A/N: Hello! *waves* I'm sorry it's been a long time again (I was going for monthly, but maybe we'll say bi-monthly from now on?). This chapter gave me absolute hell and took me through rewrites and SO. MUCH. EDITING. (O_O) Thanks again to JanetM74 for constantly booting me up the bum for updates and SimplyNotHere for letting me scream at her.

Chapter Ten

The first thing that registered was PAIN.

White-hot, blinding, coupled with a constant dull throbbing, trapping him down onto whatever surface he was lying on. He tried to get his body to move in any capacity, his eyes, his head, his arms, his legs, but he had no strength. Only pain. It was like all the blood in his veins had been replaced with pins and needles, weighing him down and poking and prodding his insides.

The initial shock passed as his Air Cadets training kicked in – don't panic in a crisis, be logical, be calm. Figure out the situation and then figure out a solution. Where was he? Why was he in so much pain? Was he alone? What was the last thing he could remember? Senses; gauge your surroundings. If this was a training exercise, he could do this. He had to do this. He couldn't let his team down.

Smell and Taste hit him first. Sterile. Cold. Something irritating, tickling his nose and throat. Dry. Raw. He wanted to cough to make it go away.

Then Sight; bright white through his eyelids. Lights. Too bright. More stabbing pain.

Touch; he couldn't move his hands. He could however recognise the soft fabric beneath his fingers. His head felt cushioned.

Sound; equipment – noisy, methodical and rhythmic. Voices. Dad. And was that…Virgil?

His brain pieced all the fragments together and he knew.

Hospital. Not a training exercise. Accident. He could hear voices. He wasn't alone. The last thing he remembered was…driving. He'd been driving his car. If he was in the hospital… Well, that meant something had gone seriously wrong.

Then everything ignited at once. Suddenly he could move, he could open his eyes, he could speak. A cry of pain and guilt and terror escaped him as he pushed his body to move to look at his father. He tried to ask, desperately tried to ask because he needed an answer, but his brain and mouth wouldn't cooperate and the only things he heard escape his mouth were names.

"Gordon? Dad!"

Silence. The fluorescent light of the room was vicious, and he hissed, moving his arms to block out the light, except only one arm moved - the other was stuck, bound to his chest. Several voices simultaneously called his name; more people than just Dad and Virgil.

"Whoa, Scotty, easy. You're in the hospital." That was his dad, and he could feel a soothing hand in his hair. "Gordon's here, he's absolutely fine."

But Scott needed to see for himself. He removed the arm from his face, gasping as his body screamed at him, eyes frantically searching against the annoying glare of the lights. "Fish?"

A hand intercepted his and squeezed. "Here. I wasn't in the car, I'm okay." Scott instantly felt a lessening of tension in his chest and he breathed in relief, or as much as he could through the fire swarming around his body. Short bursts of breath escaped him as he tried to settle back and relax against the bed, except it was exceedingly hard to do so in such excruciating pain. Gordon's hand in his helped, and he mentally clocked that at least his right arm was absolutely fine.

"I'll call for a nurse," came Virgil's voice. "He needs pain meds."

Scott's brain started to catch up with him. He was in the hospital and yes, he was in rather a lot of pain. No, where did Virgil go? He looked at the small crowd gathered around the bed. There was Grandma to his left and then John, with Alan sat on his lap, and to his right an empty chair that presumably belonged to his missing middle brother, then his dad, and finally Gordon who was stood in the space between the side table, the bed, and their dad, holding his hand. It was a comfort, having that physical tie that proved Gordon was there. That he was okay.

His family were all there. Even John.

Wait. No, that wasn't right.

"Dad, John, Texas-" he managed to splutter, his mind reeling. They shouldn't be here; John was supposed to be at a NASA conference. God, they were all supposed to be places other here, except Alan. Virgil was supposed to be at the Parker's and Gordon at Hayley's.

"This was way more important, Scott," John interrupted, an exasperated look on his face. He was holding Alan securely on his lap. "It's late Saturday morning, by the way, you've only been out about 12 hours." Scott automatically looked to the window behind Gordon. Daylight. He looked back at John and nodded in thanks.

"Your father's NASA friends sent them home in a private jet," Grandma said. It was her hand in his hair.

"Nice," Scott mused, knowing it was the only way they were here already. There was no way Dad would have driven through the night back to Kansas when he had John with him. He couldn't help feeling guilty though. After all, it had been for him.

