#idontknowreallywhy fanfic

[idontknowreallywhy]

Two tiny WIP sentences because I obv woke seized by this eeeeeeevil “what if?” thought. But I have Things to Do so dare not open my draft document right now.

The first time Scott listened, three people died.

John was waiting for them in the lounge.

…

[gumnut-logic]

Óen (Part 1)

Okay, I've been egged on repeatedly by the wonderful @idontknowreallywhy to have a go at this, but I'm a little nervous cos I've never written any HTTYD fanfic ever and am a bit short on the canon in my head, so be kind as I make up a pile of stuff as I go along.

This is a Thunderbirds Are Go and How to Train Your Dragon crossover and I'm chewing fingernails..

Many thanks to both @onereyofstarlight and @idontknowreallywhy for their support in this insanity.

This little bit is just set up so don't expect much, but I hope you enjoy it. My apologies to Toothless.

-o-o-o-

Hiccup Haddock III was an idiot.

Toothless, the midnight black night fury he was currently clinging to, no doubt agreed.

“I’m sorry, bud, you were right. We should have gone back earlier.” The words were whipped from his mouth by the raging winds, but as always, Toothless heard him regardless.

A deep rumble in the dragon’s throat, vibrating against Hiccup’s thighs, indicated agreement on all fronts.

Hiccup should have known better. He’d seen the signs of changing weather but had ignored them, convincing himself they had a few moments longer. Unfortunately, said weather had disagreed and whipped up one of those sudden storms that had Berk locked down and huddled away.

Except Hiccup and Toothless were in the middle of the ocean with no protection.

He grit his teeth against the wind, desperately attempting to help Toothless manage their flight. At first, he had tried for home, his dragon friend whacking him with an ear flap in annoyance…always listen to your dragon…but the conditions had changed so abruptly for the worse, that now it was a case of desperately trying to keep aloft and not slammed into the ocean.

They had tried for height, Toothless as always knowing exactly how high they were, in an attempt to get above the storm. But the thunderheads went on forever and they reached as high as Hiccup could go - Toothless could always go higher, but he didn’t seem inclined to do it carrying a frozen friend on his back.

Toothless snarled and then attempted speed, trying to get out of the squall. But Thor had other ideas and along with several lightning strikes that had Hiccup’s hair standing on end, despite the wind and now the sleet, it soon became a struggle to stay in the sky at all, much less attain any directional speed.

And now they were in trouble.

Astrid was going to kill him if he managed to ever see her again.

Dad…

Dad, as always was the reason he was out here in the first place. Just another day where father and son just couldn’t see eye to eye. Another day that found Hiccup fleeing on Toothless and no doubt Stoick the Vast ranting in the smithy with Gobber.

Ice bit into his skin.

Beneath him, Toothless growled in alarm as they were suddenly swept sideways and down.

“Toothless!”

His friend’s wings struggled against the gale, but were snapped back, his growl turning into a wail of pain.

The wind took them and Hiccup could do little but cling to Toothless as they were swept into a dark and violent maelstrom.

-o-o-o-

It was all sensation after that. Toothless fighting beneath him. Pain. Freezing everything.

Screaming darkness.

This was it. His own stupidity, not listening to his dragon, and forever being fearful of his father and the future. It all had finally done him in.

Hiccup the Idiot.

Saved Berk, but was too stupid to save himself.

A sudden yank upwards against the wind startled him. But before he could react something grabbed him.

What?!

He was lifted from Toothless. A tug as his safety line pulled then fell slack as if snapped. No!

NO!

He struggled but it was too dark and whatever had him, had a solid grip. “Toothless!”

The wind raged but he wasn’t falling. He attempted to fight himself free, but his arms were pinned to his sides and he couldn’t…

“Toothless!”

The wind whipped the name from his mouth.

Toothless was gone. He had to be. His dragon couldn’t fly without him. His thoughts swirled like the wind battering his senses and he clenched his eyes shut in grief. Toothless!

“You’re going to be okay.”

The words were heavily accented and heard mostly through whatever he was held against, and he only heard them because the winds were dying.

The winds were dying.

Hiccup flung his eyes open. He was flying. But not on Toothless. His heart lurched.

He was on another dragon, black and silver danced beneath a dark grey sky. In the distance the sun managed to peek through over a bunch of islands fading into the grey sea.

“Toothless!”

“Óen has your dragon. Don’t be worried.” There was such surety in that voice, Hiccup had to believe.

“Who?”

“Scott o’ Clan O’Treasaigh and Óen. We’re here to rescue you.”

-o-o-o-

Next

[ajpendragon]

9 Fandom Peeps to Get to Know Better

Thanks for the tag, @fanfic-obsessed

Three ships I like: Merthur, Johnlock, and any combination of Kirk, Spock and McCoy

First ever ship: Merthur

Last song I heard: He’s a Pirate by Peter Hollens

Favorite childhood book: The Hardy Boys mysteries by Franklin Dixon

Currently reading: Eldest by Christopher Paolini

Currently watching: Dr. Who

Currently consuming: A very delicious omlette

Currently craving: French fries

Tagging: @the-pen-pot @idontknowreallywhy

And anyone else who wants to join in!!

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 2 - React

Smashed out some more words on the old commute. Am writing poor Virgil’s story from both ends now - this sits somewhere in the future where it all comes back to bite him (and happens immediately after this scene).

Train fic means unedited for now so please forgive heinous errors. Also it was a toss up between “solar flare” and “rare earth minerals” (thanks @gumnut-logic) for what is hampering Five and EOS for tension purposes - had to hamper them somehow else they are a bit OP. Also one of the other Thunderbirds has Magic so… *fudges everything*

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“HOW CAN HE HAVE DISAPPEARED? WE LIVE ON AN ISLAND!!”

“I’m doing my best, Scott, but the solar flare is overwhelming some of Five’s sensors… there are only so many overrides EOS and I can…”

“Sorry. Yes. I’m sorry, John, it’s just…”

“I know.” The precise set of John’s jaw revealed his tension but otherwise he was projecting calm, sympathetic professionalism.

Scott looked around at the various shades of brave face the remainder of his family were wearing. Allie looked sick as a dog but stood tall and his shoulders were squared. Gordon was muttering aggressively and glaring at the island infographic as if it was deliberately withholding information. Brains was whispering to MAX and recalibrating scans at the speed of desperation. Kayo’s expression had set into neutral with the slightest tension in her frame which he recognised as her readiness to spring to their defence against… whatever was happening.

