Early chapter because I've got a late shift at work. Not gonna lie, I'm pretty hyped to see your reactions to this one ;)


Had it been down to Scott, he would have skipped breakfast and probably spent the entirety of the day on the couch again. However the choice was taken out of his hands thanks to Virgil's concern about a lack of proper nutrition and Gordon's cautious warning that the GDF were sniffing around, wondering why Scott hadn't left their quarters in over twenty-four hours. So. Down to the cafeteria it was, although he spent the majority of this time in a daze, letting his body go through the motions on autopilot and relying on Gordon to take up any conversational duties with the GDF agents in the elevator.

The cafeteria was quieter that morning, which was one small mercy. Alan dragged him over to a table in the far corner while Virgil and John collected food and Gordon scouted out drinks. There was a relay of updates scrolling across the screen, reflecting neon lights over linoleum flooring and sticky tables. Alan stole a space at Scott's side, twisting to sit sideways, propping his feet on the edge of Scott's chair.

Across the room, a group of rowdy teenagers were joking around, all loud voices and sharp movements, elbows and shouts, uproarious laughter echoing around the room as they pulled pranks on one another. Alan eyed them with the utmost disdain.

"Friends of yours?" Virgil queried, sliding onto a chair opposite and setting several trays of meagre rations on the table.

Alan made a face as if he'd sucked on a sour lemon. "No. Just… no." He reached for a granola bar, leaving the burnt toast for Gordon. "They're not my kind of people," he elaborated, tearing open the packet with his teeth. "And they're so loud."

"Gordon's loud," John pointed out, tailed by the man in question, armed with more glasses of OJ than even a scout's clearance level technically allowed. "You put up with him."

"Vitamins, bitches." Gordon shoved a glass under Alan's nose. "Anyway, yes, I'm loud, what's the deal? Is there gossip? I sense gossip."

Alan picked at the granola bar. "They're a different sort of loud," he muttered eventually. "The only reason they're not being… difficult is because of my name."

Gordon looked up so quickly he nearly gave himself whiplash. "Those lil shits giving you trouble?"

"What? No. Nothing I can't handle." Alan flicked the wrapper at him. "Careful Gordo, someone might think you care."

"Yeah, no kidding. I'm the only person who gets to mess with you. You know that." Gordon sent a final glare in the teens' direction. "Just say the word and I'll make them regret the day they were born. Hell, the day their parents met. In fact, they'll wish the Big Bang had never happened."

"You're over eighteen," John remarked, taking a delicate sip of orange juice.

Gordon balled up the wrapper and tossed it back at Alan. "So?"

"So, they're kids. Assault of minors doesn't look too good. Besides…" John tipped back in his chair, an evil gleam in his eyes. "There are far more inventive forms of revenge."

"And let's stop that train of thought there before it can go any further." Virgil shook his head, eternally exasperated. "You're as bad as each other, you know that, right?"

"Aw, Virg." Gordon plucked the straw from his glass and pointed it at Virgil. "You ruin all my fun. Plotting murders with Johnny is the best part of my morning."

John gave a nonchalant shrug. "Sounds about right."

"See? John agrees with me." Gordon shifted topics. "Yo, Scotty, you get dibs on the next tray. Pick your poison, bro. What's it gonna be? Cremated toast or weird gloopy grey stuff – what is that?"

"Oatmeal?" Virgil guessed.

"Huh." Gordon prodded at the mixture with a spoon. "Looks like something a cat puked up."

Alan aimed a kick at him under the table. "Way to make it sound appetising."

"I am a man of many talents, but making this crap seem appealing is a skill beyond even my many, many abilities." Gordon slid the plate of toast over to Scott. "You're lucky I love you. Look at this – I'm prepared to give up the toast and eat the weird slime instead. That's a true sacrifice right there."

Alan watched, fascinated as Gordon tried to twirl a spoon around the bowl. "Are you actually gonna eat that?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"Alan. It's food. That's reason enough."

"You disgust me."

"I've literally seen you eat chips you found scattered over the patio without knowing who dropped them or how long they'd been there, so you can't judge me."

