Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.
A fic inspired by Gumnut's tumblr challenge FabFiveFeb2020 - Week 4: Scott. Prompts used: "what do you mean?", apple, glow, crease
"Scott, stop!" Virgil's voice was sharp and urgent. Scott stopped, unsure of the reasoning but trusting his brother. The rescue control voice was one all of them had mastered through necessity, and one they'd all learnt to heed – if only for a moment.
A quick scan of the area revealed nothing wrong. Nothing was in imminent danger of collapse, ignition or full blown explosion. Perhaps Virgil had seen something outside of his field of vision, but Thunderbird Two's pilot would handle that – of that, Scott had absolute faith.
He continued his advance.
"Oh for- Scott!" Strong arms wrapped around him from behind, immobilising him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Scott attempted to turn to face his brother, but Virgil had a powerful grip. He made do with craning his neck awkwardly.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "I'm just getting a drink." The fridge he had just managed to open before Virgil interrupted him bathed him in a cool glow, but all he really cared about was the carton of apple juice he'd been about to reach for.
Virgil's brow was furrowed, the scar on the bridge of his nose almost swallowed by the resulting crease.
"That's what the bell is for," he all but growled. "You don't have to ring it as constantly as Gordon, but you are supposed to use it!"
The bell in question was abandoned upstairs by the sofa Scott had been bundled up on by overreacting younger brothers several hours earlier before they'd gone on a mission without him. He'd heard Thunderbird Two return, but he'd at least hoped he would be able to fetch the drink before they left the hangar.
"It's just a drink, Virgil," he pointed out. Virgil did not seem pacified.
"Back upstairs with you," he said instead. Scott realised what was about to happen a split second before it did, but his brother was strong and it was the inevitable, if infuriating, conclusion as he ended up bridal-style in his middle brother's arms.
"Virgil!" he protested, his crutches clattering to the floor as the sudden change in orientation made him lose his grip.
"If you don't stay on that couch this time you're being put back in the med bay," his brother threatened. Scott glared, but Virgil was undeterred as he walked away from the fridge and Scott's desired apple juice, and back up the stairs to the den where three unimpressed younger brothers were waiting.
"John?" he asked, blinking and waiting for his immediate brother's form to float around as Five's lack of gravity shifted his holographic form. It didn't happen; instead John took a step forwards and almost face-planted the sofa as his boot caught on a crease of discarded blanket on the floor. Alan was quick to catch him. "What are you doing here?"
Turquoise eyes regarded him reproachfully as John found his feet again.
"You clearly can't be trusted to look after yourself," he said scathingly. "Nor will you listen to people telling you to stay put." Scott vaguely recalled his holographic form complaining at him earlier, when he'd left the sofa in his quest for apple juice. "So the logical solution is to ensure you are supervised in person at all times, and Grandma and Kayo are away visiting Lady Penelope."
"I can look after myself just fine," Scott snapped as Virgil finally put him down. Gordon pounced almost immediately, wrapping the discarded blankets back around him before replacing the bell in easy arm's reach with a too-big grin. Scott glared at it.
"Your leg is broken," Virgil reminded him. "You need to take it easy, not put any weight on it, and let it heal."
Scott sighed.
"At least give me my tablet," he said, wrestling with Gordon's tightly wrapped blankets until he worked an arm free. John's raised eyebrow spoke volumes even before his brother spoke.
"No. You have the tv for entertainment. Or books."
Alan had been most helpful in amassing a pile Scott doubted he'd touch.
"Downtime means downtime, Scott," Virgil added. "No paperwork, no reports."
"You have The Bell!" Gordon reminded him, gesturing wildly in the direction of the small, irritating thing. "That means you get to do absolutely nothing!"
Scott didn't want to do nothing. It was bad enough being slowed down by a broken leg – he refused to let it stop him all together.
"It's my leg, not my head," he complained.
