Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Have a nice day, sir."

The press of an automated door button and the outside world was unravelling at his fingertips. He stepped out, new limbs aching at the bittersweet chill of Kansas's autumn. A small path led down to the busy hospital carpark, amidst the hustle his Grandma sat, likely in her small silver Peugeot car - the same one she'd had years ago.

But John Tracy didn't make it down that small little winding path made of morbid concrete slabs. At the very thought of seeing his Grandma like this his lungs seized and his flesh and bone fingers shook.

("Mayday! Mayday! The ISS is going down, immediate assistance requested! I repeat--" )

St. Heathers hospital sat on a hill. A large, steep hill. Over the years it had had its fair share of accidents with ambulances (and visitors) struggling on the just too steep roads. The path was adjacent the front doors, leading off down through bushes and what could be described as a miniature forest of oaks. All around the path tiny flowers bloomed, rising from luscious green grass that had yet to be sweltered by the city. The oldest inhabitant of this land, a grand oak tree, sat far enough down the hill that its expansive roots were of no risk to St. Heathers supports. The sky was bright, the cloudless aroma of earth pulling John down, gravity tugging at his boots until he wobbled over to the tree and sat down by one of its unsheathed roots.

The tree was native to California, having been brought over to Kansas at some point, and thanks to the past weeks of heat was low on its leaf count. Trust the weather to take a cold turn the moment he was released from the lair of physio and rehab. Somewhere above his prone figure a bird chittered to the hum of an ambulance pulling up, people rushing out of the ER doors to greet it with grim eyes. John's fingers itched for a book —his chosen spot was ideal for such a leisure— but grasping one was hard, even now after his right leg had been nothing more than unfeeling metal for just over five months.

John had been happy in space. The quiet was satisfying, there were no crowds up there and NASA had seen fit to allow him the privilege of researching for them up there alone. It had been the best thing to happen in his life, a bright new chance after dad's death.

But the ISS had crashlanded back on earth after an unexpected fall out of orbit due to a wayward undetected meteorite. There had been no-one to help and John had been resigned to death, the heat outside the walls too much to withstand as a human. He'd decided against jumping out to instantly turn to ashes, opting to stay inside the station and make sure the data stayed with him.

He couldn't remember the crash in the Sahara. As far as the psychologists knew, he was running a blank on the entire day but the memories that assaulted him both day and night had urged him to stay quiet. NASA had sent an official down to the hospital, before he'd been relocated to a local one.

The official, a short stout woman with sharp black hair, had taken one look at his transfemoral (above knee) prosthetic and the stump that was his hand and had turned on her heel before she'd even fully entered the room. He'd later gotten his discharge, a letter with some bullshit apology and a couple hundred thousand dollars compensation to ensure his silence.

In the end that compensation for him to stay quiet had been for nothing. Two months into his never-ending hospital stay, a man within the command strip had spoken out of turn and within a few hours the entire world knew of the accident John Tracy had been in.

That was alright, John didn't really care who knew. What mattered was that NASA had fired him and now he was alone in Kansas, relying on Grandma to get him settled because he had no house and could barely walk, nevermind drive. He'd need a special car if he ever wanted to drive or else he was going to have to speed up his leg reaction time. His right foot's toes tingled as if he was moving them (but he wasn't because he'd lost his right leg and now there was a prosthetic sprawled out in front of him instead of a leg). Fabric and carbon fibre soaked up the grass's moisture instead of skin and John felt his chest get heavy, gravity weighing him down as he sucked in lungful after lungful of fresh air.

"There you are, son. I was wondering if you'd decided to stay inside the reception area."

John started, head whipping up to stare as Grandma stopped in front of him, hand on her hip. Her hair had turned completely grey since he'd last seen her and her skirt seemed to twirl around her like fire curling a letter. She offered a watery smile.

"Grandma," he said, gripping at a low hanging branch to pull himself up as he spoke. It was warmer than when he'd first sat down, a brisk morning subsiding into an early afternoon. The sun glowered down at him. John spoke slowly, dragging out the syllables to draw attention away from how long it took him to get steady on his feet. "I must've lost track of the time. I didn't keep you waiting for long, did I?"

"It'll always be too long with you boys, always finding a new way to make me worry." Grandma scoffed, valiant as ever. She shuffled over to him quicker than he could evade her and pulled him down for a precious kiss on his forehead. She hugged him fiercly, leaving him to wrap long stiff arms around her and pat her back with the only hand he had left.

"I'll try harder," he promised. "How is everyone?"

"Oh, John." Grandma gushed, squeezing his waist harder. His ribs murmured a soft protest. "Scottie's coming back from his tour in a few weeks, Gordy's still down with the fishes and Allie's not long off to University."

"And Virgil?"

"Boy's got himself a studio downtown on an apprenticeship with some famous artist."

"Sounds like they're doing well," at least his brothers were doing better than he was. "What about you?"

"I'm great, sweetheart." Grandma spied a glance at her fitbit. Obviously she still liked to run. "Let's get to the car. I made cookies before I came to get you, they should be cool by now. I made your favourite; hazlenut."

John could hardly wait. Grandma's cooking was the best and the thought of it waiting for him on Grandma's large table pushed him on to walk down the path. She tugged along his suitcase with a grand smile that dared him to protest.

It was warm and dry out in the middle of the Kansas abyss. At the quarter of the century, when the storms got worse and the houses stopped standing up to the winds, most towns and cities had been deserted; what had once been a grandly populated state became empty and barren.

Gran Roca Ranch sat amidst the mountains, protected from the winds and the rains and most of the hell that the cities had seen. There had once been a village around it, with smart roads and good cell signal, but as people left for brighter horizons, the small settlement had dissipated. Now, almost forty years later, all that remained of that little village was the ranch itself. It was a hotel amongst rock.

John froze in his seat as they drove past the rows of fruit trees, seeing apples, pears and peaches. When he was young and his mother was alive, she had planted these trees, talking about wanting to bring some life to the dusty front of the ranch. The back held a wide expanse of trees, a small grove rising upon the myriad of dust and dirt, but the front of Gran Roca Ranch had always been desolate and empty in John's memories.

By the welcome sign sat two great cherry trees, both bearing luscious cherries. The line of trees followed the driveway into the Ranch, stirring a sense of nostalgia that felt as forbidden as it was painful. The trees were new – what else would be? He wondered if they still had the chickens out by the side. Were the horses still alive?

Thankfully, it seemed the building itself hadn't changed one bit. The glass extensions still gleamed boldly under the sun, the roof was still tilted at an odd angle due to Dad's study and the white paint on the walls was chipped and peeling like bark coming off a tree. Even the mountains that surrounded the Ranch were as orange and jagged as ever.

The sight of the mundane yet cheerful home sparked something in John's chest and urged him out of the car. He was glad for the familiarity, already feeling so out of his depth that it wasn't the slightest bit amusing. His legs were stiff from the three hours it had taken to get to the Ranch (because of course it was out in the middle of nowhere, placed between states) and his real knee creaked ominously as he got up. Yet, Grandma seemed to have no such problems, at his side insantly, suitcase jumping along at her command. She put her wrinkled hand at his back and urged him forward.

Tin-Tin met them by the front porch. She wore a dark tank top, arms bare to show the black etchings smeared over her arms. Her dark jeans hugged her, yet did nothing to hide the handgun at her waist. The sight made a pit form in his stomach. John did not recognise her.

The girl he'd known had smiled and ran about in the mud with Gordon and Virgil. She had always been laughing and never seemed to falter, even when her dad died. When John's dad, Jeff, passed, the family had shuddered and the pieces had fallen apart. They were still a family, but when they came to visit the ranch it was usually alone. Family get-togethers had been few and far inbetween over the past few years.

Tanusha frowned at him, though John got the distinct impression that she'd already been frowning. For a moment, John wondered if that was what he looked like while walking along the bars, physiotherapist urging him to loosen up, John, you're doing great, stay steady.

"John," she nodded, side-stepping to let him up the steps. There was no bar, nor a handy elevator here. There was nothing in front of his mom's old countryside house aside from the three steps that lead up onto the wide wooden porch. He put on a smile and steeled himself.

"Tanusha," he greeted in an effort to stall the inevitable. "How've you been?"

"I prefer Kayo nowadays but I've been good. No crutch?" She tipped her head towards his carbon fibre prosthetic, bared wide to the world by a pair of Gordon's old khaki shorts - the only thing that would fit him after years jumping between NASAs offices and space. They were also the only pair that had yet to bring his sensitive skin out in rashes from his oversensitivity to gravity. He'd been on solid ground for a few months but still suffered from the occasional sideeffect. 

He shrugged meekly, brandishing the special brace the physiotherapist and prostheticist had given him, designed to reduce any possible swelling of the wrist before what was left of it became inflammed, acting like a shrinker. It was a dark navy, completely hiding the stump from the outside world. The doctors had said something about it being a barrier from infections. "No hand to hold it."

"Ah," Kayo said, offering her right hand. Her expression was unreadable. "You need a spare?"

John's heart pulsed painfully but he managed a smirk as he gripped onto her hand with his left. She tugged him up the steps carefully, allowing him the time to get steady on his leg every time. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," she hummed, stepping back to motion him in. She pushed the door open for him.

Grandma followed up behind him, flapping at Kayo's holster. "Already ready to go out, dear?"

"You know me," Kayo hummed, voice almost soft with the older woman. Grandma Tracy had that effect on people.

The house smelled like cookies and coffee, reminiscent of days long gone. John teetered into the hallway, glimpsing over countless family photos. The carpet was clean but looked rough, its texture odd after years of wear. On his immediate right sat the living room, the kitchen adjoined by two wooden double doors. Straight infront of him sprouted the ancient staircase, no doubt leading to the four original bedrooms and single bathroom. On the second floor, beyond his sight and reach, John knew there to be a ladder that branched out into the extensions Jeff had added, allowing entrance to the extra two bedrooms, study and the additional bathroom. John doubted much had changed since he'd last been here, aside from Kayo possibly living here. When had she moved in?

"We built a patio out the back a few years ago," Grandma chattered, steering him into the cosy living room. She planted him on the three seater, tv hung static over the same old stone black fireplace. "You should see it. Out past the trees, Gordon built a pond when he came down last year. I'm sure Virgil's painted a few canvases of it somewhere. Would you like anything to drink, John? Coffee? Tea?"

"Water," he hummed. "Please."

"Right away, sweetheart," Grandma beamed and scurried off, past the open double doors to disappear into the larger kitchen.

The wallpaper smiled down at him, flowers twining with vines that wrapped around each and every wall, each one spaced a foot along. To his far left sat that huge old window with its ledge seat, pillows layering it. If John closed his eyes or blinked hard enough, he could almost see a little two year old Alan wriggling about on it, a six year old Virgil watching studiously over him.

The family had lived out on the Ranch when everyone was younger, with Grandma and Grandpa but as they'd grown up and their needs had edged towards the city. John hadn't minded the solitude, but his brothers had. They'd moved all the way to California for school and Dad's work, leaving their Grandparents alone. Only now that Dad was dead and everyone else had almost constant duties did they flounder back to the Ranch on weeks off, no places of their own to stay. Grandma still lived here, along with Kayo, and everyone knew they could return whenever they wanted.

Unfortunately, sometimes it was easier to camp out in a hotel for the few days they were off. That was better than hitching a ride to the middle of nowhere – a ride that would last hours.

His thigh felt heavy, the prosthetic weighing him down despite it being carbon fibre. The arm chair to the left of him sat silently, a coffee table between the two couches. Kayo fluttered in a second after Grandma had vanished for his water, the girl who was around Gordon's age sitting down on the single seater. A few moments later, she turned the tv on.

Some show blurred to life, painting the screen as the people moved and talked, the audio penetrating the tense silence that had settled. John sat there, suitcase immobile beside him, handle standing tall. Kayo's stare burned.

"What have you been doing?"

"Things," she said, yards different from the little girl who'd run about in pigtails and dresses. Her hair was pulled back tightly, her dark outfit and sleek gun giving off an air that screamed stay away. John wanted to know what had happened. "You know, the usual."

"Yeah," he agreed. The disconnect felt larger than ever, his inadequacy yelling at him from beyond the canyon.

"Your water, sweetheart." Grandma announced, gently pushing the glass into his hand. John offered a smile as the older woman set a plate of cookies on the sturdy coffee table. It looked like the same one from years ago, and if it actually was, John was quite surprised. The number of times they'd fallen over or kicked it when they were younger ranged in the hundreds.

"So," Grandma continued as she sat down between them on the other end of John's couch. "Kayo's in the old second extension room now, the one past the ladder. I kept your room how it was, John, only vacuuming and dusting, so it should be alright. We swapped the single bed out for a double a few years back."

"Thanks," he said, after draining half his glass. Only after he'd swallowed did he realise how inconvenient that was going to be, with the bathroom up past a flight of nearly twenty steps. "I don't know how long I'll be here..."

Grandma was quick to reassure him. Her hand was warm atop his. "Of course, sweetheart, that's no problem. You stay however long you need. Kayo and I need to go shopping. Are you good being here alone for a few hours?"

A few hours alone in a house he knew was better than months in a hospital he didn't. "I'll manage," he said.

"Great job," Grandma ruffled his hair and stood again. "I'll go put the bags in the car, Kayo darling. You take your time, John. You can stay here for as long as you want, sweetheart, just don't be running off anywhere too soon."

"I wouldn't get far without you, Grandma." He said in phrase of flattery. Although, it was part truth, John could barely get up the stairs nevermind down them. He wouldn't last an hour on his feet.

"Aww," Grandma cooed and gave him a peck on the forehead.

"Are you sure he'll be alright on his own?"

Kayo watched Sally's forehead crease with worry and knew she'd hit a landmine. How could she not have, with John sitting on the couch like an alien, alternating between staring at the tv and the coffee table, flesh arm and leg broken out in rashes. He looked like a mockery of a man; wearing Gordon's clothes and watching the world spin by with a glassy gaze. After meeting those empty eyes, Kayo understood why the doctors had held him in the hospital for so long.

"I don't know, dearie." Sally admitted. "I... Should we bring down blankets for him to sleep on the couch? I seen how he struggled to get up the porch steps."

Truthfully Kayo was worried about that too. She'd literally tugged John up the front steps and although she hadn't made it a point of conversation – anyone could see the man's embarrassment over the matter – it had struck her deep. If the man could barely make it up three steps without assistance then what was nineteen steps going to be? Sure, there was a railing going up the stairs, but there was no guarantee that he wouldn't fall and crack his head open if he slipped or couldn't lift his leg high enough.

John had no right knee. Well, his prosthetic had one but she could only imagine how bad it was. The carbon fibre seemed heavy (despite the fact that it shouldn't be) and John walked with a disconcerting sway that he hadn't before. But it wasn't even the above knee amputation that would make stair climbing difficult. He also had no right hand, a brace strapped over the stump that obviously ended at his wrist. The banister railing was on the right when someone walked up the stairs. If John fell going up, he might do more damage by reaching out with a hand that wasn't there.

Now, Kayo didn't doubt John's ability to take care of himself. He wasn't as bad as Scott, or... only Scott, really. Yes, the astronaut had suffered substantial weight loss and was likely elbow-deep in a crisis-induced depression, but he was still alive. He'd survived a space station crash landing on earth, unlike anyone else. Of course, he would have a hard time after something so life changing.

"Only if he mentions it," Kayo suggested. "John knows his limits, if he wants to crash on the couch he can, but a bed would be a thousand times better comfort-wise."

