It has been brought to my attention that I made quite a few of you cry with the last couple of chapters... I would apologise, but as I am secretly evil it was always my intention to increase tissue sales. Just kidding - I'm not actually evil. Here, have a slightly less intense chapter as an apology.


Reality drifted back to Scott in snatches. Certain fragments of conversation seemed steadier than others; easier to grab hold of and focus on and to use to anchor himself to the consciousness that seemed intent on evading him.

"It's been twelve hours. If he was gonna turn it would have happened by now."

"We said we'd give it twenty-four hours."

"Okay but hear me out: fuck that."

"Gordon."

"What? C'mon, Virg, he fucking flatlined. I feel like that's the point at which he'd have attempted to eat us, not now, hours after Brains brought him back."

"Yeah, how about you don't remind me of the details?" There was the brief screech of chair legs across a linoleum floor followed by the dip of a mattress somewhere by Scott's hip. "Honestly? You're probably right. But I can't get my hopes up only for him to turn. I can't go through that."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. I won't mention it again. But at what point do we call it? We can't keep John locked up forever on the off-chance he'll develop cannibalistic tendencies."

"…discuss it at a later date?"

"Uh-huh."

Another pause.

"Hey, is he waking up?"

"He'd better be."

"Did we have a strategy for how to talk to him?"

"Come again?"

"Like, 'oh, hi, remember how you had a panic attack so bad that you passed out because you thought our brother was dead? Surprise, he's not. But he still might turn. Happy Sunday, Scotty.'"

"…You exhaust me."

"Thank you."

"Gordon, you have to know that wasn't a compliment."

Consciousness – which had been dancing at the very edges of his mind, sort of hazy and warm and comforting in its lack of certainty – slammed down like a guillotine. Scott lurched upright and immediately realised how terrible this decision was as the room span. He was having an intense reminder of what it felt like to accompany a whining younger brother on a Graviton ride at the local theme park and it was not a pleasant experience.

"Oh boy," Gordon sing-songed. "You're not having a good time, are ya Scooter?"

"Gordon," Virgil hissed, somehow managing to make it sound like a curse and a warning all in one. He patted Scott's back, glowering at Gordon the entire while which would have been more effective had there been genuine venom in his eyes rather than fond exasperation.

Scott gingerly raised his head. The room had returned to its solid, stationary state. This provided him with momentary relief until the memories came flooding back. There was about half a second in which he genuinely considered the possibility that he was having some sort of heart attack, but no, that was just the utter panic. Except… Virgil and Gordon wouldn't be here, not like this, not joking around, worry still clear to see in their eyes but nothing like the pure devastation that they had all experienced earlier.

Which… which suggested that…

"John's alive," Gordon stated simply in a matter-of-fact tone that really did not match the words.

Virgil tossed up his hands. "What happened to easing him into it?"

"Bitch, please." Gordon flopped backwards onto the bed, nearly crushing Scott's legs and showing absolutely zero remorse for this fact. "It was easier this way."

"Easier for who?" Virgil muttered.

"All of us." Gordon sat up and shuffled further up the bed so that he could sit squashed between Scott and the wall. The joking act evaporated in a matter of seconds. "Hey." He sounded softer, more hesitant, shooting Virgil a worried look that was reflected back at him. "Scott? How are you doing?"

The English Language was a step too far right now. Scott settled for making a vague gesture with his hands and relied on Virgil to translate.

"You've been out for eleven hours. It's been twelve since John got bitten. He's stable but still unconscious… and still not showing any signs of infection, but I don't want to celebrate before we're out of the woods. Once we hit the twenty-four-hour mark… that's when I'll open the champagne."

Gordon stared, fascinated. "How… how did you know that's what…" He flapped a hand. "That meant. How did you even… God, y'all are weird. Psychic creeps."

"Thanks," Virgil deadpanned. He leant back in his chair with a groan. "This has been the worst day of my life. I'm not joking."

"Same," Gordon agreed cheerfully. "And I've literally died twice before, so…"

"Why do you have the worst safety record of any of us?" Virgil tossed a cushion at him.

Gordon shrugged and handed the cushion to Scott. "Eh. Gotta keep you on your toes… liven the place up a bit." He sniggered. "Get it? Liven?"

"Please, please, stop," Virgil begged, sliding down in his chair. "No more puns. No more jokes about dying."

