The only thing worse than nightmares was their immediate aftermaths; those terrifying seconds in which it was impossible to tell reality from another memory.

Most dreams were inspired by events which had actually happened – those were easier in a way because a line could be drawn in the sand between the past and the present. It was horrible, but it was over.

But nightmares created from a turmoil of moments all mixed together? Could-have-beens and what-ifs and snatches of violence so horrific that it was unique to the apocalypse? Those were worse because there was no clear way to distinguish between them and reality. You couldn't point to that moment in time and take comfort in the fact it had passed and that made those kinds of nightmares all the more disorientating. Those were the type which left residual panic and stripped voices with screams; the ones which clung on.

They all had nightmares. It wasn't a new occurrence; it predated Z-Day. But their nightmares these days? Those were something else, a new monster entirely. But unlike the infected, they were a monster which Scott didn't know how to kill.

Gordon's were the easiest to handle. Once upon a time he had slept on his front splayed out like a starfish, but now he kept his back to a wall and had one hand curled around the knife under his pillow which he didn't think anyone knew about. His nightmares started with mumbled protests into the bedsheets, soon accompanied by tremors and gasped pleas until he jolted himself awake with a strangled shout. Virgil often reached him first, hastily followed by Scott, and they would bracket him between them until he stopped shaking. None of them would get any more sleep until sunrise; only once he saw daylight would Gordon truly relax.

Virgil's were quiet but painful. Scott had a sixth sense for them and tended to wake just before his brother did. Virgil never divulged what he dreamt about, but he was the only one to wake himself with his own tears rather than screams. He tended to bury his face in a pillow and tried to steady his breathing as if hoping the terror and grief would run away of its own volition if he ignored it. He shuffled aside to make room for Scott and they'd stay there, taking comfort in one another's presence until dreamless sleep granted them peace or faint birdsong announced a new day.

Scott's own were unpredictable. He rarely remembered them and couldn't decide whether that was easier or worse. It left him with an overwhelming mess of feelings without any known cause which often made it harder to calm himself down. Sometimes he awoke utterly disorientated, unable to catch his breath with pure panic coursing through his veins. Other times he drifted out of them slowly, pulse elevated to thunder in his ears and his face wet with silent tears. The worst times were when he sort of crashed awake and was aware of nothing except terror and heart-wrenching pain until he finally registered arms around him and a voice whispering comfort.

But John's and Alan's? Those were on another level entirely.

John used to sleep utterly motionless, a leftover from NASA training when learning to rest in zero-gee involved tying oneself to a bunk tightly enough to avoid floating up and smacking your head against the bed above. Nowadays, he was restless. Sleep came in feeble snatches interrupted by trauma. Scott had gotten good at knowing when to wake him before the night terrors could drag him too deeply into their clutches, but he couldn't always get there in time.

John had too many memories which he would rather forget. They blurred together in sleep to trap him in a labyrinth of his worst moments. He lashed out as if fighting off a physical monster, panicked mumbles tripping over one another so that they were incomprehensible.

He jolted himself awake but remained trapped in that memory, twisted into a scenario which was somehow even worse than what had actually occurred. He smacked into the wall, gasping for clean air around strangled apologies and tiny, feral cries until he smashed his head against the bricks and focussed on pain to draw himself out of the panic.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Scott slid a hand behind John's head to keep him from doing any further damage. "You're okay."

John didn't appear to hear him at first. He was still gulping down air like a drowning man, shaking so badly that it was a full-body shudder, like painful, exhausting shivers. He wrung his hands, knitting his fingers, twisting, then scrubbing so viciously at his knuckles that he left the skin raw and angry. The haunted thousand-yard stare in his eyes promised that he was still trapped in another reality until he finally registered Scott's presence.

"Scott?"

"Yeah, it's me. You're okay, I've got you."

John slumped against the wall with a brittle laugh.

"Shit," he breathed.

Scott repressed a wince. "Understatement, Johnny."

His concern was heightened when John didn't protest the nickname. He moved his hand to John's shoulder, squeezing slightly as he felt the tremors. John's shirt was damp with sweat, shakes turning to actual shivers in the face of night air. Fall had finally overtaken summer and while the temperature could not be described as cold, it was becoming distinctly cooler by the day.

He moved to shuffle off the bed and grab a spare hoodie, but John seized his wrist. His grip was fearfully tight like a startled bird. When Scott met his gaze there was enough pure horror in his eyes to leave them both momentarily frozen.

"Sorry." John retracted his hand. He dropped his gaze to his palms, wiping his hands against his sweatshirt before curling them into fists. "I let them kill him. I watched as they ate him alive. But it's not him I see in nightmares. Some nights it's you. Other nights it's Virgil or Gordon. Occasionally it's Alan. It's even been Kayo and Brains and we haven't seen them in nearly a year."

Scott found himself lost for words. In his defence, it was two-AM, he was still groggy with sleep, and the knot of pain in his chest at the thought of their missing family was hastily unravelling to strangle his vocal chords. He pushed the tangled blanket aside and moved to sit beside John. For a moment, neither of them said anything. He pressed their shoulders together in silent solidarity.

