#wee tracy's

[idontknowreallywhy]

Expert

I left a little idea hanging in this fic which really needed some investigation. And the muse finally returned on my commute yesterday so, while this isn’t my most well thought through or deviously plotted fic, the idea entertained me so I hope you’ll enjoy it too :) Wee Tracy fluff!

💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍

“Scooooo-ooooott!!!!!”

“Scottyyyyyy?!!”

Don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic.

“You win, little man! You’re so clever! Can you come out now?”

A little bead of sweat tickled its way past Jeff’s eyebrow and he swiped at it impatiently. It was important to keep the panic out of his voice so he kept up the singsong tone:

“Where aaaare you, Bluejaaaay?”

He was missing something.

“Please come out now? Daddy needs a cuddle!”

He’d checked all the usual places. Twice.

“Do you want a snack, Scotty?”

Surely that would…?

“Snack time!!”

Nothing.

What was he missing?

Jeff Tracy was 3 months into being a stay at home Dad while Lucy was off being incredible at the university.

And while the first few days had been inevitably shaky, until this morning he’d been pretty confident he was nailing it.

Sure, he had to confess (and did so with a great deal of admiration most every evening) that he couldn’t work out how Lucy had been doing all this AND working remotely while he’d been up on Alfie. She’d just smile contentedly as he nuzzled her neck and reminded her she was a goddess walking on earth. Usually she would have denied this vehemently, but sharing a house with a child whose sleep-in-his-own-bed record was 30 mins 47 seconds meant neither was willing to waste a single moment on pointless humility…

Anyway, she clearly had Powers he did not.

For a standard issue human, however, he was doing ok. He’d read the toddler-wrangling manual cover to cover. His son, apparently, had not, but there were one or two tips that seemed to hold fairly true. Most of the time. But he was beginning to think he could write one himself, because while Dr Whatsherface might be an expert on the average toddler, Jeff Tracy was an expert on his own rather unique version.

Rule number one - never blink. The kid moves faster than sound.

Rule number two - Accessorise.

Jeff had taken to wearing combat pants with multiple pockets and thus perpetually had snacks, wet wipes and toy planes on standby. He had a tennis ball to hand at all times… turned out that what worked for a puppy sometimes worked for a two-year old too.

The squeaky chew toys were their little secret.

Yes, the key to his success was in the gadgets. The baby swing he’d fixed into the door frame had been a great way to enable the little whirlwind to let off steam while remaining in one place. The delighted squeals of “‘Cotty fwwwyyyy!!!” really brought a tear to the eye. The height and speed his child managed to achieve using the thing brought a slightly anxious twitch to the eye also, but it was all fine. He just needed to be close by enough to intervene…

He solved Going Out with a gadget too. Scott wasn’t really a pushchair kind of a guy but wasn’t yet able to appreciate that tugging his little hand out of his Dada’s and sprinting out into the traffic wasn’t ok. After a few days of hanging limp from it, 12 kilos of dead weight, in protest, Scott had eventually taken to the cunning harness-leash device which meant their little trips into town were less of an adrenaline rush. Marginally.

At some point Jeff was definitely going to get punched for barging his way through a crowd by some irate person who didn’t appreciate he was attached to a tiny rocket on a string.

But the main thing was he wasn’t getting lost. Or flattened.

Yep, Jeff was nailing this parenting thing.

Tying the kid down while he made a hasty trip to the bathroom had seemed a step too far, however. Scott had been enclosed in his supposedly escape-proof playpen, temporarily absorbed in nyoooming a plushie space ship from one duplo planet to another.

Jeff had been three minutes, tops. Barely 180 seconds.

Where could he go in 180 seconds??

He cursed himself for the rookie error of under-estimating his first-born and stood at the kitchen door, running through a mental checklist of all the places in which he had located his feral offspring to date.

Cupboards. Check.

Curtains. Check.

Top of bookcase, window sills, under the beds. Check check check.

On top of the big wardrobe in the master bedroom? One of spider-baby’s favourites that one. Check.

He’d looked there three times actually, nearly got himself wedged the third time as he clambered up and reached all the way to the back just in case his eyes were deceiving him and a cherubic blue-eyed menace was hiding in the shadows.

A face-full of cobwebs: No Scotty.

“Daddy’s getting pretty lonely out here, I wish you’d come and play with me!!”

The house wasn’t that big. Where on earth…?

The windows were still locked shut.

The front door was still shut. With the chain in place… even tiny Houdini couldn’t have put that back on behind him.

The back door was locked, key still on the hook.

So he couldn’t be outside.

So… no need to panic. Unless he was stuck or hurt somewhere and Jeff wasn’t with him!!

“SCOOOOOOOTTYYYYY?”

It had got to the stage where Jeff was doing ridiculous things like looking behind lamp stands and under cushions that were far too small to hide a human toddler, particularly one that moved so constantly he even vibrated in his sleep.

But there wasn’t anywhere left!!!

… or was there?

In desperation, Jeff pulled down the telescopic ladder and stuck his head into the attic-space, in case somehow his child had suddenly developed both the ability to fly and to pass through solid objects during those three unforgivable minutes of inattention.

Obviously Scott wasn’t there.

This was wasting time.

He retraced his steps to the kitchen, calling as he went.

“Scotty I really need you to come out now please? Daddy’s getting worried!”

The cupboard under the sink? It was big enough… The child-proof door closures should have made it impossible but this was Scott Tracy: Tiny master of impossible feats. Jeff really hoped he was wrong because if he’d got in there… where the cleaning things were kept…

“Scotty!”

He sped up and began to reach down as he covered the last few metres… then gasped as his foot slid from under him and he skated, flailing wildly, across the linoleum.

“Sco-aaaaaaaaaaaaggghhh!!!”

Jeff’s graceless ice dance was halted abruptly as he slammed head first into the fridge and crumpled to the floor.

Jars rattled.

Jeff’s teeth rattled.

The fridge said “Dada?”

Jeff’s ears said “riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing”.

The floor was sticky. Feeling a little hazy Jeff lifted a hand and sniffed it cautiously… cinnamon? What?

Wait.

Blinking the stars from his eyes Jeff, dragged himself to his feet and hauled the door open to find his son tucked neatly on to a high shelf, curled around a pie dish.

