Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.

FlashFictionFriday #105 "Ruined and Destroyed"

No named characters die in this, but there is death.

Ash. There was ash in his mouth, bitter and flaking and abusing his sense of taste. He was going to choke if he didn't stop inhaling it, but that meant walking away, leaving the area, and he couldn't do that.

There was nothing left here. Everything had been ruined and destroyed beyond all saving, no matter what technology and so-called miracles could be deployed. Failure had its own bitter taste as well, unique and filled with the salt of tears and a too-dry, aching tongue. Combined with the ash floating around, falling like grey-black snow, and it was overwhelming.

He should move. He should leave, turn his back on the tragedy and keep walking forwards, flying forwards, onto the next mission. Stopping and dwelling would help no-one – not himself, not his family, and not the charred corpses poking out amongst the equally-charred rubble.

The fire had been hot, devastatingly so. If they were lucky, they'd have suffocated from the smoke before their bodies had been burned to a cinder. If they hadn't been lucky…

It made him want to throw up just thinking about it. He didn't. He was stronger than that. He had to be stronger than that.

It wasn't his first time seeing charred bodies. At least if they were this charred, it wasn't possible to see their faces any more. No screams of agony, twisting their entire face for eternity. Just blacked, distorted lumps that smelled like someone had left dinner in the oven for too long.

There was a quip in there, somewhere, but it would be insensitive in the extreme to even think it, let alone voice it, so he kept his mind carefully away from anything of the sort.

People were dead. People were dead because of him, because there'd been a trap set up and the only thing he'd been able to do was trigger it. If there'd been any chance of saving any lives at all, he'd had to take it. It wasn't just his job, it was his core. It was who he was.

Everyone deserved saving.

Although right then it was hard to imagine ever saving the life of the monster responsible for this carnage. If there was anyone who deserved-

No.

He cut his thoughts off there. Everyone deserved saving. The moment he started picking and choosing lives was the day he failed.

Even if it hurt. Even if it was bitter ash on his tongue, bitter failure on his tongue.

Bitter, bitter, bitter.

A hand landed on his shoulder, warm with life, and squeezed gently. No-one should have been with him – he'd come alone, and he hadn't heard any other craft approach, but as he turned his head, his younger brother stood there.

"Come on." The voice was soft, gentle. "There's nothing else you can do."

He turned his head back forwards, facing the carnage. Failure tasted particularly salty this time. He knew what that meant, but didn't acknowledge it.

He didn't acknowledge his brother's words, either. He was right – of course he was right, he was always right – but that didn't mean it was a truth he wanted to accept.

All these people were dead, burnt to a crisp like some macabre feast. He didn't even know how many people had been there. How many adults. How many children.

He just knew that, because of him, they were dead.

His brother squeezed his shoulder again before tugging at him, trying to draw him away, but instead of obeying, his knees buckled and he crashed to the ground.

There was less ash down there. Less floating on a quiet breeze, at least. The scent was stronger, though. Burnt meat, fresh from a particularly intense barbeque.

He wasn't going to be able to eat grilled meat for months after this.

"Hey," his brother coaxed, and there were hands slipping under his arms from behind, hooking around the front of his shoulders and heaving. "It's time to leave."

He shook his head, numb, but his brother was strong. Strong enough to pull him up, back to his feet, and wrapping arms around his torso from behind, preventing him from collapsing down again.

"Let's go." Soft, gentle words, at odds with the confident arms manipulating his unresponsive body.

Ash tickled his throat again, startling a cough from his lungs. It was as bitter as everything else.

His brother wrangled him around, his arm hooked around shoulders that refused to let him down, and even as his feet failed to co-ordinate into movement, he was half-led, half-dragged, away.

"I've got him," his brother said. Other, garbled voices erupted from a comm system. "He's not hurt, but..." The younger man trailed off, implying that there was something wrong. "I'll get him home."

The arms tightened around him, pulling his head against something warm and safe and alive.

It did nothing to get the concoction of ash and failure out of his mouth.

I've left the two characters unnamed in this one, although it's probably obvious who the pov character is. For the second character, while I have one character in my head for it, there are others it could equally be, so I've left it ambiguous. Interpret this however you wish.

Thanks for reading!
Tsari