John seethed.

Everything was ruined. Why couldn't people just do as they were meant to? Why did they have to intervene, or keep living, why couldn't they just do what they were meant to?

Why couldn't he have just died?

He sighed as the engine finally gave in to him and sat up in the driver's seat. Folding his arms over the top of the steering wheel, he rested his head against them, shutting his eyes and trying to clear his head of the memory that kept coming back to him.

As soon as he had realised the this would be the easiest way to get a car, he was struck with the image of being taught to hot-wire; Scott leaning over him while he sat in the foot-well as Virgil stood watch, he had told them it wouldn't end well, but Scott had scoffed and told him not to worry so much. Inevitably John's prediction had been right and the two had ended up telling him to run home.

He had walked in, intended to sit down and wait for them to roll in. Confident and laughing like nothing had happened. Soon as he had stepped through the door though, his mother came over and his heart had sunk. She was supposed to be out, shopping with their grandmother and failing to keep Gordo and Allie in sight. She had frowned, demanding to know where his brothers were; they were supposed to be watching him. He lied, or tried to; stating he had crept away, having grown bored, a terrible lie as he wasn't that kind of person, but he wasn't going to say anything else, so had fled to his room and waited.

Eventually, the bell had rung, and he went to the top of the stairs, curious as to who it would be. The door had opened and Scott and Virgil stood there with two policemen behind them, all of them looking annoyed.

Their mother had been furious. she had spoken to the policemen, papers were swapped and soon as the door was shut she had questioned them, and for a while John was sure he was going to be down two siblings. She had pulled John in, demanding to know what had happened, they were all together and she knew they had done something. Her sixth sense had been on full. They were lying to her, she knew it but they had flat out refused the fact. Coming up with some long winded thing about how he had run off on them, and then they had been bored and how the policemen had found them trying to hot-wire the car.

John couldn't help but smile at the memory.

Their mother's punishment had been swift, the oldest two had been grounded and for the rest of the day, they had been made to stand in hallway of the house and face the walls.

Scott had grinned at him every time he went past, and Virgil mouthing it was all Scott's fault. Neither cared for their punishment, they were happy with the outcome, though he had never quite understood why, but that was one of the first times that John had really known he could rely on them, they had his back.

That little voice was back. Screaming at him, pointing and shouting. If this was a dream, if none of this was real then how had it all gone so wrong, how had figments caused memories he held so dear? That bit of doubt grew and niggled at him and all he could do was hope he was right. He needed to be right because the idea of even contemplating being wrong made his stomach turn.

He needed to go, get away. He needed to clear his head.