Thunderwhump

[kings-out-of-pocket-hell]

Shattered remains

International rescue is called as building collapsed, Scott gets caught in the second collapse

Warnings: character death, blood warning, crying, author going to be blown up soon.

——————

Scott grimaced, feeling the steel cut through him like butter, his fingers trembled as he gripped the rebar.

he gasped out a winded breath, feet just brushing the floor as blood oozed down staining the steel bar and down his legs, dripping down to the cracked floor below him, as he pratically dangled in the little air pocket he found himself in before the building collapsed

He wheezed swallowing thickly holding onto the bar, that's stabbed through his side, trying to stop himself from sliding further down, hearing the faint rumble around him as the building steadied, cloud of dust surrounding him and little flakes of concrete settling on him

"Thu-zrrt-bird one?' He heard Virgils worried tone breath through his helmet, he wheezes as blood filled his mouth and coughed splattering red on his visor

"V-virgil"

"Scott, stay with me-"

He wheezed feeling the strength in his arms loosing the fight to keep himself from sliding down the steel rod, slick with his own blood, adding to the growing puddle around the base of the rod, a slick squeltch as he inched further down the debris with a muffled gasp of pain, he blinked rapidly, gasping weakly trying to with a free hand push himself off it, with very little improvement of his situation

"John-"

"I have read on his suit Virgil. It..." He heard John voice go quiet as his pulse rushed in his ears, he knew they'll never make it to him in time, he just knew, he inhaled a shakey gurgled gasp

"Virge..." Scott swallowed what blood was trying to drown him, as his fingertips numbed, the cold slowly curling around him like a blanket

"Look-look after em y-ya hear-.." He breathed out shakely

"Scott, hold on were coming, just hold on" Scott would have smiled at desperation in his brothers tone, the bite of tears that he knew would be threatening to spill for his Virgils eyes

"John...steer em...right...dont..dont let em loose th-their way"

His fingers shook as his fingers opened Channel to all his brothers

"G-gordan...don-dont stop..jok-in...ya h-ear"

His vision clouding in

"S-tay...stay in-in schooll...Al...Alan..." his world slurred as his grip failed him and he felt his head thud, a cloud kicking up a little as he gurgled, he swallowed thickly breath raspy

"I...lo-ve y-you...all..."

Hearing a muffled choke sob from one of his brothers, a roar of emotions as the world caves in, pulling him under.

———

Virgil managed to find the remai- no...no not remains...his big brother, that was his big brother laying there in the debris.

He bled out under the collapsed building, his right side peirced with metal rebar, blood still slick around his form, staining the front of his gear into a deeper blue

Virgil snapped the bar with the jaws of his exo, lifting up Scott's form, like hes done countless times before this

Getting into Thunderbird 2, settling him down on the medical bed.

Just looking at how peacful his big brother looked, apart from the blood staining his gear blood around his mouth and dust...he just looked like he was asleep, like he would usually be when Virgil carried him to bed.

He hesitated bringing over the scanner, he knew the answer way before the scanner finished

Dead

His hands shaking as tears started falling he backed away as a sob wrecked through his chest, glancing at his blood stained hands as he dropped back pressing to the wall of thunderbird 2 hull

Hiccuping as he curled up blood stained hands over his mouth as he tried to stop the whimpers leaving his lips eyes never leaving Scott's form just laying there like he was asleep

———

John stood, tears bubbling at his eyes, he watched as Scott's vital flatlined, unable to do anything about it, he barley heard EOS worried voice, just the low flat beep in his ears, knowing his big brother was gone

His throat closed up, trying to stop the choked the sob that was threatening to break through his form, break down the walls he has around his emotions, trying to keep the mask of the collected international dispatcher everyone knew, he wiped his eyes, breathing hard, to try and keep the control, which was a vastly loosing battle, as he started to think about he did nothing and watched his big brother die

And he was powerless to stop it 

And his mask he wore shattered into a million peices as he dropped against the gravity ring curling up into a ball as choked sobs broke free

———

Gordan slid into Alan's room who blinked at him eyes wide, tears falling down his face

"He-hes alright right?"

Gordan swallowed feeling the bile bubble up, his insides twisted looking at his little brother

"Alan-"

"He-hell be here? He's joking right?" More fear flooding the youngest Tracy as he stood watching his baby brother, his own tear falling now

"G-gordan?"

Gordan breathed out a whimper, bottom lip trembling and Alan staggered over, grabbing his brother in a tight hug, Gordan pulled him closer hiding away his head in the smaller frame, feeling his knees buckling, shirt becoming soggy from Alan's crying into his chest.

Scott Tracy, was gone

And they were all left to pick up the peices he left behind

[tbwhumpfan]

Oh for cryin' out loud. This gutted me. (Weeps)

[docava-n-trix]

Uhhhh! 0www.....'m a doctor....but... think... need a doctor....ohhhh.

THE OWNER OF THIS WATCH 📉📉📉HAS TAKEN 📉📉 HARD 📉📉📉FALL OWNER.…IN.......VED....I....MIS...AP.

Helllp....Nuhhhhh.....

[tbwhumpfan]

Oh no

[docava-n-trix]

TRIX!!! SLOW DOWN GIRL!

TRIX!

[docava-n-trix]

TRIX! STOP!

[tbwhumpfan]

Upside-Down

(Issue no 51 - Whumpers-monthly)

(A Thunderbirds Are Go Virgil Tracy Whump)

“Huh-uh, huh-uh, huh-uh, huh-uh …Uhhhh!...”

I’m looking up at the ground, he thought.

“Shit,” he uttered, as the world went black.

Then, the world was bright again.

Too bright.

Virgil Tracy felt dizzy and sick to his stomach.

Because he was upside down.

“How in the hell… he mumbled to himself, "Ah. Right. Crashed the pod. Shit,”

He involuntarily gave in to the darkness once more.

The noise was deafening and it made his head pound harder as he came to.

“God, these jungle birds never stop squawking, do they?” he complained to no one. “Okay, Can’t stay like this. Can’t pass out again. Come on Virgil!”

He tilted his head towards his feet to see exactly what he was dealing with.

“Ah, for fuck’s sake,” he sighed, noting that his right ankle was twisted and tangled in a vine and is other leg was bent at the knee, hooked into a branch. Virgil’s stomach lurched and he tried to turn his head to prevent his vomit from spewing into his nostrils but he was only partially successful considering his dangling state.

