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lisas-song · 1 month

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Where was he? Pancakes.

Scott Tracy and a few of the struggles of ADHD.

Mostly Scott and Gordon but theres a good bit of John and all the bros do turn up! Ao3 Tags (i was trying a different way of putting this across): Scott Tracy has ADHD, Pancakes, Hurt/Comfort, more emphasis on the comfort id say, Family Fluff, i do intend there to be a part 2 but we shall see because uhh im also the adhd, Gordon Tracy is AuDHD, Scott is the focus here but thats also important, title is random line from the fic because i didnt plan that either!, Hugs, Scott Tracy Needs A Hug, and he gets several he has good little brothers, …how did it get to 9:42pm as im posting this I swear it was like 8:30 ten minutes ago

@thunderbird1lover here is ADHD Scott!!! You in fact did help inspire me to get writing this!!

@idontknowreallywhy as always thanks for the insanity :)

I think its also relevant to note that this was started on my phone notes, typed one handed while juggling making waffles, then some of the rest done when I really should’ve been doing other things! —

Scott slammed the fridge door shut before leaning his forehead against the cold metal.

Great, just great.

This morning he had been planning to make pancakes like he’d been meaning to do for the last several weeks that he’d lost count of, intended for a day when everyone was off rota so would be free to enjoy them. On each precious day they’d had, he’d managed to stuff around all day with maintenance which was a full time job in itself, random tasks that surely shouldn’t have taken so long to do and getting stuck wasting time scrolling on his phone when he’d only meant to check the weather or something. He’d forget what he’d be intending to do, besieged by the thousand other flittering ideas in his brain and accidentally wind up avoiding a task that would take literally five minutes if he’d actually do it.

Case in point, last time he’d tried to change the batteries in the holoprojector remote so he could recharge them so they wouldn’t have to get up to change the channel which was getting really annoying, he couldn’t find the spares so then he’d spent an hour pulling all the miscellaneous items out of the junk draw to organise them, then had to put them back in semi-sorted, barely not worse than before because they were all over the bench and in the way when dinner needed to be made and he hadn’t done the original thing and he was putting off making another attempt because of that disaster. Like had happened about a million other times.

Sure, there were also days spent getting involved in his brothers’ projects, or lazy mornings just hanging out in each others space to scatch up on actual consecutive amounts of quality time together. On some, he’d finally been getting in longer runs and some free climbing for fun in on the island when he didn’t have to worry about over exhausting himself when he was about to go on a rescue. But it was the rest.

Where was he? Pancakes. And the punnet of mouldy blueberries he’d been saving up specially to put in them as that was everyone’s favourite flavour and only he made them like that. But the berries had gotten forgotten in the back of the refrigerator along with several other questionable former vegetables and leftovers. A biohazard of tupperware containers he really didn’t want to touch lurked among them. But someone should do it.

And the eggs were out of date and he needed them to go in the batter. That was currently an oversized mixing bowl full of flour, sugar, etcetera and was the baking power in there yet? Another half done task for the list then.

Scott bumped his head against the fridge several times. Frustration had him curling his hands into fists, shoulders taut in the way that would give him a neck ache later.

In the process of rattling his brain in its skull he managed to knock one of the many bits of paper from the mass of postcards, scrap sheets with scrawled grocery lists and who knew what else from its precarious hold under an over burdened magnet.

That’s how he felt, like one of Gordon’s tacky sea-life fridge magnets, constantly dropping probably important documents to be trampled on the could be cleaner kitchen floor.

Crouching to pick up the note, he had a flash of panic when he saw Alan’s school logo at the top. Presentation and in person were highlighted then underlined in red. When was it? Was he meant to come, but Alan hadn’t mentioned anything recently? Had Scott forgotten—?

Standing again too fast, he was ready to run off and find Alan to apologise profusely if he’d missed it or jump in One right this second to fix things, except then his eyes landed on the date and he finally noticed it was from months ago. Alan had absolutely smashed the science assignment even if he and Scott had shown up fifteen minutes late as neither of them had been ready, which was only saved from being hours late by owning the fastest rocket plane in the world.

Scott went back to leaning face first on the fridge. It could do with a wipe down on the outside too.

He just needed to get moving. But he wasn’t. And maybe he couldn’t.

That was the problem. Why couldn’t he simply get stuff done?

Alright, he knew that why. The newly discovered he had ADHD and oh that explained so much of his entire life, was a pretty big why.

One he didn’t want to get distracted thinking about right now because he was meant to be making breakfast. Yes, he did see the irony of that. His forehead made contact with the fridge again.

“Hey Scotty, what did our poor defenceless kitchen appliance ever do to you?” It was so characteristic of Gordon to burst into the room in neon pink, flamingo patterned swimming trunks just as Scott was feeling sorry for himself.

