I hadn't planned on continuing this, but some of your reviews were really inspiring, a few of you wanted me to continue, so I'll try to push on, turn it into a longer story. Although, my updates will be irregular, because I have other accounts with other stories. But I'll do my best.

I found myself sitting in the infirmary, my wrists stretched out in front of me, as Virgil applied betadine to my ugly cuts. The brown liquid poured across my wrists, stinging me, and then dribbled onto the red cloth that Gordon was holding beneath my hands. My immediate older brothers nose wrinkled at the smell, but besides of that, he kept a straight face.

Our Father had called Lady Penelope, who supposedly promised to deal with International Rescue while we figured out our Family Issues.

But I didn't want to figure out our "Family Issues." They weren't family issues. They were my issues.

"Sorry," Virgil apologised as I winced from a rather large sting. He grabbed a bandage, while Gordon stood up straight and wiped the betadine away that wasn't on my cuts, but just being a hassle.

The infirmary doors slid open, and Scott walked in with a tall glass of cold water. My eldest brother came over and sat next to me, wrapping his strong arms around my thin shoulders. He pushed the glass to my shaking lips, and I allowed him to tip my head back as Virgil wrapped my wrists up. The cold water dribbled down my parched throat, and a few droplets fell down my chin. But I welcomed it all.

The infirmary doors opened once more, and my Father and John wandered in. The infirmary was suddenly feeling crowded, and I didn't like it. There were to many people. I was going to suffocate.

"Alan," my Father spoke, his voice firm, but his tone soft. Gordon moved from his position in front of me, and I wanted to reach out to him, to make him stay, but my voice wasn't working. So my Dad took his spot. Jefferson Tracy, ex-astronaut and Air Force Colonel. He was the Founder of International Rescue, the Head of the Thunderbirds. He didn't have time to look out for pathetic old me.

I glanced at my feet as they hung over the side of the infirmary bed, but my Fathers cold fingers hooked under my chin, tilting my head up. His light eyes stared into my blue ones, as if searching.

"Can you tell me why?"

No. I can't. You wouldn't do anything about it. Hell, it's not like you care anyway.
I tore my chin from his grip and glanced at my hands. I never wanted to be in this situation. I thought I could keep this one thing a secret.

But apparently not.

I wasn't good at secrets like my brothers. I wasn't good at anything like my brothers. They were all Perfect. And I was surprised that I hadn't even outed that my family was International Rescue.

"Alan." His voice grew a fraction more stern, and his fingers were hooking under my chin again, this time though, when I met his gaze, his eyes were full of dread and worry. "Tell me."

I nibbled my lower lip, gulping audibly and feeling my palms turn sweaty.

"The teasing," I managed to get out, although I wasn't to sure if I was heard. But at that second, I was to anxious to care. "The age gap. The repeated sending me away. The fights."

Jefferson Tracy quirked an eyebrow, and I tore my chin from his grip again, looking at my hands and wrists.

"I'm not perfect like them." I tilted my head in the direction of my brothers, who were mostly scattered around on my left side. "I'm stupid. I barely pass school, and it's not like I do extra-curricular."

"I thought you did track," John cut in quickly, his hand coming out and connecting with my back in a comforting gesture.

I felt shame push down on me as I shook my head slowly.

"I quit."

Those two words still stabbed at my heart. No one wanted to quit what they loved. That would be like Gordon giving up on swimming, and Virgil refusing to paint or play one of his beautiful tunes on the piano. It'd be like John not writing the amazing books he conjured, or Scott just stopping everything to do with IR. It would be like Dad losing faith in the Thunderbirds.

"Why?!" Gordon sounded absolutely shell-shocked, but I didn't look up at him. "You love track!"

I nodded slowly, "but when am I ever going to need to save someone by being able to run? I just don't see how it works. I'm useless. I don't even understand why I'm alive."

The arm Scott had wrapped around me before, tensed. My eldest brother pulled me against him roughly, tapping me on the back of my head with his other hand.

"Don't ever say that," he scolded, his voice tight. "You have just as much purpose in life as any of us."

But I didn't.

And I knew that.

"We'll fix this." Dad said at last, after letting a horrid silence over take us. "Allie, I never want to hear you put yourself down again. Understood?"

"FAB," I mumbled under my breath, just feeling completely drawn.

"And from now on, you need to have at least one person with you. At all times."

I snapped my head up, a fight at the tip of my tongue. No, that wasn't fair.

"I know, Al. I know it sounds horrible and unjustified. But, I love you, Allie. And it must be hard for you to understand that now, but you're going to understand it eventually."

Silence once again deafened us, but, once again, it didn't last.

"I'll go and start cooking some lunch." Dad finally declared, stepping away from me.