“Uhhh,” he said, trying to keep his chin to his chest, “I’m fucked,”

The thought of seeing the tree branch through his leg made him heave once more but there was nothing left in his stomach to eject more than just a bit of bile and drool.

He felt around his chest for his comms only to discover that his baldric was cut to pieces, no doubt from the violence of the crash.

“Great,” he told himself. “Keeps getting better ‘n’ better,” but he did take solace in the fact that he had been in constant contact with John on this solo mission and his brothers would be on their way. But he also knew the serious consequences of hanging upside down for too long.

He couldn’t have them find him dead.

There were enough dead Tracy’s already.

He had to live – not just because he was too young to die and honestly was afraid that he would; he did not want to imagine his family’s pain.

“No dying here. Not today,”

He took the deepest, albeit most painful breath he could and tried to curl upwards toward his feet.

“Uuuurrrrhhh!” he screamed out in pain and strain. Instantly, some of his squawking avian companions flew off, startled by his bellowing – the sound of their wings echoing like thunderous clapping in the vast landscape as they took off.

“HOIST YOURSELF UP, MAN, COME ON!”

Virgil remembered his father’s words booming in his ears when he was just eleven years old.

Easier said than done, old man, he would think to himself back then.

“YOU ARE MY STRONGEST CHILD!”

Yeah, I’m a child...asshole, he would think as he glared scowling at his father. And then, the one thing he hated hearing him say came out of the man’s mouth,

“YOUR BROTHERS CAN DO IT AND THEY ARE SCRAWNIER THAN YOU! JUST A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE GORDON AND ALAN SUPASS YOU IN THIS! COME ON! PULL YOURSELF UP!”

Virgil cringed a little at the reminder of what those words did to him and to John and Scott who paled in comparison to him when it came to mass because they were taller. The words embarrassed and angered Virgil who hated the embarrassment it caused them. They were children for christsakes! Why was everything training and competition.

One minute he was too thick and stocky and the next they were too thin and weak in their father's eyes. He wanted to see them as men - or worse, as soldiers or machines and they were just boys.

There was no satisfying the man it seemed.

It was no secret to the other older two that he was not the biggest fan of their father. Virgil had many sides to his personality as did all the Tracy children, but he was the only one bold enough to show all of them, especially the softer sides of himself that tended to irk his tough and military trained father. Virgil wasn’t a pleaser like John and Scott who, being first took it upon himself to secure the man’s approval by emulating him.

Virgil loved his parents, of course, but he certainly did not idolize Jeff Tracy the way the world did. Virgil saw him for what he was – just a man as fallible as any other and he resented the pressure he placed upon their shoulders, especially after their mother’s passing. At least when she was alive she was there to buffer them from his urge to have them skip their childhood and rush headfirst into manhood.

And then, upon choosing heroism over fatherhood he blew into pieces before the eldest, raining down on him everything he was as patriarch to their family – rained them onto a nineteen-year-old who didn’t deserve to step into his father’s shoes and live his father’s life  - under the cast of a big shadow, Scott was dissolving under, cell by cell, breath by breath, step by step as each year went by.

No, Jeff Tracy wasn’t Virgil’s hero but today, he needed to remember his father’s words so that Scott, John, Gordan and Alan wouldn’t have to crumble even further.

He must not die here.

He had to hoist himself up and NOW!

With each breath more difficult to take than the last, the paramedic in him knew his lungs were beginning to compress. His vision was graying as the blood was beginning to pool in his head as he struggled to keep it as upright as he could. The thumping of his heart in his ears was a clear indication that his blood pressure was getting higher. He felt drained and weak and listening to his raspy, gurgling intakes of air frightened him.

He had to move now before he blacked out again for what could be his last and fatal time.

“HOIST YOURSELF UP, MAN! THIS IS EMBARASSING AND PATHETIC FOR SOMEONE SO STRONG!”

He replayed his father’s angry words in his head to make himself angry enough to move upward to his caught foot.

After eight bone tiring attempts, Virgil, took a breath, painfully contracted his abdominal muscles and crunched himself upwards, the vision of his thinner and more agile brothers performing the task, replaying in time with his father’s critical words. The agonizing memories made the agonizing and impossible task achievable and with a loud grunt of exhaustion and pain, in two jerky movements, he managed to grab hold of his ankle.

Sweating profusely, huffing and puffing, he felt the corners of his mouth upturn, and he chuckled a little at the accomplishment,

“Heh…I…I did it…fuckin’ did it. Fuck you, Dad ..who’s the embarrassment now?”

Wriggling and carefully adjusting his arm to hook onto his leg, Virgil sighed, hoping that the vine would continue to support his weight. In spite of the wooziness from blood loss and shock and the gory sight of his left leg, he felt better being curled upright.

With all his might he hung on to his vine secured leg humming lightly to himself, trying to think of anything that would prevent his mind from shutting down and rendering him unconscious.

“Come on guys, where are you?” he attempted to say and like a miracle, he heard the engines of big brother’s craft  approaching.

Time jumped forward from the moment he heard Thunderbird One’s engines roar when Scott was hovering beside him wearing his jetpack.

“There you are, he said gently moping his brow with a cold compress, “I need you to stay with me, Okay Virge?” Scott said with a smile that was failing to mask his concern.

“You've got yourself in quite a fix, here. And you know it's pretty bad and we’ve gotta cut the branch and we’ve gotta keep the impaled piece in place, yeah?”

“I …I know…s’okay. M’just hanging around,” he replied and tried to smile at Scott.

“Thunderbird Two is attempting humour, Thunderbird Five,”

“Copy that Thunderbird One. I heard it. Was pretty shabby too. How is he really?”

“Well, it's not great. He's in shock, blood loss, serious leg penetrating trauma and the scanner is pinging all over the place but now that I can see him in person, I think our strong man is tough. It won’t be long until Gordon and Alan cut him free from this tangle he’s got himself in,”

Virgil closed his eyes for a moment and flung them open when Scott tapped his cheek.

“No sleeping. Not just yet. As soon as you’re down and we’re in your ‘Bird, I’ll stabilize your electrolytes and hopefully your blood pressure will even off and I’ll give you something for the pain and some oxygen... take the stress off your lungs, yeah? Then  and only then can you sleep. Deal?”

