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Chapter Text

John opened his locker and dropped his bag into it. He pulled out the old book he needed for his first class and slammed the door shut, walking away quickly before anyone could say anything to him.

He’d had enough of pity- people telling him that they were sorry for his loss or that they hoped he could find peace, or else ignoring the issue entirely in favour of telling him they were so glad he was back. He wasn’t glad at all.

He got that it was awkward. What did you say to someone who’s Mum had died recently? But he also wished that they would all just shut up and leave him alone. He had plenty of experience with awkward, but none of being pitied.

Waiting outside his classroom John sat on the top step and buried his head into his book, feeling the eyes of nearby students on him. When he looked up at them they turned away quickly, pretending that they hadn’t been looking at all.
The smell of perfume came to him and he looked up for the one person he didn’t mind seeing. The one person who truly understood what he was going through on a familiar level. The only person in the whole school who actually knew his Mother and cared that she had died.
“Hi Penelope.”

The blonde sat next to him, arms hugging her Winter skirt under her knees.
“It’s strange for you to be here” she said non-commitally.

“I’m sure Gordon’s feeling the same” John sighed, trying to ignore his emotions. He didn’t know if he believed his own words. Gordon was 8 years old and rarely knew what was happening on any average day.

A bell rang and John held his hand out for Penelope. She took it and stood up. He helped her up the steps and the pair went inside.

She sat beside him, giving her girlfriends a reassuring half smile when they walked in and sat in their usual places. Penelope knew John didn’t want sympathy, and he was grateful that her presence was enough to respectfully keep people away. There was the additional comfort that people were always looking at her anyway, now that they’d realised she was beautiful.

John’s hair dropped into his eyes while he wrote his notes on the eternally tragic story of Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet. He’d read it in his earlier schooling and found the work somewhat tedious. It did make it easy for him to catch up to the rest of the class though.
He was creating a summary for the third from last act when his teacher appeared in front of his table and cleared his throat awkwardly. John looked up, his dulled turquoise eyes flashing a warning for being singled out, hoping that he didn’t say what John thought he was about to say.

“I know this part is a bit sensitive” he said slowly, like John was stupid, “so if you want to leave the room at ANY point-”

“Can you just leave me alone, please?” John said quickly, his face growing red. He thought he’d said it respectfully enough, but he didn’t like the way his teacher cleared his throat again.

The older man leaned over the desk more and his voice became even quieter. “I know it’s upsetting- but there’s no need to be rude-”

And then John saw red.
His thumb snapped the plastic end off his pen and he slammed the pointed end of it into his desk, shattering it and driving a sharp piece right into his pinky. He stood up, his chair flying and crashing into the desk behind him with a huge bang. His uninjured hand balled into a fist on his desk and he leaned over the table to get right into his teacher’s face, his expression dangerous. Penelope put a hand on his shoulder and tried to get him to back off, but he was numb to her attempts.

“I said- to leave me ALONE. It’s not SENSITIVE. and I’m not Fucking UPSET-”

“John!” Penelope cut in at his language, but he pressed on.

“Just teach your class their STUPID fucking BOOK and leave-me-alone.”

The teacher stood up straight, a clear attempt to keep his dignity and remain placid.
“Office. Now” His teacher said in his effeminate voice before he turned and walked stiffly to his desk to sit behind his keyboard and type an email to someone rapidly.

John huffed and stuffed his copy of Romeo and Juliet back into his bag. “Read this one already anyway” he murmured, stalking from the room with every eye on him for a new reason. He found he didn’t mind their eyes on him for that, compared to the pitiful glances from earlier.

John had never been sent to the office. He was a great student and prided himself on not making waves for anything outside his intelligence. When he opened the door, a bored receptionist pointed him he direction of their assistant principle’s office and John sat down in the hard chair outside it with his arms crossed.

The heavy door opened in the silence and a tall, broad man appeared. He didn’t look like the assistant principle of a high school, more like someone you’d find in a bikie bar starting fights. Some kids called him Bowser from the old Mario games, and John could see the resemblance.
“John Tracy, I presume” he said cooly.

John stood up without a word and walked past Bowser into the office silently, taking the seat on the side of the desk closest to the door. Bowser sat behind the desk and typed something onto his laptop, his expression unchanged.

John crossed his arms and legs over, eyebrows furrowed, face drawn.

“Your English teacher sent me an email about you. Do you know what it was about?”

John sighed and rolled his eyes, “My insubordination, sir.”

“He sent you here for your rudeness and your language” Bowser finished, ignoring John’s sarcasm. “He’s worried. He says it’s very unlike you.”

John kept a blank expression. He’d always thought a situation like the one he was in would make him nervous, that he’d be apologising again and again, begging for forgiveness.
Instead, he was numb. He had worse things that he wanted to say, and it was a thin veil that kept them in his mouth.

“I’ll need to contact your parents for this.”

“Parent” John corrected, emphasising the T. Tears threatened the corners of his eyes, but his anger far outweighed their power.

Bowser considered him for a moment.
“Apologies. Parent.” Something aparently clicked in the assistant principle’s head. Most likely John’s last name and the billionaire’s wife’s tragic death in the news only a few weeks ago.
“You know, my Mother died when I was in secondary too. I was a little bit older than you, but you’re a smart kid so it probably feels the same.”

John’s tension relieved slightly, a sensation that surprised him.
“I’m sorry to hear that sir.”

“It wasn’t publicised the way your mother’s was, and I understand that being back is hard for you. Your education is too important, however, so I will not be recommending any more time off. I WILL be recommending counselling and checking in with your teachers regularly.”

John looked up at Bowser through darkened lids. Counselling was entirely unappealing and he would NOT be attending it. The babysitting felt like overkill as well.
“Anything else, sir?”

“There’s blood on your hand.”

John raised his hand so he could see it, and sure enough there were ribbons of blood trailing down past his wrist. He took hold of the plastic that was embedded in his pinky with the index finger and thumb of his opposite hand and pulled, removing the long piece in one swift motion.
He dropped it in the bin on his way out and used the cleaner hand to turn the door handle. Halfway out the door he realised he hadn’t been told he could leave. He leant back in, glaring at the assistant Principle.
“I assume I’m dismissed?”

Bowser huffed, apparently amused.
“Go see the nurse, but stick around. Your Dad will be coming in soon.”

Chapter Text

The argument travelled out of Scott’s window into the freezing night air outside.
The ocean’s waves were quieter than usual, a secret whoosh of crashing water in the distance, barely audible.

John hugged his knees, the slight breeze threatening to pick up and pull him from the roof to the deck 4 stories below. There were outlines of palm trees scattered eerily around him, the only light coming from the room underneath him where his Dad and brother were arguing. The moon reflected on the ocean far in the distance, infinite stars scattered in the sea.

“I didn’t lash out at him, DAD.” Scott yelled gruffly. John couldn’t help but smirk despite his mood. Scott was never very good at being angry, and his yelling was just so… British. His tone never befit his words, and their Granddad’s old heavy accent always crept in when he was angry.

“Well you weren’t kind either” Jeff replied reasonably.

Scott mumbled something that John couldn’t hear, but he could extrapolate what was said from his Dad’s reply.
“Well he isn’t you, Scott. This is new territory for all of us, but all we can do is be there for him.”

“Knowing he won’t be there for us?” Scott replied waspishly. John was liking his brother less and less every minute.

“Now you’re getting it.”

John rolled his eyes and rested his cheek on the edge of his knee. Had his Dad ever thought that maybe he didn’t WANT anyone there for him? He was a middle child, and quite used to looking after himself anyway.
And why should he ‘be there’ for any of them with the way they spoke about him when they thought he was asleep in his bed?

“He’s just being difficult on purpose. All I did was ask how his day was-”

“And he assumed you had been home all day and knew that he’d gotten in trouble with his teachers.” His dad tried to whisper his next words but his voice was too naturally loud and John heard him easily, “he thought you were being a smartass.”

Scott scoffed.
“Well that’s his stupid assumption then. I just won’t ask him how his day was ever again- that’ll avoid another screaming match!”

Dark clouds were flying in quickly from the West, threatening to block out the moon. John figured that he should get off the roof soon but the temptation to stay there all night beckoned to him.

Goosebumps had erupted on his arms the moment he’d pulled himself from his bedroom windowsill up onto the freezing tiles, and his bare feet were turning blue, though he couldn’t tell from the darkness. His lips had changed to a paler tint and his teeth chattered slightly.
He’d always preferred the cold, and hypothermia hardly seemed the worst thing he could get.

Jeff’s voice lowered and John surprisingly found himself straining his ears to hear, which might have been a credit to his Dad’s terrible whispering if it weren’t for the disabling winds picking up around John.
“I won’t tell you what to do, Scott. I will, however, remind you that you’re only a few months off being a legal adult.”

There was silence, then Scott murmured something back. Rain started spitting onto John’s arm, and now was the time to move.

Instead, he looked up at the infinite sky, half of his vision bright with half of the full moon covered and only half a million stars for him to ponder. The other side of his vision was pitch black by comparison, something that seemed an impossibility only minutes before.

The tropical rain didn’t wait for John. It pelted down hard, bringing hard winds and crashing waves with it. Numb, John sat for just a little while longer.

His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his clothes were drenched and heavy. He shifted slowly down the roof, toeing for the edge of the roof. After a brief terrifying moment when he slipped forward with a jolt, his toes hit the gutter with a tiny jar.
He grabbed the edge of the gutter and lowered himself towards his window, very aware that his numbed fingers could slip at any second and he’d plummet towards broken bones and a concussion. Would anyone even notice before morning?

John dropped with the grace of a teenage boy onto his hardwood floors in a dark room. He shut the window quietly and peeled off his soaked clothes. Catching himself in the mirror, he saw how sallow and pale his shivering skin had become from the freezing temperature, and for half a second he felt sorry for himself.

Life went on though. He toweled himself dry and got into comfortable pants before wrapping himself in his sheets, shaking until he finally fell asleep.

The following morning John woke with stuffy sinuses and a sore throat. He lay in bed, half expecting Scott to come in and give him one of those ‘big brotherly lectures’ he was so fond of giving him and Virgil.
It was a testament to how much he’d messed up that Scott didn’t bother.

Chapter Text

Physics was always calming to John. There was something about making sense of the world that just… made sense. It brought peace and understanding, something no others subject could do.
There were too many variables in biology, mysteries that scientists were forced to dedicate their lives to. Chemistry was a more destructive branch, also with too many variables and nullifying areas.
Physics was different. Nothing was immune to Newton’s law of gravity or the laws of inertia. There was no room for change in physics; only angles, force, velocity and weight.

It was a shame for the other kid that John was doing his Astronomy homework when he decided to mess with him.

“Heads up!” Adam said, throwing the basketball directly at the side of John’s head. John whipped around and gave the bully a deadly look while his friends laughed around him.
“Sorry” the older boy joked, “didn’t see you there.”

“Well now you do” John responded boredly, flipping the page in his text book.
His councillor had told him to try ‘catching his temper’, a method of calming down that involved recognising his temperament in an unpleasant situation and replacing it with something else.

“Ha, yeah” Adam replied. There was a moments pause, and he threw the ball at John’s head a second time. John closed his eyes while they laughed. There would be no end to it, unless he-
He put his pen away and closed his books, dog-earring the corner of his text book for later reference. He calmly stacked them and slot them into his bag, taking the time to zip it up. His tormentors were standing, gawping at him with idiotic smiles while they waited for him to finish what he was doing, no doubt so they could shoot another hilarious quip at him.

What they didn’t expect was for John to calmly place his packed bag on the table and walk over to them.

They didn’t know much about John’s brothers, aside from the fact that they were rich. They’d all attended the same school the previous year, but Scott was now gone and Virgil was around the grounds somewhere- they never hung out with each other. If anyone asked John would tell them that Virgil was probably in the art room, and if not there then the music room. They’d probably laugh if they’d never seen him. Was he as lanky as John? Anyone who had seen him would know that he was also the fittest brother, a guy who valued his strength as much as his art.
John didn’t work out nearly as much as his older brother, but he could garuntee he worked out more than the guys in front of him.

John grabbed Adam by the front of his shirt with both hands and twisted it, lifting Adam and hurtling him to the ground. The move was unexpected enough and he plummeted into the dirt, grunting from the shock of it. John picked up the ball which had rolled to his feet and lifted it high above his head, using the laws of gravity and inertia to slam it into Adam’s face as hard as he could. There was a crunch and blood started streaming from the larger boy’s nose. John stamped on the downed boy’s stomach as hard as he could, and the other boy screamed in agony as the sound of tearing hit their ears.
He threw the ball at Adam’s friend (Paul? He didn’t really care,) hitting him squarely in the chest. He hoped it would leave a bruise.

John went back to his bag and slipped the strap onto his shoulder, walking away towards the office.
He wasn’t even going to give them the satisfaction of ratting him out.

He walked into the office for the second time in his life, barely a month past the first.
He waited for the receptionist to get off the phone and after she put down the receiver she gave John a cheery smile.
“How can I help you my dear?”

“There’s a kid with a blood nose and my footprint on his stomach crying in the study park.”

Her smile faded as she registered his words.
“I think you ought to sit down” she said slowly, picking the receiver back up.

Chapter Text

With 130kg on the bar, John wondered if he would actually be able to lift it if he had to.

Virgil grunted, his movements becoming slower as he raised it, and then his arms were shaking. John raised it back up, and with Virgil’s dying strength he found he’d had nothing to worry about. He guided the heavy bar back onto the rack and Virgil sat up, wiping sweat out of his eyes.

“Thanks John” he said, stuffing the tip of his water bottle in his mouth.

“It’s fine.”

“You sure you don’t want a turn?” Virgil asked, dropping his water bottle and dabbing at his brow with a sweaty towel.

“Yeah.”

Virgil bit his upper lip. He had noticed how flat John was, but no one had told him anything about it…
“Any particular reason why?”

John inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled slowly through his mouth. Did he tell the truth, or did he walk away? Virgil was the closest to him in age. If anyone could react reasonably, it was Virgil.
“I’m suspended for 3 days.”

Virgil dropped his towel and gripped the supports under him, his nails digging into the foam. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped.
“You!?”

“Mmhm.”

“Dad and Scott didn’t say anything. I had no idea!”

“Dad wouldn’t. And Scott didn’t ask.”

Virgil had noticed an unusual shadiness between his immediate youngest and only eldest. It was unusual for Scott to not fawn over his little brothers, eager for every slight detail. Virgil decided he might look into it more later, but it was hardly the tea of the moment.
“I never imagined you’d get suspended for anything. What did you do?”

“Defended myself. Are we done here?” The conversation was going on too long.

Virgil could see his brother wanted to leave- To isolate himself in his room the way he had since their Mum died. Any time out of his room was better than the alternative, and although Virgil was done with his workout for the afternoon he didn’t want John to be.
“Nah. Let’s play taps.”

Virgil’s heart sank when John rolled his eyes and stepped to his other foot with a sigh.
“That kids game?”

Virgil tried to keep his composure and shrugged.
“If you can think of a way to make it more interesting, I’m happy to hear it…”

John pouted as he thought, his eyes drifting to the left. They happened on the rock climbing wall and jumped to the blocks.
“No boundaries.”

Virgil’s eyebrows came together and his lip curled upward.
“Sounds good.”

Virgil hunched, his hands reaching for John’s ankles, but the younger was already backing up towards the rock wall.
John jumped up and raised his ankles above his head, out of Virgil’s reach. Virgil jumped onto the wall away from John, his own ankles inaccessible as he climbed closer, reaching for his target.
John did a half flip and ran towards Virgil’s legs but the older boy was quick. He dropped to the floor on his stomach and did a terrifying commando crawl towards John. John jumped over the outstretched arms onto Virgil’s back, reaching for his socks. Virgil did a twist onto his back, knocking John into the wall with an audible ‘oof!’ Virgil took the opportunity to get up and RUN towards the table, jumping up onto it.

John was behind him in seconds, hand out wildly to slap his brother’s ankles in their elevated position. Virgil reached for the bar above him and hauled himself up, crunching his abs so that his legs were on top of it and well out of John’s reach. He hung down, his Tshirt lifting towards his head and John could see his predicament- to step up onto the table would mean his vulnerable ankles were within Virgil’s reach well before his were within John’s.

They stood at a stalemate for a few moments, until John took the initiative to move the table.
“Hey! Safety!” Virgil growled. He’d intended to handstand out of his hang, but the floor below was too far.

“Sorry Virgil. No boundaries.”

John stood upright on the table, arms crossed and tapping his foot while he waited for Virgil to come down. His only option was to slowly lower himself to the ground, his ankles unprotected and ready for a tapping
Or so he thought.

Virgil did an impressive flip off the bar- acrobatics John would never have expected of him, but John had no time to think about it since Virgil was charging towards him with bared teeth and faux anger.

He jumped backwards off the table, his feet hitting the side of a step, sending him backwards and smashing his body into the hard foam floor. He rolled over onto his feet and limped away from his brother, trying to rethink his strategy.

There was no other choice. He had to just go in for it.

John charged back at Virgil and dived towards his legs. Virgil jumped and did a twist midair, racing towards the back door that lead out to the deck. John was hot on his tail, and even though Virgil tried shut the door behind him John managed to keep it open enough to shove it back and stay in persuit, laughing in his small sins.

Virgil ran past the pool and to its shorter side, hoping to put the distance between him and his attacker, but the little brother was surprisingly fast. There was only one way he might win.

Virgil jumped into the pool and threw his hand out, narrowly missing John’s left ankle as he ran past. John raced to the other edge of the pool before diving in head first, giving him enough force to put him right next to Virgil’s foot. Virgil pushed himself under, and they were reaching, at the end of their game. The first to surface would most likely be the first to get tapped. There was no indication of which way was up as the brothers grabbed each other, twisting themselves into the shape they thought would be the most effective.
John managed to grab Virgil around the knee, his own legs close to him and out of Virgil’s reach. The move was enough and he wrapped his hand around Virgil’s ankle, pulling it out of the water with him and holding it up to scream his victory.

“YOU LOSE!” John yelled to the sky, shaking his brother’s ankle as his trophy.

Virgil grabbed the side of the pool and pulled his head above the water.
“You won THIS round!” He replied, yanking his foot from John’s grip and diving back under.
John followed him, a tangle of arms and legs making the pair indistinguishable in the splashing water.
Laughing, enjoying each other’s company, they thought it would last forever.