Jeff’s jaw dropped.

He snapped it closed it again and bit his lip lest any inappropriate words escape.

“Dada! ‘Cotty duck in fidge. Oh no!”

The tiny child lifted his apple sauce covered hands and looked at them as if suddenly realising they were attached to his arms. Bright blue eyes gazed down at him with an expression of extreme innocence:

“Oh no! ‘Cotty all messy! Ooopsiiiieee!”

A chunk of apple fell from his little eyebrow and Jeff nearly burst a blood vessel trying to keep a straight face. Don’t reward the unwelcome behaviour with a reaction, the book had said. If he laughed now, Scott would only do similar again. And he needed to impress upon him that it wasn’t ok to hide away like this.

Or consume the majority of a family sized dessert by himself.

His lip twitched.

Jeff would have put serious money on the supposed expert never having anticipated this scenario.

Clearly realising his father had no follow-up questions to his comprehensive situational update, Scott plunged his hand back into the dish and shoved a fistful of pie crust into his mouth.

Jeff covered his face and screamed silently into his palms. Then realised he had given himself a matching set of apple pie eyebrows.

Piebrows.

He snorted.

Scott snorted like a pig in response and burst into giggles, spraying pastry crumbs into Jeff’s hair.

Expert schmexpert.

Jeff laughed loud and Jeff laughed long. Scott giggled and clapped his sticky hands together then reached for Jeff with one of them, the other clutching the edge of the pie dish possessively.

“I think you’ve had enough pie, Bluejay, don’t you?” Jeff prised the little fingers free and realised his son’s skin was incredibly cold.

“Bloody hell, kiddo you’re freezing! Come ‘ere …” he plucked the small icicle from the shelf and hugged him close. “We’d best get you in a warm bath. What are you, Elsa?”

“Leddid gooooo!!! Leddid gooooooooo!!!” The little lad closed his eyes and waved a sticky fist in the air as he sang.

“Yes, son, let it go.”

Scott hid his last handful of pie behind his back and shook his head vigorously.

“No Dada!! ‘Cotty’s abble bie. Buddy ell, Dada! Oh no!”

Jeff swallowed hard. “Oh no” indeed.

Maybe he’d put a pin in the book idea, just for a little while.

🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙

[thathollyjollyguy]

HHHDSHGFHKLINDEKEMDINDNAIJFRNJSLKNNJEIKSIJN

Going absolutely feral for this silly shithead.

[edutainer2022]

An unassuming coincidence on a Friday night leads to an unforeseen chain of events. Jeff Tracy is badass. Teen Scott doesn't always follow Dad's orders to the letter. A kidnapping goes wrong. And I'm always intrigued by TAG Jeff up and packing his young sons into increasingly remote locations.

Many thanks to @janetm74 , as ever, for kind support!

ERGO PROPTER HOC

In hindsight, so many things aligned that day that normally wouldn't. His late evening conference call with the GDF Headquarters in a different time zone got rescheduled because of, ironically enough, a storm raging through Central Europe, that demanded consolidation of rescue and dispatch efforts. So that would mean he'd be home before his sons' bedtime (not that the elder three still pretended having one), for once. On a Friday. His mind drew a rather shameful blank, trying to remember the respective school and club schedules. Scott had been juggling the pick-ups and so much more since... well, for far too long.

Anyway, a call from his eldest's basketball coach settled the score - the boy sprained a wrist early into practice. The coach was following protocol and was more comfortable with sending Scott out to the hospital for a proper X-ray. Jeff's eldest son would never have called him at work if he could help it - unlike the father, he actually did remember the agenda for the week, and A LOT was riding on that GDF call. But the coach likely wanted to avoid liability for delay. It was too soon to break the practice up or to let Scott sit it out with an ice-pack and then bum a ride from one of his friends (or bargain with them to skip hospital altogether and give him a ride home, more like). The coach also wouldn't hand Jeff's underage son over to a stranger, a status in the Tracy wider social circle Kyrano was vehement to maintain. Anyhow, the stars aligned so that Jeff was available (and quite a bit worried by the time he got there). Which might have bumped the stars some more into giving him a flat tire.

They ended up taking Scott's car to save time, Jeff driving. The trip proved a breezy affair as there was no damage beyond a sprain. Nothing a brace, some cold, Ibuprofen and rest couldn't fix. Jeff saw how the latter might prove a problem, though, with the three year old Allie practically living in Scott's arms. But that was to be a problem for Dad Jeff to deal with later that evening. In the meantime, they had some much overdue quality time one on one, complete with some take-away burgers and a backseat full of stacked pizzas and other delicious goodies for the all-boys movie night at home.

Jeff's enjoyment of the afternoon was slightly marred by Scott apologizing up, down and backwards for interrupting Dad's workday. That, and the boy being obviously in more pain than he let on. But that too was an issue for Dad Jeff to tackle later. For the time being he let himself enjoy his eldest son's company.

***

The drive back to the farm was to be swift and uneventful. He could see Scott, paler than Jeff was strictly happy about, fighting off fatigue, and wondered if the movie night would quickly turn into a puppy pile sleepover. That thought might have twitched annoyance in his gut as he saw a two-car crash ahead, blocking an otherwise empty road. He didn't want any delays on the way to spend a Friday night with his kids.

Jeff was used to trusting his gut. It got him through tight fixes in a war, out in space, all the way on friggin' Mars. It helped him navigate the World Council and GDF convoluted politicking, and the cut-throat business scene. So now, when one of the drivers, engrossed in dispute, looked up at their approaching car - Scott's car - Jeff's gut was blaring a red alert.

An imperceptible shift in stance to reach for the weapons, the cold glimmer in the eyes, the vaguely familiar faces of Gaat's "assistants" launched Jeff's mind into a breakneck tumble. He assessed the situation and weighed the options. From the passenger seat big blue eyes were glancing up at him in worry as Dad's hands tightened at the wheel, his face momentarily hardened. Jeff made a move for the glove compartment, then remembered they were in Scott's car. No gun! The curse that followed had the blue eyes dilate wider, startled. He was scaring his son, which entirely defeated the purpose. Okay, new plan! The seatbelt clicked off.

