Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.

Characters: Gordon, Scott, Alan. Rating: T. Warnings: None

Drabble challenge from thunderbird-one-ai: "Fever and Abandoned Building" with Scott.

He'd been missing for days. Up and vanished without a trace, leaving John clawing at his holograms and data with none of his usual calm façade in place, and Gordon's other brothers frantically tearing the planet apart to find him.

They all knew Virgil could tear the world apart when it came to family; that wasn't a surprise. What shouldn't have been a surprise was how scrappy Alan could be, how many connections he'd managed to form just by playing video games online and occasionally rescuing a few like-minded individuals. Brandon Berrenger's twenty-something million followers came in useful at times like these, and even Conrad had pulled some strings in a few places to get some possibilities rolling.

Gordon had been the one Alan had run to when one of those contacts had paid off. Not because Alan chose him specifically, but because he was the first one he saw.

Apparently Alan could get info himself now, but at least he still knew better than to go haring off alone.

The building at the co-ordinates he'd acquired was run down. The roof was completely gone, and ivy had a stranglehold on the walls that hadn't yet crumbled. How anyone had thought to check here, Gordon didn't know.

He grabbed Alan's arm as his younger brother tried to dart out of Thunderbird One - borrowed for this very urgent rescue mission, and Gordon was sure Scott wouldn't mind.

"Me first," he said. Alan had played enough video games to know derelict old buildings were never good news. Gordon wasn't letting him go in first.

Someone ran out of the building as they left the Thunderbird, and Gordon shoved Alan behind him to a squawk of protest.

"Alan Tracy?" they gasped. A teenager, with once-spiked hair that now looked like it had been stuck to his face with art paste.

Gordon hadn't even registered the rain, but now he had, he was all too aware of the water thundering down around them.

"Fifteen-eight-two?" Alan ducked back around to stand next to him, and Gordon glanced warily between the two teenagers.

"That's me. He's here." The guy was still gasping for breath, and looked a little in shock. "My bro's in there with him still but we can't get close."

"Lead the way," Gordon ordered, stepping forwards and past the external walls.

The floors were uneven and broken, moss and grasses poking up through it and currently bathing in a shallow river of water. Clearly it had been raining for some time, and Gordon glanced up at the roof - or where the roof once was. No shelter.

An inhuman sound, somewhere between a snarl and a whine, reached his ears and he tensed.

"Come on, man," another voice pleaded - the teenager's bro, he assumed. "I'm trying to help."

The sound repeated itself, and Gordon sped up, aware of Alan right on his heels as he followed the voices.

"International Rescue!" the second teenager exclaimed as he rounded a crumbled corner of wall and found himself in a large room. He barely paid the teenager any mind, sweeping right past where he was hovering by what was once a door and making a beeline straight for the crumpled, snarling heap in the middle of the room.

Scott made the noise again, and behind Gordon, Alan gasped.

Gordon didn't blame him. Scott looked terrible. His clothes were tattered and torn, and the fabric was plastered to him by the water still soaking them from above. Blue eyes were bright, but it was the wrong sort of bright; too bright for there to be any coherency, too bright for recognition. Fever bright.

"Hey, Scott," he said, crouching down so they were on the same level. The new angle showed him iron hoops in the floor and wet but strong rope linking them to Scott's wrists. His brother snapped at him, looking just like a cornered animal.

Had he been there the whole time he'd been missing? Who had done this? Why had they done this?

Scott's chest was heaving, every breath was a rasp dragging through his throat, and Gordon knew he was in trouble.

He also knew he didn't want Alan seeing this, and nor would Scott, if he was in his right mind.

"Alan, take your two friends and go wait for Virgil," he ordered.

"But-"

"Go."

It was hard enough for him to see Scott reduced to this, whatever this was. Some fever-induced nightmare. It had to be worse for Alan, who had basically been raised by Scott, had always seen Scott as the one to go to when something was wrong.

"But-" But Alan was a Tracy, too, and turning his back on someone who needed his help went against everything he knew. Gordon switched tactics.

"There's too many of us here," he said. "He's not going to calm down while he's outnumbered."