"Don't even start," John said, and Scott sighed knowing he'd been caught out. It made him smile internally though, it was like there was a telepathic link between them sometimes.

"Scotty is okay?" his youngest brother asked, his small blue eyes furrowed in concern and Scott tried his best to smile at him. He didn't want Alan to see him in distress, well, he didn't want any of them to see like this, but especially Alan.

"Hey, Allie. Yeah, I'll get better real soon." His voice sounded awful.

"Dr Bear can help you."

Scott couldn't help but grin at that, his heart swelling. "Did you bring him for me?"

The almost seven-year-old nodded and pointed to somewhere above Scott's head to his left. He made to move but realised very fast his left arm wasn't going anywhere. Grandma fixed him with a stern look that said don't even try as she retrieved the bear, settling it carefully on his chest and Scott couldn't help but smile as he thanked his youngest brother, running his fingers over the tatted brown fur.

Dr Bear went back to when John was a baby and consistently ill with colds so Mom would stay home to look after him while Scott was at kindergarten. Dad had come home one day with the bear, asking Scott and Mom to kiss it before giving it to baby John. When he was right as rain two days later and the gaps between illnesses widened significantly, the small stuffed toy was named Dr Bear and was consequently passed around the family whenever any of them were ill. It had seen all five of them through chickenpox, the flu, grazed knees, broken limbs, and grief.

"This means no flying for you for a while, Ace. You're grounded for several weeks on medical leave," Dad said, and Scott groaned, knowing that even he couldn't argue with that. His training corps Commanding Officer was sure to give him hell anyway.

Ace.

Snowflake!

"How's Meg? Is she okay?" he asked, remembering sharply who else had been in the car with him.

"She's also fine, don't worry," Gordon answered beside him, still holding his good hand. "We saw her last night, two rooms down. A bit bruised and has a broken wrist but she's fine."

A male nurse who introduced himself as Tom then came into the room behind Virgil, giving him some water to soothe his throat, before sitting the bed up – a whole new pain experience Scott never wanted to go through ever again – and then having the audacity to ask in front of his family how he was feeling.

"Good," Scott replied through gritted teeth. Oh, subtle. You might as well wear a sign around your neck saying, 'I'm in pain'.

"Sure, and I'm the President," Tom said dryly, and Scott looked down at his hands and Dr Bear to avoid his brothers' eyes. "The Doc will be here soon, so you'd better rethink that answer. Now, your lil brother here was insistent I give you water and something for the pain, we've done the water, so let's get the meds sorted for you. It's some morphine, I'll incorporate it into your IV."

Gordon was forced to move out of the way so Tom could check the drip into Scott's arm and administer the meds, injecting the shot straight into the port, where it would join the solution of fluids currently hydrating Scott.

"He might like to hide how he really feels, but we're not stupid," Virgil chastised, raising his eyebrows at Scott who glared back. Yes, he was in a whole lot of pain, but his little brothers didn't need to know or see that. Tom scribbled the meds note onto Scott's chart before departing.

"I'm fine," Scott insisted.

"No, you're not."

He caught Dad rubbing a hand over his face. "Boys, why don't you go and get yourselves some snacks," Jeff said, giving Virgil a few notes from his wallet. "Alan, you don't let go of John, you understand. Stay together. Take care of each other," he directed towards Virgil.

"But Scotty-"

"He'll still be here, sprout, we'll only be half an hour. Come on. Do you want anything, Grandma? Dad?" As they shook their heads, John shifted Alan off his lap, sending Scott a knowing look that said I've got them, don't worry. He took their youngest brother's hand and they disappeared, Gordon and Virgil following behind. Scott watched them go, knowing exactly why they'd been sent out of the room, as did John, and breathed deeply.

"Now, Scott, dear," Grandma said, combing a hand through his hair. "You might want to be strong for your brothers but please don't hide from us. They're gone, you can let go now. How are you really feeling?"

Scott took a few gulps of air and felt his eyes fill with tears as his composure slipped. His father was holding his hand looking worried and Dr Bear was in his lap that Alan had brought for him, and Grandma was saying it was all okay and he was hurting so much.