Sally sighed. "I suppose you're right. Oh, I'm just so worried. None of the boys are free to come visit for another few weeks. What if he won't last—"

"He's not dying," Kayo placed a hand on the older woman's arm. "John's strong, he'll get better, he just needs our help. And when have we failed anyone?"

Jeff Tracy's name went unmentioned.

John groaned as he pulled himself to his feet. He felt sweaty and jittery, the restless part of his brain screaming at him to do something. Running a hand through his hair he let out a breath and blinked down at his suitcase, the small black box on rollers staring up at him. He drained the rest of his water and placed the glass back down on the coffee table.

No better time than the present, he thought and immediately felt queasy.

Stooping down he tapped the pop-up button on the handle to let it shrink in on itself. If he was to make it upstairs in one piece he didn't need his case being extra dangly. Almost grabbing it with his right hand John fought back the urge to slap himself and re-adjusted, picking up the weighty case with his left— his only hand.

Shuffling through the doorway back into the hallway, John offered the staircase a glance. He could do it. He'd walked steeper ones before.

Did you have a fake leg, then?

John swallowed, pulled back his shoulders and ignored the phantom echo of his ribs twinging. Carefully but quickly, as to not loose his balance, he put his left leg on the first step.  Shuffling over to rest his right arm on the banister, he tugged up his right leg, leaning more on the front on it to keep upright. If he leaned back too much he would loose balance, especially with how his prosthetic leaned back at the motion of his body going forward. He didn't want to fall (which he had a greater chance of doing, because his leg was an above knee prosthetic). Once he was sure he was steady, he repeated the process.

Six minutes and thirty-seven seconds later he'd defeated the stairs and had all but collapsed on an old rocking chair that was conveniently placed in the hall. Amidst his gasps for breath, his hand burned, a sharp bolt of pain shooting through his entire right arm like a strike of lightning.

He couldn't breathe.

"Copy, ISS, what is your situation?" 

Fire surrounded him, thick black smoke choked his lungs. His helmet was cracked, he couldn't feel his right leg. Why was the sky above him when he'd been in it not a moment ago? Metal creaked and groaned, the ISS falling apart -already half gone- and John spluttered out a blood ladden cough. He was dying, or dead, he had to be- had to be--

His suitcase tipped from his hand, the loud bang ringing out in the empty house. The noise scared John out of his memories and pulled him back into the land of the living. He gasped, sucking in enough oxygen to make an oxygen tank proud.

I'm on Earth, he thought. On Earth, alive. In more than one piece but alive. Alive.

The air was warm and dry against his throat, Kansas' autumn not doing much out where the Ranch sat, hours away from even the slightest bit of civilisation and, apparently, the seasons. Their only neigbour was over a hundred miles away.

His thighs begged for mercy after what seemed like a hike uphill for miles, the weight on his right thigh nearing too much after his earlier downhill walk. John sighed raggedly, throat feeling raw.

"Damn it," he whispered. Emotions welled up in him, forcing their way out as tears that burned his skin. "Why am I so useless? Why didn't I just jump out and end it, I should've..."

Gran Roca Ranch observed him in silence. He cradled his head in his hand, fingers gripping at long hair. "It feels like I hiked up Olympus Mons, but I've only climbed the stairs. How pathetic is that?" He choked on a laugh, folding over on himself even as his thighs protested the extra weight. A thought prodded at him. "Who was that Saint they talked about in the hospital? Bernis? Bernard?"

He gripped the arm rest with his hand, pulling his head up to stare at the wall. The tears had stopped chewing at him so he closed his eyes. The doctors has encouraged him to focus on the small things in life, so now he thought about hiking and patron saints.

"Saint Bernard, saint of hikes and skiing and all things snow. Like those dogs."

A few minutes later, John opened his eyes and a large saint bernard stared at him, drool dripping from its jowls. It barked playfully at him and trotted off down the hallway, tail leisurely swinging to and fro. He stilled, not daring to move.

I've gone insane.

As if sensing his thoughts, the large dog that was definitely a fully grown male turned around. His tail wagged faster, the sound beating off the walls and slamming into John like a slab of cement. The dog was huge, up to his chest when he was sitting.

There it was – that heavy lump in his chest, static racing through his veins. It was t he feeling of the ISS losing gravity. The same feeling thundered through John as the station broke through the atmosphere.

That feeling haunted him as the ISS hit the ground, what was left of it rippling at the impact, sending him hurtling away. For a moment, he flew. John was weightless.

His heart ached, limbs tight. Then, everything crashed down.

The saint bernard barked. John opened his eyes once more, unsure of when he'd closed them.

He barked again and this time pulled off a little jump where his front two legs made it off the ground for a few seconds before he thumped back down. The vibration rippled through the floor and pooled in his own foot.

John stared.

The saint bernard stared back.

"Why are you here?" He asked the first thought to make sense aloud. "Am I hallucinating?"

As if to spite that last question, the dog shook his head slowly before backing up and motioning again with his head for John to follow. He did so, leaving his suitcase where it was to stumble after the dog on weak legs.

John woke up early.

Fuzzy and disoriented he jerked awake, the stickered ceiling coming into focus seconds before his breathing hitched. Yellow glow in the dark stickers illuminated the room, their light not nearly enough to go by for movement but enough to ease someone out of their fear. His bed was too soft, too different from the ISS's bunks and the hospital's cot. The blankets felt heavy, like a weight settling on his sternum.

He blamed gravity. John hated gravity.

As he lay wide awake, his mind churned through different scenarios of the ISS falling from orbit. He was lucky only half of the station had burned up on re-entry, thanks to the coolant systems. Everyone had said he was lucky to have survived at all. John himself wasn't so sure.

The clock flipped to 4.32 AM. Something else caught his attention as he stared up at the constellations painted by the sticker stars. Virgil had kindly painted his ceiling black one day, with the actual stars names streaked in what was now a dull grey scrawl. John remembered what it had looked like years ago - white and so bright - before he'd left for NASA's Astronaut Training. The names were still there, barely visible in the low light but definitely there.

It felt like a hole had been carved in his chest as he glowered up at his stars. Were they mocking him? Sitting up there, taped on securely, whilst he was down here, stuck on gravity-inflicted Earth. He felt heavy and yet too light, right leg gone before his knee and right hand cut just after his wrist. The prosthetic leg sat by his bedside table, meek and afraid in the dark. John felt the bile rise up his throat. He swallowed it down.

With sunrise came new thoughts; thoughts of the dream he'd had before dinner. The dog hadn't reappeared, hadn't actually been in the house to begin with - he'd checked, the drool pudde the saint bernard should've left was nowhere to be seen. As for Dad's study, he hadn't made it up there yet. Getting to the kitchen and sitting down, eating then standing up had all but done him in. Kayo had helped him upstairs and he'd turned in at seven.

Getting up now and walking to Dad's study wouldn't be too bad, he supppsed. With the other two sleeping, but John despised the thought of falling and waking them. There was also the added risk of Kayo waking up when he passed her bedroom, up in the extension. And John wasn't about to answer any questions. He'd just have to wait for them both to leave, however long that took.

But what had the dog wanted? Why had he led him to Dad's study? Was this John's self-brand of PTSD or was he becoming psychic or something, but then, why Dad's study? Just what did Jeff have up there that had John's mind going haywire to get?

"Morning."

"John," Grandma gasped, eyes shooting wide. The sink was filled with bubbles, dishes from her breakfast set on the drying rack. She turned the tap off and hurried to dry her hands. "Good morning! You're up early. Would you like anything to eat?"

John decided not to correct Grandma that 8.12 AM wasn't that early, least she worry. Instead, he smiled and sat down by the long dining table.

"Just a water, Grandma. Where's Kayo?" There was a cold quater-filled coffee sitting forgotten by one of the placemats and John knew for a fact that Grandma didn't drink the stuff.

"Coming right up, sweetheart." Grandma answered. "Kayo's gone down to the town to her group of kids. She teaches them how to ride the horses."

"Really?" He quiered, munching away at a cookie he'd grabbed from the plate on the coffee table on his way in. Grandma's baking was delicious, enough to rival her culinary cooking skills. Being a baker for twenty years had paid off. "We still have the horses then?"

"Of course, all three. You should get out to see them soon, John. I'm sure they'd be excited to see you again." Grandma placed down his glass of water, a slice of toast following quickly after. "Now, eat up. I have to leave for my knitting club soon, and I'll be away for a good few hours. Are you alright...?"

John understood her hesitance to leave him alone. He wasn't so sure he'd trust a man with one leg to be alone in a house full of steps and obstacles either. Still, this was his chance.

"I'll be fine," he smiled, nibbling at his toast. "You go and have fun, I'll probably just watch tv."

"Alright then," Grandma patted his shoulder and disappeared off upstairs.

Kayo was teaching kids how to ride. That was interesting. It explained how they had any money at all, and John was sure anyone would want to learn how to be badass on a horse around here; it was just the type of place for it. With both Grandma and Kayo gone he could get up to Dad's study sooner than anticipated, maybe he'd even get outside. He wanted to see Gordon's pond.

A few minutes later Grandma jogged downstairs with a grace John couldn't muster. She popped her head in, "Have fun, sweetheart. Kayo will be back at 3. Love you!"

"You too," he said. John listened as her car revved up and began the journey down the drive. Only long after the sounds of the small Peugeot had passed did John let himself relax. He seemed to deflate with a single breath, finger tracing the rim of his glass after he'd downed it.

"Okay. No falling asleep this time, John." He thumbed his thigh before standing. It seemed it had chosen today to complain, thumping inside of his prosthetic like a timer about to go off. If he didn't have a shrinker on, John would've thought it had grown to twice its size. That would've been fun to push into his prosthetic; the nightmare he would have with trying to strap it up would be indescribable.

Once more, he lugged himself up the stairs and found himself leaning on the wall. His stomach squeezed in on itself as he thought of climbing up the ladder. If only he had something to--

Bingo.

John shuffled into his room, rooting through his suitcase and pulling out what he needed. Grabbing the expandable crutch he hobbled out back into the hallway and sent a silent apology to Scott as he opened his brother's door.

Scott's room was filled with the usual deadly paraphernalia; airplanes and medals hanging suspended from the roof by pins and string. Not for the first time, John cursed his height as he bumped into a sharp wooden piece of one of the figurines, the bright finely painted wing nearly taking John's eye out instead of collecting dust like it had been doing for years. Thankfully, past the death traps and swinging medals of accomplishments sat a neatly made bed and an organised bedside table. Well, Scott would probably call the table's surface organised. John just seen it as hazardous.

A few minutes of rooting through his older brothers drawers later, John was grinning at the piece of rope in his hands. Scott had fawned over this since the day he'd bought it, claiming it to be triple inforced and strong enough to hoist a man like their father into the sky, with the right amount of power.

A ten year old Scott's gleeful boasting was all John needed for this piece of rope.

He put everything that he'd scooped out of the drawers back into them before he left, shutting the door quietly behind himself. John, courage renewed and hopes high, set towards the ladder. There, he paused, daring to jump onto the first bar with his good leg, stretching his right arm around the thin space between the ladders side and the wall for support.

John elongated the crutch to its smallest setting and pushed it through the gap in the ceiling. He placed it horizontally, and strained forward, using his fingertips to see if it was strong enough. The white bar, laid flat and steady, didn't budge from his weak tug and John felt something bubble in his chest.

Hanging onto the ladder, he tied a large loop on one end of Scott's rope. It was well over five metres long, which was more than enough. Loop done, John threw the other end over the crutch and let it hang, like a suspended pulley system. After a moment of thought he pulled off his prosthetic and slid his thigh into the loop, reattaching his leg when he was sure he was secure, having manouvered so the rope held him evenly. With deft hands he pulled the other rope end through one of the ladders upper bars and held onto it.

Proud of himself, he sat there for a moment before leaning into the loop, eyeing his crutch carefully for the slightest movement. When nothing moved but his fingertips with his pulse, John pulled.

Space had weakened him but months of physio had strengthened him, and he was still light, technically still underweight from his ISS jaunts. He tugged himself up easily after untangling himself with the ladder and using his flesh leg to push himself up with the ladder bars. This way he only had to worry about one side of himself, and occasionally pulling himself up, no dead leg to weigh him down when he was held up by rope.

Yes, he probably would've pulled himself up the ladder quicker had he forgone his pulley system but this way, when he sat on the rim of the gap and disentangled himself, he wasn't exhausted from lugging up his leg and teetering on the side with only one hand. With his system he also had an easy way down, which he knew would be harder without the support.

The fact that no-one was in the house was reassuring. He didn't want anyone finding him doing something silly, and yet he almost wanted someone to be with him. If he fell he knew the dangers. John knew if he hit his head he could easily bleed out with no-one around. He didn't want Grandma or Kayo to come back and find him dead, blood staining the wooden floorboards.

So he wouldn't fall.

He abandoned his crutch where it was, trusting that if he hadn't buckled it the dust couldn't either.

The hallway seemed brighter today, the sun stronger as it shone in through the large wall-consuming window on the side of the extension. John hobbled along, avoiding the bedrooms out of respect - he did not want to accidentally see something he shouldn't.

As always, at the end stood the study door. It seemed larger than it had in his dream, no dog by his side to comfort him. John stopped in front of it and sucked in a breath. His hand hovered over the handle.

You can do this, John. Come on.

He opened the door.

Dust assaulted him, swamping his senses and making him sneeze. Waving his hand about a bit, John ventured in, eyes catching on how dark the room seemed. The window blinds were too far away, muddled away behind boxes and a plethora of obstacles, so John flipped the lightswitch and stifled his laugh at how pathetic the lonesome lightbulb was.

With the room cast in an orange glow the dust seemed more prominent but that didn't bother John. For some reason he felt at peace knowing no-one had been up here. Making his way towards the old desk, John avoided boxes upon boxes. Each one was tapped shut, Dad's unmistakable slant scribbled onto every single box. Squinting he found a few said research and a few others were labelled numbers.

John wasn't too sure about what that meant so left those boxes alone. He headed for the one placed importantly on Dad's desk, the dust inches thick atop it. Silently he swiped away the dust that covered the presumed label only to find there wasn't one. John wiped down the entire box before giving up on his Dad's faulty labelling system, finding no black sharpie ink detailing what was inside. He peeled back the flaps and found his eyebrows raising at what sat inside.

One large, leather backed book sat in the middle, just small enough to fit. John, curious, reached in and picked it up. The weight surprised him the first grab he made and he was forced to drop the book before he lost his balance. Blinking he tried again and gripped the books spine, bending down to let his right arm push against the side of the cardboard box to give his left hand enough leeway to successfully pick up the thing.

It was heavier than any other book John had read, and he'd read a lot. He'd thought a few of Shakespeare's were heavy but this was a totally new ballground. That or he was just weaker than he had been. There was also the striking fact that this leather backed book was at least three inches thick. He didn't doubt there wasn't over a thousand pages inside.

Frowning as he placed the book down in front of him, John felt his thigh quiver. Hurriedly pulling out Dad's rolly chair he dropped into it, deciding to get comfortable before reaching out for the book again. He unstrapped his prosthetic to let it stand beside him, allowing his residuum some fresh air - or as fresh as the air got in a room that was practically made of dust.

The book, upon closer inspection, was a navy colour, no doubt as bright as the day it was made. Interest thoroughly peaked, John opened to the first page.

Contacts, it read.

