I am babysitting for the next three days, so if I never upload again please know that I've either lost my sanity or have somehow been murdered by a twelve-year-old. Just kidding, I'll be here again next week, with more tissues for y'all, because trust me - you're gonna need them.


There were many theories about time. Hell, about reality itself. Perception was a strange thing. Five seconds could be an infinity in one person's brain and yet pass in an instant in another mind – but had both those people experienced the same amount of time? Yes. In other words, it didn't matter how long it felt like it had been since Scott had made his dash from his hiding place, because in reality the clock had ticked down three minutes which, given Alan was supposedly already hooked up to bio-monitors, left approximately six minutes remaining.

T-minus five minutes and forty-six seconds.

Adrenaline was one helluva drug. He felt as if he could keep sprinting forever – however long it took. But he didn't have forever. He had less than six minutes and he kept ending up in this same godforsaken crossroads between corridors B, H, E and F and he had no idea how to reach any other section of the facility and-

There was a collection of security guards approximately ten metres around the next bend who hadn't been there previously. He could see their reflections across glossy panels. They were armed with stun-guns and a variety of lethal weaponry, escorting several exhausted lab assistants. The safe bet would be to take another hallway and pray his luck would turn. Scott didn't have time for safety. He snatched his iD tag from his pocket and flung it up as he rounded the corner and ploughed through the crowd without stopping.

"Jenkins sent me!"

He didn't give them chance to react. Several shouted questions and exclamations trailed him down the corridor. He crashed through a set of heavy doors and stumbled before catching his balance, tearing down hallway after hallway until finally a glowing window in a door stuck out of the gloom – the only lab in use. He smashed a hand into the electronic lock, but that trick no longer worked. Not that it was going to stop him. His little brother was in danger on the other side of that door – he would have moved heaven and hell if that was what it took to reach him.

So he smashed his entire body weight into the door because he was an absolute genius like that.

It hurt. Pain radiated along his left side and coiled in his shoulder like venom. The door shuddered, hinges whining in protest. He gritted his teeth, steeled himself for further fire, and slammed against the door again. Another couple of kicks had it buckling sufficiently for a final body slam to send him crashing into the lab. He was met by several shocked scientists and a couple of GDF security agents who were too taken aback by his arrival to react.

The room was lit up by an array of technological medicinal mysteries. Monitoring equipment, holographic files, glaring spotlights – the full works. There were two crates at the back of the room set on lab tables – one held a lifeless cat and the other contained a scruffy dog, terrified out of its wits. Then, there, held within the cage in the airlock, was an infected, chained and gagged and tearing off great strips of its rotten skin in its desperation to reach the pathologist observing it from the other side of the glass.

But there, in the centre of the room, drenched in holograms and surrounded by more monitoring equipment than a NASA flight control centre, was a very shocked teenager wearing a face which was not his own and was only achievable thanks to his glowing green eyes. For a second, the façade shivered, threatening to collapse as Alan's concentration wavered, distracted by Scott's arrival. He blinked and the fragments in the holographic mask concealing his true identity vanished, but in that instant Scott glimpsed the kid's true expression. Alan was out of his depth and he knew it.

"You can't be in here," someone began, voice sorta high-pitched with the taint of fear and confusion, knowing that something wasn't right but unsure as to how to continue. The green glare of the displays reported that treatment was set to begin and if they didn't proceed shortly the experiment parameters would no longer be functional.

"Alan-"

"I thought his name was Gordon?" a lab technician whispered.

Alan closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. "I know."

Scott didn't have time to waste any precious seconds translating that cryptic statement. Alan opened his eyes and regarded him with that same sense of fearful sadness he'd displayed back in the farmhouse when faced with the woman's corpse.

"I know. About, uh, Four's plan. I've known since I got the contacts."

No one knew how to react. The GDF agents half-heartedly raised their tasers but didn't activate them. The scientists were monitoring equipment, another cautiously gesturing to the strange concoction within a syringe which was a toxic blue colour.

"We need to make a start," a technician began, with a muttered afterthought: "So, if you could save the family drama for later…"

"Alan, cut the crap and come with me."

Alan shook his head. "N-no. Sorry. You guys have spent your entire lives trying to protect me. I can't let any of you take this risk. I won't let Gordon do this, not when I can-"

"You can't." Gordon's shout was more of a strangled plea as he skidded through the door, earning several confused looks from the surrounding staff until Alan let the mask drop with an irritated growl. "It doesn't work like that, Al, it's not- It's me or no one. Just-" He held out a hand. "Please."