The chaos drew all attention away from Scott. It was easier to eat when there was less scrutiny on him. He choked down a few bites of bread which tasted like a mix between ration bars and charcoal, hastily accompanied by the OJ before his tastebuds could actually cry. John looked a little like a proud parent. Virgil was caught between relief and exasperation as Gordon proceeded to eat the suspiciously grey oatmeal and Alan cackled at his reactions.

"That was so gross," Alan sniggered.

Gordon beamed at him. "Thank you."

The countdown displaying their time left in the cafeteria had ticked in the final ten minutes. Alan dropped his head onto the tabletop with an audible thud accompanied by a pained groan.

"Do I have to go to class? I know everything already."

"That makes it better." Gordon tousled his brother's hair and earnt a baleful glare in return. "You get to show off. Great fun."

Alan finally lifted his head from the table. "Can't I just stay with Scott?"

While the idea of hiding on the couch and watching old movies with his little brother all day sounded great – and way better than his actual plans – Scott had to play the responsible adult role.

"Sorry, Al," he said, albeit reluctantly. "You've gotta go to school."

"School," Alan scoffed. "It's literally the apocalypse. What am I gonna do, fight zombies with my A-Z knowledge of capital cities and algebra?"

Gordon snorted. "Alan used a square root equation! It's super effective!"

Alan swatted him. "Don't even." He pushed back his chair with a heavy sigh. "Okay, fine, I'm going to class. I'll see you guys later if I don't die of boredom in the meantime."

He hovered awkwardly by the table for a moment longer.

John raised a brow. "School's that way, Al."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I just…" Alan shifted from one foot to the other. "Forgot something." He darted forwards, catching Scott in a swift hug. "Okay. Cool. Love you, Scotty. Okay. All good. See ya. Bye."

Gordon watched him go with a fond smile. "What a dork." He propped his chin in one hand with a mock frown. "How come Scott's the only one who gets a hug? I want a hug."

Virgil lifted an arm. "Get over here then."

"Virg, my man, you are the absolute light of my life."

"Oh, I regret this already."

"Too late. You offered a hug. I want my goddam hug."

"Gordon," John informed him, "You are a very strange person."

"I know. It's one of my many charms."

"Alright, you got your hug." Virgil carefully extracted himself from Gordon's octopus grip. "Now you can help me carry these plates back to the hatch."

Gordon grumbled, taking care to elbow Virgil as he clambered to his feet, but stacked the plates into a pile and followed his brother to the line for the cleaning hatch. There had been some sort of whispered conversation between them in the early hours which Scott had only been partially aware of and certainly hadn't been awake enough to properly overhear, but whatever it had entailed had melted the last remnants of tension between them. They were back to reading each other's minds, working as a team without words – co-pilots. Even now, as Virgil made some inaudible comment and Gordon pretended to be highly offended, they were perfectly in tune.

John drew Scott's attention. "Are you ready for today?"

"Not really."

Being honest was a new tactic Scott was trying and it still felt strange, like an ill-fitting coat. He noted that flash of deep concern in his brother's eyes and panicked.

"It's only training," he continued, forcing a hint of positivity into his voice which John saw right through. "It's like a gym workout. No big deal. It'll probably do me good. Exercise… endorphins… makes you feel less shitty, right?"

"Right," John agreed slowly, unconvinced. "But after yesterday-"

"You said some fairly concerning stuff too, John."

For someone who was so good at concealing his emotions, John certainly seemed ruffled by that remark. He leant forwards, probably preparing an entire monologue with the intention of distracting Scott from the original topic, only to falter, attention caught by something over Scott's shoulder. Scott turned in his chair to be met with a scruffy man, mid-thirties, salt-and-pepper hair and a cluster of visibly emotional workers behind him.

"You're the new pilot, right?"

John looked about five seconds away from another murder. Scott sent him a warning look, as in, don't overreact, let's see what they want first, which was a total role reversal compared with pre-apocalyptic times.

