Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.

Characters: Scott. Rating: T. Warnings: Blood

Drabble challenge from masquerade-fox: "Blood Loss and Forest" with Scott.

It was supposed to just be a simple hike in the woods. Some time away from civilisation, away from family and responsibilities, where all he had to do was explore the narrow, twisting pathways through the dense trees, and eventually try and remember how to get back out again.

Nothing he hadn't done before, nothing that should have been any cause for alarm. Nothing that should have gone so fantastically wrong.

He was a good runner. Had been one of the fastest at school, kept it up because being able to run was a good skill to have. It was also cathartic at times, feeling the vibrations up his legs with every pace as he found his rhythm and settled in for the long haul.

There was no settling in for the long haul this time. No finding his rhythm, just legs jarring with every impact as the frantic scramble - barely classifying as a run when he was stumbling and unsteady on his feet, arms stretched out blindly to push him away from the trees that loomed in his path - took him away.

He was lost. Earlier that had been on purpose but now he needed to escape, to find the edge of the forest, to find home, and there was a time limit.

Sand wasn't trickling through the neck of the hourglass, though. No, the time limit was represented by blood, running thick and fast from his arm, his chest, his back.

His only saving grace was that it wasn't hunting him. Claws had lashed out, but when he'd fled it had let him, no interest in the chase. Nothing else should be pursuing him either, the forest devoid of predators large enough and interested enough to see a wounded human as prey.

Still, he was lost, his head was light and heavy all at once, and there were far more trees now than he had seen earlier. Apparently he had more than two arms, as well, and it was that which clued him in to the double vision. Triple vision?

Blurred vision, his breathing uneven and unsteady as it came in rasping gasps.

Consciousness wasn't going to stay with him much longer. It was a dull awareness in the back of his mind. He was alone, and running was making it worse but no-one knew where he was, no-one was going to be coming for him, and he had to make it home.

Had to get out of the forest, had to get to somewhere where he'd be seen. Saved.

The blood wasn't stopping, warm where it ran down his skin and soaked into his clothes. Cold where the breeze flapped at the torn fabric, creating a draft over the liquid. The browns and greens and yellows of the forest were merging together into a blur of off-brown, almost grey, and he couldn't see but his feet kept pounding the earth because he didn't have a choice.

Pound, pound, poun-

His foot caught on something, a snare around his ankle that was probably a root but he couldn't see it, just felt his body crash to the ground. Arms couldn't catch him, what breath he'd been able to muster was forced out of him, and everything hurt.

The wounds burned, his chest heaved and stuttered and his ankle screamed.

One arm was useless, burning from the gashes in his bicep. The other couldn't push him up alone, fumbling and weakening with every attempt. He tried to crawl, earth and dirt and leaves stuffing themselves into the wounds on his chest, but he didn't have the strength for that, either.

Blurred grey vision was getting darker. Darker and darker and darker.

"Scott!"

The shout was faint, almost too far away to be heard. There was a foggy, almost echoing sound to the voice.

Scott! There was more but he could only make out his name, could barely make out the sensation of something touching him, rolling him, moving him.

It should have hurt, but it didn't. The pain had faded to nothing, leaving him with the distinct impression that he was floating. Floating away. Floating…

Someone was crying. He could hear the tell-tale sniffles of someone trying to cry quietly but failing. Voices murmured quietly, but he could only snatch fragments of what they were saying.

-five days-

-gonna need another-

-wake up?-

-time-

-five days-

He knew those voices. He didn't understand what they were talking about, but he knew them and if he could hear them that meant he was out of the forest. He was safe.

Something niggled at him, some sense of responsibility, but the details eluded him and he figured it could wait, just a while longer. He was safe. He could sleep now.

Coming up for a reason behind the bleeding that wasn't my default 'stabbing' was fun, but I'm very happy with how it ended up.

Thanks for reading!
Tsari