In Part 1, Scott says something about Gordon being a fairly grumpy teenager as well; as a prompt: each of the boys at 16? I love this AU & the writing is fantastic!!

He’s sixteen, and he’s gonna be a cop just like his dad. He’s gonna have a uniform and a beat and a bunch of cop buddies, and he’s gonna make his family proud, just the same way his dad does. He’s gonna serve and protect, be the thin blue line, live up to the family name. Officer Tracy has a hell of a ring to it, and Scott can’t ever help but puff up a bit with pride when he hears people address his father. He’s gonna enlist in the academy right out of high school, and he’s going to kick the training course right in the ass. He’ll be a cadet for two years, and then he’ll be on the force, bringing home a paycheck that’ll make his part time after school job look as futile as it had felt, for all that he’d known his parents were grateful for the help. He’ll finally be making a damn difference.

He’s sixteen and if cancer killed his mother, it feels like might just be grief that kills him. The doctors had said that his mother hadn’t felt anything like pain, towards the end, that by the time she was in the hospice, it was mostly the morphine that had brought her life to an end. John’s been thinking about death pretty much ever since his mother first started dying, and with her gone, all he has to hope for is that the way she’d died had been a gentle, easy end to the fight she’d had for life. He stands at his mother’s graveside, with Gordon at his elbow and Alan in his arms, too old and too heavy to hold for this long, but it’s not like that stops him clinging. He’s not even sure Alan really understands, but then, he’s not sure if any of them ever will. It’s not fair, and it makes no sense.

He’s sixteen, and hockey and football both cost more than they can afford. Both the coaches keep telling him he oughta go for it, casting speculative glances at him as he continues to add weight to the bar, sending both their team captains over to spot for him, make their hopeful cases. He turns them down. The weightroom at school is free, and after class he can spend at least an hour, maybe as many as two, losing himself in the discipline of sets and reps, in the burn of his muscles and the fact that as long as he’s got an excuse to be here, then he doesn’t have to be at home, listening to Dad and Scott screaming at each other about money, and about what Dad does to get it. Sometimes it seems like the worst thing that could’ve happened was for Scott to follow in Dad’s footsteps. It turns out their Dad walks a pretty crooked path.

He’s sixteen and he’s got a concussion, because he’s fallen on the wrong side of a barbed wire fence, and cracked his head against solid concrete. His arms are scratched and scraped and he thinks his wrist might be broken, but all he can do about any of those things is stare up at the muddy darkness of the starless city sky, and hate himself for being so stupid. He’d just been bored. He’d just wanted to get out of the stupid fucking house, because he’d hated the sound of their grandmother crying softly in her room. He thinks he can hear sirens and he wonders what they belong to. He doesn’t know yet that the security guard, walking his rounds along the perimeter of the warehouse where he’d been trespassing, had seen him fall and hadn’t seen him get up afterward. He doesn’t know that the ambulance that’s been called has been called for him. And when the paramedics show up, he’ll be surprised by how nice they are, how kindly they’ll treat him compared to anyone else.

He’s sixteen and he’s got his license. He’d had to whine and rage and beg and bitch and carry on about it endlessly, before he’d managed to get his brothers to get their acts together, to do their goddamn jobs with respect to their responsibilities as his guardians. Scott had taught him the basics, driving around whatever empty lots met his strict standards and eventually working up to proper practice on the city streets. John had been the one to help him with the written test, had kept after him about studying and told him he couldn’t expect to coast on good test taking skills; that the rules of the road were important and that he needed to really know them. Virgil had waited patiently with him at the DMV, even when he’d had to go back for a second try at the road test. And Gordon had been the one to intercept the letter with his license in it, to hold it in a clenched fist and jab a finger in Alan’s collarbone, swearing up and down that if he ever had to pull his brother out of a car wreck, there’d be hell to pay beyond the pale of the accident itself.

But, finally, Alan’s got his license.

Now all he needs is a car.

Ayo @akireyta to me to @preludeinz

continuing from

”You look like shit,” is Gordon’s greeting to Virgil as he enters Alan’s hospital room.

“Still better than you,” Virgil says automatically, stretching as he stands. “Did you bring my charger?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Gordon says, pulling it out and tossing it. He raises an eyebrow when Virgil fumbles it, badly, and has to lean down to pick it up off the floor.