What WAS happening? It had been so fast and Scott had been so absorbed in his own thoughts he didn’t have any answer for what happened in the seconds between Virgil cheerily entering the room bearing coffee and him bolting like a startled hare.

“And he’s not been hiding an illness? His vitals were…”

“Entirely within normal range until 14 minutes ago when there was a sharp spike in heart rate and blood pressure for 6 minutes then he…”

“Disappeared.”

“Became invisible to Five’s scans, yes.”

“Maybe he took one of the boats?” Gordon ventured.

“Negative, EOS has scanned the dry dock, they are all still down there.”

“And no unexplained life signs?” Scott knew they’d covered this but he just couldn’t accept the answer.

John sighed but answered patiently “No, Scott that was the first thing we checked.”

Scott paced and tried to drag his mind out of the spiral of imagining the various scenarios in which his brother could be somewhere a life sign wasn’t. He needed to compartmentalise. This was just another search and rescue mission.

Rescue. Not recovery. Please not recovery.

“Ok. Manual search it is. Brains, you and Max use the drones to access the caldera and the more remote parts of the western slopes. Kayo, Gordon take Thunderbird Four on a clockwise sweep to check the beaches. Alan, you and I will…”

“JOHN!” EOS‘s voice was shrill and Scott’s heart froze.

“Thunderbird Shadow has commenced her launch sequence!”

Kayo’s eyes widened in shock.

“SHADOW? What? Why?”

Everyone looked blank.

“Is Virgil in there? Can you reach him?”

“Sorry Scott, she’s already cloaked and there’s no reply on comms.”

“Stop the launch then!”

“I can’t, we’re locked out.”

“I can.” Kayo, pulled up her remote access and wrestled with the controls for a few seconds before breathing a sigh of relief. “Ok, she’s not going anywhere. Um…”

Scott was already heading for the elevator to the hangars when his sister’s uncharacteristic uncertainty arrested him. He looked back. She swallowed.

“We may have a slight problem.”

“What? What is it Kayo??” Scott knew he was raising his voice but it was that or burst into frustrated tears which was… not an option.

EOS answered first.

“Thunderbird Shadow halted her sequence on the outside of the cliff face.”

Virgil was suspended over a death drop.

“Can we lock him inside?” Gordon had clearly reached the same horrified conclusion as his eldest brother had. Kayo shook her head.

Brains stepped forward “Unf-fortunately n-not as currently configured. The p-pilot’s ability to exit is always p-prioritised over remote a-access in c-case of… c-compromise.”

“I get it. Not your fault Brains. EOS?”

“I’m working on it Scott.”

“Good, in the meantime I’ll grab a couple of jet packs.” Scott headed for the hangar again.

“SCOTT! Wait!” John had dropped the professionalism which arrested Scott’s momentum faster than a brick wall.

“What now John??”

“Let the others go. You have to change.”

“WHAT?!”

“He can’t see you wearing… that.”

Scott looked down at the dress uniform he had forgotten he was wearing and ice crept down his spine. This… was the problem? He suddenly realised John knew something that he didn’t and cursed himself for not finding out what it was already. But now wasn’t the time.

“Right. You three, take jetpacks and get up there but don’t let him get out before I’m with you. I’ll be there asap.”

“FAB.”

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continued…

[idontknowreallywhy]

WIP Wednesday

“Scott?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can I ask you a favour?”

“Always.”

“It’s a weird one”

Scott turned and raised an amused eyebrow.

“Would you wear it again?”

“Wear what? If you’re asking about Halloween and that cursed superman costume, it’s a hard no. I might be persuaded to consider Batman but only if you’re going to be Robin.”

Virgil snorted.

“As you very well know I don’t do tights. Not after the Christmas debacle.”

“I think you made a lovely elf.”

“You’re deranged.”

“Yeah but you love me.” Scott lay back on the lounger and grinned his most maddening grin.

Virgil threw an ice cube at his head before conceding: “I do. Yes.”

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 4 - Reel

EVERYTHING IS FINE!

Previously (in case this jumpscared you and you have no idea what’s going but I’ve clearly gone a bit feral over this today - apologies for flooding your dash!)

First scene, second scene, third scene

(And the history of this is this one)

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The first thing Scott noticed was Shadow stationary and clamped firmly to her ‘roost’ on the cliff side, with two figures buzzing around the cockpit.

The second thing he noticed was Alan perched on a rocky outcrop about 40m below where Shadow clung to the cliff.

The third thing was that there were tears running down his baby brother’s face as he squinted into the sky overhead.

The fourth thing was the telltale glint in the rosy blue of early evening that meant the space elevator was on its way down.

He flew over to Alan and made a hurried enquiry as to his health. Alan dashed the wetness from his face and said he was fine. Scott didn’t believe him and said so. Alan shrugged and clamped his lips together but then his face crumpled and he blurted out:

“They said I had to leave. That Virgil wouldn’t want me to see. But I already did so what’s the point. I want to help! What use am I down here?”

“Alan, what did you see?”

Alan looked guilty. Scott looked up to where Gordon and Kayo were hovering either side of Shadow’s windshield which appeared to be partly raised.

“Alan!”

The response was barely a whisper.

“He thinks you’re flying Shadow to… to…” nothing but a strangled sound came out here but Scott knew exactly the word Alan couldn’t bring himself to say. “He says he has to go too… but there’s nobody in the pilot’s seat Scott.”

“Right.” Scott had no idea what to do with this information and hovered impotently in midair for a moment.

“I’m scared.”

Big brother instinct triggered, Scott snapped out of his panicked indecision and took change.

“I’ll look after him I promise. Please go and fetch the big blue first aid kit, Allie? The one with the… uh, the everything in it.” The word “tranquilliser” was almost as dirty and unspeakable as “Bereznik” was in the Tracy household, but at that height Scott wasn’t going to take any chances with his stronger, heavier brother.

“FAB Scott.”

He watched his little brother leave then made a beeline for Shadow, popping up beside Gordon who was pale and ever so young-looking and Kayo, unflappable Kayo who… whose face was as tear stained as Alan’s had been. Scott swallowed hard and peered through the semi-raised hatch to meet his best friend’s eyes.