"This is my coping method. You know this. You have to know this after being my brother for all these years. How long have I been alive, Vee?"

"Counting the minutes your heart has stopped or minus those?"

Scott regained his grasp on language in order to inform Gordon, in no uncertain terms, "I am going to bubble-wrap you. Possibly with cottonwool too."

Gordon cackled.

Virgil yanked him off the bed. "Go take a run. Or a swim. Either one works, just get rid of all that nervous energy because you're driving me insane, and I have practically infinite patience."

Gordon picked himself up off the floor. "Right-o, Virg-o."

"Never call me that again."

"Aye, V-card."

"Good god, how did it get worse?" Virgil shoved him towards the door. "Go."

"Yessir!"

The door slammed shut. Footsteps echoed like the beating of rain against the roof. There was a rush of cold air from the aircon as it activated to compensate for the rush of warmth from the corridor. Scott flopped back onto the mattress and hugged the abandoned cushion to his chest.

Gordon's relief showed itself in boisterous excess energy, but Virgil's reaction was more of a slow decline into emotional exhaustion. Right now, Scott was torn between the two – partly overwhelmed by tiredness yet also itching with enough adrenaline to run a marathon. It was an odd mix that made everything seem too much - the brightness of the lights, the scratch of the sheets, the hiss of the aircon: not for the first time, he longed for the ability to dial down his senses.

A hand caught his wrist.

"You're tapping."

Scott crushed the cushion before picking at one of the tassels.

"Do you want me to fetch one of Alan's fidget cubes?" Virgil sounded deadly serious. When Scott turned to stare at him, he looked genuine too. "I can probably ask Gords to grab one on his way back. He won't be able to keep himself away for long, anyway."

"From here?"

Virgil nodded. "Yep."

"Why not from John?"

"Because… there's nothing more we can do for John right now. Plus…" Virgil faltered. "You scared us too. Gordon knew it wasn't going to be pretty when he volunteered to go get you, but I don't think he was expecting you to pass out on him."

Scott tossed the cushion onto the floor before he could destroy it.

Virgil eyed him knowingly. "Fidget cube?"

"Screw you," Scott muttered, meaning yes, safe in the knowledge that Virgil understood without needing to actually hear the words.

He rolled onto his front and yanked a pillow over his head. It helped – the darkness – and all sound was muffled too, yet another bonus. He couldn't allow himself to fixate on any single thought. Not that it mattered because all lines of thoughts led back to the same topic, the same heart-wrenching memory.

"I don't remember," he mumbled into the bedsheets. "Whatever happened, I don't remember. But he must have… how'd he end up bitten? What did I do? Or didn't do?"

"Stop," Virgil whispered. "You can't think like that."

Sometimes it was easier not to reply at all. Virgil could read whatever he liked into the silence – and normally whatever that interpretation was ended up being correct anyway. It was safer to rely on how well Virgil knew him rather than Scott's own rather terrible attempts at explaining himself.

"You talked him out of it," Virgil said eventually, in a very small damp sort of voice that suggested he was on the verge of tears. It was nothing close to what Scott had expected him to say.

"I didn't talk him out of anything."

"Gordon and I were with him for twenty minutes before you joined us. We know what he was planning to do. Even if I hadn't seen the gun, hadn't read between the lines, I would have realised when he asked us to leave the room. But he didn't do it. He's here, with us still. And he may have been bitten, but he's still John, not one of those things. He's still our brother and that's thanks to you. I don't know what you said or did, but he didn't pull that trigger."

"Don't paint me as a hero, Virgil. I didn't do anything."

"You and I both know that when John makes up his mind to do something, no one can talk him out of it, even if it's for his own good. This time was different."

Scott shoved the pillow away and caught Virgil's tearful gaze. "I don't know. That's the truth. I don't know why he didn't do it. He was scared, but that's never stopped him before."

"You stayed."

"Virg, I didn't believe for a second that my being there would stop him. I just…" He stared at his hands, which had seen far too much blood in a single lifetime. "I didn't want him to be alone, no matter what happened," he admitted quietly. "That's it. That's the only thing I did. I was there for my little brother."

"And he's still here as a result."

"He's still here because Brains is a genius, EOS has access to everything and you're a brilliant medic."

Virgil shook his head. "Why won't you ever take credit for anything?"

