#alan wake is hot. case closed

[astranite]

Respite (Spun Glass and Golden Light)

Scott and John, or sky and star!

It's another long one at a bit under 5000 words! Tags copied from ao3 as look, I really should be asleep already.Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, theres a fair spectrum of emotions here, Brothers, Thunderbird Five (Thunderbirds), Nightmares, John is also pretty not okay here too as well as Scott but they are both working on it, space metaphors thrown in for good measure, Cuddling & Snuggling, because everyone needs a hug of course, another fic where John and Scott drink hot chocolate!, they are both also learning they can let each other in and Scott is realising this.

Many thanks to the fab @idontknowreallywhy for all the cheering on and wonderfulness!

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“Do you want to come up to Five?” John asked.

Scott answered far too fast. “Yeah.” His voice broke in the middle.

John thought it would take more convincing, it always did to get Scott to accept anything approaching help. But this time…

He caught one last flash of blue eyes made bluer, meeting his and piercingly desperate, before the hologram shut off from Scott’s end and John was blinking away the after images in the suddenly dark comm hub.

Scott, in rumpled day clothes at 2:47am Tracy Island time, hair falling across his forehead in uneven waves of curls. Scott, whose dark circles under his eyes had startled John into thinking they were bruises, his sharpened features thrown in harsh relief by the dim lamp by dad’s desk. The hologram was fuzzy at the edges, all noisy static between him and his brother, but John couldn’t miss the way Scott looked over his shoulder like he expected something to be there. Or someone. 

Ghosts of his past, John thought, then shook himself.

Scott had nightmares, they all knew it. But he always pretended he wasn't shaken by what he saw. Tried to carry on like they didn't happen, like nothing ever happened, and Scott was as invincible as the legend he’d built around dad was.

John saw, more often than the others. There was a reason he monitored the villa feed for movement outside of usual hours when the rescue alarms hadn't gone off. 

He’d caught a few funnier moments for blackmail, namely Alan and Gordon attempting to steal storebought baked goods from the fridge and getting them mixed up with Grandma’s latest creations in the dark. Repeatedly, because they’d never figured out how Scott and Virgil conspired together to swap the containers.

But there were worse ones for all of their family. Nights Alan slept on the couch because being in his room, alone inside close walls was too much. Gordon making his subdued way through the halls, cheerful facade gone with gasps of pain unable to be stifled, going to get painkillers from the infirmary for his back. Kayo, prowling on silent feet, checking, triple checking security feeds for any slightest threat, not able to believe in the safety of their island anymore. Jagged notes of piano, near silent from keys barely pressed, while Virgil had tears on his face. 

And Scott, of course Scott who had it the worst of all of them, who was the bravest of them but couldn't see it. Late nights, ending slumped ragdoll-like over endless paperwork from endless responsibilities put on his shoulders. Agitated pacing, wearing only socks so he wouldn't wake anyone, ragged breaths louder than his footsteps. The times when Scott was a trembling ball of tears, curled under dad’s desk where he barely fit anymore, hands over his head blocking everything out. 

Sometimes John talked to them, offered company and comfort, other times he let the moments pass silently. He was used to witnessing things he could never speak of again; his own moments of pain rarely had anyone but he made sure his siblings’ did, just in case they needed someone reaching out for them.

Watching over Scott in particular to make sure no harm came to him was an unsaid duty John took as his own. Virgil was there in the day, with him on the ground during rescues, but John amongst his stars kept the nights within his reach. 

He’d already sent the space elevator down and now he waited, marking careful timings as Eos quietly spoke them. Scott was suiting up. Scott was finishing pre-launch checks. Scott had reached the Kármán line, the beginning of space.

John drifted through a gravity-less Five, switching to lights that gave off a soft, golden glow. They filled the Thunderbird up like she was one of those ancient incandescent bulbs, long since obsolete. Like she was delicate spun glass as well as cahelium strength, two opposites the same, together complete where glass could break and cahelium bend. She was different from her sister ships, a different purpose and way of approach, but in the end she was the same. Rescue. Salvation. Pulling them all back from the void. 

He couldn't take the nightmares away, the fear and pain scarred deep in his brother’s bones, but he could offer respite. Warmth and light and safety, with some distance from it all. A set of arms to hold Scott close and a shoulder to cry on when it was needed. It was something, it was everything, in the rare times Scott could reach out and take it. 

And John needed it too. He could watch over Scott from afar, he always would, he couldn't not. But he also needed his big brother close enough that he could feel his heartbeat, how his chest rose and fell with each breath, not just as numbers on a screen, but here and real and close. Maybe he wasn't the touchiest person generally, but his brothers wrapped up in a hug or sides pressed together where they sat, their soft voices in the bubble of quiet, that meant safety. With only arm’s reach to check if they were okay, especially for looking out for Scott. There was a reason that otherwise he had to have all of the data. But right now he needed Scott.

John waited for the familiar clunk of the space elevator docking, for Eos to give the all clear for her checks for the airlock being correctly pressurised, before the doors opened. 

They silhouetted Scott in their frame, stuck halfway between the warm lights of Five and the cooler, harsher ones in the space elevator. 

Scott hesitated, like he always did here, a hand blue-gloved in space issue suit gripping the edge of the airlock. 

John opened his arms, because Scott needed this as much as he did. They were the same this way.

He was met by a brother tumbling towards him, clumsy out of their element, in a crashing hug. For a moment, John almost expected it to be Alan, eager and young, those blue eyes— But Alan was nearly as graceful up here as John these days. And his eyes didn't hold the same nightmare bright intensity and John hoped they never would.

Scott hit him in a collision of bodies and John had to stop their combined momentum, a foot finding a wall to slow them until his shoulder slammed into a bulkhead cabinet anyway. Automatically, he wrapped himself around Scott. 

“Just a bit of a bump, nothing that hasn’t happened before. You gotta have a lighter touch when you kick off in micrograv,” John said cheerily. Scott was still mumbling repeated apologies under his breath. 

John took the moment, in spite of his words, to just cling to Scott, like Scott was clinging to him, burying his face at his brother’s neck. A moment, a minute, a respite. 

Finding handholds on Five’s inner surfaces was as easy as it was familiar. John could find every one of them blind, oxygen-deprived, with no Earthly directions as a frame of reference. He had, before. 

He shifted to get his fingers around Scott’s wrist, a quick tap on his hand to warn Scott first, then Scott’s locking around his own in a rescue grip, to pull them through a quietened Five as one. 

To the galley. Hot chocolate wasn't quite the same when it came in a foil pouch with a straw as opposed to Earth’s ceramic mugs, but it was chocolate and you could still warm your hands around it.

John made up two, passing one off to Scott where he hung about against what was nominally the wall, though the orientation didn't matter without gravity’s bounds. 

“Thanks.” Scott tried for a smile. He was still gripping the hand hold with the white-knuckles-beneath-gloves grip of someone unused to being without gravity and scared to drift away. 

John settled on the ceiling in arms reach, with just his toes tucked under a bar. 

Quiet lulled between them. John’s favourite type of quiet, with just the soothing hum of the life support systems, the ever-present undercurrent of Five, and their own breathing. 

Technically, it wasn't hot chocolate, but nutritionally-complete chocolate-flavoured drink didn't have the same ring. It wasn't the same as a proper meal but a stressed Scott barely ate, John wasn't exactly sure how many hours had passed but it’d be too many if he counted, and right now Scott needed something sweet and calorie-dense and easy to get into him. 

It was fine until Scott shifted, his hand slipping momentarily with a sharp intake of breath and that all too familiar flash of panic swiftly hidden. Except up here that split second where he flailed before freezing up and stopping himself sent him into a spin. 

John caught Scott’s outstretched arm to steady him. He moved next to Scott with a graceful twist to be against the same wall so Scott could hold onto him. Taking the hot chocolate from him, John gently guided Scott’s hands, one to the grab bar, the other to his baldric. 

“You can’t fall up here, not really. Even if it feels like it sometimes,” John said. Reassured. Because this was his sleep-deprived big brother he was talking to, not the perfectly put together Commander.

Scott’s eyes searched his face, latching on to John’s with the same unbreakable trust that let John lead on missions where he could see more from above and Scott actually listened. 

“Okay,” Scott said, like it was that simple, like anything in their lives was simple. Because he believed John.

They were close enough that John could see how the strands of Scott’s hair were matted together by old gel not yet washed out. More grey was flecked around his temples, his hair surrounding his head in a floating halo from the lack of gravity and the way it caught the light. 

Scott flinched at the soft click-rush-clunk of ventilation systems cycling as they should be, a sound unusual for Scott but not enough to normally be a threat. Scott’s fingers tightened on John’s baldric. 

Both of them breathed slowly and carefully, to a steady rhythm of calm until the moment passed.

With how Scott was obviously still struggling with the lack of gravity, John quietly decided to make it easier for him when he wouldn't ask.

“Eos? Gravity back on please,” John murmured aloud to ensure Scott had some warning. 

The lights around her camera blinked, flashing to a sunset tone in acknowlegement. 

“Will do, John,” Eos said.

The gravity ring mechanisms whirred as they accelerated to the appropriate velocity, providing a force at what would soon be slightly less than Earth standard gravity.

“Hello, Scott Tracy,” she added in greeting. John had noticed they’d been getting on better recently, he was glad of it.

Gently, he guided himself and Scott until their feet touched the floor. Until they could sit next to each other on the ground, cross-legged with their knees bumping, to finish their hot chocolates.

When Scott slumped with relief, letting out a long, shaky exhale, John knew he’d made the right call. 

They stared out at the stars now ‘below,’ stretching out into infinity. Always captivating. 

Scott hadn't looked out there, eyes carefully averted until he’d shuffled even closer to John, and John had tucked an arm around him to hold on. Because while Five and her warm glow, her connection to everything meant safety like any Thunderbird did, for Scott the gaping void of space held only danger and the need for rescues. Only with John it became their sky again, like they were stargazing on the roof of the farm house on Earth, far beneath them and years ago.

“You want to talk about it?” John asked softly, an opening so that Scott knew he could share and he’d listen.

“Uh. I don’t know. Maybe?” Scott’s usually well hidden uncertaintly bubbled to the surface.

“I’m here for you. Either way it’s okay,” John reminded gently, because Scott needed to hear him say it aloud even though it was always there implicitly. 

“Nightmares. It was the snow again.” It was a sign of how far Scott had come that he would talk about what was on his mind, instead of burying it deep inside in a misplaced attempt to protect them. John found Scott’s hand and gently squeezed it.

Scott shuddered, continuing, “Probably from the rescue the other day, the entire mountainside came down. But it was with all of you guys instead and it looked more like the skii slope from the avalanche and mum, but I was too late and I couldn't save you, there was nothing I could do, you were all gone and I was alone—”  Scott’s voice rose, distressed. 

John could feel him shivering against his side, had only to glance to see the tears building in the corners of Scott’s eyes, the way he had his teeth sunk into his trembling lower lip, the same as he always did when he was trying not to cry. John’s heart broke at that, it always did. He gripped Scott’s hand, tightened the arm around him in a wordless effort to make sure Scott knew he wasn't alone, John was here and he wasn't going anywhere.

Scott took a deep breath and went on. “I know it wasn't real, but it felt like it.” 

John made a quiet, empathetic noise. In the moment, in the haze where the lines blurred between sleep and wakefulness, nightmares did feel real. And in the sick feeling after when you just couldn't shake it. He’d been there too.

John could imagine the warmth of Scott’s hand through their space rated gloves as Scott squeezed his. “No matter what happens I’ll always fight for you all and I know you’ll all do everything you can to make it back home to me. And we have systems and procedures in place, and better equipment designed for bad conditions, and everything to make sure that never happens. But it still scares me,” Scott admitted.

“It scares me too.” Usually he didn't say that part aloud though with the work they did and the consequences they saw it never hadn't been in mind. “But we hold onto hope and each other and never let go.” John’s voice came with a fierceness he hadn't quite realised was still buried inside him. They had to believe in it. Or they were already broken.

“We’re Tracies. We’re not going to stop trying to make it home.” Scott returned with a fire John had missed before he dropped quieter but no less determined. “All of us. Even— even me.”

John hung onto him because he knew how long it had taken, how much it still took for Scott to say those words. To mean them. 

He pressed his forehead against Scott’s temple. The fear of losing Scott to his own sacrificial, heroic recklessness bit at John even now, along with the need to somehow protect him from the world. 

But they both were alive, here and now, in spite of the odds so far. 

Scott leaned into John.

The feelings, the fears were there, but together up here amongst the stars they lost enough of their power that they could sit with them and they would soften, the raw edged terror of nightmares washing away.

Five was a bubble of light surrounding them, sheltering them from both the void of space and all that was outside. He and Scott were wrapped up in their own little world, as tiredness itched at John’s eyes and Scott lay his head on his shoulder. John pulled his big brother closer, not that there was really any space between them anyway. They were safe as much as was possible in this big, vast world. More importantly, they were here together. 

John waited, not wanting to break the moment for as long as possible, wanting in a childish way to stay here with Scott forever, until his legs were numb and achy from sitting on them, until his eyes were threatening to slide shut, until Scott’s weight against his shoulder was resting heavily against him. Even then he was loathe to move. 

A gentle poke and repeating his name had blue eyes blinking sleepily up at him from how Scott was slumped. 

“Bedtime, big brother.” John trailed a hand through Scott’s hair, brushing back the stray strands fallen over his forehead.

“Mmmph,” Scott grumbled, tucking his face further into John’s neck.

Scott’s characteristic instant alertness come online a couple of seconds later and he pulled away. All for that he hadn't been properly asleep, merely content and dozy, a rare sight John treasured.

They walked, pressed shoulder to shoulder, to John’s tiny bedroom, tucked away on the nearer side of Five’s gravity ring. Reduced gravity made their footsteps lighter but the company did that too.

Scott hesitated at the door of the second cabin, mostly used on the occasions when Alan was up for training, put there because Five wasn't initially designed to be manned alone which John purposely didn't think about.

When Scott shrank a millimeter closer to John, John pretended not to notice the display of what Scott would call weakness in himself but never in anyone else, and nudged him with a casual, “C’mon. Puppy pile?”

“Does it still count without everyone?” Scott replied, following him though.

“Mmm,” John thought, “Yeah.” He knew he missed out on plenty on Earth too.

A hug pile of just them might be just what they needed. Both of them at this point. Memories of the whole family in a tangled, happy heap were some of John’s fondest and he knew that went for Scott too. But it was a lot and right now Scott needed calm and quiet to rest and not to feel as if he had to put on a brave face in front of everyone.

John pulled pyjamas out of his cupboard for them both, tossing an obligatory space pun t-shirt and pair of comfy sweat pants at Scott. Sharing clothes with Scott was easy given they had the most similar builds of their siblings, tall and slim, with Scott being slightly broader across the shoulders and John running more awkwardly lanky. IR space suits were comfortable but not the most for sleeping in, despite how often John ended up doing so.

They changed into pyjamas in silence, except for when John yawned midway through peeling his suit off, then Scott did too, causing them both to giggle in the way of the well past tired. 

John smiled to himself while he put on a pair of socks, watching Scott poking about his room, trailing fingers over the spines of his paper books, then inspecting the stickers on his window and the handful of glow-in-the-dark stars John had up here because they reminded him of home even with the real ones right outside. His big brother’s curiosity even over these tiny details of his life, a facet he didn't often see with John up in orbit so much, made him warm inside. Especially with the way Scott was so relaxed up here in what was John’s space, a stark contrast to earlier and the staticky comm feed. The dark circles beneath his eyes remained though.

With a jaw-cracking yawn, John tipped backwards to lie on his bed. He wriggled his galaxy patterned duvet out from from beneath him where he’d landed on top of it, unattaching it from the side of his bed where it fastened to formed more of a sleeping bag to prevent him from drifting away when he left the gravity off. Which he probably did too often when the days blurred together, rescues and downtime without separation.

Stars, he was tired. Too many rescue calls, not enough sleep for— he no longer kept track of how long, but that was another day’s problem. Right now, he was here and Scott was here, so John could believe everything was going to be okay. Provided they both got some shut eye sometime soon. 

Shuffling over to the wall made more room for Scott, even if John usually curled up right in the middle. The bunks on Five were larger and far more comfortable than the narrow and too short for anyone who wasn’t like, Gordon height, ones he remembered not so fondly from his NASA days. Still, not exactly sized for two people both over the six foot mark but they could make do. 

“Promise I won’t push you off,” John joked. 

Piling all of their siblings, because if one person was getting cuddles everyone suddenly wanted them, onto beds and couches definitely not designed for so many had led to the occasional person falling off the side, usually facilitated by shoving from the victim of a grievous crime such as ate the last sweet.

Scott rolled his eyes and repeated John’s motion of flopping down onto the bed, long limbs all everywhere, complete with tossing an arm over John’s chest and a foot over his ankles. He let out a dramatic sigh, looking to John out of the edge of his vision for his reaction.

John couldn't even pretend to be annoyed. This was Scott messing around playfully and John had missed this even as he still didn't take breaks from monitor duty and all his emotions were bubbling up in his chest until he was laughing, until there were tears in the corners of his eyes.

And Scott was laughing too, John could feel him shaking with it. Nothing was even that funny but here they were, giggling like a couple of careless, carefree kids, the sound echoing off of the walls. Five filled up with their laughter, contained it in a cocoon of light and air and protective walls between the vacuum outside where no noise could travel. 

They were both left grinning exhaustedly at each other as the world came back to the reality that it was well past 3am, they needed to actually sleep especially with Scott having come down from the adrenaline crash of a nightmare and rushing up here. John rubbed at his gritty, tired eyes.

A word to Eos in addition to a goodnight had the lights switching off, the room only illuminated by the stars outside the window. Shutters would automatically close when Five’s rotation would put them facing the sun, but for now John could look out and marvel that he was here as he used to do every night, reaching up to touch one of his glow in the dark stars, a familiar green on the wall. 

Scott watched him and John gave a half-shrug before shuffling closer. And he wasn't alone.

John shook his head to clear it before rolling onto his side, holding out his arms to Scott. 

Big brother immediately went in for the hug, burying his face at John’s shoulder, clinging to him with maybe a little left over fear or maybe just because John was near. He wrapped his arms around Scott tightly. Took a moment, another moment just to be.

Wondering how long it had been since he’d been part of a cuddle pile with any his siblings, instead of an outside observer in holographic format was not something he wanted to waste time on right now. Or how it still took a horrific nightmare for Scott to seek respite from all the pressures of the world that seemed gathered around dad’s desk. Or for John to get respite from falling on the wrong side of the distinct divide between solitary and alone. Not that he could ask for it, he and Scott were too similar in that way. Instead, John let himself sink into the hug. 

“You alright, John?” Scott’s concern was not unusual, he always found a way to check up on them.

“I’m really glad you’re here.” It could be interpreted in several ways, glad for Scott, glad for himself. That’s all John had, the rest he couldn't possible articulate but it was enough for now. He tucked his nose into Scott’s hair. 

The sun shutters slid over the windows exactly as they were supposed to. They were left with the green glow of his own stars. 

Scott’s chin was digging into his collarbone. Neither of them would likely have slept enough to be safe to fly tomorrow with the hours they were running to.

He shifted, making a quiet noise. Gently rearranging them was easy when Scott willingly followed through with John’s actions, guiding him to lie with his back to John’s chest instead. John wound his arms around Scott, ending up with his hands resting over Scott’s stomach, able to feel the rise and fall of it with each breath. He bumped his forehead against the back of Scott’s neck.

“‘M not the little spoon,” Scott protested even as he snuggled against John.

“Reality would suggest otherwise,” John returned, an observation, with the edges filed off as his deadpan humor had turned accidentally cutting these days.

It was rare that their positions were not reversed no matter the little brother involved. This made sense on a surface level, Scott’s height was greater than anyone else’s, long arms to pull them close, wrapped up safe. He was big brother, the eldest, their leader, he was the one who protected them from the world. 

But John could also be there for him. Usually that meant from afar, a hologram projected from a wrist comm they always kept on them or beside flight controls, a voice in his ear, an extra set of eyes. All the data at his fingertips and a Tracy’s determination to keep their family safe. He didn't know whether anyone realised how many crises he averted before they became problems. He protected Scott, and it was far easier now he would let them in.

Scott was warm and something tightly wound inside John loosened. They were there for each other, it was a balance, this was how the world worked. Now that Scott let them take some of the weight instead of carrying the whole universe on his shoulders, it was easier to lean on him too because they shared things like this. To not follow Scott’s less than stellar example of hiding struggles, but from a big brother who tried to do and be everything instead of the little ones, because John couldn't bear to add anything else to the pile. Scott trusted him, he could trust Scott too.

John was just about to drop off to sleep when Scott suddenly tensed up. 

“I don’t want to go to sleep. I don't want to have more nightmares.” The words came out jagged and scared, whisper quiet.

Scott was exhausted but the fear was stronger, unpredictably resurging just when everything seemed alright. John had seen how Scott would try to escape it before passing out into uneasy unconsciousness. He found Scott’s hands, sought them gently and linked theirs together. 

“I can’t make them stop but I will be right here if you have one,” John said, “I promise.”

“I know.” 

Scott settled again, letting out a deep breath.

John felt Scott fidgeting with his hands, carefully curling and uncurling his fingers, tracing over his knuckles, pressing their palms together, as the fear ebbed again.

The sounds of Five washed over them, humming softly as if breathing with them too. Familiar and home. John’s family was also his home. He needed them too. They needed him. He and Scott were rest and safety for each other as much the Thunderbird was for the world. 

John made sure to give an, “I love you,” to his big brother while he was still awake to hear it because these things were important to be said and to be heard in reply. 

Slowly, ever so slowly the grip of Scott’s hands relaxed, remaining loosely entwined with John’s as sleep finally came. 

John kept holding onto Scott. A Scott who knew he could come to John for anything and had come to him tonight. Scott was here, they were both here together on Thunderbird Five amongst the stars. The rest of John’s thoughts trailed off at sleep’s approach but they were filled with a quiet hope.

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Fixated

A/N: I can’t explain how I am feeling, so I am going to let fic do it instead. This is entirely written without edits, without a read through.  Overworked!Scott

Edit: Okay I did a read through. Remaining mistakes are mine

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Virgil is the first to notice. Maybe because he’s Virgil, and possibly because he’s the only one who can call Scott his immediate older brother, so there’s something in their closeness in age, having navigated childhood together almost as equals, that sets his Scott-sense apart from that of his younger siblings.

When Scott was thirteen and Virgil was eleven, Scott was in the eighth grade and had to write a research report on the Wright Brothers, the pioneers of modern aviation. And that was all well and good, because Scott was going to start training for his pilot’s license right when he turned sixteen. The report became not just a chronicle of the historical figures’ lives, but also of flight, of the first airplane itself and the prototypes before it, of physics, and aerodynamics. He researched in a way he never had before because it was a subject he was passionate about.

He obsessed.

Like John but different.

John absorbed the search for knowledge into the fiber of his being, his fingertips always itching to take a deeper dive through archives when he heard a word he didn’t know or a concept he couldn’t explain fully. Research was as much a part of John as music was for Virgil, or swimming was for Gordon. It was a companion he could always revisit later, and so like all of them with hobbies that mattered, John knew how to catalog  and save for a better time, and turn the itch aside when he needed to. He knew when to stop.

Scott didn’t. Scott defined the turn of phrase “down the rabbit hole.” Alice caught and enraptured by the not yet known or understood.

When he cared, he obsessed.  

That project got finished with an A+, but resulted in anxious shaking that didn’t alleviate until a few days after the grades came back. Scott had lost weight, skipped his extra curriculars, and Virgil hadn’t seen him for two whole weeks while he worked. The younger ones likely didn’t remember.

But Virgil did. And he knew the signs. Forgetting to eat, falling asleep at his computer or on his books, waking up earlier than normal to get a head start to whatever imaginary goals he created for himself that day.

So, the day Virgil notices, it’s because Scott missed lunch. Grandma had made hot wings, which was one of his favorites, so the smell of char in the air would’ve been enough to set his stomach rumbling. With Scott absent when he definitely shouldn’t be, Virgil decides to make him a plate, six hot wings with ranch on the side, and some celery.

He finds Scott at their father’s his work desk, his fingers flying over the keyboard, intently scanning the files behind the screen.

“Hey, I brought you lunch.”

No answer.

Virgil steps closer to the desk, sure that once Scott catches him in his periphery, he’d acknowledge his presence. But Scott doesn’t appear to have a periphery when he’s focused like that.

“Scott?” There’s a little room on the desk, so he nudges a few papers to the side and slides the plate down. “Scooter?” He looks tense. He can see knots forming, so he drops a hand on Scott’s shoulder, and –

“FU—”

Scott nearly jumps out of his skin, his hands fly up, catching the side of the plate which clatters, sending ranch and hot sauce all over the floor. Even MAX scurries away with a low beep at the sudden sound, and Virgil flinched in a sudden panic when the dish slipped through his fingers.

“Sorry, sorry! I just meant to help.” Virgil is already kneeling on the floor, trying to pick up what he can with his hands, knowing he needs a wet rag. Maybe a mop.

The little cup that held the ranch slid a ways. Gross.

