Self Harm to Music Therapy. With thanks to Sineater and MariaShadow for all the help.

Movie-verse.

Virgil frowned at the shadow on the balcony.

John was standing out there, watching the kids in the pool as the sun set over them. This morning Grandma had given him the all-clear to stop wearing the sling and begin light physio for his shoulder. Gordon had already planned a comprehensive exercise regime.

The sound of Three returning made John turn to watch the red rocket return home, and Virgil was shocked to see his brother shudder. Stepping back to make sure John didn't see him, Virgil turned to go meet his Dad and his eldest brother in the hangar and give himself time to think over what he'd seen.

Scott had spent every second of his free time up with Five or with Alan. His whole drive had focused on helping his brothers to the best of his ability. With Alan it was easy – he needed time and chats and hugs, and Scott was more than happy to oblige. For John that wasn't so simple. He had accepted some hugs initially, particularly after the first few nights of nightmares, but then he went back to being John. So the next best thing Scott could do for him was to fix his 'bird.

The past four months were the hardest as they reorientated around themselves and their island and their ships. And Alan, Fermat and TinTIn, although the Kyranos had taken a holiday and Brains and Fermat had spent most of their time in the lab or up on Five with Scott and Jeff.

International Rescue had almost killed them all and it took longer than any of them had thought it would to come to terms with it.

Virgil could see now that John had not come to terms with it anywhere near as much as they thought he had. But Virgil also knew that his brother needed more time and he would give it to him before he said anything. But he would be watching.

Time.

Time was a funny thing. It wasn't as straightforward as people thought. That quote from Dr Who came to John's mind. 'A big ball of wibbly wobbly, time-y wimey…stuff'. It certainly felt like that to him.

One minute he's all set to return to Five – can't wait in fact. The next the mere thought of being "up there" feels him with dread and John can't breathe…he can't, he can't, he can't do this!

Thunderbird Five is John's life! He cannot believe that he's even contemplating not returning to her, to space. To his whole being.

But.

But..

But…

John clutched his shoulder as a pain tore through it. At the same time his heart began to race. His legs gave way and he groped for the nearest chair. How he got himself into it John had no idea.

He lost time.

John became aware of a hand rubbing gentle circles on his back as he tried hard to suck in a breath. Somehow the air was too thick and he couldn't – he couldn't breathe…which in turn was causing him to shake violently.

'John. You're having a panic attack. I need you to breathe with me, ok?'

Virgil didn't wait for a response, he knew that John wouldn't be able to answer. Keeping his hand on John's back he used the movement to match his counting so that it would be easier for his brother to follow.

'In – two – three – four.

'Out – two – three – four.'

The mantra was carried on and on until John's breathing began to slow and then for longer, until John squeezed Virgil's hand – and when did he grab that? – and Virgil paused, swivelling down to kneel in front.

'John? You with me?'

'Ye-yeah.'

'Keep breathing with me.'

'I'm with you.'

And just like that John could breathe. With Virgil before him and the two of them alone suddenly everything was JUST TOO MUCH.

'I can't do it, Virgil.'

'Do what, John?'

'Five. I can't go back. I can't. I can't!'

'Hey, John, breathe! It's ok.'

'No! No it's not ok, Virgil! It will never be ok!'

Virgil just pulled John off the couch into a bear hug and held him tightly as John fell apart.

Eventually John pulled away and Virgil let him go. He knew John would need some time alone to process everything, and he thought long and hard about what he could do to help. He looked up as John paused in the doorway.

'Please don't say anything to Dad or Scott, Virgil. Please. Promise me.'

'I won't, I promise.'

Eleven days later Five was finished.

For those days John barely left his room. He didn't come down to eat. He didn't leave to go star gazing. Virgil had told them all that John had come down with a cold and had banned them from seeing him on the pretext that neither their Dad or Scott could afford to be ill while still travelling up every day to Five, and while he could tell that Scott was sceptical their Dad didn't even question it, not openly anyway.

But the day they came back and said Five was ready should have the happiest day of John's recent life. But when Virgil knocked and told him the news, hoping that it would help his brother, but rather than be the jolt out of his funk John actually seemed to shrink even more.

With a startling revelation Virgil realised he'd seen this before. With Scott. When Scott had been shot down over Bereznik and eventually been rescued it had taken months for him to get back into an aircraft. One was his saving grace. But it was their Dad that eventually got Scott back into a cockpit. Grandma had explained that refusing to do something he loved so much, something that was so fundamental to his being, was a form of self-harm.