“HEY!” came an angry voice from the house.
Virgil spun and saw their Dad walking over with his fists balled, red faced and clearly pissed.

He grabbed John’s shoulder and hoisted him above the water, hoping his brother caught on straight away.

John slapped Virgil’s hand off him and went to dive back under, oblivious to the newest presence until he yelled again.
“Get out of there now, both of you!”

Like a deer in the headlights, caught, both boys pulled themselves to the side of the pool and lifted themselves out. They stood, clothes dripping onto the concrete.

“Did you forget that you’re GROUNDED?” Jeff spat in John’s face, hands gesticulating wildly before coming to a standstill centimetres from John’s chest.

“Was just a game” John mumbled.

“Well games over. And-” Jeff’s fingers pressed his eyes and he sighed aggravatedly. His hands fell away and he gestured to their feet. “Your shoes! You wore your SHOES in the pool!”

“They’ll dry” Virgil responded, his lip curved unsurely, “it’s really not a big deal, Dad.”

John kicked his shoes off and dropped them beside the door before he stalked inside without another word. Virgil watched him go, sadly.

“I expected better from both of you” Jeff said testily, turning to follow John inside.

Virgil wanted to step up, to tell his Dad that John was different. That he needed moments like the one they were having to get through the week. That if he went back into his room he would rarely come out of it again.

Instead he took off his own shoes and followed his family inside.

Chapter Text

She wasn’t the most beautiful girl he’d seen, but she was pretty enough to get his attention when she messaged him.

John had been talking to her for a couple of months, and after their first video call he was ready to meet up with her.
It took some convincing, but he managed to get Virgil to drive him out to Melbourne one warm morning.

“Enjoy your nerd thing” Virgil teased before driving away, content that the museum was a safe enough place for a fourteen year old to be alone.

John walked towards the entrance and then past it, all the way to the adjoining street where Virgil had just disappeared. He walked slowly, enjoying the sun on his arms and calves. After the island, the dry humidity felt amazing.

Finding the stairs to Parliament station, John sent down the terrifyingly long escalators and waited for the first train towards Hurstbridge. He was only going four or five stations down.

He sat in the almost empty train feeling somewhat giddy. He’d never really been into dating, but there was something about this girl that seemed different. She seemed more mature than his classmates and didn’t mind listening to him rant about his brothers, or his Dad, or school.
Fidgeting with his fingernails, John felt an extenral calmness. The weather was amazing, the people around him were not the usual riff-raff that usually took up space on Melbourne trains, and he felt free. He didn’t usually get to do things for himself, being the very middle child.
He’d either be babysitting or babysat.

The automated voice told him that the next station was Clifton Hill, and John stood up ready to open the door when the train stopped.

Stepping onto the old platform, a shiver ran up John’s spine. It wasn’t the most dilapidated station in existence, but it was still pretty damn creepy.
What was worse was the tunnel they’d built to cross under the road.

He stepped down, acutely aware that he was the only one at the station going down there. His footsteps echoed eerily on the walls, and his breathing sounded loud in his ears. A group of two men stood just a little further down from a group of three men, and at least one of the men in each group seemed to give John a small glance before returning to their conversation.

John picked up speed, as much as he could without appearing scared, then he didn’t care how he looked and ran as fast as he could out of the enclosed underground confinement.

Back in the warm air, John let out a breath he hadn’t meant to hold and inhaled deeply.
It was creepy, but it was broad daylight and truth be told, he was well aware that his outward gender made him safe.

He made his way towards the short string of shops and past them, his heartbeat becoming rhythmic again as his feeling of safety returned. He looked towards the nearby McDonald’s and wondered why they couldn’t just meet there, or at any other McDonald’s really, and continued on towards the park they were meeting at.
It was a bit of a walk, but not too bad. He found the road to the park and made his way down it, his heart fluttering and his eyes peeled.
She said she would be wearing a red top and a black skirt, and he hoped she was looking for his blue tee and black shorts.

He sat on a bench and waited, neck swivelling as he searched.

“What the hell are you doing John?” Came a deep male voice behind him.

John stood up quickly and took a step backwards, immediately defensive.
“I’m just… waiting for someone” John replied, unable to meet Virgil’s eye.

“Waiting for who?” Virgil demanded, looking every part the adult that he now was. Tall, brawny, the kind of guy you wouldn’t want to fight.

“Just… a girl.” John hated how high his voice was in comparison and he turned red as he realised he was just giving away all the information Virgil asked for.

“From school?”

“Well, no. We met online- I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE THINKING!” His hands were up, palms towards Virgil, “but we’ve done video chats and everything. It’s not a catfish.”

Virgil gave his brother a look that might have implied there was a jellyfish on John’s head.
“You think a video can’t be faked!?”

“Well-” his hands were now next to him in an awkward shrug. It had looked pretty real…

“Come on” Virgil huffed, taking John’s arm and shoving him towards the car.

Humiliated, John kept walking.
“How did you find me anyway?” He snapped.

“Pinged your phone two years ago. I always check it when I drop you off somewhere” Virgil replied shamelessly.
As they got closer to the car, John found that he didn’t mind Virgil’s invasion of privacy.
They walked past a short row of cars and John couldn’t help but notice that one of them had two men in it, one of which had definitely glanced at him in the underground tunnel.

Chapter Text

John had always liked the colour of his hair and how different it was from his brothers. He felt like a rarity because of it, proud that he had something they could never have. He also liked the further genetic variation of his eye colour- Red hair and blue eyes was like seeing a white rhino, and John loved it.

Except they were holidaying to Ireland, and John was copping every cliche from his brothers.

It was funny when Scott said they were going to search for his real birth parents. It was kind of funny when Gordon asked him to speak Irish. It was less funny when Virgil suggested they put a bell on him so they don’t lose him in a crowd. It was downright unfunny when Alan asked if John was drunk every 5 minutes.
In the lead up to their vacation John had been called ‘leprechaun’ more times than he could handle, and if one more person asked him to stay away from their soul he might just walk into the ocean.

With only 13 hours until they had to leave, John was wrapping his head in tin foil he’d secretly taken from the kitchen earlier. He had mirrors propped up so he could see every angle of his head, and every last inch of it was meticulously covered in reflective silver.
He read the box again and found that the next step was to keep it covered for at least 45 minutes, and the longer he left it the more vibrant it would be. Not too long though. He’d done his research before committing, and he refused to have any unwanted tiger stripes or hair so poorly dyed that it fell out in clumps.

He watched a show with the volume turned down. Everyone else had gone to bed early in anticipation for their aeroplane ride in the morning, and John definitely didn’t want any of them to find out what he was doing.

After one 45 minute episode he started another one, his anticipation building. He’d never even worn a wig so there was no reference for him know how he might look with any hair colour different from its usual vibrant red.

He took the foil off in his ensuite, throwing it straight into the bin with discarded q-tips and floss. Staring at himself in the mirror, his scalp tingling slightly, he gazed unsurely at his appearance.
It looked pretty bright…

John let out a breath and carefully took his T-shirt off, trying not to scrape any of the dye onto it. He stripped off the rest of the way and turned the shower on, jumping in and throwing his head right back as the warm (but not hot) water hit it. The water came off him frothy and white, slipping into the drain with a gurgle.

John ran his fingers through this hair over and over until the water turned clear, switching angles to make sure he rinsed everywhere. When he was done, he wrapped his towel around his waist and went right past the mirror, turning all of the ones in his room away from him. He didn’t want to see his hair until it was dry.

He sat on his bed and towelled his hair, but he didn’t manage to dry all of it. Wishing he could use his noisy hair dryer, he put his head on his pillow while he waited, trying his best to keep his eyes open.
His lids grew heavy, and his hair dried in his sleep.

When John woke up, he was still tired. His hair felt dry and heavy, and in desperate need of a wash.
He went to the bathroom, too tired to even remember what day of the week it was as he opened the door. Maybe he could sleep on the plane?

John yawned wide and covered his mouth. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and the yawn turned to a look of shock.
It was bright. It was so bright. Brighter than it had looked on the box.

He stepped back into the shower immediately, water droplets sitting on the glass from the night before, and got into shampooing and conditioning his hair in the hopes he could make it look normal.
The box had come with a small purple conditioner, so he ran that through his hair last. The purple conditioner felt like it saved his hair and he was glad he’d used it.

He stepped out again and grabbed his dryer, aiming it in his usual way to get his normal style, hoping it would stay intact and look GOOD DAMNIT!

Over the blowing there was an impatient knock on his door and Virgil told him to hurry up. John rolled his eyes and ignored his brother.

When most of it was dry he looked at what he had done. His heart raced and tears formed in the corners of his eyes. Mingled with the pitiful feeling, the knowledge that he knew he was going to be made fun of and the humiliation he already felt, was regret. He already missed his red hair.

Letting out a low whistle, John found a soft beanie and shoved all of his platinum hair into it, checking the mirror four seperate times to ensure no strands were poking out.
Throwing some clothes into a small suitcase, he took a deep breath and left his room.

In the sitting room he dumped his case with the others and sat down a little forcefully for breakfast, of which his family was almost finished.

“Your toast is cold” Gordon said boredly, picking up his orange juice.

“You know how I feel about hats at the table, John” Jeff said. There wasn’t any oomf in his Dad’s tone, and John wondered if he could get away with it.
He picked the toast up and bit into it, looking around at the others at the table. Everyone was going about their regular habits, eating and drinking without any thought.
Except Virgil. Virgil was throwing periodic suspicion over John’s way every few seconds, and it took John a few moments to realise Virgil had been in his room. He’d probably seen the box for the dye.

“Hat off, John!” Jeff repeated impatiently.

Virgil bit his lip as if suppressing a laugh, and John shot a nasty look back at him.
Dropping the remaining half of his toast John pushed his chair back and walked back to his room. He really didn’t want to deal with their snarkiness yet.

In his room John discarded the hair dye box and used containers with the tin foil, but the damage had already been done. He sat down and went back to the show he’d been watching the previous night. There was plenty of time before they had to leave and he could probably get through another one or two episodes.

He really believed it too, until he heard footsteps coming down the hall. Someone hammered impatiently on his door and Scott called out to him.
“Come here for a minute John.”

There was a humoured air to him that made John close his eyes for a moment. He may as well get it over with…
He opened the door finding not only Scott and Virgil, but also his Dad, Gordon and Alan.

Without any pretext, Gordon reached up and slipped the beanie off John’s head to reveal the blinding halo he now had. 5 indentical shocked faces gaped at John. He knew that after their current silence the ridicule would begin, but hadn’t it already started? The way they were staring turned John’s face red and he didn’t know where to look. He’d never felt so exposed- not even when Gordon dared him to streak across the beach a few years back.

“You guys want a picture, or…” John asked sarcastically.

In the group a flash went off, and although it was hard to point to exactly where it had come from, the reflective light of a phone camera disappeared next to Scott.

“It’s lighter than mine” Gordon muttered, eyes unblinking and jaw still slack.

“It’s lighter than MINE” Alan added, genuinely shocked that it was even possible.

John scratched at the back of his neck.
“You know you guys don’t have to do this with me around. You can make fun of me somewhere else.”

“We could do both” Gordon suggested. There was a seriousness about him, as if he’d never seen anything so shocking.

Jeff shook himself out of his stupor and shoved his other sons away.
“Get out of here!” He said, almost tripping Scott over Alan. The brothers tred slowly back down the hall, glancing over their shoulders every few steps.

Jeff stepped into John’s room and closed the door with an unreadable expression.

John looked down at his feet shamefully. Now he was gonna get it.

“When did you even do this? Did you sneak someone in- or…” Jeff’s shoulders were stiff and John knew he was going to blow up.

“I did it myself” John replied in a small voice, playing with the longest lock in his fringe, looking closely at the colour.

Jeff closed the space between them and put his fingers through John’s hair, lifting it up in random places.
“You did a good job of it. It looks like a professional did it.”

John’s heart fluttered at the compliment, but he was also confused.
“You’re not mad?” He asked, unable to look up into his Dad’s eyes.

“No… but next time please DO get a professional. Box dyes are terrible for you.”

“I just didn’t want anyone to know.”

“It’s okay John. Hair grows back- you boys can do whatever you want with it and I’ll be okay with it.”

John looked into his Dad’s eyes and found genuinity. It gave him confidence, and when they left his room John was ready for any stupid comments his brothers might have for him. They couldn’t be worse than the ginger jokes, anyway.

Chapter Text

John’s laptop was open next to him, another episode of Game of Thrones playing quietly on it. He was watching through it for the third time and wasnt paying much attention to it anymore.

He blinked against it comfortably. It was the last episode of the season anyway and he didn’t want to wake himself up more by changing to the next season.
He stopped blinking, a low breath escaping him. He couldn’t pinpoint when he’d become chronically tired, all he knew was that he could nap for 3-4 hours during the day and still get a full night’s sleep on the same night.

His dreams had become more vivid, and his nightmares no longer seemed like real nightmares. The monsters in his unconscious mind had changed into the people he knew, and more than once even himself.
He seemed like his own worst enemy.

John woke up hours later and tried to peel his eyes open. His head was pleasantly heavy and his empty stomach made him feel light. It was the perfect temperature in his room to stay under his blankets without overheating, the edge of his toes poking out to let in the slightest coolness.
He could have just gone back to sleep, but his body wouldn’t let him. Behind his heavy lids his mind was racing, as it always did when he woke up from another nightmare.
In this one he’d fallen into his school swimming pool, but it was deeper than its real life 2.1 metres. He fell down and down until he hit the bottom, but he could breathe. He’d thought ‘it’s killing me slowly’ and in every breath he felt the dream’s lungs fill with water.
He then thought ‘it’s killing me too slowly’ and took deeper breaths, hoping to kill himself faster. Looking up at the surface he saw his own reflection with white skin and blacked out eyes staring back down at him. He blinked as his vision faded away, the pressure in his chest very real.

It wasn’t completely dark outside, but it was definitely getting towards the evening. There was a plate in the end of his bed with the night’s dinner on it and John felt conflicted. On the one hand his heart fluttered from his unknown brother’s kindness, but on the other he was somewhat disturbed that someone in his family had just walked in on him sleeping without him knowing.
Had they checked on him? Had they made sure he was really just sleeping and not faking it? Or had they looked for his breathing, to check that he was alive?
His Dad had been on his ass about ‘therapy’ for more than a year, but John had noticed the way he’d become more pushy about it lately. They wanted him to start off by seeing a regular doctor, but John had managed to weasel his way out of it thus far.

He pulled his dinner into his lap and picked at it while he set up his laptop with the next season of Game of Thrones. He hated school holidays and their emptiness in content, and while Game of Thrones was a comfort show, it was losing its power and pizzazz.
With most of the meal still on the plate he dropped it onto his nightstand and lay down. He was still tired, and the sound of his brothers in the loung playing their video games sounded loud to him even though they were far away and in reality very quiet.

There were loud cheers from somewhere in the house. Gordon had been going on about the new just dance, and John wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what they were playing. A four player game with no room for a fifth.
They sounded happy enough without him though.

John drifted in and out of power naps as the episodes wore on. His arm was becoming red from his persistent lying down, the friction of the sheets far less pleasant than it had been upon waking.

He didn’t notice when the sound of his brothers died away, but now he heard the complete silence of the house. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d received a ‘good night’. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d needed to be wished a ‘good night’ with how early or late he’d been turning in.

There was a dish pile stacked underneath the half eaten dinner on his nightstand and as much as he didn’t want to bother with taking it out, he’d had a swarm of flies a few months prior and he was NOT dealing with maggots again. Empty plates were fine, but his appetite was disappearing and he’d been taking his dishes out more and more frequently.

He picked up the small stack and struggled to open his door. Kicking it fully open he went down to the kitchen silently, trying not to wake his brothers. He felt light headed, like he’d only just woken up, and when he realised his brothers were still up and watching a movie in the dark, his heart dropped.

He silently put the dishes on the countertop and watched them.
Scott and Virgil were on opposite sides with the littler ones between them. Alan had his head on Virgil’s shoulder, probably close to falling asleep.

He’d intended to grab some water, but disturbing them felt like a crime. Them. Always him and them, never us.

John scuttled back to his room and shut his laptop, sat on his bed and hugged his knees. He felt like he might cry, but stronger than that feeling was the emptiness. They were so fine without him, so why was he there? Would they even notice if he wasn’t?
Was fine the right word? Wasn’t it better? No John to bring down their mood. No John to ruin their just dance. Just… no John.

Thinking of them out there, together, comfortable, he felt the emptiness expand inside him like water in an icy bath. It started at his brain and chilled every nerve to the ends of his fingertips and toes. His heart returned to its normal rhythm, beating loudly in his ears under a sudden high pitched noise.
His mind emptied, his fears disappeared. It was like a terrible moment of clarity, a sudden understanding free of all emotions. His nervous system was frozen, like a computer that refused to load. The feeling that he might cry emptied from him, taking with it the desire to be happy and satisfied.

So what if his brothers didn’t need him around? Who were they anyway?

His Dad was in space but even space didn’t seem important. Space was an obligation. It wasn’t a dream, or a hope, or the romanticised concept it had been to him only a week before. Without it he’d become no one, and if he became no one, what else could he do?
He’d work to his capacity and no more. If he failed, he’d deal with it when he got to it. His motivation had left him too.

He played another episode of Game of Thrones and fell asleep again.

Chapter Text

Scott and Jeff sat on the once comfortable white chairs in the waiting room in silence, the low hum of the television attached to the wall the only sound in the empty room. The table between them had two coffee cups that had been refilled at least 5 times each in the previous 8 hours

Scott battled the urge to sleep as his eyes fluttered threateningly. He’d had a busy day of military drills and a very long night of waiting. The sun was peeking over the trees, the lush garden shining morning dew weakly, though it would be dazzling soon. Such beauty in such a miserable place.

The waiting room of Mercy Ascot Private Hospital was almost empty at 5:30 in the morning, but when they’d arrived just after 9pm the place had been buzzing at capacity. It was a Friday night just after the end of New Zealand’s school year, and stupid behaviour could be expected to fill every hospital in the country.
There was an ambulance that had arrived at the exact same time as the Tracy family, but triage left the teenaged boy in the ambulance for 10 minutes or so, crying through the painkillers they’d given him for his clearly broken leg. John had been rushed straight in.