"Deal?”

Virgil nodded and tried his best to focus on Scott’s face while he was cut down.

“Here, let my hand go for just a second,” Scott told him, “I’m gonna lean you onto me. Alan is on the other side of you in his jetpack  and we’re gonna hover you back to Tw0,”

“Hey Bro. Nice mess …but don’t worry we’ve got ya! You’re gonna be okay,”

Virgil chuckled a little at the youngest’s enthusiasm but was happier to hear Scott’s more reassuring tone.

“We’re gonna keep you steady while Gordon cuts the vine and then the branch. We 've got you. You're safe,”

Virgil nodded again.

“It’s gonna be a bitch so scream if you have to!”

“Really Alan?” Scott said with a hint of impatience  and exasperation. “Tell me you don’t talk to our rescuees like this,”

“What? You’re always sayin’ try and lighten the mood,”

“Urgh…. How you doing Virge?” Scott redirected his attention to his severely injured brother.

But Virgil could only manage a grunt.

“Almost there Gordon? He’s fading fast!” Scott called out.

“Yep….just a little more…yep! You’re all clear!”

The youngest and eldest gently carried their now too-pale brother to the med-bay in his craft and Scott, with Gordon took care of his injuries while Alan set about clearing up the tools and getting ready to fly Thunderbird One back to base.

John remote piloted the big green machine to the nearest hospital in Manaus, Brazil while the other two kept the patient stable.

“How did you do it, Virgil? How did you get yourself as upright as you did?”

“Dad…heard Dad…his muh..mocking…an’ fer... first t-time….it h-helped,” he whispered, before a long groaning sigh escaped his lips, his head lolling to the side.

“He’s out,” Scott mumbled, “I’m gonna put an o2 mask on him to help him breathe. He…he’s um...he's exhausted,”

Gordon noticed the change in Scott’s demeanor. The concern morphed into sadness and disappointment and perhaps even shame. He wanted to ask Scott what Virgil meant but Scott just sat beside Virgil’s bed and took his hand, eventually resting his head on it.

Moving into the cockpit, Gordon raised John,

“Hey, Virgil’s unconscious. Scott’s sitting with him so I can fly her if you want,”

“Sure, thanks Gordon,”

John sounded the way Scott looked and Gordon decided he needed to understand what was going on among the three elder brothers.

“John, what Virgil mean when  he said…

“I heard what he said,”

“So, tell me, cause Scott’s sitting there like someone stole his puppy,”

“You don’t know any of this Gordon, you didn’t know that side of Dad, so you won’t understand. You were too young,”

“I’m an adult now, John, so try me,”

John audible sighed a long deep sigh that matched the aura of his other two brothers and began to explain,

“Dad used to make us get out of tricky situations he thought we could find ourselves in and some of them were easier for Scott and me to do but Virgil …Virgil has always ben strong but he wasn’t as fast or as agile as we were and he wasn’t the greatest climber and he had a more sensitive side that he dared to show…a side that we never dared to…not to Dad. And lots of the time, Dad would try and embarrass him into doing something he wasn’t good at or struggled with and he always compared us to each other. It was …it was tough … on all of us, especially Virgil. And…”

“And?”

“And” John continued, “I guess, it was kind of ironic and kinda sad that today it took those shitty moments to get him to find what he needed to help himself survive today. It’s just…it’s bittersweet, ya know?”

Gordon scrubbed his hands over his face and took a deep breath, and sat back in the pilot's seat, wide-eyed at the shock of what he'd been told.

“I get it. I kinda know he was brutally hard on the three of you. I remember some things but not enough that it clarified anything,” Gordon started. “But even though it was a shit time and a shit thing to do to you guys, I’m glad Dad was like that in a way,”

“Yeah? How so?” John asked,

“Well, if Dad wasn’t an asshole in that way and turned your worlds upside down back then, maybe we might have found our brother hanging upside down dead today. Doesn’t make what Dad did or said right but if we can take one good thing from it, is that it was enough to make Virgil find something inside himself to turn himself right side up  until we got there. Out of a shitty thing, at least we got that and our lives weren’t tuned upside down again today cause today… we didn’t lose Bear and he’s gonna be okay. We all are,”

[stitcher001]

I finished it sooner than expected. The background is purposefully blurry so as not to distract from the central characters. Enjoy!!

[tbwhumpfan]

Still loving it. You rock 👍🏽DeeBee

[my-atlantic-inferno]

TAG: The Uninvited, 3/33

(ao3 link)

Rating: Teen and Up

Characters: Scott Tracy, John Tracy, Virgil Tracy, Gordon Tracy, Alan Tracy, Kayo Kyrano, Brains, Grandma Tracy, Wilson, Lindsey, Lucille Tracy (mentioned), Jeff Tracy (mentioned)

Summary: I love TOS/TAG with all my heart, but I really wished they'd done a TAG version of The Uninvited. Get rid of the guns and the (kinda accidental?) ethnic genocide, and it's a great ep, and the new dynamics of TAS would have only improved it. Like what do you mean your big brother has been shot down, and everyone is kinda like 'gee! wonder if he's dead or not? golly how darn frustrating'. So I decided to take matters into my own hands. And sprinkled some of my favourite fanon/headcanons in there for good measure.

Dr. Ashton Lindsey fought the urge to grab hold of the door as their colleague Dr. Fredrick Wilson drove wildly down the next sand dune. There is a reason only 17% of the population have a driver's licence, driving is dangerous!

“Slow down, Wilson!” They exclaimed finally. “You gotta treat this sand with respect.”

“Respect!” He spat back incredulously. “I hate the sight of it.”

Wilson kept accelerating. Lindsey remembered learning about ‘road rage’ in school and wondered frantically if one can have ‘road rage’ without having an actual road.

“Stop the truck before you kill us!”

If they both hadn’t been wearing sunglasses, Lindsey was sure they would have seen his eye-roll. “Sit tight. We’ve been 15 days in this desert. The sooner we’re out of it, the better. I’m fed up to the back teeth with this expedition!”

“You wanted to come on the trip!” Lindsey argued back incredulously.

“I thought it would be more Into the Unknown than… than whatever this is! Now shut up and hang on.”