UK, London: Lord Hugh Creighton-Ward. 020-7946-0642

Australia, Canberra: Thomas McHarthley. 1900-654-321

Russia, Moscow: Igor Mshienov. 495-555-12-34

(GDF) California, Sacramento: Captain Casey. 916-596-0569

John blinked. He had no idea why Dad would need numbers of people around the world, people John didn't even recognise. Well, Casey was probably Dad's old friend who was now Colonel Casey and the surname Creighton-Ward seemed awfully familiar. A Londoner too...

He'd went to school with Lord Creighton-Ward's daughter, Penelope, for a semester abroad. Back in Harvard he'd been transferred to Oxford for experience and to get a feel of the course. Penelope had been a popular girl with pretty blonde hair and a prettier face. John was sure she'd said something about being a model.

Odd that Dad knew her father, John mused, leg easing the chair from side to side. You think he would've said something.

Sure, maybe his Dad wouldn't have said anything, but why did Jeff need these names and numbers jotted down in the first place? John turned the page, opening up onto a two-page spread.

INTERNATIONAL RESCUE.

Intrigued, John peered closer, deciphering his Dad's writing as he went.

We need an organisation to rely on, Jeff had scribbled. The world needs a group of trustworthy people that will help them in times of need, times of need that can be alleviated and their pain lessened. International Rescue will be that organisation, we'll stop death rates from rising when a tsunami hits, we'll be first on the scene and ready to help when the distress call comes through. Our goal is to save people who need help and to stop deaths like Lucille's.

John felt his throat close up. Lucille was his Mom. His Dad had created his own organisation in honor of his Mom and no-one had known.

But if you're reading this, then you've found my book of ideas in that box on my desk. This means I didn't make it back from the Zero-X testing. They said it was 50-50 survival chances and I didn't want to risk letting this go unnoticed.

If you are a Tracy you know where GRR is. Out the back, past the mountains, follow the creek and you'll find a door. It'll help you out.

I'm sorry if you're reading this because I'm probably dead.

Jeff Tracy. 06.21.2048

John couldn't breathe, couldn't feel the paper under his fingers. Dad had known he might not make it out after testing the experimental light-speed ship and had written this, written this with the intention of it being found years ago. Yet, it had been found, only fifteen years too late.

International Rescue he'd called it. That made sense, hence the worldwide contacts. Dad had wanted friends all over and he'd been gathering them. All to prevent deaths like Mom's.

Hand shaking, he flipped the page.

The ships: six.

TV-21: fusion generator powered. Rocket plane. Mach-20 . Me.

One: high speed reconaissance craft. Speeds of over 14,000 mph. A scouter. Scott? Alan?

Two: a cargo ship, suitable for transport of other vehicles and gear for main missions, including medbay, personnel and pods - as well as Four. Virgil?

Three: a rocket. Necessary for space travel and rescues. Equipped with only the best tech, immediate pilot control including take-off. John?

Four: a submarine. Suitable for lowest depth pressures. Can dive for months. Small, agile. Gordon?

Five: automated space station that reroutes calls to Base (Tracy Island, see page 192). Floats in geostationary orbit, suitable for long-term life in case of emergency.

Notes: everyone must have paramedic training, all trained pilots, constant sims for all ships. Need to drive any ship in emergency. Fit and healthy, must be able to swim and keep people calm. Rescue training.

"Wow," John said, trying to say something else. He opened and closed his mouth, astonished that Jeff Tracy himself had thought of this, shocked that his Dad had been hiding this inside his head for years. Possibly since Mom's death.

Quickly flicking through the book he found diagrams and countless sketches - nothing like Virgil's but still decent enough. Dad had planned out everything, from a private island where they could launch to what gear they'd need. John analysed everything, eyes flying over minute details and correcting the problems mentally.

Eventually he stopped reading, an hour in and barely a quarter of the way through. Dad had thought up of some great ships but the expertise was beyond John's meek astronaut training and he was sure he could write an essay on all the corrections to be made to things; you couldn't cram a fusion generator into a small space like Dad had wanted for TV-21, he'd need a bigger cockpit too if he--

He couldn't believe he was actually considering this. Dad had planned for this to be a family thing. To be precise, a family secret if his notes were of any indication, but all the others were busy, getting on with their lives. The only reason John'd found this was because he was grounded for as long as he could tell. John had nothing but Scott had the Air Force, Allie had school, Virgil had his paintings and Gordon had came back from the hydrofoil incident and plunged right into marine biology without even telling any of them about his accident.

His brothers all had a life. John did not.

("How is he still alive?" A voice murmured. "Anyone else would be dead." )

John was just a walking corpse.

He supposed he could give what little time he had left to his Dad's idea. But two things were dauntingly obvious; first, he needed a human who could build him these ships and second, he would need lots of money.

After all, he had an island to buy and rennovate.

John had half the mind on who to call for his first problem. The second? Well, great things came with time. He'd think of something.

By the time Grandma was driving back up the drive John had smuggled the leatherbacked book into the haven of his room and had successfully disassembled his pulley rope suspension lift without a scrap of evidence left behind.

"John!" Grandma beamed at him, hurrying over. She looked at him, lying against a peach tree, book in his lap and seemingly debated whether or not to sit with him.

John tore his gaze away from the marine biologist book he was reading - pillaged from the dark depths of Gordon's lone bookcase - and tipped his head down in an offer to sit beside him. Settling on a decision, Grandma did. She eased herself down quicker than John had and beamed a radiant smile in his direction.

"Lovely weather out here, hm?"

"Yeah."

It truly was. The sun shone down on the Ranch, blisteringly hot when out of the shade, hence John's current spot of residence under a decently shaded tree. A few birds chattered away amidst the mass of trees that swamped the grounds of Gran Roca Ranch, named after his Mom's own Grandmother, Gran Roca.

He breathed in the fresh air, surrounded by bright green grass and large old trees. John couldn't say he'd missed this place. He hadn't made it a habit to think of Earth up in space, when he'd came down on breaks all he'd been able to think of was space. But not anymore. Suddenly John had been thrust into gravity and instead of choking on old memories he'd pushed them down, lied about not seeing anything in his eyes and now here he was, sitting with a book in his lap, Grandma by his side, staring up to the sky as he watched the ISS fall all over again, smoke and flame billowing from within its structure like a long lost friend. His heart thumped in his chest.

"Would you like to go down to the pond, sweetheart?" Grandma's soft wrinkled hand landed on his shoulder, firm and steady compared to the way his world was shivering at the edges, vision crinkling up like smoke clogging his lungs. John sucked in a breath as he relished the burn of fresh air he'd had so little of up in orbit. He nodded.

Grandma gave him a hand up and John limped along beside her as she led them down a well-trodden path. His back ached at the sudden position change and he knew all too well his thigh would be quivering before long. He would be lucky to avoid his crutch tomorrow.

"Alan's coming home for halloween break." She said in the pregnant pause that filled the gap between them. They passed a gooseberry bush and John halted diligently as Grandma paused to pick a few ripened berries.

"For how long?" Grandma handed him a berry after gently blowing on them. John accepted it after squeezing Gordon's book under his arm and popped the berry into his mouth, savouring the flavours of his childhood as they resumed their steady walk. His brothers had always hated gooseberries, claiming they were horrible, but they appealed to John like water appealed to Gordon. They made him feel calm, relaxed even; he was younger, a mere boy on the cusp of adolesence, cherishing what was his before he had nothing. John blinked himself back into the present. There was no point in dwelling on the past.

"A week, hopefully. He'll stay the entire time, that one. He's got a thing for Kayo." Grandma chuckled, munching on her own berries. "Kid thinks I don't know."

John hummed along as he surveyed the path. It looked more overgrown than usual, the little bits of bark looking dry and sad. When they neared the edges of the Ranch, they turned a bend and came upon a large pond, the valley the Ranch was situated in dipping low enough to allow a clear view of it only when they were so close. He blinked at it, noting the deck chairs out here, placed atop the grass under shade. There was one that had been pulled out into the sun's direct glare.

Grandma dragged him over to one of the chairs and sat down on the one beside his only after he'd situated himself comfortably. His right leg thanked him for his thoughtfullness.

"Kayo likes it out here," which explained the moved deck chair. "The water's clean enough to swim in, usually. If it isn't Gordon will clean it out when he gets back."

"Where is he now?"

"Gordon? Oh, he's off diving somewhere on the west coast of Australia with a few college buddies. He called a few days before you came, saying he'd be back in time for Halloween. He might stay for a few days, maybe a week."

John heard the older woman's hope in her voice as she spoke those last words. It was a futile hope for Gordon to stay in one place for too long - the boy was a natural born fish and swam where the current took him. It would be a notable achievement if they got him to settle down for three days, nevermind a week.

But John said nothing, simply closing his eyes to the sound of Grandma chattering away over his other brothers. Virgil was coming back for two weeks and Grandma warned him the middle child would likely be bringing a bucket of inspiration with him.

That was fine. Virgil was talented in what he did and John was hoping his younger brother would be the one to sketch out International Rescue's uniforms. Sure, Dad had done a few pages on his preferred uniforms but they'd been heavy suits that John felt would hold them back more than they'd offer freedom. Virgil's tastes were at least down to Earth and with the kid away socialising John hoped he'd picked up on some fashion tips.

As for Scott, Grandma had been very tight lipped about the eldest brother.

"When's Scott coming home?" So far all of his brothers had agreed to come to the Ranch for at least a few days over Halloween, and definitely Christmas, if not New Years Day. Scott on the other hand... Grandma hadn't even mentioned him.

Maybe it was his question or the tone of his voice but Grandma winced. He turned to look at her and found her gazing solemnly over the pond, eyes caught on something in the distance.

Patiently he waited, watching Grandma out of the corner of his eye. Seconds then minutes passed and still Grandma didn't answer. She looked sad, lips pulled tight and brows downcast.

Finally, he quiered. "Grandma?"

"He doesn't call much, sweetheart." She said slowly. John closed his eyes for a moment and saw his Dad crouched in front of him, tears rolling down his cheeks as he explained Mom was dead and Virgil was in a coma. "I don't even know when he's off..."

"Where's his deployment?" Silence. "His base?"

"The one over in California; Travis Air Base."

John hummed to himself. "Alright. I'll see what I can do."

Grandma must've thought he was joking because she merely shook her head and started talking about the flowers her and Kayo had planted around the pond. She should've known better because John doesn't joke.

Travis Air Force Base worked their pilots on three month rotations, boasting higher effieciency on their prized humanitarian misions. They spent three months on duty, out flying missions and carrying out orders, and then they had a month off, free to do whatever they wanted as long as they didn't mess up big time. Off-duty pilots had the choice of staying on base in their residential areas or going home. Their system was different from other air bases' 40 hour weeks with days off inbetween but knowing Scott he'd picked Travis for the hours first, possibly the humanitarian aid second.

It hadn't taken long for John to cross-check Scott's name through their online base records. There weren't many men named Scott Tracy. He'd been logged on to the VPN for two minutes and he'd been on Travis' site for less than a minute and he'd already bypassed countless security levels designed to ward off even the best hacker. It would've been disappointing, had he entered with a level of expectancy. At least his laptop hadn't crashed from the horrible service that Gran Roca had.

Long story short, it was rather easy to find out that Scott was currently off-duty for a few days. With well over six months leave racked up.

John sighed and covered his tracks. On a side note, he made a point to improve the wifi.

Kayo, true to Grandma's word, reappeared at 3 PM on the dot. John watched, fascinated, as she led the horses back round to the side of the Ranch where the stables sat. The horses looked healthy and Kayo looked happier than before.

He sat there on the ledge, leaning against the window. The tv played in the background, some game show called Gladiators running. It looked stupid and John couldn't afford to waste any tired brain cells on its main goal or possible plot. His thigh was already stiffening up and at the rate it was going he wasn't going to be able to get up the stairs again.

The front door opened, Kayo passing by the open doorway to the living room as she flounced upstairs. Ten minutes later she returned, wet hair put anew in a messy bun. If he were Virgil he would've appreciated the aesthetics but John wasn't his younger brother. He could only nod to her as she glanced at him on her one-way trek to the coffee pot.

John snapped his attention back to his notebook, scribbling down a few bullet points worth of information. How fortunate he was amidexterious and could write with both hands. Sometime between John blinking and then yawning, Kayo had settled herself on the three seater and was openly staring at him.

"You ride well," he said, having seen her edge the horses down the driveway. Grandma had vanished off to hang up the laundry out the back, having scared him off with promises of a sudden chocolate shortage if he even thought about getting up to help. Not with your knee, sweetheart, she'd scowled. In all honesty, he probably wouldn't even be able to clip the sheets on the line with one hand.

"I know. The kids think so too."

"Sound like smart ones," he mused, pen tapping out a nonsensical tune on his lined paper. "How many are there?"

"Three," Kayo answered, flicking through tv shows. Apparently she disliked Gladiators just as much as him. "Two middle schoolers, one high schooler."

He nodded, "They lively?"

"You could say that," Kayo sighed. "What's on your mind?"

John pulled his eyes up to stare at her. She met his stare head-on, her own gaze defiant.

"Oh, you know," he smirked. "Things."

Kayo didn't seem amused at him pulling one of her own tricks against her. "If you think I know so much about it then do share."

He didn't have much to share. John could only give and take. "Do you think people are born with compassion?"

The question took her off guard, leaving Kayo a confused wonderous woman for all but a second. She regained her composure quickly and raised an eyebrow. "What makes you ask that?"

"Reasearch," he replied flippantly.

"Right. Compassion: pity, sympathy, empathy. I believe it depends on how you're raised whether or not you have compassion. You either develop compassion on your own or you're taught it."

John nodded, pen still tapping its rhythmn.

"What else were you wondering?"

He could see why Alan liked her. "Do you think people deserve to be saved?" Her mouth opened but he ploughed on, "People who would be, by all means, declared unsavable by conventional means."

"Everyone deserves to be saved, John. But only some people deserve second chances."

Interesting. "Your reasoning?"

"My uncle is a cruel man. Once, he was given a second chance by my father, a shot at redemption. My father trusted him like a body trusts blood but my uncle betrayed us and left my parents for dead. I'm here because Sally invited me to stay with her but at the same time I'm here to..."

"To get revenge," he said in understanding. "How do you aim to achieve that?"

Kayo observed him for a long moment, cold brown eyes drilling into him. She must've decided he was trustworthy because not a second later did she speak.

"I'm trained in all sorts of martial arts, John. I've beaten triple black belts in arts I haven't even studied, I've attended online university and have a degree behind me, yet I have no idea how to get revenge."

John found that hard to believe but listened anyway.

"I'm angry, yes, maybe even enraged at his betrayal. I desperately want to see my uncle's head on a pike or to see him burn Salem Witch style but there's one problem." Her hands clenched, fists so tight her fingers were turning blue. "I can't find him. We don't have the technology for that and out here we may as well be dead to the world. Right now all I can do is live in honor of the memory of my mother and father."

John knew that feeling. It got lonely up in space. Ocassionally.

"What if I told you Jeff had an idea before he died," he started quietly, pleased when he noticed her full attention on him. "An idea that would allow people to be saved, forgoing revenge for redemption."

"On whose side? The worthy or the unworthy?"

"Whichever is willing to conform," he said, tongue feeling heavy. "Jeff wanted a group of people to band together with decade-breaking technology to save people, but my father was a tad naïve."

"What are you saying?"

"Kayo, if I were to create an organisation of my father's dream, would you like to join me? Everyone needs some dirt on each other to get things going, don't they?"

Kayo seemed shocked, ignoring that last part but definietly taking note of it. "An organisation? Where would you get the money? What's your cause? What would you name it?"

