Oh, they're sad, I'm sorry...


On rescues, it was always Gordon or Virgil who dealt with the kids. Gordon had a way of putting them at ease, knowing the right balance between good humour and easy-going reassurances, while kids naturally flocked to Virgil who always held a sense of calm safety about him.

Outside of IR, Scott was the best with children, but on rescues he was usually too deep into his Commander persona to be of much use. At sixteen, Alan was arguably still a kid himself, but had also demonstrated some skill when a rescue demanded that he dealt with a pair of terrified seven-year-olds.

But John? John had never had the chance to prove his skills or lack thereof on rescue or in everyday life. The only evidence anyone had to go on was his interactions with a young Gordon and Alan, although that was unreliable data because it was always different coping with family as opposed to strangers. Most people would assume that John would be awkward around young children, unsure of how to act or what to do when they started screaming or sobbing.

Personally, Scott would place an opposing bet. He harboured a secret belief that Johnny would be great with kids.

He could still recall the way John had been a natural at calming a young Alan's temper tantrums or talking the kid down from nightmares, an eternally patient teacher even when Alan kept mixing up constellations and more than happy to sneak his youngest brother a bowl of chocolate ice cream complete with sprinkles and chopped strawberries even though it meant sacrificing his favourite NASA shirt to sticky fingerprints and wiping everything afterwards with a damp cloth.

So yes, maybe Scott was biased having seen John around Alan, but the point was that underneath all the sharp words John was kind and kids seemed to sense that in people.

Right now, Scott found himself remembering John's soft smile when he had gone searching for his brother and discovered him on one of the loungers by the pool, a young Alan asleep with his head pillowed on John's chest, the night sky a diamond-scattered quilt above them.

'Aren't you cold?' Scott had asked, knowing John always felt the chill on those first nights home from orbit, and John had smoothed tangled curls back from Alan's forehead in a gesture so gentle that it had made something in Scott's chest ache.

'A little,' John had admitted, 'But I can't bring myself to wake him.'

'I can carry him to bed. He's a heavy sleeper, he won't wake up.'

'No, it's okay. Just get me a blanket.'

'You sure?'

'Certain.'

Birdy was screaming her head off. Her little face was ruddy with tears and a mess of snot as she worked herself into a frenzy, wailing about The Dead Man. She was looking at John with such pure terror that it was painful to witness. The horror in her eyes should only ever have been directed at monsters in nightmares. She was scared of him and John – John, who had spent so long perfecting his poker face and was a master of concealing all emotions – was openly devastated.

'I'm everything I never wanted to be,' John had told him all those weeks ago now, back in the bunker, still sweaty and shaking from night terrors, and Scott had tried to ignore the depth of those words, but now they rocketed to the forefront of his mind. He gripped the edge of the table. At his side, Virgil was a taut string about to snap. Gordon did nothing except watch quietly.

The apocalypse had shown Scott many things. One of which was what it looked like when a soul shattered and now heartbreak. John refused to look at him, wordlessly standing and backing up a pace only then he stumbled, but it was Alan who bolted to his side.

Scott jolted out of the daze and rounded the table, wrapping an arm around John and pulling him close, drawing himself up to his full height. Space gave John an extra inch and therefore technically made him the tallest, but right now he seemed small, so that even Alan seemed a large presence in comparison.

John was always in control, except for when he wasn't. He spiralled like a burning plane trapped in a nosedive and the aftermath in both metaphorical and literal sense was never pretty.

Scott had caught a glimpse of John's true emotions only twice since he'd collapsed in the safehouse – once at Scott's use of the word monster and then again when Alan had flinched from him during their time with the horde – but now he could read his brother like an open book. That in itself was terrifying because John was always deliberately closed off, but now he couldn't keep those defences in place. He was small and scared under Scott's arm, wide-eyed and shivering, jaw clenched in the effort to hold back tears, so impossibly fragile, just skin and bone held together through love.