Alan hesitated. He glanced between the syringe and Gordon's outstretched hand and faltered.

"Please," Gordon repeated.

Several things happened at once. Sirens erupted in an explosion of noise so loud that the glass screen holding the infected actually trembled. Alan flinched and the syringe, knocked from its holder, went skidding across the tray where Gordon snatched it up. The immunologist by the airlock startled and smacked into the screen. The infected howled. The test-subject dog panicked, smashing into the bars, momentum carrying the entire enclosure over the edge, smashing against concrete flooring. The lock buckled and the terrified animal within fled from the tiny space, knocking several people flying. And an alert appeared on all the screens and over the loudspeakers – an emergency announcement, directly from Jenkins himself.

"It is with regret-"

Scott barely registered the actual words, too caught up in panic and the itching instinct to just grab Alan by the wrist and physically haul him out of harm's way, but the next sentence was as clear as a bell and he couldn't escape it even if he'd wanted to.

"-the evidence is undeniable: Scott Tracy is responsible for today's security breach. I cannot imagine the reasoning behind his actions, but on behalf of myself and everyone in this bunker… for the sake of all our safety, for the sake of protecting our future… Scott, if you're listening, turn yourself in. We can discuss this. I'm sure, as the ex-Commander of International Rescue, your actions were meant to help us in some way… But as a precautionary measure, it brings me great regret and sadness to announce an arrest warrant."

And so on. His ears were ringing. When he glanced sideways, he could see the horror stark on Gordon's face. The nearest GDF agent raised their gun and the safety clicked off, echoing in the sudden silence. Alan lurched out of his chair and into the space between Scott and that barrel, arms spread wide.

"Back the hell up, buddy."

"Step aside, kid. Don't make me do something I'll regret."

Gordon caught the gun and emptied the clip. "Point a weapon at any of my brothers again and I promise you'll regret it."

"Scott?" Another agent held up their hands, trying to keep their expression neutral. "Look, I get it. I'm sure this is all a big misunderstanding. We can get it sorted out. But for now, I'm gonna have to ask you to come with me."

Alan caught Scott's hand and held on fiercely. "He's not going anywhere alone."

"Kid," the agent continued, pitching their voice softer, which was the wrong way to go as Alan launched into the offended defensive.

"I am not your kid, motherfucker, now back the hell up."

Gordon shot him a proud smile. "What my brother said. Now, we're gonna scram, and if anyone has a problem with that then listen to my next words very carefully because I'm only going to say them once: kiss my ass."

Lights plunged into darkness at Alan's silent command. Gordon's heels skidded on broken glass as he caught them up, bolting into the corridor. Scott jolted into autopilot – react, run, repeat. A moving shape flitted anxiously back-and-forth at the crossroads between corridors. Alan dropped to his knees, opening his arms so that the frightened dog could bound into them, nosing at his chin and bathing his cheeks in licks, whining and whimpering.

"Easy, bud," Alan murmured, rising back to his full height and coaxing the dog to heel. "C'mon, we've gotta get outta here."

"Yeah, no shit." Gordon tossed a flashlight to Scott. "We can't stay here, and I mean this entire bunker as a whole. We've gotta leave, like yesterday. Alan, can you find Virgil and John with the contacts?"

Alan blinked twice. "Got 'em. Two corridors away. Next left. Up one flight of stairs."

"Scott, everyone's going to be on your trail."

"Yay," Scott deadpanned.

Gordon elbowed him. "Buck up, my man, you're officially an outlaw. Sounds kinda cool when I phrase it like that, like we're cowboys."

They tore left and then up the stairs. There was blood on the back of Gordon's shirt. Alan was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Scott himself was limping and he could already feel hot bruises blossoming along his ribs. Virgil met them halfway along the hallway, barrelling into them at a run.

"Are you okay? What happened? Where were you?" He caught Alan's face in his hands, seeking any sign of injury.

Alan shook him off. "No time. Gotta go."

John joined them. "We might be just a little bit screwed this time." He held his thumb and forefinger to demonstrate. "Just a little bit."

