Scott would never say that he’s pleased a forest fire got a little too close to a population centre than the local services could cope with, and he’s very displeased that both Gordon and Virgil are out of action for the next week due to minor injuries, and he doesn’t like the amount of grumbling he’s had to put up with about the changes to the rosta to arrange cover for them. But there is a slight spark of joy that he’s been working closely with John for the last three days - physically closely, of course, as John is always involved in an operation. Even if he’s not needed he makes himself involved.
But it’s different to be launching together, moving rubble together, giving a congratulatory pat on the shoulder for a job well done. It reminds him of doing chores together as kids, before International Rescue and their own life goals took up so much of their time, and they made a simple task last all day because they didn’t want to risk getting another (worse) job when they were finished. Now he can only squeeze a few minutes socialising when John is down on mandated rest shifts, and that’s just not the same.
Speaking of which, it was probably time for a break; the fire was under control and most people had evacuated. He closes the door of the home he’s just checked, and marks it clear, looking around for his brother.
“John!” He calls and waves, seeing the bright blue suit several houses over where he’d been doing his share of the checks. Scott breaks into a light jog to get over there, where John is just standing, facing out into the street. He doesn’t seem to have heard him. Maybe on comms with someone?
Getting closer can see that no, John is literally just standing, not talking, not searching, just standing, arms limp at his sides.
“John, what’s wr -” Scott cuts himself off with a gasp. “Is that blood?” It’s coated both his gloves, fresh and wet, and splashed across his body, making the fresh blue into an obscene purple.
He tries to catch John’s attention and notes the patch of hair densely matted with blood: John seems out of it, gaze glassy and staring into the middle distance but even a freely flowing head shouldn’t account for his much blood.
“John.” Scott grabs his brother's shoulders, and the touch seems to jolt him to something close to alertness – he still looks fuzzy, but at least he’s meeting Scott’s eyes now. “How much of this blood is yours?”
John’s reply comes slowly, and slightly slurred. “I - I don’t know.” The colour drains from his face in a flash, and Scott just barely managed to catch him before he hits the floor.
thank you for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial <3