Now it was John who self-harming in the same way, denying himself something that was so fundamentally part of himself.

Virgil needed time to think about how he could best help John, and with a flash of inspiration he knew just where to look. He snagged Scott before he could go and grab John and pulled him away to the den to help.

Scott, dismayed to have been oblivious to John's turmoil, was happy to help as much as he could. They had a short time before their Father became suspicious and the tinies decided to gatecrash the den. That thought made Virgil grin widely. He knew that Alan hated being called that and Gordon definitely wasn't one anymore. But they would always be the tinies to the eldest three, they just had to remember not to say that out loud in front of the pair.

With Scott's help and talents it took far less time for Virgil to get written what he had in mind. Then the two divided their tasks and synchronised their watches for after dinner.

That evening John put in an appearance at dinner and tried his best to be happy, and if anyone other than Scott and Virgil noticed well, they didn't say anything. Grandma might have frowned at the way he was pushing his food around his plate rather than eating it, but she did no more than purse her lips. Afterwards they all scattered to their various tasks. John picked up a book to pretend to read while Virgil sat at the piano and lightly ran through his finger exercises and Scott perched beside him. Their Dad sat at his desk, head bent to his work, but both boys had seen him glance at John a couple of times, throwing worried frowns at him. John didn't notice…but then he wasn't reading his book either, for all it looked like he was.

Virgil gave Scott a nod and his brother pulled out his guitar. But instead of plucking or strumming away, he began to tap on the body like a drum.

It was a regular "ba-bam" pattern and he kept it going as Virgil joined in with a sound almost like footsteps. Soon Scott switched to pick up the beat Virgil had started and the piano picked out chords.

It was one of the most discordant of sounds. Suddenly they both got faster and faster until the sound was almost just one noise, and a loud one at that. Both ignored that Jeff had stopped working and was watching them with a mouth open in shock. John wasn't too far behind.

This was like nothing Virgil had ever played or composed before.

They slowed and quietened down before the tune – if you could call it that – morphed into something else entirely.

Scott this time began to strum his guitar, the lowest sound he could manage and the lowest chord, Em, keeping the chord vibrating. Virgil joined in with a much higher pitch, almost an eerie sound, before this time he took the beat with his left hand and Scott took the tune, a tune that rattled like a die in a cup being shaken.

Once again Scott switched to the background and Virgil took up the tune – only this time the tune was familiar. It was John's favourite piece of Virgil's own composition, written for him when he was leaving for NASA.

Eventually they finished playing, and both turned to see John's reaction. The book was discarded on the floor, fallen from hands that were still in the same position. There were tears flowing freely down his face.

But he didn't say anything, and as the silence – and the tears – carried on Virgil began to fidget. Did he do the right thing? Music therapy was something he believed in wholeheartedly, and this was something he'd tailored especially for John.

Suddenly, as if he'd just realised he was late to leave, John spung up from his seat and rushed over, enveloping Virgil into a hug and reaching out to pull Scott in.

'Thank you! Thank you both so, so very much.'

'Did – did it help?'

'Yes, yes it did. How did you know?'

'You're all about the stars, John. You don't feel that you can go back up to them but that didn't mean we couldn't bring them to you, at least as best as we could.'

'You were both amazing. And you helped. I may not be ready to be back up there just yet, but the stars, they still sing to me. Thank you.'

It was a lighter John who, arm slung around Scott's shoulders, returned to his room, leaving Virgil grinning at their retreating backs.

'Virgil?'

'Yeah, Dad?'

'While I love your playing, I have to ask – what the heck was that?'

Virgil laughed, unsurprised at the question. It was pretty far out there, even for him.

'That was the sound of the stars, Dad. In particular Quasars and Pulsars.'

'Oh. Well, that was different.'

'Thanks, Dad. I think.'

This time it was Jeff's turn to laugh. He came over and perched on the stool next to his son.

'What's John talking about, not ready to be back up there?'

'I think that's a chat you should be having with John. I'd leave him until tomorrow, though. Scott's got him tonight.'

'FAB, Son. Thank you very much for looking out for him.'

'Of course.'

The sound of a Quasar: /jP2mHAFf2Pc?si=uWFNx_nAw5UlgPF1

The sound of a Pulsar: /x5BQV3WX80E?si=uXJN4jEkefL1L4d5