This is all godsliltippy 's fault. She put the image in my head and I had to get it out and share the pain.

This is not pretty. All the warnings here, folks. Language and a brother who probably won't make it. ::stands next to godsliltippy wearing a T-Shirt that clearly points an arrow in her direction with the words 'Her Fault' printed beneath it:: She did it. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH.

I will never forgive Joss Whedon ever for that scene. Ever! Nutty's a sensitive wuss and god, that hurt. So does this fic scene, be warned.

Also, I have no plans to take it any further cos I don't want to rake my soul over the coals.

-o-o-o-

Orange sparks rained down and lit up the darkness. He blinked and the orange became green on the back of his eyelids.

What?

Something was hissing. Something was sparking, no doubt the source of the orange flares still dancing across the dark.

Virgil blinked again.

Smoke got in his eyes and up his nose.

His 'bird was burning.

It all came back in a rush. Missile!

He sat up. His body folded with a panicked screech of pain and he gasped out a scream. He curled up, almost falling back onto the buckled deck plating.

God. Oh, god.

"Virgil?"

His name danced out of the darkness between sparks.

Gordon.

His brother had been with him. His brother had been flying his 'bird while Virgil attended to their rescuee in the medbay. Comms, he'd called on comms. There was a missile.

Virgil forced himself to roll onto all fours only to land flat on his face, his entire body screaming at him for the attempt.

His breath blew dust off the desk plates and he sneezed.

His world was only agony for an indeterminate amount of time.

"Virgil?" It was weak and desperate and so much like the little boy who used to called to him in the night terrified by a nightmare. "Virg…"

He forced his eyes open.

Electricity arced and for a moment, the remains of his beloved cockpit lit up in a stark shadows.

Virgil was at the back. He had been running for his pilot's seat, but his 'bird lost her fight with the sky and he had been thrown into the rear bulkhead.

Gordon had been flying.

His little brother had been flying.

He reached out a hand and began dragging himself forward. "Gordon?" His voice was barely there. "Gordon!"

A cough and a groan. "Virgil?"

It was so dark.

Inch by painful inch, he dragged himself in the direction of where he knew Gordon had been sitting.

"You okay?" Another cough bounced around the shadows.

"Been better." His throat was so dry it ached. Something was wrong with his right leg and his back, god, his back.

Sparks lit up the co-pilot's chair. It was much further back than it should have been and canted at an angle.

Virgil's gloved fingers brushed it and he dragged himself closer. "Status?"

"Um…been better."

"Thunderbird Two, do you copy?! Eos, have we cleared the jamming? Virgil! Gordon!"

The wreckage lit up as Virgil's wristcomm burst into life, a worried John flashing into existence.

Wreckage.

It was wreckage.

And it was wrapped around his little brother.

Virgil froze, the sight derailing his pain-filled brain. "Gordon?"

"Virgil! Gordon! Respond!" John was loud. A bloodstained glove reached out of the wreckage and an IR comm lit up. "John…"

"Gordon! Status!"

"Been better…" But it was little more than an exhaled gasp. Virgil's eyes sketched out the the mangled remains of the dash, the green of bent and broken Thunderbird, his brother lying as if cocooned in the metal. The co-pilot's seat was broken in half. Shattered plexiglass from the forward windows lay scattered like sparkling snow.

The deep night outside leaked in as a cold wind, sucking heat.

"Gordon?" The question was forced from him and his brother's shadowed eyes turned to him as John continued to demand a report.

"I crashed your 'bird." A pause as he closed his eyes and swallowed. "Sorry."

"Gordon!"

His brother coughed and darkness splattered against the inside of his helmet. "Gordon!" Virgil pulled himself forward, his whole body screaming. "Gordon! John! Need assistance! Now!"

"Virgil! Scott's on his way!"

Gordon snorted wetly, but smiled anyway. "Scotty's gonna be pissed. I trashed another 'bird."

"Not your fault."

A blue and yellow hand reached out and grabbed Virgil's arm. "Tell him I'm sorry. Not his fault, not your fault, my choice." And Gordon coughed again, his eyes closing in pain.

"Gordon, don't you dare!" Virgil dragged himself the last few inches and reached up to his shoulder mounted light, hitting it into life. It sputtered, came on at half strength, giving just enough light to outline the three inch thick green slice of fuselage impaling Gordon just below his ribcage and nailing him to his chair.

"Oh god, Gordon."

"Heh, she never did like me flying her. Got me back in the end."

"No, no…" First aid, had to stop the bleeding. But his heart was breaking. He had enough experience to know. Had seen enough, calculated enough, knew who could be saved and who couldn't.

First aid, need to start first aid.

Gordon laughed. It was a hysterical sound. "'I'm a leaf on the wind.' Remember that show. So cool."

"Fuck that."

But Gordon's eyes quietly closed, the smile falling slack on his face.

"Gordon, don't you dare! You hear me! Don't you dare!"

There was a roar of rocket engines and the darkness outside was shoved away by flaming exhaust.

Virgil grabbed his brother's hand as it slipped from his arm. "Gordon! Please don't."

God, please no.

No.

-o-o-o-