thunderbird-one-ai

[thunderbird-one-ai]

May I request day 25 of febuwhump for Scott please??? Thank you so much in advance❤❤❤

Prisoner/Hostage c2: Questions

@febuwhump day 25.

With big thanks to @the-original-sineater

Chapter 1 | AO3

WARNING: Descriptions of torture

~

There was a sink. A hose. A bucket. And a table.

Despite his efforts it took the five of them no time at all to have him up on the tabletop and tied down securely to each corner. Scott pulled but there was no give at all in any of the restraints.

The officer leaned over him.

‘Now, Captain. Tell me about your base of operations.’

Scott stared at him; teeth clamped shut. The officer smiled in delight.

Scott clenched his teeth as hard as possible, trying hard to keep his mouth shut and moving his face from side to side as much as possible. But it didn’t take long for one of the men to grab his cheeks and squeeze hard. Scott could cope with that though – he was the eldest of five brothers and one sister and he knew how to keep his mouth shut when the sour sweets were handed out.

Which also meant he knew that once the other thug had grabbed his nose and pinched it tight he had no chance. Still, he held his breath for as long as possible (which was a considerable time but not as long as Gordon could) before gasping.

Immediately a rag was shoved in, along with fingers that pushed it down until Scott was gagging.

‘I’ll ask you one more time before we begin. Tell me about your base of operations. How many planes do you have?’

Scott watched the man in charge walk around the table completely before stopping beside his head and bending over to breathe on him. His breath smelt of garlic and sausage and beer. It caused Scott to gag almost as much as the rag had.

The man ran clammy fingers down his cheek and breathed in his ear.

‘Tell me about the special mission you were on when you were shot down.’

Scott stared at him, eyes wide. It wasn’t like he could say anything if he wanted to, but he wouldn’t say anything. Couldn’t. His eyes blazed and his nostrils flared. The man walked back to the end of the table and nodded, folding his arms across his chest.

‘So be it, Captain.’

He gestured at the two men.

The tap squeaked as the handle was turned. Scott could hear the water running up the pipes before it run into the sink and then was stopped by the hose being jammed onto it. A few seconds later water ran into the bucket. He listened to it as it filled up. The tap was turned off. Water ran down the plughole.

One of the men carried the bucket over and placed it beside Scott’s head. He could feel the cold emanating from it. From the corner of his eye he could see drips running down the outside, but Scott resolutely kept his head to the front.

And then he had no choice as one man clamped his hands on either side of Scott’s face and ears and held him still while the other laid a cloth over his face and water was poured over the cloth and over his face.

Water ran down his nose and the back of his throat, soon joined by water from the wet rag in his mouth. Scott choked. And writhed, straining against his bonds as the men laughed and laughed.

But the man in charge just watched.

Eventually the bucket was empty and the rag was pulled from his mouth and his face released. For several seconds that felt like hours all Scott could do was cough and vomit water and bile. Something in his left arm pulled with the effort but eventually he was done.

The man came back around and once more put his mouth to Scott’s ear.

‘Now, Captain Tracy. One more try. Where is the file your Special Forces stole and passed on to your flight?’ ‘Tracy, Scott. Captain. 559016.’ ‘Who was in charge of your mission?’ ‘Tracy, Scott. Captain. 559016.’ ‘Where is the file?’ ‘Tracy, Scott. Captain. 559016.’ ‘Have it your way.’

The man sighed and gestured at the sink.

‘Again.’

And Scott steeled himself.

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Scott Tracy & Mark (Battle of the planets/Science Ninja Team Gatchaman)

Kinda went overboard with this doodle sorry 🥸 this is one of the best scott doodles I've done LMFAO OH i hope I didn't mess up Mark 😓

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Smokes

@whumppromptoftheday and @edutainer2022

This plays into a head canon I have for Scott…

Warnings for mentions of Canon MCD’s, absent parent, smoking and self-harm in the form of not eating.

~

John could recall the exact moment Scott first picked up a cigarette.

Their parents and grandparents had never smoked - to the best of their knowledge - and school had been full of ‘the horrors of smoking’ during that one semester of health education.

Both of them had paid attention to the dangers and promised each other that they would never smoke.

But that was before Mom and Grandpa had died and Scott and Alan barely survived. That was before the loss of their Father and Grandma too.

14 was too young to find yourself as a single parent juggling four boys and school. And while John thought Scott was coping with things better than Jeff was, it was clearly wearing him down. John tried to help Scott as best as he could, but at 12 that help was limited to cooking and homework. Scott did pretty much everything else.

