t figured it out out his own, not that they can blame him. So help Gordon if the tone of his voice cracks out of panic. “Oh My God.”

“I know.” Scott’s arms unfold, revealing his whitened knuckles. “We’ll figure out how to tell him when he’s done. For now, let’s just go find the spare clothes.”

“Scott!” Gordon nearly sobs. Despite his panic, he leads the other back down to the infirmary, where Thunderbird Two keeps spare clothes belonging to all the brothers. “He was eighteen! Did you see the medscan readings?!”

“I know… That’s about five years of a difference from…” The cabinet drawer opens with ease, revealing six pairs of rolled clothes. Thoughtfully, Scott pulls out the red flannel roll.

“-How are you not freaked out?!” Exclaims Gordon, helping the leader unroll Virgil’s spare clothes.

The two then flatten the grey sweatshirt underneath the flannel until it’s flat enough to refold on top of a heater near the bed.

“I am freaked out.” Scott murmurs as he unrolls Virgil’s jeans. Alan had only just turned eighteen this year. “This is wrong… This should never have happened to him.”

The fact that Scott is just as distraught shamefully reassures Gordon, and so he reverts back to the task at hand. “He’s too tall for those jeans…” Gordon points. “… We’ll have to go with either yours or John’s.”

John is taller, but thinner. Scott thinks. “Let’s go with mine.”

Unlike the environment of the sky, Thunderbird Two hums much more silently in space. Virgil observes the way John’s fingers smoothly trace over her controls. He joins the astronaut at the co-pilot seat.

“Scott and Gordon are getting Alan cleaned up and into comfortable clothes.” He explains.

“You’re the medic. Shouldn’t you be out back with them?”

“I just-“ He stutters, feeling a weight pressing deep into his chest. He admits with his heart hammering. “I’m freaked out, John.” His eyes jitter.

“Freaked out?” Spinning in the pilot seat ever enough to face the older brother, John probes. “By what?”

“Look at these medical readings.” With a quick swipe at the console, holograms float in front of the ginger headed pilot. They swap controls for a second to remove John’s focus from the controls.

The said space hermit thoroughly scans through the data, teal eyes darting side-to-side until they widen. “Who is this?”

“It’s Alan.”

Written by a human in Ellipsus.

Chapter Text

Virgil had been awake for a while, long enough to notice the subtle weight dragging down at his ears and along his arms, long enough to hear the faint hum of the collar around his neck.

The first sound to truly break the low hum were chains. Scott groaned from the other side of the cell, his voice rough. Blue eyes met white marble ceiling, filigree trims made of gold surrounded the edges of the walls and flooring.

His vision traced across the room before landing on Virgil who was sat upright on a bed, wearing what looked like a deep red rayon robe with golden trims to it. “What the hell-?” Scott bolted upright, triggering a series of “chinks” to set off from the metal cuffs clinking together. Looking down at his wrists, he found polished gold links, short and fine, connected to his hands. Then back up to his brother, to find a series of accessories decorated all over him, almost like jewellery. “What the hell?”

“Yeah...” Virgil flatly responds. “You’ve got it too: Neckpieces, cuffs, rings. All decorative, but we’re probably not getting out of them anytime soon without tools.” He shrugs. “There’s also some kind of metal pins on your collarbones. I can’t tell if they’re actually through your skin, though.”

Instinctively, Scott dropped his gaze to check, only to immediately perk back up upon the sight of something else. “Virg… Your ears-”

“I know.” Virgil gave his big brother another humourless shrug before tilting his head to the side to reveal more gold linking from the upper-neck to the shoulders, and what seems like fresh swelling at the lobe. “I can feel more… Don’t really wanna check, though.”

The only non-aesthetically pleasing accessory on the younger brother was the black strap over the lower half of his neck with a small box attached to its front. Scott grimaced, the red light that shone from the machine told The Commander exactly what it was. He traced his hands over his own neck to check if he had one himself — oddly enough, but disconcertingly too — he didn’t.

The sound of a wooden sliding door snatched their attentions. Footsteps echoed closer and the two brothers found themselves standing up together, side by side, in a defensive stance. Five men in robes lined with gold appeared in front of the bars before them.

“Mr Tracy.” The one in the middle addressed with a cursive accent, his rich brown eyes drifted from Scott to Virgil. “Your companion… He is your brother, yes?”

Scott clenched his jaw, feeling his little brother tense besides him.

The leader’s lips twisted ever so slightly to a small smirk, he lifted his red sleeve to reveal a black remote in his palm. Blue eyes widened and before he knew it, Virgil jerks violently with a sharp, strangled yelp before folding folding forwards to the floor.

“Stop it!” Scott dropped his knees to the floor, partially using the golden chains to pull Virgil’s hands off of his throat. “He’s nothing to you!”

“Oh, but he is something.” The leader smiles. “He is your leash.” Another tap to the remote and Virgil’s breath hitched through clenched teeth, nails clawing at the marble floor.

“Okay! What is it you want!?”

Written by a human in Ellipsus.

Chapter Text

They were both now donning more metal than from when they first woke up: An intricately designed belt made of gold enveloped Virgil’s midriff, manipulating his red robe in a way that made it appear more formfitting over his body. While the older Tracy had decorated golden arm bands looping over his biceps, their engravings matching the ones of the walls surrounding them.

New elegant chains had been introduced to the Tracys’ ankles, it tethered them both to the centre of floor. Scott had been repeatedly pacing across the cell for as far as the said chain would allow him — letting it gently scrape across the marble with a distinct clinking sound — completely ignorant of Virgil who watched aimlessly from the cot. “Do you know how we even ended up here?”

“I was hoping you had the answers to that...” Virgil shrugs with a hopeless frown. “I don’t even recognise the accents here.”

“Neither…” Scott sighs. Not only as IR’s Commander but also as CEO of Tracy Industries, has Scott travelled to more countries than he wishes he could count, and yet, he’s never heard these accents in his life. “At least John’s looking for us.” He reassures.

Virgil’s shoulders loosen at that realisation. “That is a relief.” He smiles, the gold epaulette chains shimmer against the artificial lights behind Scott. Every now and then, the engineer has been subconsciously raising his decorated fingers to the swollen ears to fidget against the pierced golden weights. Scott wonders if he even knows he’s been doing it. “So, who do you think these guys are?”

“Either some kind of crazy cult, or a secret society.”

“Hmm…” Virgil thinks. “My money’s on crazy cult.”

“Society.” Retorts Scott with a smile, a smile that quickly fades when he catches glance of Virgil’s hands closing the gap to his reddening earlobe again. Scott wastes no time in abandoning his newly established pacing routine just to dart across the cell in merely two strides and slap the brother’s palms out of reach of himself. “Stop that! You’re making it worse!”

The sudden action startles Virgil with wide eyes, he hadn’t even realised he’d been fidgeting with his ear until now. “Sorry!” He hisses. “It’s just really warm.”

“It’s red. Leave it alone.”

“But, it feels weighty. I hate it.”

Before Scott could respond with a snark comment, the familiar sound of the wooden sliding doors echoes across the walls for the second time. They both freeze at the memory of the footsteps that will soon accompany the sound, only this time, the doors were followed by double the echoes of footsteps in comparison to last time.

Virgil tensed, he quietly accepts the protection of his big brother who doesn’t even hesitate to quickly shield him from the viewpoint of the bars. The fearless Commander already preparing himself a menacing scowl for their captors.

As calculated by the echoes, there were eight men rather than five this time: All once again, dressed in robes, however, instead of wearing red like last time, they all donned a royal purple colour, rimmed with silver at the edges.

The leader — his robe rimmed with gold — stepped up to the cell door. One of the men that followed closely held a gold tray lined with purple velvet: In it, were an array of polished metal splayed out across the fabric. The cell door unlocked with a click, held open by the leader with one hand as the rest of the men entered.

“Scott-” Virgil tensed. But the hands already looped over the both of their arms. Two men knelt to untether the Tracys from the floor. It didn't take long for Virgil to be forced up onto his feet, the humming under his jaw reminding him of what would happen if he refused to comply.

Written by a human in Ellipsus.

Chapter Text

Scott was led in front of Virgil by his arms, they made their way out of the cell and followed the leader through the long room, then down a hallway; before ending up on a podium situated in the centre of a large hall. The two brothers gave each other a concerned glance before acknowledging the hefty crowd among them. Chatter enveloped the room, drowning out the hum over Virgil’s neck.

The leader grinned. Then, while subtly revealing the familiar black remote from his sleeves, he orders, “Kneel.”

Without question, Scott obeyed; the action raising eyebrows on Virgil’s face until Scott turned his head back to him to give the younger a furious glare; a glare that reminds Virgil once again of the black strap that he had somehow almost forgotten for a second. Virgil then followed suit from behind, knees making contact against the velvet covered platform.

The leader’s hands rose. “Here before you is the so called Commander of International Rescue, and owner of Tracy Industries!” His voice loudly carried over the chamber. “See how he stands, only when permitted to. See how he kneels before our kind!”

A fair hand reached out from the gathering, long, slim fingers take Scott’s chin, its cold grip tilts his face forwards into the crowd of satisfied eyes. The decorative yellow deliberately glistens from his collarbone against the light.

“Oh, he’s got such pretty eyes.” She marvelled. Deciding to exploit the new angle as an opportunity to observe the appearances of his captors, Scott made note of the young woman, dressed in a fine purple robe with a silver corset, wearing pearls across her neck that accentuated her wicked smile.

Scott made to snarl at the owner of the hand, yet he was quickly silenced by the bite of her nails digging into the side of his chin. A silver ringed finger soon trailed up to his where his lips were, shushing him effectively with a tenderly whisper. Her eyes then swiftly enlighten at a realisation.

“Oh.” She pulls one hand away from his face to remove the ring off of the hand that was still situated at his lips. The ring twists off smoothly, and she raises it up to his eyes. “This would be perfect to make those eyes stand out more.”

“Ah, paraíba tourmaline.” A man next to her informed. “You have great taste, my dear. They match those eyes very well.”

“Paraíba tourmaline” Virgil’s eyes widen at the implications of the conversation between the two strangers. Deciphering that the jewellery held up to Scott’s eyes must’ve been a light blue hue, matching those of Scott’s own blues.

“And here,” the leader moves on, stepping towards Virgil who instinctively sways ever so slightly away without awareness, “is his blood-kin. The pilot of the Behemoth, and the Second In Command of International Rescue…” He pulls up his sleeves again, “A leash made of blood.”

With a tap, the collar activated, making Virgil’s breath hitch, shoulders curling inwards against the electric burn. Scott turned instantly at the startled noise. “Enough! You’ve made your point!” He yelled in a strained voice.

“On the contrary, Mr Tracy…” The leader released his thumb from the button, his smile unfaltering. “We have only just begun.”

The attendant with the gold tray from earlier returns to the podium, heavy adornments splayed out across the velvet lining. Another attendant arrived to retrieve a chain of hammered gold from the tray, he strides up Scott and loops it over his shoulders.

After what happened seconds ago to Virgil, Scott holds as still as possible as it’s weight presses into his collar and clinks against the metal pins, sending a chill down his chest. Then, the attendant steps back to make room for the crowd to admire the display, another chill runs down Scott’s spine before he averts his focus back to the attendant holding the tray.

Two hands are gently slid into the tray of gold, a crown is revealed under gentle fingers. The heavy adornment is shaped like a metal band with filigree patterns. Long elegant chains unravelled from the tray as the circlet slowly rose, they hung off the sides of the circlet, one of said chains from both sides looped back around and reconnected itself so that both ends met the tiara.