Wilson took them up and down more sand dunes like he was trying to recreate a rollercoaster. The truck seemed like it was 60 years old, creaking at the joints and rusting away. Certainly not the finest vehicle the World Archaeological Society could come up with, but that’s what happens when most of your funding is redirected to fund the GDF’s useless psycho drones.

Suddenly, Lindsey's eyes were drawn to the only non-beige object in the landscape. A grey cylinder wobbling in the heat, mixed with a shot of red and blue. Nothing in the archives mentioned an outpost this deep into the Egyptian Sahara.

“Hey, what was that?!” They cried, craning their neck.

“What was what?” Wilson snapped.

“It just went behind that big sand dune!”

“Well, I can’t see anything. It must have been a mirage.” He raised an eyebrow over the sunglasses sceptically but still turned the wheel to head round the dune. Then, the cylinder came back into focus, becoming a grey rocket half buried in the sand. Small trails of smoke threaded into the bone-dry air.

They really couldn’t help themself. “Now who’s seeing things?!”

It was only as they crept closer that Lindsey realised what exactly they were looking at. “That’s Thunderbird One! It’s… It’s International Rescue!”

“This looks pretty bad…” Then, Wilson jerked as he spotted something else. “Look! There’s someone on the ground.”

By the time they had both made it over, the guy had got to his hands and knees but seemed unable to make it to standing.

“You’re hurt!” Wilson cried and must’ve spooked the (presumably) pilot because he flinched and fell back against the dented fuselage, revealing a large cut on his forehead.

“... I’ll survive…” He blinked slowly at them both. “Could- Could I use your comms pl… Need to- to contact…” Clearly his exhaustion won out, and the pilot’s head tipped back, blue eyes slipping closed.

Lindsey cursed. “Go get the first aid kit. We need to call International Rescue!”

[tbwhumpfan]

I too wish TAG re did this episode!

[whumpers-monthly]

Issue no 49:

Lightheaded

Your whumpee is feeling a bit lightheaded. This could be because they are sick or they just got choked or maybe they were chasing someone while injured? There are many possibilities why your whumpee could feel lightheaded.

Tag your posts with #whumpers-monthly and #issue no 49   If you make a gifset for the prompt, please also add the tag #whumpedit  

If you already made a post that fits this prompt, reblog that post and tag @whumpers-monthly

Please add the name of the whumpee and the movie or show your content is from.

[tbwhumpfan]

Here is an excerpt from a Story I posted on A03

Inside Out -DeeBee55

Chapter 2: Lightheaded

He established a routine. Up at dawn, run ten-K in the heat of the morning desert heat.

He’d shower, grab some bread or cereal and fruit and head to work at the manufactory, sometimes rolling up his sleeves and getting to work on the floor, but mostly in his tiny office that overlooked it. His lunch was promptly delivered at noon for him to nibble on and he worked until the car came for him at five. He'd venture out in the evening where he devoured dinner and made new friends who didn't give a shit who he was.

As the weeks went by, the patriarch approved his work. Praise came over virtual meetings in the form of a nod or smile or two simple words, 'carry on'. He was doing well in the man's eyes, and it felt good. The morning runs lengthened gradually from ten-K to twelve, to fourteen and eventually to a torturous, shin splitting sixteen-K in an hour and a half.

He ran because he could. He was as good at it as he was a pilot and a climber.

He could control his body - what it could do - what went into it.

He proved to himself he could go further, last longer and still get into the office for a productive day.

Fruit and grain became liquified low sugar breakfast smoothies easier to down on the drive to the water plant. Coffee was vital several times throughout the day. Lunch was delivered as usual but was seldom eaten yet he seemed to thrive on the second wind high of hunger. Dinners were still devoured but his belly filled faster and he tired easier by the end of the day. Sleep however evaded him and he spent hours staring at the ceiling wondering how he could get the patriarch’s approval ...and his love. Sometimes he'd grab the skipping rope from the coat hangar and skip like a boxer training for the main event, until lightheaded, he’d flop from exhaustion onto his bed. Other times he'd push his body to see just how many push-ups he had in him until one time he pushed so hard he woke up the next morning to find himself face down on the floor; dried blood caked on a split upper lip.

"Not good," he told himself. But, hey, the bigger picture was that the numbers at work were still good and the target date was going to be met and most of all he was in control of his regimen. He'd just have to try harder to think of ways to be in his father's favor...to win his love, later. The project lasted nearly three months, but he didn't mind. He didn't miss flying as he thought he would because he didn't miss being near to the patriarch. He didn't even miss the family. He was happy to speak to them remotely. His soul felt light and rejuvenated until everyone around him and eventually his family, grew wary of the way he looked. His assistant started to ask if he was feeling well...if there was anything he needed...if he perhaps needed time off. With the project half a month away from completion there was no way he was taking time off. Then came the observations from his family. They wanted to know why he appeared to be thinner than usual, a question the great man thankfully diverted by reminding them that he was working in the desert and it was only natural that he'd shed a few kilos in the heat and with the type of food available. But what the patriarch did not see or choose to see were the sunken dark circles around his eyes, the more prominent breast and collar bones and that his dimples and cleft looked like potholes in his drawn face.

He did not see it because he wasn't looking for it.

To make sure no one else saw who he'd become, he didn't sleep with anyone, made sure his shirts were baggy 'to keep him cool and comfortable' and put another notch in his belt and cinched in the waist so his pants didn't appear to sag. He even exchanged video calls for audio calls only, bluffing about flawed technology, which his brothers knew was rubbish, but did not challenge as they too were busy working to please their father. Like breakfast, lunches became liquid too - anything to keep his assistant from coming into his office with food she tried to make him eat. After a week of pointing to his shaker cup, she stopped trying to force solid food into him.

"Please, Mr. Tracy, please try not to disappear."

At dinner he wolfed as much of the meal as he could, his shrunken stomach filling within ten minutes of beginning to eat.

But he wasn't worried. He accepted it.

He actually … liked it.

In the bathroom he would drag his hand over the steamy mirror and look at his diminishing presence. At first, he would look at himself with concern and perhaps a little fear. Over time those feelings turned to awe and oddly enough admiration and triumph over how much he dictated what was happening to his body - what he was doing to himself. He stood before the mirror tracing along his face, his fingers lingering at the sharpness of his cheekbones, playing with the hollow of his eyes. His straight nose looked sharp on his gaunt face - his jaw and chin angular and pointy. His neck looked longer and his collarbones rose up from his shoulders like hills. He could palpitate the vertebra along the back of his neck, and his Adam's apple stuck out like a huge lump in his throat.

