I really don't know where the idea for this story came from. As my lovely reviewers will know, everything I've written so far has been based on actual episodes. Maybe it's been this gap between new ones that's got my bunnies a little bit... well, bored. But then this idea for a scene that I'd love to see in the series popped into my head, my Whump!Bunny went looking for a victim, and... well, here's the result!

Don't worry, it isn't anything too serious. But you know how these Whump!Bunnies are. If you don't humour them, they turn really, really evil!

So, with five potential victims to choose from, who do you think my Whump!Bunny went for? Well, read on, and find out!

Ick!

Voices. The first thing he heard were voices. Two of them, vaguely familiar. Both speaking in unnaturally quiet tones.

"Hey, he's talking in his sleep again. You think he's waking up?"

"I dunno. Maybe he's just... you know, having one of his weird dreams."

'Weird dreams?! Hey, since when do I have weird dreams?! And, uh... hel-lo? I'm right here!'

More whispers. Not about his subconscious habits, thank God, but still arguing over the best thing to do.

"Think I should get Brother Nursemaid back in to check on him?"

"No, I think Brother Patient's suffering enough already. What about Grandma?"

"No, she'd only try and make him eat something. Like I said, he's suffering enough already."

The debate, though, remained unresolved. An irresistible need to sleep had already pulled him back into thankfully normal dreams.

When he next woke, he still had company. But just in the singular now, snuggled into his side, a tousled head resting on his chest. Softly muffled snores suggested that company had been with him for some considerable time.

A tight grip on the front of his T shirt also suggested an ongoing need for comfort. Whatever had landed him in his bed, with three of his brothers fretting over him, and one now curled up by his side, had caused enough worry to make all of it necessary.

Not knowing whether to frown or smile, Scott finally went for the latter - taking advantage of a dreaming wriggle to slide his arm under his brother's body, and snuggle him just that little bit closer. Still in a cosy state between full awareness and lingering sleep, he lay quietly, watching him settle back into peaceful dreams.

Somewhere in the night, or morning, or whatever time it was, he'd acquired an Alan-shaped teddy bear. What he was doing there, of course, was another puzzling mystery, and... no. For some strange reason, trying to solve it was taking too much of an effort. One that was becoming increasingly painful. While Alan slept against him, as light as the proverbial feather, it felt as if Thunderbird Two had just landed on his head, and... uh-oh.

Ye-ah. Maybe that explained why Brother Nursemaid - 'where the hell did he come from?' - was studying him so intently. Not in anger, or even mild annoyance, but concern that melted away into a smile of pure relief.

"Hey, Scooter... welcome back to the land of the living."

Land of the living? As opposed to the land of the dead? Which, oddly enough, was exactly where he felt he belonged right now. Every part of him was aching, and his head felt as if it were about to explode clear off his shoulders.

'Yeah, you can double up on that uh-oh, Scoots... what the hell have you done to yourself this time?'

No doubt Brother Nursemaid would tell him, in no uncertain terms, and... yeah, he was up to a triple 'uh-oh' now.

An IV? Whatever he'd done to himself had required an IV?

No doubt Brother Nursemaid would explain all that to him too. Right now, though, it was just too much of an effort to ask. Instead, Scott lay watching him check the saline unit that hung dizzyingly high above him. As his eyes refused to focus, he gratefully closed them - feeling rather than seeing his brother's weight settle with surprising lightness beside him.

A comfortingly cool hand rested against his cheek, while a not quite so comforting thermo-strip was pressed onto his forehead. From the relief in Virgil's voice, though, its reading met with more reassuring approval.

"Yeah, that's more like it. Down to 101.2"

About to suggest to his brother-cum-nursemaid to check back on that, since right now he felt like a damn igloo, Scott then frowned. For one thing, it had taken a near Herculean effort to open his eyes again. And for another, since when had the simplest act of talking become so damn hard?

Yes, his mouth was definitely moving. And yes, he knew what he wanted to say, but... no. However hard he tried to get the words out, nothing was happening. All he finally managed was a croaking squeak that sounded like a baby frog having its first burp.

Luckily, Virgil had seen how painful that effort was becoming, since a hand now cradled itself under his head. At the same time, a cupful of chipped ice had appeared, as if by magic, against his mouth.

"Here you go, Scooter... just a bit at a time, that's it... nice and slow."

Muzzily grateful that some kind soul - no prizes for guessing who - had thought to add some orange juice, Scott felt soothing coolness start to ease the drought in his throat. And while swallowing still made him wince, the relief it was bringing him was worth the discomfort.

Best of all, it had found his missing voice for him, and kindly brought it back.

"Vi'g'l? Wh't h'ap'en'd?"

Well, almost.

Still, he'd been through this routine enough times to know how good his brother was at translating less than coherent gibberish. Thank God for that, too, because he really didn't have the strength to say it again, and... 'yeah, way to go, Virg. As always, you read my mind.'

