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There was one major downside to being the baby of the family. When something went wrong, nobody told you anything.
Alan knew this all too well. There were some good things about being the youngest– Alan would never openly admit it, but he knew full well he had each and every big brother wrapped tightly around his little finger. But that one bad thing was really, really bad, and sometimes Alan thought it outweighed all the good things about having big brothers at all.
They meant well, but their over-protective streaks were bad enough one-on-one. Scott was hot-tempered and prone to argue and fight on his baby brother’s behalf. Virgil was almost as bad a smother hen as Grandma was, always fussing and ordering him around when he thought it was best. John pretended to be all aloof and stuff, and he wasn’t above shutting Alan out when he thought he needed protecting. And Gordon was a total clown, trying to distract Alan from whatever he thought was troubling him.
Individually, they could be stifling, but combined they were maybe the most frustrating thing in the universe. Whenever something bad happened– when something really, really bad happened– everybody would try to hide it from him, Grandma and Kayo and Brains included. The six worst words in the universe, in Alan’s opinion, were ‘it’s going to be okay, Alan’, because more often than not, it wasn’t.
Thunderbird One wasn’t supposed to be on top of the pool. The GDF weren’t supposed to come to the island. The kitchen wasn’t supposed to be messy, with broken glasses and plates and a single knife littering the floor, something dark smeared across the ornamental brick wall. Grandma and John weren’t supposed to encourage Alan to play video games instead of doing his homework. They only coddled him like that when they thought things were really bad.
Gordon and Kayo were gone, running some kind of errand– but nobody would say exactly what that errand was. And Alan hadn’t seen Virgil or Scott or Brains or even MAX since lunchtime, when everything was normal– Virgil and Brains were talking about tweaking some of Two’s POD vehicles, and Scott barely had enough time to grab a bag of fruit snacks before John sent him and Gordon off to some island.
Something was very, very wrong. And if nobody was going to tell Alan what was wrong, then there was only one thing he could do.
Sneak around and find out for himself.
Alan had played dumb after Grandma gently brushed his questions off after dinner, after John had politely refused to watch movies or look at the stars with him. Grandma always tried to treat Alan like a grown up, always trying to answer Alan’s questions. When John was Earthside, he always wanted to watch movies or look at the stars– he never had much energy when he was freshly down from ‘Five, and he always had time for Alan. Just more signs that something was really, really wrong.
So Alan had nodded and smiled and noisily played Zombie Slasher 9 in the living room for a while, and then he’d gone to bed right on time– though all he did was brush his teeth and change his regular clothes for a dark hoodie and sweatpants, and a pair of clean socks.
He’d lain awake for a while, until he heard Grandma shuffle to her bedroom and the door close. John hadn’t come up, though, so Alan had waited a little bit longer. And then a bit longer than that, until the clock on his wall read past midnight, and footsteps that were too heavy to be John’s and too evenly paced to be Gordon’s and too slow to be Scott’s trudged along the hallway, and a door that could only Virgil’s closed just a little too hard– Virgil’s was the only one that opened and closed without any noise at all, thanks to his obsessive cleaning and maintenance habits.
Alan gave it ten more minutes before sneaking out of his room– Virgil always undressed and fell face-first on his bed, falling asleep with an ease that always made Gordon scoff about ‘some people having it easy’. And then he mostly shut his door quietly behind him, leaving it a bit ajar, before tiptoeing down the darkened hallway. Most of the doors were closed– John’s door was open, as it usually was, but nobody was in there.
Alan continued, padding down the stairs and then down another hall. The lights were on in the living room, but nobody was in there. Down the second set of stairs, Alan could see the kitchen lights were on, too. John’s voice could be heard, distant and quiet and muffled, but Alan couldn’t quite make out the words. A woman’s voice interrupted John, high-pitched and clipped– maybe Penny?
Alan shook his head. Better not stick around long, not if he wanted to find out what was happening. And so he continued, quietly padding to the secondary elevator that connected the hangars and the living quarters. It wouldn’t be anywhere near as fast as the launch chutes, but at least it wouldn’t automatically alert John to what Alan was doing. Probably.
The upper floor of the hangar was dark and quiet– the only light was visible far below, streaming from the open door of Brains’ workshop. And just as Alan hoped, the infirmary door slid open with just a touch of the door panel. The light from the hall illuminated the desk near the door, which was empty save for the computer monitor and a small container of autoinjector pens. Next to the container was a note in Grandma’s chicken-scratch handwriting, which Alan couldn’t read.
The room beyond was quiet and dark, lit only by the glow of the dimmed lamp next to the only occupied bed. A familiar, lanky figure lay with its head turned aside.