"Always an optimist, aren't ya, Johnny?" Scott gasped out, trying to catch his breath. Pain seared down his ribs and his legs threatened to buckle. Virgil's sudden arm around his shoulders kept him upright until the dizziness passed. When he tried to shoot his brother a grateful look, Virgil wouldn't meet his gaze.

"We've got to get to Two," Gordon was saying, trying to slip into action mode. He scrubbed a hand down his face, wincing at the screaming alert system. "I don't know how we- And then there's- Shit, shit, shit."

"I can get us there." Alan placed a hand on the dog's head, unable to look up and glimpse anyone's expression – or perhaps to hide his own feelings. "I can get us to Two. I'll hack into the bunker's layouts, get a map, get us to Two and crack any security measures we find on the way. Gordon and Scott can take care of any physical blockades."

Scott reckoned this was one of the worst plans he had ever heard in his life but equally he couldn't think of any better options. He placed a hand on Alan's shoulder and squeezed, trying to ignore the way his heart clenched when the kid flinched.

"Al-" he began.

"Don't." Alan looked up sharply. "I know I messed up. We can discuss that later. First we've got to get outta here."

"Houdini mode activated," John agreed faux-solemnly, earning a hysterical laugh from Gordon, who leant into Virgil's side, not even protesting when Virgil carded a hand through his hair, probing his scalp to check for any hints of a head injury or concussion – apparently taking down that final guard had been more of a physical fight than anyone had anticipated.

Alan jolted back to the real world, banishing that green glow with a firm blink and another ruffle of the dog's fur. "Alright." He bit his lip until blood welled and Scott swatted him in warning, earning a tearfully fond look. "Okay. Yeah. Right. I've got it. Let's go. Quickly. Like, the Flash speeds. Thunderbird One fast. Start walking…. Okay, scratch that, we're running, we've gotta… run, run, come on, dammit Virgil, move your ass!"


They had no plan. They had no supplies. What they did have, however, was the entire population of the bunker searching for them. The elevators were a no go, but the stairwells were too easy to become trapped in. Alan tapped into the camera feeds and guided them towards quieter areas. Each new section tripped new alarms, making it increasingly difficult to think. Emergency lighting drenched everything in crimson. Alan's eyes were glowing that alien green and he nearly tripped over his own feet, trying to balance running with navigating holographic displays. Gordon caught him and shoved him upright again.

"iD tags," Virgil realised in a rush as they came headfirst with a pair of doors which refused to open, no matter how many times Gordon attempted to key in the code. "They're reading our tags and our access rights just got revoked. We're basically sending up a flare right now. We've gotta ditch the tags."

John tore his own tag from his shirt, tossed it to the floor, and ground it under his heel with entirely too much glee. Tiny sparks skittered from the ruined metal, coiled wires smoking feebly. He kicked the debris aside and turned back to the keypad.

"Al, I can talk you through this one."

Alan narrowed his eyes, examining a display no one else could see. "No worries, I'm nearly there..."

He stared at the doors expectantly. Distantly, footsteps were pounding. Scott exchanged a look with Gordon and shifted into a fighting stance.

"Got it!"

The snap of electricity – tasers, Scott recognised – rounded the corner they'd come from. Alan returned his attention to the camera feeds and cringed.

"Oh, shit, time to go."

"Really?" Gordon quipped, slightly breathless. "You don't say?"

The dog bounded through the doors, hot on Alan's heels. Virgil reached over and snatched the iD tag from Scott's hand, sending it skidding along the floor towards the guards. Gordon shoved them both through the doorway and twisted to kick the doors shut behind them, body-slamming it before the nearest agent could wedge a shoulder in the gap. Scott threw himself at the doors to join Gordon's human barricade before the guards could break through.

"Now what?"

Gordon tossed up a hand. "I panicked! I don't have an actual plan!"

A metal pole held an access panel in the ceiling shut, designed for easy removal in the case of an emergency – presumably escaping an infected breach in the corridor below. Virgil pulled it free and slotted it through the handles of the doors, keeping them closed despite the best efforts of the guards on the other side.

"That's not going to last for long," he warned.

Gordon turned on his heels and bolted after Alan, John and the dog. "Doesn't need to, just for a few minutes so we can get to Two."

"Any clue where we are?" Scott tried to ask. The words were more of a gasp. He'd been flat-out running for nearly fifteen minutes and his body didn't take kindly to the poor treatment after the hell he'd been through in the past month. He stumbled, caught himself on Virgil's shoulder, and mostly skidded down the next set of stairs rather than actually sprinting.