“Virgil?”

“Dad!”

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 19 - Reveal

What went before

Scott demonstrates why his imaginary counterpart is such a bad influence because of course he’s going somewhere he shouldn’t be.

But it does mean we (and Scott) finally get to see Virgil’s picture.

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By the time he got down to the infirmary, Scott was hobbling slightly and this irritated him. It certainly wasn’t helping with his need to be stealthy. He paused for a moment in the corridor and wrapped his hands tightly around each foot in turn, as if pressing the dressings into place would speed up the healing and prevent the cuts from reopening. He didn’t have the time or energy for that right now. Again he wished he’d slowed down, just a little, and avoided creating an unnecessary distraction with a pointless injury.

But how could he slow down when a brother was in danger? When anyone was in danger? When the split second could make all the difference? Everyone told him he had to… Virgil, Kayo, John… even Gordon lost the plot and yelled at him on occasion but Scott just didn’t see how he was supposed to make that call. How did everyone else see that bright line demarking “this far but not that far”? He knew he had to find it, learn to see it… if only because, as Virgil kept pointing out, Alan was beginning to follow in his footsteps and he’d never forgive himself if the kid got hurt because of it.

He silently eased open the door and crept into the infirmary. As if conjured there by Scott’s musing, Alan stirred a little and he froze in the doorway but almost immediately his exhausted little brother’s breathing slowed again. In another example of littlest brother imitating the biggest, Scott realised with a jolt that Alan had precisely mirrored his own habitual bedside position. Perched on the edge of the chair, leaning forward and to the right, the weight of his upper body supported by his right upper arm which tucked in alongside the pillow, head propped up by the right fist and left hand gently holding that of the patient. The only difference was that Alan had clearly slumped in his sleep and so his face was buried in the edge of Virgil’s pillow while his right hand fell limp over his own shoulder. He was going to get cramp if he stayed like that for long…

The urge to interfere was strong - to scoop his baby brother up in his arms and tuck him into his own bed, away from sights and sounds that might distress him. But Scott resisted. Just. He sent Alan into space on a regular basis, the kid had earned the right to watch over a sick brother the same as any of them.

The shirt fairy had visited here too, it seemed, and had left their bounty of neatly folded clothing piles arranged around Virgil’s sleeping head like a halo in some bizarre classical artwork. Scott spotted Alan’s t-shirt, a violently patterned item of Gordon’s and an equally-painful-to-the-eye-for-different-reasons one of John’s. There was something of Kayo’s and Grandma’s there too. Virgil was surrounded, guarded in a way, by all of them. But… Scott felt a stab of hurt in his gut as he realised… not something of his? Was he to be written out of existence entirely? He was about to storm out and hide himself away somewhere they couldn’t find or be bothered by him when he realised that the cover tucked tightly up to his brother’s chin wasn’t a duvet or blanket or any other bedding found in the infirmary. Virgil was snuggled up in Scott’s own fluffy blue hooded bathrobe, clearly pilfered from the back of his bedroom door.

Oh.

Oh right.

The wave of rejection panic receded and he felt a little silly. The whole being excluded and replaced by a hallucination thing was clearly getting to him.

Virgil was sleeping soundly, and the sound of his sleep was as loud as it ever was. At least that hadn’t changed… Alan despite being at close range was oblivious and Scott allowed himself a smirk at how they were all so accustomed to that particularly niche white noise.

He crept a little closer and his toes nudged the discarded sketchbook. Overcome with curiosity he knelt down and lifted it so that the moonlight from the window fell upon the most recent addition.

Virgil had depicted a storm.

The clouds were heavy and dark. A lightning bolt tore the sky in two from the top right to the bottom left where a carefully drawn silhouette of a fighter jet dived towards the ground, smoke and fire billowing from its tail. Scott’s stomach clenched as he realised it wasn’t intended to be lightning at all, but a streak of burning fuel. The violence and despair radiated off the page at him.

Scott knew that during his… absence… some top secret photographs had been leaked to the press and splashed alongside that same formal photograph of himself that had caused all the recent trouble. It was too much to hope that the sensational front pages hadn’t been seen by his younger brothers. Later, Scott had been required to comment on the same images at the war crimes tribunal. The high res arial photographs of the blackened and twisted cockpit of his plane had been unpleasant viewing even to someone who knew the pilot had escaped. It wasn’t surprising that this was the image conjured by a grieving artistic imagination who’d believed he hadn’t.

His hands shook a little as he fought back the nausea. It wasn’t much of a leap to put himself in his brother’s shoes… he’d had enough nightmares in which Thunderbird Two or one of the others had been in a similar condition. But every time that happened, Scott had woken up to realise it wasn’t real.

Virgil had woken every day for months to find that it was.

Scott couldn’t imagine how his little brother had kept it together as long as he had. If the roles had been reversed… he shuddered.

He lifted his left hand to brush a prickling of cold sweat from his brow and noticed the patch of light in the very top left of the drawing previously covered by his thumb. The black clouds had been erased leaving a spot of clear sky, in the middle of which was a tiny silhouette of a person dangling from a parachute.

Scott swallowed as, for a moment, he hung again in mid-air and watched his only way out of hostile territory smash into the earth in a ball of fire. It was as if Virgil had known.

HAD Virgil known, then?

Had he known THEN? Scott could almost believe it… that his closest brother would somehow know, despite all the evidence to the contrary, that he wasn’t dead.

Or maybe it was just that now the facts from the present were seeping back into his understanding of the past. Which must be a good sign.

He hoped it was a good sign.

Unable to tear his eyes from the drawing, it felt a little like time itself had been put on hold all around Scott in the same way the sound had. He suddenly realised that this was odd - the quietness almost oppressive in its emptiness. Then he realised what was missing:

The snoring had stopped.

Scott looked up in alarm to find a pair of inscrutable brown eyes looking silently down at him. So familiar, so beloved yet somehow also unfamiliar, unnaturally dispassionate. Virgil had never looked at him that way and it stripped all the courage from Scott’s bones as he struggled to maintain eye contact with his best friend. He had absolutely no idea what to do. His whisper when it came was barely audible:

“Hi short stuff… I missed you.”

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[idontknowreallywhy]

Comb

A wee commute-fic. Unedited. Very random dad!Scott moment. Not entirely unrelated to how I spent my Sunday evening…

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It wasn’t an activity ever likely to make it on to the parenting highlight reel.