“Scott?” Alan whispered, creeping closer. Brown hair streaked with grey, a straight nose, and a pair of thick, expressive eyebrows. Yeah, that was Scott all right. His oldest brother had been dressed in the papery, hospital-issue patient pajamas Grandma kept in stock, and a large bandage had been wound around his head, a gauze patch visible just above Scott’s right eye.
But something was super wrong about all this. The bed was raised to a familiar thirty-degree angle. One of Scott’s arms was twisted up, wrist secured to the bedframe near his shoulder with large, soft, velcro restraints. His other arm was similarly secured near his hip, and now that Alan was close enough to notice, it looked like his ankles were secured too.
Medical-grade restraints. But why? Those were for people who were likely to hurt themselves, or maybe someone else. And as mad as Scott sometimes got when horrible people got in his way, Alan couldn’t imagine Scott actually hurting someone (although that might be because Virgil was normally standing nearby, ready to de-escalate at a moment’s notice. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, Grandma always liked to joke).
At the sound of Alan’s voice, Scott stirred. He breathed deep, then cracked his eyes open, a thin silvery glint in the dim light.
“Alan?” Scott mumbled.
“Yeah,” Alan replied quietly. “Are you okay?”
Dumb question. People who were okay didn’t get tied to their hospital beds. Grandma and Virgil would never do that lightly– they spent ages drilling it into Alan's head when he started his EMT training: restraints can kill. That's why he'd spent hours and hours practicing getting the positioning right on dummies, then his brothers under Grandma's watchful eye.
Final resort only. Exhaust all other options first. That's what they said. And Grandma and Virgil were super serious about this stuff– they had to be. They all had to be.
So what kind of trouble was Scott in, if they had him tied up like this? It had to be linked to Thunderbird One sitting on the covered pool upstairs, right? And the bandage… was that because of the broken crockery upstairs, or maybe the weird staining on the wall?
“I’m fine,” Scott said, in the tired kind of way that adults always used when they meant ‘not fine at all’. "Headache. Ev'ryone's being weird."
“You can say that again,” Alan muttered.
“Ev’ryone’s being weird,” Scott said, and he squeezed his eyes shut as though in pain. Scott groaned, then yanked his wrist— the one secured above his head– once, then twice. No dice, the restraints held. Scott sighed, then squinted at Alan. “Hey, do me a favour.”
“What is it?”
“Let me up a sec.”
Alan bit his lip. He remembered his training. When someone gets restrained, you’re not supposed to un-restrain them until the danger has passed. And since he didn’t know why Scott’s restrained, he didn’t know if Scott was still in danger. But this was Scott, not some stranger he doesn’t know.
“Why?” Alan asked.
“Have to pee,” Scott grimaced. “Like, right now.”
And that’s another thing, Alan thought. You’re not supposed to leave restrained people alone. You’re supposed to keep them comfortable until they’re safe again, and you’re supposed to keep them hydrated and keep them clean and dignified and stuff. But nobody was here. And Alan wasn’t signed off on personal care. And this wasn’t just anybody. It was Scott.
Alan hesitated, and Scott let out a low groan.
“Listen, I know this looks bad,” he said. “But I swear, there’s nothing wrong with me. Just let me up, I’ll only take a sec. And then we can talk about all this, okay?”
“Do you promise?” Alan asked. Scott never, ever broke his promises. And Alan needed answers.
“I promise,” Scott said, looking him steady in the eyes.
Alan nodded.
“Okay. You can get up, but only for a few minutes. I’m not supposed to be down here. Grandma told me to go to bed, like, three hours ago.”
Scott raised one eyebrow.
“I should scold you for that,” he said. “But under the circumstances… maybe I can let it slide. Just this once.”
“Just this once,” Alan agreed, and quickly freed Scott’s wrists. A moment later, Scott’s ankles were free, and his brother staggered to his feet, padding quickly across the infirmary to the washroom. The door couldn’t be locked– it could always be opened from outside, in case of emergency– and Scott closed it behind him.
Alan shifted on his feet.
There wasn’t anything dangerous in the washroom, was there? It was just a regular wet-room. The floor was tiled, but the textured kind that made slipping over hard. The walls were bare, just grey brick with a couple handrails. The shower didn’t have a curtain, just a showerhead set into one tiled corner, and a grate set firmly into the floor. The sink had one of those safety mixer faucets that never spouted water too hot or cold, and the mirror wasn’t real glass. Even the toilet paper holder and hand soap dispenser were the plastic kinds with no sharp corners or edges, impossible to open without a key. Nothing that could be used to hurt someone.
The silence was broken by a muffled flushing noise, then the faint sound of water rushing through the pipes, and Alan let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding. Of course Scott wouldn’t hurt himself. He was Scott.
