Totally didn't almost forget to post this because I'd already posted my Inktober prompt for the day and I'm not used to posting more than once within an hour but heyyy enjoy some angst and Scott and Alan being chaotic
What was it about camping trips which had entranced so many families for so many generations? Was it the return to nature? The disconnection from a fast-paced modern world? The lack of expectations and simplicities of survival? The ability to spend time together without external distractions?
There were many possible reasons, but the baseline was that there was something reassuring about the wilderness, soothing wounded souls like a gentle stream. Perhaps it was the lack of air pollution in the depths of the countryside, but it physically seemed easier to breathe. The same applied to this occasion, where waking to gentle sunlight filtering through the canopy brought a strange lull of calm where anxiety had held everyone in a chokehold for so long.
That planned family camping trip which had been postponed indefinitely had finally come into fruition in the unlikeliest of situations. Gone were hopes of s'mores and whimsies such as catching fireflies or barbecuing over open flames with a nearby river and a rope swing to satisfy the adrenaline junkies amongst them. But this experience still satisfied an inner child to an extent. It was a brief reprieve from responsibility, from fight and flight – a chance to breathe, hidden away while the rest of the world continue to suffocate. So they stayed a second night. Various excuses were invented. None of them held much credibility. No one was about to argue or question. Another night of woodsmoke and whispered secrets over dying embers at two in the morning seemed to be a cure for aching souls.
Technically, this wasn't the first family camping trip, it was just the first one where they were all present. The first trip had consisted of Scott, John and Virgil, accompanied by Jeff who had been ordered to find some way to get the boys out of Lucille's hair while Gordon was still too little to be allowed out of her sight and Alan was a dream they were yet to prepare for. Virgil had probably been too young to remember many details, but Scott and John could recall the memorable moments – such as Jeff nearly setting his sleeve on fire, Virgil screaming like a banshee when a spider crawled into the tent and gorging themselves on sickly sweet treats, generous helpings of chocolate and gooey marshmallows slathered over graham crackers while Lucille wasn't around to criticise their sugar intake. Like all childhood memories, it was faded in a precious golden glow, carefully tucked away to be recalled in the soft light of dusk or dawn when sleep was still a gentle weight on the mind and the rest of the world stood silent enough for moments to be entrusted to the sky.
This trip was nothing like that.
For starters, it wasn't actually a trip, but Scott was mentally referring to it as such, because when was the last time they'd taken a holiday? He was in a surprisingly good mood given the circumstances although he was under no false pretences as to how long that would last, so he was determined to make the most of it for however long the brightness stayed. There were grey skies ahead – quite literally, given the taste of distant rain in the air – but for now the sun still shone.
Food supplies weren't ideal, but firewood was plentiful, and the water purification tablets that Virgil had stashed in the bag from Two meant all they needed to do was find a river. The radiation storm was still trailing several days behind them and there had been no obvious signs of bandits for the past forty-eight hours. As far as the infected were concerned there had been no trace of creatures or the parasite itself. The forest was the safest hideout they had come across since leaving the ranch – because really the bunker couldn't be counted, not when Jenkins had been manipulating them from the get-go.
It was the first time Scott could recall sleeping through the night undisturbed in months. He felt oddly groggy as a result, the sort of dazed confusion only brought about by deep sleep, leaving his mind full of cotton wool. He woke slowly, aware of Finch crunching on an old branch, tail thudding as she realised he was awake.
There was no particular urgency about anything given they were remaining here for another twenty-four hours. It had been so long since he'd taken a break that he couldn't recall what to do with free time. Sitting around had never been his forte. He settled for tossing the stick for Finch, revelling in the mundanity of playing fetch with a dog. Finch appeared delighted to fall back on a game she had missed since losing her family, tail a blur and eyes alive with joy.