Alan squirmed and whined as the comb caught an invisible tangle and the towel slipped off his shoulders.

“Try to keep still Allie, it’ll just take longer if I keep losing where I’ve got up to.”

“Ugh this is so gross and embarrassing and soooo unfair.”

“Happens to us all, little bro. But it’ll be over quicker if you stop wriggling.”

If only he’d been the only thing wriggling. Scott resisted the urge to scratch himself violently. It was just psychological, but they did give him the creeps.

The 12 year-old huffed but relented and leaned back against his big brother’s legs. He wiped the comb and started again, methodically parting and combing, parting and combing. To be fair, Scott suspected he hadn’t been particularly cooperative when it had been him been cross legged on the floor in front of his Mom’s towel-covered knees…

He could remember the sensation of her gentle fingers through his hair, the half frustration half amusement in her voice:

“Try to keep still little Bluebird, it’ll just take longer if I keep losing where I’ve got up to.”

Young Scott was a fool to try to wriggle away. Old Scott pushed his shoulders back against her legs and relished the moment of closeness before something distracted him again.

“Are you done?”

He’d frozen, comb in midair, lost in a memory.

“Nearly. Hang in there.”

The Tracys hadn’t needed to battle an Infestation for years - one of the benefits of Alan being homeschooled. But he’d returned from a week at coding camp playing host to an old enemy. Luckily Scott had watched Mom give Virgil and John the same treatment so he knew what to do when the baton was passed to him. Part it, comb it, comb it again, part it, comb it…

Allie’s hair wasn’t as baby soft as it once was, the slight greasiness of the teenage years was beginning and it was a darker blonde now. Scott put the comb down and added the weird smelling gel, threading his fingers through slowly to cover every strand. If he lingered a little longer, than necessary, relishing a task his fast growing charge still needed help with, nobody would know. He was just being thorough.

Finally he wiped his hands and placed them on Alan’s shoulders, leaning around to look him in the face while keeping his own hair a decent distance from his brother’s - he didn’t want anyone to have to return the favour.

“You’re all good. Leave it half an hour then shower it off and it’ll be no more than a memory.”

Moody blue eyes softened as they looked back at him.

“Thanks. Sorry I was a pain. I guess Dad-Bro triumphs again, huh?”

Scott smiled.

“I guess he does.”

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[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 10 - Recall

Maybe could be the next instalment of Resurface (a.k.a. the psychotic Virgil fic) or maybe could be a standalone - any thoughts? Inspired by a song which, it turns out, fits the situation rather well. Some sad Earth&Sky… given I’d managed zero words for days and have found that very irritating I’m gonna run with whatever! Edit to add: Yeah I’m calling it. So what if the fic has a random songfic chapter… it’s Virg…

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He floated in the darkness, weightless yet weighed down. There was nothing to see, nothing to feel. Nothing to smell. Yet he could SEE the dark in an overwhelming level of detail and his nerves rejected the empty tactile nothingness and told him cold instead.

There was sound in the void, but it was intermittent and muffled, as if he was underwater. Voices… familiar but unhappy bubbled past him. If only they’d speak more clearly perhaps he could fix whatever the problem was… but he found he couldn’t move his arms or… his head or… anything so fixing was probably out of the question. He wondered if there anything of him left to move?

He wondered if he was… gone… and found he couldn’t feel too strongly about the idea. Hello darkness, Virgil was ready to succumb.

Oh… Virgil. He had a name. Well there it is.

He knew he was supposed to fight the dark but he was so tired. He was also aware the reason he kept fighting was no more. Although he wasn’t entirely sure what that had been… it nagged at him. It had been important. He was pretty sure it had been everything - there was just a hollow space where he imagined his chest would be. Was odd he couldn’t remember. If he could move his face he’d frown at that.

Maybe it was just that Afterwards you didn’t remember Before?

He only hoped this nothing wouldn’t be everything - the lack of comprehensible sensory input was maddening. Not to mention he had an irritating earworm that was disproving his theory about not remembering. And that would be really annoying to think about for eternity. What even was it? Some kids’ film…

Can there be a day beyond this night? I don’t know anymore what is true.

Huh. Pretty dark for something aimed at children.

Mind you, children felt things pretty strongly. He’d always done so, as far as he could tell. It’s why art and music worked for him. He remembered that too. Alright, memory was a thing then. Given the lack of anything else to do he cast his mind back, trying to recall something, anything… about who he was.

Trees. He could picture trees and feel the drop in the wind as he stepped amongst them. One in particular which was taller than the rest… a pecan. The scaly bark scratched at his fingertips as he peered up into the rustling branches overhead. Wait! He tried to shout but no sound came out! Wait! He wasn’t tall enough! He couldn’t follow! He stood on his tiptoes and stretched towards the hand that reached down out of the leaves but his fingers only brushed the air. He gasped, a bigger hand landed on his shoulder and it all went black again.

He was on his knees on the dusty tarmac and his knees were stinging but not as much as his eyes. The back of the big yellow bus blurred as he cursed his little legs for not being able to catch up with it. He squeaked in horror as a truck thundered past, horn blaring and then large hands were pulling his shoulders, dragging him to the grass. Sharp words, scared words. They told him he couldn’t follow. He wasn’t big enough for big school yet. He couldn’t always follow. He lifted his hands from his knees and stared at the redness that highlighted the wrinkles in his palms. A sob choked him and the red spread out and covered everything.

That large hand was tugging at his elbow, but Virgil wasn’t easy to move against his will. He relented and took one pace backwards, moving his right foot down one of the stone steps leading away from the ornate doorway with a lone figure standing in it. The others had gone back inside to continue the celebration. But one remained, watching them leave, smiling. The stupidly massive doors made him look small and he’d never looked small before. The left foot wouldn’t move. The arm tugged at him but he couldn’t. He couldn’t not follow. The figure waved again, straightened the smart blue coat with the silver buttons and gave a cheeky salute before turning and walking away. Virgil had no breath to cry out to him to stop, he could only reach out silently towards the retreating blue.

I follow you around, I always have, but you’ve gone to a place I cannot find.

No. The song was wrong. NO! He thrashed against the nothing and gagged on the bile that rose up in a throat that could suddenly feel, could suddenly burn, could agonisingly scream out loud:

“SCOTT!”