"Bluejay! I need you to take the wheel now! Don't stop, drive off! Tell Kyrano to get you and the boys away at once! He'll know what to do!"

"Dad!!!"

The face of his young self was sheet white now, bright blue almost black with disbelief.

"Dad! What are you gonna do?! I CAN'T LEAVE YOU HERE! Dad, what's wrong!?!!"

They were approaching fast, he didn't take the foot off the pedal, hoping to give Scott momentum. And a chance to flee. The goons on the road were openly smirking now. He could see the sunset bounce off one of the gun barrels.

"I need you to do exactly as I say, son! It's an order! Don't stop, don't look back! GO!"

He didn't have time to placate a frightened child, even if the last thing he would see in life would be the horrified features of his son. He could think of worse ways to go. Smaller shaking hands, one in a brace, clasped the wheel. He knew Lord Hugh's "multitalanted valet" had taught Scott extreme driving, so he ought not to doubt the boy's ability to speed through. With one parting glance he opened the door and jumped, aiming to tackle one of the henchmen to the ground.

***

Whoever his erstwhile friend sent out, were certainly not expecting a combat hardened veteran with rigorous astronaut training under his belt. Nor a father determined to protect the most precious with his life. It nearly came down to that too, as they were no amateurs either. But they definitely didn't expect Belah Gaat's brother, skidding into the fray in Jeff's farm truck. Jeff didn't anticipate Kyrano as well, but couldn't turn down the much needed help. On second thought, it didn't surprise him Scott obviously disobeyed his order. The realization didn't add to his piece of mind one bit.

Leaving Kyrano to deal with the henchmen and with the police (in whichever order he saw fit), Jeff, though visibly worse for the wear, vehemently shot down the suggestion to wait to pop into a hospital and floored it home in the truck. He needed to hold his kids!

***

The house was dark and quiet to the point it seemed empty. Jeff could feel this heart pounding as he checked the sitting room, kitchen, the boys' bedrooms up on the second floor, and even the attic. Scott's car was haphazardly parked on the driveway, so they didn't leave. Logically, Jeff knew the kids could be hiding somewhere on the farm property, while Kyrano was dispatched to help him in a fix. There were no signs of struggle anywhere in the house. But logic eschewed his rational thinking till he hadn't spotted his sons - safe and sound. Jeff was about ready to expand the search perimeter to the barn, when he noticed the basement door locked. After the TV-21 sabotage and Belah's thinly veiled threats, the hurricane shelter was transformed into a fully stocked panic room, complete with a touch pad lock. Jeff promptly ran the scanner and made his way down an equally dark stairway. On his last steps down he was momentarily blinded by a flash of light. His eyes adjusted to a siluette of Scott, clutching the gun, usually stashed in a coded safe. The boy was visibly trembling, but held the weapon steady, level with Jeff's torso - the wrist in a brace supported by the uninjured hand. The flash of light couldn't hide the pallor and the thin line of Scott's lips, pursed tight against the pain. The other boys were huddled behind him - John and Virgil hugging the Tinies between them. John was brandishing a torch.

"Put the gun down, son! It's Dad!"

It took a moment for the scared minds to process his words and for the eyes to adjust and identify the intruder.

He let the breath out only having removed the gun from Scott's grasp and tucked it securely out of reach, once the safety clicked back on. The next instant the eldest boy nearly collapsed into him and he had his arms full all five sons. The ribs that took a significant battering protested, but Jeff didn't care. He took his time liberally distributing soothing hugs and kisses over each and every mop of hair. His face was a mess of cuts and bruises as well, but that would have to wait. He needed to feel his boys breathing, warm and alive, and close to him.

That day indeed ended in a puppy pile, albeit not the way anybody expected. He left the in the basement for the night - for his own peace of mind. He kept the gun tucked into his belt - for the same reason.

Once the boys settled down into uneasy sleep, including little Allie bursting into tears and Scott persuaded to take another painkiller, Jeff did another round of kisses on assorted brows, noses and temples, and made his way back up to the kitchen, trying not to wake them up with his own grunts. He needed to see about those injuries, finally. Gaat's crooks did a number on him.

He probably should have known better than to sneak away from his eldest. Sure enough, light steps soon followed him into the kitchen. Scott slipped from the basement and made a beeline to the medical cabinet. The movements of a slender teen's figure were sure even by the moonlight. Nible hands produced gauze, antiseptic cream, and cold packs with practiced precision. The boy's face was serious and wrought with concern. At some point the shadows shifted and Jeff nearly swayed on his perch by the kitchen isle - he had to blink hard, twice, to let the gossamer vision pass.

"How did you get the gun, Bluejay?"

Scott froze midstep to soak a clean washcloth for Dad's gushes. Jeff mentally kicked himself. That was relatively far removed on his priority list at the moment!

Angular shoulders, still in the team jersey, shrugged.

"John hacked the safe code way back - we needed Allie's birth certificate for daycare."

Jeff had to brace himself on the edge of the counter not to keel over and keen, like a kicked dog. Ashamed.

The boy shifted from foot to foot and visibly braced himself, ready for a reprimand. When he turned back to Jeff, blue eyes were silver with tears.

"Are you mad at me, Dad? I couldn't just leave you there!"

How could he be? The boy's disobedience and quick thinking, ultimately, saved his life. He beaconed Scott closer and draped an arm around the still bony frame.

"I know, Bluejay! I'm not mad. I just need to be sure you'll follow my lead when it's about you and your brothers' safety, deal?"

"Yes, sir."

The answer was barely above whisper - the teen was still notably trembling, exhausted and anxious. Jeff sealed the deal with a kiss to the side of the boy's head and gave them both a moment, cheek resting on the disheveled curls. The kid was chasing him in height so fast.

Scott shifted away, startled by a sudden thought.

"Dad! How did they know you'd be driving!?"

They didn't. The roadblock trap was set up to kidnap a teenager, driving alone late. Terrified eyes searched his face for an answer his son had already figured out. He shifted to adjust the embrace tighter with both arms and guided the boy's head into the crook of his neck. The soft half-sob, half-gasp nearly tore Jeff apart. Come dawn, he'd need to make arrangements to relocate the boys far away. Kyrano and Hiram would help him turn Gran Roca into an impenetrable fortress. To begin with. He'd spare no effort to keep his sons safe.