"I take credit for plenty of things."

"Not when it actually means something."

The blanket suddenly felt too constrictive. Scott flung it aside and stumbled as he hit the floor. Virgil steadied him without needing to think. Scott didn't pull away. There was that indescribable instant in which neither of them wanted to move. It had been twelve hours since the bite that had nearly ripped their family apart and no one had fully processed it. Scott wasn't convinced they ever would. It had been years since they'd lost Dad and yet that wound was still fresh.

Virgil kept a hand on Scott's shoulder. "I don't know if I should ask."

"Depends on the question."

Virgil summoned a half-smile. "Yes, I suppose it does." His grip tightened ever so slightly. "Two has soundproof walls and the cameras apparently weren't recording, which means no one other than John and you know what was said in that final half-hour."

Scott wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. "Okay," he settled for saying, because Virgil was usually so easy to read that it didn't even require much thought but right now he was as much of a wildcard as Kayo.

"You thought he was dead." Virgil inhaled sharply and then reconsidered his words. "He… he was."

If Scott didn't think about his answer in too much depth, then perhaps it would be possible to pretend this was a mission debrief. But it wasn't, and he'd never ever be able to interchange John with a nameless victim – a mere rescue statistic - in his head.

It hadn't even hit home how close they'd come to losing him yet.

There'd been the pain of an immediate loss but none of the agonising aftermath. None of the days of sudden remembrance and then the weeks of longing and then the months of adaptation that felt like a betrayal.

"We lost him," he murmured, the words sharp and unnatural and yet too familiar all at once because we lost Mom, we lost Grandpa, we lost Dad. "We got him back, but we still lost him."

I lost him.

Unacceptable.

This was the end of the world.

International Rescue was risky. It was a case of weighing the odds and hoping it would tip in their favour over and over again.

But this. The apocalypse. This was more than risky. This was a living death-sentence. This was something that didn't allow for miracles or second-chances or last-minute fixes. A single mistake could cost everything.

But it was already costing them everything just to keep going. It was obvious in the way that Gordon didn't swim anymore, that Penelope lived purely in oversized sweaters, that Brains didn't experiment at all times of the day and night and spent much of his time coaxing Virgil out of dissociating spirals. It was easy to see in Grandma's trembling hugs and Parker's concerned glances and Alan's new status as a recluse and his nonverbal spells that were ever increasing in frequency. The cost was clear in Kayo's reluctance to sleep and John's hopelessness.

Maybe it was impossible to fix. Maybe there was a cure. Either way, they couldn't continue like this, and they couldn't come this close to losing anyone ever again.

They were falling apart.

And so Scott needed to solve the problem.

Years ago, it would have been Dad who would have taken up the reigns and shaken them all up, forcing them back together until the cracks in the foundations had been fixed and their family unit was once again unshakeable.

But Dad wasn't here, and Scott was.

And so:

I need to be better.

"I'm worried about you," Virgil said quietly, hushed, as though someone could be listening. Knowing EOS, it was entirely plausible.

Scott shrugged but Virgil didn't let him go.

"I'm serious."

"Well, it goes both ways. I'm concerned about you."

"You always are."

"It's kind of my job."

"If you could have switched places with John, you'd have done so without hesitation. You still would. And dammit Scott, that terrifies me."

"I'd feel the same way about any one of you."

Virgil stared at him helplessly. "That's not… you're missing the point."

"Which is?"

Virgil fell silent for a moment. "If we lose any one of us… we lose you too."

"We won't lose anyone. I won't let it happen again."

"And what about yourself?"

Scott examined the rain against the window. Anything was better than looking at Virgil right now.

"I won't let it happen again," he repeated softly.

"No matter what the cost, right?" Virgil sounded bitter. "Even if it costs us you."

"Yes. If that's what it takes then yes, every time. You can't ask me not to. I can't lose any of you, Virgil, and I mean I seriously can't."

"Scott-"

"He died in my arms!"

"Scott."

"And I couldn't do anything."

"I know."

"And… and he was scared… and I couldn't… I…"

Virgil took a step closer even as Scott backed away. "I know," he repeated, heartbreakingly gentle even through tears. "I know."

"No, you don't. He fucking died. I lost him."

"And we got him back."