"Yes," he replied cautiously, noting the uneasy whisper which passed between the crowd. Across the room, Gordon had spotted the scene and caught Virgil's shoulder to draw his attention.

The ringleader cleared his throat. Instinct whispered that the situation was about to escalate. A set of GDF agents were beginning to take notice. Gordon had left Virgil in the queue and was making his way back over. On the other side of the table, John looked as if the slightest wrong move could cause him to snap.

"So, you're working with them. Do you know how many innocent people your lot have gotten killed? You think we don't know? About the bombs? How many survivors have been collateral? We had family out there, people who deserved to live."

John was on his feet. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"And we expected it from the GDF, but we didn't expect it from you. People trusted you. International Rescue. We had hoped you would turn this around, but instead it turns out you're just another rich coward."

In retrospect, Scott should probably have anticipated John's next move. As it was, Gordon was still too far away to help, Virgil had only just realised there was a problem, and Scott himself was too slow to react.

Never let it be said that Johnny didn't know how to throw a punch.

Chaos erupted.

"Holy shit, John!" Gordon slid between the pair. "Easy, fellas. Let's just take a step back, shall we?"

Scott caught John's wrist. "Leave it."

John was still fuming, actually trembling with rage. "How fucking dare you-"

"Seriously, John, leave it." Scott physically pulled him away. "John. He's angry and upset. It's not personal. You know that. Another upset relative after a bad rescue, think of it like that."

"Except it was personal. He didn't go after IR, he went after you."

The man was still crumpled on his knees, cupping his bleeding face with a shaky hand. "You nearly broke my nose."

"Nearly? Get back up, let me have another go."

Gordon shot him a vaguely impressed look. Virgil finally joined them just as guards were spilling into the area, barked orders and flashing iD tags accompanied by a sudden fierce sense of fear. The crowd broke apart.

Virgil seized John's arm before he could get himself into any more trouble. "This one's with me. Needs medical attention. I'll get him checked out."

The guards waved them off without a second thought, too busy dealing with the bloody-faced man ranting and raving on the floor.

"Medical attention?" John hissed as soon as they were in the elevator.

Virgil stared at him. "Can you not feel how badly you've hurt your hand?"

"What? I haven't-" John examined his fist. "Ah, shit. I may have done some very minor damage."

"Dude," Gordon whistled. "I can't believe you broke your hand on that asshole's face."

"It's not broken," John retorted. "And even if it was, it would still be worth it."

"You shouldn't have hit him," Scott said quietly.

John side-eyed him. "If he'd said it to me, you'd have hit him too."

And… well, Scott didn't have an answer, because John was right. He shook his head, trying to keep the fondness out of his exasperated sigh.

"Dumbass."

John grinned at him. "You're welcome, by the way." His smile dropped, replaced by a wince. "Oh, son of a- Yeah, I can feel that now."


Entirely separate from the research labs, the actual medical wing was made up of multiple floors and resembled a public hospital. Each level was split into different wards – General, Respiratory, Neurology, Maternity, Assessment Unit and so on. It was busier than the cafeteria at peak times, but no one stopped to challenge them. There were less guards down here, presumably because all medical staff had higher clearance levels and therefore had been deemed trustworthy, with the exception of the Medical Assessment Unit which had a barricaded door.

"Scouts get checked out there," Gordon explained as they passed it, clearly a regular. "It's a just-in-case thing, y'know? Scanners should pick up any bites on our way back into the bunker, but… well, we kinda proved there are ways around that, didn't we?"

With the exception of the residential quarters – which didn't really count given they had been transformed by the inhabitants themselves – the medical wing was the only section of the bunker which had been decorated. There were colourful artworks strung along the walls. One open space – a dedicated waiting room, supposedly – was covered in childish paintings and a sign proclaimed them to have been created in the bunker's very own elementary school. There was something very sad about the pictures – animals, depictions of family life, flowers, the sun and the sea, stars and even a certain red rocket – all wonders which had been lost.

Some of the doors had been left ajar to promote ventilation. The beds within seemed to be mostly empty. Whether that was representative of good medical care or if the GDF simply didn't tolerate weakness was yet to be proven. With the exception of a few kids, Scott hadn't seen anyone in the bunker who wasn't in good health.