Gordon shook his head. "No clue. Never been in this part of the bunker before. Better hope Alan's navigation skills have improved."

"Oh, goody," John muttered.

More sirens. Jenkins' announcement was playing on repeat and Scott had never been so sick of hearing his own name blasted over loudspeakers. He didn't know what the hell the man was trying to achieve by lying, but whatever the aim, it couldn't be good.

He'd lost all sense of direction. He couldn't tell whether the hangar was up or down from their location, let alone left or right. He was blindly following Alan and hoping the kid had the situation under control, although the way Alan was beginning to flag was not inspiring. The dog at the kid's side seemed to sense the growing despondency, barking, tail thrashing with urgency, nosing at Alan's hand as if to coax him onwards. Alan slowed to a jog, trying to breathe past a full-body cough, rough and tearful, curling a hand into a fist so that his nails bit his palms as he struggled to keep concentrating.

They were in a tiny corridor which seemed to run between two larger spaces, based on the way sound reverberated through the walls. Thundering steps rumbled above and below and side-to-side. Scott braced himself against the wall and tried to catch his breath. His ribs protested with a brand-new flare of fire.

The hallway led into a tiny briefing room which Scott recognised from his launch. There was only one more corridor between them and the main hangar where Two was hopefully still waiting for them. The problem? He recognised the uniformed figure waiting in the doorway, arms folded, expression grim, shoulders rigid with regret.

Alan faltered. At his side, the dog growled, the fur across its shoulders bristling. Gordon swept forwards, placing the duo firmly behind him. John caught Virgil's shoulder and held him back. Scott took a step closer until he was side-by-side with Gordon. Ahead, the military man offered a tired smile, gesturing to the flashing red lights.

"Seems like you pissed off some pretty important people."

"Hey, Mitchell," Scott greeted cautiously.

Mitchell slotted his gun back into its holster. "So, you chose family, huh?"

"I-" Scott couldn't look at Gordon, uncomfortably aware of his brother staring. "That's not-"

"Relax." Mitchell stepped aside. "I get it. I wish you luck out there, all of you. And hey, if you can find a way to save the world… well, I'd be real grateful."

Virgil edged closer. "You're letting us go?"

Mitchell held Scott's gaze for a long moment.

"Sure am," he agreed evenly. "I'm a man of my word, Scott. Admittedly, I didn't think you'd be leaving quite this soon, but honestly? It's a good thing. Get the hell outta here, man. I'll try to spread the truth once you're gone."

"Thank you." Scott offered a hand. "Really."

Mitchell yanked him into a firm hug. "Take care of yourself, Tracy." He pulled back, examining them for a lengthy minute before shaking his head fondly. "Jeezus. You guys have gotta go." He gestured to the corridor. "Dammit, go!"

Scott didn't wait to question him further. He pushed Alan into a sprint, taking the lead while Gordon fell back to bring up the rear, that dog bounding at their sides: apparently their new friendly local stowaway. The corridor wasn't long but the doors at the end were triple-locked. Alan dismantled the electronic locks with his contacts while Scott aimed a kick at the weaker point. Virgil ploughed past and physically slammed the doors, crashing through to land on his knees. Gordon hauled him upright, not stopping in his run.

At the far end of the hangar, Two waited for them, bright and gleaming, rising above the military crafts like a green angel, a harbinger of peace amid agents of chaos. Virgil let out an exalted shout, picking up the pace. To the right, several series of GDF agents, geared up for a fight, advanced from the opposite entrances. A wild gunshot rang out. Alan ducked instinctively. The dog snarled, darting after Virgil as if it could protect him from stray bullets.

There were fuel tanks situated at the back of the bunker, just to the left of Two's platform. Scott recognised the exact second the realisation dawned on Gordon too, as gunshots shattered the glass viewing screen and wall panels set around the tanks. Scott hurtled sideways so quickly that he nearly twisted his ankle and tackled Alan to the ground. Gordon threw himself at John just as fire exploded in front of them for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

The inferno rushed along the tanks, igniting them in sequence. Fire cascaded up to the ceiling. Metal screamed as intense heat rushed through vents and engine valves and sparked fresh flames inside other aircraft. Explosion after explosion rocked the entire hangar. A wall of fire seared across the space. Through the flames, Scott could spy the GDF agents, shocked to a standstill.

