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Chapter Text

Sometimes Alan found his family fascinatingly stupid. This included the supposed genius and Olympic gold medallist who were currently arguing back and forth across the living room as if Grandma wasn't trying to watch the news and Scott wasn't in the process of falling asleep across the arm of the sofa.

It was a ridiculous argument. Alan wasn't sure if he could even classify it as an argument, more of a disagreement really, but for the sake of his own sanity that had barely survived his morning Latin class intact, he was going to continue calling it as such. He kept one eye on the scuffle and the remainder of his attention on the gaming console in his lap, because he refused to lose to an AI even if the events in the room were currently more entertaining than those on the screen.

From what Alan could understand, the cause of the current insanities went as follows: Virgil was on a mandatory break after surpassing the maximum legal flight hours at any one time. John was down dirt-side while Brains ran a full-systems check on Five without the distracting urge to throw their Space Monitor out of the nearest airlock for fussing too much. Gordon was only an hour off his own mandatory break. A new rescue had been called in and Scott had decided that it made perfect sense for John to get some more flight hours and Earth-based experience under his belt, so had announced that John would pilot Two out to the scene. This hadn't gone down too well with Gordon, who, as Virgil's official co-pilot, should technically have taken the lead on this callout.

"You look at our files, you'll find that flying Two falls to me if Virgil's out of commission," Gordon was saying, all wild hand gestures and exaggerated sighs.

"I'm literally just taking a nap," Virgil pointed out at the same time as Alan lifted his head from his console to ask,

"We have files?"

Grandma turned up the TV volume with a pointed cluck. Scott's chin slipped from his hand to crash into the corner of the sofa and he jolted upright, blinking.

Gordon took a moment to laugh at him. "Smooth, Scooter."

Scott narrowed his eyes. "Go die."

"Sure thing. Adios." Gordon snapped back to his debating mode. "So? Why's John flying?"

"We've been over this already," John grumbled from the opposite sofa, feet propped up on the coffee table and a battered book discarded five minutes previously when it became clear that Gordon wasn't going to let this go. Thank god it wasn't a life or death sort of rescue, or else a funeral director out in the Australian outback would be racking up the dollars by now. He withdrew his feet, leant forwards to rest his elbows on his knees, and locked eyes with Gordon. "I need more experience."

Gordon turned to Virgil. "Doesn't that tell you something? He needs more experience. Isn't that a reason as to why he shouldn't pilot?"

"I pass on all the flight simulators," John announced.

"Pass!" Gordon exclaimed, with another flailed arm. "Not excel!"

Virgil, too tired to truly care, drew a cushion over his face and whined. "Scott?"

Scott was entirely done with his family's bullshit. He rose to his feet, stretched, and stalked over to loom over Gordon. "John flies. Alan co-pilots. You stay here and sleep before you get shoved on a mandatory break too. I'm sure you'd love to watch me pilot Four because you were too much of a stubborn dumbass to let another perfectly capable operative take Two."

"He's just trying to prove a point," Alan commented. Gordon flung a pillow in his direction and missed, horrifically. Something crashed behind the sofa. Alan didn't dare look.

"And what point would that be?" Scott looked as though he dreaded the answer.

Gordon shuffled his feet and mumbled something unintelligible. Scott flicked him and he jolted away, protesting. "Alright, alright! Enough already. John can take Two. See if I care when he crashes her."

"I remote pilot all the time," John growled on his way to Two's launch bay. "You don't have a problem with my skills, you have a problem with the fact you can't stop by London on your way back to show off to Penelope."

"Blasphemy! I would never!"

Scott collapsed back onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands. "John's right, isn't he? That's the reason."

"No," Gordon protested, looking particularly shifty. Alan tossed his console aside and patted his brother's shoulder on his way past.

"Envy's a great look on you."

Gordon caught his wrist and squeezed. Alan yanked his hand away with a yelp, massaging his wrist and shooting a final glare as he stepped backwards onto the co-pilot's launchpad.

"Asshole!"

Gordon raised his middle finger without turning. "Have a great rescue, dipshit."

Grandma finally broke her silence. The last thing Alan saw before the lift descended past the floorboards was Gordon fleeing from a wooden spoon and angered words. With any luck by the time Alan returned his brother would have stopped sulking. Gordon was rarely in a bad mood but when he did it festered and infected the rest of the household, which was always dangerous, especially when John was down dirtside. His brother had never taken the test, but Alan was willing to bet his guitar that John was a Slytherin. There was a reason he survived untargeted during prank wars.

It was strange strapping into Two's co-pilot chair with John at the helm. Alan had teamed up with him for plenty of rescues before, but those were usually space-bound. He didn't think he'd ever flown in Two without Virgil or Gordon, and, although he wasn't about to admit it, there was a strange sense of unease nagging at him, like an itch that he just couldn't reach. He shifted his sash a little, fumbling with his flight harness and drew his feet up to sit cross-legged on the chair, only to lift them back down again a second later.

John paused, one hand hovering amongst a sea of holograms as he ran pre-flight checks. "Would you stop that?" he finally asked.

"I'm not doing anything."

John's stare remained pointedly on the control panel, where Alan was drumming his fingers.

"Right. My bad."

The rescue took them to the very edge of the Australian outback, where the Great Sandy Desert drifted towards the coast to blur the lines of arid dust with wiry grass. Alan stooped down to pluck a strand, tearing it up absently as he wandered up the slope. The faint breeze that had followed their flight path in off the ocean was beginning to pick up, sweeping little florets of sand across the track. Behind him, John finished slaving Two to his console, and jogged to catch up.

"Well," Alan announced, staring at the sight in front of them. "This is the moment where you say, yeah, no, and leave."

John lowered the brightness of his visor. "We're here to do our jobs."

Alan flung an arm out, gesturing in front of them. "Dude. Just look at it. If this were a horror movie, we'd be screaming at the characters not to go in. Our alternate universe selves are probably doing exactly that."

"Your alternate self, maybe. I'd like to think that my alternate self has more important things to do with his time than to waste it shouting at us for doing our jobs." John relented, letting his crossed arms fall from his chest, and took a step back so he could look at Alan without the sun blinding him where it was reflecting off their helmets. "Look, if you're genuinely uncomfortable then you can wait in Two and I'll finish this up."

"Nope. No way are you going in there alone." Alan shivered. "Pennywise is probably waiting to roast your bones on a spit."

John gave an exaggerated sigh and set off up the slope. Alan waited a moment longer, drinking in the sights of the landscape before returning his attention to what had him so spooked in the first place.

The rescue had come from a tour guide who had offered to take out a couple to an abandoned house that had supposedly last been home to a family in the late 1980s. The actual age of the property remained unknown, although the design suggested its origins lay several hundred years ago. The final family had moved out after complaints of supernatural activity, including baby monitors picking up on voices when the nursery was empty, doors slamming, candles blowing out and even yellow eyes glowing through the patio door.

John was a man of logic. He didn't believe in the supernatural. He put it all down to faulty batteries, stray breezes in an old house, and coyotes straying out of their usual hunting grounds. Alan, on the other hand, had had his fair share of inexplicable experiences to at least retain a little caution when dealing with something like this. Currently, his supernatural spidey-senses were tingling like a woollen sweater before a lightning strike.

The house at the top of the hill looked as though it had been plucked straight from a Hollywood horror set. It even had the crooked windows and motheaten curtains to match. An old sign, the letters long since worn away by sandstorms, creaked in the breeze. Alan rolled his shoulders, taking comfort in the familiar weight of his armoured plating as he wandered closer.

"What's the deal with this place again?" he queried as he came to a halt at the front steps, by John's side.

John checked his console. "Tour guide took the couple out here to give them the basic rundown and walk around the property grounds. They wanted to go in. Technically, entry is prohibited, but they slipped him a couple of bucks, so he turned a blind eye. An hour later, when they still hadn't come back out, he called us. He refuses to go in himself. There's reports of a sandstorm headed our way, so I told him to head back to town while we go in and find our mystery tourists."

Alan shot the fogged windows a suspicious stare. "They're probably dead."

"Or…" John continued, in a matter-of-fact tone. "They're having a bit too much fun in the upstairs bedroom."

Alan snorted. "Hey, wanna hook up in the murder mansion? Sure, babe, why not?" As if on cue, a high-pitched moan wailed from within the house, so loud that it rattled the door.

Alan exchanged a look with John.

"It's just the wind."

"Or it's a demon."

John placed a hand on the door. "Behave," he warned, and pushed it open.

Alan gave the outside world a final glance and followed him in.

The hallway was a winding passage of old oil paintings. They stacked the walls from floor to ceiling, thousands of eyes staring down from every corner. It was very still and very dark. The reflective lines of John's flight-suit were lit up, casting him in a soft orange glow as he ventured onwards. Alan hung back a little, sneaking a glance around the corner of a partially collapsed door. Inside, the room was thick with dust, clogged knee-deep like an ash-fall. A series of decomposing tables stood under porcelain shrouds, flapping in the breeze. Alan took a step closer, boots sinking into the debris, when a sudden crash shook the very walls around him. He jolted back into the corridor.

John caught his eye and jerked a thumb behind him. "Just the door slamming shut." He shrugged, all nonchalance. "I told you the wind was picking up."

"Yeah." Alan looked back at the door. "Sure."