Purple gemstones decorated most of the chains, the colour matching the fabric of the lining it that it came, as well as the colour of the robes that the strangers all wore. The man slowly turned to present the crown to the court of strangers, they all gawked silently at the shimmering purple, then watched as he struts to Virgil who’s eyes freeze at the dangling chains of the circlet before him.

Yet, the electric buzz warns him to hold still, sensing the gentleman steps behind Virgil’s kneeling person. The rim of the circlet made its way down to his head at a slow, steady pace. The cold band soon attached to him, it was tight, yet not painful; he could feel the weight of the kunzite swaying around his neck.

Virgil couldn’t help but turn his face ever so slightly to Scott, the concerned elder brother had been waiting to lock eyes with the younger this whole time. Silently, they both expressed their discomfort to each other via shared panicked eyes as their chains gleamed against the light above; Virgil’s dangling crystals frame the sides of his face.

They found themselves situated there for the next couple minutes, new hands trailed over their arms, and new pieces of metal made their way over their skin against their wills.

Virgil fought every bone in his body trying not to pull away from a rough hand where coarse fingers rubbed circles into a gem situated over his index finger. Other hands played against the draping chains of his headpiece, he grimaced at the pendulous weight.

Regretting it quickly when his distorted expression invited disappointed glares; new jewellery made way to his ankles along with a light dragging sensation that implied a small chain linking the metal on his ankles down his feet and to the phalanges.

His attention — barely lasting a minute — had been snagged from the metal when he felt a cold finger lift his draping sleeves outwards until they revealed his broad shoulders.

“They should keep this one sleeveless,” A smooth, gravelly, and grey voice complimented, “look at that broad frame.” A series of hums and nods followed the recommendation from behind Virgil, where he couldn’t turn his head to behold his captors’ amused gleams.

Then, a voice to his right, where the weighted chains blocked his vision, adds: “Some gold would do well to accentuate the lines between those shoulder muscles.” And the faces that cover Virgil’s foresight are turned to smiles.

“Perhaps some gold henna stain?” Suggests another voice, this one more high pitched, coming from his left.

“Or even tattoos would work, that way they last longer.”

“Ladies, gentlemen, please.” The leader crouched from the podium behind Virgil to chuckle. “Showering our bondsman in fake gold? Who do you take us for?” He reached out to the crown band encasing Virgil’s head and brushed against the dangling chains, Virgil held himself still, lips forming a thin line of discontent at the suddenness of the sensation. “I have a much better solution to this, however…”

Every other word became drowned out by one of the tiara gems oscillating into his cheek, catching him by surprise. He flinched at the nippy graze of the chain against his skin. In his peripheral vision, the woman who humoured Scott earlier had moved on, she batted her hand again at Virgil’s tiara, gaining his vexed attention.

The rest of the minutes since flew past like a breeze, or at least, that’s what the strangers kept saying to each other. If Scott could brawl, he would. Yielding to the touches of strangers’ fingers across his face had done a number to his esteem, but nothing could potentially haunt him more this year, than the settling reality that he had just knelt there, watching his little brother flinch at the sensation of strangers pressing hands against his skin, and Scott did nothing but endure the sight.

Drowning in guilt, he watched as the crowd slowly dispersed through doors spread across all four parts of the hall. It was once the spaciousness returned to the room did he finally take not of the fact that every wall was covered in off-white curtains and purple banners. Not a window in sight; the curtains all led down to the floor.

“Stand.” The wretched leader of the robed men ordered. Scott glared at him angrily, but followed the order, as did Virgil from his position. The detailed chains on the two Tracys mocked their every movements, swaying around and reminding them of their new centre of gravity. The leader grinned. “There will be food by midnight, two of our men will return you both to your cell.”

“And the jewellery?” Virgil dared in his baritone voice. Scott’s heart almost skipped a beat just thinking about the black strap over the musician brother’s neck.

Luckily, there were no consequences for the question. “The piercings stay. The rest may be removed as necessary, a velvet tray will be left on the table for them.” He gestured a nod to his men and they all scattered, three linking arms between the Tracys while one bee-lined for the aforementioned tray.

The arms restraining Scott and Virgil silently guided them back through the hallway from the door they came from. Not a word was spoken during the journey save for the hum of the shock collar attached to the younger brother.

Written by a human in Ellipsus.

Chapter Text

They woke up the next day dressed in the same attire that they were first given in from yesterday. The weight over their chests were their first reminders of their current predicament. There was no sunlight to greet them awake, just the faint sounds of foot traffic crossing the hallways surrounding thier cell room.

Virgil groaned into the tepid atmosphere of the room. The circlet over his head lightly brushed its jewelled chains over his cheeks, the sensation completely sobering him out of his typical morning grogginess. He worked his way upright on the bed with defeated ease.

“Scott?” He tested his words, putting effort into keeping his tone as soft as possible.

There was a smile directed at him from the bed on the other side of the room. “Good morning.” Scott matched his tone. The metal pins attached to the the elder brother’s collar gleamed at him. The veteran was still covered in just as much jewellery as Virgil, gold loops and chains enveloped his arms and glistened. “How’d you sleep?”

The question brought back memories of the night before, how he tossed and turned in his blankets because of the frustrating sound of the shock collar under his neck. “Uncomfortably.” Virgil solidly grunts.

“I can’t say I expected much else…” Scott shrugs, letting the loop earrings swish at the touch of his shoulders, he pretends not to feel it. “I swear, I heard you call my name last night, but I was too out of it to register if it was real or not…”

“I did.” Nods Virgil. “Sorry, I couldn’t sleep much, so I was checking if you were awake.”

“Next time, just wake me up.”

“Wha-” Before Virgil could ask the big brother if he was sure, the foresaken sliding doors sounded off once again, triggering an immediete response between the two Tracys who both stood up to face their arriving captors.

Last time, the men all stood behind the other side of the cell bars in purple robes, the time before that it, the robes were red; this time, they all donned green rayon and firmly stood within a rehearsed distance of each other, their hands at their sides.

The leader opened the cell door again without a word, causing the two brothers to tense as the men let themselves inside their cell. Two gold trays were carried inside between two men, the trays were lined with a pthalo green velvet.

Resting on the velvet: More heavy jewellery, most of which looked more like thick chains, some looked like piercings, but what the Tracy’s had their unsettling eyes on, was what looked like a thick masquerade mask made of the brightest gold, the mask looked as if it was designed to go over the eyes only due to its shape, except, where there should have been eye-holes; there were only intricate carvings of gold. The brothers stiffened.

“You know the rules.” The leader adjured. “Hold still.”

They eyed the hands that hovered over the tray, watching as those hands started with the small piercings first, little loops and studs were moved onto their ears, replacing the old warm earrings with the new, cold ones. They felt heavier, dragging their earlobes downards alongside gravity.

Then came a stud with several long chains connected to them, at the end of each elegant chain were light blue gems in the shapes of diamonds, each at varying lengths. The men tightened the hanging earring at Scott’s earlobes, it draped down to half the side of his neck. He could feel them sway at each slight turn of his head.

Just as he thought it was over however, out came a new chain, a thick one, with blue gems at it’s side, it wasn’t a chain designed for his neck, nor for hanging down his ears; they held up the thick gold chain horizontally and brought it closer to Scott’s face until it coldly, pressed onto his nose. The ends of the chain draped over the top of his ears and hung down the back. He could feel the cold kiss of the metal line over his cheeks, his eyes slid to Virgil, worriedly.

The younger brother’s tray was nearly completely emptied of glistening gold, new adornments showered him all over, especially at his shoulders and chest. The metal glove that they forced on Virgil last night was replaced with bangles and rings of various matching jewels that all shared the same green colour.

While it was a sight for Scott, Virgil has his eyes more focused ln his tray, where the largest mass of gold laid in the middle. Because in a matter of seconds, there was only going to be one thing left in that tray, and neither Virgil nor Scott found it appealing.

The mask was gently raised up with both hands, intricate filigree patterns with emerald covered the metal all over. It came with a thick yet elegantly polished, gold chain. Smaller chains looped around the bottom of the bigger one like purposeless decoration, yet they were long enough to reach down to about Virgil’s shoulders, some of them dangled with tiny emerald pieces at the ends of them.

They brought the large mask up to Virgil’s eyes, judging the positioning by allowing the cold chain to lay over the top of his ears and trace around the back of his skull.

Virgil stood, holding his breathing firmly despite the enveloping darkness of the eye-less mask. He only jumped when the buckle loudly clicked shut from behind him. Scott frowned, but stayed observant until the antagonists finally let go of his little brother end exited their cell.

After the Leader had made his “we-will-be-back-soon” speech — not that Scott payed attention to any of the words spoken — He and his follwers finally left the cell with a short click of the lock along the echoing of their footsteps fading out of the corridor. Virgil finally had the chance to voice himself, and he took it.

“S- Scott?” Virgil anxiously calls from where he still stands. The large golden mask covering the upper half of his entire face while the bottom half dangled chains running down to his collar.

Scott could notice the fear in his frown and posture, and that was all he needed. “I’m here Virgil, are you okay?” He gently brings his hands into the engineer’s faltering palms, connecting them more firmly over time.

“Scott, I can’t see.”

“Does anything hurt? Here, sit slowly. ” He softens his voice, before placing his second hand on Virgil’s shoulder and slowly guiding him to the bed, where they can both sit comfortably. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Please- just-” Virgil hesitates, but after a deep breath, he commits. “Anything as long as it’s a distraction.”

“‘Kay, well… Remember that old piano you once rescued from that flood a while ago?”

“Yeah?”

“What ever happened to it?” Asks Scott genuinely. “Did you fix it?”

“I got the strings done up, it sounds great.” He frowns, “but I never got to doing up the exterior… What with all the rescues and mainland stuff.”

“Hmm…” Scott tightens his grip on Virgil’s palm. “Well, tell you what: I’ll help you do it up when we get out of this. I’d be a good excuse to re-purpose Dad’s old wood-working station.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. We’re probably gonna end up with heaps of recovery weeks when we get out of this anyways, might as well use it for something.” There’s a cheerful yet quiet tone in his voice, a tone that Virgil hasn’t ever heard directed to himself in years. “What are you planning on doing with it after anyways?”

“I was thinking of charity, or putting it in one of your many offices at a random branch as a surprise.”

“I bet it’d look great in the centre of the office from the Singapore branch.”

“Under the skylight, right? I was thinking of that too!”

“Then we’ll do it for that.

“Lets!” Grins Virgil.

They ended up spending the rest of their hours fantasising the design choices of the piano, how they want to decorate it; what themes they want to follow and what themes they didn’t want to follow, including but not limited to gold aesthetics.

They never noticed how much time they killed until the robed men returned, this time, dressed in yellow.

Chapter Text

Brains is a brilliant engineer, almost everything on the island is engineered in a way so that nothing can fall or break if there were to ever be an earthquake.

Emphasis on “almost”.

Because even a brilliant engineer could never have anticipated the need for making the launch chutes earthquake-proof. Not when the Tracys like being shot through a rollercoaster face first into their cargo-plane, or standing on a small platform over twelve stories high as it carries them to their rocket-plane with no guard rails.

Besides, it’s too unlikely that an earthquake would ever happen while someone’s in their launch chute. Until today, when Thunderbird Three was settling back inside the hangar at the same time that Thunderbird One and Two were preparing for launch.