The day was brighter than those before it. It was the first time the sun had shone clearly in almost a week, but the shady forest canopy prevented temperatures from rising too high. Most of the time was spent sleeping, catching up on the lack of rest from too many broken nights. John busied himself with the maps. Alan helped him, surprisingly good at navigating given he had once tried to read a compass upside down – although in his defence he had been very sleep-deprived at the time. Crinkled paper was secured under stones, flattened against smooth rock until even worn lines were visible, careful calculations pinpointing their coordinates. Scott left them to it, sensing John was in the zone, a state which only those with a death-wish would dare to disturb.
Virgil joined him at the tree line surrounding their campsite. The foliage wasn't quite as thick here, but it was still a steep incline up the rocks, interspersed with brambles. Scott had discovered it was the perfect vantage point, allowing him to spy on the nearby forest whilst also eavesdropping on the conversations below.
"Going hunting for a water source?" Virgil asked in lieu of greeting.
Scott took a moment to consider because he very obviously had held no intentions of going anywhere anytime soon, swiftly translating the silent request for a conversation before Virgil actually had to go ahead and directly ask for it.
"Sure." He tugged his boots back on and scrambled very gracefully thank you very much up the slight slope to join his brother at the top. "Any ideas?"
Virgil examined the treeline ahead. "A few. I don't want to stray too far though. If we can't find anything within an hour's walk we'll just have to try making a solar still."
Scott side-eyed him.
"A condensation trap," Virgil clarified, because he was nice person like that, unlike John who would have withheld the definition whilst continuing to display the smug superiority which often had Scott wanting to punch him. "We won't get anywhere near enough water from it, but it'll be better than nothing."
"This would be a lot easier if there was still wildlife around. Just follow finches or bees, right?"
"I love how you know that, but not about solar stills."
They trekked uphill to find a better vantage point. While a water source would undoubtedly lie at the base of the slopes, the forest stretched for miles - it would be incredibly easy to wander for hours without ever discovering a stream or river. The temperature was slowly rising and while every other living thing seemed to have perished months ago, mosquitos had miraculously survived. Scott had the protection of the IR suit, but Virgil wasn't quite as lucky.
"Out of everything," Virgil grumbled, swatting the hundredth mosquito away from his bicep, "how did these things survive?"
"Does this mean wasps are still alive too?" Scott mused. "Pointless insects which everyone hates get to live but animals like, I don't know, koalas all die."
"Why specifically koalas?"
"I love koalas, you know this."
"Yeah, when you were like twelve."
"You never grow out of loving koalas, Virg."
Virgil sent him a look, clearly uncertain as to whether Scott was messing with him but also fully prepared to accept this as some of the usual inane bullshit his brother occasionally came up with. After a moment of expectant silence, he clearly decided it was the latter.
"Sometimes," he said slowly, not quite exasperated but something fondly similar, "it's very obvious that you and Gordon are related."
"Is that a compliment?"
Virgil patted him on the shoulder. "I'll let you figure that one out yourself."
Scott made the executive decision to take it as a compliment, which was probably the correct assumption to make given this was Virgil who at cried at age twelve when he'd accidentally trampled a snail and wouldn't intentionally insult anyone other than Gordon even if he was being paid to do it. In ordinary times Scott would have made the list of people Virgil might have made jabs at, but recently they'd been treating one another as not quite fragile but something close, unwilling to push too far for fear of discovering fractures. So.
"Koalas are great," he announced, somewhat sulkily, earning an amused snort as Virgil treated him to a raised eyebrow that clearly questioned why Scott was now sounding like an overtired five-year-old. "Were great, anyway. Hey, is that mozzie a friend of yours or are you just wearing it for decoration?"
Virgil whacked a hand against his own shoulder so violently that the smack sounded painful. The mosquito stood no chance, leaving an ugly smear of red.
"Nice," Scott whistled. "Another point to you. I still think you're fighting a losing battle here, but hey, each to their own."
"You have long sleeves," Virgil hissed at him. "You don't get an opinion when you're not at risk of being bitten to death."