"Don't worry," John winked. "I'm getting the money sorted, in a few weeks I'll have set the plans into place and Tracy Industries will rise with a product no-one can turn down. Through TI, International Rescue will be founded."

"You're hoping to go big to spend everything on a non-profit organisation that might not even pull through?" Kayo wasn't seeing the pros. The woman was too much of a pessimist.

"No, we will go big and spend everything on a grandeur idea that will work." He tapped his pen off his notebook's cover once. "So, what do you say, Kayo? You in or not?"

"You could do with sharpening your negotiating skills," she muttered but it was obvious she was sold on it, either from his speech, the idea or the promised thrill. John didn't care which, he was simply happy she was on his side. "One condition, I get my own position."

"You want security or covert ops?" He grinned.

Kayo laughed devilishly, a spark lighting in her eyes. If she wanted a reason to live John would happily give her one. "Is it too much to ask for both?"

Now he just needed his big brain to think up of something to sell for the small pre-existing Tracy Industries - which was barely a shell of a company now, with no employees aside from a dead man. All he needed was to go boom overnight.

Compared to the city, John felt small. The city was big, it bustled with life and people flowed like streams along the pavements. For a moment there was beauty in the scene and John understood why Virgil had felt his most creative out here. The mood was broken by an angry driver beeping his horn. Of course, Virgil had only moved to the town - a far step from the large, compulsive city. John had grabbed the 10 AM 3-and-a-half hour flight from Kansas to Cali and now had just under an hour to get his brother back before the only other flight for today took off. He was beginning to regret not bringing Kayo along like she'd wanted.

Scott's base was more than a few blocks away from the airport. John wasn't sure if he'd get to see his brother but he could probably ask the guys inside for Scott. So he set off, desperately trying to ignore how his thigh twitched at each point of contact the prosthetic made with the ground. Hay may've woken up feeling victorious over his win with Kayo the day before, but his thigh was evidently not on the same wavelength as him and had decided to rebel in its painful, twitchy way.

People stared at the weird man who hobbled like a cripple with red hair and a funny looking leg, the city crammed full for the 1 PM rush hour. His crutch clicked along like a high heel, deterring anyone who got too close. A particularly unmemorable child pointed and whispered something along the lines of look mommy, he's got a metal leg! But other than that his trek was nothing but boringly monotinous. And a bit irritating.

Twenty slightly painful minutes later, John was outside the air base. He tottered into the visitor centre, gazing at the memorabilia that adorned its walls. Travis Air Base had a museum further on, around one of the other gates but John wasn't here to sightsee. The ride up to Cali had been unpleasant, having to get on a plane being more taxing than he'd thought and he could barely wait to get home, away from the bright city and its crowds. The security checks, in particular, had been hellish.

"Excuse me," he knocked on the receptionist's bulletproof window that was specially designed to not look like a bulletproof window. Something about keeping the public reassured, especially with around 78 percent of all Americans trusting the military. Therefore, they did their best to keep the front that all was well.

John admired their tenacity.

"I'm here for Scott Tracy."

"You visiting?" The man asked, tone dull. "You need to be close or on their visitor list, and I'll need to see proof of identity."

"I'm his brother." He reached for his passport, crutch set against the table. His passport, the small thing, was buried in the back pocket of his jeans.

The tap of his crutch against the desk got him a glance. Recognition passed over the other man's features. "You're that astronaut, aren't you? Tracy... John Tracy?"

John, unsure of how to respond, could only nod. He unsheathed his passport and slid it over. The man raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.

The man gazed at him with an awed look. "Wow, I'd heard you were related to Scott but this... Did it hurt?"

"Did what hurt?"

"The ISS crashing in the Sahara."

("Mayday! Mayday! This is the ISS we have fallen out of orbit, I repeat, we have fallen out of orbit!" )

"Can you call my brother?" He asked instead, breaths feeling too heavy and sounding too loud. "We need to get going, we have a flight in half an hour."

"Ah, right," the man stopped his prodding, having been in the Air Force long enough to know a bleeding wound when he saw one. He tapped the intercom button and dipped a few inches to speak into its mic. "Scott Tracy, report to the visitor's centre. I repeat, Scott Tracy report to the visitor's centre. You have a visitor."

John wished they could see his response, if only to be assured that the man had received his summons.

"It'll take him a few minutes to get here from residential," the man said. "Anyway, I'm Collin. Collin Klons. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tracy."

"Just call me John," he said and made the mistake of leaning against the desk. Collin roped him into his lifestory and John was forced to listen through it the longer Scott took.

Fifteen minutes after the initial com had went out, the coded door leading to the inner workings of the air base opened. A familiar mop of brown hair appeared, a greeting on his lips. "Collin," he grinned. "Who's--"

John smirked at his brother, watching as the older man froze comically. "Long time no see, Scottie."

"John?" Scott looked shocked, he rushed over to the desk but stalled awkwardly. John knew he'd heard of the accident - it was better to ask who hadn't. It was likely his brother didn't want to see the damage just yet. He couldn't blame him, even if a bitter feeling rushed him at the reminder of how no-one had visited him in hospital. "My God. How'd you get here? Where's-? Isn't Grandma with you?"

"She's at home," he said, responding to Scott's confused stare. "I got a flight up."

"You walked halfway across the city?" Scott breathed. "Why, John?"

"To see you, Scott. You're off duty."

"What? How'd you--?"

"You're out of uniform on working hours," John stated, ready to list off a few other reasons. Collin seemed keen to interrupt.

"Scott, just take the god-damned time off. You've raked up six months already and you're making the superintendent nervous floating around."

"I'm not floating around," Scott snipped.

"No. You're up in the clouds with your planes, Scott. We know." John snarked. "I'm bringing you home, go get your bags packed. We have a flight in-" he checked his watch, making sure to draw attention to his crutch to add to the guilt of the situation. With any luck the smother hen in his older brother would drag him home. "Fifteen minutes."

"What?" Scott looked pale, pupils small as he came around the desk and took in the sight of John. John knew he wasn't a pretty sight but his brother's stare made a pit open in his gut. Surely Scott would come back with him. He wouldn't leave him out here alone, would he?

John had promised Grandma he'd bring Scott back. He'd drag his older brother to the Ranch even if he was kicking and screaming. He didn't need a hand to do that.

"Better hurry, Scott." Collin chirped, sliding over a piece of paper. John skimmed it; it was his break notice. Scott, between holidays and earned break, had gained nearly a years worth of leave. Well, that was what Collin had written. "Wouldn't want John to end up stuck here, would ya?"

Scott sent Collin a look, nearly grabbing the leave sheet had John not risked his balance and snatched it up before him. Defeated, Scott glared at him. John smirked, his brothers glare bringing back memories of what a smother hen he could be.

"What are you waiting for, Scott?" John questioned, deciding his brother needed one last push. "Grandma's wanting us back before dinner."

Scott vanished to pack his bags. Collin offered John a smile and called them up a cab.

Scott rushed into his appartment, a flurry of grabbing hands as he hurried around; partially to make the place easier for maintenance to clean and partially to organise whatever stuff he had to take with him and separate it from the random things he'd left scattered on his floor.

His place was a mess, his general lack of awareness spurred on by the fact he'd been finding it hard to get out of bed recently for things other than to run. Even then he'd been hard pressed, only managing to get up this morning after he'd knocked a glass of orange juice on his bedside table onto himself amidst his wild swinging to silence his alarm clock. The long shower that had followed had not been a result of a guilty pleasure but instead, a result of him frantically trying to get all the orange bits out of his suddenly very tangled, very tatty mop of hair.

Pulling a dull grey duffle bag out from under his bed he sighed. John showing up was a surprise that made his gut twist in shame and anger. Scott knew he hadn't paid John a visit, he knew John knew this, and the regret made him feel queasy.

He truly was sorry.

He'd only heard about it when the rest of the world had, nearly a month after the incident. At the time he'd been down in Africa, helping bring in supplies for water filtration and other things like bricks and mortar for new charity-aid built houses. His crew had offered to cover for him, their faces tight and eyes pitying, but he'd refused them, saying they only had a few days left there anyway.

Those few days had turned into a week, with them grounded due to a very sudden freak storm that brought the small village they were in their first rainfall for months. Standing out in the rain, clutching bowls to help the locals had seemed so much better than returning to an injured - and by the sounds of it, a dying - brother. It still took all he had to keep down his Virgil-named smother hen instincts and not drop everything and run to his little brother's side, even if he had to travel halfway across the world.

When he'd returned to base the boss had gotten down his back, urging him to go visit John and Scott nearly had. He'd made it as far as the reception area of the hospital before the smell of it had pulled back images of a ten year old Virgil lying on a medical cot, wires strewn everywhere as Dad explained what a coma was to Gordon, who still didn't understand why Virgie wouldn't open his eyes, and then the final image of them all in black at Mom's funeral. One, or both, of those memories had chased Scott away. He'd told everyone he'd went to see John but hadn't got talking to his sleeping brother. They'd been quiet with him for a few days but he hadn't returned to Kansas after.

Now John was here and Scott was scared.

His immediate younger brother had lost his right hand and his right leg. Those were the only visible losses but Scott knew what situations like John's did to people's heads. Virgil had been with Mom for her last few hours, the two buried sky-high in a snowed in cabin, he'd watched their Mom die and he'd woken up screaming about it for years afterwards.

John had lost limbs. He'd lost his job. He'd been ripped away from what he loved and dumped in a hospital bed, probably waiting for his older brother to visit him. And Scott never had visited. He'd aided in breaking his brother because of course he had. What else would he do? Scott fucking Tracy was only good for breaking things and hurting people - that last boyfriend of his had been right.

Scott was a monster. Scott ruined family. Scott had hurt his little brother. It was his fault that John was here, a crutch in one hand and no hand attached to his other wrist. Scott didn't deserve him. John deserved so, so much better.

Only when he sucked in a breath that sounded more like a sob did Scott stop what he was doing. He wasn't even sure what he was doing as he stopped but he knew he had to stop whatever it was quickly, incase he ruined it like he did everything else.

His tears warmed his cheeks and Scott shook, caving into the non-existent warmth of his blankets. The duffle bag rustled beside him and he shakily folded a few shirts and shoved them in, kneeling and silently sobbing as he did so. His lone pair of shorts found their way inside, along with his running trainers and numerous boxers. Last to make it in was a pair of old comfort jeans that Scott desperately wanted to wear now.

Only when the tears stopped, settling into a wet patch on his blankets with a note of finality, did Scott stand and stumble into his small bathroom.

He didn't look at himself in the mirror, too ashamed and angry at himself to have enough self-restraint to stop himself from possibly punching the glass. It would be difficult if he went back to the visitors centre with glass in his fist, even worse if he greeted John with the sight of it. Scott did not want to trigger his brother in any way he could avoid. John was a private man who would not appreciate dropping to the floor in a very public place with a panic attack that his own brother had caused.

Scott felt his stomach twist at the very thought. Leaning over the sink he twisted on the cold water tap and splashed his face down, scrubbing under his eyes and around his lips. His throat felt raw, a tingling sensation of being sick filling his mouth before he numbly opened his lips and vomitted into the white sink.

He stared and twisted on the other tap. His tongue made contact with the roof of his mouth and made his eyes water once more. Scott, halfway through debating on whether or not to just cry again or be sick, grabbed his toothbrush and squeezed a tad of toothpaste onto its bristles. After making sure he wasn't going to vomit or start bawling again, he brushed his teeth for the second time that morning and splashed his face again, half drowning himself with mouthwash.

After he'd dried off with the towel that hung limply on the radiator, Scott straightened himself, flattened his shoulders and looked himself in the eye. Dull blue eyes stared back and he quailed, stomach somersaulting as he was forced to look away. In a rush, he grabbed his toothbrush and dried it quickly with the towel before chucking it into his duffle. On an after thought, Scott pulled up his shirt and sprayed some deodorant on himself before throwing the bottle into his duffle too.

Keys and base pass in his pocket, he slung on a jacket and grabbed his aviators, tucking them into the hem of his shirt. Finally, he grabbed his wallet and phone - accompanied by its charger - and slid them both into their respective pockets.

Apartment door locked, he turned on his heel and picked up his pace. He'd already wasted seven minutes throwing things in his bag and having an embarrassing mini-breakdown and he couldn't afford to miss the flight with John. Grandma would have his head no quicker than he'd have his own.

"Hey, Scott!" A voice boomed from his right as he picked up his strides, entering the active duty area. One of his usual co-pilots, Michael Wult, grinned at him, a few others Scott recognised standing behind him. "We're just about to head on over to Mess for lunch, wanna join?"

"Sorry, Mike, I'm on leave starting now." Scott shrugged, halting in front of his friend. The other men offered him shocked looks, probably thinking how out of character it was for him.

Michael's grin softened, always having been like a big brother to Scott. "Too bad for us. Go enjoy yourself, flyboy."

"Says you."

The taller, broader man laughed loudly, waving him off. "See you soon, Scott."

Scott saluted with a wink before he was off again, dodging and weaving between buildings for shortcuts he hadn't used the first time around.

He made it to the door into the visitors centre and halted, sparing a moment to turn around and take one more long look at Travis Air Base from the inside. Scott wasn't sure how he was going to last a week outside of here but he figured he'd come up with something, seeing that Collin had marked him down for two weeks away, out of Polton's collection of twelve months.

Slowly, with a final sigh that he pretended didn't make him feel heavier, Scott turned back around and opened the door.

"How does he have almost six months of calendar leave?" John asked Collin, staring down at the small paragraph in the middle of the page that stated the soldier's remaining calendar and leave time. Scott had worked up well over a year off between his own leave and calendar dates. John wondered how that would work if every soldier was getting that long off - the base would be all but abandoned. That couldn't be right...

Collin shrugged, smiling a tad too bright. "That's just how it is."

John levelled out his stare and raised an eyebrow.

Collin shifted, fated to buckle in three, two, one--

"The big guy likes him, okay?" Collin admitted. "How could he not, Scott's one of our best pilots. Plus, he's never taken a day off so of course Polton's gonna pull a few strings. If Scott needs the time off - which he does! - the big guy's more than happy to pull out Scott's unused calendar holidays."

John thought about that for a moment, "I thought they didn't save them."

"Like I said," Collin reiterated. "The big guy likes him."

"All because he's your best pilot?" John was finding this hard to believe.

"Well, uh," Collin buckled under another eyebrow raise. "A few years back Polton and Scott were on a chopper together, back when Polton was on our level but just about to move up. Long story short, Polton nearly fell out thanks to a rowdy passenger but Scott managed to save him. Polton's liked him ever since."

So it was a case of one feeling he had a debt to the other. John nodded, the bigger picture making a bit more sense now.

"All packed," Scott rushed back through the door, a duffle bag on his back. It looked emptier than would've John liked. "Ready to go, John?"

"There's a cab waiting out for you both, he'll take you to the airport. The fee's on us." Collin smiled, waving a cheerful goodbye as John started to drag Scott towards the door.

"Thanks, Collin," John called, Scott echoing his sentiment. "Have a nice day."

"You too, sir! Be good for him, Scott!"

In the cab, Scott offered his own eyebrow raise. John sat there unaffected, after all, he'd learned the move from him. "Sir?" He muttered.

John shrugged, ribs offering a distant pang. He felt uncomfortable in a cab but at least they wouldn't miss their flight with no walking to do and the rush traffic having significantly faded. "I do have the ability to make friends, Scooter."

Scott just chuckled. "I know, Johnny."

"It's John."

"And mine is Scott." Scott grinned.