Scott and Virgil were are of Alan’s re-entry. They were told on the comms by both john and Alan. They thought it would be fine. The chutes are only a short ride. It wouldn't last long enough to feel the effects of the largest ‘Bird’s landing.

Until it did.

Scott had been standing on his platform when the world started shaking. It came as a jolt and he yelped.

Luckily his knees had been bent already, a casual tactic used for steadying one’s balance. It's a thing he does to keep himself from tilting off his tiny circular platform.

Though it wasn't enough to keep himself steady, so his arms flailed about so as to centre his centre of gravity as close to the centre of the platform as possible in order to lower himself to his knees as the world continued to toss itself around.

Once close enough, his hands gripped the edges of the platform with might, and his knees hit he cold metal.

“Brains!? Five!?” He called out to his baldric, hoping it was on, or at least something in the hangar could hear him.

Then he heard an echoed snap across the cave, followed by a short shout and a never ending screeching sound gat began to frow louder and louder by the second.

Scott turned his attention up across the ceiling to follow the source of the sound, where his eyes settles on the rail tracks sticking out from the ceiling.

It was Virgil’s launch chute.

He continued to stare as the sound continued to grow louder. Until finally, the blue and green silhouette of his little brother was shot out of the hole, eyes wide in panic.

Scott’s heart leapt. Virgil’s harness had come loose. Scott watched as Virgil threw his arms upwards in hopes of catching the metal links, only to miss.

“Virgil!” The elder brother screamed over the panic of the younger who was now falling from about seven stories high.

Virgil’s body twisted in the fall to face the ground. IR training has luckily taught him how to fall. Because that’s a thing worth learning for firefighters, apparently. Now he knows why.

His limbs loosen and he tucks himself into his side, preparing his head the most for the impact. He heard his name echoed across the hangar. There is no time to check from who.

The floor is solid. It smashes into his bones which is the first instant signal that gets Virgil rolling off from his side until the momentum disperses. When it finally does, he ends up flat on his back, limbs splayed out in pain.

There’s a loud howl echoing amongst the caves now as the quivering world becomes more vigorous. The vibrations are stronger than Scott’s tight grip against his ledge.

Except it isn't his grip that falters, it’s the rest of him. On the other side of his small, quivering platform, his legs are slowly inching off the end, and he doesn't even notice. Too focused on the fact that he just watched Virgil fall.

It’s not until he finds himself dragged backwards sliding; arms forced to extend, his hands still gripped at the side; does he realise that he is in danger as well.

His legs flail at the air, searching for a non-existent vantage point to grab hold of. There's nothing but the sharp corners of the ledge where his whitened knuckles fiercely hold onto.

He can feel his grip slipping, but Thunderbird Three is nearly down. Just a little bit longer until the big red Thunderbird finally lands.

On the other end of the hangar: The said oblivious, Thunderbird is only a few meters off the ground now. In due minutes, she’ll be offline and the world will relax. Unfortunately, Scott doesn't have minutes.

He can’t feel it from all the vibrations and noise, but his fingers are losing grip. The only reason he knows this is because he can see the tips of his fingers now. The steel edge bites into the joints of his fingers, it’s ice cold.

Then it slips. In a swift motion, Scott slaps his palms into the flat surface, but he can already feel himself sliding, his hips already makings its way down past the ledge, then bus shoulders.

And suddenly, the touch solid in his hands is now gone. Scott yells for the last second of purchase but is too late. He watches as the platform that was supposed to be under him is now on top of him, slowly becoming smaller and smaller.

In a quick fashion, he reaches for the grapple packs stashed on his forearm and then for the clamp gun on his hip. Attaching them together as fast as he can till he hears the click, he shoots for the platform while the rush of air brushes past his ears.

The line shoots out, darting through the air. He can hear his name faintly being called out by someone. But just before the clamp could hit the platform, there’s a slam against his back, forcing him to yelp before his vision blurs.

Chapter Text

“Thunderbird Three to Tracy Island.”

Blue lights flickered, and on came a set of holograms revealing Scott, Virgil, and a floating John Tracy. “Tracy Island to Thunderbird Three. We’re receiving you, Three.”

Alan smiled at the professionalism of his beloved elder brothers. “Re-entering Earth’s atmosphere in ETA four minutes.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Three.” This time it's Scott who says. “There’s a hot shower waiting for and Virgil turned on your electric blanket. I also took the liberty of clearing your room while you were out.”

“Aw, come on, Scott! I was gonna clean my room on my own!”

“When?” Unimpressed, Scott’s eyes darkly narrowed.

Alan grimaced at the hologram. “Okay, maybe I was gonna take my time…"

“Mhm.” Scott eyed. “I hope you're grateful for the clean room and the electric blanket because-”

Before Scott could make his threat, a beep interrupts Tracy Island.

“-Hold that, Scott.” John stops him, then switches something unseen from his hologram; in due second, a symbol representing a yellow signal lights up and a voice is sounded.

“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday! This is The SunStar Submersible, I repeat; Sunstar Submersible, Sunstar Submersible! My position is sixty-eight degrees South, one-forty West! We’ve been capsized in a hailstorm storm, vessel is down and one life raft deployed! I have about five surviving crew members with me on a life raft, but about four missing including the captain! We are drifting westward inside a no-survey zone, I repeat, a no-survey sector, I have one flare left, two already used! We require immediate assistance! Over!”

“That’s deep within unmarked territory.” A new holographic figure enters the group. His voice was soft, he hovers behind Scott and Virgil, eyes locked on the map that John had just put up that displays the location of the distress call. “We could get Colonel Casey to call WASP for this one instead.”

“You sure?” Scott turns around to face Gordon. “The distress signal was sent to us.”

“Probably because they didn't want to get The WASP’s attention.”

“I see your point.” Hums the elder. “But we should go anyways: We’re faster than The WASPs, and it would be worth less risk of lives if we went.”

Alan huffed, flicking levers and pressing buttons. “Approaching Tracy Island in two minute now. Prepared for landing.”

The holograms of Scott, Virgil and Gordon were all gone now, most likely because they had ran off for their launch chutes.

“Sorry we won’t be able to welcome you, Al!” Scott calls from afar, Alan knows the brother is probably at his launch chute entrance, ready to go.

Alan shrugs. “I’ll live.” He eases his throttle to slow. “Go get ‘em.”

“FAB.” Scott quietly acknowledges, then pauses for a beat before raising his voice to announce: “Thunderbirds Are Go!”

And then there were two. They held their silences for a moment, not sure what to say; which was fine for Alan since he should be focusing on his landing.

“Aligning with entry chute.” Alan tells John.

John nods, watching his own visual of the landing. “You know, I’ve watched every one us fly that rocket, and none of them ever lands as gently as you do.”

“Probably because she’s my ship!” Alan scoffs.

The response is one John’s heard before; this wasn't the first time the two have had that conversation. However, today, John’s decided to use the repetitive topic to his advantage so as to ease into a completely unique discussion. “So, are you gonna rest tonight?”

“Entering landing chute.” Alan says, before a pause, then he answers. “I mean, I guess I have to since it’s all already set up, right?” He shrugs.

“It’d be good for you: You’ve been growing too fast, Alan, we all agreed that you need to rest now more than ever until it’s over.”

“I know…” Alan pouts. “Still. I had so much I was doing before I left Earth last week. Why can't I just finish off that workload before going to bed?”

“Because Scott made an effort to bring you comfort, Virgil got you an electric bed, and Gordon made you dinner.”

Alan sighs. “It would be rude.” He says before John could. “Activating hangar intake fans-.”

“-Oh my god, Alan!” John cried, eyes suddenly wide.

Alan froze, a hand releases from the console while the other grips the controls tightly. “-What?!”

“Emergency in the hangar! I’m calling Gordon. You focus on landing.”

“All I did was activate the fan!”

“It wasn't you.” A new figure appears, Gordon, who seems to be string up at something with a panicked expression while another hand is latched on to some sort of railing. “Just get her landed, Alan! Scott’s about to- Scott!”

“Scott?! What happened to Scott?!” Thunderbird Three was practically down by now. Alan was tense, there was no answer as Gordon’s figure blipped out, last thing he saw was aquanaut’s hand releasing itself from the railing and darting off into somewhere. “John?!” Alan calls.

“Scott fell from his platform!”

“What!?”

“Focus on your shutdown procedures, Gordon’s got it.”

“What happened?!”

“What happened is that we tried launching Thunderbirds One and Two without waiting for you to finish your landing.” John realises. “Agh! How could we have forgotten that!”

Alan tenses, but continues to work through his shutdown procedure and runs through the numbers on his displays. “Is everyone okay!?”

“Gordon’s checking right now, but it looks like you’ll need to bring the stretchers out when you're done.”

“FAB.” Alan hurries.

Chapter Text

Whether the vibrations stopped or not, he can’t tell. It certainly feels like they have. The hangar’s gone silent. Everything feels darker than it should be, maybe muddier than usual.

Something deep down in his mind is yelling at him to not move. What happened? He fell. From where?

He blinks his eyes. All he sees above him is a small round platform, too far up above him to be the place that he dropped from.

There’s a shout. A call for what might have been his name. Footsteps followed, maybe multiple, he couldn't tell from all the echoes.

A hand on his arm, another on his chest. The voice is softer this time, but still loud. The hand on his chest is lifted, and now on his face. It gently presses into his cheek.

He blinks. The face in front of him covers his line of sight from the platform. The face has golden hair, golden skin, and brown eyes. It’s concerned, or worried.

“Scott, can you hear me?” It’s Gordon. It’s his voice, his hair, his eyes.

The narrowed eyes of pain want to close, but the little brother won’t stop tapping him at his cheek.

“Gordon…” Scott finds himself mumbling, wanting the aquanaut to stop it, but his words slur to nothingness.

There was something he wanted to say, what was it? Something important.

His eyes widen, the world clears, but still spins.

“Virgil!” He presses his palms against the floor and pushes himself up, only for his entire upper torso to burn.

Noticing the shaky breaths of pain, Gordon gently pushes the elder brother back down by the shoulder. He ignores the moans of pain and simply waits for Scott to have the back of his head firm against the floor again.

“Easy, Scott.” Gordon says. “Medscan says your not critically hurt, but you should still stay put until the hover-stretcher gets here. Thank god your suit absorbed the impact…” The last part came out as a small mumble.

Tears form at the corners of Scott’s eyes. “Virgil.” He says again with more tension. “Fell too.”

Gordon’s frown falls further. His head snaps up and his eyes trace itself across the floors of the vast hangar.

There. A motionless heap of blue and green. Flat on the tiles.

Gordon scrambles to his feet and dashes with all his energy, never mind the distance. “Virgil!?” He screams at the too-still body on the floor that he’s closing his distance on. “Virgil!”

In merely a second, he skids to a stride at Virgil’s side. The brother’s eyes were closed, one arm was extended and spread out while the other was crushed under his head; a good sign, as it meant he was able to save his skull from the fall. His legs were crossed together at the calves, possibly donning an injury or two.

Gordon kneels down in a hurry and leans over to Virgil’s face to feel for a breath against his ears. It’s short, but there. His next move is to take out the spare medscan in his baldric as the original one had been abandoned by Scott’s hip. He settles the little circular machine on Virgil’s own hip, just where it could neatly connect to the fabric Of Virgil’s green harness, it hums in confirmation of life.

