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As with most experiences in his life, Scott had no idea how he’d ended up here. To be specific, trying to focus on TI paperwork (not unusual) while Gordon and Alan pestered him (also not unusual) with Halloween tunes blaring from Gordon’s console (slightly more unusual) and an old Ghostbusters costume hooked over Alan’s arms (distinctly unusual). It wasn’t even Halloween yet. It wouldn’t be for another week.
He swiped aside a set of holograms and stared at his brothers expectantly. “Care to repeat that?”
Gordon rocked forwards on his heels, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Costumes, Scooter. Pick one.”
“I think we should go as a group,” Alan added, holding out the Ghostbusters outfit to demonstrate, as if Scott could have somehow missed the damn thing. “I voted for the Avengers or Voltron, but Virgil refused.”
Gordon snorted. “Refused is a polite way of putting it.”
“Virgil… agreed to this?” Scott asked slowly, pinching the brim of his nose to fight back a dawning headache. He wasn’t sure whether he had paperwork or the Terrible Two to thank for that.
Gordon and Alan exchanged a glance.
“Totally,” Gordon agreed quickly.
Scott considered the merits of faceplanting onto the desk and staying there for the remainder of time. It was more tempting than it should have been. He shot the coffee pot a longing look. “Why would we dress up? We’re not going anywhere. We’re not even having a party.”
Gordon lit up like a goddamn glowstick. “Is that an option?”
“No,” Scott replied flatly. “It’s really not.”
There was a long pause. Gordon’s Halloween playlist seemed ill-fitting in the sun-soaked lounge, singing of strange night thrills and creatures of the shadows.
Scott repressed a long-suffering sigh. “Can you turn that off?”
“No,” Gordon deadpanned. “It’s my life source.”
“We’re not dressing up.”
“But it’s Halloween,” Alan protested loudly, all wide, wide puppy-dog eyes and tousled blond hair, hugging the Ghostbusters costume to his chest with a crestfallen expression. He knew damn well what he was doing, the little shit. Scott buried his head in his hands with a groan.
“Exactly,” Gordon chimed in, bouncing on his heels again like a freed jack-in-the-box. Scott glimpsed that evil smile through splayed fingers. “We can’t not dress up.”
“Cosplay,” Alan corrected.
Gordon genuinely hissed at him.
Scott felt the final dregs of his sanity draining away into the ether. “You know what? Fine. But you have to organise everything.”
In hindsight, this was a terrible decision on his part. He immediately felt that sinking pit of dread as the pair exchanged the sort of gleeful look which usually pre-empted chaos.
“I knew you’d come around,” Gordon announced delightedly.
Alan leaned over the desk to slap a tiny ghost sticker on Scott’s shirt. “Thanks, Scotty. You won’t regret this!”
Scott faceplanted onto the desk with a groan. “I already do.”
Halloween was one of International Rescue’s top five busiest periods. It always was, every year without exception as alcohol, general festivities and obnoxious amounts of sugar never failed to send everyone wild. Common sense flew out of the window. As such, Scott didn’t worry too much about his younger brothers’ scheming because they wouldn’t have time on the actual night to get up to any mischief. This, it transpired, was a mistake on his behalf because oh boy, he’d really underestimated them.
“This isn’t professional,” he tried to protest, arms crossed as he stared at the state of Gordon’s uniform. “Why are you wearing cat ears? Actually, forget that part, why is half your face covered in black paint?”
Gordon flung up his hands with an honest-to-god squawk. “That is a mask.” He gave an indignant sniff. “It’s part of my costume. Like the tail.”
“No,” Scott snapped. “No tail. Take that off right now.”
“I can’t be Chat Noir without a tail,” Gordon protested, clutching the fake tail protectively.
“You can’t be… who?” Scott whirled to face Alan. “And are you wearing vampire fangs?”
Alan clasped a hand in front of his mouth. “No?”
“It’s one night of the year,” Virgil interrupted, leaning casually against the doorway as if Scott wasn’t on the verge of losing his last braincells. “Let them have a bit of fun. Hey, think of it as a publicity stunt. It might be good – humanise us to the public, show them we’re people too. C’mon, at least they compromised – initially they wanted to wear complete costumes without their suits.”