Scott and Jeff had spoken to each other at first, but the topics they could share ran dry with their worry and every passing hour. At first they’d look up every time a nurse opened the wide doors John had disappeared through, hoping they were there to give an update on the teenager. As the occupancy in the room decreased, their hope dwindled. There was a slight boost in the number of patients after 1 in the morning and after that point Jeff and Scott didn’t even bother checking to see if the nurses were coming for them.

Now there was only them and 3 other groups waiting for someone to tell them their loved ones were okay. Or otherwise.

Scott put his head on his hands and closed his eyes, staving off sleep with his thoughts alone. The image of what he’d found after smashing in the bathroom door was printed behind his eyelids though, and his chances of sleep were slim until a new image of his younger brother could replace it.

“Tracy?” Asked someone at the double doors.

Scott’s eyes shot open and he stood up with his father, adrenaline shooting through him.
They walked over to the nurse and he waved them through with him.
“He’s in a room now. I just want to give you a fair warning, he’s hooked up to a few machines and the sight might be disturbing.”

“He’s okay?” Scott asked, the pressure around his heart squeezing tight.

“Doctor Tākuta will be able to answer your questions, Mr Tracy.”

Scott didn’t like the sound of that. To him it had seemed like a simple yes or no question.

The door opened on a decent sized room and the nurse waved them in, closing the door after them. Scott’s heart stuttered at the sight.

Doctor Tākuta was looking down at a clipboard with a dozen or so sheets of paper on it at the end of the bed. He looked over briefly and said nothing, apparently more tactful than most Doctors Scott had encountered as he let the boy’s family react to what they were seeing. Jeff and Scott moved to the head of the bed to really take in what they were seeing.
Scott had heeded the nurse’s warning, but his stomach still somersaulted.

John had wires connected to his chest, an IV in each arm pouring some unknown substances into his bloodstream, some reader attached to his temples that was barely visible under his still blonde fringe, and worst of all was the too large tube that disappeared past his lips and into his throat.

“Oh John” Jeff sighed, brushing his son’s hair away from the readers, exposing the red roots that made his skin look even more grey and clammy than it already was.

Scott let out a low breath and turned to the Doctor.
“Is he going to be okay?” Scott repeated, a slight crack in his voice that had appeared from nowhere and made him sound John’s age agin.

“Physically, he will be for the most part” Doctor Tākuta said in his thick kiwi accent, “but we have to wait for more testing to see if there’s any brain damage.”

“And if there is?” Jeff asked lowly, attention fixed on John.

“There are too many varieties of brain malfunction to name only one” Doctor Tākuta replied, “and with his current condition it will be impossible to know before he wakes up. He absorbed quite a bit of the paracetemol, but our Doctors here are the best in the world and there’s as much a possibility he won’t have any brain damage at all.
“I do have to tell you though, Mr Tracy-” he was fully addressing Jeff now, as if Scott was nothing more than a fly on the wall, “John’s mental state will only decline after this incident. People who live through suicide attempts will 9 out of 10 times try again. He will need help.”

Scott teared up, and he expected to see his Dad cry for the first time in his life. He was almost surprised when he didn’t.

“I’ve been trying to get him to see a professional for the last couple of years” Jeff said calmly, robotically, “I didn’t know he was this bad.”

There was a a long silence, until Doctor Tākuta broke it.
“He’s in good hands Mr Tracy. I suggest you both go home and get some rest. We have our eyes on John and we will let you know when he wakes up.”

“Thank you” Jeff muttered, shaking the doctor’s hand and walking from the room without another word. Scott followed like a lost sheep, dazed.

Sitting in the car next to his Dad, Scott tried to keep his tears firmly in their ducts but they betrayed him, dropping down his cheeks in twin streams.

Jeff gave Scott a precursory glance.
“The Doctor said he’ll be okay, Scott. No need for any of that.”

“You didn’t find him, Dad” Scott uttered, his hand pressed to his mouth to catch his impending sobs. He turned his head towards the window as body wracking sobs took over his conscious reaction, eyes squinting together shamefully as the image of John lying on the tiled floor came back to him.
Scott had been up late after a long day, reading as something relaxing to do. He’d been at a particularly interesting chapter of his book, sitting on the kitchen’s bar stool. He’d planned to go to bed when the chapter was finished, but what happened next had him abandoning his book early. There had been a tiny noise like someone getting punched followed by a heavy thump, the ceiling bouncing as something dropped onto it. Scott had rushed up there and knocked on the bathroom door to no reply.

He’d threatened to break in and hit the wood next to the door handle gently, more a warning for whoever was inside than a real attempt. When no one replied, he shouldered it harder and the door bowed under his weight. One more good hit and the door flew open, the lock broken and part of the door splintered.

Scott dropped to his knees, unable to comprehend that he was seeing. John was curled up as if asleep, his eyes closed peacefully.
It was the only peaceful part of him. His breathing was slow and strained, his chest heaving with every attempt. His lips were parted, white bubbling fluids spilling over them and into a puddle that wet his dyed hair. Small white tablets littered the floor around him. He was shaking violently, a few steps down from a seizure, as if he was just very cold.

Scott came back to himself and his limited first aid training kicked in.
“John” he demanded, grabbing the teenager’s hand.
“Squeeze.”
Nothing.
“Open your eyes John” he said firmly, but his skin was turning whiter with every second.

“DAD!” Scott screamed at the top of his lungs, struggling to lift John into his arms. He wiped the younger’s mouth with the bottom of his shirt and ran down the stairs, calling out to his Dad again. White froth was already seeping from the corners of John’s mouth as his poisoned body tried to reject it.

Jeff had appeared behind him and the pair were half way out the door in seconds, boosters engaged and flying to their usual private hospital in New Zealend, the closest emergency room they trusted near their home.

Jeff drove on as his eldest remembered the night, his emotions deadened to the boy.
No, he hadn’t seen John lying on the ground, but he’d heard the most awful scream from Scott while nearing sleep in his bed. It had wrapped around his heart and nerves, sent him to the edge and put the worst image in his mind. Fears confirmed, his own military first aid had kicked in and his feelings left him. He’d turn them back on when Scott was asleep in bed, but until then he was a corpse driving the car.

* * *

His throat was dry and sore, impending a flu that wasn’t actually there. He moaned, trying to pry apart his heavy eyelids. His hand came to them and rubbed, urging them apart, but then feeling came back and something tried to rip him open from inside his abdomen.
John curled onto his side, ignoring the sharp stabs in his arms and the cords coming off him, and hugged his pained stomach. Groaning, tears wet the corner of his eyes from the pain and suddenly his eyelid’s pleasant heaviness hurt as if they’d been forced open and dried out while he slept.
Toes curled against his agonies, John opened one eye and found himself in a white room with blue sheets. A hospital?

His cheek was sticky, and he stank. His being there was offensive to every sense he had, but why the hell was he there?
He’d been in the bathroom. He’d planned it out and collected Panadol- a LOT of Panadol. He’d swallowed as much as he could- held in any noise against the pain so no one would know what he was doing, but the way it expanded in his stomach hurt the most. He’d made a noise, leant against the counter, and then the world went black. It went black, and he succeeded.
Was this a trick? Was he actually in some fabled afterlife, or else re-living his memories?

No. John had never believed in such trife. The simple and unpleasant answer was: he failed.

He squinted through the pain and found a man pressing on a tablet attached to the wall opposite. The nurse looked at John over his shoulder and finished up whatever he was doing.
“Hey there little man.”

John opened his puffy eyes all the way but he still couldn’t move without his insides trying to rip apart inside him. He watched the stranger tight lipped.

“The doctor should be in soon” the stranger continued, “I just sent a message to him. I also sent a message to the kitchen, and to your family.” He walked closer, shining a pen light into John’s eyes without so much as a warning.
John moaned and shut his eyes against the visual intrusion and he put it back in his pocket.

“Sorry little man” the nurse continued sympathetically. John wished he would stop talking. “It probably hurts a lot but we can’t give you anything for the pain until we can confirm it’s safe again.”

The nurse left and another man walked in. He was wearing a white coat and had ‘doctor’ written on his name tag.
“Lovely to see you John” Doctor Tākuta said, pushing John’s shoulder to the side so he was lying on his back again. John was too weak to protest in much more than a moan.
“Can you feel this?” He asked, poking the ends of John’s fingers with something.

John made an affirming noise.

“Let me know if you feel this one” the Doctor said, and within a few seconds there was a tiny pin stabbing in his toes. John’s leg jolted and another wave of nausea washed over him.

“Excellent” Doctor Tākuta said, mild surprise lacing his voice. “Can you tell me your name?”

John took in a raspy breath, trying to use the limited saliva in his mouth to make his answer hurt less.
“Jo-” he tried, but the rest got caught on the ridges of his oesophagus.

“Excellent” the doctor repeated. He passed a cup of water to John and it took all of his effort to sit up to drink it, which he figured was exactly what the doctor wanted.
He was surprised to find the position more comfortable than his curled up state.

At that moment the nurse re-entered the room with a covered silver plate. He pulled a half table from the corner and placed the meal on it before wheeling it over to John. Lifting the lid he revealed a lukewarm meal of mashed potato, purée and soup.
John was ravenous, but eating in front of strangers was a sore spot for him.

The nurse and Doctor caught his vibe.
“Your family will be here soon” Doctor Tākuta said before leaving the room.

Door closed, John struggled to get the meal down. He realised that his throat was not only dry, but injured from having something shoved down it. That something had probably gone all the way to his stomach and he cringed at the idea of what they’d done to his unconscious form.

He’d started on the purée when his Dad and Scott walked in. John closed his eyes against their pitiful looks and avoided eye contact, the humiliation of his survival too much.
They sat in the chairs next to him and Scott bit his lip, already near bursting for the things he wanted to say.
Even his Dad had an unusually softened look as he searched for something in John’s face that he either did or didn’t find.

“Food alright John?” Jeff asked conversationally.

John shrugged. In all truth it was the most bland meal he’d ever tasted. Maybe they thought flavour would injure him further. He moved food around his plate without committing to it, using it as an excuse to not look in his family’s direction.

“How are you feeling?” Scott asked, reserved.

John felt himself turning red, the roots of his hair blending in with his skin.
“Fine.”

He saw them give each other a look from the corner of his eye and his heart beat faster. He knew what was coming next and he didn’t want it. The truthful accusation that he was not fine, that he’d just gone through a trauma which he’d inflicted on his brother too, that he’d be in therapy every day for the rest of his life. It was the worst thing he could think of.
Which is why he cried when his Dad told him something even worse that therapy.
“You’ve been referred to the psych ward for 14 days. Doctor Tākuta will reassess after then.”

John’s hands pressed to his eyes while he cried, and if the situation hadn’t already felt so grim someone might have called him dramatic.
Jeff and Scott watched sympathetically. They both knew what it meant for him, how against the idea he was. It was lucky that he was at an age where parental consent meant more than his own, or else he’d certainly have been released and free to try again.

They watched him for a while longer and Jeff tugged on Scott’s sleeve, an indication that they should leave.
They stood up and John weakly reached out for Scott.
“STOP! COME BACK!” John screamed, reaching out as hard as he could. He pulled himself to the edge of the bed, ignoring the agonising and persistent pain in his abdomen.
Scott looked over his shoulder and caught John’s eye. A silent ‘I’m sorry’ between them before he disappeared through the door.
John rolled out of the bed, his scream high and desperate as he crashed to the ground, ripping the tubes from his veins.
“SCOTT” He cried, begging his brother to come back.
Instead two nurses came running over to him and they were on top of him, grabbing him, stabbing him, doing whatever they wanted without his ability to fight back.
Back in the bed with a mild sedation and he was out again, living through the only good sleep he’d have for the next two weeks.

Chapter Text

John could feel Virgil’s breath on his cheek and cringed from the slight breeze.

“Dads gonna kill you” Virgil whispered, letting his mouth hang open in shock.

Scott was right behind the second eldest sharing an identical expression of concern. He’d been sitting in the barstool at the kitchen island when John walked in, but what he saw pulled him right up out of it like a man possessed.
“Why did you do it?”

John leaned his ear closer to them. Truthfully, he was enjoying the attention his modification had granted him and he couldn’t wait for his Dad to flip out over it when he got home.

“He’s going to make you take it out you know” Scott said with a finality. “What a waste of money.”

“He can’t make me do anything” John responded smugly, his lip curled at Scott’s apprehension.

As if on cue, a door opened up somewhere and the sound of small feet hitting the floorboards echoed throughout the house, a disgruntled “You’re getting water everywhere!” somewhere beyond the noise.

“I got 12 first places!” Gordon said proudly when he found his brothers, 12 blue ribbons with gold weighed down heavily around his neck.

“And one second” Alan added teasingly behind him, swinging the silver attached to a red ribbon around his finger.

“It was my last race-” Gordon whined defensively, shoving his youngest brother.

“You wiped out the competition Gordon” Jeff said proudly, hand on his second youngest’s shoulder, “that’s more than impressive.”
His smile faded at the looks his two eldest sons were giving him.
“What?” He asked concernedly, eyes darting between them, searching for an origin of their worry.

Scott subtly pointed at John, who Jeff now realised looked like he was trying not to laugh. Jeff sighed. John’s definition of ‘funny’ was little less than concerning these days.
“What did you do John?”

A series of terrible things went through his mind. Had Scott and Virgil disturbed another attempt on his life? Had he (god forbid) gotten a girl pregnant? Did he have some other terrible plan that the boys had uncovered?
His brow furrowed at the boy who he now referred to some trusted colleagues as his ‘troubled son’. He’d been at a raw age when his mother died and it was still effecting him in ways Jeff couldn’t understand.

“What do you think?” John asked. There was a rebel undertone in the way he’d said it, but it took all of Jeff’s restraint to not laugh from his exponential relief.
Earrings. Only earrings.

“They look good with your hair.” He meant it too. The blonde had been constrained to the end of his fringe, the rest of it his natural colour. The golden studs shined nicely against it, though Jeff’s precise eye saw that they were a little bit uneven…

John’s cocky look turned suspicious.
“Uh… thanks.” He sounded disappointed.

“Can I get some too!” Gordon asked, puppy eyes on his Dad.

Jeff shrugged.
“Sure. Why not?”

John’s heart fell and the moment his Dad was out of sight he went to his room; his once safe haven. The locks had been removed and it was barebones since his suicide attempt with anything his Dad or Scott perceived as potentially dangerous removed. He sat on his bed and looked at himself using his camera. The earring did look good against his hair… but his Dads reaction wasn’t anything like he’d wanted.
Truthfully, he wanted to hurt his Dad for what he’d done. The two weeks in the psych ward had actually extended to a little over a month, and he needed SOMETHING to counteract the ongoing humiliation he felt.
A couple of piercings seemed like a good way to do that, but no. It wasn’t big enough. Maybe a tongue piercing? Maybe a tattoo? What on Earth would it possibly take to make his Dad dislike him?

He’d had it with the pitiful looks. The delicate conversations. The assumption that he was suddenly fragile. He wanted an excuse to leave, to get kicked out, for his family to stop caring. If they didn’t care, they might not notice if he disappeared.

John closed his eyes, the slight dull ache of his fresh piercings hot. He knew it was probably time to spray them with saline, but he just wanted to sleep. What was a little bit of pain in his earlobe? He figured he might deal with worse later anyway.

Chapter Text

They stood outside the front of a considerable home, the gates wide open and the music so loud the neighbours might hear even though they were over a kilometre away in any direction.

“I don’t know John” Penelope whispered, watching the lights changing colours like a rave.

“We’ll be alright, just stick with me” John replied almost confidently, linking Penelope’s arm around his. They walked up to the house and John pushed open the door, assuming any attempt to knock would be dulled entirely by the obnoxious bass shaking the foundation.

There were bodies everywhere, dancing, chatting, or in some lucky cases making out. John waved to the host, a senior from their school, and helped himself to a bottle of heinnekin. He offered one to Penelope, who stared at it with utmost disgust. John shrugged and pulled the cap off, throwing a decent amount of the foul tasting liquid into his mouth.
John swallowed, and couldn’t help but relish that he’d just had his first real sip of alcohol, and it didn’t taste half bad.

Loosening up, John put his arms into the air and danced badly, moving his chest to the beat of the most generic club music he’d ever heard.
A couple of strangers approached and copied his moves while Penelope watched him from the stairway, acutely aware that John’s ‘stick with me’ was quickly turning into ‘look after me’.

Penelope sighed and rested he forehead on her knees, ashamed that she’d turned up at a strangers house party with the most troubled Tracy… just because she felt sorry for him.
Lifting her head back up, her stomach dropped when she realised that John had disappeared in the few seconds where she’d looked away.

“Oh for heavens sake” she said out loud, stomping her foot. Following the most direct pathway between the parted Red Sea of people, she saw John’s loose blue cut out tank top and beelined towards him.

She watched him throw back a shot of clear liquid and cringed at the way he choked on it briefly, hoping against the odds that he didn’t throw up.

“This is Conrad” John said, gesturing to the surprisingly muscular boy in black. His hand fluttered to the pretty blonde girl in white, “and this is Destiny.” She gave Penelope a wink and pulled out a cigarette, biting down onto it before lighting the end.

“Charmed” Penelope said non-commitally, leaning down to John’s ear. “I think we should leave. This was clearly a bad idea.”

John pulled a face.
“You can leave it you want. I’m having a good time!”

“You know I can’t just leave you here” she hissed impatiently. The nerve of him to suggest she, a 15 year old girl, leave a house party in the middle of nowhere alone was almost too much.
“I’ll call Virgil!” Penelope threatened as a last ditch attempt.

Destiny passed the cigarette to John and he stared down at it unsurely.
“How do I do it?” He asked, and Penelope threw all of her attention at him.

“The drinking is one thing John, but even you wouldn’t be so stupid to-”

“Just breath it in” Destiny said in her soothing voice, completely ignoring Penelope.

John put the cigarette to his lips and rested it on his top teeth. He breathed in deeply, feeling the warmth fill his lungs. He took the smoke away from his mouth and breathed out the fumes evenly, ending in a violent cough.

“Hey, that wasn’t half bad Tracy” Conrad said encouragingly, filling the small shot glass in front of John back up.

Penelope grunted and went through the side gate to the front yard, ignoring the groups that had already congregated there who hooted and called to her as she stormed past.
Outside the main gates, she wandered down the road far enough away that the music wouldn’t be the only thing Virgil heard, but not so far that she couldn’t run back in if something went wrong.

