Hey guys. Wow, it feels weird saying (typing?) that again after so long. But a good weird, y'know? So, guess who just finished their first GCSE? That's right, ya girl Silverstar! While I'm now suffering through end of year exams, I did make a promise that I would be back at the end of May, so while I may be a couple of days late, here I am. I figured what better way to return to this site than writing once again for the first fandom I ever wrote for?

Not gonna lie, this is the first five plus one I've ever written and as you all know, it's been a while. So, let me know what you think, and I'll post the next chapter later this week.

Right, actual notes. As usual, this is a mixture of all verses, with a heavy TAG influence. Differences being - I still headcannon that John is blond, not Gordon, and like always in my fics, John is the second eldest, not Virgil (just clarifying for some of you) but Kayo is mentioned in here. I don't think there's anything else that should raise any questions, but feel free to ask! :)

Warnings: swearing (two uses of the f-word) and some Scotty whumpage in this chapter.


Perched on the end of the kitchen counter, the Alan Tracy was revelling in the first peace and quiet that week. With a surprising lack of rescues to attend to, they had all been going stir crazy (apart from John who watched them in amusement over the top of his book – it was a Steinbeck and the blond was determined to finish it by the end of the weekend) which in a household where the youngest was sixteen and the eldest was only twenty-five (Brains had never mentioned his age, and no soul was brave enough to ask their Grandma how old she was), never bode well.

Alan had been briefly aware of the distant klaxon sounding accompanied by pounding footsteps not five minutes later, but he'd rolled over to push his face back into the freshly washed pillows, safe in the knowledge that he wasn't required. While Scott had been allowing him on more missions as of late, especially where '3 was concerned, he was still banned from the majority of rescues. Sure enough, when he'd emerged from his room an hour later, the villa was deserted. With Brains still at a science conference at Caltech, Alan wandered into the kitchen with MAX at his heels and reached for the nearest item of fruit absent-mindedly (pancakes were only worth having if John or Gordon were making them).

The hologram projector purred into life without warning. Floating above the table, John observed his brother with a sympathetic look. "Morning Al."

"Mornin'," Alan mumbled through a mouthful of nectarine. "Where's everyone else?"

Without needing to look across at the readouts to his left, John recited the locations. "Scott, Virgil and Gordon are in Jakarta, Indonesia and Kayo's in Sochi."

Alan frowned. "Isn't that in Russia?"

"Yep." John shot him an impressed look. "Someone's being doing their Geo homework."

"Ha. Yeah." Alan drew his knees up to his chest, leaning forwards to rest his chin onto the top. The loose fabric of his pyjamas hung low over his heels and he snuck a guilty look over his shoulder, still expecting to hear his grandmother's chastising tones for having his feet on the counter.

"Alan."

He lifted his chin, raising a brow at his brother's disembodied form. "What?"

Ever perceptive (Virgil had to have learnt it from someone, after all), John continued with a gentler tone. "Scott won't keep you off rescues for ever. He's just on edge after Dad…well." He trailed off.

"Right and I get that. But it's not fair." Alan stared despondently down at his nectarine. From John's perspective, he cast a forlorn looking figure and not for the first time the space monitor debated whether taking a break from '5 to take a trip down dirt-side was a good idea. "I get that I'm underage and all that but c'mon. Gordon's only three years older than me and Scott's happy to send him to the bottom of the ocean."

"I wouldn't say happy is the right word," John began, cutting himself off at the frustrated glare Alan gave him. "But I promise I'll talk to him. Okay?"

"Okay."

"I've gotta go. I'll call you later."

"Yeah."

"Hey Sprout, you know I miss you, right?"

Alan looked up just enough for John to catch sight of the slight smile forming on his face, despite the bereft light that remained in his eyes. "Uh huh." With a flickering blue glow, the hologram dispersed into the air, leaving him alone on the kitchen counter again. At his feet, MAX let out a sad chirp and Alan patted the robot on the head with a heavy sigh. "So, MAX," he murmured with a sorrowful look over at the maths textbooks sat in a neat pile on the coffee table. "What d'you think of algebra?"

By the time he'd finished his shower (featuring an elaborate rendition of Imagine Dragons' Evolve album, complete with shampoo bottle as a mic) and delved into the depths of his closet in search of a clean shirt (he had a habit which he'd picked up from Gordon of leaving everything in a pile and doing one big wash every couple of weeks; for a procrastinating teenager it was great, but not so good when it came to finding something to wear that hadn't been bought for him by Grandma), as well as working through a good third of his maths homework with MAX, there came a familiar beeping sound from the centre of the table. Leaping to his feet, Alan discarded the textbook and collapsed onto the sofa.