It was darker now, and he tapped at his wrist-console until the inbuilt torch on his sash flickered into life. A blue-stained beam swung across the corridor, catching on the door until he turned away. His neck was prickling, as though someone was staring at him, and he swung around, illuminating the largest portrait. An elderly man with a partial sneer and thick cigar stood in pride of place and Alan frowned, peering closer. A tiny movement had caught his attention and he reached out to touch the painting, sure that he'd just witnessed the man's eyes flicker.

"Alan." John was standing at the foot of the stairs, arms folded in exasperation. "Come on."

Alan retracted his hand. There was a tiny pinprick of pain on his thumb where he'd brushed the paintwork, but there didn't seem to be any damage to his glove. "Coming," he called absently, tracking back through the dust to join his brother.

"Are you seriously not getting any bad vibes at all from this place?"

John slotted a new battery pack into his hand-held torch. "Nope," he answered brightly. Something long and dark around the same height as a small dog scuttled across the landing, about a foot above them. A clump of cobweb tore itself from the banisters. It splattered against the dust below. Alan hopped up a stair, so close that his helmet was practically brushing John's shoulder.

"What was that?"

John was quiet for a moment. "Millipede," was his final explanation.

"Pretty big millipede."

"It's Australia."

Alan inspected the size of the cobwebs carpeting the ceiling above, creeping closer like leathery stalactites. He was trying not to think about how big the spider must have been that made them. "Hey," he whispered, unsure of why he was speaking so quietly. John twisted to face him, and he pointed up at the webs. "Imagine if we'd brought Virgil along."

John snorted and tried to cover it up with a cough. "Send him a photo."

"He's meant to be asleep," Alan pointed out, already tapping a finger to his sash.

"You and I both know he won't be. Besides, he can pick it up later." John hovered, one foot hanging frozen above the final step. Alan crashed into his back and they both stumbled forwards onto the landing. "Why did you stop?"

John's shoulders were rigid. "I didn't."

"Yeah, you did." Alan tried to peer around him. There were deep track marks, like claws, running the length of the corridor from one wall to the railings by the stairs. When John stepped aside, Alan saw that the dust-carpet was riddled with them. "Pretty big millipede," he breathed.

John visibly shook himself. "Uh huh," he agreed. "Told you. Australia's wild."

"Literally." Something darted from the corner of the ceiling into a nest of webbing and Alan squeaked. "What was that?"

John's torch swung up to illuminate his face. "A spider," he drawled, unimpressed. "You've faced worse."

"I would take a moonquake and solar flares over a Black Widow any day."

John's lips twitched in a half-smirk. "Black Widow?" He cracked his knuckles, turning away as he called over his shoulder, "more likely to be a Huntsman."

Alan wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed until his ribs ached in protest. "I hate this," he muttered, over and over again until his mouth felt dry. A dark mass flitted across the space behind him, visible only in the reflection in his visor. He whirled around, vision whiting out for a second, and he steadied himself against the railing. Wet wood crumpled beneath his fingers and he spared a moment to think oh shit before gravity came into play.

John yanked him back before he could teeter over the edge. Alan pressed his back to the far wall, heart pounding in his throat and screwed his eyes shut.

"Hey." John rapped his knuckles against Alan's helmet. The tone of his voice implied that he'd been calling for quite a while. Alan peeled his eyes back open to discover his brother leaning down so that they were face-to-face, hand still gripping Alan's shoulder. "What happened? You know better than to trust old structures like that."

Alan reached up to scrub a hand down his face and his palm connected with his visor. He left it there as he spoke. "Lost my vision for a sec." His suit suddenly felt constrictive and cloying and he clawed at his sash with his other hand. John caught his wrist.

"Go back to Two."

"No." Alan shook his head vehemently. "I'm good." He let his arm go limp in John's hold until his brother released him with a sigh. "Seriously, Johnny, I'm okay. I don't know what happened back there, but I feel fine now. Probably just turned around too fast or something."

"It doesn't work like that," John muttered through gritted teeth. "Alright. There's still no sign of these people. If you refuse to head back to Two then you're sticking with me, and I mean that, Alan. No wandering off because you saw a colourful beetle."

"That happened one time," Alan protested. John let him go and turned away, heading towards the end of the corridor where it split off into three sections. "Besides," he added as he jogged to catch up. "Would I really want to wander off in a…. place like this…" He trailed off as the glow of his suit caught his helmet where his hand had been resting.

"What's wrong?" John doubled back.

Alan blinked a couple of times, but his vision was working perfectly. The front of his visor was truly smeared in a tacky rusty substance, one that was eerily familiar. He swung his torch around to inspect his hand and found his glove drenched in crimson. "Oh." He looked to John, cold sweat trickling down his spine. "I think I'm bleeding."

John seized his wrist and swung his palm up, studying it with wide eyes under the light. His sash was glowing blue as he ran a med-scan. "Jesus, Allie," he murmured, and Alan flinched. John let him go as if Alan had burnt him. "What? Did I hurt you?"

"No," Alan began distantly, distracted by the shadow flitting from one corridor to the other behind John's back. "But I don't think I'm the only one bleeding."

John whirled around. The corridor that had previously been concealed in shadows was awash with tacky slime. It seeped from the walls, congealed, and almost rusted black, but even through the filters in their helmets, it stunk of copper.

"That's uh… that's a lot of blood," Alan commented faintly. He swallowed. "Old blood."

John took a step forward, placing himself in front of Alan. Whether this was deliberate or not was unclear, but Alan was too on edge to care, especially when something low and threatening growled up above. Something shuddered across the ceiling, causing the webs to quiver. Alan stumbled closer to John, pressing their shoulders together so that the glow of their torches mixed, filling the open space in bright white light.

"Jobs." John took a deep breath and continued. "We came here to do our jobs. We complete the rescue and get the hell outta dodge."

Alan laughed nervously. "You sound like Scott."

"Hmm." John flipped the readouts on his console up and into a hologram format. Alan squinted, but it was reversed where he was standing, so he had to rely on John's expression for information. His brother's gaze flickered back down, and he gripped Alan's hand, splaying Alan's fingers from a closed fist to pull his thumb into the light. "According to this, there's a pretty deep laceration on your thumb." He frowned. "Including foreign bodies within the cut."

"My hand was fine at home. How the hell is it infected when my glove's not perforated?"

"Not foreign bodies as in infected. As in particles of oil paint." John let the holograms evaporate. "Like when you get a paper cut." He turned back to the corridor ahead. "Your glove's keeping pressure on the wound. Get Virgil to check you out when we get back though – you may need a stich or two in that."

Alan had stopped listening after particles of oil paint. He flexed his hand, watching dazedly as a droplet of scarlet dripped from his fingertips to the dust below. It was the same thumb that he'd pressed to the painting downstairs, he was sure of it.

At the divide of the three hallways, they came to another halt. John knelt down, brushing the back of his hand across the carpet. Thick clumps of dust crumbled into a fine powder that hung in the air for a heavy moment before draining away out of the line of their torches. The first hallway continued on with the same sand-strewn carpet and peeling wallpaper. Another gave way to partially collapsed floorboards and a row of mirrored plates hammered to the walls as far as the eye could see. The third was choked with an almost impenetrable darkness, and it was into this that the pair of footprints led.

"No," Alan was saying even before John had stood up. "No, no, no. Nope. Not happening. Do you want to die? Or be possessed?"

John, to give him credit, didn't roll his eyes at that. "The scariest thing on this planet is humans. It's not ghosts that you should be looking out for, it's a guy with a gun and enough motivation." He directed his torch into the third corridor. "This? This is just an old house and not enough windows. Now c'mon. I want to be back in time for Brains to give me the rundown on Five before EOS gets her claws into him."

Alan spat something dark and uncomplimentary under his breath but followed him anyway. "This is why I stick to the space rescues," he grumbled.

"You don't," John pointed out. "You're our go-between man. More so than Gordon is, anyway."

"Yeah, well maybe Gordon should have taken this rescue like he wanted to."

"That would have gone down well, wouldn't it?" John replied delicately, with all the smug superiority of an older sibling. "Given he's terrified of anything supernatural."

Alan kept up John's quick pace and resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. "Why is he? He's worse than me. At least I have the excuse of secretly watching Scott's horror movie collection when I was like seven and being traumatised ever since."

John tilted his head back as a spider rattled across the ceiling. Alan deliberately kept his eyes on the floor.

"Gordon played with a Ouija board with a few of his mates way back in his freshman year of high-school," John finally explained.

Alan froze. John elbowed him and he started moving but slowed his pace to walking. "Seriously? That's why he won't mess with spirits? I mean, he wouldn't even take that British rescue when that kid broke their ankle messing around in a graveyard at 3AM, so what the heck happened with that Ouija board?"

"It wasn't just the Ouija board." John shrugged. "I don't know, Al, you'll have to ask him yourself. I just know that he messed with something he shouldn't have done. Rituals, like… god, I don't know. The Midnight Man, or something like that? Total BS, all of it, but whatever happened shook him up well enough for the fear to stick."

Alan stared down his thumb, still sluggishly bleeding. "Right," he murmured. "Total BS."

Up ahead, just out of the reaches of the torches, something slammed shut, presumably a door. John broke into a run and Alan forced his shaky legs to obey him, stumbling into a sprint. A cloud of dust had been blown clear of the doorway with the force of the closure, and around the frame the cobwebs were broken, evidence that it had been open recently.

John shot Alan a look. "Hello?" He raised his voice. "This is International Rescue. We're here to help. Is anyone there?" When there was no reply, he stepped closer and knocked on the door, repeating himself. "Alright," he muttered, annoyance radiating off him in waves. "Looks like we're going in."