John felt a real smile form on his lips for the first time in what felt like years. Maybe, just maybe, he could forgive Scott for not rushing over to St. Heather's to see him. For not once visiting, John decided he needed to do a little more.

"Scottie!" Just as Scott crossed the front doors fresh hold Grandma barrelled into him, arms wrapping around John's older brother like the elderly lady was an octopus.

"Grandma," Scott grinned back, hugging Sally with an equal amount of fevor. "How've you been? You still knitting?"

"Of course, sweetheart. I wouldn't give knitting up for anything," Grandma announced. "Although I've been busy recently, what with feeding your younger brother. You'd be surprised at the amount he gets down."

John didn't eat much and Scott knew that. The look John received from said man was telling enough; Grandma's small talk could use a bit of work. Whatever, she'd get to practise with Alan.

"Maybe I'll cook tonight?" Scott suggested.

"In my kitchen, I think not!" Grandma reached out to ruffle Scott's hair but settled for patting his arm once she realised the height difference. "I'd let Virgil in there, not you."

"Is that you saying to come back when V's home?" Scott snickered. "When is he coming, by the way?"

"Two weeks at Halloween," John responded, nodding as Kayo emerged from upstairs having heard the commotion.

"Nice," Scott said and turned. He looked happily surprised to see Kayo standing behind him. "Well if it isn't my favorite Malaysian! How you doing, Kayo?"

"I'm alright, Scott. You?"

"Grounded after John threw a hissy fit in front of one of my buddies." Scott's joking look spoiled the attempt at humour.

"Oh, for how long?" Kayo asked, readying to flutter past Scott into the kitchen. Probably for her third daily cup of coffee. John couldn't fault her addiction.

Scott rolled his eyes, stepping back to let Kayo past. "Too long."

"Right," Kayo hummed and vanished. John gazed at Scott knowingly.

"What?" Scott breathed when he looked back at him. "You wanting to sit down or something? Don't let me hold you back."

John barely contained his snort. "I think you read my line, brother."

"Eh?" Scott murmured, stepping closer. John knew what was about to happen and edged back to avoid the impending elbow, smacking his brother's shins with his crutch for good measure. Scott turned red as he hunched over awkwardly. Grandma struggled to hold back her laughter and ran off into the kitchen after Kayo, probably to get a start on dinner.

When Scott rocked on his heels, John brandished his crutch once more in theat.

"Alright, alright. Mercy," Scott hurried. "Oh, my poor knees. They'll never be the same."

"Put a band-aid on them, you'll be fine." John fired back, shuffling into the living room. Back in the house he allowed his leg to weigh him down, letting his sock take the brunt of the friction as he scuffed his foot along the floor. He collapsed onto the three seater in a controlled manner and flicked the tv on.

"How cruel, brother o' mine." Scott whined, sounding an awful lot like Gordon. John let him whinge, knowing that his older brother would go into smother hen mode the second Alan set foot past Gran Roca's cherry trees. Which would be in two days. "I trusted and yet you betrayed me, hitting me when I was down."

"Not all of you was down," John grumbled, the mention of betrayal hitting a tad too close to home after Kayo's story. He almost felt bad for her and he would've, had he not known that she'd beat him up - injured or not - if he even looked at her with an ounce of pity.

"Hey, I heard that!" Scott bounced along, sitting down beside him more carefully than most would've thought with the way he'd hurled himself at the cushion. "That's not true, Johnny."

"Sure, Scooter."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, both content to gaze at the tv. Kayo and Grandma joined them at a point, Grandma taking the single chair as Kayo snuggled in between John and Scott.

A loud, shrill timer went off, throwing Grandma into motion and making Scott flinch, not used to the obnoxious cooking timer like John and Kayo were. "The food!" She screeched.

Hours after a successful dinner of vegetable korma, only Kayo, Scott and John remained in the living room, the brothers on the three seater and Kayo on the single recliner. Grandma had signed off a few hours ago, annoucing she was off to bed and don't wreak my kitchen to get a midnight snack, or so help me.

The silence of three content people was soothing. In the distant background the tv murmured, an old film that Dad would've watched playing in all its epic glory. Scott sat on the other end of John's couch, rooted to the spot as he watched the predictable plot unfold with no less interest than one might expect.

Scott had always been different. Most took him for a sporting maniac who threw himself into anything he liked but the truth behind it was Scott didn't start anything he knew he couldn't finish. He'd taken up football halfway through middle school despite everyone's warnings and by the time high school rolled around he'd won the school five consecutive trophies that they still boasted about with pride.

John remembered the looks on everyones faces when Scott had announced his decision to join the Air Force, he himself having been in on his older brothers thoughts for a while. Grandma had been so worried before Scott had assured her he was going down the humanitarian route.

Shifting to ease up the pressure on his right leg, John flicked his attention back to the tv, eyes unseeing. Kayo stood from her armchair and brushed a fleeting grip over his shoulder, wishing them both a good night.

"Night," John heard himself answer.

Scott responded a second later with a happy, "Sleep tight!" He flashed a grin in Kayo's direction, making sure she seen it before he turned back to his film.

There was a reason why Scott had chosen the more humanitarian focussed base of all the Air Force bases he'd been able to choose from. He could've picked Vandenberg - one of the best USAF bases out there - but when asked, Scott had allegedly said he didn't want to be out in the middle of nowhere doing nothing but staring at missiles.

John couldn't fault him there. He almost regretted picking NASA but the memories and experience he'd gained from everything was invaluable. Or, at least, he hoped it was. He wouldn't know what he'd do if he'd wasted over five years of his life striving for something that wasn't enough.

Scott thrived on life. His older brother did what suited him and had laid down sensible rules to abide by once the Air Force had come into the equation that was Scott Tracy's life. John was proud of him, like he knew his brothers were and his dad would be. Grandma's pride glimmered in her worry and Kayo's in her eyes.

"You good, John?" Scott asked quietly. It was just them in the living room, last John had checked, but that didn't stop the words from sounding tentative and small. Scott was headstrong and stubborn; this tone didn't suit him.

"Yeah," he said. "You sure you're good."

It wasn't a question and John, for a split second, worried he'd went too far.

"Just unsettled," Scott responded quickly, voice low with the surreptitious fear that Grandma would randomly appear and demand him to eat some of her cookies that fixed 'everything'. "I'm not used to being up this late. It feels warmer."

"Lights out is any time you want, out here." There was a silent promise in his words, one only distinguishable and heard by the fact they were brothers of over twenty years, both so close it had been nearly imposible to stick a ruler between them, at a point. Those days were long over though and John wished they weren't.

I'm here, said his tone.

I'll always listen, assured the memory of his sentence. It had been the last thing he'd said to Scott over eight years ago, after they'd all split up on their own ways. Back then, John had been playful with his tone but serious with his eyes. Now he was serious with both.

"Oh, I know." Scott said, sounding confident. John hoped he did know. He yearned for the gap between them to separate, vanish quickly before International Rescue launched and gave Scott fuel to pull away from him.

Because John was lonely. Lonely and unsure. His brothers hadn't visited him when he was in hospital and although his exterior had hardened from the beatings, his heart felt soft and mushy.

John debated telling Scott of IR, recounting it in a romantic light that would either pull in his brother or send him hurtling away. Scott would be invaluable, priceless in this area. His oldest brother would know what to do, might even be able to get them contacts in the rescue and humanitarian worlds. But if John messed up, if he let slip too much about his plans, piled it on too quick, Scott could flinch like a wild animal in a corner and when he ran he might not come back.

Grandma would be distraught. She'd already lost enough in her sixty-eight years. He didn't want to be the one that broke her heart after all she'd done for him, for them as a family; him and his brothers and his sister.

Fear won over the rational mind and John remained silent.

"Think I'll cap in," John said eventually, when the commercial appeared to be nearing its end. He stood on uneasy legs, his guts like jelly, crutch helpfully supporting him. "Enjoy your movie."

"Goodnight," Scott smiled, eyes glinting in the low light of their sole light source - the tv. The characters onscreen danced in his brothers eyes and stopped John's mind in its tracks, a haunted sense of fear washing over him. Scott looked pale in the light, images flickering over his eyes like a corpse sitting by the side of a road.

Scott blinked, his smile as bright as ever. John gasped in a low breath, lungs clawing at the oxygen his body so desperately needed.

"You need a hand up the stairs?" Scott suggested, all quiet kind joy and an overflowing well of the earnest necessity to help. There was nothing spiteful nor downgrading in his tone, just gentle words and a returned promise to help him too.

"No," he managed, voice low and breathy. John felt faint, mind already nagging at him. He teetered for the stairs, weary of Scott's eyes on his back.

The shadow in the far corner of his room shifted. John's stars faded out, becoming invisible when the shadow pulsed as his breathing hitched. The thing dug one clawed black, misty hand into the ceiling and dragged itself forward, a horrifying white toothed smile spreading along its shadowed face.

There were no eyes, no hair, nothing but a wide frantic grin that screamed at John's instincts and forced his instincts to shout back for him to run, run, run, run, go now, leave, shout. But he couldn't. John couldn't feel his legs, couldn't even move his fingers, couldn't make his mouth work no matter how much he tried. His chest felt heavy, gravity keeping him down despite his panic.

The sleep paralysis felt so real that he couldn't help but sweat as he stared down the shadow monster. It loomed closer, the mass of shadows pulsing and growing thicker as his heart thudded like a drum set inside the confines of his ribcage.

A minute after John had first noticed it, the thing was right above him. A long tongue swirled out of the glowing toothed mouth, grin subsiding for an outlined smirk as the too long tongue hovered above his throat, threatening to drip a toxic looking green substance that John only now realised was coating the entire thing. The silence rung in his ears, ringing louder than words could.

With the green stuff visible John seen a six limbed monster gleam down at him, limbs spread wide as it gripped the ceiling like a spider. A vicious tail with spikes and cuts gouged deep into it zigzagged across his roof, the deadly appendage lazily swishing back and forth like a predator in wait. A petrifying trail of green was scraped into his ceiling, detailing exactly where the shadow creatures body had make contact as it had dragged itself along, showing John what its hands looked like, sharp claws that blended with the jagged shadows, invisible with the low light of his room but clearly visible on his ceiling.

The thing made a deep gutteral noise, snapping John's attention back towards it. It lurked millimeters above his face now, two slits peeling open to reveal yellow eyes that rivalled the deadliness of a beast. John felt fear he hadn't felt since the crash, felt his heart slow and the breath woosh out of his lungs as he waited for an impact. He wanted to close his eyes and wait for death but found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the long spindly tongue that snapped to his left, stretching out languidly before slowly ascending towards him.

John whimpered.

A bark broke the foul stench of fear that permated the air. From the doorway the saint bernard from his earlier dreams appeared, prowling out with jowls pulled back to reveal sharp teeth, dripping with drool. Its coat shone in the dark, its brown and white fur rivalling the beauty of a star as it stepped forth, looking angry at the thing above him.

The shadow creature flinched back before crawling forward a few inches. The saint bernard growled, deep and low, and the shadow lunged.

John watched, eyes wide as the dog pounced on the shadow and bit down hard, tearing away what looked like a grotesque mix of blood, rotten flesh and the shadow's own misty skin. The shadow howled, causing the walls to shake and picture frames to tumble from their places.

The saint bernard barked twice in quick succession and the shadow creature was rearing back, pints of crimson blood pouring out of the wound on its long twisted neck, where the dog had bitten it. It lashed out at the saint bernard with its tail, the appendage twisting and swivelling to come down, smashing down a shelf in its way. John felt his panic rise, knowing the tail was going to hit the dog.

Surprisingly the tail did not hit the dog. It all seemed to unfold in slow motion as the saint bernarf stepped out of the tails path and jumped forward, pushing the shadow creature back, and then finally, off-balance with a well-timed bite that crunched down past the blood coating the shadows chest and ripped a new wound into the things misty body. The shadow stumbled back, crashing down infront of the window, limbs strewn wide.

Silently, the saint bernard watched, posture strong and proud, almost defensive, as the shadow tried to move towards John's prone figure. It raised a clawed hand, the shadows curling off it like steam rising from a cup of coffee. John stared, entranced, as the moon rose and shone through the window, the first rays of light hitting the shadow creature and parting the shadows. The thing shook, immobilized by the moon.

The bernard shook itself out and blinked at him, gently coming over to his side to nuzzle the back of his hand. A warm feeling rushed over him and without a second thought John let his eyes slip shut.

When he opened them again, both the shadow thing and the saint bernard were gone. His room was no different than it had been before he'd went to bed, no smashed shelves, no disturbed picture frames or horribly green smeared ceiling.

John sucked in a choked breath and lay in the suffocating silence. His heart thudded painfully as he stared up at his stars. They seemed bright after what had happened and made him feel safe, just like the saint bernard.

Never before had he experienced sleep paralysis. But then, before all this he'd never seen a saint bernard in his dreams either.

Could this all have been brought on by stress, between the crash and coming home with nothing to do but be a burden? Was his guilt manifesting as night terrors that haunted him continually? Or did it all have to do with International Rescue and how he was pushing it forward on his to-do list? Should he put it off? Was he moving too quick?

Virgil would say he was rushing into things. His reliable and artistic brother used to say wait a sec, think about this! during his and Scott's arguments over who should be paying Gordon and Allie's school fees (because back then they'd been making the most money, with John still in training). The tone would bring about pause, and usually, although Scott would be of an entirely different viewpoint, the oldest would back down for another few hours at least.

Scott - without Virgil's deathglare primed and aimed at his back - would probably encourage him to go for it, grab the peach before it ripened so that he could take full advantage. C'mon, Johnny!

Gordon would be onboard as long as it fufilled his needs. If something caught Gordon's interest you could be assured he would work towards that certain thing. As long as International Rescue piqued his fancy, he would go all in. John wasn't worried about that, Gordon had joined WASP to protect people so of course he'd be with IR from the moment he was notified. It seemed the Tracys had protect engraved into their very DNA. What are you waiting for, bro?

Alan would probably be hesitant, too much of Scott's smother henning having influenced him early on. But like with Gordon, if something interested Alan he would surpass all means to achieve it. The promise of space missions would seal the deal, no doubt. Let's do this!

Grandma was support her boys no matter what, standing by with her small smile and a plate of cookies. Tracy's were stubborn and that she knew by heart.

As for his Dad, this whole thing was his idea to begin with. So why would he complain?

Although, maybe he was going a bit fast...

In his own defense, he was excited. John being excited was a very rare thing and when the emotion rushed him he would very often end up charging into something. Usually it all ended rather well for him - except for that one time he'd ended up with a broken arm.

Dad had left behind his plans. He'd left footnote after footnote of what the organisation would be and just what exactly International Rescue would do. John was determined to keep this little piece of Dad alive and if he saved others while doing so then wasn't everyone happy?

John closed his eyes and saw a shadow lurking in his eyelids. Shivering, he opened them again he glanced over in search of his alarm clock but couldn't see it thanks to the positioning of his pillow. He sighed, trying to ignore the ominous corner where the thing had appeared, wondering if it was too much to ask for a display that went where he wanted it to go, maybe hovering--

He bolted upright, grin nearly splitting his face in two. On his bedside table sat a notebook and a lone pen. John lunged for them.

He wrote until his wrist ached. Only then did he look up, alarm clock reading 8.52 AM with the sun rising steadily in the sky. A worried glance cleared away any worries of the shadow lurking before finally, John swept it from his thoughts; the fear gone as quickly as it had come.

His monsters weren't important anymore. Not now that he'd had a revelation. He needed to call Hiram Hackenbacker.

