As those of you in the UK will already know, there's currently a massive storm going on here. The internet keeps going in and out, so I am really hoping this will actually post. If it does, then yay! If I'm posting this later than Friday then uh, sorry folks, but at least it's an extra long chapter? Haha... yeesh. Yeah, I'm gonna go beg my internet to work. Also, in case anyone here still uses Tumblr - I made a blog! You can find me at silverstarfics. Come say hi! I promise I'm friendly :)


The infected were still scouring the streets. They were clearly audible – howls and growls carried further on the night air. The stench was stronger too as more and more joined the horde, drawn by noise and the possibility of a pack kill. Scott could see them from the roof. There were hundreds, a seemingly infinite mass of bodies lurching from street to street. They appeared from the shadows, from shopfronts, from derelict buildings. Those that were trapped within cars and behind closed doors threw themselves at the blockades repeatedly, desperate to join the hunt, unable to feel any pain or regret as skulls caved in and bones splintered and blood ran rampant down dented walls and cracked glass.

The Hood didn't seem concerned. As a crowd of infected clustered around the building – unable to reach them and so settling for snapping and groaning and scratching at the brickwork to no avail but still not giving up on their targets – he simply set about unpacking his hamper of supplies. He spread a blanket over the concrete, dragged a pile of flammable scraps – old leaflets, newspapers, even wood stolen from shutters etc – onto the scorched patch in the centre of the roof, and took out a lighter.

Scott observed from a distance. The Hood was on one side of the roof and they were on the other, backs pressed to the wall that ran around the circumference. They couldn't have gotten further away if they'd tried, but he was still uneasy about sharing the space with someone who had previously attempted to murder his family. Despite dozing off briefly, exhausted from his panic and following adrenaline-crash, Alan shared this sentiment.

The Hood held the lighter out to them. "Would you care to do the honours?"

Alan – wearing that stolen hoodie over his suit – yanked his hood up. His silence was pointed. Scott gingerly pushed himself to his feet and took the lighter. The Hood didn't react other than to retreat to his blanket and, when the flame touched the kindling, the entire pile ignited smoothly without a trace of foul-play. Scott put the lighter down on the concrete and skimmed it back to the Hood.

Kindling crackled. Tiny sparks sprang into the air and faded into the darkness. The scent of wood-smoke began to overpower that of the infected below. In the warm glow, the tension began to melt.

"Cold?" The Hood questioned. Scott followed the man's gaze and twisted to spy Alan tugging the hoodie drawstrings to pull it closer. The Hood gestured to the fire from his place reclined leisurely across the blanket. "You should move closer."

"Why?" Alan demanded. He sat up ramrod straight. "Did you hide explosives in it or something?"

"Of course not. Prone to the dramatics, your family," the Hood remarked dryly.

Alan bristled. "Hypocrite, much?"

"Alan," Scott said quietly. He put out a hand and Alan fell silent. "The fire's safe. We're not going anywhere tonight, not with them down there waiting for us. If you're cold, move closer."

The Hood arched a brow. Scott glared at him. A piece of wood collapsed in the depths of the fire, sending a torrent of new flame skyward. Somewhere, faintly, a wild dog barked. Alan uncoiled from his spot and crept closer, inch by inch, keeping his gaze on the Hood the entire time. Metal flashed at his hip where he held a tight grip on the knife – his own personal insurance policy should the Hood try anything. Scott didn't blame him – he hadn't taken the safety off the gun yet.

The final remnants of sunlight faded from the sky. It was a fine display of stars tonight – the clearest Scott had seen from Earth since the apocalypse had started. Warmed by the fire, Alan slipped off his hoodie and bundled it into a pillow. He lay as close to the flames as Scott would let him, arms folded beneath his head, watching the glittering sky. It was strangely peaceful.

Alan stifled a faint laugh.

Scott prodded him with one foot. "What?"

"Just thinking." Alan didn't take his eyes off the stars. "We always said we were gonna take a camping trip."

Scott examined the glowing embers and caught himself smiling. "This isn't exactly what I had in mind." He side-eyed the Hood. "I was planning on better company, for starters."

The Hood didn't rise to the taunt. He was laid on his side, half-wrapped in the blanket to protect himself from the faint breeze that infiltrated the tears and burns on his once pristine suit. As the fire burnt low, he wordlessly slid more kindling across the ground and observed without comment when Scott restocked the pile.

