Setting: 1974 (the canon setting for the cartoon)
Summary: The Devlin siblings had always been a super team, willing to do anything to support each other. When Tod finally confronts an unsettling truth that sets him apart from the others, Ernie struggles to help him make sense of it all.
Author's Note: Devlin and all canon characters, settings, etc. are the property of Hanna-Barbera. This is a non-commercial fan tribute and was not written for profit. You are free to use any original concepts, headcanons and characters from this fanfiction in your own work (fanfiction, art, etc.) if you'd like.
Dedicated to: the show's writers for their heartfelt work.
Views expressed in this fanfiction do not necessarily match the writer's.
Despite his best efforts to maintain a stoic front, Ernie Devlin whimpered in pain as he leaned heavily against the seat of the borrowed Jeep, slumped uncomfortably at an angle with his seat belt digging into his shoulder. It would probably leave an abrasion right through the fabric of his shirt, but after the particularly nasty spill he had taken from his motorcycle during a trial run mere moments ago, that would no doubt be the least of his worries.
"You-you're going to be okay, Ernie, I just know it," Tod reassured him for what seemed like the thousandth time during the harrowing drive to the local hospital, stealing yet another worried glance his older brother's way through the large lenses of his eyeglasses before returning his attention to the winding road.
"You're right, I'll be fine," Ernie sighed with a groggy nod of his head, not sure if he was trying to reassure himself or his sibling more. He regarded his disheveled appearance, taking in the sorry sight of the t-shirt and jeans he had been wearing for the practice session, now pitifully shredded and stained with a moderate amount of blood. "I'll admit there have been times when I've looked better, but most of these are no doubt superficial wounds, cuts and bruises. It's just road rash and I've seen worse."
Tod set his mouth in a straight line, his hands clenching the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip as the Jeep hugged another curve in the road. Sure, we've both seen worse, but I'm not about to revisit those memories now.
"There's nothing superficial about a concussion," he said aloud. "I'm sorry, but you just haven't seemed yourself since you wrecked the bike. We've got to at least get you checked out."
Tod winced as a generous splash of hot coffee escaped over the rim of the foam cup he was holding in his shaky hand and streamed down his work shirt. Cursing softly under his breath, he hurriedly set the cup on a nearby table and tugged the damp fabric away from his skin, already knowing he had attracted the attention of most of those seated near him in the stuffy and overcrowded hospital waiting room. In an effort to conceal the flush he could feel spreading over his face, he snatched up a magazine, pretending to take great interest in the cover story on the Watergate scandal.
The article might as well have been written in any number of foreign languages as far as he was concerned, as his thoughts were solely on his older brother, who had been promptly admitted to the emergency room after their arrival. As the mechanic for his sibling's high-risk motorcycle stunt show, this wasn't the first time Tod had rushed Ernie to the nearest hospital; in fact, in an overabundance of caution he had made it a point to immediately look up the whereabouts of the local medical facility every time the traveling circus they considered a second home pulled in to a new town.
"Uh, Mister Devlin?" A nurse had appeared at the triage desk, beckoning him over. Her face was careworn but kind, strangely reminding Tod of his late mother, and in a maternal gesture she placed her hand over his. "You did the right thing to rush Ernie over here," she commended him with a gentle nod of her head. "They're running tests on him now, and it appears we're dealing with some level of concussive injury, though thankfully the x-rays have not revealed any skull fractures. He's more alert than when you brought him in, but he'll be under observation for several hours, at least."
"I can wait," Tod reassured her, grateful for the update. "Er, thanks, I guess that's mostly good news." He leaned back in the chair and sighed. "I wish I could do more to help, though. It's just that I sorta feel next to useless right now."
"I'm glad you said so!" the nurse beamed, breaking into a mysterious smile. Tod followed her gaze to a poster on the wall advertising a blood drive being held in the central lobby of the hospital.
"Sure, I could do that, in Ernie's honor. At least it would beat reading old magazines, right?" Tod fished in the pocket of his oversized mechanic's shirt and retrieved his driver's license, then set off down the hall, sipping what was left of the coffee he had bought from a vending machine.
Mind over matter, Tod reminded himself, reclining on a cot with his eyes pinched tight as the technician prodded the inside of his elbow joint, then expertly slid in the large needle until it found a vein. Ernie's surely having a far worse time, and this will at least help other accident victims. When he reopened his eyes, he watched, strangely transfixed as the small vinyl bag hanging on an I.V. pole beside him slowly began filling.
"You sure you're okay?" the technician asked with some concern in his voice, recognizing the pallor marking the face of the first-time donor. "If you're not feeling so well, you don't have to donate today." He was met with a dismissive wave of Tod's hand.