"Hey guys," he announced before the smile dropped from his face. "Oh. Hi."

Gordon narrowed his eyes in disapproval. "Gee, thanks," he drawled, leaning up to adjust one of the controls. Used to the small cabin of Thunderbird 4, while he had co-piloted '2 before, he was finding the stretch took some getting used to. Which, given the cockpit was designed for his bear of a brother, wasn't too much of a surprise.

Alan, after many years of being the youngest, wasn't slow to pick up on details. "Where's Virg? Is he okay?" His eyes widened in horror as a variety of scenarios played out in his mind. Gordon, with a jolt of realisation, was quick to reassure him.

"Relax, Virg is fine."

"Why are you flying '2? Virgil never lets you fly '2."

Gordon opened his mouth to answer before another low voice interjected. "Yeah, for good reason." Gordon sent a murderous look across the cockpit to the speaker, who remained out of range of the hologram projector. For some, this could be perceived as an innocent mistake. For Alan, this was instantly suspicious.

"Scott, why can't I see you?"

Gordon, with the smug look of someone who knew entirely too much for his own good, sniggered. With a condescending pat to his older brother's shoulder, he smirked at the hologram. "Because he's high on painkillers."

"I am not high," Scott protested from afar, before his voice rose significantly in pitch. "Ooh, starbursts. Gordo, look it's pretty."

"Put it down." With an exasperated expression wiping the smirk clean off his face, Gordon retrieved Virgil's sketchbook from the elder's hands in a surprising display of sympathy, although it was more likely that Virgil had blackmail material on him. Either way, the sketchbook was safely stowed away in the locker to his right.

Back on the couch, Alan was sitting cross-legged, holding back his questions in a surprising feat of patience. A low rumble from outside the sliding doors revealed that Thunderbird 1 was landing. The familiar skittering sound as the deckchairs were sent flying signified the descent before the pool slid back to its usual position.

Gordon, suddenly looking significantly paler than usual, ended the transmission from his end, leaving Alan in the dark as to what exactly had happened on the rescue. Scott never let anyone fly Thunderbird 1, and Virgil was equally as protective of '2.

"Hey, Virg." The blond offered a wave from the sofa, lounging over the back like a cat. Virgil, with a thunderous look on his face, stormed into the lounge, something which despite appearances, was very uncharacteristic (unless you were counting Gordon's recent rather one-sided prank war).

"Go ahead," he sighed, all but collapsing into the sofa to the left. His uniform was smeared with soot and ash, and a streak of what looked suspiciously like blood was smeared across his left cheek. "I know you're dying to ask."

"Why'd you fly '1?"

"And there it is."

Alan pouted (which he would fiercely deny later). "I lasted a minute. That's an improvement." Virgil opened one eye and just stared. "Shut up."

"Didn't say anything." With a wide yawn, Virgil sat up, his back clicking in a way that Gordon would have been proud of. Alan held back a cringe, instead sitting forward, a little too much eager puppy than he was cool teenager. "Gordon and Scott are both too stubborn for their own good. Long story short, Scott's got a concussion as well as a fractured arm and Gordon's a bit roughed up."

"His back okay?"

Virgil ducked his head to hide his smile at the question. Alan could complain about the mother-henning Scott did all he wanted, but the truth remained that the youngest was just as bad, especially when it came to his partner in crime. Although, the middle Tracy mused, they all were just that tad bit overconcerned whenever it was Gordon injured given the previous hydrofoil accident.

"He's fine," he admitted after a moment. "But they both should have waited for backup."

Alan nodded, losing his balance to fall face-first onto the sofa. "How was flying '1?"

Virgil looked away suspiciously quickly. Alan, always eager for gossip, something which he vehemently denied, sidled closer, fighting back a sneeze at the cloud of ash that floated away from his brother's uniform. "What happened?"

Virgil, at the sudden appearance of Gordon with an overly cheerful looking Scott (the pain meds clearly hadn't worn off yet) partially draped around his shoulders, made a dash for the door, mumbling about a shower. It would be an hour later that Alan would remember about Thunderbird 1, and a dash to the hanger would reveal that the silver rocket would be requiring a new coat of paint sooner rather than later. Scott was not going to be pleased.

