Hey, here's a posting schedule for any of you who haven't seen my Tumblr: there's going to be an early upload on the 14th, then nothing until the 2nd September. I'm not dropping off the face of the Earth although I may as well be given I'm volunteering in the depths of Costa Rica with no internet connection - which sounds awesome and I am very excited but also oh my god, no WiFi ahh! Anyway, here, have some angsty conversations between bros while I take a moment to recover from babysitting last weekend... god dang, that kid was a menace!


Cloud cover was so thick that it seemed as if the sun had set long before night actually fell – although when it did, darkness descended far quicker than anticipated, consuming everything in its path so that all that existed was their tiny bubble of warmth and light within the car. The thick haze of dust and ash cloaked the landscape in sickly radiation that even fog lights struggled to pierce.

Thankfully, the track led onto a highway after a few miles which remained mostly straight and narrow without too many obstacles. There was the odd abandoned car, traces of past crashes long-since burned out, the rotting remains of animal carcasses – victims of the radiation storms – but Gordon skirted around all of them without even slowing down, let alone stopping. The road surface wasn't great – with several patches of cracked tarmac to rival moon craters – but after a while they emerged onto flatter ground which had suffered less damage. No one spoke. Gordon slowed slightly when they crossed a fallen state sign, but continued, speeding into the night to put as much distance between themselves and the bunker as possible.

In the silence, every sound seemed jarring: the crunch of tyres against hard-packed ashfall, the soft whirr of the heater, the faint howling of the wind outside which could easily have been mistaken for something more sinister. The night seemed to be its own monster – a living, conscious being which slunk ever closer, probing at the headlamps and glow from the windows to see if it could reach within. Something about the darkness felt threatening – a sense of being watched which would normally result in curtains being drawn to shut out the menace.

It was cold, too. Condensation fogged the windows. In the front, John had tipped his seat back slightly, feet propped on the dash. He toed the vent open to blast hot air over his socks, boots having been discarded several miles back. In the back, Scott wasn't feeling the chill as he had Virgil asleep against his side like a human furnace along with half of the blanket which Alan had found underneath the driver's seat shortly before he'd fallen asleep too. The dog was curled up between them, its chin resting on Alan's knees, reluctant to be parted from him for even a second.

Driving was reassuring in the same way that running from danger always was. There was no need to think about the destination, only to focus on the road ahead and keep steady pressure on the gas. But it couldn't last forever. Sooner or later, they were going to have to pull over and discuss a proper plan – probably in the next hour based off the increasing frequency of Gordon's yawns.

It was too dark to make out many details of the exterior world, but, as the headlamps swept across the passing landscape, there were traces of the infected everywhere, although there was little evidence of the creatures themselves. They must have fled northwards already, escaping the radioactive ash cloud steadily consuming the states. Swathes of blackened blood and decomposing entrails smeared the roadside. Only a few infected were caught within the light – trapped inside crashed cars – and they smashed their heads into the glass over-and-over until their skulls shattered and their remains returned to darkness as the red glow of taillights faded to leave them once again in obscurity.

"You know what's weird?" John noted, hushed so as not wake anyone. He reached across to swat Gordon's shoulder. "Are you listening to me?"

"What? I'm awake, I'm awake."

John raised a brow. "Reassuring." He tipped back in his chair, stifling a yawn of his own. "Want me to take over?"

"What, driving?"

"No, flying. Obviously driving."

Gordon side-eyed him dubiously. "Johnny, you've driven like three times in your entire life and one of those was your test."

"Then we should pull over. You're going to fall asleep at the wheel."

"I am fine."

"Uh huh. Real convincing."

"Fight me."

"I'm good, thanks."

"Coward," Gordon sing-songed.

John heaved a sigh but didn't rise to the taunt.

"There are no animals," he continued, shifting back onto his previous topic of conversation. "That's what I was going to say. Have you seen any sign of… well, anything, ever since-"

"-the dead rose up and started eating everybody?"

"They're not dead, Gordon. They're infected. There are no resurrected corpses."

"Semantics, jeez. You have a point though."