[dragonoffantasyandreality]

Watchful big bro

I drew this last night of Jeff in his younger days, looking after the future commanders of Marineville and Spectrum ^^

@uniwolfcorn @teapotteringabout @skymaiden32 @knyee @janetm74 @the-original-sineater @thundergeek59 @riallasheng @katblu42 @mariashades @room-on-broom @yarol2075 @llamawrites @etrnlvoid @river-sam2

[balrog-slayer66]

Pee Wee Herman, Traci Lords and Elvira step into an elevator...

[skeefee-sky]

'Little adventures in Rescuing.'

@thunder-tober Day prompt: 14 - Cliffside Characters: Scott, Virgil, John and Jeff Tracy, Thunderbird One Word count: 720

Last minute entry in an idea that literally came to me last minute >w< This one’s a, different kind of ‘Tracys meet the Thunderbirds’ story… an AU outside of my AU, if you will x’D Another long one >w> but I’m totally okay with it <w<. A little race takes a turn when a fall over a cliff is involved. Someone they weren’t quite expecting comes to their rescue~.

🩶💚🧡 TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB ~~~ TB 🧡💚🩶

When you and you little brothers want to go adventuring, you go adventuring, just maybe making sure you stay in Dad’s eyeline. Following the leader wherever he may go~ Scott didn’t mean to lead them so far away…

He did at least stop when John called out to them. He turned to look back at Virgil, black hair slightly windswept from the run his younger brother had taken after him.

“You did good keeping up, Vee!” he praised.

“Yeah but, we gotta go back,” Virgil insisted, pointing back to where John was waiting a few paces away. “Johnny says he still can’t see Dad.”

“We won’t go too much farer!” Scott admitted, taking a few steps forward before he broke into a run again. His younger brother let out a noise that half sounded like a whimper and a groan, before following. John dropped his hand when he watched his older brothers run off, fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweater. Did he go after them? Or wait for Dad to catch up and come find him? He looked back in the direction they’d come, turquoise eyes scanning along the path before he made up his mind to go sit by a tree. He’d wait there.

“S-Scott! Slow down!” Virgil was calling after his brother; the two of them still in their run through the trees. “This is farer!”

“No it’s not!” Scott called back, turning a little to glance over his shoulder. “It’s the same! We-…!”

He was abruptly cut off when he stumbled on a tree root and tripped, letting out a soft cry of panic. Virgil was quick to stop before he ran into him, concern in his brown eyes when he found his big brother had ended up on the ground.

“You okay?”

“… Yeah,” the older softly huffed, taking his hand when he offered for help up. In their moment of pause, the two took a second to brush themselves off, sending dust and dirt off in small clouds as they patted down their clothes.

“John didn’t come with us?”

“Mn-mn. I tried to tell you,” Virgil insisted with a shake of his head. He watched as Scott started wandering again, but didn’t make a move to go after him. “Come on, we gotta go back, Scotty…”

“Just, a little longer…” Scott mumbled, slowing down his wandering as he approached the clearing on the other side of the trees. Virgil begrudgingly followed, speeding up to catch and pull his brother back when he stepped to the cliffside. There was a river running below them, and a waterfall off in the distance… possibly the one they’d recently had a picnic at.

“Can we go back now?” Virgil urged.

Scott was peering over the side of the cliff, as best he could without leaning out too far, trying to get a better look at something. He almost hadn’t heard his younger brother’s question. He just, couldn’t quite see-…

“Scott!”

Virgil had let out a soft gasp as he watched his brother slip, tried to grab him, but they’d both been pulled down by gravity. Scott clung to his little brother, but there was nothing else to grab on to…

It had happened so fast, but suddenly their fall was cut short; both still landing slightly harshly on the surface underneath them. With a tight grip still on Virgil, Scott blinked, looking up at the shadow cast over them. He could only squeak out a gasp.

“Are you alright, little ones? You’re lucky I was here.” Visored eyes watched them; the silver rocket keeping her tone low as she scanned over them. “Wasn’t too much of a fall hm? Could have been worse if I hadn’t spotted you.”

“Giant rocket lady…” Scott mouthed in a whisper. Virgil carefully unburied himself from his brother’s side, peering round to see who had spoken; brown eyes widening.   

“Who…?”

“Scott! Virgil!” Dad had come running; Dad had heard them! Dad was here, and he’d brought John, who’d been gripping onto his back for dear life when he’d started sprinting at the sound of a scream. Chest heaving to get his breathing back under control, he stared astounded at the scene before them. “What…?”

Scott merely sat up in the rocket’s hands; a wide grin spreading across his lips. “Can we keep her!?!”   

[spillddbrains]

elvira with pee wee herman and traci lords

[astranite]

Of Model Planes and Kind Truths

More neurodivergent Scott and John, but as kids. They are both small and doing their best and trying to figure out how the world works. Lucy is here too and I love her and she's totally autistic too in my head. I wrote this ages ago and was only yesterday I was reminded of it and cheered on by the wonderful @janetm74 so I tidied it up to post!

---

Scott yelled at him because John said his model aeroplane didn't look like the one on the box. Which was true , the colours were all mixed together as Scott was too impatient to let them dry properly between painting and the whole frame was sort of squashed where it had fallen off of a table. Sticky globs of glue had adhered themselves to the wings providing most of the structural soundness. 

Scott had burst into tears when John pointed this all out. 

Their dad picked up Scott even though he was too big for it now and carried him out of the kitchen, leaving a bewildered John behind. Mum had to explain that words could upset people and Scotty was crying because he felt John was being mean to him. 

John attempted to explain. “But I didn't mean to be mean! I was just telling him, you and Dad always say to tell the truth.”

“Oh, little star. I know you didn't, but we can hurt people even when that isn't our intention.” 

Mum held out her hands and took John’s small ones in her own as his eyes welled up with tears. 

“You know what you can do to help make it better?” John shook his head as Mum continued. “Your brother worked very hard on making that plane. When you go apologise to him, can you think of some things to say that are kind and honest?”

John nodded, he could do that. He’d make this better.

In the lounge room, Scott sat on Dad’s lap, the model plane clutched to his chest. His face was all red and blotchy. John wiped his sleeve over his own face as Scott’s hurt and his hurt crumpled into a big black hole in his chest. He then flickered his hands at his sides.