“Ah. Thanks, Virg,” Scott says. And he means it, Virgil knows that. But he can also see the gears in Scott’s head still working, still thinking about whatever he had been focused on, not quite fully present. “Umm. Do you have this? I’m under a deadline.” He looks at his watch. “Ugh. A rough one. I’d help if I could.”

“No, I got this! Sorry, Scott.” He picks up the dirty hot wings, placing them on a plate for their compost pile. “Is there anything else I can get you instead? These were the last of them.”

But Scott doesn’t answer. He’s already back to his computer.

~*~

Gordon is next.

He may not have the same Scott-sense as Virgil, may not have picked up on it as quickly, but he and Scott both share early morning routines, meeting in the kitchen at 5:00, Scott dressed in a tank and his running shorts, Gordon in his swimsuit, a towel around his shoulders. Coffee is too heavy to start the day, but Scott usually would begin the brew for when they returned (and in case Virgil woke up) while Gordon filled their respective water bottles. Whoever finished first chose the energy boost of choice – sometimes just a snack bar, sometimes a shake. On weekends, it might be oatmeal or toast.

Out by the pool by 5:15. Stretching was important.

Scott began his run. Gordon began his laps. They went about their day. Rinse, repeat.

Occasionally a rescue might come in and affect their sleep cycle just a bit, but Scott and Gordon were both military. If they weren’t rising before the sun, it was too late and they lost half their day already.

So Gordon is next, because Scott doesn’t meet him in the kitchen. He’s not sure he knows how to make smoothies for one – hasn’t in a long time – so he proportions his ingredients for two, fills a second cup for Scott when he wakes, and sticks it in the refrigerator so it will stay cold.

He pushes himself during his exercise. He was long past chasing times, but he still raced himself. Seconds could save a life, and so he exercised for speed, for longevity sometimes. For survival.

It’s a longevity day, so he’s abandons speed for energy conservation, which makes it a long morning.

His muscles are tired and sore when he returns to the kitchen and opens the fridge for a drink to boost his electrolytes. He is not in the mood for coffee today, but sees the pot is half full, so someone is up. But it’s not Scott.

Because the smoothie is still in the fridge, untouched.

He tells himself he needs to check in on Scott once he finishes his research down at the dock today. He’s been tracking a pod of dolphins near Mateo and has been needing to collect the latest data captured by his little research vessel.

He’ll catch him later. Figure out what’s going on.

~*~

Then it’s Alan.

Alan admires Scott, has been practically raised by him since Dad disappeared. Scott is everything Alan wants to be… just the John version of him. Take Scott’s courage and bravery, John’s love of space, you get Alan. Eyes on the horizon, but looking beyond it into stratosphere, exosphere, the space between stars itself.

He’s a hell of a pilot. He knows that. He wouldn’t be the pilot of Thunderbird Three otherwise. But a part of him will always seek the approval of his older siblings. He wants to make Scott proud.

Scott hasn’t had the time for him lately. He’s been working on… oh he doesn’t know. They don’t tell him. Something for Tracy Industries.

His final quarter grades have come out, and he aced all his classes.  It had been a hard semester and juggling his courses between rescues had been tough. He’d needed to call on his brothers’ expertise a few times.

He knows Scott has his file somewhere in his email, but he likely hasn’t gotten to it yet because he hasn’t said anything to him. It’s been a few days. So Alan pulls up his grades on his datapad and strolls past the center of the lounge over to Scott.

The first time he says Scott’s name, he doesn’t answer.

Nor the second.

The thirdfourthfifth time, because that’s how he called for him, the name running together like that, Scott irritably gives him a low grumble of “What do you want, Alan?” He doesn’t glance up, and the smile falters from Alan’s face.

“Oh, I, uh—” This was silly. It’s not important, really. Scott will get to it eventually.  “My grades came through. When you get a chance.”

He grumbles in response. “I’ll look later,” he says. “I need to…”

But he trails off, back to his computer, and Alan still doesn’t know what project stole his brother away.

~*~

John’s the last.

He’s called to check in. He’s definitely connected, but....

Scott is slumped at his desk, and John’s calls are not working.

“Scott!”

No answer. The figure at the desk doesn’t budge. So John opens a channel to the rest of his brothers, his feet already sending him toward the space elevator as he calls out. “I can’t wake Scott!”

[right-brain-of-froggy2]

Christmas in July Chapter 8

A little late posting today, but here we go with Do You Hear What I Hear? Hope you all enjoy!

AO3 link here!

Scott stares at the burnt mess. It’s mocking him. His calm façade threatens to break as the ham billows out smoke on top of the stove. Emotions can’t convey what he’s feeling. Emotions can’t help him now. All that’s left to do is throw everything away before someone comes down the farmhouse stairs. That, and somehow tell his dad that he isn’t a competent enough human being to so much as make a Christmas dinner.

He spares a glance to his phone to check the time. It’s only four in the morning- plenty of time left until his dad wakes up and Kayo arrives with the extended family and Grandma (who he currently blames for his lack of skills). Right? The only question is, is it enough time to pull out the third spare ham Scott bought with failure in mind and cook everything else?

Probably not.

Just as Scott was pulling the spare spare ham out of the fridge to cut open, he hears the telltale creak of wooden steps. He wields the knife in front of him in a defensive move before realizing it’s only John. His brother is still in his pajamas. His ginger hair is mussed up in a rat’s nest on the back of his head.

“I swear to God Scott… if you burn one more thing, I’m going to set off the fire alarms for you. And then spray you with a fire extinguisher.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Let’s just say you’re lucky there’s been no visit from one Kip Harris. It reeks, man! Alan wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he wasn’t downstairs.”

John rips the knife out of his brother’s hand and begins removing the plastic wrap from the third ham with angry mumbles. His eyes are half closed and yet he still does a better job of opening it than Scott.

“Was it really… that bad?” Scott asks again with a grimace. He can guess but hearing it from John would confirm the failure that Scott feels like. Johns yawns angrily. Scott didn’t even know it was possible to yawn angrily. The things he learns at four AM.

The astronaut wobbles on his feet. “Get me a chair, wouldja?” Scott picks out a kitchen chair from the dining room, so John doesn’t collapse down on the linoleum. “Why are you even cooking before the ass crack of dawn?”

John is all grumbles as he digs through the cabinets above the counters. He pulls down some honey and brown sugar, looking for a few other things.

“Well why aren’t you using the packet thing?” Scott asks, holding up the honey glaze packet that came with the ham. John shoots him an offended glare that his own flesh and blood brother would even suggested that. Scott throws it straight in the trash after that look. John and Gordon are the chefs out of the family- not Scott.

“So… care to answer?”

Scott sighs, hopping up to the kitchen counter and lean against the cabinets. His body sings in relief. He must be more tired than he originally thought. “It’s Dad’s first official Christmas back.”

“I thought...?”

“Last year doesn’t count since he was still in the infirmary. But we’re back at the house and all of Dad’s side is coming over since we have the biggest house and all-”

“-that’s an understatement,” John butts in. Can’t argue there.

“-But it’s in like five hours and I know nothing. I burnt the potatoes.”

“Mashed potatoes?” John asks in a whisper yell. The space case looks absolutely scandalized. “How do you burn mashed potatoes?! You boil the potatoes and then take them off the heat before turning them into mashed potatoes!”

“Well they weren’t hot enough or something, I don’t know,” Scott snaps back. At his tone, John backs off immediately and finishes the glaze for the ham. Whatever he made has Scott’s mouth watering and it isn’t even cooked yet.

“The cousins aren’t coming for a while; the potatoes would have just gotten cold and stuck together. You want to make those, so they’re done right as you’re about to start eating,” John explains. He pops open the oven and waves away the last remaining smoke from Scott’s second (and first) ham.

Scott gives a sullen nod. He would have to remember that for next time. He jumps off the counter and stands next to John to find what should be cooked next. After looking through the little recipe book left from their mother, Scott figures the salad dressing shouldn’t be too difficult. That has to be reduced (whatever that meant, Scott thought) and then chilled.

But as he was grabbing the necessary ingredients, John grabs his wrist. “We don’t need this yet.”

“But doesn’t cooling take a long time?”

“Not with this recipe,” John replies as he scans through the instructions. “What time is everyone coming?”

“I don’t think until around ten or something.”

“Good. Go sleep, Scooter,” he commands. With a gentle push, he gets his elder brother walking towards the stairs up to the bedrooms. “Don’t worry about the cooking.”

“But... I don’t want to make you do stuff here. Alone.”

John gives a kick to his butt with a flourish to get him out of the kitchen. “I get it Mr. Hotshot who wants to prove to Dad that he’s competent. We all know I’m the competent one here. Don’t even worry about it.”

Damn John and his sixth sense for when people are despairing. Scott stumbles to his bedroom. Taking a whiff of his own clothes, he decides it best to change and take a shower before the family arrives, so he doesn’t reek of burnt food and onions. Scott didn’t even cook with onions. Great. He sets his alarm for an hour before until Kayo would arrive with the rest in tow. One shower later, and Scott flops down into bed just in his boxers.

The gentle sound of pots clinking and something starting to simmer on the oven puts Scott to sleep in an instant. And soon enough, the sweet smell of perfectly made food drifts into his nose and his dreams.

 . . .

 Scott smacks at his blaring alarm. From first starting to cook and John saving his butt, he only got around three hours of sleep. Oh well. He’s had less sleep on duty. Scott rolls out of bed and stumbles into the bathroom. After a moment of sleep-deprived brain fog, he moves to washing his face (and shaving and brushing his teeth and doing something with his god-awful hair).

There’s a moment of pace before Virgil’s awakening reverberates throughout the house. It’s akin to a bear coming out of hibernation only to find the world still cold. Lots of complaints and threats and laments about returning to sleep. As Virgil curses the world, Scott digs through the dress shirts stored at the house. In the end, he picks out with a gray one with little embroidered flowers that matches well with his black slacks. A text from Kayo tells him that they were half an hour away…

…twenty-five minutes ago.

Oh no.

Scott races through the halls, pounding on Alan’s door to make sure the sprout is awake. There’s nothing more he can do to hurry Virgil now, so he makes his way down to the first floor. Damn it! He really should have set his alarm earlier!

He had almost forgot that John had even been there until he starts past the dining room to find a glorious feast. The food is perfect- even better than what one would see in magazines. Scott’s jaw drops down in amazement at what the astronaut had created in just a few hours.

The ham is golden brown and cut into even slices, the green beans he was just going to boil are baked with full carrots and covered in a sweet honey and rosemary sauce to compliment the ham, the potatoes creamier than his lumpy mess. There are even more sides and foods than what Scott originally planned to make. Cranberry salad, dinner rolls, all of it.

Speaking of John, he had already gone back up to his own bedroom by the looks of it. A power nap should be enough for him; John’s like a battery that only needs five minutes of recharge to last the whole day.

On the table between the glass and plate near the head, Scott picks up a small handwritten note. All it said is ‘good luck’ in John’s atrocious handwriting. Scott can’t help but smile to himself. The doorbell rings and he’s quick to shove the note in his pocket. If Jeff (or Gordon, God forbid) found out that he didn’t cook all of this, he would never hear the end of it.

“Kayo! Aunt Lily, Aunt Vivian! Come in!” Scott says with as much enthusiasm he could muster on so little sleep.

“Well, well. Look who the cat dragged in.” Heads turn to look at Jeff slowly descending the stairs, cane in hand.

“Looks like the cat got to you first,” Vivian jabs back. Her face cracks into the biggest grin and hugs her little brother after clapping Scott on the shoulder. Kayo helps Great Aunt Lily remove her endless layers of overcoats and scarves. She hasn’t changed in the thirty years Scott’s known her. She goes to greet ‘little Scooter’ but is interrupted by a rush of cousins aged anywhere from four to teens scrambling into the house.

There’s so many more than he remembers! Aunt Lily pecks Scott on the cheek before letting Kayo guide her to a soft chair. Scott is bad at names but faces he’s pretty decent at. He can tell what kid belongs to who, but one new face stands out.

“Mikey, I… didn’t know you were bringing someone,” Scott finishes off lamely as he spots a man he doesn’t recognize follow his cousin closest in age in. He offers his hand.

“I’m this idiot’s cousin, Scott.”

“I’m this idiot’s boyfriend, Kyle,” the shorter man responds. Mikey looks offended and Scott knows this one was already a keeper.

Alan and Gordon find themselves in the mix of missed faces. Virgil takes it upon himself to gather coats to store in the master bedroom. Scott would bet his entire stock holdings of Tracy Industries that John is already cooped up with their only great uncle downstairs away from the cacophony of noises.

The clock hits noon and everyone over the age of 21 is already seated at the dinner table. The kids and Virgil as the self-appointed babysitter are scattered about the couches of the connected living room.

“My goodness, this looks incredible!”

“See, I told you, you could do it Scott,” Gordon says. John snorts into his glass. Scott glares at him. Gordon wipes away a fake tear as his voice adopts a Southern drawl. “Oh, I’m so proud! Martha, our little boy has grown up so fast.”

“That he has dear! And such a handsome young man he’s grown into!” Gordon’s partner in crime cousin Mark chimes in.

“About ready to find a girlfriend!”

“Scott, I’ve got this lovely friend with this daughter…”

Scott rubs at the bridge of his nose. He can’t wait for this meal to be over.

[starman-john-tracy]

Radiation Poisoning | Chapter Eleven

by @starman-john-tracy and @asteria-star

In which John Tracy gets exposed to uranium and nearly dies, The Hood is evil, and Star generally freaks out a lot.  

Chapters: [One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [Twelve]

Once it becomes very clear that John is asleep - and not about to wake up and catch them talking about him - Star slumps. One hand grips the edge of the bed until her knuckles are bleached white and the other snaps up to clamp over her mouth, cutting off a ragged, slightly hysterical laugh.

“Ooh my god, I think I’m going to be sick… I can’t believe that worked, oh thank god.” When she pulls her hand away, still grey faced, she’s grinning at Virgil. “I didn’t think I was going to be a match.” 

“Me neither.” Virgil huffs, deeply worn down by all the anxiety he’s been through recently, “Geez…”

“Well, that’s one good thing at least,” Star says. Virgil opens his mouth to remind her it's a choice, that she doesn’t have to do this, but Star’s already shaking her head. “Don’t start: of course I’m going to do it. There’s no way I wouldn't.”

Virgil just flashes her a tired, grateful smile, the words for just how incredibly grateful he is escaping him for the moment.

Star unclips the monitor from her finger, tosses it to the side, and eases back until she’s lying down on the bed with her head in her hands. She already knows the next words out of her mouth are about to start an argument, and they haven’t even told the other brothers yet.

“I feel fine, Virgil, so when can we get started?” 

She peeks through her fingers, and to say Virgil doesn’t look convinced is an understatement. 

“As soon as your blood work starts coming back clean.” He narrows his eyes at her, she might be able to bluster and bluff her way through how she feels, but the statistics don’t lie. “And that’s not just for your benefit, John needs the healthiest stem cells he can get, to reduce the risk of them being rejected.”

He pushes his hands hard against his knees, bones crunching back into alignment as he gets to his feet and stretches his arms above his head with a groan. Star knows it’s the truth, but she can’t help but feel like she’s being played, and that it was a low blow anyway. 

“I need you to eat your vegetables, take your tablets and get a lot of good quality sleep.” 

“Jesus,” She groans, pulling a face at Virgil. “Now I know how annoying I must sound to John.” 

Virgil just pats a hand the size of a dinner plate down on her shoulder. 

“I know it’s frustrating to wait, but in the long term, this is the best thing for him. Gordon’ll be down for his shift soon.” He adds, his eyes flicking over to John to check he’s still sleeping soundly. “Are you alright to keep an eye on John while I go up and update the boys with his treatment plan. They all need to be aware of what’s going on, so we can keep the Island as clean as possible.”

It doesn’t escape Star’s notice that Virgil wants to tell the other brothers their developments without her there, but she can’t quite bring herself to care mind. He doesn’t mean to intentionally exclude her, he just needs someone down here on babysitting duty.

Even with the tiny chance of a match, they should have tested her first, gone down by age or something, at least then Gordon and Alan would have been spared; even if that wouldn’t have kept Virgil off the table, and even though Gordon would have complained endlessly about the handful of days separating their birthdays. Sure, she might not have been the one to take off John’s helmet, and John looks set to spend an hour lecturing her if she mentions what happened on the station being her fault again, but she can’t help but think about how it is her job to keep John safe. That was what her freedom was spared for, and he’s her best friend, and they keep ending up in these messes.

“Yeah, I can watch him. Not like he’s going to be causing any problems,” Her eyes dart to John’s sleeping face. “Touch wood. And can you ask Fish Sticks to bring me a snack when he comes?” 

“Yeah, will do, anything in particular you fancy?” Virgil looks, somehow, even more tired than John. It’s starting to worry her, even though Virgil is usually one of the Tracy’s most likely to take care of themselves instead of working themselves until they drop- looking at you, John. 

“Come here,” she gestures at him until he complies with a sigh, grabbing his shirt once he’s within arms reach. No matter how compliant and relaxed Virgil tends to be, Star is pretty sure she’s about to get a resounding no. “Can you please take a nap? Or something? I’m worried about you, Virg, I think you need to take a break.”

“Hmm.” It’s hardly an agreement as he folds his arms around her shoulders and pulls her in close for a good, firm hug. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.” He lets what he thinks is a good point hang heavy in the air between them, “John’s health is just so delicate right now, and the family needs updating and…”

Star sighs, thoroughly frustrated by the damned Tracy stubbornness, as if unaware she herself possesses a similar trait. She lets Virgil have his hug without complaint, even if it isn’t entirely what she meant. Her arms come up to wrap around his middle and giving him a squeeze, careful of the still sore biopsy site. 

“Let Brains do something, or delegate. I’m sure even Alan can manage to disinfect the house, even though his room is a biohazard.” She rubs a hand between his shoulder blades. “Hell, set me to work. It’s what I’m here for. Just stop doing this all yourself, like this is all your responsibility, or I will make you take a break.” 

He sighs again, hot and heavy, into the top of her head, where he’s rested his mouth against her crown.

“...I’ll get something to eat and catch a few hours, but the hard time I’m having is nothing compared to what he’s facing,” He tilts his head a John, still sound asleep, “I can’t let him down.”

“Yeah, and he’s got all of us looking out for him,” Star murmurs in response, all traces of the underlying danger in tone usually, in place for anyone but John, gone from her voice. “This is me looking out for you too.”

She pulls back a little so she can see him, unsure how he’s going to respond. Virgil is so very different from John, and Star spends so much time with John alone, she’s nervous she’s going to overstep boundaries she’s forgotten are there. 

But Virgil just smiles warmly at her, the expression soft and fond.

"Now you really sound like part of the family." He points out, a little teasing but mostly incredibly sincere, as if he's really, truly pleased to fit her into the mad, chaotic family dynamic they've got going on down here on Tracy Island. Of course, he could just be grateful that she's offering her blood to save his brother's life but… there's a look in the young man's eyes that makes it very clear that it's more than that. "Thanks, Star." He reaches a hand out to give her shoulder another warm squeeze - the man is far more tactile than his sleeping brother, and it's a nice change to not have to chase him for it. "Just you look after him, like you always do." His fingers chuck her under her chin, as if she really is his little sister, "I'll be alright for a couple more hours on my feet, then I'll head to bed, alright?"

“Yeah, yeah,” Star grumbles, only half joking and shoving him away by his arm, a light grin on her face. “Off you go there, rip off the band aid, take the bull by its horns, all of that. Call me if you need backup, I may be able to call in some favours if you need to hide from the law.” 

Virgil is smiling at her, a fond tug on the corners of his lips that must run in the family, because Star is ever so in love with the expression on John. Virgil bids her farewell, still limping and tired but happier than he had been with four negative tests, and Star is alone with John. 

She sighs, rolling to her side on what she is sure is about to become her bed, to gaze across the room at the sleeping astronaut. 

There’s something we can do for him, she tells herself, when her eyes snag on IVs and monitors and bruises littering his skin. We’re not done for yet.

Very little happens until the next morning. The grim but hopeful news gets delivered with no problems and a little circle of avidly listening Tracy’s. There’s a lot of questions but Virgil is nothing if not diligent in his explanations, and he seems happy to try and reassure them all as much as is possible, in the situation. John sleeps peacefully through the night, fighting the radiation poisoning in his cells with good old-fashioned R&R. Scott finds Virgil passed out where he’d collapsed on the sofa, just as sound asleep as his brother downstairs, and had found a pillow and a blanket to fling over him, quietly thankful that Virgil isn’t as tall as he or John are, as if either of them had tried the same thing, they’d have a crick in their back for days. Gordon pops in to take over the shift from Star, bringing her a couple of roughly made ham sandwiches (he must have put them together himself), a packet of crisps and a warm, slightly flat lemonade - just in case her stomach needs settling after. 

The morning dawns altogether too bright and cheerful, the sun like a big, fat tangerine lazing on the horizon, and it brings Scott down to the beach for his daily jog, only to find Alan sat out by the tide - staring miserably into the sea and chucking in small pebbles, letting them to be nibbled up by the lapping waves. Ever the perceptive big brother, he takes the kid to see John, and so his and Star’s morning starts with a slightly rude awakening as John gets a warm ball of Alan Tracy bundled up against his side.

“Come on Allie, don’t wake him!” Scott hisses, but it’s altogether too late for that, and John strokes his fingers sleepily through his little brother’s hair. All in all, it’s not the worst way he’s ever woken up.

“Jesus Christ,” Star grumbles before her eyes are even open, woken by the sound hissed ‘whispers’ that are too loud for that time of morning. She’s ditched the sweater at some point, leaving her in a tank top and sweatpants, and one bare arm snakes out from beneath the sheets to scrub at her face. Bleary blue eyes peer out from her bird's nest of lank hair, landing on the gaggle of Tracy’s across the room. “Oh my god.”

John is smiling sleepily at his brothers, then at Star, looking none the worse for wear for his rude awakening, especially compared to yesterday. Star is more than happy to keep up slightly grumpy appearances on his behalf. She manages to push herself into a crumpled sitting position in the centre of her bed, frowning sleepily at the clock, and then them. Her skin crawls, like she’s intruding, which might have something to do with the frosty not-look Scott gives her.

John gives her a breathless chuckle.

“Good morning.” 

Star scowls, not heat behind it for him.

“This isn’t morning, this is the ars-“

“Language,” Scott scolds, looking meaningfully at Alan. “Please.” 

Star raises an eyebrow. Alan finds it hilarious.

“You good there, Johnny?” Star asks, clambering out of the bed and stumbling over to where he’s nodding sleepily. She runs a hand through his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead and murmurs, “I’m going to take a shower before Virgil considers me a biohazard, and probably steal some coffee. You alright here with Alan?” 

He nods again. 

“Alright. I’ll be back.” 

Star tries not to be too obvious about the stiffening of her shoulders when she hears Scott move to follow her out of the room, or the way she tracks his movement. 

“I… uh… owe you an apology.” Well that’s not exactly what she’d been expecting to follow her up the corridor. Scott Tracy is loitering, stiff and awkward and thoroughly unused to apologising, a little way behind her - as if he thinks she might lash out at him and he wants to be well out of range. “For my behaviour, uh, you know, earlier.” It’s very vague, as if to prevent him from having to come out and explain, like a toddler, what the bad thing he did was and why it was bad. “Virgil explained what happened better and, um, what’s happening now,” Now that she’s the key to saving their brother’s life. “So, uhhh, I’m sorry. I guess….” His nose is all scrunched up, like that was hard. “Um, you know, I’ve been on a lot of rescues,” Scott doesn’t exactly laugh, but it’s clear he’s trying to make the conversation lighter. “Gotta admit, the two of you have been up there with some of the most… scared, when it comes to each other.” 

Star nods slowly, chewing on her lip.

“I mean, he’s… I’d do anything for him. I quite literally love him more than life itself.” Scott looks distinctly uncomfortable about that declaration, “But it’s also… different. Up there, I mean. If an alarm goes off down here or someone is hurt, you’re more likely to find them than not, and you can get them help. Up there, an alarm goes off and you don’t find whoever you’re with quickly, there’s a good chance you’ll never see them again. Hell, if there’s a hull breach or a leak or some kind of glitch… there's just never a lot of time, or help. It’s just us, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, not that we really have days either.”

“I… yeah.” Scott seems to be struggling with all-the-ways-his-brothers-could-die-in-space, but to his credit, he shakes it off pretty quick. “Sorry, I should let you go, I just… wanted to make sure you were ok.” And that might be the most honest thing he’s said to her since touchdown. The Ex-airforce pilot might have a terrible quick temper and a fierce overprotectiveness when it comes to his siblings, but he can see when he’s wrong about someone and maybe Carmen Daines isn’t all as bad as her paperwork had made her seem. Not that he’s been snooping on her GDF file because he… yeah ok he definitely has. But it was for John’s benefit really, so he doesn’t feel all too bad about that.

He’s read some pretty… grim things in that should-have-been-confidential file.

But the girl in the too-big jumper with wild brown hair and knobbly knees in front of him has just offered up her own bone marrow to save his brother’s life.

So she can’t be all bad.

“Uh, I should leave you to your shower, Carmen.” He waves a hand around airily, a lopsided half-smile on his face like he’s just done a great thing, and righted all the wrongs in the world with his apology, “Take care up th….”