"Some people with immunity can walk amongst the infected," Virgil explained in a terrifyingly calm voice. He had one hand on Gordon's shoulder, applying light pressure, and Scott recognised with a start that Gordon's hands were trembling against the tabletop. "We don't know why. It's true that John walked through a horde, but he doesn't pose a threat to anyone."

Marisa scooped Birdy into her arms and handed her to a tall guy who had yet to volunteer his name.

"You don't need to explain yourselves." Marisa swept a hand through her tangled hair. "Birdy's seen too much for her age. Of course John's not a threat. Look, we're all tired. Theo, box up whatever's left of tonight's rations. Everyone else? We should get some rest. Tomorrow's gonna be a long day. And John? I apologise on Birdy's behalf. She's been through a lot of trauma and she-"

She gave a tired sigh.

"You're welcome here, that's what I mean."

Theo had been staring, startled into silence, but at the sound of his name he leapt into action. He shot a worried glance over his shoulder at Alan as if he were itching to ask if his new friend were okay but was unwilling to disobey orders. Maybe he felt it wasn't his place to get involved or perhaps he just felt awkward.

This was evidently a sentiment which everyone shared as it didn't take long for them to file out of the room. Walls grumbled as pipes creaked into life to feed hot water into showers while people scrubbed away the day's emotions.

And then the room was empty.

It was just them.

Virgil sank heavily into a chair.

"That could have gone worse." He tentatively laid a hand on Gordon's back. "Gords? Breathe."

Alan slipped out from Scott's hand to stand in front of John. Scott couldn't glimpse John's expression without letting go which was not an option, but he could make a pretty good guess simply based off Alan's tearful gaze.

"She's just a little kid. She doesn't know what she's talking about. It's trauma speaking. She doesn't know you. You get that, right?" Alan's hands shook a little. "Right?"

Virgil looked up sharply. "John?"

The silence was brittle yet stretched on.

John's breathing was ragged but his voice remained level. He kept staring at his shoes as if that could hide the tear tracks on his face, turned gold by candlelight. "I need a minute."

Virgil was taken aback. "Um, John, I don't think-"

"Don't." John's tone shifted into something faintly pleading. "Don't make me talk about it."

He shivered, a full-body thing from head to toe. Scott wanted to just hold him until the world didn't seem quite as painful anymore. It hadn't escaped his notice that John had yet to step away from his arm, but he wasn't about to draw it to anyone's attention.

John exhaled shakily. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Okay." Virgil pressed a fist to his mouth, breathed, then repeated, hushed, "Okay."

Alan stepped aside to let John pass. "Should one of us go after him?"

Virgil met Scott's gaze. "Make sure you see me before you fall asleep. I need to change those bandages."

"I will."

"Scott, I…" Virgil trailed off. "Just- Look after him? Please?"

There was an unbearable grief in Virgil's eyes which Scott didn't know what to do with.

"I'll look after him. I promise."

It struck him as funny in a peculiar sense of the word – all those years ago he had promised his parents that he would look after John and now he was making that same vow to Virgil. Time was a strange thing. Maybe everything ran in circles. He discarded the thought, tousling Alan's hair on his way past before making a beeline for their designated apartment.


The shower was already running and John had locked the door, so Scott flopped onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling to wonder at what point it had all gone so terribly wrong.

Everything ached, both physically and emotionally. The bandages were tight enough to make breathing a chore, but beneath them he could still feel the sharp fire of injuries. Outside, it was raining again; he could feel the dampness in his wounded shoulder, taking root in the joint so that his very bones were painful.

He shoved a pillow beneath his head and rested his eyes for a few minutes. The steady drumming of the shower replaced that uncanny silence of the end-times which he would never grow used to. His own heartbeat seemed to reverberate through his bones.

He folded his hands over his middle, careful to avoid the bandages, and traced the curvature of his own ribs. He hadn't seen his reflection in ages – thanks to deliberate avoidance – and the knowledge that he was probably unrecognisable was a slight pressure at the back of his mind. It was a strange thing to be human, he considered, thoughts dulled by exhaustion.

He must have drifted off, but instinct and background noise drew him back to the waking world. He propped himself upright on his elbows and nearly choked on his own inhale.

