The human psyche was a strange thing. Scott could remember snatches clearly but he hadn't been fully present in those moments and the result was a peculiar effect similar to watching his memories play out in technicolour on an IMAX cinema screen. He was a third-person observer in an event which had happened in his own life.

Dust. Everywhere. Thick, cloying, choking dust which sapped every bit of moisture from the air. A heavy hum churning the sky into a heartbeat, accompanied by the familiar stench of aviation fuel. Frantic barks and shouts. The thunder of helicopter rotors drowning his senses. Unfamiliar voices. Flashes of colour. Then the distinctive wobble of gravity which promised they were airborne.

Everything faded out.

Scott was no stranger to waking up in hospitals, so the steady chimes of a cardiac monitor, clinical whites and monochromes and a faint sting in his forearm where he had been recently hooked up to an IV line was all familiar. The real question was where the hell he was because as far as he knew there were no working hospitals in the apocalypse.

He stared up at the ceiling for a few moments whilst trying to take stock of his situation. There was a large fan bolted to the beams and it rotated steadily, spinning faint lines of eternal dust into a dance which he could only spy in the sun rays falling through the blinds. He was in a small room with no furniture other than medical equipment and a plastic chair by his bedside. He couldn't hear anything except the cardiac monitor. There was no sign of his brothers nor his friends.

He hauled himself upright, bracing himself against the edge of the mattress until he regained a sense of balance. It was only a few steps to the window, but he had clearly been unconscious for several days as his muscles felt weak and untrustworthy. He grasped the windowsill to steady himself, leaving smeared fingerprints in the dust. The sunlight was blinding at first but after some furious blinking his vision adjusted.

There were a series of cojoined buildings – presumably attached to the one he was in – with a couple of heavy-duty white tents he recognised from field hospitals. Several trucks were parked up, sporting GDF and World Health Organisation logos respectively. Armed guards patrolled the complex.

But by the far the most striking sight was the colossal metal wall which dwarfed the buildings. It was so high that it probably cast everything in shadow for most of the day. Scott craned his neck to glimpse tower blocks peering over the top. The wall seemed to run on forever in either direction as if it contained an entire city.

"What the hell?" he murmured to himself, voice rough with disuse.

Presumably this was the GDF safe zone they'd been hearing about, but it was nothing like how he had imagined. It also hadn't escaped his notice that they were stuck in some sort of quarantine hospital outside the walls. Was that just himself and John due to their past bites or were the others here too? He pushed himself away from the window, identified his clothes – now washed and folded neatly at the end of the bed – and ventured out of the room.

The door hissed open automatically. He hadn't expected casual technology and it threw him for a minute. He was in a long, empty corridor filled with windows and white walls. The floorboards were scuffed from wheels and boots. He hesitated for a moment, then pushed onwards until he came to another set of sliding doors which opened into a large room with a table surrounded by chairs. He tapped the holoprojector cautiously.

A swirling light appeared, accompanied by a neutral female voice. "Hello. I am EDEN. How may I help you?"

Scott stared at it incredulously. "Are you an AI?"

"In a manner of speaking. I am here to help you with any enquiries."

"Uh, okay." He pulled out a chair and took a seat. "Where am I?"

EDEN's light shifted from blue to yellow as she mulled it over.

"You are at a specialised quarantine facility outside the GDF Thunder Bay Sanctuary: a place of hope for humanity. You were admitted here five days ago for severe dehydration and malnourishment, along with seven others: five adults and two minors. Another minor is also in quarantine with you but has not undergone medical treatment. In four days, you will be transferred to the Sanctuary."

Scott leant back in his chair to glimpse the metal wall through the window. "Sanctuary, huh?"

"It is the first of its kind: a city entirely safe from the infected. People live without fear within its walls. It is the dawn of a new society in our post-Z-Day world."

"Yeah, sounds fantastic." He didn't trust it. Not one bit. "The people who were admitted with me – how are they?"

"They are recovering. John Glenn Tracy, Marisa Via Falcone, Jasmine Aria Falcone and Theo Jack Hardy have been discharged and are now in quarantine with Alan Bartlett Tracy."

Scott tried to repress the hazy memory of Alan desperately begging him to wake up. Knowing that John was with the kid was a relief, even if his heart sank at the news that Virgil and Gordon were still in need of treatment and Ellis was also undergoing medical care.

Voices echoed from the hallway. He twisted to spy the closed door, uneasy at the thought of leaving his back vulnerable. EDEN's lights hovered patiently, awaiting his next question. He exhaled shakily, trying to repress the paranoia. It was fine. He was fine. Sure, he was in an unknown place and had been unconscious for an extended length of time around strangers, but it was fine.

"Can you give me an update on Virgil and Gordon Tracy? What's their medical status?"

