Jeff Tracy and his five sons, Scott, Virgil, John, Gordon and Alan from Thunderbirds by Azleea Ameera - 9 August 2026
I made a drawing of the Tracy family from Gerry Anderson's Thunderbirds. It consists of a widower named Jeff Tracy and his five adult sons, Scott, Virgil, John, Gordon and Alan.
Jeff is a millionaire and former astronaut who founded International Rescue along with his five sons after the brothers lost their mother and paternal grandfather in an avalanche. The family lives in the Tracy Island with the Jeff's mother and his sons' paternal grandmother, Grandma Tracy, Brains, his close friend Kyrano and his daughter Tin-Tin. The International Rescue even hired a London agent, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward and her loyal servant, Aloysius "Nosey" Parker.
A/N - The first of these! Was lots of fun! Gordon gets to be hurt first lol. Also I'm still open for prompts, got a couple others in my inbox but I'd like more if anyone wants to send them! But anyway, here's this :3
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The whir of the winch came to a stop with a clunk as Thunderbird Four was pulled safely back into the pod. Gordon dropped his head back against the pilot seat. Exhausted and, now that the buzz of adrenaline was fading, increasingly aware of the ache in his skull and the fuzzy feeling on the edge of his senses.
They were currently about fifty miles off the coast. A group of cave divers had gotten into trouble after strong currents had shifted some rock and left them trapped. With their air running out and no sign of the ocean being merciful and letting them leave, Gordon and Virgil had flown out to find them.
Figuring out where they were was the easy part. Getting to them, and then getting them out, not so much.
Navigating those tunnels had been difficult, even for Gordon. Carrying extra equipment for the trapped divers had only made it harder.
It took longer than any of them would have liked, but eventually, the divers were found, their nearly empty tanks swapped for new ones, and the group started to make their way back out, led by John's directions in Gordon's ear.
The ocean, however, hadn't wanted them to leave so easily. The currents shifted and water surged through the narrow tunnels at speeds not even the most skilled divers in the world could fight.
The rushing water had thrown Gordon into the wall, his helmet bouncing off the rock with an audible crack. Dazed, but more concerned about getting them all out of here in one piece than his own bumped head, he'd insisted that he was fine and that they kept moving.
In the moment, that had been the right thing to do. Maybe not the smart thing, but they needed to get out of the cave to where Four was waiting, and none of them wanted to hang around in those tunnels for longer than they needed to.
Everyone was okay. Bruised. Shaken. But alive. And with Four now sitting comfortably inside the pod, they'd soon be on their way home.
Laying down in the dark and forgetting about the world for a while sounded very nice right now...
"Gordon?" Virgil's voice came from somewhere behind him, pulling Gordon back to the present.
"I'm coming, Virg," he murmured, rubbing at his eyes before getting to his feet. He swayed slightly, and leaned on his chair to steady himself, before making his way out of Four.
His vision was slightly blurred, and he had to blink twice for the blue and green shape waiting for him to focus into Virgil.
Virgil frowned. He knew his brother, and he knew when something wasn't right. Gordon very rarely looked this weary after a successful rescue.
"Why're you looking at me like that?" Gordon asked. He stopped by Four's rear doors and leaned against her hull with one hand.
"Because you look like you're about to fall over," Virgil said. He moved closer and raised his hands to gently cup Gordon's face in his palms, forcing him to look straight. Gordon blinked up at him, his amber eyes not quite focusing properly. "Are you feeling alright?" he asked, though there was no way that the answer was yes.
"I'm fine Virg, just tired, that's all," Gordon shrugged, the movement making him wince.
Virgil didn't believe him for a second. "Don't lie to me."
Gordon grumbled. "I hit the rocks pretty hard. Might have hit my head."
Virgil carefully turned Gordon's head in his hands, and that was when he saw the smear of dried crimson amongst his blonde hair. Their helmets provided a lot of protection, but they couldn't save them from everything.
"Okay, you definitely hit your head." Virgil moved his hands away and moved to loop an arm around Gordon's shoulders. He wasn't so convinced that Gordon wouldn't collapse if he tried to walk any further unsupported. "You need to sit down. And then once we're back in Two, you're going to lie down. And you're going to stay there until I say so. Understood?"
