Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.

Prompt from malignedangel: "Putting a hand over the other's mouth to shut them up" with John and Scott

Scott couldn't see. That was alarming, because the last he could remember, he could see and he was fairly certain his eyes were open. His head was also pounding, and he knew he'd been drinking, but he didn't think he'd been drinking that much.

He couldn't hear much, either. There was a ringing sound, faint but high-pitched enough to be annoying, and maybe something nudging against something else with a dull thud in the distance, but nothing concrete. Certainly nothing to tell him what had happened and why he was blinded.

It also didn't tell him where his brother was. John had been reluctant to go out in the first place, but Scott hadn't wanted to go alone and none of his other brothers were old enough. Besides, getting out of the house from time to time was good for him, no matter what he might protest. A few drinks, some turns around the pool table, and a dartboard begging for projectiles - something John was better at than he liked to let on - and it was supposed to be a nice, fun evening.

This wasn't fun.

"Jo-"

A hand slammed across his mouth, almost yanking his head back with the force of it, and his brother's name was immediately muffled by someone's palm.

"Shhhh." It was John's voice, which was the only reason Scott wasn't immediately throwing the perpetrator off. A warm body pressed down on his back, bringing his awareness to the fact that he was lying on the floor, and breath tickled his ear. "Not a word." It was barely breathed, almost impossible to make out despite lips brushing his skin.

Scott surmised that there was something he was missing about the situation, but with John's hand still firmly clamped over his mouth it was clear that now was not the time to ask.

Faint thuds grew louder, closer, and Scott still couldn't see but he could feel John tensing and the way his chest stilled. Taking a cue from that, he held his own breath, feeling his pulse thrumming as adrenaline began to spike. They were hiding - that much was clear, even if he didn't know what they were hiding from - and Scott frantically tried to get his thoughts and memories in order.

Nothing. Having fun at the bar, drawing John out of his shell with a pint and just some good brotherly conversation, and then nothing. Blind, feeling like he had the hangover of the century, and John on top of him with a hand firmly over his mouth.

Something went thud, much closer - close enough for the vibrations through the floor to reach him - and he tensed. John's head lowered, cheek pressed against his, and for a moment he feared they'd been found by whatever they were hiding from.

Then something that was recognisably footsteps sounded, gradually fading away, and he instinctively let out the breath he was holding even though John remained taut for several more moments before relaxing himself.

Still, nothing was said and his brother's hand didn't move from his mouth until there was another distant thud, sounding disturbingly final. Only then did John release him, rolling off of his back and presumably sitting up. Scott still couldn't see.

"We have to get out of here," John told him, still quietly. "Can you stand?"

Scott tried to push himself up, only for his arms to tremble and buckle, sending him back to the floor. With a grunt of frustration, and trying to ignore the agitated hammers in his head, he tried again. That time, hands caught his arms and he felt John pull him to his feet.

"What happened?" he grunted as his arm was dragged over John's shoulders, one hand settling on his waist and long fingers catching his wrist to secure him.

"Extremists," his brother told him. "Making a statement no doubt." Scott groaned - the Global Conflict might have been over for a decade and change, but there were still pockets of unrest. John made an agreeing noise, and then Scott was being tugged forwards, stumbling over debris he couldn't see.

"Anyone turning the lights on any time soon?" he muttered as his toe hit a particularly stubborn piece of something and pain jolted up his leg.

"You took a hard hit to the head," John replied. "We need to get to a hospital."

"What?"

That couldn't be right. He… he couldn't be blind. If he was blind, then… then…

"Scott, I need you to breathe," his brother snapped. "Don't pass out on me."

"I can't see, John." His voice was high, cutting painfully through the throbbing, and he felt the hand on his waist tighten its hold. "I- I can't-"

"Panicking won't help." John's voice was steady. "It's probably just the blood in your eyes."

Blood?

Scott brought the hand not slung across John's shoulder up to his head, and ow, that was a pain epicentre flaring up. Black turned to white for a moment and he staggered.

"Scott." John brought them to a stop for a moment. "Don't touch it. There's a triage centre being set up in the street; we'll get there and they can look you over."

"What about you?" He couldn't see, didn't know if John was hurt, too. He didn't sound hurt, but John had a deadly poker face.

"Couple of scratches but nothing a band-aid won't fix," John told him. "I'm not the one that got hit by a chunk of the bar when it went flying. Come on, we're almost there."

Scott was pulled forwards again, stumbling over the carnage that seemed to be the remains of the bar they'd been in, until John guided him to sit on what felt like a bar stool with a missing leg.

He didn't let go, which told Scott more about his mental state than anything else.

Then again, as cool, unfamiliar fingers probed at his head and his vision whited out again, Scott realised it was probably also to make sure he didn't topple off the precarious seat.

"Looks worse than it is," an unfamiliar voice proclaimed. "You'll need a hospital anyway, but he'll be fine. Your boyfriend's got a hard head."

John stuttered something in response, as uncomfortable as ever talking to strangers, but Scott was fairly sure it was supposed to be a correction. An agreement seemed to be in the garbled words as well, which had Scott scowling until his head told him extreme facial expressions weren't allowed.

"The ambulances should be here soon," the voice continued, seemingly unconcerned with John's attempts to communicate. "Not much we can do until then, so just keep hold of him and don't let him pass out."

"Head hurts too much for that," Scott grumbled, finding himself leaning against where John was presumably still standing beside him. "A nap would be nice, though."

"Scott." John didn't sound amused, if the warning tone was anything to go by.

"I know," he groaned. "Well, this wasn't the night out I'd planned."

That, at least, got a reluctant chuckle from his brother. "I'd be worried if you had planned this, Scotty. Next time you're going out to extremist targets, leave me at home."

"Next time, I don't want to be here either." He closed his eyes, figuring if that he was going to be hopefully only temporarily blinded he might as well make it seem like a choice, and slumped further into his brother's side. "This sucks."

Long, slender fingers carded gently though his hair, away from the source of the pain. "Agreed."

I believe I'm now done re-archiving the old Behind the Scenes ficlets, so everything from this fic on will be archived here for the first time!

This one was fun to write - it could have gone either way, but I'm very happy with the route it took in the end :D

Thanks for reading!
Tsari