"I was driving with Meg. We crashed. How-how did we crash - I don't know what happened – everything – ow - everything hurts." Tears were streaming down his face and he was struggling to breathe. The pain kept on blossoming, sharp and ugly, and his heartbeat was in his ears and the lights were too bright again and he was beginning to feel dizzy and -

Then his dad was right there, surrounding him with a shield of love and comfort and safety as he took him into his arms. Pain shrilly echoed and Scott dropped every barrier, sobbing loudly into his father's shirt, all pretence thrown away. He was tired, he was hurting, and he was his dad's eldest child. And right now, he needed his dad.

"Shhh, Scotty. It's okay, son. Catch your breath, you're okay. Everyone's okay. It wasn't your fault," he whispered softly, and Scott listened, his breathing gradually normalising.

After a few minutes, when Scott had become mostly silent other than some sniffing, Jeff retreated, retaking his chair next to the bed. Scott looked over at Grandma who was looking back at him with tears in her own eyes, a gentle and ever-loving look on her face.

"Sorry," he apologized, wiping a hand over his face before Jeff retook it.

"None of that," she scolded warmly. "You needn't be strong all the time, it's not fair on you but neither is it fair on them. Your brothers want to help you, Scott, you shouldn't feel like you have to hide from them."

"God, if Gordon had been with us-"

"But he wasn't Scott, so don't worry about that, okay?" Dad said, squeezing his hand. "You need to take care of yourself, here and now, and to do that you have to be honest with us so you can get better faster. Are those pain meds working?"

Scott nodded, taking note of how his body was no longer screaming at him. There was still a lot of pain, but it had dulled significantly. "Yeah, remind me to thank Virgil when they get back."

His dad smiled. "You boys make each other stronger; I know you're the eldest and somehow you think that means you have to take care of them with no regard for yourself, but Scott, you need to lean on them too. Let them help you."

A tall, middle-aged woman with a dark ponytail wearing a white coat entered the room. Introducing herself as Dr Salma Beasley, shaking both his grandmother's and dad's hands, she then proceeded to shine a light in his eyes and ask him to follow her finger. Concluding that he most likely did not have a concussion, just a big headache, she then began to explain the extent and details of his injuries.

Left fibula broken below the knee, three broken ribs they would monitor for abdominal complications. Lots of impact bruising down his whole left side, a bump on his head but no concussion, and a broken collarbone which explained why his arm was bound across his chest.

"Fractured middle third clavicles are very common in T-bone RTC's," Dr Beasley said, "no complications with that on the X-ray so if you're careful it should also heal nicely. The cuts on your arms and face are superficial, merely from glances by broken glass. If I'm completely honest, Scott, you've escaped rather mildly, it could have been a whole lot worse."

"I wasn't drinking," he defended, knowing that would probably be the first thought in anybody's mind. Two teenagers driving home from a party on a Friday night involved in an accident – one would assume they were drunk, and that it was the driver's, i.e. Scott's, fault.

Dr Beasley smiled warmly at him. "I know, your bloodwork proves as much. I'm quite amazed you're alive. Most impacts like that – meaning whatever hit you was going very fast, fast enough to flip your car – in the majority of cases the driver is pronounced dead at the scene."

Scott swallowed, absorbing just how lucky he'd been and grateful his brothers hadn't heard all that. He felt his dad squeeze his hand and he squeezed back, grateful for the comfort.

"My only question right now is mobility once you're discharged. We won't be able to give you crutches for your leg due to your collarbone, though maybe a stick to aid you at home with things like going up the stairs and using the bathroom. I'll sign you a doctor's note for school and we'll sort you out with a wheelchair until we see how your leg progresses. If it heals nicely, we can give you a boot after a few weeks so you can at least walk."

"What about flying?" he said out loud before he could stop himself. It was Spring Break next week after all. So much for those plans.

"Scott, we just discussed this-" Dad started, putting his head in his hands.

Scott shook his head. "No, I didn't mean Air Cadets. I meant vacation."

Jeff sighed, getting the point as Dr Beasley looked sympathetically at him. "Where were you planning on going?"

"Auckland," Jeff answered grimly. It wasn't exactly the truth, but it was the closest thing to it.

Dr Beasley immediately shook her head. "I can't recommend that Scott, certainly not long-haul flights in your current condition and Spring Break's just a week away. We'll be keeping you in at least for a few days until we've weaned you off the morphine, and I highly doubt any airline would have you on board even if we were to give you clearance."

