I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who showed their support for this little bit of fiction and of course, to all my lovely reviewers!

This fic follows the second episode of Supernatural's season one. I'm using the main characters from Thunderbirds - the Winchesters, wonderful as they are, don't feature. I have twisted the plot to fit with my purposes, and I've added my own touches, but the broad plotline belongs to Kripke.

Enjoy!

Hayley opened her door with an anxious, impatient expression. Alan, standing before Scott with his brother's hand on his shoulder, was immediately struck by the waves of worry that flowed from her. Almost instinctively, Alan glanced back at Scott.

"I'm sorry to bother you so late," Scott smiled, extending the expression to Alan when he saw the boy looking up at him. "But the ranger sent us over."

Hayley didn't move from the doorway, looking from Scott to Virgil and then disbelievingly at Alan.

"Not him," Scott admitted. "May we come in?"

Hayley stepped back, opening the door wider. "The ranger sent you?"

"Yeah," Scott agreed amiably. He introduced himself and Virgil. "He won't send rangers, but we do the same sort of thing."

"You do?" Hayley led them through the hallway and into the dining room. It contained a sideboard and one large table, at which sat a teenage boy a few years older than Alan. He was using an old laptop, but Hayley pulled it away from him. She gently ruffled his short hair, but he ducked swiftly out from under her hand with a small grunt of annoyance.

"What can you tell us?" Virgil asked Hayley.

She shrugged. "Not much. Our brother Tommy and his friends went camping and I haven't heard from him in two days."

"Is that normal?" Scott asked.

"No," Hayley frowned. "It's not. We have a rule. No matter what, you stay in contact."

"Could his vid phone have broken?" Virgil asked reasonably. "The battery, maybe?"

"He sends a video email," Hayley explained. "It's become very important to us, whenever we're apart."

"Ever since our parents died," the teen added earnestly. "Tommy wouldn't forget."

Hayley reached for him again, laying her hand on his shoulder and this time he let her. She faced Virgil. "Tommy knows his equipment. He knows how important it is."

There was pain in her voice now, and the Tracy's shifted uneasily.

"Do you still have his last message?" Virgil asked, ending the uncomfortable moment.

"Here," the boy lent forwards to the beat up laptop again. "I was just watching it."

Scott and Virgil crowded round and Hayley gently moved the teen out of the way. "Gary, why don't you and ..." she paused, glancing at Alan.

Scott smiled at the small blond boy. "Sorry, this is Alan, my brother."

"Why don't you and Alan watch TV in the other room?"

"Come on, Hayley," Gary protested. "I want to be in on this."

"There's nothing to be in on," Hayley told him quickly. "Go on."

Gary looked likely to protest again, but he caught Hayley's tired, stressed expression and relented. He nodded towards Alan, who followed him from the room.

"I hate that," Gary grumbled, slouching into the sofa. "It's not fair; Tommy would have let me stay."

Alan knew that feeling. "What's Tommy like?"

"He's a lot of fun," Gary replied. "He's older than Hayley, but he's not half as serious. He's laidback, ya know?"

Gary trailed off and Alan, his empathic talent so sensitive at the moment, could feel his nail biting worry. Wondering what Scott would do in such a situation, Alan awkwardly patted Gary's shoulder.

"He makes it easier," Gary finished resolutely, head bowed and brows drawn together, eyes dark and far away. "After our parents died ..."

He trailed off again, but Alan could understand what he meant. The two boys sat in silence for a moment, thinking of their respective losses. Alan began to get a feeling for the missing Tommy. He sounded a lot like Gordon.

"I've hired a guide," Hayley said, setting the video to play. "I'm going up to look for Tommy."

Virgil shot his brother a quick glance, before taking Gary's vacant seat. Scott could understand his brother's apprehension, turning his attention to the girl with a frown.

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"I'm not going to leave him up there!" Hayley insisted. "No one is helping us. I'll find him myself."

"Hayley, that's why we're here," Scott began, but she shook her head.

"He's my brother."

"What about Gary?" Scott asked, although he kept his voice soft, quizzical, in no way accusing.

Hayley relaxed marginally. "I'm sending him out of town for a couple of days. An elderly aunt's place."

Scott eyed her thoughtfully. "What do you think happened?"

"Honestly? I don't know. There's always the danger of Grizzly's, but Tommy knows how to keep himself safe. He's done this lots of times and he's careful. He never camps where there's bear activity."