EDEN's lights pulsed. "I cannot tell you under GDF patient confidentiality regulations."

"Patient confi- I'm their brother. Next of kin are permitted that information, surely?"

"Sorry, but my programming does not concur with your judgement."

"Your programming? How about this; I'm going to programme you into a goddamn toaster, you useless piece of-" Scott took a deep breath. "Never mind. Can you at least tell me where they're staying?"

"I am not at liberty to provide that information."

He pushed back his chair with a curse. "You know what? Fine. I'll find them myself."

"I would strongly advise against this course of action. You have only recently regained consciousness and should not be out of bed. I have alerted the appropriate authorities and medical personnel will be arriving shortly."

Yeah, hell no. He wasn't going anywhere with anyone until he'd seen for himself that his brothers were okay. He didn't even fully trust EDEN's claims that John and Alan were safe. In fact, he had no way to tell fact from fiction right now. Based off how vivid the hivemind had been, it was even possible that he was still unconscious and this was all some bizarre creation of his own subconscious.

He yanked open the door and nearly collided with the nurse about to enter, a tall man with a surgical mask and plastic gloves which backed up EDEN's claim that this was a quarantine zone.

"Hi," Scott said brightly, trying to muster a smile which would fool even Penelope. "I'm looking for my brothers, Virgil and Gordon. Could you point me in the right direction?"

The nurse cleared his throat. "Yes, Mr Tracy, of course you can visit them, but all in good time. Right now, you need to return to your room."

"Sorry, pal, not happening." Scott held up his hands in surrender. "Look, just let me see them and then I'll go with you nice and quietly, okay?"

"I must ask you to return to your room."

There was no hint of malice in the nurse's voice, but the words struck that chord of paranoia deeper. Scott sidestepped half a pace, just enough to place him out of reach, then bolted for the door at the end of the corridor. Shouts erupted behind him. He didn't wait to find out whether the nurse would give chase, just kept running as though his life depended on it.

The door opened into a flight of stairs. He took them two, three at a time, skidding on bare floorboards, only just catching himself against the far wall. He barged through another set of heavy-duty fire doors and tore along a clinical corridor. It ended in a large metal door which looked to be pressurised given it had a wheel to open it like an airlock.

He threw a glance over his shoulder, slightly dizzy from the adrenaline rush, and spied more figures in masks and suits spilling into the hallway. Panic fizzed under his skin and, with a feat of adrenaline-fuelled strength, he twisted the wheel and burst free into glaring sunlight.

For a few seconds, he was entirely blinded. The light was so bright that it dazzled him. His vision cleared slowly, so that at first all he could see was a brilliantly blue sky, utterly cloudless and somehow even more massive than he recalled. He registered grit and sand underfoot and finally realised that he wasn't wearing shoes. Wiry grass tickled his heels. Tyre tracks had pressed the dust into hard-packed lines. He turned in a wide circle to glimpse his surroundings.

He was standing in the clearing where GDF and WHO vehicles were parked, sheltered between the quarantine site and the metal wall which ringed the Sanctuary. Now that he was so much closer, he could see that the wall was formed of all different kinds of metal welded together. It wasn't exactly pretty, but it would stand up against rotters well enough. Sound carried from within the complex – voices, music, electronic hums, machinery and so on. It was if someone had taken a handful of the old world and poured it inside a circle, tucked safely behind metal barricades.

"Scott?"

Theo's voice jolted him out of his thoughts. The kid was standing in the entrance to one of the tents, eyes wide with a mixture of delight and bemusement. The curtain at side twitched as Alan shoved past him and hurtled across the short distance to fling himself at his brother.

Scott stumbled a little, trying to keep from overbalancing. Alan's grip was so tight that it was almost a struggle to breathe. It was the fierce, fearful type of hug which only ever came in the aftermath of near misses which had been so close that the only way to ease that desperate panic was to hold on for as long as possible until even death's shadow had faded.

"Wait." Alan withdrew to frown at him. "What are you doing out of bed?"

Scott offered a sheepish smile as the pursuing nurses filed out of the door. "About that…"

Alan shot him an exasperated stare which was a dead-ringer for Virgil's expression whenever he found Scott disobeying medical orders. It had the potential to be a funny moment – and God knew they needed an excuse to laugh – only then glass glinted in the sunlight, drawing Scott's eyes to the syringe which one doctor was attempting to conceal behind their back. His heartrate jolted. He backed up a pace subconsciously. Like hell was he going to let anyone sedate him. Not again. He didn't know these people and therefore didn't trust them and-

"What the hell is your problem?" Alan planted himself between them like a human shield. "No, seriously, what the actual fuck? Get rid of the sedative. Jeez. He's fine, alright?"