"Get many patients?" he queried, trying to sound nonchalant.

Virgil glanced at him. "Don't start."

"I'm not starting anything."

"Not here."

A red security camera, armed with a mic, sat directly above their heads. Virgil nodded towards it with a final meaningful look. Scott stopped asking questions. Gordon merrily flipped off the lens and pranced on ahead as if he owned the place, greeting a passing off-duty scout with a lousy salute. John trailed behind, cradling his wounded hand to his chest as if he could protect it from any further harm.

GDF medical branch wore different uniforms to the military sector. It wasn't quite medical scrubs, but something similar, a full-sleeved, off-blue grey thing made of breathable fabric but reinforced with some sort of polyester which formed protective pads over vulnerable locations which were more likely to be exposed to possible bites, such as forearms and the neck and chest. It wasn't as integrated with tech as any of their old IR gear, but it held enough medical equipment to make it an impressive example of the GDF's past ingenuity. Virgil was already wearing uniform and so was able to wave them all through as his patients without anyone questioning the validity.

The corridor led them through a brightly coloured archway decorated with painted sunflowers. A glowing sign welcomed them to the paediatric ward. Several young children between the ages of three and six were milling around a foam playpen in a waiting area. A couple of nurses were monitoring them. One of them glanced up and smiled.

"Early start, isn't it, Vee? You're not on duty until half-past."

Virgil reached back to grab John's arm, pulling him into the light. "Hey, Jen. I've got to fix this idiot's hand. Have you met my brother? This is John. He claims to be a genius but then pulls stunts like this."

Jen repressed a laugh. "Hi, John. It's lovely to meet you. What happened to your hand?"

"He got into a fight with a bear," Gordon quipped. He made a face. "The bear won."

Jen planted a hand on her hip. "Uh huh." A hint of unimpressed southern drawl slipped into her voice. "A bear. Sure. It's Gordon, right? Which makes you Scott."

Oh, right. Manners were a thing.

Scott tried to find a convincing smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, for God's sake." Virgil shoved him towards the door. "Go. No flirting."

"I was being polite."

"You don't even know you're doing it, do you?" Virgil let out an exasperated growl as Gordon attempted to sidle over to the pretty blonde nurse blushing at Jen's side. "Get outta here, Gordo. Sorry about this lot. They don't know how to behave."

"I can behave," John sulked.

"Really?" Gordon sing-singed, making a grab for his brother's hand. John snatched it away, glowering at him in warning, but the point had been made. He tried to conceal his bloodied knuckles from view.

Jen arched a brow. "Right…" She dragged out the word, then turned back to Virgil. "Tommy's in at ten for a check-up – he had another attack last night - the inhaler did the trick, but we might want to look at taking another scan just to be sure there isn't an underlying issue. Kristen C and Fi need their casts removed, and Hattie's been complaining of chills and a fever all morning so if you could check on her that would be fantastic."

Virgil nodded. "I'll take a look. Thanks, Jen. See you later."

Gordon was bouncing off the walls again. He was tracing the edges of another sunflower which had been mostly painted over but had managed to seep through the GDF's censoring. John, leant against the doorframe, looked vaguely sick. Maybe he really had broken his hand. Virgil gestured to a door on the right with a heavy sigh, although the flash of sympathy across his face was hard to miss.

"Hey, uh, Vee?" Gordon tilted his head to examine the sign on the door. "This is a paediatric ward. Hate to break it to you, but Johnny's closer to thirty than thirteen."

"Hey," John protested, indignant.

Scott frowned. "Don't remind me. I feel old."

"You're not old, Scotty," Gordon piped up, and Scott just waited for the punchline. "You're ancient."

And yep, there it was. He didn't have the energy to elbow his brother – especially when Gordon was bounding all over the place like a freed Jack-in-the-box – but settled for glaring at him. Not that Gordon took too much notice, still sniggering at his terrible joke. In a way, Scott was relieved to be made fun of again – Gordon had been treating him a little like weakened glass for the past forty-eight hours: fragile and liable to break. Physical injuries were an old enemy, one which they all knew how to combat, but mental health was always tricker to navigate. This seemed like a step in the right direction.

