"Alan."

Alan didn't want to hear the gentleness in Virgil's voice. And he really didn't want to hear the brokenness that lurked beneath it. He ignored his brother, adjusting one of Thunderbird 3's sensor settings and then fixing his eyes firmly on the space visible through the viewport.

He and Virgil had been searching fruitlessly for what felt like an eternity and no time at all. Alan's eyes were aching from staring so hard at the space that stretched out infinitely before them, scanning it with dogged determination. As if at any moment, he expected a familiar blue-suited figure to drift into view, despite the lack of a single blip on his sensor array.

"Alan, he's out of air. Even if he did survive the explosion, he couldn't survive that."

But he had, once. Because Alan had been there, had found him and pulled him to safety and gotten him breathing again.

"If we can just get to him-"

"It's been four hours, Alan. He had one. Max."

Everything in Alan rebelled against the words. His mind was racing, spinning through scenario after scenario, the rapidly dwindling number of ways John could still be alive. They were limited, sure, but there were still some left, a few miracles that John could've pulled off.

Which he had. He had. This was John. Brilliant, clever John, the most careful of all of them. He'd figured a way out of the impossible situation, because that was what he did.

Alan had been seven years old when John joined NASA. He'd thought it was the coolest thing in the world, that his big brother was going to have a chance of going up there in space, like Dad had in all his stories. He'd told all his friends in school about it, probably more than any of them really wanted to hear.

Then he'd watched Lost to the Stars: 75 Years of Spaceflight Disasters. It had been an accident, something he'd never been meant to see, but Alan had always been a precocious child, and Virgil had forgotten about the constant vigilance one had to exercise when living with small children. He'd been home for spring break, watching the documentary on the projector in the living room. He hadn't seen Alan in the doorway, watching with wide, horrified eyes as tragedy after tragedy was recounted in high definition. Astronauts burning up in their ships before they even left the ground, rockets exploding on their way to orbit, meteoroids slamming into space stations…all of the horrifying realities that no one had told Alan about when John signed up.

He'd been inconsolable, sure that his brother was doomed to a similar fate. Virgil, Dad, Scott, even Gordon, who was still a kid himself, had all tried to reassure him, to tell him that it was safer now, that NASA wouldn't let anything happen to John. But he hadn't believed them, and he'd been furious with them for letting John join at all. He'd demanded to be taken to the space center in Houston where John was being trained, to talk him out of his madness. His family had been sympathetic, but his father refused to gate-crash NASA and embarrass John in order to assuage a second grader's irrational panic.

But the next morning, John had been there. He must have gotten special clearance and flown through the night to do it, but he was there, waking Alan with tickling fingers and a fond smile. Alan had latched onto him at once and declared that he wasn't letting go until John promised him that he'd stay firmly on the ground. And instead of getting annoyed by his antics, John had just held him close until he calmed down. Then he'd taken Alan back out to the living room for another movie, not a documentary this time but still the retelling of a true story.

Alan had watched in horror as the Apollo 13 was crippled in space, its astronauts apparently doomed. He'd clung even tighter to John, who just told him to wait, to watch and see. And sure enough, in an astonishing feat of bravery, ingenuity, and dedicated teamwork, all three men survived to make it home.

You see, Alan? John had said to him. It can be dangerous out there, yes. But even when things go wrong, it can still be okay, when you've got someone watching out for you. And I'll always have that, okay? There'll be NASA, of course, but I'll also have something only one other astronaut has ever had before. You know what that is?

Alan had shook his head, wide-eyed.

I'll have the Tracy family. You trust Dad, right? You know he'll always protect you if something bad happens, like when he came and got you when that tornado was coming for your school.

This time, Alan had nodded. Of course he trusted Dad, who was all but a superhero in his eyes.

Well, Dad would do the same for me. He'd come right up to space and get me if he thought I was in trouble, and he wouldn't let anything or anyone get in his way. And Scott would do the same, and Virgil-

And me! Alan had declared. I'll always watch out for you, Johnny!

