This is the darkest chapter of the entire fic (so far). If you're not in a good place, then this isn't the best thing for you to read right now, so I urge you to come back in the future. I promise this story isn't going to be deleted - it'll be up here for as long as the internet continues to exist. But seriously, this chapter goes into dark matters and I don't want to trigger anyone. As ever, my messages are open. Much love to you all.

Warnings: implied character death, suicidal thoughts, panic attacks

As an aside, for anyone who's been reading my author's notes and is now silently questioning my life choices: yes I dropped out of uni. Yes I am now saving for flight school. Yes I am now working in a café by the sea, which isn't as romantic and aesthetically pleasing as it sounds. The one plus side? I'm free and any decisions I now make are my own. Oh, the other plus side is the free food. That part makes the constant rain and bare minimum wage worth it.


At some point Scott had clearly died without realising it. This was the only explanation for how he was somehow in his own personal hell. Because this was Hell. It had to be. The universe, the real world… it couldn't be this cruel.

They were on final approach to Tracy Island, but Scott knew Two – not quite as well as he knew One, admittedly – and he knew that this tremble in her engines meant that they were no longer descending, but just hovering, mid-air, neither coming nor going. It made his descent downstairs easier, forgoing the platform down to the Module because the temporary med-bay was positioned towards the back of the Thunderbird beyond the main cockpit and required a slighter longer trek.

The world was spinning. His head pounded like he'd been caught in a vice. Where his hand trailed along the wall to support his weight, he glimpsed bloody prints left behind. He was attempting to run but his feet wouldn't listen, and his breathing sounded strangled to his own ears.

He nearly collapsed when he burst through the door, forgetting that there wasn't a wall to support himself on. Miraculously, on instinct alone, Gordon sidestepped to catch him. They nearly both went stumbling to the floor, but Gordon's training appeared to kick in as he shifted back to compensate, and Scott attempted to regain his balance. His vision swam. That ringing in his ears was back with a vengeance. He tried to lift himself back onto his feet, but the ground tilted under him. He ended up smashing his chin into Gordon's shoulder.

In hindsight, refusing Alan's offer of help had been a slight overestimation of his own abilities. He knew his limits, even if he often chose to ignore them, and the strange leaden sensation spreading through his limbs alongside that light-headedness was all proof that he was dangerously close to fainting.

But it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered in that moment apart from one person.

The one person who had been ripped away from him moments before only to be returned to him now. Scott was only partly certain that he wasn't seeing a ghost. He managed to untangle himself from Gordon's grip to stumble forwards.

"No," John shouted. "No, Scott, stay back. Stay the fuck back."

Virgil materialised at Scott's side, both keeping him from stepping any closer and preventing him from collapsing. He didn't comment on the way Scott flinched at the sudden movement, just wrapped an arm around him and didn't protest about the blood seeping from Scott's suit onto his.

"What the fuck?" Scott croaked. "Seriously, what the fuck?"

John flattened himself against the wall. "Virgil, get him to back off. You're too close, both of you."

Scott didn't argue when Virgil practically dragged him away, but he did grind his heels into the floor to make it difficult when they got dangerously close to leaving the room altogether. Gordon reached across and activated the lock on the door just in case Alan got it into his head to sneak down and join them. Virgil was yet to say a word, but his eyes were wide and tearful, and he was minutely shaking under Scott's weight which was concerning given he could usually bench press more than that on an off day.

John relaxed ever-so-slightly, but his gaze still flickered to the gun that sat on the empty stretcher beside him.

"What the fuck?" Scott repeated yet again because apparently that was all his vocabulary consisted of anymore. "Just… what?"

"Eloquent," John said, because he was still a little shit even when he'd just seemingly made a miraculous recovery.

Scott was torn between a mixture of panic and full-blown rage. "I thought you were dead, you asshole." He yanked his arm away from Virgil and whirled on his other two brothers. "All of you let me think that. You… I can't believe you would… why…"

Why would you do that to me?

"Technically," John interjected in a strangled sort of voice, "I sort of am. Or will be. That's yet to be decided."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Scott."

The suits were supposed to be strong enough to withstand an attack. They were reinforced. They had armoured plating. They were completely sealed once the helmet locked into place. And yet they had limits that no one had known existed, or perhaps these infected had just been stronger than Brains had planned for, more vicious than anyone had anticipated.

John extended the arm that he'd been cradling to his chest.

Scott stared.