Virgil avoids his gaze as he moves to plug his phone in, feeling about ten times heavier than normal. He can still feel Gordon staring at him as he sits down on the chair on the far side of the room.

“Did you sleep?” Gordon finally asks, sounding like he already knows the answer.

Virgil shrugs. No, he hadn’t, because nurses had been coming in and out of the room and he didn’t want to sleep in case anything happened. He can almost hear Gordon rolling his eyes as he powers his phone back on, wincing at the twenty-seven missed calls. He hates not having his phone charged.

“You should go home,” Gordon says.

Virgil shakes his head. “I’m not leaving.”

“Well, Penny’s still with Grandma, and someone needs to relieve her,” Gordon points out. “And you need sleep. I’ll stay with Alan. You go home.”

“Wait, why’s Penny with Grandma?” Virgil says, caught off guard. “What about John?”

“What about him?” Gordon asks, picking up Alan’s charts. “He’s with Scott, isn’t he?”

“With Scott? Why is he with Scott?”

Gordon shrugs, flipping through the pages. “I don’t know, why are you asking me? You have your phone now, ask them yourself.”

Virgil watches as he frowns. “Are you supposed to be reading those?”

“No,” Gordon says without looking up.

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Did John or Scott say anything about where they were going?”

Gordon snorts. “You’re kidding, right? Do any of us actually talk anymore?”

Virgil winces, because it’s not like Gordon’s wrong. “I tracked down where Alan usually ends up last night.”

Gordon looks up at that. “You did?”

Virgil nods. “I found the garage. I found the guy who builds the cars. Scott’s rookie Kayo found us, and we came back here. Scott was supposed to take John home before going off and acting like a damn hero.”

“But instead he took John with him,” Gordon says. He sounds exhausted. “Robin to his Batman. Or the other way around, I’m never sure.”

Virgil can’t help but give a small smile. It feels weird on his face after the night they’ve all had. “Yeah, well, they’re both idiots.”

“Yeah, but so are the rest of us,” Gordon says, setting Alan’s charts down. “Seriously, bro, get some sleep, you look like you’re about to fall face first on the floor and I can’t promise I won’t laugh and take pictures for blackmail.”

Virgil glares at him, but he has to admit his body feels way too heavy. He leans back in the chair and closes his eyes, and almost immediately drops off to sleep.

Submit a Prompt for this Universe!

tb5-heavenward:

Hey! Wanted to open up for prompts over on @rent-day-blues, which is the blog that me and @akireyta and @drdone are using to round-robin the Poor!AU, which you may remember from about a year back or so. It’s basically an AU about the family in relative poverty, and the boys all doing the jobs of assorted first responders (Scott the Cop, Gordon the EMT, Virgil the Paramedic, John as 911 dispatch and Alan the Screw Up Kid).

It’s got an overarching plot centralized around a big event, but we also wanted to expand out into little stories about the boys’ lives, etc, just to sort of flesh out the story in other dimensions.

If you’re interested, swing by and drop us a prompt maybe! Or read the thing, it’s Pretty Good so far.

Submit a Prompt for this Universe!

something Scotty (because I’m so predictable)

( @preludeinz here and VERY OUT OF PRACTICE WITH PROMPTS.)

He has two uniforms, and he’d be hard pressed to say which one he prefers.

Technically they’re distinguished as Class A and Class B uniforms, the former being slightly dressier, slightly more professional, and the latter being geared more towards the more tactical side of things, comfort and freedom of movement and the accomdoation of all his gear. The former makes him look like a police officer. The latter makes him look like a cop.

And some days he wants to be a police officer. Some days he enjoys the formality of it, the staunch correctness of the uniform, with its creased pants and its shiny shoes and its air of consumate togetherness, symbolic of an officer of the law as a servant of the public. The day he’d graduated from the Academy had also been the first day his brothers had seen him in full parade gear, and there’d been some not-unjustified snickering—but there’d also been a certain sense of respect, admiration. Pride. He’d been as proud of himself as they’d been of him, the day he’d finally become a police officer.

