A/N: Very proud of this piece. I wrote it all just this evening, and though quite different to what I've written before, by way of content and technique, I think it's pretty self-explanatory.
This story was sparked by a comment that LexietFive made to me back when I was still writing Determined, and it's taken me until now to get adequate inspiration in order to write it. This is my gift to you sweetie, for all your help with AIE.
This does contain spoilers for my Bound Arc, by way of pre-IR stuff, but if you're willing to take a chance on learning some background information ahead of time, be my guest.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: If not for Gerry and Sylvia Anderson, I would not be able to play in this wonderful universe, so no; I do not own the Thunderbirds.
Contrary to popular belief, Heaven is not angels sitting on fluffy clouds, looking down on the living ones below.
That would be much too isolating; lonely. And I have to say as well, that I'm most certainly not an angel, not with the way my mouth runs off at times. I blame Dad, even though he's never properly met me, much less heard me speak.
The Realm of the Dead (for lack of a better name), is made up of nothing much less than a massively wide, endless room. Lit by a soft, ambient white light, it boasts a pane of clear, panelled glass that separates the place of the restful dead from the living. It has an invisible reflection on either side, with a barrier that shifts and undulates; taking a chance with the way it changes upon the possibility that someone may fall through and not be able to get back. A never ending threat is really what it is. And I dislike it as immensely as I rely upon and love it.
There is no night or day here, no feelings of hunger, or cold, but there is definitely room for longing, loss and emotion; which all of the departed souls here feel, almost constantly. The line separating us and them is so close in fact, that at times we feel like we can just reach out and touch the ones we love, and heal all their worries and terrors. We can't though. It is too dangerous; not for us, but for our beloved ones who live, love and grow on the other side.
'Us' is Grandpa Grant, Uncle Will, Mom, her parents and I; all dead before our time. I died third, merely as a three-day-old infant, but I have much grown since then; mimicking the growth of my identical twin as though I was raised alongside him and the rest of my brothers.
Mom died just over eleven years later; in a much more terrible and frightening way than I. She spent two days trapped with my brothers Scott and Alan, in an avalanche, waiting until the last possible minute to truly pass on; hovering as a ghost my siblings could not see. She guarded them fiercely until the rescue workers were able to get them loose, until she was assured they would survive. Only then did she turn towards Grandma Anne and Grandpa Thom and me, and cross over into the afterlife.
My brothers -who I know as well as I know myself- I love with all my heart. But of me though, they know hardly anything at all. I was still only small at the time of my mother's death, despite having grown to emulate Virgil's expressions and personality so I could be as spiritually close to my brother as possible without haunting him.
That's crossing a line; an action which I cannot undo, once done, and Mama's parents would not allow me to do that, for it would harm not only my soul, but that of my same-age brother. They'd been dead for many years before I was born, and so I was more or less 'raised' by them, here in a place as different to that of my father and brothers as fire and water.
Grandpa Grant came through the shimmered-glass wall most recently; dying from a stroke that was ultimately caused by a lifetime of fluctuating blood sugar. He'd passed away in the hospital, four Earth-years ago now, with the woman I know only by name by his side.
Grandpa Grant tells me many stories about my brothers and my Grandma Ruth, and always shares with Mama the hi-jinks my brothers got up to as they were growing up. It's hard, watching them through the one-way mirror the way we do, but at the same time I know that it was meant to be this way. Unfortunately.
There are many, many others here, people that are of the light: good and innocent, who have been judged to be of honest heart and mind. They, and they alone are allowed to dwell here through the decades as we wait for our kin to join us, whenever the time for them to die might come.
There is another realm that I know of; which Mama has explained is for those who sinned in their life, and made no show of remorse or of wanting to repent and make right the things they have done. I don't like to think about that sort of thing, because it is just abhorrent to me to realise that there are actually people like that in the world.
Our time here drifts in flurries; slow and quick and slow again, and we have watched endlessly at the mirror as our family has grown and flourished. Understandably, we are more drawn towards the happenings on the other side when there are issues to be overcome, and even sometimes, we are allowed to transverse the barrier between the realms to give support to whichever family member is in strife, or when something of particular note has occurred.
I have been allowed to cross back onto Earth's plane four times in the twenty years since I died; some were good, others bad, but it's been both a gift and a terrible burden, all the same.
The first, time came when my older brother, John was badly stricken with the illness called Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. He was only fourteen years old when his own body tried to waste him away from within. His heart almost gave out from the stresses put upon it, and I was given orders by the Powers That Be to sit beside his hospital bed, alongside my earth-bound siblings, and will my older brother back to health.
