#earth sky
Whump warning + sleep paralysis
-o-o-o-
“Why do you do this?”
The voice was familiar, but not. Or rather, it was a familiar voice that was warped by pain, hoarse and hurting.
“Why do you have to push just that little bit more?”
And it was quiet, little more than a whisper in the dark.
Scott shunned it and skittered away. It hurt to hear the hurt in that voice.
“It’s Dad.” The words were barely there and Scott had to strain to hear it. “I know it’s Dad. And sometimes I hate him for it. Because of what he does to you.”
That forced his attention. Hate Dad? How could the voice possibly hate Dad? The voice loved Dad as much as Scott did. So, so much.
“I know you won’t listen. Probably won’t even understand. Deny it if you do.” A sigh. “But you are scaring the shit out of me, Scott. You’re doing all of this for Dad as if he is some goddamned messiah or something. And each time, you’re risking more.” There was a strangled sound. “I’m trying to keep up…god, I am trying…to keep one step ahead of you, but I can only save you so many times and then one day…”
A rustle of fabric.
“Please don’t do this to me.” That was almost a sob and it had Scott clawing at the darkness, desperate to reach his brother and provide the reassurance needed.
But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. His brother needed him, but he couldn’t respond.
The voice stopped after that for a long time. There was sound, but it was just more fabric and muffled breath that was more distress than anything else.
It made Scott struggle harder. What happened? Why couldn’t he move?
What had upset Virgil? Because it was Virgil sitting beside him. Each shaky breath he heard, proved that.
Virgil, please.
“I can’t do this without you, Scott. I don’t want to.” Another wretched breath. “Please…stop. Please.”
Scott realised he had a hand, because suddenly the grip on it was tight. Rough calluses, familiar with warmth, were clinging to him.
He tried to grip in return, but nothing.
What the hell was wrong with him?!
Hair brushed his fingertips. It was soft and slightly damp, a familiar texture lacking the usual hair product. It was enough information for Scott to visualise his brother post-shower, hair drying into the soft curls Virgil hid from the world.
His forehead touched to the back of Scott’s fingers.
Virgil.
Scott realised he must have been injured. Probably a rescue. What rescue was information he could not recall, but the thought did prompt him to locate the rest of his body.
He encountered medicated fog. There was muffled pain in his left leg. Hell, all down his left side.
Virgil was on his right.
Virgil was always on his right.
John on his left.
His younger brothers behind.
He was the eldest. Their leader.
But not right now.
Right now, chances were he was in hospital, injured, and more a source of worry for his family than anything else.
And he still couldn’t move. Couldn’t reach out to his brother to reassure him that everything was going to be okay.
“You know, sometimes I wonder what Dad said or did to you that inspired such loyalty and sacrifice. What set you on this hell-bent mission to be so much like the great Jeff Tracy.” A rough swallow. “He’s Dad, Scott. Our father. He’s not you and you’re not him. You will never be him!” The words were spat out. “I don’t want you to be him! I want you to be you.” An exhaled breath. “I want you to be happy.” An inconsolable sound. “To be safe.”
The fingers wrapped around his twitched a little tighter.
“Mr Tracy!”
Scott startled. But it became immediately obvious that the Tracy being referred to was Virgil as soft shoes hurried over.
“You are not supposed to be up. You put too much weight on that injury and you could do further damage.”
There was a groan from the side of the bed. “I just need to sit with my brother.”
“Your brother is healing and no doubt would not want you injuring yourself further on his behalf.”
“Please…”
The pain in Virgil’s voice had Scott clawing at the darkness.
“Sir, the doctors were adamant, not to mention your grandmother. You are lucky to be alive and they would like to keep you that way. Now back to bed.”
The hands holding Scott’s tightened enough that if it wasn’t for whatever medication was in his system, he’d be feeling that enough to yell. His fingers were rammed up against that forehead again, hair teasing their very tips.
Virgil.
He did his best to return that grip, to let Virgil know he was heard. To reassure a distressed little brother. But nothing…nothing! He wanted to scream. It was his job to look after his brothers and being able to hear but unable to help was the stuff of nightmares.
“Mr Tracy, your brother is very ill, but he is improving. He will get better. Please, look after yourself, if not for you, then for him.”
There was hot breath against the back of Scott’s arm as the smallest of whimpers tickled the hairs on his forearm.
And then his hand was gently placed back on the sheet and let go.
No.
Don’t leave me.
The thought escaped before he could countermand it.
Virgil was obviously injured. The groan at the scrape of a chair and hurried footsteps told him that much. The nurse muttered gentle encouragement as his brother grunted with obvious effort.
A bed creaked.
Virgil was safer in bed.
But Scott was left by himself, unable to move or speak or even open his eyes, and the combination of fear for his brother and fear for himself and the inability to do anything for either of them set his heart racing. Panic began to set in.
“Rest, Mr Tracy. Everything will feel better for sleep.”
Soft footfalls stepped efficiently on linoleum, and came closer to Scott. His heart thudded in his ears.
There was a tug at his left arm and a soft tut-tut from the nurse.
Something cold crawled up his arm and wrapped around his heart and his thoughts, disconnecting them. He lost the feeling in everything and oblivion took him.
-o-o-o-
Oh Virg… God, Nutty.
This is such powerful stuff. Every punch of emotion hitting Scott hit me as well, right in the chest. And it’s such a gorgeous hurt. Thankyou for the wonderful feels.
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