Oh, the irony – it stung. Scott switched his focus to the decaying leaves, a carpet of mottled browns and yellows frothing over the toes of his boots with each step. It was hard to ignore the sudden silence however, nor Virgil's sharp inhale as he recognised the double-meaning behind the sentence.
"I didn't mean it like that."
"I know."
"Then why are you being weird?"
"I'm not."
Virgil purposefully tripped him up. Scott caught himself on a nearby trunk before he could land on his ass and end up sliding halfway back down the hill.
"Seriously?" He shot Virgil a wounded look. "What was that for?"
Virgil crossed his arms. Oh, hello. Serious mode activated. Scott straightened up, wondering vaguely why he felt a little like a chastised child – a feeling which only Grandma or Virgil could invoke in him nowadays. He picked at the seam of his borrowed suit as if avoiding this conversation was as simple as avoiding Virgil's gaze.
"Immunity sounded like a miracle at first, but John's living proof that it's not. You might not be at risk of turning but being a carrier can be just as fatal. So, you don't get to use your immunity as fuel for some sort of saviour complex, alright? It doesn't change your odds at survival from mine."
Except- It sort of did, didn't it? Harbouring the damn parasite may well have been fatal but they now knew there were ways to supress it and hopefully there was actually a cure completely. But becoming infected? There was no known way to come back from that, not yet anyway, so unless you prepared to turn into a monster in the hope there would eventually be a cure… There was only one certain way out of that mess and most of the time it involved a gun. In that regard, surely immunity did increase the survival odds, but Scott knew better than to start that argument because Virgil wouldn't let the matter drop and they'd be here for days.
He ground his heels into the dirt below the leaves and began the climb up the steepest section of the incline. Virgil trailed after him, momentarily jogging to catch up and falling into place at his side, clearly unwilling to let the conversation slide. He was worrying the hem of his shirt, an anxious habit which had remade an appearance over the past few days for the first time in years. Sooner or later, one of them was going to have to break the silence. Scott had the stubbornness but lacked patience whereas Virgil revelled in both qualities and could therefore be confident that he wouldn't have to make the first move.
For fuck's sake, Scott thought to himself, trying to ignore the wounded puppy look being directed at him. The worst part was that Virgil almost definitely didn't realise he was doing it. Alan and Gordon did it on purpose to get what they wanted. Virgil did it unintentionally, which only gave the look more of an impact.
"A carrier and an infected are completely different," Scott relented at last. "There's a high chance we can find a cure for carriers. Infected? Not so much. If you get bitten, are you willing to let yourself turn? Because that's the difference. With immunity, I have time. Without immunity, you just have minutes, seconds even, before you don't have a choice anymore. Then I have to make that call."
Virgil deliberated his next words for a long minute. "Honestly? I don't think you can make that call. I don't think any of us could."
"Not making a choice is a decision in itself." The very thought invited panic back from the brink where it had been teetering on the verge of calm for the first time in months. "And don't say it won't come to that because we don't know. Not for sure. We get outta these woods and we're right on the edge of a city. We've got to travel through a major hot spot. What are the chances of all of us making it through this without a scratch?"
"We've been lucky so far," Virgil remarked hesitantly, as though scarcely daring to believe it himself. It seemed strange to consider their circumstances lucky but, compared with the vast majority of the human population, there was no other fitting phrase.
Scott fixed his sights on the brow of the hill. "Exactly. Since when are we lucky?"
Virgil was quiet for a moment. "More often than you realise."
And maybe he had a point. Not just throughout their lives, on rescues which no one should have walked away from or incidents challenging the universe to a game of fate, but throughout the apocalypse itself. Scott didn't know the exact stats, but over ninety percent of the human population was dead. It was the greatest mass extinction event since the dinosaurs, hell, possibly even surpassing that now, given the radiation wiping out everything that was left. What were the odds of their family surviving this long?
(He didn't dare consider Penelope or Kayo's fates. They had to be alive still. They were out there somewhere, fighting for the future, because they were survivors and because the alternative was unthinkable and even envisioning it for a heartbeat was unbearable.)