The phone rang three times before Virgil picked up, his hologram floating above her palm.

“Hey Penelope, everything alright?”

Penelope sighed. “John and I came to a party, and I’m very much wishing we hadn’t.”

There was silence down the line, only Virgil’s look of confusion communicating between them.
“You and John… are at a party.”

“Yes, didn’t he say?”

Virgil puffed out his cheeks and exhaled loudly.
“He said you two were meeting friends for a movie.”

Penelope cocked her eyebrow. She’d told her parents where she was going and found it a little betraying that John didn’t grant his family the same courtesy.
There would be time to worry about that later.
“Could you please come and pick us up? John’s making some… questionable decisions.”

To her surprise, Virgil sighed and looked off camera, apparently sharing his upset with someone she couldn’t see.
“Send me the address. I’ll message you when I’m outside.”

Penelope went back in and found John in the same spot in deep conversation with his new friends, liquid spilled on the table in front of him and a cigarette dangling between his long fingers. Penelope bit her lip and forced herself into a seat beside John, away from the disgusting smell of the smoke.

“You want one Penny?” Conrad asked, the packet of cigarettes opened towards her.

“It’s Penelope, actually. No, I’d much rather keep my lungs in working order, thank you.”

Conrad put the box back in his pocket, sharing a humoured look with Destiny.
“Can I at least top you up? It’s vodka, but raspberry flavour.”

“I’ll pass on that too” Penelope said coldly.

“Why did you even come out tonight?” John asked impatiently, waving his shot glass around and spilling drops of vodka onto his tank top. Penelope saw his nipple peaking out the side of it and shook her head disapprovingly, wondering if embarrassment was even possible for the red head anymore.

Penelope raised her nose in the air.
“Because I was worried you might try to do something… stupid. Again.”

“What like… kill myself?” John challenged, smirking.
Penelope’s mouth became a thin line and the look she gave him could have melted ice. She’d tried to be subtle about his unpleasant little trip to the emergency room, and here he was making a joke out of the most horrendous ordeal of his family and friend’s lives.

“Your brother will be here soon” she finished, crossing her ankles and leaning back in her chair. She looked down into her lap, waiting.
As John drank he became more obnoxious. He confessed his love for Conrad over his third cigarette, and asked Destiny if she would like to go on a date. After a threesome was proposed Penelope decided enough was enough and took John by the wrist, directing him out the gate and to the road.

Drunk and stumbling, John followed in the most sloppy fashion he could. The club music had turned to early 2000s stuff and John was screaming at the top of his lungs.
“I GED NOGDOWN! BUD-I-GEDDUPAGEN! NOONES EVER GONNA GED-ME-DOWN!”

Tired, irritated, Penelope dumped John onto a nearby lawn and sat next to him, waiting for him to recover himself.
Pushing himself onto his elbows, he looked up at Penelope with a stupid expression.
“Why’d you bring me over here?” He slurred.

Tears in the corners of her eyes, Penelope didn’t answer him. She hugged her knees and looked intently up the road for any signs of headlights.

“I just wanna see my new friends, Donrad and Kestiny” John slurred, attempting to stand.
Penelope caught his arm before he could get up into more than a sitting position and threw him back down, forceful and sick of his behaviour.

“Why did you do this to yourself?” She demanded, kneeling over him.

“T’s just a little fun” John shrugged.

“Fun!? Drinking until you’re like… this?” She waved a hand up and down to indicate to all of him, “smoking? Talking about threesomes when you’ve never been with ONE person? I get that you’re SAD John, but this is just embarrassing.”
He looked blankly up at her.
“And selfish!” She added angrily, slamming her hands on the ground on either side of his head.

John’s expression was unreadable, but she wondered if she’d overstepped. She sighed, close to an apology.

“Look up there” John whispered.

Penelope looked up and found a sky so clear they could see not millions, but trillions of stars.
Penelope lay down beside John, her body facing the opposite way from his, their heads next to each other and so close they were almost touching.

“So beautiful” he whispered as a streak flew across the sky millions of light years away.

In the pause between two songs, the only sound was a waterfall in the distance, the snap of a twig some small animal had stepped on.

Another classic (some-BODY once-) came on and headlights lit up the street somewhere nearby. Virgil appeared on the corner of Penelope’s vision and the second eldest Tracy helped her stand and draped a blanket around her shoulders. He got her into the front seat of his 4 door pickup and went back for his little brother, who had fallen asleep in the grass. He hauled John up into a near standing position and gave up on trying to get him walking almost straight away, putting him into a fireman’s carry over his shoulders instead.

He dropped John a little less than carefully onto the back seat and did a lazy job on his seatbelt before getting back behind the wheel. Turning around, he gave John a small look of loathing in the mirror.
“He stinks of beer and cigarettes” he said, picking up speed.

“That would be from all the beer and cigarettes he had” Penelope sighed, looking back at the sleeping boy.
“I do wonder why he’s doing all this to himself.”

Virgil nodded understandingly. “We all wonder that. He wants to go into NASA, but if he keeps going the way he is it’ll never happen.”

Penelope’s thoughts went back to the lawn, the only time in the whole night when John had sounded real, staring up at the infinite space above him.
“He’ll get there” Penelope uttered, and despite the rest of the night she was so sure it was the truth.

Chapter Text

The sun was intense in the vastly bright blue sky, the slight time after midday placing it in a spot where it shined directly onto John’s sunglasses, the heavy lenses barely saving him from the blinding glare.

He was sitting at the side of the lake, his board shorts drying quickly and leaving a rash against his skin. He watched the group of three pushing each other at the top of the waterfall, daring each other to jump.
He saw the blonde figure get picked up by the dark haired one for only a moment, before he threw the blonde over the ledge and into the water below, screaming all the way down.

John sighed and stood up, watching for his friend to resurface. He saw a hand flustering at the base where water hit water and his heart stuttered. He ran into the still water and swam out to the struggling girl, extending his hand so she could grab it.
Hand in hand, he pulled her towards him and helped her back to the bank, looking up disapprovingly at the other two boys on the rock face.

Coughing , Destiny let John help her onto the towel he’d been sitting on and he sat next to her, resuming his old position. He glanced towards the top of the waterfall and saw that Paul and Adam had disappeared, no doubt to run back down to them.

“Thanks” Destiny said once she’d caught her breath.

“I don’t get why you’re going out with him. He’s such a jerk!”

“Hey,” she said nonchalantly, pulling her cigarettes from her bag and slipping one into her mouth, “he’s a step up from Conrad. That guy acts possessed these days- he’s not the same guy I was dating at the start.”
She lit the smoke and took a deep drag before passing it to John. John took it and put it in his mouth while Destiny lit up another for herself.

“Well you can still do better than a guy who throws you over a waterfall” John reasoned.

Destiny shrugged.
“Good guys are hard to find these days.”

John made an affirming noise and determinitely watched the spot where Adam and Paul were most likely to come out from. Their ‘pranks’ had become increasingly cruel and he didn’t want them to take him or Destiny by surprise.

“Are you a good guy?” Destiny asked, snapping him out of his stupor.

“Huh?” John asked, turning his dark sunglasses towards his friend.

She reached out to took the arm of John’s glasses between her thumb and index finger pulling them away. Her fingers brushed against the skin on his temple and forehead, sending a ripple through the rest of him. Her eyes the colour of the sky locked onto his, the colour of the lake.
“I said are you a good guy, John?”

“That’s a matter of opinion” he replied, his voice low and breathy. He drew closer to her and she leaned towards him, her lips ready to meet his. They were centimetres apart, her breath touching his chin right before they were brought back with the sound of a snapping branch.
They pulled apart shamedly, heads twisting towards the darkened archway that lead to the slope up the waterfall. There was a distinct humoured “OW!” and Adam appeared, crashing onto the hard ground.

Paul jumped out on top of him, laughing like an idiot.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” Destiny called out from John’s side, bringing her boyfriend’s attention back to her.

Paul strolled over, his arms out.
“It was just a joke. I knew you’d be fine!”

“I told you I didn’t even want to go up there, and you threw me over? AND you didn’t have the balls to jump in after me? You’re such a pussy!”

“Babe,” Paul replied, arms still out in a condescending way, “you know I’m not a pussy. Your friend THERE’S a pussy. He didn’t even come up with us.”

“Can you fuck off?” John spat, flicking the stub of his cigarette away into a bush. He stood up and stretched his arms and back, flexing his developing muscles. Destiny strut past him and up to Paul, standing next to him with her hands on her hips.

“You threw me off a cliff!” She repeated angrily.

“Whoa, look, I’m sorry” Paul said, flipping his personality entirely. His hands fell to his side and he suddenly looked like a little kid being scolded. “I mean it. I didn’t mean to scare you, we were just having a little bit of fun.”

“Yeah” Adam added, standing beside Paul, “it was only for fun. Just like this!”
He shoved Paul into the lake and his friend yelled out in surprise. Paul swam away and Adam went after him. Destiny shook her head and followed them, leaving John standing alone on the side. He sighed and resigned himself back to the towel, watching the others have their fun.

Eventually Adam came back to the bank and rummaged in his bag, pulling his towel out of the duffel. John pointedly ignored him, watching the other two with his jaw locked.
He saw Paul put his arms around Destiny and kiss her deeply, their hormones raging as they tried to eat each other.

“See something you like?” Adam teased, shooting John a nasty look.

“Not even one thing” John replied stiffly, still not looking at Adam.

“Why did you even come out here?”

“Because Destiny’s my friend. SHE invited ME.”

“Paul should definitely have a talk to her about her ‘friends’. First that lunatic Conrad, and now you? She has terrible taste.”

“I’ll say” John muttered.

“You say something Johnny?” Adam asked threateningly.

“I said ‘do you remember that time when I broke your nose’?”

“What, you want a round 2?”

John finally looked at him, a darkened look cast over his face.

“You guys ready to go?” Paul asked, emerging from the lake with Destiny on his arm.

“Yep” Adam said shortly, throwing his towel over his shoulder.

John said nothing but gathered up his things, completely dry. He dusted the dirt off his ass and followed the group up another slope, trekking out to the parking lot.

They dumped their things in the trunk of the car and got in, Destiny driving and Paul in the passenger seat with the other two in the back. Before Destiny could even start the car, Adam pulled something out of his pocket.
“Got a lighter?” He asked the pair in the front. Destiny passed one over and Adam lit the thing in his hand while Destiny messed with google maps.

Catching a whiff, John immediately realised the herbal smell couldn’t have possibly been from a normal cigarette.
“Seriously?” He asked, agitated, “can you at least put the window down?”

Adam rolled his eyes and passed the joint to Paul.
“Ah, come on John” Paul said, passing the joint back to him, “just have a bit. It’ll make you feel good.” John’s eyes darted between Paul and the marijuana.

“I- I don’t need that” John said quickly, shaking his hand at it.

“Where are your sunglasses John?” Destiny asked abruptly from the drivers seat.

John smashed his pockets and realised they weren’t there.
“Shit” he groaned, seeking Destiny’s eyes in the rear view mirror.

She undid her seatbelt and reached for the door. “Come on” she said supportingly.

John got out with her, grateful for the distraction. Smoking and drinking underage were one thing, but illegal drugs were quite another.

Walking back down the slope, John noticed how close to him Destiny was. Her arm brushed against his briefly and the contact was electric.
Back beside the lake, John scanned the ground but saw no sign of his glasses.

“Damnit” he sighed, “those were really expensive. Dads gonna kill me.”

“He’s trying you know” Destiny said abruptly, arms crossed, watching John as she leant against a tree.

It took John a moment to realise what she was talking about. “By offering me weed?”

She stepped towards him, smirking. “Yeah it’s dumb- but it’s his way of trying.” She was one step away from him, her arms still crossed. “Can you please try to like him?”

John bit his lip and inhaled deeply. “Only for you. I’ll try.”

“You’re a good guy John.”
Destiny pulled his sunglasses from under her arm and stepped forward to put them in his short’s pocket, pressing her lips onto his. Her hand went from his pocket to his hip, pulling his body to hers. The friction was surprising but welcome, and John returned the kiss needily. He held her closer, pressing himself to her chest.

When she finally pulled away she held his hand for a moment longer, squeezing before she let go for good. Walking back up the slope, John followed at a slight distance.
Putting his sunglasses back on his nose, he returned to the car and got in the back, taking the drugs offered to him. It was the least he could do- without the bad guys, he wouldn’t have been the ‘good guy’.

Chapter Text

Alan and Gordon were sharing an iPad in the back seat, John and Virgil behind them in the fold out seats.
The 7 seater was old and uncomfortable, and Scott couldn’t help his complaining from shotgun.
“I really don’t see why I couldn’t just rent my own and take one of those two” he huffed, gesturing lazily to the back-most seats.

Jeff sniffed humourdly behind the wheel.
“If we have to stick around, so do you. No escaping early for any of us!”

Scott groaned.

“Who knows,” Jeff continued, his tone almost patronising, “you might even have a good time!”

“As long as your cousins don’t bring their kids” Scott added, mildly agitated, crossing his arms. He knew fully well that his Dad’s second cousins and their children would be at the family event.

Jeff raised his eyebrows and glanced at his two older boys in the back seat. Scott was always a straight arrow, and Virgil SEEMED to be the same, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he was always being truthful. And then there was John. His friendship choices had become… a little less refined, and if anyone was vulnerable to his cousin’s kids, it was him.

It was one of those big parenting moments where he didn’t really know what to do. He felt like any choice he made would hurt his most sensitive son.
He could give forewarning to him and trust that it was enough to keep him away, but would the implication of his concern be there if he singled John out, driving him right into their relative’s troubles?
He could say nothing and trust John to do the right thing, but it was ingenuine. He DIDN’T trust John to do the right thing- though it wasn’t entirely his fault. He’d had the most mental anguish out of any of his brothers and needed the medication he was so aptly rejecting.
He could wait for them to take John under their horrible wings and catch him in the act, further humiliating his most hurt son. There was also the option to just let him do it, ignore the marijuana the same way he had already been doing. Unfortunately this seemed the simplest choice, and Jeff dreaded the fact. He wanted to make the right choice, but it didn’t seem to exist when it came to John.

“You don’t want to go smoke up with them this year?” Virgil asked Scott teasingly from the back seat.

Scott turned a deep red and glared at Virgil over his shoulder.
“Implying I ever did any other year.”

“Well it’s nice of them to offer, anyway” Virgil shrugged.

Jeff kept his eyes on the icy road, barely hearing his boys at the farthest end of the car. He watched their mouths in the rear view mirror, but they were too far for him to read their lips accurately.

“Smoke what?” John asked Virgil, whispering so lowly that neither Alan nor Gordon could hear him.

“Weed mostly. I think they brought some other stuff last year, but I don’t do any of it anyway. I might sit with them for the company, but you’ll never catch me messing with that shit.”

John scratched the back of his head.
“They never offered it to me…”

“Nah, they only started asking me and Scott when we turned 16. I garuntee they’ll offer you something this year… but you really shouldn’t do it John. Not with the way you are now.” There was a slight urgency in his voice, and even though he kept himself quiet Jeff was reading his body language and facial expression. The patriarch hoped desperately that his second eldest would look after his third.

John sniffed and said nothing. He knew exactly what Virgil meant by ‘the way he was now’, considering how much worse John had acted towards him since what Virgil had done the previous week.
John thought that out of Virgil and Scott, the brown eyed brother would be the most understanding. He was the one he called in any emergencies, or if he needed to be picked up from somewhere strange. He was the only family member who he’d told about the drinking, the weed, the smoking. Virgil kept it on the down-low, but tried to help in his own way. There was a lot of him talking at John, but after a night on Virgil’s floor sweating off the huge weed-brownie he’d had, the older boy was over it. He’d kicked John in the abdomen out of frustration, a physical abnormality that he seemed ashamed of only seconds after doing it, but the damage was done. John became more reclusive, and his safe person was no longer safe.

Jeff pulled up at his grandfather’s old home, an assortment of family cars littering the driveway.
He parked behind a blue minivan and shut off the engine, already dreading the day. He could see his mother’s car on the edge of the lawn and relief rushed over him. Thank goodness for small favours.

The boys got out of the car and they wandered to the huge front door. Gordon rang the doorbell and within a minute, a tall man with a moustache answered it.
“Hey-HEY squiddy boy!” The man said, throwing his arms out to hug Gordon. Gordon stepped forward and hugged his great uncle back, receiving a slightly painful rib squeeze as a result.

After a personal reintroduction to Alan and an inappropriate joke towards Virgil, with many quips of how much they’d all grown, Uncle Barry finally stepped to the side and allowed them all entry.

The house was old and impressive, the huge empty hallways extending so far, they’d need a map to find the bathroom if they couldn’t remember where it was already.

They found their way to the backyard where the rest of the family was already gathered and greeted everyone with their fake smiles and annoying awkward laughs aimed at cheesy cliched jokes.

Everyone found their nodes quickly. Jeff spoke to his Mother and her brothers with Scott on the side contributing anywhere he saw fit. Alan and Gordon found a 9 year old cousin to latch onto. Virgil stood with John at the side and waited, sure that his Dad’s second cousins would jump on them at any second.

Sure enough, after the announcement that dinner would be ready in an hour and a half, one of those pesteringly troubled second cousins emerged. She was only a little bit older than Virgil, born 11 months ahead of him.
“Come on Virgin.” She jabbed her thumb in John’s direction, “Is he coming too?”

“He is. And don’t call me that.”

“Why? Is it not true anymore?” She retorted.

“That’s none of your business” Virgil responded proudly, nudging John towards the side gate where 4 others were already waiting for them.
Jeff watched them go sadly, his drink freezing in his hands. One of his Uncles was talking, but Jeff didn’t take in a single word they said.
“Be safe John” he whispered to himself.

* * *

“So are you cool now, John? Or are you like your brothers?”

John rolled his eyes.
“I’m nothing like them.”

The group of 7 made their way towards the nearest park, their usual spot for every thanksgiving walk.

Finding the largest bush, they hid out of sight and lit up straight away.
Virgil’s heart sank when they passed the joint to John and he took it expertly, drawing it in deeply to mock cheers and whoops from their extended family.

“Da—amn” said one of the boys. He was freshly 18 and the former youngest in their current grouping. “The little ones the most messed up out of all you big Tracys!”

“He’s not messed up” Virgil stated stiffly, looking at the boy who’d spoken with a darkened brow.