The world was spinning again.

Virgil reached for him.

Scott smacked him away. "Don't touch me."

Blood splashed against the floor. John watched it detachedly.

"Huh," he murmured in a robotic tone. "Sorry, Virg, but somehow I doubt I'm gonna be the one to clean that up."

"Can I see?" Scott asked quietly, because suddenly all the fight was gone and in its place was that same godawful soul-deep exhaustion, but worse, because it was laden with terror too. "I won't come too close, I promise. I just… maybe there's…"

"Trust me," John replied wearily, "you're not seeing things. I can remember the fucker biting me, I know it's the real deal."

There was more blood dripping onto the floor.

Scott made a wild flail for the wall as the world tilted out from under his feet. Virgil was there in an instant, ignoring the way Scott attempted to shove him away.

"You let me help or you sit your ass in a bed," Virgil growled. Pick one."

Scott slumped against his brother's side.

"Yeah," Virgil muttered. "That's what I thought."

"But what if…" Scott came up blank. Everything hurt and he couldn't think, and he wanted it all to just stop, please, please, just for a moment, I need a second… "What if we… is there… we could…"

"Gordon suggested amputation, which wasn't a bad idea except for the part where this isn't the only bite. So…" John shrugged and immediately regretted it, struggling to conceal a pained grimace.

"How are you so calm?" Personally, Scott was about to have a full-on breakdown. It was a strange thing – falling apart – because it happened very slowly and then all at once and he was approaching the final decline.

John gave a strangled laugh. "You should have seen me twenty minutes ago."

"Twenty minutes?" Scott latched onto the words. "Isn't the standard time for infection less than that? You're not showing any symptoms, you could be in the clear."

"With five bites? Not likely."

Gordon let out a ragged sob and immediately clasped his hands to his mouth to stifle the sound.

John softened his tone. "I'm not going to give you false hope because that would be cruel. I know I've been an asshole over the years, but even I have my limits."

"You're not an asshole," Virgil whispered.

John forced a smile. "You have to say that now, don't you?" He let the act drop, leaning heavily against the wall. "Someone should be with Alan."

Scott extracted himself from Virgil's hold and half-collapsed into a chair. "Go on."

"Take Gordon with you," John added, casting Scott a meaningful look.

Gordon looked up at his name, blinking rapidly. "Huh?"

Virgil still didn't move. "If we leave now… is this the last time…"

He didn't need to finish his question. John always had been able to read between the lines. There was a second of silence which seemed to stretch on for infinity and yet was over all too swiftly.

"I'm sorry," John said at last.

Virgil blinked away tears. "I love you."

"A terrible decision on your part really…"

"Johnny."

"Virgil, stop. Okay? Just… stop. This isn't your fault. It isn't anyone's fault. But you've got to leave now because I love you and I don't want you seeing this. Let me have that at the very least."

"You can't ask me to just walk away. You know I can't."

"I know," John agreed gently. "But I'm asking you anyway."

"Virg." It was the first time Gordon had spoken since he'd answered the radio. "C'mon." He unlocked the door, nudging it open with one boot. "Don't make me drag you."

Virgil stared at him. "You can't be serious."

"For once in my life, I actually am."

For the first time ever, Scott was genuinely concerned that Virgil was going to hit Gordon. They stood at a sort of stalemate until Gordon broke the heavy silence again.

"If John wants us to leave, I'm going to respect that. I owe him that much at least."

"It's not supposed to end like this."

"I know," Gordon whispered. "I know." He turned his attention to John. "I'm really hoping you'll change your mind and ask us to stay, but I already know what the answer is."

"Guilty as charged," John replied with a weak smile. "Sorry, Gords."

Gordon hesitated in the doorway. "I really, really want to hug you."

"It's a good job I've never been overly fond of hugs then."

Gordon exhaled. "Catch you on the flip side, Johnny." He didn't attempt to hold back the tears this time.

John tried to keep his voice light and failed miserably. "Don't call me Johnny."

"Love you, space-case."

"Love you too."

The click of the door closing sounded as loud as a gunshot. Scott gripped the sides of his chair until plastic bit into his palms. Across the room, John slid down the wall to land in a heap, shivering.

"Do you remember?"

"No," Scott admitted. "Just flashes."

John tipped his head back, relief obvious. "Good."

He reached for another wad of bandages. The previous lump of fabric landed on the floor with a wet smack, sodden with blood. In the artificial lights, the bite appeared even worse. Scott had seen graphic injuries out on rescue but none of them had ever turned his stomach like this.

