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It never got easier, he reflected, arms burning with the strain. No matter how many times it happened, how many times he found himself repeating the same motions, nothing about it was ever easy.
The first time, his brother had been so small, so fragile, that he had been terrified. Any wrong move could have broken him, and Scott had never been so scared. He wasn’t very big himself, only a couple of years old, and he soon grew out of his fear, but that first time holding a tiny baby brother in his arms, he had been so scared, he quickly handed him back to Mom. Of course, in the next few months, he could barely be separated from his brother.
The first time carrying an injured baby brother was even worse. John, old enough to know how much he loves the stars, but apparently not old enough to be smart about it, had been setting up his new telescope on the roof when he stepped too far backwards and tumbled off the edge. Scott had nearly fallen after him in his haste to get down, but had managed to keep himself on the ladder. John, all long legs and arms, was incredibly light, and he had scooped him up, settling his head on his shoulder, not caring about the blood running down and staining his sweater. He kicked the door open, hurrying inside, calling for Mom as he did so. She had taken control immediately, leading Scott into the kitchen to set John down on the counter so she could help.
Gordon he carried far too often. His brother loved the water, oftentimes pushing himself past his limits in his enthusiasm. Whenever that happened, Gordon would flop onto the deck next to the pool and call for his brother until Scott came and scooped him off the floor, arms tucked under knees and shoulders that were still dripping water. Scott would sometimes hold him out at arms length, trying to keep the water off his clothes, which Gordon found endlessly amusing. Scott would drop him onto his bed, throwing a towel at him on the way out.
Alan was the worst. That same fear he had felt the first time he held a baby brother was multiplied and returned a hundredfold when he saw Alan bleeding on the ground. He ran over to kneel at his brothers side, heart resuming its normal rhythm when he saw that Alan was conscious, eyes open and staring at him. “It hurts, Scotty.” He whimpered. Scott scooped him up, Alan still small enough that it was easy. He settled Alan’s head onto his shoulder, taking care not to jostle his injured leg. “I know.” He soothed. “I know.”
Every time, Scott had to fight with himself. His natural reaction was to wrap his baby brothers up in bubble wrap, keep them locked inside the house, safe from harm. But that wasn’t who they were. He could no more stop his brothers from following him into danger than he could stop himself from trying to shield them from it. But he knew, no matter what, no matter how hard it was, no matter the fear and pain, that he would always be there to carry them home.