"Yes, nurse," Gordon said, leaning his weight against Virgil as he was led across the pod to somewhere that he could sit down. Everything still felt fuzzy and he couldn't think straight. This was probably a concussion, wasn't it? Yeah. Yeah that's probably what it was. Yay...
One hundred and fifty years ago the world descended into the Second Global Conflict.
No one now knows exactly why or how for sure but it is believed that Bereznik struck out at its neighbours, and as cities and then countries fell into war the World Government dispatched first the Global Defense Force and then Spectrum and WASP to try and bring peace but it was to no avail.
Unlike the beginning, everyone knows that the end came with the launch of nine HEMP missiles into the Thermosphere. Every piece of machinery that ran on electric stopped. And it took fifty years for mankind to even begin to claw their way out of the dark ages. They collected in huge cities as they were the only places they were safe.
And then the Plague came.
A great building work was set into motion. The largest cities, spaced well apart to prevent infection, were increased in size both outwards and upwards and enclosed in huge walls.
Walls designed to keep people in. And the infected out.
The GDF, once the peacekeeping force of the World Government, found their job description changing. Whole companies were installed into each city and the Medscanner tech that had been instrumental in advancing medication and saving lives was now repurposed for early identification of infection.
It was in many cities the only piece of technology that worked.
Once identified the infected were forced out of the city, away from all they love, to die alone with the rest of the infected.
Alan yawned, rolled his eyes and carried on doodling in the corner of the book he was supposed to be reading along with the rest of the class as the screen narrated.
He hated this lesson, and he wasn’t the only one. No one in the room was paying any attention to the automaton robot who was reciting their history, heedless of the lack of interested children.
School was a bind on most of them. The class was mixed age and the history lesson was delivered to a background of chatter.
Sighing again and rolling his shoulders, Alan looked across the room to where his brother Gordon sat, one hand propping up his head and looking lost in concentration. He smirked and rolled up a small piece of paper before flicking it at Gordon’s head.
Laughter filled the room as Gordon jerked awake and fell off his chair. As he climbed to his feet and sent a glare to Alan that promised retribution their teacher finally fell silent and trundled over to Gordon.
The camera-eyes looked at him appraisingly and the shutters closed slightly like the robot was squinting, but eventually MAX gave a short nod before returning to the front of the class and restarting the narration.
The rest of the day passed in a blur, much the same way as every day did, and eventually the pair were waiting by the gates for one of their brothers to pick them up. As they waited the snow that had been threatening all day began to fall thickly, coating the cobbled courtyard in moments.
It was always potluck as to which brother would pick them up. Virgil had just begun an engineering job with the city, John worked at the Science Centre and Scott for the Central Government. Of course it could be Grandma that picked them up but she was busy these days in the hospital.
In the end it was Virgil who picked them up in his battered green pickup. The mechanical beast of a car was so noisy they couldn’t talk even though they were sat next to each other, the steam that drove the engine louder than anything else.
Virgil dropped them off and returned to work and the pair messed around (did their homework) while the waited. Grandma would get back first in time to (try) to make dinner followed by Virgil and then John and Scott would come home together in the late evening.
In the end they were joined with Virgil’s friend, Hiram Hackenbacker who they affectionately called Brains, who brought dinner with them. The sickly yellow light that the gas lamps gave off bathed them in gave the food a weird colour but it wasn’t burnt or raw and therefore edible…Scott and John were lucky that Virgil had already put some aside for them.
Conversation was light and Grandma offered Brains to stay since the streets would be dangerous even though the snowfall had slowed down to light flakes. He accepted since Virgil offered to take him to work in the morning, and they settled into the main room to wait for Scott and John to join them.
Sally began to fret when neither of them appeared at the usual time. Her unease began to increase and it spread to the others. Brains retired quickly but, despite the fact that Alan and Gordon should have been heading to bed themselves, no one else made to leave.
As the two-hour mark passed Sally picked up the phone to call the Government department where Scott worked. Calling a missing person in was fraught with danger in of itself. It wasn’t a good idea to highlight any behaviour that was out of the normal for a person lest the GDF was called in, but as she went to dial the front door opened.
And John walked in.
He was dishevelled, had obviously fallen over several times in the snow. There were clear indications he’d been crying.
