Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.

Whumptober Day 5: "Broken Nose"

The sound of a breaking nose was distinctive. Cartilage crumpled, bone shattered, and it all combined into a unique symphony that once heard once, was never forgotten again.

Gordon had known that Scott was having trouble with some rescuees; it was hard not to, when their loud and explosive protests had been broadcasting clearly through Scott's open comm. That was the whole reason he'd left the other part of the danger zone – a small town directly in the path of a leisurely yet unrelenting volcanic eruption – to Virgil and Alan in order to back their big brother up. Sure, Virgil probably could corral their reluctant rescuees with a combination of his seemingly-eternal patience and sheer bulk, but if Scott's Commander persona wasn't getting through, then Gordon wasn't a fan of throwing Virgil into the mix. Alan wasn't even a consideration.

He'd recommended himself, John had agreed, and Scott hadn't even given any indication that he'd heard him over the increasingly-aggressive sounding rescuee, so he went.

Unfortunately, it sounded very much like he hadn't got there in time. There was, of course, a chance that Scott had snapped and been the first to lash out, but Gordon was doubtful that that was the case, even if he'd personally prefer it over Scott being the victim. Scott was good at keeping his temper under control on rescues, provided none of his family were threatened – and as he was alone in his sector of the danger zone, there was no way they were successfully threatening the rest of them. Ergo, the one with the freshly broken nose was Scott, and Gordon was incredibly displeased at that.

They were still shouting, none of their voices tinged with the tell-tale thickness of a broken nose, and the sound of more contact echoed across the comm.

Gordon accelerated a little more, breaking into a risky jog as he closed in on Scott's location. Ungrateful and difficult rescuees were the worst, especially when they got violent towards his brothers. Scott could, in theory, handle it – although it was sounding rather like this time he couldn't – but Kayo was the only other one of his siblings whose self-defence skills were greater than simply passable so Gordon often ended up as some form of defence.

That didn't mean he liked doing it. They were there to help people, not fight them.

He slowed his pace again on the final approach, wanting to get a visual on the situation before actually getting involved. Blue and yellow wasn't the best for stealth, but if no-one was actively looking for someone else nearby, he could disguise his presence reasonably well.

There were three of them, all yelling loudly. Smart businessmen in suits, but one was built a lot like Virgil and his face was a similar colour to Thunderbird Three as he roared at Scott. Gordon's brother was backed up against a crumbling building that looked like it had been victimised by the warning quakes – another concern to keep an eye on – with one hand cupping his face in a way that made it perfectly clear that he was the one with the broken nose and the other balled into a fist of frustration.

His restraint was admirable; Gordon could tell that his temper was seething, and that the temptation was there to lash out in retaliation, but so far he hadn't stooped to their level.

Gordon's job was to make sure he didn't.

"What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?" he inquired, stepping over some other quake-caused rubble as he made his presence known – still far enough away that they couldn't just take a swing at him. "You know, this area is in the path of a whole load of lava and leaving would be a really good idea."

"We're not leaving!" the red-faced hulk snarled. To Gordon's relief, he turned away from Scott to face him instead. "Get your fancy machines over here and protect my property."

One of those, was he? Gordon wished he was surprised, but the arrogant, sharply dressed businessmen almost always cared more for their property than their lives. It made them incredibly tiring to deal with.

"Sir, that's a wall of lava bearing down on us," he pointed out, taking another step closer. "We can't stop it, just get everyone out of its path before they end up like the residents of Pompeii."

And Herculaneum, John's voice snarked in the back of his head, although John himself was too busy directing Virgil and Alan while keeping an eye on the volcano itself to contribute to the conversation.

Red turned to a rather impressive shade of purple instead. "I demand that you protect my property," the man exploded, rather like the erupting volcano itself. "It's worth more than you could possibly imagine."

Considering the Tracys ranked somewhere particularly impressive in the list of richest families in the world, Gordon probably could. The attending Thunderbirds alone were likely worth more than whatever it was he was trying to protect. He knew better than to mention that, though.

"That volcano really doesn't care," he said instead, which probably wasn't much better. Movement behind the men facing him indicated that Scott was doing the smart thing and getting out of his cornered situation, although Gordon wasn't na?ve enough to think that he was being smart enough to leave the confrontation entirely.

"I don't care what the volcano thinks," purple-face yelled, lunging forwards. Gordon had been wondering when he'd snap again.

Already on guard, and not hemmed in against a building with nowhere to go, it was a piece of cake to duck down beneath the flailing arm, watch him overbalance, then grab his wrist and yank him into a submission hold.

"Hey!" The other men reacted, but Gordon glared at them and they halted in their tracks.

"Look," he told the struggling man. "Our job is people, not properties, and we're not leaving you to die so either you come with us peacefully, or I'll force you." He tightened his grip. "And we do not appreciate being attacked for trying to save your sorry asses."

"Gordon!" Scott scolded, although his name came out all mangled thanks to the broken nose. Gordon elected to ignore him.