"I'd say they were fleeing the radiation, but the disappearance predates the strikes." John peered out of the window as if he could possibly see anything other than shadows. In the edges of the headlamps, dead tree canopies looked like bones, skeletal arms creeping across the sky. He frowned, lost in thought. "So, where are they all?"

"There are still birds," Gordon remarked after a moment.

"Not many. Only carrion."

Which- Huh. John had a good point. Throughout the entirety of their time spent planet-side, Scott couldn't recall seeing anything other than the occasional stray cat or a collection of crows. There were bodies everywhere but no living animals. He eased the dog's head off his knees and leant between the front seats to join the conversation.

Gordon startled, lurching the wheel and recovering quickly enough to avoid guiding them into the nearest tree. "Jeezus. I thought you were asleep."

"Sorry to disappoint."

John gestured to Gordon. "Can you tell this idiot to pull over before he crashes the car?"

Scott summoned holograms from the GPS but the system was still offline. He squinted at the passing trees in the hopes of spying any well-known landmarks but all that existed beyond the windows were more desolate fields of ash. Amid the gloom, a decrepit tractor lay on its side, another infected trapped within, and, as they sped past, its mournful howl followed them into the night.

John discovered a map in the glove compartment. The edges crinkled in hot air from the vents as he spread it across the dash, attempting to flatten the creases.

"We were roughly… there, right? The bunker?"

Gordon glanced over. "Something like that." He blinked back exhausted tears. "Ow. Anyone got any eye drops?"

John sent him an exasperated glare. "For the last time – pull over."

Scott caught Gordon's gaze in the rear mirror. "Pull over, Gords."

"We have no idea where we are."

"And stopping for a few hours won't change that." Scott peered over John's shoulder and his brother angled the map so he could get a better look. "It might be easier to navigate in the light."

"Radioactive ash on our tail. We're not far enough ahead of that storm yet." Gordon tightened his grip on the wheel, tensing in that particular way which was always indicative of his stubborn streak rising to the surface. If they kept pushing, Gordon was going to dig his heels in.

So. Time for a change of tactic.

"Switch places with me," Scott suggested.

Gordon hesitated but didn't flat out refuse which was progress. They ticked off a few more miles in contemplative silence – Scott waiting for Gordon to accept the offer and John tracing different routes which they could have taken from the bunker, placing their possible location at two sets of coordinates which were nowhere near one another.

There was a slight rustle from the backseat, then the dog scrambled into Scott's lap, nosing around the seats to examine the singed edges of John's shirt. John discarded the map on the dash – as close to admitting defeat as he'd ever get – and flopped back, patting the dog's head absently until the realisation dawned on him.

"We brought the dog with us?"

"Alan brought the dog with us," Scott corrected, as if he wouldn't have snatched up the animal too if given half the chance. That same dread which had infected the car as they'd left the bunker returned with a vengeance. He sat back in his seat to check on Alan, heartrate quickening with memories forever seared into his mind. Alan was still out for the count, sleeping peacefully rather than actually unconscious, but he hadn't regained enough colour for Scott to be confident that the kid was on the mend. The dried traces of blood weren't helping, either.

The car lurched.

"For fuck's sake," John growled.

"Sorry, sorry." Gordon forced himself to relax his grip on the wheel, flexing one hand followed by the other so that his knuckles cracked. "Is he…? How is he?"

"Alan or Virgil?" Scott muttered.

Gordon winced. "Both?"

"Eyes on the road," John warned him.

Gordon flipped him off. "Yeah, yeah, I've got it. Quit being such a control freak."

Gordon tried to spy the state of the backseat passengers in the windscreen reflections. The car jolted nervously. John let out another sigh. The dog retreated into the footwell with a quiet whimper, tilting its head as if in question. Scott tousled the longish fur around the dog's ears, something fond and warm igniting in his chest as its tail gave a couple of hesitant wags. Still mostly asleep, Alan stretched out an arm until he found soft fur under his hand and relaxed again, petting the dog in a half-conscious daze.

"Hey," John whispered, twisting to prop his chin on the back of his seat to examine Alan. "You awake?"