"We highly recommend-"

"Oh, you highly recommend, huh? Noted. But I'm a trained first responder and I think I know my own brother's medical history a little better than you do, so I've got things from here, okay?"

Alan turned his back on their spluttered protests and marched Scott towards the tent.

"Nicely handled," Scott commented, only partly joking.

Alan shook his head, trying to hide his smile. "I'm really glad you're okay, but for the record I am still, like, super mad at you. But that also applies to John, Virgil and Gordon, so."

"You're…" Scott tried to shift through his hazy memories. "Why?"

Alan looked away, having a physical effort to keep his voice level.

"Did it ever occur to you at literally any point when all of you decided to be self-sacrificial idiots and slip me part of your rations – yeah, I figured that one out – that maybe it would suck even more for me to be alone. Great, so I'm still alive, but what would be the point? I don't have a home – or at least no way to get there and even if I could, I'd be all by myself. No one knows where Kayo and Penny are or if they're even alive. We have no way to contact Mars or EOS so Brains, Grandma and Parker are just, like… gone. All I'd have would be Finch. So, I don't get why you think my survival at any cost is such a great thing. Because honestly? It would just suck and I'd be miserable."

He took a deep breath.

"So. Yeah. I'm still mad at you. All of you."

"Alan-"

"Leave it."

"No, Alan." Scott caught his arm and waited until he reluctantly lifted his chin. "Just listen to me for a second, okay? I'm sorry. I didn't think about the implications. I didn't consider how it would impact you and that was wrong of me. So, I'm sorry."

Alan searched his expression for something. "I want my family, not their sacrifice."

"I get that." Scott caught Alan's gaze and held it. "Really," he continued softly. "I get it. I wouldn't want to be alone either. It won't happen again."

"Do you mean that?"

"I promise."

Alan's shoulders dropped. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from biting his nails. There was so much utter exhaustion in his eyes that Scott was taken aback, momentarily left speechless because yes, he'd known Alan was struggling but this was the first time the kid had fully discarded his mask even if it was only for a few seconds.

Days in the open had coaxed a tan from angry sunburn, but beneath it he was pale and shaky with lack of sleep, eyes permanently bloodshot and knuckles raw where he'd been picking at them. He looked haunted, sick with memories.

"Alan," Scott began cautiously, unsure of how to broach the subject. If he were brutally honest with himself, then the sheer depth of desolation on Alan's face scared him. The underlying fear that Alan was too much like him reared its head again and he trailed off. "I…"

"I couldn't save you," Alan whispered and there was something dreadfully broken in his voice, rising to fill the cracks. "We got lucky. If the GDF hadn't shown up when they did- I keep trying to figure out where it all went wrong, you know? Because I was good before. I was actually kinda awesome. But now I'm just… I can't save anyone, Scott. I don't even know how to save myself."

"Woah, hey, hey- Alan, don't walk away from me." Scott trod on a sharp piece of gravel and bit back a curse. "Alan." He caught his brother before he could flee into the tent and paste the mask back on. "You can't say something like that and just leave. Do you get how it sounds?"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?"

"I don't know." Alan stared down at his scabbed knuckles. "I'm just tired," he said at last, forcing a hollow smile. "I need to sleep for a year, that's all."

"Allie…"

"Can you drop it?" Alan closed his eyes; whether to force back tears or to hide his emotions was unclear. He swallowed. "Please?"

No, Scott wanted to shout, I won't drop it. But there was no point in pushing the conversation if Alan was dead set against it. He'd only dig in his heels and refuse to give up any details. It was better to wait until a later date. So.

"Okay," Scott agreed quietly, unease cloaking his voice. Gordon's words from their time in the cabin returned to haunt him – we're losing him, Scott – and it was all he could do to keep himself from pulling Alan into a hug and not letting go until the world seemed beautiful enough to be worth living in again. Instead, he wrapped an arm around the kid's shoulders and let himself be led into the tent.

There was a series of tables like a canteen on one side and a large open space with beanbags, colourful rugs and a large screen which presumably showed movies in the evenings. An empty buffet cart towards the rear proved that this was some sort of community space, like a mess hall. There were a few unknown faces scattered around, but Alan made a beeline for a familiar group.

John had his head buried in his folded arms on the table and appeared to be asleep. Ellis was elsewhere, presumably catching up on her own rest. Marisa was picking at a plate of beans and rice with Jasmin. Theo bounced in his chair, drumming his heels like a live wire. He surged from his seat upon spotting them and hugged Scott, rocking back with a sheepish smile.

"Sorry. I'm just really happy you're okay."

"Stop crowding him, Theo," Marisa called fondly. She brushed a hand over his shoulder as she moved to wrap Scott in a brief hug of her own. "Still feeling rough?" she queried under her breath with a knowing look. "Yeah, it'll take you a few hours. Sit down, have some food. Jazz, save the rest for Scott."