But he’s been a police officer for a couple of years now, and it’s been long enough to know that there are days when he definitely wants to be a cop. Days when he wants the Class B uniform—the one he only wears when it’s going to be a day of serving warrants, checking on parolees, or working the beat in a rough part of town—with its heavier canvas pants, its polyester shirt, built to be layered beneath a tactical vest. He wants boots, heavy and durable and comfortable. He wants a hundred pockets for the entire suite of gear he carries, and he wants to feel like a member of the police force within the community, even if this means he sets himself apart, makes himself look like an adversary of the community at large.

Scott’s been on the force long enough that he associates the Class A uniform with funerals, with twenty-one gun salutes, and putting colleagues in the ground. The Class B uniform he associates with raids, with being shot at, with the bitter taste of adrenaline and with the gut wrenching twist of fear that still goes along with the scariest parts of this job. He loves this job, both the A and the B sides of it, but there’s darkness that colours each aspect.

gets the pass from @preludeinz and handballs it to @drdone

One of the hardest things Gordon had to learn when he started working shifts was how to sleep whenever and wherever. He’s mostly got it down, but there’s always going to be that groggy moment when he first wakes up, that brief moment of ‘what century is this?’

He’s no princess in a sleeping castle, for all that he can hear snores from across the hallway. But as he sits up in bed, knuckling sleep out of his eyes, the door opens with a slow creak and Penny comes in, a chipped mug in one hand. “You really do have an internal alarm clock,” she teases, barely whispering in deference to the woman still asleep across the hall. She passes him the mug and settles on the edge of his sagging mattress as he inhales deeply of the slightly lemony steam. “I was just coming to wake you up so you can make your bus.”

Gordon knows he should be getting up, getting dressed, getting on the road to walk the four blocks to the right stop. But he sits instead, takes a tiny sip from the tea from Penny’s secret stash, feels the warmth of Penny’s hand seep through the thin covers from where she’s rested it on her leg. “How you holding up?” she asks, rubbing his knee gently.

“I feel like I should be asking you that.” Gordon will never tell Penny, but he loves the smell of her tea much more than the taste. He takes one more tiny sip, more for the warmth than the taste before passing the mug back to her. “Thank you so much for sitting with Grandma all night, I know you worked a double yesterday too.”

She wraps her fingers around the mug, seeking out warmth as Gordon grits his teeth and swings his feet onto the floor. “You’re more than welcome, darling.” She smiles into her tea as Gordon whips off yesterday’s shirt and shorts, stands naked to paw through their shared dresser for anything that might fit. “No word from your brothers?”

Gordon glances at the screen charging on top of the dresser, but there’s only one message, from his boss confirming his leave – it had been scuttlebutt at the depot for hours that Gordon had found a brother at the crash site, he hadn’t even had to ask for the time. “Nothing,” he told Penny, his voice muffled by the shirt he was struggling into. “Besides, my brothers being open and honest and good at communicating what’s going on? That’s crazy talk woman.”

That gets a little laugh out of her, a flash of brightness in the dull gloom of the room. “Silly me,” she murmurs, taking another sip. “Are you going to be all right?”

Gordon pauses from his search for his other shoe to lean over the bed, his knee exaggerating the sag, to press a delicate kiss to her forehead. “We’ve been through worse,” he tells her, and it mostly isn’t a lie. “We’ll be fine.”

She catches his head as he went to lean back, pulling him in for a proper kiss that made his toes curl, made him want to lose the clothes and close the door. Across the hall, Grandma starts coughing, a phlegmy, throaty sound that makes Gordon sigh into Penny’s lips as she pulls back.

Penny pats his cheek, her fingers warm from the tea. “I’ve got her. You’ve got a bus to catch.” She rises elegantly, pauses in the doorframe. “Don’t forget Virgil’s charger. And I’ve made you some sandwiches to take with you.”

Gordon laughs as he finds his other shoe. “Sending me off with a kiss and a packed lunch? I could get used to this!” Her light and delighted laugh echoes across the otherwise empty apartment.

It was cold outside, and Gordon curses the lack of coffee in his system as he pulls his coat tight and crosses the nearly empty street. Dawn is just a glimmer on the horizon as he pays the fare and finds a seat, but Gordon’s looking forward to it after what feels like one of the longest nights of his life.

Several people get off at the hospital stop, but Gordon pays them no mind as he trots up to the public entrance. His work ID is in his pocket, he could take the side door, but that would mean walking halfway around the building, and the few hours of snatched sleep are already not enough.

