Their dad is…gone. He's just…gone.

One minute, John was watching his avatar quietly make its way across the South Pacific. The next, nothing. Gone.

They had spent days searching but to no avail. There was no wreckage, no body, no signs at all. It was as if their father's plane had vanished into thin air.

After five days, things fell apart – big time. John had been so busy keeping one eye on monitoring rescues and the other looking for their father that he had been oblivious to what was happening on the island below. It wasn't until Virgil called that reality hit him full in the face.

"John, you need to come home, now," he said.

"I'm running scans for Dad twenty-four hours a day, Virgil," John had snapped. "I can't just –"

"We need you here, now," Virgil snapped back. "It's Scott."

At that, John had frozen, his attention now fully diverted from his work and entirely on Virgil's haggard avatar.

"What's wrong?"

"He's just…" Virgil trailed off, looking away for a moment. "He's falling apart, John, and…I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix this. Gordon's spending all his time trying to keep Grandma and Alan afloat but he's not really coping himself and…" Virgil's eyes were so earnest when he returned his gaze. "I need you."

When John spoke again, his voice was soft.

"I'll be right down."

And so he was. He didn't want to go down but he knew it was necessary. It was his duty.

It was like the fallout after their mother's death all over again.

John couldn't help but reflect on those dark days. First his dad fell apart, then Scott – and eventually he found himself pushing a Gordon and Alan around the store in a grocery cart, grabbing things he knew his mother had bought, with Virgil walking beside with his head hung low.

Grandma had stepped in, then, but times had been tough. Their dad was in pieces and in the process of trying to put him back together, Scott shattered himself.

And clearly, it had happened all over again.

Scott wasn't there to meet John as he exited the space elevator. Instead, it was Virgil, and there were no smiles. John stumbled a little as gravity took its grip. Virgil caught him, though John waved him off.

"I'm fine. Where's Scott?"

"In his room," Virgil said.

"Can you get the others? We'll meet in the lounge in fifteen minutes. I want to have a little talk with everyone."

That was a lie. He didn't want to do it. He didn't want to do any of this, just like he hadn't wanted to go grocery shopping after their mother's death. It had been done out of necessity then, just as this was, now.

Virgil nodded and turned on his heel, off in search of the others. John went straight to Scott's room.

He didn't bother to knock. As he opened the door, there was Scott, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the sunshine outside.

John slowed his pace and settled down beside his older brother.

"Hey," he said.

It took a few moments for Scott to answer.

"Hey."

Scott kept his eyes firmly fixed on the window. John laced his fingers together, leaning his forearms on his thighs. And he waited. Cajoling and scolding didn't work on Scott – unless it was from their grandmother. No, John knew that the best tactic was to wait. It paid off.

"It's happening again, isn't it?" Scott asked. "This is mom's death all over again."

"We don't know that Dad's dead, Scott," John said.

Scott's head snapped to the side and John was subjected to a venomous glare.

"He might as well be," Scott snarled. "With no sign of him at all, he might as well be dead."

Remaining ever-calm in the face of a Scott-tirade, John nodded.

"It feels that way, yes, but we don't know it for sure. And I won't stop looking until I find something – whatever that might be. But until I have proof, I'm going to assume he's alive."

Scott didn't snap, this time. Instead, he curled his lips into a disgusted wince.

"I wish I could do that," he said, squeezing his eyes shut. "But I can't. I just… The look on Grandma's face. The look on Alan's face. It's just… I don't know what to do!"

He leapt to his feet, striding towards the window and then back again, fingers clenching and unclenching.

"Dad said that if anything ever happened to him that he wanted me to look after everyone. That he wanted me to take over. But – I'm not him, John!" Scott's eyes were wide, wild. "I'm not Dad. I can't do what he does – did. And I'm too much of a – a hot mess to deal with any of this!"

John rose and placed a hand on Scott's shoulder, focusing his brother's attention.

"Scott, you're not alone here. No one is expecting you to just shrug Dad's disappearance off and keep going. Of course you're a mess. We're all a mess."

"You're not."

Scott's words cut to the bone. John withdrew his hand.

"I am," John said. "Inside, really, I am. And you're right, it does feel like Mom all over again. But… I just have to keep going. We all have to. We have a job to do and Dad would want us to keep doing our best." He gave a little self-depreciating smile. "And I've never been good at showing my emotions, anyway."

Scott nodded, rubbing his face.

"You do alright," he said. "Unlike me. I show mine too much."

John put an arm around his brother's shoulders and guided him to the door.

"Come on. I want to talk to everyone."

Scott looked over and gave him a wobbly smile.

"A Johnny pep talk?"

John shrugged.

"Something like that."

As they started the walk to the lounge, a conversation John had had with his father, not too many months before, played over in his mind.

"John, can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure, Dad. What's up?"

There was a pause before Jeff spoke again.

"Son, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything."

"If something ever happens to me –"

"Dad…" John's tone was one of warning, but Jeff pressed on.

"No, son. This needs to be said. If something ever happens to me, I need you do something. Scott will take over the leadership of International Rescue, but I need you to take over the leadership of our family. You've got a cool head and a good handle on your emotions. I need you to keep everyone together."

"Al-alright, Dad. If you say so."

Jeff had smiled then, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

"That's my boy…"

And so, as John spoke to his family, he hoped his words were the glue his father was hoping for. We need to stick together, support each other, and – most importantly of all, what Dad would do – we should never give up, at any cost.

He hoped that, wherever his dad was, that he was proud.