Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.
The room they ended up in, passing through another room full of chairs in the process, was the closest any room so far had looked to home. A sunken area contained a variety of seats, all in front of a desk, while towards the window sat a baby grand.
"Take a seat," Not-Dad said, settling himself behind the desk. A position of power, Scott noted. Not-Dad had a clear idea of where they stood with regards to each other, and it wasn't in Scott's favour. He remained standing, noticing pictures of five young men and a beautiful woman on the walls, surrounded by unmistakably oriental artwork. The young men were familiar. Four of them, he'd already met. Other-Scott looked back at him almost cheekily, while Other-Virgil held a cigarette. Other-Alan looked disinterested, and Other-Gordon was reclining casually. At the far end, next to Other-Scott, was a fifth man – blond – with his arms folded, and Scott's insides twisted unpleasantly. He had a feeling he knew the final man's name.
The rest of the family began to file in, seating themselves in what appeared to be a pre-ordained seating plan. Other-Alan perched on a corner of the desk, and Scott waited until everyone had found their seats before folding himself up into a sofa in the middle of the sunken area.
"Now, the first order of business is to work out exactly how Scott arrived here," Not-Dad proclaimed. "He claims not to know, but there must be some clues."
"But, Jeff," Mrs Tracy interjected. "What about his brothers? You are going to look for them, aren't you?"
Scott had been about to demand the same thing. Not-Dad looked uncomfortable.
"But Mother-" he began. "This is a remote island. It should be impossible for anyone to arrive unannounced. For our own security, we must find out how Scott arrived here."
"Surely we can look for clues about his brothers at the same time, Father," Other-Virgil offered. "There are enough of us." Not-Dad seemed unconvinced, and Scott got to his feet, ready to demand that they locate his brothers before doing anything else, when the door opened.
"I, uh, think I-I've solved the, uh, mystery of h-how Scott a-arrived here, Mr Tracy." Scott stared at the man in the doorway, his stutter and blue-framed glasses instantly reminding him of Brains, for all that this man was white, and English from his accent.
"You have, Brains?" the elder man asked, his attention immediately switching off of Scott, who was getting very sick and tired of familiar names and semi-familiar faces with no explanations.
"W-well, it, uh, might sound a bit fantastical, b-but John and I believe i-it's, uh, the only explanation," Other-Brains warned as he entered the room properly. At this point, Scott didn't care if it was fantastical – if it was plausible, he'd take it, especially after the casual name drop of one of his brothers. The final one, completing the set.
"The, uh, DNA sample I collected turns out to, uh, p-perfectly match the, uh, sample I took from o-our Scott."
"What sample?" Scott interrupted, sparing a glance towards Other-Scott, who had spoken at the same time.
"Your, uh, surprising resemblance to o-our Scott prompted me to, uh, take a sample for a-analysis." Other-Brains didn't seem the slightest bit repentant. "A-as for you, uh, Scott, t-there are many, uh, ways to obtain a sample from, uh, your o-own home."
"So you're saying this guy's a clone?" Other-Alan interrupted, and Scott bristled.
"Well, uh, technically b-by sharing a-a ninety nine point nine p-percent DNA match they are, uh, c-clones, but not in the, uh, way you m-mean, Alan," Brains replied.
"Explain, Brains," Not-Dad demanded. "What do you mean by that?"
"W-well, Mr Tracy, when I-I said that, uh, their DNA was a-a perfect match, t-there is, uh, one s-small discrepancy." He presented them with a clipboard, which showed far too many numbers and squiggles for Scott to make head or tail of it. "S-see here, there, uh, is a foreign s-strand in his, uh, results."
Scott couldn't see what he was referring to, even when he helpfully pointed to a particular section of comparison.
"I think I speak for all of us when I say we can't see a thing, Brains," Not-Dad. "But we'll take your word for it. What does it mean?"
"Quite, uh, honestly, Mr Tracy, I-I've never seen this before," Other-Brains admitted. "H-however, I believe the answer, uh, lies with the, uh, technology that he a-arrived with."
"You've been poking at my gear?" Scott demanded, stepping forwards. Mrs Tracy put her hand on his arm lightly.