"Terrible idea," Alan announced, and held his hands up at John's irritated stare. His brother's gaze caught on his crimson glove and all the annoyance melted away in the face of pure concern.

The door opened with a blood-curdling shriek. Alan peered over John's shoulder to try and glimpse inside, once again cursing his height, but as far as he could see all the room held was shadows. Even the torch didn't seem to probe any further than a couple of steps. Yet John had clearly seen something, frozen to the spot.

"Uh, Johnny?" Alan glimpsed his brother's clenched fists and decided that was his cue to join him. The second his feet crossed the threshold, his vision whited out again and he stumbled, catching himself against the frame only for his hands to fumble with thin air. His knees smashed into the ground, something cold and sticky coating his arms up to the elbows as his hands plunged into wetness. Alan threw himself backwards, blinking in his blindness, but the icy liquid splashed higher, soaking through his suit up to his waist.

"John!" He still couldn't see. He scrubbed at his helmet, cursed as he realised that he couldn't reach his eyes, and yanked the entire thing free. He dug his knuckles into his face until his eyes stung and then a fierce fire ignited in his wounded thumb. Yowling, he lost his balance and tumbled face-first into whatever was coating the floor. A bitter stench like rotting flesh filled his mouth and nose and ears and he flung out an arm. Cold metal bit into his palm and he wrapped his fingers around it, probing at the grooves until his thumb met a switch and the room was filled with the dim glow of his torch.

He could see again.

Alan doubled over, his heart pounding so fast that he couldn't hear past the blood rushing in his ears. Through his gloves, his nails clawed at his palms until the sting overpowered the panic. He fumbled to catch his balance, stumbling to his legs from his knees and choking on the stench of the air.

"John!"

The room was entirely empty. It was filled waist-deep with a thick, dark liquid that clung to his suit, trying to suck him back under, like treacle. Alan shivered. It was icy cold, and, as he lifted one hand in front of him, it seemed to have a mind of its own, trickling up his arm in tendrils of black liquorice, discarding the laws of gravity as though they were nothing more than crumbs left out for the birds.

His teeth were chattering. The hologram readouts on his console flickered and died along with the internal temperature regulator of his uniform. Slowly, as the black plasma slithered higher, his suit began to die, inch by inch. Alan spat, trying to breathe past the taste of decay. Something was dripping from his nose, warmth trickling over his lips. He dragged a hand across his mouth and found it wet with blood.

Alan stared at his hand a moment longer. The light of his torch was reflecting off the surface of the liquid, an impenetrable never-ending black, and it was so smooth that he could see himself as clearly as in the surface of the mirror. His nose was bleeding, dripping into the treacle, but as he bent closer, crimson also trickled down his cheeks, streaming from his eyes. He smashed a hand into the liquid, shattering the image, pawing at his face, but his uniform was already stained in red. Pain ignited in his ankle as something dug in, slithering under his skin, and then he was yanked under the surface.

"Alan!"

He smashed into something, violently, as though he'd been falling for a long time. He dragged his fingers down his face, only they connected with the glass of the helmet he swore he'd thrown aside. His uniform was glowing a bright, brilliant, red, and in the reflection of his visor, he could see his face was clean. Aside from his hair, which was damp with sweat, and his hand, still coated in the blood from his thumb, his uniform was entirely dry. His stomach flip-flopped and he yanked his helmet free in time to heave onto the floorboards. Trembling, he backed away from the mess, spitting as his cracked lips stung with acid.

"What the fuck?" Alan flung out a hand to steady himself. He was in a plain room, strewn with dust and motheaten curtains, and from the cobwebbed rafters above him, he was on the top floor of the house. Somehow, he'd fallen upwards.

His head was spinning.

"John!" Alan flung himself to his feet, legs trembling beneath him. His voice cracked as his words rose to a desperate shout bordering on a scream. "John! Johnny!"

He staggered forwards, only to crash into something firm. He blinked, but the air remained clear. Somehow, he couldn't walk through empty space. His fingers were raw, cracked beneath his gloves, but he felt around the blockade in front of him until metal sliced through his palm: the rusted latch of a door.

Alan double-took. "There is no way," he whispered to himself. "Absolutely no way." But he side-stepped and moved forwards into the empty space past the invisible barrier.

His vision melted into a bright light so brilliant that he had to close his eyes. He stumbled and caught himself against the opposite wall. Blinking, and rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles, he managed to glimpse shadow walls and dusty floorboards. Twisting, he glimpsed the open doorway of the room from earlier. Somehow, he had never left.

"What the fuck?" Alan repeated. "Hallucinations maybe?" He tapped at his console and ran a quick med-scan, but asides from his thumb and the blood pooling at the base of his helmet (apparently he had had a nosebleed), he was fine. There was no trace of any toxins in his system.

John was gone. There was no sign of him. Alan didn't dare set foot in the room again but peered around the door. It was empty.

"John!" His yell was loud enough to send a cluster of spiders scuttling across the wall into their webs. Alan swallowed. His throat was raw, as though he'd been screaming for hours. "John," he shouted once more, his voice cracking.

There was nothing but silence.

Alan reached for his radio, clawing at the logo on his sash until a burst of static roared into his ear, so loud that he faintly patted at his neck, expecting to feel blood. When he looked down, his console was declaring that there was no signal.

Distantly, someone screamed.

Alan threw himself into action on instinct alone. He was reverting back to his IR training, too panicked and overwhelmed to rely on his own mind. He burst onto the main landing above the staircase to come face to face with a petrified woman in a torn vest-top and bloodied knuckles, and only just managed to keep himself from smashing his fist into her face. This didn't prevent her from hitting him, however, and he ducked just in time. Her fist went ploughing through the space where his head had been a second earlier. Alan sidestepped, grabbed her upper arm and waist, and tugged her to him before she could loose her balance and fall through the decayed railing. She fought him wildly, lashing out like a wounded animal, howling, until the vivid red and blue of his uniform and the familiar glowing logo finally broke through her fear.

"International Rescue?" she gasped.

Alan hoped his voice wasn't too shaky. "The one and only," he agreed.

"Oh, thank god." She collapsed against him and he was forced to take a couple of steps back to compensate. His vision was still swimming at the edges and for a second, he had to simply focus on breathing so as not to lose his stomach again. The woman clung to his arm but managed to steady herself. Her chest was heaving, and her cheeks were strewn with teary mascara, but she was focussed enough to listen to his words, which made Alan's job a lot easier than many of the panicked survivors he'd dealt with in the past.

"What's your name?" he asked, still bracing her with a hand to her bicep. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Sniffing, she tangled her hands in her hair and nodded. "I'm Lindsey. I'm on a trip with my fiancé, Richard. I'm an investigative reporter and Richard's a freelance writer, so when we read about this place, we wanted to take a look for inspiration, y'know? Richard didn't want to come in, and the guide warned us against it, but I… I pushed, and Richard refused to let me go alone, so we both came in." Her eyes grew wide and watery, and her lip was white where she was biting on it to hold back tears. "I don't know how I could have been so stupid."

"Hey, no, don't say that." Alan summoned up a reassuring smile. He was sure it was wobbly but all he could think of was the thousands of eyes boring into his back, rotting slime dragging him down, down, down, and John. "You're not stupid. I mean, a real life haunted house? My sister, Kayo, would totally have made the same call. She's an adrenaline junkie too, and I can guarantee you she's not an idiot."

Lindsey blinked back tears. Her jaw was set with a gritty determination. "I have to find Richard. This is my fault. I brought us in here. I was the one who dragged us upstairs. He's my responsibility."

"Upstairs? What happened upstairs?"

She locked her fingers together, staring at her shoes. Alan followed her gaze down and recognised with a sickening jolt that they were smeared with a sticky black treacle.

"We entered the attic," Lindsey whispered. "Suddenly Richard was… he was bleeding, but when I reached for him, he was gone. Completely. He just… vanished. I went after him, but then…" She shook her head. "God, you'll think I'm crazy."

Alan gripped her shoulder until she lifted her chin. "Try me."

"The entire room started tilting, until it was upside down, only I couldn't move. I was pinned to the floor, but the floor had become the ceiling, and the entire place started filling with smoke. Next thing I knew, I was in a corridor filled with mirrors, and I couldn't tell which way was which. Every time I tried to leave, I ended up in another corridor." She reached out and grabbed his hand. "What is this place, Mister…err…?"

"Alan," Alan told her absently, attention caught by a movement downstairs. He leant over the bannister for a closer look. A figure dressed all in black was standing in the doorway, hands clasped to their stomach, and sensing eyes on them, looked up. Their clothes filtered from black into an oh-so-familiar blue, and, as they lifted their hands away, Alan saw that same blue dripping with crimson. His heart lurched.

"Virgil!"

A hand seized his wrist and yanked him away from the stairs.

"It's not real," Lindsey shouted as he struggled against her hold. "Please, Alan, listen to me, whatever you're seeing, it isn't real."

He searched her eyes for a lie. "You don't see him?"

"I don't see him."

Alan collapsed against the wall. "We've gotta get out of here."

"Not without Richard."

"Not without John, either."

Lindsey tilted her head. "Who's John?" she queried, but Alan was already on his feet, marching towards the opposite end of the corridor to the split.

The hallway wound around, plush carpet giving way to a mulchy crunch. Bright light filtered down from above, where the roof had caved in, but before that, a door stood half off its hinges, swinging in the howling wind. A distant creaking echoed from the far end of the empty expanse within, the perfect imitation of a little child crying. Alan hesitated at the threshold.

