This is going to be another series that's mostly finished already but I'll be posting it in chapters.
Virgil Tracy is a big softie and literally no one can convince me otherwise.
Somedays, Alan thinks the words Gentle Giant were literally coined for Virgil Tracy. Yeah, he knows, you hear words like that thrown around, but with Virgil, they are 100% literal. His older brother is actually a giant, and he's also the most gentle soul Alan has ever encountered.
They're far apart enough in age that Virgil has always felt older. In retrospect, five years isn't all that much. Two years with Gordon don't seem too bad, but the extra three with Virgil have always felt like a huge gap. Alan's always looked up to Virgil like he's looked up to Scott and John, and Virgil in turn has always been a dependable presence in his life.
Aside from that year when Virgil was 14 and puberty shook him up a bit, Virgil has always been there for Alan. Alan knows if he goes to Virgil with a problem, he won't get laughed at (Gordon), smothered (Scott) or analysed (John). Virgil will always listen, no matter how busy he is, and never makes Alan feel silly about it. He'll just offer up some unrelated but incredibly wise story in that really unassuming way of his, and it somehow ends up putting everything in perspective for Alan. Alan's always been a little awestruck at how in tune his older brother seems to be with his emotions.
...but the tears.
He supposes they come with the territory. You can't be as empathetic and big hearted as Virgil and not feel things a little too much at times, right?
Virgil cries at everything, and always has. Alan remembers Virgil crying when his fish died, crying when anyone else's fish died, crying over sad movies, crying over happy movies, bursting into tears that time he won that recital….
It's an extensive list, but Virgil has never been ashamed of it, except that year of puberty (Dark Times). Sure, he gets embarrassed sometimes, but his older brother has never been ashamed of wearing his heart on his sleeve, and in a family of boys, it's a blessing. It gives everyone the courage to be the same to some extent, because if they feel like crying, you can bet Virgil does too, or already is.
Even when Virgil transitioned into high school and started playing football and seriously bulked up, he stayed the same. Alan still laughs about all the people who were intimidated by the suddenly tall and broad figure tearing across the field, when all he saw was the guy who shed a tear the other night after the neighbor's kid gave him a flower and told him he was nice.
Nobody would ever change it. Alan knows for sure he wouldn't. His older brother has seen him through every phase of his life with that mellow voice and heart of gold and perpetually teary eyes, and to change the gentle giant would be like changing the very essence of their dynamic.
So when Dad goes missing, Alan seeks Virgil out more than anyone in the weeks after. Everything is a mess, everyone is a mess, and a weight seems to settle over the entire house. They all automatically cling to each other a little, but in times when everyone seems a little busy or he feels a little alone (on the verge of tears), he'll go to his artistic brother.
They don't always talk. One of the best things about being around Virgil is his solid and calm presence, even when he's quiet. He's a little quieter now though, his smile a little shaky, and he always seems to be on the verge of tears. This in itself is a little worrying, because Alan hasn't really seen Virgil cry since the news first broke, when he'd had silent tears running down his cheeks like all of them. Alan doesn't know why Virgil's been holding it back, but every time he thinks of asking, he thinks of the conversation going back to dad and the thought of talking about it makes his skin crawl, so he gives into his weakness and lets it go.
He still sticks with Virgil whenever he can, and his older brother just smiles shakily and lets him join him in whatever he's doing. Alan will flop on his bed and watch him paint, sit with him while he works on Thunderbird Two and hand him tools, or just sit on the floor and rest his head on Virgil's knee while he plays the piano.
A lot of times, Virgil will play a song that Alan knows Dad loved, or sound a little bit bit like Dad when he speaks and Alan finds his eyes brimming with tears before he can stop them. At first, he'd felt like he had to hide them, because if Virgil of all people was holding it together, why couldn't he? He hadn't been surprised one day when the music had stopped and a big, gentle hand rested on his head, but when he'd looked up at the piano bench, he'd seen his own tears mirrored on his brother's face. Virgil had smiled at him, sad but a little less shaky, and pulled him up onto the bench. They spent the afternoon playing their dad's favorite songs, eyes wet but souls lighter.
It's then that he realizes Virgil hasn't been crying in front of them because he's trying not to upset them. He seems to have accepted that Dad isn't coming back, but Scott and John haven't, and of course they would be upset if they saw Virgil break down in mourning over a man they still believed to be alive. Alan doesn't know who he believes, but it breaks his heart to realize Virgil's probably been crying his own, alone, with no one to comfort him.
Alan doesn't hide his tears after that. True to form, Virgil doesn't smother him like John and Scott would. He just sits with him, sometimes joining in, sometimes continuing whatever he's doing but making sure to fill the air with his deep and soothing voice or with music, and Alan doesn't know what he would have done without the gentle giant in his life.