Ficathon entry: Year One (Scott Summers, Alex Summers)
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Mine is below:
Title: Year One
Author: likeadeuce aka Karabair
Written for: certainslant at xmmficathon. Request: Include Alex.
Disclaimer: Not my toys, I just play with them.
Characters: Scott Summers, Alex Summers
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1,107
Author's Notes: Thanks to harmonyangel for beta.
Year One
Alex Summers sat on the foot of Scott's hospital bed, crossed his arms, and thrust out his lower lip in that stubborn way his brother knew all too well. "I don't want to go."
Scott clenched his jaw, drew in a breath, and silently repeated the mantra his mother had taught him for occasions like this one. He's just a kid, he's just a kid, he's just a kid. "It's Hawaii, numbnuts," Scott said. "Who doesn't want to go to Hawaii?"
"Hawaii's dumb," Alex said.
"Beaches and sunshine are dumb? You really are a lame brain. I wish I could go to Hawaii." His voice didn't trip over the last sentence, not even a little.
"Beaches are dumb," Alex insisted. "And there's sunshine in Alaska. There's sunshine all night in the summer. You know that. Dad says -"
"There's nobody in Alaska," Scott snapped. "In case you haven't noticed, we're in a frigging hospital in frigging Omaha, which is like - five thousand miles from Alaska. Even if you could get back to Anchorage, there's nobody -"
"My friends!" said Alex, but Scott saw a quiver of uncertainty, for the first time, in that stubborn, obnoxious little jaw. "Billy and Gavin and Spencer and -"
"Kids? Those kids you used to play rocket ships with? Do you think one of them's going to adopt you or -?" Alex's lip started to tremble. Scott sat up and reached out for him, careful not to tangle in the tubes and wires that connected instruments to his chest and arm. "Come here." Scott touched the remote control on the side of the bed, hoping the television's noise would muffle some of the discomfort if his brother started to cry. He looked out in the hall, saw Mrs. Masters talking with a nurse, and waved. She waved back, vaguely, in his direction, then turned away to her conversation.
"Listen, little bro," Scott said, pulling part of his blanket over Alex's shoulder. "We're kids. Kids don't get to decide this stuff, other people decide it for us. So you're going to Hawaii, with the Masterses - they're really nice; they're friends of mom's and dad's. You're going to live with them and I'm staying here. There's a special -" institution " - school I can go to. And doctors who can help me with -" Memory loss. Post-traumatic stress. Insanity. Whatever it was that let him go to sleep in a warm house in Anchorage and wake up six months later in a clinic half a continent away, remembering nothing in between, only knowing because people kept telling him that he'd survived a plane crash, that his parents were dead, that everything that used to be his life was gone, except for his brother. His brother, who he now had to talk into wanting to leave him. "My headaches," Scott said. "They're going to help me with my headaches."
Alex snuggled up next to him. "I get headaches," he said with a yawn. He reached over to flick the remote control. Scott watched the channels change as he waited for the rest, waited for Alex to say, I want to stay with you. If the boy had opened up and said it, just once -- well, Scott would have fought. He was only ten years old, maybe there was nothing he could do, but he would have fought to stay together even if meant no Hawaii for either of them. Corporal and Mrs. Masters had been friends with his parents, but they couldn't be expected to take on two children, when they already had their own. Especially not when one of the children had (Scott listened to the doctors, even when they thought he wasn't) a history of severe trauma, an uncertain prognosis, the possibility that he might always require special attention. Mrs. Masters (and Scott listened to this part of the conversation, too) wasn't a bad person, but there was only so much her family could do. They were at the mercy the military; they had to keep moving from place to place. They couldn't give a boy like Scott the stability that he needed.
He understood. He understood he was a stone around his brother's neck, but he also knew he was family and if Alex wanted his family more than he wanted blue skies and beaches, and life at an ordinary school, Scott would fight with his life to keep them together. He would look for a way if Alex would only say -
"Volcanoes."
Scott frowned. "Okay, what? Now I know you're mental."
Alex pointed at the television screen. He had stopped the remote on some kind of nature special, showing footage of a mountain spewing ash and hot lava. "Volcanoes made the Hawaiian Islands. Millions of years ago, and stuff."
"I don't think the Masterses are going to let you play in a volcano," Scott said cautiously.
"Most of them aren't active anymore," Alex said, with the contempt that only a seven year old can bring to a subject he can't possibly understand. "But you can still see the rocks, and the land, and everything from when they were. If I can move to Hawaii I can be a scientist. And famous. And I can go all over the world like Jacques Cousteau." He yawned and nestled closer to Scott. "Only with volcanoes."
"Maybe you'll have a TV show," Scott felt his throat tighten. "And I could - I could watch it -"
"You wouldn't watch it. You don't like science. It's okay." He nudged Scott and looked up into his eyes. "Maybe I'll do a show about cars, too."
"That would be nice," Scott agreed, and they kept talking, planning, mapping an impossible course for Alex's future, which was only important for being a future without his brother in it.
He got over that fast, Scott thought, before remembering, He's just a kid, he's just a kid. And just for a moment, a voice in the back of his mind protested, So am I. I'm ten years old and it shouldn't be my job to take the one person who still matters in my life and talk him into leaving me.
Mrs. Masters walked by in the hall, and Scott gave her a thumbs-up sign, and then he pushed all the doubt and protest to the back of his mind. He was doing the right thing.
Scott turned back to his brother and squeezed him tightly, knowing it was the right thing, and ready to move forward with his own stripped-down life. Ten years old and starting over.