Star is almost about to accept it, until that one, pesky little word came up. It stopped her in her tracks, a physical jolt like electricity that didn't come when it was spoken by John, and no one else knew or dared try. 

The name.

“I’m sorry,” Star smiled sweetly, words dripping venom. “Apology… almost accepted. But call me by that name again and I’ll break your nose.” 

Scott blanches white at that. She means that very literally and he’s not the kind of man to assume that just because she’s a girl doesn’t mean she hits hard. Both of his hands shoot up, defensive. 

“Ah!, Uh, sorry. Star?” He tries again, tentative, wondering if he dares ask why no one uses her real name. It seems like a nice, solid name to him at least. “Doesn’t John call you, um, that?” He points out, confused and, if he doesn’t lie to himself, a little afraid of a girl half his size. 

Star smiles slightly at him, like somewhere in the back of her mind she regrets the threat, but still wouldn’t take it back if she could. Part of her, the part that doesn’t feel entirely real, like she’s a name on a page and not a real person, wants to tell him everything for the sake of being known. It would bring the total number up to four, if you counted Colonel Casey, which seemed ridiculously low considering the infamy that had followed her around in the life before this one. 

“John’s allowed to, because he knows better than to call me that around other people… at least I thought he was, but he can be forgiven for the odd slip.” She eyes Scott off, eyes raking up and down from where she stood on the staircase, a handful of steps above him. “There’s a reason I don’t use it. That name belongs to someone you would be killed for knowing, and not by me. There are very dangerous people in the world who are hoping I am dead, but still sleep with one eye open just in case I’m not. Because-” There’s a thickness to her voice that surprises Star herself, and she has to look away from Scott’s wide-eyed staring. “-they ruined- they ruined the life that I had, and they know I could do the same to them. So it’s safer for everyone involved if we all just pretend the owner of that name doesn’t exist.” 

Star isn’t sure what Scott had been expecting, but she’s pretty sure it wasn't that. His face alone says that when she turns back to him, and she has to snort. His eyebrows have practically disappeared up into his receding hairline.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt anyone,” she slouches against the banister, looking down at the man. “But I am going to ask why you know that name. Because I know why Virgil knows it, and I know why John knows it, but I don’t know why you do.”

“Uh.” Says Scott again, very eloquently, as if suddenly realising he’s probably in big trouble. “It got, um, mentioned once.” He rolls his shoulders through a shrug, lying through his teeth because god forbid she finds out he’d been snooping where he shouldn't. Evidently though, he missed a lot back then. “Might have been John… in his sleep?” He offers, sounding like he can’t quite remember, when really, he’s making it up as he goes along. The idea that John might have been calling out for her in his sleep, while she was snoozing, is a heart wrenching one. Especially as it’s a downright lie.

Scott Tracy has bluffed some of the best councils in the world, for IR and for Tracy Enterprises. His power to lie is one he wield much, much lighter than his brothers ever would.

Must be a corporate thing.

“Speaking of John, I should probably get back and see what Alan’s up to…” He waves his hands around dramatically, excusing himself, “Enjoy your, um, shower?”

There is no good scenario Star can conjure up in her mind as to why John would be mentioning the name Carmen in his sleep, and the idea is tangled up with the speed with which Scott threw his hands up. She can’t stop thinking about it, not digging through John’s clothes for a clean sweater to wear with her own pants, not in the shower, not when she’s braiding her damp hair back again in the hopes of keeping the mess it was this morning from happening again. 

To her, and anyone else who knows, she supposes, the name Carmen is something violent and wild and so terrifying she hates it. But John uses that name like its synonymous with Star, like it’s something soft and precious to him to have the privilege, so does that mean-

Virgil is slouched at the breakfast bar when Star wanders past the kitchen, falling asleep over his mug of coffee. She considers him for a moment, picking a loose thread on her sleeve, before deciding to just bite the damn bullet.

“Hey, Virgil?” She asks softly, but he jumps at her arrival anyway. “Can I ask you something?” 

He grunts something that might have been a yes. 

“Do I scare people? Do I scare you and… John?”

Virgil moves his face from where it’s smushed against the hand propping it up, and raises an eyebrow, running his fingers backwards through sleep-mussed hair.

“No?” He sounds tentative about that, like he’s worried he might not be awake enough right now to say the right thing. A fist scrubs sleep from his eyes, “Where have you got that idea from?”

He gives her an appraising look, up and down, taking in the baggy sweater (emblazoned with a NASA logo in a way that strongly hints it’s been stolen) and her pale face and damp hair. 

“Are you alright?” The eyebrows crinkle, and he pats a big hand down on the bar stool beside him. “Hop up, I’ll make you a coffee.” She looks like she needs one, “Or, uh, a tea?” He seems suddenly uncertain, “What would you prefer?” 

Star raises an eyebrow at the offer, and the fact he’s told her no earlier. “Am I allowed coffee?”

She hauls herself up onto the offered seat, watching Virgil blink tiredly on his way around the kitchen. 

“John’s not, and it’d be best if you keep off the caffeine the day or so before the transfusion, but your heart rate was looking good last test, so there’s no reason that today you can't have something, if you want. No offense, but you look like you could do with it. There’s fruit tea or a milkshake if you’d rather though.”

He potters around the kitchenette, collecting mugs and filling Grandma’s old electric kettle. The coffee he’d made for himself had long gone cold during his snooze and it gets dumped unceremoniously down the sink so he can replace it with a fresh, hot cup.

“Now, what’s got you all worried about how scary you are?” He asks, distracted, but listening all the same. John’s not the only Tracy who's a great multitasker.

“I think I scare Scott,” she tells him in a way of explanation. “He was apologising and it was almost going well for him, and I really didn’t mean to tell him I’d break his nose but-“

She takes a breath, mostly in awe of the complete and utter dazed confusion on the brunette's face. 

“Scott knows my real name. Did you tell him it?” She doesn’t sound angry, just… wondering.

“No?” Virgil’s eyebrows go through a violent wiggle of emotion, leaving them high on his forehead. “I make a point of calling you Star, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable… or to threaten to break my nose.” She gets a look with that comment, “But I even document your medical records under your pseudonym, it’s just what we all know you as, so I don’t think Scott would have picked it up from me.... I can’t imagine John would have told him either though,” Virgil frowns, “unless he overheard you guys.”

“John doesn’t use it often enough…” Star muses, counting back all the times she’d heard him say it, most of which occurred on Thunderbird Five, and rest when they were alone. Virgil slides the hot mug across the table, and Star wraps her cool fingers around the warmth. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, was just curious.”

She sits in silence for a moment, gazing into the dark brew like it might be convinced to give up all of life’s secrets. Eventually she gives up, in favour of peering up at Virgil.

“Still strikes me as odd.” He comments, considering.

Star chews on her lip. With Virgil’s confirmation of confidentiality, she knows how Scott knows her name, and she’s not sure how bothered to be by it, or what else he saw.

 “So how are things looking? Does a normal heart rate mean we can… get started?” 

Virgil continues frowning, but it drops away as he’s distracted by her eagerness to get stabbed with big needles. He laughs, all teeth.

“Not quite yet.” He reaches out and pinches her skinny arm, making a point that she needs to get some nutrients in her first, “I got some more tests that still need to come back clean, there’s more than your heart I’m worried about.” He looks ever so apologetic. 

“And anyway, John got to start on the chemo conditioning first.” Virgil runs his fingers through his hair again - she’s starting to notice he does that a lot when he’s stressed. “I’m reluctant to begin when he’s already so ill, but it’s the sooner the better, in the long term. We’ll probably give him the first transfusion later today. I want to get him back to his own room first though, so he’s more comfortable. It’s a horrible process and it’s going to be a really stressful time, so the less he has to see that medical room the better, I think...” He takes a long swig of hot coffee, eyelashes fluttering as the caffeine hits his system.

“Grandma’s up there deep cleaning his room for us.” He smiles wearily at Star. “Once she’s done, do you want to help me get John up there?” Virgil wants to preserve his brother’s independence while he can, and won’t force him to use a wheelchair while he can still walk, but John’s balance has always been a tricky thing, so an extra pair of hands on his side would definitely help.

Star nods absently, staring in the deep dark depths of her coffee like it holds the answers to all of life’s questions. It won’t be the first time she’s hauled John around, whether from lack or sleep or food or injury; but being arguably good at it doesn’t mean she likes it any better. The image of sick John in his room makes her chest give a savage squeeze of anxiety. That’s not where he’s supposed to be, maybe when he’s had a little too much gravity or a handful of stitches, but not when he’s dying.

But she knows John would prefer it, and whatever makes him happy wins.

She takes a long drag of her coffee, and tells Virgil, “yeah, of course I do.” 

She pushes the half empty mug of coffee across the table and stands, only wobbly the tiniest amount. “I take it there’s going to be a lot to bring with him, and I think they’re having a party down there, so we should probably-“ she makes an awkward gesture in the direction of the stairs, as if looking for permission, “-go?”

Virgil laughs at her keenness; it warms the cold, tired parts of him that, though he’d never admit it to anyone, just want to give up and go to bed. He downs the rest of his coffee in one, enjoying the burn. There’s a heavy, satisfied sigh as he slams the big mug back down on the tabletop. 

“Alright, you win.” He smiles, flicking open his Comm. “Grandma?” They both watch the little holographic representation of the woman startle as John’s bedside holocomm flashes on, “Are you ready for us up there?” She’s got big yellow rubber gloves on and a pinafore over her purple jumpsuit, the wispy grey strands of her hair all twisted up in pin curls.

“Virgil!” Her voice is full of scolding, but it softens when the idea of John being brought up comes into the mix. “Yes dear, everything is dusted and disinfected.” She sounds very proud of the accomplishment. She’s had to put a lot of his things into storage boxes though, just to keep the amount of objects that could be holding germs to the minimum, and she feels a sort of weary melancholy about it. It makes it feel almost like he’s already gone, and she’s having to pack up his things. Ruth shakes her head, forcing those thoughts out. “John won’t even recognise how clean it is up here!” It’s a joke, but her voice wobbles at the end in a way that makes Virgil’s heart clench.

“I’m sure he will, Grandma.” He says, very soft, but he knows that with the amount of time John spends in space, his bedroom is probably as unfamiliar to him as the med room is anyway. Maybe he won’t even notice the changes she’s made. “Thanks for this. Give us ten minutes and we’ll be up there with Johnny boy.”

There’s a warm FAB on the other end, and her mop-armed figure flickers out. Virgil slings an arm around Star’s shoulders.

“You need anything to eat before we go down?”

The answer should probably be yes, but Star shakes her head anyway, loose strands of her fringe brushing up against Virgil’s chest from where she’s pinned beneath his arm. Her stomach is tying itself in knots at everything, and she honestly doesn’t think she’d keep anything down if she had to eat and then move John… which is unlikely to be an entirely pleasant experience. She feels very small standing next to him, in a way she doesn’t next to John, even though he’s almost a good head taller than his younger brother. Leading the way to the stairs means Virgil can’t protest, so that's what she does, taking them back the way she had only just come from, following the sound of voices. 

Both Scott and Alan are still there, and miraculously John is still awake, smiling lazily around the room and whatever Alan was chewing his ear off about. When he sees her, she smiles back. 

“I’m here to perform a prison break,” she tells him, “how about it?” 

[daughterofluthien]

Fictober - Day 4

Prompt number: 4. “that didn’t stop you before” Fandom: Teen Wolf Rating: T Characters/Relationships: Alan Deaton & Scott McCall Word Count: 1563 Warnings/Tags: grief, angst with a happy ending A/N: Deaton character study, pre-series through 1x11 Formality.

Sometimes, the worst part about the world shattering is that everything remains the same. 

Deaton learns about the fire on the local news, and by that time, the only thing left is smoldering ruins. The newscaster labels it a tragic accident, but given the way tensions had been building between the hunters and the Hales over the past two years, he knows that’s extremely unlikely.

The news reports say that search and rescue teams have pulled multiple bodies out of the house, but no further information is given. He calls both Talia and Laura multiple times, but there’s no response, so he opens the clinic at nine in the morning like he always does, in case someone shows up needing help. 

He doesn’t really think anyone will, however, because the Argents know about him. He’s been threatened by Gerard’s thugs in the past, and he expects the clinic is being watched. His help might just end up getting even more people killed. 

So instead, he waits. 

And nothing happens. 

The day after the fire, the Sheriff brings in a search and rescue dog to be treated for minor smoke inhalation. Deaton asks a few pointed questions under the guise of curiosity and casual conversation. 

He learns that a single survivor was pulled from the house, but his burns were so severe that paramedics were shocked that he was even still alive. Most of the bodies had been identified, but three of the Hale children were still unaccounted for.

He doesn’t plan to ask the next question. He asks it anyway. “The bodies that you found-- I understand if this is part of an ongoing investigation and therefore privileged information, but I have to ask. Was Talia Hale…?” 

“Yeah, she was. Did you know her?”

Deaton nods. He isn’t surprised, but he needed the confirmation. “I did. She was a dear friend.” ______________

The Argents pack up and move within a month. 

He makes a few inquiries and learns that Laura and Derek fled across the country and moved to New York. He keeps an eye on them from afar as best he can, and assumes that she will get in touch with him if she needs anything. 

He doesn’t hear from her.

Years pass, and Beacon Hills is quiet. Nothing out of the ordinary, no mysterious deaths. Nothing that would indicate that a few short years before, the town had been the epicenter of a years-long cold war between supernaturals and hunters.

A war that had ignited in an instant, and once it burned hot was over nearly as soon as it started. 

He was supposed to keep the balance.

He had failed.

He failed, and the world didn’t end, because the natural world always comes back to its own equilibrium. It found its own balance, and it wasn’t the one he wanted, but his opinion and interference were neither requested nor needed. 

In his failure, he became fundamentally unnecessary. ___________________

He builds a life for himself outside the supernatural. He focuses on his clinic, which sees a fair amount of business, as it’s the only veterinary practice in town. 

It’s not really something that someone focused on keeping the balance would do, he thinks. After all, death is natural, and healing is outside interference in the natural order. Each animal saved is a small upset to the equilibrium into which all things inevitably fall.

Each one feels like a small victory.

As the practice grows, and the amount of work starts to become unwieldy for a single individual, he hires an assistant. At 16, Scott McCall is young for a veterinary assistant, and Deaton mainly hires him to assist with clerical work and to help care for the animals. But the teenager is sharp and eager to learn, and soon Deaton starts to teach him about the business and assign him other, more complicated tasks.

He finds he enjoys teaching, and Scott is an excellent student.

If their conversations stray to topics that allow him to dispense a little wisdom and advice-- Well, that was once a very important part of his life. Some old habits are harder to break than others. ____________________

Months pass, and he learns that Scott is not just intelligent and hard-working, but he is remarkable for a second reason: he cares.  The teenager cares deeply about every single animal that passes through the doors of the clinic, and he wants to help them because it’s the right thing to do.

Working alongside Scott, Deaton starts to remember that healing is its own reward. Any petty revenge enacted on the universe with each animal saved is just a side benefit. ___________________ 

Unfortunately, balance cannot last forever. Six years after the fire, events start to cascade again, just as quickly as they did last time.

A deer with the symbol for revenge carved into its side is left in a place where it would be easily found, and Laura contacts him for the first time since the fire.

He tells her he wishes he could help, but he doesn’t know anything more about it than she does. It’s the truth, but there are other truths as well, and he realizes he is afraid to get involved. Afraid to make things worse in a misguided attempt to keep the balance.

She thanks him for his time, and leaves the clinic.

That evening, when Scott shows up for work, Deaton tells him they should make sure that the gate at reception stays closed. He tells him that it looks more professional that way, and he thinks Scott buys the excuse.

A couple days later, the Argents move back into town.

A couple days after that, he wakes up to a news report stating that the partial body of a young woman was found in the woods.

That afternoon, at around the time Scott is scheduled to show up for work, the front door to the clinic opens, but no-one immediately comes into the back. He walks to the front, expecting a client, but instead finds Scott hesitating at the gate.

He opens it, watching Scott carefully, but his heart sinks. If this is the natural equilibrium, it strikes him as distinctly unfair. 

For the first time in six years, he starts to think what exactly he can do about it.

He leaves the gate open. ______________________

At first, all he can offer is advice and a sympathetic ear. He keeps an eye on Scott from afar, just as he still does with Derek, but part of him dreads what he assumes will be the inevitable day when Scott stops showing up for work.

He doesn’t know whether it will be because Scott’s dead, or because he’s joined the Alpha.

But the full moons come and go, and while Scott misses a few shifts here and there, he keeps coming back. He stays in contact.

One night, while they’re closing up the clinic and talking about Scott’s plans to enroll in a pre-veterinary program after graduation, Deaton asks Scott why he wants to be a vet. 

Scott shrugs and shakes his head. “Well, for one, I just really like animals. But also…” He trails off, thinking. “It’s like, we see so many animals that need help, right? They’re sick, or injured. Or they need protected. And we can help them. And I guess I just feel like, if nobody else is going to do it... Then maybe I need to.”

He’s not just talking about veterinary medicine any more, and Deaton smiles. But he doesn’t forget the conversation. __________________________

A few nights later, a group of hunters led by Kate Argent attacks the Hale house.

Deaton doesn’t hear about it on the news the next morning, because this time, he’s there. He can’t stop them from taking Derek, but he watches as Scott escapes and runs into the woods, weakened by the poison coursing through his veins. 

He catches up when Scott collapses, barely able to breathe, a smoking bullet wound in his side.

He doesn’t know what this is going to do to the balance, but if he’s completely honest with himself, he no longer cares. Scott is injured and desperately needs protecting, and for the first time in a long time, Deaton knows exactly what it is he needs to do.  

He picks Scott up. Carries him to his car.

“You’re going to be all right.” ________________________

Six years ago, the world shattered, but it didn’t end. 

For the longest time, he thought it was unfair that the world kept spinning without taking the time to put itself back together. It took him years to realize that he needed to put himself back together first.

After rescuing Scott and confronting the new Alpha, he knew it wouldn’t be long before word began to spread that his retirement was over. So he isn’t surprised when Marin pays him a visit.

He might not approve of her current affiliations, but it’s good to see her.

“After all these years,” she asks, “why now?”

He shrugs. “They needed my help.”

She fixes him with a look, and if they were still children he can’t help but think she would’ve rolled her eyes. “People always need help, Alan. That didn’t stop you before.”

He concedes the point with a nod, and gives her a small smile. “Maybe I just found something to believe in.”

[we-are-the-amb]

Although I already spoke about animal symbolism within TLB in a thread on my main account, I have been meaning to give it it’s own post for a while. It should be noted that I do not believe that everything I am about to point out was a deliberate directorial choice. A lot of this, I think is pure coincidence, or me simply looking too deeply into something that may not even be there. That said, it is something I enjoy talking about, so I shall. 

What my observations boil down to, is the idea that a number of characters in TLB are symbolically comparable to certain animals, in a way that fits the film, thematically. These characters are Sam Emerson, the Lost Boys, themselves, and Edgar and Alan Frog. Sam is comparable to a rabbit. The Lost Boys are comparable to cats, specifically wild cats. Edgar and Alan are comparable to domesticated dogs. I shall try to explain. 

Let’s start with Sam, as he is the prey animal between two predators. I believe that the animal symbolism in this film can been seen in three layers: appearances, actions and thematic significance. So, let us look first at Sam’s appearance.

Sam, with the exception of Laddie, is the smallest and slightest character in the film. His baggy clothes emphasis this fact. He has large, bright eyes and a petite nose, and there is a little baby fat on his face that rounds his cheeks. His teeth are not large, but he frequently grins, or holds his mouth open, in a manner that reminds one the way a small creature’s lip lifts, when they sniff at the air. His ears are narrow and ever so slightly pointed. One gets the impression that his hair is naturally curly, like Michael’s, but the way he has cropped it gives it a fluffy appearance, a little like a rabbit’s pelt. 

Sam is also shown to exhibit bunny-like behaviours and traits, throughout the film. He is seen sniffing curiously at various things. He smells the windex, before handing it to his Grandpa, wrinkling his nose afterward in a distinctly animalistic way. In a deleted scene, he also burns a leaf from Grandpa’s cannabis plant and sniffs it. Sam is the most energetic member of his family. He often eager to get out of the house and he is a fast mover. Twice, he is seen bolting around the house at great speed, running from Michael. They are playing in the first instance, but this foreshadows Michael becoming a predator and Sam running from him out of fright. When Sam fearfully runs from Michael the second time, he closes both of the doors that open into his room, rather like a rabbit blocking the entrances to it’s warren. Before this, when Sam is nearly attacked by a bloodthirsty Michael, he is singing along to his radio. On the female verse, he begins to sing in a high pitched, “girlish” voice, which sounds rather like the squeal of a rabbit in danger. This is emphasised by Nanook beginning to growl at Michael’s approach. When Sam is scared, he goes to sleep in his mother’s bed. Young rabbits do cuddle up to their mothers when they sleep, for safety and warmth. 

Sam also shows the most discomfort towards his Grandpa’s taxidermy. The taxidermy that Grandpa gives to Sam as gifts, are all rather small and mostly furry animals. Sam does not like looking at them and hides them all in his cupboard. In one scene, he wakes to see a stuffed owl looking down at him and he screams. Owls are birds of prey and have been known to grab rabbits. This happens immediately before the vampiric Michael and Star appear in Sam’s bedroom. 

Sam being comparable to a rabbit is very in keeping with his role in the story. Sam is arguably the most vulnerable character in the whole film. Not only is he the smallest and weakest of the Emersons, who are under direct threat from the vampire clan, but he seems to be almost irrelevant to them. Rabbits are common game for hunters, but being so small, ubiquitous and earthbound, there is never said to be any pride in shooting one. When the Lost Boys visit the Emersons’ home, David makes it clear that he wants Michael alive and with them, but he makes no mention of Sam at all. This implies that the boys did not care too much about losing Sam, making it seem that Dwayne’s attempts to kill him were no mistake. Max does not threaten to turn Sam, in order to bring Lucy to his side, but threatens to kill him. He holds him as if he intends to snap his neck, a method usually employed in the slaughter of small animals. Sam claws at him and squirms in his grasp. 

For all of Sam’s apparent vulnerability, however, he also mirrors the rabbit in his temper and determination. Though Sam is fairly level headed, he has quite a hot temper. He swats at Michael for putting his hands in his face. He frequently berates Michael for his stupidity, and the Frogs for their insensitivity. Though he is afraid of the vampires, he is very prepared to face them for his family. He manages to kill Dwayne on his own, and he attacks Max, although it was undoubtedly hopeless for him to have done so. Sam would seem to be the easiest target for the Lost Boys, but he was never without his strengths. Like a rabbit, he could put up a vicious fight. 

Let us move on to Sam’s predators. The animal symbolism surrounding the Lost Boys is probably the most obvious. Even before we seen their vampiric forms, they are hinted at, subliminally in their clothes and hair. First of all, there is the prowling leopard on the sleeve of Dwayne’s jacket, as well as the fragmented leopard on Marko’s. Note, in both cases, they bared fangs and the clawed feet.

All of the vampires, including Star and Laddie, have wild hair. Paul, in particular, has his hair backcombed into a blond mane, which lends to his already lion-like appearance. Note his long face, close set eyes and sleek, straight nose. What is implied on the surface is revealed in full, when we see the yellow eyes, fangs and claws. 

The heavy metal and punk influences (bohemian as well, in Star’s case) in their styles, tie in nicely with the cat motif. Each of these subcultures, in one way or another, point to an anti-establishment stance, as well as representation of personal freedom. Cats, especial wild ones, are notorious for being difficult, or nearly impossible to tame. Indeed, the only person that the Lost Boys seem willing to submit to is Max. They even defy him, however, when they storm the Emerson house without his say so, thwarting the plans he had for the family. Their defiance against Max came out in small ways, throughout the film, reminiscent of how a domestic big cats will surprise their owners by biting, or batting them. 

Even when they are not out to feed, the boys can often be heard shrieking and yowling. This is with the exception of Star, who’s voice is soft, like a purr. Being able to fly, they can jump to, or from great heights and land on their feet. When Star leaps two floors up into Sam’s room, she does so noiselessly. The smug smiles they give to their victims conjure the word “tomcat”. @vympirestake​ pointed out to me, that they also have a tendency to circle their prey. At the beginning of the film, David walks around the girl on the carousel, as if sizing her up, or trapping her. The boys walk a circuit around the counter at the video store, at which Max is standing (see acts of defiance). In a deleted scene, they ride their bikes in circles around Lucy, frightening her and hinting at the danger she is in. Even their underground home is circular, as if for this purpose and they dance around Michael after he drinks from the blood bottle. 

