Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.

Prompt from purfectpurple: "Amnesia: Please, stop saying my name like that"

Scott had thought he'd known despair. He'd felt its frigid bite the day the snow roared down, had it steal all the breath from his lungs the day the Zero-X exploded, heard its white noise when the call had come about a hydrofoil. He'd lost - or almost lost - so much, and seen the way it infected other families every time a rescue didn't have a hundred percent success rate. He'd been sure, so sure, he'd known what it could do.

The vice around his heart, frigid and thieving and loud, was all of those together and more. Too many things, too much to take in, too much to react to, and he was gasping for breath he didn't have, drowning on dry land.

"Virgil," he gasped out, his brother's name something wet and rasping all at once. Brown eyes regarded him, warm and concerned and a little upset. More than a little upset; he was hiding it but not well enough. Not from Scott.

"Please," his little brother said, and his voice tightened the vice until Scott thought his heart would stop. "Stop saying my name like that."

It was only force of will that kept Scott standing, kept him in the same room, because every fibre of his being was screaming for him to get out of there. Before it killed him, so he could find a way to fix it, before he broke in front of the brothers he had to be strong for.

Even the one that didn't remember him.

Especially the one that didn't remember him.

Amnesia. A head injury at just the right - wrong - spot, and now Virgil couldn't remember them. Couldn't remember him. His brown eyes were warm and concerned but also empty of that one spark that made Virgil Virgil.

They didn't know if it was permanent.

Grandma had scans running, Brains was delving into research, but the simple fact of the matter was that it was entirely down to Virgil. Either he'd remember, or he wouldn't, and there was nothing Scott could do to make it happen.

They'd done everything they could; they'd surrounded him with familiarity, family in and out with Scott the constant because he couldn't - couldn't - leave even though every moment that passed with no recognition destroyed him just a little more inside. A trip to the hangars, Thunderbird Two in all her beautiful green glory. It hadn't helped.

Now all they could do was wait. Wait and hope and pray that Virgil's brain would recover the memories in time.

Scott had never been good at waiting. Waiting for the news that Mom hadn't made it, waiting for the body they never found, waiting for Gordon to regain consciousness. His job was to protect his family, to help them when things got tough. To do things. Fix things, because he was the big brother and all his little brothers needed him to be able to make the world right again - or at least to keep it turning.

Now he had a little brother who didn't remember that. A little brother who looked at him without a single spark of recognition but was still so painfully Virgil that he could tell everyone was upset and wanted to help them.

There were three other little brothers still looking to him, three different colours of eyes watching him with thinly veiled hope and belief that somehow, somehow, he could fix this. Big brother could make it right again. After all, there'd always been something between them, hadn't there? That mutual understanding that went beyond comprehension but was always, always there.

Scott could feel the gaping hole where it should be. Where it was gone, and that alone had him crippled, because he'd had Virgil since he was four, almost as long as he could remember. They'd always said nothing could tear them apart. Even in his blackest days, days he'd done his damnest to block from his memories, it had been there. But this? One simple knock to the wrong part of a head, and it was gone.

"You don't have to stay with me," Virgil said, dragging him out of his mind and back into the room where his brother was watching him with those concerned yet sparkless eyes.

"Yes, I do," he corrected. His voice almost managed to stay steady.

"No," Virgil said. "You need to leave." The voice was all Virgil, but the words… Virgil had never, ever, tried to send him away. Not like that.

"Virgil-"

"You think watching you fall apart is helping me?" his brother demanded, shocking him into silence. "I can barely remember my own name, you hovering isn't going to change anything. You're just hurting yourself more."

"No-"

"Get out. Go do whatever you do to relax, and don't come back until you don't look like you're about to shatter."

Scott's eye stung. Virgil's voice was making noises but they were nothing he would say. His brother knew he could never relax when one of his brothers was in trouble, knew that he had to be there. Knew that sending him away would always be infinitely more painful than sitting vigil by a bed.

But he didn't know, because he didn't remember. Didn't know he was tearing Scott's heart out of his chest, one strip at a time. Thought, in Virgil's kind way, that it would help him.

Scott couldn't correct him, though. Because him staying was hurting Virgil, doing the absolute opposite of what he was supposed to be doing, where big brother was supposed to help, was supposed to make everything better. Scott's job was to fix things but now he was just breaking them more.