It’s automatic to flirt with the admission clerk, winking as he strolls towards the elevator blanks. There’s a small knot of people waiting, but elevator etiquette means they all pretend the others don’t exist. Gordon thinks nothing of the footsteps that get off on Alan’s floor right behind him. They only register, a sour note in his subconsciousness, as he pauses to check the name on the chart in the slot by the door.

But by the time he turns to look, whoever was there is gone.

Shrugging, Gordon pushes open the door to take over the watch from Virgil.

continuing from here

picking up from @drdone passing off to @akireyta

Her car is not a large car, an old ‘84 Mustang. It’s nothing like a classic, it’s just old. Four people take up all four seats, and Kayo’s uncomfortably aware of the presence of a civilian in their midst. Two cops, one criminal, and one bystander, and the four of them parked within spitting distance of one of her uncle’s properties. There’ll be guards, there’ll be dogs. There might be people who know her face, though she tries not to think about that.

Because if their intel is good, there also might be the person responsible for one of the more major criminal enterprises in the city, complete with boosted luxury cars, assorted juveniles being coerced with money or drugs or whatever else, and a whole lot of cash being circulated through the whole process.

It’s no wonder this trail has come leading back to the Hood, or at least to one of his properties. But the interesting question is whether this is a partnership of equals, or whether there’s an imbalance. Whether the Mechanic is a lackey or a player in his own right. If he’s a rival, then her uncle will be looking to force him out. If he’s a lackey, the Mechanic may be looking to challenge the Hood’s own robust empire.

They’ve been sitting in the car long enough that the respiration of four bodies has started to fog up the windows, and Kayo swipes a hand irritably across hers, peers out into the darkness. In seat beside her, Brains sits quietly. In the seat in front, Scott’s brother does the same, though Kayo can hear the faint, rapid tap of his thumbs on the touchscreen of his phone, the blue of the screen the only light in the darkness.

Of Scott’s brothers, so far Kayo’s only met Virgil and Gordon, and Gordon only just tonight. Virgil she’s come across once or twice before, solely by merit of the fact that he works so much, which is coincidentally the thing Scott complains about most. It’s Gordon’s temper she hears about, and by now she knows better than to get Scott started about Alan. But she’s not sure she knows anything about John, least of all why the hell he’s here.

Currently, he’s just in between her and the passenger’s side door.

“Right,” she starts, and claps her hands on the headrests of the two seats in front of her. She gives an extra tap on John’s. “You, let me out. Either the Mechanic’s in there or he isn’t, but if he is, then he’s gonna be wondering where the hell his engineer is. That’s our in. A race got blown tonight, and if there’s as much money in this game as Pointdexter—”

“Brains,” John corrects from the front seat, and Kayo’s fingers tighten just slightly on the leather of the headrest behind him.

“—as Brains says there is, then he’s going to need to set up something new, fast. There are people putting big money on these races. He’s lost about half a dozen cars, at least that many drivers, if the rest of ’em aren’t running scared. He’ll be looking. I’ve got a car. I’m a damn good driver. If we can get someone on the inside of this thing—”

“Nope.” Scott’s let her get this far, but now he turns and gives her a hard stare. “Nothin’ doing, rookie, it was one thing when I thought we could catch this guy moving hot cars into a new space, get some decent surveillance, call it in and report it. But this is clearly an operation and it’s clearly on a larger scale than you, me, and the peanut gallery can deal with. If this is connected to your uncle? That is way over our heads. We’re not clear to—”

“My uncle owns the property. He owns about half the property in this part of town. It might be that’s all it is. But it also might be that this is a line we could use to hook a big fish.”

Scott’s jaw clenches slightly. “Yeah, a big fish who knew you when you were still a small fry. Even if you can get on the inside with the Mechanic—”

“I can.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

Kayo growls and kicks the back of John’s seat. “Let me out,” she orders, but knows better than to expect that this will happen. “Just let me go have a look around. I’ll take the Brainiac, that’s my in. He tells the Mechanic that I came by the old shop after the crash, looking for work. Told him I wouldn’t take no for an answer, took him on a joy ride around town to prove I’m serious. He didn’t have a choice but to bring me back to the boss.”

They’ve only been together a few months, but Kayo knows Scott well enough to know the meaning of the way his eyes narrow slightly. He’s thinking about it, in spite of himself.