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[idontknowreallywhy]

Brain is mush. A little snippet just because:

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“The thing is Allie… the thing is… Sometimes people ask you to make promises that… aren’t fair. Promises that are so much bigger than they seem at the time. And when that person is gone, if the promise isn’t really possible… if it isn’t healthy to try to keep it… well... What I should have done is asked myself what Scott would have told me to do.”

He looked up and met his big brother’s eyes which were shining with unshed tears.

“You should have taken care of yourself! You shouldn’t have burned yourself out for me. I never wanted that, I never meant to ask that! I’m so sorry, Virgil.”

Virgil nodded slightly and reached over to grab Scott’s hand which squeezed back ever so tightly. “I know you didn’t. And I should have then too, I was just too busy trying to do everything to let myself think about it.”

Virgil paused for a moment, watching the emotions flicker across Scott’s face wondering when the penny would drop.

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[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 11 - Revise

Previous bits here

Um, sorry John…

<insert swirly back in time sound effect here>

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John growled and swiped his organic chemistry notes off his desk. The file sailed over the bed, slammed into the wall and, inevitably, the pages popped out of the binder and fluttered all over the room.

It was useless anyway, he couldn’t focus. None of it was making sense. Chemistry made no sense. His lack of ability to THINK made no sense. Probably because his entire life, right now, made no sense. His scattered notes had more chance of putting themselves back together than his family did. But he couldn’t let himself start thinking about that.

Not now. Not yet.

John had managed to get nearly back on track over the last couple of months, after that first four weeks of agony. He’d have respected the determination, the sheer bloody-mindedness that only John ever came close to taking his title for.

John just had to get through the next 3 weeks then he could… fall apart or whatever.

He clawed at his scalp in an attempt to release the constant tension that was making his eyes hurt and to distract himself from the suspicion he already had fallen apart or whatever.

Everything was… too much. He had so much to do. And 418 hours 47 minutes in which to do it all. So much still to get in his head. Which was way too full of all of the other thoughts he couldn’t compartmentalise properly because apparently he was weak minded and about to throw everything away. And on top of all that, with Dad doing whatever he was doing with the GDF big wigs, John was expected to cook for everyone and look after the kids and generally pick up the slack Virgil had just abandoned for a five day binge of complaining of a headache and creeping around the house muttering nonsense to himself.

John was actually a little worried about that. More than a little. But he forced himself to shut it away. It would be fine… Virgil would be fine. He had to be fine. Just like John did. Was. Fine was the Tracy way. Scott was always…

No. Stop.

Later.

He dug his fingernails into his thighs, bending one of them slightly back on the thick seam of the chinos he’d been wearing for 19.7 days. Nobody had noticed. All the other pants he owned were annoying. So. Whatever.

Scott would have noticed and quietly ordered him a second pair…

His fingertip throbbed angrily.

Argh, this had to stop. None of these thoughts were a good use of time. All of it was irrelevant, except the work.

A tiny voice asked how he could possibly betray his brother’s memory by adding him to that list… he quashed it with a mental fist of steel. He’d want him to do well. He’d always been proud, cheered him on… been sat in the front row between Dad and Virgil and clapping excessively loudly as John reluctantly shuffled red-faced on to the stage at high school prize-giving...

Breathe, John.

He picked up a well thumbed tome on astrophysics… it may be a waste of time - this was easy and didn’t need revision, but he needed to stop these unproductive trains of thought. This was easier to get absorbed in.

Approximately 8.25 minutes later his focus was broken yet again by a scratching noise above him. Aaaaah. Not bats again! Please no, they gave him the creeps but it was illegal to shift the things once they took up residence. He’d have to swap rooms with Virgil. He couldn’t sleep up here if there were…

Hell, they were massive sounding bats…

John flung open the window to peer up into the eaves… Dad had blocked the hole last year so how had they got in there to…

Some sixth sense made him suspicious of the volume of the scrabbling noise overhead and he ducked his head back inside, very narrowly avoiding having his face smashed in by a falling roof tile. Closely followed by… a shoe. A big shoe.

What? It hit the ground with a thud and John squinted down at it. A boot? One of Virgil’s he was sure of it but why on earth…?

A thud overhead, a clatter, a muffled curse in a very familiar baritone and two more tiles slid past his horrified face in quick succession.

Everything in his head went grey and screechy. He rushed from through the house yelling for Dad. Screeching for Dad. It was him screeching. He had no control over his vocal cords anymore, they had short circuited with his amygdala and were bypassing all coherent thought.

There was only panic.

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Thank you to @astranite for helping me voice this one better - I’ve not got inside John’s head much before, at least without EOS for him to bounce off…

[idontknowreallywhy]

A little more Birthday fluff for the flyboy.

A glimpse into the future because I’m adamant he must have a happy one. I didn’t actually get time today to write the main part I intended but I shall post now in case I never manage to get there!

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Objectively, Eleven was clearly the best ‘bird.

She was 6-mach faster than One, more manoeuvrable than Shadow and could carry more than her fair share of weight, even if it wasn’t as much as third-generation-turtle Twelve could.

And Scott had flown her like a second skin… he’d been far more involved in Eleven’s design than he had of IR’s original fast response craft. And of course he’d been the primary test pilot, putting more than a few grey hairs on Brains’ and Virgil’s heads in the process. Not to mention his wife’s. He smiled wryly to himself at the memory of the incredibly loud dressing down he’d received post a certain test flight… which had been closely monitored from the island right up until he’d tried out the high speed air to water transition Brains hadn’t fully stress-tested yet and the comms had gone offline for a few minutes. Or ten.

Half an hour at most.

The smile broadened to a grin as he recalled the aftermath of that particular argument… and, Well. Even if six children hadn’t quite been the plan, Scott had really needed to objectively exceed his father’s record at *something*… so… all’s well that ended well.

But Eleven had always been his eldest daughter’s bird.

And the extra machs were irrelevant now. Ever since the the appointment shortly after his 70th birthday when the doctor had forbidden him from exceeding Mach Five. Slower than Two for goodness sakes. His immediate objections had been silenced by a very clear indication that the doctor’s baseline opinion was that it wasn’t wise for a septuagenerian to exceed the speed of sound at all.