Somewhere down below, there came a metallic clang as an infected crashed into a trash can. A cat yowled. Something squelched. Scott reached for the gun instinctively, ignoring the flashes of unwanted memory that came with feeling the shape of it when not in the midst of a fight for his life. Adrenaline made everything easier. It was in the aftermath that dangerous thoughts could creep in.

Alan sat up and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Every part of him screamed tired. He covered his mouth with his wrist to muffle a cough. Scott watched with open concern as the kid curled his fingers around his knees and ducked his head, trying not to tremble.

"Al," he called softly, reaching for the rucksack. "Here." He tore open the packet of cough drops and dropped a couple in Alan's hand. "Try those."

Alan twisted the wrapping inside out, watching flames reflect in the warped surface. "Have we got any water?"

Scott checked the contents of the bottles and made a mental note to start stricter rationing. If he cut down on his own consumption rate… He did some mental maths and tried not to cringe at the conclusion. They were going to have to find more supplies within the next seventy-two hours.

One problem at a time, he reminded himself, passing Alan the bottle. "Hungry?"

"Um…" Alan paused, fiddling with the seam of his glove. "Sort of?" The words were laced with guilt, as if he were supposed to apologise for a basic human need. "But I can last until the morning." His voice wavered. "Honest."

Scott was glad he was angled away from the fire, as it meant Alan couldn't see his expression. This didn't stop the Hood from watching him with those ever-observant eyes that seemed to pierce directly to the soul. The man had never seemed fully human and now, trapped on a rooftop with him, surrounded by the infected, Scott still had wonder to which was the greater monster.

"Scott?"

Scott gritted his teeth and tore his gaze away from the Hood. "Here." He found a can in the rucksack. Alan took it from him with a relieved smile.

"Thanks. Are you sure this is okay? I really can wait until tomorrow if we don't have enough rations, it's not a big deal."

"It is a big deal." Scott slid the rucksack back to its corner. "Go on. Don't let it go to waste, or I will be annoyed."

Alan cranked open the can without further argument.

There was a rustle as the Hood moved to sit upright, propped against his own section of wall. He pulled a packet of crackers into his lap and ate them delicately, poised between lithe fingers, taking care not to spill any crumbs despite the fact his clothes were already ruined. Alan glowered at him before startling with a faint squeak as he burnt his thumb on the can he was heating in the embers.

"Careful," Scott warned, unable to help himself.

Alan raised a brow at him. "I know."

The contents bubbled merrily. Alan retrieved the can – more cautiously this time – and let it cool before attacking it. Manners were a thing of the past. He licked sauce from his fingertips, an elated smile drifting across his face before he dove back in. Sort of hungry had been the understatement of the century apparently – ravenous would have been a more accurate description.

Scott stretched out his legs and tilted back onto his hands to fix his sights on the stars. He allowed himself a few sips of water to distract from the hunger. Eyes bored into his side, but he pointedly ignored them. Whatever the Hood's game was, he didn't want himself nor Alan playing any part in it.

He sat up and cradled the bottle between his palms. The label was peeling, and he tugged at it absently to occupy his hands before he could glimpse the blood crusted under his nails. His clothes were stained with gore. He was trying not to think about it. There were a lot of things he was trying not to think about, actually.

Alan shuffled across the short distance between them to press against his side, nearly jabbing Scott with a bony knee and an outrageously pointy elbow. He balanced the can on Scott's leg and offered a bright smile. Scott lifted the can and peered inside.

"What's this?"

"Most people call it food."

"Alan," Scott sighed, nudging a stray scrap of paper back into the fire. "I told you to eat."

"And I have." Alan paused before his voice could trail into a pitch that could only be categorised as a whine. He bumped his forehead against Scott's shoulder like a cat. "C'mon, Scotty, I had like two-thirds so you can't complain. You've gotta eat too."

"You need more calories than I do."

Alan wrinkled his nose. "That's such BS." He reached up to flick Scott's temple. "I feel like you're forgetting how annoying I can be." He grinned. "Eat it. Eat it, eat it, eat it, eat it, eat it…"

"Oh, for mercy's sake," the Hood snapped. "Eat the bloody stuff, would you? Just shut the brat up."

Alan froze. He was a tightly woven ball of tension, so painfully still that it was almost nerve-wracking to watch, just waiting for him to snap. He forced himself to take a deep breath, but, as Scott watched him, he subconsciously lifted a hand back to his throat. Most of the bruising was hidden beneath the hoodie but that didn't mean it wasn't there.