John froze for a moment before returning to rustling through the bag of supplies Marisa had gifted them.

"Forgot a shirt," he muttered without turning around.

Scott gaped at him. Because yeah, alright, he'd also dropped a shit ton of weight, but John was on another level. He couldn't only see each rib, but every intricacy of the human body so that the delicate vertebrae of John's spine looked like folded birds ready to burst free and take flight.

Scott was struck by the terror that his brother was fading away right in front of him. The feeling wasn't helped by how quiet each of John's movements were, which wasn't anything new but now appeared ghostlike rather than purposeful.

John tugged a plain black tee over his head.

"There's gotta be a way to shut this off," he mused, more to himself.

Scott swallowed. "What?"

"I can feel your emotions, remember?" John finally turned around to face him. "Which means that right now I can feel just how fucking terrified you are."

Scott didn't try to deny it.

"Can you blame me?" His own voice was drenched in exhaustion. "Christ, John. You're…"

"I know."

John took a seat on the edge of the bed. The mattress barely dipped and Scott's heart skipped a beat.

"I know," John repeated tiredly. He stared at his hands for a moment as if picturing the blood that he had spent so long trying to wash away. "I'm not going to survive this, am I?"

Scott sat upright. "What?"

"I don't what our plan is anymore – finding a cure, somehow reaching Mars – but either way, I think we both know I'm not going to see how it ends."

Scott closed his eyes as he forced himself to ask, "Do you even want to?"

John braced himself against his knees. "Birdy was terrified of me. She's just a little kid, I know, but children are perceptive, so perhaps she can see the truth."

He pushed damp hair out of his face. Bloodshot eyes betrayed the secret that he'd been crying in the shower.

"I don't want to be this. She's right, you know she is. If you look at my actions objectively, they're horrific. There's no excuse. I'm a fucking monster. I'm literally connected to something which murdered the entire world and I want it out of my head, but it's under my skin, in my blood and bones and I can't get it out."

"John…"

John dragged the back of his hand across his eyes, trying to blink away tears. "I'm so tired, Scott. But it never ends, does it?"

"Can I hug you?"

John clenched his jaw in an effort to repress further tears. He nodded, but didn't turn around, so instead Scott wrapped his arms around him from behind and tucked his chin over his little brother's shoulder. He could feel John's spine through his shirt, could count his brother's ribs with nothing more than a delicate touch, and he wanted to sob.

John was trembling in his arms. He tightened his grip and pressed his forehead to the space between John's shoulders. An impossible part of his brain swore that he could still catch a whiff of soap powder and that distinctly metallic scent of recycled oxygen on board TB5.

"You're okay, John," he whispered. "I've got you."

John took a ragged breath, gasped past a stifled sob. Scott could feel that frantic heartbeat beneath his hands. He closed his eyes and let his senses drift, focussing solely on John. He was murmuring nothing and everything all at once into the fabric of John's shirt as if his brother could absorb the love behind the words through his skin even while his mind refused to hear them.

"Can we lie down?" John asked in a tiny voice. "My head hurts."

"Yeah." Scott pretended his voice wasn't shaking. "Yeah, Johnny, we can do that."

He reluctantly released his grip, surprised by his own rush of anxiety at letting go, and lowered himself onto his back, shuffling aside to give John room. For a moment, John remained motionless, but then he curled up on his side.

Scott lifted an arm. "C'mere."

He wasn't expecting John to cling onto him like Alan would. This was John. And yet. John tucked an arm over his waist, careful to avoid any injuries, and rested his head on Scott's chest, directly above his brother's heart.

For a moment, Scott forgot how to breathe. John seemed like a wild animal, and he didn't want to startle him away, but when he ran a hand down his brother's spine John didn't move. He wrapped his other arm around John to bracket him against his side and continued tracing soothing circles across his upper back.

"You should have let him pull the trigger," John whispered, fingers coiling in the loose fabric of Scott's shirt. "It would have been kinder."

"No." Scott closed his eyes, ducking his head so that his chin brushed John's hair. "It wouldn't have been. Not for us, anyway."