John scrubbed a hand down his face. His eyes were still overly bright with unshed tears.

"I can't do anything. I just stand there and let it happen. It's like I'm frozen and by the time I can move, I'm always too late. Every fucking night. I can't get it out of my head. And I know – I know – it didn't happen. But it's so real."

In the dull light, it was easier for eyes to play tricks. Scott swore his own hands were covered in blood despite knowing better. Shadows seemed to grow teeth and grinned menacingly. He swallowed and tore his gaze away. His own heartrate quickened. He focussed on the slight pressure against his side as John leant a little closer. What did the difference between reality and dreams matter when you had to live with the aftermath of both?

"We're here," he whispered. "We're all still here."

"I know." John's voice was strained in that precarious, damp manner which promised he was very close to shattering. "God, I know. But it doesn't stop the nightmares. It's…" He braced his elbows against his knees to bury his face in his hands. "I'm so tired."

"It'll get easier." Scott tried to fight the doubt creeping into his own words. "Remember what you told Alan?"

"I only said it to comfort him." John tipped his head back against the wall. Moonlight stained the tear tracks on his face silver. "I'm not sure I believe it myself. I want to hope that it'll get easier because what other option is there? Nothing bearable. I don't want to live like this for as long as I have left, but I can't escape the things I've done. I made those choices and this is the consequence."

"Everything you've done has been to protect us."

"Terrible actions for the right reasons are still horrific, Scott. We still have to live with them."

"Yeah, I…" Scott trailed off. "I know," he said quietly, fighting back the torrent of memories because the past always, always found a way to haunt you and as much as he longed to fight John's ghosts for him, this wasn't his battle. He thought back to that moment in the hivemind, teetering on the brink of staying/leaving, holding onto all the things which had brought him back again. "But we also get to live with all the good times too."

"Maybe."

He tried to steal a glance at his brother without being too obvious. The exhaustion on John's face was more than physical.

"You've got to talk to us, John."

"I do talk."

"Not much. Just enough to make it seem like you're confiding in us, but you're not."

John shot him a rueful smile. "Talking isn't my speciality. Listening is."

"Which is great until you take on all of our problems on top of your own."

"I can handle it."

"Is this handling it?" Scott sensed the instant he overstepped. "Look, I'm just worried. Of all people, I know why it's a terrible idea to bottle everything up."

"And yet you continue to do so anyway."

"…I'm getting better at not doing that."

John reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and stared into its depths as if it could tell him his fortune. He didn't say anything for a long moment, expression concealed within shadows so that Scott couldn't read him. He'd mostly stopped shaking, but his breathing was still uneven and the glass trembled in his hands.

"I don't know how to talk about it," he confessed at last, still refusing to look up. He shifted to stretch his legs in front of him, finally unwinding from his fearfully small position. "And I don't know where the boundaries are. You say that I take on others' problems – well, I don't want to do the same to any of you. None of us know what our triggers are anymore."

Scott twisted the blanket to keep himself from fidgeting. "It doesn't have to be me." He didn't dare glance over at John. "Talk to Virgil or Marisa. Even Ellis. Gordon's got a better handle on all of this than we give him credit for."

"If I talk to them… it's not a reflection on my opinion of you. Don't overthink it." John ran a thumb around the rim of the glass to evoke that high-pitched cry. He finally looked up, something uncertain in his eyes as he searched for the words. "I only have one big brother, Scott. Even if I don't discuss…" He gestured vaguely. "…this, that doesn't mean I don't need you around."

"I know," Scott agreed softly. "I get it." He held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, I promise not to take it personally if you talk to Virgil rather than me."

John shook his head with a faint smile. "What about Gordon?"

"Oh, now that's a step too far." Scott dropped the teasing tone. "In all honesty? I'll just be happy to know you're not repressing everything. And yes, I know, you don't have to say it. I'm a hypocrite."

"Hmm." John knocked their shoulders together. "Slightly less of a hypocrite these days."

"I'm working on it, anyway."

Two hours later saw them both lurching from bed. John was still ensnared by the blanket, but Scott was on his feet and barrelling upstairs into Alan's room before he'd even fully registered the screams. Raw cries cut directly to his soul, so agonised that it was unbearable to listen. There was no possible way to adjust to hearing someone you loved in so much pain no matter how many nights this had occurred.

He yanked the blanket away before Alan could get any more hopelessly tangled in it and crawled onto the bed. Alan clobbered him in the ribs with a wild elbow, thrashing as he tried to escape whatever dark place his mind had trapped him in. Scott hauled him close, pinning him against his chest to keep him from accidentally hurting himself, hushing him as he startled awake with a final panicked shout.

"Alan?" Scott whispered, hoping against fate that this night would go differently to all those which had come before it. He tucked his chin over the top of the kid's head to reinforce that sense of being surrounded by safety. "Hey." He rubbed circles into Alan's bicep. "Allie, are you with me?"

For a few merciful seconds, Alan remained perfectly still. Too still, Scott noted, realising in a rush that Alan was holding his breath. It was too dark to see him – it was that eerie hour just before dawn when the moon had set but the sun had yet to rise – but Scott could feel him trembling with the effort to keep quiet, biting his knuckles until he drew blood in an attempt to stifle sobs.