John had smiled then, and ruffled Alan's hair.

Then how could anything bad ever happen to me?

Alan had kept his childhood promise, always. And now Virgil wanted him to break it.

"How can you just give up on him?" Alan yelled, furious and betrayed. "He's our brother and he needs us, how can you just-?"

But the words died a choked death in his throat as he twisted around in his seat to actually look at Virgil. He was clinging to his restraints with a white-knuckled grip that wasn't quite enough to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. His eyes were dry but wide and lost, his features twisted in agony, soul-deep and inescapable.

"Oh," Alan gasped aloud, small and quiet, and just like that, the realization slammed into him with brutal, devastating force.

They weren't going to find John alive.

Hope is the worst of all evils, Nietzsche once said, because it prolongs the torments of man.

Virgil had never agreed with the German philosopher on that score. He'd always believed hope to be precious, and he prided himself in being someone who returned it to people.

But now, for the first time, he thought he understood what Nietzsche had meant. Because despite his best efforts and his own practicality, hope had somehow managed to sink its hooks into him. He'd let himself get swept along by Alan's desperate denial, and now they were both paying for it.

Virgil couldn't have said exactly when he gave up. Maybe it was after their second sweep of the entire debris field failed to yield so much as a hint of John. Maybe it was when EOS spoke directly into his personal comm to tell him that John's chances of survival had officially reached zero. Maybe it was when they came across one of the wings of John's exo-pod, crumpled and torn like rice paper instead of a specially designed metal alloy, drifting without any sign of its pilot. Alan hadn't wanted to grasp the implications of that one, but Virgil hadn't been able to summon the same protective ignorance, and another cruel barb of empty hope had been ripped away, gutting him that much further.

Even in spite of all that, though, Virgil had wanted to stay up there, to search every inch of the heavens until they found what was left of John. But he was with Alan, and he hadn't been able to bear watching him cling desperately to that devastating hope of his own. So he'd chosen to care for the brother he still had a chance of helping, and that meant returning home.

But it didn't mean his heart didn't feel like it was being torn in half as they reentered the atmosphere, Thunderbird 3 shuddering around them as if the ship itself was protesting against leaving John behind. Gravity reasserted itself, but Virgil still felt like he was drifting.

He did his best to focus on Alan, whose face was drawn and pale as he piloted them carefully back to Tracy Island, settling his rocket down in its silo. Virgil had always been good about knowing what to say, or not to say, when his brothers needed him, the one they could always turn to for comfort or support. He was at a loss now though. Maybe he always would be.

So he let Alan work through an abridged version of his usual post-flight checks in silence, hoping the routine would keep him steady. But the bright sheen in Alan's eyes only grew more pronounced, his lower lip starting to tremble. He'd been growing up so fast, more than pulling his weight with International Rescue, that it could sometimes be too easy to forget how young he still was. But not just then.

Virgil wanted to reach out to him, but he suspected that what Alan needed most was to be off of Thunderbird 3, away from the reminders of the last few horrific hours. So he put a hand on Alan's shoulder and steered him towards the exit, out onto the loading ramp that had extended to meet them.

His gut lurched when he spotted the figures waiting for them. This was only going to keep getting harder, wasn't it?

Grandma Tracy opened her arms, and Alan ran to her at once, not bothering to attempt a casual front. She folded him into an embrace, rubbing a hand up and down his back. They could all hear the quick, desperate gasps of his breaths, and each one struck Virgil in the chest like an icy knife.

But more of his attention was focused on Scott, standing silently beside their grandmother. He met Scott's eyes, and had to fight not to flinch away from what he saw there.

A wave of guilt slammed into him, washing away that much more of his numbness and shock. He and Scott were two of the big brothers, supposed to look out for their family. And Virgil had failed in a way too big to comprehend.

"I'm sorry, Scott-"

Scott just shook his head and strode forward to yank Virgil into a tight hug.