"I'm capable of reading signs, Gordon," Virgil told him. "And I also happen to work here. I know where I am. But this is my room and given I'm the one treating you, Johnny…" He grinned. "Congrats, you get to be a little kid again."

"Yay," John deadpanned.

Virgil's first day had been spent across a variety of wards. He'd started out in General, then had been shifted across the others until his assessor had placed him in the paediatric section. It made a lot of sense – Virgil was one of the rare medics who had experience with treating kids, and he also happened to be freaking fantastic at dealing with them. That calm manner mixed with just enough jokes which he'd developed over years of rescuing put children at ease. They tended to trust him without too much hesitation, which, given the trauma nearly all these kids had been through, was a skill that was in much demand. So, he'd been allocated a room in the paediatric ward and immediately promoted to a higher clearance after his extensive experience made it clear that he was one of the most qualified people for the job.

The room had started out cold and clinical but in the short time he'd been in residence, Virgil had tried to cheer it up. Kids were welcomed by fantasy drawings, sci-fi scenes, landscapes, characters and creatures – all of which he'd sketched by TV light or in the dim glow of a hologram projector after lights out. Scott had fallen asleep to the skitter-scratch of a pencil against paper the night before his flight and it had been one of the only things which had actually eased his anxiety enough to let him rest. He wandered along the walls, admiring the delicate details and smooth lines.

Gordon examined a dragon. "This is so cool."

"Thanks." Virgil knocked the door shut with his heel. "Okay, John. Let's take a look."

Scott left Gordon immersed in the drawings. John hopped onto the bed like a kid, earning a fondly amused glance from Virgil, holding his hand under the light for inspection. He'd split the skin and the entire hand was flushed red, tiny traces of blood smeared across his knuckles, but it didn't appear to have swollen badly enough to suggest a break. Plus, John could still straighten his fingers and curl them back into a fist without too much trouble other than a slight wince, which was always a good sign.

"You're lucky," Virgil informed him. "It's just badly bruised." He slid across to his desk on a wheeled chair, rummaging through the medicinal cabinet. "I've probably got some cream that'll help reduce the inflammation. Maybe take a couple of painkillers."

"Can't," John replied, quietly, trying not to look at Scott. "That's uh… I've already taken today's cocktail. I don't fancy ODing." He took the tissue Virgil offered him and began cleaning the blood from his hand. "It's fine. I've got a high pain tolerance. It's just a bruise, like you said."

Virgil didn't look convinced but there was no way to argue with facts. He closed the cabinet and sat back in his chair, lost in thought. Gordon finally returned to the real world, reluctantly turning away from dragons and daring adventurers.

"We should probably keep our heads down for the next twenty-four hours," he remarked. "I mean, fights are nothing new. Small rations, rivalry, emotions running high – people get into it all the time, but just in case… We don't want anything getting back to Jenkins."

It was the wrong thing to say.

John curled his hand back into a fist. "Fuck Jenkins."

"Yeah, I know, but-"

"You saw what he caused."

Scott gave a dark laugh at that. "Aw, c'mon, John. Jenkins doesn't get full credit for just how fucked up I am."

"Hey." Virgil frowned at him. "Don't talk about yourself like that."

Gordon nodded solemnly. "Yuh-uh. No negative self-talk, or I'll… I'll fight you." He grinned, swinging an arm to gesture to John and Virgil. "Scott Tracy Protection Squad, let's go. I'm making it an official thing. You can't stop me. I'm gonna register with the International Organisations Committee and everything."

"Gordon," Scott began.

"No, no." John looked positively delighted but in that slightly evil way which normally suggested he was hatching a nefarious scheme. "Let him finish. I like this idea."

"I second that," Virgil agreed. "Alan will want to join too."

"Penelope would make actual posters," John mused. "And matching shirts."

"Please stop," Scott tried.