They broke the back of the climb in silence. The brow of the hill flattened into a level stretch of grass with thinly dispersed trees. Willowy branches swayed in a gentle wind, rustling leaves and encouraging sunlight to pool in tall grass.
Scott collapsed on his back and immediately regretted it. Everything hurt constantly. Somehow he was picking up new bruises on what seemed like an hourly basis. Virgil took a seat close-by, trailing a hand through the grass and examining the tiny ant crawling along his thumb as if it were something precious, something worth treasuring.
Scott tossed a leaf at him. "It's just an ant."
"It's the apocalypse," Virgil replied slowly, letting the tiny insect flee into the grass. He looked up, watching trees shiver across the hillside, voice growing faint. "Nothing's just anything anymore. Everything holds greater value, even ants."
Scott stared at the snatches of blue through the canopy and tried not to consider his brother's words in too much detail for fear of spiralling into another existential crisis. Virgil tended to have that effect on people, although usually when discussing art or music, not ants.
It just another hint at the conversation they needed to have, although now Scott was starting to suspect their intended topics varied. His own thoughts focussed on their next moves and coping methods and a general check-in without anyone else around to distract or interrupt. He was painfully aware that there had been too many revealed secrets without any discussion regarding the repercussions. His stint on the sofa in the bunker was still hanging between them and while he would love to ignore it and repress all memory of that time for the rest of his life, he knew all too well that Virgil was going to address it. Which, well, fair enough. If the roles were reversed, Scott would be demanding answers too.
"Why are you so hell-bent on killing one?" he asked instead, immediately cringing. His verbal filter had cast itself into the radiation storm several miles back apparently, because he had not been intending to ask that.
Virgil tipped to lie on his back. "It's complicated."
"Then simplify it." Scott shifted to sit upright, trying to spy Virgil's expression before his brother propped an arm over his face, supposedly blocking out the sun but really hiding. "C'mon, Virg. You're not a killer."
"That's the point. I need to become one."
"But you don't. If it comes down to the wire, then maybe, but it shouldn't ever reach that point, not with three of us running defence."
There was a pensive silence.
"I don't get it," Scott continued quietly. "You're actively seeking out a fight. John keeps getting there first, thank God, because it's unnecessary guilt you're trying to force yourself to carry. So, please, explain it to me because I don't understand."
"Didn't we already discuss this?"
Scott didn't reply. Virgil plucked a handful of grass and began shredding it.
"If one of them cornered me, or, hell, cornered one of you guys, I don't think I'm capable of killing it still. I'm not like John. I don't know how he did that. So if I can get the first strike out of the way, maybe it'll get easier. Because we both know I'm going to be faced with one eventually."
"Killing one now-"
"-While I have all of you around as backup if it goes south, exactly."
It wasn't a bad plan. Scott just happened to be uncomfortable with it. Mainly because the question of humanity within monsters still hung in the balance. Despite research to the contrary, he still maintained there was a thread of intelligence within those which were lesser decomposed. The memory of those calculating eyes back in the cells under Cheyenne still sent shivers down his spine, not to mention the gratitude he'd witnessed in the face of the infected he'd shot when refuelling Two. If it transpired that there was a cure, or that the creatures still experienced even limited feeling or cognitive thought, he didn't know how any of them were going to live with themselves, let alone Virgil who'd been the bleeding heart of the family since Day One.
That being said, Virgil did have a point. Maybe there was another way around it though.
"Can't you just…" Scott made a vague gesture. "You know. Maim 'em?" It sounded worse when he said it aloud. "Okay, that's not ideal either, but- wait, hang on, what about Kayo's old tasers? Gordon's got those still. You could stun the infected and run. No violence involved."
"Not ideal if there's a horde of them."
"In what scenario are you faced with a horde by yourself?"
"Prepare for the worst-case scenario, hope for the best, remember?"
