Disclaimer: The names of characters used herein are the property of Gerry and Sylvia Anderson and Carlton International. No infringements of these copyrights are intended and are used here without permission.

A/N: Part of this story takes place in New Haven, Connecticut. Although places are recognizable, certain liberties have been taken for the sake of the writing. Please note as well that I have chosen to make Virgil the second oldest brother and John the third oldest for this story.

Neurons Unhinged

Keep me in your warm arms (my love)
Cradle me while I unhinged my neurons
Power down the wind farm
All the animals are laughing at us.
-Freelance Whales, "Aeolus"

It was dark dark so dark and the voices in his ear echoed with his mother's screams. Help help help me! But no one could hear her but him, and he couldn't find her anywhere. Where was she? And where was his brother? Why weren't they here?

He darted through the dark searching, but they never came. They never do. And he could feel THEM so close so close. Everything was not like it was and he didn't know where he was going. But there was an empty bed. Maybe if he slept his brother would come into the room like he used to and wrap his arms around him and sing a lullaby.

But his brother wasn't here and the boy was cold so cold. He rested on top of the soft sheets, hands over his ears in attempt to block the sounds ringing within his head. He wished for a little bit of warmth and the tenor of his brother's voice.

And everything was dark except for the crimson of his own blood.

The Kansas autumn felt a lot like taking a handful of sleeping pills. At least, to John Tracy it did. Not that he would know what drifting away on sleeping pills felt like - he wasn't particularly suicidal last time he checked. Regardless, he hated watching the world around him slowly dying, often skipping the lively colors of the leaves changing and going straight to the dry brown of winter. And winter meant snow, which meant nightmares of broken skis sticking out of snow piled way too high to be natural.

Honestly, fall was just poison running through him, choking him into the quiet of winter.

It was also his birthday season.

Not that he hated his birthday, he just hated that his birthday couldn't be during the summer like Virgil's birthday or during the spring like Scott's and Alan's.

His grandma loved the harvest months, spending them in the kitchen making pies from scratch - apple and pumpkin and everything in between. In some ways, John wondered if she knew how much he hated the fall, using her enthusiasm to make up for his lack of it.

Every year around Halloween, she purchased enough pumpkins for each of them – even their Father – to make into jack-o'-lanterns and they'd bake the seeds in the oven. Dad would put Old Bay on at least one batch. This, he picked up on one of his trips to DC, and, it was a contrast of tastes that John could actually appreciate.

Even his younger brothers, Gordon and Alan, couldn't be happier during the fall. Fall meant Halloween and Halloween meant candy, so of course they were excited. It was pretty obvious from the way they were talking in the backseat, at least.

"I swear, Gordo, everyone is gonna be dressed as a superhero this year."

"It's too easy. Too many remakes, too little creativity."

"Exactly! God, our costumes are gonna be perfect! No one will expect it."

"I still think you should go as Batman and Robin," John said, glancing at his brothers through the rear-view mirror.

"Ewww, no!"

"Tights, Johnny. Tights. Just…no. That's a whole new level of not okay."

"Gordon, you wear speedos on a daily basis."

"Yeah. And?"

John slowed down and put on his blinker as they started passing their property on the right. Their driveway came up quick and, although John knew it well, the guy behind him probably would appreciate the warning. They owned a lot of land, so the driveway was long and it was another minute before he backed into his spot next to Grandma's little station wagon. Their father was back from his trip to the business offices in New York, judging by the Cadillac in the drive.

The wind bit against John's sensitive skin, turning the tips of his ears pink. He tightened the scarf around his neck as he gathered the three school bags from the front seat. The boys had run off to the house as soon as he'd parked. John wasn't sure whether their excitement was more from their father being home or from the aroma of cinnamon and apple emanating from the kitchen.

Four jack-o-lanterns grimaced at him from the porch. He really wished Scott and Virgil had been home to carve something…happier. Scott could never bring himself to make a scary-faced jack-o-lantern and Virgil had always used the opportunity to create some sort of sculpted masterpiece. John's own pumpkin, placed in between the four scowls, was wounded with a roughly drawn star, the image he carved every year in honor of Mom.

John opened the door and, sliding out of his outerwear, moaned in pleasure as the heat from the fireplace curled around his wind-bitten skin.

"John, is that you?" his father called from the nearby study. "Would you come in here for a second?"

"Sure, father. What do you need?" he said when he entered. Jeff smiled.

"I have Scott online. He wants to talk to you."

"Scotty!"

"Hey, kid!" sounded from the computer. Jeff got up from his chair, offering John the seat in front of the computer screen. Scott, aged 21 and a senior in college, was proudly wearing his Yale sweatshirt on the other side of the videocam. His hair was dark and wild in its post-shower state, and, although, it was around the time of midterms, Scott looked more relaxed than any college student John had ever seen. Scott had always handled pressure with ease. "There you are. Happy birthday!"

