Prompt from aliceinwhumperland's Whump Word(s) of the Day
'And just where do you think you're going?'
He cringed inwardly. He'd so hoped to get away with it. But there was nothing for it, so he straightened his spine and stood as tall as he could before turning to face his inquisitor.
Scott stood there, arms folded and eyebrow raised, awaiting an answer, and for a wild moment John contemplated making a run for it. Scott must have read his mind because, although he didn't move to stop John, his other eyebrow was suddenly joining its' twin and Scott was just staring at him.
John sagged in defeat. He'd managed to get around both Virgil and Grandma by his clever talk, but words wouldn't work on his big brother. Promising not to leave his room had earnt a glare from Grandma but she'd given in. Virgil had been easy – he only had to say he'd sleep better and be more comfortable in his own bed.
It wasn't like he was seriously injured or anything. He wasn't dying.
But Scott was still standing there, waiting for an answer, and really – what could John say? A treacherous thought at the back of his mind said, 'tell him the truth', but John quashed that immediately. He knew that if he put on his most winsome smile Scott would see right through that.
So he turned on the eyes, but only at half-power (really, Scotty was such a perceptive bastard at times), and told a half-truth, fingers metaphorically crossed.
'I'm just getting a drink, Scott.'
Scott rolled his eyes. His brother must think he was stupid or something. Of course, it was the 'or something' that was the problem. None of them reacted well to being injured or ill, least of all him, but John was just as bad. He had a way with words that could wrap Virgil around his finger. John may have thought that he had got past Grandma, but the wily old bird could read him like a book – and had done, choosing to send in Scott rather than cause a scene.
John looked ill. He didn't often come down with colds or 'flu, partly because he was so seldom on Earth, but that did mean that when he did get them, he got them good. Today was only the second day he'd been fully awake and aware. He was wheezing and his nose and eyes were bright red, a sheen of fever still with him.
Scott regarded his brother fondly. He must be not firing on all cylinders if he thought that he'd fooled Scott for one minute. Of course, it helped that Scott knew exactly what John was up to – they'd had this discussion before John had become sick.
'Come on John,' Scott said, gently taking John by the arm and steering him, not to the kitchen, but to the roundhouse. John frowned. What on earth was Scott up to? But he willingly let Scott lead him. And did he get a surprise!
Waiting in the roundhouse was Virgil. And Gordon. And Alan. And the biggest pillow fort he'd seen for years. And it was hot in there. There were hot chocolates and mashmallows.
And it all faced the ocean, so that John could see the meteor shower he had come down to watch, despite being ill. Scott helped him inside and wrapped him up in a quilted throw, and they all snuggled together.
His brothers really were the best.
He was asleep before the first meteor streaked across the sky, huddled into Scott on one side and Virgil on the other.