Alan struggled free, scrambling onto his knees, bathed in the amber glow, eyes wide so that red-hot embers reflected in his pupils. "Oh my god…"

Gordon threw himself to his feet. "Virgil! It's not safe! Two's got too much fuel in her tanks, she's gonna blow!"

John shoved him back a pace, hurtling into the inferno. "I'll get him! Fire doesn't affect me, remember? Stay here, find us a new ride!"

"John!" Gordon lurched forwards. Scott caught him around the waist, pulling him back before he could plunge into the flames too. Gordon lashed out, writhing like a terrified cat, fighting dirty with low blows, making weapons of elbows and knees.

Alan struggled to pick himself upright, trembling, eyes flaring as green as Two's hull – mostly lost within the fire – vanished within smoke. Thick, billowing clouds snapped and snarled with sparks. Scott could barely see five metres in any direction.

Gordon finally went limp in his hold, panting, spitting curses, tapping at Scott's forearm to signal it was okay to release him. "Alan. Here." He reached over to yank the mask down over his brother's face. "It's got an inbuilt filter. Smoke inhalation's a killer more-so than fire, remember?" He whirled on his heels, horror stark on his face as he glimpsed the flames encasing them in all directions. "Shit. Any ideas?"

"Uh…" Scott slapped the flashlight until the beam shone clearly. "Just one." He directed the flashlight over a familiar metal shape, one of the only vehicles within the inferno still intact: blue, Explorer, had once called a certain ranch its home.

Gordon followed his gaze. "I like the way you think. Alan, can you clear the way ahead? There are two platforms up to the main tunnel and then a set of double doors, a bit like an airlock – you're gonna need to activate and override all of them. Can you do it?"

Alan grimaced. "Not got much of a choice."

"Not really, no." Gordon slapped him on the back. "You've got this."

Alan didn't look convinced. If anything, he looked as if he was about to hurl. Scott hoped it was just the heat. It was intense – boiling the sweat from his skin in seconds, making every breath painful, smoke choking his lungs. He couldn't see Two anymore. He could barely make out the Explorer. He kept the flashlight in the same direction and followed the beam, grip almost painfully tight on Alan's arm for fear of losing him in the smoke, Gordon so close to his side that they were practically moving as one entity.

The car was still registered to Gordon's fingerprints since he'd taken it from the ranch. He held a hand to the door, murmuring sweet praises to the vehicle when the locks slid open. Alan barrelled into the backseat, Gordon plunged headfirst into the driver's seat. Scott didn't waste time arguing about that position, looping around the car to stand by shotgun. He couldn't glimpse Virgil or John – couldn't even hear them – but the secondary explosion which shook the world like a hurricane wrapped into an earthquake and a tornado all in one foul thunderclap was undeniable.

The shockwave smashed him against the car. Alarms shrieked. Pain rocketed up-and-down his spine. He could taste copper. He was fairly certain he'd smacked his head into the roof. A hand snagged his arm and pulled him inside the car, leaning across him to close the door before the radiating heat could fry the interior.

Alan's words were choked with horror, practically sick with it. He gripped the back of Scott's seat, leaning forwards. Scott could see him in the rear mirror – as pale as a ghost, freckles stark, soot smeared in his hair. His hand on the seat was trembling. "Was that Two?"

Gordon swallowed. He didn't reply, busying himself with coaxing the engine into life. The temperature gauge on the dash showed concerning levels. If they didn't go soon, they were going to end up deep-fried along with the car.

Scott pressed his hand to the window and immediately regretted it as heat blistered his palm. He yanked it into his lap with a startled yelp. The skin along his forearm was red and raw from proximity. He let out a pained hiss through gritted teeth and settled for searching the smoke with eyes alone.

A shape flitted between the flames. Alan opened the door a slither, allowing the dog to scramble inside, slamming it shut again instantly. The frightened animal cowered in the footwell, resting its head on Alan's knees, tiny whimpers matching the quivers running through its flanks. Alan buried his hands in its fur, hushing the dog with damp murmurs, caught between a cough and sob. It was impossible to tell whether his eyes were bloodshot from tears or the contacts.

"Scott," Gordon croaked, voice breaking before he could get the rest of the words out. He gestured mutely to the up-ticking digits on the temp gauge.

