Ok this is actually the product of two commutes and I posted a little of it before, but the unedited sprint write rule applies to the latter half. I might tidy it up later, it’s a bit rambling… but as it’s based on the thoughts of an inexperienced parent in the middle of the night maybe that’s appropriate!
It’s Scott’s side of this story and is meant to mirror it but forgive me if I’ve got events a bit in the wrong order…
❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙
Scott’s body made it to the hallway before he was even aware he was awake. He skidded to a halt and stood for a moment, one eye still glued shut with sleep, but breathing fast, heart pounding and tried to work out what had activated his internal alarm. He rubbed his face hard and listened intently.
Ok… there were no unusual sounds right now. What had it been?
He staggered to the top of the stairs, was someone down there? He was sure he’d locked up properly but… He held his breath… no noises came from down there… and surely a burglar couldn’t remain that quiet for long.
Just as well. His left foot was half asleep, his elbow was vigorously objecting to the way he’d bounced off the doorframe and pretty much everything was still blurry… he wasn’t going to be much use against an intruder right now. He rubbed his face. Then his elbow. Then his foot.
Maybe it had just been a dream?
Alright. He’d check everyone was alright then go and collapse into bed again.
Heart still pounding furiously he hobbled down the corridor, irritably shaking the tingly foot every other step. And then he heard it…
A whimper.
His eyes widened in realisation. Gordon had been ill! Idiot, Tracy! Should have thought of that first. He hurried towards the room the Tinies shared and slapped Virgil’s door as he passed. He didn’t know what time the kid had last been dosed up as Virg had been the one keeping track.
Taking a breath and listening at the door he could hear quiet sobs and his heart squeezed painfully.
Gently pushing the door ajar his right eye was accosted by a yellow nightlight glow while the left was warmed by red. He picked his way through discarded toys and books, smothering a yelp when his bare toes found something distinctly slimy… what on Earth?! Best not to think about it. That was tomorrow’s problem.
But what was tonight’s problem? Scott stood for a moment in the orangey no-man’s land and held his breath, listening for two sets of lungs in action. The inhabitant of the yellow zone appeared to be sleeping peacefully, if snoring in a somewhat congested fashion. The other was also breathing… very fast. VERY fast. Alan!!
In his haste he became entangled in floor-duvet and only narrowly avoided crippling himself on a rogue Lego brick hidden beneath, but somehow Scott managed to reach the bed without permanent injury and lower himself carefully to sit beside the sweaty, shaking ball of sadness.
What now? Was he asleep? Was it nightmares or night terrors? Should he wake him or would that make it worse? He vaguely recalled someone saying something about not waking a kid with night terrors but how was he supposed to know the difference?! He dithered for a few seconds - why was there nothing on this any of the parenting books he’d frantically skimmed since finding himself standing in for a lost mother and an absent father? Did people just figure this stuff out or was he missing some kind of instinct that should make him certain of what to do?
Alan flinched and sobbed and Scott couldn’t bear it anymore. Throwing caution to the wind, he scooped his brother into his arms and rocked him and murmured reassuring nonsense. This seemed to have been the right call because Alan clung to him and started yammering away incoherently. After a brief panic about brain damage Scott identified the problem with his little brother’s diction and removed the drool and snot coated teddy from his mouth. Ugh. Must remember to wash that, it was probably harbouring multiple diseases.
Not that Alan was making a huge amount more sense now he was able to pronounce consonants. Scott listened hard and racked his brain as to what the kid could possibly be talking about… he was being bitten? Did they have bedbugs? Fleas? Spiders? Alligators?
Wait, what?
Yes Alan was wailing about alligators and clutching his shins and suddenly Scott was a little kid again, trying and failing not to cry on his Mom as she explained his legs weren’t being stabbed by invisible knives. Growing pains. That must be it. Ok. He had a probable diagnosis but what on earth did he do about it? He took hold of Alan’s cold, skinny little legs and rubbed them, hoping the sensation would be a distraction if nothing else. Maybe if he warmed them up… hang on…
Warmth! Yes that was it!
Right on cue, Virgil poked his bleary face around the door and Scott mouthed instructions at him. It took four attempts but finally he seemed to cotton on and disappeared again.
In the meantime, Scott wrapped himself around Alan and hummed Mom’s lullaby - the only thing he could ever think of in times of crisis and luckily a tune that Alan and Gordon seemed to be soothed by. One of the many little ways she was still with them. He glanced up at the photograph of her the Tinies had in pride of place in the middle of the wall… in the neutral zone. The one thing they shared.
Unseen, he nodded a greeting and did his best to return her ever-present smile.
An amount of time passed in which Scott’s eyes grew heavy and he mildly head-butted his little brother a couple of times. Finally the cavalry known as Virg appeared with Calpol, a warmed wheat bag and a distinctly more wakeful expression. Caffeine had clearly been applied. Scott should probably do something about that particular habit of his brother’s but figured there were worse things he could be getting into so settled for rolling his eyes. Virgil had raised his eyebrows with a clear offer but Scott shook his head. He had a couple of hours before he needed to get up and sort out breakfasts and school bags so he hoped maybe he could catch a little bit of shut eye before then.
Pain killers and warmth applied, Virgil repeated his vanishing act. Scott grabbed the duvet off the floor, giving it a shake to even out the lumpy filling and, at the expression on Alan’s face made a show of a thorough check for gators or monsters or whatever he was worried about. Reassurance delivered he dragged the covers over the both of them and managed maybe two lines of the lullaby before Alan was snoring softly.
Suddenly wide awake, Scott lay there with his mind overflowing with anxiety. He worried about Alan losing sleep, about Gordy’s ear infection. He worried about whether they had enough bread left for sandwiches. About whether Virgil was doing terrible things to himself with all the coffee. He worried about John’s friendship troubles and how Scott could help when he refused to talk about it. He worried about how on earth he was supposed to manage any of this when he hadn’t the first clue how to be a proper grown up.
Forcing himself to breathe slowly he squinted up at Mom’s photo and she grinned down at him through the orange haze. He did his best to smile back and then he closed his eyes and hummed the lullaby to himself. She had believed in him so he tried to believe in himself. Maybe he’d just do his best to copy what she had done and hopefully… hopefully he wouldn’t go too far wrong.