Here is where I was able to tie this symbolism up nicely. Let’s look at the Lost Boy’s opponents:

Edgar and Alan are the domesticated dogs, to the Lost Boys’ wild cats. Edgar in particular, bares a physical resemblance to Sam’s dog, Nanook. He has small, dark, searching eyes, a rounded nose and fluffy hair. Alan has weary eyes, but a pointed stare and his expression is usually slack. This gives him the look of a bloodhound. Their military attire gives the opposite implications of the alternative styles of the Lost Boys. Men go into the military to receive training and live by a strict set of rules, not unlike the training of a working dog. Dogs are also frequently used by the military for the purpose of tracking and attacking, which Edgar and Alan, as vampire hunters, do. Edgar and Alan, themselves, do seem to live by a strict moral code, from which they are reluctant to deviate. Although, prior to the events of the film, they had never killed a vampire, they were prepared and it was clear that they had practiced. Trained themselves for it. Their hair is longer than they would be permitted to have it in the army, lending that fluffy look. However, their hair is smoother and neater than that of any of the Lost Boys, implying brushing, which adds to the domesticated look. Alan is never without his dog tags and Edgar is always wearing a woven choker, which resembles a collar. Nanook also wears a collar.:

The Frogs exhibit a myriad of dog-like qualities. Edgar in particular has a deep, rough voice, which sounds a lot like a growl. When he shouts, he sounds like he is barking. This is especially noticeable just before they enter the vampire caves, and Edgar gives Michael a warning. Sam tells him “Chill out, Edgar.” You may recall Sam saying “Cool it, Nanook.” at the beginning of the film, when Nanook becomes agitated and makes a noise. Both of the Frog boys can also frequently be seen baring their teeth at the vampires, as a dog might at a fellow predator. While making their way in and out of the caves, both of the Frogs and Sam are forced to crawl on all fours through tunnels. They can all smell the stench of the vampires, but the camera focuses in on Edgar as he sniffs the air. He is the one who identifies the smell, too, likening him to a sniffer dog. 

The relationship between Sam and the Frogs feels very reminiscent of that between a boy and his dogs. Where the Lost Boys were pursuing and luring Michael into their pack, the Frogs seem to examine Sam, before traipsing around after him, wanting his attention. For such headstrong kids, they are surprisingly obedient when it comes to Sam. They respond well to certain phrases and buzzwords. Sam’s use of “Truth, Justice and the American Way” seems to convince them to go along with his ideas, similar to how “sit” or “fetch” elicits positive responses from trained dogs. When Sam tells Edgar to chill out, he immediately responds with “Yeah.” and lowers his voice. In a deleted scene, Alan draws his stake upon first meeting Michael and Sam forces him to put it away, in a manner that looks like trying to pull a stick from a dog’s mouth. The Frogs also obey the command not to hurt Star, or Laddie, right up until Sam is not present. Their trying to kill Star and Laddie while Sam is gone, feels a lot like a pair of mutts chewing up the sofa while their master is out.

Edgar and Alan’s protective nature is possibly what likens them most to dogs (particularly Nanook) and puts them in opposition to the cat-like vampires. They selected a small, somewhat delicate looking kid out of the crowd and tried twice to warn him about the vampires of Santa Carla. When they stand beside Sam, just before the dinner scene, they look a lot like guard dogs. They are silent and they stare very hard at Lucy and Max. This is reminiscent of Nanook coming to Sam’s side, after thwarting Michael’s attempted attack on him.  This parallel occurs again later, when we see Nanook standing over Lucy during the dinner scene, as if putting a barrier between her and Max. Later, we see Edgar stand at Lucy’s side with a raised stake, trying to warn Max off her in the climax. Alan, similarly, is standing more or less in front of Sam during that scene. Lucy and Sam are placed between the Frogs, as if between two guard dogs. The Frogs fuss somewhat over Sam during the final battle, patting him and asking him if he is okay, as a dog would nudge at his owner with his nose in a display of concern. 

At first you may think that the idea of two dogs protecting a rabbit does not sound quite right. I believe, however, that it does fit with the themes of the film rather well. Consider the fact that the original screenplay was heavily inspired by “Peter Pan”, a fantasy story. The fairytale element of anthropomorphic animals, as well as beasts coming to love and protect smaller creatures then seems more appropriate, especially considering the young ages of the Awesome Monster Bashers. Indeed, the concept is already present in the actions of Nanook, as he bravely and unflinchingly protects his young master and his friends. One could also argue a somewhat biblical flavour to this as well, which ties into the very act of vampire hunting. Faith in the power of God against evil is essential in the elimination of vampires, as evidenced in the use of crosses, crucifixes and holy water. Holy water in particular is used during the final battle. You may recall this line from the book of Isaiah:

“The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.” Isaiah 6 KJV 

Though no rabbit is mentioned here, the image of predator and prey living together is asserted. This goes on and the next verse is also of interest: 

“And the cow and the bear shall feed; their young ones shall lie down together: and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.” Isaiah 7 KJV

I must note here, the many mentions of big cats and of carnivorous animals feeding on vegetation, as opposed to their fellow beasts. Remember that Star, Laddie and Michael (to an extent) all willingly chose to join the vampire clan (as far as we can tell) but also chose to leave it, seeing the wrongness of killing people to eat. The line about the leopard and the kid, also leaps out, as it does make me think of Dwayne and Laddie. This may be a huge and confusing reach, but it would seem to fit with the symbolism I have been describing, as well as the Frogs’ assurance that seeing the truth about vampires and monsters will lead to a safer world. 

To take a less divine and fantastic look at the idea of dogs protecting a rabbit, we could consider that the Frogs are more comparable to puppies, than fully grown dogs. The clumsy and boisterous behaviour of the Frogs, as well as their fear and vulnerability during the battle, does give them a more puppy-like feel. The fact that the only other characters Nanook defends, besides Sam, are also children assert s Nanook as a protector of the young and weak. As the Frogs are comparable to Nanook and he proves more effective than them, it gives the impression that they are rookies with a lot to learn. Pups who are introduced to prey animals at a young age can sometimes grow to be friends with them, and develop a desire to protect them. 

One last small and amusing comparison to cats and dogs, is the mutual dislike of being wet. Though the wetness we are talking about comes courtesy of vampire blood and lethal holy water, the vehement reactions of both the Frogs and the Lost Boys in response to being drenched is very animalistic. 

[imjustheretoseetheprivateblogs]

The Lost World Rewrite

So, I recently watched the Lost World: Jurassic Park for the first time and all I gotta say is...

Yeah. So, in spite of the fact I feel that it would be Superfluous and self-aggrandizing, and a maturely written well thought out review would be a better use of my time, I decided to do a rewrite of the Lost World to make it a half-decent movie. I apologize to any fans of the film in advance. This is a rough Idea based on what could be done without completely throwing out the script. Here we go...

The film starts the same; little girl gets mauled by Compies on Isla Sorna

Cut to not Ian Malcolm; there is no Ian Malcolm in this film. There will never be Ian Malcolm in this film. Instead, we cut to Dr. Sarah Harding (played by Julianne Moore) who’s photographing a crocodile nesting. We learn a little bit about her from her assistant, Nick Van Owen (played by Vince Vaughn), namely that while her theories on Dinosaur young rearing are as on point as Alan Grant’s raptor research, she’s not so hot at rearing young herself. Case in point, she’s late for her daughter’s gymnastics performance.

Her daughter is of course Kelly Curtis played by Vanessa Lee Chester, who in this version will have a larger role and more developed personality. Kelly is Sarah’s adopted daughter and the two have been at a loss at what to do with one another since meeting. Kelly is the daughter of one of Sarah’s oldest friends who died while traveling and Sarah took her in. While their relationship isn’t horrible, it’s definitely awkward. Like when Sarah bursts through the gymnasium doors to see Kelly has completely finished her routine and the seat reserved for her has been given to someone else (maybe Michael Crichton or Steven Spielberg in a cameo?)

Later that night, Sarah is called by a mysterious voice on the phone, telling her to pack a suitcase and go outside. She does so and a black SUV pulls up. “Get in.” a man’s voice tells her.

“OK,” Sarah says, annoyed, “who are you people and what’s with the G-man routine?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a G-man routine.” says a familiar voice.

We pan over to reveal John Hammond (Richard Attenborough) sitting across from Sarah.

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks.

The conversation is much the same as the movie with Ian Malcolm (Hammond explains Site B, tells Sarah about the JP incident, etc.). Only this time, there’s a big difference: InGen wants to cut ties with the Jurassic Park debacle and intends to let the Costa Rican Government fire bomb it. Hammond wants to get people onto the island and document the animals to drum up environmentalist support for turning it into a preserve and at least stave off the destruction until a humane solution can be found.

“How can I say no!?” Sarah says. A chance to photograph real Dinosaurs. Never in 65 million years did she think she’d get this chance.

The team she’ll be going to the island with includes herself, Hammond, Van Owen (“Nick’s the best person for the job” Sarah insists), equipment manager Eddie Carr (Richard Schiff), Dr. Robert Burke (Thomas F. Duffy) (“are we sure he’s not a country singer?” Sarah asked, eyeing the supposed paleontologist’s ten gallon hat and beard), celebrity big game hunter Roland Tembo (Pete Postlethwaite), and InGen executive Peter Ludlow, Hammond’s own nephew (“I made the mistake of trusting too many people last time,” Hammond said, “this time, I’m playing it close to the vest.”)

The team arrives on the Island, where Peter suggests setting up camp in a low clearing, much to Tembo’s chagrin (“that,” Tembo said, rolling his eyes, “is a game trail, Mr. Ludlow. Carnivores hunt on game trails. do you want to find dinosaurs or serve them lunch?”)

The group wanders through deep Jungle, Hammond and Ludlow being the slowest, one due to their age the other due to being a little on the wimpy side. As the journey goes on, it becomes apparent that there’s some friction between Peter and John, with Peter second guessing John every chance he gets and trying to act like the leader of the group.

They finally come across a family of stegosaur and we get that adorable pet the baby scene from the movie. Eddie is flabbergasted, Nick is taking pictures like crazy, Burke’s having a conniption, Hammond swells with pride, and we don’t really know what’s going through Peter and Tembo’s heads.

Something startles the Stegs (Tembo reached for his gun. “No!” Nick grabbed the barrel of Tembo’s gun.)

Nick fumed “An animal that hasn’t been seen in over a million years turns up and the only way you can express yourself is to kill it?” Tembo smiled. “Remember that chap about twenty years ago? I forget his name. Climbed Everest without any oxygen, came down nearly dead. When they asked him, they said why did you go up there to die? He said I didn't, I went up there to live.” (cryptic, no?)

“What could have set them off like that?” Wondered Burke. Roland, however, scented the air. “Smoke,” he said simply, pointing “coming from that way. They must have thought it was from a forest fire.”

The group rushes back to their camp, discovering the campfire burning. Eddie and Burke make to smother it. However, the camper door opens to reveal—

“I was gonna have dinner ready when you got back.” Kelly said.

Sarah and Kelly have an argument inside the camper, about how Sarah’s never there for her and how she just washed out of her gymnastics team (“I got bronze,” she said, “not that you’d know. You didn’t even stick around long enough for that part.”)

Kelly convinces Sarah she can stay. We cut to a scene of the group in jeeps, riding through grasslands in a heard of various Dinosaurs. Nick’s in the jeep with Tembo, Peter, and Hammond, while Sarah is with Kelly, Eddie, and Burke. (Tembo turned to Nick. “get in the outrigger. You're closing in on a parasaur.” “Parasaurolophus,” Nick corrected smugly.” “Whatever,” said Tembo, “The one with the big red horn! The pompadour! *Elvis!*”)

Nick climbs into the outrigger and begins to film the dinosaurs. In the other jeep, the group is trying to coax Eddie into their own outrigger.

“No way I’m getting into that thing,” Eddie said “not surrounded by dinosaurs.” “We’re gonna need better shots if we want to save these dinosaurs,” Sarah said, “and you’re the only one who knows how to work the equipment.” “So do you,” Eddie said, “Why not pull over and let me drive? I used to drive cabs for a living.” “I know how the use the camera.” Kelly said. Sarah stared at her. “You do?” “I was in AV club before gymnastics.”

The group snaps Kelly in and they begin their own filming process. For the first time in a long time, Kelly and Sarah seem to be having fun together.

After that moment of chipperness, we cut back to camp. (Roland nodded to Nick. “Tree hugger got a great shot of a Pachy... a pachy... oh, hell. One of those fatheads with the bald spot, Friar Tuck!”) Peter and Hammond are looking over a map. Peter insists that they should go to the abandoned worker village on the other side of the island, where they can find easy shelter and supplies (“IT runs on geothermal power, so it’ll still have power”). Hammond disagrees. (“Absolutely not,” Hammond said, “that part of the island has been overrun by Velociraptors.” Peter frowned “What’s that, veloc-o-?” “Velociraptor,” Burke said, “Carnivore, pack hunter. About two meters tall, long snout, binocular vision, strong, dextrous forearms, and killing claws on both feet.” “That doesn’t sound promising.” said Peter. “You should read Alan Grant’s latest paper on them,” said Burke, “It’s like he met one in real life!”)

Meanwhile, Roland Tembo is now kneeling, looking at a track.

“Come take a look at this.” he says. Everyone gathers around. “do you know what this is?” he asks. Sarah’s eyes grew wide. “We have to leave.” she said. “Why?” asked Kelly. “That’s a T-Rex track!” Burke said. “A T-Rex!” Eddie looked as if he was about to break for the beach and try to swim home. “That’s impossible!” said Hammond “the satellite photos showed that the Rex territory is nowhere near here.”

The group decides to risk staying in the area. Later that night, Kelly hears a noise. Curious, she goes outside to investigate. In the moonlight, she sees a team of unknown men in night vision goggles capturing the dinosaurs that they had been filming earlier that day. As the drive off, Kelly grabs onto the back of one of the trailers to follow them.

We cut back to Sarah’s tent. She’s asleep, not having been roused by her daughter’s departure. But she is roused by what sounds like deep breathing outside. She surreptitiously looks around and sees a massive snout sticking into her tent. It’s the Tyrannosaur!

Just then, Peter Ludlow comes out of his tent with a roll of toilet paper, but upon seeing the dinosaur lets out a scream that wakes the whole camp. The rex turns and bellows at him, trashing their camp all the while in a show of dominance. Soon, the whole group is running through the forest. Hammond is almost eaten by the thing if not for Tembo’s intervention.

Soon, however, the groups are separated from one another. Hammond slips down a river bank into a ravine, Peter just up and vanishes, and Sarah, Van Owen, Tembo, Burk, and Eddie run behind a waterfall with the rex in pursuit. The dinosaur, unable to follow, gives one last roar of anger and leaves. Out of all the people, however, Tembo looks the least scared. He looks…thrilled, actually.

Meanwhile, we cut away to Hammond. He rises (roughly) shaking away the delirium. He looks around, wondering where his party got off to. The T-Rex’s roar is heard in the distance. Better find the others, he thinks. He begins to follow the river; if the group has any sense, they’ll make a new camp on the water. But then he hears a noise and looks down. It’s a Compy.

We get a very similar scene to Dieter Stark’s (Peter Stormare’s) death in the movie (which was based off of John Hammond’s in the first book) with one or two caveats. First, we don’t cut away in the middle. We maintain the scene and the suspense as long as possible (with Compys popping out of the woodwork the more Hammond tries to get away from them). The second…

There was a sound of rifle fire. The Compys scattered and Hammond felt himself pulled up from the shallow water, finally able to breathe. “Tembo,” he coughed.

“If you have any more suicidal ideas,” said Tembo, “keep em to yourself.”

Cut back to Sarah’s group as Hammond and Tembo rejoin them.

“Has anyone seen Kelly?” Sarah asked, worried.

“I think I saw her run in the same direction as Ludlow,” said Tembo.

“Hopefully, they’ll be safe once they leave the Rex’s territory.” said Burke.

“Don’t bet on it,” said Sarah, “Tyrannosaurs have the second largest proportional olfactory cavity of any creature in the fossil record.” “What’s the first?” asked Eddie. “Turkey vulture,” said Burke, as casually as someone would talk about the weather.

“Any idea where we are?” asked Eddie, desperately trying the change the subject. “Somewhere west of the worker village, I think,” said Nick, examining a map of the island (one of the few they managed to salvage from the camp) “It’d be an easy hike there.” “Maybe that’s where Kelly and Peter are,” said Sarah, turning to Hammond. “Yes, but if they did go there, they’re in grave danger.”  said Hammond. “Velociraptors,” said Burke, trying to be helpful.

“Danger or not, we need a radio,” said Tembo, “that buck tore the hell out of our camp and I don’t think we can contact the mainland with smoke signals.” “How do you know the T-Rex was male?” asked Sarah.

Before Tembo can answer, a different roar is heard. A helicopter passed overhead.

“I thought you said we had a few weeks before they started razing the island?” Sarah said. “We do,” Hammond replied, “I don’t know what that helicopter’s doing her.” “It was headed towards the worker village,” said Tembo, “so, if we want to see what’s what, I think that’s where we’re headed.”

Cut to a scene of the group walking through the forest at night. Finally, they reach a vantage point overlooking the worker village…and it’s anything but abandoned.

More than three dozen people, some of them armed, are walking over the compound. Chain link fence ran the perimeter of the camp, newer than the rest of the camp. Tents, vehicles, mobile generators, the works.

Dozens of dinosaurs sit in cages, all bearing the same logo

“It says InGen on the side of that truck!” Eddie said. Everyone turned to look at Hammond. “I had no idea about this,” said Hammond, “why would I ask anyone to come here?” “I think I know who we should ask,” said Nick, pointing down at the camp.

It’s Peter, down in the camp, talking with the armed guards.

“What’s he doing down there?” asked Sarah. “I think,” Hammond said, sadness in his voice, “I’ve made the same mistake twice.” “Anybody seen Tembo?” asked Eddie.

Indeed, Tembo has disappeared.

Cut to Kelly, hiding in one of the trailers. She’d managed to evade her captors, but for how long she can continue to do so is up to debate. Stealthily, she creeps out of the trailer and around the camp over to one of the cages. She undoes the latch. She moves on to the next cage. Rinse and repeat.

Cut to inside one of the tents, Peter and several other people, all InGen personnel, stand around a card table where plans labeled ‘Jurassic Park San Diego’ are lain out.

“San Diego?” One man (a high ranking InGen worker) asked. “it’s already famous for its animal attractions,” said Peter, gesturing to plans on the table, “San Diego zoo... Sea World... The San Diego Chargers.”

“I don’t think John Hammond would have approved of having these animals on the mainland.” An InGen executive said.

Peter frowned. “Well, Hammond’s not in charge anymore. I am.” He turned to another man, this one a hunter by the look of him. “How’s the hunting going?”

“We’ve got plenty of plant eaters,” the hunter said, “some eggs. no raptors though. And our man hasn’t brought in the T-Rex like he said he would.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “What makes you think people want to see a bunch of veggiesaurs and eggs! They’re gonna want a T-Rex!”

“We’re trying, sir!” the hunter says, “but we haven’t seen any raptors since we got here!”

Suddenly, a worker bursts into the tent “The baby’s gone!” he said.

Almost as suddenly, a Triceratops bursts into the tent, smashing into the table and scattering the group. The camp is in chaos! Dinosaurs are running amuck. Vehicles overturned, people tossed into the air. But this is the chance Hammond’s group has been waiting for. They make their way down to the village in the bedlam, and make it into the main building of the worker’s village. Eddie manages to contact the mainland, and things are looking up. But then, we hear an ungodly moan from behind a nearby door. Slowly, Burke heads towards the door, picking up a nearby screwdriver to use as a weapon. He jerks the door open to reveal…

“Kelly!” Sarah cried. Kelly sat inside a broom closet, in her arms a baby T-Rex.

“They just left him tied to a stick out there,” said Kelly, “and I think his leg is broken.”

Despite the limited materials, the group sets to work splinting the baby’s leg. It’s pretty much the same as in the movie. Until the sound of a rifle cocking is heard behind them.

“I’ll be taking that rex now, Dr. Harding,” Roland Tembo said. Tembo has been on Ludlow’s payroll since the beginning. He was never here to protect the group. He’s here to hunt the T-Rex. He was the one who staked the baby out, to attract it’s parents.

Outside, the cacophony has died down. The Dinosaurs have mainly been recaptured. Hammond’s group has been brought before Ludlow, who looks at them condescendingly. “You really thought you were still CEO when you got here, Uncle John? I bought you out the day you asked for my help. We’ll still use the footage you took for our attractions, don’t worry.” “So, you’re going to reopen Jurassic Park then, is that it? Despite my warnings?” “No, not reopen. We’re moving these animals to the mainland so we don’t have to fly out here every time there’s a problem. You put us six million dollars in debt every day since you started making dinosaurs. It’s time to see good on that investment you promised. And the board agrees with me.”

InGen Exec: it’s nothing personal John. Why have a dinosaur and not use it?

“These are animals,” Sarah said, “they deserve respect”

“They’ll have the best of care.”

“And what if they break out! What then?”

Cut to part of Hammond’s team (Hammond, Sarah, and Kelly) being shoved into a trailer with the door locked behind them. Sarah tries to force the door open, to no avail. Kelly runs around, trying to open the windows. Hammond just sits down, despondent at the betrayal of his own family.

Sarah (trying to yank the door open): come on! You stupid…

A familiar roar is heard. A car flips past the window.

“What is it?” Hammond asked, “What’s going on?”

Sarah: I think things just got complicated.

The buck T-Rex from earlier has tracked the them to the Worker village and crashes through the fence. Suddenly, another roar is heard from the other side of the camp. It’s the female Rex, and she’s even more pissed than the male.

“There’s two of them!?” Sarah asked, incredulous. “We spared no expense,” Hammond said.

The rexes wreck the trailer the rest of Hammond’s team is in. Nick, Eddie, and Burke make a break for it. The female Rex sees them and gives chase. She and her mate bare down on them and soon capture Eddie, each taking one end in their jaws and pulling him apart for a snack.

Afterward we get a faceoff between Roland Tembo and the male rex (one that would have been really cool in the movie but we didn’t get it).

Tembo wastes two shot gun blasts on the rex. Out of ammo, he switches to tranquilizers, which finally manage to bring the beast down. The other rex is soon felled after. Subdued in special harnasses, the rexes are air lifted by helicopters to a boat waiting of the coast of Isla Sorna. All in all, the bad guys’ mission is a success. Well, Tembo wouldn’t say so. If you’d told him a year ago he’d get to hunt not one but two T-Rexes he would have kissed whoever told him that square on the mouth. But in the end, it had been so stupidly simple to catch them he just feels crapped on. Didn’t even get a trophy.

“You know, I remember the people who've helped me, Roland. There's a job for you at the park in San Diego if you want it.” Roland turns him down.

Cut to a group of hunters patrolling the tall grass outside the worker village. Suddenly, one of them is pulled under. A hunter a few feet away looks in his direction. “Manolo?” he asks. Another nearby hunter is pulled out of view. The hunters are starting to get scared. “Look alive, people.” one of them says. We hear a familiar coughing sound.

A velociraptor jumps out of the grass and mangles one of the hunters. Soon, pandemonium ensues. The crafty raptors had been evading the InGen hunters, watching them, waiting for the right moment. And with two dinosaur attacks in a row and both rexes out of the picture, now was the time to strike! (And there are no tails sticking up out of the grass cartoonishly! Raptors are supposed to be dangerous, not goofy).

Back at the camp, Roland runs towards the danger while Peter climbs aboard one of the waiting helicopters. “Get me out of here!” he cries.

The raptors swarm the camp. Roland manages to kill a few, but not before they massacre most of the InGen workers there. Tembo even has to watch Burke die in front of him. We get a scene where Hammond’s group escapes their trailer, Kelly defeats a velociraptor with gymnastics and the group plus Tembo manages to get onboard a helicopter.

The rest of the movie follows the actual TLW movie pretty closely with a few differences. Namely, there’s more than one dinosaur rampaging through San Diego, Tembo is helping the remaining team route the dinos back to the ship, we acknowledge the fact that the car they picked in the movie was due to reasons of masculinity, and Peter suffers a nervous breakdown when the dinosaurs break out of the ship’s hold and allows himself to be eaten by the baby rex out of guilt.

Roland fires a tranquilizer shot at the buck rex before it can clear the door. When that’s done, Sarah asks him what he’s going to hunt next.

“I believe I've spent enough time in the company of death.” he said.

We cut to Kelly and Sarah asleep on the couch while a TV plays news coverage of the boat being returned to Isla Sorna with a statement from John Hammond (once again CEO of InGen).

His speech is pretty much the same, ending with “as someone once told me, life finds a way.”

The final shot of the film is the rex family, the stegosaurs, all the dinosaurs back on Isla Sorna. Content as the Jurassic Park credits theme plays in the background.

So, what did you think? Like it, hate it? As always, I welcome feedback and comments!