"I still lost him." His hands were trembling. Or maybe that was the room. Everything seemed too small and too vast all at once. It hurt more to hold it together than it did to fall apart. "I had one job. I made one promise. And I failed. I failed so, so badly. I failed Mom and I failed Dad and John paid the price and we have him back, but now he has to deal with it and that's on me, because I wasn't… I wasn't good enough or strong enough to… I just… I…"

I wasn't enough.

"C'mere."

"It's fine. I'm fine. I just need a minute."

"Scott, if you don't let me hug you I'm going to tell Grandma."

"…You're going to tell Grandma that I refused a hug?"

Virgil glowered. "No, I'm going to tell her that you're blaming yourself for something that's not your fault."

"…Is the hug still an option?"

There were no tears involved.

Absolutely not.

No way.

He was just so tired.

Virgil didn't let go.

"Um… Virg?"

"Nope."

"Nope?"

"Nope."

"Um…"

Virgil gave a heavy sigh and just held him closer. "Maybe I need a hug too. Ever think about that?"

There was a distinct difference between hugging someone and being hugged. It was more of a feeling than a physical contrast, but it was definitely there, and it sometimes could make all the difference in the world. It was letting your guard down rather than building up the walls to be strong for the people you loved even when you were on the verge of shattering beyond repair yourself.

Also, Virgil was just really freaking good at giving hugs.

"It wasn't your fault."

Scott closed his eyes against the harshness of the infirmary and the world, because there was too much of it and, even though logically he knew John was alive, he wouldn't be able to fully believe it until he saw his brother for himself.

"You don't believe me."

"No," Scott admitted, because Virgil deserved the truth. Lies never got anyone anywhere good.

"Am I ever going to be able to convince you otherwise?"

"Probably not."

Virgil held him tighter. "What can I do?"

"This… this helps."

"What happened to 'I don't need a hug'?"

"Virgil?"

"Shut up?"

"You guessed it."


True to Virgil's prediction, it wasn't long before Gordon reappeared, oddly silent as he slipped back into the room, hair damp from either the humidity or a shower, but most decidedly not from the pool. He had a fidget cube in the pocket of his hoodie – a relic from his old swim team days that had his name and number plastered across the back in bright yellow letters – which he set down on the end of the bed as he stepped past to stand at the window.

"Brains is looking for you," he reported without turning away from the glass. "Nothing bad, don't start panicking." He tugged a drawstring absently, tucking it into the corner of his mouth to chew on it. "I think he's just shaken up and overtired. Kayo only took over from him on Jay-watch like five minutes ago."

Virgil heaved himself out of his chair at the beside with a weary sigh. "Okay. Thanks for the heads up. Any idea where he is now?"

Gordon gestured vaguely to the patio far below. "Penelope made him some tea and Grandma was talking with him in the lounge. Dunno if they're still there."

Virgil paused halfway to the door. "Are you alright?" He levelled his brother with a searching look. "You seem off."

"Gee, I wonder why."

"Gordon," Scott said quietly.

The run may have helped to burn off some of that excess nervous energy, but the slump left behind could very easily ignite into fury. God knew Scott could relate – having fiery tempers was something Gordon and he had in common – but getting angry at their situation wasn't only irrational but it wouldn't help, and it could quite easily tip Virgil over the edge. Scott wasn't going to let that happen. Thankfully Gordon picked up on the hidden warning and backed down. He caught Virgil's arm and squeezed once, as close to an apology as anyone was going to get at that moment.

Virgil took the fidget cube off the bed and tossed it back to Gordon. "Keep it for now. Seems like you need it more than Scott." He hesitated a moment longer. "Are you both going to be alright if I check on Brains?"

Scott mimed strangling him. "Just go, Virg. We're fine."

"I mean, we're not fine," Gordon chimed in, making short work of the fidget cube in a series of clicks and flicks, "but yeah, we're not gonna keel over or murder each other just 'cos you're leaving us unattended. Go chill with your boyfriend for a bit. Eat something. Take a nap."

"He's not my boyfriend," Virgil muttered, already on his way out of the door. "No murder!"

"No promises!" Gordon called after him.

The door slammed instead of closing gently, Virgil's final comeback. Gordon snorted and returned his attention to the fidget cube. Scott found himself itching for a Rubik's Cube. Or anything, really, just something that required focus. Instead he found himself staring at a blank wall and trying not to think too much.

