Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.
John didn't have alarms rigged to alert him just before his eldest brother crashed out, although at times that certainly sounded like an appealing prospect. Maybe one day he'd implement it, considering Scott's penchant for working until he dropped – literally – but for now it remained a vague concept in the back of his mind.
Today was one day where it might be useful. It was, he supposed, fortunate that the rest of his brothers had just returned from their respective rescues, leaving him with only Scott to monitor as his big brother packed up after his own rescue. If he'd been distracted by another brother, or some new stream of important data that needed instant attention, he wouldn't have caught the signs in time. As it was, the only thing on his conscious radar at that moment was Scott, and John saw the moment his older brother's vitals plummeted.
His immediate reaction was panic, his heart jumping up to land in his throat as Scott's blood pressure and heart rate dropped from its high, adrenaline-fuelled state. But Scott didn't keel over, or faint, or outwardly show any reaction at all, and logic sidled its way in before John did something unadvisable.
This was Scott's third rescue in the past twenty-four hours. None of them had been easy, but this final one had been particularly physically demanding, with his brother clambering in and around a large and challenging area of craggy rocks – in a couple of cases having to carry a rescuee while doing so. John was also aware that Scott hadn't had much by way of sleep, and while he hadn't been tracking his brother's every move, he suspected food probably hadn't featured as much as it should have done, either.
It was the perfect storm.
He watched the camera feed closely as Scott packed away the last of his harness equipment before sitting down heavily in his pilot seat. A dirty, tired hand rubbed at his face, leaving streaks on the skin in an admittance John knew Scott wouldn't have made if he'd realised he was being watched. The yawn, splitting his brother's face in two and beading moisture in the corner of his scrunched closed eyes, was the last straw.
Scott was not piloting anywhere like that.
Pulling up Thunderbird One's controls took barely a thought. By the time Scott's weary hands rested on the levers, ready to guide his 'bird into the air, John had locked him out and activated her remote pilot.
It only took a second for Scott to realise that Thunderbird One's controls weren't responding to him, but a second was far too long for a man who lived and breathed flight. John let his hologram flicker into view as Scott grumbled and poked at the controls again, clearly not yet realising that the reason they weren't working was because John had decreed it.
His brother jumped when he noticed him.
"Everything's fine, John," he said, although he was still scowling at his 'bird's controls as if he thought there was something wrong. "I'll be in the air in a minute."
"I know," John agreed pleasantly, and was relieved to see the scowling blue eyes turn suspiciously towards him. Scott was exhausted, but could at least still do the bare minimum of realise when a brother was up to something. "Strap yourself in." Scott gestured at his shoulder harness, and John barely refrained from rolling his eyes. "The turbulence straps," he clarified. While the shoulder harnesses did their job in most conditions, Thunderbird One's pilot seat also came with additional security in the case of heavy turbulence – or, in a worst-case scenario, a crash landing. Considering Scott was undeniably more creeping further towards sleep every moment – proven by another yawn which he couldn't stifle – John wanted him fully strapped in.
"Don't need 'em," Scott grumbled. "Conditions are clear."
"Scott." John had mastered the disappointed parent voice years ago out of necessity, and sometimes even Scott reacted to it. Today, with the older man more asleep than awake, the stars aligned in John's favour, and the turbulence straps were fastened. Scott still grumbled, but John didn't care as long as he was secure.
"What is the point of this?" his brother demanded, failing to hide yet another yawn. His eyes were half-lidded at best, and another glance at his vitals showed that it was only Scott's stubbornness that was keeping him awake. There was absolutely no way he was fit to fly, and John was going to enforce that.
"Relax," he said, keeping his voice level and low. "I'll get you home, big brother."
"Wha-?" Blue eyes shot open. "John, what are-"
John didn't let him finish his sentence before powering up Thunderbird One's VTOL and lifting his brother's 'bird – complete with said brother safely ensconced within – into the sky.
"You're dead on your feet, Scott," he pointed out calmly. "Get some rest. You're in no state to pilot."
"I'm fine," Scott tried to protest, but yet another yawn interrupted him and he involuntarily slumped back in the seat. John took the opportunity to ignite Thunderbird One's rear boosters and accelerate her up through the sound barrier.
"Scott." This time it wasn't the disappointed parent, but rather the wheedling little brother. Scott was always weak to wheedling little brothers, and this was no exception. He slumped back further in the chair, head resting back against the headrest.
"Fine," he huffed, finally accepting that this was a debate he was never going to win. Another yawn crossed his face and his eyelids fluttered closed for several moments before they were wrenched open again. "Just for now."
The fact that he had caved at all proved how unfit to fly he was.
Blue eyes fluttered closed again, but this time they didn't re-open. Scott's vitals stabilised themselves, far too low for consciousness to be on the cards at all, and John kept an eye on the camera feed as Scott's chest rose and fell in slow and even breaths. His brother badly needed the sleep.
After a moment, during which he brought Thunderbird One to a safe, comfortable cruising speed of Mach seven and confirmed nothing was in her flight path, he opened a line to Tracy Island, and his immediate younger brother.
Virgil wasn't long back from a rescue himself, and still had a smudge of grime on his nose that no-one had pointed out to him yet.
"Another rescue?" he asked. He looked somewhat weary himself, although far from Scott's own level of exhaustion. John shook his head.
"No," he promised. "Scott's fallen asleep."
That perked Virgil up straight away. "In Thunderbird One?" he demanded, incredulously. John gave a wry smile in response.
"I'm in control," he assured him. "Scott's exhausted, but safe." To prove it, he sent along a copy of Scott's suit telemetry, which was currently reading vitals consistent with a deep sleep. Virgil scrutinised them closely for several moments before sighing.
