A/N: so Thundergirl007 who is responsible for the ledgendary Goose Fic from years ago was like, "ok Len, but what about Gordon and CHICKENS." And this just kind of... typed itself? I will note I am someone who has chickens for pets. They are tiny dinosaurs full of love.

Chick-napping

When Scott had told Gordon to get his things and hop in the backseat of Thunderbird One to wait for him, he'd not expected his brother's things to be two boxes and a bunched up hoodie that's, well…

Making some very odd noises. Noises Scott's pretty sure hoodies generally don't make.

"Was that your stomach?" Scott's got Thunderbird One 30 miles up in the air heading out over the South Pacific so that better have been Gordon's stomach, because there's no way he's heading back to Grandpa Grant's old Farm now. Gordon had been out there the better part of a week helping the farmhands that their Grandma employs to take care of the family property with clearing out the big old pond on site. The pond was where they all learned to swim but it's now terribly overgrown and absolutely teeming with fish now their Father isn't around to make trips out there with his rod.

"Haha, uh, yeah." The family fishcake squirms awkwardly in his seat. "Farm cooking is better than Grandma's, ya-know, and I miss it already, that's all."

Scott narrows his eyes at his brother over his shoulder but the explanation passes the initial Scott Tracy patented big-brother-lie-detection systemTM so he tries to push his suspicions away and focus on flying. He asks idly about how the reed clearing and relocating some of the overpopulation of fish had gone but he's only half listening to Gordon whitter on about the overabundance of bass and catfish because he's sure he can still hear something odd and it's not Thunderbird One because it's too organic and…

Right. That's it. He can't ignore it anymore.

Gordon's lap is definitely clucking.

"Gordon," Scott voices, interrupting him, tentative in a way that suggests he deeply doesn't want to know the answer to what he's about to ask, "Please tell me that's not what I think it is?"

There's a soft bwok bwok bwocking is coming from the blue bundle of fabric that Scott had assumed was just a hoodie.

Of yeah. It's, definitely, unmistakably, clucking.

"If you think it's not a chicken," Gordon grins, "then I've got some great news."

"A chick…?"

"Bwok?" The interruption comes from a small, feathered face with beady little eyes and a bright red crop that's working its way out of the sleeve. "Bwooooook, Bwok?" She pops her head out from the tangled bundle that is, now he looks at it, not just a hoodie but definitely one of John's hoodies, and she tilts it at him almost quizzically, brown feathers ruffled and golden eyes sharp and focused.

Scott nearly has a hernia.

"Gordon! What!Why?" Thunderbird One does a rapid spiral in the sky as Scott's hands come off the controls to despair at his brother. Said brother woops, elated and cackles like a madman as his brother fights for control over their sudden dive.

"Watch it Scotty!" Little brother grins, all teeth. "Oh, hey! I should introduce you! This is Nugget," Gordon gets both hands around the bird bundle and bops her up and down so that her little face wobbles about like a bobblehead. "Oh… and this is Amelia Egghart, I named her that for you, since you're such a fanboy." One of the boxes by Gordon's feet gives an indigent squawk and Scott makes a sound deep in his throat that almost matches it.

"Amelia Egg…" Big brother's expression looks honestly a little pained. "You didn't…"

"The third one is Princess Lay-a." Gordon adds, almost notchlant, face the very picture of innocence except for the uncontainable smirk that's pulling at the corners of his mouth. He all but counts down to Scott's predictable freak out.

"The… the third? Gordon! No!" Scott growls. Is it too late to go back to Kansas? It's probably too late to go back to Kansas. "How many chickens did you take!?"

"Just the three lovely lay-dees." Gordon pets Nugget gently on the crown of her little feathery head and it's a small miracle he doesn't lose any fingers to her nipping beak - for the petting or the pun, it's not entierly clear. "They don't call me Gordon Coop-er Tracy for nothing."

"And you're telling me they couldn't possibly have stayed on the farm?" Scott's voice is strained, as if just how bad that joke was has made him feel physically ill.

"What?" Little brother shrugs, "They're technically our chickens anyway. It's not like I'm stealing."

"Tell that to Ben and the others when they're expecting eggs in the morning." Scott huffs, "Where are you going to keep a chicken anyway? We don't exactly have a coop on Tracy Island."

"Virgil'll build me something." He informs the elder Tracy, smug, "Virgil loves me."

"No way." Scott shakes his head, exasperated. "You are not keeping them. You had enough trouble trying to keep those fish we got you in Third Grade alive. I had to feed them because you'd forget!"

"Mr Bubbles lived a very long and healthy life, thank you."

"Mr Bubbles got swim bladder within two weeks of you having him and John built the damn fish a buoyancy aid out of cork and plastic straws!"

"He recovered! John's a master of neutral buoyancy." Gordon waves Nugget at him once more. "The chicken thinks you're being foolish about all this." He says, and Nugget gives the indignant squawk of a bird that really isn't enjoying being shaken around by Gordon's hands and Scott's distracted flying.

"The chicken thinks?! Oh no, no. Absolutely not." Big brother has the authority here. "You can't keep the chickens."

Gordon blinks psudeo-innocently up at him. Schemes a-plenty lying in wait behind the purity of those treacherous honey brown eyes.

"But Scott, they were going to have Nugget for," He cups his hands either side of her fluffy little head and whispers, "Dinner!" Scott's palm slaps tiredly over his eyes and he groans in a way that lets Gordon know he's won. "You wouldn't let that happen to her now, would you?"

Needless to say, the chickens get to stay.