So when he’d taken a shortcut across the school field and seen Scott with people that were not his usual friends John had made a snap decision and changed direction.

What had shocked John the most was not the unlit cigarette his fingers held. It was that his brother was shaking. Visibly shaking.

Scott hadn’t noticed him, and John had watched as the kid with his brother reached across and lit the cigarette. Scott took a long inhale and immediately began coughing - much to the other kid’s amusement - and John watched as the kid showed Scott how to smoke. His brother took a couple of tries before John arrived at his side.

He had stopped shaking.

When confronted with John Scott had looked guilty and promised he’d only wanted to relax, but John had seen the remarkable change that one cigarette had induced and couldn’t bring himself to tell his brother off.

Scott smoked from that day on, discreetly and without the youngest two finding out, right up until Grandma found out.

John hadn’t been privy to that meeting. Thankfully.

Whether Scott began smoking again when he entered USAF John didn’t know, but what he and Virgil had been surprised - and worried - about was that when he was finally cleared to come home the habit was back.

A smoke was the first thing Scott reached for, fingers still trembling, and he was rarely without one in his hand.

At first it was within the confines of his room at the farmhouse - Dad had converted the dining room into a bedroom so Scott didn’t have to worry about the stairs. He was careful not to smoke when Alan or Gordon were around, enlisting both John and Virgil to open the windows and try and air the room. John knew that Gordon absolutely knew what their big brother was doing, but Alan, only seven, seemed oblivious in the happiness of having his big brother back.

Dad frowned but said nothing, understanding that the smoking was a crutch Scott was leaning heavily on.

No one noticed Scott’s other bad habit, lost in the overtness of the smoking.

Eventually Scott left his room and began to move around the farmhouse and the gardens, never beyond the fence. It didn’t stop the smoking, if anything he seemed to be worse, but for the first time Scott had begun to lift his face to the sky again. With the hope that their brother was at the very least coming to terms with what had happened to him the hope was that he would become less dependent on the cigarettes.

Of course, John, Virgil and Gordon had all returned to their respective colleges and jobs by the time Scott’s second bad habit came to light.

There was a reason Scott smoked ‘like a chimney’ as someone had put it. He’d been using it to replace eating, surviving on coffee and cigarettes until the day his body decreed that it could go no further without sustenance.

John still remembered hearing the panicked voice of his father calling from the hospital. No one had noticed Scott had barely eaten a thing since returning, he’d hidden it well behind baggy clothes and the smoking.

Grandma had taken over his care immediately, once more moving into the farmhouse, and by the time John and Virgil had managed to make it home Scott had stopped smoking and was eating – if only in really small portions at first.

It was not long after this that they moved permanently to the island, Grandma declaring that the change of scenery would help Scott to move on.

And so it seemed.

Right up until the day their Dad died in a fireball right in front of Scott’s eyes.

John wasn’t sure when he’d managed to get hold of cigarettes, but by the time he’d made it home and Virgil had almost broken his door down to get to him Scott had smoked what looked like three packets.

He couldn’t leave Five, needing to run the searches to try and find their Dad, and so this time it fell solely to Virgil. Grandma still lived in the farmhouse with a recouping Gordon and Alan so that he could finish his schooling.

Virgil watched as Scott tore himself apart, taking One out every spare second to search and only coming back to refuel. Hell, Virgil wasn’t any different. Kyrano had disappeared at the same time, using his own contacts to search the world, and Kayo was still at her college in England under Lord Hugh’s watchful eye.

Scott wasn’t the only one not eating. Or sleeping, but at least Virgil tried. But after a week Grandma had called the search off, citing the fact that they were running themselves into the ground.

International Rescue couldn’t function with only two pilots, one of which was still learning, and so Scott shut operations down until such time they had the required five pilots.

Now Scott was head of everything, guardian of his youngest two brothers and he threw himself into the role. Virgil stayed on the island with John to complete his training while Scott moved to the penthouse of Tracy Towers in New York. Grandma moved to the island with Gordon so that he could complete his rehab and begin training. Alan, much to his horror, moved to a boarding school that wasn’t too far for Scott to visit at weekends.

The move to New York did him good, that change once more giving him the impetus – along with more time with Alan – to kick his filthy habit in quick time, and having Alan every weekend kept his eating in order too, allowing John and Virgil to relax.