"Hey," Scott said conversationally, with just a touch of murder in his tone. "Remember when I said I was going to kill you? That still stands. I'd watch your back if I were you… you wouldn't want to discover a knife between your shoulders come morning."

"In that case you wouldn't be a man of your word," the Hood replied smoothly. His gaze tracked over Alan. "We made a deal."

"You said yourself that I made a deal with the Devil," Scott shot back. "If the Devil can break his word, so can I. Look at the world we're now living in. Don't be so arrogant as to assume that the rules of society will still keep you safe. I have my priorities. You know where you stand. Don't push me. Especially don't push my brother. You won't like where it gets you."

The Hood remained silent for a heartbeat longer before he dipped his head in acknowledgement. Scott watched him, suspicion calling to a potential adrenaline rush before logic stated that the Hood was too smart to start a fight he couldn't win without a viable escape route. He forced himself to calm down. Alan's presence was a great help, warm and real against his side, head tipped to rest on his shoulder.

Time ticked on. A lonely satellite drifted overhead. Alan poked Scott's knee and pointed to the can. Scott forced down his hesitation and polished off the rest of the contents. It wasn't much but it was something and it helped to fill the painful void.

Alan's console displayed the time in softly glowing digits. There was still no signal, not even up here, on the roof. Scott rose to his feet and paced the short expanse of concrete between the fire and the wall, excess anxiety running wild in his veins like a shot of espresso. Alan was the opposite – on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion but too on edge to let himself drift off, especially with the Hood's proximity. His gaze kept flicking to the man, unease keeping his shoulders tense. He propped his chin on his crossed arms, laid flat on his stomach, and kept watch.

Scott paused by the wall. The infected below were still hurling themselves at the wall. Every so often they would clamber over one another in a heap that reached dangerously high, but they were too decayed to make it to the top. The base of the pile would start chowing on the rest until the entire horde collapsed in on itself. There were ugly smears over the bricks. As Scott peered down at them, several series of clouded eyes fixed on him. Snarls rang out with a renewed vengeance. One of them – missing jawbone, gaping wound across its abdomen – shrieked at him. He retreated back to the fireside, pulse racing.

"They seem active," he muttered. "More so than usual."

Alan gave a querying murmur. He'd finally lost the battle between his body and sleep. Scott smoothed the kid's hair back from his forehead and tucked the hoodie closer around his shoulders. Alan clutched one of the drawstrings in his fist, frowning slightly. Scott moved closer so that he could card a hand through his brother's hair and waited patiently until those pained lines across his brow had eased away before speaking once more.

"Why did you save me?"

The Hood gave up on the pretence of sleep. "Have you ever considered the possibility that I admire you? Your dedication to your family is something that I can respect."

Scott didn't buy it for a second. "That's crap. Try again."

The Hood stretched leisurely. His mouth twitched with the promise of a smile. "Perhaps I like you."

"You've tried to kill me on multiple occasions."

"If I wanted you dead, you would be dead." The Hood swept a hand to the wall where another howl echoed over the edge. "Case in point."

"I don't believe you."

"Alright, fine, I detest you. But… life without you around would be rather dull. Especially nowadays, without anything to conquer. I find myself rather missing our little spats. You are entertaining, what with your infernal morals and constant compulsions towards martyrdom."

Scott resisted the urge to hit something. Preferably that smarmy face on the other side of the fire.

"And?" he prompted.

The Hood's smirk evaporated. "You're not a killer, Scott Tracy, despite the lies you believe about yourself. You won't leave anyone for dead, no matter what they've done. So, if I stick with you, my chances of survival increase immeasurably."


Scott lurched awake at some unknown hour – the darkest point of the night when even the stars had dimmed. The fire had burnt low so that all that remained were glowing ambers, rich and red like bubbling magma. Cold concrete had struck a chill deep into his bones and he rolled over with a wince as an unknown pain seared across his spine. His shirt felt damp, sticking to his skin as though the fibres had fused to him. He sat up slowly, taking in the details around him – the suffocating gloom, the faint fire, the blanketed lump where the Hood was wrapped up against the wall, Alan curled into a ball by the embers, making himself as small as possible even in sleep.

