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Brin never bothered with landing on a good day —normally, he just dropped onto the closest thing he could climb down— but his panic had thrown out whatever higher reasoning skills he’d had left, leaving him free-falling to the battered ground over a glance of orange.
He hit the ground hard, scrambling to his feet in a cloud of dust and shaking himself out to ignore the impact shockwaves radiating from his shoulder.
“Gail?” He glanced around, ears rotating in every direction to catch a response.
”Dad?” There was a crackle of rocks ahead of him, and a pained yelp that had him stumbling forward.
”Hang on, bud, don’t move.” Another yelp and Brin grit his teeth. “Gailisle Ranzz, I know I say this a lot, but sit. Still!” He snapped, and didn’t miss the cowed mumble of “Yessir” from his loudest kid as he skidded to a stop and dropped to his knees.
Trying to steady himself, Brin gathered Gail up into his arms, murmuring and shushing his broken sobs while trying not to look at the twisted metal speared through his thigh and hip.
“Gail, kiddo, you’re gonna be-look at me, you’re gonna be okay.” Sharp claws closed around his wrist, and he nudged his son’s gloved hand into his own.
Tears ran dark tracks through fawn fur, wetting down his temple and the shoulder of Brin’s battle suit. His breathing was labored and ragged, pupils tiny, fearful slits amid the wide, pale blue of his eyes.
“Dad, it hurts. ” Gail whimpered, curling into Brin’s chest with a cry of pain as he jostled the twisted rebar.
“I know, I know, kiddo.” Brin gently hitched him up closer and squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you. It’s not- don’t look at it, look at me, what do you see? Five things, and don’t you dare say ‘eye bags’ like last time.” Though all his voice wanted to do was shake and crumble, Brin forced himself to keep level and light as he rolled onto the balls of his feet in preparation to stand. Gail swallowed hard and took a shuddering breath, claws prickling at Brin’s knuckles.
“I can-I can see the three nicks on yer left ear, there’s a, um, burn on your right sleeve and arm…” he listed the rest as Brin eased to his full height: his scruff, his hair tuft, and his crooked nose.
“Good, good.” He pressed their foreheads together for a second and Gail gave a watery smile. “Okay, four things you hear, and hook your arms around my neck.”
Gail did as he was told, burying his face into Brin’s shoulder like he was ten again, instead of seventeen. And he still hated flying like he used to as well, chattering in discomfort as they touched off the ground.
“I know, kiddo, I hate it too, but it’s safer than walking you all the way back to the cruiser.”
“You hate flying?” Gail asked weakly, voice tinged in mirth.
“Yes, yes, the great Timberwolf doesn’t like his feet off the ground. It’s your Ahp’s favorite thing to tease me about, and several enemies have tried to use it to their advantage over the years.”
“Whaddaya mean, ‘tried’?”
“I mean, one of them locked me in a zero grav room without remembering the key detail of: I still know how to maneuver in space without anything to kick off of, and she found herself in a floating headlock a couple minutes later.” Brin puffed, getting a faint chortle from his son. “Hey, stay awake for me, okay?”
“‘S hard.” He mumbled, arms beginning to grow slack around Brin’s neck.
“I know, bud, but you gotta. S’like getting your hair brushed.”
“Hurts like it too.”
“Glad to know one of you got your Ahp’s dramatic streak.” Brin snorted. “I told you before, it wouldn’t be as bad if you’d, at the very least, take five minutes to care about it.”
“Hair cells are dead, they’re not getting any deader with my intervention.”
“They are, actually, because you’re a horrible mortician.” Gail lifted his head just to stick his tongue out, before dropping back in place like a stone, and Brin’s mouth tightened.
“Almost there, kiddo, just a little longer and we’ll get you feeling better, ‘Kay?”
“Don’ care about feelin’ better .” Gail grumbled, words beginning to melt in the same fashion as Garth’s. “I jus’ don’ wanna be a popsicle anymore. Or maybe ima corn dog. Heh, ima corn dog.”
“Nuts and bolts, kid, that’s not the objective here.” Brin sighed in pained amusement as Gail started singing: “IIIIma corn dog, yeeees I am, IIII’ma corn dog aaaaand the man!” To himself. “But if it keeps you awake, keep going, I guess.”