"Nope." Gordon smacked his hands with an evil cackle. "Never. Accept your fate, mi hermano. You are gonna get so much love and support and you're probably going to hate every second of it because you have the worst self-worth out of anyone I know, but suck it up, buttercup, because your Protection Squad is here to stay."

Scott stared at him. "How do you come up with this stuff?"

"Oh, this all my natural genius." Gordon tapped a temple and winked. "I know – I'm brilliant. Save your applause 'til the end."

All good humour evaporated in an instant. It took a moment for Scott's brain to catch up with his instincts, launching out of his seat to stand at Gordon's side by the door, only realising there had been a strange, almost animalistic noise once he was already on his feet.

"What the hell was that?" Gordon hissed.

John hushed him. "Shut up. Listen."

Some sort of choked scream – twisted beyond human recognition – swept along the corridor outside. It was chilling, nauseating, coaxing instinctive fear to the surface in the form of cold sweat and goosebumps, heartrates skipping a beat.

Gordon swallowed and took a step back until he knocked into Scott. "You don't think…?"

"No." Virgil shook his head. "There's no way. Not with the security in this place. How would someone turn?"

Gordon's eyes widened. "Fucking research labs."

"There are kids out there." Virgil yanked the door open before anyone could stop him. Gordon spat a filthy curse and raced after him, Scott hot on his heels, John catching them up in an instant.

Alarms, alerts, sirens – all shrieking, wailing so loudly that they nearly drowned out the howls. Airtight doors were beginning to seal. Metal barricades slammed shut. Red lights flashed too brightly to see properly, vision clouded with flickering spots. People were screaming. Scott skidded 'round a corner too fast and nearly smacked into the wall, greeted by smeared crimson. Fresh blood. His heartrate jumped into goddam orbit. Adrenaline and instinct took control. For the first time in days, the haze retreated, allowing him to focus in crystal clarity. He snatched Gordon's wrist and yanked his brother towards him.

Gordon twisted like a trapped cat. "Let go."

"We have no weapons. We need to get the hell outta here."

John shot past them, shouting something mostly inaudible. "Go! I'll get Virgil!"

Smoke filled the corridor ahead. The sharp snap of fuel stung airways. Footsteps – heavy-set, steel-capped boots – approached like a war drum. Scott wrapped an arm around Gordon and physically dragged his brother against his chest, pinning him there, tripping backwards to knock into the wall just in time for a horde of GDF agents in hazmat suits to career past. He couldn't see any traces of John or Virgil amid the smoke, but the sound of artillery fire was unmistakeable.

"Holy fucking shit," Gordon gasped out, which wasn't exactly helpful but was still better than Scott's current reaction as his mind decided to be an absolute bitch and project flashes of – twisted metal, heat, fire, flames, fire, tip-tapping fuel and blood and sand and – Gordon slammed him against the wall, tearful with guilt and fear, breath coming in shallow pants, voice twisted to a hiss. "Stay with me, dammit. You can't tap out now. Stay in the moment."

Scott twisted a hand in his hair until it stung and was it smoke making it hard to breathe or were his lungs just closing up? He could taste blood. Gordon's pupils were blown wide with panic.

"Stay with me," he repeated, like a prayer, and knocked their foreheads together so hard that it ached.

"F-fuck. I c-can't-"

Gordon's voice rose, tight with urgency. "Scott-"

No, no, no, no, no, no, nonononono-

"You're not there. Listen to my voice. You are not there."

Someone screamed.

Scott flinched so violently that he smashed his head into the wall. He sank to the floor and Gordon cursed, trying to catch him partway.

"No, no, no, Scott. Oh, God."

More sirens. The world was splitting in two. Gordon's hands were on his shoulders, squeezing, but Scott could barely feel it. What was real and what was a dream? Memories or a nightmare he'd never left? There was a barrage of gunfire all around, an impossible gunfight in full definition and they were trapped, because of course they were, there was nowhere to go, not in enemy territory, and- No. Because Gordon wasn't there, but he was here, so this was-

Real?