Alan palmed his eyes with a wide yawn. "Sorta." He blinked, finally registering their surroundings. "Huh." He swiped a hand through the condensation on the window and observed passing tree skeletons with an unreadable expression. "I forgot for a while."

Gordon faltered, speaking in a rush. "Forgot what?"

"This. That we're all… y'know?" Alan tangled his fingers in black and white fur, earning another tail thump.

John exchanged a look with Scott.

"We're all…?" John prompted quietly, unwilling to risk waking Virgil. Personally, Scott suspected Virgil had already been awake for the past ten minutes but the fact that he hadn't joined their conversation was proof that he needed as much silent grieving time to himself as it was possible to find in a packed car of five plus a dog.

Alan patted the small space between himself and Scott. The dog had clearly been a family pet pre-Z-Day as it was well trained and leapt onto the seat without hesitation, crawling into Alan's arms to snuggle under his chin. Distantly, another infected wailed. Gordon shivered. John twisted the vent so that hot air was redirected towards his brother.

"At some point we're gonna run out of fuel," Alan said at last, in a very small voice. He stared out at the darkness, eyes reflected back at him, transformed by the dust and fogged glass so that they no longer seemed like his own. "And even if the car seals hold that long against the ash, it doesn't prevent the- Radiation's a killer. That's- yeah."

They'd all been thinking it, but Scott hadn't expected Alan of all people to be the one to point it out. If anything, he'd been expecting it to be John. Possibly even Gordon. He cleared his throat, trying to put an end to the sombre mood before it could drag them into dangerous depths.

"Looks like you finally got that dog you've always wanted."

Alan cracked a tired smile. "Uh huh. Sorry for not asking first. Figured you wouldn't mind."

Scott patted the dog's back. "What are you gonna name her?"

"Finch."

Gordon burst out laughing. "Finch? What the heck, dude? Is that even a girl's name?"

"It's a neutral name," Alan shot back. "And I have my reasons, so get lost."

"Dang, okay, chill, I'm sorry." Gordon was quiet for a moment. "It's cool name," he ventured, like an olive branch, offering a tiny smile via the reflection in the windscreen. "Kinda suits her, now that I think about it."

Finch wagged her tail as if in approval. Alan planted a kiss on the top of her head. "You're the best girl, aren't you? Yes, you are." He waved a hand in John's general direction without looking up from the dog. "Quit staring at me."

"Yeah, Johnny," Gordon sing-songed. "Stop being such a stalker."

"Gordon," John announced with a deadly smile, "shut the hell up."

He shifted his attention back to Alan, seemingly running through a mental checklist. He knew the effects and possible repercussions of overusing the contacts better than anyone and based off his returning grim expression, there was more to be worried about now than radiation and infected alone. Scott wanted to pull him aside and have that discussion – what the hell is actually happening to our brother and how can we help/fix the problem? – but it wasn't the sort of conversation either of them were prepared to have in front of Alan which was difficult given they were trapped in the same car.

Alan pulled the blanket tightly around his shoulders, tugging it higher over his head so that it flopped over his face like a cloak, allowing him to hide within the shadows, expression unreadable in the dark. He shifted to sit against the door, knees drawn close to his chest so that he could wrap his arms around them. Intentional or subconscious, he had made himself as small as possible, and that hurt, but somehow it still wasn't as painful as that raw cough which wracked his frame.

Scott couldn't help himself. "Is that another side effect or…?"

"Nothing to do with the contacts," Alan answered before John could cut in. He yawned, tipping his head back to knock against the window, trying to glimpse any hint of moonlight through the thick cloud cover and coming up empty handed. Finch snuggled against his side with a faint whine as he struggled to stifle another cough.

Gordon eased off the accelerator, seeking the roadside for a suitable stopping point. He hadn't dared to slow down for hours, not even when swerving debris or the husks of abandoned cars which had scattered the freeway several miles back, but now he was prepared to stop completely, proof of just how worried he was. Which, in a way, only served to heighten Scott's own anxiety because Gordon didn't stress for no reason – evidently they were in agreement that this wasn't just an ordinary cough.