John tiptoed across the carpet as it squished beneath his feet. Dad and Scott were looking at him; Dad was smiling a bit but his brother had frowny eyebrows. John stood in front of them, twisting his hands together anxiously. 

“I’m sorry I was mean about your plane. I wasn't trying to be. You worked really hard on it.” The words came out stilted and deliberate.

Now for something kind and true. John cast around for something to say, glancing about the room. Virgie had left their blocks on the floor, all set up in neat rainbow rows.

“It’s good because it’s makes you happy?” He told Scott. 

“And it’s swooshy.” John said it with all of the excitement of figuring out a new science problem, as the words now rushed out. “You painted it with lots of colours and I like colours and so do you. Mixing them together means even more colours!”

Scott’s mouth tipped up at the corners. “It’s okay. You were right, but it’s still cool. And yeah, it goes swoosh because it’s so fast!”

Scott swiped the toy plane through the air as if it was flying. John jumped back as it banked toward him. He followed it with his eyes as it dove and spun in Scott’s hands, as Scott jumped from Dad’s lap to run around the room with him, John matching his dips and turns like he was flying a space shuttle too until they were both grinning and everything was right again.

[gumnut-logic]

“You can touch him, honey.” His mom smiled encouragingly.

Virgil sat on the sofa next to his mother and stared at the tiny, sleeping baby. He was so small. So different from the pudgy little toddler he remembered of Johnny when he was little.

Well, he was still little, but now he could walk and talk and play and attend school like a real little brother.

This new baby was so small. A fuzz of blond hair and wrinkled skin, he had a weird and scary tube taped to his nose.

He looked up at his mom. She looked sick. She had been in the hospital for a long time.

Seemed like forever. Dad and Grandma and Grandpa had all been worried. Virgil had asked Scotty, but his brother hadn’t had any more answers. It had taken Grandma to sit the both of them down and explain that little Gordon had come early and needed some time in the hospital.

“Will he be all right?” It all sounded scary and it was his mommy.

Grandma had wrapped both of them in one of her wonderfully reassuring hugs. “They are both going to be fine, honey. They just need a little time to recover.”

That time staying with Grandma and Grandpa had been a mix of fun and worry. He loved his grandparents and their farm was full of places to explore and things to pull apart and animals and space, so much space.

It was worth Grandma’s cookies.

He just wished Mom would get better and come home.

That day eventually came and his Mom introduced him to his new baby brother, Gordon.

Tiny, tiny Gordon.

Virgil peered over the blankets in his mother’s lap.

As if sensing his gaze, the baby opened his eyes drowsily and stared up at him.

A little frown.

Baby Gordon reached out a hand, and without thinking, Virgil brought his own hand up. Tiny fingers wrapped around his, so, so small, and clung tight.

Gordon stared at him a moment longer before his eyes closed again.

He didn’t let go of Virgil.

“He likes you.” Mom was smiling. She slipped an arm around his back and drew him in close for a snuggle.

Virgil couldn’t take his eyes off Gordon.

“Is he going to be okay?” He looked so fragile.

“He needs a little time, but he will be just as strong as you and playing as much mischief as your other brothers before you know it.” She squeezed him tighter. “He’s a Tracy, honey. We’re made of tough stuff.” She kissed his hair.

Virgil still hadn’t let go of his new brother’s hand.

He wasn’t supposed to let go. He was supposed to save and protect.

“Gordon?”

His little brother didn’t answer.

“Virgil, honey?” It wasn’t his Mom’s voice. It was Grandma.

Where was Mom? “I’ll keep him safe, Mom.” Gordon and all his brothers.

But especially little, fragile Gordon who had entered the world too early.

“Gordon is safe, Virgil.”

Virgil held his little brother in his arms as sparks rained over them. Something was very wrong, but his priorities were clear.

“I’ll keep him safe, Mom.”

-o-o-o-

Wire

[katblu42]

Passing the Big Brother Baton

Something brought this one to mind recently, so I thought I'd bring it out for another airing.

You can also find it here on AO3

** Please note ** For this story Virgil is older than John.

Lucy knew her nap was over when the shuffle of little feet on the carpet became loud enough to break through the drowsy fog.  The little hand on her belly proved the point, but the whispered words kept her eyes closed for a while longer.  Much of what her eldest son was saying was too incomprehensible for her sleepy mind to decipher, but she caught the gist.  The hand on her very pregnant belly was part of an explanation that a baby was in there.  The beginning of a very serious instructional talk.

“Going big bruh now,” three-and-a-half year-old Scott was telling his barely one year old brother. Lucy was awake enough for her brain to begin re-interpreting the baby-talk to mean “You’re going to be a big brother now.”

“Like me!” Scott continued.  “I you big bruh.  You baby big bruh.”

Lucy allowed her eyes to drift open a little, wanting to see how this information was being received, but not wanting to interrupt.  Scott was too focused on Virgil to notice she had woken.  She could just make out Virgil doing that little bounce on his chubby legs as he stood on the other side of Scott, with both hands holding on to her bed for stability.  A flicker of movement in the corner of her eye diverted her attention and she saw her mother-in-law tentatively look into the room, ready to shoo the boys away and let her sleep.  Lucy caught Sally’s eye and gave a slight shake of the head, which the older woman took as her cue to withdraw.  The instructions continued.

“Baby come soon.  I look (after) you. You look (after) baby.”  The word “after” wasn’t spoken, but Lucy was used to filling in the blanks.

The only response Lucy could discern from her vantage point was a slightly furrowed brow – Virgil’s serious expression, one he used when concentrating hard.

“Big bruh job.”  (Meaning “That’s a big brother’s job.”)  There was a pause and Scott’s hand moved onto Virgil’s shoulder.  “I help you.”

“Ba!” Virgil replied, rather loudly, with another bounce as he flexed his leg muscles.

Scott nodded.  Apparently that was the required response.  Instructions had been given and received, and with that Scott turned and headed for the door, with Virgil toddling after him.

Lucy stifled a giggle.  Her boys were precious.  She had no doubt the new baby would be well and truly doted on.