Scott nodded and after she apologised again and told him to call for a nurse if he needed anything, she took her leave of them. His insides were crawling with guilt and he ran his fingers over Dr Bear again. "I'm so sorry, Dad, this has ruined everything. I can stay home with Grandma and you can take-"

Jeff squeezed his hand again. "Don't be silly, your brothers won't go without you. Especially not somewhere they've never been before."

No, Scott wouldn't take their vacation away from them. "But-"

"-All that matters to them is you, Scott," Grandma said, smiling softly. "They're already prepared to take care of you. You should have heard them delegating earlier before you woke up."

He frowned. "They shouldn't have to."

"Well they want to," Dad said. "Why won't you let them?"

But he was saved from replying as a commotion from the corridor caught their attention, the sound carrying easily into the room. Voices arguing.

"Dad, you're not talking to him before I do!" snapped a very familiar one and Scott grinned. Being told she was okay was one thing, knowing it was another.

"Honey, you need to rest," Sheriff Winters spoke calmly. "It's my job, I have to take his statement too."

Scott could imagine Meg glowering at her father, arms crossed over her chest. A force to be reckoned with, even if her dad was the Sheriff. "I'm fine!" she insisted, "And you've heard my side of things, surely you can wait? I think I'm allowed to speak to my best friend before you do. It's not like I'm trying to be annoying, Dad, but we were both in that accident and I want to make sure he's okay."

There was a sigh of resignation. "Fine, fine. Just be mindful and-" Then followed hurried footsteps mixed with something on wheels, "-careful, Megan."

"Hey, you're awake!" she announced, grinning widely as she came into the room, dragging her IV pole with her. Her right arm was in a sling, but Scott could see the dark blue plaster cast up to her elbow. He grinned back at her, giving a little mock salute with his good hand. She then saw Jeff and Grandma and a guilty look passed over her face. "Oh hey, Jeff, Ruth, sorry I –"

But Dad laughed softly. "It's okay, Megan, you can come in. How are you?"

"Bruised," she said, walking over to sit down somewhat awkwardly in John's vacated seat next to Grandma, leaving the pole standing behind her. "Bashed, but otherwise? Brilliant. I'd fist bump you, Ace, but well…" she trailed off, eyeing his left arm pointedly.

"No volleyball," Scott teased, indicating her own arm.

"No flying," she shot back.

He pointed at his leg. "No school."

"Okay, you win with that one," she laughed. "You look awful but, well, nothing's ever stopped that before I suppose."

Grandma chuckled, and he pulled a face of mock outrage. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be on my side?"

"Us women have got to stick together, Scott" she replied, placing a hand on Meg's knee who grinned gleefully in a way that reminded him of Gordon.

"But in all seriousness, you're okay, yeah?" Meg asked quietly. "You were unresponsive when they got me out the car, it was – it was scary."

"You were awake?" He frowned, knowing if, given the choice of waking up in the hospital and being awake at the scene of the accident, he'd know which one he'd choose. And it had still been painful.

She shrugged with one shoulder. "In and out."

Then he realised. "You told them to get Gordon." He just knew it was the right answer, it made all the sense. Gordon was there at the hospital, as was Virgil.

Meg grimaced. "Well, I think it came out mostly as a muddle of words thanks to the concussion, but I tried. Dad was there and I knew I had to tell him you were sober before he killed you himself," she said lightly, "and someone else needed to pick Gordon up. My dad called Jane and as she already had Virgil, they got Gordon and came straight here. Hospital let them stay overnight."

"Bob," Jeff greeted, standing up and shaking hands with Sheriff Winters who came striding into the room. "Megan's fine here, she's not-"

"-I'm afraid I'm not here for my daughter, Jeff, I'm here for you," he stated, and Scott instantly paled at the worried look on his face. "There's some trouble downstairs in the cafeteria."

There was a brief moment where Scott, Jeff, and Grandma all looked at each other before Jeff sprinted from the room closely followed by the Sheriff. Meg looked utterly confused for barely a moment before realising who wasn't in the room with them and she looked at him, wide-eyed, for confirmation and he nodded.

His brothers.

Scott: Ummm…Kate

K: *smiles innocently* Yep?

Scott: Did you just-

K: Put your brothers in potential danger? Of course not.

Scott: …

K: Well, okay, maybe a little?

Scott: And I'm stuck in bed.

K: Yep. *runs*

Meg: I've got this, Ace. Kate, GET YOUR BUTT BACK HERE RIGHT NOW.

K: *hides*