After doing a little research, I decided to write this fanfic on the youngest of the Tracy brothers. Hope you like.

It was a rare day when most of the brothers were off rotation, with the exception of John, he remained at TB 5 to oversee everything – as was his noble duty. They were still available at a moment's notice however. But there was a good reason behind this special day. Alan was taking part in his first Silverstone championship racing rally. He'd begged his dad relentlessly to take part, and reluctantly, Jeff had agreed … on the condition that he'd be safe.

"Pfft, dad," Alan whined (as was his usual tactic when he felt patronized) "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me … really."

Jeff wasn't so sure, and neither were Alan's brothers. United, they tried to convince Jeff that is was a bad idea and that he shouldn't encourage the kid. But Jeff had seen potential and, as was normally the case, he indulged him.

As the event approached, Jeff found himself hovering over Alan whilst he was making adjustments to his vehicle.

"This baby can go FAST!" Alan bragged, wiping his brow, leaving a streak of oil across his forehead.

"The point is, son," Jeff said gently, "it's not about how fast you go…"

"Yeah yeah dad," Alan interrupted, rolling his eyes, "it's all about finishing. I know, I know."

There was no getting through to Alan. He was totally buzzed about this event and was working non-stop on his car, tuning it up, making sure that it was roadworthy. To the point of putting his study time aside, which didn't go down too well with everyone. But, Alan being Alan, he ignored their protests. Jeff suggested to Brains that he take a look at Alan's car, but when the poor engineer walked into the garage, Alan threatened to physically kick him out if he even put one finger on his precious baby.

"Dad sent you, didn't he?" Alan was clutching a wrench and was waving it threateningly at Brains.

Brains backed away, terrified of this tiny terror before him. He was a pacifist and didn't like confrontation at the best of times. So he offered an apologetic grimace and a shrug of the shoulders, before bolting through the door.

Considering that he was head and shoulders shorter than his brothers, Alan was extremely territorial about his property – namely this beast of a motor, sitting in the garage bay. Nobody was allowed to touch it … or even ride in it. Except perhaps Kayo. Only because she was fearless, and took no shit from anybody. Plus, she threatened to rip out the distributor cap if he didn't let her ride shotgun. He grumbled and groused, complaining that he was tired of the whole babysitter routine. She simply glared at him. That was enough for him to back down.

Anyways, the day arrived and Alan was hyper … nervous. Used to having Kayo sitting alongside him during dry runs, he realised that he had to do this alone. And the fact that everyone was watching, put pressure on him too. Even John had linked up the race track so he could watch whilst he was on board TB 5.

The night before, it had rained heavily and the track was slick and dangerous. But, he'd committed to this. There was no way he was backing out now. Adjusting something he hadn't a clue what … he tried not to let his nerves show. By the sidelines, he could make out the first aiders and ambulances all ready … just in case. He closed his eyes and tried to blot out the image. He didn't want anything to jinx this event. No sirree. He opened them and glanced across at his family. They gave him the thumbs up gestures, along with what he knew were false grins. They were nervous too.

Jeff leaned on the chain link fencing.

"Don't forget," he yelled, "the first sign of trouble and you head for the pits. You copy?"

Alan just nodded, and then broke out in a nervous grin.

"I'll be okay dad," he yelled back, shoving the helmet onto his head.

The tannoy announced the competitors to get ready. Leaping into his car, he felt the familiar rush of his own heartbeat, the adrenaline pounding through his veins. This was it. No going back now.

The track was alive with people rushing around, the deafening sound of the engines as they revved up, all ready for action. Alan might have been one of the youngest there, but that didn't mean that they were going to go easy on him. These folks were highly competitive and would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. This shit was real.

The lights flashed to indicate that the race was about to begin. The tarmac cleared of people almost instantly, leaving the drivers behind and waiting for the off. Alan was placed towards the back end because his qualifying round was good. It was fast, but not fast enough for pole position. He watched earnestly, waiting for the lights to go green, the com system active in his helmet. It was no surprise who his team were. They'd run from the sidelines to the pit to wait for him. They might not have approved of his lifestyle choice. But they were going to be there to help him. No matter what.

The lights flashed green, the screech of the tyres and the scream of the engines as they all shot forward, Alan's car right along with them. He was flying! Expertly he changed gears and whipped in and out of gaps, overtaking some of the slower cars and moving slowly up the ranks. On occasion a car would suddenly shoot past him, making him jump. But he needed to be focused, so he put his energies into his driving. His knuckles were white on the tiny steering wheel as he steered through more gaps. He wasn't counting the laps, he was having far too much fun here.

"Jeff to Alan, do you copy?" his dad's voice cut in from the comm.

"I copy."

"Are you okay out there?"