Scott was unsure as to what had woken him. Instinct and the beginnings of an adrenaline rush promised that there was something wrong. He spun around sharply as a faint rustle caught his senses, but it was only the Hood, flipping over to face him, features gaunt and skull-like in the low light. He lifted a finger before Scott could react.

"Just wait," he mouthed.

Scott stayed silent, listening. At first he couldn't quite make it out, but then the sound grew louder, stronger, slicing through the air. It was funnelled by the spaces between buildings. Scott caught his breath. It was an inhuman, desolate cry – not unlike the howls of those infected on the ship – chilling and unnatural to the point that he felt sick just hearing it. There were goosebumps along his skin. He shivered.

Alan stirred as the cry faded back into obscurity. He lifted his chin from his arms, voice whisper-soft and nervous. "What is that?"

The Hood nodded. "The creatures."

"How long have they been doing that?" Scott asked, quietly, as if speaking too loudly could invoke the source of that agonised howl.

The Hood pillowed his head back on his arm. "Most of the night," he answered simply, rolling over to put an end to the conversation.

Alan activated his wrist-console. No signal blinked above the projector. He shuffled back beneath his hoodie, gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the edge of the roof. Another cry rang along the streets.

"They sound sad," Alan murmured. He closed his eyes. "Lost."

For the life of him, Scott couldn't think of a more accurate description.


"Scott." Alan's voice was strained with urgency. "Scott, wake up."

Daylight seared across his vision. Scott hid his face behind his arm with a protesting groan. Alan yanked his wrist back down and moved to crouch in front of him.

"Take your shirt off," he demanded. "I need to take a look at your back."

Scott took a moment to catch up with this train of thought.

"What?" he settled for asking, still groggy from sleep. It was well past dawn and the stench of the infected had grown strong again. It was enough to make him gag. On the upside, at least that lonely howl from the night had stopped, but on the downside the strange throbbing across his lower spine was back with a vengeance. He sat up, nearly headbutting Alan in the process. "What are you talking about?"

"You're bleeding," the Hood drawled. He was sat against the wall, elbows balanced delicately on his knees, ever nonchalant despite the siren calls of the infected crammed into the streets below. He waved a hand. "That's what's agitating the creatures. They can smell fresh blood. It's drawing more of them to our location."

Alan gripped Scott's biceps and stared at him, assessing, running down the medical checklist that International Rescue had drummed into his memory years ago. "Are you feeling dizzy? When did you last drink something? Any pain elsewhere?"

"Jeezus, Al, just…" Scott shot a dark look at the Hood. The man merely raised a brow but didn't turn away. "Give me a minute."

Alan rocked back on his heels. "Hurry up." He knitted his fingers together. "I should have noticed something was wrong last night. What if it's now infected? What if there are too many creatures down there because I didn't pick up on this quick enough and now we have stay on this roof with limited supplies and a literal murderer and the others never find us and we slowly waste away and then we're doomed to haunt this city forever?"

"Do you ever stop talking?" the Hood sighed.

Scott glared at him. "You, shut up, you've done nothing but try to manipulate us ever since we got here."

"I saved your life."

"For your own gain."

"Well, obviously," the Hood deadpanned. "I've never claimed to be a philanthropist." He cut off any further retorts with a cluck. "Would you get on with it? I'd like to make a move at some point today."

Scott ignored him. His shirt was sticking to his spine and it took some careful peeling to ease it away. His back stung fiercely as it was exposed to the air. He yanked the stained shirt over his head and twisted to try to peer over his shoulder. Alan swatted him.

"Quit that. You'll pull at the wounds. We're trying to stop the bleeding, not make it worse."

Scott grinned at him. "Yes, doc."

"Shut up."

Alan activated the med-scanner on his console. Scott focussed on the world at large while the results loaded. There were more infected on the streets today. A new fire was burning back in the heart of the city, billowing thick smoke into the air. Part of him wondered how it had started. A larger part didn't want to know.

"Shit," Alan muttered.

Scott glimpsed his brother's frown. "That's encouraging."

"Huh? Oh, right. Sorry." Alan moved to sit beside him so that Scott could examine the readout. "There's splintered glass in there. Minor lacerations – you don't need stitches thank god, but… we've got to remove that glass."

"Ready for a new lesson on field surgery?"

Alan paled. "Dude."

"I can't do it," Scott pointed out. "You're right, it has to come out." He held up a hand. "Do not make that joke." His fingers were covered in fresh blood and he wiped them across his jeans.