"It's not my birthday yet," John mumbled.

"I know. And I was thinking maybe you'd want to do something different this year. I know it's got to be pretty boring down there."

"What did you have in mind?" John asked.

"Well, I've been talking to Father. How would you feel about coming up here to visit me? I know you've been wanting to see the college anyway before you make your decision for next year, and I think we could have a real good time together. You could come up tomorrow and head back home Sunday and Dad's already said he'd book the flights for you. All you have to do is say yes."

"Tomorrow? But what about school?"

"John, really? You're top of your class. What are you worried about?" Scott asked, his smile dimpling in the way that had made the girls swoon all through high school.

Jeff added from behind him, "You get a certain number of excused absences for college tours, son. You can use those. You are looking at a college." It was a cover. They all knew he was going to pick Harvard as long as he was accepted.

"I would seriously love to visit, Scott. Your roommates don't mind?"

"Ryan and Justin? Nah. We all have our own rooms and there's an open guest room for you since Jason left. It'll be great."

John grinned. "See you tomorrow then. And thanks, Scott."

"Anything for you, kid. Dad, I'll check in later."

"All right, son."

Gordon and Alan weren't too happy when they found out John was leaving Kansas for his birthday, but he appeased them with the promise that he'd take them trick-or-treating on Halloween. He even assured them that he'd dress up for once. They didn't have to know that he simply planned on wearing their father's old NASA uniform for the evening, once he got his permission, of course.

Jeff had booked an early flight for John so he wouldn't lose much of the afternoon with Scott. The younger boys had hugged John 'goodbye' the night before, knowing they wouldn't be awake for his send off in the morning. John had gotten up even earlier to pack last minute, shoving his clothes into the smallest suitcase they owned. He hoped he'd get away with having it as a carry on.

By 5:45 AM, John was ready to go with one bag fully packed and a pumpkin muffin in hand courtesy of Grandma. Jeff drove him to the airport in order to save them from the parking fare to leave his car there over the weekend.

"Bye, son," Jeff said at the drop off. John smiled sleepily, his hair ruffled from the inevitable nap he had taken on the drive over.

John continued to power nap during the flight, asleep even before take-off. He'd always been an unusually astute sleeper and he woke up as they were descending into Connecticut, feeling the change in pressure.

Where the Kansas fall was drab, autumn in New Haven was vibrant, colors peeking out from behind other colors that John couldn't describe. Virgil would've been able to place a name to some shades, things like chartreuse and burnt umber and saffron. Hell if John knew what any of them looked like; all he could describe were basic hues: orange, red, yellow. And underneath those was the looming brown of winter.

Sometimes he wished he could appreciate the autumn like other people could – like Virgil could – so maybe he would see something other than the world dying every time he looked outside.

Scott was right there when John exited the terminal, leaning casually against the wall, his hands tucked into his front pockets, but his eyes attentively searching the groups of people for John's familiar blond head. John saw Scott before Scott saw him, and when their gazes finally met, Scott grinned and waved John over and into his arms.

They hugged like they hadn't seen each other in months, which was unfortunately true. Scott had spent his summer traveling and had remained in New Haven for the short fall break Yale allowed every year, while John remained in Kansas for his last year in High School. Although John wasn't particularly affectionate, at least physically, he knew Scott was. And, to be completely honest, he really missed his older brother.

Even though John was the taller of the two by just a few inches, as they separated, Scott ruffled John's hair as he'd done many times in their youth.

"Good to see you, John," Scott said. Then, he led him out to the car.

Ryan and Justin were pretty awesome people as far as John was concerned. They were both gamers like John himself, but while Justin was a lot like Gordon in temperament, Ryan reminded him a lot of Virgil. He lived for music, but couldn't play the way Virgil could. He was a listener, though, and could tell you everything you'd want to know about almost any genre.

John really respected that about him because it was something to which he was completely ignorant, and he had no problem admitting that.

They four of them spent the day in their little apartment, where Ryan and Justin shared a room even though they had an open single room available. They explain that their other roommate had left with no real reason other than "Ryan snores too loud." Since they all were unpacked, they'd decided together to make it the guest room for visitors. John was the first to use it since Jason had moved out.

Scott and John had a much needed heart to heart before bed. They talked about how much John disliked change and that he was worried about how well he was going to adjust to college socially. Really, John should've been in college a long time ago, but he'd refused to skip a few grades simply because he wanted to grow up normal. Now, it seemed very silly of him. He was never going to be normal.

Scott admitted to him that he really missed Virgil, who's been constantly busy at Denver. John nodded and revealed for the first time that he felt like he didn't have anyone like that, that Mom had been his confidante the way Scott and Virgil, and Gordon and Alan, were for each other.