“Do you think the other two will keep this legacy going, John?” The girl who’d met with them earlier, Zelda, asked.

John shook his head.
“Gordon wants to go to the Olympics and Alan cries when he sees strangers smoking cigarettes. I think the legacy dies with me, until the next generation anyway.”

The boy who’d called John messed up, Byron, bit his lip and pulled something from his pocket.
“Let’s make our last days a little more interesting then.”

Virgil eyed the contents of Byron’s hand warily. At first it looked like he was holding cat vomit, but once he realised what it was he was on John again.

“There’s no way you’re having that” he said quickly, shaking his head.

John looked at Byron’s hand stupidly, not actually sure of what he was looking at.
“What is it?”

Byron passed the small brown thing to him and John recognised what it was, away from the tangle of other mushroom segments that had rendered it indistinguishable.

“John, don’t be stupid” Virgil begged, putting both of his hands on John’s shoulders and resisting the urge to shake him.

John looked down at the brown segment in his hand and looked back up at Virgil, an expression there that Virgil hadn’t seen since John was very young and asking for his permission to do something insignificant. His eyes were wide and he was pouting, innocently imploring his permission now.

Virgil glared and shook his head disbelievingly. This wasn’t John silently begging for Virgil’s dessert. This was John asking for Virgil not to hate him if he made a so clearly stupid choice.
“Do whatever the fuck you want” he stated, standing up and dusting himself off before storming away.

John watched him go sadly and looked back down at the segment sitting on his palm unsurely. His heart sank at Virgil’s reaction, but didn’t know why. Was it his own brother giving up on him?

“Come on Johnny” Byron said slowly, tantalisingly, before throwing his own mushroom piece into his mouth.

John picked it up and turned it over in his fingers. He raised it to his mouth and took a bite, the texture offending his senses immediately. He resisted the urge to spit it back out and popped the rest in his mouth, chewing quickly with his eyes closed. He really didn’t want the taste to linger.

They sat for 20 more minutes, until Zelda stood up and said “come on guys,” leading the group back to the house.

John trailled behind them, light headed but not feeling much else.
“I don’t think mine worked” he said unsurely, catching up to Byron.

Byron fluttered his hand dismissively.
“Give it a few more minutes. You’ll feel it.”

Zelda opened the side gate and the group stumbled in. John immediately saw Virgil and Scott across the lawn, talking quickly to each other. When Scott caught sight of John his brows creased into an ugly, hateful look that John couldn’t look at for more than a second. Virgil’s expression was less awful, but there was a hurt disappointment that made John feel guilty.
He put his hands in his jacket pockets and stayed close to the group, finding a circle far away from his brothers.

He was talking to two cousins who he’d just come back with, Harper and Cooper.
Harper was picking at her long red nails, bitching about her friend ‘tammy’, when John saw it in the house.
“What was that?” He asked quickly, his heart beat racing. His body went colder than the cold weather warranted, and fear took over.

“What was what?” Cooper giggled.

John went closer to the window and looked in at the darkened room at the thing in the shadow looking back at him with glowing white eyes. His breath caught in his lungs and he was more scared than he’d ever felt in his life.
“Oh god” John cried amidst a huge offensive crashing sound, throwing his hands over his eyes and falling slowly to sit on the ground, “oh my god, what IS that thing?” He screamed.

“Calm down Johnny” Byron said stupidly, toeing John in the lower back.

“STOP IT!” He yelled, swinging his hand at his cousin’s offending leg. He looked up at Byron and Zelda way above him, their mouths opened in weird smiles. His breathing became heavy and shallow, his eyes wide and unblinking in his terror. Where the fuck was he?
“Who are you people?” He whined, and without warning he burst into tears, rocking backwards and forwards with his hands planted firmly over his ears, his eyelids glued together, and his teeth clenched so tightly that they’d hurt for days after he got home.

A hand fell on John’s shoulder and he flinched violently, smashing his back into the brick wall he was leaning on. The wall behind him crumbled away to nothing, the building shaking as it came down and smashed into millions of tiny pieces.

“Come on John, we need to get you inside” someone said, but their voice was distorted, and why were they yelling? John tried to look at them, but their face was indistinguishable- a blurry swirl of the colours that it used to be.
John’s lungs screamed as their breaths became more shallow, his hyperventilating like a skipping record. They didn’t know about the thing inside the torn down building. He tried to curl up into himself, but the moment his hands hit his body they came away again like they’d touched a hot stove.

He looked at the gathered legs around him, all of them melting into the ground and switching places every time he blinked.
He suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired, spots appearing on the edge of his vision. He felt like he was falling, like the jolt someone feels sometimes when they’re lying in bed trying to sleep, but the jolt kept happening in quick succession and he was suddenly level with the feet around of him. Through the crowd, standing at the back fence, the only thing that wasn’t blurry or physically feeding into something else was the thing he’d seen inside. The shadow stood there, staring at him with glowing eyes, it’s hat too large for it. It’s long fingers raised and pointed at John and suddenly he was on fire, hotter than he’d ever felt in his life. A pressure appeared on his upper arm and he screamed, the unbearable hot knife scarring him as he tried to pull out of it. The same pressure wrapped around him and the shadow kept pointing. The sky turned red and John was in hell, staring down the devil. But the devil was winning.
John swatted at the pressure, but his hand couldn’t reach. His arm was constrained, and no matter how much he shook it wouldn’t move. He was paralysed, and the people around him were gone. They’d melted into the floor, disappeared forever.
He should have listened to Virgil.

The thing followed him as he walked away, suddenly feeling fine. He was alone, but he was fine. He sat down in a chair past the side gate, and someone appeared. They had no face, but they’d saved him. He looked at where their eyes should have been and tried to say ‘Thank you’, but his mouth was so dry that nothing coherent came out.

John sat in the chair, leaning on the wall next to him and behind him. A safe corner. Through the tears he apologised. There was a buzz of static around him that became sharp if it got angry, and every time it did he flinched and apologised again.

He couldn’t quite remember falling asleep, but he remembered the shadowy figure appearing right before he did.

* * *

Jeff could have been more gentle peeling John off Virgil’s shoulder when they got back to the airport, but he was so angry that the way he roughly grabbed the boy gave him some vindictive pleasure.

He held John in his arms while Scott helped Alan out of the front seat. The youngest had been excited about his first time sitting up front, but he was less grateful when the yelling started.

Jeff looked down at the sleeping form in his arms and felt a terrible mix of emotions. When he saw Virgil come back alone from the annual thanksgiving smoke out looking forlorn, he knew that John was doing something bad. He’d waved Virgil over and asked if he should go over there, but Virgil shook his head and forced a smile. ‘He can make his own choices Dad.’

Jeff had hoped he’d make the right one, but the guilty look his middle child had given his brothers told him that John had made the terrible choice and smoked weed with his cousins.
When the party heard the window smash Jeff had just KNOWN. He’d walked over with everyone else and it was his own son on the ground, rocking gently and freaking out. More than weed then.

“What the hell did you give him?” Jeff demanded of his most deviant second cousin, Byron.
Byron shrugged and giggled with the girl next to him.
Zelda slapped his shoulder and said “there wasn’t mush-room for anything out there” and even though the statement wasn’t very funny the pair burst out laughing.

Jeff’s eyes shot towards John and his family was giving him either judgemental or sympathetic looks.
He walked over and kneeled down, putting his hand on John’s shoulder with the suggestion that they go inside, but the flinch his boy did threw him violently into the wall and Jeff stood up, scared to touch his son in case he hurt himself further.

“I think we should leave” Scott said next to him, sounding falsely brave while John’s breathing became erratic and dangerous.
The red head was staring past everyone, his pupils the size of his irises and Jeff agreed. But how the hell to move him? He flopped to the side and the time for action was almost lost. He did not want to call another ambulance for John.

Jeff stepped forward and kneeled down before quickly pulling John towards him and wrapping his arms tightly around the boy’s arms and chest. John writhed and screamed in agony, but Jeff held on, wondering what his son was seeing. He didn’t know much about shrooms, but he knew that they made everything feel infinitely more intense, and apparently his touch felt like agony.
He carried his screaming son through the crowded family while the other two rounded up a little brother each, apologising and saying bye to their Grandma.

On the front lawn John’s crying subsided and he was floppy, staring wherever his head looked to. Sweat dripped off his fringe and he didn’t blink. For a horrible moment, Jeff thought he’d choked and died.

He stood John onto his feet and supported him while Scott and Virgil got the car ready. The door opened and he led John to the door, plodding him down next to Virgil. Scott was in the backmost seat with Gordon, trying to distract the pre-teen from their disturbed brother. It was mostly unnecessary though- John’s head lolled onto Virgil’s shoulder and his shallow breathing evened out as he fell asleep.

“You said he would be fine!” Jeff scolded, trying to keep his voice even as he switched the car on.

“I actually never said that. I said he can make his own choices.”

“I thought you would be looking after him!”

“Oh, is that MY job now? Since when am I his Dad?”

“Are you saying I don’t look after him?” Jeff yelled in a threatening manner.

“Obviously that’s not what I meant!” Virgil retorted, his voice desperate and defeated.

“You left him with them to take mushrooms, Virgil. Why did you do that?”

Virgil grunted angrily.
“Because he has to learn Dad! He smokes weed all the time and I thought… maybe a bad trip would put him off all this shit.”

Jeff groaned and Virgil felt awful.
“You couldn’t let him do it somewhere more private?” Jeff whined. There was a tiny plea in his voice as he said it.

“They would have done it with or without us there, Dad.” Virgil wanted his Dad to understand. He didn’t want John to do it either, but he didn’t see what other choice there was.

The conversation died out on the rest of the drive. They pulled up, a man there waiting for them so he could return the car to the dealership. The man didn’t say anything when Jeff pulled the unconscious teenager from his seat, and even smiled at the generous tip Jeff handed to him. Hush money or a genuine tip, the man didn’t care.

While Jeff carried John to the private jet, Scott took the boys across the road to McDonalds. They’d missed thanksgiving lunch after all.

Virgil stood at the jet doorway and watched his Dad drop his brother into one of the seats closest to the back of the plane. His brother’s head rested against the window and he stirred in his sleep, his dreams apparently unpleasant.

“I have to get up front” Jeff said sullenly, “can you sit with him? I’d hate for him to freak out in the air. He’ll probably open up the emergency exit or something.”

Jeff sounded tired and Virgil nodded affirmingly.
Jeff rubbed his stubble and sighed. He didn’t just sound tired- he looked old. “I don’t know what to do Virgil” he admitted.

Virgil shrugged. “I know you’re doing your best, Dad. Just… ride out the hard parts with him.”

Jeff nodded slowly, taking in Virgil’s words.
Ride with him.

Half an hour later, Scott shepherded the youngest brothers into the plane and sat them up the front with their happy meals and some extra snacks for when they inevitably became hungry later on. He sat behind them, ultimately ignoring John’s existence. He was just about ready to give up on ‘the troubled brother.’

True to his word, Virgil sat next to John. He watched videos on his tablet boredly, blocking out the hours beforehand from his memory. Any time John twitched or reacted in his sleep, Virgil begged whatever diety was in charge of sleep for him to not wake up. He had no idea what waking up after taking psychedelics was like and he really didn’t want to find out over 50 thousand feet in the air.

Jeff announced that they were 5 minutes from home and Virgil took out his headphones and dumped his tablet in the pocket at the back of the seat in front.
He looked over at John to make sure he was still sleeping and was disturbed to find his eyes open, blinking rapidly.
“John?”

John closed his eyes tightly, scrunching up the rest of his face.
“Yeah?”

“You alright buddy?”

“Sick.”

Virgil got the flight sickness bag next to his tablet and held it against John’s mouth. The moment it was in place he threw up, spattering the inside with the disgusting sound of liquid on soft plastic. Virgil was caught between looking at what he was doing and looking anywhere else. He hated other people’s body fluids and if he had to look at it, he’d probably throw up himself.

When the bag was almost full, he ignored his Dad’s landing procedure and dumped it in a bin, grabbed some water, and strapped himself back into his seat quickly. John was nursing the bag nearest to his own seat to his mouth and had already thrown up in it once. The moment he sat back down, John put his head back on Virgil’s shoulder.

“Are you feeling better?” Virgil whispered.
He felt John shake his head.
“What’s wrong?”

There were tear tracks down John’s cheeks, but Virgil was pretty sure they were from his irritated eyes more than any altered emotional state. His pupils were still huge and the whites of his eyes were bloodshot.

It took a moment for John to reply, his voice husky and strained from a severely dry mouth.
“Paranoid, feel sick.” he muttered.

Virgil put a hand to John’s forehead, and while he was a little warm he was nowhere near too hot. That made him feel calm.
“Paranoid about what? Are you still seeing things?”

John’s head shifted and he was looking into a the corner of the room, a dark shadow hiding their table setting that was strapped to the wall.
“I don’t think so” John replied, dropping his head back into the soft spot on Virgil’s shoulder.

Virgil’s hand came up to John’s head and stroked the red locks while the plane lost altitude, coming in for an expert landing. The vomit bag hovered around John’s chin, but he didn’t throw anything up again.

When Jeff came back out of the cockpit Scott stood up, opened the door and ejected the stairs for his father who walked down them first. He let Alan and Gordon in front of him, leaving Virgil to deal with John.

The dark haired brother watched them go with a heavy heart, wishing that just once, he wasn’t the one carrying the burden.
“Come on” he mustered, pulling John’s arm around his shoulder and standing up, carrying both of their weights. Thankfully, John at least used his own legs to help them forward.
They took the steps slowly, one at a time, Virgil gripping onto the rail for dear life. Stepping onto the hard ground, he made his way to the elevator- there was no way he was going to try the stairs with John hanging off him.

Up at the house, Virgil went past the low talking in the kitchen and straight to his bedroom, ignoring John’s resistant moaning and gentle tugs towards his own room.
Over the threshold, Virgil shut the door and pushed John sitting onto his bed. He took off the younger’s shoes and threw his legs under the blankets. He kicked off his own shoes and jumped over John, putting himself on the side of the bed closest to the wall. His emotional anguish of the day way simply too much, and he was exhausted.
He didn’t really care if John stayed, but he hoped he did. That he realised what the gesture meant.
He loved John, and was always there for him… but he was also tired because of him.
Virgil fell asleep quickly, and when he woke up again in the middle of the night, John was still lying next to him.

Chapter Text

When John woke up alone in Virgil’s bed, his mouth was completely dry, his lips cracked severely. There was a huge, tall glass of water on the bedside table and John reached for it, his arm heavy and uncoordinated. He pulled it towards him with a childish groan, his head pulsing and buzzing, unable to keep it still.
He swallowed the entire contents of the glass, his thirst barely quenched.

His head was spinning like he was inside an indoor skydiving tube and it took leaning into the wall on the other side of Virgil’s bed to alleviate the sensation.
Nausea, headache, dry mouth, shivering. It was like the first time he’d been hungover, but worse.

The need to throw up arrived and John wanted to get to his own ensuite. Virgil’s was nice, and John didn’t want to mess that up for him. He took himself to the edge of the bed and dropped his feet to the floor, the feeling unpleasently cold against his soles.

Suddenly feeling the direness of the situation, he stumbled across the hall to his own bedroom, hurtling through the door and throwing himself at the ensuite. He barely got his head into the toilet bowl before he was throwing up brown stomach acid, no chunks in it since he’d made them all miss lunch.

Eyes watering, strings of saliva connecting his dry mouth to the toilet water, John rested his head on the seat, his arms hugging the bowl. He groaned as another wave of nausea hit him, his stomach squirming but not quite winning.

The door opened behind him, but as much as he wanted to turn around and see who it was, the act of doing so might have sent him to the floor.
A hand fell on his back and someone was pulling him away from the bowl, a pleasantly warm damp towel slapped over his head that was quickly becoming cool. He leaned into the person next to him and closed his eyes against the unpleasant world, his heavy head unable to do much else.

“Think you’ll be up for a fly later?” Scott asked lowly.

A dozen terrible thoughts went through John’s head, and his body immediately tensed up in fear. Last time he’d suspected the worst and the truth had outdone him, but how could anything beat his thoughts now? Military school, rehab, ranches for troubled kids..
Nothing could possibly top those unpleasantries, right?
“No” he mumbled.

Scott stood, pulling John up with him.
“Well you’re going to have to be, little brother” he said seriously.

He walked with John to his bed and dumped him onto it, a huge bottle of water on the side table that John eyed wantingly. The red head lay on his side and buried his head into the familiar pillow, the pressure nice against his aching head.
Scott put two Panadols on the table, though there was a flash in his eyes while he did so- a second where he saw John lying on the bathroom floor littered by the same pills.

Scott kneeled, put his arm on the edge of the bed and rested his chin on it, watching John blink against the light. His pupils appeared to be back to their normal size, though it was hard to tell as he avoided making eye contact.
“Can I get you anything else?”

John considered for a second and shook his head.
“Thank you.”

Scott quirked his mouth and stood up.
“We’re leaving at one oclock” he said, leaving the room before John could say anything.

John pulled himself up into an awkward lean and downed half of the water. He swallowed the Panadol and almost finished off the water. His lips were still cracked and uncomfortable, but he felt better than he had minutes before.

He lay back down and might have been content just existing for a while, but the thoughts of what his family had planned for him was weighing heavily on his mind. He’d gone too far, and now he was too much for them. He was being thrown at a professional in one area or another, someone who could get into his mind with promises of fixing him and then turn him over when they thought they’d done enough.

There was vomit and drool on John’s shirt, and he could feel the stink of the previous day against his skin. His hair was greasy and the coolness of the room was oppressing.
He crawled to his ensuite and flushed the toilet, sure he’d clean up the mess around it later (or not, did it really matter if they were sending him away?) and ran his bath with only hot water, scented salts in the bottom of it.

Undressing and pulling himself in, he moaned as his muscles unfurled in the heat, the grime on his skin boiling away. He pooled water into his hands and splashed it on his face and head. Staring up at the spinning ceiling, he felt only hate.

He’d just done it for fun. He’d trusted his extended family and their promise of a good trip, but it was more like they’d set him up. How had they not reacted to the hallucinogens the same way he had? How had they stayed calm and kept their senses while his became overwhelming to a point of agony?
He shut his eyes against the vague memories, the terror and state of unending nervousness returning to his brain.
He hugged himself as he shook, his cinched eyes watering from the frustrated tortures of his mind.