Scott Summers, Year One.
Mine is below:
Title: Year One
Author: likeadeuce aka Karabair
Written for: certainslant at xmmficathon. Request: Include Alex.
Disclaimer: Not my toys, I just play with them.
Characters: Scott Summers, Alex Summers
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1,107
Author's Notes: Thanks to harmonyangel for beta.
Year One
Alex Summers sat on the foot of Scott's hospital bed, crossed his arms, and thrust out his lower lip in that stubborn way his brother knew all too well. "I don't want to go."
Scott clenched his jaw, drew in a breath, and silently repeated the mantra his mother had taught him for occasions like this one. He's just a kid, he's just a kid, he's just a kid. "It's Hawaii, numbnuts," Scott said. "Who doesn't want to go to Hawaii?"
"Hawaii's dumb," Alex said.
"Beaches and sunshine are dumb? You really are a lame brain. I wish I could go to Hawaii." His voice didn't trip over the last sentence, not even a little.
"Beaches are dumb," Alex insisted. "And there's sunshine in Alaska. There's sunshine all night in the summer. You know that. Dad says -"
"There's nobody in Alaska," Scott snapped. "In case you haven't noticed, we're in a frigging hospital in frigging Omaha, which is like - five thousand miles from Alaska. Even if you could get back to Anchorage, there's nobody -"
"My friends!" said Alex, but Scott saw a quiver of uncertainty, for the first time, in that stubborn, obnoxious little jaw. "Billy and Gavin and Spencer and -"
"Kids? Those kids you used to play rocket ships with? Do you think one of them's going to adopt you or -?" Alex's lip started to tremble. Scott sat up and reached out for him, careful not to tangle in the tubes and wires that connected instruments to his chest and arm. "Come here." Scott touched the remote control on the side of the bed, hoping the television's noise would muffle some of the discomfort if his brother started to cry. He looked out in the hall, saw Mrs. Masters talking with a nurse, and waved. She waved back, vaguely, in his direction, then turned away to her conversation.
"Listen, little bro," Scott said, pulling part of his blanket over Alex's shoulder. "We're kids. Kids don't get to decide this stuff, other people decide it for us. So you're going to Hawaii, with the Masterses - they're really nice; they're friends of mom's and dad's. You're going to live with them and I'm staying here. There's a special -" institution " - school I can go to. And doctors who can help me with -" Memory loss. Post-traumatic stress. Insanity. Whatever it was that let him go to sleep in a warm house in Anchorage and wake up six months later in a clinic half a continent away, remembering nothing in between, only knowing because people kept telling him that he'd survived a plane crash, that his parents were dead, that everything that used to be his life was gone, except for his brother. His brother, who he now had to talk into wanting to leave him. "My headaches," Scott said. "They're going to help me with my headaches."
Alex snuggled up next to him. "I get headaches," he said with a yawn. He reached over to flick the remote control. Scott watched the channels change as he waited for the rest, waited for Alex to say, I want to stay with you. If the boy had opened up and said it, just once -- well, Scott would have fought. He was only ten years old, maybe there was nothing he could do, but he would have fought to stay together even if meant no Hawaii for either of them. Corporal and Mrs. Masters had been friends with his parents, but they couldn't be expected to take on two children, when they already had their own. Especially not when one of the children had (Scott listened to the doctors, even when they thought he wasn't) a history of severe trauma, an uncertain prognosis, the possibility that he might always require special attention. Mrs. Masters (and Scott listened to this part of the conversation, too) wasn't a bad person, but there was only so much her family could do. They were at the mercy the military; they had to keep moving from place to place. They couldn't give a boy like Scott the stability that he needed.
He understood. He understood he was a stone around his brother's neck, but he also knew he was family and if Alex wanted his family more than he wanted blue skies and beaches, and life at an ordinary school, Scott would fight with his life to keep them together. He would look for a way if Alex would only say -
"Volcanoes."
Scott frowned. "Okay, what? Now I know you're mental."
Alex pointed at the television screen. He had stopped the remote on some kind of nature special, showing footage of a mountain spewing ash and hot lava. "Volcanoes made the Hawaiian Islands. Millions of years ago, and stuff."
"I don't think the Masterses are going to let you play in a volcano," Scott said cautiously.
"Most of them aren't active anymore," Alex said, with the contempt that only a seven year old can bring to a subject he can't possibly understand. "But you can still see the rocks, and the land, and everything from when they were. If I can move to Hawaii I can be a scientist. And famous. And I can go all over the world like Jacques Cousteau." He yawned and nestled closer to Scott. "Only with volcanoes."
"Maybe you'll have a TV show," Scott felt his throat tighten. "And I could - I could watch it -"
"You wouldn't watch it. You don't like science. It's okay." He nudged Scott and looked up into his eyes. "Maybe I'll do a show about cars, too."
"That would be nice," Scott agreed, and they kept talking, planning, mapping an impossible course for Alex's future, which was only important for being a future without his brother in it.
He got over that fast, Scott thought, before remembering, He's just a kid, he's just a kid. And just for a moment, a voice in the back of his mind protested, So am I. I'm ten years old and it shouldn't be my job to take the one person who still matters in my life and talk him into leaving me.
Mrs. Masters walked by in the hall, and Scott gave her a thumbs-up sign, and then he pushed all the doubt and protest to the back of his mind. He was doing the right thing.
Scott turned back to his brother and squeezed him tightly, knowing it was the right thing, and ready to move forward with his own stripped-down life. Ten years old and starting over.
Scott Summers, Year One.