"Nah, I'll live," Tod reassured him, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. "I guess I just have a lot on my mind right now," he admitted, briefly explaining the circumstances that had brought him to the hospital in the first place.
"You did great, Sport!" the technician praised sometime later, gesturing to the full unit of blood he cautiously packed into a cooler like the precious lifesaver it was. Escorting Tod to a cafeteria table, he invited him to help himself to the array of cookies, granola bars and cans of ginger ale. "Oh, and while you were on the cot we ran your blood type since you didn't know it when you came in. Bring this when you donate again at any hospital."
Tod squinted down at the laminated identification card on the table before him. "Uh, are you sure this is correct?" he asked after a few moments of silence, frowning at something printed on it.
"Most definitely. Remember the smaller vials we took first? We had two different technicians run them independently in the lab to make sure there was no room for error. Why, what doesn't look right?"
"Aww, nothing," Tod said, taking a hurried gulp of ginger ale because his mouth suddenly felt uncomfortably dry. "I've got to get back to check on my brother, but thanks for everything." He shoved the card into his shirt pocket and started the walk back to the emergency room, rolling the sleeve of his work shirt over the bandage on his arm along the way and lost in thought.
"So the doctors feel I'm out of the woods and I escaped with a mild concussion," Ernie said gratefully, beaming at Tod. It was the following morning, sunlight was streaming through the window of the room in the inpatient ward he had been transferred to, and he was still ecstatic from the joyful news that he would be released by that afternoon. "Thank you for handling this so well, by the way. You're the best brother a guy could ask for."
Expecting Tod to shrug off the compliment in the typical way he handled praise, Ernie frowned at the lack of a response. His brother stood by the window, pensively peering out and his mind seemingly miles away. I imagine it's just sheer exhaustion, Ernie reasoned, knowing Tod had driven back to the circus well before dawn to ensure their younger sister Sandy was safely under the care of Hank, the ringmaster and a surrogate father figure to the trio, and to bring him a change of clothes to replace the stained and torn outfit he had been wearing when he'd been admitted.
"Hey, nice sticker, by the way," Ernie added, trying to break the tension. Tod's glance fell to the small decal on his shirt he had forgotten he was still wearing. Be nice to me, I gave blood today, its caption read.
"Yeah, while I was here I figured I'd donate," Tod said, forcing a weak smile while removing the card from his shirt pocket and twirling it between his fingers. "I got a donor I.D. card and everything.
Um, it has my blood type on it," he stammered, remembering the compulsion he had been unable to resist after his return to their motorhome to steal a look at his family's medical history documents to confirm what he had already suspected. Gingerly settling onto the foot of the hospital bed and removing the ball cap he was seldom seen without, his next words were apologetic.
"I-I know this is the worst time in the world to bring this up, but we're not...I mean, I'm not..." He swallowed hard, staring down at the card in his hands. What do you think you're doing? he inwardly scolded himself, scarcely believing he was confronting Ernie about the dark secret he had finally accepted. "We're not full siblings," he blurted out, the words spilling from his mouth. "We learned all about that heredity stuff in the biology course I took last semester, and there's no way a couple with our parents' blood types could have a kid with mine. Go ahead and blame me, but I peeked at their old medical records. I just had to know." He jammed the ball cap over his head, mashing down the curls of red hair that absolutely nobody else on either side of their family had, then pushed his eyeglasses, the ones with the strong prescription nobody else in the family came remotely close to needing, higher on the bridge of his nose.
"Blame me even more," he said, crossing his arms over his chest and realizing he actually wanted Ernie to respond with anger, "but I always kinda knew, even before we lost Dad. I never worked up the nerve to ask him about it before, y'know, it happened," he said, referring to the motorcycle accident that had killed their - no, Ernie and Sandy's - father. "After that, I didn't really want to know one way or another, until I accidentally proved it to myself."
"You're completely blameless in all this, Tod," Ernie said, his strangely calm voice stunning his brother, who had been anticipating some expression of shock. "I 'always kinda knew' as well, but I wasn't about to say anything until you were ready."
"You knew I had a different father, that we're only half-brothers?" Tod whimpered as Ernie nodded, not unkindly, and with some effort leaned forward to put a gentle hand on his shoulder. But that means I'm not even really a Devlin...
(To be continued, of course)
Author's Note: There was no hint whatsoever in the cartoon that Ernie and Tod were half-siblings. It was merely an idea for the purpose of this fanfic, and the author has made every effort to treat the issue with respect and sensitivity.