Gordon kicked him in the shins.

Scott glared back. "You know, there are better ways of getting my attention."

"True," Gordon countered, "but that's far less fun."

All humour drained from the room. Gordon offered the fidget cube. Scott took it, shifting over on the bed so that Gordon could sit down.

"If I leave to see John, will you stop me?" Scott asked, quietly, in case Virgil was still hanging around in the corridor for some obscure reason.

Gordon shrugged. "No. But you don't want to see him at the moment." He cracked his knuckles one by one and flopped backwards. "Trust me," he added as an afterthought, staring at the ceiling.

"Can't be any worse than the last time I saw him."

Gordon flinched. "Probably not," he admitted in a very small voice. "But… for my sake, stay here for a while? Because if you…" He clenched a hand into a fist. "I dunno, man. Just… I don't want to see you like that again. And I know it's inevitable, but I need a minute before we reach that point. Because it's not gonna be Virgil or Alan talking you down for obvious reasons and I'm not leaving you to suffer alone."

"Don't say suffer. I'm not some injured animal you found by the roadside."

"You're not too far off."

"…Thanks."

Gordon sat back up. "What's going on with you? Besides the obvious, I mean."

"Nothing I want to talk about."

"Maybe you should talk about it."

"Maybe we should focus on John for the time being."

"Scott…"

"Please."

Gordon didn't say anything for a moment. The silence was worse than the questioning. It left too much room for thought.

"I'm worried about you," he said at last.

Scott exhaled. "Yeah," he admitted, setting the fidget cube aside. "I know you are."

"If you won't talk to me, will you at least talk to Virg? And I mean properly talk, not that half-hearted bullshit you do where you skirt around the real problem."

Scott was struck by the urge to smile at that, despite every other atom of his being that was wrestling with the desire to break down once again.

"Okay," he agreed at last, because Gordon was still waiting for answer and flat-out refusing would be plain cruel. "I'll think about it."

Gordon side-eyed him. "Dude. That's just a fancy way of saying no."

"If I meant no, I would have said so."

Gordon still didn't seem convinced. Scott wasn't surprised. The temptation to get up and leave was growing stronger by the second. It had been too long since he'd gone for a run and the itch under his skin was threatening to tear down his meticulously constructed farce.

"Your mental health is kinda going down the drain right now, y'know," Gordon observed, in a hushed manner usually reserved for frightened children on rescue. The implication that Scott needed to be treated as such was somewhat insulting.

But denial would be a straight-up lie and that would be just as great of an insult to Gordon.

So.

"None of us are coping well," he said instead. "I'm not the only one."

"True." Gordon slid off the bed. There was a short expanse of space between the chair and the window and he paced within it like a caged animal. They'd all spent too long used to solving problems by diving in headfirst and the helplessness of their current situation wasn't sitting well with any of them.

Scott zoned out again. Gordon's last words nearly swept past him in a mess of waking nightmares and flashing memories of bloodied hands and tearful promises that had been broken almost as immediately as they had been made. In that regard, having Gordon present was almost a relief as it anchored him to reality, even if the idea of his younger brother witnessing his slow spiral still had him wanting to throw on a mask and pretend.

"Come again?"

Gordon paused, facing the window. There were the faint markings of greasy fingerprints from an aged smiley face sketched onto the glass when the mismatched temperatures between inside and outside had last contrasted sufficiently for the culprit to draw patterns in condensation. The handiwork had Alan's name stamped all over it. However, the intricate elephant image beside the smiley was one-hundred-percent Virgil's. Scott felt his heart shatter at the lopsided star that sat between the two.

"None of us are dealing well," Gordon repeated, strangely emotionless as if feelings were sticky and would weigh down the words too heavily. "But… you're the one who has a history with crappy mental health. More so than certain others."

"Did you hack my files?" Scott couldn't even bring himself to be mad.

"No." Gordon looked up and held his gaze, posture open and honest. "I didn't, I swear. I just… I've heard things over the years and it's not that difficult to put two and two together." He cracked a weak smile. "Didn't even come up with five this time. I checked with… Well. Anyway, he wouldn't confirm anything but coming from him that's as good as a yes, especially given your reaction now."

There was a complicated knot of emotions caught up in his chest. Scott kept it locked down, hidden under wraps. "He didn't say anything, huh?"