“Thunderbird Five.” Gordon taps on his comms, and John’s torso comes alight as a blue hologram. “Let Alan know that both Scott and Virgil are battered, but alive.”

There’s a large frown on the spaceman’s face, one of worry, but he doesn’t say anything aside from a simple “FAB” before clicking out and letting Gordon get back to work. Said work being to wait for the medscanner to complete it’s job.

Until then, best he can do is get the unconscious brother into a more comfortable position. He reaches for the trapped arm first. Gently lifting Virgil’s head by the back as slowly as possible until he has purchase of the hand which he grabs by the forearm and slowly pulls to the the side.

The movement causes a small twitch in Virgil’s eyelids along a catch of breath. Gordon freezes, eyes catching Virgil’s own which flutters to life hazily. Brown pupils blown wide start darting across the place in confusion.

“Don’t move, Virge.” Gordon softly ushers, continuing to move the arm out, but he freezes again when a wheeze of pain sounds from the brother beneath him in response to the movement. Then the scanner dings.

A hologram appears between Gordon and the semi-conscious Virgil, several reports ensue of Virgil’s condition.

Nothing critical, thankfully. Several broken points show up though, including the arm that Gordon had been struggling to move. Somehow, the ribs are fine, save for the major bruising; everything internal is no different.

Thank goodness for Brains’ ingenuity with the suits. “Five, are you getting this?” He calls.

Once again, John appears, frown still there from the last time he answered. “I’m reading, Gordon.” He says with a voice too soft for him. “It looks bad…” He trails as his hand swipes to scroll through the medscan’s list of notifications.

“Bad, but alive.” Gordon sternly corrects. “How is Alan doing with the checks? When will he be free?”

“He’s moving as fast as he can. In fact, he’s just about done.”

Like clockwork, faint footsteps can be heard from the side of the hangar. The steps are rushed, maybe desperate.

The next thing Gordon sees is Alan darting over to him, two hovering stretchers following him in hand. There’s a scared expression on his face, one Gordon has seen before on Scott enough times to point it out. For now, he won’t. He’ll wait.

Alan makes his way around the body of his big brother until rounding to Gordon’s side. “Is he-”

“-Yes. He’s okay.” Gordon starts before Alan, grabbing one of the stretchers off the astronaut and standing up. “I’ll help you get Virgil onto this one, then you’ll take him up to Grandma while I go get Scott. Understood.”

Alan had already made his way to Virgil’s other side while Gordon was instructing. “Let’s not waste time.” He ushers, hands and knees already preparing for the move.

Gordon settles the stretcher down as close to Virgil as possible, then works his hands under the big brother. The two youngests give each other a nod of determination before Gordon begins the countdown; then, they lift the heavy brother just enough to drag and slide the stretcher down a under him without issue.

Once releasing hold of him, Gordon moves around to check for any limbs that may be hanging off the stretcher, he also uses this time to also make another attempt at bringing the crushed hand out from under Virgil’s head. With the help of Alan, this becomes easier as Alan silently helps by lifting up the head while Gordon slips it out.

The second they’re all clear, Gordon points to the doors. “Go. I’ve got Scott.” He orders.

Alan doesn’t waste a minute. He’s already off before Gordon could hear the “FAB”.

Deciding to do the same, Gordon gets a grip of the last stretcher and charges for the Thunderbird One hanger, where Scott lays on the floor.

“Scott, you still with me?” He keeps his tone low as he approaches the fallen brother.

With Scott flat on his back, he could see those light blue beams of irises all the way from Virgil’s position. They were narrow; anxious.

Now, Scott lays staring up at him instead, face stricken with grief, the tears being held back were so obvious.

Gordon didn't let any of those details hesitate him. Instead, he went straight to work, kneeling down to set the stretcher in place, than slid him over with precise ease.

“Thunderbird Five, I’m en-route to the infirmary.”

“FAB, Gordon. I’m trying to send local authorities out to the capsized ship, but hopes aren't high.”

“‘Course not, it’s unmarked International waters.” Gordon responds, tugging the stretcher into the elevator. “So call the WASPs, they'll send a crew out.”

“FAB.” John blinked out again, letting Gordon continue to move Scott.

When the elevator at the corner of the hanger dings, all that remains in the cave is silence. A contrast to what happened barely half an hour ago.

Chapter Text

“Food.” Gordon greets; two heavy plates are carried in both hands with a steaming pile of lasagna on top of each.

Alan had been sat at an uncomfortable angle on the bedside chair for the past couple of hours until the aquatic brother finally walked in. He shuffled upright and gently accepted the warm offer of food with gratitude.

The said aquatic brother felt his squid sense trigger st the sight of the younger’s tense shoulders. Feeling a need to intervene, Gordon pulls out an extra chair to sit by him before them handing over a set of cutlery wrapped in a kitchen towel while unravelling his own set to begin eating. While sifting through the steaming heap of savoury via his knife and fork, he inspected the suspended red cast on the bed in front of them. “That’s your work?”.

Alan looked up from his food to glimpse at the word. He lowered his fork. “I’m so used to using the red one, I didn't realise how I should've made it green until after it was done.” He guiltily admitted.

“No, it’s good. It’s your colour. He’ll be proud of it. He taught you, after all.”

Sure, there might be some pride in Alan’s injury treatment skills, but that's certainly not going to be Virgil’s initial thought process when he wakes up and sees the status of his hand.

Luckily, Virgil is ambidextrous: With that said: Unluckily, Virgil is ambidextrous. So, if anything, Virgil’s first reaction after the shock has settled is probably going to be about the dread of temporarily not having an arm for the following weeks or so.

Everyone understands the vitality of Virgil’s hands. Well, there's always an expectation of vitality in all hands; but Virgil’s in particular… Virgil’s hands are vital.

It was common knowledge among the family that a Virgil without his dexterity should never happen. Especially considering that the last time that something had happened to those hands, there had been no life at home for over a week. Or at least, not until Scott came back home and helped divert Virgil’s attention to mindful things. John had been grateful.

Which begs the question: What’s going to happen this time? Virgil and Scott worked as a duo. They were the mothers of the family as well as to each other. With both of them down, what’s going to happen?

Alan turned his attention to the other end of the room, where Scott lays peacefully. The angle of the young astronaut’s face against the light reveals tear tracks that seemed to have pooled over his eyes but never ran. “Brains said that the biggest concern with Scott was his spine.” He says gently.

Gordon’s shoulders drooped. “I figured as much.” spinning from Virgil, he turns to fully see Alan and Scott and notices a gloom in the blue eyes that usually only ever beamed. “That’s honestly a good thing. Means he’s lucky.” He reassures in hopes of comforting.

Though, it doesn’t do the trick. “It’s not even his fault, this time.” Alan murmurs while sliding his chair across the floor to Scott’s end, where his palm lightly grazes the bed’s handle bars.

“You're right.” Gordon interjects before Alan could continue the thought process. His eyebrows furrowed; squid sense alarming him of his little brother’s guilt. “It was the earthquake’s.” He challenges the said guilt.

There’s a sigh in response from the younger. His hand lifts from the bar and reaches out to Scott’s own. “Sure. But what if I was just a little bit delayed?” Would they have been fine? The follow-up question goes un-said, yet, it was heard.

Gordon stands up. “Get some rest, Alan.” Knowing full well that the request will be denied, he adds. “Make it easy on them and follow the Rest Protocol.”

“We’re really going to follow the Rest Protocol after all that.” Scoffs Alan before Gordon could make for the automatic doors.

“Well it’s over now, isn’t it?” He turns back to the younger and counteracts; and when he noticed Alan’s eyes droop, he knew the counterargument worked.

“I can’t…” Alan hesitates. “I can’t leave them…”

The aquanaut pauses in his step, a thin line forms across his lips before he asks rhetorically: “You do know what’s gonna happen if they wake up and find you here, right?” Because he’s seen this before; plenty of times on other brothers, yet not usually with the elders being the ones stuck in the bed. “You just came back from a long mission. They just went through an effort to make your room as comfortable as possible…”

To not notice the fire in the umber eyes would feel like a conscious effort. So, Alan kept his ocean eyes locked on Gordon’s.

“You know what they’re gonna do next? They’re gonna wake up, and feel bad for screwing up your chance to get a good night’s rest.” Gordon’s shoulders sag. “Then, they’re gonna blame themselves. They always do. Doesn't matter which side of the incident they’re on.”

Alan huffs, yet also nods reluctantly. Because it’s true. Both Virgil and Scott were known for their habit of self-blame. He had a theory that it had something to do with the fact that they both were the eldests of the family, making them naturally feel responsible of every little mishap. It was infuriating sometimes.

It’s probably going to be just as infuriating when they wake up. But Alan didn't want to go to his room. He wanted to stay with his ill brothers. He needed to know that they would be okay, and the only way that he’ll find out is if he sees them wake up. The young astronaut crosses his arms at Gordon with his face full of defiance.

In response, Gordon huffs back, “Fine…” Then reaches out to an abandoned corner of the room—

—Where an idle wheelchair rests next to the washroom door.

“But I want you sitting in this tonight.” The elder slides it closer to them both until it gently collides with the side of Alan’s bedside chair. “It’s got better cushioning, and some fancy features! Like this side-table for your lasagna plate…” He flips a flat surface open from the arm rest, before then flipped a lever that tilts the backrest back and forth. “…And it reclines.”

There was no need to ask Gordon how he knew about all of the features on this wheelchair. Alan gives Gordon a look of amusement before huffing in remark and handing his plate to the other. The fork and knife clink together as he lets them go on top of the plate. Meanwhile, Gordon keeps his grip tight and level.

Alan then leans out of his stable chair and drags himself off onto the comfier wheelchair. The seat feels lower then the bedside one, but as Gordon mentioned before, it was softer.

Immediately after the astronaut settles down, Gordon reaches over for the built-in side table and folds it up over the younger’s lap. The plate is set on it as soon as it clicks into place. The steam emitting from the lasagna reminding Alan that he hasn’t eaten properly in hours.

Before Alan could get his hands on his knife and fork, Gordon leans out and reclines the backrest just enough to startle Alan; but not enough to have him reach too far for the food; while also easing the pressure off of his growing spine.

“There.” Gordon stands straight and proud. “At least now the bros won’t be upset about you sleeping uncomfortably because of them. Now, I’m going back to clean the kitchen, then, I’m going to sleep in your room since the electric bed is still on.”

Already digging into his food Alan hums; a hum that provides permission for Gordon to do as he pleases. Then, he swallows his first bite and calls out “Sleep tight!” as Gordon leaves.

The doors shut swiftly after that.

Alan didn't have the heart to tell Gordon that John had already gotten into that bed before him.

Chapter Text

Scott Tracy was known to be a light sleeper. It’s why he’s always been the earliest riser, and it never takes much to wake him up if he naps. So, it’s no surprise that when both he and Virgil are found asleep in the infirmary, he was the first to wake.

He didn’t question the white ceiling or the smell of antiseptic first. Because the first thing he noticed when he stirred was the painful ache in his back. One that made him grateful for the electric mattresses that came with some of the infirmary beds. It twinged at the muscles around his middle back and his upper lumbar, as if the muscle there had been twisted and turned inside out.

He groans.

Then, slowly, turns his head to the side as slowly as he could, so as to not force himself into a headache. Once he feels the bedding on his cheek, he flutters an eyelid open, dim lights filtered its way into his eye until he could see the shape of a figure at his bedside. The shape is blue, and slimmer than the one he’s used to seeing at his infirmary bedside.