"Scott." Virgil sounded a little like a dying cat. "For once in your life, would you just take it easy?"
"I don't have time to take it easy, Virgil!" he snapped, before clamping his jaw shut. Four little brothers looked at him, varying from confusion to something too much like pity for Scott's liking.
Gordon moved first, because of course he did. Scott might be the eldest, but Gordon had a hunger for being first that none of their other siblings could rival, and he found himself with blond hair in his mouth as one of Gordon's infamous squid hugs targeted him.
Squid hugs were unlike bear hugs. Bear hugs were warm and strong. Squid hugs were tight and unpredictable. Even Scott with years of experience and big brother instincts could rarely anticipate one, and this was no exception.
"Gordon!" he spluttered, spitting hair out of his mouth ineffectually. Deceptively thin arms gripped like a vice – or a many tentacled creature, despite Gordon's regular human number of limbs – and Gordon lifted his head to grin at him.
"Yes, bro?"
"You-" Scott's attempts to tell him to get off were interrupted by Alan, the youngest Tracy supporting the squid hug with the limpet hug – similar, except without the illusion of many limbs. "Alan!"
His brothers were laughing. All four of them, including John, who was out of sight behind their youngest brothers and hopefully not losing a battle with gravity again. Scott craned his neck past blond hair to try and check. Ginger hair was visible next to black, proof that John was still on his feet. Scott relaxed slightly.
"You do have time," Gordon said after a moment, his hug placing his face so close to Scott's that all he could see was the brown blur of his eyes. "We're going to make sure of it."
"You always look after us, Scott," Alan chipped in, nuzzling his head somewhere in the region of Scott's lower chest – Alan's favourite place to rest his head during a hug. "So we're going to look after you."
"That's right," Virgil agreed, a warm hand coming to rest on his shoulder.
Scott might be the eldest, but with all of his younger brothers ganging up on him while he was injured, he was facing a losing battle and knew it.
"You don't have to," he protested, still unwilling to go down without a fight. John laughed, somewhere behind Virgil but out of Scott's line of vision.
"We want to." Alan's voice was muffled against his shirt, before he raised his head to look at Scott with adoration-filled blue eyes.
There wasn't really a response to that, so Scott closed his eyes while he waited for his three youngest brothers to let go of him.
It was a crash from the kitchen that startled them into releasing him, all of them looking towards the stairs in mild concern. Scott himself attempted to jump out of the sofa to investigate until Virgil pinned him back down.
"Stay," the dark-haired man said firmly, even as Alan scrambled to his feet and scampered in the direction of the stairs.
John was nowhere to be seen, and Scott quickly put two and two together to conclude that the ginger had either forgotten gravity's effect on things, or had lost another battle with the force. He hoped it was the former – broken glasses were always preferable to broken bones – but unable to check there was little he could do except wait and stew in concern.
Gordon readjusted his blankets before flopping dramatically onto the sofa next to his and swiping the tv remote.
"If you won't pick something, I will," he declared before the too-familiar opening of Into the Unknown started playing. Scott rolled his eyes, sharing a long-suffering glance with Virgil.
"Really?" Alan whined, catching Scott's attention. His youngest brother was carrying a plate of what looked like apple pie – goodness knew where that had come from; Scott thought he'd have known if any of that was in the kitchen – while John walked carefully a step behind him, a glass of the much sought after apple juice tightly held in his hands.
He looked unhurt, Scott reassured himself.
"He forgot plates don't float on Earth," Alan confirmed, as John rolled his eyes and muttered something disparaging about gravity. "No harm done, except to another of our plates."
Gordon's hard work was ruined as Virgil helped Scott into more of a reclining position than his previous laying down, blankets falling away. He eagerly accepted the pie – no broken bones were going to dampen his adoration for his favourite food – and knocked back the juice instantaneously as John handed it over.
Better late than never, he supposed. And it was nicer to drink in company rather than alone.
Thanks for reading!
Tsari