Alan spent the next couple of days lounging on a chair in the infirmary; partly keeping Scott company and partly preventing the elder from leaving. For the first time in a good month, the two were able to talk without arguing over Alan's role within International Rescue. It was only John's appearance that reminded the younger blond of his previous quarrel with the Field Commander, but a single look from his usually space-bound sibling warned him that it was not to be brought up.

By the time Scott had been freed from his cast and declared fit for flight again (all the inhabitants of the islands were glad for this; an earth-bound Scott was not the best of company to say the least), it had been decided as a team (by which they meant John had brought up the subject during movie-night and they'd discussed it over Gordon's obnoxiously loud slurping of lemon soda) that they were all to spend time on the simulators to build on their capability and skill of handling the other Thunderbirds besides their individual crafts. Alan passed with flying colours on all apart from Thunderbird 4 which Gordon teased him mercilessly about for the next fortnight, with Scott unsurprisingly also passing the higher levels. John was surprisingly skilled at piloting the other crafts, with a bored looking Kayo slipping away unnoticed after surpassing Gordon's high-scores. Virgil kept his scores well hidden, but it had not escaped his family's notice that he'd spent more time in '3's simulator than any of the others.

Despite the rigorous training schedule they'd kept to, it was only Alan who really benefitted. At some point John had taken Scott aside (the two often had deep conversations late at night; or, as Gordon called it, plotting sessions) and had spoken to him about Alan's position on the team. Later that week, Alan had found himself cornered by the smoothie-machine by an anxious looking Scott and following a long conversation about responsibilities and concerns, he had been cleared to fly alongside Virgil and Gordon.


Thunderbird 1

It had not escaped any of their notices that Alan was fast becoming a skilled pilot. Combining hard work with naturally occurring talent had paid off, and Scott was the first to offer him praise, watching his youngest brother fly Tracy One across to Penelope's mansion for the first time with obvious pride shining in his face. With a teasing look, Gordon had offered him a tissue, commenting that he looked like a proud parent. The words had rung a little too close to home; a stark reminder of their father's disappearance. Scott was well aware that watching Alan's first solo flight in the executive jet should have been Jeff's role, but he was more than happy to step up to the job.

International Rescue's connections within the GDF had improved, leaving the team free to roam the world to aid people globally. Scott revelled in the first few days of nationally free flight, taking Thunderbird 1 for a 'test run' following the new thrusters Brains had added; the barrel rolls over the Saharan desert may have been a bit much, but the adrenaline rush was well worth it. Back on Tracy Island, Alan's approaching final exams had been met with a flurry of revision and studying that Scott left for John and Virgil. While he had passed school with good grades, it was no secret that John had languages, English and Maths as well as Computer Studies handled, and Virgil's comprehension of Sciences was well beyond his own grasp. Gordon, who had only ever worked hard in Biology and PE, offered encouragement and dragged his pranking buddy out into the swimming pool for breaks whenever Alan looked like he wanted to jump out the nearest window.

Life, despite no signs of their father, was good. John was visiting regularly, and their Grandma was capable of creating a single recipe without cremating it. So, it was safe to say that Scott had been well within his rights to expect their latest rescue to run without a hitch.

Now, clinging by his fingertips to the hastily bending handle on the side of a burning airship several thousand feet in the air, Scott was really regretting the life decisions that had led him to this place and this situation right now.

"Scott, just hold on, I'm coming right back." Virgil's voice was panicked and a glance down at his watch revealed that his brother looked it as well. His dark hair was pushed back by trembling fingers as the middle Tracy urged his Thunderbird to fly faster.

"That's…uh," Scott fumbled for his words, struggling to grab at the handle with his other hand. His fingers were slipping and with a growl of frustration he ripped at the glove with his teeth, allowing his palms to cling on tighter to the thin metal pole. The pale blue fabric spiralled away to the earth below, vanishing into the wasteland of clouds that lay waiting to snatch him away. The curved hulk of the airship was hot to touch, revealing the fierce inferno which burnt inside. Unfortunately, it was making it harder to grip onto the handle and his uniform clung uncomfortably to his back where he was sweating. "Hey Virg?"

Virgil audibly swallowed. "Yeah?"

"You got the crew to safety, right?"

Virgil closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Scott could practically see the enraged thoughts flitting through his brother's mind; are you kidding me, Scott? You're about to fall off a burning airship several thousand feet to the ground, but you're asking about the crew? He fought back a laugh; his younger brother was far too easy to read sometimes.

"Yes." Virgil answered after a moment, his brow furrowed with worry. "Scott, I'm two minutes out."