"There's nothing International Rescue can do to stop the volcano destroying whatever it wants to destroy," he continued. Purple-face gaped breathlessly, while the other two watched. "So are you going to go to the evac zone willingly, or do I have to force you?"

Scott's hand clamped down on his own shoulder, but Gordon continued to ignore him in favour of waiting for the answer.

It didn't take long.

"I'll go, I'll go! Let me go and I'll go right now!"

Like many of their more aggressive encounters, it was all bravado shielding a delicate ego. Gordon released him and quickly stepped backwards, out of range of any other potential attacks – pushing Scott out of the way as he did – but it seemed that this one actually knew when he was beaten.

A dark look, an under-the-breath grumble that was probably some version of the cliché I'll get you for this, and the man scarpered. The other two, who were almost certainly just lackeys, followed hot on his heels, and Gordon watched them go with narrowed eyes.

"Gordon," Scott repeated again, all nasally and disapproving. He rolled his eyes – it wasn't like Scott wouldn't have done the same or worse had their situations been reversed – before turning to face his big brother.

"How did you let that guy get a hit on you?" he asked, mostly as a distraction and not because he was interested in the answer. Scott huffed, then winced.

Gordon closed the gap between them and reached for his cheek, carefully prying the concealing hand out of the way so he could see the damage properly.

"Gordon-"

"There's no-one else left in this sector, Virgil and Alan have the rest of it under control, and that lava's taking its sweet time approaching," he reminded him coolly. "There is plenty of time for me to check you over." He lay his hand gently on Scott's cheek, pushing himself up on tip-toe to be closer to eye level.

His nose was going to need re-setting; Gordon could do it right there, but it'd be without painkillers, whereas if they waited until they were back to Thunderbird Two they'd have the full medical compliment, including Virgil. Blood dripped sluggishly down, crossing Scott's upper lip and dripping periodically onto his lower, and the classic twin black eyes were already beginning to blossom.

Scott suffered the inspection impatiently, switching his weight from foot to foot and glancing around the danger zone with an angsty air. Gordon was too used to his big brother's quirks to be bothered by any of that.

"You're getting some beautiful shiners," he declared, swiping away the next dribble of blood with his thumb before releasing Scott's head. The look Scott gave him could only be interpreted as thank you, Captain Obvious. "No light-headedness, double-vision, or any other signs of concussion?"

"I'm fine," came the muffled, irritated, response. Gordon suspected he was at least partially annoyed with himself for being jumped in the first place. "We have an evacuation to finish." It came out more like we hab an ebacuadun do binid.

Gordon eyed him critically, well aware that Scott wouldn't admit to anything if he thought he could just push through it, but concurred.

He changed his mind approximately four seconds later, when Scott stumbled and swayed slightly.

"No light-headedness?" he repeated pointedly, fingers firmly wrapped around his brother's bicep and holding him upright.

Scott didn't acknowledge that with a verbal response, but the way he tugged to keep walking was enough for Gordon.

"Change of plan," he chirped, taking the lead and guiding a somewhat reluctant Scott straight towards Thunderbird Two. "Virgil and Alan finish off the evac while I give that head of yours a proper scan and we'll see what's wrong. Well, more wrong than usual, I mean." He ducked a half-hearted swipe and tightened his grip when Scott threatened to overbalance again. "John, you get that?"

"F.A.B.," their perpetually eavesdropping brother agreed, appearing above his wrist. "Virgil and Alan have been updated and the local authorities informed about the dangerous rescuees."

"Perfect," Gordon said. "Hear that, Scott? You've got nothing to do except let me check you over, and I've got nothing to do except check you over, so let's go do that and make sure you didn't get a concussion."

"I'm not concussed," Scott protested thickly.

"Which is exactly what a concussed Scott Tracy would say," Gordon pointed out. Scott stumbled again and he graduated from holding his bicep to wrapping his arm around his waist. "It's just one measly little scan, Scott. It won't bite."

The glare he got in response to that was almost enough to convince him that Scott was probably fine. Almost.

Gordon chuckled as they approached the large green Thunderbird. Her module was open, with rescuees milling around concernedly, so he made a beeline straight for the cockpit, Scott in tow. His brother stumbled again, and Gordon firmly pushed him to sit in one of the passenger seats before retrieving a medscanner.

No concussion, but there was a minor head injury – not including the obvious. Gordon supressed a growl that would've been aimed at people out of earshot regardless, and dabbed lightly at the blood still sluggishly trickling down with a clean gauze. His brother attempted to take over, or at the least bat him away, but Gordon caught his hand in his and guided it firmly to rest on his lap.

"Let me do it," he scolded lightly. "I can actually see where it is."

It was a pretty feeble reason, admittedly – mirrors existed – but Gordon didn't particularly care because he had no intentions of passing over the ministrations to anyone else anyway. If he did, he might just cave to the roaring instincts to teach the man – men – responsible a detailed lesson on why no-one hurt Gordon's brothers.

It was much better for everyone involved if he kept himself busy.

Thanks for reading!
Tsari