Lest he make any fuss that might get back to Virgil… or god forbid IR’s current commander in chief, whose precise combination of his wife’s and his own genes mildly terrified him even now… he nodded meekly. He’d only bent the rules a couple of times in the 5 years since. Maybe three…

Or four.

Eight at most.

Anyway, he’d always maintain One was best: she’d always have an important place in his heart - his first great love.

Which is why, at the newly attained age of 75, as he stood staring moodily out of the lounge window awaiting Eleven’s return to the hangar beneath the pool, his second slipped her hand into his and quietly towed him towards the transport tunnels over to Mateo. The cavern which used to house the old back-up generator, redundant since the island had made the switch to fully renewable energy sources, had been expanded to create a new hangar. It was here the older ‘birds nested quietly, awaiting their occasional moment in the sun as back up to the younger generation.

Nothing was said on the journey, she just squeezed his hand and he squeezed it back. Scott helped her out of the little pod, and he led the way this time to where his pride and joy towered over them, gleaming silver and blue as she ever had. Scott paced an inspection circuit around the base, pausing to buff a smudge from one of the stabilisers with a shirt sleeve. His wife followed, gripping his hand ever so tightly and, he suspected, appraising him as minutely as he was assessing the ship.

Satisfied with what he saw, Scott stood back and smiled up at One, rather fancying she was smiling back down at him. The hand suddenly slipped out of his and he frowned, missing its warmth immediately but his concern was assuaged when both arms wrapped around him from behind and she propped her chin up on his shoulder to whisper in his ear:

“So, Flyboy, are you going to take me for a ride today?”

TBC?

[idontknowreallywhy]

5 - Essence

I did it! I finished a fic!

*makes note in calendar for this is a day to be MARKED*

Never mind that I already have a spin-off idea… this is complete. And, I’m actually really proud of it. There are clumsy parts, I can always see things I want to improve but I think the ideas are good and I like it.

Hope those who’ve enjoyed the previous chapters think I’ve done this part of Scotty and Virgil’s story justice. And will forgive how viciously I’ve tortured a metaphor…

Presence, Absence, Divulgence, Patience…

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Virgil and Scotty’s plan was simple. 726 meant 7th floor. His room was 625. So he just needed to get up one floor and along a room… unless the numbering was haphazardly allocated. But it probably would be fine.

They slipped out of the door and hurried away from the ruckus happening elsewhere on the psych ward. Virgil took a moment to wish whoever it was improved health very soon. They turned the corner. Well, Virgil did, Scott cut through the corner just to show off. Then they were out of sight and could breathe for a moment. Virgil clutched the pillow he’d brought in one hand and the waistband of the undignified pyjama pants in the other. Which meant no hand free to hold Scotty’s but he was in the lead and half way down the corridor anyway. So Virgil followed.

They’d get caught on the main stairs or in the lift so they were going to use the fire escape.

Scott hung back as they approached the door and let Virgil do the honours of leaning on the bar to open it. He jumped in horror as alarms blared and he clutched the pillow to one ear while trying to block the other with his shoulder, waistband still clutched with a white knuckled grip. Scotty gave him a meaningful look so he swallowed hard and leapt out on to the metal staircase. They were… a long way from the ground. As his brother had suggested, he dropped the pillow over the edge and watched it fall and land in a hedge. Then he tiptoed as quickly as he could up one floor and crouched by the door… hopefully nobody would look up. He closed his eyes and tried to tune out the harsh clanging noise which seemed to be trying to split his brain into two. The scent of cut grass and sun baked concrete was overwhelming after the antibacterial monotony of the hospital ward.

It worked like a dream. Three people came rushing out on to the stairway, one spotted the gleam of white below and they thundered down and down and down the stairs, the vibrations making Virgil’s teeth rattle. He hardly dared breathe. Scott however, refused to be stealthy and was standing on the railing doing a ridiculous victory dance. Virgil hissed at him to get down. He knew Scott wouldn’t fall, his balance was borderline superhuman, but it would be bad if he was seen.

Right, he had made it this far and still had his pants. Now to get on to level seven.

This part did not go to plan. They had forgotten… the fire doors only opened from the inside. Scott facepalmed in despair and Virgil told his brother not to blame himself… he hadn’t thought of it either. Ok. Take stock and work the solution.

The door wouldn’t give a millimetre. Scotty suggested smashing it with a rock but the rocks were seven storeys down along with the people he could still hear hunting them. Virgil looked around desperately. The window to the room nearest the fire escape was cracked open. It would have to do.

Scotty took him by the shoulders and looked him in the eye, smiling encouragingly. Virgil felt encouragement was all very well but how was he going to climb over there with one hand unavailable? He didn’t want to risk falling to his death without his trousers either. Scott suggested maybe if he’d got more rescue scout badges he’d be able to fix them. Virgil scowled at the familiar dig because he’d spent more time on music than tying knots and whatever.. but it did give him an idea. Mr Made-it-all-the-way-to-Falcon didn’t seem willing to part with his belt, so Virgil tore a strip off his pyjama top and bunched the waistband tight, tying the excess fabric together. Then cautiously let go. It held.

Alright.

He did feel a little wobbly as he climbed over the railing but hoped that was just a natural reaction to the horrifying drop below him rather than any lingering effects of the sedatives. Scott gave him two thumbs up then rubbed the back of his neck as he frowned over at the window. Virgil hoped he wasn’t having second thoughts because he couldn’t do this by himself. He hooked a foot around the railings behind him and feigned a confidence he didn’t have to bolster his brother by letting himself tip forward until his hands caught the windowsill. Ok. He pulled at the window to open it more and froze in horror.

It was a hospital. Of course every window would have a limiter on it to restrict how far it opened. So people couldn’t climb out.

Or in.

He looked back at Scotty who was in full pacing SmotherHen mode. Virgil could just ask his brother to pull him back and they could come up with another plan but found he didn’t want to give up yet. Resolutely not looking down he kept a firm grip on the windowsill with one hand and slipped the other into the gap, feeling for the mechanism that was causing all the trouble. There was a screw. He put all of his strength into forcing it loose, fortunately the fine motor control seemed to have returned along with his strength. He grunted with the effort then bit his lip. It wouldn’t do for someone to hear him now.