"If… if I go in, and I don't respond to your calls, can you pull me back out?"

Lindsey dipped her head. Her eyes were bloodshot, honey tan washed-out with fear, but she had that same fierce sense of survival that Alan had seen so many times before.

For the first few steps into the room, Alan couldn't breathe. It felt as though someone had landed Two on top of his chest, to the extent that he physically clawed at his uniform, gloves spitting little drips of blue thread where he'd torn them ragged. Through the frayed ends, his nails were rimmed with scarlet, as though he'd been bleeding from his fingertips. He licked his lips and tasted copper.

"Alan?" Lindsey called from the doorway. She was leant as far in as she dared without setting foot in the room, but her voice betrayed her nerves.

Alan lifted a hand. "I'm okay." He gritted his teeth and stepped further into the room. It was long and empty, like an abandoned banquet hall, and at the end stood a fireplace, almost as tall as him. It was cluttered with spiderwebs, but there, held captive by sticky thread, was a seething mass. Whatever it was, it was alive, and it was moving. Alan couldn't get a clear view. "I'm moving closer," he reported back.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

The hysterical part of Alan's mind was laughing because wow, how many times had he heard that before? He wandered a little closer to the fireplace, which was definitely taller than himself and Gordon, possibly even taller than Virgil. The mess of cobwebs was a tangled ball of film, pinning the writhing mass of something down, but then, less a few steps away, Alan froze, as a skeletal limb tore free of the web to slam into the floor. Cracks flooded out from the impact zone, where a long, curved talon was buried so deep it couldn't be removed.

"Alan!"

Alan couldn't move. He physically couldn't put one foot in front of the other. Between the heaving mess of threads, a tendril of black was slithering free. A glowing pupil set against a snarling red swivelled round to stare at him, locking eyes. Something splattered against the floor. Alan lifted a hand to his chin. Blood was trickling from his nose again.

"Alan!" Lindsey's shriek was desperate enough to strike a chord in his chest. Alan forced himself to turn away and managed to stagger forwards, until a dreadful ripping sound roared from the fireplace. Everything trembled, shivering, and shaking. Alan slammed into the ground, pain blaring across his knees and palms. He lifted his chin to catch sight of Lindsey screaming, but his ears were ringing too badly to hear her.

The world shattered.

Into.

Tiny.

Fragments.

Like mirror shards, all around him.

His stomach twisted inside out. He could taste blood at the back of his mouth. He was aware of pain rocketing from his tailbone up to the base of his neck. The back of his head was throbbing. Up above, high, high, high, were splintered floorboards.

"Oh," Alan whispered faintly. "I fell."

At least this time he knew it was real.

He gingerly pressed a hand to the back of his neck. His vision blurred with scattered dots and white fire shot down his neck to the base of his spine. He withdrew his hand and squinted at it in the dim light from up above. His glove – the one that had previously been clean – was now smothered in scarlet. At his wrist, his console was going insane with the med-scan readouts. Alan fumbled with the off switch. There was nothing he could do about it now. Even if he were imminently about to die, there wasn't exactly any way for him to contact someone, not without a radio signal.

But goddam everything hurt. It hurt badly. It hurt to even breathe, so he kept taking shallow gasps that sounded strained and painful even to his own ears.

According to his rough calculations, the fall should have killed him. As it was, he had no way of telling how severe his injuries were. It was highly likely that the only reason he was still alive was the armoured plating on his uniform. He'd never been so grateful in his life that Scott was such a paranoid over-protective mother-hen who'd demanded that Alan had that extra protection on his suit. It may well have just saved him from snapping his own spine.

His ears were ringing, but there was an awful, terrified cry, muffled, but audible even to him. It was coming from somewhere behind him. Alan strained to lift himself up but collapsed back down with a pained sob. He slammed one fist into the ground, hissing through gritted teeth, and let his head fall back to the floor.

"C'mon," he growled to himself. "You've gotta do this. You've gotta get up. You're part of International Rescue. You're Alan frickin' Tracy."

His body refused to listen to such arguments. Alan sucked in another hitching breath and choked on clean air. He managed to roll onto his side to heave bile and blood onto the floor and lay there trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. For a second, he entertained the possibility that he may genuinely die here, in an abandoned house in the middle of the goddam Australian outback. The others would come looking eventually, but there was no guarantee that they'd ever find him, not with all the tricks this place played.

Gordon was supposed to come on this mission with John. If he hadn't been acting up, playing the part of a spoilt teenager more than a mature adult with a degree and a job and enough scars to rival a veteran, then he'd be here right now, instead of Alan. And Scott, well Scott had been the one to order Alan along in the first place. If Alan died out here, they would never forgive themselves.

"No." Alan crushed his fingers into a fist. "I refuse to die like this."

His face was damp. When he licked his lips, he could taste salt as well as copper. Faintly, past the ringing and the buzzing, he could hear shouting.

"Johnny." He screwed his eyes shut. Everything was on fire. "John!" Shouting sent a wave of agony everywhere, and he curled in on himself in a feeble attempt to hide from it, which hurt even more so he collapsed on his front, dry-heaving and trying not to sob. Suddenly, no matter how many times he glimpsed the International Rescue logo in his vision, he couldn't muster that false bravado. He just wanted to go home. He wanted his family. "John," he rasped, tasting copper against his teeth, "Johnny, please, god, where are you? I need you. John."

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe and he was all alone and…

He was all alone.

Alan's eyes shot open as he finally twigged it.

It's not real, Lindsey had told him.

Nothing the house showed them was real. Lindsey had seen her fiancé die. Alan was willing to bet that that was her worst fear. And now here he was, probably dying, all alone, by himself.

His worst fear? Being totally and utterly alone.

"How do I wake up?" Alan smashed his fist into the floor again. "How the fuck do I wake up?" He was screaming at the ceiling, at the broken floorboards, at the crimson pooling at his side, staining blue to purple, and huh, yeah, he was definitely going to change his sash colour after this, which was a shame because he liked red, and…

"Wake up," he growled, and raked his nails down his face. Something sharp and broken tore a new ring of fire across his ribs and he doubled over, coughing, which hurt even more. What the hell happened if he died here? If this wasn't real, did he wake up in reality? Or did he die there too?

Fighting was really exhausting.

Alan curled up as small as he could and hugged his knees. He couldn't catch his breath.

"Please, please, please." Panic was shivering through his veins, fiery heat to the freezing chill striking into his bones. He tucked his hands against his chest. He couldn't feel his fingers. "Please." His voice was a cracked whisper. "Scotty." He closed his eyes and didn't fight back a sob. "Scotty, please, come find me. I wanna go home. I'm scared."

Pressure squeezed around his shoulders. His head slammed into the ground. Alan jolted upright, gasping, heaving shuddering breaths one by one. He was shivering so badly that he couldn't curl his fingers around the offered hand in front of his face.

"Hey, hey, Rescue Dude? You're okay, I promise. Just take a breath."

"His name's Alan," another voice whispered.

Alan rubbed at his eyes. His knuckles were red. He pawed at his ribs and his back, but his hands came away clean. In front of him, a dark-haired man with a scruffy plaid shirt and khaki shorts sat back on his heels.

Alan found his voice. "Richard?" he finally choked out.

Richard nodded. He didn't seem surprised that Alan knew his name. When he shuffled to the side, and a blonde woman knelt down next to him, it was clear as to why.

"Hey," Lindsey whispered, holding out a hand slowly so as not to startle him. "Are you okay?"

Alan stared at her. "What happened?"

"You went into the room. I lost sight of you at the far end, but I heard someone shout from farther down the corridor, so I went after them and found Richard at the foot of the stairs, with you, unconscious. He said he'd just found you there." She tugged at her hair. "I told you. This house picks you up from one place and drops you in another."

Alan's chest was tight again. He drew his knees up to his chest and backed away a little to bury his face on the top. "I don't know what's real," he whispered, but his voice broke, turning his words into a frightened sob. "Is this real?"

"This is real," Lindsey confirmed.

Richard lay a hand on her arm. "Alan," he began slowly, "how old are you?"

Alan usually made a point of not revealing his age when working. It normally ended in a lot of distrust in his abilities and one or two concerned calls to social services. But he was too exhausted and too frightened to care to lie.

"Sixteen," he murmured. His lips were numb. He could still taste copper. When his fingers brushed his cheek as he lifted them to his hair, they were frozen.

The pair double-took.

"Sixteen?" Richard whispered, as if unsure as to whether he'd heard correctly. At his side, Lindsey's grip on his hand was white-knuckled tight.

Alan raised his head from his knees. "Sixteen," he confirmed. "I swear I'm normally… not like this. I'm actually really good at my job. But… this is… I don't know what's real. In the past hour I've drowned, fallen through two floors, and bled out for twenty minutes, and I don't know… I'm really sorry, but I don't know how to get us out of here."

Richard and Lindsey exchanged a look.

"You mentioned a John," Lindsey finally said. "Who is he? Your colleague?"

"My brother." Alan scraped his sweaty hair back from his forehead and took a breath. "But he's a part of International Rescue too, yeah. He's normally up there, on our satellite." His voice grew small and stuttering. "He shouldn't be here. He's supposed to the one who's safe." He swiped at his eyes angrily. "I've gotta find him."