[tabloidtoc]

National Enquirer, October 26

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover Story: Death Mysteries -- Whitney Houston autopsy cover-up; Kenny Rogers’ body is missing 

Page 2: Reba McEntire’s new romance with Rex Linn convinced Kelly Clarkson she needed to walk away from her unhappy marriage -- while Reba’s love life was heating up Kelly’s relationship with husband Brandon Blackstock who is Reba’s former stepson was hitting the rocks and Kelly remained very close with Reba and Reba would tell her how happy Rex had made her

Page 3: Control freak Tom Cruise is a basket case after he couldn’t charm Cher into leaving their steamy fling out of her upcoming memoir and the image-conscious actor was so panicky over Cher spilling their sexy secrets that he personally called her -- they had a strong physical attraction when they met at a White House event back in the ‘80s and eventually they hooked up and it was very hot and very intense and over in a matter of weeks but it left a nice impression on Cher so she only has good things to say about their relationship but what happened between them could prove very embarrassing if it got out and Tom doesn’t want that to happen -- unfortunately for Tom Cher wouldn’t say anything about what she intends to write and wouldn’t promise to leave Tom out and that’s made Tom even more paranoid and he’s wondering if he’s going to have to take legal action

Page 4: Kanye West is keeping a secret divorce diary to use against wife Kim Kardashian and its potential dishy dirt has her famous family quaking in their boots -- Kanye’s convinced Kim’s about the kick him to the curb and is putting together collateral to crush her and her family is the couple spirals into a $2.2 billion divorce, Jennifer Garner at 48 is flaunting her best body ever and her motivation is to compete with ex-husband Ben Affleck’s 32-year-old girlfriend Ana de Armas because Jen was tired of hearing how Ben’s fallen head over heels for Ana and wanted to remind him what he’s missing -- Jen’s always been very confident of her looks but she decided to step out of mom mode to remind everyone how hot she still is 

Page 5: Devastated Lisa Marie Presley has been relying on an old pal Smashing Pumpkins rocker Billy Corgan to repair her shattered life in the wake of the suicide of her son -- Lisa Marie and Billy were spotted together at Graceland not long ago and he’s been a huge source of support for her -- though they were rumored to have had a romance in 2018 Billy’s fully committed to his baby mama fashion designer Chloe Mendel and Lisa Marie would like nothing better for them to make beautiful music again but she knows he’s taken and she needs his friendship more than ever. 

Page 6: Ambitious anchor Gayle King is calling the shots at CBS This Morning after executive producer Diana Miller quit in the latest backstage shake-up; there was tension between Gayle and Diana and now Diana is gone -- it’s like the show gave Gayle the keys to the car and even if she runs it into a ditch the network gives her more power -- Gayle also clashed with former co-host Norah O’Donnell who successfully snagged the anchor chair at CBS Evening News but Norah hasn’t wowed in the ratings and it’s a matter of time before Gayle gets the coveted job 

Page 7: The mystery over the fate of country great Kenny Rogers’ body has left his own family members in the dark -- sources close to the singer said he’d been cremated while others charged his body is still on ice and Kenny’s body is missing as far as most people are concerned and there’s no place fans can go and pay their respects -- it’s most likely he’s been cremated and the ashes have yet to be scattered but there have also been whispers in certain circles that he could have been cryogenically frozen to preserve his body for a later date, many of Hollywood’s biggest names are abandoning Tinseltown to escape the COVID-19 pandemic and a collapsing entertainment industry -- Julia Roberts hightailing it to San Francisco and Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson getting citizenship in Greece and Pierce Brosnan put his Malibu mansion on the market and Jim Cameron is peddling his prized L.A. compound

Page 8: Frustrated Jon Stewart’s plans to reinvent himself as the next Steven Spielberg have flopped and he’s pretty unhappy about it and he wants to be viewed as a respected serious filmmaker but he’s hit more roadblocks than he ever saw as a comedian or talk show host -- he was left fuming when Irresistible his latest outing as a director was met by mediocre reviews and limited to pay-per-view and streaming services last summer even with box office draw and best buddy Steve Carell in the cast -- he could snap his fingers and get any TV project but he’s setting his sights much higher and he’s walked away from millions of dollars to go back to TV because he wants to prove he is a creative force in the film industry 

Page 9: Frustrated Brad Pitt is threatening to have ex Angelina Jolie dragged to jail if she refuses to end her harassment campaign against him and hash out a divorce and custody agreement and he’s had it with Angie’s intimidation tactics and is fed up with being labeled a bad dad and it’s no exaggeration to say Brad’s scared of Angie and he wants professional witnesses around them at all times when he attempts to see their children but for Brad though it would be the ultimate revenge to see Angie led away in handcuffs, Nashville legend Travis Tritt is trying to keep up with country music’s up-and-comers by getting a lift from plastic surgery and recent photos show the 57-year-old almost unrecognizable with a line-free face and skin as tight as a drum -- Travis is getting ready to put out his first album of new music in more than ten years and it’s hard to blame the guy when he’s completing against singers 30 years younger 

Page 10: Hot Shots -- Julia Garner got a touch-up on the Staten Island set of Inventing Anna, Reverend Run visited a mural of slain Run-DMC bandmate Jam Master Jay in NYC’s Hollis Queens, Vanessa Paradis and daughter Lily-Rose Depp in Paris

Page 11: Lovestruck Chrissy Metz is already talking marriage and babies with newly unveiled beau Bradley Collins but she has a history of falling for guys fast which has previously been a recipe for heartbreak and while nobody’s doubting Bradley’s intentions there’s a lot of confusion about why they kept their romance totally hidden until now, the devastating fire that tore through Rachael Ray’s home has made her reassess her life and she and husband John Cusimano are now considering adopting a baby -- losing so many of their possessions in the fire made them realize they weren’t all that important anyway so they bulldozed the house and are rebuilding and the word is they’ll add a nursery

Page 12: Straight Shuter -- Danny Trejo cuddled a rescue pup (picture), Lizzo is the first plus-sized Black woman to ever grace the cover of Vogue but pulling off the shoot was a challenge with most designers unable to find clothes that fit her, Justin Timberlake and Jessica Biel are very private and they’re livid with Lance Bass after he confirmed that they had another baby, when he was NBC’s biggest star Matt Lauer conducted almost every high-profile interview and now editors and doing a lot of cropping and zooming to preserve archived footage while removing Matt 

Page 14: Crime 

Page 15: Rock guitar god Eddie Van Halen who tragically died after a brave battle with cancer wanted to be buried with one of his Frankenstrat guitars that he created to define his signature sound -- Eddie felt like he owed his whole life to that instrument and he loved that thing as much as his family, Perez Hilton dished he kissed notorious skirt-chaser John Mayer in a New York nightclub and the lip-lock happened right in front of John’s then girlfriend Jessica Simpson who didn’t seem to know whether she was incredibly embarrassed or really turned on

Page 16: Cover Story -- explosive new autopsy evidence proves superstar Whitney Houston didn’t have to die -- eight years after she passed mysteries about her final moments and blatant blunders at the death scene point to murder and a shocking coverup and now investigators are demanding a new probe into the 2012 tragedy in a Los Angeles hotel bathroom and for Whitney’s body to be exhumed -- a private eye believes the autopsy proves Whitney was murdered but the case was never pursued because she was dismissed as a druggie and she was marginalized by law enforcement as a dead drug user 

Page 18: American Life

Page 19: Horror movie legend John Saxon’s family started battling over his fortune even before he passed on July 25 -- in legal papers filed in May his son Antonio claimed the actor’s third wife Gloria Martel had been pocketing money against John’s wishes, Netflix faces criminal charges in Texas over the controversial film Cuties -- according to court documents a Tyler County grand jury indicted Netflix claiming it knowingly promoted visual material that depicts the lewd exhibition of the private parts of a clothed or partially clothed child younger than 18 -- Netflix said in a statement that Cuties is a social commentary about the sexualization of young children and this charge is without merit 

Page 20: Suzanne Somers recently cheated death when she and husband Alan Hamel fell down a flight of stairs at their Palm Springs home and although Alan wasn’t seriously injured the terrifying spill left Suzanne in agony with two displaced vertebrae and forced her to undergo delicate neck surgery but she said the surgery went off without a hitch and promised she is on the mend, Hollywood Hookups -- Sofia Richie has unfollowed Scott Disick on Instagram, Zac Efron hopes to marry Vanessa Valladares, Sharon Stone and Mindy Kaling are both on the market 

Page 21: Twelve years after she was placed under conservatorship Britney Spears remains unable to sign her own name on official documents -- Britney recently made moves asking to allow a different financial group to step in and help run her life as well as gain more freedom but lawyer Andrew Wallet said Britney to this day does not have the capacity to sign documents and make decisions for herself and she is susceptible to undue influences, the audience for the Saturday Night Live season premiere came away with more than just a few yuks they also received $150 because to get around New York State pandemic guidelines SNL gave each guest a parting gift of $150 paychecks as if they were employees, Prince Harry and Meghan Markle may soon have a new neighbor in heavy metal maniac Tommy Lee -- the drummer was recently spotted checking out a $2.3 million three-acre plot next to the rogue royals’ $14 million home in Montecito and he was obviously pumped about living there but building the tattooed rocker’s home would mean tons of truck traffic and hopefully Harry and Meghan don’t get upset with the building work he’s planning 

Page 22: ABC is reeling from a barrage of allegations from employees and on-air talent who’ve blasted it as a toxic and racist working environment -- the network which is owned by the family-friendly Walt Disney Corporation was rocked when Sunny Hostin the popular co-host of The View accused company executives of institutional and personal racism in her memoir and in later interviews about the book

Page 26: Lonely country singer Kenny Chesney is looking to find a new ladylove and is talking about finally settling down for good -- he is unhappily single after his eight-year relationship with model Mary Nolan hit the rocks -- he spends all the time he’s not on the road at his island paradise in Antigua but he misses having a partner and he’s even asked pals Matthew McConaughey and Richard Branson to play matchmaker 

Page 28: America is preparing for World War III as China amps up war games in the South Pacific and readies plans to invade U.S. allies -- military insiders warn China and Russia and their tyrannical accomplices in Iran and North Korea and Syria and Turkey are bracing to launch a coordinated attack against America and the west that could end in nuclear disaster 

Page 36: Health Watch 

Page 38: Rolling Stones guitarist Ron Wood has traded in his debauched days of sex drugs and rock ‘n’ roll for knitting, Rod Stewart revealed there’s a deep freeze between him and former close pal Elton John and that Elton refused his attempts to that things out -- the two ‘70s icons had been friends for decades before Rod blasted Elton’s biopic and his most recent music tour -- when Rod realized he was in the doghouse he tried to bait Elton with a bone for his kids by inviting Elton’s boys Zachary and Elijah to come play soccer with his sons Alistair and Aiden only to be greeted with the sounds of silence 

Page 42: Red Carpet -- The Christian Siriano collection 

Page 45: Spot the Differences -- Sophie Okonedo in Ratched 

Page 47: Odd List 

[ambitionsource]

Hi, I am so here for all this ambition content right now. I check this page every day! I remember u guys mentioning about a rl and dasher road trip and I was wondering about that! Thank you!

hello pal!! literally so honored and happy that you’re enjoying ambition and the fact that you check our page every day... ugh you’re too sweet. hopefully the nonsense we do around here is entertaining! very happy to have you in our fandom community <3

so yes, rl + da road trip! i hope it’s okay that i took a bit to answer this, bc i wanted to ruminate on it for a bit before typing it up. so as y’all know we refer to the summer between s1 and 2 as “cruel summer” (thank u tswift), and similarly we have a code name for the summer between s2 and 3 which is “summer of love.” this is admittedly mainly because of rl, but also because a majority of the characters are in such a better headspace this summer than they were last.

boppin the rest under a read more, because i just go on... and on... and on............. (i really love rl & da)

-- Maggie

one facet of this summer is that around... july sometime, dylucasher decide they want to take a trip down to virginia beach (or the beaches in that general vicinity) because they want to check out a beach that isnt grey and cold like the ones close to them in ny, and because a trip before their last year of school together seems like a fun and Classic idea. originally they plan it for just the three of them, but somehow riley comes up and all of them agree -- especially dylan -- that it would be way more fun if she came along too. so they try to convince her to come along, which doesn’t take much convincing, it’s more so about figuring out how she’s going to get around cory because if he knew she wanted to go on a like week long trip with her boyfriend (who he doesn’t really trust) and two other boys he would probably have a heart attack.

you know, it would be like “you can’t go on an overnight trip with three boys!!!” “dad, you know dylan and asher. they’re gay. they’ve been dating for three years. they’re GAY. i do not think i’m at ALL at risk in that scenario???” fsdfSDKGDL

so riley devises a plan / cover story that involves like “going to stay with mom” for a few days, maybe a lie about staying over at isa’s or yindra’s for a couple days in there, you know, she lays out the whole lie and then bribes maya to go along with it and help cover her tracks (rl have very inverse influences on one another -- where riley sort of tames lucas and helps calm him and make him less feral, she develops a bit of a rebellious streak from him or just better identifies the nuances of which rules should be followed vs which were meant to be bent or broken..)

the good thing about this road trip is that it’s what truly cements riley’s friendship with dylan and asher. they’ve been toeing the line of friendship for like two years now (as riley said in cruel summer, she regretted not taking the time and establish a friendship with them in sophomore year before everything fell apart), and it’s kind of like it’s bound to happen. riley and asher takes a little more time to grow and develop just because of the kind of person asher is, but on this road trip dylan and riley just Click. like they were basically made to be best friends, dylan is the first person who kind intrinsically Gets riley and they match each other in terms of enthusiasm / personality / brightness. again, a friendship that’s just been Waiting to happen, and this trip really brings that to the forefront.

(on that note, i once joked that when dylan and riley get really into chatting about something and lucas zones out, they start sounding like the villagers in animal crossing to him. like if he stops paying attention for even a second suddenly dyley sound like this. and i stand by that claim.)

as for the trip itself, its not like i have the whole thing perfectly plotted or anything like that, more just... musings and ideas. oh and a playlist, of course i have a playlist. obviously they’re really good about swapping around drivers and sort of organizing their time since they only have a week, and i think it’s mainly funded by dylan’s youtube vlogger coin. asher helps and riley chips in her fair share, but dylan basically covers lucas because obviously he can’t pay but they all want him there. he makes up for this by driving the most even tho the other three insist its not a big deal.

when it comes to sharing space, the quartet of them are pretty good at it. obviously when they stop for the night they just share beds by couple, but it is interesting to think about how different these two relationships are in terms of like... you know, where they’re at. like its super easy for da to share a bed because they basically do that all the time now, but for rl breaking that boundary would be a kind of unspoken big deal and lucas would be so cautious about it. like they spend most of the summer in riley’s car (can’t hang out at her place with cory there and no one is going to lucas’s) and so theyve probably like fallen asleep together there once or twice and maybe napped ONCE at riley’s place when maya and cory were both gone in the 2.5 months they’ve been together, but it’s still... not the same. so at first lucas would be really nervous about it, but after the first couple of nights he’d relax and realize its really not that big a deal -- esp since riley seems pretty confident and comfortable with it. by the end of the week, lucas wakes up in the middle of the night and riley has cuddled up next to him and he’s like... okay MAYBE sharing a bed with someone makes points. perhaps.

one of the nights on the way down the coast, what truly breaks the ice for dylan and riley is that they break out a SMALL amount of alcohol and both get tipsy (which for them is just like. giddy and giggly and very chatty. they’re both happy drunks without a doubt). lucas and asher don’t indulge bc lucas doesn’t trust himself getting intoxicated and asher is just wary of it in general, but they figure dyley can do it as long as they’re both supervising. so dylan and riley talk A LOT that night and truly form their Kindred Spirit bond and also lucasher end up regretting letting them drink bc for like a half an hour dyley do this thing where they just pretend to share secrets with one another. like they theatrically whisper in one another’s ears and look at lucasher while they’re doing it and then start laughing and they’re literally not saying anything Important (like it’s probably like riley being like “psst... i think lucas is... hee hee... lucas is hot”) and then dylan cracking up and agreeing but bc lucasher don’t know what they’re saying they’re like ha ha very funny........... but y’all aren’t talking about us doe right. wait, what did you say. hold on --

a lot of the trip is also based around being in nature and the outdoors, since they don’t get to do much of that day-to-day in manhattan. considering one of their favorite spots to hang out as a group during senior year is at central park, they’re all definitely fresh air outdoorsy kind of people to a degree. so like, stopping at parks, going on hikes, and of course the beach itself. i made an instagram edit of one of said hikes when i was testing a template i made:

naturally, and i swear this happens at least once on a long road trip whether it is with family or friends or any combo of people, but you hit a point where you get irritable and start to get a little sick of one another. i think in this case that mainly starts between lucas and asher, because although they’re Best Friends i think lucas has a knack for finding ways of irritating him. and also lucas probably gets irritated by dylan’s high energy after too much time with no breaks, so he’s also snappy, and as they’re on the way back up to nyc people are spatting at one another or getting snippy over stupid things so riles is like. here’s an idea! how about we split up for the day when we get to philadelphia. this is an excellent idea and none of them are opposed, so when they arrive in philly, dylan and asher split off to go explore the city + historical sites.

what do riley and lucas do? well, riley takes lucas to meet her grandparents, of course.

at first lucas is like ummmmmmm no because he’s SUPER nervous about meeting her family -- the only family he’s met is cory and we know that’s... unideal, and eric, both of whom have a completely different perception of him bc of school and his behavioral record. he’s yet to meet topanga or auggie yet or anything like that -- but riley assures him that her grandparents are chill and she has no doubt she’ll like them. they’re also meeting lucas with a completely blank slate (i.e. no preconceived notions about him like those who work at aaa), so it’s not hard for lucas to make a good impression since he really is like... a good guy. not to mention no way is he snarky or deadpan in situations where he doesn’t feel comfortable or like he has the right lmao, so he’s on his BEST behavior around amy and alan.

the good thing is that alan himself kind of had a similar background and run on the wild side that lucas does (kind of like jack, altho jack was never as troubled as lucas), and so i think he would kind of... inherently Get him. like he’d strike up a conversation with him and at first lucas would be like omg why is this man speaking to me please i’m invisible pretend i’m not here... but after a bit he’d find it’s surprisingly easy to talk to alan. and they’d talk for like an hour and get on pretty well. meanwhile, amy is talking to riley and is like so... let me guess. cory does not know you’re traveling with your boyfriend???? and riley is like... perhaps. maybe don’t tell him? pretty please? and once amy convenes with alan and is like how is he and alan is all “he’s fine, we can approve,” then they agree not to rat riley out.

riley and lucas also climb up into the matthews tree house and take a look around and they comment on how strange it is that cory and eric once used to like, hang out in there and in that house and were once teenagers (lucas: be careful this is humanizing your father too much for me). and i’d think they’d sit up in the treehouse for a little bit and just talk and riley would talk about how nice it must’ve been to grow up in the suburbs like this, and she’s surprised when lucas agrees and he admits he fucking hates living in manhattan. and that kind of prompts this subtle internal thinking in both of them of like hmm well... maybe in the future when things are different and we can make our own rules maybe we’ll move out of the city and into a quieter life... they don’t say any of that out loud, but they’re both thinking it. and at the tail end of that conversation riley kisses lucas which turns into a Really Good Kiss... but then they’re interrupted by amy calling for them to come down for dinner and its kind of like lmao, they’re both a little bashful but in a casual silly way

[writerpyre]

Addendum: Skyhook

So. I’ve been writing this tiny thing on and off since Skyhook came out oh four-and-a-half-years-ago where’s the damn time gone!?, and I finally managed to get it finished tonight. Amazing what an age without looking at this thing -- and randomly getting vibes while trawling through @lenle-g’s old fanart -- can do, but here; have a oneshot everybody.

 *An addendum to the end of Skyhook, because no bloody way did he not get saddled with anything remotely health-endangering. It made me quite indignant, but what can we do about animation budgets and not scaring small children?, but anyway. :) As usual, I only do this for the joy, not money. Many thanks as always to my beautiful beta (co-writer), LexietFive; who, without her encouragement and love, I wouldn’t still be doing this stuff. Love you L. xx

Enjoy. xx

~

John is starting to feel rather unwell by the time he ushers Fischler and his recently-fired associates through the final airlock between Thunderbirds Three and Five, an hour after he'd locked the nosy creatures in the galley to stop them from ferreting out the secrets of International Rescue. His head is pounding, his skin aching, and his scalp to his toes and everything in between feel hot and heavy and painful. His limbs feel like they weigh several tons, even despite the lack of gravity, and his throat feels thick and tight; every inhalation feeling like a wholly unnecessary effort. His heartbeat slowing as the still-lingering adrenaline from the rather unorthodox rescue finally burns out, John lets out a weak sigh of relief as the airlock between finally seals shut behind his three unwelcome guests.

He loves 'Five, but he is heartily sick and tired of spinning around in that damned gravity ring. The ache is intensifying swiftly now the excitement is over. His brain feels like it has been scrambled from the pressure of being flattened against the panels, and has been since he managed to pick himself off the ground, and his right arm and shoulder are pure bruise from where he'd been slammed down in the process of reaching the cut-off switch. Seems to be a rather recurrent event as of late, he muses wearily. At least last time it was only 3Gs, Alan having managed to slow down the spin with Thunderbird Three before the still-malignant EOS turned him into a John Tracy pancake, but still, after that one he'd had a pressure headache and vision problems for three days. He wasn't pleased to be repeating the experience so soon.

Sucking in a painful, stuttered breath against his battered, bruised ribs, John gives himself a moment to regroup, promising himself that he'll do a systems' check shortly, just as soon as the station stops whirling around him. When that started exactly, he's not sure, but he thinks it must've had to do with the black-out he had in those moments before he forced himself upright to deal with the reverse thrusters. This is why he doesn't do gravity all that often, it always screws him up for the rest of the damn day!

"Thunderbird Three to Thunderbird Five, are you there, John?" And there goes that plan. His eyes flicker open and John grimaces as he forces his arm up to bring his comm. level with his face, wincing as his head and neck throb with the motion. That's gonna get irritating real fast...

"Thunderbird Five, reading you strength five, 'Three," He contemplates sitting up and addressing his siblings and their holograms properly, but his eyes and his entire body are turning swiftly into agony right now, so nope, stuff it. It's only Scott and Alan, having come up to fetch the high-ballooning mis-adventurers - crapped-up second engine and all. They won't care.

"Planning on turning us and the Space Invaders loose anytime in the future, Johnny? We're kinda stuck til you release your grip..." John blearily watches Scott's eyebrows rise up his forehead as his sibling takes him in, lolling on his back in midair, and he blinks painfully as a wave of nausea-induced dizziness rolls over him, his eyes shuttering to half-closed with no warning. Yup, definitely time for a nap before those checks...

"Make EOS do it..." John mumbles chokedly, forcing them back open, and his older brother just looks at him, with that ridiculous expression he gets when the Terrible Two are being morons and he can't believe they can be so childish. "I'm tired..." He isn't whining, he isn't, but some part of him says that he should probably be alarmed, especially when his head is aching so, but right now, John just doesn't have the energy to devote to it. He feels all sick and wobbly and... eurgh.

Something's wrong, he thinks as the pain suddenly spikes enormously, forcing him in on himself with a cry of pain, and Scott seems to have had the same lightbulb moment as John, because his brother is suddenly hollering rather inadequately for Alan, and it's all John can do to roll himself over in the air before he's throwing up the gorgeous, floating chunks of what only a few hours ago, there were two rather delicious breakfast bagels and his morning vacuum flask of coffee. John groans and clutches his stomach, his ears ringing as his body convulses, the undersides of his eyelids tinged red by pain.

Wonderful, motion sickness at the very least; bloody centrifugal and gravitational forces have gotten him, goddamnit, and so suddenly too, which means it's a bad bout, because he's not experienced that since he went through astronaut training, years ago. Apparently twenty-five Gs and more can do that to a guy. Yup, his rather muddled, normally-intelligent brain remembers that right now, at least. Yummy.

John retches again - because that thought is definitely not appropriate right now, when he's dirtying up the pristine, sanitised atmosphere of his beloved 'Bird - and he wonders absently where the hell EOS is, as, quite abruptly, the chilled hands of John's older brother are on his arms, pulling him into an upright position and away from the contents of his stomach. He flails blindly, because dear God, his head is killing him, but John tries to wriggle away regardless, because those damned idiots in Three's passenger bay are far more important than him dealing with a bit of nausea... Or not, as the case may be...

Deny it, and it’ll be all okay… Yep, sound advice, Tracy.

It doesn't seem like Scott has gotten that memo though, because he only grips John tighter and pulls his head back firmly but carefully, straightening the slighter man out, literally forcing him to gasp for air to regulate his breathing. That only makes it harder to bear the pain, rapidly growing stronger now, like the veil on the shock of what happened barely half an hour ago and the damage he has apparently inflicted upon himself has fallen away, leaving raw, naked agony in its wake.

"Easy, John, easy..." Scott mutters in his ear. "I know what you're thinking,  but none of them are hurt but for a bit of altitude-headache, and right now, you're coming down with us whether you like it or not. They can wait til we've got you settled in 'Three, and then you can come home and Brains can check you out; you're shaking like a maraca."

Coughing, his eyes streaming even as he grips his brother's arms blindly in dizziness, John glares up weakly at the fuzzy form of his eldest sibling. Scott knows his thoughts on that matter - he knows that John much prefers to spend his time up here unless he has to be elsewhere, and right now, John doesn't want to. He'll be fine once he gets an hour or so's nap, EOS - whenever the apparently-absent AI deigns to reappear - can mind the shop for anything desperate, but so help him, he isn't going to move from his 'Bird, thank you very much, Scott Tracy!