He stood in the doorway, frozen, and it was like time itself had stopped. Eventually it was Virgil that broke the silence with a whisper that was louder than a shout.
Well...it's four years late and I actually wrote the wrong brother...so have some ShadowFish instead...
PJs
~
“Gordon’s taste in clothes is…legendary doesn’t really do them or him justice.”
This is the thought that crossed Kayo’s mind as she watched him criss-crossing their room. He was chatting away but she wasn’t listening fully.
Today’s ensemble was an eye-watering neon pink and safety-yellow concoction of flamingos and fish – she knew what species of fish that was but its name temporarily eluded her – with red coral and all on a blue background.
She was suddenly aware that the chatter had stopped and Kayo refocused on Gordon. He was standing at the foot of the bed, hands on his hips and a broad grin on his face.
Kayo blinked. She’d obviously missed something…
Gordon laughed and threw himself on the bed beside her. He propped himself up and just lay there, grinning at her. Kayo turned to face him so that they were nose-to-nose.
They stared at each other, grins playing around their faces until she knocked his elbow out and jumped on him…
The knock on the door had them pausing.
‘Gordon? May I remind you that you have a meeting in 30 minutes?’
‘Thanks Grandma!’
‘Better me than John!’
Their Grandma was cackling as she left and both of their faces were flaming, but she was right – it would have been so much worse if John had…appeared…at that precise moment.
Leaning over her and kissing her briefly, Gordon got up to get ready while she contemplated whether to get up herself. It was rare for her to have some time free and with Gordon too – this meeting was the only bit of “work” in their holiday and one that she’d insisted he keep as it was a particularly important one to Gordon’s marine work.
He strolled back in and Kayo, still in bed and propped up with pillows and half-covered with a sheet, burst out laughing.
Gordon was still dressed in his PJs…all he’d done was put a tie loosely around his neck and neatened up the top. It was still very visible what he was wearing and Kayo laughed again.
‘What?’
‘You’re going to attend the meeting in your PJs?’
‘Why not? PJs are still clothes. And this is about marine conservation.’
She couldn’t think of anything to say to that, but the mirth was still clear on her face as Gordon set up the zoom meeting on the desk that sat under the window. He glanced up at Kayo and thoughtfully nudged the screen so his fellow attendees couldn’t see his lover in all her glory.
So Kayo couldn’t see the reaction to Gordon’s outfit. But she did hear them.
‘Mr Gordon Tracy! So pleased to finally get to see you in person!’
‘Likewise! Please, call me Gordon.’
‘Gordon. I must say that I do love your shirt.’
‘Why thank you! I thought it was perfect for this occasion.’
‘Indeed. Let’s talk about marine conservation.’
Kayo smirked and listened as the conversation got technical. He’d never change, but god did she love this man as he was.
Well, it only took me (checks) ALMOST A YEAR but i finally finished this lil thing!
Set as a very loose sequel to the events of my Captured story (A03) but can be read as a standalone.
POV: John
John finds himself helping Gordon out when he really needs it.
C/W's: referenced/implied past torture, referenced near death experience, PTSD flashback (from 3rd party perspective). (let me know if i missed anything!!)
I hope you enjoy!
If there’s one thing that always seemed to mar John’s time on the island, almost exactly every time he’s got both of his feet on solid ground, it’s that gravity is out to get him personally.
It’s not even that he hates gravity all that much. It has its purpose in the universe as a force and it’s nice to not float away when one is asleep, but he cannot deny the fact that the first day after arriving back on Earth is always the worst one because of gravity.
This time, the culprit was the bar stool he pulled out in the kitchen. Nose deep in a book written by a NASA colleague of his about a new black hole discovery, he felt the air fly by as he missed the soft cushion. By the time he realised that he had missed the seat completely, he spread his arms out wildly to try and catch himself, and felt his heart stop.
His body hit the floor and the sound that escaped him as he was subject to gravity’s cruel calling was frankly embarrassing. It took him a couple of seconds before he felt that he wasn’t injured enough to attempt to sit up and reach for the book, now just out of his reach.
The shock to the system as his backside hit the hard wooden floor was bad enough, but worse was the sound that met his ears from somewhere behind him.
“Spectacular form, Johnny,” Gordon laughed, “be seeing you next fall then?”
