A/N - Thank you to my lovely sister LiGi for giving me the idea and betaing and then teaching me how to publish... and then forcing me to publish.

The Sun, the Fight and the Birthday

Scott – 12

John – 10

Virgil – 9

Gordon – 8

Alan – 7

I lay on the grass outside the house, letting the hot sun soak through my clothes. August was one of my favourite months. Brilliant weather and still ages until school started again.

Gordon and Alan seemed to agree as they charged around the garden playing some game that involved lots of gun noises. I kept half an eye on them, making sure that Gordon hadn't got a cloth and washed off his sun cream, again. I hoped that the sunburn the redhead had, whiningly, endured had taught him better, but you could never know with Gordon.

Virgil was sat under a tree, his art set spread around him.

"Why are you sitting in the shade, Virge? It's lovely over here." I patted the ground next to me.

"If I sit over there the sun shines on the white paper too bright."

"Oh," I shrugged, well, whatever the horizontal version of a shrug is called. "Wear sunglasses."

He gave me a look of pure distain as only a nine year… sorry a in-just-one-more-day-I'll-be-a-ten year old can manage. "Then the colours would be all off."

I rolled my eyes, typical artistic temperament emerging there, or teenage stroppiness starting early. It could happen, John was only ten months older and he was already showing the signs of normal teenage behaviour. Well, as much as John ever did anything normally, but for him, ignoring bedtime and missing meals unless Grandma dragged him downstairs was really rebellious.

Where was John anyway? I wondered, sitting up. "Have you guys seen Johnny?"

"No," Virgil said without taking his attention off whatever it was he was drawing.

"He was inside," Gordon added helpfully, before 'dying' dramatically.

"Keep an eye on them will you," I said to Virgil, standing up. I looked down at the warm grass longingly, but John shouldn't be sitting on his own inside on a day like this.

"I don't need anyone keeping an eye on me!" Gordon retorted indignantly. "I'm exactly eight and a half now."

"Super, keep an eye on Alan," I grinned walking towards the house and ignoring Alan's protests behind me.

"John?" I called. Silence, but then he rarely answered anyway. The house seemed very cool compared to outside. I set about searching through his usual haunts, and found him in our room. Sprawled across his bed scribbling… something in a notebook, John's handwriting was appalling,

"You going to join us outside? You know, in the sunshine, there's a big ball of gas giving off light and heat right now and you're missing it."

John shrugged.

I went over and pulled open the curtains, brightening up the gloom. He squinted at me crossly. "What did you do that for?" it wasn't an angry shout, like it would have been if it was Virgil, or even me, that someone was disturbing.

"C'mon." I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him off the bed. He landed on the floor in a tangled heap of overly long legs and arms and scowled up at me through his floppy pale blond hair. "C'mon," I repeated and he sighed before gathering his notebook and a couple of textbooks in his arms and heading downstairs.

Virgil was in almost exactly the position I'd left him. Alan and Gordon had obviously gotten over their brief spat over ages and were playing sword-fighting with some sticks that hoped they'd gotten from Grandma's pile by the shed rather than removing them from the sweet peas like last time.

John sighed, dumped his books by Virgil and went inside to fetch the sun cream that he then spent an exaggerated amount of time smearing it over every scrap of visible skin, and considering how he was wearing a long-sleeve shirt that wasn't much.

I lay back down on the grass.

I must have drifted off slightly, because I woke up to the sound of Alan crying. I was going to ignore it, one of his favourite pranks at the moment was to fake cry, but Gordon's tearful, "Scott!" had me sitting up immediately.

Alan was sitting on the floor sobbing as he clutched his arm. Virgil was trying to persuade him to let him look at the gash and Gordon and John were both standing there as if not sure what to do with themselves, Gordon's 'sword' still in his hand.

"Scott!" Alan stretched out his arms to me, at seven, still dependant on cuddles when he got hurt. "Gordon hit me!"

"I didn't mean to!" and then Gordon started sobbing too.

"Let's go inside and have a look," I suggested, picking up Alan, who was over a foot shorter than me, easily.

"Can I come too?" Gordon said uncharacteristically quiet. "I didn't mean to."

"Yeah, come on," Alan had stopped crying and, though it must have hurt, I was willing to bet there was nothing more wrong with him than a cut and a nasty bruise.