John tapped out a rhythm on his notebook's cover with his capped pen. Sitting at the table he mulled over his cooling cup of coffee patiently. His phone sat in front of him, speaker on so that he didn't miss anything over his loud taps.

"H-hello?"

He set down his pen, tapping the speaker off as he pulled the phone to his ear.

"Hello, is this Mr. Hackenbacker?"

There was a stunned silence on the other end. "Um, ye-yes. Who is th-this?"

"Oh," John tried to hide his affront. "Sorry, it's John. John Tracy."

"John Tracy!" The man exclaimed. "O-oh my, I hav-haven't seen you since Un-un-school. How are y-you?"

John let out a soft chuckle. The man's stutter was as bad as ever, it seemed. "I'm alright, Mr. Hackenbacker. And you?"

"Pluh-please call me B-B-Brains, Mr. Tracy. I insist."

"Alright, call me John."

"O-oh, okay. May I as-k why you're ca-ca-calling, John?" The man sounded curious. John related.

"Well, Brains, I have a business proposal."

"A-a what?" Brains squeaked. "Pardon?"

"I'm so glad you could make it, Brains." John shook the engineer's hand as he let him in, steering him towards the living room. He was mindful of his crutch possibly getting in the Indian man's way so he himself stayed firmly put until Brains was free of his danger zone.

"P-please, it was the l-least I could do, John." Brains smiled, waving a hand airily. "I was only in Oklahoma, after all."

"Still, we could've met halfway." John eased himself down on the other half of the three seater, crutch being set to the side.

The man's head shook so quick John was afraid it would fall off. The Indian's eyes stayed rooted on his cast away crutch, something like fascination in his eyes as he regarded John's bared prosthetic. "O-oh no, I would-wouldn't want to i-inconvenience you."

"I don't normally need a crutch," he said in way of dismissal, shrugging. "My balance and reunitement with gravity is just off today, that's all. And you should know it's no inconvenience to meet a man like you."

Brains seemed unsure of what to do with the praise. "Um, th-thank you?"

John simply smiled. "Would you like something to drink? Grandma left out cookies, if you'd like any."

"Where a-are they?" Brains asked, immediately standing. "I'll get them, i-if you'd like."

John blinked slowly. "They're on the kitchen table, just through that door." He motioned towards the closed double doors. "Help yourself to anything you want."

"So, abh-about this business proposal," Brains started a few minutes later, after he'd made them both hot chocolate and had brought in the plate of cookies. John wasn't sure he'd ever tasted anything other than Grandma's special blend that was this good. Brains' was heavenly.

"Go on," he said, more than happy for the other to ask his questions.

"Wh-why did you p-pick me? Surely there are others better suited to s-such a proposal?"

He had a point, from the sound of it John wanted a business deal. What he really wanted was a man who could work his way around a machine and could be his second hand. John needed a trustworthy person who'd get the job done on the down-low.

"Why would I not pick you?" John asked back. "Top of your class in engineering and a honors student; they're no small achievements. Besides, I figured I could rely on a friend."

"Y-you'd call me a fruh-friend?" The man asked quietly.

"Of course. What else would you be? I'd like to think we know each other after having been in the same classes for almost three years."

Brains laughed awkwardly. John hurried to reassure.

"It's not that I want to take advantage of you or anything," he explained. "I just figured you were trustworthy."

"You seem to be r-reliant on trust, John."

He shrugged calmly. "Can't beat it with a long stick."

Brains pursed his lips. "What e-exactly is th-this proposal?"

"It came to me this morning, actually." John settled himself back, gesturing at nothing in particular. "What if we had displays that we could manipulate to our will, displays that float in the middle of the room as a 3-D lifelike image and can be moved at the flick of a wrist or a verbal command?" Brains listened with wide eyes. "If we could come up with a way to make the old 2040 projections touch-based and open them up to a wider audience for everyday things like tv and face calls then I believe it'll revolutionise the way we live."

"You want a res-responsive holovid?"

"Not quite. I'm imagining more of a hologram that's projected from just about anything."

"What s-sort of 'just about anything'?" Brains asked, pushing his glasses back up his nose. He seemed interested; good, that was good. John needed him fully invested in this.

"Anything you want; from watches to mirror compacts, from car HUDs to spacecraft control pannels. We could map out flight paths for planes, estimate things visually, and so much more. All we'd need would be a small transmitter chip."

"And wh-what would you want m-me to do with this?" Brains picked at his sleeve.

John regarded him carefully. "I just need you to make it."

The engineer looked surprised. "Y-you have plans for it al-already?"

"Of course," John repeated, handing over his notebook from the coffee table. Brains hurried to open the book. "I drew them this morning."

"Amazing!" Grinned the other man. "Th-this is brilliant, J-John. How did y-you think of it?"

"I couldn't see my alarm clock."

Brains laughed before realising he was being serious. He blinked. "R-really? Oh my. Ha-have you got any name ideas for this?"

"I was thinking something along the lines of holoforms; holographs that form wherever you want."

Brains looked ready to faint from his excitement. "I'll get right onto it, J-John! Anything else?"

"No," John hesitated for a moment. "Would you like to stay here for the night? It's getting dark and I'm not sure you'd be so lucky to get a cheap taxi out of here."

"O-oh."

"It's no problem if you don't want to. I'm just offering because we definitely have the space." Scott had mentioned wanting to meet him before he'd left to chauffeur Grandma to her bingo night, having been dragged along for eyecandy material for the septugenary group. Grandma was quite a social lady, despite getting on in years, and she attended more events than John remembered Gordon attending when he was twenty and partying. Kayo was out talking to some possible patrons who'd heard good things about her teaching abilities.

"W-well, I suppose I could..."

"Fantastic," John smiled, plan snapping nicely into place. "I'm sure some of Gordon's pyjamas would fit you. We can talk more about this over breakfast."

He directed him to the room beside Kayo's - their only guest bedroom - and assured him that yes we do have wifi, it's just really bad and stay as long as you'd like.

John hobbled downstairs at 4.29 AM for a glass of water after another particularly vivid dream but only made it halfway down the stairs. Blinking, he halted at the sight of a body sticking out from the cupboard under the stairs. The way the stairs worked was simple, with the space under them having been planked off for extra space for coats and shoes while also housing a cupboard where the house's electrics, water, gas, ethernet and Internet switches and boxes sat.

Brains was half-buried inside the cupboard, mumbling away to himself as he fiddled with something. John had half the mind as to what he was doing and wiped the sweat - from both his dream and walking down the stairs - off his forehead.

"Brains," he called, pulling his leg forward as he held onto the stairs railing for support. He'd abandoned his crutch upstairs - the piece of rubbish had been shoved in a corner, having had a minor falling out with it over the head of nearly faceplanting onto his bedroom floor.

"Eek!" Brains jumped, head unveiling from the dark of the cupboard. He clutched a handful of wires in one hand and his phone in the other, his flashlight on full glare. The engineer bolted upright at the calling of his name and swivelled to look, phone coming along with his body to blind John.

John squinted against the glare, a frown marring his features. Brains gasped.

"J-John, sorry!" He pushed away his phone hastily, clicking the flashlight off. "Sorry, I swear it's n-not what it looks l-like!"

John blinked his sight back and reevaluated what he was seeing just in case he'd missed something.

"What does this look like?" He asked rhetorically. Brains turned even more pale. John smirked in the dark, a low hanging moon lighting up the small hallway through the glass panes around the door. "You're fixing the wifi, aren't you?"

"N-not quite," Brains admitted. "I'm on-only boosting it. Sorry, i-it was quite frustrating trying to get g-google to load and having to wait f-five minutes." He seemed to notice the wires hanging in his hands and quickly shoved them behind his back, looking flustered. "I may have also m-made it a wireless box."

John breathed a sigh. "That's fine, Brains. I don't mind what you do as long as you don't blow us up without prior warning." He'd never forgive a person if they burned down the house with Dad's things inside. That would be the day John got a criminal record and a long harsh sentence for manslaughter.

"Ah," Brains said and seemed to stall out in an immitation of John's laptop.

"Would you like to have that early chat, Brains, while I get us some tea?" John didn't wait for the other man's answer, already shuffling forward to the kitchen. He was having a cup of tea either way. It didn't really matter anyway, as Brains joined him after he'd shoved the wires in another box and closed up the cupboard.

"So," Brains surprised John by speaking first. "I've fully reviewed your plans and I believe we could make it all but wireless if we were to use--"

With his back to the engineer and the table he sat at, John smiled. He felt lighter now, knowing he'd picked the right man for the job. Maybe he wasn't moving too quick - people just needed to get on his level.

Scott appeared down the stairs at the unusual time of 9.29 AM. For anyone else the time would be overlooked but not with Scott; Scott Tracy who wakes up at 7 AM everyday for his morning run.

Kayo personally wasn't too worried. She suspected the man had gotten a bit carried away the night before, seeing as once he'd vanished with the sturdy Herculean-looking hunk she'd been abandoned to drag Sally away from her bingo friends alone. They'd made it home for ten but she was certain she'd heard the front door open again at three, a mere hour before John had nearly murdered himself on the stairs and given Brains a heart attack - from what she'd heard, at least.

They were in the kitchen when the oldest Tracy brother stumbled in, a too big familiar looking checkered flannel buttoned up around him with long saggy pj bottoms and a pair of navy socks on his feet. Although, it wasn't his apparel that grabbed Kayo's attention, rather where he lacked it.

His hair was messy and all over the place, showing obvious signs he'd tried to thread through it with his hands before he'd came down. Scott dropped into a chair opposite her, beside John, not even noticing their new edition that was Brains. He yawned, quietly giving everyone at the table a clear view of the sizable, very bright hickey that travelled from - she'd later find out, when his shirt shifted - the nape of his neck up until just under his jaw.

Kayo did well to not choke and snort up coffee from her nose while John raised an amused eyebrow. Brains, who previously had his mouth opened in preparation for a greeting, silently closed his mouth. It was Sally who ruined Scott's blissfully unaware state, giving him a harsh jolt back into reality.

"Ooh, Scottie." Sally began, making the man's head snap up, fingers dipping below the table to grip at the lower hem of the shirt that definitely wasn't his. "I should've known what was happening when you vanished off with Georgia's nephew! He was so nice too, ooh." She pinched his steadily paling cheek with a soft teasing laugh. "You little-!"

In Scott's defense, he was visibly tired and took a few moments to register what his grandmother had said before the statement truly sunk in with the others at the table. Kayo observed the man, watching as he clued in and his pupils shrunk, skin flushing - the opposite way it should've - to pale and clammy. Scott stuttered for words, pulling off a decent Brains impersonation without even trying. Kayo felt her gut tighten.

"Sally," Kayo scolded, just low enough for everyone but Scott to hear. "Stop it."

"Wha-?" Sally asked, releasing Scott's cheek. Kayo watched silently as Scott minutely sunk back into the flannel shirt, staring firmly at the table, his gorgous violet-blue eyes unfocused and trembling. He shut his eyes in a lomg blink and when he opened them again the shutters had fallen and his shoulders had flared out. Still though, he looked at no-one.

He was afraid of rejection.

Kayo's heart twisted.

Sally realised what she'd inadvertedly done seconds after John and Brains had, the two men following her lead and sitting silently. Not that John needed urging to observe the situation - he was more than happy to sip at his coffee and pick up his brother emotionally if Sally failed to notice what she'd done wrong.

"Aw, sweetie," Sally said, using her Tracy wit to save the situation. "You should've brought him back. He seemed lovely."

"Eh?" Scott mumbled, slowly blinking after Sally had tottered away to make him a coffee. "You mean... you're not...?"

"Not what, sweetheart?" Sally quiered, smile bright and real as she set down his coffee infront of him, no sugar or milk in it. "I mean what I said, you should've brought him back with you."

Satisfied he wasn't going to be shunned by his family, Scott hummed a single note and made a blind tug at his mug, his tanned hand nearly completely swamped by the huge sleeve cuff. Kayo watched in amusement as the older man tugged his legs up to somehow sit cross-legged on the chair, one sleeved arm raising to pillow his head as he tipped into the tables side, eyes fluttering shut. He let himself relax now that he no longer had a need to stay strong, his energy running out after his late night.

John smiled at his brother and ruffled his hair lovingly when he was sure Scott was out. Beside her, Brains was seemingly fanboying at the - admittably cute - state the eldest Tracy had ended up in. Sally simply watched on, eyes bright and smile proud. Kayo sat there, surrounded by people she was sure she could trust, and enjoyed the hushed conversations that followed with the others, each of them wary to wake Scott.

They were quiet until Scott's arm jerked out from under his head. Kayo watched as he headbutted the table with a loud thud that rang out in the silence, the man jolting back so fast that his chair wobbled and tipped backwards. Kayo smirked at the sight of him, rolled out on the kitchen floor, moaning solemnly, as the others laughed.

"Oh, shuddup," Scott groaned.

"You need a hand?" John asked, offering his only one. Scott latched onto his brothers wrist and only succeeded in pulling his younger brother down on top of him.

"My lungs," Scott gasped, twitching desperately for a way out before deciding the action required took too much energy. He settled into the pile of John he'd ended up a part of, looking happier than Kayo'd seen him look yesterday.

Satisfaction stirred in her gut.

John sat quietly, watching indifferently as the others watched a movie. They all appeared as if they were enjoying it, from an outsiders point of view, but it was clear they were only 'watching' it because Grandma had dragged them all into it. It was some cheesy old romcom that no-one particularly appreciated even back when the movie had been first released in the ninties.

Kayo had squeezed in beside him and Scott, having managed the impossible and squishing between them on the alleged 'three' seater. She was blinking periodically at the tv while sipping at her coffee whilst Scott was more interested in the ceiling, head tipped back with an arm slung over his face. His free hand traced down the large hickey adorning his neck. His older brother had reluctantly changed out of the flannel shirt after his shower but John was sure he'd be wearing it in bed tonight. It was actually kind of amusing, watching Scott stumble over himself for the whole day because he'd slept later than his body was accustomed to.

Brains, on the other hand, was legitimately watching the movie but had busied his hands in the popcorn bowl. The engineer seemed relaxed around the family, which pleased John greatly, especially since Grandma had insisted on the man joining them for a bit of downtime from their project. Alan would be home in a day, Gordon in tow and John could only hope they wouldn't scare Brains off before the ships were built.

Although, he had yet to actually tell anyone other than Kayo of International Rescue. Even then, she didn't know the full extent of his plans. On that note, he intended to bring his newest member online no later than tonight. He checked his watch and decided if he was going to make his other call today he'd have to do it now, before it got too late over in England.

Pointedly massaging his thigh, John rolled onto one foot and one prosthetic. "Think I'll head up," he said. "Call me down for dinner."

"Alright," Kayo nodded at him. Scott's lack of reaction coupled with his quiet, steady breaths suggested he was asleep. John smirked.

"Be careful, sweetheart," Grandma cawed, gaze set on the tv.

"Do you need a h-hand upstairs, J-John? I-it could be risky." Brains offered.

"Nah, I'm good. Thanks anyways, Brains. Aren't I always safe?"

Kayo's muffled snort said how much she disagreed. John stuck his tongue out at her and began the trek away, over to the stairs. When at the top, resting beside the rocking chair, John decided he still had a bit of stamina left in him and grabbed his crutch and his permanently borrowed string.

A few minutes later he'd slipped back into the retied loop - he'd been too afraid to leave the large loop in it and have someone find it and think he was suicidal or something like that - and had hoisted himself back up. Quickly, he grabbed and pulled up the string, hiding it as best he could minus the glaringly obvious cord of it still looped around one of the ladders bars. Standing on what was technically the top floor, John marched over to his dad's study and pulled out his phone.