"It's not your fault," he murmured fiercely. "Never think that, you understand me?"

That was easy for him to say. He hadn't been the one mere minutes away from being close enough to help. He hadn't been the one who was relieved to hear that John would be running the rescue solo.

Virgil's throat tightened painfully, and his vision blurred. He squeezed his eyes shut, not ready to fall apart yet, not when the rest of his family needed strength. He fisted his hands tightly in the back of Scott's shirt, struggling to hold himself together.

"It's nobody's fault," said Grandma Tracy. Virgil opened his eyes to see her looking at them both over Alan's spiky hair. "You boys did everything you could, and John would tell you the same thing."

Virgil wanted to believe her.

He took a deep breath and let go of Scott.

"Where's Brains?" he asked.

"He's talking to EOS, trying to figure out what…what happened."

Virgil was sorry he'd asked. He wasn't ready to think about that yet, to analyze and review and second-guess. He still couldn't process the fact that John was just gone, and he didn't care about the why of it just then.

Time had felt unreal since the moment EOS told them about the explosion, so Virgil didn't know how long they spent on that platform. But somehow they all ended up back in the main room, because it seemed the thing to do. Get back from a rescue, go to the lounge. Except it hadn't been a rescue. It hadn't even been a recovery.

Virgil found himself staring at John's portrait on the wall. It was incomprehensible to him that his brother would never appear in the air before it again, to dispatch them for a mission or check in on them after one or just to say hi.

Suddenly, there was a familiar electronic beep, a glowing IR symbol flashing to life in the air over the central holoprojector. Virgil's heart leaped wildly, automatically.

"John?" Alan said at once, his ashen face lighting up.

"Tracy Island, this is Thunderbird Shadow, on final approach with FAB-1."

Yeah. Maybe Nietzsche had known what he was talking about.

"We forgot about Gordon," Virgil realized in a hollow whisper, speaking for all of them. Gordon, Kayo, Lady Penelope… "How the hell did we forget?"

No one had an answer for him. They all stared at the luminous IR symbol, evidence of the active connection to the rest of their family. None of them had the first idea how to respond to the hail.

Grandma Tracy turned out the be the steadiest of them.

"F.A.B. Thunderbird Shadow," she called, and Virgil could hear the slight tremor in her voice, but you had to be listening for it. "We'll be waiting for you."

The connection vanished, and a heavy, smothering silence descended over the room. Dread was curdling in Virgil's stomach. He'd already watched one little brother go through the horror that was coming, and he didn't know how he was supposed to stand watching Gordon endure it too.

But life simply didn't care whether or not you were ready for something. It just threw the punches, and either you remained standing, or you didn't.

Too soon, the sound of a familiar voice reached them.

"I don't know how Parker does it," Gordon was saying. His dramatic, yet cheerful tone was like a bucket of ice water dumped directly onto Virgil's heart.

He staggered theatrically into the main room, laden down with shopping bags in varying shades of pink.

"You guys would not believe-" he began, but he broke off abruptly.

Gordon had never been the most sensitive of the Tracy clan, but he didn't have to be to pick up on the atmosphere in the room just then. His amber eyes darted from face to face, his animated expression quickly morphing into one of alarm.

"What's wrong?" he asked. No one could answer him. "Was there a mission failure?"

Numb, ringing silence filled the room. Slowly, the bags slipped out of Gordon's hands.

"Guys?"

Grandma Tracy was once again the first to recover. She stepped forward, brushing a gentle hand over Scott's arm as she passed, and took Gordon's face in her hands. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, studied him for just a moment, and then let him go again. She took Kayo and Lady Penelope by the shoulders.

"Come on," she said quietly. "The boys need a moment, and I…I have something to tell you."

She led them away. Gordon watched them leaving with utter consternation, and then turned to his brothers for answers.

In the silence, Scott took a step forward, squaring his shoulders. It didn't feel right, to let him shoulder this burden alone, but Virgil couldn't. He couldn't say the words that would make it real, couldn't be the one to bring Gordon's world crashing down around him like the rest of theirs already had.