John looked up and caught him staring.

"Place your bet now," he joked humourlessly. "What's gonna get me first? Infection or blood loss?"

Scott couldn't quite repress his flinch in time. "Don't."

"Sorry." John's gaze shifted back to the gun that sat between them. "Besides, it won't be either of those."

Scott caught on almost instantly, despite the concussion. "No."

"The problem is that I'm right-handed and for obvious reasons I can't fire with that arm."

"Don't you dare ask me to do it."

John recoiled. "Jesus, Scott, no. I would never ask that of you."

"Really? Because that sure as hell sounds like what you're suggesting."

"It would destroy you and we both know it." He straightened, returning to that matter-of-fact analysing voice. "I'm going to do it. I practised left-handed anyway, just in case. But I need you to… Fuck. This is… God, I'm so sorry. But I can't ask anyone else, save for Parker and…" He clenched his hands into fists. "I should be asking him. This is wrong. But… look, I have to do this, because the alternative is unthinkable. But if I do this, then there's…" He chose the words carefully. "There are certain elements that need to be taken care of afterwards."

John was polite enough to wait until Scott had finished vomiting into the nearest wastebin before continuing to talk. The space between them had never felt so vast. The irony of that was escaping no one.

"You're asking me to bury you."

"Technically, I'm just asking you to… uh… clean up."

"And you seriously think that I'll let you pull that trigger?"

"You don't get a say in the matter."

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. Are you prepared to do this in front of me?"

"You're not giving me much of a choice."

"You wouldn't."

"Scott."

"No." He was clawing at strings here, fighting dirty, throwing cheap shots because he had nothing else left and desperate men didn't care how badly it hurt so long as they won. "You wouldn't, because you're not that cruel."

John fell quiet. "It's not about cruelty. You know that."

"Then don't do this."

"Stop acting as though I have a choice! Funnily enough, I don't want to kill myself, but what other option is there?" John gestured to his arm. The bandages were already stained. "This is a fucking death sentence and I'd rather go out on my terms."

Scott reached for wastebin again as a precautionary measure. His brain kept offering images that belonged in his nightmares. He wasn't sure if Thunderbird Two had hit some turbulence or if he was simply shaking that badly. His vision was swirling, so the jury was still out on that one.

"You know this will break us," he stated simply.

John didn't answer.

There weren't any words.

There was no scenario in which they won.

Not anymore.

The gun laid there, equidistance between them. Scott was tempted to kick it away or unload it or anything to stop this from happening.

John was staring at it.

"Hey Scott," he whispered. "Want to know a secret?"

Scott was having a struggle to just keep breathing but nodded anyway.

"I am terrified right now." John couldn't look him in the eyes. "I know I have to do this, but I genuinely don't know if I can."

Scott started to shuffle closer. John pinned him in place with a warning stare.

"Don't."

"John, the infection is passed on through the bite. You're not feeling particularly cannibalistic right now, are you?"

"What if I turn suddenly?"

Scott looked to the gun for a split-second and then back. "I'll do what I have to."

"This is a terrible idea," John muttered, but didn't complain as Scott fell into place at his side. "Absolutely ridiculous."

"Quit pretending. You don't have to do that in front of me. We had an agreement, remember?"

John chuckled. The sound was suspiciously damp. "I nearly forgot about that." He cautiously lowered his head to Scott's shoulder. "Huh."

"Feeling murderous?"

"Oh, always."

Scott lifted an arm, but John shook his head.

"Too much?"

"No, it's…" John hesitated. "It hurts too badly," he admitted in a very small voice. "Everything's… it just really hurts. Virgil gave me something to take the edge off, but it's barely touching anything now."

"How bad is it?"

John didn't answer at first. "Really bad, Scotty." He was trembling. "I want it stop, but I'm too much of a coward and…"

"Hey, hey, no, okay, let's just… slow down for a moment."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologise."

"Maybe I won't have to… you know. Because I think maybe… I'm real cold right now. So maybe I can just… and it's like falling asleep…"

Years ago, Scott had perfected the art of silent crying.

It was a skill that was coming in handy right now.

Because he felt like he was being torn apart.

"Yeah, Johnny," he whispered, brushing bloodied hair back from his brother's forehead. "It's like falling asleep."

"'M still scared though."

The words were slurred. The bandages were drenched beyond useless. Scott had never been this helpless in his life.