"Who's going to help?"

"I think I'll hit the water," Gordon murmured, and then didn't waste any time in getting out of the infirmary. I tried to will myself to not feel hurt by his sudden willingness to get away from here. Maybe it wasn't me. Maybe it was the smell of the infirmary.

...No, it was me.

"I'll be on the piano," Virgil spoke next, smiling apologetically at our Father as he wiped his hands on a sterile wipe. He walked out of the infirmary, leaving the three eldest Tracy's on the Island, and myself.

Scott and John seemed to share a look over my head, as if agreeing on something that I wasn't a part of.

"Allie and I will help you," Scott finally spoke up, and John ruffled my hair gently as he passed me, probably heading to his room.

Scott pulled me up off the small bed, and we followed our Father out of the infirmary and up to the kitchen. I didn't feel like telling them I wasn't hungry, that would just add to frustrating my family.

"Burgers for lunch?" Our Dad asked, pulling patties out of the fridge and passing them to Scott, who had opened the cupboard and pulled out some buns.

"Alan, why don't you cut up some tomatoes, cheese and lettuce?"

I tilted my head in a positive gesture as I reached for the fridge, pulling it open again as Scott and Dad started with setting up a pan, and pulling out spices. I grabbed seven tomatoes and the big block of cheese, pushing them onto the bench, before reaching for the ball of lettuce. When they were all spread across the bench, I reached for the knife draw, where my fingers twitched and froze.

I glanced over my shoulder, noticing that Scott and Dad both had their backs to me. I turned back to the draw and pulled it open, dipping my hand inside and grabbing the first knife I came across. I pulled it out and just stared at the sharp edge for a moment, watching it glint in the kitchen light. My finger slid across it, and I told myself it was just to see how sharp it was. But that's not what I was thinking as my finger slid open and blood dribbled out of a small cut I had made.

It was then that a larger hand cupped my own, pressing my hand and the knife to the bench. I tilted my head up at my father, who was grimacing as he stared at the blood dribbling down my finger. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a bandaid, which he wrapped around my finger.

"Good thing I come prepared," he tried to joke, but it came out strained. "Why don't you help Scott cook the patties?"

I blinked at him, then exhaled and moved to Scott, who had watched the whole scene as it happened. He sent me a weary smile as I stood next to him, and then went to drop the patties in the hot and sizzling pan.

"Can you watch them for a second?" Scott asked as he cut up some onions to cook alongside the patties.

"Sure," I muttered, taking a hold of the handle as Scott moved to the cupboard, reaching in and rifling though, as if looking for something. I glanced down at the hot pan, then back up at Scott, before glancing back down.

It would be quick. And just enough pain to show me that I was still in control. Nothing serious, just a bit of a burn.

I bit my lip, picking the pan up off the stove top, and planting my hand on the bottom of it. A fiery burn shot up my hand instantly, blistering my skin and searing my bones. Tears welled in my eyes almost instantly at the sensation, but I controlled myself as I bit my lip harder.

"Alan!"

The pan was ripped from my grip and slammed back onto the stove, and then Scott's arms were around me from behind as he managed to haul me over to the sink. He turned the cold tap on full blast, and shoved my blistering hand under the freezing water.

"Allie, stop this." Scott spoke directly into my ear, while brushing my hair back. I think I vaguely heard him telling Dad to get Virgil, but I wasn't to sure.

Virgil stepped next to me about three minutes later, a bandage and something green in his hands as he twisted the tap off. He squirted the green stuff onto my hand, the cool sensation soaking into my skin. I knew it was aloe Vera from the calming sensation that made my skin tingle. He wrapped the bandage around my hand nice and snug, then wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me away from the kitchen.

"I think you just need to relax, Allie. I know you probably don't trust us, and you're scared, but please stop doing this to yourself."

I inhaled, sitting down on the piano stool, while scooting over so he could sit down too. Virgil flexed his fingers, before placing them down and playing out some kind of tune. But it was a nice tune, which you could expect from Virgil. It started slowly, and hurried to a faster beat, but holding the same tune all the way through.

"Why'd you burn yourself?" He asked after a while of just playing. He didn't falter with his playing though, as he spoke to me.

I shrugged, watching as his fingers ran up and down the piano.

"Don't shrug, Al. You know why."

I shrugged again, "I need to be in control."

"You need to be-" Virgil cut himself off as his fingers stopped the lullaby. "Allie, you're always going to be in control of your own life. It's your life. You make all the choices. But that doesn't mean you should hurt yourself."

"But I'm worthless."

"You're not worthless." Virgil stressed, turning his body a little to face me. "You're our baby brother."

I shrugged again.

This was stupid. I was unfixable and stupid.

But mainly unfixable.