"J-Just a cursory, uh, glance." Other-Brains still didn't sound at all repentant for his intrusions. "Enough to, uh, tell that y-your technology is nothing l-like, uh, ours."
"So, what, he's an alien?" Other-Alan asked. It was such an Alan-like – his Alan-like – accusation that something in Scott's chest hurt.
"I, uh, believe John w-would be, uh, better to explain," Other-Brains deferred. "Mr Tracy?"
"I'm not sure about that, Brains," Not-Dad disagreed. "It's one thing showing him our home, but John is in a top secret location. We can't reveal that on a whim."
"O-on the contrary, Mr Tracy, i-if John and I are, uh, correct, he is a-already fully a-aware of John's, uh, location."
"What?" Other-Scott snapped, his hand landing sharply on Scott's shoulder. "How?" His fingers dug in tightly, too tightly to be shaken off without the use of force, and Mrs Tracy's hand was still lightly resting on his arm.
Scott was more concerned about what they were saying. John and location automatically signalled Thunderbird Five, but this wasn't his John. Whatever was going on here, despite his uniform International Rescue had yet to be mentioned and he had been intending on keeping it that way, unwilling to bring that sort of information to the attention of a group of individuals too weird and bizarre to trust.
"I want you to explain, Brains," Not-Dad ordered. "I refuse to involve John in a situation this delicate."
"I-if you, uh, say so, Mr Tracy." Other-Brains was clearly disappointed at not having back-up for his explanation, but Scott didn't care who said it at this point as long as it was an answer. "Well, there, uh, is a theory a-amongst astrophysicists k-known colloquially a-as the, uh, multiverse theory. It a-addresses the theorem that, uh, there are multiple universes. John is, uh, better versed i-in it th-than I, but, uh, I know enough to, uh, believe that this is o-our answer."
"He's from a parallel universe?" Other-Alan exploded. "No way, Brains. That's ridiculous!"
"I, uh, did say it was f-fantastical," Other-Brains reminded him.
"Yes, Brains, but this seems very far-fetched," Other-Virgil pointed out. "Suppose that's true; how did he get here?"
"Well, uh, travel between these, uh, theoretical u-universes has not been, uh, investigated, so u-unless Scott's universe has been, uh, experimenting in the field it is most likely that the, uh, two u-universes temporarily, uh, collided and Scott fell th-through a r-resulting fissure."
"I don't remember falling through any fissures," Scott protested. "I had just left," he paused, still determined to leave International Rescue out of the conversation, even if Other-Brains was alluding to something similar with Other-John, "my plane and was on my way out of the hangar. Then I woke up here!"
"The 'plane' in question wouldn't be Thunderbird One, by any chance?" an unfamiliar voice asked. It was slightly distorted, as though coming through a speaker. The gentle touch on his arm and the talon grip on his shoulder did nothing to stop Scott tensing.
"What do you mean?" he snarled, looking around for the owner of the new voice. Nothing had changed, no-one had entered the room without his knowledge-
Other-Brains had his left arm held at a weird angle, the face of his watch pointed directly towards Scott. Instead of the ancient, analogue dial he expected to see there, a man's head was visible. He had a shock of platinum blond hair, but Scott's attention was caught by the blue hat perched slightly lopsidedly atop his head.
They'd scrapped those hats years ago, one of Dad's flights of fancy they had all been glad to ditch with a uniform upgrade.
"John!" Not-Dad sounded furious. "Brains, I said we would not be involving John in this!"
"As Brains said, Father, there's no point." The blond man – Other-John, recognisable as the fifth portrait hanging on the wall even if he was wearing civilian clothes in that, rather than what looked suspiciously like a proto-IR uniform in Other-Brains' watch – seemed unbothered at his father's fury. "This Scott is another universe's equivalent to our Scott. According to the clothes he was wearing when you found him, that includes being the pilot of Thunderbird One for International Rescue."
"If this is all true," Scott interrupted, choosing to chew through the International Rescue bit and the fact that there was a Thunderbird One here later. "All these parallel universes and colliding universes and falling through fissures into other universes stuff. What about my brothers? Aside from one," he wasn't willing to give any names out yet, even if Other-Brains and Other-John, at least, seemed to be sharp enough to make a correct assumption "they were all in the house when I got back. Wouldn't this 'fissure' have swallowed them, too?"