"What about a bear wandering into the area after they set up camp?" Scott pressed.

"It's a possibility," Hayley conceded. "Other than that, they could have had some sort of accident."

"How many went up?"

"Three, including Tommy."

"Wouldn't one of them have contacted someone?" Scott asked.

Hayley bit her lip, nodding. "If it was within their ability, we'd have heard about an accident. I think they're all in trouble."

Virgil stood from the laptop, his expression thoughtful and far away. The eldest Tracy son studied his brother's face, reading the look. Scott turned back to Hayley.

"What time are you setting out?"

The town hall was the oldest building in Blackwater, Gordon assumed. One of those mismatched constructions; it had been built, added to and had various parts replaced over the years. This resulted in a smorgasbord of styles, each representing the era they had been put up in and each telling a story that urged a person to explore.

Gordon ran a hand over the rough stone face of one side in wonder, imagining what had been said, decided and acted upon inside. Gordon gave himself a mental shake, putting his musings to one side for the time being. He could feel Johns questioning stare resting between his shoulder blades, although the blond waited patiently for him in silence.

Gordon turned to shoot his older brother a grin, before extending his hand.

"Come here."

John moved forward and allowed Gordon to grip his shoulder. Then the two were gone as if they had never been there, not even a ripple in the evening air. John had always likened the experience to beginning to blink in one instance and finishing the action in another. Time, he felt, could have done anything during the space where he didn't exist in the world and he always felt slightly cheated that it hadn't taken the opportunity.

Gordon was pleased to find the inside of the building looked a lot like the outside had. He was quicker to recover from the displacement and reassembling of his molecules than his brother, already moving towards where he hoped he'd find the death register. John lumbered after him, shaking his head to clear it, sitting himself at one of the two computers and beginning a search on news stories.

The two worked in silence, no need for speech. Periodically, one of them would make a sweep of the small building, checking they weren't about to be disturbed and taking a chance to stretch their legs. Eventually, Gordon left the records to peer over John's shoulder at the news reports.

"I can't find anything remotely supernatural," he complained. "If you wanna live to a ripe old age, I'd suggest moving to this place."

John glanced at his younger brother. "You might want to rethink that," he advised, pulling up a list he'd compiled.

Gordon read it quickly. "Accident, bear kill, missing … John, what is this?"

"A pattern," the blond replied ambiguously.

"A pattern?" Gordon shook his head. "Johnny, I think you've been staring at the screen for too long."

"Look at the dates," John told him patiently. "Each death predates the next by twenty-three years."

"Really?" Gordon asked, genuinely surprised. Numbers had never made much sense to him, except those that pertained to his sea faring pursuits. "Do they have anything else in common?"

John nodded. "They all occurred in the same area. Within a fifteen mile radius."

"If I was a betting man, I'd lay odds on that area being where Hayley's friends went camping," Gordon grinned. "Looks like we struck gold, John-boy."

"Fools gold," John agreed. "None of these stories are giving me anything. I can't see what it was that killed these people."

Gordon skimmed through some of the files John had left open on the screen. "Hold on, what about this? Some kid survived a bear attack that killed his parents."

John turned thoughtfully. "Think he might have seen something else?"

"It's worth a try," Gordon reasoned.

"Don't set your hopes too high," John warned. "It was forty-six years ago, Gords. The mind strives to protect itself, he may not remember anymore. Says here he soon admitted it was a bear."

Gordon shrugged. "Wouldn't you, if you were threatened with a psychiatric ward?"

"Let's go."

The lone survivor of the attack was a man named Shaw. He'd never married and lived alone in a small cabin at the top of town, away from the mountains and the woods that covered them. Standing at his door, John looked at his younger brother.

"Ready?"

"Tracy charm set to maximum strength," Gordon responded.

"Is that a yes?"

Without waiting for a reply, John knocked on the door.

For a man in his late fifties, Shaw was in good enough shape. He had the appearance of a once powerful man running to fat, his muscles beginning to lose definition and a broad gut slowly sagging. Despite the hour, he welcomed the boys into his house, and was happy to answer their first questions. Eventually, John brought the conversation round to what Shaw had seen the night of the attack.

His easy manner faded, replaced by a long, hard look. "It was a bear," he said slowly. "You saw the papers, right?"

John nodded. "We saw them. But we'd like to know what you thought it was."

"I was just a kid when it happened. I'd just woken up and I was scared, confused."

Gordon, perched on the arm of a chair, leaned forwards. "With all due respect, your first report to the rangers wasn't confused."