One night he ran his fingers over his chest, his breath increasing to the point of hyperventilation at the feel of his sternum. Shocked, he stumbled out of the bathroom. The room was spinning before him and he reeled on unsteady limbs towards his bed where he lay supine and brought a trembling hand to his torso, spindly fingers tapping ever so lightly on his skin. He felt and counted his ribs, his hand sinking onto his grumbling concave belly which oddly brought a smile to his face that grew wider when he rested his hands on his jutting hip bones. Was he really doing what he'd thought of so often but didn't know how to do?

Amazed at how pared-down his body had become, he thought of himself as sleeker and more efficient, somewhat like Thunderbird One. Hmm...crazy...but ...cool? Perhaps.

How much weight had he lost? he wondered.

He didn't care. He was disappearing and no one was really noticing.

Or so he'd thought.

Brains had reported that he had gone to check on the project and was taken aback by Scott's appearance. No longer the strong, lean muscled and toned commander, Brains was worried that in spite of his tanned skin, he appeared weak, sickly and tired.

Each day he'd touch his bones for reassurance that he was in control.

They were revealed because he made it so.

He was in control not the patriarch. He was casting his own shadow...his own frail, thin shadow but his own nonetheless.

He wondered how long he could last this way and then he shuddered as the nagging truth about his self starvation, his self-sacrificing, and his deprivation hit him.

He was committing slow suicide.

Slowly drifting away to meet his mother somewhere beyond.

And somehow, as ill and drained as he felt most days, he’d made peace with it, and he grew less scared of it each day.

Less afraid of his demise.

Death could come sooner than he anticipated.

The more his bones emerged out of his body, the more he felt like he was rising out of his troubles and flipping the proverbial bird to the man who called himself father - getting him off his back and freeing himself of his expectations and finally stepping out of the box that had trapped him for so long. Humph - the irony - stepping out of one box and most likely into another.

The time passed quickly and the revelation day of Tracy Industries Project Water had arrived. It was easy to hide his new controlled body under a loose white shirt, khakis and a sunshade desert hat. His smile was broad and his speech was strong, convincing and brief and water was successfully delivered to each Egyptian desert household. His work was done, his hand long healed and it was time to head back to his life at International Rescue.

He shuddered at the thought.

Amidst an off-balance and faint feeling, Scott toiled up the four flights of stairs to his apartment on the top floor on wobbly legs. Panting at the top of the staircase, he grabbed onto the railing to steady himself before he strained to put one foot in front of the other to carry himself down the hallway to his door. Sodden with sweat, he propped himself on the door with one hand while he tried to steady the other so weak from exhaustion, he could barely hold the key let alone insert it into the keyhole to unlock the door.

He heard himself whimper as he blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the simple task at hand,

“Just…open the door,” he muttered, a click so satisfying to his ears, it made him chuckle.

Leaning against the door, he took a moment to catch his breath, turning slightly to fasten the deadbolt.

The cramp came suddenly as if someone was stabbing him rapidly with thousands of icepicks. He cried out as he doubled over in pain and staggered to his bed, a knot in his stomach twisting, cutting off his breath, pushing everything he could see further away from him. He lay in his bed and slowly turned to look at the empty suitcases against the wall waiting to be packed. Racked with anxiety from what they represented, he felt like he was losing all the control he'd regained. Night came and still he lay in the bed, listening to his deep, stuttered and raspy breaths. He couldn’t sit up, definitely couldn’t stand and couldn’t stop his hands from shaking and he felt feeble.

Because he was.

Three months of literally running on empty had caught up to him and paralyzed him on his bed. The perspiration that had soaked his body in the stuffy apartment had now dried, leaving him shivering with cold. His empty belly growled in protest and his raw burning throat longed for water to quench his thirst. But he could not move. He did not have the strength.

He was too weak.

Weak and pathetic and so afraid.

Afraid until the bliss of the shrill noise in his ears, and greyed vision narrowing as the darkness pulled him under.

It’s happening, he tried to say, but he could only form the words with parched, pale lips. But he heard his words loudly in his head.

So light…m’floating.

Finally. You’re doing it – right here. You’re finally going to her from a shitty little apartment near Cairo.

Finally dying, Scott...from the inside out.

[stitcher001]

Greetings to my fellow Thunderbird writers!!! Especially Scott whump ones... this came to me over the weekend... treat it as a prompt... let me see what you can come up with!!!!! No word limit. Only rule... Scott must survive! Let those creative juices flow!!!!! Good luck!

[tbwhumpfan]

Challenge accepted - wonderfully inspired by this great art by stitcher001.

DISCERNIBLE FALLOUT

- by thwhumpfan

It all happened so quickly and the fallout of his actions, discernible. He saw his brother's body slam and imbed into the rocky ground. He knew he had screamed his name but he didn't hear it past the big boom and then the piercing, shrill squealing in his ears. He scrambled to get to his feet but couldn't stand. So, he crawled over to him, grasping at the ground to propel himself toward the way too still and twisted form that was his brother, Scott. The debris was still flying about, metal rods and rocks pummeling him as he made his way to where his brother lay supine, also being pounded by debris.

Begging the universe to let him find his brother alive, Virgil cried out, when he felt Scott's breath against his cheek. Scooping him into his arms and propping him onto his his good leg, the jubilation he felt was brief. Scott was bleeding - a lot. He had a couple head wounds and his face was a map of scrapes and instant bruises. He has a chest wound and blood was flowing out of scattered rips in his uniform; his right arm clearly deformed and broken as was his leg that was folded beneath him.

This was his fault. Why couldn't he listen? Follow orders? Why couldn't he just do what Scott had asked? What was the point of his defiance? There was no point. Only consequence as Scott lay way too still and bleeding way too much in his trembling arms. Screaming at the top of his lungs but not hearing anything; willing his brother to open his eyes to no avail, reassuring distraction arrived in the form of younger brother first responders, taking charge of the scene.

A scene which was his own doing - causing his brother's blood and his, to swirl, mix and smear all over the younger two.

A scene which Scott was trying to prevent.

A scene that yielded a casualty.