It was an outlandish theory. The idea that he'd fallen through into some parallel universe and was now with an alternate version of his family – a version that still had their father, his brain pointed out unhappily – was ludicrous. But it was a theory. He'd heard Alan mention it once, although the teenager had been more interested in the prospect of aliens in their own universe than another one at that moment in time. They were colonising Mars, pushing other expeditions further afield in the Solar System. Space travel was an expensive luxury, but it was a luxury available to anyone with the money, not just the strictest trained of astronauts. Further exploration of the universe was underway, but nothing had ever touched the concept of other universes.
Yet, in the absence of anything more solid, Scott was willing to cling to the theory Other-Brains and Other-John were presenting. As long as his brothers were safe.
"You were found in our Thunderbird One's hangar," Other-John informed him, and Not-Dad did not seem happy at that bit of information leaking out, from his attempt to interrupt. Other-John ignored him. "If you were in your own Thunderbird One's hangar when the collision occurred, that means that you were simply displaced from the location in your home to the identical location in ours. On that basis, if your brothers were also transported, they would have appeared in their respective locations in our home as well. Seeing as they haven't, I think it's safe to assume that you are the only one that fell through."
"But-" That was a lot of supposition, and Scott was not willing to stop searching on the assumption that just because what happened to him hadn't happened to them, didn't mean nothing had happened to them.
"However, to be safe, I have included additional parameters into Thunderbird Five's algorithm to locate any mentions of people appearing out of nowhere, their names, assuming their names are the same as ours, or any other similar phenomena, so if they have ended up elsewhere, I'll pick it up," Other-John continued. "If they're here, I'll find them. If they're not, that explains why they haven't contacted you."
It was practically a moot point to name drop Thunderbird Five at this point, as far as Scott was concerned, more interested and reassured by Other-John's calm assessment of the possibilities and the measures he'd made to handle them, reluctantly nodding that yes, their names were the same. Not-Dad, on the other hand, seemed almost apoplectic as he stood rapidly from his desk.
"I did not authorise you to talk about the Thunderbirds, John!" the man thundered. "You have no proof that this Scott has links to an International Rescue of his own, and even if he did, there is no guarantee that they are the same!"
"Yes, Father." Scott didn't like the tone Other-John adopted, one that seemed almost used to scoldings. Dad wouldn't have been like that with them if he was still around and in charge of International Rescue… would he?
Deciding not to dwell on those thoughts, and also finding himself unexpectedly infuriated by Not-Dad's temper flaring at Other-John, Scott glanced around the room and found something unexpectedly familiar.
Two lamps sat innocently on one wall, perfectly spaced for someone of his height to stand between and hold onto – or pull down.
It probably wasn't his smartest idea – in fact, he could hear Virgil and John in his head telling him emphatically not to do it – but his reckless streak had never listened to reason. He gently removed the light touch of Mrs Tracy from his arm, and twisted sharply to dislodge Other-Scott's grip before striding purposefully over to the lamps. Muscle memory dictated his movement more than conscious thought, his arms jarring as the lamps did not pull down, but a switch depressed beneath his fingers nonetheless, and to a chorus of disbelieving – and frustrated, in some cases – voices, the room disappeared in a smooth rotation to reveal Other-Scott's launch tube.
Or should have done, if it was the same as home. What he had not expected, as he automatically stepped forwards, off of the plate before it could spin back around, was to be immediately greeted by the sleek grey form of Thunderbird One herself.
Immediately he could see differences to his own 'bird. The pilot seat was inside the cockpit, not extended for boarding, and the opening resembled a door more than a viewing window. VTOL jets were positioned in different places, there were no letters dictating fuel intake, areas of danger and other basic safety information, and her shape was very slightly different.
However, small differences aside, there was no doubt that this was Thunderbird One. Even ignoring the bold white lettering proclaiming her as such, there was no doubting the grey hull, blue engine housing and, most distinctively of all, the vibrant red nose cone.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" Other-Scott asked from behind him. Scott made a noise of agreement – even if she wasn't his, she was close enough that visually, she looked just as stunning. "I guess you have the same access point? You gave Dad quite the shock when you found the entrance to her hangar like that."