John rolled his eyes, pulling himself up from the floor with the book in hand to see the blond brother stepping into the kitchen in his soaking wet swimming trunks, a towel draped over his shoulder, dripping all over the kitchen floor.
Grandma Tracy will not be pleased to see this mess when she returns from the mainland supply run.
“And the water is supposed to be in the pool,” he nodded at the floor, “not the kitchen, Gordo,”
“Ah, details, details - lighten up a little!” he smirks, coming up beside John and shaking his messy mop of hair, sending little droplets of chlorinated water flying everywhere, including John’s new book.
He quickly moved it behind his back to protect it from further abuse by water, “stop grinning at me, you’re acting like a dog that’s just taken a swim in a lake just to spite me. Go take a shower.”
The younger brother, smile still plastered over his face, started moving towards the stairs with a spring in his step. He’s such an idiot.
Properly taking the intended seat (the painful landing somewhat subsided now, thankfully) and reopening the book to his last read page, John couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed by Gordon’s antics.
As much as he knew that Gordon was just having fun, it was annoying fun all the same, like he knew just how far to toe the line before John would get truly angry at him. And that’s saying something, he liked to think he was able to keep his anger in check very well. In fact, it had been years since he had been angry, even longer since he was truly angry at any of his brothers, and -
Gordon was stood perfectly still at the bottom of the stairs.
John frowned, looking up from his book to properly take in what he was seeing. He looked stiff as a board, one of his hands held up to the side of his face, the towel that was over his shoulder now discarded on the floor.
“Gordon?” John called out, “are you okay?”
He didn’t answer.
With hope that this wasn't some immature attempt at pulling his leg, disturbing him from his book, he slowly rose to his feet, watching him carefully.
Awash with an all too familiar sensation, the feeling that normally comes when he’s on space monitor duty and can tell something is about to happen. A call about to come in, geological sensors predicting natural disasters, Langstrom Fishler’s newest creation, whatever that may be.
Something was wrong here and now.
“Gordon, can you hear me?” John stepped away from the counter he had been sat at and started towards him.
As he came closer, he could see his own reflection in the mirror on the far wall.
And Gordon's face was there too, eyes wide and features stiff, unblinking with his lips just parted, his hand just away from his cheek. Water was still dripping down his features from his wet hair, and John could just about hear his breathing change from over here. From practically not breathing at all, to fast and shallow. His skin was suddenly sheet white, as compared to just a minute ago.
Gordon took a deep, choked breath and then fell backwards on to the hard tiled floor.
John immediately rushed to catch him, just barely missing but hopefully alleviating what could have been a serious injury to a mere bump.
Before he realised it though, Gordon was practically thrashing his way out of John’s grip, and John instinctively released him once they were both on the ground.
He had never been on the receiving end of such treatment from the younger brother, because whenever Gordon engaged in play-fighting, it was exactly that - play. Fake. Not using full strength.
Gordon is a physically fit, powerful young man and slippery as an eel when it suits him.
And yet, the sheer, primal terror that he seemed to be experiencing was beyond anything John could have expected.
Gordon flung himself across the floor, curling up at the foot of the stairs, his breath ragged and laboured.
“Gordon - Gordon - can you hear me?” John managed to utter out as he clamoured over to his brother.
The brother in question did not answer him, he was clutching his chest and breathing erratically - his eyes wide and full of panic.
John froze above him, trying to think - think what to do. He was experiencing some kind of traumatic episode, potentially flashing back to his experiences - although what had set him off the way it has, John had no idea - and he was racking his brains trying to remember what he needed to do to help someone in that state. It felt like a lifetime, though, before it all came back to him. As though he was not even here, as though he was back on board Thunderbird 5, unable to touch and hold someone but only able to communicate from a list.
He can do this.
John moved slowly. Carefully. With precise focus, as he brought himself down to Gordon’s level, looking him right in the eyes.
There was a world of hurt in those eyes. His pupils glazed and unfocused, yet scanning for anything and everything.
John didn't waver, though. He took a breath himself, steeling himself for what he knew he needed to do to help his brother.
“Gordon,” he spoke clearly but quietly, “Gordon, I want you to breathe with me. In…”
John took a deep inhale, watching for a reaction from his brother. It was shaky, it was laboured, but Gordon did take a breath
“and out… good job, Gordon. In…”
John followed through on this, too. Repeating, in and out, until Gordon's violent shaking was subsided to simply trembling, the whites of his eyes no longer quite as prominent.