"You claimed you saw something and you were adamant it wasn't a bear," John agreed. He shared a look with Gordon, who gave his consent to honesty. "We don't believe a bear's up there now."

"Anything you can tell us would be helpful," Gordon added. "How'd it come into the tent?"

Again, Shaw was slow to answer. "Weren't no tent, son," he said eventually. "We had rented a cabin and it came through it."

"Through it?"

Shaw stood, pulling up his shirt at the back and turning around. A dreadful scar marred his skin, deep enough to twist the muscles as his body had knitted back together. He lowered his shirt, sinking into his chair once more.

"A bear could do the same damage, I grant you," he said, voice low. "But I saw it. Didn't look like no Grizzly I ever knew."

John stood straighter from where he'd been leaning against the door frame. "You actually saw it?"

"I went to sleep by the fire that night, woke up to a noise outside. Thought it was a bear, they like to get into the trash sometimes. Then it came in – I'll admit those cabins were flimsy, but even the biggest Grizzly'd have to take its time to do something like that."

"What did it look like?" John pressed.

"Tall, but skinny. Fastest thing I'd ever seen, too. Didn't have time to scream, it sent me flying in one movement. Lucky for me, it wasn't interested in a kid."

Shaw bent his head, remembering something he hadn't spoken of for over forty years. His eyes, when he lifted them to connect with the boys, were haunted. "My mother was torn apart in that cabin and she was the lucky one. It dragged my pa out into the woods. I could hear him."

John couldn't help himself. Without his consent, his powers kicked in, taking the picture of the bedroom from the distraught man's mind. Having finally been given freedom to explain all that had occurred, Shaw's thoughts were awash with images and they were flooding John's sixth sense. With effort, the psychic pushed back at the thoughts, swallowing down the bile that threatened to make an appearance and ending the onslaught. Taking a deep breath, John focused on keeping his guard up.

If Gordon had noticed anything amiss, he didn't react to it. Instead, he kept Shaw talking. For his part, Shaw was lost in his own world.

"Why do you think it didn't bother with you?" Gordon asked.

Shaw looked at him helplessly. "I was too small."

"What do you mean?"

"They were meals. My mother was eaten by that thing, right in the bedroom."

Gordon tried not to grimace, although he allowed sympathy in his voice. "And your dad? They found him?"

Shaw shook his head. "That thing had a lair and it took pa to it. Couldn't eat him then, but I bet it … stored him. Why else would he be taken?"

John joined the conversation again. "Do you know what direction it took?"

"Couldn't tell you," Shaw admitted. "Once I saw what was left of the bedroom, I passed out."

He fell silent, and the Tracy brothers' took a moment to bow their heads in respect for the dead. Finally, Shaw spoke again.

"You really think it's back? It was a long time ago, whatever it was must be dead by now."

"Maybe," John conceded, although knowing the supernatural, it was more likely to be very much alive. "It could have had offspring."

"You won't find it," Shaw told him confidently. "I made it my business to know how to track any animal those woods harbour and I never found a trace of that thing."

Another night, another motel, Alan thought wearily as he crawled under the covers of the latest dubious bed he'd been pointed in the direction of. Sometimes he thought Scott was enjoying it all too much, leaving the soft beds their money had normally brought in favour of roughing it, because he was obviously choosing the worst place he could find in every town.

Alan shivered, still fully clothed, tucking his socked feet up close to his body. Scott had subjected him to a check over by Virgil, who just had to have the coldest hands Alan had ever known. Virgil had attempted to tell him it just felt that way because he had a slight temperature, but Alan wasn't buying it. Since he was small, he'd firmly believed everyone with an interest in medicine had cold hands. It was like some unwritten rule. Or a dark conspiracy to make the patient feel even worse. Maybe they were all secretly the undead? It'd explain their ability to not crack a smile during the examination.

At least Virgil didn't hang around, checking Alan's swollen neck glands with those icy fingers and asking short, easy to answer questions.

"Head ache?" Taking Alan's temperature.

"A little."

"Throat sore?" At those glands again.

"Yeah."

Shining a pen light into Alan's eyes. "Dizzy?"

"Tired."

"Coughing?"

"No."

At this, Virgil had done the strangest thing. Yanking his brother's clothes up, he'd placed his ear – ears could be as cold as hands, Alan discovered – against Alan's chest.

"Virge? This is weird."

"Deep breath."