Inside I sat Alan on the kitchen counter and fetched the first aid box from the top cupboard Grandma kept it in. I cleaned the shallow wound with cotton wool and chose a nice big plaster for him. I was just as I'd thought, though Alan did bruise very colourfully and would probably have a nicely mottled arm later.

"I want picture plasters like James had when he cut his knee," Alan moaned as I presented the beige square.

I sighed. "We don't have any," I told him, he already knew that.

"I could draw something on it," Gordon suggested.

"I want Scott to draw it," Alan insisted and Gordon's face fell.

"Alan, Gordon is trying to help," I told him sternly and to my relief he didn't answer back. "How about I draw something and Gordon, it's a big plaster."

Alan nodded agreement and Gordon presented me with a red felt tip.

"How about a rocket!" I suggested overly cheerfully. I hoped he would agree because I couldn't draw much else with a felt tip on the rough surface of the plaster. Luckily he agreed and Gordon did some very enthusiastic waves almost submerging the rocket.

"There!" I secured the now garishly coloured plaster onto his arm and lifted him down from the counter. "Why don't you two play inside for a bit?" I suggested, "The Scalextric is still out if you want?"

They both nodded enthusiastically and went off to play, argument and injury forgotten.

I was just putting the first aid box away when I heard shouting from outside. I slammed the cupboard door and went off to find out what the noise was. Expecting it to be Mark and Joel next door arguing with Virgil, again.

"Why are you so stupid!" I was surprised to hear John's voice.

"You can't say that, it's my birthday!" Virgil's voice had the slight wobble that meant he was holding back tears, I headed out to try and head off the argument.

"No it's not, not yet. So I can say whatever I want!" John was rarely angry but when he was he could be they worst out of all of my brothers.

"I hate you!" I arrived just in time to hear Virgil shout that. John's face was flushed red and Virgil's eyes glistened with tears.

"Right, Stop!" I shouted, but John hadn't opened his mouth at all, he turned and ran inside and Virgil's face crumpled as he looked at me. "Come here," I held my arms out. I was aware from school that we were an unusual family because I actually got on with and looked after my younger brothers, all my friends with siblings talked about them with annoyance.

Virgil sniffed into my t-shirt. "I'm not stupid, am I Scott?"

"No," I reassured him. That was becoming a common worry of his, due I think to John's burgeoning genius. I must be hard for him to be in the same class as Johnny, to be the 'other Tracy' while the teachers fussed around John. "Is that what the argument was about?"

Virgil shook his head and sniffed. "No, it was silly."

"Not if John upset you."

"It doesn't matter," Virgil pushed me away and I knew I'd not get an answer out of him. I'd probably have even less luck with John so I decided to leave him alone.

"Let's watch the kids play 'Major Traffic Disasters'," I suggested and Virgil cracked a smile at the name Gordon had coined to describe their Scalextric contests.

"I'll just put my stuff away," he said and scurried over to collect the assorted tins of paints and chalks. He picked up John's books as well and then seemed to realise what he was doing and deliberately dropped them on the floor.

"Virge," I said, a bit annoyed at his childishness, "Just pick them up."

"No." Virgil's chin was set stubbornly and I went to pick up the books. Though Virgil didn't stay truly angry long, he nurtured a grudge for ages.

John was very quiet at dinner and Grandma asked him, concerned if he was coming down with something. Virgil had snorted loudly and John had flushed, obviously hoping, as John often did, that the fight would have been totally forgotten by now.

Grandma just shook her head and the rest of the meal was spent in uncomfortable silence save for Gordon's intermittent dialogue about his and Alan's 'awesome' Scalextric game and our noisy greeting when Dad finally got in.

John barely said a word to anyone the rest of the evening and I was quite glad when Grandma announced it was bedtime. I think everyone else was too, as even Alan put his pyjamas on without complaining too much.

The next morning, I was woken by Virgil jumping around the room shouting "It's my birthday! It's my birthday!" at the top of his voice.

"Do you have to be so loud?" John complained and Virgil grinned and stuck his tongue out, shouting even louder. He looked cheerful and I took that as a sign that all feuds had been dropped in favour of birthday related things.

"We're getting up," I told him loudly, "Just go downstairs and wait!"

Virgil grinned and tore off. I got up stretching and headed for the shower, leaving John to get up as well.