Next step.
“Good job, Gordon - do you remember where you are?”
“T…Tracy Island…”
“Yeah, that’s right. What colour is Scott's laundry hanging on the line, over there?” John slowly raised a finger to a spot towards his right side.
Gordon's gaze followed it, breathing slower now. He could see the focus come back into his eyes as he looked at what John had pointed at. “R…Red underwear. Blue… shirt. Jeans. Black socks. Blue towel.”
“Yeah, those stupid spider man ones, aren't they?” John smiled, “guess he loves to pretend he's spider man when he's grappling around on rescues.”
This elicited a very small chuckle from Gordon, a hint of a smile on his lips for the briefest of moments.
“Keep breathing for me, Gordo,” John reached forward and patted him gently on the shoulder, before moving from his kneeling position to a sitting one directly beside him, completely ignoring the damp floor where Gordon had shaken off his swim.
He nodded, taking deep breaths in and out as they had been for the past few minutes.
“Feeling better?” John asked, tilting his head at him.
“Dunno,” and a shrug was the response he got.
“I'll take that as a ‘no’ then.”
“Heart feels like it’s going at a million miles an hour. Chest hurts.”
John nodded. “I know. You’re doing great though.”
He was doing great, coming back down to earth (in a manner of speaking) largely unaided.
John was aware of the chance of an attack like this happening with Gordon after all he’s gone through, they all have had close calls with death over the years in their jobs at International Rescue, but never have any of them had an experience so violent. Scott has been known to take himself out into the jungle and vanish for a few hours. Virgil would retreat into something to keep him busy - the piano, cleaning something obessively, painting. Alan thankfully has not experienced much trauma in this regard, but considering that Alan has often been waiting on the sidelines while one of them is in trouble… he’s probably just too used to it, as awful as that is to think. It’s normal for him.
This was the closest that Gordon has been to death in a long time, and by some metrics, he did die. His heart was not beating and he was not breathing. He had to be resuscitated - by two of his brothers no less. As aloof an attitude as Gordon had to serious things like that, he was still human and still suceptible to the harsh realities of the aftermath to his experiences.
All the same… John was glad he was coming back around somewhat.
"Is there anything you want, Gordon?” he asked, watching as Gordon was breathing through his nose, deeply and with purpose, staring off at the opposite side of the room.
All he got in response was his brother reaching for - and squeezing - on his hand, pulling it to his chest.
Somehow that action - that small, tiny, inconsequential thing - was enough to trick John’s heart into settling back down from its adrenaline fuelled racing to something calmer.
He’d be okay. He’s Gordon. Of course he will be.
“I was…” he started with a crack in his voice, “… I was there.”
“I know you were. You’re not there now, though. You’re here, home, on Tracy Island.”
“No. I was there. He was there.” Gordon managed to choke out, his grip on John’s hand firm, shaking it as he stressed the words. “He was me.”
John couldn’t really think of something to say in response to his little brother’s very broken, terrified statement. Whatever had happened to him, Gordon had kept a lot of it to himself - only Virgil knew more than the rest of them but that was purely from a medical standpoint - Virgil had treated Gordon for his injuries, and had said no more on what was there.
Just that he had been through a lot - and that he was going to need time to cope with it all.
“I don’t…” Gordon started, before silencing with a hitched breath, tears building up in his glossy eyes. “… I don’t know how I can live like this.”
“Gordon, you can and you will get through this,” John squeezed Gordon’s hand back, turning properly to face him, “no matter how long it takes, because we all love you and want to see you happy again.”
Gordon’s head dropped down, his chin on his chest, eyes closed.
“We’ve got all the time in the world to help you Gordon, and you know we’ll never let you suffer on your own ever again.”
John heard something, and he could have sworn it was Gordon laughing, but his face betrayed nothing until he replied;
“I’ll remember this next time you’re bottling everything up, John.”
John couldn’t help but crack a smile of his own. “And I will deserve all of it. Now, shall we get you dried off and sort out some lunch? Not any of Grandma’s cooking, mind you. We both need our strength for whatever Grandma will have us do when she’s back from the mainland.”