Alan forced himself to take another deep breath. Okay. Everything was going to be okay. He was going to get some answers, and everything really was going to be okay.
At least, that was what he thought before the main door slid open behind him and John’s voice rang out, breaking the silence.
“Alan, what are you doing?” John demanded, as the infirmary lights flickered on: dull and dim at first, and then they began to brighten. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”
Alan spun on his heel to face his brother. John was scowling at him, clutching an ice-cold water bottle in one hand. Alan cringed. He was gonna be in so much trouble for sneaking down here.
“Um… I just…” Alan started, and then John interrupted him.
“Wait, where’s Scott? EOS said you were both in here.”
John never, ever interrupted him. John was all patience and gentleness, unless they were on a mission, and then he was cool and detached, the all-knowing voice in their earpieces. But even then, he never, ever interrupted.
“He’s–” Alan pointed at the washroom door. “Um, he needed the bathroom.”
“And you let him up?!” John cried out. “Why would you do that?”
“Because nobody told me I shouldn’t!” Alan protested. “Nobody told me anything! You all just pretended everything was fine, even though it’s not!”
“Alan, this isn’t the time–” John said, before stopping. “Wait. Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Alan asked, and then he heard it– a quiet thumping noise, one that he didn’t remember hearing before. Quiet, but insistent.
“Crap,” John muttered, and that was even worse, because John never swore. He stalked over to the desk setting his water down. He then picked up one of the autoinjectors from the container. Snapping straight into Calm Space Monitor Mode, John leant down and laid a hand on Alan’s shoulder. “I need a little help from you. Scott’s kind of sick right now, and I need you to keep him distracted so I can sedate him.”
“What?” Alan blinked. Sedate Scott?
John grimaced, and waved a hand.
“I sent Gordon and Scott out to investigate an SOS coming from a remote island earlier, but it was a trap by the Hood. Now, you know the Hood did something to the Mechanic’s brain, right? To make him do all those things?”
Alan could swear he felt something fall into place inside his brain.
“He did something to Scott?” Alan whispered. “Is that why he was all tied up?”
“Yes,” John answered. “But it’s only temporary. EOS is working with Kayo and Penny and Gordon to stop the Hood’s plan, and Scott’s going to be just fine. We just need to stop him from hurting himself long enough for them to fix everything.”
Alan felt sick.
“Is that what the noise is?” he asked.
“Yes,” John said. “Now, I’m going to open the door. You’re going to distract Scott– if he’s near the door, get him out here, so I can jump him. If he’s near the mirror, just keep him looking at you long enough for me to get close. Got it?”
“Okay.”
Honestly, Alan didn’t think he did get it. But if the Hood was messing with Scott’s head, then he had to do whatever he could to help. And John always knew how to help.
John carefully twisted the cap off the autoinjector pen. He reached down to the door and flicked the latch open. Alan took a deep breath and stepped in. Scott stood near the mirror, facing the wall, leaning against it with both arms. The bandage that had been around his head had been torn off and tossed to the floor, dried blood smearing the gauze.
Scott drew his head back, hitting it against the wall with a damp-sounding thud. He groaned, but drew his head back again.
“Scott?” Alan asked. “What are you doing?”
Scott straightened a little, glancing over his shoulder. The skin above his brow was bruised and grazed. There had been a suture there, but the stitches had torn, and blood speckled the wall. The restraints made a lot more sense, now.
“Banging my head against a brick wall,” he answered, as though it were a completely normal thing to do, like drinking coffee or reading reports. “What, did you get worried about me?”
“You said you were only gonna be a minute,” Alan said, fixing him with his best ‘betrayed baby brother’ pout. “You said you were gonna use the bathroom, and then you were gonna explain everything to me.”
“And I will,” Scott replied, calmly, and then he tapped the wall with a knuckle. “But first, I’ve gotta do this.”
“Why?” Alan asked, sidling closer, past the shower. Was this what John meant?
“The Hood said so,” came the answer. Scott paused, tilting his head thoughtfully. “He’s a real smart guy, actually. Full of great ideas. I don’t know why I didn’t listen to him sooner.”
“Um… because he’s a psycho who hates our family? Didn’t he kill Dad?” Alan said. Whatever the Hood did to Scott, it was creepy and horrible and he really, really wanted it to stop. Scott shouldn’t say nice things about the guy who killed Dad.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Scott waved a hand. “But except from all that, I mean. Great guy. Really good at business. Actually, he proposed this awesome deal earlier.”
Scott paused, bracing himself against the wall again. He shut his eyes, tilted his head back again, and–
“What deal?” Alan asked.
Scott blinked down at him. In the corner of Alan’s vision, John silently padded toward them, autoinjector in hand.