"Gordon." Scott took another step towards their brother, who took an instinctive step back, as if he knew what was coming and could protect himself from it. But Scott closed the distance between them anyway, put his hands on Gordon's shoulders. He took a breath. "Gordon, there was an accident, up in space. A meteor hit a manned satellite…John was closest, and he tried to take care of it, but there was- there was an explosion."

There was a beat of silence.

"So…he's hurt?" Gordon asked.

Alan's legs folded beneath him, and he sank to the floor without a sound, burying his face in his hands. Virgil went to him at once, kneeling beside him and pulling him close. But he knew it was a fruitless gesture. Only one Tracy would have been able to comfort Alan just then, and he wasn't available. Gordon shot them both a wide-eyed glance, before returning his bewildered focus to Scott.

"Gordon." Scott's voice was barely audible; a strangled, broken whisper. "He's dead."

Gordon flinched so hard he broke Scott's grip on his shoulders. But then he shook his head.

"No, he's not," he said with an air of relief. "Is that all this is? Don't worry, there's just been some kind of miscommunication. I just talked to John a few hours ago; he's fine. He's fine, guys."

He looked at Virgil and Alan, as if searching for backup. Virgil had his arms curled around his little brother's narrow shoulders, and he could feel Alan shaking apart in his grasp. He wasn't crying, just trembling silently, like a sapling in a hurricane. Virgil met Gordon's eyes. The two of them were a little too good at communicating without words though, and Gordon looked quickly away from him.

"Okay, seriously," he said to Scott, forcing a smile. "Is this his way of getting back at me for sending up a tofu burger instead of his cheeseburger on the last supply shipment to Five? Because if so, he could really use a lesson in proportional response. I didn't think his sense of humor was this bad."

"Gordon…" Scott seemed unable to continue, but he didn't have to. The look on his face was positively heartbreaking, and he'd never been much of an actor. Not even Gordon could pretend that it wasn't real.

Several agonizing seconds ticked by, the forced relief fading from Gordon's expression. His look turned imploring as he stared at Scott.

"No," he said, swallowing. He shook his head, hard. "No, no, c'mon. Not- not John. He's…he's supposed to be the safe one. He's not supposed to-"

He looked at Virgil again, and whatever he saw in his face made the last of his denial evaporate, leaving behind something far worse. And in the space between one blink and the next, the last Tracy shattered.

The first thing he knew was the shaking. Each of his muscles seemed to have a mind of its own, spasming violently, independent of the others. It was as if his own body was trying to tear itself apart from the inside.

A whimper tore from his lips and he tried to hunch in on himself, white flashes exploding in his otherwise empty vision. He didn't understand, didn't know what was happening to him. He was six years old again, lost in the dark and cold.

"Hey, easy, Johnny. Easy; you're all right. Just breathe. I've got you."

Something in John eased automatically at the voice, his muddled, panicked brain registering it as one of familiarity and safety. Strong arms were circling him, and instinct had him curling into the solid warmth of a broad chest. His body continued to shake, and a large hand rubbed up and down his back.

He pressed his face against something soft, involuntary tears squeezing past his tightly shut eyelids as the painful muscle spasms continued to work their way through him.

What's happening what's happening what's happening…

Nausea tore at his gut, and he choked, the deeply ingrained instinct not to vomit kicking in. His efforts at control took all of his focus for a long moment, but John Tracy's brain had never been one to stay offline for long. As consciousness returned in earnest, it began to race, to process the situation, working from last known data and his current limited input.

He froze. He knew the voice still talking to him, knew the scent clinging to the shirt pressed against his cheek, knew the arms holding him protectively. And he shouldn't have.

He finally dragged his eyes open, flinching from the harsh white light that assaulted him at once, stabbing into his tender head. He forced his eyes to remain open as they watered, focusing on the familiar, concerned face looming over him.

"…Dad?"