"How's the headache?" John asked. After a moment of silence, he reached between the seats to swat Alan's ankles. "Hey. You still with us?"

Alan blinked owlishly. "Sorry, yeah. Just zoned out for a bit. Uh…" He tried to smile and fell several degrees short of convincing. "Not feeling too bad. I've definitely had concussions that hurt more than this. It's not migraine territory either, so, you know, could be worse."

"Don't jinx it," Gordon warned.

Alan aimed a light kick at the back of his brother's seat. Gordon hid a smile, gliding the car onto the scruffy grass at the roadside – in the open, so that nothing could sneak up on them, and away from any noticeable infected hotspots such as the crashed convey they'd come across earlier which had held several creatures within the tangled metal – and cut the engine. The sudden silence was deafening. Heavy. Hard to breathe, as if they were lost in a void.

It was so dark that Scott couldn't see his hand in front of his face. Finch's tail swished across his knees and he inhaled sharply, reminding himself to take a breath. In the front seats, paper rustled, followed by the screech of a chair reclining, then a hand slipped into his own.

"Everyone okay?"

John suddenly sounded a lot closer, but too far to his left to be the culprit. Scott willed his eyes to adjust quicker. There was a faint crack and then a glowstick illuminated the car in an eerie green. Virgil didn't say anything, just offered it to John, who took it with a sort of revered expression, as if it were more than just a mere glowstick. Perhaps it was. Maybe it was a way of passing on the baton. Virgil had held the family together up until this point but now he needed time to grieve, because Two… Two was gone. In the space of twenty-four hours, fire had gifted them a second chance at saving their family but then destroyed their Thunderbird and Two's loss felt wrong, as if there was a gaping hole in the fabric of their reality.

Gordon crouched in the footwell, partly squashed between the front seats, clinging to Scott's hand. There wasn't enough room for him to squeeze into the backseat too, but he was as close as he could possibly get. He held out his other hand for Finch to sniff, ruffling her fur.

Time seemed to stretch into infinity and yet passed impossibly fast all at once. Now that their only light source was the glowstick, they could see the strange aura of the clouds – amber mixed with fiery red and a taint of sickly gold. Distantly, lightning strikes snared the horizon in snatches of bright white which left inhuman shapes stained into Scott's retinas. He blinked them away, only noticing Alan watching him when his youngest brother suddenly shuffled sideways to curl against his side.

Virgil slowly unwound from his blanket and braced his hands against his knees, breathing unsteady. Whether he was genuinely nauseous or if it was simply a trick of the light remained unclear. There was soot smeared across his knuckles and angry skin where blisters were forming. Gordon reached under the seat, fumbled for a second, then retrieved an unopened bottle of water. He wrung the cap and offered it up. Virgil hesitated, then finally accepted it.

"Small sips," Gordon murmured.

Virgil didn't acknowledge him but listened. He held the bottle out in question, but Gordon nudged it back at him.

"Finish it. I've got more for the rest of us."

The car rocked slightly as a gust of wind coursed across open fields. Dust billowed like ghosts outside the window. Alan shivered, even underneath the blanket and Scott's arm and Finch's warm bulk. Once upon a time, telling horror stories had been a fun pastime. Nowadays, the world seemed truly haunted.

Gordon slumped back against the driver's seat. "What do we-" His voice broke. He dragged a hand down his face, breathed in deeply, then tried again. "What do we do now?"

The silence turned his whisper to a shout. John reached down to grip Gordon's shoulder, anchoring him, possibly even grounding himself. Virgil was still lost in thought, in fire and smoke and the loss of everything which had represented hope, the memory of his last remaining dream going up in flames around him. Alan was a coiled spring ready to snap – Scott could feel just how tense he was and part of him wished Alan would just explode already – it was easier rebuilding from foundations than it was to repair something destined to fall.

No one knew what to say.

"At what point do we call it?" Virgil whispered at last, voice cracked from smoke and tears which he'd kept so carefully hidden that they'd somehow mistaken sobs for sleep.

