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Alan sat at the kitchen table, staring at the mess of supplies spread in front of him poster board, glue sticks, tiny plastic dinosaurs, and a half-empty box of baking soda. The project guidelines glowed faintly on his tablet. Everything was ready.
Everything except the person he needed.
He’d asked Scott last week if he’d help him build the volcano. Scott smiled, said “Sure thing, kiddo.” But then the call came in a landslide halfway across the world and that was that.
Alan wasn’t mad. Not really. That was just life on Tracy Island.
Still… he’d been waiting for hours. The daylight outside had faded into dusk, and the quiet hum of the ocean carried through the windows. He’d waited until it became night, and then until night became morning.
By breakfast time, Scott still wasn’t back.
John had come down from Thunderbird 5 for his monthly rotation, still looking half-asleep when he walked into the kitchen. He stopped when he saw his youngest brother sitting alone at the table, surrounded by volcano parts and disappointment.
“Hey,” John said softly, walking over. “What’re you doing, Sprout?”
Alan looked up, trying not to sound too defeated. “I was supposed to make a volcano with Scott. But… Scott’s out.”
John studied him for a second, then smiled gently. “You know,” he said, “I can help you.”
Alan blinked. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. And maybe we can rope Virgil in too. He’s good with… explosions.”
That earned a small laugh from Alan.
“Alright,” John said, stretching. “Stay put. I’ll get him.”
As John left, he pulled up Scott’s holo feed.
Scott’s tired but familiar face flickered into view, “John? What’s up?”
John smirked. “Do you mind if me and Virgil help Alan with his volcano project? He’s been waiting for you all night.”
Scott’s expression softened immediately. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, of course. Thank you. He’ll love that.” BAM, “got to go” Scott's feed cut off.
John found Virgil in the hangar, hunched over the side panel of Thunderbird 2, half-covered in grease.
“Hey, Virgil!” John called from the upper walkway. “Come help me with Alan’s school project!”
Virgil didn’t even look up. “What project?”
“We’re making a volcano!”
Virgil’s head popped up, “sounds fun”.
John grinned.” So are you helping or what?”
Virgil gives him a thumbs-up. “Alright, give me five to wash my hands.”
By the time the two of them made it to the kitchen, Alan sat ready to start.
“Okay,” Virgil said, rolling up his sleeves. “So… what’s the plan?”
Alan shrugged. “I just need it to erupt. And not blow up the house.”
“That’s a fair goal,” John said, setting down a mixing bowl.
They watched a few how-to videos, debated ratios, and immediately ignored the safe measurements in favor of “a little more won’t hurt.”
It hurt.
Within an hour, the kitchen was a disaster zone. There was flour on the ceiling, baking soda on the floor, and a bright orange streak of paint across the roof from when Alan’s “lava” had gone rogue.
Alan groaned. “The Bots are never getting that off.”
John laughed so hard he had to lean on the counter. “We’ll get a ladder,” he said between laughs. “We’ll fix it before Scott finds out.”
“Better hurry then,” Virgil muttered, heading off to the supply closet.
They managed to clean most of it up sort of. The orange spot was now just a lighter orange spot, but it was good enough.
Once the cleanup was done, they set the volcano back on the table. Virgil poured in the vinegar, Alan added the dye, and John counted down.
“Three… two… one…”
The mixture frothed, bubbled, and erupted over the edges, spilling harmlessly onto the tray. Alan’s face lit up.
“It worked!” he shouted, clapping his hands.
John laughed. “Of course it did. We’re professionals.”
They sat together afterward, watching a holo documentary about real volcanoes. The laughter softened into quiet conversation, then to silence.
Alan’s head slowly tipped against John’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered.
“Thank you, guys,” he mumbled sleepily.
“You’re welcome, Sprout,” John whispered, adjusting the blanket around him.
Virgil smiled faintly from next to Alan. “He’s out,” he murmured.
John leaned back, stretching his legs. “Can’t blame him. I’m about to be.”
It wasn’t long before all three of them drifted off Alan curled up between them, John’s arm slung protectively across his shoulders, Virgil resting his head on Alan's head.
That’s how Scott found them the next morning.
He stopped in the doorway, still in his flight suit. But when he saw the scene of his brothers asleep on the couch, an orange-painted volcano sitting proudly on the table he couldn’t help the smile that broke across his face.
Quietly, he took out his communicator, snapped a picture, and whispered to himself, “Nice work, team.”
Then, shaking his head, he went to get them all some breakfast.