Little bit of swearing in this chapter, kids! Beware John's potty mouth. And yes, the beginning is difficult to follow, but run with it. I promise it gets better.

He opened his eyes and the words hanging on the wall faded. He'd seen them before, vague and indistinct, but this time he'd concentrated hard and some had jumped out at him. Something else had jumped out too, something unexpected and frightening. A man wanted to talk to him. More accurately, he wanted to show him.

The images had been violently graphic and he'd been unable to turn away from them, watching in horror as a woman had killed the man, her fingers buried in his chest and his screams echoing aimlessly along synapses. He'd backed away from the car's front seat, as far away as he could in the cramped area of the rear, worried she would come for him next, but she'd been focused on her task and at last, when the man had stopped screaming and lay still, she had turned. She was straddling the man, pinning him down with weight that no longer existed and all the anger in her face had faded as she looked right at him, a mask of unspeakable sorrow.

"I can never go back," she'd whispered slowly and faded from view. He'd stared at the sight of the now lifeless man, five bloodless holes burned in his chest, mouth and eyes open and he'd shuddered. Movement caught his eye and spinning quickly to the window of the driver's door he'd started in fright as the dead man stared down at his own corpse. Raising his eyes, the man stared as he caught his gaze, somehow conveying he was meant to do something about this. What though, he'd not shared.

As if he knew what he was thinking, the man grew angry, and once more he shrank back against the seat, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and finding himself before that wall again.

Jericho … Jericho. JERICHO. Jericho.

The word thundered at him, again and again and he shut his eyes once more, feeling dizzy. Opening them once more, the words hanging on the wall faded and he was in a real room this time, sitting on a bed with his back propped against the headboard. Four men were staring at him in concern.

One, dark haired and blue eyed, moved forward to put his hand on his shoulder.

"You alright, kiddo?"

He nodded, a little dazed, confused as to how he had gotten from the familiar room with the wall to this one. The man turned to glance at the others, worry etched on his features and for a moment, he thought he should be guilty at putting it there.

"John?"

The man wasn't speaking to him anymore, but he'd not removed his hand from his shoulder and although he felt slightly uncomfortable, some deep instinct relished the warmth of the contact. 'John' joined them, staring at him with a direct, open gaze and he couldn't help squirming under it.

"What do you want?" he asked, feeling a bit panicky in his helplessness. "Where am I?"

"He doesn't know who we are," another dark haired man breathed softly. "Scott, he doesn't recognise us."

"All right, don't panic," the first man ordered. He found himself strangely not surprised Scott had taken command, although he was a little sad when that comforting hand was removed. "John, what can you pick up?"

John smiled. "He's reassured by your commanding tone, Scott."

A red headed man snorted indelicately, earning a glare from Scott.

John was speaking directly to him now. "You went searching for the vision, didn't you?"

Yes, that sounded right. He nodded. "How do you know that?"

John sighed. "You were concentrating so hard, you opened up all your psychic channels. That's pretty dangerous, kid, you don't know what you're doing yet. Even I could feel you and it took me a long time to get you back out. Something had a pretty good hold of you."

"The dead man," he agreed softly, feeling bad, guilt stirring in his soul and he found he couldn't look at John anymore.

"What dead man?" Scott's voice held a tight edge of panic. "John?"

"I don't know precisely," John sighed again, sounding tired. "But he had him good and he didn't want to let go until he'd shared everything with him. He was … forceful. Its no wonder he doesn't recognise us."

"You're saying Gordon's theory was correct?" the second man with dark hair asked, nodding towards the red head. "He has amnesia?"

"I'm sure its extremely short term, Virgil," John said patiently. "Already he recognises our reactions, although I'm pretty sure he's a little confused just now. Isn't that right?"

He nodded. Confused was an understatement.

"Can you tell me your name?" Scott asked him.

He thought really hard. Nothing came to him until …

"Jericho?"

The red head, Gordon, let out a hoot of laughter. "Where did that come from?"

"Never mind that for now," John shook his head. He lent into his line of sight. "Concentrate. You know us, you know our names. What's yours?"

He focused again, frowning. The first man, the one who'd put his hand on his shoulder, was Scott. He wasn't sure he'd have guessed it, but it certainly suited him. Scott. No fuss and to the point, much like the man himself. Virgil was the other brunette, a gentler name for a more gentle being, despite his appearance. John was the blond, an old name for an old soul and Gordon sounded like a lot of fun, both in name and personality. There was one more name, one for teasing, for protecting, for picking up and holding tight and that, he was sure, was his. He had a lot of growing to do before he filled it properly, and that put him in mind of yet another name.

"I'm sure it's not Sprout," he mumbled. "I'd really hate that."

Virgil was by his side now, checking his pulse and attempting to shine a small pen light, attached to car keys, in his eyes.

"Virgil, stop it," he protested, comfortable enough to swat his brother's hands. "Brother? Are we brothers?" he asked excitedly, staring up at the burnt honey eyes.

"Do you remember me?" Virgil asked, a warm smile appearing. Virgil placed his hand on the back of his neck, thumb moving in soothing strokes against his pulse. He lent into the touch happily.