"Near enough," he confirmed as Other-Scott stepped up beside him, leaning his arms over the railing as he also gazed at Thunderbird One. "The portrait of the rocket goes to Two?"
"Virgil's crazy slide," Other-Scott said, bemused.
"That's one way of putting it," Scott agreed. "I didn't see Three or Four's entrances."
"Your Four has an access from the lounge?" Other-Scott sounded surprised. "Dad refused to put one in. Gordon has to take the passenger route to Two."
"A fish tank," Scott admitted. "Gordon refuses to keep fish in there, though. Says it would be too traumatic for them. He stole John's model Stingray and put that in there instead."
Other-Scott chuckled, the first time he'd been anything other than serious since Scott had first seen him.
"That sounds like something Gordon would do," he admitted. "Your John let him?"
"Said it was a more accurate place for it then the stand in his room," Scott confirmed.
"And that sounds like something John would say," Other-Scott grinned, before falling quiet for a moment, studying his 'bird. "Do you think they're right?" he asked. "That you're from a parallel universe?"
It still sounded ridiculous said out loud.
"I don't know," Scott admitted. "But it's the best guess we've got and sounds marginally better than insanity." How he was going to get home, if he really had ended up in another universe, was another matter entirely.
"I suppose that's true," Other-Scott said. "But we'll work something out."
"Scott!" Not-Dad's voice echoed through the hangar as the man strode towards them. He did not look pleased, and they shared a look.
"Which one of us does he mean?" Scott wondered out loud. Other-Scott shrugged, clearly bracing himself for a storm. Once again, Scott was left to wonder if it would be the same if Dad was still around – would he be used to disapproval, and a father ruling the roost with an iron fist?
He shoved those thoughts away firmly and straightened his spine. Not-Dad might have his own son contrite, but he had faced down too many people who saw themselves as his superior to cower in front of a man with no relation to him.
"What are you doing in here?" Not-Dad demanded. "How did you find the entrance?" Behind him, at a more sedate pace but intrigue clear in their eyes – exact colour matches to Scott's own brothers – were Other-Virgil, Other-Gordon and Other-Alan. Brains brought up the rear, his watch still broadcasting Other-John's face. Scott was getting fed up with all of the questions.
"Because I'm Scott Tracy," he declared, stepping forwards, away from the Thunderbird behind him and towards the man challenging him. "Because that is my ship and I know how to get to her." He expected Other-Scott to protest, remind him that it wasn't his Thunderbird One because they were in the wrong universe for that, but he didn't.
Not-Dad was shorter than him. Not by much, just enough for him to realise he was looking ever so slightly down to meet his eyes. Did that mean he had outgrown Dad, a final growth spurt just after the Zero-X and the tragedy that brought?
"How dare you take that tone with me!" Not-Dad snapped, fury flashing through grey eyes. Behind him, two pairs of brown eyes and one pair of blue had widened in surprise. "Does your father permit you to talk back to him like that?" All at once, Scott's temper flared.
"My father is GONE!" he shouted, fist flying to the side and connecting with the wall of the hangar. "You might look like him, but you're not him, and I won't treat you like him!"
Silence followed his words, even after the echoes of his yells finished bouncing off the hangar walls. His own breathing was loud, too loud to his own ears, and his knuckles started to throb as he felt everyone's eyes on him.
Other-Alan spoke first, because he was Other-Alan and of course he did, for all that this Alan wasn't a teenager and should at least have some modicum of common sense.
"What do you mean, he's gone?"
Scott ignored him, finding Not-Dad's – Never-Dad's – eyes again. They were shocked, horrified, even, and seeing that expression on a face that looked just like his father's reminded him of the last time he'd seen his Dad look like that. When Mom died.
He had to get out.
Thunderbird One was behind him, offering haven except she wasn't his Thunderbird One and he knew they would all crowd the cockpit, imprisoning him inside until he talked. He had no intention of ever talking, of telling these strangers wearing his family's names and almost-faces about how much it hurt. He'd never planned to tell them Dad was gone in the first place.
