Scott didn't know what he was supposed to do now he was here, if he was honest. He was blind, and his brother deaf.
It like some cruel and sick joke, the one person he wanted to talk to, he couldn't, and he wasn't sure he would ever really be able to again.
For now, though, he clung to his brother's shirt while Virgil hummed for him.
Part of him was pleased Virgil couldn't hear him—it meant he could bare his soul to someone without judgment. It was selfish, and he hated himself for it, but he had to. Needed to.
He could tell Virgil he was sorry, beg for forgiveness, tell him how much he hated him for still being able to see. All of it, and Virgil lay there oblivious, and if he wasn't, he never said anything about it.
They could all lip read to some level, Virgil was, by a miracle, pretty good at it, so communication shouldn't be too hard, in theory.
It didn't seem right for what Scott had to tell him though.
Virgil knew that technically his heart had stopped for almost two minutes due to an adrenaline surge. He had died and was now suffering for that; though he would get better, it was going to suck for a while. What Scott hadn't worked out how to tell him was what exactly had caused that surge.
He hadn't worked out how to tell that John had tried to kill him. That their brother had planned this, stolen the supplies and then actively pushed the chemicals into his system and lied to them all about what had happened. It just didn't seem like something you just dropped on someone between small talk. Not telling him, though, was eating at Scott, and in the end, the silence and waiting got too much.
He tapped at his brother. 'Virg?' And then he waited for the response. 'Virgie?'
'Scooter?'
Taking a deep, steadying breath, he twisted the sheets between his fingers, blinking unseeingly at them.
'I've got something I need to tell you…'