Jasmin slid the plate across the table as he sank into a seat. "Are you okay? It's been weird without you around."

"Even weirder without Gordon, huh?" Scott accepted the fork she offered with a grateful smile. He hadn't realised just how hungry he was until the food was in front of him. "Any updates? The GDF's creepy AI wouldn't tell me anything."

Alan drew his feet onto the edge of his chair. "Gordon's doing better. They're just keeping him for observation, like they wanted to do with you before you did your Houdini impression."

Marisa arched a brow. "You broke out?"

"Scott always breaks outta hospital," Alan revealed with the glimmers of a grin. "He's an idiot like that."

"Thanks," Scott deadpanned. "What about Virgil?"

Alan's grin died. "Um…" He dropped his gaze to the table. "Okay-ish. They were worried about his injury. I think they've fixed my shitty stitching job, but he's still gonna have a scar. But, um, I think he's due to be discharged in a few days."

"Shortly before we're allowed into the Sanctuary," Marisa clarified. She filled a glass with the water jug at the end of the table and pushed it within Scott's reach. "Theo, stop fidgeting. You're making the table shake and if you wake John I will not be happy."

"Johnny's not been sleeping?" Scott guessed aloud. The question was mostly directed at Alan but it was Marisa who answered.

"He's averaging three hours a night at most."

Alan tipped sideways a little to press his elbow against John's.

"Nightmares," he signed at Scott.

Yeah, that really wasn't surprising. None of them slept well anymore. Based off the shadows beneath Alan's eyes, he was just as bad as John.

The conversation moved on. Scott propped his chin in a hand, fighting back a yawn. He mumbled his thanks to Marisa as she took his empty plate away. It was warm in the tent and the background chatter was enough to lull him into light sleep. He was vaguely aware of Alan slipping out of his hoodie and bundling it into a pillow.

"M'not sleeping," he murmured, most of the way to drifting off already.

Alan sounded impossibly fond as he tucked the hoodie under Scott's head and ghosted a hand through his hair. "Okay, Scotty. Whatever you say."

The actual buildings were dedicated to the field hospital, whereas tents and open space were for survivors. The site ran all the way up to the metal wall where GDF officers guarded the door and was ringed by an electric fence to defend against infected. In the early days, so many survivors were being picked up on a regular basis that the place had been overflowing, but now new arrivals were so sparse that they could have claimed a tent each and still had extras leftover.

The tents consisted of camp beds with blankets and a screen which could be pulled for privacy. There were empty crates in the entrance which served as seats. Across the way was the toilet block which also had a set of showers. Running water was a luxury which they had all sorely missed.

It was growing dark when Scott joined John on one of the crates outside their tent. Dusk had not quite left, leaving the sky pale with shadowy lilac. It was a balmy evening; autumnal temperatures had yet to make an appearance as summer dragged its heels. A light breeze carried distant music and children's laughter over the wall.

For a moment, Scott closed his eyes and let himself imagine. Remembering was painful, but another world was impossible enough to be a comfort; a place where a new day brought excitement rather than dread.

A warm weight on his knee drew him back to the present. He looked down to glimpse Finch and patted her head absently.

They were once again cast in the wall's shadow, as happened so often throughout the day. It was rarer for the camp to be bathed in sunlight than in darkness. There was probably some metaphor there, but Scott was too tired to contemplate it. Apparently nearly dying from dehydration really took it outta a guy – who would've thought? He traced patterns across Finch's muzzle as he stared up at the wall. It was an engineering masterpiece yet something about it unsettled him – he just couldn't quite figure out what.

"If we ever write our own survival manual," John mused, "We should put a foreword in it. Please note, all these strategies are useful but by far and large life is based on pure luck."

Scott studied the bolts where metal plates hadn't been perfectly welded. "Luck isn't logical."

"None of this is logical either." John tilted his bottle to watch the water within slosh against the base. "It just seems strange. We were so close to death by dehydration. And now we've got access to running water whenever we want." He shrugged. "The world is an odd place."

"It always has been."

"True."

John petted Finch's back. He had that contemplative light in his eyes again which usually meant he was considering the universe in all kinds of deeper ways which would never occur to Scott to even think about in the first place.

A light breeze caught the tent entrance so that the cloth flapped like great wings and John reached out to still it.

"We were dying, Scott."

There was an unbearable weight to the words.

"Yeah," Scott whispered. He took a deep breath, then let it go again in a rush. "I know."

"They were right."

"Who was?"

John's gaze was fixed on the sky. A few daring stars braved the young darkness, but it was still too bright to spy any satellites. He pulled his jacket closer, shivering with sunburn chills. For several long minutes, he said nothing at all. Then, quietly, he confessed, "The people we couldn't save."