"Oh, no, no, hey, Alan? C'mon, let's sit up. Easy, bud. There you go. Just focus on me, alright?"

Sometimes the breathing patterns worked. Other times they didn't. Some nights – most nights – Alan blurred the lines between panic and tears and Scott was left utterly helpless as his kid hyperventilated. He wrapped his arms around Alan and pulled him close again, exaggerating his own breaths, smoothing tangled hair back from Alan's forehead and wiping tears from his face.

"Scotty?" Alan croaked. He tangled a hand in Scott's shirt, swallowed, and choked out, "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Scott couldn't describe just how deeply he hated the fact that this had become such a regular occurrence that there was now a bucket stored under the bed. He grabbed in just time as Alan doubled over with painful retches, trembling all over, gasping apologies between sobs.

"You're alright, Allie," he murmured, rubbing gentle circles across Alan's upper back. "Stop apologising, it's okay. I've got you."

Alan's knuckles grew white as he gripped the bucket. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes with a miserable, choked little noise. "'M'sorry, I'm really sorry. I woke you up again."

Scott let his shoulders slump with a sigh. "That's okay, kiddo." He carded a hand through Alan's hair to cup his nape. "Let's get you fixed up, yeah? How's that sound?"

Alan leant his forehead against the rim of the bucket.

"Okay." His voice wobbled. He took a strained breath and repeated so quietly that it was almost inaudible, "Okay."

The screams had undoubtedly woken all of them, but it was Gordon who met Scott in the corridor. His hair was sticking at odd angles from sleep, face still drawn with tiredness, but his eyes were bright with concern as he registered the bucket in Scott's hands.

"Again?"

"Yeah," Scott confirmed wearily. He reached around the doorframe to switch on the bathroom light.

Gordon hovered uncertainly, grim acceptance settling into the shadows of his face. He leant against the wall with a heavy sigh. "This is… what, the fifth night in a row?"

"Uh huh." Scott was too tired to think. Luckily taking care of younger brothers was like muscle memory to him. "You should go back to bed."

"Probably," Gordon admitted. He rocked back on his heels, fiddling with the cuffs of his sweatshirt and Scott absently noted that he was in bare feet on the cold bathroom tiles. "Is there anything I can do? Like, at all?"

"I don't think so." Scott scrubbed a hand through his hair. His vision blurred as he reached over to run the faucet. "I don't even know what he dreams about."

"Me," Gordon replied simply. He offered a sad shrug. "Amongst other things. When we were on the road and he woke himself up, he used to check my pulse if he thought I was asleep. So, yeah, I know I feature a lot. But it's… well, everything, isn't it?"

"It's everything," Scott echoed. He met the bloodshot eyes of his reflection with a soul-heavy sense of resignation. "Go back to bed, Gords. I'll give you a shout if I need anything."


Morning arrived all too soon. Scott contemplated pulling a pillow over his head and going back to sleep for all of ten seconds before responsibility won out. He'd already slept in for a lot longer than usual as the sun was fairly high in the sky and he could hear activity outside as people left for work.

He ventured downstairs in PJs, still half-asleep, yawning as he wandered into the kitchen. His mind was groggy from disturbed rest and it took several minutes to realise he wasn't alone.

"Theo," he greeted slowly.

Theo beamed at him. "Morning, Scotty."

Scott stared for another thirty seconds before turning back to his breakfast. His toast had just popped and food was a priority before he dealt with random teenagers appearing in his kitchen before eight-thirty-AM. He leant against the counter and caught crumbs in one hand as he took a bite. Theo remained perched on the table, swinging his feet and looking at the hallway expectantly as if he was waiting for someone.

Scott took another bite of toast. "You're in my house."

"Yuh-huh."

"Not that I don't enjoy your company, but why are you in my house?"

Theo gestured to the window as if that cleared anything up.

"It's Market Day! Everyone's gonna be there. It's the first one since we arrived, so it's a chance to meet people and trade cool stuff and we absolutely have to go. I've been looking forward to it for days. Or, you know, forty-eight hours, but that's a long time, Scotty. Alan said he'd go with me which is great because he's been kinda sad lately and he looks like a kicked puppy when he frowns. Hey, where's Finch? Oh, did I tell you? There are actual songbirds in our backyard. I fed them some of El's sunflower seeds so hopefully they'll come back. Ooh, I could tame them. I'd be like a pirate. Except they're not parrots. Wait, what was I talking about?"

Scott sent out a silent wish to the universe for coffee. "You know, I can honestly say I have no idea. You said something about Market Day then somehow ended up talking about pirates."

Theo grinned. "Yeah, it's my superpower." He slid off the table to land barefoot on the floorboards with a resounding smack. "Where's Alan?"

"Uh…" Scott pried open the fridge and pretended to hunt for something. "He's not feeling too good." He turned around to glimpse Theo's crestfallen expression. "But you can ask him if he's up for going to Market Day. Don't wake him if he's still asleep though."