It was currently 4.48 PM for him and if he remembered right London was nearly six hours ahead of Kansas. That meant for them it was 10.48 PM.

I'll have to apologize, John thought, thumbing the memorized number. His dad had decided it was important enough to write their numbers down so John had decided they were inportant enough for him to remember.

"Creighton-Ward Residence," a gruff Cockney accent answered. "Who would I be speakin' to?"

John fumbled for a chair, landing a tad harder than he'd anticipated on Jeff's rolly seat. He spoke clearly for the Brit. "John Tracy, second eldest of Jeff Tracy. Would it be possible to speak to Penelope?"

"That would be Lady Penelope, t'you." The man answered. John gauged him at around his late-fourties, ten years off the age his dad would've been. While the man spoke he recalled the half-made chip Brains had formed, a beautiful promise to his dreams. A thrill of excitement rushed through him. "What's the rush?"

John blinked at the change in formalities. Had the man intentionally altered his tone to be rude? He felt the grin pull his lips apart before he could breathe.

"I'm an old friend," he said truthfully. Penny had been quite persistent around him when it had come down to pairing up on a project for one of their shared classes. They'd talked to a degree where John now felt that him calling several years later wouldn't be regarded with too much animosity. If he'd read Dad's careful scribbles right on page eighty-two then the Creighton-Ward's were deeply involved in the sales world and business. He hoped they still were.

"An old friend, aye? I've a lotta 'old friends' none of them who're too nice. Just whadda you wan--"

"Parker?" A young feminine voice filtered through the line. John's grin grew. "Who ever are you threatening now?"

"A fellow who claims to be an 'old friend' of yours, m'lady." The man sounded ruffled. "I was just sayin' ta ra t'him."

"Who is it, Parker? "

"A 'John Tracy', m'lday."

There was a screech of white noise over the line and John assumed the phone had swapped hands. The welcoming female voice that followed confirmed his assumption.

"John, my goodness, how nice to hear from you again. After such a long time, too." Penny sounded excited but John knew better.

"It's nice to hear from you too, Penelope. I'm calling to talk about something I doubt you'd want to miss out on."

"Is that so, John?" He could imagine her maneuvering around to sit on a plush pink chair, legs folded primly, long blonde hair curling around her in waves. This was the way she sat for every phone call he'd watched her take and he doubted that had changed much over the past years. "Whatever could be so important that you'd have to call me so late at night?"

He smothered his wince and straightened out his façade. There was the signature Penny insult she so demanded to throw every time they'd talked. It was usually meant in jest but John wasn't so sure this time.

"In my own defense, it's 4 PM over here."

"Yes, yes, time zones are quite difficult. I'm aware. Now what were you wanting to talk about, Johnny?"

He leaned back in his dad's chair, surveying the study. The excitement thrummed at his chest, poking and prodding for a way out. "I'm sure you knew of my father's old side-ventures," he said.

"Do hold for a moment, darling." There was a long, low click as John was transferred to a more secure line. He sat in silence, heart thumping in his chest as if time had slowed to a halt. Penny's voice returned, "Do continue, John."

"The organisation my father wanted to create is in the early stages."

"You have plans to continue onwards with it? I was aware Jefferson had created the TV-21, the information passed down by my own father, but I was under the impression all work towards it had halted at Jefferson's..."

Death, his mind filled in. "It had," John confirmed. "I recently stumbled upon his plans for International Rescue and seeing as your surname was listed as a trustee, I figured you could help me iron out a few notches in the fabric."

There was a hesitant pause on the other end of the phone. "I suppose I could help out in the financial department. Although, I'd need something in return."

"Thank you, Penny, but that wouldn't be necessary. I have financials covered."

"Oh," she sounded impressed. "Is that so, Johnny? What do you need me for, then?"

"This entire operation needs a backup. Correct me if I'm wrong but your father had a lot of factories lying around the place, with a few in America."

Penny was silent, John continued.

"If I could borrow these for as long as necessary I'm sure we could make you something worthwhile for your time."

The ideas were already popping out at him. Penny wouldn't settle for a backseat in this operation and it was this hope he rided on.

"We?" She questioned.

"I've enlisted the help of a engineering scientist I believe we both know." The shadows on the walls grew as the sun slowly began its descent downwards. "An old Uni friend."

"Oh, someone we both know? My, my, I can't think," a pause. "By any chance you chose Hackenbacker?"

"Spot on," he chuckled, spinning gently in the seat. "Well, what do you say, a few factories to get Tracy Industries up and running and something fancy for your adventures? Anything else I could tempt you into?"

She enjoyed a good joke. "Just make sure it isn't too dull, Johnny. I'll activate the factories tomorrow. What sort of things would you need?"

He listed off his necessities, leaving out the thunderbird materials for now. John wanted Brains to experiment with a few materials for their outer shells before he said anything to Penny. "Oh," he said finally. "You wouldn't happen to know where someone could buy a very large, very remote island, would you?"

"I'll look into it," Penny promised. John could clearly see her bright smile - the very smile that had picked up countless men and countless contracts with magazines. He hoped, in the near future, that smile would be sealing a few deals for him as well. "Have a nice night, John."

"You too, Penelope. I'll get back to you soon."

"I'd expect nothing less. Ta."

"Ta," he murmured as the call went dead. He shifted forwards, elbowed digging into his upper thighs. The darkness crept along the walls of his dad's study, seemingly staring at him, boring a hole through his chest. Gravity made his body heavy but the emotions burbling past him like water in a creek made his mind light.

A creek.

A single thought ran through his mind as he began the hike back to the ladder, crutch in hand.

I was aware Jefferson had created the TV-21, Penny had said. John laughed, recalling the first note in the leatherbacked book. He knew where it was. He felt fit to burst with glee.

His smile must've been huge because Kayo raised an eyebrow at him when he sat down beside them again and even Scott, who had blearily awakened for the end of the romcom, gave him an odd look. John simply winked.

If you are a Tracy you know where GRR is. Out the back, past the mountains, follow the creek and you'll find a door. It'll help you out. Dad had written that word for word in his leatherbacked book. It didn't take a genius to realise that GRR was probably Gran Roca Ranch, even if it had taken John a few moments for it to kick in.

He'd bet his mug of Brains' hot chocolate that the aforementioned door hid a certain TV-21 behind it.

And that mental bet was what had John out the back of the Ranch, mere hours before Alan was due to arrive, the moon high at his back. He'd ditched his crutch, deciding he didn't want a trail of anything other than footprints leading his way. Plus, after using it since he'd picked up Scott, his leg didn't feel so bad at going for a walk, especially since everything seemed short compared to his journey across the city.

Gran Roca Ranch was colorful and shrouded by trees, but once you got a mile out the back of the Ranch house the trees began to dwindle into bushes and bushes, another half mile in, turned to dusty red sand - picturesque of inner Kansas. It was here he found a mountain, having steadily followed what appeared to be an old trail for most of his walk. Thanfully, just as the bushes seemed to be fading out a small creek appeared, barely an inch thick as it ran away into the dust. With renewed vigor, he'd followed it, always making sure to keep it in sight.

John slightly regretted having not brought his crutch, having overestimated his legs strength by a mile or so. But he felt freer without it and by the time he'd made it out into the dustlands he'd realised just how much freedom he had. It was as if he was running around with his brothers again, only ten, hoping to someday go and see the stars up close.

Scottie would lead the way as they marched through the undergrowth, Virg occasionally muttering about the mud, Gords whining about how he wanted to swim. Allie would so invested in his hero worshipping of Scott that he would be too overjoyed to not come along and follow the eldest like a baby chick. John didn't really remember doing too much complaining, also didn't remember openly worshipping Scott like little Alan but he was sure if he brought the memories up in reminiscence then his brothers would pull up some dirt about him.

Eventually, with his watch glowing a stark 9.16 PM, he caught sight of the mountain. In fact, mountains.

There were countless huge red rock hills that somewhere along the line people had decided to call mountains, situated in the beginnings of the Dust Bowl and likely only held up by dust. They sat proudly in the middle of nowhere, their clinging windstrewn surfaces of dust untouched, structures frighteningly unsecure. If someone so much as rammed into one with a car it could set off a massive boulder-breakout, where every rock in that struck mountain would tumble from its place and reveal just how unsafe every other mountain was. John wasn't sure if there were any caves he should know about but if there were a few around here - there had to be, with him working on the presumption his dad had hidden away the TV-21 in a large one - he had no way to be sure they hadn't already caved in.

With a sudden fear over his father's mechanical baby being buried under metres of dusty rock, John hobbled along the side of the creek a little faster than he had been.

He doubted he would've picked out the exact mountain to go to if the creek hadn't lead him to it. And lead him to it the creek had - the end of the creek was sudden and abrupt, the now ten inch wide stream flushing tight against the egde of a particularly dull looking mountain.

Past the mountains, follow the creek and you'll find a door, Dad had written.

The creek didn't reappear around the other side of the moutain so John assumed that the way it ended abruptly was a clue in itself. So, after doing a full perimetre walk, John zeroed in on the exact place the creek ended.

You'll find a door.

He tried running his hands over the rough mountain's side but found nothing. Silently John pulled back, berating himself as he did so. What did he expect, some sort of secret door to magically appear when he hit a pressure point or something? Sure, Dad had been in the Army before any of his brothers had been born, and he'd held the rank of Colonel, but John seriously doubted his dad would pull such an obvious trick out here--

An irritated step back found a pressure plate crunching down an inch under his foot, the loud click ringing out in the quiet of the night. John's breath caught in his throat as the mountain gave a quiet rumble and the apparently fake rock slid back around a six by three area to reveal a firm looking iron wrought door.

A soft green light flicked out from the very top of the door, in the middle of the doorframe. The light fluttered down him in an immitation of those new medical scanners he'd seen a while back, being tested in the hospital. To think, Jeff had installed one in this door before anyone else had even revolutionised the technology...

"DNA Recognised; Thunderbird user JT."

The door lifted with a sharp groan and John froze by the doorway as he entered. There, in the centre of a metal platform - dull railings, dark monitors and all sorts of machinery surrounding it - stood TV-21 in all her silver, gold and blue glory.

Sometimes having only one entrance and exit into the house got annoying. John was halfway through his grumbling when he noticed the figure sitting by the porch steps. He stopped, hoping his grinding halt hadn't drawn attention to himself.

Scott sat there, head tipped to stare at the moon, leaning against one of the porch's white painted posts. He looked hammered, two bottles sitting beside him; one sitting untouched, cap still on, whilst the other was clutched in his unsteady grip, half empty from the looks of it. There weren't any other bottles around him, from what John could tell, but this meant nothing. Scott could've trashed them as easily as he drunk them.

"Took ya long 'nough," Scottie slurred suddenly, listing forwards heavily to dig his elbows into his thighs. His gaze was bright, violet eyes like burning stars no matter how unfocused he actually was. Scott stared at him and John stared back before his inebriated older brother leaned back and clanked his bottle gently off the untouched one. The beer bottle shifted forward, trailing a line of water behind it.

"Well," his brother goaded. "Was waitin', Johnny."

John decided to indulge his brother, unsure of the last time they'd sat down over cold beers and actually talked. When he sat down on Scott's step he found the beer less than cool.

"How long have you been here?" He asked, stretching out a tired leg and thigh. His prosthetic scrapped along the gravel of the driveway, the sound echoing in the silence between them.

"Long 'nough," Scottie murmured, gaze lingering sullenly on John before snapping back up to the moon. John followed his brothers lead after uncapping his bottle against the pole by his left side. He took one long, slow gulp, figuring he'd need it. The flat beer did nothing for the butterflies in his stomach.

The view from Gran Roca was truly beautiful, tonnes better than what someone would see in the city. But instead of the giddy rush of awe John had felt every time he'd looked up tonight and every other night, now when he looked up he merely seen a moon and not nearly enough stars. He was getting a siphoned view and now that he was really aware of it, he disliked what he had here.

"I'm sorry," Scott whispered seconds before John could think about getting up and walking away from the disgustingly limited picture he was being given. The crushed tone in his brothers voice caught John's attention and almost immediately he was on high alert.

"What for?" He asked just as softly as Scott's whisper. John's mind rushed through a million scenarios, each one worse than the other. None of them made sense in this context though and he settled on the horrifying conclusion that he didn't know what his brother was upset about.

"I'm sorry for not visiting you," his older brother of two years said. If John hadn't known he was drunk from the way Scott swished his beer bottle back and forth in his hands he may never have realised, especially with Scott's clear and steady tone.

"It's..." It's alright, he wanted to say but couldn't because it wasn't alright and they both knew that. John was still hurting over the fact no-one had came to see him - Allie he could understand, the kid was in school but the others, they had no excuses. At least Virgil had sent flowers. Gordon had sent an apologetic hastily written card that was so vague it had made John scream.

"It's not okay, I know," Scott hiccuped, nearly dropping his beer. He didn't seem to register the close miss the bottle had nearly had with the ground, instead pulling it up to take a long swig from it. John wondered how many he'd gone through in what had just been short of three hours.

"'M sorry, Johnny," Scott said, slur back again as he pulled his legs up to his chest. "An' sorry ain't enough but it's all I got."

John wanted to interrupt him, wanted to shut Scott up with a nicely placed punch but he wouldn't. He'd never been one for violence and it showed as he did nothing but sit there and listen. Scott seemed more than happy to continue on, with or without interruptions, and was already wallowing in his own puddle of misery.

"I shoulda came," he babbled, real remorse choking up his throat as he trembled. "When I heard I was in Africa a-an' m'boys said go see your bro, Scott but I said no. 'Cuz we only had a few more days, y'know, an' I- an' I..."

John watched Scott lose his train of thought and begin again. "They said to go an' see ya, but it was a shortie an' was easy... then it rained a load an' we stayed for a lot longer." Scott took another swig of his bottle. "An' 'fore I knew it, I was in base, thinkin' over an' over again 'bout how I couldn't see ya 'cuz-- 'cuz--"

Scott teetered off into silence for one long, stiff moment. Then, his head bowed and his shoulders straightened out imitating a tense bowstring - a clear sign he was fighting himself. From the waver in his voice John knew he was crying.

"The day 'fore the call 'bout you there was a mudslide... me an'... me an' a girl got caught in it an'-- I was stuck with her, Johnny. Stayed with her 'til she died an' held her in my arms. But then, they said you were bad, real bad, an' I panicked, thought you were dyin'. Probably was," he broke off for a long sob that found him draining his bottle and settling it between them with a quivering hand. "Every time I thought of you in hospital, I thought of that girl, dead, an' I couldn't bare the thought of losin' someone else - you - either. So I convinced myself that if I didn' talk or think 'bout it, you wouldn't die."

The last word was pulled out into a despairingly long whimper. John felt heavy and tight, knowing that Scott had been holding onto this since the very beginning. His own anger had quelled at the sight of his brother crying over such a thing; there came a point where people just needed a breakdown and this was Scott's.

"It's not your fault. I'm ninety percent sure saving people is in our blood, of course you'd feel bad when something out of your control went wrong." There was no small amount of sarcasm but his general statement rung true; Tracys just seemed to strive for perfection, always wanting to save those they couldn't.

Maybe that was why Dad had yearned for a world with International Rescue. It was everything they wanted and everything they couldn't have, rolled up in one.

"And you were scared. Everyone was."