“The suit is designed to protect you,” Scott whispered plaintively, longing for John to return from orbit to offer some common sense. “Why would you not want to wear the suit?”
“Because it’s Halloween,” Gordon pointed out. “Now I’m a cat superhero in an International Rescue uniform. It’s not really the vibe.”
Alan sniggered. “I told you to pick a different character.”
Gordon elbowed him. “At least I didn’t spend twenty minutes trying to put in red contact lenses.”
“That’s… okay, valid, but we both spent half-an-hour spray-painting Virgil’s exosuit to match the Ironman colours, so I feel like we’re both idiots?”
Gordon considered that. “Yeah, that’s true. Up top!”
Alan met his high-five with a resounding smack.
Virgil was clearly trying to repress laughter.
Scott turned on his heels and stalked out of the hangar. Five minutes later, he was ringing Thunderbird Two with a slowly dawning sense of resignation.
“Virgil.”
“Scott.” Virgil was having a hard time hiding his smile. “I like the new look.”
“Can you put one of the gremlins on the line please?”
Gordon stuck his head into view and openly cackled. “Aw, look, it’s the local Ghostbuster.”
“You messed with my suit,” Scott accused. “Without my permission.”
“Oh, but Scotty,” Gordon beamed at him. “We did get your permission, remember? You said we had to organise everything, so we did. Just wait ‘til John sees your suit. He bet me I would never get you to dress up for Halloween.”
Scott examined the Ghostbusters logo in place of his usual IR emblem. “I give up. Fine. Fine. Just this once. Never again.”
The costumes were, shockingly enough, a complete success. Kayo materialised at one point, dressed as Lara Croft to Alan’s delight. John told them to take a thirty-minute break while all other emergency services had various situations under control. Scott had only just set down One next to Two when Gordon’s voice came over the radio, clearly on a sugar-high and ridiculously over-excited.
“Guys, guys, come here right now, oh my god, you’ve gotta see this!”
Kayo’s reply was dry with amusement. “Is it another dog dressed like a skeleton?”
“What? No. Just come on outside already!”
It took a couple of minutes to track down Gordon. He was covered in a fine sheen of glitter from earlier’s rescue and his cat ears were slightly lopsided. He was crunching on the shell of a candy apple and held a second one out for Alan to take. Scott mentally prepared himself for future chaos because Alan on an ordinary day was trouble enough, but Alan on a sugar rush? Everyone should take cover while they still could.
Virgil knocked their shoulders together. “Candy corn?”
Scott stared at him. “Where did you get that?”
“Perks of being IR,” Virgil shrugged. “Everyone wants to give us free candy.”
Kayo grinned. “Hell yeah. I knew there had to be some bonuses with this job.”
Alan was in the process of practically dislocating his jaw to take a bite of the candy apple. Scott couldn’t look. He fixed his sights on the street ahead – a mess of purple and orange, otherworldly decorations and costumes.
Gordon gestured grandly to the crowd milling around an apple-bobbing station. “Check it out! They’re dressed as us!”
Alan went wide-eyed as he stared at the cluster of kids in IR blues. “Oh-my-god-that’s-so-cool-look-one-of-them-even-has-a-fake-astroboard-”
“Alan,” Virgil asked with a healthy dose of pure regret, “Exactly how much sugar have you had?”
“Not enough!”
Gordon whirled on them with a loud laugh. “Isn’t that super cool though? I didn’t know people dress up as us!”
Scott repressed a smile. “Are you telling me we could have worn our ordinary suits without any dumb Halloween additions, and it still would have counted?”
“Well, yeah,” Gordon admitted, “but what would have been the fun in that?”
Virgil caught Scott’s eye. “You’ve got to admit – it’s kinda cool.”
“It’s pretty cool,” Scott confessed grudgingly. “Although- Hang on a minute, I’ll be right back. Alan! No! Get back here! You don’t need more sugar! Put that candy back right this second! Alan Bartlett Tracy!”
Kayo observed them disappear into the crowd. “Scott’s gonna have a nervous breakdown by the end of the night.”
Virgil stole another handful of candy. “Nah, he’ll be fine.” He frowned. “Probably. Hopefully.”
Gordon slapped him on the back gleefully. “That’s the spirit.”