"There will be no arguments, John." Said AI, almost as if she's read Scott's mind, is suddenly right in John's burning face with her green-blinking camera lens, making him squint painfully at the light. "Your body temperature has risen and seems inclined to do so further, your pupils are dilated and unwavering at this time, and if my data on this subject is indeed correct, you are suffering from the condition called Non-Impact Concussion. There are indications of the presence of stress fractures in your subclavian, thoracic, pelvic and cervical regions, and thermal heat readings signify that there is an abnormal level of swelling radiating from the area surrounding the axillary nerves in your right shoulder. Medical treatment on this is strongly advised. Sensors compute that you also may have microscopic muscular, bone and tissue damage, particularly in your internal organs and within your skeletal system... This must be assessed. Scott Tracy,"

The AI that John shares 'Five with suddenly turns her 'face' to his brother, who seems to be containing John and his wobbly limbs now, rather than restraining, much to his puzzlement. John is stuck by an absurd flash of irritation that not only has his body and 'Bird turned against him today, but so has his supposed companion... Brilliant.

"... From what I can determine," The AI continues doggedly, the high whine in John's ears making him cringe, "This situation is not life-threatening to John currently, but according to my calculations of duration and pressure in relation to the fragility and subsequent mortality of the human form, it is suggested that he does not return to work until he is satisfactorily sound. This coming period will be very... What is the term? Unpleasant. It is recommended that he be closely supervised and examined to ensure that there will be no complications. For this, John needs to leave this station and seek appropriate treatment."

"You need some time to rest at the very least, so no arguing." Scott murmurs, his voice raspy and thick in John's left ear. "There are no ifs, buts or maybes about it. You've endured freaking twenty-five Gs of gravity in one hit, and I can tell you right now, you're not in good shape, Little Brother, even if your brain is too scrambled for you to realise that yourself."

And oh shit, Scott actually sounds concerned, God help him, John realises, closing his eyes painfully. That certainly means that something isn't connecting right for him right now, because though they might tease and mock Scott and call him 'Smother Hen' and all other assorted samples of you're-too-overbearing-for-your-own-good teasing, John and the others know that Scott doesn't outright order them around outside of a rescue unless something is actually very wrong.

And yes, somewhere in his shit-that-freaking-hurts brain, John knows the reality of all those things that EOS listed off. He learned the ramifications of that amount of gravity on the human body years ago - twenty-five Gs is nothing to sneeze at - but quite honestly, right now he's in so much pain that it's starting to engulf his rational, sensible mind, and he doesn't really want to uncurl himself from where he's hunched over his screaming ribs and cramping stomach. Lost in the burning waves of pain shooting through him now his body has stopped spinning, it's suddenly all he can do to not pass out properly. This is going to be interesting...

##

Without being aware of it, John realises that he has indeed blacked out, because when he's opened his eyes again, it's to find he's strapped firmly into one of 'Three's jump seats, with the hard ridge of a cervical brace digging into his chin, and the firm, almost painful pressure of the restraints holding him securely in it. Struggling to force his fluttering eyelids open properly - yeah, that should not be as hard as it is right now - John can feel the shuddering of the ship underneath him, and he can barely restrain himself from moaning as his entire body protests the whirligig sensation. Strangely enough, his head, while still feeling like it has the Mole digging through it, feels a little less raw and abused, but the rest of him still feels like an elephant sat on him. And his stomach is still rolling. Fantastic.

Somewhat winning the battle to focus his vision, John is aware that there is sound around him, the voices of what he assumes are his brothers as well as the life-support machinery and the piloting systems, but it's not until he lets out a sharp cough and a subsequent, burning gasp of oxygen, that he realises that Scott is almost right above him.

"Hey Starman," Scott's accompanying smile is strained and relieved at the same time, and John wants to wipe it all away - because his brother being relieved means that John has scared the pilot, and John doesn't like frightening his brothers, any of them... "Nice to have you back." Scott's hand comes up out of nowhere to press into John's dishevelled, sweaty hair, gently carding through it, and John feels more than a little confused and disconnected, because, he should be able to pinpoint what his limbs are doing, and holy effing crap does it actually hurt to breathe right now...

Oh, yeah right; no more microgravity... Blurry eyes, nausea and freaking, disorienting weight on top of him again... Cos returning to earth and all sucks even when he's healthy and hasn't been crushed by his own gravity ring... Why'd he do that again? What a stupid idea.

"Mmmm." John agrees with his brother belatedly, because again, the breathing thing, and good, sorta-numbing drugs apparently affect his ability to make coherent sounds. Not to mention the solid, thumping agony of his head, even despite the clear attempt at pain relief... "Di'nt, w'nna lea'e, Sco'..." He tries to frown - because why did they move him? - but his face scrunches in pain as the hot jagged edges of his shoulder and ribs decide to arc up, and his attempt at displeasure rapidly turns into a fiery ball of ouch.

Well, it was worth a try... He thinks miserably, trying not to let his stomach rebel again - a bad idea in hypergravity...

"Yeah, I thought so," Scott seems to commiserate with him, even if he can't understand him - jee, thanks Scoot, John loves being humoured when he knows he's incoherent - but then his brother brings up a bottle of water into his rather patchy line of sight, and John suddenly is so thirsty that all thoughts of annoyance are crowded out of him by the sheer, one-track gratitude he feels at that fuzzy realisation.

Reaching out clumsily for the receptacle, John can't help but feel irritated as Scott gently but firmly pushes his aching, painful arm back down and holds the bottle to his lips. Not a baby, Scott, he finds himself thinking somewhat irrationally, even as his mouth clamps to the bottle, his tired, burning, painful body mass literally demanding he drain it dry; he feels so dehydrated and parched.

John grimaces slightly as he forces himself not to gulp at the water, summoning the last bit of strength as he sips. By the stars, the water feels so good, he can almost swear he feels it soaking into his tissue. Feeling greedy, he forgets himself and tries to take an extra big swallow of the liquid, before grunting angrily as Scott suddenly pulls the bottle away.

"Nuh-uh, Johnny, no more yet, unless you want to be sick again?" His big brother's voice is low and full of compassion as John feels him sweep a hand over his forehead on the pretence of smoothing away that cowlick curl of red-gold hair that never stays gelled back for long, but exhausted and ill as he is, John isn't fooled, Scott is fever-checking. All four of his younger brothers know the signs, though it's been a very long time since he himself has been on the receiving end of Scott's worry.

Weakly, John attempts to pull away and wreaks his own undoing as the quick movement forces the mother of all headaches to rip through his skull. The pounding ringing, burning pain resonates behind his eyes, through his very brain it feels like, pushing down his nose and through his ears  with such intensity that he can't help but let out a strangled squawk as he forces his hands up in the air. He needs to know what seems to be sluggishly flowing on his face, surely he didn't drop water on himself?

"Oh, shit!"  Scott's voice sounds strangely far away and thickly muffled as John squints painfully through narrowed eyelids, trying so hard to bring the rocket's lounge into focus. He feels something soft and thick mopping at his tingling, sore eyes and covering his nose as his body convulses with the agony he's being forced to adapt to. "Close your eyes, John,"  Scott orders, a note of fear penetrating John's thoughts despite the fuzzy thickness of his ears.

John obeys, he's not stupid, he knows what's happened, that the sharp movement has caused the built up pressure in his head to vent outward, that he's probably perforated his eardrums, that the thin straw like liquid mixed with earwax is running from his ears, and that his nose is definitely gushing with blood, hence Scott's concern. In fact he'd hazard a guess that the sclera of his eyes are now pink and watery, possibly even bleeding out slightly from his ever-increasing blood pressure. As an astronaut, he is well-versed on the dangers and what to expect. So is Scott.

He gropes out suddenly, clasping Scott by the forearm. "H'w b'd is it?” He grunts.

“Blood pressure has skyrocketed dude,” Scott’s voice is tight with worry. “Your heart rate is way up and your respirations are shit. Deep breathing exercises now, you're not having an aneurysm just because you wanted to see what it felt like to try and separate your elements John, do it.”

“Was that a science joke, Scott?” John wheezes incredulously, because that wasn't bad at all. Not like usual. Huh. What's the world coming to?

John feels himself choke painfully with amusement, and immediately regrets it. Laughter is a spectacularly bad idea. He sucks in a breath, and well crap; that’s the end of him isn’t it?

Dizzy is an understatement, John thinks fuzzily.

Hello, darkness.

“Hey, hey! No you don’t,” What must be his brother’s hand snaps sharply at his cheek, and John startles; torn between anger and confusion as his eyes snap open to meet his older brother’s determined stare. “You are not passing out.” Scott orders, voice fully infused with Field Commander deliberation. “You can take an order; your WSA training says so, Starman.” His brother tells him, with a sudden, sly smirk. “Don’t blink out on me now; not after we’ve nearly got the blood stopped and all.”

John is still confused and dizzy, but his amusement returns at his brother’s quip, which gives him some optimism that this nasty little episode might stop soon. Once his body stops throwing a temper tantrum, at any rate. Urgh.

Scott’s brusque love tap seems to have cleared his head a little, however, and blinking a little, even as his brain seems determined to keep bashing itself against the inside of his skull, John’s attempts at deep breaths seem to be at least reassuring Scott. The fear in his face has disappeared, in any case. Phew.

John realises that the older man is still clamping a cloth from the medkit over his nose, careful to not obstruct his mouth, and he can still feel the unpleasant, gritty wetness of his ears leaking awfully down the sides of his neck and into his suit, but at least the nausea has lessened a little. Awareness of his own body comes flooding back with the return of cognizance, and John frowns as he realises both his hands are held in a one-hand vice grip in Scott’s left, and that there’s that hard ridge of the neck brace cutting into his chin again. Ew. The awful feelings retreat a little, to be replaced with an awful lot of oh-hell-no, when he realises exactly what the plan is next for him when they finally get back to Earth.

Honestly, he should’ve seen it coming, and it’s inevitable and needed, but it doesn’t mean he has to like it! He hates being carried out on stretchers. No-no-no no-no-no-no! Shit.

Scott seems to have read his mind, and has a sly, half-amused expression on his face, just barely concealing the undeniable look of sheer relief still lingering there. John knows that it’s because once again, he seems to have scraped himself out of yet another life-threatening situation by the mere skin of his teeth. Gordon has joked in the past that if John were an animal, he’d be a cat, by virtue of the fact that he seems to have an inordinate amount of lives to chew through, what with all his assorted mishaps. He has to get through the damn medical tests and examinations first though, and it isn’t fair, because it’s not like he does these things on purpose.  Not like the idiot younger three, and Scott, who didn’t get his nickname from Dad for no reason. The man fell out of a tree when he was a teenager; too busy trying to see the planes at the airfield, for crying out loud!

John’s eyes widen further as he realises that once they’re all reassured he really is actually okay after this jaunt (not that he feels that way right now, he’s going to be stuck in bed for at least a few days, especially with these ribs, he just knows it), his three younger brothers are never going to let him live the repeat of his out-of-control-hamster-wheel antics down. Not to mention his idiot of an older brother; don’t you dare to pretend otherwise, Scott Tracy!

Huffing out an indignant breath, as Scott suddenly breaks out into full-on-laughter at his epiphany -- still trapped in the dual vice-grip of his brother’s firm restraint and the pain of his battered body -- John can only make a face of resignation.

Jerks. He thinks. Jerks; the lot of them.

~

Fanfiction.net // Ao3

[ak47stylegirl]

Sick Pup: Chapter 18

Okay, wrote this chapter while I waited to see the new ep. I was really craving some good Alan whump, and Sick Pup is basically a whole bunch of Alan whump, so I decide to work on the next chapter for it. Which is what you see here 😄

I hope you enjoy this! 

---- 

Alan pov.

He rolled over onto his side with a groan, his eyes still firmly shut. His head feeling really groggy, not fully awake yet. What day was it? Had he slept through the night or was this the same day? He remembers going to sleep around late afternoon, so maybe he slept through the night?

He shivered as a feverish chill tore through him. Sweat was dripping down his brow, running down the bridge of his nose and down his neck, making him feel really icky. His shirt was drenched in sweat as well, the wet fabric feeling horrible against his hot, irritated skin.

His head was starting to hurt again, pain beginning to bloom in his left temple and quickly spread to his whole head. His eyes began to water, little droplets of tears leaking out of his closed eyelids.

A choked sob escaped him as a sharp pain spiked through his head, moving from the back of his head to just behind his eyes. The pain didn’t just stay in his head, it migrated down like a wake-up call to his body to start torturing him.

It went down to his throat, which started to burn. Then went into his lungs which made him gasp, breathing beginning to get harder and harder, despite the oxygen that was getting feed into him through his nose.

He could feel the heavy gunky liquid sitting in his lungs, could feel his lungs struggled to get even a little bit of air in. The pains moved down to his stomach, which started to rage like an angry sea in a hurricane. The little food in his stomach getting tossed about, threatening to make a reappearance.

He could feel his stomach unhappiness all the way up to his cheeks, starting to feel awfully dizzy and nauseous. Then it moved down to his lower abdomen and-oh yeah, he needed to get up right now…

He blinked his eyes open, only seeing darkness until his eyes adjusted. There was a bit of light coming in from the hospital hallways, making it easier for him to see in the dark. He looked around the room, spotting Scott sleeping on the fold-out bed/couch and the night sky coming through the window.

So it was night then, great he was going to have another terrible night than, he thought with a little sniffle, his nose feeling slight stuffy.

That was weird, it hasn’t been stuffy before? Maybe that was just a side affects of the oxygen tube in his nose? Thought wouldn’t it have started before now- he cut that thought off as his need for the bathroom made itself known again, and this time it was worse.

He needed to go now, or he was going to have an accident that was for sure, he thought trying to get up back, but his arms gave away beneath him. That wasn’t going to work...He needed help…

“S-Scotty?” He choked weakly, his voice hoarse and raw. Scott stirred slightly but didn’t wake up. “Scotty!” He cried, which seemed to do the trick, waking Scott up like lightning.

“Wha-“ Scott sat up in surprise, shaking his head before looking over at him and seeing that he was trying to get off the bed “Allie!? What's the matter?!” Scott jumped up, hurrying to his side.

“I...I got to….I got to go to the toilet...” he whimpered, feeling embarrassed that he couldn’t even get out of bed to go to the freakin toilet. “but I can’t-” his stomach filled, making him go paler as a wave of nausea hit him  “I...help..”

“Shhhh, I understand kiddo...” Scott said gently, giving him a small comforting smile. Scott took hold of his hands, “come on, up you get...” Scott gently helped him get off the bed, keeping a hold on him, so he didn’t hurt himself.

Which was good because a bad dizzy spell hit him as his bare feet hit the cold tiled floor, making him cling to Scott for support. 

“woah! I got you! I got you...” Scott said as he gently wrapped an arm around him and started to guide him towards the bathroom. 

This was humiliating but...but at least it was his oldest brother and not a stranger…

It felt like he had walked a marathon by the time they got to the bathroom, when in fact it was only a couple steps away from his bed. He grabbed hold of the bathroom railing, using it to support himself.

“You’re okay?” Scott asked gently, keeping one hand on him, just in case he fell. 

He nodded weakly.

“Okay, I’ll be right outside if you need me, okay?” Scott said softly, quickly giving his temple a kiss before walking to the door and closing it, leaving him to do his business in peace.

He hated this, being so sick, he thought as he finished up, making his way over to the sink, cling to the wall rail, each footstep making him groan and whimper. It was horrible. He couldn’t even walk to the toilet without help, one of the thing that use to be so easy for him, was a chore now...

The cold water was nice against his skin through, he thought as he washed his hands. He wonders if he put his head under the tap, the cold water from the tap would make him feel better, he wonders.. His mind really foggy with fever as he clings to the sink, his body shaking and shivering. He really wasn’t feeling good at all...

“Allie, are you okay in there?” Scott asked, knocking on the door lightly. “You been in there a while, are you okay? Can I come in?”

He could only groan in misery, a weak little cough following it. His body was shaking so much, and he was feeling so dizzy and-wait, when did Scott get there? He thought as Scott suddenly appeared by his side, crouched down slightly.

“Oh, baby…” Scott sighed, his eyes filled with sadness, his hand gently brushing back his sweaty hair “come on, let's get you to bed…” Scott gently swoops him up into his arms, holding him securely in his arms.

His head collapsed against Scott’s shoulder, his eyes fluttering shut. He was so tired, he just wanted to sleep, but everything hurt so much…

“Shhh, I know baby…” Scott whispered gently, laying him down on his hospital bed and pulling the bedsheets over him, tucking them under his chin. “I know….”

Huh, he must have said that out loud...

“You want me to lay with you until you’re asleep, kiddo?” Scott gently stroked his hair back, his thumb gently rubbing his temple. This wasn’t the first time they have done this, horrible nights have changed in a nightly thing and he hated that.

He nodded weakly. “C-c-cuddle…” he said weakly, looking up at Scott with red, watery eyes.  “I...i w-want c-cuddle...e-every-everything hu-hurts-“ he coughs weakly into his pillow, the pain in his throat and chest intensifying. 

“Oh baby, shhh I know…” Scott sighed softly, laying down next to him, “I know, come here…” Scott gently pulling him against his chest, holding him tight. “It’s going to be alright Allie..”

He leaned his head against Scott’s chest, listening to Scott’s heartbeat. He coughed again, his cough getting stronger, more gunky and wet. The longer he was awake, the worst his cough was getting…

He groaned, this really was going to be a long horrible night, wasn’t it? Just as he thought that, a coughing fit hit him, a bad coughing fit…

[cowboy5]

COVID-19 Diaries

If you could use this as a historical data during the 2020 Pandemic. Honestly this pandemic wouldn’t have been so bad if I could go to the gym.

My current record for not leaving the house is 6 days straight. And I’m damn proud of that.

My current routine is wake up - put on a lightweight moisturizer - do Insanity - real skincare - dick around all day.

Thank god I have the $100 Uber credit and the lunch allowances. Downside is that now I eat out way too much. 

Oh god that Python2to3 migration for work was miserable. The hot switch deploy was the epitome of Murphy’s Law. But I gotta make it work.

I am blessed to be able to Zoom with people I love. On the day of my birthday it was a giant SSBU fest - Nik, Thao, Jason, Brian, Alan, Mylinh, and Scott all in one zoom chat and fighting each other. Funny, we should’ve been out dancing in DC if that wasn’t the case.

It’s not like the night life in DC is that good.

I played soccer (seriously) one time. I was very sore the next. Well see you next decade bro.

The saddest thing was going to Eden Center and only see a shop or two open and everything else closed down during dinnertime. Huong Viet is closed - how the hell are they supposed to launder money now? Hopefully nobody loses a hand or two because of this.

I am obsessed with sunscreen now. Thanks.

I did a Sunday Funday with Julian. Went to McDonalds and bought 20 nuggets, ate edibles, and played TFT to our heart’s content. RANGIEEEEEEE is so cute.

Speaking of edibles, them stroopwaffles....

I watched so much TV - Avatar (the Last Airbender), Lovebirds, Insecure, Never Have I Ever (Mindy Kaling is obsessed with pink dick), Fraiser, 90 Day Fiance (obsessed!), RuPaul.

But I’ve been reading alot more too. Just finished Tiffany Haddish’s book.

Been trying to donate as much time and energy as I can to the BLM movement. Shoutout to those that donated for my fundraiser.

I’ve done more cardio in the last two months than I did the last two years. I really want to dance again.

I’m sorry you’re going through what you’re going through. I know I’m not the best at comforting you when it comes down to it. I have that capacity to my other friends but you’re different. You shouldn’t be penalized for it. I promise my best to step up. Sorry if I’m a bit annoying in the process. You deserve better.

[winryofresembool]

Parental!EdWin one-shot: A Make-over

A/N: an anon sent me a message: “Ed let's their daughter do his hair, paint his nails, and do his makeup and he proudly shows it off and Winry thinks he's the biggest goof but she sets up a tea party and the entire family is involved” and this fic is based on that prompt. Please enjoy and review 8)

Genre: family fluff

Words: 1500ish

Warnings: none

“Dad, can we play?”

A newspaper got lifted from Ed’s face, and he woke up from his nap with a start. If the person waking him up had been someone else, he might have grunted angrily. However, she turned out to be Emma, and there was no way he would have said no to her even right after waking up. The little girl’s eyes resembled her mother’s so greatly, and she had already learned Ed was weak against her puppy-eye look, not afraid to use it whenever she wanted to get something her way.

Emma climbed to sit on Ed’s stomach and patted him on the nose because her short arms couldn’t reach the top of his head. “You look tired, dad. I know what will cheer you up!”

“Tell me, little bean.” The ‘l’ in his ‘little’ was a hesitant one, but Ed had decided he wanted to call his daughter that because it reminded him of how his own mother had called Al and him. He had already decided he would stop using it once she was tall enough to reach his elbows.

“I’m gonna give you a make-over!” The girl exclaimed happily and started jumping on the couch before Ed caught her into his arms, lifting her in the air.

“A make--- what? Do you even have any make-up yet?” Ed frowned a little, not remembering Winry allowing her to use hers yet.

“Aunt Mei gave me a make-up bag for a doll once… I’ll use it. And I’m gonna make your hair pretty too!”

Not wasting any time, she rushed to get the bag from her all too full toy box, while Ed sat up on the couch, wondering why exactly he had agreed to let his daughter do this. Well, no one would see it, so no harm done, right?

Besides her make-up bag, she brought a hair brush, hairclips and bands with gigantic fake flowers attached to them, and a jewelry box with countless necklaces, bracelets and plastic rings in it. Ed had no idea how the girl had managed to get so many of them already despite only being 5 years old. When Winry was shopping with him, she always made sure he would not buy anything extra for the kids. But apparently that wasn’t enough to stop him from spoiling his kids…?

“I want to do your nails first! What color?” Emma asked, showing the small bottles she had lined up on the coach table.

“How about this? It looks cool.” He took a bottle of black nailpolish and handed it to his daughter.

“But I like the pink one more!” Emma crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a disapproving look.

“Then how about you use both, it will be ultra badass.”

“Fine!” she said and started doing her job.

About 10 minutes later Ed’s nails were painted, maybe not so evenly, and some of the polish had spread on his fingers, but Emma looked very content at her work, so he didn’t say anything.

“Then what?” Ed asked, mildly curious about what his daughter would come up next.

“Your face! I have… I think this is called eyeshadow… and macaro… I mean mas-cara… and lipstick! And I don’t know where you should use this pen, but we can draw something with it.” She observed the eyeliner intently, as if that had told her its purpose. “Mummy has never let me use these, but we can try them all!”

“But what about your mum’s wishes?” Ed tried to get himself out of the sticky situation.

“She said I’m not supposed to put it on my face. Not at least without her help. But she didn’t say anything about you!”

“OK then… I guess we have no other option.” Ed sighed and closed his eyes as Emma started tapping the eyeshadow on his eyebrows (and a little bit on other places too). She had chosen a bright red shade that would definitely stand out, and Ed prayed he had time to find Winry’s make-up remover before their guests for the evening would arrive.

He didn’t have a lot of time to worry about that, because Emma was already holding the mascara in her hands.

“Hold on, hold on. Can I put that on me myself? I’m pretty good at it,” Ed lied, but he didn’t want her to poke him in the eye.

“Okay! But I’m gonna put the lipstick! Is this color good?” She showed him a lipstick pretty much as red as his old coat.

“You have a good taste on the color,” he complimented. “Sure.”

Emma applied the lipstick on his lips (quite messily), and finally, it was time for the mysterious eyeliner.

“Should I draw something on your cheek?”

“How about a transmutation circle? You know, the one you practiced the other day?” Ed suggested, taking a piece of paper from the couch table and drawing a simple circle with a triangle inside it with the eyeliner. Emma used it as a model as she started working.

Soon Ed had a slightly misshaped circle on his cheek, and Emma announced proudly:

“I transmuted a dad!”

“You did, sweetie!” Ed’s voice turned serious when he added: “Just remember, don’t ever try to actually transmute anyone. I… did… something stupid once… because I was desperate and didn’t believe what the adults around me said, and… I got this.” He patted his automail leg. “I got off easy. Your uncle Al… he was just a suit of armor. For five years. I’ve never told you that, have I?”

Emma shook her head.

“Well, you will get to hear the whole story when you are a little bit bigger… For now, just promise me you’ll only use alchemy to make other people happy, right?”

“OK, dad!” The innocent child she was, she didn’t even understand what bad things alchemy could cause, but one day she’d know and Ed got chills only thinking about it. He couldn’t dwell on it too long, though, because Emma was already in the process of trying to make little plaits in his hair.

“Hey, do you still remember how it’s done?” He took a strand of his hair into his hands and split it into three, so he could demonstrate it to his daughter. “First you bring this part over this part, and then…”

“I got it! Let me try now.”

She was focused for a while, but once she managed to finish the first tiny plait, she said seriously: “Alan said only girls have plaits when I tried to make him one.”

“I need to have a little talk with your brother, in that case,” Ed answered. “Of course boys can have plaits too! I wore one for years and no one cared. And no one should care. Don’t let anyone ever tell you you can’t do something just because you are a girl, because you sure as hell can! Just look at your mama! She’s the strongest and most badass person I’ve ever met, and she also gave birth to three awesome kids! That’s the greatest thing anyone can do!”

“Aw, Ed, I’d kiss you if you didn’t have that red thing all over your mouth,” a feminine voice suddenly said, the person behind it having trouble controlling her laughter. “You look… hot.”

“Don’t mock me, woman!” Ed turned to glare at his wife who was covering her mouth with her hands, so she wouldn’t burst out laughing. “If my daughter wants to practice doing a make-up on me, so be it.”