It took a moment to recall their conversations so many months ago now: the callers who didn't ring IR for a saviour but because they didn't want to be alone. In that last moment, they were always peaceful, John had said and now Scott got it.

This near-death experience had been different somehow. The apocalypse was unforgiving. There were no do-overs. They'd been out of options and out of time and so some part of him had accepted it.

"Peaceful, huh?" he murmured, stealing a glance across at John.

"For us."

Scott resisted the urge to tug back the tent flap and check on Alan. The kid was supposed to be asleep right now and had certainly seemed to be, but it probably wouldn't last long.

"Yeah," he agreed wearily. "For us."

It was dark enough now to witness a rich spread of stars. No light pollution in the apocalypse meant a night sky unlike any other unless you ventured into orbit. The darkness was speckled with far-off galaxies and the distinctive glow of the Milky Way. Sometimes Scott came close to understanding his father's love of space – John's too for that matter – and this was one such instance.

"Do you remember that scene in Interstellar?" John asked. He was silhouetted against the campfire and the warm glow made him seem younger than usual. "There was that line about how humanity used to look up at the sky and wonder, but then only worried about their place in the dirt."

"Um…" Scott listened to the crackle of firewood and wondered how to admit to his brother that he'd fallen asleep the last time they'd watched that movie. "I vaguely remember it."

A meteor soared across the sky, creating beauty in its destruction. Distantly, beyond the wall, a child's voice exclaimed at the sight.

"I've just been thinking about it," John continued without lifting his gaze away from the stars. "We were so close to the future. We'd established a colony on Mars. Manned missions further afield had been green-lit. Hell, the Calypso is still out there somewhere. All that possibility wiped out, just like that. And now, what's left? We only think about our own survival and how we'll get through tomorrow. No one looks up and wonders anymore. We just-"

"-worry about our place in the dirt?"

John leant back against the heels of his hands. More meteors streaked overhead.

"Exactly," he murmured with a sad smile.

A clatter came from within the tent followed by a stifled curse. They exchanged a glance. Scott pushed himself upright and briefly clapped a hand to John's shoulder.

"I've got this."

The tent was dimly lit by a camping lantern. Scott took a moment to pick out the details. The blankets were twisted into a ball on the floor. A water bottle had been knocked from the crate beside the bed which purposed as a table.

Alan sat with his knees to his chest, face buried on top with his arms wrapped around himself. Even at a distance, he was clearly trembling. He dug his nails into his biceps as Scott sat down beside him, trying desperately to stifle strangled gasps.

"Hey," Scott said softly, running a thumb over Alan's knuckles. "C'mon, don't do that, you'll hurt yourself." He wrapped an arm around the kid's shoulders. "You're okay. I'm right here, Al. I'm not going anywhere, I promise. Can you sit up for me? You're making it harder for yourself to breathe like this. There you go, that's it."

Alan uncurled his arms but kept his knees against his chest. He yanked his sleeves over his hands and scrubbed at his tear-stained face. For several seconds, he did nothing but try to breathe; painful, wheezing inhales which hurt to hear.

"Don't ask." He coiled a hand in the fabric above his heart and clenched his fingers into a fist. "I can't-" He sucked in a breath. "I- S-shit, I can't-"

"Just breathe. That's all you have to do, okay? Nothing else matters right now." Scott rested his chin on Alan's head, bracketing him to serve as a shield against the world. "It's just you and me, bud. No one's watching. You don't have to pretend to be okay."

Alan let out a damp laugh; a sharp, brittle thing which made Scott feel as though he'd been doused in icy water. He tightened his hold as Alan pressed his knuckles against his eyes and tried to take a breath which hitched and tripped into the next inhale, leaving him gasping for air again.

A thread of panic twisted in his own chest as he tried to hold Alan together even when it felt as if the kid was falling apart right there in his arms. Hysterical laughter shattered into distraught sobs, triggering a new round of hyperventilation. It seemed like an age until Alan finally caught his breath.

Neither of them said anything for several minutes.

"I t-think…" Alan's voice was rough. "I think I'm…" He swallowed. In the dull light, his eyes were overly bright, glassy with tears. He dropped his gaze to the floor. "I think maybe I'm, um, broken."

Scott tried not to visibly react. His instinct was to vehemently deny it, but he knew that look in Alan's eyes although God knew he wished he didn't. He recognised it from his own reflection. So, denial wouldn't do any good.

"Alright, I'll humour you for a second, even if I don't believe that. You're broken, I'm broken, the whole damn world's broken – it doesn't mean we have any less value."

"No, n-no, you're not- You're not getting it, Scott."