"Aye, aye, cap'n."

"No," Scott called after him. "Theo? I mean it! That is not becoming a thing, no matter what Gordon tells you."

His protests fell on deaf ears, not that he had truly expected any differently. Still, out of all the nicknames which been attributed to him over the years, it was by no means the worst.

"Hey."

Virgil looked slightly more awake than Scott felt, but not by much. He hadn't bothered to brush his hair yet so it fell in tangled waves which he kept pushing back from his face, and his raggedy t-shirt had jam stains from yesterday's breakfast. He stole the toast from under Scott's nose with a grin which promised he knew darn well that it hadn't been intended for him but remained safe in the knowledge that Scott wouldn't complain.

"Theo's here," Scott mentioned, still eyeing his ill-fated toast.

"I know," Virgil replied dryly. "He nearly ran into me on the stairs." He glanced over at the window where people could be seen on the street. "Market Day, right? That's why everyone's up early."

"This isn't early."

"Not by your standards." Virgil hesitated, examining the stains on the hem of his shirt as he ventured, quietly, "Fifth night in a row."

"We all get nightmares."

"Not like this." He hooked a chair around his ankle and pulled it out to sit down. "When's his appointment with Doctor Briggs?"

"Tuesday."

"So, another three days."

"Three days is nothing."

"It's a lot when he's not sleeping properly."

"Yeah, well. He's not sleeping, I'm not sleeping, none of us are." Scott shut the fridge door with slightly more force than intended. He turned back to Virgil with a sigh. "John's not doing great either."

"I know. I'll keep an eye on him. But how are you doing?"

He shrugged. "Okay-ish?" He caught the note of genuine concern in Virgil's eyes and relented. "Really, I'm okay. Tired as hell, but that's nothing I can't handle." It was definitely time for a topic change. "So, Market Day, huh?"

Virgil stifled a yawn in his sleeve. "Yeah. We haven't got anything to trade, but it would be good to meet others, maybe learn some insider tips. It won't be long before we have to apply for jobs." He let out a tired chuckle. "I did not expect to ever say that phrase again."

"That makes two of us."

"Bit of a downgrade from CEO, isn't it?"

"Oh, shut up."

Virgil buried his head in his arms with a muffled laugh. "Wake me when it's time to leave."


Somehow – with a lot of persuasion and possibly even a miracle from the universe too – all of them turned up to the square at the centre of town. It was packed with people, bustling with noise and colour. There too many stalls to count, each boasting a different product. Live music floated from a makeshift stage where a band took requests from the crowd.

The last time Scott had seen so many people in one place had been in the lower levels of the bunker, bathed in neon lights and liquor. There had been an entirely different atmosphere back then; hunger and diluted danger which only held risk for those without money or power.

Being surrounded by a crowd had been different then. The line between satisfaction and suffocation had been little more than a tightrope. The entire place had been dark and oppressive. But here, in the open air under a vast sky, it was a relief to be amongst people again.

Everywhere he looked was filled with smiles and sunlight, gracious compassion and unrestrained kindness. These people were not afraid to care for others. They gave freely and helped one another simply out of the goodness of their own hearts. It was a true community and Scott was reminded that for all the cruelty humankind displayed, there was a great deal of goodness too.

"See?" Theo teased, rising onto his toes to hook an arm around Alan's neck. "I told you it would be worth it. Way better than hiding in bed feeling sorry for yourself."

Alan shoved him away with mock offence. "That is not what I was doing."

"Uh huh." Theo gave a solemn nod. "Sure."

It was a relief to see a genuine smile on Alan's face, even if it was faint and weakened by exhaustion. There was honest fondness in his eyes when he looked at Theo and Scott suspected that if anyone else had asked, Alan would still be curled up under a blanket feeling miserable. Admittedly, Theo's methods had been questionable and had involved stealing Alan's backpack and bolting out the door so that Alan was forced to run after him, but hey, it had worked.

"Scott," a familiar voice called. Lou emerged from the crowd with a warm smile. "I was wondering if you would join us today. How are you settling in?" She offered them a tray of plastic cups filled with various drinks. "Go on, have one. Consider it a welcome gift."

Gordon didn't hesitate. "Thanks." His eyes widened. "Oh, woah. That's good."

"Homemade lemonade," Lou declared proudly. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the lemon trees growing in large ceramic pots around the square. "Our final batch of the summer."

"Impressive," John remarked, excusing himself as Ellis caught his arm and dragged him away to examine one of the stalls with her. Their conversation was lost in the crowd, but Ellis' wild laugh and John's grin didn't go amiss.

Gordon tried to surreptitiously reach for more lemonade and Virgil swatted his wrist. Lou pretended not to notice, hiding her smile as she leaned over to say hello to another unfamiliar face. Scott took a sip from his own cup, drinking in the sights and sounds of humanity.

There was something comforting about it all. He savoured the sour sweetness of lemonade, closing his eyes against the sunlight and trying to fight off tiredness when Gordon's sharp inhale drew him back to the moment. He had just enough time to register Virgil's exclamation before the pair bolted.

