Virgil felt like he was walking to his execution. The hospital, eerily quiet, bearing disapproving witness as he reached Scott's room. Two Spectrum Color Officer guarded the door.

The one in Red, (Captain Scarlet, Virgil's memory supplied) looked straight ahead. As if Virgil was nothing.

The one in Bright Blue (Ultramarine) eyed him with sneer and a dubious eyebrow; Virgil was just a cockroach he dearly wanted to stomp.

Scarlet, still not looking at him, finally ordered:

"Go in. They're expecting you."

It took all of Virgil's self-control to not scurry in like a frightened pup.

And he wanted to run right back out when he met Scott's gelid eyes. He'd seen that glare directed at many people, but it had never been leveled at him before. Virgil's throat twitched and he clamped his mouth shut, fighting the rolling, rising urge to scream and hide.

Scott was an ancient, judging god and Virgil was little more than a penitent awaiting judgment.

"Scott, stop trying to squish Virgil with your mind," a tired, affectionate voice shook Virgil out of his freeze, and, as Scott's gaze shifted from icy to gentle, they both looked at the other person in the room. Conrad looked awful, but weirdly content as well, seated, leaning heavily against the side of the bed, his hand covered by Scott's, "just let him see you breathing, read your charts, and then he can leave."

Virgil felt the protest rising in his chest like a hawk spreading its wings, but was caught again in the ice of Scott's eyes, and he wobbled over to examine Scott.

Which was easier said than done.

Where once Virgil would have had no problem pointing and prodding his big brother to make sure Scott wasn't downplaying any injuries, now he if he got too close Scott's lips would start to curl into snarl. Virgil had no doubt Scott would attempt to swat at him if he tried to touch anything, regardless of the new damage it would wreak on himself. Still what Virgil could see made him ill. The worst being Scott's right arm and leg were encased in the sterile dressings and further encased in the medical exo-skeleton the Mechanic had built almost over night to help save those limbs.

Virgil choked down the urge to vomit as he read the chart and the records, which had immediately forbidden him after the fact by Conrad (who apparently did know his brother better than him and wasn't that galling).

Virgil had come within a whisker's breath of killing his brother.

"Happy with your handy work?" Scott's low pain-roughened voice almost startled Virgil into dropping the med-pad, "now get out, Virgil."

For moment Virgil almost balked at the order.

"Three years old, Virgil, she's three years old, and she'll be four next week, thank god," Scott growled, Conrad rising in case he had to physically hold his husband down, "but no thanks to you for trying to crush her to death."

"Scott," Conrad said sharply, firmly settling Scott before directing a pitying gaze at Virgil, "it's time for you go, Virgil."

Cowed,Virgil slunk away, Scott's final words ringing in his ears.

"And don't come back."