Waterfowl asks: Whumpay 28 - Traumatic Touch Aversion

Characters: Scott, Virgil, Jeff

Warnings: PTSD, Stabbing

The sight of Scott sitting in the rocking chair on the veranda lifted Virgil's heart immensely. It was a sight he feared he'd never see again, and he revelled in just being able to watch his eldest brother.

The sight of Scott sitting in the rocking chair on the back porch make Virgil's heart sink. It was a sight he hated. His eldest brother looked so small and vulnerable. So lost. So alone.

His fingers itched to fold Scott into one of his signature bear hugs.

The last time Scott had been home he'd done exactly that, squeezing him with everything he had, even lifting the lanky noodle off the ground, to Scott's delight. There had been appreciative words about Virgil's newfound love of weightlifting and the inevitable comparison of lean air force muscle to solid packed muscle.

Now Virgil hated how he was big and muscly whereas Scott was thin to the point of emancipation. Even after all the time he'd been in hospital recovering. At the time of Scott's rescue Virgil had been angry that their Dad had refused to let him go visit Scott at the military hospital. Now – six months later – Scott looked damn awful and Virgil was glad Dad had put his foot down.

Virgil would not have survived seeing Scott fresh from the hell of Bereznik.

He was barely surviving now.

Scott was rocking gently, eyes on the horizon as usual. The thick baby-blue blanket wrapped around his shoulders made Virgil's skin prickle – it was the height of summer in Kansas and he felt hot even in his tee and shorts combo, hot enough to discard his usual plaid shirt – but Scott was cold, even from the kitchen window Virgil could see the occasional shiver.

The impulse to help was overwhelming. Virgil felt like he was drowning in the need to comfort, to hold Scott close and never, ever let him go out in the world again. He'd give up Boston and engineering and art and everything – even the island and their Dad's vision – and live here with Scott on the farm for the rest of their lives.

But Dad had been adamant. Scott would spend some months here recuperating until he was well enough to fly the distance to their new home, there was no reason for Virgil to give up his degree. The only reason why Virgil had been allowed to stay at all was because it was summer break. The argument about the next year, the last year – an additional year for another notch on his engineering belt – had yet to be had.

And Scott – Scott couldn't cope with touch of any description other than with their Father in the security of his room. Virgil had done some research when Dad had explained before bringing Scott home that Virgil would have to learn to not touch his brother. Haphephobia, although in Scott's case there was good reason for the fear. Even the thought that there might be touch had been enough for the startled-deer-eyes and the flight impulse to engage.

Virgil finished making lunch. A light meal of chicken salad with a glass of fortified milk for Scott, a glass of orange for himself and a salad in the fridge for their Dad who was late getting back dur to traffic. Scott used to have water with his meals but he didn't anymore, and all his milk was fortified to help build him up. Scott hated it but drank it with the minimal of complaints.

Lunch was placed on the small table on the veranda. Virgil placed the cups down with a clutter of noise so Scott would know. Telegraphing his every move loudly enough so it wouldn't startle his brother felt so weird, but after the first time he'd put down lunch and Scott had started and was halfway through the wood at the bottom of the garden before Virgil had even registered that he'd gone, he'd been far more careful to make appropriate noise.

He hoped he'd never have to witness Scott's face like that again. But he kinda knew he would…

Scraping the chair back, Virgil sat and waited for Scott to realise he was here. It took longer than it should have but eventually Scott tore his eyes away from the sky and glanced at the table. The grimace was for the meal, not for Virgil – he knew that – but it hurt just the same.

It took far too long for Scott to stand, pull the blanket tight and amble over. Virgil's leg jigged with the effort it took to not get up and help, and it took even more effort for him to stop once Scott sat down.

His brother shot him a small smile before picking up the fork and taking a small bite. Virgil released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and tucked into his own.

They ate in companiable silence until Virgil had finished and Scott had eaten almost a quarter of his, which was more than usual, but the cutlery across the plate said that he'd had enough.

'If you've finished I'll clear the table.'

'Yeah, I'm done. Thanks, Virg.'

Virgil took the plates out to the kitchen and dumped them into the sink, watching as Scott slumped a little over the table, the blanket falling from his shoulders. He finished up, dried his hands and headed back outside, picking up the blanket and placing it over Scott's shoulders, giving them a squeeze as he did.

Scott stiffened.

Hands on his shoulders. Holding him in place. That familiar squeeze…

He slowly pulled the knife he hadn't used closer and waited. The squeeze would let up and it would give Scott a small window of attack before he'd be dragged back into interrogation.

The hands left and Scott spun on the chair burying the knife into the abdomen of the guard as hard as he could. Which wasn't hard enough to do much damage, he knew, so Scott wasted no time in pushing the man to the floor as hard as he could and, jumping the fence, headed for the treeline. He could find somewhere to hide there.

As Virgil fell back only one thought went through his mind. Oh crap…I forgot he can't handle touch…Scott'll never forgive himself...

But the thought was cut off abruptly as his head collided with the floor and he knew no more.

Jeff was whistling as he opened the door. The meeting had gone well but he'd been caught in traffic on the way back. He'd called Virgil and said he'd be late and to go ahead and eat without him, but the day was fine, the sky was clear and his kids were either home or about to be. Compared with six months ago life was good. They were finally picking up the pieces.

He closed the door and made his way directly to the kitchen, grabbing the salad and a knife and fork on his way to the back porch where he knew Scott and Virgil would be.

The plate fell from his hands as he took in the sight of Virgil on his back, a knife sticking up out of his belly, and no sign of Scott.