Who is this? He blinks again a few more times with the second eye until the world came to a focus. Soon, red comes into view clashing with the blue, and then all the clues clicked into place: It was Alan; at his bedside.

The kid has his head resting on a cushion built into the low chair that he sat in. Scott furrows his eyebrows. Alan’s in a wheelchair. He inhales sharply. What happened?! “Alan?” He attempts to sit up, but his limbs barely shift an inch. “Alan?”

“Sshh.” A voice hisses from across the room. Scott’s heart nearly leaps at the suddenness of it, then, he notices the second blue figure far behind Alan. Taller, and even more leaner than the usual person that he expects to wake up to. “Alan’s fine, he’s just sleeping.” John reassures softly.

“Jowhm?” Scott’s mouth stumbles. “Where’s Virgil?”

The astronaut frowns back, then, without a word, stands up and drags his chair off to a side, where Scott’s line of sight suddenly clears enough to catch the bed that John’s body was blocking.

There, on that bed, is a very unconscious Virgil. His raven hair a greasy mess, it curled off downwards, tucked behind his ears and to the pillow. Luckily, from what Scott can tell, his breathing seems stable. There is, however, a red cast on his arm, closest to the bedside near John. That worries the elder; what’s worst; it was a red cast, meaning that Alan was to one to had put set it up there.

“Firgil!?” Scott exclaimed in slurred panic, elbows slamming into the mattress to force himself up.

John immediately stepped up to his bed and pressed a hand to Scott’s shoulder. The hand was gentle, yet it was enough to push the elder brother back down into the pillow.

“Calm down!” John hissed, making sure that there was direct eye contact as soon as he had Scott horizontally flat again. “You’ll wake Alan up.” Those sea-foam coloured eyes were stern.

“Too late.” Croaked a younger voice from behind John.

The two startled instantly at the voice that, for a split second, almost sounded unfamiliar. But those baby blue eyes — that were currently working their way into wakefulness — were engraved into everyone’s memories.

Alan tilted his head down from the head cushion and swept a lock of blond hair from his eyes. “Good morning.” He tiredly greeted before his mind caught up with his eyes and he registered the sight of his eldest brother, awake; stunned; but awake. “Scott!” He beamed. “You’re awake!”

“Alan, get yourself a glass of water.” John ordered.

Without hesitation, nor confusion, Alan stood up immediately and darted to the sink. There was no questioning the favourite bother. And the fact that he didn’t stumble from grogginess impressed the older astronaut, not that he’ll mention it. At least not yet.

The sight of the youngest being able to stand so quickly from the wheelchair and rush off without a second thought on his mind brought instant relief to Scott’s mind. He exhaled so deeply that John could tell exactly what was going on in his mind.

“Told you. He’s fine” John smugly said. “He just slept in the fancy wheelchair last night ‘cause Gordon said it’d be warmer than the normal one.”

That’s right. Scott blinked. Rest Protocol.

A protocol created by the family a few weeks ago when Alan started losing his break hours due to unexpected naps. The conclusion was that he was napping more because he was growing faster than his body could provide energy. So the solution was to provide more rest time to compensate for his breaks, even if there was a mission that required him, the family must work around it for the sake of Alan’s growth.

Alan argued at first, until he was told that the Rest Protocol was designed to not clash with his free time. If anything, the Rest Protocol saved his free times. It meant that he could finally do the things he liked without tiring so quickly anymore.

But wait. Scott’s memory suddenly jogged. What happened to his bedroom? Recalling that he and Virgil had recently done up the kid’s room while he was away so that he could sleep more peacefully.

“Why here?” He asked. “What happened to the electric bed?”

Only to immediately regret asking that, as the way that John cringes in response brings him discomfort. “You uh… There was an accident.”

Scott frowned.

“If it makes you feel better, Gordon and I still used it last night. So the effort you guys put into the room didn’t go to waste that much…” John tried.

But the frown stayed.

At that moment, Alan returned to his seat with a glass of water. “So you both slept in the bed then?” He asked while breaking the tension.

“There was plenty of space.” John shrugged. “And it was really warm.”

Scott struggled with the pacing of the two astronauts’ words. Since there was one question left still boggling his mind, he decided to ask, “Where’s Gordon?”

“Oh.” Teal eyes blinked away from the younger and to the elder in the bed. “He’ll be down soon.” He reassured. “He’s just drying up in fact-.”

Just as John had said that, like magic, the automatic infirmary doors startle open with a hiss. And in came their aforementioned, bubbly voiced brother. “Actually I’m here.” He introduced between the hisses of the doors closing behind him.

Now, there were five Tracys in the infirmary, one of which was still asleep. That was to be expected, considering the Bear’s typically late sleep schedule.

Gordon pulled out a chair from Virgil’s bedside and dragged it to Scott’s, just next John and Alan’s left. “Morning! Did you sleep well?”

Scott hummed. “What happened?” It felt like a reasonable question to ask. He wondered whether he had already asked it earlier.

“You fell,” explained Gordon, “and from a long distance too.”

“You didn't break anything, don’t worry.” John felt the need to reassure again.

But Gordon felt that it would be better to just give the information straight as they were. “But you are gonna be on that bed for a long while,” he warned. “You’re spine took some impact. It’s not too damaged, but we’ll need to give it some time to heal.”

“And Virgil?”

“He’s gonna be fine.” John frowned as he said those words. “It’s really just his hand that Grandma was the most concerned about… Aside from that, two weeks of painful rest should do the trick and then he’ll start to feel much better.”

Scott glared.

“Crushed hand, and major bruising.” Gordon summarised for the eldest. “He’s gonna have aches deep through his bones; especially on the side that took the main impact.”

Thinking about the bruising brings sudden memories to light within Scott’s mind. “He fell.” He realises. “You’re both seriously lucky to have not been paralysed… Neither of you had helmets on. Virgil’s hand’s only crushed because he saved his head.”

The three nod. Silence follows. It lingers for a long minute. They let the imagery pass between themselves before Gordon finally decides to say something as well as change the subject in hopes of easing the tension in the room.

“Alan needs to share his fancy mattress more often. Otherwise I think we all should have an electric bed.”

Everyone scoffs. Then, it’s John who returns the topic, “Scott has one, actually. He’s had his before Alan.”

“What?!” Gasps Gordon. “Why does Scott always get to have cool stuff before everyone else?!”

Alan’s palm taps the older blond on the forearm that presses at the seat rest "Because he’s Scott.” He sarcastically comments.

“And, also because he’s the family guinea pig.” John snarkily adds. “He has to test everything before it can be handed out to the rest of us.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“The drones,” answers Alan. His palm raises into view for them to watch as he starts listing his answers on each finger, “the remote controlled rappel lines, Mini MAX… The jetpack.” There’s a sneaky smirk at the mention of the last one.

“For the last time, you are not getting a jetpack.” Scott snarls.

Alan huffs while crossing his arms. “What about rocket boots?”

“No!”

“No fair,” he grumbles, but there’s a grin to his voice. Because, Scott being wakeful enough to react like that is a positive sign; and judging by the collective expressions upon the other brothers’ faces; it seems like he isn't the only one to recognise that.

“Wait- But you let Alan have the astroboard?”

“That's different. He earned that one.”

Then a short pause for silence. They turn back again to the sleeping bear at the other end of the infirmary.

He seems so still, it would've worried them if it weren't for the live vital feed outputting data on the steadiness of Virgil’s heartbeat in the form of a holographic panel displayed against the wall besides the hibernating bear.

“How long do you reckon he’s gonna comply with bed-rest before finally getting sick of it?” Starts John, breaking the quiet.

Gordon hums. “Give it five minutes after Scott.” He bets.

“Hey!”

“But Scott won’t be able to stay up if he tries,” Alan joins with a counterpoint, “not with a bruised spine, at least.”

“Oh please. I’ve seen Scott jog on worse.” There was a grimace on Gordon’s face when he says that, and Scott wasn't sure if he should be grateful or ashamed that Gordon didn't look at him with it.

John quirked an eyebrow. “That argument brings up another point, with do you think Virgil will be able to move?”

“Again,” says Gordon, “Virgil’s strolled off with worse.” He wags a finger to the opposed brother.

“Remember the falling super-elevator?” That comment from Alan, brought scowls upon all three of them.

And for another long moment, there was a pause. Virgil’s monitor once again given the liberty of filling in the peace within the room; letting them breathe.

“It’s a good thing,” someone mumbles.

Curious, both astronauts and the aquanaut turn back to the hospital bed.

Scott nods, and continues. “You can always count on him to bounce back for you.”

They smile; Gordon even glows a bit. “Y’know, that's what he and I like to say about you.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” His smile curls up. “We’ve talked about it often.”

To that, Gordon stands up with a snarky huff John follows suite immediately and heads for the door. “That’s good to know, cause you both are gonna be in here for a few weeks.”

“Wha-”

“Bye Scott!”

Chapter Text

“You’ve got pthalo on your fingers.”

Virgil snapped out of his trance and perked to the sound of Scott’s voice.

“I can’t tell if it’s pthalo green, or pthalo blue.” The cobalt blue eyes had a look of dull concern directed at him from the couches of the conversation pit. “But it’s on you.” He said bluntly.

Virgil then registered the words looked at his hands. “Hmph.” It was a sound of surprise, or maybe the lack of it; because there it was, a mix of cyan paint splatters all over the nails of his thumbs and the base of one index finger. “It’s both blue and green.” He explains. “I was covering a canvas in both to make a nice black.”

“Is it for the background of a sea storm?” Scott guesses.

Virgil leans into the backrest of his couch and crosses his arms. “How’d you know?” It’s a rhetorical answer. Scott’s seen him paint storms on multiple occasions.

“You love to make the ocean with those two pigments,” He says. “They work well together.”

Virgil nods. “So, you’ve been paying attention,” he points out in an impressed tone.

“What’s stopped you from finishing your canvas?” The elder asks, leaning forward, his arms resting on his knees. “I see you’ve got no white on your hands… Don’t you usually use white for the sea-foam?”

“Woah,” Virgil couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at his ever observant big brother. He never knew Scott was this good at recognising his family’s behavioural patterns. “Okay, I know you can be a smother-hen at times, but this is a whole new level.”

The elder said nothing but return the facial expression.

“Also, it’s titanium white.”

Then, familiar footsteps ushered hurriedly into the main floor from the stairs below. Surprised, Virgil’s head snapped at the sound immediately.

“Virgil! You’re up early.” Scott strolled in, dressed in a grey singlet and matching joggers.

Virgil’s mouth dropped instantly.

His eyes darted from the stairs and straight back to the couch in front of him where he though Scott had been. The couch was empty. “What the hell?!”

Without noticing the shock in his little brother’s expression, Scott continued to casually walk past. “What?” He naturally asks, beelining for the kitchen and grabbing a ln empty glass from the drying rack. “Hey, you want something from the fridge?”

“But- You were just- What the hell!?”

“What?” Retorts Scott, finally looking back at the sunken living room, where Virgil’s stunned expression flicked back at forth from one place to another. “You okay?”

But before he could respond, the International Rescue alarm sounds, halting the rest of Virgil’s thoughts as a mission calls for his attention.

Written by a human in Ellipsus.

Chapter Text

Music has always been Virgil’s favourite form of expression. Sometimes words aren’t enough to describe a feeling, so the notes help to convey those feelings much more effectively.

But today was all about his paints. Because he needed an escape from the thoughts. Today wasn’t about facing the emotions, it was about removing them effective immediately.