“You remind me so much of a certain father we once knew,” Winry said with a hint of sadness in her voice, but then her playful side returned again. “How about we let you stay like this until Brigadier General Mustang and Captain Hawkeye arrive and see what they say?”

“Wh-at ever possessed you to say that?! Give me your best make-up removers quickly, Colonel Bastard would not shut up for the rest of…”

“Fullmetal! You just keep getting prettier!” No other voice could have made Ed jump up higher in that moment. Roy Mustang was already in his living room and he looked like his birthday had come early that year as he saw Ed covered with make-up. Riza Hawkeye behind him was smiling widely too.

“Goddammit! Winry, you KNEW they were already here, didn’t you?

“I’m so sorry, Ed. I swear I’ll make up for it soon,” she whispered so the others couldn’t hear. “It was just too late to warn you…”

“Fine, but that making up better be good.”

“Don’t worry. It will be.” She pecked him briefly on the lips, getting some of the lipstick in her mouth in the process. “You did a great job ‘transmuting’ your dad, Emma.” She turned to her daughter. “Although, eyeliner isn’t meant for alchemy but maybe I’ll let it pass this time.”

“Hey, the circle looks super cool! You know what? I think I’ll just let it be for a while. I don’t care what Mustang says, Emma’s work deserves to be noticed.”

“You are such a proud father.” Winry ruffled her husband’s plaited hair before they decided to join their guests in the kitchen where Winry had already set the table.

[starman-john-tracy]

Radiation Poisoning | Chapter Seven

by @starman-john-tracy and @asteria-star

In which John Tracy gets exposed to uranium and nearly dies, The Hood is evil, and Star generally freaks out a lot.  

Chapters: [One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Eight]

Star’s not entirely sure how she makes it through her shower without passing out entirely, but the black dots in the edges of her vision are doing their very best to swallow her whole. There are clothes of hers on Tracy island, but Star emerges with her limp hair in a wet plait down her back, in one of John’s sweatshirts and a pair of sweatpants that just about fit around the waist, but have to be rolled up half a dozen times to free her feet.

Honestly, Star almost throws up within her first step into the medical room. But Virgil’s hulking figure is beside her, and he looks like he’s feeling much the same way. Star’s not sure what he has or hasn’t told his other brothers to get them to leave her alone, but she’s not yet seen hide nor hair of any of them... until now, that is.

Because Scott Tracy is sitting backwards on a chair at his brother’s bedside. His legs either side of the backrest and his arms folded heavily over it. His mouth is pressed into a tight white line and, as he drags his eyes up to them from where they were fixed on John’s still shape, he looks less than pleased to see the pair of them. Maybe it’s just the tension. Maybe it's something more. Virgil, as if sensing Star might bolt, takes her wrist and guides her into the room, clearly hoping that she’ll be too preoccupied with John to worry overly about his oldest sibling’s presence.

“My shift.” Virgil shoos the older man from the chair, “Do us all a favour and go get a shower Scooter.” Evidently this is part of their taking turns. Scott shakes his head low and weary, but he makes his way toward the door with little other protest.

“Thanks Virg, see you in twenty, yeah?”

“Sure thing.” Virgil guides her into Scott’s vacated chair by John’s hospital bed, safe to be so close now that she’s been scrubbed raw of outside germs, watching him sleep. Sleep… isn’t the right word. He’s not peaceful enough, minute tremors and twitching muscles plaguing his form, as if his subconscious wants to writhe in discomfort. His arms are more black and blue than pale, his heart monitor is beeping an uneven tempo, the oxygen mask looks sore against his irritated skin.

“You alright?” Virgil checks, from where he’s leaned on the back of the chair behind her. He doesn’t think he’s alright, after all. A warm chin comes to rest on the top of her head. He sighs heavily, watching the silent shape of his brother just breathe. John looks thin and fragile under the white sheet, with the oppressive quantity of bleeping machinery clustered around him and all the tubes and wires and the bulky shape of the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, dwarf the lithe young man almost entirely. Virgil’s just glad he didn’t have to intubate him. His arm raises, almost brushing against Star’s cheek, as he pinches the bridge of his nose hard, trying to stave off the edges of a tension headache.

“Geez…”

After several moments of restless watching, Star shifting anxiously in her seat, she tilts her head towards Virgil, like she wants to look at him but can’t drag her eyes up to his face. “You’re going to want to ask the GDF to send someone up there to pick up the uranium,” she murmurs sullenly, “John was concerned about the leaking canisters in the vault, and then there’s a second lot in an officers lounge. I think I hid them well enough.”

“I’ll get Scott on it.” Virgil sets himself a reminder on his fancy, high-tech wristwatch, ready to prompt him when his elder brother returns from his shower. “Do you think The Hood is likely to come back for them?”

It’s at that moment that John makes a low sound in the back of his throat. Star’s hand twitches towards him, reaching for the bony wrist that’s the closest limb to her, wanting to do anything to make home feel better, even if it’s just a comforting hand, but she freezes.

“I’m not… am I going to hurt him?” She asks Virgil softly, blinking back those stupid tears she hasn’t been able to keep under wraps all day. “Can I even be in here? It’s not going to make him sick?”

“You’re alright.” Virgil pats her shoulder reassuringly, then moves away to go fiddle with some settings on a screen, topping up his brother’s painkillers, “You’re freshly showered and there’s little chance of you transmitting any germs to him, even with his wrecked immune system, but I’m glad you’re being careful. Alan wanted to jump right on him soon as we let him back in.” He laughs, but the warm sound trails back off into silence again shortly after.

Quiet, Virgil watches the fresh 20ccs of tramadol run down the new line he’d replaced the cannula at his wrist with, mixing with the supplementary immunotherapy drugs and blood regulators that are already feeding into his brother’s veins. The replacement peripherally inserted central catheter, or PICC, is a thinly-tubed line that runs from the entrance point at the crook of the John’s elbow, and finishes snugly near the heart muscle, designed to deliver the medications much more quickly and effectively. Virgil hopes that John won’t be able to feel the microscopic, wire-stiffened tube threaded through the peripheral veins in his right arm when he wakes.

John’s nose wrinkles in his sleep, eyebrows crinkling like something is disturbing him.

“Does it hurt?” Virgil whispers, more to himself than his unconscious brother, “Shhh Johnno, the meds will kick in soon.” He smooths a big, warm hand across his siblings shoulder. “We’re gonna take good care of you, ok?” 

Star almost tips herself out of the chair leaning forwards, gripping Johns free-er arm at the elbow, so their forearms are lying flush on the bed. She lets her fingers trail along the soft, bruised skin there, and instinctively forces a watery smile to her face that he’s never going to see.

“Hey Johnny,” she murmurs, tracing the delicate patterns over and over again. “You’re safe now. Got to Thunderbird Five, just like you said to. And you’ve got your brothers. Nobody’s going to hurt you here.”

She still can’t quite bring herself to say the words you’re okay, but she keeps talking, just in case he can hear her. She just keeps telling him about this and that and everything in between in a low, wavering tone that seems to almost just fall out of her. It’s not until the drugs must kick in that she stops, keeping a hold of his arm. It’s like drowning, watching John’s lax face through a haze of angry gravity.

“You know what, Virgil?” Star tells him, not moving an inch from her position up against the bed. “I really fucking hate space.”

There’s a soft, suspiciously wet sounding laugh from Virgil over her shoulder. 

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” He says, scrubbing a hand hard over his eyes, “He’d be so upset.” 

Star snorts. “Oh, he knows, don’t you worry. I tell him every time something goes wrong. Like one time, we ran out of coffee? I almost staged a mutiny.”

Virgil laughs again, louder this time: more genuine and less startled.

The pained scrunch of John’s brows has yet to smooth out, Virgil’s top up dose or otherwise. There’s a slight curling of his fingers, the muscle of his forearm under Star’s palm bunching noticeably as he does. The burned red of his face has bleached to an unhealthy grey save for the two spots of feverish crimson high on his cheeks.

“John?” Virgil’s noticed the pick-up in his brother’s heart rate, the boost of O2 to his brain on the monitors. “Hey buddy, you waking up there?”

Even with the fogginess of a head that feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool, a haze of drug-induced numbness, John knows without opening his eyes that he’s in the medical room down on Tracy Island. There's just something that just makes the space instantly recognizable, whether you’re actually in control of your full cognitive capacity or not. It could be the weight of gravity, or the sharp, clean smell of antiseptic, or the constant bleep of monitors, but it’s altogether too familiar to be anywhere else. 

There’s a headache pounding his eyes and John notes that, despite the fact he’s only just woken up, he’s incredibly exhausted. He figures it must have been the pain that woke him: his chest sears on every exhale, a tight, awful stabbing sensation burning in his midriff. There’s a sharp, localised piercing feeling in his wrist, and a headache behind his eyes, and he feels so sick, curling and hot in his stomach. 

Blue-green eyes chance a peek and John registers, squinting against the bright white lights above his head, the presence of an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, cool air replacing each hot, rough breath he struggles to take.

“V’rgl?”

Star goes very, very still, hardly even daring to breathe. She leaves her arm where it is, pressed against John’s but stops the absent tracing, as if afraid he’ll notice she’s there. Her wide eyes track Virgil’s as he rushes over to check John over. She’s waiting for the dark haired Tracy to call false alarm, tell her she’s imagining things, but he never does. 

John doesn’t look particularly happy about it, but his eyes are definitely open, and Star is willing to take that. Her heart jolts in her chest each time his fingers curl by her elbow, blue eyes squinting around the room. John tries to fidget uncomfortably, an impossible feat, and Star stumbles uncoordinatedly upright, nearly landing on her ass, to place gentle hands on each side of his hips to keep him from moving, mirroring Virgil’s hand on his shoulder. Eventually, his eyes come to land on her.

Star startles like a deer in headlights. “Hey.”

“Star.” He breathes her name out like it tastes of pure, heady relief. “I…” Golden ginger lashes flutter, his eyes roaming the room again and lingering the sight of Virgil scrubbing at his eyes with the hand not holding down his shoulder. “Wh…?” His voice is thick and hazy with sleep, and he’s genuinely surprised by what a struggle it is to keep his eyes open. His focus narrows to the dark braid over Star’s shoulder and the feeling of small hands pressing down on his hips. He shifts a little, testing the reason for the holding him in place, and he’s rewarded by a hot, fiery sensation across his stomach and through his insides for it. He breathes out hard through his nose, O2 mask fogging. “Ow…” He manages weakly. “What…?”

“Stop moving,” Star admonishes lightly, taking her hands away now that he’s got the idea himself. “You’re fine where you are, okay? Just relax.”

She slouches back in her chair like a marionette who’s strings have been cut. She didn’t realise just how much she’d been expecting him to never wake up again until he said her name.

Someone’s taken the time to clean him up, wiping fever sweat from his skin and combing out his hair so that it feels soft against the pillow, curling, still just that little bit longer than he likes to keep it, around his ears. His lungs ache on every breath. Asphyxiation. His brain fills out from him, though he’s not sure where he got that idea from. I couldn’t breathe. He feels almost cold, the heat of the fever tricking his body into shivering, and stiff fingers bunch in the sheet over him, unconsciously trying to warm them. Star leans back forward when she sees the trembling fingers, taking his hands in her own to rub some warmth into them. It's a placebo and she knows it, his skin almost physically burns to the touch. 

“Hi John.” Virgil sounds tired right through, his eyes liquid with apology. “So, uh, I’ve got good news and bad news.” The wince at the cliché phrase must show on the spaceman’s face, “Ack, sorry.” He sits heavily on the edge of his brother’s bed, settling beside Star, “You’re probably confused. How much do you remember of what happened?”

John goes to shake his head, only to pale like he regrets the motion, the world spinning round him like he’s sat on the outside of the gravity ring. He squeezes his eyes shut once more with a groan.

“Still nauseous?” Virgil guesses, wisely, “I’ll up your antiemetics. I… Do you know where you are?” 

“Med room,” John croaks, his voice raspy with exhaustion and the damage to his lungs. “Tracy Island. Th’ gravity gives it away. Crn’t tell you the date though.” He looks to Star at his side, eyes scanning her skin and the very familiar sweater she’s wearing, as if checking her for injuries. “Y-you ok?” 

Star closes her eyes, very slowly, swallowing thickly. It takes her a moment before she opens them again, and when she does it’s on the promise of I’m fine. 

“I’m fine, John,” she gives his hands a little squeeze, “nothing happened to me. I’m completely and utterly, perfectly fine.” 

She gives him a little smirk when he does a disbelieving double take. “And it’s Thursday, just in case you were wondering.” Everything about her softens. “You’ve been asleep for a little while.” 

“What day was it when I went to sleep?” He sounds concerned. “If it's Thursday now?"

“Good lord,” Star smirks, “I’m going to buy you a calendar for Christmas.” John snorts at that, the rough laugh pleasant. 

“When’s Christm…?” He goes to say more, amused, but Virgil rests a distracting palm against his forehead, gauging his temperature.

“What’s the last thing you’ve got memories of?” Virgil doesn’t seem bothered that he’s interrupting, his voice soft, still trying to gauge John’s cognitive function. 

“I…” There’s a flicker of fear in John’s eyes, as he struggles to put the blurred, patchy fragments he’s got of his memory over the last twelve hours or so back into some kind of order. It’s like trying to make a jigsaw without all the pieces. “We were responding to a situation, a parallel station in orbit. Star and me.” He pauses to take a breath. “There was… uranium on board.” His mouth shuts in a tight, white line, as if it’s dawning on him exactly why he might be lying in a hospital bed. “Things are patchy but there was a man… The Hood.” The name sounds like it causes him pain, “He took my helmet. Star got it back and… we were heading for Five…? After that I’ve got nothing.” Virgil can’t help but be relieved about that. “How’d we… get home?” He brings a hand to where his stomach is a throbbing, tender ball of ow. “What hit me?”

Star smiles slowly, sadly, aware Virgil can’t fill the gaps John wants covering, but not entirely willing to do it herself.

“I used the grapples to get back to Thunderbird Five, good job you made me take extra, then called Thunderbird Three for a lift. Figured since it was up to me, we could do without the damned space elevator.” She tries to smile like Virgil had done, or like John does on a call mid-rescue, with scared civilians on the line and nothing but him to steer them away from pure panic. It doesn’t quite have the same effect. Star considers herself a lot of things, but a Thunderbird isn’t one of them. That, and the heavy insistent tug of full gravity and near death experience at the hands of her nemesis space, have left her reeling and shaky and not entirely sure she’s all there.

“Nothing wrong with m’space elevator.” John complains lightly, trying to stifle a yawn, “Everything Brains builds is way over-engineered anyway.” His fingers squeeze hers, as if even doped up to the eyeballs he can tell something is wrong with her.

“Nothing hit you, John,” she lets go of a hand, making another move to cup his face only to fall short. She rests the hand against his shoulder instead, thumb against his collarbone. “The Hood was stealing uranium. He cornered you in the vault, and he did take your helmet off, so you had a couple of minutes out of atmosphere, but we got it back for you. Unfortunately… you were in there with some broken canisters, so you’ve had some…” Star’s brain doesn’t seem to want to supply the words, as if not saying them will steal the truth of it from right out from under their noses, “exposure to radiation. Virgil’s much better at explaining all the medical mumbo jumbo, so I’ll leave that to him, yeah?”

John is looking at her a little shell shocked, and she grimaces.

“How you doing there, sweetheart?” She gets a small groan in response.

“Feels like someone landed the Space Elevator on me.” He jokes, evidently trying to make light of the ominous you’ve got radiation poisoning that’s hanging over his head. “Glad t’hear that’s not what happened. Damage report Virg?” He sounds eerily calm in the face of it, but the heartbeat racing on the monitors spells out a different story. “What was the bad news?”

Virgil looks hesitant, and kind of miserable to follow up on his earlier offer. It’s hard to know where to begin. There are a lot of potential side effects of radiation poisoning: tumours, loss of kidney function, pancreatitis, permanent immune diseases, diabetes, and those aside John’s going to be in it for the long haul with the more immediate effects.

“When Scott and Alan got there,” Virgil begins to explain, “you were presenting with nausea, a high fever, erythema, purpura, dizziness and disorientation, cognitive impairment and haemorrhaging from your damaged blood vessels. All symptoms of accurate radiation syndrome.” He takes a breath. “We had to perform a Laparotomy to correct the internal bleeding, so, uh, you’re going to be pretty sore around the waist for a while.”

“A what?” John blinks sluggishly, trying to work out just what that means. The headache really isn’t helping his cognitive processing. He can feel the pull of the line of neat stitches across his abdomen as he shifts. It feels like there’s something heavy resting on his chest. His fingers tighten around Star’s again, just a little. She can feel the fine tremble that’s started in the digits.

Star catches his heart racing away in the monitors, feels the tremble in his hands, and hooks her free arm around his chest, as though she would give him a hug if she weren’t so scared of breaking him.

“We sealed your leaky blood vessels.” Virgil confirms, worried about how much of this John is actually taking in, “Surgery went well, and we’re hoping you’ll be free of any secondary infections. Tests indicate that there’s been a severe decrease in your number of blood cells though, as is common with radiation exposure, including leukocytes.” The notices the lack of recognition in John’s eyes. “Uh, they’re the white blood cells, they’re the body’s primary defence against infection, so we’ve got to be really careful to keep you from getting any germs or small cuts for a while.” Virgil looks kind of sheepish about it, like he knows it’s going to be a rough road for a little while. “Your lack of red blood cells is gonna make you anaemic and your lack of platelets could make even a little bleed severe.” He cards a shaky hand backwards through his dark hair, glad he’s telling John these things to forewarn him, but feeling horrible that he has to. “We’ve got you on a PICC line to boost your cell count and correct the dehydration, iron levels and electrolyte imbalance. Brains is in his lab working on what the ideal balance of meds is gonna be.”

“That… sounds good?” Anything Brains is working on always comes round for the best sooner or later. John’s aware he’s never seen the man with a medical qualification though. He’s got a strong suspicion he’s soon going to become a human guinea pig. 

“It’s gonna be a pretty slow recovery I’m afraid. You’re going to be tired a lot more than normal and you’re on a course of immunotherapy and blood clotting medications. We’re expecting you to be nauseous a lot and have very little appetite, but you’re gonna have to suck it up a bit and eat what you can or else there’s gonna be a whole lot more IV fluids in your future, and really, we’ve got you on enough already.”

“If things don’t improve on IV alone, we might need to find a suitable match for an allogeneic stem-cell transplant, and possibly,” He hesitates, “a marrow transplant, from a donor, depending on the overall state of your red and white blood cell counts." Virgil pauses to let that sink in. “I’m going to test the boys and Grandma to see if any of us are a match, but I want to place you on the list at the Royal Melbourne in order to have the greatest chance of getting you a donor, should the need arise."

“And the good news?” John chuckles weakly, struggling to absorb all that.

“You’re alive.” Virgil offers him, fairly miserably. “And we’re gonna do our best to keep you that way, alright? I hadn’t finished the bad though,” He winces, apologetic, “I’m gonna have to take a sample of bone marrow, so we can check if the radiation has reached it. Scans have been inconclusive and you… well, you might need a transplant. Sorry John.”

“Does the sample have to be taken today? Like, now?” Star asks Virgil over her shoulder. Star can see John struggling, his brain going a mile a minute and still not entirely believing all the ways Virgil had just listed that could kill him. His brow is still pinched with pain, and he’s frowning slightly at his brother, lost in whatever the hell had stuck out of all that.

“Ideally.” At least Virgil has the grace to sound sorry about it. “The sooner we have the sample of your stem cells the sooner we can analyse it for abnormalities and, if needed, start our search for a match. And, honestly John, it’s probably gonna be better to get it over with. You can go back to sleep after, ok?” If he can.

“Is it gonna hurt?” John asks, his voice smaller than either of them have ever heard it. Virgil doesn’t offer him an answer.

“Hey,” she leans on the bed with her elbows, drawing one of his hands up in both of hers, pressing her mouth along the back of his knuckles. “Look at me.”

She waits patiently as he does, holding the captured hand up against her cheek. Hazy eyes do finally meet hers, she nods slowly, as if to say it’s alright without having to voice the traitorous lie. Speaking of traitorous, her eyes are getting hot and wet again, and she fights the tears back.

“Don’t think too hard about it, it’s not all important right this second. Just tell me what you need right now.”

“I… I don’t know.” John’s mouth shapes the admission, but his voice doesn’t sound at all like his. It’s smaller than Star has ever heard it. He sounds so overwhelmed, maybe even scared. “Sorry,” He mumbles, “I… I’m so tired and it’s a lot and…” He turns his head into his pillow, pressing his cheek down hard and hiding his face from them. The motion reveals a pockmarked trail of red purpura marks all up the side of his throat. They watch him take a long, ragged breath, then another. It’s a second or two before he pulls himself together.

“Don’t apologise,” Star murmurs into his hand, letting him have his minute to hide in the pillow. “You’re doing great.”

“Right.” John swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing, “Let’s get this over with then shall we?” He looks up at them with liquid eyes and Virgil nods, the motion tight and controlled.

“Think we can get you onto your side?” It’s not really a question, but the illusion of choice seems to maintain some of John’s dignity in the situation. Too weak to help himself roll over, John, blearily, feels Virgil manipulating one of his arms to tuck it up by his cheek, and moving the other one straight out to the side, toward Star.

“It’s ok to cry Star.” He tells her softly, finding a weak smile for her beneath the oxygen mask even as Virgil folds back the covers and bends one of his knees for him and rolls him onto his side. The other leg gets bent to match, leaving him curled on his side with his knees tucked up to his chest. “It’s been a hard day, right?” A monitor bobs red somewhere above him, a drop in respiration. Virgil makes a displeased sound through his teeth.

“Yeah, I know,” she knows exactly what he’s talking about, there’s no way to even pretend not to, but she’s not about to give in that easily. No amount of showering and electrolyte complexes could scrub away the residue of having completely and utterly lost it, but John doesn’t need that right now. Star captures the hand that comes looking for her, bracing the other on his thigh to keep him from rolling over, or flinching away from Virgil. “No ones going to be upset or you do. It’s been a rough one.”

“Keep him talking to you.” He requests of her, trying to keep his brother’s anxiety down. “It’s alright John.” Virgil’s rolling up the thin blue cotton of his brother’s t-shirt, exposing the big adhesive pad stuck to his middle, hiding his perfect stitches. The medic rubs a quick hand soothingly over his brothers bare, red-pocked waist. “Hang tight, I’m just getting set up.” There are twin snaps as he pulls on IR blue latex gloves. John has to admit to himself, vaguely, that he’s very lucky his brother is brilliant.

It’s also lucky that John is turned away from him, being placed on his side having left him facing Star, and that doesn’t see the massive size of the weird, capped needle that Virgil’s setting up.

In a moment of stupidity, Star's eyes track Virgil’s movement and come to land on the needle. She hopes they don’t widen too obviously and snaps her gaze away, hunkering down close to John. Her heart is racing pounding painfully in her chest because that is going to hurt, and it’s going to hurt John.

“Ah,” she fumbles on a topic of conversation, everything seeming woefully insignificant for this. In the end, she plucks the first thing that comes to her mind that doesn’t start with an apology or include radiation poisoning. “So I have some complaints about the spacesuit, because that has got to be at least the third time I’ve had to wear it and ended up running around in my underwear when I’ve taken it off.”

She knows she’s not supposed to even be wearing her giant shirts when she’s got it on, she’s been told about the electrodes needing to sit flush against her skin more than once, but that isn’t the point. “We need to get some underclothes for them. Like the black in Star Trek. Imagine how slick we’d look? Speaking of, I’m renaming Thunderbird Five the Enterprise. I’ll change the label for your birthday.”

John snorted at her again, a touch of amusement joining the strain on his face.

“I thought I was getting a calendar?” There’s a weak smile, though it flickers as he feels Virgil’s cool hand land on his hip.

“No, no, calendar is for Christmas. I’m spray painting your Thunderbird for your birthday.” 

John looks like he might laugh again, or make a mock-offended complaint, only Virgil gets started.

"Okay, John…” He carefully cleans a small area of his brother’s lower back with a cold, sterile wipe, then rubs in a topical anaesthesia, his gloved fingers massaging the muscle of John’s back, trying to get him to lose the tension. “This is it… just relax as much as you can for me. You might feel a bit of pressure… A slight burn…"

Everything about him stiffens, grunting in pain, and Star just gives him something to hold onto, and holds onto him. Despite it, John can’t seem to help the whimper that escapes him at the feeling of the oversized syringe as it slides home. Punching through skin and muscle to pierce the back of his pelvis beneath, sliding unsettlingly easily into hard bone. A hot, bright flash of nausea almost makes his legs spasm, the need to curl further into his stomach strong, but Virgil’s got a steady hand, the one not holding the needle, on his brother’s hip and it luckily keeps him still while the thick needle sucks out his marrow. Being held still doesn’t mean he’s not very nearly sick then and there though, because it’s a close thing. John’s face screws up, his breathing short and sharp. He’s embarrassed to realise he’s shaking.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” She murmurs somewhat desperately, clinging on. “You’re doing great, baby. It won’t be long, we’ve got you, Virgil’s almost done.”