Their sunshine fish. Who was also dripping water all over the floor.

Scott put on a long-suffering tone. “It ate my fifth brother, he never used a towel before coming in from the pool either.”

Gordon tipped his head to the side like a curious seal. “But you don’t have a fifth brother?”

“‘Cause the fridge ate him. He also ate the last of the pizza too,” Scott continued, giving Gordon a chance to cotton on.

“Oh, oh I get it now! We wouldn’t have another because the fridge— yeah!” Gordon laughed and pumped a fist in the air. “And nah, that was Virge.”

Dammit Virgil, Scott had really wanted that slice of pepperoni yesterday night.

Gordon also fetched a towel from the clean laundry basket on a chair, the fact that no one had gotten around to sorting it for once working in his favour before he tracked water all over the house to find one. Really they should put the towels by the door, they were mostly used after swimming anyway, that was an idea. Scott would just have to find a space—

He shook his head and couldn’t help but snort as Gordon emerged from the towel sporting a ridiculous spiky hairdo with his sun-bleached, chlorinated mop.

The towel, turns out, was one of those hooded thingos like they had for kids except Gordon-sized. In bright orange clownfish patterning, complete with fins, it was a fashion statement that Gords was clearly intending to continue wearing around the house.

Then Gordon turned to him.

Those big brown eyes held Virgil’s kindness, John’s piercing clarity of observation and what he recognised as his own steely determination. All bundled up into the five foot something of rescue operative, former Olympic athlete, ex-WASP forces and sole survivor of the worst hydrofoil accident this century that made up Gordon. He got the hard stuff.

“Now what’s up, big brother?”

A lump swelled up in his throat. Scott gestured vaguely at the fridge, his half-finished pancake batter and the selection of too old food items sitting on the bench.

“Life, the universe and everything?”

“Yeah,” Scott croaked, tugging a hand through his hair.

Gordon also got the whole ADHD thing on a personal level, ‘cause it runs through families and who would’ve guessed with the chaos in their household that yes, it was more than one of them.

Scott swallowed, then shrugged as Gordon came closer. It was fine, really it was. Fine. So fine.

His brother held out his arms and Scott found himself wrapped up in ocean-smelling towel and fish, leaning into the strong grip as Gordon squished him tight. He stayed there until Scott could breathe again.

“Bit better?”

Answering was put off until Gordon let him go and Scott could speak again. It was not related to the emotion of even some of the crushing sensation in his chest lifting, it definitely wasn’t, not when he had the pre-made very reasonable excuse of wanting to avoid getting a mouthful of wet hair.

Scott nodded, shuffling closer to Gordon again to bump their shoulders. He didn’t currently care that Gordon was somewhat soggy. There were plenty of similar business-casual blue shirts in his wardrobe so he didn’t have to chose what he wore everyday to look presentable too with the hundreds of other life or death choices he had to make.

“Fantastic. ‘Cause you really looked like you could use a hug.” Gordon clapped his hands together, bouncing on his toes. His eyes remained on Scott for an extra moment.

The batter and the rest were discovered as Gordon then gently nudged Scott aside to poke around the kitchen.

“Ooh breakfast! Actually, definitely not breakfast. Maybe might’ve been breakfast once upon a time?” He picked up the mixing bowl. “Not breakfast yet?”

“One failed attempt at blueberry pancakes,” Scott admitted, before explaining about the whole eggs, blueberries, fridge fiasco.

In the middle of this, John appeared from wherever he’d been lurking. Possibly or in all likelihood their space brother had been tucked away on the upper landing library level, watching from afar. He wound his way through the lounge in a wobbling squiggle, barely looking up from his book in a habit that worried Scott rather unnecessarily. He greeted them then sat at an orange stool by the bench, continuing to read from his paper novel.

From past experience, John was both definitely listening and lending them his quiet support.

Scott continued to explain.

“Sooo,” Gordon drew out the word, “Here’s what I think.”

Scott grimaced, he already knew what he thought of his attempt.

Gordon cheerfully shook the bowl. “This falls into the marvellous category of going to become breakfast. Sounds like you’ve got a pretty solid plan, we’re just missing a few key ingredients.”

Gordon could be prone to being a little, well, optimistic. The key ingredients were, no one would ever guess, key to fixing Scott’s screw up.

“We live in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. There isn’t exactly a corner store within walking distance.” Scott waved his arms about in what might have been despair.

“How many supersonic aircraft do we own again?” John prompted.

“And a submarine! Don’t forget my submarine!”

“And a submarine,” John repeated.

Scott planted himself on a stool to hide how his legs had turned to finished pancake batter goop. John and Gordon weren’t getting it.