For days, or what he perceived were days, there were just sounds - unfamiliar noises. Before the gap of nothingness, there was only the shrill, high-pitched sound that made him believe he was indeed rendered deaf.

Now, there was pain.

Intense pain.

Everywhere.

Head. Face. Neck. Shoulder. Arms. Legs. Side. Gut.

And a metalic, pungent and somewhat antiseptic smell.

Clearly blood and medicine.

What had he gone and done this time? He'd get into scrapes now and then on rescues, his over-protective nature always out of his control. But this - this was nothing like he'd ever experienced. It seemed ...big, perhaps serious.

Too serious.

He felt the panic welling up from deep inside his aching gut causing his eyes to open in terror of the painful darkness in which he'd been trapped and wandering.

Nuhh he heard himself cry out, quickly feeling surprisingly embarassed by the outburst. Of course he'd cry out. Everything hurt like hell, all at once. It was pain he'd never experienced and in the moment, it didn't matter if everyone had held him up as being brave or fearless.

What if he was in such a broken state because he had been reckless?

Humph. Reckless. He had many a moment.

Had he gone and finally done it now?

"Scott?"

He recognized the warm, smooth (albeit gravely) baritone voice instantly.

Virgil.

He tried to turn his head say his brother's name but his temples throbbed and he was too weakened by the overwhelming pain throughout his body.

"Scott - I'm...I'm sorry," his brother said, in barely a whisper. 'I ...I didn't listen. Didn't follow orders,"

He rapidly began blinking trying to focus on his brother's face. Even with his right eye barely open, he could see that Virgil was injured, his blurry face smudged with the crimson of blood and the blue and purple hues of bruises, peppered with black knicks and stitches.

Virgil, what happened? You're hurt, he meant to say but it came out as an unintelligible, muffled distortion that scraped it's way out of his dry throat and through burning, parted, chapped lips.

"Shhh, save your strength. You're hurt...bad..but...in time, you're ...you're gonna be okay," he said, hesitating before carefully placing a reassuring hand on his left shoulder.

Scott felt his brother's entire body shudder through the lightness of the hand. He had so many questions. So much to say, but by Virgil's demeanor and the overwhelming pain that racked his body, he reckoned he was about to get answers.

"I'm sorry. I ...I didn't listen."

Scott noted the words were uttered before.

'I'm sorry I didn't believe you and ...and that I went to the quarry anyway. You warned me it was a trap. I was just so angry that you even had the intel. I...I judged you for the way you...I should have trusted you...I...,"

Virgil continued to break down, sobbing out deep regret, it seemed. Did he want to know? To be reminded? He's been at loggerheads with the family lately - Oh...god...no...no, no no, he thought as flashes of the incident began to spring to mind.

"I didn't believe it was a trap ...thought you wanted to play the hero when you told me to stay away. I wanted to catch you with her. Should have listened. I see now that ... you...you were right. It...it was not my place...shouldn't have judged you. When all you....you... were trying to protect me, is all,"

With every sobbed apology and admittance of regret, Scott pieced together what had happened. What he'd tried to prevent and what played out before him.

He got the intel that he should be far away enough from the quarry to remain safe from the blast of the detonation, but close enough to ward off suspicion.

"I'll meet you right here," she said.

"That's where I'll leave my tracker,"

"Right. Keep your brothers away. It's after hours and we'll lure the security guards away so no one gets hurt. We'll tell him you entered the quarry and we lost track of you and that the second after the explosion, your craft was gone...whisked away. Its believable that it would be remote piloted. I'll send you a warning on the fob before he detonates. That's when you take off,"

It was fail safe. But Virgil didn't believe him. He thought he was trying to be ever the martyr-hero. He didn't understand that it was the Hood's plan they were trying to thwart. Only John understood what was really happeninng. Only John who chose to look the other way for the greater good of it all, while the others were appalled at the eldest's 'fall from grace'. Shocked and dismayed that he would bed the enemy. Only he hadn't just bedded her. They'd given each other their hearts.

He remembered now.

To his horror, Two landed at a clearing near the quarry just as he was leaving.

"Two life signs detected," he'd heard him say because he didn't know it was the brother and sister and that it was all part of the plan.

"Stand down Thunderbird Two," John had all but screamed, then as if in slow-motion, Scott watched Virgil run past him and into the danger zone. He ran after him, grabbed him and tried to pull him away. But with a heavy shove, the younger shouted,

"Get off me, Scott!" as his brother landed on the ground.

Marching on, he tapped his baldric and told Gordon and Alan to bring in the pods.

"No! Virgil, you don't understand! You have to get back! Stop the pods!" Scott screamed after him, realizing all he could do in that moment was get his brother out of the way. Running with all his might he rammed his brother behind a a steel blast wall then turned and ran into the quarry to where he'd left her, screaming her name while Virgil screamed his.

"Havoc! Wait! Tell Fuse to WAIT!"

And then then the fob buzzed and vibrated.

In seconds, all went bright white, high pitched, and then pitch black.

Panting, with perspiration beading on his brow and trickling from his scalp down his neck, Scott mustered the strength to move his left hand which Virgil promptly took in his without looking at him.

"Tell...me," he rasped.

When there was no response, he repeated the words in spite of the pain and strain.

He saw Virgil's broad and now very burdened shoulders rise and fall, his head lolling even lower between them.

"Al'n...Gor..."

"They're fine. Just a few bumps and bruises. Pods protected them fine at that distance,"

"You?"

"Don't worry about me,"

"You?" Scott said, again.

"Knee brace, six weeks...stitches, days to a couple weeks. I'm fine. You pushed me behind a blast wall," he said, "When I got to you....I .. I thought...You were...the blood and I...I couldn't ...I couldn't wake you....Scott, I'm s-sorry..."

Scott trembled and gathered the gumption to utter the next word. Virgil hesitated then slowly turned and looked at him over his shoulder and shook his head.

"She - she heard you calling. She ah... tried to stop Fuse from ... but..." he began, "He ...he was the one ... he ... found her. I'm so sorry, Scott,"

A sharp pain sliced through his body as Scott gasped as his brother's words settled into his brain. With hot tears stinging his eyes and burning the cuts and grazes on his face as they spilled down his cheeks, he manoeuvred his shoulder from beneath Virgil's hand,

"Get out," he uttered, and then twice more between Virgil's I'm sorrys, until John had come into the room upon hearing the hubbub from the hallway. Helping Virgil to his feet, mumbling persuasive words into his distraught brother's ear, he ushered him out of the room, sparing a glance to the eldest who was lying confined to what seemed to be a too confining, hospital bed, body broken; heart and soul, the epitome of anguish and grief.