Scott tightened his grip around Alan's shoulders and prayed no one would answer, hoped Gordon or Alan wouldn't ask for clarification, because- well. He felt Alan's sharp inhale, watched the way his kid tapped uncertain patterns against Finch's side and then, in a strangled voice, finally echoed Virgil's thoughts.

"It's the end of the line. Right? Like, that's what you're saying?"

"Alan," Gordon tried, but it was more of a tearful gasp. "Al. Don't."

"What?" Alan shrugged, head bowed, as if Scott didn't know him well enough, hadn't raised him all these years to not know when he was crying. "Radiation. The infected. There's nowhere to go."

"Yeah," John interjected. "There is."

"Where?"

"Home," Gordon finished for him. "If we're… we might as well spend that time there."

"We wouldn't make it that far." Virgil watched the glowstick start to fade. "Not all of us."

Gordon caught the final comment before Scott had even finished comprehending the first part. "What does that mean? Not all of us."

"I grabbed as much as I could from Two before… We have two suits."

"They're not generic fits, Vee, which suits?"

Whose suits?

"Alan's and John's."

There was another long pause. Finch let out a low whine as if sensing the tension, like the still air before a lightning strike – waiting to shatter. Strange shapes formed within the gloom. The cramped car seemed smaller than ever, as if there was scarcely room to even breathe. Ash left patterns over the windows, trying to bury them before death had even finished leaving its calling card.

"Fuck this," Gordon muttered, jolting backwards so violently that he nearly smacked his head against the side of the seat. "We're not giving up, not like this, not after everything."

"No one's giving up." Virgil didn't sound particularly convinced. "We're just…" He sought the right phrasing. "There comes a point where you've got to admit to yourself that you can't win every battle. That's not giving up. That's acceptance."

"That's such crap, Virgil, are you kidding me right now? Acceptance? That's just a nicer way of saying giving up. You know that."

The glowstick flickered.

Virgil tipped forwards, curling hands into fists within the shadows of the footwell. The glowstick faded a fraction further. Gordon scrambled closer, reaching out to catch Virgil's wrists, soot from their shoes coating his hands so that the final remains of flame and lost green smeared the seats too. Try running and the past will chase you.

"So, what? You want to just sit here and wait to die?"

"I never said that."

"You kinda did."

"Gordon," Scott tried, only to be ignored.

John didn't even attempt to intervene. He was observing Virgil and Gordon with that unreadable expression again, like there was a deeper meaning to the conversation which was fast falling into an unpreventable argument, as if they should just let it play out and deal with the aftermath instead. Alan was just staring at that glowstick, not really hearing much of anything, lost to another torrent of thoughts, hands anchored in Finch's fur.

"Shut up," Virgil said after a moment, in a forcibly calm voice.

"We still have a chance. We've got leads we can follow. People we can try to find. But you want to sit on your ass and… what? Just wait for the next strike? Or for that radiation storm to reach us?"

"I said shut the hell up."

"We've got nothing left to lose! We might as well give it a shot."

"Every goddam time someone says we have nothing left to lose, somehow we lose more. Hey, tell me something? What happened to Four?"

"That's got nothing to do with this."

"Hasn't it? You, keeping secrets, didn't contribute to this moment in any way? Give me a break."

"This isn't my fault."

"I'm not saying it is."

"Aren't you?"

And then, all of a sudden, the anger was gone. The storm struck. Lighting shattered the tension, splitting those unspoken emotions apart so that all the ugly truth bled out into the car where they had no option but to address it or risk drowning because secrets had the power to destroy everything.

"Aren't you?" Gordon repeated, softly, uncertain. He released Virgil's wrists and sank back, slumping in the footwell to lean heavily against John's seat. The glowstick cast a feeble light now, no longer strong enough to fight against the dark. "Isn't that exactly what you're saying? Or maybe… I don't know, maybe you won't even admit it to yourself, but there's a part of you that does blame me for this, right? Not all of it, obviously, but everything that happened in that bunker? That's on me. And so… I guess that means that everything that happens now is also on me."

Virgil didn't reply.

"We lost Two because of me."

"We lost Two because the GDF have been corrupted beyond belief," Scott corrected, because no matter how determined John was to let this conversation play out undisturbed, there was only so long he could spend listening to his little brother blame himself without stepping in. "That's not on you."