"I know. I know you are. But you don't need to be because you're going to be okay. I'm going to be right here with you the entire time, I promise."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"I don't wanna leave you."

"I know."

"You… gonna be okay?"

"Don't worry about me."

"Idiot… always worry 'bout you…"

Scott bit down on his fist to muffle a sob.

"You don't need to worry anymore."

"Mm."

"It's okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

John was too out of it to react, so Scott wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. John seemed to welcome the contact, seeking warmth, and Scott cradled him to his chest, still murmuring reassurances.

When they were little kids, John had suffered with nightmares and could only go back to sleep after crawling into his big brother's bed. Scott had been the one to scare away the monsters. And now, after everything, he'd finally failed. The monsters had won, and John was paying the price. Scott didn't think he'd ever hated himself this much. If his brother were to suddenly become infected and turn on him, he wasn't sure he'd bother fighting back.

"I'mma sleep now. S' that 'kay?"

"It's okay." Scott carded a hand through John's hair. "You can sleep now. I'm right here."

John didn't answer.

"John?" Scott couldn't keep his voice from shaking. "John? John, please. Johnny. Please, please, God, please… Johnny… I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, I love you, I love you so much, I'm sorry… please don't leave me. I know I said it's okay, but I…"

A very, very long time ago they had both been carefree. They'd been kids. Then they'd learnt how cruel the world could be. They'd lost people, they'd nearly lost each other, Scott had brought John home when he'd been tempted to hide away in space forever and John had dragged Scott back from the edge. There'd been precious moments of happiness throughout, but they hadn't been truly peaceful.

John seemed peaceful now.

The gun was right there.

It was right there.

It was within reach.

"You'd tell me if you got that low again, wouldn't you?" John had asked once before. "Promise me, Scott."

"Yeah," Scott had promised. "I'd tell you."

"Because we can't lose you. I can't lose you."

Then, years later: "Come home, Johnny."

"It hurts less up here."

"But we need you. I need you."

Because before their most recent agreement, there had been the original, most important agreement of all: the pact to withstand every other promise made since. Tell me if you get that low, Scott. Come home when I ask you to, John.

Scott kicked the gun as far away as possible.

"I want to do something bad. I'm telling you, like I promised, John, so now it's your turn - you've gotta come back to me."

He clung tighter and there was blood everywhere and he could even taste it, but it didn't matter how fiercely he held on because he'd already lost.

Nothing had ever, ever hurt this badly.

"I love you."

Even the words hurt, broken apart by sobs.

He was alone.

It was his fault.

It was all his fault.

And John had paid the price.

Scott didn't believe in God.

He prayed all the same.

"Please. Please, just give him back, please, you can have me, I swear, I'll do it right now, just give him back to me…"

But John was still gone.

And the universe didn't believe in miracles.

Scott finally fell silent.

"Johnny?"

There was no answer.

Scott screamed.


Life didn't have a rewind option. It didn't have a replay section. There wasn't even the option to hit pause. There was only continuing or stopping altogether to never press start again. None of these choices were particularly appealing, but then again life wasn't appealing in its current state.

It seemed impossible for life to continue when it was this agonising.

Time was inconsequential.

So was everything.

There was no longer the thrum of engines in the walls. Thunderbird Two had shut down now that they were back on the island, back in the place that they never should have left. It was the first time that a Thunderbird hadn't felt like hope, hadn't felt like a second home, but seemed like a coffin instead.

Scott couldn't let go.

There was a very fine line between couldn't and wouldn't.

Both were applicable.

The second he let go, it would be for the last time.

He wasn't sure how long Thunderbird Two had been powered down but there couldn't be much longer before someone came looking for him. For them. He had to do something, but he didn't know what, because there was nothing left, only now he could hear footsteps and please, don't let it be Alan or Gordon or even Virgil.

Everything was blurry.

It sounded as though everything was deep underwater.

Maybe he really was drowning.

Who knew anymore?

Someone was there, on their knees in front of him, which was strange because he hadn't heard the door open. But then there were hands reaching out and trying to take and no

"You've got to let go," Parker was saying, voice gruff. His hand was on Scott's shoulder, squeezing, and it came away red, because there was so much blood, and it was everywhere. "C'mon lad, let go. We can't help if you don't let go."

"No. I can't let him go, don't make me, please."

Parker reached out and caught him. Scott hadn't even realised that he was falling.