The two lamps stuck out of the wall, nearest Other-Scott. They'd lead back into the lounge, an unfamiliar place but one that it would at least take time for them to pursue him there, judging by how long it had taken them to join him in the hangar. He lunged forwards, found the catches on the lamps and spun the wall back around. Behind him, the silence broke, voices talking over voices in a cacophony that was shut out as soon as the rotation completed. Soundproofed walls. Nothing less than he'd expected.
"Oh, dearie, what happened?" He'd forgotten Mrs Tracy would still be there. "Oh, you poor thing. Look at your hand. Tin-Tin, be a darling."
"Of course, Mrs Tracy," the young woman said, finding her feet and hurrying across the room to him. "Oh, that looks nasty. I'll treat it right away." A touch on his elbow and his feet were moving of their own accord, following her down the stairs and through hallways he'd yet to learn until they arrived in a room he recognised.
The signs of his fight with Other-Scott had gone, gaps on the shelves where bottles had stood when he first woke the only indication that anything had happened in the room. As Tin-Tin directed him to sit in a chair, grabbing a bottle of disinfectant and a roll of bandages for knuckles he hadn't realised were bleeding, for all that they were throbbing in discontent, he caught sight of his uniform, still neatly folded.
His comm unit was on the top, and he reached for it to find it was too far away from where he was sat.
"I'm almost finished," Tin-Tin assured him. "You know," she continued. "If you open the window, there's a track that runs up towards a cliff. Only Scott ever goes up there – his brothers don't know about it."
Scott stared at her, realising for the first time that for all their differences, this young woman was likely this universe's version of Kayo.
"I don't think he would like that you told me that," he said, unable to bring himself to address Not-Dad by any name. His voice cracked mid-sentence and he frowned. "He wants me under his watch."
"Oh, Scott," she replied, pulling the bandages tight. "He's worried." A delicate hand picked up his comm unit and pressed it into his uninjured hand. "I've known our Scott a long time," she added, closing his hand over the unit. "In all that time, I've only seen him cry once." By the time he had registered her words and raised a hand to his face, surprised to find it come away damp, she'd left the room.
Swiping at the tears angrily now that he knew they were there, he regarded the unit in his hand, and then the window. A place to himself was exactly what he needed, although the idea of using one of Other-Scott's escapes felt distinctly weird. Footsteps outside the room forced his decision – if they were going to find him in this state, he could at least attempt to make it a challenge.
The window opened easily, and soundlessly. Well-maintained, and he wondered how often Other-Scott used it, or if one of the others also had escape routes from the infirmary. Considering his own brothers, it was likely that they all did – one of the reasons Grandma had put their infirmary in a room with only one exit was because they were all terrible patients and one exit was infinitely easier to guard than multiple.
He remembered his lack of shoes only when bare feet met dirt, but he had no idea where Other-Scott kept his shoes, and no desire to go hunting. The route Tin-Tin had described stood out to him easily, a challenging terrain that he would have chosen himself even if he hadn't already known about it. Then again, this universe's version of him had done exactly that, once. Strapping the comm unit firmly to his wrist, finding familiar comfort in its snug fit and slight weight, he started up the trail.
It wasn't as challenging as it looked; once Scott found his rhythm it was almost easy, but as it was an escape route from the infirmary that made sense. Escape routes were useless if they couldn't be used. After only a few minutes he rounded a particularly aggressive-looking crag to find a hollow tucked behind it. The view was fantastic, jungles and volcanic crags combined with the ocean behind and the sky above. Down below, he could just about see a white building that had to be the villa, an oddly-shaped swimming pool set in front of it.
There was no doubt this was Other-Scott's secret escape.
He curled his legs in, out of sight of anyone that might be looking up the route, and tore his eyes away from the unfamiliar vista to focus on his comm unit. Logically, he knew it was useless. John would have been trying to get hold of him as soon as he woke from his cat nap, and if anything was going to get through to here – to another universe – it would be the powerful signals of Thunderbird Five.
Scott didn't want to listen to logic. Despite being wrapped in bandages, his fingers found all the right places to activate the comm unit, and he waited with bated breath for it to connect. It took a while, connection symbol flashing orange as it searched for a signal to hook onto. International Rescue technology was as resourceful as the rest of them. Designed to be compatible with every known network in the world, as well as their own with Thunderbird Five at the heart, there were blessedly few places where signal was impossible. Here, on a Tracy Island, with a Thunderbird Five proven to be sending and receiving signals, there was no way his comm unit wouldn't be able to find a network to hijack.