"So sorry, 'm so sorry," Scott either ignored him or couldn't hear him over his own heartbreaking sobs. Either way, the eldest ended up cradling his head atop his bent knees as he rocked himself back and forth, crying louder than his hushed sobs from before. Thick tears rolled down his cheeks, lengthening his eyelashes and making his older brother look so much younger. "I know sorry doesn't work but I- I'm sorry!"

"Shh," John quietly moved the bottle that was between them out of sight. He pulled Scott into his arms - which was a harder task than it looked with one hand - feeling lithe, sinewy muscle pressing against his own thin stick-like body. Scott shook like a leaf, clinging to him like a lifeline, fisting his shirt in anguish. "It's okay, let it all out. Shh, Scottie. I'm here."

Still, Scottie wailed. "'m sorry, please don't hate me. I do. 'M sorry."

The confession of Scott's self-hatred was nothing new, although this was the first time John had heard it spoken aloud. He felt unexplainably sad for his brother, the fear persisting past the final hard jagged edge of cold hate John was carrying for his family.

"It's okay," he found himself saying.

"No, it's not," Scott replied instantly, hitting the nail head-on. Watery violet eyes burned into John's own thoughtful violet. Maybe saving people was in their blood like their violet eyes was in their family. Mom had always claimed they were more of a mauve color. "Don't lie, Johnny. It sounds bitter."

The final word set Scottie off again, launching him into a whole new round of hysterics. John did his best to comfort his older brother, alternating between rocking them both or muttering reassuringly into Scott's ears, usually both.

"Let it all out," John murmured, rubbing at Scott's back when all of a sudden Scott jerked. The pilot gasped, hickey looking more prominent in the lustrous shine of the moon. John felt his heart skip a beat due to the sheer fear he seen in Scottie's eyes.

"No, no, can't," he said, swallowing vigorously as he shook his head slowly. "I'll be sick, 'll be sick, no."

"Scottie?" John brushed away a few stray tears with his thumb as Scott struggled to remain upright, still muttering. At his tone, Scott hiccuped - the action obviously painful as it made Scott's entire body jump with it, breath getting caught in his throat. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here for you. I'm here, I'm alive."

"I messed up," Scott slurred eventually. His frame drooped with fatigue and John gripped him tighter with the only hand he had. "Shoulda called, 'm sorry. This should be me."

"Why would you say that?" John ran his hand through Scott's hair, his other arm wound around his elder's back, and immediately felt his older brother fall lax, his head coming to rest on John's shoudler. A little known fact about Scott was that he lived for small gestures like these, small gestures that were the embodiment of love.

Scottie was asexual; had confided this in John years ago, before USAF and before NASA. Scott wasn't in one night stands for the sex, but the physical intimacy that he could only get from being close to another in such a way that usually required sex. Hence the reason why his brother preferred the sturdier built ones, as they usually were open to more than a few hugs once Scott got them rolling. Scott was always happy as long as he got coddled and a happy Scott was a smiley Scott.

Never let it be said Scott Tracy didn't have a wonderful smile. After all, it was such a smile that made him such a hit, for both men, woman and everyone else.

John had been silently impressed earlier, as seeing Scott in such a state obviously meant he'd found someone who was his type and was very good at hugs. The hickey also served to mesmerise Scott, who seemed nonplussed with the huge bruised bite marks littering his neck for all to see. John couldn't wait to see the Terrible Two's reaction towards it tomorrow.

"'m the older one," Scott said finally, snapping John out of his thoughts. He blamed his older brother's longer than usual pause between words. "I should be comfortin' you, not the other way 'round."

"Sometimes things change, Scottie," John hummed, fingers threading through Scott's hair. He spied a glance at his watch and raised an eyebrow at the time. It was a miracle no-one had came outside to yell at them for being too loud. "C'mon, Scottie. Let's get you to bed. We can talk tomorrow, when Allie and Gordie are here."

"No, wait, please," Scott begged, pulling out of John's arms with teary eyes. With a flash of realisation John realised who'd taught Alan his infamous puppy dog eyes. "Have'ta talk now, wha' can I do? I need to do somethin', t'make it up t'ya..."

John was quiet as he analysed his brother with a sharp eye. He supposed this was a good enough time as any to let Scott in on IR, and it was probably better he got the eldest on his side before the youngsters came to wreak havoc.

"Okay then, just sit here and listen." And John told Scott all about their father's dream, his plans, the Thunderbirds, TV-21, his outside aid from Brains and Penny and why he needed it. He told Scott about how he'd found the bunker but had left it to explore another day; maybe with his brothers. John explained everything to Scott and not once did Scott interrupt him.

"So," Scott drawled out when John had stopped. "Is this your way of inviting me to be in on this or did I misread all of that hopeful glancing?"

John smiled. "I was being honest when I said I was ninety percent sure saving people is in our blood."

Scott grinned and swept in for a long hug that John took for silent approval. "'M proud of you, lil' bro. You're stronger than I thought."

John felt touched, even as Scott withdrew to stand on shaky legs. John stood up after him, taking the preferred hand. "Thanks, Scottie."

His older brother giggled and John caught the catch. "Might need a hand upstairs, though."

He sighed but couldn't help the smile that split his face in two. Scott made a low noise and tipped into John's chest, arms wrapping around him like an octopus.

"I'm back!" Yelled Alan as he stepped into the house. The smell of Grandma's cookies, coffee and the satisfying scent of soil assured his nose that he was, in fact, home. He felt his giddy grin grow.

Grandma met him first, scooping him down into a back-bending bear hug that was hard pressed to rival Virgil's. Gordon was taking his time with his bag to avoid the inevitable fate of being pulled down and squished to death by Grandma. Alan almost felt jealous.

But then he seen Kayo.

There she was in all her firey, mystical glory; black hair pulled back in her signature pony tail, a pair of red shorts on along with a baby blue tank. His cheeks felt like they were on fire as they made eye contact, Kayo seemed unfazed as she finished what she was saying to John and smirked at him.

Alan felt the surge of energy hit him head on and would've bounded out of Grandma's arms and over to Kayo. He stopped short as he saw John.

John looked older than he had before, a slim dark blue brace wrapped around his right arm that was distressingly missing a hand. He was wearing a pair of Gordie's old shorts, the sudden humidity of Kansas definitely not agreeing with him. Alan would've commented on his second oldest brother's outfit-stealing behaviour had those very clothes not drawn attention to the painful looking grey prosthetic that was attached to John, even the knee appearing as if it was a dull metal colour. The leg stopped halfway up his thigh, ending to show a black fabric over John's... over what was left of John's thigh. He looked like a skeleton, skin stretched over bone. He looked ill.

"John," he wheezed, realising he'd been in Grandma's hug for too long. He hurtled out of the older woman's grasp and stuttered to a halt inches away from John. He bounced, silently asking for a hug.

John opened his arms.

Alan sprang forth, arms wrapping around his brother. Distressed that he could feel John's ribs he squeezed hard, ear leaning against the man's chest to hear a steady heartbeat. John's hand came down to rest on his back, patting gently.

"Hey little brother," John murmured as Gordon appeared in the doorway. Seconds later said fish emitted a strangled yell, breaking Alan's reverie as his immediate older brother started an unspoken contest with Grandma on how long he could evade her.

"Grandma! Kayo! John!" Gordon grinned, not even stopping at the sight of John. His immediate older brother fist bumped Kayo, blew Grandma a kiss and gently slapped John on the back. "How is everyone?"

"Good," John said. "Scott's out by the pond, if you want to see him."

Alan gaped. "He's here? For how long? How-- who?"

"John went and dragged him home," Grandma boasted. "Pulled him back easily."

"I'll go get him after I've dumped our bags in our room," Gordon offered and sprinted off upstairs.

John pulled back from Alan's hug and peered down at him. "How are you, Allie? You're looking taller than ever."

Alan preened. "I hit six foot over spring break, y'know."

Gordon treaded the well-known path down to his pond, whistling as he hopped along, hands shoved in his pockets. By the pond he found Scott swinging on a newly tied up board swing, trainers settled beside the large tree's trunk. Gordon offered his oldest brother a small grin and a cheery wave as he sauntered over to him, flawlessly avoiding walking into a single sunlounger as he rushed.

"Gordie," Scott smiled, violet eyes glowing with joy as his phone dipped back into his shorts' pocket. A large red and purple bruise spanned over his throat, clearly visible with his low necked short sleeved tee. Gordon smiled, knowing better than to comment on his oldest brothers stress relief habits.

"Scottie," he chimed back, sparing a moment to pull off his own trainers and socks before settling by the pool and dipping his feet in. There was barely six feet between them, more than enough to hold a quiet conversation over.

"How was the reef hopping?"

"Good," he answered, glad someone at least knew the specifics of what he'd been doing. "But you can't distract me that easy."

Scott breathed a soft laugh. "What would you like to talk about then, Gordon?"

"Spacecase looks rough."

His brothers face twisted in regret. Gordon, as stubborn as any other Tracy who'd dared to live, continued on.

"Have you made up with him?"

"Made up with him? We'd never fallen out." But Scott didn't meet his eyes.

"Good to know," at least that was one less explosion he could tick off the list. "He talked about it yet?"

Scott got a faraway look on his face that said he was excited about something he couldn't yet have. They'd all seen him look like this when he'd been weeks away from deployment. Gordon just hoped his older brother wasn't up to anything stupid - that was his area, after all.

"No but he's got a lot more on his mind." Scott eased himself back on the swing, pulling forward his lean body to get a rhythm going. Not a minute later he was swinging back and forth like a pro. "Good things, Gordie. Real good things. He knows who to come to if he needs that sort of help."

"Does he?" Gordon prodded. Scott looked happier than he had the last time Gordon'd seen him, three years ago. Maybe his brother had finally decided to settle now that his contract was nearing completion.

Scott reassured, "I'll make sure."

Gordon hoped he would, or else they'd be dealing with a hurt older brother who believed he had nowhere to turn.

"Afternoon," Virgil announced his arrival a few hours after Alan and Gordon had settled. John looked up from his phone as the front door closed gently, turning in time to observe as his immediate younger brother halted in the living room's doorway. Virgil had turned into a mass of muscle; a mountain personified. His sudden onset of muscle was made all that much clearer by his worn wifebeater and khaki shorts. His scuffed trainers almost seemed out of place amongst the image presented.

"Who the-? Virgil!" Gordon bounced back where he sat, head craned obnoxiously back to stare in shock at his brother who'd only just entered. John watched in ill-contained amusement from his place on his three seater, eyeing a smiling Virgil as he placed down a cavas and what looked like a stuffed old-school leather suitcase. "When did you become a footballer?"

"I didn't," Virgil said, gently nudging his things out of the doorway as Gordon rushed up to him after jumping to his feet. John heard the stairs thud as Alan, no doubt, raced down them.

"Then how'd you get this?" Gordon punched Virgil none too lightly and rocked himself from the rebound. The middle child looked untouched, blinking down at their resident marine biologist, who cradled his fist. "Holy cow! Ouch."

"I do weights?" John's immediate younger brother offered up, blush creeping along his ears, broadcasted by the lack of hair behind them - this year Virgil had evidently been swept up by the undercut faze. John couldn't argue though, it looked alright. Maybe he should talk Scott into getting one.

"Virgil! You sure you just paint?" Alan cheered as he barreled into their resident artist and Doctor of Engineering graduate. Virgil grinned down at their youngest brother, ruffling his hair.

"Yeah, Alan. Good to see you too, kiddo."

Kayo popped her head out of the kitchen, a fresh cup of coffee in her hand. She raised an appreciative eyebrow at Virgil. "Looking good, V."

"Um, thanks, Kayo." He spared a glance around and grinned at John. "Johnny, how you doing, man?"

"Peachy," John smiled back, standing to hug his brother. He was still that bit taller than Virgil - nothing to be salty about, seeing as he was taller than Scottie too - but he enjoyed the way Virgil pulled him into a bearhug nonetheless. "You're looking happy."

"Feeling it. Heard from Grandma you dragged Scooter home?"

John eased out of the hug as Virgil rocked back to analyse his leg. When his younger brother shot him a pleading glance John sat and allowed Virgil to prod at his prosthetic.

"Yeah, Grandma dragged him off for a shopping run," John said, staring as Virgil murmured about his leg. The spark of thrill speared his chest once more and John found himself grinning controllably. Virgil was no pushover, he was an artist and he was an engineer. And best of all, he could be trusted. He could be kept with a secret, he could be confided in and he could be assured to help them build the ships John saw when he closed his eyes. "You like what you see?"

"No," Virgil snapped, then stumbled to say, "yes, well not exactly. How much trouble is it to get upstairs?"

Alan and Gordon had vanished, seemingly knowing this conversation was better held in private. Kayo had probably tugged them away herself, seeing as his covert ops officer had all but disappeared as well.

"More than it's worth," John admitted, thinking back to the shooting pains he'd receive in turn if he rocked back on his leg too much. The added risk of falling because he was unstable and found it hard to make the knee joint move was also a pain he hoped to resolve.

"Does it fit alright?" Virgil asked, thumbing the lines between his skrinker and the metal.

"Could be better."

"It looks cheap," his brother finally admitted.

John sighed, "It was dearer than it should've been."

"I'd make you another but I don't think we have any carbon fibre lying around." Virgil sounded annoyed and a glance at his face found John staring into two burning pits of irritated violet. His silent anger made Scott's hardheaded temper seem like a walk in the park.

"Would you draw up the specs for me?" John asked, having been too busy to do so himself. He'd been preoccupied with coordinating Brain's work and scribbling down notes for IR in his notebook that he'd all but neglected his current mobility predicament. A hand would be nice too, but John had learned early on to avoid asking to stem off the disappointment.

Virgil rocked back on his heels, thighs bulging in his crouch. "Of course, John." He stalled, figuring out a way on the spot to break the news. "But--"

"I don't expect you to, Virg. I just need specs." John reassured. "You have to meet my scientist, I'm sure you'd love him."

"Huh?" Virgil questioned.

"Hiram Hackenbacker," John said. "Although he prefers Brains."

"Hold up, Johnny," Virgil gestured. "Why do you need a scientist? What are you--?"

"Dad left Tracy Industries to Scott and I. I've decided to do something with it." Virgil stood up in his shock.

"Why exactly are you doing?"

"Making a few things to make life a little easier," he said in lieu of lying. Holoforms would help everyone in general and it would mean he could have the funds to develop International Rescue.

"Are you going to let me in on this or am I going to have to wait like everyone else?"

"They all think I've dragged Brains over for a geek out over our career changes, like some sort of prolongued sleepover. Gordon and Alan haven't actually met him yet, you might see him at dinner."

"John," Virgil pressed. "Don't avoid the question."

"I've got an idea, Virgil." John confided, knowing who he could trust. "And it may just be the thing that pulls this family together again."

They'd fallen apart after Scott had fled for the airforce, that fact was stark as day. John had secretly hoped that IR would pull them all together the second he'd read Dad's book.

Virgil, as much of a lonely child as him, perked up. "What sort of idea?"

"One that could revolutionise this world," John said. "An idea that will change how we live. Scott's onboard and in it for the longrun the second he finishes with the airforce. Kayo's listened to my ideas and pitched in."

"And the others?"

"I'll tell them when I've got things in motion," John dismissed the thought of telling his youngest two brothers and having everything fall out from underneath him. At least he'd have others to grip onto him, if he failed. They didn't need the heartbreak of a failure weighing them down.

Virgil sat down beside him. "Tell me, John."

Okay, John thought. "Let's go on a walk later, yeah? After dinner."