It was the worried brown eyes that did it. Filled with pain and frustration but also worry and concern for him. Scott's other eye stung, at the same time something salty dripped into the corner of his mouth.

"I-"

"Go."

Brown eyes were unwavering, and Scott swallowed with an unbearably tight throat. One last moment of hesitation, one last silent plea for Virgil to change his mind, to let him stay, but he didn't.

Scott barely made it out of the room before he broke, his knees crashing to the floor as the door shut behind him and his lungs shuddering and heaving as every breath that escaped was accompanied by a wrenching sob.

Virgil. Scott had never felt so helpless, so useless, in his life. Not only could he not fix it, but he couldn't even reassure his brother like he normally would. No, he'd just made things worse, his presence an additional stress on the brother who was going through hell. So much so that Virgil - Virgil - had sent him away.

He didn't know how his heart still had the space to beat, how it could keep going under the crushing pressure surrounding it. His lungs were barely functioning, air replaced by salty sobs and hiccups. Open eyes couldn't see anything, his sight blurred beyond all comprehension. Extremities were numb, muscles were locked rigid, and there was nothing he could do.

"Scott!" Hands grasped at him, pawing and tugging in a futile attempt to get him to move.

"Scott?" Quiet, worried. Part of Scott stirred at it, recognising a little brother in distress, but it couldn't break through the rest of him.

"Alan, go sit with Virgil. You too, Gordon." A third voice joined in, the third and final little brother there to witness Scott's greatest failure.

"But, Scott-"

"I've got him." Strong arms wrapped around him. "You two check on Virgil."

Hands fell away.

"Come on, Scotty." It was John talking, voice quiet and calm and everything Scott couldn't be. "Let's get you off the floor."

Scott's limbs still weren't responding, but John was stronger than he had any right to be with all the time he spent in space. His younger brother dragged him upright, or at least to his feet, and then down the hallway. Scott had minimal awareness of where they were going, barely able to put one foot in front of the other until there was something soft and he was sinking down onto it - into it.

John didn't speak, but the arms didn't leave him, holding him together so he didn't have to. It was wrong, another failure - he couldn't fix Virgil, and now he couldn't even reassure his other brothers either - but John was unrelenting and so were the tears.

"I-" he choked out, not sure what he was trying to say, but needing to say something. "He- Virg-" Another wave of sobs caught him, and John pulled him closer.

"Virgil's strong," John said, quietly but without a hint of doubt. "Whatever happens, he'll overcome it." Slender fingers coaxed through his hair, somehow more grounding than the arms around him. "We'll overcome it, Scott. All of us, together."

He shuddered involuntarily. Together, John said, but Virgil didn't even want him in the same room. Found that he was hurting rather than helping.

"I couldn't- couldn't help," he hiccupped, a painful admittance that burned his throat. "He said-"

"You can't help anyone when you're a wreck yourself." John's voice stayed level and calm. "You know this, Scott. Take a break. Get some rest. You don't have to do this all alone. He's our brother, too."

"But-"

"Rest, Scott." John didn't raise his voice, but the command was clear nonetheless. "You're no good to Virgil like this."

The words cut, but they didn't burn like the words he'd been telling himself did. John had always had a gift with words; coming from him, they were marginally easier to swallow.

"Go to him," he begged.

"Alan and Gordon are with him," John reminded him. "He's not alone."

Scott knew that, but his heart still seized at the terror that somehow it wouldn't be enough. "Please."

John's fingers stilled in his hair. "Okay," he agreed. The hands slipped away from him and Scott found himself toppling sideways onto the same soft that he was sat on. A bed.

It shifted as weight lifted, and Scott blinked enough moisture away to see the vibrant ginger hair of his brother.

"John," he rasped. His brother paused. "I'm sorry." Sorry for failing. Sorry for being blind. Sorry for being so useless. "Thank you."

"You're not alone," the Voice That Answers said. "Either of you."

John left, and Scott was left staring at the wall - pale silver, not his own - as his heart tried to wriggle free of the clamp around it. John was right; John was always right. They weren't alone. They would get through, one way or another.

The despair ebbed, just a fraction.

Just enough for him to breathe again.

Thanks for reading!
Tsari