The glowstick faded into a slow death. The final glimmers of green were lost within the silence between them. Scott caught himself holding his breath. Gordon didn't say another word.

"Two was the last link I had to our old lives." Virgil hesitated. "It's… uh… losing Two… That would have hurt even before all of this, in ordinary times, but now it feels like… Like this is all there is. Pain. And suffering. And I'm not… I don't know what the point is- I don't know why we're trying so hard still… if this is all that's left. So I'm… I'm not in a good place. But that's not on you, on any of you. I don't blame you, Gordon. I would never blame you for this."

"Even though I left you behind?"

"You came back. You found us again."

Gordon's smile was audible in his voice. "Damn straight, brother. You've got me and I've got you. And I guess that answers your question, doesn't it? About why we're trying still? We fight for each other because we all deserve better and the world's not gonna fix itself."

"That's not our responsibility," John commented.

"No, it's not," Scott agreed. "But think about the reason we joined IR in the first place."

"Because we care," Virgil murmured.

Alan's whisper was shaky. "Because people need hope."

"Because you're all idiots who don't know how to walk away when someone's in danger." John reached for a new glowstick. The green light seemed soft and peaceful and changed the cramped space from what felt like a tomb into a safe bubble, a temporary home, sort of hopeful – like a Thunderbird. John dropped the faint teasing tone, replaced by a solemn seriousness, steady and reassuring and commanding attention without needing to be the loudest because he was the voice of International Rescue and even at the end of all things they were still, deep down, trying to help.

"Really, though. We've never been able to walk away. If someone needs help, we try our best to be there. And right now, the entire world needs help. Yes, we've all changed. We've had to. We got thrown into an impossible situation. We've had to do what's necessary in order to survive and find one another again. Some of us are going to have to find ways to forgive ourselves for unforgiveable things. But that part of us… the reason we used to get in those Thunderbirds every day… that's something that'll never change. Not even the apocalypse can destroy that part of us and that's the reason why, no matter how bad things get, we're going to keep trying. No matter how exhausted we are, how impossible it all seems, I know that as soon as that sun rises tomorrow, we're going to get up and we're going to keep fighting, because that's who we are."

John's job could once have been considered the most difficult of all their individual IR roles. He didn't just have to answer the distress calls and coordinate the response, he had to manage the human factors too. He got to be the voice of hope, which was always a rewarding experience, but it also meant he had to convince people to keep fighting when they were certain there was no hope left for them. He didn't give up on them and so, eventually, they didn't give up on themselves either. Then rescue would finally arrive to prove John right – another rewarding experience, given he absolutely loved being proved right.

Gordon pressed a fist to his mouth. He was practically shaking with the effort not to laugh. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry." He struggled to fight back more laughter, smile brighter than the glowstick. "I've gotta ask – how long have you been planning that lil speech, Johnny?"

John gave a nonchalant shrug. "Eh. Couple of hours. Give or take." He grinned. "I'm joking. That was entirely improv."

"Not too shabby," Scott remarked, trying not to smile but giving up on that battle almost immediately – which didn't matter because that was the one fight he was willing to lose. He caught John's gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "Nice one, Jay."

Alan shuffled forwards to take the glowstick from John. For a moment, he said nothing, just staring at the light until he had to blink.

"I'm scared," he confessed in a tiny whisper. "Not of- well, yeah, of this, of everything, but also… It's not just the contacts, is it? I've been getting sick since before that. Maybe the contacts made it worse, but they're not the cause. So… yeah. I don't know what's wrong with me. But we don't have access to medical supplies or anything and I really, really don't want to d- I'm down for trying to save the world. I'm just not sure how long that's gonna be a, um, viable option for me, personally."

Scott ignored the jolt of panic that instantly took root in his heart. "We'll figure it out."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Gordon confirmed, with a reassuring smile. He offered Alan a fist bump. "We promise, Al. We've got you."