"He needs to stop pushing himself so hard," he despaired quietly, before collecting himself. "What's Thunderbird One's ETA?"
John glanced across at the figures. "Half an hour," he said. "Scott's probably not going to wake up before she lands." He hoped he didn't. Scott needed actual sleep, not a half hour nap in his Thunderbird. "Judging by his vitals, I wouldn't be surprised if he sleeps right through."
Virgil's eyes glanced over the data again, and his lips thinned in agreement.
"Get him home, John," he said. "I'll take it from there."
"F.A.B," John agreed. He didn't close the line with Virgil, but he did turn away from his younger brother to instead watch his older brother as he continued to guide Thunderbird One home.
As predicted, Scott slept right through the landing half an hour later. There was a slight stir as she decelerated and rotated, but his eyes stayed closed and he remained slumped bonelessly in his seat as John settled the Thunderbird on her castors and allowed her to roll back to the hangar.
Virgil was ready and waiting on the gantry when John let his hologram flicker back into view.
"Still asleep?" the middle Tracy asked as the Thunderbird came to a stop. John nodded. "Okay, I've got this." Virgil stepped forwards onto the extending loading ramp, and as he neared the cockpit, John disengaged the pilot seat so that it swung out to meet him. His younger brother didn't hesitate, reaching out and releasing all the straps and harnesses holding Scott in place before scooping the still-sleeping man up into his arms.
That was, in theory, the end of John's domain. With Scott safe and still slumbering away in Virgil's arms, he was the dark-haired Tracy's responsibility now, and his hologram stopped projecting so as not to distract Virgil.
Still, John watched as the platform retracted, bringing his brothers back to the gantry, and Virgil walked across the metal towards the elevator. In his arms, Scott shifted, a sleepy murmur indicating that his sleep wasn't quite so deep any more. Virgil was no stranger to handling him, however, and a small, fond, smile crept onto John's face as his younger brother murmured something quiet and melodic.
The microphones couldn't pick up exactly what it was Virgil was saying – or, John suspected, humming – but whatever it was seemed to do the trick as Scott settled back down.
There were no blind spots in Thunderbird Five's coverage of the villa. John didn't normally pay close attention to areas outside of the den, kitchen and hangars, largely content to let his family get on with their personal lives without him spying on them, but today he tracked Virgil the entire way from the hangars to Scott's bedroom. Virgil was frowning a little by the time he got there, clearly a little suspicious at how little effort it had taken to keep their big brother asleep, and the same unease filtered through John's mind.
Was Scott really just that exhausted, or had they missed something?
John watched the feed like a hawk as Virgil gently stripped off Scott's uniform, revealing the plain undershirt and shorts, and his telemetry data disappeared. Nothing new flagged up as a point of concern, except for the ongoing fact that Scott barely stirred. Virgil rested a hand on their brother's chest, and instantly made a face.
The next moment, Scott's underclothes were also being stripped away, leaving him in just his underwear, and Virgil was dropping them on the floor by the uniform judgementally. Despite the underlying concern, John smirked a little. Scott had done a lot of physical work on the last mission; it made sense for his clothes to have absorbed the sweat that came with that and he didn't envy Virgil for dealing with that at all.
Pyjamas were retrieved, but before Virgil began the unenviable task of trying to dress their sleeping brother without waking him, a familiar yellow light skipped over Scott's body. John immediately tapped in to the medscanner as Virgil scrutinised the results; just like the suit telemetry, it simply flagged up sheer exhaustion, but with a small caution for dehydration added in as well.
Shoulders slumping in what John assumed was relief, Virgil eased the still-sleeping figure of their brother into loose pyjamas and tugged at the comforter until Scott was nestled snugly in bed. Just before he pulled it all the way up to Scott's chin Virgil hesitated for a brief moment, and then a monitor was being carefully attached to Scott's pyjama top.
John tapped into that as well, relieved that Virgil had thought to attach one, and immediately got the data streaming straight into Thunderbird Five for him to check periodically. Just like the scan, it currently declared no causes for concern, barring an advisory for mild dehydration, and a little bit of tension bled from John's shoulders.
Seemingly satisfied, Virgil then pulled the comforter the rest of the way, tucking Scott in firmly, only for their brother to stir again. The pianist's hand immediately threaded into brown locks, and John watched fondly as Virgil ran his fingers gently through Scott's hair soothingly. The microphones in Scott's room were more sensitive, adjusted for quiet night time conversations, and while earlier John hadn't been able to hear how Virgil settled their brother, now his voice resonated through Thunderbird Five.
John recognised it instantly. How could he not, when he'd heard it so many times as a child, first from Mom, and then overheard as Scott did his best to fill in the gaps after the avalanche? A quiet and gentle lullaby from years long gone by did the trick to settle Scott again, but Virgil didn't stop singing even after Scott stopped stirring.
That, John decided, was his cue to leave. Scott was home safe and in good hands – and he had the readings from the monitor to keep an eye on if he wanted to check up on him. There was no point lurking around and listening to a brother who may or may not realise he was still watching.
He dismissed the feed just as Virgil finished a verse, suddenly plunging Thunderbird Five into silence before the quiet background hum of his 'bird's ever-running machinery registered again. A glance at the monitor readings brought his attention back to the dehydration caution, and John checked to see who was near the kitchen. Virgil, no doubt, would be staying with Scott for a little while yet, but there was no harm in sending someone else up with some electrolyte drinks for when Scott finally woke.
Well, no harm as long as he made it perfectly clear to the rest of the family that Scott was getting some long overdue and well-deserved rest, and anyone who disturbed him would find out exactly how creative John could get with technology.
A random discussion with JanetM74 about how much we love sleepy Scott fics somehow turned into this... Well, it feels like it's been a while since I posted any fluff, so here we are.
Thanks for reading!
Tsari