Richard let his breath go in a rush. "I'll level with you, Alan: I have no idea where to start. I don't even know how to leave this damned place, let alone how to find someone in it. It never ends. But I'll give it my best shot."

Alan dug his knuckles into his eyes and willed a trickle of control back. "Richard, this is a weird question, but what did you see? In your hallucinations?"

To give him credit, Richard didn't flinch. He merely raised a brow and thought. "Lindsey," he said after a moment's consideration. "Lindsey… hurt. Badly. And my parents too. There was… a fire…"

"Your worst fears, right?"

Richard frowned. "Right."

"Yeah." Alan tried to get to his feet and stumbled. Lindsey caught him. "Me too. Wherever John is, I think he's seeing what scares him most. If I can find him, I can break him out of that hallucination. You said I just appeared at the base of the stairs?"

"Right," Richard agreed slowly. "But that wasn't… I came running because I heard you." He looked faintly sick. "You sounded like you were in a lot of pain, and then you started calling for people who I'd never heard of. I don't know any Johns or Scotts. That's how I knew you weren't another hallucination."

"And I found Lindsey when she screamed from her own hallucination," Alan realised aloud. "In order to find each other, we have to hear each other. The house has to scare you enough to scream."

Lindsey folded her arms. She was a little shaky. "How likely is John to…?"

Alan felt sick at the question. He counted to ten in his head. "Not likely at all. Out of all my family, he's the hardest to scare. I actually have no idea what he could be seeing."

Richard's voice was gentle. "You?" he suggested.

"No, that's…" Alan trailed off.

"He's your brother. Seeing you hurt is bound to be up there on his fears list." Lindsey finally released Alan's arm, apparently assured that he could stand by himself.

"I don't think it would be his worst fear though," Alan murmured, mostly to himself. "But I don't think being alone would be either because he spends most of his time by himself."

Richard, bracing himself against the stairs, as shaky as his fiancé and Alan, offered, "if someone wanted to hurt him, how would they do it?"

Alan froze. John was difficult to read. He was often cold and calculating and could sometimes come off as a complete asshole without meaning to be. Years of bullying had worn him down, but it hadn't hurt him as such. Not even the press had accomplished that, although not without trying. Yet Alan had seen John hurt.

"Not being alone," he realised in a rush. "But losing all of us...especially if it's his fault."

An agonised scream shattered the air. Alan felt as though he'd been dumped into a vat of frozen water. He tore out of the room, not caring about Lindsey and Richard shouting after him, ignoring the pain twisting through his ribs and the pounding in his ears. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered, nothing was real anymore, apart from getting to John.

International Rescue saved people.

Alan was damn sure he was going to save his brother.

The house twisted. It double-backed on itself, spun upside to downside and north to west, flipped east into south and cackled until blood ran from the walls and the light turned to darkness. Alan sprinted blindly towards the sound and god, how was John still screaming?

There was one door still open, at the far end of the corridor on the ground floor. It was the one Alan had first seen, the one by the entrance. He struggled through dust so thick it felt like wading through water and shouted, his throat raw and painful from screaming himself.

John was on knees, like a puppet with its strings cut. He was looking at Alan but didn't really see him. Alan threw himself to the floor in front of his brother, rambling nonsense, too scared by the blank stare in John's eyes to really know his own words.

"John, please, you've gotta listen to me. This isn't real. Whatever you're seeing, it isn't real." Alan raised a hand, and gripped John's shoulder, digging in his nails. His brother didn't even flinch. "John, it's not real."

"Alan."

Alan had never felt so cold in his life. He'd also never heard John sound that broken.

"John, I'm right here."

"Alan, please, I swear to god, I didn't know… please…"

"Wake up," Alan finished, echoing his brother's words. There was a scuffle in the doorway as Lindsey and Richard finally caught up, and he twisted to face them, throwing a hand up helplessly. "I can't get through to him. He can't hear me."

Richard's face was grim, but he mustered some confidence. "Yes, you can. You can do this."

John crumpled in on himself. Alan tripped forwards, waist-deep in the dust, and caught him. John was shaking, trembling, and he was ice-cold, uniform speckled in black flecks of sticky treacle. It was crawling away, slithering off the thin lines of his flight suit. Alan followed it with his eyes, watching as it scuttled across the floor towards another fireplace: a fireplace also filled with a writhing black mass that rumbled with a low snarl.

Alan choked.

"John," he begged, fumbling for the release at the base of his brother's helmet. The lock clicked offline and Alan threw the helmet aside, tangling his hand in John's hair and drawing John to his shoulder, clawing at his brother's back to tug him closer. He wasn't sure whose breathing was more ragged, or who was colder. "John, come on, come back to me. I'm right here."

John's breathing hitched. "I'm sorry," he whispered, over and over. Alan pressed his face to John's shoulder and fought back a sob.

"Please. You've got to hear me. We've got to get out of here."

Upstairs, there were more screams. Alan shook his head.

"Not real," Lindsey breathed, staring at something no one else could see. "This isn't real."

Alan yanked his console free of his wrist, leaving a gaping hole in his suit. He threw it to Richard who caught it in trembling hands. "Take her and go. Get to Thunderbird Two. Press that console to the lock on the door and say Protocol Zero-Echo. Get inside. Stay put. If you can, radio International Rescue. Tell them we need backup, immediately. Say Five's down and Three needs medical attention. Got that?"

Richard probably hadn't got that, but he nodded all the same, looped an arm around Lindsey's waist, and dragged her free of the building through the flapping front door. Alan couldn't spare the time to check if they'd made it clear of the structure, turning his entire focus back on John.

"It's just you and me now, okay? We're gonna do this. Look, I'll even meet you half-way… I don't know how, but it sounds helpful."

John whined. It was the single-most pain-filled noise Alan had ever heard from him. He tipped back and held his brother at an arm's length. John stared, unblinkingly, eyes unfocussed, practically catatonic. His face was wet with tears. Alan bit back a cry because god he had no idea what to do. All he could do was cling onto John and pray that it was enough to keep his brother from drifting away forever. He placed a hand to John's face and tilted John's head back, away from the light, but his pupils didn't dilate. Alan swallowed.

"Can you hear me? At all? Even a whisper?"

Pain exploded along his back. Sharp, pointed, cold razors were slicing into his skin, underneath his armour, hooking in until they scraped. Alan lost his vision again, fire igniting in his throat. Mind detached from his body for a second, he realised he was screaming. His sight returned in blurred spots, drenched in darkness at the edges. The fireplace was empty. There was a talon, like the one from upstairs, hanging low, hooked over his face, the point running down his cheek to slice the vulnerable underside of his jaw. Heat trickled down his neck. His back was slick with a similar warmth. He couldn't feel his shoulders, only white-hot fire. The dreadful sensation of something under his skin searing and scraping returned, raking deeper and deeper, stealing the air from his lungs and the blood from his veins. Alan lost all sense of up and down, only pain. He tipped back his head and screamed.

The thing was torn free from his back. Alan collapsed into the dust, choking on air, gasping to try and get any oxygen into his lungs. He struggled to see through swirling dots.

"Hey fucker," John snarled, swaying on his feet. "Looks like you miscalculated." He gripped the splintered leg of a chair higher, the end drenched in blood and oozing matter. "I would never let my family down like that. You know why? Because they're too important and I don't make mistakes. Now get the hell away from him."

A long time ago, post-rescue, under the warm haze of a Pacific sunset and good beer, Gordon had once said that John was not only the scariest Tracy, but also the most powerful. Alan had expected the others to laugh, but Virgil had merely nodded, and Scott had smirked as if he had witnessed this for himself previously and agreed. Now, unable to hold his own weight and entirely helpless, Alan finally understood what they'd meant.

Alan had to be torn from his hallucinations by two other people. John had dragged himself free and recovered in a matter of seconds in order to smack a table leg into an otherworldly demonic entity, just to save his kid brother. He was shaking and his body temperature was dangerously low, and there was blood dripping down his chin, but he was still standing, and he looked as though he could remain that way for as long as it took. His gaze flickered down to Alan for a moment and his expression warmed to a reassuring smile, but then he took a step back and raised his fists.

"C'mon asshole. Come and get me."

A seething mass of black treacle flung itself forwards. Razor sharp talons glinted in the light, dripping with blood, and Alan wanted to throw up because oh yeah that was his blood. He put out a hand and fumbled to pull himself up. There was a dull red glow emanating from within the creature's mass, waves of heat radiating outwards. Alan lost his grip on reality for a split second, but in that time his world consisted of pure terror.

Demon. It had to be.

Holy shit.

John was fighting a goddamn demon.

Alan was never again going to doubt whether his brother was badass. Having said that, he still wasn't sure whether they'd even survive this. His own back was in agony and from his shaky hands and the sheer scale of the blood drenching his suit, he was in serious trouble, and he had no idea what shape John was in.

He got a pretty good idea a second later when the demon moved. It was curling in on itself, doubling up for height rather than mass and Alan got a glimpse of John past the red orb. John was bracing himself against one of the rotting tables. His suit was torn up, hair drenched in crimson, and the makeshift weapon was practically splinters. He registered eyes on him and looked up.

This was an unwinnable fight. They both knew it. They both also knew that without backup, there was no way they were both getting out of here. If Alan had enough time, he could possibly drag himself to the window, as it seemed like the demon was contained in the house alone, but to do that without attracting attention to himself was impossible. He needed a diversion.

