Virgil ran a corn leaf through his fingers.
It was the depth of summer and the sky was brilliant with sun, the corn silks drying and brown above swollen husks while the giant flower heads at the top of each plant danced in the wind.
Ever so tall.
Cornstalks rustled as if speaking to each other, whispering his name.
He couldn't see out of the field. It appeared to go on forever and he didn't know how he had ended up in the maze in the first place.
Scott had been yelling his name. There had been pain and movement and Grandpa urging him on.
But now there was just the cornfield.
The wind hissed.
They weren't supposed to play amongst the corn. There were snakes in the field and Grandma did not like losing sight of her charges.
Of course, Scott had dragged him in once.
Only once.
The field was mysterious and exciting. They hadn't gone far, but Grandpa had discovered them and the fallout had been extensive.
They both learnt that day exactly why they shouldn't go into the cornfield as Grandpa had found a snake, showed it to them and then listed off exactly what happened to someone who was bitten.
Scott hadn't been a fan of snakes ever since.
Of course, Grandma followed that lecture up with some extensive first aid training for what to do if you were bitten by a snake.
It had been a long few days after that.
They never went into the cornfield again.
Until now.
And Scott wasn't here.
Virgil shivered. He wasn't a kid anymore and had faced far worse dangers than a snake infested cornfield, but there was something more going on here.
He knew it deep in his soul.
His IR uniform was gone and, in its place, his comfortable flannel shirt, jeans and boots were a stark contrast against the green stalks.
The leaf was rough between his fingertips, silica strong, almost like wire, but sharper, prone to those thin slices, like paper cuts.
"Virgil."
He startled. His name was sudden, yet as whispered on the wind as the rattling leaves.
"Gordon?"
The wind shook stalks and continued to whisper unintelligibly, ignoring him.
Two hands landed on his shoulders.
His gasp was swallowed as those small hands gently turned him around on the spot.
Eyes dark and so like his own looked up at him with so much love any remaining fear evaporated and fluttered away.
"Mom?"
-o-o-o-
Scott stood in a hospital doorway still wearing the suit he wore for the press conference yesterday.
He felt grimy and he was sprouting stubble on his chin to match his lack of self care over the last forty-eight hours or so. He wasn't sure of the exact number.
Numbers hurt.
The door he was standing in wasn't Virgil's. No, he had left his brother for yet another necessary task as the eldest, the protector of his family.
John had offered to do it for him, but Scott felt an irrational and driven need to see that what his brother had given everything for was worth it.
Of course, every life was worth it. That was the Tracy motto.
But Scott was human. Ever more so now he was in pain. And he felt the need to make sure...it was worth it.
The paediatric ward was brightly painted. A stark lie to the children it contained in an attempt to distract them from the pain these halls actually contained.
The tiny figure in the bed was quiet, strawberry blond hair falling over closed eyes. He looked much more peaceful now he wasn't bleeding.
Scott was grateful Virgil had succeeded in saving the little boy. His name was John and he did look a little like Gordon.
Toddler Gordon.
Despite everything, Scott did smile just a little. At age three, Gords had been an absolute terror. Virgil, for whatever reason, had taken it upon himself to prevent the little brat from killing himself or others and the resultant hilarity of watching his twelve year old brother chase after the three year old was legendary.
Until the day Virgil actually did save Gordon. Fish baby or no, a dam on the farm was no place for a three year old.
Although this was not Gordon, this little boy was just as lucky as Scott's little fish brother, even if it took the rest of the Tracys to finally get him out from under that building.
Little John had two broken legs, some nasty bruising, and had inhaled far too much concrete dust and fumes. This last coupled with some internal bleeding and a three year old's tiny body had made it very touch and go. Virgil had protected him as much as he could, but there had only been so much his critically injured brother could do.
But the doctors had saved him and although he had a tough path ahead, Virgil hadn't risked himself in vain.
It was worth it.
Worth the lax and non-responsive figure in that too white bed on the other side of the hospital.
Scott swallowed hard.
Focus.
The boy's mother finally caught sight of him and he forced himself to straighten up and feign presentability.
"Mr Tracy!" She hurried over, eyes wide. "Ohmigod, I don't know how to thank you enough."
Something must have shown in his eyes because hers widened and she held herself back.
"Come in, sir. Have a seat." She stepped away and offered him one of the same plastic hospital chairs he had already spent a good part of the day sitting in on the other side of the building.
He held up a kind hand. "No, no, I'm only here for a moment. I just wanted to see how little John was doing."
The woman's breath was harsh at the mention and he prayed she wouldn't burst into tears because he did not have the reserves right now and would likely join her.
She glanced at her son. "The doctors expect him to make a full recovery thanks to your brother." A pause and he knew what she was going ask. "How is he?"
The image of Virgil lying ever so still, head swathed in bandages from literal brain surgery coupled with a belly full of even more stitches...
"He's..." Another harsh swallow. "...hanging in there."
The gentle hand on his arm nearly broke him.
He drew in a breath and mentally shook himself. "Um, I came over here to give you this." He held out the piece of paper he had signed himself not twenty minutes ago. "When..." He tried again. God, he was tired. "When people heard Virgil was injured he was sent gifts and money." They were still coming in. His brother was truly loved by the general public. Virgil Tracy and his giant flying green machine. Virgil would smile and wave it off, but really, people loved him. "My brothers and I know that Virgil would want you to have this, to help John in his recovery." The cheque had a considerable number of zeros written on it.
Her eyes widened as she read them. "My god." She blinked. "Thank you. I can't lie. We need this. But...but what about the others?"
"Virgil saved the rest. There were some minor injuries. They've all been seen to." He glanced at the bed. "John was the last one." Scott blinked rapidly. John's babysitter hadn't made it, killed in the initial collapse. John had been very, very lucky.
"Thank you." And her hands were clutching his arm again.
Scott looked down at her. Virgil would definitely want this. He dropped his hand over hers. "You're welcome." Now he had to leave.
She nodded and let him go. But she didn't step back, only staring up at him.
"Mr Tracy, all my hopes for your brother..."
Scott nodded abruptly, but had no more words. A dip of his head as he backed out of the room and stalked down the hallway.
All his hopes...
-o-o-o-