"I'm good, tyres are holding on this surface and fuel is great. See you at the end. Out."

"Technical readouts are fine here," Interjected John from TB 5.

"Told ya."

Jeff gripped the laptop, everyone else was looking over his shoulders as they saw the technical readouts on the screen. Amazingly, they were all green, no faults whatsoever. This kid was definitely a genius. All those hours spent fine tuning, had worked to his advantage. He was actually going to do this. Admittedly, he was too far behind to nab the winner's trophy. But for a rookie, he was doing exceptionally well.

Until the final turn.

Another driver veered off slightly, he'd overshot the turn and was trying to compensate. That caused Alan to swerve. His car caught a long thin puddle, causing him to aquaplane dangerously towards the safety wall. Slamming the brakes on, he wrenched the wheel, hoping that it was enough to keep him on the track, but a piece of debris from a previous crash, slammed into the axle underneath and Alan's car took flight.

Jeff and the boys froze as they saw Alan spinning in the air.

"Fuck! No!" Jeff yelled.

It would be only the second time he'd use expletives. The first was with Gordon and the hydrofoil accident. Here, he was witnessing the certain death of his youngest son as the car spun wildly out of control, landing roof first on the tarmac.

Inside the vehicle, Alan was experiencing first hand, something he'd dreaded for a long time. The windshield shattered causing spider web cracks right across it and splinters flying everywhere. There was that distinctive crunching sound of the roof caving in when the car landed. It was accompanied by the high pitched squeal of metal travelling along tarmac. As he was freefalling, Gordon sprang into his mind and he was certain that his number was up. With the car upside down, there was nothing he could do but hang on. Everything went black when the car finally slammed into the safety wall and ground to a sudden halt.

A yellow flag came up. It hadn't been the first time for that particular event. Many other cars had come a cropper thanks to the slick tarmac. They'd just had slight bumps or spun off the track and crunched into the safety walls. But Alan's crash had to be the worst.

Ambulances and first aiders ran to the scene. Jeff's legs turned rubbery as he could only watch helplessly at the carnage. He felt several pairs of hands holding him up, and he felt grateful of his sons being there to help him.

"Alan," he whimpered weakly, tears started trickling down his cheek as he allowed himself to be carried towards the wreckage, Virgil and Scott either side of him. Gordon stood motionless with shock, memories of the hydrofoil accident slamming straight back into him.

Shit, oh shit oh shit. This so wasn't happening. It really wasn't. That wreckage of a car out there did not have his kid brother in it. It didn't.

"ALAN!" Scott screamed.

He let go of his father and dropped onto his hands and knees to peer into the car. He couldn't see much because the car was surrounded by people. Someone was using the jaws-of -life to cut through the metal.

"ALAN!" he repeated.

Alan's little body was still, his helmet still on his head, a thick foam collar had been fixed around his neck to keep him steady. A stretcher was laid on the floor, and within minutes, his slight frame was gently pulled out of the car and placed on it. He looked pale, one of his eyes was swollen, possibly from the impact of being thrown around inside the vehicle. But he was out cold.

Virgil let go of his dad and knelt down to a stricken Scott, still crouched on the floor, breathing hard. He tried to help him up but Scott angrily shoved away Virgil's hand and dropped his head.

Up on board TB 5, John fell silent. He felt completely and utterly helpless out here. His eyes brimmed with unshed tears as he recalled memories of both Gordon's accident and their mother's death. And now Alan, the little sprout. The absolutely annoying little sprout, but his brother nonetheless, had been potentially, seriously injured.

Jeff struggled to find his inner strength and staggered towards the stretcher, gently holding his youngest son's hand, it was the most he could manage as they carefully pulled off the helmet. He stroked the blond hair, avoiding touching the swollen eye, by now the tears were flowing freely.

It was his wife all over again. Why oh why did he allow his youngest to participate in such a dangerous sport? He knew why. Alan was the embodiment of his late wife. She and he shared the same personality, the same carefree nature. Something that had been trained out of the rest of the boys.

"Alan? Son?" his voice broke as he tenderly patted Alan's hand, touching and squeezing each digit randomly.

There was a groan and Alan's eyes fluttered open. He blinked, his vision was impaired and fuzzy, and his mouth tasted like copper. Suddenly the stretcher was surrounded by his family, every one of them pale and concerned.

"Hey … sprout," Scott said shakily, it was his turn to be held up by Virgil.

Alan blinked, he was seeing double, but managed a crooked smile. Gordon reached across and clasped one of his hands.

"That … was AWESOME!" Alan said thickly, before medics shooed them all away and informed everyone that Alan had suffered from concussion and whiplash, and was being taken in to hospital for observation.

As they watched the ambulance move away, Jeff could only chuckle softly.

Yep, definitely a Tracy