Chapter Text
He reached over and gently brushed away a stray hair from his brother’s forehead.
The room was quiet. Considering the monetary clout the Tracy family sported, it was to be expected. Hidden away from the bustling hospital, this oasis of a room with its pale furnishings, white privacy curtains, the cushioned chairs in place of the usual plastic was a haven.
These comforts were to be valued and Virgil appreciated them even if his brother would have frowned at the extravagance.
But that was Scott.
Always thinking of everything and everyone but himself.
Virgil let his fingers glide through that soft brown hair, the severity of their situation clear by the lack of gel stiffening the strands.
Scott never left the house without every hair perfectly placed, fingernails manicured, skin clean and refreshed. Looking at him, you wouldn’t think this was a man willing to get his hands dirty. But then Scott was never what he seemed.
The hair gel, the spotless clothing, his deportment, it all spoke of a wealthy man who owned sixty sports cars, three yachts and a private plane.
Scott had the plane, sure, the fastest one on the planet. And hell, yeah, he had a fast car and even a motorcycle. He didn’t sport a boat, but then Gordon was the one to stash those and it wasn’t like he wasn’t willing to share…well, most things.
But Scott never had time to just drive his car. The bike was on the Island gathering dust in a corner of One’s hangar. Virgil was pretty sure Scott hadn’t been on a boat that didn’t involve some kind of life-threatening situation in about ten years.
No, Scott was not your average billionaire.
A sigh and Virgil let himself wilt in the chair beside the bed.
Please, Scott.
His brother was pale, his skin almost bloodless. If it wasn’t for that, he could have been asleep. Scott was neat even in slumber. He wasn’t one to sprawl. There was a certain quiet efficiency to everything he did.
Virgil had brought in his brother’s pyjamas. Even helped the nurse dress him. It wasn’t the first time, after all. If Scott had been awake, the protests would have been epic. The man did not like needing help. Did not like showing vulnerability. Did not want any of it.
Virgil had fought him on this far too many times before using soft words and, if necessary, a pile of hard logic to get him to behave. Because there was one weapon Virgil always had up his sleeve. All Virgil had to say was that he needed to do this. Virgil needed to care for his brother. Look after him and see him well.
It cracked Scott’s obstinance every time, because Scott would do anything for his brothers.
Including sacrificing himself.
Virgil let his head drop to his hand and rubbed his face. There was an edge to his thoughts. A hysteria lurking in the corners, lured out by certain possibilities, accompanied by terror.
He couldn’t.
No.
Another sigh and he looked up again, forcing his eyes to land on his brother. The total inability to do anything grated on Virgil’s senses. His everything was to fix things.
He couldn’t fix this.
He reached down and caught a limp hand. It was cool, but not cold. The IV sticking out the back of the vein just beneath his skin shifted as Virgil moved and he clutched the tubing gently to his brother’s wrist to prevent stress on the site.
Scott’s fingers were long.
Longer than Virgil’s. Long enough to play the piano better than Virgil had ever been capable. It was Scott’s thing...to be better. Following him in everything due to age had its challenges. Scott was good at what he wanted to be good at.
The fact he had dropped the piano at an early age was just as frustrating as John not singing with his magical voice. Virgil felt like the last bastion of artistic pursuits in the family.
Virgil ran a finger over his brother’s slack digits. No longer playing the piano beyond what long term memory could provide, these fingers were tasked with so much more. The strength behind them controlled Thunderbird One, their dexterity manipulated equipment, their determination reached out to save so many souls.
His brother’s hand blurred and Virgil had to blink hard.
Virgil would follow his big brother anywhere, and to be honest, he had followed him into hell on many an occasion. He had no regrets. Sometimes he considered that perhaps he had been brought into this world to do exactly that. To follow the born leader his brother was. To enable the strategies he envisioned and, in turn, support him in their mutual endeavours.
And to keep him safe.
Virgil wrapped both his hands around Scott’s fingers and dropped his forehead to their cool touch.
God, please.
“Hey, Virg?” The voice was unmistakably Gordon’s, but it lacked vivacity. “Grandma wants you.” The aquanaut took a step into the room. “I can sit with Scott.”
Virgil didn’t answer.
“Virg, please?”
He closed his eyes and held on just a little tighter to his brother’s hand.
The same hand he had failed to catch.
“V-“
“No.” His voice croaked the word, but the emotion came from so deep inside it hurt to cross his lips.
A soft touch to his shoulder and he heard his little brother crouch down beside him.
Virgil expected Gordon to keep trying to persuade him, but instead a soft head of hair leant into his shoulder and an arm reached around his back, pulling him off centre and holding him there.
No words, just Gordon’s soft breathing, slow and strong. Swimmer’s lungs. Olympian. Rescuer.
Thunderbird.
Virgil squeezed his eyes tight and kept his insides in where they belonged.
Gordon began gently stroking Virgil’s arm with the tips of his fingers.