The entire time they talked, Scott couldn't stop touching John, ruffling his hair when the conversation was light and resting his hand on his shoulder when it wasn't. It was a pleasant change that John had taken for granted when his older brothers still lived at home.

At midnight, Scott pulled out two beers for them because it was then officially John's seventeenth birthday, and what Dad didn't know couldn't hurt anyone. Their night ended around 2:00 AM when they mutually decided that they were tired enough to leave the rest of their conversation for the morning.

Despite how eagerly he'd left Scott's room, John found himself staring at the ceiling. He and sleep had a very interesting relationship. More often than not, they ended up dancing around each other beneath the starred sky. John would be lucky to get even three hours of sleep that night, but he'd learned to live with his insomnia.

John drifted into the state before sleep, where, with his eyes closed, the sounds around him became more pronounced. And, yeah, Ryan was a bit of a loud snorer. John let his thoughts wander as they did every night – from what Virgil was creating at the moment, to what'd he learned about alternative music from Ryan and whether it was possible to invent a metal that could withstand the heat of the sun, and Mom since he'd talked about her that day, and whether Grandma had gotten the kids to bed at a decent hour, and his craving for –

He felt the bed dip beside him.

"Scott? What are you still doing up?" he asked drowsily. "Scott?"

John opened his eyes, turning his body towards his older brother. Except… there was no one there.

But he'd felt the bed dip as vividly as he'd felt Scott's hand on his shoulder earlier. He knew it. Just as John shook it off as a dream (when had he fallen asleep?), he felt the bed shift again, watched as the creases in the bed moved on their own.

He screamed.

Suddenly, the creases stopped quaking and John was looking into the eyes of a boy. He couldn't have been older than Alan, and he had the blond hair to match. He was completely transparent with a splash of red across his chest. The boy gave John an inquisitive look and was gone by the time Scott came running into the room.

"John! John, are you all right. It's freezing in here! Why did you turn up the AC? John!" Scott babbled nonsense to him, rubbing warmth back into his limbs. But John was unresponsive, unable to push the image of a translucent little boy's troubled face out of his head.

Sometime during the early morning John must have fallen asleep because he awoke to the sound of his phone vibrating on the bedside table next to him. He reached his hand out for the phone, refusing to change his position in the comfortable bed.

"'Lo?" he mumbled.

"John! Hey. Sorry if I woke you, bud."

"Mm. Hey, Virg."

"I just wanted to wish you a 'Happy 17th Birthday'. This is the only time I can call. Huge project due Monday and an exam to study for. I'm hosting a study group for it in an hour," Virgil said. Even as half-asleep as he was, John could tell how overwhelmed his brother felt, years of observation making the exhaustion in Virgil's voice blatant.

"S'ok. I appreciate your call."

Virgil laughed. "Hopefully you will remember this call later."

"I will."

"I hear ya. Hey, listen. Get some coffee in you and have a wonderful day with Scott. I sent your gift through the mail, but it was before I knew about the trip, so it'll be there when you get home. Love you."

"You too."

"Bye, John. Happy Birthday."

"Thanks, Virgil."

When John finally forced himself to acknowledge the time, 10:30 AM, Scott was already in the apartment's kitchenette heating up a bowl of oatmeal for John.

"I heard you talking to Virg," he said. He sat down on the couch, gesturing for John to join him. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Good? " John replied.

"Do you remember last night?"

"I just had a nightmare, Scott. I'm fine."

"You weren't fine last night."

"Well, I'm fine now." John said shortly, and that was the end of that.

After breakfast, Scott took John around the town. Scott had been up for hours before him, getting up early for his daily run and spending some time on his school work while John slept. Ryan and Justin had made themselves scarce, either going to the library for their own work or to the student center for a Super Smash Bros. battle.

"Did I ever tell you that our building is haunted?" Scott said, as they ambled along the New Haven streets.

"No." John had come to expect this kind of conversations around Halloween. He wasn't particularly fond of silly stories specifically designed to scare, but every town, every college, every dorm had their legends.

"Yeah. A triple murder occurred there when it was still a hotel."

"Mmm." John stuffed his hands into his pockets and nodded. It was enough of an opening for Scott to continue."

"It used to be a hot vacation spot, and this family – mom, dad, and two sons – were booked to stay at the hotel for a week. Except on the third day the mother got a migraine and the father went out to the drug store that night, unable to bear her agony. While he was out, these two guys came into the hotel, angry and drunk.

"They tried all the doors in the hotel until they reached room 102 where the mother was sleeping off her migraine. You see, the father, unassuming that danger was nearby, had left the door unlocked. The drugstore was just around the corner after all.

"So the two guys go into the master bedroom and have their way with the woman. The two boys, hearing their mother's screams, rush into the room. But they are both shot by the men and killed instantly. When they finish, they shoot the mother, leaving the three bodies there for the father to find."

"And none of the other tenants heard the gunshots?" John asked wryly.