The second was much more traumatic, at least in my eyes; considering what it was I had to watch beforehand, though I would not trade it for the world in retrospect.
My oldest brother was almost beaten to death by what are called 'enemy' soldiers, when his plane got shot down in the country referred to by the name Afghanistan. I accompanied my mother as she practically begged the Guiding Angel to help Scott, and was thus permitted to follow her.
We were allowed to cross at the same time, and linger there together only because they had told us that Scott would be needed in the future; to save the life of one of my other siblings, and many others besides. He was nearly too far slipped into his life-sapping coma for him to be pushed back from the brink, even with the combined forces of our wills; Mama's and mine both. But we managed.
Scott saw us, in that most critical moment, but I don't think he truly remembers the experience. More often than not, the salvaged ones do not recall their brush with the supernatural, but I do still wonder.
Did they know who I was, or did they think, considering the features Virgil and I share, that I was merely a figment of their imagination; a moment of drug-induced insanity, or merely double vision? I will never know, not until their dying days when I get to meet them, finally, which I of course have no inclination at all of hastening along.
The third call was once again in order to fight for the life of one of my siblings.
It was the brother immediately younger than me, Gordon, that time. My only red-haired sibling was involved in a high-speed crash, where the boat he was riding in got caught in the wake of a hydrofoil's swipe. He got pitched overboard, suffering a serious spinal compression and a traumatic head injury, as well as numerous broken bones, which led to him spending nearly a whole month of Earth-time on life support.
I remember watching through the iridescent, rippling fall of glass as my younger brother took the slow, agonising steps on the journey to walking and talking again; speaking words of encouragement, and telling some probably rather tasteless jokes that I'd like to have hoped he could hear and liked, even after we had been recalled back to this place. Mama had stood by my side at the window the entire time, along with my three present grandparents, and we had watched as my brother became healthy and strong once again.
The fourth and final event to date was something that not quite eclipsed the previous two, but sort of met them in terms of reverse significance, if that makes any sort of sense.
The day which my father's dream: International Rescue officially began operating was one special day that Grandpa Grant, Mom and I were allowed to be present for, standing on the balcony next to Dad. Mama and Grandpa stood on his left, me on the right as we watched Scott and Virgil launch their new crafts, off to rescue what Dad referred to as a 'Fireflash'. It's something that I know will allow my father and brothers to make their way here, when the time comes.
Honouring Mom the way he did, so that many more people are able to put off making the journey here, has made such a difference to this place. For as much as we all yearn to see our loved ones again, the blessing of life is so much more precious than that of being together with those who do not know that we are present and whole; missing them as much as we know they miss us.
To know that it's my dad and my siblings out there, making the planet a better place for others to live just makes the watching and waiting so much more worthwhile in my eyes.
We thought after that last time it would be the end of it; that my brothers and father would be free to realise Dad's dream of International Rescue without them being plunged unwittingly into danger, but it is not to be.
It's happening again.
The tingling feeling I always get across my skin when one of these events crop up is occurring again… It's just not fair. They're doing everything possible to help people, and yet the Ones up there who control the hands of fate just aren't giving them a break!
Mama and Grandpa Grant move as one across the endless floor to the window, and I quickly shuffle over to join them; wondering what on earth my disaster-magnet family has managed to trip into this time.
Through the glittering glass, I see yet another hospital room; another family member in peril… But who is it?
I don't get to take a close look, before my hands make contact with it, and I'm dissolving into that oh-so-familiar snowy mist… Someone else's backside to drag outta the quagmire… Jeez…
Okay then. Here we come…
I quickly grasp Mama's hand, as Grandpa takes her other one, and I hope, desperately, that we can once again succeed in fighting for our loved one's life, and once again, go back to the way things are supposed to be; watching over them from that glass-sided room, with all the others passed on, loving, caring, praying, wishing…
Glimpsing their lives through the veil.
A/N: One last, small note, just on one of the concepts I've used here, as well as a few, unusual references.
The idea of a ghost mimicking their living twin's growth comes from a 'Ghost Whisperer' episode, but I cannot unfortunately recall the title of it. I'd also like to claim the idea of the mirror separating the realms of the living and the dead as my own; although I could very well have picked up from another place. If I have done so, I apologise.
I'm not a particularly spiritual person, but this is my particular conception of what 'Heaven' might represent. I do not wish to offend anyone, so please just consider this piece my own brand of faith.
Thanks for reading everyone. I always appreciate the support.
- Pyre. Xx