He buried his face in his hands. “Just doesn’t seem worth it to make the flight when we wouldn’t have this problem if I’d remembered in the first place…”

The words were barely out of his mouth before he was surrounded by the two brothers he was refusing to look at, as they interrupted his pity party for one. Two sets of arms wound around him, holding him up, holding him close. They were warm.

John was taller than him standing and he let Scott mush his head into his chest. Fingers carded through his hair in simple comfort when Scott made a quiet noise. Trusting his brothers enough to squeeze his eyes shut and make the world go away for a bit was the easy part.

The squid stuck them all together, as Gordon always did, hanging onto them both with a swimmer’s strength.

“Hey Scotty, stop being so mean to my biggest big brother, he’s doing his best.” That was Gordon, of course, right next to his ear.

A wet laugh bubbled up from deep inside his chest. It caught, snagged on jagged emotions in his throat before breaking free as he hugged his brothers tighter.

What had he done to deserve them? They’d all probably remind him instead that he didn’t need to do anything to deserve their love, he’d have it no matter what he did or didn’t get done.

A new voice joined them, as the sound of bounding footsteps crossed swiftly over the floor. “Is it cuddling Scott time? Aw why didn’t you invite me?”

Fluffy blond hair, thankfully not wet unlike some-fish else’s got shoved into his face as Alan joined the fray, the sprout using every inch of his new found height to wrap his arms around as many brothers at once as he could.

Heavier steps followed. Soft flannel added to the smothering and Scott could feel Virgil humming quietly as he leant into him.

Scott was at the centre of the hug, as they saw he needed them, at the centre of his brothers’ worlds, because they needed him too, and Scott would never want to be anywhere else.

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lisas-song · 2 months

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“Scott! Talk to me!”

Virgil sunk his boot into the mud only to have the water well up and over its brim.

Warm, slimy, and god forbid full of things that would be quite happy to either gnaw on him or curse him with a deadly disease.

Thank goodness for his watertight, airtight and everythingtight uniform in situations like these.

That hopefully never happened again.

“Scott, I know you’re there.” He clambered over the remains of a wooden house, now buried in mud and slime, at the very edge of a lahar that had swept most of the village away.

And trapped his brother.

“Goddamnit, Scott, answer me!” He had to be there. Two’s scans had pinpointed him!

There was a moan, barely heard over comms.

“C’mon, Scotty, I’m nearly there. Please talk to me.” His words came out more as gasps as he forced his way through the massive pile of debris. There was only one life sign and it was his brother.

Didn’t mean his was the only body in the mud. Virgil grit his teeth and pushed himself forward.

“V…irg?” Barely a whisper.

Breath rushed out of his lungs. “Good to hear your voice.” He yanked aside the remains of a thatched roof.

Damn.

His brother was caught in a natural gathering point, where the wave of water and mud had pushed some of the village’s buildings into a corner and piled them there. It was clear on scans, but seeing it in reality hurt.

Scott was in that?

He refused to acknowledge the task ahead and the horrible possibilities.

He had Two, her pods, and he was going to get his brother out of…that.

Water filled up his boots as he sunk further into the mud.

“Scott, can you give me a status report?”

He received another groan in answer.

“Report, Thunderbird One.”

“Virg, god…I’m stuck.” There was a sudden edge of hysteria in his wavering voice. “Can’t see. Underwater!”

Shit.

“I’m coming.” He poked hurriedly at his wrist control and directed the module back on Two to assemble a pod and to grab his exosuit.

He missed Gordon. Missed his help, missed his co-pilot, but Gordon was stuck at home recovering and Alan and John were out fishing a tourist liner out of the asteroid belt.

It came down to Virgil.

He dragged himself through grey slush.

The incoherent sounds on the commline, raised his hackles as the pod approached.

“Scott, talk to me.”

A very uncharacteristic whimper was his only reply.

“Scott?”

He clambered into the pod and, throwing up a holographic scan of the pile of debris, began removing the pick-up sticks one by one.

“Virg?” Barely a whisper.

The terror in his name froze Virgil’s heart.

But fortunately his heart wasn’t in his emergency response procedure. He moved without thought, the pod an extension of his body.

“I’m coming.”

He needed to get to his brother.

Water and mud continued to slosh in the distance as the dregs of the lahar continued to drain down the mountain. His failure to shore up the crater lake at the top of the volcano was something he couldn’t face right now.

Save Scott.

Blame later.

The harsh breath on the other end of the commline…

“Scott, count for me.”

“Virgil, I-“

“Count by prime.” The pod claws carefully lifted the remains of another roof off the pile.

“2.” The number was shaky. “3, 5, 7, 11…”

Virgil grunted as the pod strained under the weight of too much. He had to slow down.

Slow down.

“…37, 41, 43, …47,…” His brother’s voice faded on 53.

“Scott! Root of 49?!”

Even injured, there was a slight huff of derision over comms. “7.”

