Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.

Characters: Scott, Alan. Rating: T. Warnings: Guns

Drabble challenge from ak47stylegirl: "Sorry I'm protective over the things I love" with Alan&Scott.

"ALAN!" Scott screamed, his brother's name being replaced with a wordless sound of outrage, as the blue and red figure toppled down, off of the scaffolding and heading for the ground far too far below them.

Alan had armour in his uniform, one of the insistences Scott had put in place if he was going to start going out on rescues, but that wouldn't save him from that fall.

He didn't even know if it had saved him from the bullet.

While his brain froze in horror, his hands were moving, snagging on the grapple that had been out of reach a moment earlier and firing it at the falling figure. Alan didn't catch it, but it still caught him, coiling around Scott's baby brother and stopping his fall.

His shoulder killed. So did his wrist, his fingers, his arm, but Scott wasn't letting go. Not now, not ever.

Sarcastic applause drew his attention back to the man responsible.

"Well done," the Hood - unfamiliar face, but who else could it be - said. The tone was nothing but patronising. "Dislocating your own arm to free it and catch the dead weight."

Scott snarled.

"But tell me, how long can you hold on? Your brother's entire weight, supported only by a dislocated shoulder." Blue eyes - the same shade as Alan's, the bastard - glittered with something he could only call malice. "You're still stuck. Sooner or later, you'll drop him, and the rest of your brothers are the other side of the planet." A twisted grin. "I'll enjoy this."

He turned on his heel and left, dropping the gun to the floor in the process. It was still smoking.

Scott swallowed. Loath as he was to admit it, the Hood had summed up his situation well; stuck on his knees with one arm trapped in a mess of girders and the other dislocated, he couldn't go anywhere. Below him, Alan hung like a ragdoll. The cable wasn't long enough to let out slowly to lower him to the ground, but his arm was already trembling with the strain.

If you can't go down, go up.

He couldn't set Alan down, but could he?

No time for second thoughts. Alan needed to be set down. Alan also no doubt needed medical attention, and Scott had seconds, not minutes, to do something about the situation.

A groan slipped out from between gritted teeth as he flicked the switch to retract the cable, the high-tensile material slithering back into its pack as Alan was drawn back up, towards him. For the most part, it was the simple - but not easy - case of keeping his grip and letting the grapple to all the work. It was only the last part, one-handedly lifting Alan until he could drag him back onto the scaffolding, that poised the challenge.

The strain was intense. The pain was even more so. But Scott was stubborn as all hell when it came to his little brothers, and whatever further damage he inflicted on his arm was more than worth it as he finally, finally, got Alan securely on the metal holding them both up.

"Alan?" he rasped, pain weakening his voice.

"Sc-ott-y?" Quiet. Too quiet. Almost too quiet to hear at all.

Scott dropped his grapple, hearing it clatter against the scaffolding, and tugged his brother closer. One arm was still trapped, but Scott only needed one - even if it was dislocated and being moved by sheer willpower alone - to reach the red, red hole in his brother's uniform.

The bullet had punctured straight through the armour. It had hit low - an indicator that Alan had not been the target (because he hadn't been, a nasty voice hissed in the back of his mind. You were) - and Scott really, really hoped it had missed anything vital.

"Why?" he demanded, fumbling one-handed for his trauma kit and shaking everything out until he had enough gauze and bandage to press against the wound. Alan's scream was almost silent.

"So-rry," he ground out, fighting the pain because he was just as stubborn as the rest of them. "I'm p-pro-tect-ive of t-the things i-I love."

"Alan-" Scott started, but his stupid, brave little brother wasn't done.

"A-and I l-love you, Sco-tty."

I love you, too,but he couldn't say the words out loud. The idea of saying them here, now, felt final. Like if he said them, Alan would think he could leave him.

Scott couldn't let that happen.

"Okay," he said instead, trying to keep his voice steady but it wobbled and there was something warm and wet on his cheeks, salt in his mouth. "No more talking. Save your strength, Allie. I'll get us out of here."

How, he didn't know. One arm trapped, one dislocated, and a brother with a bullet in him - or through him, he didn't know; he didn't have the strength to turn Alan to check for an exit wound - and both of them far too high above the ground.

But he would, because Alan had saved him and now he was going to save Alan.

The prompt specified Scott as caretaker, but my muse malfunctioned a little at the idea of letting Scott escape unscathed, so... This happened.

Thanks for reading!
Tsari