"Grief is just love with no place to go" ~ Jamie Anderson

[tbwhumpfan]

50 posts!

[janetm74fics]

Febuwhump day 17 with Scott and Virgil?

Thoracostomy

Febuwhump Day 17: Fingers in the Wound.

With thanks to @mariashades for all their help.

~ ‘Get out of there!’

John’s roar came one second too late and the building collapsed before anyone could do more than take a breath.

Another breath. And then everyone was screaming. Everyone except…

‘Thunderbirds, sound off!’

John’s command cut through the chatter, silencing internal comms even while the whole world around them carried on screaming.

‘Thunderbird Two.’ ‘Thunderbird Three.’ ‘Thunderbird Four.’ ‘Thunderbird Shadow.’

But there was no Thunderbird One.

‘Scott? Thunderbird One? Thunderbird One respond!’ ‘He-He-Here.’ ‘We’re on our way.’ ‘No – no. Finish rescue fir-first.’ ‘Gordon, Alan, Kayo – you have your tasks. Virgil, you’re on Scott.’

There was a chorus of FAB’s and everyone moved.

It took Virgil far longer than he was happy with to dig his brother out of the rubble but eventually Scott was lying on the rubble and he could at last look him over.

Hazy blue eyes regarded him and for once his brother stayed still rather than trying to move immediately.

It raised Virgil’s concern levels to panic-mode and he struggled to wait the few seconds the Medscanner was taking.

As suspected there were a multitude of ambers but the red flag over Scott’s chest stood out. Virgil hadn’t really needed it to diagnose what was wrong. Scott’s breathing – or lack of it – had done that already.

‘You have a pneumothorax.’ ‘I guessssed.’

The word turned into a grunt of pain and was hissed out between gritted teeth. This wasn’t their first rodeo, but usually they had access to Two immediately. But Two was with Gordon and Alan evacuating the other rescuees.

And Virgil, while having the medical equivalent of a kitchen sink, didn’t have everything he needed due to what he’d already needed to use in the field…

The Medscanner would help, but he needed more control – if he inserted the needle and reinflated his brother’s lung incorrectly…

‘Scott, I need to…’ ‘Do – Do it.’ ‘I…’

Scott flailed around until he caught his brother’s hand. He knew there was no time, but Scott knew Virgil needed this…he took as deep a breath as he could.

‘You got this.’

Virgil gave a sharp nod.

He cleared as flat a surface he could next to Scott and laid out his equipment. The No. 10 scalpel, a Kelly clamp, a fresh pack of gloves and a packet of antiseptic wipes and the special scissors to cut through their uniform.…no needle though.

‘Ready?’ ‘I-I’m ready.’

Quickly Virgil positioned Scott’s arm up and out of the way, ignoring the grunt of pain. The pneumothorax was far more urgent and there would be far more pain in a few seconds…

He opened one of the wipes and cleaned the skin before taking the scalpel and feeling along Scott’s ribs to find the right place…there!

Virgil pressed the knife in and ignored his brother’s muffled scream.

Swallowing, Virgil used the Kelly clamp as he’d been taught until he just about heard the “pop” as he reached the right area. This was it.

Opening the forceps wide, Virgil slid his finger into the wound he’d just made along with a chest tube, pushing it into Scott’s lung before removing his finger.

He swallowed again and reinserted his finger to check the tube had gone in correctly and sighing in relief as he felt the tension lessen.

‘Virgil?’ ‘Yeah, Gordon?’ ‘We’re on-route back to your position. Report.’ ‘Scott has a pneumothorax. I have performed a finger thoracostomy but we need to get him to the hospital asap for proper treatment.’ ‘FAB. We are overhead. Alan has the controls and I am dropping the platform now.’ ‘I hear you.’

Two had never heard so good. And his brother’s hand on his shoulder as he walked past to help get Scott onto a stretcher had never felt so comforting.

[tbwhumpfan]

[scramjettracy]

Hi.

How goes it?

Question.

What's something you keep in TB One for sentimental reasons or inspirational reasons and similarly is there something like that you also keep in your office at Tracy Industries ?

Your world consists of family and preserving life and producing and supplying things that benefit human life and the planet that I wondered if there one or two inspirational things that your eyes fall on that keep you going. For instance, I wear a bracelet with the words, 'make a difference every day'.

It got me out of bed on days I didn’t think I could. I wondered what token(s) inspires or encourages you.

Hey there, Anon

Huh well this is an interesting one actually. Back when I was in the military, the talisman or lucky item or mascot or… well there were lots of names for it… was a small item people wore or carried on them. The idea is it would bring you luck or focus or, in my case, I carried it to remind me who I was and what was important and never to lose sight of that when everyone around me was trying to mould me into someone else.

So yeah, I had two things: a printed copy of the last family photo taken while we still had Mom which was clipped to the console and a necklace of wooden beads that Allie made me when he was small. They had little pictures carved into them and he had chosen one for each of us brothers - an airplane, a music note, a star, a fish and a rocket - and then some others like hearts and birds and a guitar and so on. It was adorable and we were all there and I was kinda like screw it I’m wearing this forever now, y’know? If people thought anything bad they didn’t say it. Of course y’can’t wear any kinda jewellery flying so it went in a little pocket of my flight suit. I’m not gonna say it kept me safe cos… well. But it did mean I kept a little bit of my brothers alongside me and that the thing.

Thing is… little physical things like that can be destroyed or taken from you. And when that happens it can hurt even more than the injuries or anything else.

Since then I’ve tried to not put too much stock in stuff you can lose. Don’t get me wrong - the bros will confirm I’m a soggy sentimental idiot and for sure I have loads of keepsakes in my room at home and li’l mascots or cute toys or photos or a sketch of Virgil’s or some thing like that on a kind of rotation at the office - keep changing it then it doesn’t become overfamiliar / part of the furniture you stop noticing y’know? And in One is kinda the same deal - there might be a li’l stuffed creature harnessed in places some days :) I just try not to get too attached to any one thing.