“Uh… well, I was gonna turn International Rescue over to him,” Scott replied. “He’d get the whole island, a couple billion in cash, and in return we all get a normal life. Great deal. But, uh… I dunno what’s gotten into everybody else. They don’t seem to agree with me.”
Alan gaped at his eldest brother. Did… did Scott not enjoy helping people? Or was this just the Hood’s mind-whammy thingy?
“Gordon was all weird on the way home, and I think John blocked my pool access so Kayo could sneak onto One and kick the shi– the, uh, snot out of me,” Scott continued. He sighed. “And then I got dragged down here. You’re the first sane person I’ve gotten to talk to since I got back. I’m gonna need your help. You with me?”
“Uh…” Alan swallowed. In the corner of his vision, John silently padded toward Scott, autoinjector in hand. “Um… I guess it depends on what you need me to do.”
Scott frowned, turning away from the wall. He looked at Alan, mouth tight, for one moment, then two.
“You’re a distraction,” Scott said, putting the pieces together a split-second too late. He twisted as John slammed the autoinjector into his neck. Scott struggled for a few seconds: three, two, one. Then the sedatives took effect, and he went limp in John’s arms. John sighed, clearly relieved, and looked at Alan.
“You think you can help me get him back into bed? Grandma and Virgil need their sleep.”
“Too late,” came a deep, exhausted voice. Virgil appeared in the doorway, still in his sleep-clothes. Stubble coated his jaw, and his hair was unstyled and curly. He yawned. “EOS called me.”
“She shouldn’t have done that,” John muttered.
“Well, she did,” Virgil rolled his eyes, crouching next to John. “You take the legs, Alan, lower the rails while we get him on.”
To Alan’s surprise, neither John or Virgil scolded him as they worked together to move Scott. Virgil didn’t even say anything when Alan put the rails back up and re-did the restraints, just nodded once they were all finished.
“You didn’t tell me something was wrong with him,” Alan said, as Virgil started disinfecting the reopened suture and grazing on Scott’s head.
“Didn’t want to worry you,” Virgil answered.
“I’m not a baby.”
“We know,” John replied, pulling a new blanket over Scott. “It’s just… we deal with a lot of horrible situations. And sometimes the only thing we can do in these situations is try to protect you.”
“I don’t need protecting.”
“Maybe you don’t,” John conceded, as he lay one cool hand on Alan’s shoulder. “But we need to protect.”
Stupid, Alan thought, looking down at Scott. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It was all stupid. They always tried to protect him. Just once, he’d like to protect them. Protect them from the landslides and the rockfalls and the winds and the horrible things they saw. Protect them from the Hood.
Alan took a deep breath, blinking away the blurriness in his eyes. He wouldn’t cry here. Not like this.
“He said he had to bang his head against a brick wall,” Alan said, mostly to change the subject.
“It was the last ‘order’ the Hood gave him,” Virgil answered. He opened a new gauze pad and picked up a new bandage roll, then started carefully dressing Scott’s head wound. “Parting words.” Virgil shifted his tone, a high-pitched, fake British accent. “Oh, go bang your head against a brick wall, you absolute idiot!”
“The nano-bots were designed to rewire certain synapses, making Scott agree with the Hood’s suggestions and obey his commands,” John added. “EOS stopped them making any more changes, but she can’t undo what they already did.”
“So he’s stuck in a loop,” Alan breathed. His stomach rolled again. “He thinks he has to continue…”
John nodded.
“And that’s why he’s restrained. Brains is working on a way to reverse it. He just needs some intel– that’s where Gordon and Kayo are.” John’s voice turned very gentle, squeezing Alan’s shoulder. And then he said them. The six worst words in the world. “Everything is going to be okay, Alan.”
Alan didn’t answer.
Silence settled heavily across the room, and Alan watched as Virgil carefully secured the ends of the bandage in place, letting Scott’s head fall back onto the pillow.
“That’ll have to do until Grandma gets up,” Virgil muttered. He sighed, clambering to his feet. “Alan, bedtime.”
“I’ll stay here,” John said.
“For real, this time?” Virgil asked.
“For real,” John nodded, and he gestured at the desk, where his water bottle still stood despite the chaos just a few minutes before. “I went to get water last time.”
Virgil looked at the desk, then back at John, and he shrugged.
“Fine,” Virgil said, sounding more exhausted than Alan had ever heard him before, and Alan let him steer them both toward the infirmary doors.
As they passed the open washroom door, with the wall still stained with Scott’s blood, an idea popped into Alan’s head. He stopped, tugging at Virgil’s sleeve.
“Hey, the Hood said Scott had to use a brick wall, right?” he said. “What if we just moved him somewhere with no brick walls?”