“I’ll do it,” says a quiet voice beside her. “P-please. I want to help.”

And in the front seat, Scott heaves a sigh.

from @akireyta to me and then on to @preludeinz

you spin me right round baby right round

Scott’s going to be in so much trouble if anyone at the station catches wind of this.

Brains, aka Dr. Hiram K Hackenbacker – an engineer, of all things – had barely let Scott introduce himself before agreeing to tell him everything. His only request was protection – not only for him, but for the others who were only doing this because of a debt owed to the Mechanic.

Alan included.

Brains is too smart to think Scott can guarantee that, but he takes Scott’s solemn promise as word of God, and with no small amount of guilt, runs down what he knows.

It’s so much worse than Scott had thought.

For one, the Mechanic’s a known entity already, though he’s never been more than a rumor. Scott’s heard the name thrown around the bullpen more than once, but he’d never put much thought into it. He’s not a detective, he’s patrol, and so most of this is above his pay-grade.

But they have a lead, a real lead, and a clear look into the crime empire that the Mechanic appears to have single-handedly built. The people he’s got working for him only do so out of fear, because the Mechanic has threatened them into obedience and if Brains is right, they aren’t empty threats. Everything Scott hears about this just makes him more curious about how exactly Alan got mixed up in this, but Brains doesn’t know the details.

“I’m just the guy b-b-building the cars,” Brains had said, shaking his head. The guy seems pretty honest. Scott wants to ask what the Mechanic has on him, but there will be time for that later.

Brains has been with the Mechanic for years and knows his moving routine inside out. It’s efficient and quick, and Scott’s impressed despite himself, but Brains can lead them to where the Mechanic is waiting. They can get him there.

“If he hasn’t already left, that is,” Brains says.

John shouldn’t be here. Scott knows that, but he’s here anyway, because Scott needs him to be. He’s on his phone, typing out a text, and he looks exhausted, but he’s here and Scott knows it’s probably selfish of him, but he’s glad.

“Who are you texting?” he asks.

“Gordon,” John says, not looking up. “I forgot to tell him Virgil’s okay earlier, and Virgil wants him to bring his charger.”

“Left here,” Brains says from the backseat.

“How’s Grandma?” Scott asks, taking a left. They’re going through downtown now, and they’re well outside of Scott’s usual patrol area. He’s going to be in so much trouble.

“I don’t know,” John says. “Penny says Gordon pretty much passed out as soon as he got home, and Grandma’s asleep too.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” Scott says. “He looked pretty wrecked when I left earlier.”

“Another left,” Brains says. Scott turns onto a one-way and stops at the light. He barely knows this area. It makes him uneasy.

“Where are we going?” he asks, glancing at Brains in the rearview mirror.

Brains sighs tiredly. “We have to p-pack up shop every now and again. He had some others scope out some n-n-new places a while back. One was compromised, but this one wasn’t.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Brains,” Scott says, barely keeping his irritation out of his voice. Virgil’s words keep echoing in his head and he grits his teeth.

“There’s an old b-b-building down near an old mall,” Brains says. “It’s big and isolated enough. The Mechanic knows the guy who owns it.”

“What’s the address?” John asks curiously.

Brains doesn’t hesitate to give it to them. Scott doesn’t know it, but Kayo’s sharp intake of breath tells him she sure as hell does. That can’t be a good sign.

“Kayo?” he says.

“I know that address,” Kayo says, and her voice is low and angry. “I know who owns it, too.”

Scott almost doesn’t need her to say it, but she does anyway.

“It’s my uncle’s. It’s the Hood’s.”

@preludeinz tagged in me who will pass to @drdone

last time, in Rent Day Blues…

For all his life, John’s had a bad habit of gnawing at his nails.

It used to drive their father to distraction, the way John would lose himself in thought and, slowly, his thumb would drift up towards his mouth, his teeth scraping over the nail until their father growled and leaned over to bat John’s hand back down.

Virgil’s been thinking of those moments more and more lately, in the waiting lulls between blazes or when he’s tucked up in bed too tired to sleep. The exasperated, annoyed noise their father would make whenever one of them did something he didn’t like.

Virgil can’t even imagine the sound Jeff would make, watching John watch Alan sleep, too small in a too big bed.