Alan knocked aside the fist bump in favour of a hug. Gordon let out a startled yelp as Alan tackled him into the footwell, disregarding the stray soot and collection of wrappers and rescued gear from Two's final moments and even the weapons stowed beneath the front seats. Gordon wrapped an arm around Alan's back and held him close, sniggering as Alan tried to struggle free.

"Nope. You're my prisoner now."

"Gordon. Get off."

"Nuh-uh."

"This is the last time I'm ever going to be nice to you."

"Nah, I don't believe that for a second."

"Just you wait and see."

"Hmm." Gordon clung on for a second longer, just enough for Scott to glimpse the expression that Gordon was trying to hide from Alan. No wonder he wasn't letting go – he was terrified, just like all of them, because Alan was right – there was something wrong with him which none of them understood yet and there was nothing scarier than the unknown, especially when that unknown was of a medical variety. "Love you, rocket-kid."

"Idiot," Alan grumbled, finally allowed to sit back up. He tried to glare but his glower melted into a fond smile instead. "Love you too, or whatever."

Outside, the ashfall had grown thick enough to finally mute the wind. Between the darkness and the silence, all that remained between the void and them was the green glowstick and their own voices. John was now stretched across the two front seats, fumbling in the glovebox for any tricks or treats which Gordon may have squirrelled away. He produced an opened box of celery crunch bars and tipped it upside down to let the uneaten four fall into his lap.

"Really?"

Gordon beamed at him. "They taste good."

"No. Just no." John inspected the ingredients list with growing disdain. "No wonder these survived the apocalypse, they're more chemicals than nutrients."

Gordon snatched three of them from him with a heavy sigh. "I can't believe it's literally the end of the world but you're still judging my life choices."

John waved the crunch bar at him. "Then stop making idiotic decisions and I won't have anything to judge."

Gordon raised a brow. "It's me."

"Valid point. Looks like you'll just have to suffer my judgement for the rest of time."

"Wow. A fate worse than the infected," Alan deadpanned.

Gordon sniggered and slung an arm around Alan's shoulders. "You heard him, space-case – your judgement is not welcome in this car." He passed Alan a crunch bar. "Scott?"

Scott instinctively went to pass up the offer – because four bars meant one of them was going short this evening and that person wasn't going to be any of his brothers no sir, not on his watch thank-you-very-much – only John was shooting him a hawk-eyed stare, just ready to leap into that undeniable mother-hen mode which he still claimed didn't exist. Which- well, fair enough. John was probably still recalling that incident on board Two and Scott hadn't exactly been great about remembering to eat in the past couple of days – at least not as far as he could recollect, but then again half of his memories were a foggy haze so maybe Virgil had coaxed him into eating without his active knowledge – so he gave in and took the crunch bar before he could cause any more unwanted concern.

Virgil shook his head when Gordon offered him the final bar. John looked up sharply at the movement, catching Scott's eye to mirror that same worry back at him. Gordon appeared at a loss, hovering the crunch bar under Virgil's nose as if he could tempt his brother into accepting the food through sheer annoyance, but Virgil gently pushed him away with a weak smile.

"Not hungry."

"Virg," Gordon began, trailing off before he could even start making his case. He drew a knee up to his chest and propped his elbow on top to gnaw at his knuckles. He probably didn't even realise what he was doing, focus fixed on Virgil.

Alan frowned. He flattened himself underneath the seat in front, scrabbling to reach the spare hoodie Gordon had stashed there at some point, then sat back up, hoodie pooled in his lap while he made short work of removing one of the drawstrings.

"Gordo. Here."

Gordon examined the drawstring. "Uh… thanks?"

Alan elbowed him with an exasperated sigh. "You're gonna make your knuckles bleed, man. Just… fiddle with that instead."

"Oh. Right." Gordon looked suspiciously as if he were about to cry.

Alan motioned for Scott to shift sideways. Personally, Scott was reluctant to put anymore distance between himself and Virgil than absolutely necessary because he secretly wanted to wrap his brother up in a hug and not let go until the pain of losing Two had diminished to more manageable levels, but Alan had that determined expression of intent on his face which was usually the precursor to a good plan.

So.