"Your ears are freezing!"

"Breathe, Alan."

Rolling his eyes, Alan did as he was told. Virgil didn't tend to carry a stethoscope with him, having to fall back on the old fashioned method, Alan knew. Didn't stop it being weird though. Virgil shut his eyes for added concentration, telling Alan to breathe out slowly. They repeated the exercise with Virgil placing his other ear against Alan's back.

"Couldn't you have used the one you already warmed up?" Alan whined.

"Sorry, Sprout," Virgil murmured. "Don't you know cold ears hear better than warm ones?"

Alan would have believed him, had Scott not covered his mouth with his hand at that precise moment. Alan scowled at his eldest brother.

"He's not allowed to tease me when I'm ill," he pointed out. "Tracy family rule number seven."

Scott lowered his hand. "He's right, Virge. Behave yourself."

Virgil wrapped a blanket from the nearest bed around the boy, taking a moment to rub his thumb along Alan's neck in apology. The twelve year old was at least assured there was some hope for Virgil. The undead hadn't got him completely yet if he was teasing against the law.

"What's the verdict?" Scott asked him.

"Just a throat infection. Spread to his chest already, but I doubt it'll be anything serious."

Alan frowned. "I haven't got a cough."

"Yet," Virgil agreed amicably. Alan pouted. Maybe the undead could have Virgil after all.

Scott ruffled his put out little brother's blond locks. "Why don't you go to bed? You look beat, kiddo."

So here Alan was, unable to sleep because he was so cold and listening to the murmur of voices from across the room, as he brother's discussed whatever it was they were planning. Straining his ears, he heard his eldest brother's voice. From a distance, it sounded a lot like Dad's.

"I wasn't planning on bringing him out there, anyway," Scott was insisting. Alan was under no allusions who 'he' was. Alan was being denied something, although at the moment he was too tired to care what.

"Which one of us has to stay with the horror?" That was Gordon, without a doubt.

There were several moments of silence.

Gordon groaned. "Oh, what? Noooo!"

Alan smiled. If Gordon was going to call him a 'horror', he deserved everything that was coming to him. With that thought, Alan finally slipped into sleep.

Gordon was not pleased. He glanced over his shoulder towards the bundle of blankets that he assumed the child was sheltering under, mutating into something bad tempered and gross, like a giant insect in its cocoon. He looked back at Scott.

"No. Not a chance. I can't deal with it the way you and Virgil can. Even John has a better success rate than I do."

"You'll be fine," Scott told him. "And stop calling your brother 'it'."

Virgil smiled. "Besides, this is an opportunity to heal old wounds. You're both older now, you should be able to control your tempers."

"Heal old wounds? Virge, I've still got the scars!"

"Don't worry, it should sleep a lot."

"Virgil," Scott admonished.

John looked up. "What do you mean, 'even John'? I'm perfectly capable of looking after Alan."

"Glad you could join us, space cadet," Gordon growled. "Is there a time delay up there on Mars?"

Scott stood up. "Gordon? Can I talk to you in private?"

"Is that so there's no witness to the beating?" Gordon muttered under his breath, standing and following his oldest brother out the door to the motel. He pretended not to see Virgil and John's smug smiles as he left.

Scott gave him a minute to settle down once he shut the door to the room.

"Do you remember what you said to me the first time you held Alan?"

"Oh, God," Gordon groaned. "You're gonna bring that up? Again?"

"'Scott', you said, 'I'm gonna be the best big brother ever. I'm gonna do what ever he needs. I'm gonna look after him, Scotty. I promise.' "

"I was seven! Everyone's allowed to talk rubbish when they're seven."

"You believed that if you made a promise, nothing could make you break it."

"I also used to believe in Santa Claus."

Scott's expression turned decidedly steely and he advanced a step. "You promised Alan."

Gordon stepped back. "Scott …"

"You promised me." Scott took another pace.

Gordon sighed. "All right. Stop with the heavy routine. I'll stay – but you owe me!"

Scott grinned cheekily, opening the door to the room again. "Put it on my tab."

"Your tab's just about out of credit. And pay-back's a bitch," Gordon called as Scott went inside.

Glancing heavenwards, Gordon let out a frustrated sigh.

"Why do I feel like the sidekick in a bad B movie? Attack of the Killer Snot-Machine! Starring Alan Tracy as the slime producing, blood hungry monster! And there was that red headed bloke in it too…"

Gordon sighed again.

"Wonderful."