Scott shot him a desperate glance, almost pleading, just another minute, because he knew they were running out of time and he had a responsibility to get his youngest two brothers to safety but there was still a chance that Virgil and John had gotten out of Two before the explosion and he couldn't just leave them – couldn't lose them. They had to have made it out because there was no other alternative. Every atom of his very being itched to throw himself into the fire and search for them but the temperatures were too severe.

"C'mon," he murmured, barely voicing the word, mouthing it over and over like a prayer. Please. Please, please, please.

Gordon's grip on the steering wheel was slippery with sweat. He clawed a hand through his hair, framed against the fire so that flames betrayed the tremors running through his bones. He twisted in the seat to check on Alan and the dog.

"You okay?"

Alan shook his head wordlessly. He tipped over his knees to press his face to the dog's soft fur, planting a gentle hand on the animal's muzzle when it gave another low whine. His voice was muffled, strangled with the taut thread of countless emotions.

"We lost Two."

Gordon inhaled sharply. "Yeah, Al." He blinked back tears. "I think we did."

There was movement in the smoke. Scott bolted upright, barely daring to believe his own eyes, unable to trust his senses until he had all of his brothers right there in the car, physically within reach, but yes, there they were. He flung open the door and bolted across the short expanse, snatching the bag from Virgil's arms so that he could properly inspect him for injury, ghosting a hand over John's biceps too until his brother batted him away and gave him a firm shove back towards the car.

John tumbled into the shotgun seat, forcing Scott to fall into the back alongside Virgil and Alan. Gordon didn't even wait until they had finished closing the door before slamming on the accelerator, swerving raging flames and falling debris. The wheels squealed as he braked heavily, skidding into place on an empty platform. Virgil nearly smashed his head against the window, catching himself at the last minute. Scott wrapped an arm around the dog before it could be catapulted against the door and accidentally hurt itself.

Gordon spat out another filthy curse as a nearby fighter exploded, sending flaming rubble into the rafters where it fell as molten rain. "Alan, anytime today would be nice."

The platform began to rise with a severe jolt. Alan curled in on himself, breathing heavily, biting his knuckles to muffle a pained whine. John twisted sharply, reaching back between the seats to catch Alan's shoulders.

"Hey, hey, Alan? Look at me."

Alan shook his head but didn't look up. He dug his nails into his knees, shaking violently. "I can do this. Just another few minutes."

John stared at him with unmistakeable horror. "Alan, you're going to-"

"We don't have a choice!" Alan took a deep breath. "We don't have a choice," he repeated, more calmly, as if they couldn't all hear the pain twisting his words in knots. "It's fine. I'm fine. Just- Virg, you okay?"

Gordon turned to glimpse his brother. "Virgil?" he prompted, almost agonisingly gentle. "Did- Are you-"

Virgil twisted to face the window, observing the dying sparks drifting on the wings of smoke, fading as they rose above it towards the open hatch in the ceiling.

"Two's gone," he choked out, screwing a hand into a fist and pressing it to his mouth. Tear tracks carved ribbons through the smoke stains on his face. Scott lifted an arm and Virgil folded against his side. "She's g-gone."

Gordon looked as if he'd been hit. There was no disguising the devastation on his face. He reached back briefly to catch Virgil's hand.

"I'm sorry."

Then he turned back to face the front without another word and, despite instinct telling Scott to ask further questions, he followed Gordon's lead on this one, because Gordon was the only one of them who knew what it was like to lose a Thunderbird, and Two was nearly as special to him as she was to Virgil, so out of everyone, he got it.

They emerged into a different tunnel to the one they had entered by. This one led to another platform which had a shorter ascent time, dropping them in a long, dark tunnel with no lights – extinguished while the bunker remained in emergency shutdown. Gordon eased them into higher speeds but still didn't reach his usual death-defying levels. Alan crumpled against the door, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling as they approached the final hurdle.

Gordon was oddly hushed as he spoke. "Double doors, Al. They should unlock as a single set, so only one bypass this time."

Alan didn't answer. He drew his feet onto the edge of his seat and braced himself against his knees. Gordon drummed a hand against the steering wheel, obviously itching to turn and see for himself what was going on but having to trust that Alan was working on it. The dog wriggled free of Scott's arms, whining, eyes wide and worried as it nosed at Alan's hands.