John starts when Virgil closes the door as loudly as he dares. John’s hand almost bounces off the armrest as he guiltily yanks it down. “Oh, man,” he sighs as he relaxes slightly, half rising as Virgil takes the two small steps to Alan’s bedside. “You are a sight for sore eyes.”

Virgil steadies John, helps him back down. “How’s he doing?”

John’s already turned back to Alan like he might disappear again if they turn their backs. “Resting. First twenty-four hours. You know the drill.”

They all do. That’s kind of the problem. Virgil’s not sure how long Scott’s going to need, and a glance tells him that John’s not going to be levered out of that chair for anything as mundane as food or sleep.

There was a vending machine in the hall; not great, but better than nothing. He’s not entirely sure John hears him, but Virgil steps back out into the hall without repeating himself anyway.

He just needs a moment to breathe; too much has happened since he last slept. Alan, and the accident. Brains, and the Mechanic. The Mechanic and Alan. It was all pivoting on Alan, and he was in no state to answer questions.

There were edges Virgil knew he wasn’t seeing yet, but he’d learned long ago to trust his instincts, the one that told him to hit the deck just as the fire seemed under control. All Virgil’s instincts now were screaming that despite the lull, a blow-up was just about to hit with a ferocity to burn skin from bones.

He’s only got a few coins in the pocket of his jacket, but it’s second nature now to flip the gate, fool the machine to send him both snacks and his change back for another selection. He catches his reflection in the machine glass, pale and wide-eyed, hair a mess. The glass is cool as he rests his head against it for a moment, the triple thunk of gate and snacks and coins all dropping felt more than heard.

His brother nearly died tonight, street racing for a shadowy underworld figure, and he’s here getting Cheetos.

“Virgil?”

Virgil rubs his face as he exhales hard and straightens up. John’s stood in Alan’s doorway, unwilling to have their youngest out of his sight. But he’s got his phone to his ear. “Yeah? That Scott?”

John nods. “No,” he says to the voice on the other end of the line. “I can stay…Virgil is in no state…”

Virgil plucks the phone out of John’s hand. “Sending him out now. Tell Gordon to grab my charger when he comes back, would you?” John’s scowling as he ends the call. “Here,” he says, shoving the little crinkly packets into John’s hands. “Go. I’ve got him.”

John tries, but Virgil holds his ground against fire. John’s close, but he’s not yet quite a force of nature. Only when Virgil hears the automatic doors at the end of the hall wheeze out and in does Virgil sink into John’s chair and bury his face in his hands.

It’s so ingrained in him not to waste food that John clutches the packets in his fist as he wanders, almost in a daze, down and out of the hospital. Only when the cruiser’s lights flash does John see Scott, leaning tiredly against the driver’s side door.

“I’m not that tired, I can..” John begins, slowing as he takes in Scott’s slouch, the way his elbow is braced against the arm held across his belly. John’s the one who gets migraines, but the way Scott’s pinching the bridge of his nose speaks to a wicked tension headache. “Scott, what is it?”

Scott’s exhale is loud in the cool air. It’s so late it’s almost early, the air cold enough that John can see the plume of Scott’s breath. “We’ve got a lead. But it’s about to evaporate, and I know Captain Casey, she’d want to do this by the book, full inter-agency cooperation. There’s protocol and everything.”

Even drowning in exhaustion and emotion, John’s good at joining dots. “Too slow?”

Scott nods, his shoulders rolling back and straightening up. “Our source says he’s about to vanish. We’ve got one shot at getting the guy who did this to Alan….John?”

The engine is still warm under the fingers John trails over the hood as he walks around to the passenger side. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

continuing from here

@preludeinz picking up from @drdone and tagging @akireyta

sorry for the delay, halloween is a busy night for me

Scott’s waiting in the parking lot when Kayo’s car turns into the lot. He’s been standing in the shadows, well away from the door, smoking his way through a pack of cigarettes that none of his brothers know he has. Kayo does. She also seems to know he’ll be waiting for her, because she doesn’t seek out one of the spots nearest the main entry way, but parks deliberately at a distance. Scott’s flicked away a half-smoked cigarette and is already on the move as the car’s headlights dim down and the engine rumbles into silence, though the doors don’t open and no one exits the vehicle.