Alan knew the exact second that John connected the dots. The pained grimace melted from his face to be replaced with a relieved acceptance. Alan knew what that meant. He'd seen that expression on Scott too many times, and all of those times had ended with his eldest brother in a hospital bed after taking the hit meant for another.

"No." He didn't even realise he'd spoken. "John, no."

John locked eyes with him. "It's okay." His words were drowned out by that soul-shaking snarling, but Alan read his lips. "I'm okay with this."

Alan lurched upwards, pain driven back by panic. "Johnny, don't you dare!"

He didn't see the exact moment the demon attacked. He didn't see the hit. He didn't even see John fall, but he heard him, heard the same scream that John had heard for most of his life over radio calls up on Five as all he could do was offer comfort as people lost their lives. Alan wasn't a listener. He never had been. He was always the one to swoop in and catch those people before they hit the end. He lunged forwards as he always did, but this time he missed.

He missed.

And John fell.

And Alan couldn't breathe. He collapsed to his knees. The demon hovered over him, cackling and snapping, and then reeled around, swooping down low. Alan flung himself forwards, lashing out as if fists could do anything against it.

"No." He didn't care that he was screaming loud enough to taste blood. "You can't have him. I won't let you."

The demon paused. The red glow pulsed. It cocked its head.

Interesting.

Alan heard it rumble in his head and stumbled back, but the demon was already gone, flitting away, up through the ceiling, vanishing back to the rest of the house. He collapsed to the floor. If it came back, he didn't know if he particularly cared.

"John," he breathed. "John?" He choked on his own tears and swiped at his face. "John? Please don't… don't leave me." His arms buckled beneath him, but he pushed through, tugging John's head into his lap. There was so much blood. In all his years of International Rescue, on the side-lines and out in the field, Alan didn't think he'd ever seen so much blood. His hands were smothered in it. He couldn't even tell where the injury originated.

"Johnny, please."

He pressed a thumb to John's pulse, but his hands were shaking too much. He wanted to reach for his console, but it was gone, in Two with Richard and Lindsey. Instead he carved a hand through John's hair, trembling with the effort to restrain his own sobs.

"Please, god, please, I'll do anything, I'll wash dishes for the rest of my life, pay for all your nerdy space magazine subscriptions, I don't know, just please, please, please, Johnny, don't go. Don't do this. Don't die."

He slammed his fist into the ground. He was pretty sure his knuckles split but he couldn't care less.

"You can't do this to us. We need you. I need you. Scott needs you. He sent you on this mission. He'll blame himself, you know he will. Are you really going to do that to him? You're being fucking selfish."

Alan crumpled. "I'm sorry," he gasped through a keening sob. "I didn't mean that. You're not selfish. You're clever and brave and amazing and I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but it's true all of it. All those times I called you an asshole and said I hated you, it was all bullshit. I love you. I need you to come back to me. I'll never bother you again, I promise." He pressed their foreheads together and took a shuddering breath through his tears. "Johnny, I swear it. I don't care what it takes, just come back to me. Don't die." His voice broke. "Whatever it takes, you hear me? Just… come back."

His hand was pressed to John's chest, so he felt the exact moment his brother took a breath. It was faint and dangerously weak, but then he took another, and another. It was faintly ironic that at this moment Alan forgot how to breathe himself, but that only lasted a second.

"Son of a bitch," he whispered incredulously. Then, faintly, "sorry Mom."

Adrenaline did funny things to a guy. Alan had stories of rescues where people had held frickin' buses off people for twenty minutes straight. Still, John had almost a foot on him, and Alan had no idea how much blood he'd lost, but it was enough for his vision to be swimming and the feeling in his feet to have left ages ago. He didn't care. All that mattered was saving John.

"We're International Rescue," Alan announced to thin air. "We're here to do our goddam jobs: saving people."

Thunderbird One was landing next to Two as Alan's legs finally gave up the ghost. Someone else had to have been flying as Scott merely flung himself out of the cockpit with his jetpack for an extra speed boost and managed to catch him before he hit the ground. Virgil was by their side a second later, Gordon at his heels.

Scott took a moment to find his voice. "Virgil," he said finally, fainter than usual, more of a question than a command.

Virgil had reverted to Field Medic mode. It wasn't his brothers in danger, it was just survivors on any other rescue. He gave a sharp nod and bent down, lifting John with ease. He only hesitated for a second when he glimpsed Gordon's expression. Gordon looked shellshocked. Virgil merely glanced to Scott for a split-second of non-verbal communication and headed for Two's med-bay.

Alan watched them go. Virgil was a big guy, all muscle whereas John had retained the height but none of the body mass to go with it, but he looked so damn small in Virgil's arms. He looked dead. Alan doubled over, coughing and dry heaving into the dust. His ribs flared up in protest and he whined, unable to catch his breath but unable to escape the pain either.

"Easy." Scott's hand was on his back, rubbing comforting circles. Alan flinched and Scott snatched his hand away, eerily similar to how John had earlier, back at the beginning of the rescue, and Alan found himself puking into the sand again.

He was briefly aware of Gordon to his right, saying something, probably trying to reassure him, but he couldn't hear anything above his thundering pulse. He lifted a hand up, fumbling at his ears, and tilted his head back to shoot a desperate glance at Scott, only the blood in his mouth drained down his throat and he had to crumble into a heaving heap again.

Scott knelt down in front of him, reaching out with an open hand, fingers splayed as if to prove he wasn't a threat. He tapped at his own ears and then tipped his thumb upside down, tilting his head in question. Alan nodded. Scott twisted, said something muffled to Gordon, and then turned back, holding out his hand to Alan's face but not quite touching. He remained there, waiting for permission.

"Scotty," Alan whispered, even though he couldn't hear his own voice. He blinked away tears to read Scott's lips.

"I'm here." Scott searched his face to check that Alan understood, then continued. "You're safe. We've got you. Virgil's got John. It's going to be okay." He flexed his hand a little to draw Alan's attention back to the present. "Can you point to where you're hurt?"

Alan shook out his own hand, pins-and-needles prickling along his fingers. It took a bit of effort to remember how to move, but he managed to gesture to the back of his head, shoulders, spine, and ribs.

Scott didn't react. "Alright. Can I touch you?"

Alan hesitated. He didn't know why. All he could feel was sticky black treacle, snaking around and up and dragging him down, choking, and then he was so cold. His hands were blurry in front of him. Blurry, but red.

"Hey." Scott clicked his fingers. It was the movement, not the sound, that drew Alan back. "Look at me. You are safe. You are with us, next to Thunderbird Two. I'm in front of you and Gordon is to your right. I need you to do me a favour. I need you to count with me to ten. Is that alright? Can you do that?"

Alan nodded.

Scott grinned. "Awesome. Atta boy, Al."

They ran through the numbers. By the time they got to ten, Alan could hear Scott's voice again, and the crunch of Gordon's boots against the sand. He was on his knees, and it was growing dark. The wind was whipping up the desert, a little closer than the horizon. His gaze tracked to the side, but Gordon was standing there, blocking his view of the house.

Scott was knelt in front of him. "Hey Alan," he said conversationally. "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah." Alan's voice sounded wrecked even to himself, but Scott didn't flinch. "Sorry."

While Scott didn't react, Gordon certainly did. He turned his back, fixing his sights on the horizon, shoulders rigid. At his sides, his hands were shaking, and he crushed them into fists.

"No need to apologise, alright?" Scott didn't move any closer, keeping his movements deliberately slow and open. "If you want me to back off, just let me know. No hard feelings, alright? I get it." He pointed to Gordon. "He gets it too."

Alan had no idea how Scott was so calm. Somehow his brother was managing to blend Big Brother Scott with Field Commander Scott which was a major feat given the two roles were usually incompatible.

"Don't," he blurted out before Scott could move away. "Don't leave. I just need a minute. I…" His gaze landed on the crimson drenching his uniform. He could still remember the agony of bleeding out in that room and even now the phantom pain seemed as real as the lacerations across his shoulders. "I need you to promise this is real. I can't lose you again. I can't get back up a second time."

Gordon let out a choked noise that was unmistakably a sob. One of his fists flew up from his sides, presumably pressed to his mouth.

"This is real." Scott moved closer so that all Alan could see was him. "I promise you that this is real. Proof that this is real? You can hear the sea in the distance. Gordon's sash is slightly wonky because he refused to run a proper launch. There's nail polish on the side of my boot, here, see, because Kayo tried to prank me this morning. Here's a real fact that you didn't know before: I was the one to steal Penelope's cookie jar, not Virgil. You know what else is real?" He reached out and lightly gripped Alan's wrist, tugging Alan's hand to his chest and pressing his palm above his heart. "I am. This is real. Can you trust me on that?"

Scott's heart was pounding under Alan's hand. It was the only sign that his brother was seriously freaked out. Alan nodded once, then twice.

"I trust you."

Scott lifted his other hand and held it a couple of inches away from Alan's face, not pushing but equally giving Alan the opening that he couldn't reach for himself. This time Alan moved forwards and pressed his forehead to Scott's palm. Scott waited a second longer in case Alan changed his mind, then drew his other hand up, cupping the back of Alan's neck, the only place that wasn't painful, and gently tugged Alan close.

"You're okay, Allie. I'm not letting you go."

Alan pushed his face into the crook of Scott's neck and collapsed against Scott's chest. Scott caught him and didn't move, an unstoppable force despite the horrors hidden less than a quarter mile up the slope and the sandstorm headed their way. He ran a thumb down Alan's forehead, easing matted hair away from bloodied skin, and then down his neck, banishing the tension until Alan slumped entirely.