John fell silent. Scott knew he was crying because he could feel his shirt growing damp with hot tears, but he didn't say anything.

"I'm so tired, Scott," John breathed, voice so utterly shattered that Scott tightened his hold as if he could piece him back together again through sheer love and defiance of reality. "I love you, but I'm tired."

"I know," Scott murmured. "God, I know, and I'm sorry. Tell me how to help. Please."

"Just… hold me for a little while?"

"I'm here. I've got you. I won't let go until you tell me."


Scott didn't intend to fall asleep, but it somehow happened anyway. He blinked his way back to awareness to discover the room was swamped in darkness save for a thin beam of golden light beneath the door, the eerie glow of the sky and an illuminated clockface on the wall.

He'd only been out for just over an hour, but it was miraculous how much better he felt for it. He crawled free of John's clutches, taking care not to wake his brother, and set about finding Virgil.

Almost everyone was in bed. The building stood still but not entirely silent, the air stirred by the distant purr of the generator, faint snores and the rustle of sheets as people tried to switch off overactive minds. It was far warmer than it had been at the hospital, but there was still a night chill, so Scott slipped the leather jacket back on before gently pushing the door shut behind him so as not to disturb John with a sudden rush of light.

Their apartment was made up of three bedrooms with one en-suite, a bathroom, a tiny kitchen and a lounge. Marisa had given them the room with the en-suite simply because there were five of them as opposed to her, Theo and Jasmin. She was already in bed and the lack of light beneath the door proved that she was asleep, but the kids were still up and around.

They were lounging on the couch with a partly finished game of Scrabble balanced on the coffee table in front of them. Jasmin and Alan were signing to one another, sharing a warm blue blanket. Theo had already given into sleep and laid with his head pillowed in Jasmin's lap and his legs draped over Alan's knees, his breathing hitched with the occasional snore.

Alan glanced up at Scott's appearance. "Hey."

His expression was soft, open with tiredness and concern. He angled his chin towards the bedroom door in question.

"Is he okay? I didn't want to wake you guys up."

Scott nodded. He didn't trust his voice. He kept remembering the way John had sounded so small and sad and varying degrees of broken. He recalled how John had clung onto him and for a moment, caught up in memories, he felt as if he were still holding his brother's ghost.

Alan reached for one of the glasses on the table and tilted it towards him. "Drink this."

"What is it?" Scott took it and held it into the light cast by a candle. He sniffed it dubiously. "Is this cola?" He lowered it to frown at Alan. "You're supposed to be sleeping, not drinking soda. This has caffeine in it."

Jasmin couldn't quite stifle her giggle in time. "Sorry. It's just you sound like such a dad right now, it's funny. My dad used to tell off Marisa whenever she drank cola in the evening too."

Alan tipped his head back against the couch cushions with a dramatic sigh. "So distrusting, Scotty. But really, it'll help raise your blood sugars. Drink it. There's not much left anyway."

"Hmm." Scott took a sip.

Alan's smile was infectious. "Better?"

"Maybe," Scott admitted grudgingly. He took a seat on the armrest beside Alan for a moment while he finished the rest of the cola. "Okay, this is good stuff."

Not strong stuff sadly, but wow, he'd missed sugar.

Alan tipped sideways a little to lean against Scott's knee. He'd clearly taken a shower as he was in clean clothes and his hair was still slightly damp, drying in its natural waves rather than the greasy mess he'd sporting as of late. Scott couldn't help but reach out to tousle it, grinning as Alan batted his hand away, unwilling to be embarrassed in front of his new friends.

"You gonna find Virg and Gordon?"

"That's the plan." Scott repressed a yawn and slid off the armrest. "Don't stay up too late, Al."

"I won't." Alan patted Theo's head. "I think we're all gonna crash here tonight. Is that cool?"

"As long as you actually sleep, I don't have a problem with it."

Jasmin propped her elbow on Alan's shoulder with a sunny smile.

"I'll keep an eye on him for you." She shot Alan a teasing look. "Bedtime for you, young man."