Scott’s still in uniform, but only because hasn’t found a moment to change. He’d been back to the precinct, met with his Captain and explained the situation. He’s got two weeks of leave, and Captain Casey had expressed her personal sympathy, her hope that his brother would recover quickly. She hadn’t let him try to expand on the details of the case, because it’s no longer something he can be involved in.

Not officially, anyway.

But Kayo’s parked her car beneath a street lamp in the far corner of the hospital parking lot, and as Scott approaches, the driver’s side door opens, and it becomes apparent that it’s not Kayo who’s parked the car, but Virgil. After a night like this one, it’s a relief to finally have the all of his brothers properly accounted for, and before Scott can say anything, Virgil holds out an arm to catch his shoulder, and then pulls him into a brief, wordless hug. A hand thumps on his back once, solidly, and then breaks apart again, like it hasn’t even happened.

It’s still the most comforting gesture anyone’s made since Gordon came up to him and said “It’s Alan.”

So Scott does his best to return the favour, and answers the question his brother hasn’t yet asked. “He’s been moved to a room. John’s with him, I sent Gordon home to crash, he’s coming off a double shift and someone needs to be with Grandma. We’re gonna need to work out some kinda schedule, I don’t want Al alone. Probably gonna be mostly you and me, but that’s gonna mean dragging John out of there. He’s taking this pretty hard.”

“It’s not his fault.”

Scott sighs and shakes his head. “No. But John was the last one to see Allie, before he left tonight. Thinks he could’ve stopped him. Thinks he should’ve seen this coming.”

Virgil’s wearing an old bomber jacket of their father’s, more because it’s sturdy and warm and it fits him than for anything like sentimentality. It makes the fall of his shoulders that much more evident, as he looks down and the toes of his boots scuff against the ground. “Yeah. Well, that makes two of this. I knew he was up to something. I was figuring it out. I wanted to know what it was before I let anyone else in on it—for all I knew the kid was volunteering at a soup kitchen or something—but I should’ve done it sooner. I pull all that overtime, I’m never around…if I’d—”

“Stop,” Scott cuts him off. “Doesn’t do any good. We know what we know now because of you, tonight. Tag outta this one. This part is my problem.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

There’s been nothing but silence from the backseat of Kayo’s Mustang. Scott’s eager to slide into the front seat of his car, to find out more about the man who’s done this to his family. But he doesn’t want his little brother around to see what that looks like. Scott doesn’t actually know what this is going to look like.

“I’m going to do my job,” he says, instead of admitting that he doesn’t actually know. “You’re going to go inside, room 333. Gordon says that’s a lucky number. Guess it’s easy to remember, anyway. If you can’t get John to go home, try and get him to eat something.”

Virgil doesn’t budge. “Kayo said they’d put you on leave.”

Scott nods. “Yeah, they have. Two weeks.”

“Then this isn’t your job.”

Scott feel his jaw set, lifts his chin slightly as he squares up against his little brother. “My responsibilty, then. I want to know what happened. And I want to know what I’m gonna be able to do about it, before there’s a thin blue line between me and the guy who’s done this.”

Virgil winces visibly. “Well, that’s not who’s in the back of this car. Scott, this guy is scared shitless. Your rookie barely put on any pressure at all, and he spilled his guts. I’m not saying good cop/bad cop is the way you and your partner work—but I can tell you, there’s already been plenty of bad cop tonight. If you don’t handle this right—”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to tell me how I’m supposed to handle this.”

“No, I guess I’m not.” But Virgil doesn’t seem quite done, and he hesitates, hunches his shoulders up beneath his heavy leather jacket again. “I think you know better than to need me to, though.”

And with that, Virgil pats a hand twice on the top of the car, and there’s the solid thunk of the doors unlocking. He steps away from the driver’s side, nods to Scott as he passes. “I’m gonna go check on our brothers. When you get…done…with whatever you plan to do—just…just, let me know if you’ll be free to drive John home. I’m gonna work on getting him out of here.”

“Right. Yeah, okay.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Scott.”

“Sure, Virg.”

Virgil gives him one last, scrutinizing look, then shakes his head and sighs as he turns away, makes for the hospital’s main entrance. Scott’s not sure if he’s read doubt or disappointment in the tone of his brother’s exit—but it doesn’t really matter. He still doesn’t know what he’s going to do, so Virgil’s advice just melds into the rest of the indecision. Eventaully, without really thinking about it, Scott opens the driver’s side door, and clambers inside.

continuing from here

drdone passing the gauntlet to @preludeinz!