"What the-?" Scott cut himself off before he could cuss in front of children. He took off running after his brothers with vague apologies to people as he pushed through the crowd. He stumbled into the clearing by the band to witness Gordon crash into a dark-haired woman who greeted him with open arms and a delighted voice.

"Joanna!"

"Gordon? You're still alive?"

"Me? What about you?" Gordon let out a surprised laugh. "Holy shit, Jo, I thought you were dead. There was the radiation storm and… Guess I'm not the only one with someone up there looking out for me."

Joanna held him at an arm's length for a moment to study his face.

"We got lucky," she explained, voice tainted by grief. "But not everyone made it. We lost Kiara and Wyatt. Cam too."

Gordon's smile faded. "I'm so sorry. They were good people."

"Yeah." Joanna took a deep breath. "They were." She shook her head as her smile gradually returned. "I can't believe you're here." She yanked him into another firm hug. "You really do have nine lives, Tracy."

"I live to impress," Gordon quipped, voice slightly strangled with emotion. He curled his fingers in the back of Joanna's jacket as if fearing she was a mere fragment of his imagination.

Scott remained frozen. For all these months, he'd shouldered the guilt of believing he'd abandoned Joanna's survival group to a slow, painful death from radiation or rotters. But now here they were, albeit with new scars and heavier souls. Joanna's hair had grown out and faded scratches from infected covered her chest and neck, but she stood tall and strong and alive.

A seven-year-old who had grown at least several inches since Scott had last seen him rushed out of the crowd to launch himself at Gordon's legs. Gordon staggered a little and Virgil instinctively went to steady him, but he recovered, swinging the kid into the air and catching him again with a loud laugh.

"AJ!"

"Gordy!" AJ threw his arms around Gordon's neck. "You're here!" He wriggled out of Gordon's hug to scamper off again. "Wait 'til I tell Lorna!"

Joanna watched him go with an affectionate smile. "Your fan club awaits." She turned to the people clustered around a stall selling fresh fruit and whistled. "Jude!"

Jude took a crunch of an apple as he backtracked from the stall to join them. He lowered the apple with a disbelieving laugh.

Gordon lifted a hand. "Hey, Judy. How's life?"

Scott turned to glimpse Alan's confused frown. It took a minute to realise that Alan and John had never met Joanna's survival group. They'd heard the stories but only knew them by name. But it didn't take long for Alan to put the puzzle pieces together. He let his backpack slip from his shoulders, crouching at Scott's side as he unbuckled it and reached for something inside. A bedraggled but well-loved toy rabbit flopped in his hands as he stood up.

Scott glanced back at the reunion and recognised the little girl who had rushed into Virgil's arms. That eyepatch was distinctive, not to mention the fact that her voice had starred in Scott's nightmares for several weeks after they'd initially left.

Alan studied the rabbit, brushing dust from its fur and frowning at the stains. For a moment, he didn't move. Grief swam in his eyes as he recalled all the memories attached to the toy. Then, after hugging it to his chest for a brief instant, he ventured closer and brushed a hand over Virgil's shoulder, holding it out to his brother silently.

Virgil seemed lost for words. He took the rabbit and turned back to Lily, who still had her arms wrapped around his waist.

"Hey, Lil." He crouched down to her height. "I've got something for you."

Lily's eyes grew as wide as saucers.

"Bunny," she breathed, hands trembling as she reached for the toy. She cast an uncertain look up at Virgil as if questioning whether she was really allowed to accept it.

Virgil gave a tearful nod.

"Yeah," he whispered with a damp smile. "Bunny. We kept him safe for you, just like I promised. You were right, he's very good at looking after people."

Lily clutched the rabbit to her chest, then flung her arms around Virgil's neck, burying her face in his shoulder. "Thank you."

For some inexplicable reason, Scott also found himself choked up. He impulsively reached for Alan, pulling him closer to tuck him under his arm. Alan's gaze remained fixed on Lily and Virgil, his smile tainted by an unknown mix of emotions. He rested his head on Scott's shoulder for a moment before straightening up again, banishing all trace of grief from his face.

"Alan," Scott called softly after him. "I'm proud of you."

Alan faltered.

"Thanks," he mumbled at last, before slipping away to hide in the anonymity of a crowd.

Scott watched him go with a new surge of worry. Alan seemed to carry so much guilt these days that it threatened to drown him and the worst part was that Scott knew first-hand that no amount of love could cure that grief until Alan found a way to forgive himself.

"Scott," Jude greeted him cheerfully with a brief hug. "It's good to see you again."

"You too, man." Scott met Joanna's observant look with a new stab of unease. "Hey, Joanna." He swallowed. "I owe you an apology. I made that call to leave you and-"

Joanna punched his bicep with a loud smack. "None of that, Tracy. You made the right decision and I don't hold it against you. We're both here. We've both survived so far. Let's be thankful and leave it at that." Her eyes narrowed. "Don't carry guilt that doesn't belong to you, Scott. It doesn't help anyone and fixes nothing."

Despite only having met her for a few hours, Scott discovered that he'd missed her bluntness. He held her gaze, letting himself smile as she gave him a brisk nod and turned away to rescue Virgil and Gordon from the horde of children.