"There was glass all over the floor of the pharmacy," Alan recalled. He glanced down at the bloodied shirt, gaze distant with thought. "We hit the ground when the infected broke in. My suit would have protected me but you're in civilian clothes."

"The adrenaline rush would have kept me from noticing," Scott concluded. "And it was too dark for you to be able to see anything, even once we got the fire lit."

Alan tilted his head in the Hood's direction. "He noticed."

"Only this morning, presumably after dawn had already broken." Scott forced a smile. "Right. Let's get this over with."

Alan looked faintly nauseous. "There's gotta be a better way to deal with this."

The Hood raised a hand, smirking. "I could give it a go."

"Get fucked," Alan spat at him. "I would rather throw you off this roof than let you within ten metres of my brother."

"Temper, temper." The Hood sat back, highly amused. "Didn't your father ever teach you how to hold your tongue? Oh, wait, that's right… Scott, didn't you ever teach him how to-"

Alan bristled. "Can I stab him?"

"Not yet," Scott replied, admittedly with some reluctance. "Maybe later. Consider it a reward for a successful first aid lesson." He kicked the rucksack within Alan's reach. "Relax, Al, you've got this. We've got supplies in there from the pharmacy. It won't take too long and then it'll be done, and you won't ever have to think about it again."

Alan retrieved the antiseptic wipes and studied them for a moment. "Won't it hurt?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Scott admitted. "But I've had worse."

Alan looked up sharply. "Scotty, you have got to realise that is not reassuring in the slightest."

It was probably a bad thing that this didn't make Scott feel remorseful at all, even though Alan was looking at him like a kicked puppy. If anything, he wanted to laugh. Maybe it was the poor sleep and pain getting to him. Or the stress. There were any number of reasons he could lay blame to if he thought about it for long enough. He caught Alan's wrist and squeezed.

"I trust you."

Alan exhaled in a rush. "No pressure then."

Glass glinted under the rising sun as he reached for the antiseptic bottle. Fabric rustled by Scott's ear as a green hoodie was passed over his shoulder. He lifted it into his lap with a frown.

"What's this?"

"My hoodie."

"Yeah, I gathered that part, thanks Sherlock. Why am I holding it?"

Alan fell silent for a moment. "Because we don't have a belt," he replied at last. "Or any wood. And…" He faltered. "You may need something to bite down on."


Scott was no stranger to field surgery – Virgil and John would claim this was due to unnecessary recklessness, but they were, in Scott's very official opinion, obviously wrong – and Alan was reasonably accomplished at providing it. Of course, the stakes of the game felt very different when it was family on the proverbial operating table, so while Scott wasn't too stressed, Alan was a bundle of nerves, second-guessing everything he did and narrating each step which had the Hood sighing – and therefore had Scott threatening to throw the man off the roof.

By the time it was over with, they were all agitated. Had it been anyone else with him, Scott would have made a joke about heading back to that pharmacy to check for any leftover Xanax. Instead, he pulled his blood-stained shirt back on and tried to run damage control – aka talking Alan down from another spiral whilst pushing his own murderous thoughts aside because he could just sense the Hood's snide judgement wafting across the roof.

Alan scraped splintered glass and the discarded bandage wrappers into the remnants of the fire. The Hood was pacing back and forth like a caged tiger, stopping just short of actually growling. Alan paused and sat up to watch, suspicion stamped across his face.

"He's up to something."

"He's always up to something," Scott pointed out, but shifted so that he could get a better look because he trusted Alan's judgement.

The Hood had come to a halt by the wall they had originally scaled to reach the rooftop. His gaze was fixed over the edge, presumably on the infected milling in the street below. He drummed a hand against his torn lapel thoughtfully. Alan shot Scott a look that didn't need much translation to understand – he's plotting, we should be careful.

"Hey." Scott pushed himself to his feet and tried not to waver. "Hood." He moved closer, conscious of Alan following a few steps behind. "What's going on?"

The Hood didn't initially react. "We should move," he answered smoothly, sweeping around to face them with a smile that could have charmed snakes but not much else. "I presume you have an idea of where you're headed. Let's get started."

Alan muttered something dark under his breath that would usually have him tipping the swear jar. Scott let it go – mostly because he was thinking the exact same sentiment.

"Slight problem." He gestured to the creatures scenting the air. "They'll tear us to shreds the second we step foot on that ladder. Any ideas on how we get past them?"

The Hood observed him with dry amusement. "I may have some tricks up my sleeve."