Gordon’s so, so tired. He’s leaning against the wall outside the apartment, trying to talk himself into walking into it. Penny’s on the other side of the door, but so is Grandma, and he needs to pull himself together before he can go inside. He has to, for Grandma’s sake, but also for his own.

Grandma’s strong. She’s the strongest woman he’s ever known, and Gordon knows without a doubt that if he went in there falling apart, she’d try to hold him up. She shouldn’t have to. He can’t put that on her. She’s sick, and she’s in pain, and Gordon needs to be able to speak clearly and calmly. He needs to be able to tell her what’s happened without breaking down. He won’t hide it from her, he won’t lie to her. But she doesn’t need to be worried about him.

He takes a deep breath and pushes off the wall. He needs to just do this, because the longer he waits, the worse it’ll get.

Penny’s with Grandma in her room, a spread of cards between them. Neither of them are paying attention to the game anymore; they’re both staring at him. Penny’s face is apprehensive and cautious, and Grandma’s gaze is sharp, seeing more than he wants her to, like always. Gordon averts his own eyes.

“Gordon?” Penny says, and he lifts his eyes to meet hers. “You didn’t say much over the phone.”

Yeah, he hadn’t. He’d let them know Alan was in a car accident and stable, and that he was heading back to the apartment. He shakes his head.

“Alan’s okay,” he says. “Or, well, he will be. Probably. It was close, but he’s stable. John’s still with him.”

“What happened?” Grandma asks, and her tone indicates she’s not going to be deterred.

Gordon takes a breath. He can do this. He can hold it together, long enough to get through this, and make sure Grandma’s okay and not just pretending to be. He can.

“Alan’s been street racing,” he says, and doesn’t look at Grandma. He doesn’t want to see her face, doesn’t want to see the pain or anger Alan’s caused. “I don’t know why or for how long – Scott thinks there’s something else at play here. I don’t know. But there was an accident, someone took a corner too fast or something, and he went off-road, and took a bunch of cars with him, Alan included.”

Penny inhales sharply, and he can’t look at her anymore, either, and just looks down at the cards before continuing. Calm, clear, just a run down of his injuries. You can handle this, Gordon.

“He had to have surgery to take care of some internal bleeding. His shoulder’s dislocated, he’s got a few broken ribs, and some damage to his ribs. He’s probably got whiplash. He has a concussion, but he had a helmet on, and it -.”

His voice breaks, and damnit, he’s already done this. He’s already been through the ‘what-ifs’ and he’s already had to take a few moments outside the hospital to calm himself down, and he doesn’t need to do this again, right now, in front of Grandma and Penny. He’s a paramedic, damnit, he sees these things all the time. He can handle it.

He takes a steadying breath. “Yeah. He had a helmet on.”

“Thank God,” Grandma says, and Gordon almost falls apart right there. Her voice is steady, but there’s a definite note of worry in it. He hates this. He hates that this has happened.

“You said John’s at the hospital with him,” Penny says, her tone soothing. Gordon wants to bask in it, but he just nods, still staring at the cards. They’re starting to get blurry, and Gordon’s so frustrated with himself he’s going to scream.

“Yeah,” he says. “Scott had to go back to the station, he has to write up a report for the scene and all that. And Virgil -.”

Gordon has to stop, because as far as he’s heard, no one’s heard from Virgil. John had said he’d left to find Alan earlier, but that was hours ago, and given what’s happened to Alan, this radio silence from Virgil can’t be good. Gordon can’t push back the thought that something’s happened to Virgil, too.

He doesn’t want to worry Grandma further, but no doubt she already knows something’s up, as the pause goes on further, so he breathes through the worry. He’s not going to lie to her.

“I don’t know where Virgil is,” Gordon admits. “He’s not answering his phone.”

“Oh,” Penny says, almost like she hadn’t meant to. Gordon closes his eyes, because he’s too close to the edge. He’s way too close.

“Gordon,” Grandma says softly, and Gordon flinches.

He hears someone move, and seconds later, he’s being pulled into a hug. It’s Penny, he can tell, would know the scent of her shampoo anywhere, know the way her body fits against his.

And he breaks.