Jude slung an arm around his shoulders. "I expect you have as many stories to share with me as I have to tell you. Let's get a drink and catch up. I can introduce you to some people too."


Market Day continued until early evening. It was a full day event with a busy line up of events. Scott was kept distracted by reunions and new acquaintances. Good food and great company made for light hearts and his high spirits only faltered when he glimpsed Alan by himself, sat away from the crowd with his sights set on the horizon, a wistful frown on his face. But then people blocked Scott's line of view and the next time he looked Alan had vanished.

He didn't track him down until they all met up for food. Stalls handed out dinner rations, heated on hot coals and wrapped in foil over open flames. Every time Scott tried to catch up with his youngest brother, the kid was conveniently swallowed up by the crowd again.

By the time they headed back to the house, Gordon was still elated over his reunion with Joanna's survival group, talking a million miles a minute with grand gestures that only ceased after he nearly smacked John in the face and was threatened with fratricide. Alan let his brother take all the attention so that he could slip away to his room unnoticed and as much as Scott wanted to barge in and ask what was wrong, a closed door was a clear sign that Alan wanted to be left alone.

Virgil and Marisa were sat outside in the backyard. There was a collection of garden furniture on the deck and they had pulled two chairs to face the sunset. Virgil kicked out another for Scott to sit down and offered him a drink.

"It's non-alcoholic," Virgil assured him.

Scott sank into his chair. "Yeah, I know. That's the problem."

Marisa let out a low whistle. "Trouble in paradise?" She winced. "I know that face. Is Alan giving you problems again?"

Scott made a faint noise of protest. "Not problems. Not intentionally, anyway." He tipped back in his chair with a heavy sigh, pretending not to notice Virgil's concerned look, all furrowed brows and mournful eyes. "It's more… God, I don't know. I'm just worried about him, that's all."

"This place could be good for him." Marisa tilted her glass so that sunlight reflected to throw rainbows across the decking. "I think it'll be good for all of us." She pulled her coat closer in the face of a distinctly colder breeze. "Just give him some time."

"Time," Scott echoed, studying the fast-moving clouds in the upper atmosphere.

Time was another issue they had yet to discuss. He didn't intend to stay here indefinitely, no matter how well-run and genuinely safe it was. His sights were still set on a manor in the English countryside, not to mention the rusty planet which drifted across the sky every night.

But there were questions. Winter was approaching, so survival in the open would grow harder. Food would be sparce. They'd burn calories quicker. Not to mention the part where Alan's mental health was spiralling. At least here there was a therapist. Man, Scott was so sick of dilemmas.

Marisa drew her feet up onto her chair to sit cross-legged. She balanced her glass on her knee, tangling a hand in her hair as she fretted over unspoken worries. Then, quietly, she asked, "Do you think my people are still alive?"

"Mari," Virgil murmured.

"No, I don't mean…" She reached up to tug absently at her necklace. "I wonder sometimes, that's all. If Joanna's group made it this far - that gives me hope. It's just strange. We survived together, living in each other's pockets for so many months and now… I knew I'd probably never see them again when we left. But I don't think I really considered the implications of that. Being separated from someone is so much worse when you don't know what happened to them. I just wish I had some closure. I'd like to know if Birdy is in a place like this where it's safe to just be a child."

Another gust of wind whirled a flurry of leaves into a frenzy. The trees were steadily turning to the rich reds and golds of autumn. The air had a bite to it which spoke of colder weather on the horizon. Wherever all their missing friends were, Scott hoped it was warm with enough supplies to last them through the winter.

"We've got to have hope," Virgil said at last. He reached over to lay a hand on Marisa's wrist. "Our grandmother would say to trust your gut. What do you feel?"

Marisa exhaled in a rush. "I feel like they're alive somewhere."

"Then trust that feeling."

"Maybe." She unfolded herself from her chair and took Virgil's empty glass. "I'm gonna head back to my place. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you," Scott called on autopilot, mostly caught up in his own head. He wrapped his arms around himself as the wind's chill infiltrated his hoodie to leave him shivering. Getting up to fetch a coat demanded too much effort, so he shrank deeper into his chair.

"You're an idiot," Virgil commented fondly. "Here."

"Thanks," Scott deadpanned automatically, then registered that last part. He glanced up to spy a dark blue coat in his brother's hands. "Oh, right. Thanks for real then."

Virgil didn't dignify that with a response. He collapsed back into his own chair which betrayed his true exhaustion better than words ever could.

For several long minutes, they watched the setting sun in silence. The wind was definitely getting colder, shifting from east to north to draw polar air down from the ice. They were less than a week away from October and it was beginning to show. Scott had lost track of the exact date again, but it had to be the anniversary of Z-Day soon… the anniversary of that godawful day in a New Zealand supermarket too. He sank his hands into his coat pockets with a shiver that was more of a shudder.

"It's strange," Virgil mentioned in a quiet, contemplative sort of voice. "I know it doesn't make a difference, but I find it easier to believe they're still alive now that we can see the sun again. Knowing they can see the same sky… It makes no sense, but I find it comforting."