"Yeah," he agreed, closing his eyes and almost drowning in the security the contact brought to him. "You do this when you speak to me. All the time. The others like to ruffle my hair, but you always do this. They ruffle my hair cos they're my brothers too, right?" He opened his eyes as memories surfaced. "And you call me Sprout, all of you. Even though I hate it."

"Good, what else?" Virgil's voice was calm, like deep oceans, too warm and low to ever be bothered by the storms that whipped the surface. It was a comfort all in itself.

"You like to mother me, cos it makes you feel needed. Scott's the protector, our hero, but you like to feel wanted too, so you make up for Mom being … oh."

"Don't talk about us," Virgil soothed, pulling him away from that sudden disappointment. "What about you? Who are you?"

"I'm just Alan – hey! I'm Alan!"

It was a heady rush that brought back every memory he'd ever possessed and Alan reeled like a drunk under the onslaught. Virgil's thumb continued to stroke his neck, just beneath his jaw, and Alan relied on the grounding touch as he rode the uncomfortable head rush out.

"Breathe, Allie," Virgil soothed. "Out through your nose, nice and slow. That's it, kiddo."

Once he could open his eyes without seeing stars, Alan glanced sheepishly at Virgil.

"Thanks," he murmured.

Virgil smiled softly. "It's what I do, remember? I like to 'mother' you."

"And I like to protect you," Scott growled, the fright giving way to anger. "So I'm going to tell you that if you pull a stunt like that again, I'll have you doing every nasty chore I can think of 'til you're thirty. Understood?"

Alan nodded as Virgil went back to the laptop. "I'm sorry, Scotty. I just wanted to help."

"Help?"

"The wall," John realised. "You were looking at the wall when he found you."

"Right," Alan agreed. "I thought if I could read the stuff up there, it'd help."

"You shouldn't open yourself up like that," John cautioned the boy. "You're leaving yourself open to all sorts of things."

Alan shivered, remembering. "I know."

John sat next to Alan. "He really scared ya, huh?"

Scott's anger faded as Alan nodded. The kid was right, he did like to protect his brothers, but this wasn't something tangible, at least, not to him. This wasn't something he could scare away, not like the 'monsters' that had hidden under Gordon's bed or the bully's that had taunted a painfully shy John. This wasn't something he understood, like his father's need to surround himself with his wife's belongings in the hopes of rediscovering the happy memories she had placed within them, or the way Virgil found he could only express his mother's love through a piano.

This wasn't pain he could protect Alan from and it wasn't something he understood enough to help him through it. However, he did have access to this phenomena through John, and with one glance Scott indicated Gordon take the blonde's place and John join him for a quiet conversation. Psychic powers be damned, Scott Tracy managed just fine with his own brand of brother-hoodo.

Immediately, Gordon sought to simultaneously lighten the mood and cover John and Scott's discussion. He dropped next to Alan, making the bed squeal and bounce and Virgil glance up from where he was frowning over the phones.

"I liked the bit where you said Scott was a hero," Gordon grinned wickedly. "I don't think I've ever seen him blush so much before. And I adored you telling Virgil he was like a mother to you. But my absolute favourite was when you thought your name was 'Jericho'."

Alan sniggered in spite of himself. "It was the only thing I could think of."

"It's a decidedly weird thing to think of, Sprout," Gordon proclaimed. "Whatever happened to 'Bill'? Or 'Stuart'?"

Alan lowered his voice so Scott wouldn't hear him. He didn't want to risk upsetting him again. "It was the one word that stood out when I was in the vision. It's never done it before, but that time, I could read it."

Gordon sobered. "I don't think that's a valid excuse to experiment again, kiddo," he said quietly, and Alan saw the worry in his hazel eyes.

"It was all over the wall, Gordy," he replied quickly, keen to avoid another lecture. "I don't know why I couldn't see it before and I couldn't read anything else. I think it might be important."

Gordon sighed heavily. "So do I," he agreed. "But promise me you won't do that again. Pinky swear."

With a roll of his eyes and a brief pause to question if Gordon really could be as old as nineteen and yet as immature as a ten year old, Alan complied.

"I won't go looking for the vision," he vowed.

"The vision?" Gordon repeated, pulling back his little finger from Alan's. "Any vision, kid."

"Any vision," Alan grumbled, peeved Gordon had seen through his wording.

As they shook, Gordon grinned. "Can't kid a kidder, little brother."

John ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"It's really not the same thing, Scott," he protested. "I almost didn't find him - he's on an entirely different plane altogether. I can read thoughts – quietly if its one person and after a hell of a lot of concentration, indistinctly if it's a crowd. It's all jumbled together and it gives me a headache to the point of vomiting if I try to sort them all out."

Scott winced, knowing he was the cause of his brother's discomfort. John wasn't finished, though.

"Alan's thoughts weren't there. At all. There was an echo of his previous thoughts, and I stumbled across it. Scott, I was like a blind man with his fucking hands tied behind him. I literally tripped over the kid and I was damn lucky."

Scott opened the door with his mind as he physically removed his deteriorating brother out into the hall. Gordon had once remarked John was like the anti-Kent. Mild mannered space geek by night, bad-tempered foul mouth by day.

