This was gonna be a happy fic but suddenly it wasn't? Oh well. (Still cute tho)
I might write more drabbles/short one-shots, so leave prompts if you have any :)
It's Friday night, and Jeff walks into his living room after a lot of paperwork to find his sons gone wild. And by wild, he really means not at all, because they're all so exhausted from back-to-back rescues that they've all collapsed in the living room around a movie that's been muted and most of them are fast asleep. Jeff sighs, because this is not what normal late teens and twenty year olds do. This is just what his boys, courageous and selfless, do.
Virgil is the only one awake, surprisingly, sprawled across the floor and on his phone, fingers flying across the screen. He looks up and Jeff knows the guilt is clearly written across his face, because his ever perceptive son gives him a reassuring and genuine smile despite the dark bags under his eyes and thick bandage peeking through from under his sleeve. John snores loudly from the armchair next to Virgil, and Virgil rolls his eyes at him.
His blond son is slumped into the comfy chair, hair everywhere and head pillowed onto a hand. Scott, Alan and Gordon take up the regular couch. Scott and Alan take up the left side, snoring endlessly, while Gordon takes up the right, tangled up in the couch throw someone (Scott) had put on him. They're all in ratty shirts and sweats, and Jeff is pretty sure the shirt Gordon is wearing is Virgil's, Alan is wearing Scott's, and Scott is wearing one of his own old ones. It's so domestic and peaceful that it has Jeff flashing back to simpler times, where his boys were in school and college and the Air Force and did regular things people their age did.
It's easy to forget that John has just been called back from thunderbird five, because Jeff had just realized he had been up there for two months straight and enough was enough. He can almost forget how Virgil had been slashed by a piece of flying debris today, blood pouring from the wound, and how Gordon had been with him at the time and had tried to so hard but still sounded so young and scared at the sight of all the blood. How Alan had had to stop the bleeding because his hands had been the ones not already slippery with blood. How Scott had looked so on edge when he'd arrived home, exhaustion and guilt heavy on his face.
None of the boys even stir as Jeff steps closer and sits down next to Virgil, who puts his phone down with a questioning look.
"Why are you on the floor, son?" He asks, voice hushed, smoothing down the dark black hair out of habit. Virgil still looks a little pale, and Jeff hopes its because of the glow from the television and not the blood loss.
His kid grins. "The kids were already asleep when I walked in."
Jeff can't suppress a snort, the humor helping his nerves. "Don't let Scott hear you say that."
"'Scott' already has." Father and son look up to find Scott awake, glaring mildly at Virgil, who just grins back. Alan is still fast asleep on his shoulder. "And what, exactly, are you doing out of bed?"
Virgil just shrugged, wincing mildly at the movement. "I got bored on my own."
A sigh. "You're supposed to be in bed, Virg."
Another shrug. "Too tired to sleep, I guess." Jeff can relate. Twenty plus stitches and he might not be able to sleep either. It's an ugly wound, jagged and deep. It'll probably scar, but the alternative would have been much worse.
He hears Scott blow out a breath, frustrated and tired. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeff sees him glance over to his other younger brothers, making sure they're still asleep. "I keep thinking about the other families."
Virgil nods his head empathically under Jeff's hand, which he still hasn't moved.
"Same here." The earlier grin is completely gone.
Despite all the hard work, despite Virgil injuring himself protecting a little girl, they hadn't been able to save eight people. There just hadn't been enough time.
There really isn't much else to say. They've been doing this long enough to get to this point, where they have all resigned themselves to the fact that they can't do everything. That doesn't do much to stop the numb weight that settles on them all when a rescue doesn't go as well as planned, or there are close calls such as the one they had today.
Still, Jeff's heart clenches, just as it does every time his oldest boys drop the tough act they keep up for the sake of their younger brothers. Unguarded, they sound so weathered and burdened, and its so hard not to blame himself for it.
Virgil is staring off into space, hand unconsciously fingering the bandage wrapped around his arm. Jeff has to push the image he'd caught from Alan's watch as he updated them out of his head, of Virgil with his torn sleeve covered in blood, face screwed up in pain. It still makes Jeff's stomach lurch, and he has to remind himself that his son is warm and alive next to him.
He shares a look with Scott. Virgil should be in bed, as should the rest of them, but for now, they all need to be together. Scott manages to talk Virgil into taking his spot, and settles himself on the floor next to Jeff, shoulders touching. Alan immediately attaches himself onto Virgil, half asleep, and Virgil just huffs out a laugh and lets him, slinging his good arm around his kid brother who he's unwittingly scared today. Gordon remains tangled in his blanket, fast asleep, although one socked foot is on top of Alan's. John briefly wakes at all the movement, and his tired eyes scan everyone before they land on Virgil, face relaxing as he blinks heavily and slips back into sleep.
Soon, six rounds of even breathing fill the air, the television still casting its glow.
The night goes on.