John’s teeth clench, and he screws his eyes even tighter shut at the sensation of the needle now retracing its route as Virgil carefully removes it. His muscles tense automatically, making Virgil’s job harder and leaving the spaceman gasping in sharp, clinical air like his abused lungs can’t quite cope with the shock. His stomach muscles are quivering.

"All done, John." Virgil’s gentle voice. “You did great.” A sticky pad gets pressed firmly into place, Virgil’s hand remaining there to apply pressure, while the other leaves his hip to hide away the needle device and it’s precious, extracted cargo - sealing it in a small, labelled bag to be sent to Brains lab for testing.

"Geez Virgil." John just about manages, breathlessly. "That hurt …"

"Sorry.” Virgil sounds just as deeply sincere for his tenth apology as he had for his first, “Just sit tight and rest, John, and then after about fifteen minutes, we can pop you on your back and you can sleep some more." Blue gloves are peeled away and discarded, the man doing so clearly more than slightly distraught. Trying to calm himself, Virgil settles on the side of the bed at his brother’s back, pulling down John’s rucked up T-shirt and tucking the covers up around his waist.

John hasn’t stopped trembling yet. The monitors are squealing his body’s displeasure, even if John can’t bring himself to vocalise it further. Star’s still there, in his space, smiling softly whenever his dazed eyes swing past her. Her own hands are sweating, throat tight against the tears that are threatening. She can feel the hysteria buzzing beneath her clammy skin, but she’s going to keep a lid on it in front of John if it’s the last thing she does. And Virgil… She's worried about Virgil too. The lot of them don’t need her mess as well.

“Close your eyes.” Virgil advises, “For a start.” He smooths his fingers through the curling strands of his brother’s hair, trying to be calming and fiercely hating, right now, with all his heart that his brother is going through this. The world can be just so damn unfair sometimes. Downright cruel. John doesn’t deserve any of this at all. Not for the first time today, Virgil kind of wants to break down in tears but John, sleepy, soft, in-pain John, still needs him. Scott isn’t due to be back for his shift for another five minutes and even then Virgil’s not actually sure he can leave him.

John does do as he’s asked though (a model patient compared to the fuss the rest of the Tracy brothers like to put up) and closes his eyes, hoping to doze until Virgil says it's time to move. There’s a hot, low throb going on in his lower back, spreading as an awful ache right through his back muscles. Hell if he’s not glad for the drugs Virgil’s pumped him full of. If he didn't have those right now, he’s pretty sure he'd be howling in agony… Rest sounds really, really good.

[flyswhumpcenter]

Found You in the Woods - Chapter 2

PREVIOUS CHAPTER / NEXT CHAPTER [TBA]

Summary: Even if Manon was searching for Alan near some woods yet again, she truly didn’t expect to find him lying on the ground in the middle of the leaves fallen from the trees. (or: Manon proves she’s so much more than some potential burden and Alan is a stubborn idiot, but that’s why we love them)

Fandom: Pokemon (Anime, post-XYZ) Ships: Marissonshipping (Alain/Mairin)

Chapter Summary: Manon scolds Alan for being irresponsible, when she'd have expected it to be the other way around.

Wordcount: 2.5K words

Notes: (insert here line about how I should be studying for my exams currently taking place and sleeping appropriately instead of working on fics) Well geez, that's really not the direction I hoped this fic would take, holy shit. I thought it was gonna be a more traditional "stubborn character pushes through illness, more at 7", but that surely didn't happen. Oh well, happy incidents or something. Why, I don't know. is it OOC? Maybe. May also come back to it tomorrow or later this week. (I need to go back to my other Pokemon fic...) ((The next chapter will be good though, I promise!))

AO3 version available here.

Time has never seemed so slow to Manon before this day. She really has no idea how far that Centre is, much less how long it’s going to take for help to get there. She trusts Charizard, she really does (she has no other choice anyway), yet her impatience is once again getting the best of her. She’s never been the calm or patient type, sure thing, but in such a situation, nobody could blame her for being so upset and wanting everything to go faster, right? The situation was urgent!

That sense of urgency, she mostly feels it whenever she surprises herself glancing at Alan, hoping he’d start waking up or at least show he’s still alive by doing something else than painful, weak grunts. On second thought, the fact she’s able to qualify anything Alan does of being weak, even frail or fragile, is a rift in space and time: Alan doesn’t really go well with either of these adjectives, much less with the idea itself of weakness or vulnerability. Her impatience must steam from this contrast between the last time she saw him, healthy and being cold to her again (she knows it was more of a ruse anyway, maybe a dare to see if she was truly able to keep up with him no matter what), and… whatever this is. A daytime nightmare, perhaps?

 With how little she’s actually equipped for adventure, Manon has no way to check anything. Her only thermometer is the clammy palms of her hands, something way past imprecise. What if her hands are too hot to actually evaluate his fever? If that’s the case, she can’t be able to tell if his fever is getting worse! And, if it does, then what? She doesn’t know what Pokemons Alan on him right now, much less if they’d actually obey her like Charizard did. Would the sense of urgency currently raging in her heart spread to them? So many questions, so little possibility to answer them and be sure she’s not getting totally mistaken.

Despite how cruel the vision under her eyes is, Manon cannot look away from him. She’d have never imagined she’d ever see Alan, the strong and strong-willed Alan who had risked his life in the battle between two Hoenn legendary giants to save his Charizard, the stubborn Alan who never gives up on anything he decides he’s going to accomplish, the Alan who put the world into jeopardy only to help fix it later as an attempt to atone, be this fragile on her lap, at nature’s mercy, so vulnerable it feels like she could shatter his entire body with merely a misplaced embrace.

Manon wants to cry. Not for her, because she’s doing perfectly fine, but because the situation calls for it. The more she thinks of what could have been, the more she sees her dearest friend (aside from Chespie), the heavier her heart gets. What if Pokemons in the forest had attacked him? What if Charizard had never found her? Wouldn’t he be… No. She’s here to protect him, and so is Chespie. They’ve gotten stronger since he last saw them, she’s going to show the world if said world forces her into doing so. She won’t let anyone, or anything for that matter, endanger him anymore.

 Suddenly, breaking through the artificial serenity of the overly-calm forest, resonates a different grunt. With the earring of a Fennekin, Manon turns her head towards the one currently lying with his head on her lap, her heart skipping a beat when she notices his eyes trying to open. Manon shakes her head: he must be stirring in his sleep. Then she shakes it again: he’s waking up! Finally, he’s waking up, he’s alive and he’ll be able to explain to her what happened to him! Everything is going to be okay, thank Arceus, thank Xerneas!

She didn’t know what she really expected from his current condition, but her heart still hurts badly when she notices his eyes. Like everything else, they’re not like themselves and yet so his: his usually sharp and piercing icy blue eyes are foggy, reddened around the ages, unclear like a mirror covered in mist. She should have seen it coming, she knows that, but it doesn’t prevent her from biting her lip thinking it shouldn’t be this way.

 A few, heavy moments fly by. There is still no sign Charizard is coming back. The forest is oddly quiet, but it’s been since the very moment she’s arrived there with Chespie. Her companion is also dead quiet, barely reminding the world he’s still there. She wonders if he’s able to talk, if he can hear her if she speaks to him, if he’s waking up for real or if he’s just going to fall asleep right afterwards, if he can tell her how he got himself in this dangerous mess. She wants to scold him, to hug him, to bombard him with questions, to tell him she may have saved him from bigger dangers; but she can’t do that, not for the moment. She painfully needs to wait, and then wait again. Maybe she’s going to wither away before she can do anything about the situation. Goddammit.

Finally, after these excruciating minutes, Alan visibly stirs and his eyes fully open. Well, “fully” may be overselling it… It’s more that she can tell he’s trying to open them fully, but it ends up looking half-closed anyway. Her fight against her own impatience and sense of urgency is turning into a curb-stomp battle with her as the loser of it all: as such, she prefers to focus on him, in hopes it’ll make time go by faster and bring help to them. Charizard must have found the Centre by now… right?

 “Ah, you’re awake, finally!” she yells, almost more to herself than to him, a smile making its way onto her worried face. He’s not fine, but at least he’s alive, there’s that.

Of course, she receives no answer immediately. Instead, Alan moves his head around, sighs and finally looks at her. If she didn’t know him better, she would have almost thought this look on his face wasn’t of surprise, but rather his next stage of waking up.

“Ma…” His voice is dry, hoarse, and barely a whisper. “Manon…?”

“Yep, that’s right, it’s me!”

She’s a bit too excited about watching someone wake up.

 Alan tries to sit up, elbows against the grass and the fallen leaves, a hand flying to his head.

“H-hey, don’t overdo it!” she tells him, in a moment of panic, trying to see if that’ll get him not to be too stubborn about it. She doesn’t want it to become the next time where he’d break his shoulder for her.

“Where… are we…?”

Oh, good question. She’s got zero idea where they are, considering she’s just followed a Charizard until she was presented with the fainted figure of her friend and desired travelling companion. (Still in her dreams, she guesses).

“I… don’t know, actually. But Charizard’s gone to get help, so it should be fine, just rest!”

She giggles nervously, as if to convince either Alan or herself that truly everything is one-hundred-percent fine when it’s not, while he looks around. Does this dude even stay still for a second? He’s always moving, even when she’s asked him not to and that he’s sick! How’s she supposed to make him behave?

“What help?” Alan asks as he gets up, only for him to stumble and her to quickly sit him down to the ground. He’s terrible, terrible she says!

“The one for you because you were unconscious on the ground with a fever, dummy!”

 Manon doesn’t really know why she’s scolding Alan, the thick-sculled and utterly confused Alan who’d never listen to her before. It’s not like she expects any rational answer or reaction from him either, so as long as she speaks, she may be able to keep him grounded until help arrives and he’s obligated to surrender to medicine (and people who actually know what they’re doing, because she sure doesn’t know that).

In lieu of a reply, Alan coughs in his fists, loudly, hoarsely, to match with his voice and everything. All of her grudge against him melts into a tiny puddle of stupid feelings as she hears and watches this, prompting her to rub his back as if that’s gonna make anything easier on him. She got too caught up in her own mind to remember he was still unwell and needing medical attention before he got tremendously ill, so she shuts up for a few moments and waits for the fit to be over.

 “Hey… You’re alright? That sounded painful…” she then asks him, trying to get his eyes to look into hers, hands on his shoulders, tone softer than anything she’s ever said to anyone who wasn’t Chespie. Speaking of him, he’s back on her own shoulder, silent, solemn. Probably doesn’t have anything to add, anything to make the situation better. Just like she does, in fact.

“Ah…” He pants first, then clears his throat, coughs again, and finally finds the voice in him to respond. “I’m… fine enough, I guess…”

“That can’t be right! You felt hot and your cough’s super nasty, you can’t be ‘fine enough’!” She wants to scold him like a kid, she really does! He’s such a Tauros-headed idiot sometimes, just like her, if not even worse! Just a pain, a big bad pain for her, but especially for himself!

 Alan doesn’t reply again, too busy looking at her confused and being too dizzy to really get up. She sits down next to him, just in case he needs a place where to put his head which, suddenly, seems way too heavy for his poor neck and body.

Neither of them speaks, at least for a while. All the noise around them are breathes, some faraway falls crunching under the weight of small Pokemons and Alan’s cough, which sometimes comes back, sometimes gets replaced or announced by some throat clearing. Manon can hear the birds soaring in the sky, the little things you only hear in a forest, the beating of her stressed heart and what she thinks is Alan’s pulse, sounding almost quicker than her own. He’s usually cold-blooded, she knows it, she knows that, but… But…

 “I hope Charizard’s found help and that they’re on their way…”

She can feel her friend slumping on her, head on her shoulder, left side lodged against her right. A faint smile must be on her lips by now: he’s alive, he’s going to be fine once this is all over. He’s strangely not moving much anymore, apparently content with pseudo-resting against her. At least, she’s found him in times, she can now watch over him and, she hopes, she’ll prevent him from hurting himself any further.

“You… mind if I babble about? I’m scared you’re gonna faint again if you fall asleep…”

“I’m not falling asleep…”

 Manon doesn’t feel like directly rebutting him. Alan’s feverish, she can sense it through their clothes (he’s sticky too, she knows that from having put her hands on his shoulders), it’d be like hitting an injured Pokemon for the sake of proving she’s right or something. Yes, he’s stubborn and, yes, he still seems to think she’s dumb: but he’s sick, he can barely keep up with a conversation, he can’t get up properly… She needs to be caring and patient, not as jumpy as she usually is. That sucks for her, but it especially sucks for him.

Frankly, seeing Chespie bedridden was way more than enough for her, she doesn’t need to see her other dearest friend falling deadly ill on her watch.

 A new silence follows, thicker than the previous one, covering them both in a thick layer of fabric, wrapped around their throats. Manon doesn’t have a single clue as to what she should be saying next, if she should even be saying something too. Instead, she just stares at Alan with his eyes fluttering like broken roller blinds. He seems so out of himself, so unlike his usual tough guy persona, that she cannot help but worry more with each passing second. What if it’s actually already too late? What if he’s sicker than she thinks? How sick is he, anyway? He won’t let her touch him to test out, she knows that, so she’s left with speculating through observations

And, well, she sucks at analysing other humans. If she was any good at it, she’d have been able to tell Lysandre had terrible plans in mind. Perhaps she’d have been able to tell Alan her true feelings, to convince him he didn’t need to cut all ties with her. Everything would be better; she’d be able to know what she can do to help him feel at least a bit better. No, no, instead, she’s just sitting there, her sick friend against her, slowly but surely either falling asleep or losing consciousness again. Where is Charizard when you need it?

So Manon silently prays. The girl who’s always noisy, always nosy, never getting quiet and always asking questions, making remarks and comments, snarking at people, sliding some jokes; is silent and prays. Praying who, she doesn’t know, she didn’t think about it. She just repeats over and over in her mind how she wants everything to be better, for her friend to feel good again, for the illness to go away and the fatigue to disappear. It’s dumb, she knows that, praying Xerneas only work in fairy tales and nursery rhymes. At least, she thinks so? If it works, she’ll get back what she said and be the happiest girl ever for her poor, poor friend.

 The complete, too heavy to be serene silence breaks in the snap of a stick from behind her. She jumps, taken aback, balancing Chespie out of her shoulder and making Alan almost land on the ground, barely catching him back with her surprised arms. His eyes try to look at hers, or that’s what it feels like, but they’re too unfocused and glassy to properly do so, and as such it ends up failing. This is still so weird, so unnatural…

However, a smile is soon brought where right before it stood a frown. Charizard is back and, with it, what looks like a medical team. The rest of the rescue mission passes in a flash: the nurse and other people she doesn’t know take her friend away on a stretcher, Charizard still out of its Pokeball offers Chespie and her to fly to where the staff comes from. The sudden change of pace is unexpected, and that surprises her.

 As they fly away from the forest, Manon thinks, a lot, much more than usual. Today’s weird, too weird. The changes of pace all over the place are awful, she wants them to stop, she wants today to go back to normal and boring. She wants to get her normal Alan back, the one who gives her snarky remarks, the one who’s too stubborn to ever go back or accept things the way he doesn’t see them, the one who’s worked and fought again Lysandre, the one who almost brought the end of the world before helping fix it. She just wants her friend back, free of illnesses and exhaustion, to travel with him and not be Kalos’s worst nurse ever.

And, well… Is that asking too much from the world?

[thestoryteller-writer]

Flashlights

Chapter One

Story Word Count: 1,927

Next Chapter (unannounced)

Summary of Chapter: Lilly Wake and Candace Wake, daughters of Alan Wake, have been visited by a mysterious man who calls himself ‘Dark’ at their cabin camp. Out of curiosity, Lilly begins the investigation to find out who and what he is, and how he even knows of their existence. As not even the most obsessive fan of Alan Wake’s knew of their existence. Out of fear, Candace joins her older sister. She worries about what’s going to happen, and what will happen to their dad. 

She clutched her flashlight, flashing it to the dark corners of the cabin. The grandfather clock sounds as it becomes 12 AM.

 “I swear to god Candace if you’re messing with me you’re about to see Jesus,” Lilly growled. She flipped a light switch multiple times, it didn’t turn on. A crash came from right in front of her, Lilly shined a light that way, but her beam didn’t reach that far in front of her.

 Slowly, she crept that way. She instantly noticed a floor lamp had crashed, and was in pieces on the floor.

 “Nope, nope, nope,” She turned around and rushed towards the stairs. Right as she hit the first step a hand grabbed her shoulder. Screaming, she turned around, falling on her butt on the step.

 “Stay back darkness! I’ve got the light and I know how to use it!” She shouted, shining it everywhere she could see. There was nothing there, and she was confused to no ends.

 Slowly, she begun to notice a ringing. At first, Lilly thought it was her own ears. After a minute however of the ever slowly rising ringing, she had a feeling that whatever was out there was making the ringing.

 “It’s okay... just follow Dad’s protocol, no working lights? Make your own light. Yes, good idea.” Lilly got up and slowly got to the middle of the room, walking over the shards of the lamp. She placed her flashlight on the coffee table next to her, facing towards the ceiling, and turned it on. The whole room lit up with a soft glow.

 She screamed, sitting on the couch a foot away from her was a strange man.

 “Lillian Wake... daughter of Alan Wake,” He said, in a matter of factly voice. Lilly slowly brought her shaking hand to the flash light.

 “That’s... that’s right! I could ki-kill you uh, know! My dad taught me how to fend off the darkness.” With each word she gained her confidence back, and she snatched the flashlight, going to point it at the strange man. He was gone.

 “This light is merely child’s play...” The voice was right next to her ear. She screamed again, and the light was taken out of her hand and turned off. There was a thump a distance away, and Lilly knew she wouldn’t be able to find the light in the darkness.

 She felt a hand on her shoulder again. Trying not to scream, she pulled away and turned around to face her attacker. The male had two lights that seem to be shifting. They were soft lights, but she could still recognize them. Blue and red, how odd.

 “You’re not the darkness,” Lilly whispered softly. There was a sound of laughter.

 “Oh, but I am. Just not the type of darkness you’re used too,” The light above them came on and Lilly was able to finally assess the creature in front of her. Black hair, black eyes, black suite and tie. Her eyes were having a hard time focusing on him. If it wasn’t for the circumstances, she probably would’ve been crazy over him. Shaking her head, she glared at him.

 “The light doesn't affect you, you aren’t darkness, so what are you?” He laughed humorlessly again.

 “I’m what you say I’m not. I’m Dark.”

 “Okay, ‘Dark’, how do you know who I am?”

 “Well Lillian...” Suddenly, there was another sound in the dark. Her eyes widened.

 “They’re here. If you know anything about my father than you know better than to keep the lights off. Turn them on Dark, or we’ll both end up as part of the Taken.” She snapped. Dark smiled faltered when another sound was heard, a axe hit the bit of the coffee table that was still in the dark. Lilly backed up into Dark, “Look, I’m trusting you right now. Mainly because the light isn’t tearing you to pieces. Please turn the lights on before we both get shredded.”

 There was a silence, then suddenly all the lights flashed on. Three men were around them, screaming in agony as the darkness began to weaken inside them.

 Lilly grabbed the axe and immediately got to work. After a minute, the only evidence that anything was there was specks of ash that was left behind by the Taken from them turning to ash. She panted, holding the axe she turned to Dark. She pointed it at him, and his eyes widened a fraction.

 “Move, and I won’t hesitate to turn you to ash. Now, you were explaining how you know me?”

 “Put down the axe Lillian,” Dark calmly said. Lilly shook her head, making her feel like a toddler. She began to circle him, and he kept moving to keep her in his eyesight. “Lillian Wake..” He growled.

 “No. Explain how you know me or I’ll kill you. I-”

 “Lilly?” Candace, Lilly’s sister, walked down stairs. “What’s going on?” Lilly instantly lowered her axe.

 “Candace, go back up stairs. Now.” Lilly pointed up to the stairs, Candace cocked her head a little, then she saw Dark. Her eyes widened in realization after processing the whole scene.

 “Oh yes, you’re Candace Wake, aren’t you? How adorable that the two sisters would camp... together,” Dark mused, leaning back and smiling again.

 “You leave her the Hell out of this Dark. Go back upstairs now Canny!”

 “Yes, go back upstairs Candace. Where you’ll be alone, vulnerable-” There was a frustrated groan from Lilly as she raised her axe to Dark again.

 “Touch her in anyway, and you’ll see... probably your boss I’m going to be honest with you,”

 “You think I work for the King of Hell?” Candace quietly crept back upstairs.

 “Well, you don’t work for God. That’s what I’m sure about,” Lilly sneered.

 “Well, I don’t work for any of them. I am my own boss, my own entity. I am, everything, yet nothing all at once darling.” Lilly shook her head and narrowed her eyes.

 “Alright Shakespeare, listen up. We can talk about whatever crossroad deal you want to propose to me when I get back home, and I drop Candace back off with Dad. I don’t trust her going back to her apartment right now with you around, and I don’t trust you. So, deal?” For once, Dark wasn’t blurry.

“ĐɆ₳Ⱡ“

 Suddenly, gun shots. Candace was on the top stair, shooting at Dark.

 “Filthy demons, always trying to do deals,” hissed Candace. 

 Dark was gone, and the only thing signifying they had not dreamed was when they woke up the next morning and bullets were found lodged into the floor.

 “Do you think I shot him?” Candace asked. The girls were now on the couch, staring at the spot Dark once stood.

 “Five bullet casings, five bullets in the floor. I’d say he had a close call, but was never hit,” Lilly sighed, leaning back in her chair. “It’s a question of what he wants, and how he knows us. Our father is pretty popular, yes, but is he that popular? Popular enough to were even the entities that probably came out of a pit from Hell would know him?

 “I don’t know dude, should I call Dad? Warn him about what just took place?”

 “No Canny, he would demand we went back to the house. Wouldn’t let me leave until he knows the creature is dead. And for all we know, that... thing could be immortal!” Lilly did another dramatic sigh and looked over to her sister.

 “Whatever that humanoid is, it wants you Lilly. I’m not sure if it would be a good idea not to warn dad. Dark, is that his actual name? Anyways, if he knows dads name, then he probably seen the books. If he is part of the supernatural community, then he’ll know that was Dad’s real life experience,” Candace explained. Lilly nodded her head and sat forward. Adjusting her hands to be in a almost prayer position. She was in deep thought for a few minutes.

 “Canny... do you think Aldred’s Pub is open this time of year?”

 After packing up and paying for their trip, they hit the road. Driving from Washington, Bright Falls to Nevada, Night Vale.

 “Lilly, are you sure about this?” Asked Candace, she had just woken up from a nap while Lilly was driving.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure about this, just a little anxious. I have no idea when he’ll pop up, and for all we know he could appear in the back seat.”

 “No Lilly, I mean by going to the pub. Dad may track us here if he suddenly becomes worried, and then he’ll know we’ve been hanging out with the other side.”

 “C’mon Canny, say it how it is, we’re hanging out with monsters. If Dad happens to come across us we can just come up with a false story that we were chasing a lead here in some missing persons report. After all, that’s only the half truth.” Candace sighed, shaking her head.

“I just have a bad feeling about this Lilly. I have a bad feeling about Dad, like he’s in more danger than we think.”

“I promise Canny, both us and Dad will be okay. Aldred will help us, and we’ll be able to go on our merry way. We’ll figure out what type of thing Dark is, and we’ll figure out what he wants with us. Aldred owes us anyways, after making sure Night Vale city council didn’t demolish his place he owes us his life basically. Do you remember that? It was a offly long time ago.”

 “Yeah, I remember that. Didn’t we encounter ‘angles’ that time? I think they lived with an old woman, we should stop by at some point to talk to her again. She was pretty weird.”

 “The whole town is weird Canny, they have a monster pub for heaven's sake! The whole town knows about the creatures, and yet they still allow them in their town,” As Lilly exclaimed this, they came up to a town. A sign half scorched from the sun said “Welcome To Night Vale”

 “We’re in Hell...” Muttered Candace. Lilly sniggered and sped up into the town.

 It was only twenty minutes later when she parked the car on the hot asphalt of the parking lot. A sign looking newly painted on the building read “COME in TO aldred’s pub, wHEre even the supernaturaLL can hang out!”

 “What’s with the sign? Looks like they got a five year old to paint it,” Candace commented.

 “Knowing Aldred he probably did just that.” They walked through the doors, and silence swiftly took over. The two girls felt eyes on them every step to the bar.

 “Is Aldred in?” Lilly asked the bartender. The bartender hastily nodded and left to the backroom.

 “Why are they staring at us?” Whispered Candace.

 “Well, right now we’re the only humans here,” Replied Lilly. Candace nodded and wearily smiled at a group sitting at a nearby table, giving a sort of awkward wave. The group immediately looked away and started to gossip, pointing at the duo every now and then.

 “Lilly! Candy!” Exclaimed a bubbly voice.

 “Aldred!” Lilly said in a matching voice, pulling him in for a hug. “Al, we don’t have long. We need to talk to you about some of your recent...  patrons. We should talk in the back,” She whispered into his ear and pulled out of the hug. Aldred’s face went somber and he nodded. Lilly motioned for Candace to follow them and they all went out back.

 What they didn’t realize was something was also hunting them.