Now, though, that nasty habit was back.

The signal had given them all hope, rescuing the Mechanic had gone a long way to make that hope a reality, but the constant failures to build the T-Drive had driven Scott over the edge again.

Both John and Virgil were aware that the cigarettes were back. Scott was being more controlled this time, only smoking in his room. John thought that Gordon was probably aware, but as was his habit he was concentrating on Alan.

It took a few days but pretty soon Virgil began to realise that the other bad habit was back too…

He couldn’t remember the last time Scott had sat down for a meal with them, he always had something going on. And the trouble was each excuse was valid.

But then he almost passed out while doing maintenance with Virgil on One. He’d hauled Scott’s ass to the kitchen and made him the most nutrient dense shake he could with what was to hand.

And he watched. And he dithered. Should he tell Grandma?

Usually she was the only one who could get through to him on this subject. And they were running out of time. Brains and the Mechanic were close to solving the issues with the T-Drive.

Virgil didn’t want to be the one to tell Scott that he couldn’t come with them due to his health. But he would if he needed to.

As usual it was Alan who rescued Scott.

It had been an innocent comment on the kid’s part. He’d enveloped Scott into one of his rib-crushing hugs, but then he’d frowned and leaned back to see his brother’s face.

‘Scotty? Why can I feel your bones? You feel worse than John!’

Alan had given him a squeeze and left, unaware of Scott, frozen in place. But it was the opening Virgil had needed.

Weight doesn’t lie, and Virgil hissed at the sight, turning his most powerful weapon on Scott. His disappointment.

They devised an exercise and eating program that would take into consideration if a rescue occurred.

Scott didn’t need reminding how important this was for him – the successful testing of the T-Drive was all the additional motivation he needed.

By the time D-Day had come (Dad-Day) Scott was almost back to his baseline.

[thunderbird-one-ai]

Whump warning!

-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-

[thunderbird-one-ai]

A6 Cards for my friends i sent around new year ^^ !

(copic sketch, posca, pilot g-tec c4, pencil)

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Amazon Prime now has the first season of Thunderbirds are Go and I am rewatching it… it brought up the old idea I had for a Scott x OC fic idea… but I can’t start writing anything new right now… so I just sketched Scott… (or tried to…) 

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Happy Birthday, Scott! 🎉 🥳 🎂 🎉

This really brings me back! I originally made this in 2021 for @scribeofred’s Tag mini bang story, which I still highly recommend reading. 💕

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Doodle Request:

Scott (of course)

That is all.

💙

As u wish

Does any1 recognize where and who i referenced this doodle from

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Blasting Off! A simple revisit to an old lino print I did years ago of thunderbird 1 being moved to launch position. This time round I thought I’d do it of Thunderbird 1 just as the engines have ignited about to head out on a new rescue mission. Enjoy!

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💗💚Happy Valentine’s day!💛💙

I tried to paint Scott in his special suit. I remember his orange color was quite exciting. The background was made by AI. There’re mixed opinions about AI illustration but I have a feeling that it will be a great tool for me, as I’m not good at drawing backgrounds.

バレンタインには何も関係ないけどS3EP16の特別スーツ仕様のスコットお兄さんです。あのオレンジ色はなかなか衝撃的でしたよね･･･！

背景はAIに作ってもらいました。最近AIイラストについては賛否が騒がれていますが、背景苦手な自分にとっては便利なツールになりそうな予感です。

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Thunderbirds (1965)

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Thunderbird One is Go!

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the nyoom nyoom sticks make it gogogogooooooOooo

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Thunderbirds Are Go!

Scott & Virgil Tracy! The brothers are having a day in the city but someone is interrupting sibling bonding time😂

In other words, Angry Virgil & confused Scott.

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“Virgil, put me down!”

“No.”

“Virgil…!”

“You had your chance. You didn’t listen, so we are doing this the hard way.” Virgil prodded the elevator controls with a boot.

“If you don’t put me down-“

“You’ll what? You’re dead on your feet. I’m surprised you’re conscious.”

The elevator doors swished open and his brother strode through, gently angling Scott so he didn’t hit his head.

“C’mon, Virgil, really? I need to finish that report. The board is meeting in the morning.” This was exasperating and not a little annoying.

“I’ll go.”

Scott choked as the elevator doors opened again and Virgil slipped through. His brother’s stride was barely affected by the weight he was carrying.

Struggling with the concept of Virgil in the board room, probably with grease smeared on his nose, kept Scott’s tongue tied the length of the corridor. “You’re kidding.”

