A/N: Alright. I am in the process of writing Determined, but I wanted to post this thing first. Idea credit goes to my dear friend Teobi. I was celebrating the fact that I've now finished school for the summer, and she literally dared me to write drabbles centred around the seasons and our Tracy boys. She rationalised the merits of me writing was better than her doing it, because my powers of description are apparently better than hers. I rather disagree, but you try arguing with her; it's not as easy as people might think! ^_^
She and I have agreed to alter the idea a little, because of the itsy-bitsy dilemma of there being six Tracys and only four seasons, but I think we've fixed it now. Teebs did suggest that we just ignore Alan, but we agreed that it wouldn't work. *Rolls eyes* They wouldn't be the Tracys without Al, would they now? (Worst luck) Haha.
Disclaimer: We don't own the Tracys, as much as we wish to, nor do we claim any sole love of the times that make up our daily lives.
From Teobi and myself, enjoy!
Fall
He leans on the post at the bottom of the steps and smirks as Virgil's restored mustang pulls up the drive, sending multi-coloured leaves flying in a whoosh of air and exhaust smoke. It turns in a wide half circle, and then backs bumpily onto the lawn beneath the moulting sycamore, narrowly missing the old swing that dangles from the lowest-hanging branch.
Next to him, perched on the veranda's edge, John looks at the shockingly vivid paintjob and shakes his head. "It had to be green, didn't it?"
Scott nods, as jubilant cheers are heard from within the car interior. He peers at the windscreen and assumes that Alan has the shotgun seat. With Virgil's driving, it makes sense.
Twin blurs suddenly shoot across the grass, the slamming of the doors like gunshots in the still air. Thirteen-year-old Gordon has grown since Christmas, and his curls are in need of a cut. Nine-year-old Alan is the same, but he's as skinny and short as ever.
Virgil —sixteen just last month— ambles up as they throw themselves at John. Scott sticks his hand out to his younger brother.
"Virgil."
"Scott."
Scott smiles and pulls him into a tight embrace.
Stepping back as he turns, Scott ruffles Alan's hair and slings an arm across Gordon's broadening shoulders. He grins and claps John on the back, and together, the five of them walk across the front porch.
Scott nods to himself; the warmth spreading within his chest, as John picks up their discarded bags from the floorboards.
This is why he loves fall.
A/N: Reviewsies, please? Xx