****

With the impending birth of a fourth little Tracy, bedroom re-allocation was required.  Lucy had struggled with the best way of broaching the subject with her three boys, but needn’t have worried.  She should not have been surprised when five-and-a-half year-old Virgil immediately suggested John could move into his room.  He further justified this as the best solution by adding that Scotty was the biggest so he should have his own room.

John seemed apprehensive at first, but Virgil’s enthusiasm for the idea was apparently a persuasive force.  She watched, and silently followed, as he took John ever so gently by the hand and led him to the room in question to show him how it would all work.

“Your bed can go there.  Under the big window.  Then you can see the stars before you go to sleep.” His hands gestured at each space in turn as he spoke, his eyes alight with the imagining.  “My bed can go over there – I don’t need the window.  Bookcase goes there.  You gots more books than me, so it hasta go close to your bed.  We can share my desk.  It’s got all my pencils and paints on it though.  Is that okay?”

From her half-hidden spot just outside the door she could see John nod, seeming a little bewildered, but not altogether displeased with the idea.

“I promise I won’t be too loud,” Virgil assured his four-and-a-half year-old brother, “and it’s a big room, so you’ll still have lots of space all to yourself.”

Virgil must have seen or sensed something in John’s mood that she could not from out in the hall.  He sat on his bed, facing the window, and patted the space beside him, inviting John to sit to his left.

“I know lotsa things are changing right now.” There was a slow gravity to Virgil’s tone, so different to the rushed excitement of a moment ago.  “It’s gonna be okay, though.”

Virgil stretched his arm behind his brother’s shoulders, but waited until John leaned in against his side before letting his hand rest on the younger boy’s left arm in a gentle hug.

“You’re gonna be a big brother now,” Virgil said softly, “just like me and Scotty.  Big brothers gotta look after littler ones.  Scott looks after me sometimes.  I look after you.  You look after the baby when he comes.  But we’ll help you, too.”

“What about Mommy and Daddy?”

“They got lots of grown-up things they gotta worry about.  That’s why being a big brother’s so important.  Mommy and Daddy will look after all of us, but we can help them if we look after our little brother.  I gotta look after Scotty sometimes too, ‘cuase he doesn’t got a big brother.”

“Do you think I'll be a good big brother?"

Virgil nodded, and Lucy noticed the extra squeeze in the embrace.

"You're gonna be a great big brother.  And if you need any extra help you ask me, or Scotty and we'll help you."

"Okay," John said, visibly relaxing.  “I’m gonna help lots when the baby comes.  And I’ll help you look after Scotty too.”

Virgil gave an emphatic nod.

“Scott needs a lot of looking after.”

Lucy had to walk away before the laughter she was so desperately trying to stifle could burst out in a snort.

****

Gordon had just turned four, and with a new baby on the way the family had inevitably been throwing around the “big boy now” comments.  Lucy had been careful to involve Gordon in the necessary process of setting up the nursery furniture in the room he would soon be sharing, worried that he might resent the impending invasion.  Unlike any of the other boys, Gordon seemed reluctant to step into big brotherhood.  For over a week now he’d been very clingy, wanting cuddles with Mom on the flimsiest of pretexts, and needing Mommy’s (or, to a lesser extent Daddy’s) help with tasks that he had more than mastered.

Lucy was wondering what challenges today would bring when there was a commotion in the kitchen – a clattering of kid-safe plates, cups and bowls as though someone was rummaging through cupboards and spilling items out onto countertop and floor tiles.  Gordon had just gone in there.  With a sigh, Lucy heaved herself to her feet to see what was happening.  Before she reached the kitchen door the sound of John’s voice prompted her to stop and listen.

“What are you looking for?” the eight-and-a-half year-old enquired with a patience Lucy was sure she could not have mustered.

“My sippy cup,” came the simple reply, accompanied by more rummaging and clattering.

“Why?”

“For my juice.”  Lucy could hear the exasperated sigh in Gordon’s voice suggesting this was the most obvious thing in the world, despite him not needing his sippy cup in well over a year.

“I was going to pour yours into a cup just like mine.” 

Lucy was relieved her perceptive third child had been smart enough to avoid the term “big-boy cup.”  The use of similar terms had been enough to induce tantrums over the last few days.

There were footsteps and a cupboard door squeaked open as John apparently went and retrieved Gordon’s sippy cup from the corner cupboard used to store all the retired-until-further-notice toddler items.  Juice was poured, the lid popped on and the cup was slid across the countertop, presumably towards Gordon who had more than likely climbed up to sit on a stool opposite his big brother.

“You know, just because you won’t be the littlest anymore doesn’t mean Mom and Dad don’t love you just as much as they always did.”

Lucy was not surprised John was able to pinpoint the problem behind Gordon’s regressive behaviour, but she was impressed that he was able to articulate it so well, and that he was willing to address the issue head on.  There was no answer from Gordon, and she found herself imagining him trying to process what John had said, probably with head slightly tilted to one side and a squinty frown.

“I was the littlest before you were born,” John said solemnly, and perhaps with a hint of nostalgia.

“Really?”  The shock in Gordon’s voice had Lucy visualising his russet eyes widening.  “But you’ve always been big!”

John laughed.  A quiet, contented, closed mouth, chesty sound that Lucy always loved to hear.

“That’s because I’m older than you.  And I’ll always be older than you.  I’ll always be your big brother, just like Scott and Virgil will always be my big brothers, and all of us, including you, will be the baby’s big brother.”

“I don’t wanna be a big brother.”  Lucy heard the pout, and the crossed arms in Gordon’s words.

“Why not?”

“Don’t wanna be sponstible.  Wanna do fun stuff with Mommy, like before.  Just me and Mommy.  No baby.”

Lucy felt the prickle of tears in the corners of her eyes.  John let out a sigh.

“Yeah, it kinda sucks that you don’t really get to choose to be a big brother.  It just happens and you’re stuck with it.  And it is a big responsibility.  You need to look out for the little one, make sure they’re safe – like when I had to stop you from crashing the toboggan into the garage. You have to help them with things they can’t do yet – like I just helped you get a drink of juice.  But being a big brother can be pretty cool.  If you help mum look after the baby you’ll still get to spend time with her too.  And you can play with the baby sometimes.  Then when he gets bigger you get to teach him stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Well, the baby isn’t going to know anything about the world, or how things work, or being a Tracy.  He’ll watch you and learn from you – even when you don’t know it.  And when he’s old enough you’ll get to answer all his questions – like I answered when you asked me about how tadpoles turn into frogs.  You’ll be able to teach him important things like where all the best hiding spots in the house are, and not to steal grandma’s cookies.  Stuff Mom and Dad might not know, and stuff they might be too busy to help with – that’s the kind of big brother stuff you’ll need to do.”