"No, I…" Scott took a steadying breath. "I get that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

It's as if we're connected again, were the words he didn't say. He kicked his chair into a deeper recline so that the sky consumed his vision. Darkness engulfed the eastern horizon whilst the western clouds still blazed amber. Another night was well on its way, doubtlessly bringing fresh terrors to their minds. He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh.

"Talk to me?" Virgil asked softly.

"Do you ever wish there was a way to transfer pain? For someone to give up all their hurt so that you could carry it for them?" Scott knocked his head against the chair with a dull laugh. "Forget it. It's a stupid thought."

Virgil studied him for a long moment. "Actually, yes. I have wished that. You see someone you love going through all this pain they don't deserve and you're just… helpless. There's no way to make it easier. All you can do is love them, but it won't make a difference. You can't take that hurt away."

His voice sounded as raw as an open wound. Scott was struck by the longing to hold him until he let those tears fall freely. He scooted his chair closer and wrapped an arm around Virgil's shoulders. For a moment, Virgil remained tense, then let his head fall onto Scott's shoulder with a damp sigh.

"It's been almost a year," he whispered. "Can you believe that? How can we have lost so much within a single year, Scott? And now… This is first decent place we've come across since Marisa's apartment and I feel terrible for wanting to stay. Of course I want to find Penelope and Kayo. I miss them so much and it hurts, but also… I don't want to lose anyone else on a possibility."

"They're alive."

Scott surprised even himself with his own conviction. He could still recall the fury in Penelope's eyes as she'd been hauled away, the pure determination in her voice as she'd promised to find them. His last glimpse of Kayo had been her smile and he treasured that memory because really, what better way was there to remember someone?

They had to be alive because he couldn't bear the alternative. Would it be worse to have lost them both or to know that one of them was entirely alone? The thought was so painful that it felt like a razor blade between his ribs.

"Yeah." Virgil wiped his sleeve across his eyes. "I know that. I was just… thinking." He sniffed and tried to inject some cheer into his voice. "Here's another thought – are we going to celebrate John's birthday?"

"That's come around quickly," Scott muttered. He shook his head with a dull chuckle. "Uh, I don't know. Hell, does Johnny even want to celebrate?"

"Year Two of the apocalypse," Virgil commented. "At some point, we've gotta accept it. We survived, so now we've got to live. We haven't celebrated any birthdays since Gordon's. I don't count Kayo's. That was… Anyway. I think it could be good, an event to look forward to, you know? We could get Alan to plan it. It might be good to give him something to focus on."

Scott tilted sideways to rest his head against Vigil's. "Level with me for a minute."

"Oh, I hate it when you start sentences with that phrase."

"Am I reading too much into the situation with Alan because of my own history?"

Virgil was silent for a drawn-out minute.

"I'd love to say yes," he said eventually. "But if you want me to be honest? No. I don't think you're reading too much into it. I really hope otherwise, but I've got a horrible feeling that you're right. And if so, I have no idea what we do about it."


It was still dark when Scott became aware of a new presence in the room. He pushed himself upright to be met with a pair of eyes. He flung the blanket at the person with a startled yelp, scrambling to his feet and forming fists before his brain caught up with his body.

"Jesus Christ, Gordon," he muttered, lowering his hands. "Is this a little brother thing that I just never knew about until recently? What is with you guys and sitting in the dark like creeps?" He rubbed his pounding heart through his shirt and slumped back onto the edge of the bed. "What time even is it?"

It was late enough for John's bout of nightmares to have already passed, but early enough that Alan's had not yet started. Scott fumbled with the holoprojector to be met with the green glare of three-AM. He ran a hand through his hair with a repressed groan, then let his big brother instincts override the irritated part of his brain which longed for more sleep.

"What's up?"

Gordon twisted his hands together. "It's…"

He hesitated, pacing across the floorboards. He'd stolen Virgil's hoodie and it swamped him which did nothing to make Scott feel any less worried. It was hard to be annoyed when his brother looked so damn young all of a sudden. He even had the sleeves pulled over his knuckles, for Chrissake.

"It's…?"

Gordon came to a halt by the window. His back was turned, but Scott could see the tension slowly unwinding from his shoulders.

"My mind is too loud, so I'm gonna go for a swim. Will you spot me?"

"Gords, it's three in the morning."

"Yeah, I know." Gordon tucked his hands into his pocket with a sigh. "But I've got too much energy and too many thoughts and I can't sleep, not after the dream I just had, so…" He turned wide, pleading eyes on Scott. "C'mon, Scooter. I can't go alone, I'm not that dumb. One dizzy spell and hey, lights out."

"Thanks for that visual."

Gordon still looked rattled by his nightmare, but a faint gleam returned to his eyes as he pinpointed the exact second that Scott caved.

Goddammit, even in the apocalypse his brothers had him wrapped around their little fingers. Unbelievable. He yanked a pair of jeans outta the drawers and hopped into them as he followed Gordon to the stairs, feigning irritation when his brother glanced back at him.