Scott moved sideways until he was sat against the door in Alan's original place. In the space left behind, Alan patted the cushions with a soft whistle. Finch tilted her head, ears pricked, not quite understanding the command until Alan repeated it. She leapt onto the seat and curled up, as close as she could get to Virgil without actually crawling into his lap. For a moment, she simply sat there, wide eyes filled with unfaltering love for the first group of humans to show her kindness in a very long time. Then, gently, she placed a paw on his arm, nosing at his shoulder until he looked away from the ghostly ash and found his place in his family's presence.

"Hey, Finch." His voice cracked. He wiped a hand across his eyes and forced a smile. Finch wagged her tail as he placed a hand on her head. She snuggled closer, resting her chin on his knees so that he could pet the soft fur on her back more easily.

It was almost miraculous to see the tension bleed away, replaced by heavy sadness instead. But that was healthy. Sadness, grief, even anger – those were the emotions Virgil should be feeling, openly, not locking them away, not trying to shut down everything. Finch sat up, bumping his chin with her nose until he buried his face in her fur, trembling with the force to keep his tears silent.

Scott closed the space between them. Finch was practically in Virgil's lap, ears flattened against her head and eyes wide with worry for the human crying into her fur. In the footwell, Gordon and Alan were silent. Gordon was winding the drawstring around his thumb, tugging at it, releasing it, coiling it over his knuckles, unable to keep still as concern kept him on tenterhooks. Alan was picking at his crunch bar, eyes bright with unshed tears in the dim light. After a moment, he tipped sideways to rest his head on Gordon's shoulder.

"Virgil," John whispered, seeming impossibly loud. But what was there to say? An ocean of pain was just as uncontrollable as an ocean of water and there were so many waves threatening to pull each and every person on the planet into unfathomable depths. "I'm sorry," he said at last. "I know it doesn't help. But I'm sorry."

Scott cautiously laid a hand on Virgil's shoulder, then, when he wasn't immediately pushed away, he moved closer to wrap an arm around his brother. "We're still here. You've still got us. And it hurts, God, I know it hurts, but if you hold onto us then we'll keep you afloat until it doesn't hurt quite as badly anymore."

Gordon let the drawstring fall onto his knees, then reached out to catch Virgil's hands. "You've looked out for us all this time," he added quietly. "Now it's our turn to look out for you."

Alan fiddled with the long fur on Finch's tail.

"The world's a pretty shit place," he said eventually, sorta hushed and gentle, contemplative in his hesitation. "It's scary and it's full of pain. There is so much grief and just… all this suffering. And that was before the apocalypse. But uh…"

He paused, psyching himself up to continue. Virgil caught his gaze. Alan raised his chin, no longer second-guessing himself, because this was important.

"Someone once told me that everything in life ends up being balanced in the end. For all the good, there has to be the bad. But that means for all the bad, there has to be the good too. So… it hurts. Loss always hurts. We know that more than most people. But it gets easier. Because everything balances itself out, right? And I think… I think maybe the pain of losing someone is worth it, because it means that for however long you had them… you got to love them. And- everything good comes to an end. But that's not the end of all the good. So yeah, it hurts like hell, losing Two, losing everything, but we're still here, and at some point… it's going to be okay. Because it has to be. And if it's not okay… then it's not yet the end."

"Hey, Alan?" Virgil croaked.

"Yeah?"

"You're incredible, kid. You know that?" He dragged a hand down his face with a damp laugh. "God, I love you guys."

John was watching them over the back of his seat with an impossibly fond expression. "We know," he replied gently. "We know, because we love you too."

"We're gonna fix this." Gordon had that stubborn fire back in his voice which had been missing for too damn long.

"Hell yeah we're gonna fix this," Scott agreed. "We're International Rescue. The odds don't apply to us, we've beaten them so many times."

"Uh…" Gordon frowned. "Are we even IR at this point?"

"We're the frickin' Tracys." Alan corrected. "Scott's right. We're gonna fix this."

Virgil finally smiled. It was a fragile, vulnerable thing, but it was real, and Scott tightened his hug.

"Go team, am I right?" Gordon joked.

John hid a smile. "Go team."