It moved! Then it spun and came off in his hand. He let it clatter to the floor, too late for stealth now, and pushed the window open wide. Thankful for the years working on his upper body strength he heaved himself through the window and slithered to the floor, landing with a thud and his trousers round his knees. His face burned and he scrabbled to make himself decent, looking in panic around the room for anyone who might have seen but… the room was empty. He sighed in relief and got to his feet.

This room smelled different. It was a different kind of empty to the ward he’d been on. The sort of empty that had recently been full then emptied suddenly but not yet scrubbed clean. Maybe the occupant had gone home. He hoped the occupant had gone home. Virgil stood there, a little lost all of a sudden, wondering whether he and Scotty would both get to go home one day.

Scotty squeezed his shoulder. That meant he was proud. Virgil glowed. It had been a pretty awesome stunt all things considered. They were a great team. And they were nearly there.

He opened the door slowly, silently and peered out. All was quiet. He started moving stealthily to the next room, but had to turn back to shush Scotty who was whistling nonchalantly. He’d get them caught! And worse, it was horribly off key. Virgil was sure he did it on purpose to annoy him.

The next room said 726! This was the one! He went to high-five Scotty and over-balanced slightly as his childish brother moved his hand away just in time. He really was an idiot. But he was Virgil’s favourite idiot so it was good he was here. He looked around one last time then tried the handle and pushed open the door.

And froze.

He’d got it wrong… must have misheard the number. This was some old guy’s room. The stench of antiseptic and panic was strong in here. Virgil clenched his fists in frustration and turned away. He’d just have to check every single room in the place. He knew his brother was here somewhere and he wasn’t sure when the chance to sneak away would come again.

He took three steps then froze as his brain caught up with the information his eyes had sent through moments before: Dad’s jacket was hanging on the back of the chair next to the bed.

Huh?

He shuffled back and looked again. Maybe just a similar jacket? A foot was sticking out from the bottom of the sheets, the man was tall like Scott, but it was thin and frail. This guy was about 80 and had a beard and looked… done. Poor guy.

He glanced at the name card that had been inserted into the slot at the foot of the bed.

Tracy, Scott Carpenter

His heart soared and plummeted within a single breathless moment. It must be a mistake… everything was wrong. The little of this body not padded by bandages was skeletal, ancient-looking. Where there should be strong warm hands were wires and splints and the darkness of bruising. The man’s cheekbones were like knives, below deeply shadowed eye sockets in which reddened eyelids flickered. Sweat beaded his face. The little hair visible beneath the dressings on his head was too long, the beard too… beardy. The click and whirr of the machine breathing for the stranger was alien. The heart rate monitor was agonisingly arrhythmic and definitely too fast. His brother’s pulse was always steady - Virgil had felt it many times through a tightly gripped wrist as they stood somewhere way too high and Virgil’s own heart raced in anticipation of the next crazy stunt. Or through a gentle thumb in a handhold when he was nervous. Or best of all ear to chest when surrounded by his brother’s arms.

There was a familiarity but… no. This wasn’t his brother. It couldn’t be.

He looked up at Scotty who smiled at him sadly and tilted his head towards the haggard face on the pillow. Virgil crept closer and slipped into the chair to study it. The ears were the same, except a little swelling behind and even more bruising. He couldn’t even start to think about any human could get into this state, let alone…

Virgil’s eyes dropped to the faint white scar on the bottom of the man’s jaw, just to the side of his chin. The relic of an old misadventure, barely visible under the patchwork of red and black and purple, but instantly recognisable to the boy who’d tried to tape it together with sticking plasters. If they’d owned up and his brother had got the stitches he needed at the time, it would never have scarred. But, as with so many things, those blue eyes had pleaded with him and he’d done his best to help.

He looked back over his shoulder to where Scotty had been standing guard, seeking his reassurance.

But he was gone.

He turned back to Scotty in the bed, heart torn into shreds by his inability to help this time. This was beyond sticking plasters and hugs and promises not to tell. His head swam and the other words that voice had said to his father, the ones he had refused to acknowledge or understand, came floating to the surface. The possibility Scott might not…

No. Not while Virgil still had blood in his veins. They were together now and everything would be alright.

He reached out a tentative finger and stroked the one small area of cheek that wasn’t obviously injured and then rested his head gently on the pillow alongside his brother’s, close enough that his face brushed the side of Scott’s but not so close he might cause painful pressure. Little brother inhaled deeply through his nose, seeking a semblance of calm to counter the fear rising in his chest and then held his breath, hardly daring to believe. Hiding behind the antiseptic and the plastic and the soap and the hollow cleanliness of it all, something was filling the emptiness. A faint melody, unique, as familiar as his own. A music that meant safety, and that he wasn’t alone. A music that meant home.

The constant erratic beeping noise slowed, almost imperceptibly, and fell into a steady rhythm.

A brand new score had been opened. But Virgil knew the notes now. They’d compose this next version together.

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[idontknowreallywhy]

More of Virgil’s bedside vigil…

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One morning, while watching helplessly as Scott twitched and whimpered in the throes of yet another nightmare, Virgil had started singing to him. Ever so softly, barely more than a whisper with pitch, he sang the song their mother had written for them, hoping she could help him reach his brother. His voice felt thin and fragile in this alien environment, but he was sure the tension in his brother’s sleeping face eased a little so he kept at it.

Over time he became bolder and let his voice resonate around the cold, fabric-free room. Clearly hospitals weren’t designed with acoustics in mind yet they were accidentally quite stunning. He sang Scotty all sorts of things, songs they listened to together, ones he knew Scott and his college friends liked, the guitar solo theme from big bro’s favourite film. But always circling back to Mom’s song. One evening he looked up to see his father framed by doctors and the doorway, tears running down his face and Virgil’s voice faltered. Dad had gestured for him to continue though, so he did. The medics swarmed over the equipment around Scott’s bed, frowning and pointing at things, noting down numbers. Conclusions were drawn. Nods. One little smile in his direction but nobody spoke to Virgil. Overcome with tiredness he rested his head next to Scott’s, his nose just brushing his brother’s ear, and silently dared them all to try to move him. They didn’t.

Time passed. Virgil had no clear idea of how much. They reduced the dosage of the meds he was taking and nothing untoward seemed to happen. He overheard a discussion in the hallway about discharge and management at home and he vowed to himself that if they took his bed he’d just sleep in the chair. Or, when Dad needed the chair, on the floor. Possibly he vowed it more loudly than he intended because while they didn’t take his bed, another chair materialised.

