I won't be doing all of these, just as and when I can.

For Whumpay Day 1: "I thought you were dead" / "I wish you were dead"

Part One: 'I wish you were dead.'

The words slip out without him realising it, too far gone in his drunken stupor. John freezes and shoots a look at Scott, but the thirteen-year-old doesn't appear to have heard.

This is the worse one, John decides. It's April. Mom has been dead for less than four weeks, and in that time he and Scott have needed to help their once-loving father to bed several times before he woke the rest up. But this is the worst he has ever been.

Tomorrow is Scott's birthday.

It is the reason why they had gone skiing late in the season. An early present. Some present it turned out to be. Scott is still wearing the brace on his arm from before the accident that almost killed him and succeeded in killing their mom and grandpa.

This is the first time their dad has outrightly blamed Scott.

Because it is Scott's fault, as surely as the sun rises and sets. Scott feels it in his bones. But John, twelve-year-old genius that he might be, does not know how to convince his big brother otherwise. He doesn't believe it. Virgil doesn't believe it. Gordon and Alan are too little to understand, but John's pretty sure they wouldn't either. But he can't get through to Scott.

'If you hadn't been showing off and broken your arm, my wife would still be here.' Ok, Scott couldn't fail to hear that, but his big brother carries on as if nothing has been said, putting the bookcases back together and the books in their place. John is amazed that he can stand it, and he follows Scott's lead, putting the files back on the desk. Their father is too far gone now to start throwing things around again. Of course, that doesn't stop him speaking.

'I wish you were dead instead.'

There is the smallest of pauses in Scott's work. So brief that John would not have seen it if he had not been looking, but it is the only reaction Scott will give.

Once the floor is clear the two boys, either side of their father, get Jeff up and walk unsteadily to the man's bedroom. They lean him against the doorframe while John opens the door, and then they walk him to the bed, leaving him fully dressed on top while they escape back to their shared room.

Scott gets straight back into bed and curls up, back to John and covers pulled over his head. John dithers. He wants to reach out and comfort his brother, but he can't and he knows it. Scott doesn't want to hear it anyway. But it's now almost one in the morning.

'Hap…' is as far as John gets before Scott cuts across him. 'Don't say it. Don't!' So John doesn't, and if his brother silently cries himself to sleep then John isn't going to tell anyone. He can keep a secret. They don't celebrate Scott's birthday that year.

It is the last day Scott ever calls Jeff 'Dad'.

Jeff is confused as to what is going on with his eldest two. Scott has taken to calling him 'Sir', and occasionally, when he's being sarcastic, 'Father', but he doesn't remember the last time his eldest called him 'Dad'. John knows. What John knows Jeff doesn't, but for a couple of months John just refuses to talk to him at all. And Jeff has no idea why.

Part Two: 'I thought you were dead.'

Jeff is running. The traffic is snarled up and not moving at all, and he has to get to the hospital. He knows he looks mad, that he is dishevelled and unkempt, but it was a long flight and he couldn't get here quick enough.

The hospital is out of the city, way out on the very outer part so that it is easier to protect. Easier to defend. Hospitals are targets in wartime, and a military hospital doubly so. Getting from the airport to the hospital should have taken less than an hour. Jeff will be lucky to make it in two.

But make it he does, skidding into the entrance and up to the main desk, where a disapproving man is frowning at him. Something to do with running, but Jeff isn't listening. Heaving for breath, he manages to ask for his son.

'First Lieutenant Scott Tracy, please.'

The frown is back as the man looks Jeff over. 'I'm sorry. This hospital is for military personnel only. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave.' Jeff stands there, mouth agape. He can't remember the last time someone didn't recognise him, and it takes him a moment to get himself together.

Pulling his ID out and pushing it under the man's nose, there is a certain satisfaction when the man gulps and blushes and starts sweating. 'I'm so sorry, Colonel, I…I didn't recognise you.' The man scans the screen in front of him, and Jeff almost feels sorry for him. Almost. The kid must have pressed a button, for someone else appears, a porter Jeff assumes, but it's his turn to be surprised when the man holds out his ID.

'Major Tomlinson.' Jeff shakes hands with the man. "Colonel Tracy. I'm sorry to meet you under such circumstances. Come with me.' And he leads Jeff through corridor after corridor until they reach a room. He gestures for Jeff to enter, and for one wild moment he doesn't want to.

But he owes it to his son.

He opens the door and is greeted with noise. The noise of machines monitoring his son. Scott is pale on the bed, arms out over the covers. Both arms and his chest right up to his face are heavily bandaged, just a small section left for the drip and the skin there is all kinds of colours. There is heavy bruising and cuts to his face and ears. He is unconscious and Jeff thanks god for that small mercy.

He sits down and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Then, one day, a miracle happens.

'Dad?' a rough voice croaks, one Jeff thought he'd never hear again, a word he never thought he'd hear again. He wants so much to hug his son, but he can't, so his kisses Scott's forehead as he cries, kissing it tenderly.

'I thought you were dead, son.'

'I thought I had lost you for good.'

'I love you, Scott.'