There was a pause, and a soft shuffling and rustling of clothing.  Lucy thought John might have moved around the kitchen counter so he could put an arm around his little brother, or a comforting hand on his back with a gentle rub.

“You don’t have to do it all yourself.  That’s the best part about being a Tracy – we stick together, we all help each other.  You have three big brothers you can come to whenever you need to.”

Lucy wished she could see her boys at that moment, barely holding herself back from entering the kitchen just to see their expressions, to see the demonstration of exactly the big brotherly love John was speaking of.  She could hear the gentle scrape and clacking of cups that suggested the boys were sipping their drinks, perhaps even toasting the moment, before cups were tapped back down onto the countertop.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” she heard John quietly continue.  “I wasn’t sure how I felt about being a big brother at first.”  This was news to Lucy, and she wondered if she had missed something that she should have seen four years ago.  “But as soon as Mom and Dad brought you home I knew I would do anything to make you happy and keep you safe.”

“You didn’t want to be my big brother?”  The teariness in Gordon’s voice was heart-wrenching.

“I changed my mind really quick.  I found out having a little brother is the best feeling in the world.  There’s nothing like the way you looked up at me when I held you in my arms, or the feel of your tiny hand wrapped around my finger.  And you were fun to play with, especially when you were big enough to laugh.”

“I’m still fun to play with!” Gordon insisted, then doubt crept into his voice.  “Will you still play with me after the baby’s born?”

“Of course.”  John laughed again, this time a bright chuckle.

It seemed the serious conversation was over and the long silence prompted Lucy to begin to withdraw.  As she walked away she heard the beginnings of a whole new discussion.

“Are we sure the baby’s gonna be a boy?” Gordon asked

“Yeah, Mom and Dad and the doctor are all pretty sure.  Why?”

“Do you think I could ask if we could have a sister instead?” As curious as Lucy was to hear how John would handle that one, she kept walking, unable to stop the broad smile spreading across her face, and the swelling of absolute love in her heart for all her boys.

[laurangutangg]

He has hover hands. Forever a gentleman lol

[idontknowreallywhy]

WIP-Words-FINALLY-Happened-On-The-Train-Yaaaaay

Jeff had taken to wearing combat pants with multiple pockets and thus perpetually had snacks, wet wipes and toy planes on standby. He had a tennis ball on hand at all times… turned out that what worked for a puppy sometimes worked for a two-year old too.

The chew toys were their little secret.

Yes, the key to his success was in the accessories. After a few days of swinging from it, 12 kilos of dead weight, in protest, Scott had eventually taken to the little harness-leash device which meant their little trips into town were less of an adrenaline rush. Marginally. At some point Jeff was definitely going to get punched for barging his way through a crowd by some irate person who didn’t appreciate he was attached to a tiny rocket on a string.

End result here

[ellenhuttereborn]

if my tv love interest was played by angela bassett/tracie thoms/jennifer love hewitt I’d probably never shut up about it

[edutainer2022]

Inspired by conversations with @janetm74, here's a little thing based on the idea some time very early on in Jeff's fledgling business phase and before nuclear power got banned, and when the kids were small, the Tracies and the Van Arkles of the Uranium Empire might have been in each other's orbit through mutual acquaintances in high places. This was supposed to be nothing but laughs and wee shenanigans, but hey! Some angst and foreboding seeped in.

BEFORE THE DARK

The dinner ran it's course all the way to coffee and cigars at a drawing room overlooking the gardens of the Creighton-Ward manor. Just as the conversation shifted inevitably on to new bills regulating the nuclear energy production and radioactive ore mining, as well as the looming possibility of a big war. The men stayed standing in a close circle, voices hushed and tense.

Summer evening in the British countryside peeked in through the glass terrace doors with wiffs of the warm wind, infused with birds chirping and gleeful shrieks of children, playing outside, finally free of the formal confines of the dinner table. Jeff Tracy brought his little platoon of sons over to visit Lord Hugh. The Van Arkles too had their young son and daughter in tow. The elder boys, by the sound of it, were now wreaking havoc on the immaculately manicured lawn. The Tidy Twosome, at least - three year old John and Penny - were quiet and primly engrossed in a mutually fulfilling task of navigating a picture book.

The sudden patter of little feet on the terrace tiles and a painful yelp interrupted the cadence of the talk, as a five year old Scott ran inside - all wild blue eyes and windswept curls - made a beeline for his Dad and hid behind Jeff, hugging his knees for extra protection. Jeff barely had a chance to glance down at his (usually) fierce and fearless eldest, as the latter was closely followed by a tiny running girl, brown hair in two matching pigtails, now askew, brandishing a pool noodle about twice her size. The girl was eliciting something closely resembling a war cry. Jeff could feel Scotty squeeze himself into the adult's leg tighter. Jeff reached down and hoisted the boy up into his arms. He saw Willem Van Arkle do the same with the girl, who was yet to relinquish her weapon and waved it dangerously close to Scott's head. Lord Hugh was exercising all of his aristocratic poise not to laugh out loud. Jeff tightened the hold on his son.

"What's going on, Bluejay? Didn't I tell you to look after Virgie and Johnny after dinner?"

Brilliant blue eyes grew even wider, if it were at all possible. Scotty squirmed in Dad's arms to point outside, then at the militant girl.

"I WAS, Daddy! SHE wanted to hit Virgie, but Mommy says I should never EVER hit a girl so I created a dive... diva... diverzhon and she HIT ME!"

Lord Hugh gave up and was laughing by that point, trying not to spill vintage cognac on an antique rug. Jeff tried, unsuccessfully, to school his face out of an amused smile.

"SHE is Marion, right Scotty?"

"Yes, sir."

Van Arkle Sr. was frowning worried at the girl in his arms.