Theo made a protesting mumble and fumbled until he caught Alan's hand. He'd probably been aiming for Jasmin's, but grogginess kept him from opening his eyes to check. He muttered something about too loud and sleep and ugh. Scott just found Alan's wide-eyed, flushed expression hopelessly entertaining and maybe a little endearing too.

Jasmin rolled her eyes. "Five more minutes so I can kick your ass in Scrabble and then sleep?"

Alan shoved her elbow off his shoulder with a fiendish grin. "Deal."


Scott tracked Virgil down in the main kitchen.

To an outsider, Virgil would have appeared normal – or at least as fine as could be expected of anyone living through an apocalypse – but Scott knew him too well to mistake his current actions as anything other than a coping mechanism. He was scrubbing vigorously at the stack of plates with a sponge and green soap in water so hot that steam billowed up from the basin to engulf his expression.

Some people might have considered this a desire to repay the survival group for their hospitality. Scott knew it was a frantic attempt to regain some semblance of control. He'd seen it before - when rescues went wrong, Virgil went on a cleaning spree.

"Virg," Scott called softly, rapping his knuckles against the kitchen counter to draw his brother's attention. "Hey. Virgil."

Virgil didn't reply, but his hands stilled.

Scott leaned across him to switch off the faucet. There was condensation trickling over the window to collect in the potted herbs and it looked like tears. He reached for a towel and began drying the cutlery stacked on the draining board. Virgil remained frozen for a moment before he wordlessly passed Scott a clean plate. They continued in silence until everything was back in its place.

For a fragile few seconds, they simply looked at one another.

Virgil dried his hands on the towel, shivering now that he was no longer warmed by the water. He leant against the cupboards, strangling the towel in his hands and releasing it again, over and over. The fridge rumbled gently in the background. Wind faintly whistled outside the window, muted by double-glazing and an airtight seal.

"John's asleep."

Virgil glanced up, eyes bright with tiredness. There was ash smeared in his hair still and a faint line where his mask had been tied.

"Good. How's Alan?"

"Still not talking, but he seems to be settling in well. You're right – Theo and Jasmin are good for him."

Scott nudged Virgil aside a little so that he could also lean against the cupboards.

"How about you?"

Virgil closed his eyes briefly. "Could be better."

"You and me both."

"Gordon's speaking. Sort of. He said my name, which is…" Virgil gestured vaguely. His smile was brittle. "Well, it's better than nothing. Progress, right?"

"Small steps add up," Scott reminded him, earning a slightly more genuine smile which quickly faded. He frowned. "What?"

"Nothing." Virgil ran a thumb across his reddened knuckles where the hot water had scorched him. "I just can't stop seeing that moment."

"Which one?"

Virgil slowly reached up and lightly tapped two fingers to Scott's forehead. Scott recalled the pressure of cold metal and only just kept himself from recoiling.

"Right," he agreed quietly. "That moment."

He didn't dare mention John's thoughts on the matter. Virgil looked one wrong step away from breaking down as it was.

"Gordon's the only one of us who was prepared to do the right thing and now he's the one paying for it." He exhaled shakily. "How is that fair?"

"Nothing in life is fair," Virgil pointed out. "You know that more than most people."

He dropped the towel onto the sideboard with a sigh.

"I've never seen him like this, Scott, not even after his accident. I don't know what to do. He's just completely shut down. It's like he's on autopilot and whichever part of his mind he's hidden himself away in is out of our reach."

In the far corner of the room, underneath a window which was concealed by heavy red drapes, there was a couch. Gordon was reclined across it with his back to the room, face buried in the cushion that he was clutching to his chest. He was still in his GDF gear and the metal seams were dull with dried gore. There were specks of blood in his hair. Vivid bruises disappeared underneath his suit.

"A shower might help," Scott remarked quietly, not lifting his gaze from his little brother.

Virgil made a soft sound of agreement. "I don't think he's up to standing by himself right now, so we'd have to help him."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"No." Virgil's voice was a whisper. "It wouldn't."