"Good to know." Scott replied hesitantly, wincing as he felt his fingers slip closer to the edge of the handle. There was something ironic, he thought, panic flooding through him as his hand slipped even further, in the fact that he'd spent his entire life staring up at the skies and now he was about to die amongst them. For some reason his mind kept coming back to the thought that he still hadn't finished that game of monopoly with Gordon and John and that Penelope had smiled at him in that way last week and he wasn't entirely sure if their lunch meeting next Tuesday was a date or just a friendly thing but oh god, he was never going to find out…

"Scott."

"Yessir?" There was a hissing sound from near the front of the airship, before flames engulfed the front panels. Scott flipped around as best he could and avoided looking down. The flames were feverish in their frenzy and despite the cooling system within his uniform (Brains really did think of everything, didn't he?), he could feel the heat scorching his back.

He could hear the tears in Virgil's voice and purposely avoided looking at the hologram projected from his watch. He wasn't going to let his last sight of his brother be of him crying. It wasn't fair to either of them.

"Don't let go."

He almost laughed at that one. Although, maybe Virgil had a point; letting go would be preferable to the flames inching their way towards him. The amber glow reflected in his helmet and he closed his eyes, sucking in shallow breaths. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears and everything was too much. God. He was losing it, wasn't he?

The clouds below were peaceful and tinged lilac in the approaching dusk. Thunderbird 2 rose from the canopy of cotton like a green angel and Scott fought back a choked sob because damn, '1 was his baby but he hadn't seen anything as beautiful as '2 in that moment.

"Virgil, abort." John's voice was emotionless, and Scott felt that brotherly instinct rise up inside like a flare. John was the Tracy who spent the most time away, but he was also the one who felt their absence the most, spending the majority of his time on the vid-call so as to avoid the soul-crushing loneliness. Space was beautiful, but space was also cold and cruel (Scott would kill to be in Space right now; endless, starlit, freezing space) and Scott worried about his immediate younger brother. But the point remained that John's voice was rarely emotionless; Scott had only heard him like that three times before – when their mom died, Gordon's hydrofoil accident and their Dad's disappearance.

Virgil's language was colourful to say the least. Scott would normally have something to say about that (he was fully aware of how hypocritical he was, given his military mouth) but the aching pain in his arm from where he was hanging combined with the scorching sensation down his spine kept him mute.

"'the hell are you talking about, John?" Virgil's voice was a low growl.

"You can't get close enough. '2's engines are fanning the flames towards him."

Scott would have made some comment about how he was still there, but it took too much effort to form the words. "Hey guys," he whispered. Silence fell across the radio link.

"Y-yeah?" John's voice was somewhat shaky now.

"Remember that movie night?"

"Which one?"

"The one where Alan and Gordon made s'mores and the beanbag exploded on Virg."

"Yeah. I remember that one." John spoke softly. There was a suspicious sniff from his end of the radio. "The one with the puppy pile."

Scott smiled. "Yeah." He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. "That was a good night." Virgil remained deathly silent on his end of the link, but John hummed under his breath in confirmation. And didn't that hurt as bad as the flames, because John knew exactly what he was doing, but didn't say a word for Virgil's sake.

"I love you." In the silence that fell, it was unsure as to who had spoken. Scott hoped it was him. He didn't tell the others it enough. At least Alan knew; he'd made a pointed effort to tell the kid how proud he was of him.

Scott wondered briefly where Gordon and Alan were. Hopefully nowhere nearby.

"Oh yeah? It's impossible to fly like that? Well just you fucking watch me."

Huh. Speak of the devil. There was Alan. As usual, it sounded like he wasn't listening to orders.

"Hey Scotty." Thunderbird 1 burst into the open air beneath him, silver paintwork gleaming in the amber firelight. "How much do you trust me?" Scott bit back a laugh at that one because wow Alan, stupid question much? "You're gonna have to let go." Alan's voice darkened with that line as he leant back in the pilot's chair. "I promise I'll catch you."

Right. Well then. Apparently, his life was now dependent on his scrawny kid brother, complete with the ruffled blond hair he'd tried to tame into a similar style as his older brothers' and the slightly too big uniform sash.

"Alan." John's voice was low with warning.

"I can do this."

"Of course he can," Scott commented and let go. Plummeting towards the ground instantly knocked the breath from his chest and darkness danced at the corners of his vision. For some reason, he'd always expected to be able to think of something when imminently about to die, but he couldn't think of anything apart from the white noise in his ears and the deep blue of the sky surrounding him as he let go for the second time, falling into the darkness that overtook his vision.