Footsteps crept closer. Alan tensed. Scott ran a hand down Alan's arm, gently tapping at each knuckle until Alan relaxed his fists, then back up, carving through Alan's hair as best he could, careful to avoid the bloodied gash across the back of his head.

"Easy Al," he murmured, then, slightly louder, so that Alan could feel the words as well as hear them, he added, "slow and steady wins the race, Gordo."

"Sorry." Gordon's voice was strained. "I didn't mean to startle him. You… Shit."

Alan didn't lift his face from Scott's neck, but replied all the same. "You're good. Didn't mean to flinch. Sorry."

"Don't apologise. I feel like even more of an asshole now. But… uh… Scott, can I just… maybe, possibly, draw your attention to this med-scan?"

Scott didn't reply, but Alan felt him raise his chin, presumably to read the information Gordon was showing him. He tensed, forcibly reminding each muscle to relax before Alan could read too much into it.

"Hey Al, you cool if I try and remove some of the plating? While your suit is uh…"

"Badass," Gordon offered helpfully, mostly just to hear Scott say the word.

"Badass," Scott agreed wearily. "It's not being all too helpful right now."

Alan shrugged one shoulder.

"What does that mean?" Gordon asked, not bothering to lower his voice. He knew well enough how much Alan hated being left out of the loop and now was no time for keeping secrets.

"It means yes, go ahead," Scott translated. Apparently five years of being Alan's legal guardian had made him fluent in the language of traumatised teenager. "Gordon, get your ass over here. I could do with a spare pair of hands."

Gordon came a little closer. "Alan, I'm gonna touch your back now. It's just me, alright?" He didn't wait for any complaints, too busy working his hands along the seams in the plating, locks clicking and sliding out of alignment as he steadily removed each piece. Without the pressure of the armour, the pain returned with a vengeance and Alan practically shattered his nose against Scott's shoulder with how violently he recoiled. Gordon swore something straight outta his military days, instinctively diving to his knees to catch Alan against his chest.

"Alan." Scott tapped his cheek and Alan finally blinked back into focus. "Hey. I need you to stay awake, alright?"

Gordon's hands were in his hair, probing for the wound. Alan winced.

"You're shivering like you just took a dip in the Arctic," Gordon commented. There was an underlying edge of something in his voice.

"It's really frickin' cold," Alan complained faintly. As if on cue, he gave another full-body shiver. "I can't feel my feet. Or my hands." He tipped his head back to pillow his neck on Gordon's shoulder, frowning at the orange skies above. "I think I'm gonna throw up again."

"Scott," Gordon murmured, keeping one hand pressed to Alan's forehead. "Shock's getting worse, not better."

"Same with the stats." Scott gritted his teeth. "Alright, you're flying One."

"The fuck?"

"I need you to fly because Virgil's busy with John, and you're not compatible. I'm the same blood group as Alan and he's gonna need a transfusion way quicker than a hospital will treat him even after we get him there. So you're gonna sit in One and fly your little heart out while I try not to stab myself in the wrong place with a needle. Capiche?"

"Scooter, I love you, but you scare me."

Alan peeled back heavy lids. Scott was a blurry shape, hands on his hips. It was entirely possible that they both thought Alan had given in and passed out already.

"Gordon, tell me you can do this. Please."

Gordon quietened. "Yeah," he agreed. "I can fly One. Might be a bit bumpy, but I can fly her. You save him, you hear me?"

"If you honestly think there's a single goddam universe in which I wouldn't do anything to save any of you, then you really don't know me at all."

Gordon didn't hesitate. "I know. I'm asking you anyway because you need something to focus on right now other than self-destruction. So you save Alan. Virgil's saving John. I'm just the guy with spare hands here, so…"

"So you fly."

Gordon nodded. "So I fly." He took a breath. "Let's blow this barbecue and bring our guys home, Scotty-boy."

Alan lost his grip on consciousness. The darkness was scary, but Gordon was rambling, and Scott's arms were around him, and he knew they'd bring him back no matter how lost he got. He finally let himself pass out.

Alan hated hospitals. He was fairly certain this was a sentiment that was shared amongst all of his family. Hospitals stunk of bleach and antiseptic and were filled with harsh white that burnt to stare at, as if the light could banish the shadows that stalked the corridors, invisible to all but those who looked a little too closely for their own good. Hospitals never promised anything good and Alan had spent far too many hours of his life in them over the years. It was an ugly habit he'd love to be rid of, but International Rescue made these trips an occupational hazard. Still, this didn't mean he had to like them.

For the first forty-eight hours, he was drifting in and out of consciousness without anything to anchor himself to reality. Pain meds were a soft haze, lulling him back to sleep whenever he struggled to the surface. They also made it far easier to forget everything. Nothing lasted forever though, so on the third day he finally dragged himself into the bright lights and rocky mattress of a hospital bed and stayed there.

Another thing he hated about hospitals – the issued clothing. It was paper-thin – a bit of a design flaw really when the air-con was on full-blast. It also gave him full view of his wrists, which were raw and angry, as though he'd been trying to yank himself free of handcuffs. He rubbed at the edge of the inflamed skin, barely feeling the sting, until Scott found him and visibly winced.

"Sorry," Alan muttered absently.

Scott reached out and prised his hand away from his wounded wrist. "I've got a spare hoodie."

It was an unofficial offer. Alan took it. "Thanks."

There was a pretty colossal elephant in the room, but Scott didn't mention it and Alan was still too zonked out on medication to form a coherent sentence beyond two or three words. He managed to pick at a cup of yoghurt and ice-chips, but that made him too sick for anything else, so he curled up under the thin sheet again and pressed his face into the pillow. Scott drew up a chair next to the bed and waited.

At some point Alan had drifted off again. Gordon was there when he woke up, on the floor, slumped against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest and head rested in his arms on top. There was no way that was comfortable. There was a box of tissues on the table next to his bed, so Alan balled up a bit and tossed it at his brother. His aim was a little off, but Gordon lifted his chin, yawning, and caught sight of him.

"Ah. It awakens."

Alan tipped his head back against the pillows with a groan. "Thanks." He waited until Gordon had unfolded himself from the floor and made the trip across to the bedside. "Talk. Now."

To give him credit, Gordon didn't hesitate. "John's still out cold. Stats are shit, but he's definitely on the mend. You're both gonna need a ton of PT, but you're going to be okay. More than okay."

"John's not…?"

"Not what?"

"Dead?"

This time Gordon did flinch. "The hell? No. Of course he's not dead. He's in pretty bad shape, I won't lie to you, but he's not…" He hesitated then continued, far softer than usual. "What happened in there?"

Alan curled the too-long hoodie sleeve around his thumb and picked at the loose thread that had become caught at the ragged edge of his nail. Gordon decided that this was one time he'd show remarkable patience and hopped up onto the table to wait. He was still in his IR uniform, Alan noted absently, wondering how long it had been.

"I saw him die."

Silence settled like ash cloud. It was suddenly very hard to breathe.

"Hey." Scott knocked against the doorframe. He motioned to Gordon. "Virgil's asking for you."

"Yeah?" Gordon slid off the table, pausing a moment, hand hovering awkwardly by Alan's side. "For the record Al, I'm really sorry. I screwed up and you paid for it. That won't happen again."

Scott let him go without a word. There was a whole world of conversations that needed to be had, but a hospital room was not the place to do it. He took his spot in the chair again and rested his elbows on the edge of the bed. Alan prodded his arm. Scott looked at him questioningly.

"How much did you hear?"

"All of it."

Alan shuffled upright. His body protested this move, sending pain searing down his spine, radiating out across his shoulders, and his vision spotted for a moment. Scott clapped a hand to his bicep to steady him.

"Careful. Don't push yourself."

Alan gritted his teeth and struggled through anyway. Scott, despite being clearly exasperated by this turn of events, didn't say anything, but kept his hand there, just in case.

"You need a report." It wasn't a question.

Scott shook his head. "It can wait."

"No, it can't."

Scott's grip tightened a fraction. "Yeah," he stated firmly. "It can. Wait until John's awake at the very least. I'm not asking questions until we have both of you home and safe. The same goes for the others. If Gordon starts asking questions, kick him out. Virgil knows better than that, so he shouldn't be a problem." He released his hold and Alan reached out instinctively, catching his hand before Scott could move away entirely.

"How long?"

Scott understood the full question. He could probably read it off Alan's face. "Four days," he answered. "You've been in and out for most of them."

"International Rescue?"

"I honestly couldn't care less about that right now. We almost lost you. Both of you. Leave saving the world to the GDF for once." He ran his free hand down his face, trying to hide his exhaustion. "Just focus on getting better, alright? That's all I'm asking of you right now."

"But what about-?"

"Alan."

Alan snapped his mouth shut. "Okay. Got it."

Scott shook his head with a tired smile. "You're a walking disaster, you know that?" He reached out and ruffled Alan's hair. For once, Alan let him. "Get some more sleep."

"What about you?"

Scott flipped the first of a set of holograms up from his watch. "I'll be staying right here."

Even with the wonders of modern medicine, it was a further two weeks before they were released from hospital. The trip back to Tracy Island was the smoothest Alan had ever known it, with Thunderbird Two setting down on the runway with little more than a tiny bump as the wheels hit the tarmac. Inside, Grandma wasted no time in wrapping him up in a hug that had him wincing. Kayo, ever observant, tugged Grandma away, drawing her attention to John instead, giving Alan plenty of time to flee.

