I'm overly happy with this, but I figure you deserve a resolution. Once again thank you for reading along!
In the early hours of the morning, when the fire's burned to a low smoulder, and the worst of the darkness has passed, Scott awoke with a crick in his neck to something sharp and boney poking him in the ribs.
The thing is indeed a bone, a finger bone, and Scott follows it to the hand, and the arm it's attached to until it snakes under the pile of blankets. John's arm. Which means he's awake.
Shifting slightly, Scott can see underneath the hood of blankets to where John is blinking awake. His skin is still a little pale, and he's developed a brilliant black eye that matches the dappled bruising on his forearm, but his eyes focus swiftly.
"You - " John clears his throat so his voice is less croaky to continue " - you alright?"
"Am I alright?" Scott is bamboozled at the sheer absurdity of the question.
"Yeah, you look worried."
"About you, idiot."
"Oh. Sorry." John looks embarrassed of all things.
"How are you feeling?" Scott forces a hand under the blanket to feel his arm, shoulder and back, being careful not to squeeze too hard. "You've warmed up quite a bit."
"Warmer, yes. Sore, very much so." John winces, and Scott can only imagine the level of bruising that will develop over the next few hours.
"Let's get you out of those blankets then, check you over."
John burrows a little deeper into his cocoon. "In a few minutes?"
"I'm not going to let you lie there on broken ribs or whatever."
"No breaks, I promise. I remember what that feels like."
Scott looks around the room – each of his brothers had claimed a blanket and a chair, wrapping themselves well against any drafts. Virgil's snoring slightly, but otherwise the room is peaceful, and Scott's objections melt away. "Maybe just a few more minutes."
John snuggles closer and Scott rests his head on the back of the couch, enjoying the peace while it lasts.