"Uh, yeah, second major problem that I'd like to point out," Alan interjected, moving to stand at Scott's side. "You're not coming with us."

"Aren't I?" The Hood cocked a brow. "I'll leave you to… discuss while I pack my things." He supplied a crooked smile. "Have fun, boys."

Scott closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them again, Alan was staring at him incredulously.

"No," Alan began before Scott could speak. "No, no, no. Absolutely not. No way in hell is he coming with us."

"I hear you, but-"

"No!" Alan flung an arm out. "No buts! He tried to kill us. Multiple times! He's a monster." His voice dipped in betrayal. "I can't believe you're even considering this."

"Alan."

"No, you don't get to… Just no. No. I'm not going if he's there."

Scott pinched the brim of his nose to fight the oncoming headache. "Where are you going to go?" he sighed, knowing full well that Alan had no intentions of running off alone.

Alan crossed his arms. "I'll find my own way."

"Sounds like an airtight plan you've got there. I can't see any faults with it at all."

"Hey, I'm not the one suggesting we should team up with the guy who hates our family so much that he's tried to murder us. He has literally stabbed you in the back before. He nearly killed me like two days ago! I don't feel safe around him. Don't go criticising me when you're the one making friends with Dad's killer. Hey, why don't we invite him on board Five? I'm sure Grandma would love to welcome him into the family."

"That's enough."

"No, no, I think it's a great idea. I mean, you clearly don't give a shit about my feelings, so why would you care about anybody else's?"

"I said, enough."

Alan cut himself off. Scott took a moment to gather some rational thought and file his emotions back into neat boxes.

"I understand how you're feeling." Alan scoffed. Scott raised his voice a notch. "No, this is the part where you listen to me. I get that you're uncomfortable with all of this. Trust me, if I thought there was a better way, then I would take it. But at the end of the day, he is a person. No matter what he's done, no matter how I feel about him, he is a human-being and we can't leave him to die."

"And what happens afterwards? Do we take him back to Five with us? What comes next?"

"I don't know. I'll… I'll figure something out."

"Well, you should probably have started thinking about that like, you know, yesterday. Maybe you could keep him as a pet."

"Alan, can you please just…" Scott took a deep breath. "Look," he continued in a forcibly level voice that didn't betray his true emotions but had Alan shifting his feet guiltily all the same. "I am trying my best here. I don't know what I'm doing. There's no guidebook for this. So, I need you to work with me, or at the very least give me a bit of break, because I cannot be keeping us all alive and fighting with you at the same time. I can't do both. It's exhausting."

Alan ducked his head. "Sorry," he mumbled at last. He sounded almost tearful. "I'm not trying to give you a hard time. I'm just really freaked out right now and the Hood…" He lowered his voice to a whisper, scuffing his boots in the dust. "He really scares me. Like, a lot. And that would be bad enough on an ordinary day but at the moment, with everything, with freaking zombies running around… It's like… insane levels of anxiety. And I've never been the posterchild for having normal levels of anxiety to begin with, so… it's not great. I really, really, don't feel comfortable around him. But…" He forced himself to meet Scott's eyes. "I get why we can't leave him behind."

Goddam, this kid. Sometimes it would just hit Scott. Just oh. Oh. Alan was fucking incredible. It didn't even make any sense either. No one could have blamed Alan if he'd gone off the rails years ago, what with everything that had happened. Losing Dad had just been another tragedy in a too painful life. Alan had gone through more trauma before his sixteenth birthday than most people did in a lifetime. And yet.

"Thank you," Scott told him, and then added, "I love you," very quickly, just because he wanted to say it. He checked the Hood was still out of earshot before searching the memory banks for some sort-of-parenting-skills and notes-from-that-powerpoint-on-anxiety-John-had-made-him-after-Alan-had-inititally-been-diagnosed-with-it and then just for good measure he also dredged the depths of his subconscious for tips-and-tricks-for-raising-one-Alan-Tracy which had been carefully curated over years of experience.

"Alright," he said, softening his voice so that it was clear that lecture time was over. "I have a couple of thoughts. One, is there anything I can do to help?"

"There's, uh…" Alan fiddled with his glove. "There's exercises and stuff, I guess."

"Okay. Do any of those work for you?"

Alan shrugged. "A couple of them. Not always, but sometimes."

"You can talk me through those later, if that's alright?"

"You probably already know them," Alan pointed out.