"Ha. I suppose it all happened so fast."

"Right."

"It's a true story, you know. The newspaper article is archived and the graves are in the cemetery down the street from the apartment. I'll have to show you on the way to the restaurant tonight. The murders were hanged there too – in the far northwest corner."

"Let me guess: The family is buried in the far southeast corner."

Scott laughed. "You got it."

"Least they could do considering."

Scott shook his head. "I can't even imagine. The father died in an asylum only a year or two later."

"Well, when you lose your entire family, what else do you have to live for?"

The city of New Haven was delightfully quaint even with its urban development. The architecture was steeped in history, and, even though John didn't know much about the town, he could tell each place had its own stories. Scott didn't have a destination in mind when they started walking that day, so they bought drinks from a small café and walked as far as Long Wharf Pier before deciding to head back the way they came.

On the walk down Scott had pointed out all the New Haven attractions, but as they sat on the pier, Scott told John all about the summer in the city, the jazz festivals and the art shows. John thought he would really like to come back during the summer months when the world was full of life and activity. And when the trees were less red.

That night Scott took John out for dinner at his favorite local pub which was down the street. The quickest way to get there, he told him, was through the cemetery. As promised, Scott showed him the gravestones of the murdered family from the story. The headstones were so worn with age that John could only make out the first four letters of the last name – HUTC – and the date 1853.

It was dark by the time they left the little pub. John had loved talking to the owners, who were straight out of Dublin. It was obvious that Scott had been by the pub quite often because everyone knew him; he was a regular.

The return journey took them back through the graveyard, this time in the dark when dim light from the city just barely skimmed over the graves. The boys walked quickly, pulling their jackets closer to their bodies as an autumn chill ran up their spines.

"Hey Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"The story from earlier -you said the apartment complex was haunted?"

"Mhmmm."

"Well, what's the ghost story? You only told me about the murder."

"No one has ever seen anything from what I've heard, but people talk about things being moved – like their keys being on a desk when they remember leaving them in their coat."

"Have you had anything happen?"

"Not really. I sometimes get the feeling I'm being watched or followed."

"Self-fulfilling prophecy?"

"Yeah maybe."

As they trekked through the dark, John noticed that they were taking a different path, a windier one that took them deeper into the graveyard than their previous journey.

Scott stopped suddenly. "Here," he said, facing an expanse of flat grass. "This is where they hung criminals back in the day."

John sucked in a breath as he walked into the center of the space, while Scott waited on the pathway. Somehow, being here was more bone chilling than seeing the vision – dream – he'd had the night before.

Heartless murderers had stood here, hung here and died here. And there was nothing to mark the place it happened. This little piece of land harbored so much hate and he could've so easily passed by it. How many other times had that happened? How many other times had he walked the footsteps of murders?

Now that he was here, he could feel it pulsing underneath him – the mad laughter of the guilty.

"Where are they buried?"

"The guys who did it? The next town over. They aren't here." Scott replied, shivering. John wasn't sure he believed that. This place felt too heavy for no one to be watching him, despising him for being able to walk away from this place. "Come on, John. We need to get back."

"Just a moment." John said, lying down on his back in the grass. He glanced up into the sky he knew so well, but there were no stars to be seen.

When he returned to the room, John's suitcase was across from where he'd left it that morning, on the other side of the room. As he stared at the wall that night and curled into himself in attempt to keep warm, he thought about being in the graveyard with the troubled souls on a starless night, and the untimely death of his mom, and the pain of the little boy in Scott's story, and the rape of that boy's mom, and the what it would be like to lose his family the way the poor father had.

He had the AC turned off in his room, but he felt a breeze stroke against his skin. John wasn't sure what made him do it, but he whispered "I'm sorry" into the frigid air.

The words not your fault appeared on the wall letter by letter in childish writing, as if drawn by crayon. They disappeared instantly.

"Is this real?" John asked.

Yes.

"I believe in you," John this time, he saw the little translucent boy, hovering a few inches off the floor and holding a red crayon between his fingers.

John must have reacted, because the boy turned to him, surprised. "You can see me," he said. "And you could see me yesterday."

"I could, yes." John replied. The little boy floated over to where John was reclining on the bed. He sat down. "Why are you here?" John asked.

"I don't know where else to go." The boy said, eyes piercing into John's. "You feel like a brother."

"I am a brother."

"You feel like mine, though," the boy replied, lying down next to him. "You're not scared?"

"No. Not of you."

"Will you be him? Just for tonight?"

In answer, John curled himself around the cold radiating from the see-through form and wept for the cruelty of the world that would murder a child and leave him alone forever.

And so our love's not a simple thing
Nor our truths unwavering
But like the moon's pull on the tide
Our fingers touch, our hearts collide
I'll be a moonsbreath by your side.
-Loreena McKennitt, "Samain Night"