Instead - well a few years back I got a little reminder of each of my family tattooed on my skin so I can always carry them in a way that won’t be lost. That way even if everything gets dark, I know they will always be a part of me until the end.

[tbwhumpfan]

So beautiful. Lovely share.

[scramjettracy]

Just how rich are each of you anyway?

… it’s complicated.

[tbwhumpfan]

Kind of a bold question.

[misstanktracy]

I’m gonna dangle this apple pie on a string.

Ooooh, you want it so bad

[scramjettracy]

[janetm74]

@scramjettracy we talked about this!

[scramjettracy]

Just watching…

[tbwhumpfan]

I dunno Scottboy ya look pretty mesmerized. Look away.

[squidsinashirt]

There was some small part of Gordon that would have thought the parking lot was a parking challenge in other circumstances. So it was with no small amount of pride that he the set the gleaming Thunderbird down neatly on the tarmac. The engines falling to a quiet whine as he waited for his assigned pick up.

A rather soggy big brother, as it turned out, drenched beneath his hoodie as he made his way closer. Gordon hit the lever for the stairs before sliding out of the pilot’s seat and shuffling his way back toward the passenger area. Leaving a bag of pastries in his place and moving to one side to leave space for Scott.

“You weren’t kidding about the rain! Get in here before all the tropical air gets out!”

@scramjettracy

[scramjettracy]

“She can warm up pretty fast if you ask her to.”

Scott jogged up the stairs and stowed his bag in a locker just inside the hatch before turning to his beaming brother:

“Nice landing by the way. Thanks for coming to fetch me, Gordy... Was getting pretty bored back there.”

He popped a little salute before clenching his hand back into a fist and stuffing both into the pocket of his hoodie. With any luck Gordon wouldn’t have spotted the slight tremble. Big brother inclined his head towards the pilot seat and sidestepped towards the jumpseat. He grinned back and inserted a little hint of a teasing tone into his voice:

“Why don’t you prove what you say about all this fancy flying you’ve been doing huh? I’m afraid I’m legally obliged by flyboy law to see it before I believe it solely on the word of a fish.”

[squidsinashirt]

“Couldn’t leave you flying commercial now, could I? Especially in the rain…”

Gordon all but leapt forward to wrap that taller Tracy in a tight hug. Holding it for a long moment before pulling back to stare at Scott. Blinking several times before leaning back in, ruffling through his hair rather dramatically.

“Alright, where did they chip you? Me?! Fly your girl with you on board?! And I never said it was fancy…”

[scramjettracy]

“Heh missed you too Fishy…” Scott let out a breath as he relaxed into the hug. “Commercial planes do have roofs y’know Gor…yaaaaaggghh!”

He batted half-heartedly at his brothers hands as they mussed his damp hair. “Gerroff y’menace…” He knew his instinctive move to neaten it again was more than futile - the Tracy floof had been untameable for the last 72 hours as somehow he’d managed to forget to pack any gel. The hoodie had been a strategic choice for reasons other than anonymity. The pouring rain had actually been a useful scapegoat.

“No chips. Is still me. Just…” he belatedly caught the scent of freshly baked pasty and broke into a genuine smile at his brother’s attempt to cheer him up “Can’t a guy relax and enjoy a pastry while he dries out?”

He backed away and pulled off the sodden hoodie to reveal an equally dripping shirt. He wrung a little water from his cuffs before compulsively running his fingers through his hair again.

“Don’t look at me like that, no I didn’t forget m’coat, jus’ gave it to a guy y’know? He needed it an’ is not like I’m gonna dissolve.”

[squidsinashirt]

“You gave your coat to “a guy”…”

Gordon raised a rather skeptical brow, before rolling his eyes affectionately. Reaching over to the pilot’s seat to retrieve the rather large bag of pastry, and gently tossing it toward his brother.

“Thought it might help me lure you on board if all else failed. Y’know, just in case…”

He paused, drumming his fingers against the seat as he watched the small puddle forming around his brother’s feet, before moving back toward the cockpit.

“C’mon, let’s get outta here before you catch some kind of strange winter northern hemisphere disease. It’s a beautiful evening back home, still hot. Everyone was down by the beach when I left.”

[scramjettracy]

“Yeah he was uh… think maybe might’ve been a vet y’know and… jus’ yeah. Couldn’t persuade him to lemme get him t’a shelter but… coat and coffee. Get him a bit warmer... is somethin’…”

Scott trailed off, so caught in the undertow of his thoughts he almost missed the flying bag of pastries. Which would definitely have aroused suspicion. He shook himself and paid better attention.

“This is a LOT of pastries Gordy… were y’planning a Hansel and Gretel kinda operation here?”

A cinnamon-apple danish was quickly identified and Scott held it between his teeth as he secured the harness. It smelt incredible but felt like cotton wadding on his tongue, filling his mouth and suffocating him. He couldn’t breathe. He had forgotten how.

He let the pastry drop into his hands and took a slow breath before taking a small nibble, focussing on chewing, and on not passing out.

The all encompassing roar of his beloved bird was a relief - he leaned back into the headrest and closed his eyes. This was fine. This was to be expected. He was fine. He was going home and he could forget about it all for another month. Kinda. There was homework, of course. Some of which was going to be a challenge to organise. But mostly he could be normal and be with his family and would reassure them it was all fine.

He shivered in the wet shirt then regained a grip on himself and eased the passenger comms headset out of its holder and over his ears.

“Not a bad take off for a seadog, that. Impressive. Reckon you could stand to increase the cabin temp a notch though? Beach sounds pretty damn good to me.”

[tbwhumpfan]

Loved this. Felt it.

[scramjettracy]

Speed eating a pie.

Speed hugging - gotta hug everyone in the room before the 12th chime.

Dancing… kinda already is a tradition here - not on the stroke of midnight but just after we all go mad to that Scottish song nobody actually knows many of the words of and we all vow to learn it the next year and then do not. I can’t even remember why we started it… was it a Creighton-Ward thing?

I digress.

A friend told me once their grandparents had always insisted the first word you uttered after midnight would have significant meaning for the year ahead. So to honour the tradition but not get too uptight about it they all made a point of yelling the most ridiculous word they could think of. I could get behind that.

This year I belatedly choose:

OCTOTHORPE!

[tbwhumpfan]

Cutting loose and dancing