And what better way to do that than to distract his mind with the epiphany of acrylic colours? Trying to find the right pigments and then mixing them up using the right ratio requires a lot of thought and care.

He needed to paint the sky in a form orange that he only had pictured in his mind. He already knew what colours would fit: Yellow Ochre and Orange Yellow were doing just what he wanted, but now, finding the right value was becoming a problem.

He found that mixing in black ruined the vibrancy, some blacks even turned them a little green. The epiphany came when he discovered that mixing Cadmium Red not only protected the hue, but darkened it.

He nearly cried out of excitement when just at that moment, something caught his attention.

Just through the hallway, Virgil caught sight of what looked like a blur of a silhouette marching past down the hallway.

Virgil blinked. The silhouette looked like Alan in half his IR suit, but he was moving so fast — as if he was on a mission — it was hard to really see him.

“Alan?” He called out to the hallway. “Alan, where are you going?”

There was no answer.

Curious, Virgil carefully plopped his brush down on the easel and darted to the end of the corridor where it branches off to two other hallways. He rounded the corner that he saw Alan pass through, but the long hallway beyond it was empty.

“Alan!” He called again, to no avail.

Confused, Virgil brushed the corner and hurried down the hallway. He scanned every closed door that he passed for any signs of a cracked open door, despite knowing full well that he didn’t hear any open or close.

If Alan was in his uniform, and in a rush, that would mean that he was headed down for the hangars. Virgil concluded. This was the direction leading downstairs.

But he hadn’t heard no sound of the klaxon. So, what was going on? Where’s Alan going?

With the more questions that formed, the more frantic the rhythm of his steps became. The second he made it to the stairs, he ushered his feet down and rounded another corner, then found himself in the living room.

“Virgil! I thought you were painting today?” Greeted Gordon with a wave from the couch in his Hawaiian yellow shirt.

Beside the swimmer, was Alan, in his usual green Cavern Quest shirt and denim shorts. He had his headphones on an a game console in his hands. The resting astronaut gave the artist a small smile.

Virgil blinked.

And the silence was immediately brought to the two’s attention. Alan shrugged one ear-pad off to the edge of his earlobe. “Something wrong, Virge?”

Before registering the question, he leaned backwards to check on the hallway. It was empty. He turned back to the brothers in the sunken living room.

“Virge?” Gordon asks again. This time more gently. “You look like you’ve been freaked out by something.” He scanned the elder with his eyes.

“Did- did you see…” Virgil starts, the word that trailed off came put too high pitched, so he inhaled before starting again. “Were you going somewhere?”

The blonds glance at each other, both exchanging confused expressions before looking back to shrug at Virgil. “No, we’ve been here all day.”

Virgil stiffens. “Alan, I thought I saw…” His words fade to a silence as his eyes trace back to the empty hall.

The silence worries both Gordon and Alan, who just watch the elder awkwardly look around with a near-panicked expression.

“Maybe you should sit down, Virge,” suggests the aquanaut, patting at a vacant spot on the couch right next to him.

There’s tension in the non-lumberjack’s shoulder’s, a slight hesitation at the offer. He stares at the hand patting on the free seat, then looks up to Gordon.

The brother’s brown eyes were laced with so much concern, he almost felt guilt over them.

He thinks for a long second, then sighs, “okay.” He carefully treads down the stairs, and joins Gordon on the cushions of the couch. A documentary plays before them.

Written by a human in Ellipsus.

Chapter Text

John had only been listening for a few minutes, now.

Or at least, that what Virgil thinks, considering that the star-man never turned off his hologram. He just floated there, on top of the piano, listening.

So, Virgil played.

He had switched from what he was originally playing, to instead play a composition that he wrote himself.

It was a piece written years ago, just after he first became space rated. The notes had waltzed into his mind during the training in space.

He knew John would love it, and he was right. John loved it so much — when he first heard it — that he made sure, with all his power, that he was there for Virgil’s next concert.

Good memories, Virgil smiles. Then looks up at the space brother after easing his foot off the pedal.

John’s smiling too. “You portray The Milky Way so well in that one.”

“Thanks!” Virgil, grins in gratitude, then relaxes his shoulders. “I haven’t played that in a long while, I’m glad it was good for you.”

The spaceman’s head tilts in a blink or two. “‘for you’?” He quotes questioningly.

“I mean…” Virgil shakes his wrists before giving a shrug to continue, “I used to be smoother… You know?”

“I couldn’t tell…” John frowns. “I thought you were great, just now.”

“Yeah,” the artist scoffs, “but that’s nothing as good as when I last performed it.”

“What, seven- eight years ago?”

“Exactly! I mean, sure, that was a long time ago, and I get that, but still-.” He rants before his eyes widen. “Wait-”

A second passes by before John squints. “What?” He asks.

Virgil squints back. “You’re not like last time, are you?”

“What?”

“You’re being too… You’re too present.”

John couldn't help the offended look he made at the words. “Virgil, I repeat: What does that mean?”

“Like- Scott and Alan-” He abruptly stands from the piano stool and out from the ivory key’s vicinity, getting closer to the hologram projection. “Scott was just randomly in front of me that time, then Alan practically came from a corner!”

“Virgil.” The frown on John’s face only deepens, “Weren't we just talking about the music? I’m beginning to worry-”

“-No, you’re not!” He snipes back, taking steps backwards, away from the entire piano which is where John’s hologram can’t follow. “I thought Scott was worried too! But he wasn’t— He wasn’t even there to begin with!”

“What do you mean he wasn’t there? Wasn’t where? What do you mean Scott wasn’t worried?! And what about Alan and a corner?”

“The corner!” He hisses. “The corner from the studio! The one that he came from! He came from nowhere!” Hands flail about as his eyes dash between them and the hologram. Then, he points at John. “You came from nowhere!”

A part of the spaceman feels as if he should be indignant, but the realisation of Virgil’s growing panic makes him push aside those feelings. He needs to start making sense of this. Now.

“I’m a hologram, Virgil. That’s what holograms do.” He attempts to reassure the artist. “Are you tired?” He asks more softly.

Virgil’s backwards steps become wider, he doesn’t even realise he’s about to fall down into the stairs of the sunken living room until he feels a hand suddenly on his back that grabs hold of him by the shirt.

Virgil jolts. Bright beams of blue eyes — right in from of his face — greet him.

“Woah, Virge! You nearly fell!” Scott, dressed in his usual blue attire, exclaims.

Virgil’s eyes widen again at the sight of Scott’s sudden appearance. The firm hand at his back has a grounding effect on him, making him relax easily. “Scott.” He wordlessly gasps.

With his hand still gripped against the red flannel, Scott gives the younger a quick mental scan out of curiosity to know what was going on, before turning to the piano in hopes for context clues, where he’s then surprised to find John’s holographic figure projected over it with a worried look directed at Virgil.

“Afternoon, John! You okay?” He asks.

John’s shoulders eased at the virtual presence of the eldest Tracy, he gave Scott a relieved smile before straightening up again and sternly answering. “I’m alright, Scott. Ask Virgil.” He suggests in a slightly, almost offended tone.

Confused, Scott raises an eyebrow before spinning back to the physical brother. He slowly releases his hand from red flannel to get a better look of him.

Virgil’s eyes are concerningly wide, his mouth slightly ajar as his sight flickers back and forth between the hologram and the eldest. He seems a little pale, which was odd as Scott could swear his brother’s skin was far more vibrant just ten seconds ago.

“Virgil?” He catechises.

And Virgil blinks. His hands unnoticeably quivers before he mutters under a breath. “You… He’s real?”

“Who’s real?” Scott asks worriedly.

“John.” The engineer points to the piano, his eyes apologetic. “You’re really here.”

“Virgil.” Returns John. “What’s going on? And, start from the beginning, because all the stuff you were saying before, wasn’t making any sense.”

Chapter Text

About an hour and a half later, now in Scott’s office room, the three brothers sit together on the red leather couch with mugs of steaming hot coffee at hand.

John had physically come down from space at some point after learning everything that Virgil had told them. Worried looks plastered both his and Scott’s faces as they intently listened.

“There’s gotta be a trigger, right?” John flicks his eyes up from his coffee mug. “Usually, these things come with triggers. So maybe, you have one.”

It’s a pointless suggestion, but the false sense of hope for control is enough that Scott subconsciously leans forwards. Plopping his mug down onto the table, he argues, “we only have two recorded reoccurrence, John.”

“We can work with that,” John counters.

The astronaut flips his non-occupied arm over to reveal his forearm. Pulling the sleeve up, a holographic terminal appears in front of him.

“So what do you think could be a trigger? We could make a list of possibilities… Maybe find the things that both moments had in common.” He begins tapping away at the hologram.

Virgil silently watches as Scott expressively thinks to himself. Blue eyes dimmed and focused on the mahogany stained, wood grain of the coffee table. “The paints… You were painting both times…”

“Noted…” John adds it into the holographic table, then hums. “Virgil, what kind of paints were you using?”

Instead of answering, he shakes his head. “It couldn’t be the paints, I’ve been using the same brand for years.” Virgil argues.

To that, Scott lightly shrugs.“Prolonged exposure?” He suggests.

“We can run an analysis-“

“Oh, come on…” Virgil loudly cuts them off. “Not the paints, John. I’m working on a project!”

Scott leans in. “It could be a lead, Virgil.” He tries to reason.

“But they’re non-toxic, and the company hasn’t changed their methods in centuries.”

Understandingly, John sighs, relaxing his back and shoulders to lean closer to the other. “It won’t take long, Virge. Besides, you can still keep a pallet of the colours you need while the tubes get tested.”

“I promise we’ll see to it that it’s the first thing that gets done.” Adds Scott.

The two watch as the artist bites his lip into a frown. his eyes gloom down onto the dark carpet.

He’s still unsure, maybe he just needs a little more convincing. Scott brings up a thump to rub the temples of his forehead. “You do realise that you’re prioritising an art project over your own mental health, right?” He guilt trips. It’s not like Virgil’s used this method on him plenty of times in the past anyways.

He could hear the little brother shift ever so slightly in his seat. Eventually, Virgil sighs. “Yeah… Okay.” He breathes in for a moment, then pauses to fiddle with the woollen under-lining of his flannel sleeves, before letting out his breath to ask, “what about clothes? That’s a common factor, right?”

“It is.” John realises. “I’ll add it to the list.” He flicks at the blue lights.

Relieved, Virgil sags into the couch.“Great.” He loosens tense shoulders with a banal look on his face as he sighs.

“Yeah.” Scott reaches out to his shoulder. “But it’s fine. We’ll figure out what it is, trust me. As soon as we scan you for electrical pulses in the brain, we be able to figure out what you need, and what we can do.”

“In fact.” John shuts off his holograms. “Let’s get it over with now.”

Chapter Text

The last thing he remembers was falling to the floor with hands all over him. The hands didn’t belong to his family, they all had smaller hands; these were the hands of strangers. But the feeling of them soon faded away before he could register their faces.

Now he’s awake, and there are no faces. Just a cold, empty room. The ceiling’s made of metal, it has a sharp light fixated onto a steel beam directly above him. He can hear in hushed hums, along with a louder hum coming from somewhere else.

He feels weak. He turns his head down to check himself over.

His eyes widen. His hands — they’re unrestrained — but his gloves are off! He weakly flips his head to the other side and finds the same thing on his other hand. His legs are the same: Unrestrained, undressed.