The pod claws lifted off another pile, dripping with mud and water.

“Root 125.”

There was silence a moment, followed by a gasp, and a stronger voice. “11.2.”

One word. “Pi.”

And the numbers rattled across comms, sometimes breathless, but there.

Virgil used the time to climb out of the pod and don his exosuit. He was getting closer, so he needed to be more precise. His heads-up display marked the stressors, the support beams and the outline of his brother buried in muck and water.

I’m coming.

Time became a blur of numbers, mud, and broken buildings.

And problems. “How fast can Thunderbird One make it from Tracy Island to London carrying Thunderbird Four?”

Scott sputtered and drew in a harsh breath.

But the numbers came.

“Three to the moon and back, slingshot trajectory?” These were things his big brother calculated automatically in his head every time they were called out. Sure, they had the computing power, but Virgil knew his brother.

He liked to test himself.

And by this time, Virgil was chanting his own math in his head. Time, structural weight, probabilities of collapse, time, severity of injury, time…

Time was always the most crucial factor.

Scott’s voice began to fade again in the middle of spouting re-entry trajectories.

Nearly there.

He threw a chunk of child’s bedroom across the sullen grey landscape.

“Scott? Zero point nine to infinity does not equal one.”

“Virgil!” It was gasped out. “Goddamnit!” As expected there was much more life in that voice now. “It’s been proven!”

“I don’t care.” A grunt as he finally removed the last of the wooden and palm thatched roofing off the space holding his brother.

And his heart stopped.

Only the very top of Scott’s helmet was visible above water-clogged mud, one gloved hand weakly waving about seeking purchase.

Virgil scrambled to gently lift off the beam holding his brother under.

Hydraulics hissed as Virgil lifted with everything he had.

The beam was airborne and Scott was clawing to the surface, faceplate still covered in mud.

Virgil shed his exosuit, not even acknowledging the crack of wood and wet splat as it dropped behind him. Stepping as lightly as the sucking mud would let him, he slipped over the broken remains of someone’s home and finally reached his brother.

“Sit still.” He gently gripped Scott’s shoulders. The man was gasping as Virgil dragged the underside of his uniform sleeve across his brother’s faceplate, letting light in on a pale face.

Wide blue terrified eyes stared back at him.

Virgil fumbled for his mediscanner, mud in and on everything. The flickering yellow light lit up brightly against the grey sludge.

But numbers bounced back to him. A severe concussion, extensive bruising…he let out a thankful if amazed breath…most of the numbers were good numbers. His brother was in one piece. He didn’t know how the hell that was possible but he thanked whatever fate or deity had shone down favourably on them this time.

In gratitude, he flipped the catches on Scott’s dented helmet and gently slipped it off.

“Virgil.” It was said with breath and no shortage of love.

Virgil responded by pulling him close and they sat there in the mud and slime for a whole second or two.

Relief leaked out of the corner of Virgil’s eyes.

The rush of water and creaking wood were the only sounds.

But they were enough.

The yellow of the pod he had discarded behind him was a single bright spot in the grey haze of post-apocalyptic hell. Two, in the distance beyond, faded into the greenery as much as One’s silver hull did into the haze.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of here.” Virgil’s mud-caked uniform dripped as he stood up and planted his boots as securely as he could.

Scott stared up at him, a single flick of mud on one sweaty cheekbone.

“I’m going to carry you to the pod.” He waited for Scott’s acknowledgement.

“Okay.” Those blue eyes stared up at him, Scott’s lack of decisive movement or even objection so uncharacteristic, Virgil had to hold back pulling out the scanner again.

Virgil reached down and, bending at his knees, slid his arms into the mud and under his brother, scooping him up as carefully as he could.

Scott was a tall man, but he was more lanky than weighty, and while John received all the taunts for being the noodle of the family, honestly Scott was pretty much the same kind of pasta. He just hid it behind big brotherhood.

Virgil stabilised the weight in his arms and Scott let his likely aching head drop onto Virgil’s mostly mud free shoulder.

Mostly.

Holding his brother close, Virgil made his way out of the slush and grief towards the yellow beacon on the shore.

“Virg?”

“Yeah?” He yanked a boot from the suckering mud.

“It does equal one.” Quiet and breathless.

“What?”

“Zero point nine nine to infinity.”

Virgil didn’t have the spare brainpower to roll his eyes. “Does not.’

“It does. Been proven.”

“As I have said on many an occasion, big brother, I don’t care.”

“It does.”

“Doesn’t.”

“Does.”

“Doesn’t.”

“It’s logical.”

“Don’t care.”

“The math is right.”

“Your math is weird.”

“My math is right.”

“You have a concussion.”

“I know.” Scott swallowed, his head almost buried in the crook of Virgil’s neck. “Still right.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

-o-o-o-

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