Scott closed in his eyes in the glare of the sun. He was aware of how still Virgil was, holding himself as a statue compared with the continuing flow of the world around them – tree branches in the breeze, high clouds disintegrating into fleeing wisps, ants scuttling down the grassy slope. Life would find a way to persevere at the end of all things even if everything important had been lost in time.
"What else is going on with you?"
Virgil lifted his arm from his face to frown. "Nothing much. It's a shit situation and I'm worried about everyone, but that goes for all of us."
Nice try.
"I know you better than that."
There was a brief pause in which Virgil seemed to consider his options and Scott eyed a thin line of green towards the base of a hill to the east were the foliage seemed lusher than the surrounding forest. He didn't need to follow any non-existent wildlife to confirm his theory, because there was a thin mist veiling the treetops there – condensation rising from damp leaves. There had to be a water source in that area. He noted it for later and returned his attention to Virgil.
"There's a part of me which wishes we'd never left the bunker," Virgil said in a rush, sorta hushed as if secretly praying that no one would hear. He laid his hands flat against the grass to keep himself from curling them into fists, shoulders slightly hunched as if anticipating rejection or condemnation. He stole a glance over at Scott, seeking an answer. "It's... uh…"
Scott repressed an instinctive shudder at the memory of cold, clinical walls and ever-watching eyes and ears and the feeling of a noose tightening around his neck as Jenkins sought to dispose of the slightest threat to his own power.
"Why?" he croaked at last, cleared his throat and repeated, stronger, "Any specific reason why?"
Virgil cringed, practically curling into the oversized shirt he'd stolen from their most recent house raid before crossing into the woods.
"I know it was a terrible place. I know we could never have stayed. We probably should never have gone there to begin with, although I'm not sure we'd have figured out the fire trick with John otherwise. I know all of that. I'm not saying I regret leaving, because it was poisoning all of us slowly and Jenkins would never have stopped until he'd destroyed you. I wish leaving hadn't cost us Two, but I'm glad we're away from there."
Scott sent him a searching look. "But?" he prompted.
Virgil bit back a sigh.
"But," he countered, with a dose of tiredness for good measure, "I think maybe it helped me a little. Because I have spent every moment of every day feeling guilty about the people I couldn't save - even those in the beginning when the cities were first overrun, and Gordon and I took Two into the thick of things. Then Joanna's survival group happened and I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to come to terms with that. But at the bunker I was finally able to help people. I made a positive impact. And it might not have lessened the guilt but it sure as hell made it easier to feel like I'm not a completely terrible person now."
He held up a hand before Scott could protest.
"No, don't start saying I'm not. I know your opinion and you know mine. We could go round in circles forever. The point is that survivor's guilt really, really sucks and I have to learn to live with it and that's a lot harder to achieve when I haven't got a clear set of objectives that are going help others in the long term. So. In that regard, yes, there is a tiny part of me which wishes we'd stayed. But I'm also glad we're getting as far away from that place as possible."
The truth was that the bunker had so much potential, so much capacity for good. Scott was always going to ponder that question – what if. Staying was an unknown quantity. Maybe they would have been able to bring down Jenkins and transform the place into the safehouse it had originally been intended to become. But perhaps it would all have ended in tears and flames. Frankly, Scott would take the guilt if it meant they could stay together. But also because Virgil was right – staying in that bunker would have been his own personal death sentence. One day of being unable to get off the couch would have turned into a week and then a month and either the GDF would have thrown him out or he'd have turned to his own desperate measures. Neither option was conceivable.
"Joanna's group were a family," he said eventually, noting Virgil startle at the sudden words after so many minutes of considered silence. "Some were weak, ill, elderly. They wouldn't have all passed the GDF's checks. They'd have been forced to split up and I don't think that's something they would have agreed to. We certainly wouldn't have. If we'd spoken to them about it, knowing what we know now, I think they'd all agree that they'd rather die together than slowly suffer apart."
Together, or not at all.