"What did we talk about, missy? We're guests here. We don't go hitting people."

Little Marion appeared less amenable to the idea and directed a glare at Scott, more befitting a mortal enemy than a preschooler. Both fathers put the kids down at that, but Jeff made sure to requisition the pool noodle from a grumpy Marion.

"You two go outside now and play nice. Bluejay, you make sure Virgie doesn't wander off and get lost in the park, okay?"

Scotty sketched an eager salute and beamed up at Jeff.

"K', Daddy!"

Ever the southern gentleman, he even offered a hand to the young lady. Marion contemplated his open palm, a little sticky with freshly mowed grass, slapped it forcefully and took off running outside with a yell:

"Tag! You're IT!"

Never the one to turn down a race challenge, little Scotty was sprinting off in a second, hot in pursuit. There soon was a sound of kerfuffle in the garden maze. Apparently Marion's brother and Virgil had joined the fray.

Van Arkle and Lord Hugh collapsed into the leather chairs, both sniggering. Jeff spared another moment scanning the far perimeter of the spacious grounds, making sure he didn't need to intervene.

"Told you, Tracy, the kids would take it on like a house on fire."

"That's one way of looking at it."

Jeff turned back to face the two men, steel eyes going a shade darker. Lord Hugh's face hardened as well.

"Now, gentlemen, what do we know about Bereznik repurposing those old nuclear warheads?"

Children's laughter drifted back inside through the open doors, but the air got chilly before impending dark.

[soniabigcheese]

Knock knock:

Trick or Treat!

Lucy listened for the little giggles, before wiping her hands dry with a towel. She'd been making devilled eggs for a good part of the morning. And the kitchen sink and worktops were piled up.

She really needed to make a start on clearing and cleaning, but her sons were a big distraction.

"Who is it?" She called out in a sing song voice.

The giggles got louder, followed by a shush ...

... and a ...

"Sorry"

She paused, waiting for more noises, but nothing happened. So she opened the door.

"TRICK OR TREAT!"

Stood before her were three of her sons, all in home made costumes, although Gordon's octopus looked a bit ragged and falling apart, but he insisted on wearing it

Scott was nowhere to be seen, he'd decided that he was too 'grown up' to go trick or treating, so it was John being 'big brother' this time. And he took it VERY seriously.

The 'adult' accompanying them, was a rather sheepish looking Lee Taylor, who apologised for letting his nephews stuff themselves silly with candy.

And Virgil had thrown up everywhere, but still insisted on going out. He had tried to clean the kid up, because part of the costume was in a bag, ready to be washed or thrown away.

Whichever came first.

"So ..." Lee demanded, "... which one do you want? A trick or a treat?"

"You mean I have a choice?" She retorted, remembering their childhood where her brother was always pranking everyone.

"YuP!"

He popped the P with great emphasis.

"Okay then ... I'll go for ... TREAT!"

John, Virgil and Gordon all clapped excitedly, before Gordon handed her a half eaten, sticky toffee apple.

"Treat!" He exclaimed.

The weather started to turn, getting cold and chilly, the drizzle turned to rain. So she ushered everyone inside.

And blinked with surprise.

Standing at the sink, was Jeff, his arms elbow deep in soap suds, whilst Scott was drying the dishes and putting them away.

"Thought you'd appreciate this treat," Jeff explained with a wink, "than a sticky apple."

[katiedido2]

Friday night, I was rereading @gumnut-logic's Molly and @katblu42's Mini Molly, and today (Saturday), this happened. It’s just a bit of silliness, but I hope you enjoy it. 

-o-o-o-o-

Molly Love

Virgil was hunched over his workbench, filing a refabricated piece for Thunderbird Two, when he heard a drawer on his tool chest slowly open. Glancing over his shoulder at the chest, he didn't see anything. Shrugging, he returned to his task.

A moment later, he heard a soft inhalation. Turning again, he didn’t see anyone at his tool chest. He frowned a second before an idea occurred to him. Quietly, he got down on his hands and knees, looking underneath the chest, through the casters.

On the other side of the tool chest was a pair of small sneakers attached to a stout pair of legs. Silently, Virgil stood and, unseen, made his way around to catch the small intruder unawares.

“Hello, pretty girl. How are you today?”

Standing directly behind the small child, Virgil could see he had opened Molly's drawer and was talking to his giant wrench.

A small hand was gently caressing the worn metal.

“Someday, I'm going to use you to work on Thunderbird Two when it's my bird. But until I’m big, Daddy says I mustn’t touch you because you are too heavy for me... Are you? You don't look heavy when Daddy uses you.”

Virgil’s heart swelled with love for his second son. Just when he couldn’t think of Alex being more adorably like him, the boy surprised him. He laid a gentle hand on the small shoulder.

“Molly doesn’t look heavy because I’m a grown-up, Alex.”

Small shoulders sagged. “I know, Daddy...but she’s so beautiful and useful...it’s not fair that I can’t use her.”

Virgil squatted and turned Alex to face him.

“I know, kiddo. I felt the same way when I found her in my grandpa’s tool chest.

“Molly belonged to your grandpa?”

“Grandpa Jeff’s daddy, yes. And to his father before him.”

Large blue eyes grew larger. “Wow…”

“She’s helped a lot of Tracys take care of their equipment...and I promise, someday, she’ll be yours.”

“Really, Daddy?” Alex’s face lit up with excitement.

Virgil chuckled. “Really, Alex.” He ruffled his son’s hair. “But in the meantime, I have something you can use.”

Virgil opened another drawer and removed something that was hidden by his large hand. 

“Hold out your hand.”

“Do I need to close my eyes?”

Virgil considered this. “Hmmm...yeah, close your eyes.”

Alex closed his eyes tightly and held out both hands, all eager anticipation. His father suppressed a laugh, thinking back to a similar moment with his Grandpa Grant.

Virgil suddenly missed him very much. Realizing the import of this moment, the passing of a baton - erm wrench - from one generation to another, he gently laid the small wrench his grandpa had given him when he was six into his six-year-old’s hands. 

He wiped his eyes and gruffly said, “Okay, open your eyes.”

Alex opened his eyes and looked at the object in his hands, his mouth forming a perfect O of delight. He looked at his father.

“Oh, Daddy! Molly has a baby!”