"It's okay, Scott... you rest up, and I'll fill in the blanks. Okay?"

Answered by a meekly grateful smile, Virgil retrieved a spare mug from the table beside him, and filled it from the pot alongside. Watching him, Scott felt his smile fade, and a puzzled frown return. If he felt like death warmed over right now, then Virgil didn't look that much better. His face was paler than normal, and a dullness that no amount of coffee could disperse still shadowed his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm not surprised you don't remember," Virgil said at last, studying his brother with three parts sympathy to equal parts exasperation. "This virus hit you really hard, Scott... after running yourself ragged taking care of the rest of us, it hit you for a real ton of bricks."

If Scott hadn't been concerned for his brother before, he certainly was now. So he wasn't the only one who'd caught this bug, or virus, or whatever the hell it was? Well, that was a troubling, then oddly comforting thought. At least if they'd had it already, he wasn't going to pass it on to Virgil, or Gordon, or Alan, and... ah, yes. Yes, fragments of memory were finally breaking through the cotton wool that still seemed to fill his head.

Alan had caught it first, followed with worrying speed by Gordon, and his still recuperating nursemaid. That seemingly easy call-out to rescue a group of tourists in the Andes had clearly left an unwelcome sting in its tail.

Returning from his own solo mission, he'd come home to find three fever-struck brothers, each struggling to tend to the sickest - which, as the virus had tightened its grip, pretty much counted for all of them.

Its timing, too, had sucked beyond description. Grandma had been visiting Penny in London, while Brains was away too, lending his genius to an inventors fair in Boston. And while John had offered to come down and help, he'd ordered his brother to stay up in Five, safely out of harm's way. As he'd dryly told him, Tracy Island had become its very own danger zone.

As the only one unaffected, he'd faced the unenviable task of running rescue missions single handed, while trying to nurse three bed-bound patients through three soaring fevers.

Speaking of which, Brother Nursemaid was speaking again. And what he was saying explained one hell of a lot. The IV. The cooling cloths that lay against his neck and chest. The unnatural weakness that made his body feel as if it had a herd of elephants sitting on it. And, most telling of all, the clouds of worry in Virgil's eyes.

"You've been running this fever for almost three days. Nothing I gave you seemed to work in making it break, at one point you were delirious, and... yeah, Scooter... you've had us kinda worried."

That, Scott dryly chastised him, was the understatement of the century. And as more flashes of memory returned, so the guilt through his conscience increased. Returning from his latest mission, he'd hauled his exhausted body into the den - and given three still recuperating brothers the fright of their lives as he'd collapsed into their arms.

Given the shock and worry he'd caused them, his response to it, and everything he'd put them through since, seemed woefully inadequate.

"S'rry."

For such a simple word, though, it did wonders for the face in front of him. For the clouded brown eyes that now lit up, and shone with forgiving delight.

"Hey, you've always been worth it, Scooter... always will be," Virgil grinned, his smile widening as a coppery blond head poked itself hesitantly around the door.

"It's okay, Gords, come on in... but real easy, okay? He's still real weak, and Allie's still asleep."

"No, I'm not!"

While Scott had thought it, so his humanised teddy bear had said it aloud. Unlike his brothers, though, Alan wasn't smiling. To Scott's greater surprise, he looked closer to tears, for reasons that his brother already knew weren't deserved.

"I'm real sorry I got you so sick, Scott... but you're gonna be okay now... right?"

Now flanked by two brother-shaped teddy bears, Scott grinned back at them as he snuggled them closer, and softly kissed the top of Alan's head.

"I'm gonna be fine, Squirt... and, hey, you didn't get me sick, okay? It was just one of those things, so I don't want you to feel bad about it... okay?"

"Yeah, it wasn't your fault, Alan... it was just real bad luck that we caught it off those tourists," Virgil agreed, giving Alan's hair a cheering ruffle that worked its role to perfection. "And now that Brains is back from Boston, he's going to help me rig up a decon unit, so hopefully we can stop this happening again."

"Yeah, once was more than enough," Gordon muttered, brightening back to his usual cheery self as he glanced back at Scott. "But don't worry, bro. Like he did for the Squirt and me, Brother Nursemaid will have you back on your feet in no time."

"I'm sure Brother Nursemaid will just looove that," Scott grinned, throwing said nursemaid a mischievous smirk. "And I promise to be a reeaal good patient."

From two 'oooh, now you've done it...' winces beside him, Scott then realized he'd made a mistake. No doubt from this damn fever, he'd just made a reeaally bad mistake. The devilish grin on Virgil's face was already telling him how much he was going to regret it.

And no, not even a plaintive groan was going to save him now.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, Scoots... because until I say you're fit enough to get out of that bed without planting yourself on the carpet, you're mine... aaall mine."