There were changes with Scott’s drug regime too. The sedation was reduced, but his wakeful times remained silent outside of the harsh outbursts of raw terror as he awoke from a nightmare. Sometimes he clutched Virgil’s arm so hard it left vivid marks. But those were nothing compared the bruises left on Virgil’s heart when he looked into his Scotty’s face and saw the horror there.

So he sang to his brother and gazed into his eyes because he didn’t know what else to do.

Then, one afternoon, when Virgil had thought he was finally sleeping, Scott started to sing along with him.

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[idontknowreallywhy]

WIP Wednesday

A snippet of another dad!scott piece… I may be somewhat obsessed.

Scott’s body made it to the hallway before he was even aware he was awake. He skidded to a halt and stood for a moment, one eye still glued shut with sleep, but breathing fast, heart pounding… trying to work out what had activated his internal alarm. He rubbed his face hard and listened intently.

Ok… there were no unusual sounds right now. What had it been?

He staggered to the top of the stairs, was someone down there? He was sure he’d locked up properly but… He held his breath… no noises came from down there… and surely a burglar couldn’t remain that quiet for long.

Just as well. His left foot was half asleep, his elbow was vigorously objecting to the way he’d bounced off the doorframe and pretty much everything was still blurry… he wasn’t going to be much use against an intruder right now. He rubbed his face again. Then his elbow. Then his foot.

Maybe it had just been a dream?

Alright. Ok. Alright. He’d check everyone was sleeping then go and collapse into bed again.

Heart still pounding furiously he hobbled down the corridor, irritably shaking the tingly foot every other step. And then he heard it…

A whimper.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 12 - Remember

Parts 1-11 here

So… we finally find out what happened on the roof. Sort of… *cough* sorry Johnny… and Virg… and Jeff. And Scott who I presume is on the receiving end of some version of this account from John…

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He’d done what he was asked. The kids were “kept out of the way” even if they were yelling and crying and rattling pointlessly at the door handle he’d wedged the chair under. He felt awful about it but they had to be safe, not see anything… worrying. Anything that could cause them more problems than they already had. But he couldn’t just stay and babysit when everything might be going wrong. Dad might need help.

John should have seen this was coming. He should have paid more attention. He should have stopped it. He should have been less selfish. Pressing his knuckles into the spaces between his nose and his eyeballs he swallowed hard then raised his voice above the yelling, told Gordon and Alan he’d be back in just a minute. Then with suddenly trembling limbs followed his father up the fold down ladder to the flat part of the roof they used for stargazing.

The sky was cloudless, the sun had just set and blue hour was upon them, the iron oxide-soaked sandstone gleaming as red as any of Dad’s Martian landscape images. Here, in the lee of the dormer there was a dead calm, as if the wind was anxiously holding its breath in the same way John was. His father, about 5 feet above him was edging carefully across the ridge towards where the peaked roof of John’s third storey attic room loomed over the rest of the ranch. Dad looked back over his shoulder and frowned, silently demanding silence.

John complied. His throat had seized up anyway. As had pretty much every nerve in his body the moment as his eyes drifted past his father’s clambering form to the figure standing tall at the highest point of the roof. He clung to the railing at the top of the stairs and prayed to anyone that would listen that this wasn’t what it looked like.

Virgil was stood at the highest point of the roof, one hand resting atop the chimney stack, the other gesticulating as if he was engaged in a passionate debate. His posture was so familiar, the unstyled hair hanging in his face, less so. He couldn’t hear exactly what his brother was saying but his tone was friendly, good humoured even. Which, given the circumstances, was downright eerie.

A solitary bird of prey wailed impatiently as it hovered overhead. Peregrine, probably, John realised with a pang. Scott would point them out as they passed through every spring and every fall. He remembered the otherwise ‘so much more grown up than you lot’ fourteen year old bouncing gleefully around the yard the day they’d seen a female stoop on a pigeon right overhead. Every Tracy knew, because he reminded them often, that that was the fastest any living creature could travel under its own steam, although Scott was determined to break that record one day.

John was aware it should probably be ‘had been’ but was not in any way ready to make that shift. Not in any way at all. He swallowed hard at the lump threatening to close up his throat and returned his attention to his next biggest brother. He edged slightly closer as Dad finally reached Virgil and held out a hand.

Virgil didn’t take it.

More wailing from above, multiple voices this time. John, unable to resist glancing up at the sound, counted a group of four hastening through the sky towards the lone dot in the distance which he imagined wheeling back around at the cries of waaaaaaait-waaaaaait. Scott’s reverent voice reminded him that these birds travelled alone except for newly fledged siblings who would undertake their first big migration together for protection and moral support.

“YOU’RE UNBELIEVABLE!”

Virgil’s raised voice dragged John’s attention back - how had he lost concentration? What had he missed? His father was talking in a low voice, but John detected an edge he could quite place? He was… uncertain? That wasn’t like Dad at all. To hell with it, he had to get over there. He abandoned stealth and scrambled along the roof until the frustrated pain in his brother’s shout stopped him in his tracks.

“WHY WON’T YOU LET ME HELP HIM?!”

Virgil’s back was to his father and he flinched away as Dad reached out to touch his shoulder.

“HE’S GONE, VIRGIL! THIS IS JUST… A… A FANTASY…! YOU HAVE TO COME DOWN! Please…”

His father’s voice was finally raised but then cracked, agonisingly, on that last word and Virgil spun to face him, fury in his eyes.

Time slowed. John felt tension thicken the air, as potent as the moment before a storm breaks and it resolved in much the same way: With a roar of anger and a strike of pent up energy from Virgil’s muscular arm.

Dad crumpled to his knees and leant heavily against the chimney breast. There was absolute silence. John tore his eyes from his father to gape up at his strongest yet most determinedly non-violent brother, in time to see the horrified expression on Virgil’s face, staring at his own clenched fist as though it belonged to someone else entirely. He looked around in a panic and began to shuffle backwards away from his father, more like a small, frightened animal about to bolt than the broad, reassuring presence John knew him to be.

John was moving before his mind even registered the implications. Of course he was too slow, he should have been there to start with. He called out to try to warn him but only succeeded in causing his brother’s eyes to lock on to his for the split second before they widened further and he disappeared from view.

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