John went to speak but cut himself off. Scott tried to catch his eye. The doors remained obstinately shut, although Alan partly collapsed against the side of the car, slamming a slippery hand against the hot window to keep himself upright and seemingly not noticing the blisters forming across his palm from the contact. Scott reached over and dragged his brother's hand away. Alan didn't register the motion, eyes screwed shut, breathing ragged.

Then, finally, mercifully, just as Gordon seemed about ready to try ramming the doors, they parted to reveal the final section of the tunnel leading out to the open air. Bright light seared from the exit. Gordon slammed his foot on the accelerator so sharply that the engine growled in protest and rocketed them forwards with a jolt. Gordon didn't slow, not even once they broke free of concrete and shot across icy fields, skidding onto the rugged track which led to the main road.

Scott had forgotten just how terrifying it was being a passenger when Gordon was driving. His attention was almost immediately yanked away from this fear as Alan doubled over coughing. It seemed different this time, rawer than usual, scraping, and he couldn't catch his breath, scrabbling at the seat to try to keep himself upright.

"Shit, shit, shit." John half-crawled between the front seats to grab Alan's chin, tilting the kid's head back to examine his face. Alan made a protesting whine, the sound all caught up in a choking cough, and Scott felt ice course through his veins because Alan's pupils were blown wide as if he had a concussion, unfocussed and glassy, and there was blood smeared across his chin, dripping steadily from his nose. Scott lurched across the tiny space between them, cupping the back of Alan's head before he could smash against the window in his desperate struggle to catch his breath.

"Holy fuck, Alan! What's happening?" Gordon finally glimpsed the sight in the rear mirror and nearly sent them all careering off the road. He tore at the wheel, drawing them back on the main track, voice rising in panic. "Alan? What's wrong with him? John, what's happening? Is it the contacts?"

"Neurological link," John ground out, cupping Alan's face in his hands and trying to examine the reactivity of his brother's pupils, which was fairly hard to achieve when leaning between seats. He detached his seatbelt and scrambled fully into the backseat, squashed in the footwell. "It takes two weeks to adjust. Alan's had under one week." His voice softened, wiping blood from Alan's chin with his sleeve. "I told you that you were pushing yourself too far, you absolute idiot."

Virgil launched into medic mode, voice still wobbly with the devastation of losing Two. "Alan?" He leant over Scott to reach the kid. "Can you hear me?"

Alan finally managed to control the coughing fit.

"Kinda," he slurred, flapping a hand vaguely. He slumped against the seat, completely limp, and Scott was able to pull him into his arms without any effort at all. Alan tipped his head back against Scott's shoulder, squinting at the window. "We made it?"

Gordon exhaled slowly. "Yeah, Allie," he whispered. "We made it."

Alan sniffled. There was still blood trickling from his nose, dripping from his chin down his chest, coating his mouth and he tried not to gag. John pressed a thumb to the kid's throat, counting his pulse and murmuring to Virgil, who looked sick.

Scott tightened his hold, tucking Alan's head beneath his chin.

"We made it," he confirmed, ignoring the stench of smoke and blood – his little brother's blood, oh God - smeared across his hands, observing the dazed smile dawning on Alan's face. "You did it, Alan." He pressed a kiss to tangled blond hair, fighting back tears. "You did it," he repeated softly.

"Huh." Alan observed the icy sky – a lying blue holding waves of radiation which looked as beautiful and healthy as a clean ocean: calm, reassuring, beckoning them into the light – and made a small sound of wonder. "S'good."

The dog scrambled into Scott's lap to flop over Alan, resting its head on his chest as if listening to his heartbeat. Alan struggled to drop a hand on the dog's back, the fur impossibly soft under scorched fingertips. He closed his eyes again, voice a hoarse whisper. "Good dog."

Gordon didn't dare take his eyes off the road but met Virgil's gaze in the rear mirror. Virgil shook his head, clasping a hand to his mouth to stifle a sob. John scrambled back through the seats and tumbled into shotgun, nearly knocking his head on the window. All around, the ice was melting, hissing like dying snakes from the heat radiating off the car, still cooling from the explosions in the hangar. It was a miracle they hadn't lost any of the tyres.

Scott carded a hand through Alan's hair, easing curls away from his forehead. Alan made a sleepy murmur, questioning, and Scott hushed him with another kiss to the crown of his head. The dog wagged its tail, content to stay as close to Alan as possible.

"What do I do?" Gordon asked tentatively.

John braced himself against the dash with a weary sigh.

"Just drive," he replied at last. "For now… just drive."