"Possibly," Scott lied, knowing full-well that his own coping methods involved ringing John and being talked down or hiding from the world until he could breathe again. "But what works for one person doesn't necessarily work for another, so I'd like to know what works specifically for you." He held up a second finger. "Two, we come up with a codeword so you can tell me if you need a moment without the Hood knowing."

Alan brightened. "What's the codeword?"

"Anything you want," Scott said, sensing immediately that he was going to regret that. "Anything reasonable."

"Aw man. You mean I can't have supercalifragilisticexpialidocious as my codeword?"

Scott tried not to look too fond. He didn't need a mirror to know that he'd failed. "Try again."

Alan thought for a moment. "Mercury."

"…Why mercury?"

"Dad named us after astronauts. Alan Shepard and Scott Carpenter were both part of the Mercury missions."

"Can you work mercury into a normal conversation?"

"Are you questioning my codeword?"

"Nope."

"I could change it to something worse, like… ooh, I know - megalodon."

Scott caught his brother's teasing smile. "Let's stick with mercury." He wrapped an arm around Alan's shoulders and tugged him close. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think the Hood plans on sticking with us any longer than he has to. He wants to get out of the city with us but then I think we'll go our separate ways. He's probably got a safehouse somewhere that he's headed for."

"Maybe," Alan acknowledged. He tipped his head back to examine the clouds. "I dunno." His voice turned thoughtful. "Hey, how far do you reckon we are from the ranch?"

"Like… Mom's ranch?"

Alan shot him a curious look. "Do we own another ranch?"

Scott chose to ignore that comment. "We'd need a vehicle."

"I know how to hotwire a car." Alan froze. "I mean, uh… hypothetically, I could get us a car and you wouldn't ask questions as to how I got it started."

"Why do you know how to hotwire a car?"

"I got bored during Maths, so I googled it. And then Virgil taught me properly so I wouldn't electrocute myself or anything."

Scott was silently questioning Virgil's judgement but then again Virgil had also been the one to teach Gordon how to pick locks so really Virgil was a secret wildcard and Scott should have seen this coming from the very beginning.

"We're close enough," he said instead of falling any further down that rabbit hole. "If we can find a working car then… yes, the ranch is a good plan. We'd definitely be able to get a message up to Five."

Alan shot him a sunny smile. "See? I have the best plans. I'm clearly a genius. I'm gonna knock Johnny outta first place on the family IQ chart."

"We don't have a family IQ chart."

"You don't think we have a family IQ chart. Neither does Gordon, by the way, so don't tell him."

"Sometimes," Scott said slowly, "you scare me."

"I know," Alan agreed gleefully. "Isn't it great?"

Behind them, still out of earshot but unwilling to let his presence go forgotten for much longer, the Hood coughed meaningfully. Scott imagined stabbing him, repeatedly – which was a daydream that should probably have been more disturbing to him than it actually was – as Alan tensed up immediately, all traces of good humour suddenly vanished.

"Allie?"

Alan flipped a wrist so that the metal knuckles were visible in the light. "I've got your blood on my hands," he mused, in a vacant sort of voice that had Scott on edge. "Literally." He rubbed a thumb across the metal to reveal smeared scarlet. "It won't come off."

Scott swallowed. "What are you thinking about?" he asked quietly.

Alan was silent for a long moment. "Nothing," he said at last. He shook his head with a sad smile. "Nothing important, anyway."


A unanimous decision was made – and by that Scott meant he decided, Alan agreed, and they didn't give the Hood a vote – to make a break for it shortly after lunch when the heat seemed to make the infected more docile, confused, as if the midday sun had boiled their brains. Scott had been fully prepared to make the climb first, but the Hood insisted.

Alan wasn't exactly unhappy about this. "If he wants to offer himself as bait, let him."

"Alan."

"I mean, oh no, don't get eaten."

The Hood flashed a sharp smile at them before vanishing over the wall. Scott put out a hand to keep Alan from stepping any closer – if there was about to be bloodshed, then he didn't want his kid brother to witness a person be torn apart. And yet – as the Hood took the final jump from the lower rung of the ladder into the fray – there were no snarls, no wrenching of sinew from bones or the fleshy squelch of raw flesh or the crunch of cartilage between molars. Scott leant further over the ledge, questioning his own vision.

"Scott?" Alan's voice rang out. "What's happening?"

"I… don't have a clue."