Alan didn't bother trying to hide his tears this time. He just let them trickle down his face, dripping from his chin onto his knees as if the pain was leaking out of him, too much to be constrained any longer. He bit down on his knuckles to stifle a raw sob.

"You don't get it."

"Allie-"

"I think there's something actually clinically wrong with me. And I can't- I can't stop. I don't know what to do anymore. There's so much bad in me and I can't get it out. But you guys don't seem to see it and- I feel like I'm losing my mind and it's getting worse and I can't stop it. I don't want to hurt anyone else, you can't let me- I don't want to be me anymore, but there's no way to- How do I fix it? You've gotta tell me how to fix this because I can't… I don't know who I am anymore."

Scott wrapped an arm around Alan's middle and pulled him against his chest, tucking him under his chin as if he were a little kid again when pain was more easily soothed and a hug could be a remedy for almost anything.

He understood what Gordon had meant now – we're losing him – and it was made so much worse because he didn't know how to fix this. He couldn't love away Alan's trauma. He longed for a way to take on all that hurt himself. He'd do it in a heartbeat. Give me all your pain, let me carry it, please.

"Everyone expects me to be this person," Alan choked out. He clutched Scott's arm so tightly that it was almost painful. "But I don't know who that guy is. I just know that I'm not him and he's n-not me. And- I'm supposed to be better but all I do is make everything worse."

"No," Scott protested, trying to keep the heartbreak out of his voice. "That's not true, Allie."

"Yes, it is. I break everything I touch. I just- I ruin everything. And I can't fix any of it, so it doesn't matter how many times I apologise because it won't change anything. I can't take back any of the things I've said or done. I'm not a good person anymore and- I c-can't get the badness out."

Movement flitted like a ghost as John slipped into the tent. He caught Scott's gaze with mirrored horror and a dose of dread too because it wasn't so long ago that he'd had to listen to Scott lamenting similar opinions of himself and it was unbearable to hear Alan view himself in a similar light.

He took a cautious seat on the edge of the camp bed, voice so soft that he was nearly inaudible as he whispered, "Alan, no."

They badly needed Virgil here. Navigating emotional conversations was his forte, not theirs, but he was still in the field hospital, so it was down to them and Scott was so, so scared of screwing this up.

But Alan was still falling to pieces in his arms and all he could do was hold on. He hated how helpless it made him feel. What else could he do? Words were useless if they went unheard and he didn't know how to convince Alan that the so-called other person wasn't an expectation but who the kid already was; all the goodness which still existed in his heart: kindness and compassion and bravery.

"Hey. Look at me." John cupped Alan's face, wiping away tears with his thumbs. "The only thing wrong with you is the same flaw in all of us: we're human. That means we're complicated. We make mistakes and sometimes other people get hurt as a consequence. We experience a range of emotions which we don't always understand and so we lash out. But we can't blame ourselves for something which is intrinsically encoded in our species."

"I just-" Alan tried to duck his head, but John raised his chin. There was no need to hide tears: not from them. "I want to stop feeling like this."

"You're not wrong for feeling this way," Scott said gently. "You're allowed to grieve."

"But I can't stop. Everything hurts all the time and I'm so tired of it. It never goes away. I can't escape it, not even in sleep. And I just… I don't see it ever getting better and that really scares me."

John spoke before Scott had chance. "Okay, stop. Take a breath. Now listen." He held up a hand as Alan went to protest. "Just for a few moments."

The campfire crackled as kindling collapsed into the embers. The smell of woodsmoke mixed with the faint pollen of late summer. Indistinct voices drifted on the breeze, light with good humour and hope. Laughter carried over the wall, accompanied by varying melodies. High-pitched giggles mixed with the squeak of hinges in the playground within the site. A dog barked cheerfully. Trees rustled in the wind.

"Life perseveres," John promised. "Love prevails. Happiness finds its way back to you. It gets easier. You've just got to have hope."

Alan tugged his sleeve over his hand and wiped his face with it. "What if I don't have any left?"

"Then you borrow some of ours until you do."

Virgil and Gordon were finally discharged from the medical wing three days later. It was unclear whether this was due to actual clearance or because the staff had grown so tired of Gordon's antics and Scott's attempts to break in and see them.

It was the longest they had been apart since they had first been separated after the satellite disaster. Doubtless a therapist would have a lot to say about co-dependency, but Scott didn't give a shit. He held onto Virgil fiercely until their heartbeats seemed to merge, feeling his brother's fingers tighten in the back of his shirt.

"I'm okay," Virgil whispered, making no move to pull away. He lowered his head to Scott's shoulder to hide the tears in his eyes. "We're all okay."

"I know." Scott reluctantly let go. "But that was too close."

Virgil recalled those final moments with a physical shudder. "Don't remind me."