"Please don't," he whispered. "Please, Parker. Not yet. Just a little while longer."

Parker's voice was hoarse. Raspy, in the way that unshed tears tore people apart right down to their very atoms. He couldn't look at John. He was still holding Scott's shoulder, one hand moving to wipe blood away from Scott's chin. It was the gentlest Scott had ever known him be with anyone, not even with Penelope.

"I know, son," Parker said quietly. "But you've got to."

Scott stared at him mutely. There was a scream held captive in his chest, straining to find release, but he refused to let it. He clasped a hand to his mouth to stifle a strangled sob. Parker caught his wrist and guided it back down before he could do any damage.

"N-no." Brains stood frozen in the doorway. "No."

"I'm s-sorry." Scott nearly choked on the words. He couldn't hold himself upright anymore – Parker was the only thing standing between him and total collapse.

No one – save for possibly Virgil – had ever seen Brains cry until that moment. He let the equipment in his arms crash to the floor, shattering beyond repair, and stumbled to his knees at their side. He was a scientist – he had the steadiest hands on the island – but now those same hands were trembling.

"John?" he whispered.

Parker eased Scott into leaning against the wall. "I'll take good care of him, Scott, I promise. Let me take him."

Brains' hands were stained red. He turned away and retched.

"Scott," Parker repeated, very quietly.

"I'm never going to… I won't ever hold him again… I couldn't save him. I couldn't…"

Metal clashed and sparked, and Brains was in the midst of it all, searching desperately for something as if there were any power in the world that could fix this.

Parker held out his arms.

Scott let go.

It was unofficial, unconfirmed knowledge that wasn't exactly a secret amongst the family that Parker had done things he wasn't necessarily proud of. He'd tortured people. Murder wasn't entirely off the table either. And yet, right now, those hands that had caused unfathomable pain in the past, were so very gentle, tender.

"Easy now, Johnny," he whispered. "I've got ya."

Scott tried to hold himself up, reaching out to close the distance again one last time, but he didn't have anything left to give and he just slid down, falling apart on the floor of an aircraft that hadn't been quick enough to save one of the only people he needed most.

"Parker," Brains snapped. "Here. I need to try something."

Scott couldn't see what was going on past Parker's shoulders. He attempted to claw his way upright via the wall. There was the sharp snap of electricity and curses and Brains let out a strangled sound that couldn't be anything other than a sob or maybe a plea and Parker was muttering prayers under his breath.

Brains tumbled back onto his heels. "Oh m-my god." He dragged a hand down his face. "I… d-did I…?" He scrambled to his feet, voice rising to a shout that bled into a scream. "Virgil! Virgil!"

Scott still didn't know what was happening. The world was fading at the edges.

Footsteps thundered along the corridor.

Brains stood shaking, glasses cracked, hands dripping crimson. "Help me," he breathed. "I think I've got a pulse back, but you n-need to help me because we're running out of time. Infirmary, now."

Virgil looked about five seconds away from fainting. "Are you sure? Brains? Are you sure?"

"Just hurry up."

"Hiram, please."

Brains froze. "I don't know. B-but it's worth a shot."

Virgil didn't hesitate. Parker staggered upright but Virgil was already surging forwards.

"I've got him, Parker."

Brains was running, Virgil on his heels. John looked very small in his arms.

"Scott, c'mon. Are yer with me?"

"I…"

Parker's expression was openly concerned. "You need to breathe."

That was easier said than done.

Movement flitted at the corner of his vision. Scott curled his hands into fists. His nails dug into his palms. There was a suffocating weight in his chest, and he was drowning. The gun was still gleaming in the corner of the room, a reminder of how badly he'd failed, and Parker was still there, trying to be gentle and reassuring even though his own voice was wracked with grief, and Scott didn't deserve that.

"I think I'm dying," he choked out, and it hurt to breathe, to cry, to exist…

There were new hands on his shoulders, bringing him close, fingers stroking his hair, guiding his face to the crook of someone's neck.

"You're not dying," Gordon promised. "I told you – I'm not letting you go. We're not giving up on John and we're not giving up on you either. But you've gotta breathe, Scotty." His voice took on a slightly panicked pitch. "Seriously, Scott, I'm not messing around. Take a breath. Scott."

The world faded out.


I'm so sorry.

Um... I'd offer to pay for your tissues but my job doesn't pay enough, so all I can say is... next chapter hurts less. I promise.

Review?

Kat x