"Hey. Look at me." Gordon caught his gaze and held it. "I need you right now," he whispered. "I am terrified outta my goddam mind and I have no idea where John or Virgil are and I need you. You… you made that promise, right? To protect us? Then stay with me."

An indistinct shout broke through the sirens.

Scott bolted on instinct because he knew that voice. Gordon reached for him, but everything was chaos amid the smoke and the harsh stench of freshly spilled copper. There were so many screams. Children. Adults. Indistinct howls of something other. His heels slipped in wet blood. A sharp command over a radio bounced off the walls. Something about lighting up. He didn't know, didn't care- it didn't matter, not right now.

Virgil collided with him – and therefore also with Gordon who was hot on his heels – out of the smoke. They went down in a tangled heap. There was a startled yelp from the kid Virgil was holding protectively, a barrier from the hallway. Gordon scrambled around to serve as a shield should anything come hurtling outta the dark.

"Where's John?" Virgil was shouting – Scott had to lip-read, ears ringing from the sirens.

Gordon practically screamed at him. "He's supposed to be with you!"

"No, no, I- There's another kid, there's-"

Hellfire exploded in the corridor, rushing towards them, a torrent of raging flame. Virgil shielded the kid against the floor. Scott covered Virgil as best he could and yanked Gordon under his chest, bracing himself for the heat. He wasn't sure if he was shaking or if it was Gordon. Virgil had his eyes screwed shut. The kid was sobbing. There came the distinctive roar of fire, but the flames subsided mere metres away, as if the universe had decided to spare them at the last second.

"Oh my god," Gordon croaked, as if he'd forgotten how to breathe, shaky and uncertain. He ran a hand down his arms and over his face, expecting to feel burns but finding nothing and whirling on Scott to check him too. Scott pulled away, staggering to his feet, lurching forwards, heart in his throat, about to be sick because-

"That could have gone better," John announced, sorta faint, more of a gasp. He stumbled free from the ashes, stained with soot, and set down a trembling kid – roughly five, petrified, clinging onto his shirt with trembling fists – safe and sound. He flashed a breathless smile. "All present and accounted for- woah, hey- hey, hey, Scott, it's okay, I'm fine, see?"

Scott didn't let up on his frantic checks, but John didn't seem to be lying. Actually, he didn't seem to have a scratch on him, which didn't make sense because he'd been in the middle of that fire and even protected behind a door he still should have walked away with serious burns, hospitalisation at the very least and it didn't add up-

John caught his hands. "I'm okay," he repeated softly. "I promise. Come on, come here." He gave the kid a gentle push towards Virgil and stood back up to draw Scott into a fierce hug. "I'm sorry. I'm okay. You're okay too, right?"

"Sorta."

John held him at an arm's length. "Sorta?"

"Not hurt," Scott clarified. "It's- Jesus, John, you've got to stop doing this to me."

"To all of us," Virgil amended, having checked over the kids. He clapped a hand to John's shoulder, double-checking as if Scott hadn't already completed several frantic searches for injuries.

"I know." John sounded genuinely apologetic. "I was just… There was a kid." He closed his eyes for a moment. "There was a person in need of rescue," he murmured. "That's- I was doing my job. I've missed doing my job. But I shouldn't have put you through that. I'm sorry. I didn't know they were going to- I thought I had enough time to get out."

Gordon was still staring at him. "How the hell did you do that?"

"Sheltered behind the door." There was something else, something secret – Scott could read it in his brother's face and sure enough, John dragged Gordon close to whisper, "The parasite burns. Do you understand what I'm saying? I don't have a scratch on me, but the parasite burns. Fire weakens it. Here." He guided Virgil's hand to his wrist. "Check my pulse."

"That's…" Virgil blinked. "That's better than you've been in weeks."

"Exactly." John's smile could have rivalled the sun. "Fire's not a cure, I know that, but it may well be a way to buy myself some more time. And in more time… more research…"

"More chance of a cure," Gordon finished, whispering, as if speaking too loudly could shatter the spell. "John. Johnny." He lunged into a hug.

John caught him. "Guess you're stuck with me for a while longer."