Scott rubbed his knuckles across his eyes and blinked furiously but the scene remained unchanged.

The Hood, surrounded by the infected. Infected that were cowering, flinching away from him, slowly beginning to limp into a lurching run. Fleeing, without hesitation, as the Hood lifted a single hand without so much as a knife or a gun or even a flare. Just bare palms with fine scarring across the centre. Ordinary, human hands, with the exception of the prosthetic. And yet the infected were terrified. Scott hadn't even realised the creatures could feel fear. It raised some horrifying questions about what other emotions they may still be able to experience.

The Hood raised his chin. His eyes blared yellow. Scott flinched instinctively. Alan darted to his side, hands flying to Scott's shoulders.

"What? What is it? What happened?"

Scott didn't hang around to answer him. He mostly slid down the ladder – back protesting all the while as he felt fresh blood seep from those unhealed lacerations – and slammed into the ground harder than he'd planned. His knee ached viciously. He forced himself to step forwards, drawing himself to his full height so that the Hood was forced to look up at him.

"What the hell was that?"

The Hood gestured to the empty street. "A getaway plan."

"How did you do that?" Alan breathed, landing without a sound. He paced around the Hood in a wide circle, gaze bright with curiosity. "Your implant, I'm presuming, the cybernetic eye, not the prosthetic arm, but… but how? How does that even work? Some sort of low-range frequency?"

"Very good," the Hood purred.

As if a spell had been broken, Alan realised who he was talking to, and jolted backwards, catching himself on Scott's shoulder, but that faint spark of excitement at the possibility of a mystery hadn't quite dimmed in his eyes.

"You've forced people to work for you before," Scott recalled. "The GDF thought it was just psychological… brainwashing… but it was actually something more sinister."

"Technology can be hacked," the Hood announced as leisurely as if he'd asked for some extra sugar with his tea. He straightened his suit jacket sharply. Alan flinched. "Anyone with any sort of technological accessory on their person can therefore be hacked accordingly. Not someone holding a cell phone of course, but someone with, say…" His eyes gleamed. "Tech-infused contacts. At a certain frequency, I can gain control. Think of it as using the tech as backdoor to access the mind. It's the brain which I can then manipulate. I expect your brother worked that out a long time ago. That's why he prefers to fight me from afar. But then again, he always was the clever one. The point is that by emitting a specific frequency from this," he tapped his temple, "I can repel the creatures. It seems to bother them. It doesn't last forever, mind you, but it's a handy trick."

Scott wasn't about to hang around to find out exactly how long it lasted. He pushed past the Hood without a word, knowing that a lack of acknowledgement to his grand reveal would anger the man far more than any judging comment could. Sure enough, a sideways glance proved that he was fuming. Alan, torn between amusement and fear, stuck to Scott's other side and kept quiet until they broke free of the buildings and onto the clearer streets.

"That car looks in good condition." Alan bounded over to the aforementioned vehicle and Scott chased after him, scanning for any movement. The windows remained intact, and the wheels showed no signs of punctures. It was a four-wheeled drive, yet another bonus given they were going to have to travel cross-country – Scott suspected the highways would be blocked with people who had tried to flee too late.

He held out a hand to Alan. "Pass me a knife. I'll get it unlocked."

Alan blinked. "You… know how to do that?"

Scott grinned at him. "I know how to do many things, little brother, and no, I will not be telling you the stories."

"Scott," Alan whined. "Unfair."

"Suffer," Scott teased, and drew back with a satisfied hiss as he heard that familiar click and the lock shifted under his touch. There wasn't even so much as a scratch on the window. He opened the door and gestured grandly to it. "All yours, Al. Knock 'em dead."

"Not the best choice of words," Alan pointed out.

Scott didn't bother trying to hide his laugh. "That's exactly why I chose them."

It was probably a good thing that Alan had never considered a life of crime because he made short work of the wires. The engine grumbled into life in a matter of seconds. He tumbled into the passenger seat with a whoop.

"I call shotgun!"

The Hood, glowering, slid into the backseat. Scott took the wheel. The doors slammed shut around them. Alan clapped his hands together and propped his feet on the dash.

"Let's blow this popsicle stand!"

"Seatbelt, Al."

"Scott," Alan hissed. "So uncool. You're making me look bad in front of the murderer."

"Seatbelt."

"God, fine."

Scott closed his hands around the wheel. "Alright," he announced. "Let's hit the road."