Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.
FlashFictionFriday #113 "Hold Me Closer"
The air was cold, sharp and crisp and drawing out little puffs of condensation with every breath. It wasn't John's favourite weather – far from it, the chill a reminder of snow and mountains and the first time his world fell apart – and if given the chance he'd curl up by a nice warm heater with a blanket and reading material to wait it out.
Tonight, that wasn't an option. Not one he could take, at any rate.
The icon held steady above his wrist when he checked it. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing – it wasn't like his brother held much of a reputation for being still, after all. In this weather, without the coat that John had snatched up on his way out when he'd noticed it still hanging on the rack, it passed uncharacteristic and slipped into potentially dangerous.
His quarry was just around the next pile of boulders, the large masses of stone seemingly precariously perched even though they'd never so much as quivered despite the years of Thunderbirds coming and going, and John slowed his pace. The icon was dismissed, blinking out of existence and taking with it what little light there was to see by. Far above him, the stars stood steady sentinel as they watched over the valley and the two humans temporarily within.
Their light was enough to make out the shape of his brother, balled up on the ground and arms wrapped around himself. As John approached, footsteps even and measured, his night vision adjusted enough to let him see the way the body quivered.
He said nothing as he knelt beside him, broadcasting his movements openly as the coat was wrapped around trembling shoulders and drawn forwards. For a long moment, he and the coat both went ignored, and John waited silently for any sign of acknowledgement.
It came with shaking hands gripping the edges of the coat, drawing it tighter around the body. Limbs remained hunched inside, rather than threaded through the arms, broadcasting how much of a wreck his brother was, even as bright blue eyes flickered to look up at him with a pleading look they'd normally never let themselves show.
Silence still reigned between them, but John didn't need words to know what his big brother needed. Shuffling closer on his knees, he wrapped his arms around the coat-covered body and drew Scott in as his cheek rested on top of messy, unkempt, formerly-gelled hair. His brother shuffled in his embrace, a muted movement that ended with an icy cold nose pressing against John's throat.
Hold me closer, wasn't said, because this was Scott and even now, even shattered and shaking, he couldn't ever bring himself to ask for help, for comfort, but John was used to interpreting what was going on in his big brother's head, even when Scott himself didn't know.
He obeyed the unspoken plea, tightening his grip and drawing Scott in firmly, taking advantage of that inch he had over his brother when he was recently back from orbit to be the taller, bigger, brother for once.
It wouldn't do much. It couldn't erase what had happened, couldn't make everything miraculously okay again.
Nothing could do that.
But it let Scott be weak, be human rather than the symbol Scott Tracy that the world looked to, and that was important. Important enough that John would chase him out into the cold, dark night with his arms full of first abandoned coat and then splintered brother again, and again, and again.
As many times as Scott needed him to, even if his brother could never say the words.
I'm not entirely sure what this is, and I went back and forth on who the character doing the holding would be quite a lot, but I'm honestly a sucker for John giving out hugs even though he's not generally such a fan of receiving them, so… here we are.
Thanks for reading!
Tsari