Scott wrapped an arm around his shoulders and guided him over to their tent for a proper reunion. It was the first time any of them had seen Alan properly smile in days if not weeks, even if it didn't quite reach his eyes. Even Ellis handed out a rare hug, uncertain as to whether she was welcome until Virgil gestured for her to sit down and have lunch with them.

Laughter and chatter filled the tent and for the first time in a long while it felt right. Not complete - not when people they were loved were still missing - but when Scott thought of family, Ellis, Marisa and the kids were included.

They were shown around the Sanctuary by a cheerful woman in GDF uniform who introduced herself as Lou, their personal guide for the day. She was the person to contact over the next couple of weeks if they had any questions or were struggling to adjust. It transpired that the place wasn't quite as vast as it had appeared from the quarantine camp; more like the size of a small village if said village had apartment blocks and a hotel which had been transformed into research labs, medical centres, schools, entertainment floors and so on.

"There are no cars," Lou explained as a couple whizzed past on bikes. "Everywhere is walkable, although many people choose to cycle or skate. Any keen skaters here?"

She eyed Alan knowingly, although he kept his gaze on the sidewalk and didn't offer a confirmation.

"Well, if anyone's interested, we have a skatepark over on the eastern side. It's not used very often, but my son tells me that it's cool which is a glowing commendation coming from him."

Lou's voice faded into background noise as Scott tuned her out. His attention was still caught by Alan, who was staring at the sun rays falling between the two apartment blocks. There was a wistful frown on his face as his gaze drifted eastwards then up to the sky. Skating was cool, but it couldn't compare to an astroboard.

The town had everything and more. There was a leisure centre with a fully stocked gym and a swimming pool; a market where fresh produce was sold; farms and factories and so on. The place ran on a ration system, although trading was available if you wanted an extra item from surplus. Everyone had a role to play, but they were allowed two weeks to settle in first and could apply for the jobs they wanted.

Lou led them to a neighbourhood of classic suburban townhouses. Each had a trim front lawn with a tiny porch and three floors. They had been delegated two between the nine of them. Marisa linked her arm through Ellis' and pulled her after Jasmin and Theo, leaving the second house for Tracy-only occupancy.

Scott hung back to talk with Lou alone for a moment.

She offered him a warm smile. "If you have any problems at all – even if you just want to talk – then don't hesitate to call me. I wrote my number on the notepad by the phone, but if you misplace it just ask for Lou. Everyone knows each other these days."

"Thanks." Scott tucked his hands into his jean pockets, suddenly self-conscious for no apparent reason. Lou seemed to have an uncanny ability to read people. "I have a quick question. I didn't see an airbase, so where have the GDF set up camp? You have helicopters, right?"

"Just outside the wall, on the opposite side to the quarantine zone." Lou raised a brow. "Why? Looking for a job?"

"Possibly." He shrugged. "It depends. Are they looking for a pilot?"

Lou's freckles disappeared into laughter lines as she grinned. "Are you any good?"

"At flying?"

"Uh huh."

Scott repressed a laugh. "I'm pretty decent."

"Much experience?"

"Ex-USAF captain." He leant against the fence nonchalantly. "Kept my hours up since then. Oh, and I'm the pilot of Thunderbird One, if that counts?"

Lou's grin dropped. "Oh my god. Oh my god. You're-"

"Yep."

"-The commander of International Rescue."

"Most people just call me Scott."

"Oh, shut up." Lou clasped her hands to her mouth. "Sorry. I'm just a little… frazzled." She straightened up. "I'll put in a good word for you. Something tells me that you'll be hearing from Finn before too long."

"Finn?"

"Lieutenant General Wolvin. He's our highest-ranking officer. You wouldn't think he's in charge of this entire place though, not with the way he acts. He insists we call him by his first name and makes a point of knowing everyone. He's a real sweetheart, honestly, you just have to get used to his sense of humour."

"Well, if Finn's looking for a pilot, you can tell I'm the man for the job."

"I'll do that." Lou's smile flickered. "Oh, and, um, Scott? Please don't think I'm being too presumptuous, I offer this to every new resident, but…"

She pulled a white business card from her pocket and held it out.

"These are the contact details for Doctor Sloane Briggs. She's a therapist and as you can imagine she's in high demand, but she's a close friend of mine so I can sneak you ahead on the waiting list."

Scott closed his fingers around the card. "Thank you."

"Of course." Lou cast a glance over his shoulder at the house. "I don't mean to overstep, but… Well, I have a teenage son, so I like to think I'm fairly good at reading them. My advice is to book Alan an appointment."

"Yeah. That's…." Scott studied the card in his hands. "Can you arrange it? Or do I have to call directly?"

"No, I can sort it for you."