Where am I? He tries to say, but all that comes out is a faint breath from his lips. His eyes tread away from his side and slowly off of the medical bed to the left wall.

There’s another stretcher there… And a person…

Or it was a person…

There’s a monitor hooked up behind that bed, just to the side of the stranger. The green line lays flat. Though, Virgil supposes he could’ve figured that out from the gaping hole leaking blood out of the boy’s chest.

At that grim thought, Virgil realises he should be panicking, but something’s wrong. He turns his head to the other side and what lies ahead would have definitely torn his heart to shreds given him being in any other condition.

It was beds lined up after another, full of bodies of people; some opened, some merely limp. Beyond the quiet, are surgeons hovering over the limp ones, under the beam light, they’re dressed in light blue, their robes are stained with red. Beneath the masks, they seem emotionally numb.

He realises where he is. It explains his lack of mobility and his tranquility. He’s been drugged. Virgil didn’t see any cuts on himself yet; but he knows it won’t be long before they go after him next.

There was a jolt from his bed. He looks up to find hands at the head of his bed. His eyes widen when he makes eye contact with the surgeon moving his stretcher. The stranger pushes a monitor to his side and begins to set it up.

Scott would never forgive him if he didn’t at least try to fight back.

So he fights the paralysis. “No.” His tongue fumbles at the short word, but his vocal chords compensate. “No!” He yells again. His hands flail heavily, and he manages to push at the stranger. He then makes for the bed railing to push himself up.

New hands— about four of them— press at his chest, and he’s pushed back down to the bed. His eyes glaze as muffled words usher about in a language he doesn’t understand.

A surgeon turns to their right and presses at a drip to his side. In seconds, Virgil sinks right back into the mattress in silence.

He watches his bed be wheeled through some doors by the footsteps that drag him. He can only blink when they settle him under another bright surgical light.

A scalpel appears in his line of sight along with a face. He wishes he could cry, or fight. More people have died here than he’ll ever know. He’ll just become a number in the chart.

The scalpel comes close to his chest. He can’t feel any of it, but he knows what’s about to happen. He tries to lift his hand against it but the best he can muster is a faint twitch of a finger. At least he he’ll be forgiven.

Then, suddenly, a burst of doors.

A gaze of yelling and running. Yellow chaos.

And Scott’s face above him. Even through the helmet, Virgil can recognise that worried expression anywhere.

Virgil’s got tears at the edges of his eyes. He wishes he could hear what the brothers are saying, but he can only silently lay there as Scott disappears from his view and returns with Gordon.

They’re both dressed in blue scrubs now. Taking each side with their gloved hands up.

He watches their eyes, he can’t see what they’re doing, he can only wait as they work on closing up his chest, they’re gentle with their touch, and— despite his lack of feeling— he’s grateful.

A mask gets placed over his face, oxygen rushes through him, it’s cold to his airways, and it’s the only feeling he can register; he takes it with gratitude.

Something tinges at his wrist, it was the drip being removed by someone. He wasn’t able to tell who it was before he sunk into a deep sleep.

There’s a familiar beeping noise. One he didn’t expect to miss.

His eyes feel heavy. Every attempt to being them up only drags them down to close again. His limbs feel sluggish as he pushes them against the soft mattress beneath them.

“Don’t sit up.” A soft whisper tells him. “We’re still trying to flush paralytics out of you.”

He blinks his eyes open with more force this time. It’s Alan at his bedside. The kid’s smile is a warm welcome to the land of the living after what recent events had put the big brother through.

Alan? He wants to say, but once again, all that comes out is a breath from his paralysed voice box. He only only hopes that his eyes are enough to tell his expression.

Alan does, in fact, understand, and responds with a nod before saying, “Gordon told me to keep talking to you if you wake up.” The teen tightens his grip at the hand that Virgil cannot feel. “Gordon and Scott will be here soon, they’re just out at the hangers waiting for John to come down.”

Virgil blinks, it’s the next best thing he can do for a nod.

“You scared them, you know?” Alan starts. “I mean, it’s not your fault but; They caught you mid surgery, you were awake…” He notices Virgil’s frown. “They said you looked both scared and relaxed, John said we were lucky to have tracked you down in time at all.”

Virgil makes another attempt with his wrist, all he wants to do is tighten back at his little brother’s grip, but nothing happens.

“Kayo rounded the bad guys. And then she switched jobs with Scott and Gordon the second they got you on board Thunderbird Two. They worked on the other victims with Grandma’s guidance while Kayo worked on you.”

Virgil focused his eyes on Alan’s grip despite his inability to feel it. He could tell that the words of his worried family had gotten to his youngest brother. It wasn’t evident in the kid’s facial expression, but his whitened knuckles said everything.

Alan notices his big brother’s eyes narrow at him, and sighed. “Sorry…” He loosened his grip on Virgil’s limp hand.

Before more could be said, a hiss of the automatic doors interrupts them. A gasp follows; “He’s awake!”

Gordon, John and Scott walk in with a few bottles of water in hand. They all don smiles and make eye contact with the bed bound Tracy.

Gordon’s the first to snatch a seat, he makes sure to take the spot closest to Virgil’s line of sight. “You’re looking better, bro!” He exclaims, before his voice quietens down while scanning the brother up and down. “Much better…”

Scott takes the next chair and sets himself besides Alan as John stays standing behind the two.

The standing astronaut opens up a hologram from his hands. It reveals a display of Virgil’s own silhouette. “Looks like it won’t be long now, Virge.” He reassures. “Give it a little bit, and you’ll be walking in no time.”

“Yeah, right.” Scoffs Scott. “Like I’m just gonna let you walk about with those ugly stitches in your chest.”

They know Virgil can’t feel it, but the four brothers relax anyways upon noticing a small smile creep across his face. It’s reassuring to know that he is truly with them, aware, and comfortable.

Written by a human in Ellipsus.

Chapter Text

Virgil pressed his hand into the mark on his throat and massaged it. Once again, instead of sleeping; he was thinking about how he should have been dead, and how he wasn’t dead.

Alan was to thank for that, and Alan will never forgive him.

Nothing that had happened during those hours was an accident, which was both a blessing and a curse at the time.

The man that had caused it all hadn’t done it on purpose. Sure, the rescuee had been hallucinating, but that doesn’t justify the act of snatching Virgil’s spacesuit-shears from his hands, and then swiping into his throat as an accident.

Virgil had dropped to the floor in shock and panic when it had happened. Blood had been gushing out fast against his control, splattering all over the floor of his little brother’s Thunderbird.

Why Alan walked into the medbay just almost a minute later; Virgil will never know, nor ask.

Why Alan knew the proper procedure for this level of field surgery; Virgil will never question.

What Alan did to the man who he never saw again, Scott answered for him. It wasn’t Alan’s fault. However, the events that piled up onto one after the other has him believing that everything’s his fault.

The man had gone after him with the same bloodied weapon. Alan didn’t take chances. He led the man away from Virgil and into another part of the spaceship, then opened the hatch that blew the murderer into space.

Alan killed a man that day. Alan saved Virgil’s life.

Alan will never forgive him.

The once-teenage brother pressed his hands to Virgil’s neck. Later, he found the right clamps to hold it together. He kept Virgil conscious the entire time.

He had called Grandma and John for guidance, both physical and verbal: One guided his spaceship until it was docked in Thunderbird Five, the other talked him through the medical procedure.

His field surgery was textbook performance.

He will never forgive Virgil.

Virgil, half hazy, could only as his traumatised little brother prod the smooth, un-calloused fingers into his neck.

Virgil could do nothing but make gaspy puffs off breaths as he heard familiar voices all around him. Virgil thought he was going to die on Alan’s floor.

Alan would have never forgiven him.

He had blood on his hands. Both reasons were justified, according to the brothers. But the blood was still there.

The fingers still felt pinched at Virgil’s warm, sticky neck. The wet, red sensation was still felt under his nails. Alan could still smell the copper in his nostrils. Alan thought Virgil was gonna die on his floor.

Alan would have never forgiven him.

His hands were scrubbed white; The blood didn’t wash away.

There was a knock at Alan’s bedroom door. It opened before he could answer.

In came Scott Tracy, dressed in full blue satin pyjamas with white outlines of where hems met. “You doing anything?” The big brother—almost too cheerfully—asked. “Virgil and I aren’t sleeping.”

With a breath of relief, the baby brother sat up from his bed. There were luckily no blankets to lift off of him, as they were neatly pressed under him. He swung himself off the bed and landed his feet onto the carpet floor.

In motion to the momentum, his eyes swooped to the doorframe. “What time is it?” He asked.

“Quarter to midnight.” Scott checked his wrist; there was no watch on it.

Alan made his way out and followed Scott down the hallway to the elevator, they could have taken the stairs, but it was too late at night to risk it. When the door slid open, they made their way in and Scott pressed a button.

“No sleep?”

Alan shook his head and with a grim tone, he answered. “Just been staring at the ceiling.”

Understandably, Scott hummed. “Virgil’s been coming to my room for the past week for the same reason. Sometimes, Gordon goes to his room instead.”

The door opened. Beyond it another short hallway. The two brothers stepped out and followed the dark walls down to the end, where there was a door.

“We’re just sketching and chatting, but if you wanna sleep, the bed’s big enough for that.”

“Tch.” Grinned Alan. “I wonder why.”

A long time ago, Scott had gotten tired of being crushed under his four brothers. So when he finally found the time, he had moved out of his bedroom and into the guest room, making it permanently his.

He finally had the space to fit a bigger bed. And so, after moving the guest furniture out, he bought himself the largest sized bed he could find.

It didn’t do the job. They still found a way to crowd in and smush him. They never even used half of the space. But at least they kept him warm; in more ways than one.

Opening the door, they were introduced to dim warm lights surrounding the corners. Indoor plants among most walls; a gift from both Gordon and Virgil. There was even a tall palm plant by a corner that led to a smaller, open room where the large bed was.

On top of the bed were beanbags.

Why?

Why even bother asking?

And on one of the many bean bags was Virgil, covered in random sheets of fine art paper. He smiled at the two brothers.

“Thunderbird Four!” He glees without elaboration, then flips the sketchpad in his hands around for the two to see. It was a perfect depiction of the yellow submarine, down to the right shapes and angles. All it was missing were the tinier details and colours.

“Virgil, when you’re sleep deprived-” Scott smiles, hopping onto the bed. “-you sound so funny.”

Alan soon joins his elder brothers. He had a little more grace when getting onto a bean bag. Then goes to observe the sketch displayed in Virgil’s hands. “Isn’t she like… The most complicated ‘Bird to draw?”

Virgil scoffs. “Yeah, she’s got all those weird little shapes all over, and they’re all at funny angles.” He flips the sketchpad back to face him and admires his lines. “Matches his personality, if you ask me.”

“I think I can see that.” Agrees Scott. The big brother leans over his beanbag to try and reach for a specific paper that was gently splayed among others over the pillow. “I made this one, Alan.” He hands it over.

It was a landscape sketch of the island view from the balcony of one of the many main porches. The corners of the swimming pool were just about visible at the bottom of the page, and the large cliffside mountain was taking up the space at the left side of the paper. The ocean was nicely depicted with clean lines and smudging; clearly, made using a word of advice from the artist in the family.

“That’s really good.” Alan compliments, handing back the masterpiece before leaning heavily into his red beanbag.

Alan notices Virgil give Scott a subtle but proud smile, then joined Alan by sinking into his own beanbag. His shoulders loosen at the relaxation, eyes gently flutter closed as an enjoyable sigh escapes his breath.

