A/N: Angst ouchies in this one.

He can't hear anything, which for Virgil, who is so tied into the sounds of the world around him, is unusual. Before he and his father walked into the Doctor's office for their meeting, he could hear the humming of the hospital LEDs in the white ceiling, and now his ears just feel clogged, as if he's just dove underwater and there's nothing left but pressure and his racing heartbeat.

The white in this room isn't quite right, he realizes. There's a hint of blue, an attempt perhaps to create a calm space, but there's not enough blue so it come across as slate grey instead. It is not calming at all, not in the least bit whatsoever.

"Does everything I just said make sense?" At Jeff's nod, the Doctor continues, "In a few minutes, I can tell Gordon."

"No." The word comes out angrily, as if it's Doctor Halethorpe who is to blame. Virgil knows it's not, but still, he lacks the energy to redirect the fire he feels under his skin.

"Son, your brother needs to know." Jeff clasps a hand on Virgil's shoulder, and Virgil can see the worry lines around his father's eyes, the tight set of his jaw. Jeff is in as much pain as Virgil.

But Virgil is panicking. They can't tell Gordon because its too early to know for sure and he just woke up a week ago. How are they supposed to know that soon? It's a mistake. They should make sure they didn't mix up the files first. Or re- run the x-rays completely. It's too uncertain. Too early.

It's not right.

Virgil is an engineer. He knows how parts are supposed to fit together to create function and movement.

It's not right. It's not.

Except it is. The x-rays are there, pinned on the wall in front of him, and he can't escape the image of what exactly 400 knots does to a spinal column.

"No," he says. This time, the fire is gone when he says it.

-o-

It feels weird to know information about a person before they know it themselves. It's different than perception, how Jeff may not realize that he fiddles with his wedding band when he's anxious, but Virgil knows. This is a weight, a burden, lodged in his chest, and he does not want it, but he also doesn't want Gordon to have it either. It's too large a load for an already burdened, broken body.

He can't –

"Come on, son. Gordon's going to need you."

He doesn't want Gordon to need him. He's just Virgil Tracy, dammit. He can't step into that room. He can't. But his legs have not been listening to his brain apparently.

Gordon's room is white not slate, decorated by colorful cards and gifts, not x-rays. The figure on the bed is more bandage than body. The coma had lasted three weeks, but he's awake and no longer on a ventilator.

The stillness remains. Gordon can't move much beyond blinking his eyes without pain. With pain, he can move his head, tap the fingers in his less broken hand, and well… breathe. Talking is hit or miss. Though, that pain, Virgil thinks, may not be physical. There have been days the past four weeks that Virgil wanted to disappear too.

There is a sharp intake of breath from the bed. Woah, hey, the doctor is too close; he wasn't ready yet and oh, oh god, the expression on Gordon's face looks wrecked.

"Leave."

"Gordon, son, let's talk-"

"Leave!" It takes Virgil a moment for his brain to catch up; he's been running four seconds behind this whole day, even if his legs have had a mind of their own and carried him through the motions. "No, Virgil. Stay."

Virgil stops on his way through the door. He drops into the chair next to Gordon because he's weary, he's tired of his feet walking four steps of ahead of him, and he needs them to catch up with his brain because Gordon needs him, brown eyes searching.

"What did he mean, Virgil?" He is not ready for this conversation. And even though he's been given the script for how he should answer that question, the words don't come. Virgil knows Gordon won't believe what he hears a doctor tell him, but he will believe his brother. "What. Did. He. Mean?"

What Gordon wants is for his big brother to tell him that it was all a lie, that he'll get better, that his denial is founded in some sort of reality.

"Your spine is too heavily damaged-" he finally says, suffocating around the words.

Gordon chokes.

"-and that you won't be able to walk again."

Instead Virgil breaks his brother's heart.

"Never?"

Virgil is quiet.

With a whimper, the large tear that has been forming finally drops, streaking down Gordon's face to the white sheets below.

"Virgil!" He cries. They scramble to connect. Gordon grabs at whatever part of Virgil he can reach, and it ends up being is hair because Virgil is already leaning over to grasp Gordon's face in his hands, both trembling. No no no no nonononono.

Virgil can't hug him, can't move him. He needs to be careful of the wires, and his broken hand, his broken spine. And Gordon, bless him, is desperately pulling at Virgil to bring him closer.

Even crying is excruciating, and Gordon shrieks.

Virgil drops his forehead to Gordon's, feeling his own eyes pool.

"It's going to be okay." They both know it's not.