The red symbol that eventually flashed up defied him, the slash through the connection symbol taunting him as it declared there were no networks in the area.
"Don't you dare!" he complained at it, shaking his wrist vigorously and resorting to fierce taps when the red symbol stayed steady. "There's a signal right there, dammit!" he cursed, gesturing down towards where the villa lay. "And up there!" He motioned to the sky, where their Thunderbird Five undoubtably lurked. "How can you not find it at all? Dammit!"
He depressed the call button anyway, watching the hologram technology awaken, ready to beam his image to whoever was on the other end. With tearstained cheeks, scruffy pyjamas that weren't his, and a wrapped-up hand, he didn't want his image beaming anywhere, and quickly changed the setting to audio-only.
"Thunderbird Five?" he tried. "Come in, Thunderbird Five. John, are you there?"
The red symbol stubbornly remained, and his comms remained silent. He'd thought that at least Other-John would answer.
"John? Virgil are you there? Come on, guys, pick up! Gordon, can you hear me? Alan!" His voice cracked and he scrubbed at his face again, unsurprised but frustrated when it came back freshly damp. "Kayo? Grandma? Brains? Anyone, dammit!" He was begging and he knew it, tears seeping into his voice no matter how hard he tried to keep them up. "MAX? EOS! You're always hacking things you shouldn't, you damn AI. You've got to be here! Put me through to John. I know he's looking for me. Just… put me through, dammit!"
The red symbol never wavered, blocking him from his family no matter how much he cursed, threatened, begged it.
"Why won't you work, you stupid piece of junk?" he demanded. "It's only a goddamn universe in the way. Just one, stupid, measly, universe!"
A universe. An ever-expanding chasm of space that contained billions upon billions of galaxies, which themselves contained billions of stars and planets. They were colonising Mars. Thunderbird Three had managed to travel out as far as Jupiter. The distances were incredible; the wonder as Alan launched off to far-flung parts of their solar system never failed to strike Scott.
Those incredible distances didn't even make a fraction of the chasm between them now.
A chance collision of universes had thrown him across. Inter-universe travel wasn't even a daydream in the minds of their most advanced scientists, and from Other-John's words, this universe was the same.
Scott wasn't John, but he was reasonably handy with numbers and probabilities. The chances of another collision occurring that would send him home again were beyond remote. International Rescue made the impossible happen, but Scott was all too painfully aware that even they had limits. How did you rescue someone from another universe?
Would they even know where he was? It took Other-Brains and Other-John some leaps of logic, DNA testing between him and Other-Scott, and a grasp of the difference in their technology to reach the conclusion. All his family would have was the fact that he was gone. Without a trace. It would be even worse than Dad. At least they knew what had happened to Dad, had seen that cursed footage of the Zero-X exploding into infinite pieces with no body left to bury.
He had just vanished.
John would be blaming himself, cursing himself for going to take his next nap before ensuring Scott was safely in the house. He remembered what his brother had been like when Dad had gone, the weeks, months, of frantic searching and sleepless nights until he'd taken Three up and all but bust through the airlock to drag John back to Earth. He hadn't let him back up there until the space elevator was installed, one of Brains' pet projects that Dad had vetoed but Scott demanded because anything to bring their family closer together was a good thing.
He hoped one of the others would stop John tearing himself apart. His little brothers were strong, he had to believe that. If Other-John was right and they weren't also here, somewhere in this strange universe with its indecipherable technology. No, Scott wanted them at home. He wanted the four of them to be together, even if he wasn't there.
But he would be, he promised. No matter that the distance between them was insurmountable, no matter that there were some things even International Rescue couldn't do. Nothing, not even the damn universe – or however many universes were involved in this fiasco – was going to stop Scott Tracy going home to his brothers.
He just had to figure out how.
We're now far enough into the fic that I can safely credit ak47stylegirl and her fic Thunderbirds Meet Thunderbirds for inspiring the premise behind this fic. While there are many large differences between that fic and this one (and will continue to be so), it's doubtful I would ever have considered throwing Scott into TOS if I hadn't read that fic.
Thanks for reading!
Tsari