Written by a human in Ellipsus.

Chapter Text

Everything was cold, humid, and itchy. Yet there was nothing he could do to relieve himself from the discomfort.

Every time he tugged, the fabric only tugged back. As if taunting him with his own freedom. You asked for it, the jacket teases.

He should never have attempted that escape. He was just worried about who else was here with him! He had to check the other rooms for his brothers before he could leave.

The shock to find that he was the only one, came both as a relief and as dread. They reinforced his sense of captivity via stricter restraints; both as a punishment and as a precaution.

He curled in on himself in self pity within the corner of the room which he cannot see. Finally accepting that there was nothing left he could do except wait patiently for someone to come get him out.

Hopefully it will be Scott. The last thing he needs is Gordon’s teasing in the infirmary. With that said, he wouldn’t mind if it meant being free.

Wondering how to patiently kill time, he thought about how his space felt large. Perhaps pushing yourself into the far corner of a room while blindfolded just naturally did that to the subconsciousness?

The act had taken so much energy out of him. He had no real ability to move with his legs connected together, He could only measure the distance between how far he moved through the tactile sensation of each push against the solid floor. The first wall had just been a breath of relief before navigating his way to the second.

He hadn’t stopped to curiously consider questioning where the other end of the room was until now. Not that he could ever find out, because the loudest sound of the day suddenly startles him from his own mind.

It came as a bang. Then, miniature vibrations followed from the floor.

Not again. Virgil desperately pushes himself further into the corner in hopes of hiding. Of course, it doesn’t work.

He didn’t need to see or hear them to feel their presence. They knelt closely before him. What else were they planning to take from him!? If he whimpered, he was sure they couldn’t hear it.

A sudden hand grasped at his cheek, and he flinched back into the corner. He could try darting to a side, but what good would that do if he wasn’t aware of his surroundings? He couldn’t even run.

The hand returned, this time wrapped around his shoulders, forcing him to lean towards them. His breathing hitched as two more hands wrapped around the sides of his head. Then, something cold and metallic grazed at the back of his head for a split second: And suddenly, light.

Confused, he rapidly blinked his eyes at the two blurry figures. They sat him upright and softly spoke to him. He couldn’t register their words, nor their blurry faces; not that he needed to, their shapes were all too recognisable. He eased.

One figure branded a set of cold metal sheers, snipping away at the straps at Virgil’s sides before making for the seems, while the other attempted to play distraction using the sound of his voice as he reached closer to Virgil’s head.

Golden hands met his ears. Something, he didn’t know was in there, was taken out. He gasped as sound overwhelmed him instantly. He would have never noticed that there were an electric static in his ears until now.

“Can you hear us better, Virgil?” Gordon asked gently with a small smile.

Overwhelmed. Virgil could do nothing but stare. It took him a few blinks before he processed the words. When he finally heard them right, he slowly returned one nod.

The sturdy fabric that had latched his arms to his body suddenly loosened without warning. Virgil watched tiredly as it fell apart with Scott’s forceful aid. “There you go, Virge.” He reassured after a few pulls at the white canvas. “Think you can stand?” He asks.

Gordon grabs at one of the recently freed arms and pulls up one of his brother’s soft, grey sleeves. Something new and cold attaches to the bare skin of his wrist. Looking down slowly, revealed a yellow wrist watch which lowly hummed as a holographic light emitted from it with a sort of loading screen.

Before he could react, Scott swiftly stood up, pulling Virgil along with him from under his biceps. It took Gordon’s strength to keep him upright before the sensation of the ground under his feet finally caught up to his brain.

There was a beeping at his wrist that prevented him from responding to them. Confused, he lifted his hand up to his brothers’ line of sight. They both looked at the watch’s holographic readings immediately.

“Dehydrated, malnourished. No injuries, though.”

Scott hummed. “Just disorientation and shock. Honestly should’ve expected this.”

“We can’t take him like this.” Gordon worries.

“Not unless we can get upstairs.” Argues Scott. He taps at his own wrist which reveals holographic blueprints in CAD form. “The roof is only one floor away, could perform an airlift from there.”

“That could work.” The younger en pleadingly turns back to Virgil. “Come on, Virge. Just give us something. It’d help if we had you responsive for this- OOMPH-.”

Gordon had no idea about just how much the fog in Virgil’s brain had cleared until he was attacked by the heavy impact of his big brother who hugged him tightly, albeit not as tightly as he was hoping.

From the sidelines, Scott had a massive grin plastered on his face. He waited patiently for the two to release each other before patting Virgil’s shoulders. “There you are!”

“I still can’t see properly.” Virgil hurriedly says with several eye blinks between words. The three choose to ignore his hoarse voice, only frowning at the side effects of the blindfold.

“No need. Just follow us and you should be fine.”

It was all a blur. Every moment. Every step. Every yelp. Even when Scott secured a harness on him and pulled him up into Thunderbird One, he was zoned out the entire time.

He tried his best to not show it, and considering how fast they had proceeded with the escape, he must’ve succeeded. It wasn’t until now; 2000 hours, evening time; while sitting on a cadmium yellow beanbag, that he realised all that had just happened.

Even the captivity itself felt like it never happened. The first escape attempt could’ve been merely a dream and he’d be content with it.

He stared blankly at the wall of portraits, fingers fidgeting with the lint pilling on his new pyrrole red blanket.

“Are you back with us now?” John’s voice from behind him broke his trance. Virgil spun his head around to find the space brother laying on the couch above him, a cadmium orange blanket keeping him warm.

“John?” He slowly tested the weight of his tongue. Wide brown eyes met concerned teal.

“You’ve been dissociating. I had to call everyone to go to bed just to give you space.” He explained.

“How long?” His breath dragged at the first word as his eyes crawled over to the far window, the sky was darkening.

“Long enough to scare everyone.” John’s voice wasn’t soft, but it didn’t hurt his ears either. “You looked overwhelmed… When we hugged you, you weren’t all there.”

“Oh.” His shoulders drooped. He didn’t remember any hugs. “Sorry…”

“Don’t be.” John dropped at his blanket, his eyes narrowed. “Do you need anything? Is your water empty?”

“Water?” Virgil shifted his hands about from under the blanket, and sure enough, there was a lidded cup now in his hands. He pulled it out from under, the cup felt mostly full, and it was orange, as expected. “A sip cup?”

“Don’t diss my sip cup.”

“Why?” Despite asking, Virgil places the tip in his mouth, the water was refreshingly cold.

“Just in case you spilt it in your daydreams.” Answers John. “Seems like you’re feeling better now though, which is good.”

“What even… What even happened?”

John returned with a frown for a response. “We can talk about it tomorrow. Just get some sleep for now, Virge.”

Who was Virgil to not comply? He leaned back into the beanbag, pulled the red blanket over his head. Sleep then took over in merely minutes. He never felt more comfortable.

Written by a human in Ellipsus.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

At nearly half past three in the morning, the thing that wakes Scott up from his midnight slumber is a soft hiss of the automatic bedroom doors.

Having been here before, Scott knows better than to jump up awake in a startle. Instead, he listens for a footstep; curious to have heard none, he then lazily opens a singular eye lid to check his room.

Naturally, he would have frightened at the eerie silhouette of a man standing at his doorway if it hadn’t been familiar, lanky shape of the figure. John quietly steps inside, letting the doors automatically shut behind him.

“Joh’?” He slurs, a side of his face still firmly, and comfortably planted against a pillow. “Why are y’u groun’si’e?”

Silently, John makes his way across the room and around to the the side of the large bed closest to Scott. He slowly sits down so as not to let his weight on the mattress jostle the dozy brother. “Alan had a nightmare.”

Assuming that was intended as a request to the eldest brother to get up, he nods from the pillow and prepares to push himself upright, letting a noise of effort unwillingly escapes his diaphragm as he does so.

Except John quickly presses a hand at Scott’s chest, pushing him back down to the mattress. “Don’t get up— I already took care of it.”

Scott looks up at him, confused. “So why… Are you here?”

For a moment, John doesn’t respond. Then sounds of ruffling duvets and bedsheets, among the darkness, break the silence. In little time, Scott finds John settled comfortably into the bed. “‘Cause, well… I can’t sleep now…”

“Why can’t you sleep?” Scott asks softly.

“It’s stupid…”

“Was it stupid for Alan?”

John pauses, in thought, then answers shyly, “no…”

“So, what was the nightmare about?”

John huffs, feeling his hands resting on his stomach bounce from the act. “It’s not real… It’s just a horror concept that he got from some movie.”

Scott hums in response, taking note of the conviction in the last words before insisting John to continue via his quite stare.

“It’s just a concept…” He dismisses.

“A bad enough concept that you descended down from space just to come see me.” Scott reminds.

“That. Exactly that.” John hisses. “What if one day, there was no home to descend to? No check-ins? No ground-side? No… No Earth?”

“John.”

“Scott?”

“You mean to tell me…” Scott rolls himself around until he landed on his side in a position where he could see his younger brother more clearly and examine him with displeasure. “That a forty year-old film scared you?”

“No,” John replies in an offended tone, “it was the movie’s concept,” he explains. “Hey, Alan watched it, not me. I’ve never even heard of it.”

“It’s an oldie.” Scott remarks through a whisper.

“The concept is horrifying!”

“It’s not even realistic.”

“I know that. Doesn’t change the fact that the idea is horrifying.”

“You need to watch the movie. I promise you it’s not realistic in the slightest. In fact it gives more subnautic horror vibes than it does astronautic.”

John turns his head and meets Scott’s darkened, tired eyes. The astronaut gives the elder brother a bewildered stare. Thinking about Four, he asks, “I can’t tell if that’s better or worse.”

“Neither.” He smirks. “But it’s good, you’ll like it.”

“I do not want to watch Iron Lung, Scott.”

“John, trust me, it’ll help you. Stay the night, we’ll watch in Virgil’s studio for his company if it makes you feel better.” It wouldn’t be the first time that Virgil has ever sacrificed his personal space to provide John with comfort.

“How do you know about that?” He asks.

The two middle brothers were good at minding each other’s privacy. Especially in the artist’s studio, where John would bury himself into the couch with his books, pretending to not exist as Virgil donned his headphones and listened to music while investing his focus into his most latest project.

“I’m your bigger brother, John. How could I not know?” Scott lightly jests, then answers shortly after, “actually, I go in there too. That’s why.”

“Oh…”

“Then, I’ll take that as a ’yes’ to Iron Lung, tomorrow afternoon.”

“What? I never said-“ Except John’s retort is intervened by a gentle slap of a pat over his chest as Scott dozily attempted to reach for John’s side as a sort of lazy gesture for a hug.

“-Too late, little bro,” he interrupts, “now go to sleep, Gordon’s cooking breakfast tomorrow and you don’t wanna miss it.”

John sighs, his eyes turn back up to the dark ceiling. He originally hadn’t planned to stay ground-side for too long.

But now, he didn’t really have a choice. Scott made their plans for the day and didn’t give John much of a say in any of it.

What could he do about it? Escape this room and head back upstairs? And hurt his elder brother’s feelings later in the morning?

The memory of Alan’s story jogs his consciousness, and John grimaces. He turns his head back to Scott who softly snores at the other end of the bed.

No. He wants to stay here. With Scott. He doesn’t want to imagine a world alone up there. Out there.

Perhaps a weekend ground-side couldn’t hurt?

Written by a human in Ellipsus.