"But it's us," Alan whined, and Gordon took his eyes off of Scott for a moment to look up at where he was standing instead.

"He doesn't know that right now, Allie." He'd kept his voice quiet, gentle, but Alan still flinched as though he'd been struck. "Go. Wait for Virgil. He'll need you to guide him in."

Virgil would just bust through every single wall until he reached them and they both knew it, but trembling, Alan finally took the lifeline for what it was.

"Call if you need me," he said. His eyes were wet but Gordon couldn't tell if it was the rain or something else.

"I will," he promised, and watched his younger brother herd the two teenagers out before facing his biggest brother again. "That better, Scotty?"

Scott didn't answer, but when Gordon made a tentative move to approach, he whimper-snarled again. Gordon stopped.

"I need to get you out of that rope," he said, keeping his voice low and gentle. "It's okay, Scott. I'm not going to hurt you."

He tried again. Too-bright eyes watched him, and a whimper escaped his brother's throat, but there were no more snarls. Maybe Scott wasn't as delirious as he'd first appeared.

Then Gordon laid a hand on the rope, and Scott jerked wildly.

"Hey, hey, hey," Gordon coaxed. "It's okay, Scott. I'm just gonna get you out of these ropes, okay?"

Scott quivered, reminding Gordon of that young nervous colt they'd had on the ranch once upon a time.

"I'm here to help," he promised, and risked a slow, gentle touch to Scott's shoulder.

When Scott didn't flinch away, Gordon edged closer, keeping his movements slow, steady and obvious as he oh so slowly folded his brother into an embrace.

He was burning up. It didn't surprise Gordon in the slightest, but the sheer sauna his brother exuded was almost too hot to touch. He held on anyway, cradling that too-hot forehead against his shoulder and feeling sodden hair plaster itself to his cheek.

"I'm going to get you out of here," he promised quietly, resting one hand on the back of Scott's head. "I'm going to untie you, and then we'll get out of this rain until Virgil comes to take us home."

Cutting good rope was a crime, but even if this was functionally sound rope, it wasn't good rope, and Gordon was afraid of what would happen if he completely released Scott again, so he plucked a multitool from his baldric with one hand, making sure to keep hold of his brother with the other, and began sawing at the rope.

It was sodden and squelched as the tool worked its way through - not good rope, then - but Gordon didn't show it any mercy, continuing until it surrendered and released his brother.

Scott didn't move. Gordon wasn't even sure he was still conscious. With the rain still slamming down at them, he couldn't hear if he was breathing.

They had to get to shelter. Somewhere marginally less drowned, where he could protect Scott from the worst of the elements.

Gordon wasn't naïve enough to hope that Scott had the strength to stand, let alone walk, and he knew he couldn't carry him all the way back to Thunderbird One. Virgil wouldn't be long, a few more minutes at most. There was a chance he'd already landed, the rain drowning out the roar of thunderous engines.

One of the walls was slumped over. Not by much, and certainly not enough to classify as shelter, but it was close enough to reach, and better than the unprotected centre of the room.

"Okay, Scott," he said, putting the multitool back before wrapping his arm around his brother again. "We're gonna move now, okay?"

There was no answer, even when Gordon shifted his grip and cautiously nudged him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Scott fell limply across him, and he staggered to his feet, clutching his brother tightly as he carefully picked his way across the uneven floor to the not-shelter and set Scott back down on the driest patch of wet he could find.

It was far from ideal, but it was a fraction better than where they'd been. Gordon positioned himself so he was between Scott and the prevailing direction of rain. The additional shelter he provided was negligible but it was still better than nothing.

Scott's eyes were closed. His skin was white but his cheeks were flushed, and Gordon didn't even have to touch him to feel the heat he was emitting. A measurement of his pulse showed it to be weak and faint. Too weak and faint.

"Hold on, Scott," he coaxed, grasping one limp, white hand in his, and catching sight of wrists rubbed raw by damp rope. They were flaming red, swollen and no doubt infected. "Virgil's coming. You've just got to hold on a little longer."

Scott didn't reply, but Gordon chose to believe he didn't just imagine the limp hand squeezing his lightly in answer.

Thanks for reading!
Tsari