Virgil edged him through his bedroom door. The room was dark except for the moonlight shining through the windows. “Thank you for your vote of confidence.”

“Virg, you know what I mean…”

His brother lowered him to the bed while Scott calculated how quickly he could make it out of the room the moment Virgil’s back was turned.

But the medic wasn’t finished. He glared at Scott in the darkness. “I know exactly what you mean. You mean to not only fly with an abdominal injury to a board meeting, but you think that only you can attend that meeting.” Virgil pulled the covers over him and tucked him in.

Scott groaned. “It’s not that-“

“It’s exactly that. You are staying, I’m going. With John.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh’. I’m not stupid.” His brother sighed. “Now sleep. We’ve got this.”

“Virg-“

A thick finger landed on his lips, startling him into silence. “I said sleep.”

Scott stared up at his brother. The moonlight cast him in worried shadows.

A breath and Scott relented, letting himself relax into the bed. It was a soporific movement, tightly wound muscles ever so happy to loosen, and he found his eyelids drooping suddenly.

That finger lifted and brushed hair off his forehead, but Virgil didn’t say anything further before straightening.

“Sleep.” It was soft…and a command he found he could no longer ignore.

He didn’t hear Virgil leave.

-o-o-o-

[thunderbird-one-ai]

febuwhump day 6: secrets revealed

today’s piece is kind of only loosely based on the prompt? it kind of ran away with me and it technically works but. yeah. it’s 10pm and tomorrow’s one leads on from it so i’m not changing it lol

characters: Scott, Virgil, John

additional warnings: blood and injury

________________

He’d been too slow.

It was a rookie mistake. A miscalculated angle, a reaction time slow by a few milliseconds. It meant that the jagged metal he’d tried to twist away from instead sliced through his side, fabric and flesh tearing as he fell. It was a miracle that he didn’t smash his head open on the hard ground; only his helmet stopped his skull from shattering on impact.

Scott lay there for a few moments, winded. His heart was working in overdrive, thudding away in his chest as he sucked in precious oxygen. Each breath was a challenge; the fall had completely knocked the air from his lungs.

And bloody hell, his stomach hurt.

It was all he could do not to scream. Scott settled for a pained groan instead, curling protectively around the wound as if that would do anything to help.

“Scott? Scott, are you okay?”  

That was John’s voice, worry laced in his tone. Why was he worried? Had something happened?

Oh, right. He’d fallen off a very high ledge and practically impaled himself.

Whoops.

“I'm… fine, John,” Scott forced out, sucking in a breath as he pushed himself up on one elbow. A fresh wave of fire wracked his body. “Just had a fall.”

“Where are you?”  

Virgil. He was somewhere else in the building. Doing something important, probably.

“On the first floor, I’m guessing,” he told him. He craned his neck up, trying to see where he’d fallen from. The movement cost him more energy than he would’ve liked. “Yeah, first floor.”

“I’m coming to get you.”  

“No, no, it’s fine, you don’t need to,” Scott protested, stifling another groan as he sat up properly. He clutched his side with his left hand, trying to stem the blood flow. His uniform was already saturated with it. “I can get myself back to Two. You worry about the civilians.”

“Scott, I’m worried about your vitals,” John chipped in. Scott pulled a face. “I really think-”  

“I’m fine,” Scott ground out. “Seriously. I’ve had worse.”

Which, considering his track record, was not the most comforting thing to say.

The room was starting to swim. Scott pushed himself up from the floor and staggered, spots flickering about the corners of his vision like shoals of fish. His free hand groped for the wall. He just needed to get back to Two. Then he’d be fine. No need to worry anyone.

His hand finally made contact with the wall. Scott paused for a moment, sucking in ragged breaths, before making a first determined move towards the light filtering in at the end of the corridor. The stupid spots in his vision were making it really hard to tell if the light was coming from an open door or a window, but either way he figured it was his best shot at getting out of the place. He inched his hand along the wall, feet shuffling along one dogged step at a time. His other hand was still curled protectively around his abdomen.

Scott was nearly there. He could do this. He could-

His leg gave out.

One knee buckled, and then the other, and before he could even register what was happening he was on the floor. Cold seeped in through his uniform, the heat seal damaged from the tear in the torso. He blinked. Time warped around him. Some part of him registered that this really wasn’t a good sign, but the thought flitted away before he could grasp it.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor.

“Scott, are you- shit.”