He was in socks to avoid treading contaminated ash through the place, so his steps were noiseless as he crossed to Gordon's side. Scott followed him, blocking out the lamp so that his shadow fell across Gordon, who blinked blearily up at them as if seeing them for the first time.

Virgil crouched down so that they were on the same level.

"Hey, Gordo." He threaded his fingers through Gordon's hair. "What d'you say to taking a shower? Maybe wash off some of this ash?" He rubbed a bit of blood away from Gordon's forehead. "Does that sound good?"

"Y-yeah," Gordon whispered, voice raspy from disuse and dust so that it came out as more of a croak than an actual word.

Scott crept back into the kitchen to retrieve some ice chips from the freezer. When he returned with them in a glass, Virgil had coaxed Gordon into sitting upright, supporting his upper back to keep him from crashing right back onto the couch.

Scott sat on Gordon's other side. "Here. This might help."

He cupped Gordon's hands in his own when his brother went to hold the glass, grip still too unsteady to be trusted with fragile objects. The sudden chill of the ice seemed to strike new focus into his eyes, and he held himself upright without listing against Scott's side. Virgil continued to draw circles across his upper back in a soothing motion.

The outside world seemed very far away. All that existed was this moment. Scott thought he might have been holding his breath. Gordon drew his knees onto the couch and sat criss-cross like a little kid. His hair was matted with dust and grime and hung low to cast shadows over his face. Scott smoothed it back before he could help himself and stamped out the embers of emotion igniting in his chest when Gordon leant into the touch.

"Hey, squid," he murmured, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb before Gordon could try to hide from him. "Are you up for a short walk? Just down the hallway. Not too far."

Virgil rose to his feet and held out his hands. "If it's easier, I can carry you. Just say the word."

Something determined flickered in Gordon's eyes. "No. I can walk."

It was slow progress from the couch to the shower. Gordon wavered on his feet and nearly crashed to the floor at first. Scott wanted to help but his bites were flaring up too much for him to be of use so instead he offered moral support while Virgil kept their brother standing.

Thankfully, Alan was asleep when they crept through the lounge – Scott detoured to tuck the blanket around his shoulders, overcome by a wave of fondness at the peaceful expressions on the sleeping teens – and John didn't stir either, although he was on his side facing the wall and so could have just been feigning sleep.

The bathroom was cramped. The shower was even smaller, a square, boxy thing tucked into the corner like an afterthought. The universe threw them a miracle in the form of a fogged mirror, turning their reflections into strange ghosts without details.

They helped Gordon out of his GDF suit whilst waiting for the water to heat up. His legs were shaky again, slipping and sliding on damp tiles, and Scott had to brace him when he struggled to peel bloodied fabric from his legs. It was a slow process and they had to stop a couple of times while Gordon battled light-headedness, jarring his chin painfully against Scott's collarbone.

Virgil stuck a hand under the water and declared it sufficiently warm. Gordon wasn't steady enough on his feet to be left alone so Scott stripped off his shirt and joined him, trying not to wince when his brother clung onto him tightly enough to leave future bruises. The water found its way underneath bandages and stung, but he gritted his teeth and breathed through the pain.

Gordon stood perfectly still. The water flattened his hair, making him seem smaller than usual. Younger too, tiny tremors skittering through his limbs from head to toe as if he'd just woken from a nightmare. He relinquished his death grip on Scott's arms and stared at the spiral of filthy water as it trickled down the drain. Ash and dust and blood ran down his spine in rivulets and, as if a spell had been broken, he tangled shaking fingers in his hair and scrubbed fiercely to be rid of the grime.

"Here." Virgil held out a bottle of mint shower gel which he'd found in the tiny cabinet in the corner.

The scent of mint was fresh after so many days surrounded by rot. It stung. Scott's eyes watered. He poured a little of it into Gordon's hands and hoped that his brother's red-rimmed eyes were a result of the mint too rather than tears concealed by the shower.

Hot water filled the room with steam. It was difficult to distinguish Gordon's expression. He stared at the grazes across his palms, tiny silvery scars left by broken glass and callouses formed from weeks of working non-stop with weapons. He was biting his lip viciously enough to draw blood, vividly crimson against his pale face. It trickled down his chin to turn the water pink. He appeared to be holding his breath.