"And you might disagree with me here, but I reckon giving people hope and then taking it away again is worse than never having it to begin with. Imagine taking them to the bunker and then letting them discover that decision, knowing they'd never see one another again. They got have those last few days as a family. And it hurts because those kids never got the chance to grow up. God knows I'll carry that guilt for the rest of my life too. But Virg, they knew they were loved and they may not have been happy but they were as close to it as it's possible to get in this new world. Now, I'm not telling you how to feel about any of it, but I'm offering an alternate viewpoint. Because if someone came to us and said they could only take three of us, what we say?"
Virgil stifled a damp laugh. "Argue about it until we ran out of time anyway in all probability."
"Sounds about right."
Virgil studied the tiny grazes across his palms.
"I just…" He exhaled in a rush, voice tiny. "I miss saving people. I miss International Rescue, you know? And then on a selfish level I miss the people who aren't here too. I'm glad some of them aren't here because it means they're safe, but I miss them. And as for Penny and Kayo… I'm scared to think about them, not just because it hurts but because in what world does Kayo not raise Hell trying to find us? I had this stupid thought that she'd somehow track us down in the bunker, which is ridiculous because we only found it thanks to Gordon's dumb lone-wolf mission, but… I just miss them, so much."
Missing someone was a physical condition. You could feel the physical ache in your heart, like a tugging in your soul reaching for someone who was only present in your memories and dreams – or, nowadays, nightmares. The mind sought a physical injury on which to lay blame for the pain, only there was none, so instead the hurt manifested in the chest, spreading outwards from the heart like growing cracks. It was painful enough to bring stinging tears to the surface, snagging each inhale behind a muted wish for the universe to return loved ones safe and sound.
Scott had once heard a reporter describe Kayo as a stone-cold bitch after she'd frogmarched the guy away from a rescue zone. At the time he'd been hard pressed not to throw a fist, but it also occurred to him how batshit insane the claim was, because he'd witnessed Kayo nearly in tears over a tiny kitten, teach Alan how to dance before one of Penny's parties, sneak a sandwich within Brains' reach when he was overworking again, and on and on because the truth wasn't that Kayo didn't feel emotions but that she felt them so strongly that they scared her. And then there was Penelope, who had chosen the Tracys over her own parents – which wasn't much of a surprise because John had admitted to Scott that Penelope's views differed from her folks'. They were family. Stronger together but split so impossibly far apart. Scott wanted them back so fiercely that he wanted to burn the entire world again just to find them.
'I'll find you,' Penelope had promised, and he still clung onto the words like a good luck charm, entrusting them to the stars every time he fell asleep.
"I know," he whispered at last. "I miss them too."
They picked up Alan on their way down to the stream. He wisely chose not to call them out on the perpetual sadness they were both wearing like an old, familiar coat, bounding on ahead with Finch at his side. Scott wondered why the sight hurt so much. Probably because Alan was having fun, getting to be a kid, but in just a few hours he'd be back in Hell and what was the point in a lifetime of suffering? What had the world ever done to deserve this? The urge to fix everything was overwhelming but the helplessness was stronger.
The stream turned out to be more of a river. It grew audible as they approached, a soft rush of water bubbling over pebbles, pooling at the base of reeds and leaving droplets on petals of tiny flowers. One bank sloped down to form a sandy incline. Alan kicked off his boots and waded into the river, screeching as Finch belly-flopped into the deeper waters to make waves.
Virgil sent Scott a fiendish grin.
"Race you," he sing-songed, smacking Scott's bicep, yanking his shirt over his head even as he already running. Not one to be outdone, ever, Scott catapulted past him and plunged headfirst into the water without hesitation. The suit would dry, his pride at losing the race would have been permanently damaged – it was a simple choice.
The river was cold. Brisk, some might say, if they were feeling brave. Certainly icy enough to steal his breath for the first few seconds. He swept drenched hair out of his eyes and drank in the fresh air, revelling in the adrenaline of feeling truly alive, a precious experience which he didn't often enjoy, mostly drifting from day-to-day running on autopilot or anxiety. There was probably something tragic about that and if he ever came across a therapist again he was going to lock the door and talk until he forgot how to form words because he had long-since passed the point of realising that his mind was going to drown him one of these days and surviving the apocalypse only to lose the good fight to his own demons was just desperately sad.