He pulled himself back to reality and forced his eyes open, breathing heavily as he searched the room. He was okay. He was in his bathroom sitting in his bath and he was okay. His family were in the house somewhere planning against him and he wasn’t okay. They were going to send him away and he wasn’t okay.

His eyes caught something on the edge of his cabinet, lying next to the sink in front of his toothbrush holder.
It was a high quality razor his Dad had bought him for Christmas when he was 13, one of those metal ones with the changeable razors. There was a box of razors in the cupboard that John had bought recently, having permission from his Dad since they’d decided he couldn’t be trusted with sharp objects. He’d thought it was patronising when they’d stripped his room of anything that he could hurt himself on, but thinking about them now made him decide that maybe they’d had a point.
But the box of razors was calling to him.

The idea swirled in his head. He’d attempted once and failed. Could a different approach be enough? Could razors be enough to take him away from everything he’d grown to resent?
But if he failed… woke up in hospital… got thrown back into the psych ward again… would that not be better than whatever they’d planned for him?

John’s hand gripped the bathtub, mustering the final courage to pull him out and reach for the razors. He promised himself that once his breathing was steady he’d do it.
One final deep breath and John stood up, stepping out of the tub and onto his light blue mat. He opened the cabinet door and slipped a razor out of the box, staring down at it in his shaking fingers. He kept his breathing steady- that seemed like the most important part.
Lowering himself back into the bath, the water cooling and sloshing around, John placed his left arm against the porcelain and pressed the razor into it. Just one deep cut and into the bath. He repeated the step in his head a few times, taking a deep breath and-

He dropped the razor at the knock on his bathroom door.
“John?” Scott called out, trying the door handle. John watched the back of the door, pulled from his daze, scared to move.
The knocking became louder. There was a scared desperation when Scott called again.
“John I swear to God, if you don’t say something RIGHT NOW-”

“I’m here, I’m coming now.”
John got out of the tub, his eyes falling onto the razor now sitting at the bottom of the bath.
He grabbed his towel off the rack and wrapped it around his waist before going to the door. He opened it, peering around it with guilt.

Scott pushed the door open more, waiting for John to step out.
“I’m not done” John muttered, still avoiding eye contact.

“Come ON” Scott whined, grabbing John by the arm and shoving him towards his closet. John’s heart lurched, sure that Scott would go in and pull the plug in the bath revealing the razor sunk to the bottom of it, but he only leant in to close the door.

John pulled on some comfortable clothes and grabbed his waterbottle while Scott watched him from the bathroom door, arms crossed. Holding the bottle in his left arm, the fresh ghost of a scar at the edge of his elbow, John stood awkwardly and looked around his room.

Scott scoffed and rolled his eyes, opening John’s bedroom door and disappearing behind it, impatiently calling out “MOVE!”

John struggled with himself, his heartbeat racing, fidgeting with the waterbottle in his hands. He felt like a lost child, unable to make up his own mind on what to do or where to go. Such children might have just followed their leader, but would such a child follow if they knew that their leader was taking them somewhere awful?

John pressed his hand to his forehead, tired of making choices. Scott marched back in and took the hand away, holding it while he pulled John through the house.
Past the lounge where his other brothers were gathered, he heard a small ‘safe flying’ from Virgil.
He let Scott drag him through the garage and to the secret hangar under the island, the giant magnificent Thunderbird prototype their Dad and Kyrano had made sitting in its centre proudly.
Nearby was a smaller jet they used for more commercial flights, often groceries and deliveries. It was this one that Scott shoved John into, dropping his helmet over the red hair and hitting it with a small ‘bonk’ to get it properly in place.
John strapped himself in while Scott fixed up the rest of the ship, playing with knobs and buttons.

There was no warning as the ship took off, shooting them right into the air on its metal wings.
John looked down at the ocean so far below them and thought of the water still sitting in his bath. There was regret there, knowing he should have made the choice sooner.
There was always when he got back. If he got back.

“Where are we going?” He slurred into the headset, closing his eyes. He couldn’t remember how it felt to be alert and awake, the tiredness of depression defining his days. He’d usually be asleep at one in the afternoon and the alteration to his routine was hitting him hard.

“You’ll see. ETA 18 minutes.”

18 minutes. Enough for a Power Nap. John’s head dropped to his shoulder and he fell asleep, the only merciful state his mind seemed to allow him.

There was a brief moment where he woke up as if in a dream, transferring in baby steps from the plane seat to the back of a car, but once he asleep, he was OUT. He could probably be thrown from a plane and not wake up before hitting the ground.

An indeterminate time later, John was being gently woken up. He cracked his eyes and there was Scott, beckoning him somewhere he didn’t want to be.
“Come on John” Scott whispered, tugging him out of the car. John looked around at where they were and found a beautiful expanse littered with dead trees that probably looked beautiful and full in the summer. There was still a charm about it that screamed comfort, but while it looked nice John didn’t entirely understand why they were there.

Scott walked off into the park, away from the unnamed building nearby. John followed him, alert and wary as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
“Where are we going?” He asked, slipping on a rock.

Through a break in the bare bushes nearby, John saw Scott standing with his hands in his pocket, staring down at something on the ground in front of him solemnly. John stared at him with widened eyes, finally realising where they were. The headstones were all around him, he just handn’t seen them.

He stepped closer to Scott, but the oldest brother was staring down at Lucille Tracy’s grave with nothing else in the world around him.
John stood next to Scott and sat down, folding his hands into his lap, tense and cold, intently staring at the same spot.
“Why are we here?” John whispered, reading the limited information on the headstone over and over.

Scott didn’t say anything, but sat down next to John; two little boys waiting at their mother’s grave.
The longer they sat, the more the memories came back. John’s first day of school, when Virgil was teasing him but his Mother sent Virgil away. The first time John came down from space and ran straight to Lucille, who hugged him and told him he was never going back before gifting him his first NASA tee shirt. The Mother’s Day when John dropped juice into her lap and she couldn’t stop laughing. The endless nights when she sang to him until he fell asleep at bedtime from a time when he didn’t WANT to go to sleep. The movie nights when they watched sad movies and she held John while he cried. The millions of loving words she shared that John had too few written records of.

‘Here lies Lucille Tracy’
‘Wife of Jefferson Tracy’
‘Mother to Scott, Virgil, John, Gordon & Alan’
‘Alive in the hearts of those she left behind.’

John’s heart was squeezed and he blinked back tears. He bit his lip and hugged his legs, re-reading the stone again. His head bent into his knees and his body wracked as he cried silently.
A hand wrapped around his back and he was pulled into Scott, both of the older brothers arms wrapped around him tightly, his head resting on top of John’s.
John grabbed Scott’s arms, nails digging into the fabric of his older brother’s jacket. He was weak, leaning into his brother like a little kid who’s dog died. He read the headstone again, pausing on every word, etching them into his mind.
The two boys sat silently, staring blankly.

It was cold from the impending winter, the ground underneath them as frozen as the bodies buried beneath it. Scott hadn’t intended on staying out for long, but it seemed like John had needed longer than he thought. He didn’t know it, but the meaning had shifted from how he’d intended it.
Scott wanted him to think of their mother. He wanted his little brother to remember everything she stood for, her values, her ideas… he wanted John to think of how disappointed she would be. John was better than the way he acted, and he’d forgotten.
It had meant that for John, but more than that he thought about his own headstone.
‘Here lies John Tracy.’
‘Son of Jefferson Tracy.’
‘Brother of Scott, Virgil, Gordon & Alan.’
‘Better off gone.’

Scott didn’t know how close John had been to following their mother. He kept holding his little brother, even when the crying stopped and they were just sitting there without words. They didn’t track the time and the sun was disappearing over the trees in the distance when John finally pulled away from Scott, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
Scott stood up and put his hand out. John took it before he put his arm around John’s shoulders and they walked back to the rental. John leaned against the car door, avoiding Scott’s contact now that he’d seen his vulnerability. His eyes hurt, a physical reaction to his emotional exhaustion.
They flew home, John staring down at the ocean, half hoping for an accident. One where he died, but Scott was okay. That would be alright.

They landed half an hour later, the warmth of the island contrasting to the cold hours they’d spent together.
The house was buzzing mildly until they walked into the room, small careful smiles littering every face, waiting for John to blow up at them.
But he was tired. He didn’t return any smiles, but went to his room, eager to empty out the bath and put the whole idea behind him.

He closed his door and went into the ensuite, mortified to find that the bath was already empty and the razor was gone.

Chapter Text

His breath echoed around the bathroom, the offensive bass of the techno music blasting outside the door felt more than heard.

Lying on the tiles, blood pooling above his lip, John wasn’t sure if he wanted someone to walk in on him or not.
He sat up and felt his eye, discretely using his thumb to wipe away a tear that had formed from the pain. He put the edge of his shaking index finger under his nose and pulled it away red and wet. Wiping the rest of the blood on his shirt sleeve, he used the sink to pull himself to his feet and looked in the mirror.
His nose might have been broken and his eye was going to be very badly bruised. Looking at it made it hurt more.

He moved his fringe so it covered the most afflicted eye just as someone walked in.
John glanced towards the noise of the door opening without seeing who it was and turned on the tap to wipe away the blood dripping down his chin.

“You okay kid?” The stranger asked. He was tall, handsome and strong, aged around his mid to late 20s.

John tried not to show his relief that his attackers handn’t come back.
“Yep” he replied shortly, using his fingers to wipe at the drying blood that had absorbed into his skin. He winced as his knuckle hit his nostril, an apparently sore spot.

“Uh, come here.” The man grabbed some paper towel and wet it. He turned John to face him and wiped gently above John’s mouth.
“You want to tell me what happened?” He asked, wringing out the towel before going in with a dry one.

“… I kind of made out with someone, and her boyfriend found out.”

The guy pulled away from John and looked down at him with one raised eyebrow before letting out a laugh.
“You got in with a fake ID, didn’t you?”

John could suppress his tiny sad smile.
“It’s that obvious, is it?”

“Well you look young, but your problems aren’t really problems either. Well, they SEEM like real problems now,” he clarified. He threw the blood stained tissues into the bin nearby and grabbed another fresh one, wiping gently above John’s lip before holding the sheet there, “but you’d be much worse off if it wasn’t a high-school drama.”

John smirked and nodded understandingly. The man was looking down at him, holding the paper towel there. It was fine… until it went on for a little bit too long.

“Thank you” John said, trying to imply the end of their encounter. He gave the man another nod and sniffed blood back into his sinus.

“Don’t do that or it won’t clot” he said as John walked around him, ready to leave.
Just before John got to the door, the man kept talking.
“You know, my fiancé cheated on me once.”

“Really?” John asked politely, hoping this wouldn’t take much longer. He was eager to get back to Destiny and show her the damage her boyfriend had done.

“Yeah. More than once actually.”
To John’s annoyance, the man came closer to him and leaned against the wall beside the hand dryer. John crossed his arms, not particularly interested in the story, but the guy seemed like he just wanted someone to talk to, and he HAD tried to help with the blood nose. Listening seemed to be the least John could do.
“I’m sorry to hear that” John replied, trying to show sympathy under his forming bruises.

“It was a big blow to hear it. We’re planning our wedding and I figured I can get my revenge on her through it… I really want to, you know, return the favour.”
He had stepped even closer while he spoke, and John hadn’t become aware of the fact until the man was putting his fingers gently under John’s chin, tilting his head up with his mouth open.
John pushed him in the chest, but the man was stronger. He mashed their mouths together and his fingers dug painfully into John’s upper arms. John wacked him on the chest again, trying harder to get away, but he let go of the arms grabbed John’s wrists instead.
John’s wrists pulsed as the man dragged him towards the stall door. He screamed deep and kicked out at the air, begging someone to hear him and barge in, but the man threw John inside the stall and locked it behind them, the noise outside even more muted behind the closed door.

John ran straight for the lock, but the man grabbed him by the back of the neck and forced him to the ground, his hand snaking under the back of John’s shirt. His fingers were warm and sweaty, burning their memory into John’s lower back.
John grunted, his hands under him trying to push himself up, but the man was too heavy. He felt both of the man’s knees straddling above his hips, his weight pushing John into the tiles. He was scared to move- with every movement he felt the man’s hardness on his back.
“GET THE FUCK OFF ME!” He screamed, blood dripping from his nose onto the tiles.

Warm hands traced up his shirt and underneath him to his chest, the unwanted contact searing invisible tattoos onto his body. He implored himself not to cry, but when he felt the man’s lips pressed into the back of his neck he broke down.

“Yeah, keep doing that” the man whispered next to John’s ear.
He felt faint, and when the man flipped him over and ripped the buttons on his shirt he lost consciousness for a few moments.
The man brought his legs to the same side, kneeling beside John, and dropped his hands down the front of John’s pants.
Something snapped inside John and adrenaline rushed through him, the faintness leaving him like water draining from the bath. He sat up and swung his elbow as hard as he could into the man’s face, feeling a terrible crunch under it. The man howled in pain and his hand slipped out of John’s jeans as he fell backwards against the stall wall. John didn’t hesitate. He undid the lock and ran out of the bathroom, not taking even a moment to acknowledge the other young men who’d walked in.

Shifting between the crowd, trying to make himself small, he made a bee-line for the entrance. He glanced over at the edge of the dance floor where Destiny was talking quickly to Paul, her arms gesticulating as she tried to defend her side of their relationship. He looked away from them determinitely and moved quicker, and once the night air hit him he was running as fast as he could.
He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know where he was. All he knew was that he had to get as far away from there as possible.

After running for some time, John found himself in an unpopulated area. The streets were dark and anyone he saw was walking quickly with somewhere important to be.
Choosing an empty alleyway, he sat down on the step to some shop near the back, hidden from the street’s view behind a huge rubbish bin. John leaned his head on his hand, covering his most bruised eye. He brought his other arm up, his wrist next to his mouth.
“Call Virgil” he whispered, resting the arm with the holographic watch on his knee.

It dialled six times. Just as John was sure no one would answer it, Virgil’s image appeared. The little blue version of his older brother was sitting boaredly at a table, looking unimpressed and apprehensive.
“What is it John?” He asked impatiently.

“Can-” John winced at the pain in his face muscles. Talking hurt. “Can you please come get me?”

“Are you drunk?” Virgil asked judgingly.

“No.”

“Are you high?”

“No!” There was a sad desperation in John’s voice. When had substance abuse become his default in Virgil’s eyes?

Virgil sighed. “Well I can’t anyway. Dad has the plane.”

John’s hand dropped from his eye and Virgil’s entire demeanour changed.
“John, what happened?”

John swallowed, fighting back tears. He had a naturally deep voice, but talking to Virgil then made it high and unrecognisable.
“I just need someone to come get me.”

“Leave it with me” Virgil responded before disappearing from John’s sight.

John stared at his watch for a while longer before he dropped his arm, hugging himself. The adrenaline was gone and he felt sick, but he didn’t dare move. His exposed chest was freezing but holding the thin fabric of his shirt over it did nothing to help. He wanted to cut off every inch of his skin that the stranger had touched, the ghost of his fingers taunting.
Every time someone walked past the alleyway, John stiffened. He had never felt so scared to move. He’d never wanted to be more invisible.

It felt like hours before a car pulled into the alley. Despite his initial terror, the relief of seeing his Dad step out of the Ferrari sent John straight into his arms, squeezing his Dad tightly and burying his head into the patriarch’s chest, tears and blood staining the fabric. He gripped at Jeff’s jacket desperately, sobbing inconsolably. When John’s knees buckled, Jeff caught him and lowered himself with his son, stroking his hair and refusing to let go.

The world didn’t exist outside the alleyway. They were the only people on the planet and anything that had happened before that moment wasn’t real.
John’s breathing slowed and when he finally pulled away, Jeff unlocked the car and opened the door. John got in and looked out the window sulkily.

The Ferrari started with a growl and moved glidingly towards the airport where Jeff had left the plane.
After a few minutes of respectful silence, Jeff wanted answers.
“Looks like you lost a fight” he said, trying to keep enough humour in his voice to let John know that he didn’t think badly of him.

There was dead silence, and Jeff was so sure he saw John flinch.

“Yeah” he replied weakly.

“It happens” Jeff replied, pulling up to a red light.

John wiped his nose on his damp red sleeve. He’d have to throw the shirt away when he got home. Hell, he’d have to throw away everything he was wearing.

“It’s okay John” Jeff said, “when we get home you can have a nice hot bath and forget about the fight.”

Nice hot bath. Jeff mustn’t have been the one to empty it for him last time.
“Dad” John choked, his words catching in his throat as he tried to force them out. His brain and nerves said ‘NO’, but his throbbing heart said ‘PLEASE’. “Could you get the box of razors out of my bathroom first?”

Jeff’s first impulse was to ask ‘why?’ but he knew very well why. John wasn’t a little boy. He didn’t need to act stupid around him.
“Of course” he replied. It wasn’t a good sign for John’s health, but it showed that John trusted him. It was his cry for help, and Jeff would do everything to answer it this time.

They drove on in silence, the images of the night replaying in John’s mind. He revisited the moment when he was forced to the ground, the feeling of knees on either side of his abdomen, the pressure of the stranger’s-
His crying was hard and inconsolable. Jeff’s words fell on deaf ears and he wasn’t sure if he should pull over or just get them onboard the plane.

John’s hands pressed to his head and he hyperventillated, feeling the stranger’s hand putting pressure below his naval, undoing the button of his jeans, sliding-
“It wasn’t just a fight Dad” he said quickly, his voice small and choked. He had to say it quickly or he’d never say it at all. “There was a fight. They beat me up in the bathroom, but they left after that. I was wiping away the blood and someone came in. He helped me wipe the blood away but then he grabbed me. He dragged me to the stalls and he-”
John closed his eyes tightly and pressed his palms into them.
“He pushed me onto the ground and held me down. I could feel his-”
John bit his lip as the man’s reaction to him crying came back to him. ‘Yeah keep doing that.’ The memory made John want to stop crying, but the tears were hot and heavy in the corner of his eyes and he didn’t know if he would ever stop.
“He got me on my back and I could feel myself fainting, but then he… I reacted then. I elbowed him in the nose… I think I broke it.”

Still hyperventilating, he looked over at his Dad for his reaction to his disjointed, vague thoughts, somewhat surprised to see him there at all. Recounting his assault out loud had felt like a trance, and seeing his Dad’s creased brow looking out at the road had broken it. Jeff was pissed.
“I didn’t mean to break his nose” John finished in a tiny voice. Jeff’s hand reached over to him and he laced their fingers together. John squeezed weakly and he finally felt calm.