Gordon shrugged. "You know Johnny. Always the best secret keeper, ever since we were kids. I guess some things never change." He hesitated, stumbling over his words like he was still that scared preteen unwilling to take part in a school show. Scott averted his gaze. Gordon found the sentence he was searching for. "I've got the gun."

"That's not what I was expecting you to say."

"I'm not giving it to you."

"Alright." Frankly, Scott didn't want to be on the same island as that damn thing, let alone have it in his possession, so Gordon was doing him a favour.

Gordon drummed his fingertips against the window. Eternally moving – if he was ever still, that was the cue that something was seriously wrong. It was another reason why Scott's logical side could tell his emotions to settle down already, because Gordon was all anxious movements right now and even nervous energy was proof that he wasn't about to crack, that he was relatively alright and therefore by extension John was also on his way to being okay.

"Virgil lied to you."

That wasn't a sentence Scott had expected to hear, probably in his entire lifetime. Mainly because Virgil had an entire thing about lying, detested it, but also because c'mon, this was Virgil.

Gordon didn't retract his statement. Just let it hang there, as if time would make the puzzle easier to comprehend. Spoiler alert: it didn't. Scott was just confused.

"There was camera footage. I wiped it before Virgil could see. He hasn't asked me. He has to know that it was me, because Alan's still in the dark about most of what happened, and no one else had the opportunity. But he hasn't asked me. So he doesn't know and he clearly doesn't want to know, but I do, so now there's three of us that know what happened yesterday. So. I'm not asking you to confirm or deny what I think I saw for a moment there, but… either way, I'm keeping the gun and you're not getting it back."

Sometimes it was easy to forget that Gordon was more than just the joker. Scott hated himself every time he underestimated his brother because he knew that it was one of the things that got under Gordon's skin, but it was hard to avoid when Gordon put on the prankster mode and played the fool to break the tension. But right now, it was impossible to look at Gordon and see any trace of that joker.

Scott mentally told himself to calm the fuck down already.

It wasn't working. His heart was still doing stupid tricks in his chest.

John knowing wasn't ideal, but Scott had come to terms with it. John was more his equal than his little brother most of the time anyway.

But Gordon was very much his little brother.

Gordon wasn't supposed to know.

Fuck.

"Quit freaking out."

"I'm not freaking out," Scott said, like a liar.

Gordon looked distinctly unimpressed. "Wow. It's a good job you never aspired to be an actor. You're crap at lying."

"Thanks."

Gordon sank into the chair. "I'm right then, aren't I?"

Scott hauled himself off the bed and half-stumbled half-walked to the window. It was easier to speak with his eyes on the sky. There was that desire to just fly that he hadn't felt in a few weeks, but maybe that was more of an urge to escape than anything else.

"It depends," he said at last, "on what you think you're right about."

"You looked at that gun like it was the answer."

Neither of them needed to voice what the question may have been.

"I kicked it away."

"I know. I saw."

"It's not a problem. You don't need to worry."

"Fuck that." Gordon practically launched into orbit. His discarded chair skidded across the floor with an ugly screech that sounded uncannily like a scream. "Don't you dare tell me not to worry. You may not have done anything, but you still thought it."

Scott lifted his hands in surrender. "I wouldn't act upon it. I wouldn't do that to you, Gordon, not to any of you."

Gordon seemed somewhat appeased.

Scott had to open his mouth and promptly ruin this.

"I wouldn't do that to you, not after we lost Dad."

He knew the exact moment at which he'd screwed up.

Ah, shit.

Probably shouldn't have mentioned Dad.

Gordon looked grade-A pissed.

And yet when he spoke, he sounded shockingly controlled. Level, stable, no hint of emotion. Actually, that was a bad sign. Gordon was possibly a bigger empath than even Virgil. No emotions was definitely a glaring red flag. Yeesh. Suddenly escaping to the skies didn't seem such a bad option.

"If we hadn't lost Dad…"

"If we hadn't lost Dad, we wouldn't have nearly lost John," Scott interjected.

Gordon glowered. "Let. Me. Finish. Speaking."

"It was just an observation."

"Fuck your observations."

"Seems a bit unnecessarily harsh."

"Scott, I swear to god, I am going to-" Gordon took a steadying breath. "Right. This is…" He exhaled slowly. "Okay. I need an honest answer from you. If we still had Dad, would you consider it?"