"Gordon," Scott whispered, wishing that Virgil hadn't chosen that moment to step out and fetch clean sets of clothes for them to change into. "Hey. Look at me, bud."

He raised Gordon's chin with two fingers until his brother met his searching look.

"Talk to me."

Gordon took a shuddering breath. He was shivering despite the warm water which was hot enough to leave Scott's hands raw. He closed his eyes to hide from Scott and it was impossible to tell if the droplets on his lashes were from tears or the shower.

"I would have killed him."

The raw emotion in Gordon's voice was such a sudden shift from the robotic tone of before that it was physically jarring.

Scott exhaled slowly. "He would have wanted you to."

"But he's still John. I wouldn't have been killing a hivemind drone. I'd have been- I was going to kill our brother. If you hadn't stopped me, I'd have murdered John. I- I nearly-"

Scott caught him before he could collapse completely but wasn't quite quick enough to keep him from smashing his head against the tiles. He cupped the back of Gordon's head with a curse, feeling for injury, his own heart racing so fast that he could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

He retracted his hand, but his fingers were clean. The panic subsided a little, although he was still sick with worry, especially as Gordon didn't appear to register the pain which had to be radiating from the impact. He lowered his little brother to the floor and Gordon flattened himself against the wall, drawing his knees to his chest to make himself small.

Virgil dropped the bundle of clothes on the floor. "What happened?"

The water was a torrent of noise, drowning out Gordon's mumbles and engulfing Scott's reassurances. Virgil reached up to switch it off. The silence was a shock of ice. Steam kept the room anonymous. Scott was vaguely aware that he was shivering, but it was a background fact – unimportant until he chose to focus on it. His entire attention was dedicated to his little brother.

Gordon was trying to breathe, but it was an awful, rasping sound, wheezing, as if there were something physically clogging his lungs. He bent over his knees, nails digging into his calves. Scott reached out slowly so as not to startle him and entwined their fingers to give Gordon something to hold onto. Panic was a wild animal digging its claws into his brother and Scott would tear it away writhing and screaming if that was what it took.

Virgil tried to squeeze into the tiny space and ended up squashed between Scott's shoulder and the shower door. His jeans were drenched in seconds, but he didn't seem to notice. He cupped Gordon's jaw, stroking tears from his brother's cheek as he coaxed Gordon back to safer shores, guiding him through the storm with breathing patterns and calm words. Scott clung on too, running his thumb over Gordon's knuckles in time with inhales and exhales.

Time slipped away like water down the drain. Eventually Virgil retracted his hands, flinching slightly at Gordon's pained whimper, and reached for a dry towel, still new enough to have retained the warmth and fluffiness of fresh cotton.

Scott took it from him and wrapped it around Gordon's shoulders, running a hand down his brother's back to calm his hitched breathing and sobbing internally at the raised network of scars under his palm. It was yet another reminder of all the horror Gordon had gone through before the apocalypse only to now be thrown into a deeper circle of Hell. It was as if the universe was intent on breaking him when all he had ever done was try to be kind.

Virgil helped Gordon stagger out of the shower while Scott tried to scramble to his feet without slipping in the process. Wrapped in that oversized towel with damp hair sticking in all directions, Gordon looked for all the world like the little kid Scott had once accompanied to the local swimming pool. Gordon had never wanted to get out of the water, always waiting until the last possible second.

On one fateful November day, he hadn't left enough time between the pool and school and had tried to walk into the bitterly cold Kansas morning with wet hair. Scott would rather be late than risk his brother catching a chill and so had dragged him back into the warmth of the locker room to towel-dry his hair until it was spikey like a hedgehog and while Gordon had yowled and protested, he had still given Scott a hug afterwards. Scott could recall the strength in those skinny arms and how bright his brother's grin had been. Where had all that hopeful innocence gone?

"Scott," Virgil prompted, and he realised that he was just standing there like an idiot, dripping reddish water over the floor – because his soaked bandages were leaking old blood – and Gordon was looking at him with wide, glassy eyes, chin trembling with the effort to hold back those tears.