* * *

John walked by the kitchen and Virgil jumped him immediately.
“Are you okay!? Where’d the bruises come from?” He grabbed John’s chin and turned his head, investigating the deepening skin, but it felt too familiar. John shoved Virgil away, hard, but Jeff was there to save him from any repurcussions.

“I need your help, Virgil” their father said, gripping the older son’s shoulder, “jump on the computer and look up every hospital emergency room near Sydney for me.”

“O-Kay?” Virgil responded, looking suspiciously at John, scanning him with his eyes. He turned his head at the last moment and went to do as his father had asked.
It was strange that he’d requested a simple search like that to be done on the computer when his phone would get the job done just as well, but his fathers wishes were his command.

He’d found his results before Jeff came back into the room.
“Where were you?” Virgil asked boredly.

“Just getting something from John’s room. Kid’s had a rough night.”

“Clearly.” Virgil clicked on each of the pins detailing the 6 emergency rooms closest to the great Australian city. “Looks like 6 main hospitals, but 4 of them are private.”

Jeff visually found the one closest to the club that John and his friends had gone to and pointed to it.
“Give me their number.”

Virgil clicked on the link and Jeff dialled it into his phone, the automated selections sounding off immediately. Jeff Pressed 2 to connect to emergency services and the person on the other end answered after the first ring.
“St Vincent’s public E.D. This is Helen.”

“Hello, I’m calling to enquire about a friend. Has a drunk man come in with a badly broken nose?”

“Yes, someone with that description came in about half an hour ago. We’ll have to keep him here overnight but you’re welcome to pick him up in the morning.”

“Perfect, thank you.”

“Can I please get your preferred phone number to-”

Jeff hung up before she could finish her sentence and was already dialling the phone to call someone else. Virgil looked curiously at his father, trying to piece together what had happened. A man with a broken nose was in the emergency room. That meant John had come off better in his fight, considering he only had some bruises and his nose only MIGHT have been broken.

“Hello?” Asked a tired voice.

“General Casey? It’s Jeff, I’m calling in a favour.”

“Must be pretty big if you’re calling me at 2 in the morning.”

“It’s time sensitive. I need someone drafted immediately.”

There was an unsure silence down the line.
“…surely you don’t mean John. There’s an active war going on and however bad he behaved,-”

“No, not him” Jeff replied impatiently, determinitely keeping his voice steady, “there’s a guy in Vincent’s Sydney hospital, checked in around 01:30 with a broken nose. Whoever he is, I want him in the war zone.”

“Well it’s definitely possible, and it’s definitely allowed… but I doubt this guy will last long if he has no training.”

“It’s still a hell of a lot better than what I’d do to him if I ever got my hands on him.”

General Casey gave an exasperated laugh.
“I’d hate to ever piss you off, Jeff Tracy. Consider it done.”

Virgil looked at his Dad uneasily. Jeff hung up the phone and dropped it on the kitchen counter, sighed, and looked up at the roof.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit much for just one fight?” Virgil asked, seeing his Dad in a whole new light. He’d never been scared of his Dad, but that night had exposed a part of Jeff that Virgil had never thought possible.

Jeff looked at Virgil consideringly, apparently on the cusp of revealing something huge. Instead, he shook his head.
“It’s not.”

Chapter Text

It was a rare weekend where the boys didn’t have any other plans.
Virgil had demanded a night in, and the boys all agreed it was a good idea.
Especially with their guest.

Jeff and the Creighton-Wards were on a business trip in the Ethiopia, and Penelope didn’t much want to spend the days alone in their manor. Her mother had been the one to suggest a ‘sleepover’ with the boys, and considering the last sleepover had been when she was 8 she thought was a fun idea.

John and Penelope were in an intense game of scrabble, the other brothers on either side trying to dictate what word could be made. John wasted a U and an N to make ‘stable’ into ‘unstable’ (Gordon was right behind him cursing the lost opportunity to use his ‘Q’,) when there was a loud knock on the front door.

Everyone turned in the direction of the noise, perturbed by the situation. They hadn’t ordered anything, and it wasn’t easy for just anyone to knock on the front door of a house located on a private island.

“I’ll go see who it is” Scott said, charging forward. The others listened, though the door was too far away for them to hear any real conversation. They heard muted talking and became curious when they heard the door close, two sets of footsteps treading back to the room they were in.

“Your friend’s here to see you, John” Scott said a little too cheerfully.

Destiny was behind him, her long blonde ponytail bobbing with every step. She saw John sitting at the table across from Penelope and failed to hide the dirty look she gave the other girl.
“Can we talk?”

“Yeah. Come up to my room.”

“Did you get her pregnant?”
Alan asked stupidly, leaning over Penelope to call out to his brother.

“Leave your door open” Scott yelled after them in his authoritative military voice.

“Oh god, I wish they’d shut up” John told Destiny on the landing.

“That’s the girl from the party where we met” Destiny said matter of factly, ignoring the comments from John’s brothers.

“Penelope, yeah. She’s a family friend.”

“Mhm” Destiny replied coldly, her arms crossed. She sat on John’s bed, and looked away from him as he closed the door. “You don’t have a lock?” She asked, sounding annoyed.

“No, no I don’t” John replied. He wasn’t going to get into that. “I doubt you came all this way to talk about Penelope or locks though. Why are you here, Destiny?”

“You’ve been avoiding me” Destiny replied coldly, snapping her eyes onto his, “ever since that night at the club… did Paul and Adam really scare you that badly?”

John couldn’t help but laugh, but that seemed to annoy her further.
“Come on John, we both know it would take more than a few bruises to scare you off.”

“I don’t really want to talk about that night” John said, sitting on the bed next to her.

“I broke up with him. I’ve…” she blushed and looked away from John as she continued, “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out this whole time. Are you going to?”

John sighed and took her hand in his. She looked down at the contact and threw herself at him, kissing him on the mouth.
Irrational terror took John and he stood up immediately, walking away from her to his desk. He leaned on it, his hand brushing over the heavy wood comfortingly.
It wasn’t her fault at all.

“I’ll take that as a no then” Destiny replied defiantly, poking the inside of her mouth with her tongue. She’d turned a deeper red and her eyes reflected light as she began to cry. “I thought you were a good guy John, but Paul was right. You ARE a pussy.”

“Just go” John spat, disgusted. Destiny looked vile to him in the moment, and he suddenly didn’t like that she was on his bed, dirtying it up.

She gave him a half knowing look and walked over to him. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she leaned her chest into him, arching her back to increase the pressure.
“And what if I just stay here?” She teased, sliding her hand down his torso. She touched the front of his jeans, unknowing that the spot had already been claimed by the stranger.

“S-stop” John stuttered, pushing her hand away gently. He looked into her eyes, trying to convey more than he could say. “I don’t want this.”

“This what?” Destiny asked, genuinely confused.

The question hit John with considerable weight. In all his time, plenty of people had asked him what he wanted, but no one had ever asked him what he didn’t want.
“Any of it” he replied in realisation. He stumbled back to his bed and sat on the edge of it, mildly surprised to see Destiny sit on it next to him.
“I don’t want to hang out with Paul or Adam. They bullied me all through secondary school! I don’t want to go to school in England, or live on an island, or date anyone. I don’t want to have this house, or my brothers, or my Dad. I don’t want any of it!” His voice was rising, bordering on hysterical.
“It’s not you, Destiny. You’re not a problem. You’re not a bad person. But you’re not real either. I don’t think you’ve ever been real with me and that’s FINE. I haven’t been real with anyone either.”
It should have felt like a confession, but it didn’t.
“I… hate… existing. I wake up every morning wishing I’d died in my sleep. I think about killing myself every. Fucking. Day. And if we dated, or hooked up, or whatever, guess what? That wouldn’t change. What would change is that you’d hurt me too, because we won’t last. I don’t… I don’t like being touched. I don’t like feeling good. You deserve better than that…”

The door creaked and John looked over to see Scott standing tall in the frame.
“Told you to keep the door open” he said lightly.

“I was just leaving anyway” Destiny sighed, walking towards the door. She looked back at John, and was that pity he saw there?
He expected Scott to follow her, to show her the way out, but instead he stood in the doorway and watched John.

John looked back blankly, trying to convey nothing; no indication that he’d said anything self-depricating at all.
“I’ll be down in a second” he said after a few moments silence.

Scott stepped in and closed the door behind him.
“I heard all of that.”

John felt exposed and his hand automatically went to rub the back of his neck, another spot on him that belonged to the stranger, looking anywhere but at his brother.
“I’m sorry.”

Scott sat down on the floor next to John’s feet and wrapped his arm around the younger’s leg, resting his head on John’s thigh, his other arm hugging lower down his legs. It was an odd position, but for some reason John felt at ease from it. He put his own hand on the dip between Scott’s shoulder and neck, the closest they’d get to a hug until age and maturity made them both boring.

“You deserve every good thing you have” Scott said in a small voice.

John swallowed unsurely. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again.
He’d wanted to say ‘it doesn’t feel like it’, but his brother was there to reassure him and wouldn’t accept anything John said, unless it was positive. Easier to just be quiet.

“I wish I could wave a magic wand and make you happy” Scott said lowly, “I’d do ANYTHING to make you genuinely happy again.”

“It’s not your fault” John said awkwardly.

“It’s not yours either.”

John’s heart fluttered at his brother’s words, but he wasn’t entirely sure why. He’d never considered the worst parts of his life as ‘his fault,’ but then who’s fault was it? Someone had to take the blame…
He considered his Dad, but that wasn’t right. Jeff had done everything for them.
He fell onto his mother, but she hadn’t WANTED to die. His life since her death was a reaction, an explosion caused by carbon dropped in water that effected him and those around him in a huge way. But carbon settled.
He might too.
He just had to wait.
“I’m sorry” John repeated.

“Prove it. Go see the therapist Dad’s been referring you to for the past 3 years. Tell her everything you just told Destiny.”

“They’ll throw me back in the psych ward” John said through beading tears.

“They won’t.” Scott tightened his hug on John’s leg reassuringly and John’s hand left Scott’s shoulder, replacing itself to the bed. He curled his fingers, clinging to the duvet.

“Promise?”

Scott looked up at his younger brother, hope and fear mingled together on his face. It was too much like when they were little, when John made him promise to a million forgotten oaths that didn’t matter anymore. ‘Promise you’ll hold my hand all the way to the other side.’ ‘Promise you’ll let me play when you’re done.’ ‘Promise you’ll wave.’ ‘Promise you won’t let them throw me in the psych ward.’
Maybe they’d always mattered.
“I promise.”

He gave John a small reassuring smile, but John’s shoulders slumped and he had no smiles to give. That was okay by Scott though. He’d promised.
“Come back down” Scott said, letting go of John’s leg and standing up, “Gordon’s playing your side.”

“Oh man” John replied, following Scott out the door.

They tred down the stairs and John saw Penelope sitting back, looking smug with her arms crossed.

Gordon breathed out heavily from his nose, his lip disappeared behind his teeth. John jumped behind him and looked at the board.
“Use the Z there,” he said instantly, pointing to ‘buzz’ on the board, “and use these letters-” he rearranged the letters on Gordon’s holder in order, leaving a space where the metaphorical Z would go, “and there you go. Right through a triple word square for 66 points.”

Gordon shook his head minutely and squirmed, suddenly unable to make eye contact with his older brother.
“I dunno, maybe there’s something else” Gordon muttered.

John reached down and took the squares, putting them where he’d described, saving a worried look for his second youngest brother.
“There we go” he said, the last R in place, “razor. That puts us on 213 points.”

“I’m still in the lead though” Penelope said, flustered, rearranging her own letters.

“For now” John replied dominatingly, placing new tiles on the holder in front of Gordon.

“You can play” Gordon said quickly, slinking out of the chair and walking from the room.

“Wonder what that was about” Alan said offhandedly, but John couldn’t help but remember the way Gordon had looked at him, or more so avoided looking at him when he suggested the 66 point word.

Chapter Text

The air on the mountain was cold and crisp, biting at their minimally exposed skin pleasantly.
After hours of hiking in snow gear with heavy backpacks filled with camping gear, it was with relief that they dumped their loads onto the campsite grounds and lay down on the freezing snow-dusted dirt, moaning their relief.

“Who’s idea was this again?” Gordon huffed, staring straight up at the lightest part of the sunset.

“Mine. Now start setting up camp!” Scott replied, sitting up and pulling his pack towards him, “we’ll be too cold if we don’t start moving again soon.”

John dumped his third of the tent onto the ground and blew air out slowly, looking around at Gordon and Alan who were already trying to sort out their segments. He didn’t like the puzzlement he saw and knew he’d have to put the whole thing together himself.

Scott and Virgil were already done by the time John found out which way their tent was supposed to face, and as promised he was already freezing again.
“Hurry up John!” Alan whined, but the deadly glare he received stopped him from any more whining for the rest of the afternoon.

Stupid tent assembled, John dumped their mattresses in and set up his own bed closest to the entry. He told them it was for the younger brothers safety, but really it was so he could get out of there whenever he wanted to.

Scott and Virgil had the start of a fire going and John was more than happy to just sit while the littlest brothers ran around collecting sticks or logs.
“Can you start on some sandwiches, John?” Scott asked, wiping his brow under his huge puffy hood.

“Yup” John replied. He retrieved Virgil’s bag and pulled out a loaf of whole meal. Personally he preferred white, but Gordon was gunning for the Olympics and apparently all of them had to suffer in his presence.
He assembled the most bland sandwiches he’d ever seen. A slice of meat and some cheese, since the lettuce and butter had frozen and leaving them by the fire would only make them more frozen, and frankly John didn’t want to be making sandwiches longer than he needed to.

Gordon and Alan came back with a bounce in their step.
“We saw a deer!” Alan proudly proclaimed, dropping the logs near the fire.

“A reindeer” Virgil corrected, “more common in snowy places.”

“Still super cool” Gordon said, snagging one of the sandwiches and taking a huge bite.

John finished the loaf and dumped the rubbish in a plastic bag while everyone ate, a Thankyou from Scott and no one else.
Not hungry, John dropped a blanket on the ground to sit on and stuck his nose into an old Steinbeck paperback.

His brothers left him alone for the most part, their feeble attempts to invite him into the conversation brushed off easily.

“What time does it start again, Alan?” Scott asked, impaling a marshmallow on a skewer.

“It should be visible after 9. We have prime seats for it too!”

“John might even catch a glimpse if he gets out of his book” Alan said bitterly. John raised his eyebrow at Alan, surprised to see the youngest Tracy glaring at him.

“What did I do?” John asked, suddenly self-conscious.

Alan looked away, slightly abashed.
“Just saying, you could be a little more interested.”

“And it goes until- when?” Gordon interrupted, skewering his own marshmallow.

“2 in the morning” John murmured, returning to the safety of his pages.
The conversation continued around him, but he didn’t have anything to contribute. Alan’s comment had hurt, but not because of what he’d said. It was because it came from Alan- the only brother that hadn’t held his worst against him.

The light disappeared from the sky and reading became an impossibility. His brothers buzzed around him, excited for the rarity they were going to witness. The sky already had beads of green specked in it among the trillions of stars dotted there and the Milky Way gave them a show worthy of their trip, even before the main event.

They were spread out, lying on their backs and staring up with their hands comfortably behind their heads. Just before 8pm, the green specks grew and the northern lights lit up everything white and green in an eerie glow.
Alan’s pupils grew and his mouth gaped in awe. Scott and Virgil smiled up at the lights in silence, their eyes scanning the expanse of colour where there was usually none. Gordon’s head rolled, taking in every centimetre. John’s heart fluttered as his first love showed him how it could impress him forever, and it took all of his resolve not to show his reaction lest his brothers see his vulnerability.

After half an hour, John took his photos and went back into the tent. He was content with what he’d seen and chose sleep over anything else.
He lay on his side and closed his eyes, but sleep refused to come to him despite the silence.
There was something irritating him.

He lay there for twenty minutes, eyes closed and brain racing.
Gordon opened the tent flap and stepped over John, dumping his things on the blow up mattress on the other side of the tent.
He paused partway through pulling off his jacket.
“You left really early.”

John groaned and opened one eye to watch Gordon.
“I’m just tired” he replied non-commitally.

“So why aren’t you asleep?”

John sat up and stretched his neck to both sides.
“Because we’re sleeping in the woods. These mattresses are thin.”

“What’s the real reason?” Gordon asked. There was something about his voice that made John uneasy- it was as if his immediate younger brother was trying to convince himself to say what was really bothering him. Or maybe he was just cold.

“I saw as much as I wanted” John replied, lying back down and pulling the covers over him.

A pause, then, “Alan’s the only one still out there.”

John rolled his eyes, knowing that Gordon couldn’t see him do it.
“Well maybe he should come in.”

“Scott, Virg and I left because we don’t know this stuff… but you do. This is really yours and Al’s thing.”

“I’m not his baby sitter” John snapped in a harsh whisper, sitting up and leaning towards Gordon, “I didn’t even want to come out here!”

Gordon gave John the same look Alan had given him earlier. That silent disapproval that made John feel small.
“We both know that’s not true. You used to talk about coming here when Mum was still alive-”

“Don’t-”

“And now you actually get here and think you’re ‘too cool’ to enjoy it. You know all Alan could talk about these past two weeks was how much fun you two are going to have. Not him and me, or Scott, or Virgil, YOU. And now he’s out there alone.”

“So why don’t you go out there with him?” John spat back, his brows creased.

“He doesn’t want me!” Gordon retorted, angry. He stared down at Alan’s bed, his fingers tracing over the mattress. “You didn’t see the look on his face when you left earlier… what did we do, John?”

John caught Gordon’s eye and held the contact. He didn’t know what to say.

Gordon was shaking, but apparently he’d held these thoughts for some time and they poured out of him.
“What did we DO? You and Scott fight all the time… I walked into Virgil’s room once and you were just lying in his lap crying while he comforted you. He told me to go away, but he looked SCARED, you were SCARING him. You were clearly high! I… I found your razor in the bath months ago. I’m not stupid… I know what it was for! Why do you want to LEAVE us? Why do you HATE us?” His shoulders slumped and John was momentarily grateful that Gordon was keeping his voice low, even though every word cut him worse than the razor ever could. “…What did we do?”