"I had to follow his thoughts to him and he was so far removed from this plane of existence, I was travelling bloody light years. The distance was …" John slumped miserably against the wall, shutting his eyes. "Scott, he didn't even know I was there. I was an outsider in that place and no-one, nothing looked at me. Not even Alan."

Scott's concern grew. "What are you saying?"

As far as he was concerned, John could read minds. He was convinced Alan had a mind. The two should be easy to connect, but apparently, it didn't work that way.

"I'm saying," John ground out, his eyes still tightly squeezed shut, "that I didn't bring Alan back. I couldn't. I can't see or speak to the dead like he can, and he had to come close to being one of them to do that. He came out of it himself, whether by design or fault, I don't know."

"Shit."

"Fucking shit," John agreed.

"Stop that. You mentioned a dead guy?"

John shrugged one shoulder. "Educated guess. Allie was thinking about a wall, I could get that far, the rest is pure speculation. Alan's a medium, dead people like mediums. He was wide open to them – I could feel him calling to my fucking soul, Scott. Jesus, you're supposed to be intelligent! Why am I having to spell this out for you?"

"Alright," Scott said with practised authority. It had been some time since the brothers had actively used their talents and twice in as many days was obviously a strain on John. "That's enough. Get to bed."

"Not a problem," John snapped, shielding his eyes from his brother. "I can't stand the fucking sight of you."

Scott paused from opening the other room with his mind and John gasped.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like that! The light …" John gave a strangled sob and Scott quickly moved in, wrapping one of John's arms around his shoulders as he took on most of his brother's weight.

"It's alright," he promised. "I understand."

John groaned. "I can't deal –"

"Yes you can," Scott interrupted him, mentally wishing he had John's talents and could summon Virgil from the other room with a thought. He instead placed as much conviction in his voice as he could, as if his belief in his brother was all it would take for John to feel better.

John's mood swung again. "For Gods sake, I'm not a puppet! I'm not under your spell, I won't dance for you."

Scott took a deep breath. As much as he loved his brothers, it was hard to keep his temper in check when they became irrational. Irrational wasn't something the controlled Scott could empathise with. But he had played this game before and he drew on that experience.

"I'm not asking you to, John," he managed with appropriate cool. "But you're hurting and you need to sleep."

As they reached the closest bed, Scott saw Virgil enter the room. The second Tracy boy gestured in a 'go on' movement and Scott realised what he meant. Turning his attention back to John, who now lay with his arm flung over his eyes, Scott reached out and did his big brother thing.

"I'll be right here once you're feeling better, Johnny. If you wanna talk, I'll be here. If you wanna throw things, I can duck. Whatever you need, man."

"Thanks." John's voice was quiet, embarrassed and on the verge of sleep.

"No problem." Scott ran a hand lightly through his brother's hair. "One of us has to bring the Y chromosome."

"You're calling me a girl."

"I am."

"Mr I'm-Here-If-You-Need-To-Talk?"

"Sleep tight, Johnny."

Scott slipped out of the room, closing the door with a thought as he faced Virgil in the hall.

"Ouch," the other man smiled. "Demoted."

"What?"

"Doesn't sound like you're a Captain anymore."

Scott sighed. "What are you doing here, Virgil? You realise those two are alone in there? Unsupervised?"

"It's okay. Gordon promised to only burn holes in the part of carpet you wouldn't want to stand on anyway and Alan's fine climbing the wardrobe."

"Funny. What do you want?"

Virgil pretended to think. "Well, you could be the straight guy for my comedy."

"Gordon's rubbing off on you."

"That's a surprisingly disturbing thought," Virgil admitted. Coming to the point, finally, he sobered. "The brats have hatched a plan, big brother. You're not going to like it."

"Doesn't surprise me. What is it?"

Virgil shook his head. "I'm not going to steal their thunder – or take the punishment. They can tell you themselves. It involves Allie's wall, that's all I'm going to say. Could have to move on shortly."

Scott nodded. "We weren't really going to making our home here, Virge."

"Shame. Alan's named the roaches."

Scott ignored him. While Gordon was the prankster and wit of the family, Virgil had his own brand of humour and it offset his deep sensitivity nicely. "You up to a side trip?"

"Where?"

"The vault."

Virgil immediately knew where Scott was going, but thought at the logic from another angle. "Alright, I can appreciate we'd need those things if Dad's in trouble. But what makes you think Dad didn't think of that already?"

"I think he probably did," Scott answered. "But he wouldn't have left us unprotected."

Virgil didn't need to reply and he didn't need to be asked. He simply ducked back into the room, promised horrible things would happen if the boys woke John or misbehaved and grabbed his and Scott's jackets.

Scott smiled from the doorway, watching his wingman in action. "I'm counting on you, Gordon," was all he said before he and Virgil left.

"I hate it when he does that," the red head grumbled.

Alan glanced across from his position by the window. "No you don't, Gordon."

At his brother's questioning, defiant look, Alan smiled softly, turning back to the window and watching as his oldest brothers were swallowed into the world.

"You can't kid a kidder."

Gordon snorted, but looked at Alan's profile with interest. The kid was learning.