"No."

"That was a very quick answer."

"…I feel like if I'd thought about it you'd have called me out on being too slow. There's not really a scenario in which I win."

Gordon collapsed back into his chair. He propped his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. Scott hovered by the window and ignored the screaming instincts that demanded he should move closer and offer comfort. Somehow he suspected that wouldn't go down well.

"You won't do anything?" Gordon's voice was muffled.

Scott leant against the window and felt the cold glass through his shirt. "I won't," he agreed, albeit a little hesitantly. He couldn't help feeling as though he were on trial.

"And you won't take unnecessary risks?"

Scott deliberated. "Define unnecessary risks."

Gordon still didn't look up. "Does playing human shield ring any bells with you?"

"That's not… that's just me. You know that. I've been taking hits for all of you for years because it's an active choice to protect you, not because I'm purposefully putting myself in harm's way."

"And that's all it is? Protecting us?"

"What else would it be?"

"Activate versus passive." Gordon finally looked up. "C'mon, Scott, you've been to therapy. You know what I'm talking about."

"It's not like that," Scott repeated. Words had suddenly become troublesome. Thick, like treacle, difficult to work with, a struggle to manipulate into the meanings he wanted to communicate. He took a few steps closer, leaving a gap that Gordon could decide whether or not to cross.

Gordon tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. "But it was once…?"

Scott considered lying for a brief moment. But… "Yes. A very long time ago."

"And John knows?"

"John and I have an agreement."

Gordon's gaze flickered to him. "Is this to do with whatever happened when John was in college?"

Scott gaped at him. "Fucking hell, Gords, how much do you know? Are you sure you didn't hack in?"

"I'm not that techy."

"Good point."

"I am that observant."

"Another good point."

Gordon slid down in his chair. He looked very small. Appropriate, given Scott currently felt very small. They made quite a pair.

"You have very little regard for your own life and that terrifies me. I believe you when you say you won't do anything because you wouldn't put us through that and I'll take that, but I don't want us to be your sole reason for living."

"I like flying a lot too."

"I'm not joking."

"I know you're not. But I don't know what you want to hear from me."

Gordon rose from his chair. "I want to hear that you actually care about yourself, but I know it would be a lie. I don't want you to lie to me. I also know that you lie to all of us all the time."

Scott protested. "I don't."

"'I'm fine,'" Gordon mimicked.

"Most of the time that's not a lie."

"Are you serious right now?"

"What? It's not. Most of the time I am fine."

"You just admitted to being fucking suicidal."

Scott flinched. It was an instinctive reaction and he couldn't help it, but Gordon looked as though he'd been doused in freezing water.

"I'm n-not. I'm not."

Gordon caught his wrist.

"I'm not," Scott repeated again, at a loss for words.

Gordon was quiet for a beat.

"Alright," he agreed gently. "You're not."

It sounded like a lie.

"C'mon." Gordon tugged his wrist but didn't let go. Scott suspected that if Gordon had his way, he'd probably never let go, at least not until he'd dragged Scott to multiple therapy sessions. You know, provided that not all trained therapists were currently walking around as zombies.

Gordon tugged his wrist again.

Scott glanced at him suspiciously. "Where are you taking me?"

"To see John."

"What happened to keeping me away from him?"

Gordon's grip tightened. "If we stay here, you'll start overthinking. At least if you see John, you can see with your own eyes that he's alive, even if he's kind of a mess right now."

Scott kept the door from banging shut with one foot. "Virgil's gonna be mad. He told us to stay here."

Gordon raised a brow. "Last time I checked, you're our commander."

"This feels like a trap."

Gordon slunk a little closer so that he could wrap an arm around Scott's shoulders. Scott wisely chose not to mention the way his brother had to rise onto his toes to achieve this.

"Virgil will know where to look for us."

Scott didn't even know why he was trying to argue. Everything seemed topsy turvy. God, he wanted to talk to John so badly, because John was the only one left who knew everything, but that wasn't possible for obvious reasons and now Gordon knew and Gordon was worried, beyond worried, dipping into the realms of dread and terror and while he may not have voiced this, the death grip he had on Scott's wrist spoke volumes.

"Scotty?"

Scott wound an arm around his brother's shoulders. "Let's go see John."


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Kat x