He exhaled in a rush. "Thanks, Lou. Really. Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me. Your family has shown the world enough compassion over the years. It's about time we offered it in return." Lou patted his shoulder. "I'll see you around, Scott. Welcome to the Sanctuary."

His brothers had already scouted out the house when he finally stepped inside. He closed the front door and leant heavily against it for a moment. The business card bit the palm of his hand and he uncurled his fingers to examine it.

Life was strange, he considered, recalling how it really hadn't been so long ago in the grand scheme of things that he had been given Noah Warren's card. He tipped his head back against the door with a weary sigh. When he closed his eyes, he glimpsed Noah's terrified eyes and the relief in them as that trigger had been pulled.

Finch bounded down the stairs, claws slipping and sliding on polished floorboards. She skidded around the corner and disappeared through another doorway, hotly pursued by Alan who had predictably ditched his shoes as soon as he'd gotten inside. Scott tucked the card into his pocket and fixed a smile on his face as he joined them.

The kitchen was fully stocked; both the fridge and cupboards boasted an array of items. It was nothing like the scale that had been available at the bunker, but a sensible amount which was clearly all sourced from sustainable sources within the walls. They fell into chairs around the table while John and Virgil fixed up a late lunch.

It was eerily domestic. Scott couldn't help but feel unsettled by the way they had so easily taken over a house which had once been a family home. Who had lived here? The place seemed haunted with memories. If he glanced out the window, he would see that perfect postage-stamp front lawn and a backyard with flowerbeds and a barbecue. It was as if he'd fallen through the fabric of reality into another universe.

He explored the rest of the house on his own. It still felt like trespassing and he couldn't help but notice traces of the family who had once lived here; scuffs on the wall from an old soccer ball; glitter engrained into a carpet; childish initials etched into a floorboard in the corner. This neighbourhood had been filled with entirely different faces pre-Z-Day and now their memories had been lost to time. No matter where you went or how safe the place was, there was no escaping the reality that Earth was now mostly home to ghosts.

It was approaching early evening when he retreated to the bathroom because it was the only room where he could lock the door without being accused of hiding. Everything was soaked in golden light as September graced them with another warm sunset. Music drifted across the neighbourhood from other houses. If he glanced out the window, he could spy into the next garden across where Ellis was sitting in a deckchair, nose buried in a book.

Laughter echoed up from the backyard where Gordon and Alan were playing fetch with Finch. Scott braced himself against the sink and rocked forwards to rest his head against the cool mirror.

Doctor Briggs' business card seemed to be a heavy weight in his pocket. He could almost feel it burning through his jeans to remind him of its presence. Every part of him knew that getting Alan into therapy ASAP was crucial, so why did it feel as if he was betraying the kid's trust?

It was just… difficult. It had been so long now since they had been able to trust anyone outside of their own circle. Ellis had been a rare exception. It was difficult to imagine being openly vulnerable with anyone.

Confessions held power and so entrusting others with that information gave them the ability to hurt you. Maybe he'd been burned so many times in the past that he was reluctant to risk the same happening to Alan. But the alternative – not trusting at all - was far worse. Sometimes, Scott reflected, you had to put your faith in people and just hope they wouldn't prove your fears to be correct.

He reached into his hoodie pocket and retrieved the familiar orange bottle. The label was faded beyond legibility now, but he already knew the prescription details off by heart. He ran a thumb over the childproof cap, tilting it so that the pills rattled, then finally forced himself to meet his reflection's eyes.

For a long time now, he had avoided reflective surfaces like the plague. Mostly because he didn't want to risk a breakdown such as his spiral back at the bunker, but also because he wasn't sure how to feel about who he was now. Both the familiarity and unfamiliarity of his own self threatened to undo him. He traced the faint silvery scar on his chin from his time with the Hood, then let his hands wander across the marks left by the apocalypse and his own history.

"Okay."

He exhaled slowly, then met his own gaze in the mirror again.

"Okay."

His voice sounded stronger this time. He rotated the Zoloft bottle, considering. It had lived on his person like a talisman, his own equivalent of John's lighter. But now, finally able to face himself and acknowledge the qualities which had enabled his survival, he didn't need to hold onto it anymore. He still had to take it – in steadily decreasing dosages – but it could live in the bathroom cabinet out of sight.

Maybe it was the knowledge that for the first time since he had left Five, he was truly safe. Or maybe it was the reminder that kindness still lived within humanity, as seen from the window when he spied people in the street greeting one another with honest smiles. It could even have been the idea that he no longer dreaded tomorrow but welcomed it instead. Whatever the reason, he felt okay enough to leave that bottle.

He wasn't naïve enough to believe the feelings had left him forever. But for now, he had genuine hope that maybe everything would work out and that was enough to hold onto.