Chapter Text
John had decided that today was the day he’d return to Thunderbird Five. He’d been dirtside for two whole weeks, the longest consecutive period on Earth since the Zero-X. But if he didn’t go soon, he knew his procrastination would keep pushing the deadline further and further away.
Besides, he was concerned that by hanging around on the Island, Scott might think John doesn’t trust him. That he needs to be watched or minded by the second brother just in case he… absconds again. But John does trust Scott. He trusts him with almost everything, just not his own wellbeing. His big brother certainly wasn’t suicidal by any means, but it was no secret that he valued his own life below his family. It was a fact John didn't particularly like to think about and normally placed it far away in his brain with other thoughts that made him want to hum nervously.
So, he’d informed the rest of the inhabitants of his plan a few nights ago, and while they seemed to take the news well, John has been feeling more and more anxious as the hours ticked down.
Deciding that a comfort bagel might be in order, as he often struggled to differentiate between stress and hunger, he made his way through the villa towards the kitchen. When he noticed Scott alone on the balcony watching the sunset, though, he felt the need to stop. His brother had been doing a lot better in the past few days, shaking off the groggy exhaustion of being caught in an exploding pyramid and had seemed more resigned to completing his new two-week leave. Perhaps it was because everyone had made an effort to let Scott choose the pace of his recovery, rather than try to slow him down. The result had been interesting, to say the least. Scott had periods where he behaved typically, making updates to ‘One, mediating between the Terrible Two’s latest prank war, and abseiling cliffs on the other side of the island at dawn. But there were other times when he would sink into himself, wander quietly on the beach, and massage his bad ankle as though the joint hadn’t been near-perfectly healed for seven years. So when John caught Scott leaning quietly on the balcony railing surveying the night sky, John had abandoned his Bagel Quest and headed over.
“Can I ask what you’re thinking about?” He questioned as he got closer.
Scott didn’t flinch but frowned as though he wasn’t sure how to answer. “Walruses.”
The eventual answer made John pause. It certainly wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. “The scientific name for walrus is Odobenus rosmarus which means ‘tooth-walking sea-horse.’”
“That’s not very accurate for a scientific name.” Scott commented with a small smile in his direction. But John was determined not to let Scott change his original line of inquiry by offering an info-dumping opportunity on binomial nomenclature.
“What made you think about walruses?”
“I think I was thinking about the crash? The one two weeks ago.” He specified quickly. “And I remembered having to drag myself out of ‘One through this hole in the cockpit before the fire reached me.”
John’s rigorously logical mind was whirring to find any kind of connection. “And the walruses were involved how…?”
“Well, I wasn’t very graceful about it!” Scott laughed at himself, cheeks turned pink with faint embarrassment. “And I remembered thinking that I probably looked like a walrus trying to get onto the beach, like in those documentaries? But, obviously there are no walruses in Egypt and…” He trailed off and shrugged helplessly.
John mirrored the action. “Walruses.” He concluded.
He sat with the information for a moment, knowing his brother wouldn’t judge him for his silent processing. Scott’s ADHD manifested in many different ways, with the impulsivity and demand avoidance being two of the biggest indicators. But he was usually pretty successful at tracing his associative thinking back to the root stimulus. In John’s opinion, it’s what made him such a good first responder – that his mind explored dozens of tangential ideas simultaneously to consider an appropriate strategy. Scott wasn’t thinking about walruses; he was thinking about escaping a burning aircraft injured and disorientated. But maybe this lack of masked thinking was a remnant of the last couple of weeks? Or maybe this was Scott testing the waters, seeing how John reacted to him when he wasn’t straightforward? Either way, he needed to ensure his response was accepting and reassuring.
“Walruses are incredibly resilient animals. They’ve developed many different behaviours to increase their chances of survival.” Was what he settled on.
Scott face-palmed with a groan. “Sorry, I’ve just realised how random that was.”
“You don’t need to apologise. You’re just being yourself.” Something you hardly ever allow yourself.
“O-oh.” He huffed a patronising laugh. “Just unbearable, then?”
John hated when Scott did this, but he knew he wasn’t to blame for his own internalised ableism. It was mum who helped Scott manage his ADHD, and when she was gone, dad hadn’t known what to do. Scott’s teachers said he was disruptive and unfocused. Dad shouted and grounded him. Scott shouted back, obviously. Finally, dad told him he’d never get into the Air Force with his attitude, and that’s when John began to notice the masking becoming more and more frequent. At school. At Resuce Scouts. At home. Until the other brothers barely remembered how Scott used to be. So yes, John hated it when Scott masked around him, but he hated whoever put that word in his mouth more – whoever told his brother he was ‘unbearable’ being himself.
“You’re not 'unbearable', Scott.” He had to reply. “Don’t force yourself to be someone you’re not. Not around me and the others.”
Because Alan was so accepting of who he was with ADHD, although he leaned more towards the hyperactivity and mind-wandering flavours than Scott did. And John knew that Alan’s confidence came from the way Scott raised him. Scott ensured that their baby brother never felt ashamed for being himself and strongly discouraged him from masking behaviour. John remembered when he and Virgil last talked with Scott about trialling some medication. Alan had had a prescription since he was quite young, but Scott had been vehemently against it himself. True, when Scott was Alan’s age, the World Council excluded anyone taking ADHD medication from pilot training. He’d had to jump through a lot of hoops to prove that his unmedicated diagnosis wasn’t ‘bad’ enough to prevent responsible flight behaviour. But that had all changed by the time Alan registered. Taking a World Council-approved medication, their little brother had faced almost no challenges. When John and Virgil had brought it up with Scott, he’d fallen into an anxiety attack at the thought of it, and neither of them had been brave enough to return to the topic.
“Sometimes it’s a habit. A bad habit, I know. But right now I just want my brain to do as I tell it.” Deep within his shinkansen-of-thought, John hadn’t noticed Scott turning around and resting his back against the balcony railing.
“Still feeling a little unravelled?”
“Mmm.”
“Do you want me to stay?” John offered, willing to postpone his return to ‘Five a few more days for Scott to balance himself out.
“I always want you to stay, Johnny. But I don’t need you to.” His big brother smiled in understanding. He would never keep him from space.
And John trusted Scott, so he smiled back, nudged his shoulder, and returned to finding that bagel. He'd even forgive the nickname on the grounds of recent trauma. “Don’t let the walruses keep you up all night.”