All of that and no mention of Alan. Had he ever hurt the youngest brother before? Why even ask himself that; he was hurting him right now.
John flinched at everything Gordon said and wondered how long he’d been holding it all in. At least since Scott took him to their mothers grave, and Gordon was sent to empty the tub, evidently.
John sat up and hugged his legs.
“None of you did anything. It’s not your fault, or Scott’s or Virgil’s.”

Gordon waved his hand in a circle, pressing for John to continue, to tell him just who’s fault it was.

John bit his lip.
“Do you remember Mum?”

Gordon tilted his head as if John had grown a second one, clearly offended.
“Of course I do! It was only 4 years ago.”

“Do you remember how you and Alan went to Dad and sat with him, just bawling your eyes out while he comforted you?”

There was a thinly veiled jealousy in his tone, but Gordon tried not to look into it too much.
“Vaguely. That whole time is a bit of a blur to be honest.”

“Not to me.”
John swallowed and stared at his coat at the end of his mattress. The fur was rustling gently- there must be a small breeze getting in.
“You two had Dad, and Virgil and Scott had each other. They’ve always been the closest… but I had no one. I was 13, and 13 year olds don’t cry, and if Scott or Virgil saw it they’d think less of me… so I held it in until I couldn’t.”

“By ragging on that guy and drinking and smoking and getting high, and going to parties… and trying to kill youself in the bath?”
There was something strange in Gordon’s voice that made John look at him. Tears were shining down his cheeks, and suddenly John could see how stupid he’d been. There, right in front of him, was his 13 year old brother crying, and all he wanted to do was scooch closer and wrap an arm around him.
So thats what he did.

Gordon found himself leaning into the contact his middle brother so rarely offered. It was comforting in a different way, perhaps because it was such a rarity. Usually it was Virgil bringing John down from another night of bad decisions, which Gordon personally found more embarrassing than crying with family.
All of Gordon’s anger seeped from him like steam escaping through his pores. He suddenly felt tired, like after a day of hard training.

“I’m gonna go to bed” Gordon murmured, pulling away from John.
John unwound his arm and moved back to his own mattress, letting the younger brother get comfortable.

“Sleep well” John said, pulling his jacket back on. He’d have to make sure he closed the tent properly on his way out.

Thick boots on, he undid the zip and crawled through, the green lights dancing in the sky dazzlingly.
He walked the short distance and found Alan lying down comfortably. The smaller head turned and found John, a tiny smile printed there.
“Hey.”

John sat next to him and lay down so their heads were right next to each other, their bodies facing opposite directions, so similar to him and Penelope the first time John got drunk.
“Hey.”

“I thought everyone went to bed…”

“They did, but I wanted to see more. Apparently it looks just amazing going as it does coming. One moment the stars are blocked out and then poof, infinite galaxy.”

“Can you tell me about the other galaxy again?”

“Andromeda?”

“That’s the one.”

“Scientists thought it was a nebula, but once they realised that the clusters they were seeing were stars, they realised it was a whole galaxy-”

The story of andromeda turned into a discussion on planets, then the validity of plutos status. They talked about the stars and planets, the suns and galaxies, the infinity above them, for hours. The green lights faded in the sky, but space kept them talking.

Chapter Text

John was in his second year of aerospace training, which was apparently enough to get invited to the parties despite being a couple of months off 18 years old.
He accepted the alcohol graciously, and although he knew most of the people there, he kept to himself.

It wasn’t like anyone cared who he was. The name Jeff Tracy was said at least 10 times a day in his classes, but everyone liked him well enough. Almost everyone.
John knew he was destined for his father’s legacy. Thunderbird 5 was waiting for a legal point in his qualification in space, secretly orbiting the world and getting used to its new pressure before his Dad could test it out for real. In only a years time, it would be his.

He heard everyone else’s conversations- talks of NASA, Eurostar, Sputnik and India spaceways, the competativeness, the reality that a quarter of his class would actually get to experience space. His privillige was kept to himself, but somehow Conrad knew.
Conrad was 19 and a 3rd year with the best marks John had ever seen. He was the best in almost every class he did. John surpassed him in 3 classes, only 1 of them physical the rest a test of the mind. Of course Conrad had 6 finished classes on top of John, but the mild insecurity sat with him anyway.
He wasn’t sure if it was this little competition that made Conrad treat John the way he did, or the way he shared his name with John’s high school ex girlfriend’s ex high school boyfriend, but John steered clear of him wherever he could. The nasty looks he gave John’s way made him cringe, and the harsh whisperings to his nearest friend made John wish he could disappear.
His wish hadn’t come true yet though and he was standing against the wall of someone’s kitchen, a red solo cup of vodka helping him blend in, ready to dash if Conrad realised he was there.

As if he’d accidently willed it, John pushed past a girl (Nora? Nelly?) and made her spill some of her drink on her skirt. She found it funny, but John was already halfway to the back door before she noticed anything had changed anyway.

There had to be 80 other people in the two-story house and it was easy for John to lose sight of Conrad. He finished his drink and went for another one, but when he got to the table a 22 year old girl was handing out shots of tequila.
John took one, swallowed it without thought, and reached out for another one. The look of horror on the face of those around him made him laugh. It was such a genuine sound that it took John by surprise, but at the same time he liked it. It felt good to laugh.
The girl passed him shots for each hand and John threw one of them back, coughing and spluttering from the suddenly bitter taste. He had to take the third in 2 parts, but when his head spun he went with it.

John ended up in the hot tub wearing his pants and no idea where his socks, shoes or shirt went, blinking dazedly with a dumb grin.

He didn’t notice the people next to him making out until the girl somehow ended up sitting in his lap, her mouth still around the guy’s.
He apologised for her mishap and gave them the space, his pants dripping like crazy on the concrete.

He took a few steps inside but the host found him straight away.
“You can’t come inside with wet pants, John” he shouted over the music.

“I don’t have any spare!” John called back, concerned and a little scared. He didn’t want to leave already.

The host rolled his eyes and beckoned John towards him, the jeans leaving a wet trail behind him and up the stairs.
“Wait here” the host said, abandoning John in the bathroom.
Just when John was convinced he wouldn’t come back (which was only 15 seconds later) he had a pair of shorts dangling from his hand.
John pointed finger guns at his (friend?) host and took the shorts gratefully. He stripped off, oblivious if anyone else was around him, and slipped the shorts on. They felt tight and maybe even too short, but he had bigger problems to deal with. He stared down at his sopping wet jeans blankly, not sure what to do with them in the slightest. When someone finally kicked him out, he took them down to the bonfire and chucked his jeans and underwear in to raucous cheers.

Head like a tilt-a-whirl, John felt the pulses of the music. They pulled him inside and without his knowing, he was dancing between two girls who seemed way too into him. One was behind him, her arms over his shoulders, her breasts pushing into his bare back. He could feel her nipple rings, which might have been the most exciting part if the other girl weren’t in front of him, her arse grinding against the front of his shorts. One of his hands was loosely holding the wrist of the girl behind him, enjoying the feeling of her skin, and the other was tracing up the other girl’s side over her hips and ribs. He closed his eyes and felt every heightened sensation, his tiny shorts feeling even tinier.

“You look ridiculous” said someone from nearby.

John’s eyes shot open and his smile disappeared. The girls gave the newcomer a greasy look, but smelling trouble, they moved away before any conflict could start.

“I was just having some fun” John replied, suddenly shot back to the terrible nights when he’d said the same to Virgil. The memory planted itself at the front of his mind and refused to leave. Like a physical pain, he put a hand to his forehead, trying to push the memory away. He felt his eyes water, and suddenly the music was too loud, and-

“You always have to be the centre of attention dont you?” The newcomer jeered.
That sounded like something Scott and Dad had told him on more than one occasion. John looked past his hand at Conrad and felt no shame as a tear dropped down his cheek.

It was the first party he’d felt genuinely excited about. He was close to the legal drinking age and missed out on so many of them in the last year. He’d had a great night so far and this guy… of course he’d had to ruin it.

John’s ears rang and he watched Conrad speak, but the music had dulled and spots had appeared in the corners of his vision. At first John thought it was a panic attack, but he was proven wrong by the sudden bravery he felt.
How dare he try to ruin John’s first proper party.
John stepped forward and shoved Conrad’s shoulder. Conrad shoved John’s chest and John went for the first punch, right in his stupid arrogant nose, but in a moment of pure adrenaline Conrad ducked and caught John’s fist before driving his own right into John’s right nostril, just above his mouth.

John pulled his fist back and held both of his hands to his suddenly rushing nose, blood streaming from it like he’d been stabbed. He shook, his feet frozen to the spot, and suddenly his old anxieties overthrew him. He’d just been punched in the face by a guy who hated him for no reason, and that made him cry as much as the pain. He heard snickering from nearby, and he could almost understand why much later- an almost naked guy crying in the middle of the dancefloor probably did look very funny, but in the moment it just made John cry harder.

Someone nearby moaned agitatedly.
“Come on.”

He felt himself being led up the stairs and into the bathroom he’d occupied earlier in the night.
He was propped leaning on the counter, his knees threatening to come out from under him. He felt something soft balled against his nostrils, another hand gently tilting his head forward. The tilt kept going, however, and the person who’d brought him to the bathroom had to catch him on the way down to avoid him making the bloody nose worse.
Luckily the person was strong. Unluckily the person was Conrad.

Conrad squat next to John, one arm around his back to keep him up, the other still holding the toilet paper in place.

“Breathe John” Conrad sighed, his exasperation echoing off the white tiles.

John calmed down enough to stop crying, though his eyes still watered while the skin around his eye turned yellow and purple. It would definitely be black and purple by the next morning.
“Why’d you punch me?” John mumbled, to his horror sounding like a child.

“Because you went to punch me” Conrad replied, fiery.

“Why do you hate me?” John asked, the time for questions clearly here.

When Conrad didn’t reply, John figured he needed to elaborate.

“I don’t know what I did because I try to keep to myself, but if there WAS something I did wrong please let me know because I don’t like people hating me, especially for no reason!”

“I don’t hate you” Conrad replied.

John turned his shoulder to look up at Conrad, the older’s hand still on John’s bare back. His eyebrow curved up in a gesture that showed the older that he didn’t believe him.

“I don’t! I guess I’m just… jealous?”

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Because you’re not the top in three of your classes? Lots of people here would KILL to be getting your marks-”

“No, it’s not the marks” Conrad said, actually rolling his eyes. He sat down on the tiles, one leg folded up, the other foot resting against his inner thigh, “it’s… you!”

“What about me?” John asked, pulling more toilet paper from the roll to mop the blood off his chest. He spat on the sheets and started wiping down his torso with his limited saliva, doing more to spread it than remove it.

“Well,” Conrad started. He stood up and got a full roll of toilet paper. He wound a heap around his hand and ran it under the tap before kneeling back down and touching the freezing sheets to John’s chest. He winced from the cold and fidgeted from the gentle touch, but gave no other indication that he was bothered.
“We keep hearing about your Dad, and it’s awesome, but you don’t seem… proud? If he was my Dad I’d never shut up about him.”

“He’s just my Dad” John said absently, flicking a finger under his nose to make sure the blood really had stopped, “I’m sure your dad has done interesting things too.”

“My Mom left my Dad when I was 7 years old after he put me in the hospital” Conrad said darkly. The water cut a trail down John’s stomach, seeping into the lining of the shorts.

“…I’m sorry to hear that.” John didn’t know what else to say.

“Money was tight” Conrad continued as if John hadn’t spoken, “and it was hard to get through high school. I had to be the best to get the funding, and Mom had to work 3 jobs so I didn’t see her much. Now I’m here on a scholarship and a payment plan. I don’t think I’ll have money to spend until I’m 50.”
He flung the wet toilet paper into the open toilet, grimacing when some of it splashed out onto the floor.
“If I’m not the best and I don’t see space… all of my hard work will have been for nothing. All of my mom’s sacrifice will have been for nothing.”
He dabbed intently at the wet spots, trying to dry the mess he’d made on John.
“And here YOU are” he continued with a more serious tone, “Daddy’s money, going to space even if you mess up everything here, able to make all the mistakes in the world with no consequences. You can make an absolute fool of yourself here and be okay. If I was acting the way you were tonight, I’d probably be thrown out of the program!”
He scrunched the toilet paper in his shaking hands, then released his digits with a sigh. He sat down cross legged from John, his hand sitting on the younger’s knee.
“It’s like I’m trying to make life harder for myself. I don’t- I don’t know how to handle things that aren’t class. You juggle school, you’re always in the paper with your family, you made friends so easily tonight… I couldn’t do that. I’m jealous that I can’t do that.”

John shrugged sympathetically.
“There are plenty of girls here, and half of them aren’t even in the program. I’m sure you could make a few ‘friends.’” His lips curved upward into an encouraging smile and he touched Conrad’s hand. They locked eyes, and he felt something electrical.
Without a word, Conrad leaned forward and planted his lips against John’s. When John didn’t break the contract, Conrad turned his head to get a better angle, mashing their mouths in the most passionate kiss John had ever experienced. Conrad licked John’s lips, and John’s tongue poked out shyly, feeling the contact of their tongues on each other. John pulled back slightly and Conrad kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek, the corner of his jawline, up to his ear, and bit his lobe. John turned his head away, suddenly embarrassed.
He scooted back slightly, partly to increase the space between them, partly to subtly readjust his shorts which had once again become tighter. Conrad was sitting up plainly. His hands by his side supporting him. He closed his eyes and smiled contentedly before standing up. He reached his hand down and John took it.
“Let’s head back to the party.” Conrad opened the door and stepped out, but just before John went through he said “I’m sorry.”

John was still red, but it had paled to a deep pink. He shrugged mildly and closed the door behind him.

Chapter Text

John floated above the controls of Thunderbird 5, alone for the first time.

It was day 2 of his planned 5 day visit to his ship and the novelty of being in space was already starting to wear off.

He’d spent most of his time outside the ship. In the morning he’d spent a lot of time learning how to fix the different engine supports and access the control panels, but that dissolved into spinning in the zero gravity until he might throw up. He’d eventually been ordered inside, but it was almost time for him to get out there one more time before bed.
It was almost time for him to implement the most stupid plan he’d ever concocted.

He knew it was stupid. He knew that he was risking his life and his family’s comfort, but the idea had planted itself in his head years before, and festered into an obsession. It had given him the motivation to continue in his studying, even when it became so tedious that he wanted to quit.
It drove him up there, inspired him to make the deals he did. 5 days in space. At least one spacewalk right before bed, as long as he wanted it to be. No one is allowed to contact him on those space walks unless someone’s dying.

“I’m getting ready for my walk now Virgil” he said in the control room. His helmet was next to him and he weighed it in his hand.

“F.A.B little brother. Enjoy, I’ll talk to you when you’re back.”

There was a tiny blip as he disappeared. John was completely alone and free to be stupid.

John slipped the tiny tab out of the clothes bag he’d brought for his trip home and subtly placed the only square he’d brought on his tongue. It was bitter and, well, acidic, but he had a few minutes before it kicked in.

Helmet locked firmly in place, he made his way into the airlock and started the procedure for leaving his precious Thunderbird. He ticked away at the tablet until every pre-leave checklist was satisfied and selected a song to play in his helmet. He could see the wall double on itself just as he pushed himself through the hatch, the Earth a pale blue and green below him.
‘-did seem to fay-ay-ade
came back like a slow voice on a wave of ha-ay-aze
That weren’t no D-Jay, that was ha-zy co-smic ji-ive’

As if on cue, the colours on Earth swirled below John and he was simultaneously terrified, and more relaxed than he’d ever felt in his life. Space somehow stretched and the Milky Way became so bright it was blinding.
‘There’s a sta-ar MA-AN WAITING IN THE SKY’
John’s jaw dropped and his heart beat slower, completely taken by his senses. He could smell space, feel the warmth of the stars, hear mars calling out to him. The moon was huge and it somehow got bigger. John stretched his arms out beside him and hugged the universe. His feet kicked like he was in water, but they couldn’t make him move.

The chorus finished into a guitar and the world pulsed with every beat. Completely relaxed, he closed his eyes and felt everything, colours dancing behind his eyelids and touching his shoulders under his space suit. He thought of everything and nothing, the things that mattered and the things that REALLY mattered, the things he didn’t actually care about but they seemed important to him in that moment at the same time that they didn’t.

He thought about the times he’d wanted to die, but those problems were insignificant now. He was in space, above every person on the planet, completely isolated. There was no one more alone than he was, and for once that felt good.
The scars on his arms tingled pleasantly.
The ghost of the tube down his throat expanded and danced nicely against his windpipe.
The places he’d been touched by the man in the club were simply gone- they didn’t exist on his body anymore but he felt the best part of their absense.
The kisses from the girls and the boy on the bathroom floor came back and planted themselves for the first time all over again.

Smiling, arms stretched out, eyes closed, the pressures of space so heavy and so light, he fell asleep before the end of the second chorus.

* * *

John’s mouth was dry and sticky. Worse than that it was covered by something heavy and uncomfortable.
His eyes seemed glued shut and all he could do was moan. He tried lifting his head, but all he achieved was lolling it into the dip above his collar bone. He groaned again in irritation, but was shushed. A hand landed under his hairline and his sweat froze in the coolness of the cupped hand.
“You’re alright John, you just fell asleep.”

“Dad?” John murmured, barely audible under the oxygen mask.

“Just rest up, okay?” Jeff said, caressing John’s cheek with the back of his fingers.

“Ho’Kay” John replied, letting his head droop as much as it could. He fell asleep again quickly.

He woke up again much later in much better condition, as if he hadn’t almost asphyxiated himself in space, to a note sitting on his side table.
‘Comms stay on.
Proud of you.
Love, Dad.’

The mask had been removed, though John had no memory of waking up with it on previously anyway. He couldn’t remember the specifics of the things he’d felt while floating in space alone, high on acid, but he remembered the feelings.

The lightness, the blissful beauty, the removal from his traumas, the smell, the sound, the freedom.
His helmet was sitting on the bench across the room, but when he went to collect it the sight behind it took his attention.
The expanse of space was broken by the rounded edge of the Earth and nothing else.
At once every rush he’d felt came back to him, an elation unlike any he’d ever felt in living memory (though he’d experienced the sensation only a few hours before).
He didn’t have to go outside. He had everything he needed right there in front of him.

Space was enough.
John was enough.