Virgil tackled him underwater. Alan's delighted shout was muffled by water. Scott surfaced and proceeded to hack up what felt like half a lung.
"Why?" he demanded, directing a wounded look at Virgil.
Virgil offered a sunny smile, looking entirely too smug. "You needed a wash."
Alan openly sniggered, which was a fatal mistake because Scott instantly caught Virgil's eye and the unanimous decision of Big Brotherly Revenge passed between them. Alan never stood a chance. Finch made the smart move to paddle out of the way shortly before her unofficial favourite human was tackled into the depths in a flurry of flailed arms and uproarious laughter.
Whether Gordon was summoned by water or by chaos was unclear, but suddenly he joined the fray, materialising seemingly from thin air. Scott hauled himself onto the bank to catch his breath and also to find a way to drag John into the river too. John shuffled out of reach, eyeing him with the utmost suspicion, which was, admittedly, utterly deserved.
"If you even think about throwing me in that water, I will murder you in your sleep," John informed him with a smile that didn't match the words.
Scott blinked. "I would never."
"Liar."
"You just have trust issues."
John raised a brow. "Hypocrite."
"Bite me."
"Such a clever comeback. How long did it take you to come up with that one?"
"You're insufferable."
"That's a big word. Are you sure you know what it means?"
"Fuck you, man."
John hid a grin behind his map, lofting it higher to conceal his expression. "Go have more fun and let me work. The Terrible Two have teamed up. You don't want to leave Virg a man down."
Water supplies replenished and the purification tablets already getting to work, there was nothing left to do other than relax for the rest of the afternoon. The plan was to make an early start with tomorrow's dawn and John had committed the next sector of the map to memory so they would hopefully be able to avoid the worst hotspots.
Virgil and Gordon hung around the campsite, having another one of those whispered conversations which could have entailed anything from recalling past flights in Two to plotting world domination – because clearly Gordon was a bad influence. John disappeared into the thick of the woods and Scott tried not to freak out because John was a grown ass adult capable of making his own decisions but goddamn did those decisions raise Scott's blood pressure. He allowed Alan to distract him with the fishing gear they'd pilfered from that house and accompanied his youngest brother downstream to reasonably calm waters.
Let it be known that Scott was not an expert fisherman. Jeff had taken him out in a little rowing boat once, just the two of them, because it seemed like the sort of father-son activity which was expected, only to realise that neither of them knew how to fish so they spent the hour googling it on some dodgy WiFi and carried their lone catch home with the proudest smiles Lucille had ever seen on them. That had been their one and only fishing trip. Jeff realised that taking Scott to the airfield was a far better father-son bonding experience and fishing had been abandoned to the movies. Since then, Scott had only been fishing once, and he had been obnoxiously hungover at the time so couldn't recall anything. Therefore, this occasion was going to be based off the memories of his twelve-year-old self and whatever Alan had read in one of his many survival guides.
"Do you know what you're doing?" Alan queried, hop-scotching between rocks because he'd forgone his boots in favour of paddling in the water like a five-year-old.
Scott attempted to untangle the fishing line. "Totally."
Alan shot him a doubtful look. "Okay, well the survival guide said fishing near weeds is good because the water is slower and there's more likely to be fish away from stronger currents." He turned back to Scott with a triumphant smile. "See? This place is perfect. Right, where's the bait?"
"Uh…" Scott kicked at a clump of dirt. "Start digging, Al. Find some worms."
"Why me?"
"Because being the eldest has to come with some perks, such as making you do my dirty work."
"You suck," Alan informed him, but crouched down to start poking at the mud with a stick, tilting his head to examine the dirt without being blinded by sunlight. "Ooh, I think I see one."
"Really? Stick it on the hook."