Blue and green. He could see blue and green. A strong hand cupped his face, the other moving his hand away from his side.

 Virgil.

“Thought I told you to…go help those people…” he murmured, the words blending together as he tried to get them out.

“You’re lucky I don’t always listen to you.”

His brother brushed a finger over Scott’s visor, his hand separated from Scott’s face by the plastic and metal that had saved his life only a few minutes prior. His eyes were alight with controlled panic as he scrutinised Scott’s side.

“Jesus, Scott. Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

“Virgil, what’s going on?”  

John’s voice was so, so far away.

His head seemed like it was detached from his body. “Didn’t…want you to worry…”

“You idiot,” Virgil choked out. He moved closer instinctively as Scott tipped forward, guiding his head onto his shoulder. “Of course we’re gonna worry, it’s our job.”

“Sorry…”

“Hey, no, don’t.” He was being pulled down, down. “It’s okay, Scott. You’re okay.”

Scott sank into the darkness.

[thunderbird-one-ai]

febuwhump day 13: forced to hurt a loved one

characters: Alan, Scott, John (briefly)

additional warnings: violence

___________________

His brother was scaring him.

Alan scrambled further back into the shadows, squeezing himself into the gap between two of the chemical tanks. He could just about make out the shadow of his brother on the other side of the room, back ramrod straight, as still as a stuffed taxidermy at a natural history museum. He’d been like that for a good few minutes, not even twitching, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings.

That wasn’t what was scaring Alan, though.

What had scared him - terrified him beyond belief - was Scott’s eyes. He’d caught a glimpse of them before John had told him to get clear of him. The veins around his sockets were an alarming pitch black, a raised spiderweb across his skin. His pupils had been reduced to pinpricks. His irises had become indistinguishable from the whites of his eyes, the entire eyeball a wash of crimson. 

Alan didn’t know of a single substance on the planet that could do something like that to a human.

“I think Scott’s been exposed to some form of chemical,” John was saying. His voice was so far away. “Alan, you need to stay clear of him until I figure out how it’s affecting him behaviourally, okay?”

“FAB,” he said shakily.

Scott’s head tilted.

The movement startled Alan. He jerked away involuntarily, his foot knocking against the side of the tank. The metal clanged loudly - deafeningly loud, in the silence of the factory - and the sound echoed.

Scott whipped around. His eyes darted around the room, head turning every which way too, and Alan realised with growing dread that he was seeking out the noise. 

“Alan, I’ve just found something on the compound. It causes heightened sensitivity and aggression, as well as almost complete elimination of higher brain functions,” John was saying. Alan’s eyes were trained on his eldest brother. He didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare even breathe. “Scott isn’t in his right mind right now, he can’t recognise you. You need to get as far away from him as you can, now.”

Scott’s eyes locked with his.

Oh, shit.

Scott launched himself into a sprint. A terrifying, inhuman sound ripped itself from his throat. His feet thudded against the metal grating.

Alan looked around him frantically. He’d backed himself into a corner. Tanks towered up around him on three sides, sides completely smooth and unclimbable. The only clear path he had open to him was directly in front of him - which also happened to be the direction that Scott was coming from.

The gap between them was closing rapidly.

He needed another option.

There. An industrial wrench, abandoned on the floor (probably by an employee upon hearing the initial evacuation alarm), within arm’s reach. He snatched it up with both hands, taking deep breaths to try and ready himself for what was coming.

Scott was not wearing his helmet. That was honestly probably how he’d been exposed to the chemical in the first place, as Alan was still fine and he’d elected to keep his helmet on. Well. Fine was a relative term. Anyhow, Scott hadn’t put his helmet back on, which meant that his head was currently entirely unprotected.

Alan didn’t want to do this.

This was his brother. The teenager who’d let him sneak into his room long after Alan was supposed to be asleep because Alan was too afraid to close his eyes. The USAF officer who’d come home on leave and swept him up into the biggest hugs of his life. The man who’d answered his calls every single time despite his ever-increasing workload because Alan just needed to reassure himself that his brother was still alive. The guy who’d taught him to fly, who’d let him be a part of International Rescue because he knew just how much Alan wanted to help people, to prove that he could be just as good as the rest of the family.

Alan couldn’t do this. He could seriously hurt his brother, he could kill him, oh God Scott I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m-

The wrench connected with the side of his head, milliseconds before he could rip Alan apart, and with a sickening thud Scott dropped to the floor.