"Oh, God," he whispered, voice sounding choked even to his own ears. "Sorry. I- Fuck, Gordy, just- C'mere, kid. I'm so sorry. It's going to get better. It won't always hurt this badly."

Gordon hesitated a second longer, hands coiling in the towel as he tried to resist giving into the desire for comfort, but then the dam broke. He slammed into Scott's arms, shaking and sobbing – the sound raw and painful and hopeless – burying his face in the crook of Scott's neck.

Scott could feel hot tears against his skin. He cradled Gordon to his chest, cupping the back of his head and Gordon melted at the feeling of safety, clinging on for dear life.

"Scotty." Gordon's voice splintered on a sob. "M'sorry."

"No, no, don't do that." Scott pressed a kiss to the crown of Gordon's head and inhaled mint and, impossibly, a faint dash of chlorine and he wanted to break down in tears too. "Don't apologise when you've got nothing to be sorry for. I was wrong, Gords, do you hear me? I shouldn't have- I handled that situation very badly. You were the only person willing to fulfil John's wishes. I'm proud of you."

Gordon's breathing hitched.

Scott fought to keep his voice steady. "I am so fucking proud of you. We'll figure this out, okay?"

"I don't want to figure anything out." Gordon's words were choked with tears. "I just want to go home. I want our family back. I miss them. I miss everything. I want to wake up, Scotty."

"I know."

Somehow they had ended up on the floor.

Gordon's head was tucked beneath his chin so Scott could whisper into his hair, "I know, I'm so sorry, Gordon. If I could fix this, I would, believe me."

Virgil closed their huddle with a hug of his own. "We've got each other. We can hold onto that."

Gordon snagged Virgil's shirt and hauled him closer. "I'm not sure if I- You might have to…"

"We've got you," Virgil promised, leaning his head against Gordon's shoulder. "It's okay."

"It's really not."

"No," Scott conceded softly, "It's not okay. But it is what it is, and we'll figure out a way to live with that. Lean on us for a little bit. It's like Virg said – we've got you."

It took a while for Gordon to calm down sufficiently for them to untangle their huddle on the floor. Virgil found a soft cotton shirt – oversized and pale yellow – and sweatpants which Gordon crawled into before draining a glass of water and brushing his teeth under Scott's supervision while Virgil caught John – who, it transpired, was awake after all – up to speed with the hour's events.

John appeared in the doorway and watched silently, tracking Gordon's movements with worried eyes. His voice was gentle when he finally spoke.

"Come on. Let's lie down."

Gordon looked nervous.

John raised a brow and, with a note of dry amusement, remarked, "Relax. I promise I don't bite."

Gordon stared at him incredulously. "Did you just- Did you really-?"

"Make that joke? Yes. Yes, I did." John delicately placed a hand on Gordon's bicep. "Please?"

Virgil kept Scott from following. A few minutes later, wounds redressed and checked for infection, Scott stepped back into the bedroom. Neither John nor Gordon noticed him at first. They were both on the bed. John was wrapped up in a blanket which was draped around Gordon too and they were on their sides, curled towards one another in a shared orbit while they spoke in quiet, quick-paced words.

"We've lost everything," Gordon was whispering, voice rough with tears.

"Not everything." John reached across so that his knuckles brushed the fabric above Gordon's heart. He offered a fragile smile. "Not this. Never this. Being a good person is a conscious choice, Gordon. It comes easier to some than others but it's still a decision that we have to make every day. You have a good heart, believe me. Not even the apocalypse can take that away from you."

There was a pause while Gordon absorbed those words. He caught John's wrist and pressed his thumb to his brother's pulse.

"I nearly killed you," he breathed.

"I know," John murmured, holding Gordon's tearful gaze. "And I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you were willing to do that."

Scott retreated into the bathroom again, silently closing the door with one foot.

Virgil glanced up from the basin, frowned, spat toothpaste into the rush of water and turned to ask, "What's up?"

"They need another minute."