Alan, blocking out all yells from his brothers, cut the power to Thunderbird 1's engines. Within seconds the sleek aircraft began the plunge to the mountains below and with a deep breath, he shut his eyes. He could do this. He'd wanted to prove himself for so long and now it mattered more than anything because while International Rescue meant everything, saving one of their own meant even more.

He opened his eyes, moving on instinct to slow '1's spin. Months of practising weightlessness in space meant that he was well accustomed to moving around inside an aircraft with zero-G and with a light coaxing of the VTOL's, Thunderbird 1 swooped beneath the falling pilot with all the grace and ease of an actual eagle. '1, other than '4 and possibly Thunderbird Shadow, had always been the most reactive of the fleet to handle, and under his light handling the rocket soared through the skies.

"Okay," Alan whispered, with an affectionate pat to the control panel. "Thanks, One." A single press of the control to his right opened the hatch doors, and if it weren't for the grapple he'd attached to the back of the chair previously then he'd have been sucked out with the force of the air pressure. Falling through the air, Alan learnt very quickly, was nothing like falling through space. It was exhilarating but terrifying at the same time and every movement had possibly deadly consequences.

"Thunderbird 1 is slaved to your consol." John reported in his ear, and Alan didn't reply, instead bringing up the holograph of the silver aircraft on his watch. One, obeying his commands, circled down to wait patiently below them, faithful as always and Alan grinned. Colliding with his brother, he clung to Scott as tight as possible, attempting to hold back the panic that threatened to overwhelm him at the lack of response, before landing with a thud in the awaiting Thunderbird. With another tap to his watch, '1 righted herself and slowed her descent to linger in mid-air. Above them, the airship had exploded, sending shockwaves fleeing through the air. Thunderbird 2 hovered defensively above her sister craft, absorbing the impact.

For a few moments, there was silence. Then, with a tremor in his voice, Gordon, who had been listening in since John had joined the radio link, spoke up.

"Alan?"

Alan, crouched on the floor of Thunderbird 1, tore his helmet from his head, throwing it across the cockpit to land on the pilot's chair. "He's okay," he whispered, still curled protectively over his brother's prone form. "Oh my god. He's okay."

Gordon let out an exuberant cheer. John let himself breathe evenly for the first time in fifteen minutes since the ordeal had begun. Virgil collapsed into his seat, rubbing at his red-rimmed eyes before leaning forwards to rest his head against the control panel in front of him.

Alan remained frozen, before startling as he noticed the pair of wide blue eyes fixed on him. Scott, still scarily pale, with the burn marks down the back of his uniform promising nothing good, flopped back in his younger brother's tight hold, letting out a panicky laugh.

"You flew '1," he commented.

"I flew '1," Alan repeated, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I...I flew '1."

"Yeah. You flew her so well." Scott reached up, flinging his free arm around Alan's neck and pressing his forehead to the younger's shoulder. "And you caught me."

"Y-yeah." Alan blinked, before reacting in only way a panicked and overly relieved teenager could; his breathing hitched before suddenly the roles were reversed and he was clinging to the silver fabric of Scott's sash, burying his face in his brother's shoulder and sobbing. "Fuck."

"We r-really have to talk about your language," Scott's voice came from somewhere above him and Alan shook his head, blocking out everything else other than the feeling of Scott's protective hug.

Later, when they were all piled in Scott's room, with Alan curled up protectively along one-side, Gordon sprawled across his youngest and eldest brother's feet, John leant against the wall with his arm leaning across Gordon's shoulders and Virgil flung across the four of them, using John's chest as a pillow, the realisation would descend. They were alive. A bit battered, yes (Scott had never been more grateful for burn salve) but alive. And while his brothers lay sleeping around him (Virgil snored too loudly - someone shove a pillow over the guy; it was a wonder John hadn't woken up yet), Scott glanced down at his youngest brother and desperately hoped for Alan's sake that the kid wouldn't have to face a situation similar every again.

But there was still the nagging pride in his mind because Alan had flown his Thunderbird, and not only that, but he had been awesome at it. Fighting back a yawn, Scott shuffled further down the bed, wriggling his toes from where he'd begun to lost the feeling in his feet under Gordon's weight, and thought back on his discussion several months prior with John.

Thunderbird 3 was unofficially Alan's. Yes, he was the only person who ever flew the rocket, but it wasn't official. And just maybe, Scott thought with a fond look at the sleeping blond by his side, it was time to change that.


Like always, I'm bad at ending chapters. Still, let me know what you think.

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- Kat x