"Wait, no."
"What do you mean, no?"
Alan clutched the worm in one palm and held it in the shade protectively. "I feel bad for it."
"Oh my god, Alan. How do you expect to catch fish without bait?"
Alan faltered. "With pure determination?"
"Let's give it a go," Scott deadpanned. "I can't see any flaws with that plan at all."
"Can't we just use some of the jerky? Finch and Gordon are the only ones eating it anyway."
"Fine, go get it, but be quick."
Alan brightened. "I'll be like the Flash, I swear. I'll be right back!"
"If you're not here in two minutes that worm is gonna meet its maker."
"If you kill that worm I'll cry," Alan yelled over his shoulder.
Scott shook his head with a fond smile and kicked some soil over the worm before it could dry out in the sun. Unbelievable. He probably should have seen it coming though.
Alan returned with a fistful of jerky which worked better as bait than it should have done. The next step was patience which was problematic given they were the most impulsive duo in the family.
"This is boring," Alan sighed.
Scott examined the line, glinting in the water. "I think it's supposed to be relaxing."
"Relaxing, boring, tomato, to-mah-to."
"Maybe you're just an adrenaline junkie who doesn't know how to relax."
Alan elbowed him. "Damn, I wonder who I inherited that from?"
"We should probably be silent. We'll scare the fish away at this rate."
"What fish?" Alan demanded sulkily, which was a fair point, but they settled into silence all the same.
It lasted approximately ten minutes before Scott got bored again.
"Anything?"
Alan shook his head. "Nope."
"God dangit."
"This is literally the worst bonding activity you could have picked for us. We're both adrenaline junkies. We both get bored easily. Why did we think this was a good idea?"
Scott was struck by the urge to laugh. "Not sure. We didn't think it through."
"Clearly."
"Hey, don't sass me, kid. This was partly your idea too."
"But mostly yours."
Alan gave up and yanked his empty line free of the water. It swayed mid-air, hook pointedly empty. Scott couldn't quite hold back a laugh. Alan glowered at the offending object.
"This really sucks."
"It kind of does, yeah."
"Pick a better activity next time."
"Alan," Scott reminded him slowly, "this was your idea too."
"I claim no responsibility. I'm an irresponsible teenager. Ooh, wait, I'm in my rebel phase, remember?" Alan looked entirely too gleeful about this. "Nothing is my fault."
"Did I approve this rebel phase? Why did I agree to it?"
"You're an idiot."
"Hey, respect your elders."
"I totally respect you."
"You know, most teenage rebellions involve hating your parents, so…"
Alan shot him a horrified look. "What? No. Scrap that part. I'm not adhering to all the stereotypes. Hell no. Anyway, you're kinda cool, remember?"
Scott slung an arm around the kid's shoulders. "Ah, yes, I'd forgotten about the ultimate compliment. Thanks for the reminder."
Alan grinned. "You're a cool dad," he teased.
"Hell yeah, I'm a cool dad."
The moment was promptly ruined by Alan shoving the only fish they'd caught down the back of Scott's shirt and fleeing uphill before he could be caught. Scott retrieved the fish and hurtled after him with a flurry of outraged shouts, only to promptly skid to a halt because hang on a minute…
"Why are you having a crisis this time?" John sighed, materialising from the treeline, knife at his side.
Scott tried not to jump at his brother's sudden appearance. "Alan called me a cool dad and I totally went along with it. I don't think either of us realised."
"Oh, is that all?" John shrugged. "You already know the kid's wrong… you're definitely not cool."
"Thanks, Johnny. You do wonders for my self-esteem." Scott eyed that knife. "What were you doing all afternoon anyway?"
John lifted the knife and threw it with deadly precision into a nearby tree. It stuck fast in the wood, hilt still quivering. He caught Scott's incredulous look with a faint smirk.
"Practising."
"Evidently."
The infected may have been the biggest threat, but Scott was beginning to wonder if John was the deadliest thing in the fight.