After I was dressed, and still with damp hair, I headed downstairs to see three of my brothers and Dad and Grandma sitting around a table set out with presents. I could guess the giver of each gift by the wrapping. Alan's gift had almost more tape than paper and Gordon's was wrapped round and round in a bundle. John's wrapping was military precise, Grandma's was topped with a bow and the one from dad was obviously wrapped in the store.

"Happy birthday, Virge!" I said ruffling his hair and heading to an empty seat at the table.

Grandma was making waffles, Virgil's favourite and Gordon and Alan, miraculously, were sitting nearly still.

"I want to wait for Johnny," Virgil said, though I could see his fingers almost itching to start unwrapping.

We sat at the table for nearly ten minutes. I was getting more and more annoyed with John the longer we sat. We all got up on his birthday, me and Virgil even got up early to be ready on time.

"I'll go and get him," I told them, standing up.

"John!" I shouted as I climbed the stairs.

He didn't answer so I headed for our room. He sat on the bed fully dressed, head down and staring at something in his hands.

"What's that? Why aren't you down at breakfast with everyone else?"

John held out a card to me, his face tearstained and blotchy, John didn't cry well, unlike Alan who had perfected the sad little cherub face. "I can't do anything right," he said so soft I nearly missed it.

'To Virgil now you are ten too' the writing on the front was John's best and I could see the faint ruler lines where he had painstakingly lined all the letters up and then mostly erased the grid. There was a picture underneath, again meticulously drawn but with none of the artistic flair that Virgil had.

It was of the two of them, the skinny John's overly long thin arm draped around the blocky Virgil and they were looking up at very accurately drawn constellations. It was coloured in softly with pencils and I could see, just from looking at it, the time he must have spent. Probably all yesterday while me and Virgil had watched Gordon and Alan.

"I wanted to make him a card, he always makes me one, but I'm useless." Tears started to spill again and I forgot the irritation I'd felt with him when I'd come looking earlier.

"Oh, Johnny," I sat down next to him. "Virgil will love it."

He looked up at me, disbelief plain in his eyes.

"When Gordon makes you a card do you like it?" I asked him.

"Yes, of course."

"Even though it's normally very sticky and has lots of fish on it."

"But Gordon spends ages making them," John protested, "And he thinks they're good."

"So why would Virgil not like the card you made him, just because you're not as good at art?"

"I'm his big brother," John explained, "with Gordon it's sort of sweet because he's little."

"Don't say that around him," I joked and John frowned. "Sorry," I knew that wouldn't help, John didn't respond to attempts to lighten the mood the same as my other brothers. I sighed. "Trust me, Virgil will love it," I said, looking into his eyes, "You've never drawn anything for anyone before, it'll make him feel special."

"But what if he still hates me?"

"Oh John, he didn't even mean that when he said it." I shouldn't have been surprised that he was still worried about the fight yesterday, John always worried about things more if the person he was arguing with didn't let him apologise before he went to bed.

"Are you sure?" I could tell he was being swayed to my opinion.

"Of course, and I'm older than you so I know everything."

This time he didn't frown, but countered with. "Oh really, how far is Jupiter from the Sun?"

He had me there. "A billion miles?"

John smiled and shook his head. "483.7 million miles."

I stood up, pulling him with me. "I find it amazing how you can remember all that."

"I find it amazing that you can't," he said, no joking in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah, c'mon, Virgil's waiting."

"Okay," John clutched his handmade card as we went downstairs. I stopped him just before he entered the kitchen and dragged him into the little bathroom to wash some of the traces of tears from his face.

When he looked slightly more presentable, I pushed him ahead of me into the kitchen.

"Found him," I told the room. Grandma and Dad both gave me concerned looks and I knew the quick wash hadn't hidden all traces of John's crying.

I just shook my head and nodded towards Virgil.

"Right," Dad smiled at his middle son. "Cards first I think."

John stood by Virgil's shoulder and nervously presented his card. Virgil studied it carefully and grinned, hugging John round the waist from his seat.

"Thanks Johnny."

John smiled and glanced at me. I grinned and he turned back to Virgil who moved over enough on his chair that skinny John could sit on it with him.

"You can help," Virgil said generously and stuck a piece of tape off the next envelope on John's nose. "You can be the tape boy."

Yesterday's argument was definitely forgotten and everything was back to normal.