It was rare to walk entirely silent streets. The town was almost always active. Even now, Scott could still glimpse sporadic lights. The GDF hub glowed like a beacon as they passed it on their way to the gym. EDEN granted them access and he tried not to glare at the AI's avatar. Yeah, so he still harboured a grudge. Sue him.

Gordon didn't bother with a locker, just kicked off his sweats and left his shirt in a heap at the poolside. His dive was slightly less graceful than it had been pre-apocalypse but was still impressive for a guy recovering from post-concussion syndrome. Scott rolled up his jeans and sat at the edge to dunk his feet in the water, absently knocking his heels against the tiles as he watched Gordon swim laps.

The sky had lightened to a faint peach by the time Gordon had burnt off excess nightmarish energy. Scott offered him a hand and helped haul him onto the poolside. For a moment, they sat side-by-side in silence, watching the sunrise.

The pool was set on the fifth floor, offering them a rare view above most of town. Gordon was dripping water everywhere and Scott's jeans were slowly getting soaked, but he didn't care. Oddly enough, despite not having been the one to swim, he felt more relaxed than he had done in days. The gentle splash of water created a peaceful atmosphere.

Gordon leaned back against the heels of his hands. "Okay, spill. What's eating you?"

"Nothing."

"You've got your irrational guilt face on again."

"My… what?"

Gordon shot him a sunny smile. "You heard me."

Scott didn't bother trying to protest. In all honesty, he was too relieved to see at least one of his siblings happier to care about much else. He watched the golden glow rise above the roofs as he organised his thoughts.

"It's nearly six."

"Really?" Gordon combed dripping hair out of his eyes with his fingers. "Huh."

"So, if Alan's woken up with nightmares again, I've missed it. I wasn't there."

"Virgil can handle it."

"I know he can." Scott deliberately avoided eye contact as he ventured, "Has he spoken to you at all?"

"Who, Virg?" Gordon joked. His shoulders slumped. "No, Alan hasn't said a word. He's blocking me out again. It's the same dumb shit as John used to pull, claiming to be fine when it's so obviously a lie. We're all having nightmares but his are insane. He's having panic attacks every frickin' day and skipping meals but expects us to believe him when he says he's okay? Like, what? Does he think we're stupid?"

"No." Scott trailed a hand through the water. His soaked jeans now felt cold and clingy and he'd probably start shivering at any moment, but he couldn't bring himself to get up. "No, he doesn't think we're stupid. He thinks we've got our own shit to deal with and he doesn't want to add to it. It's… complicated."

"Forget complicated, it's tearing him apart."

Gordon took a breath as his voice wavered.

"It kinda feels like a reflection on us. That he won't let us help, you know? He won't confide in me. And I know it's not personal. I know it's his anxiety lying to him and he's up in his own head believing all kinds of crap, but… Man, I hate it. Because he's a weird little nerd, but he's our weird little nerd, you know? So, I hate seeing him hurt and I hate even more that he won't let me help. It's like… just let us love you, jeez."

Scott curled his fingers around the edge of the tiles until his knuckles ached. More light had spread across the sky now, but it was already fogging with clouds which promised a rainy day.

"I wish it was that easy," he murmured.

Gordon drew a knee up to prop his chin on top. "It's strange for you, huh? Because you've been in his shoes, so you know what it's like in a way the rest of us can't. Does that make it harder or easier?"

"Uh…" Scott exhaled in a rush. "Both, I guess? It hurts to know just how much pain he's in, but at least I know which warning signs to look out for." He hesitated. "Hey, can I, uh, can I ask you a question?"

"Technically," Gordon teased, knocking their shoulders together, "You just did." He dropped the joking act. "Yeah. Go on, hit me, bro."

"Did I screw up with Alan?"

Gordon gave a low whistle. "Jeez, Scott. That's… Well, first off, no. Shit happens and we deal with the consequences as best we can, you know?"

"Not what I meant."

"What did you mean then?"

"I've been self-sabotaging for years. Even you've called me out on it in the past. So, did Alan learn it from me because I never gave him any examples of healthier coping methods?"

"Scott." Gordon socked him the shoulder. "Scotty, please. Give yourself more credit. You did teach him better ways. Hell, you put him in therapy as soon as we lost Dad. And hey, give us more credit too. Alan's got more than one big brother to look up to and yeah, John's got his own crappy coping methods, but Virgil and I are pretty good at handling our feelings."

"You said we were losing him."

Gordon sucked in a sharp breath. "Yeah, well. We won't let that happen." He scrambled to his feet and offered Scott a hand. "C'mon, I'm freezing. Let's get outta here."

They tracked down towels and Scott peeled off his wet jeans in favour of the spare sweats Gordon had stashed in his bag. Grey daylight had enveloped the streets as they stepped out of the stairwell into the lobby. EDEN's avatar hailed them before they could leave.

"Scott Carpenter Tracy."

Gordon raised a brow. "What is this thing's deal with full names?"

Scott repressed a curse. "Yeah, EDEN?"

"Your presence is requested at the GDF Hub for eight-thirty sharp."

Scott exchanged a curious glance with Gordon. "Requested by who?"

EDEN's lights flashed. "Lieutenant General Finn Oscar Wolvin."