The first few nights were odd. It felt almost normal. There was that same parrot screeching at hours of the morning that should belong only to the dead and Alan fell into old habits – falling asleep to music, stealing strawberries from the fridge whenever Kayo wasn't looking, leaving clothes hooked over the edge of the laundry basket rather than actually inside it – in a matter of hours.

Part of him was able to believe that it had all been a nightmare. He was awake now. He was safe now. Nothing had ever happened. Then he glimpsed his reflection in the mirror after his shower and had to physically brace himself against the sink as his legs threatened to give out.

The glass was foggy with condensation. Alan dragged a spare towel over it and peered closer at his reflection, twisting to get a clearer look at his back. He'd only been able to shed the bandages twenty-four hours previously, so this was the first time he'd had a good look at his injuries beyond reading about them on his medical files.

Two angry lines ran from the top of his shoulders down to meet at the centre of his spine. They were vicious but had clearly been done with something long and highly sharp, as they were precise enough to leave clean cuts. Alan reached a hand over his shoulder and brushed a finger over the top of the right scar. When he drew his arms up above his head, the marks flexed and flowed like another pair of limbs scrawled onto his skin as an afterthought. There was something incredibly familiar about the way they curved and arched down to pointed tips, however. Alan switched on the mirror lights for a better look. The answer came to him in a flash.

"Wings."

For whatever reason, the demon had left him with scars that were the exact shape of folded wings. Alan swallowed and threw his top on as quickly as he could without tearing the stiches on his ribs. He didn't want to look at the scars any longer. He had the distinct feeling that swimming was going to be off his rota for quite some time. He threw the damp towels in the hamper, tossed his socks in on top, and hesitated with his hand on the door handle.

Something didn't add up. Maybe it had been an accident, but the lines looked too precise for that. Alan shivered despite the heat of the damp air and left the bathroom. The real question remained, bouncing around in his head like a vicious yoyo. Why the hell had a demon scarred wings into his back?

Despite Scott's assurances that debriefing could wait for as long as was needed, it seemed that Alan wasn't the only one who wanted to get it out of the way. John hadn't said a word of much to anyone since their return from the mainland, and he sat on the sofa detailing his report in short, clinical answers. A glance around the room revealed that Alan wasn't alone in his discomfort. Gordon didn't know where to look, and it was only Virgil's hand on his wrist that kept him from pacing the carpet. Scott seemed to be faring better, asking the correct questions, and noting down the most important details. It was only when John was done and stood up to leave that Scott reacted, reaching out to snag his brother's wrist.

John yanked his arm away like he'd been burnt. "Don't." He didn't sound angry, more numb than anything else, as though he was completely detached from his surroundings.

Scott released him without a word. John held his gaze a second longer, than turned and left the room as silently as he had entered. On the sofa, Alan dug his feet further under Virgil's thighs, seeking reassurance without speaking. Virgil reached across and laid a hand on Alan's ankles, but his sights were locked on Scott.

"Alan?" Scott finally asked, turning back to them. "Anything else to add?"

Alan shook his head, not trusting his voice. Virgil squeezed his ankle once more. "I think we're done here."

Scott nodded, tossing his console onto the sofa. "Yeah," he agreed in an exhausted voice. "I think you're right."

It didn't take more than a couple of questions to the right people for Alan to realise that John genuinely hadn't spoken to anyone. He wasn't even playing the usual game of assurances. He just wasn't talking beyond the basic necessities, not even to Grandma. Even EOS was receiving the silent treatment.

Scott was worried. This much was obvious. Virgil too. Even Brains was drawn into the fray. By Saturday, Penelope was on-island, only to be brushed aside too. Alan sat out on one of the sun-loungers, Sherbet in his lap, and tangled his hands in the longer fur around the dog's ears as he listened in to their conversation.

Penelope was sat at the edge of the pool, her feet dangling in the water. Scott was leant against the struts of the diving board and Virgil was next to him, arms folded. From what they were saying, Penelope was at a loss. Alan buried his nose in the fur on Sherbet's head and closed his eyes. Penelope knew John better than anyone. If she couldn't get through to him, none of them would. Sherbet wriggled free and Alan let him go, taking another sip of his water to try and combat his growing nausea. John was there physically, but it felt as though a part of him truly had died in that house.

"Hey." Water splashed his feet. Alan startled out of his thoughts and looked up. Gordon was in the pool, chin hooked over the edge to stare at him, one brow raised. "You coming in? C'mon, I can see you thinking too much." He grinned impishly. "You're going to break something if you keep going like that."

Alan glared at him. "Wow. A comedic genius."

"Oh, believe me, I know." Gordon's expression softened. "Seriously Al. Come on. Take a couple of laps. If it doesn't help then I won't bother you again, I swear."

Gordon had only heard the end of Alan's debriefing. He had no idea about the demonic sludge, or the entire almost drowning part. He genuinely wanted to help. Alan slid off the lounger and wandered over to the edge of the pool, dipping one toe in.

"You can't swim in a hoodie."

Alan shivered, despite the heat. When he drew his hands back to lift his hoodie over his head, he could feel the scar-tissue criss-crossing his skin. In the water, Gordon met his gaze with a rush of understanding, and casually flipped onto his front, diving down to resurface in the centre of the pool. It gave everyone a clear view of the scars littering his back. Alan watched him a moment longer. The meaning was obvious: Alan wasn't the only one with marks. He yanked his hoodie off and tossed it aside.

There was an audible gasp from the other side of the pool as Penelope glimpsed his back for the first time. Scott had been there alongside Virgil for Alan's check-ups for the past three weeks, so wasn't shocked by the sight. He rested a hand on Penelope's shoulder, whether in warning or support Alan wasn't sure.

"What happened out there?" she breathed.

Scott kept his hand on her shoulder. "I don't really know. You've read that mission report, Penny. It seems crazy, but…"

"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth," Virgil murmured. He shrugged as they turned to look at him. "Arthur Conan Doyle. It seems fitting."

"If it is true," Penelope ventured. "Then what does that mean? If demons are real, then…"

"Is Hell real too?" Scott finished for her, expression grim. "I don't know. If it is then…" He glanced at Virgil. "I guess I'd better hope that International Rescue's enough to wash the blood off my hands."

Virgil flinched. "Scott."

"Oi!" Gordon flung a handful of water towards Alan, drawing his attention away from the conversation at the poolside. "Hurry up!"

Alan kept a hand on the rim of the patio and slowly lowered himself in. It was just water, he kept reminding himself, as liquid splashed up around his chest, trickling down his arms, so similar to all those weeks ago, in that room, all alone. But here was bright sunshine, and the water was cool. He could glimpse the blue tiles, sparkling as the light cast rainbows across the floor.

Then something grabbed his wrist.

Blue shifted to a never-ending blackness, as dark as a void. Alan lashed out, yanking at his arm. His fist smashed into something with a sickening crunch and there was a yelp. The pressure released from his wrist in an instant. He backed away until his shoulders crashed into the poolside. His breathing was ragged, and he clawed at his hair, tugging until the pain brought him back.

People were shouting. Alan blinked his way back to awareness. The pool was back to a crystal blue, only swirls of red were fading to pink, spiralling away into the depths. He tracked them back to Gordon, who was bracing himself against the opposite wall, head tipped back, and a hand clasped to his face. Blood was steadily dripping between his fingers.

Alan choked. "Oh shit."

There was a splash as both Virgil and Scott dived in. Virgil made it to Gordon's side a couple of strokes and Alan scarcely managed to repress his flinch as Scott appeared next to him.

"You alright?"

Alan wrapped his arms around his chest. "I hit him," he whispered.

"Hey." Scott reached out and gently raised his chin with two fingers. "Look at me kiddo. It was an accident."

"I broke his nose."

"You don't know that it's broken…" Virgil grimaced and nodded. "Okay, so yes, it's broken, but that's not your fault."

"How is that not my fault?" Alan was aware his voice was rising to a shout. He pressed himself further against the wall. His heart was hammering.

"Virgil, back off, I said I'm fine." Gordon shoved his brother aside and waded across the pool, nose still sluggishly bleeding, but slowed a little by the scrap of shirt he'd balled up under it. He clicked his fingers in front of Alan's face until Alan looked at him. "Listen to me. That wasn't you. It was your fist, but you weren't in control. That was my bad. I should have known better than to touch you without asking."

Alan dug his nails into his biceps. "You shouldn't have to ask." His voice broke a little. Scott wound an arm around his shoulders and gently coaxed his nails away from his skin.

Gordon reached up, slowly, and rapped his knuckles against Alan's forehead. "I am telling you that it was not your fault, okay? Listen to your elders, dipshit."

Alan couldn't help himself. He laughed. Gordon's concerned frown broke into a brilliant smile and then he winced. "Ow, yeah, okay, med-bay, pronto, danke, okay, Virgil, gimme a hand here?"

"What the fuck happened? Why is Gordon bleeding?"

It was the most words anyone had heard from John in days. Everyone stood, a little shell-shocked, silent as John skidded down the steps from the lounge and came a halt in front of Gordon.

"Gordon?"

"I… uh…" Gordon gestured to his face vaguely. "I broke my nose."

John reached out and caught his chin, tipping his head back to inspect his face. Gordon let him, only shooting Virgil an incredulous glance when John slid that hand down to his shoulder and drew him close. The hug only lasted for a couple of seconds, then John stepped back, that horrified concern replaced with blank acceptance.

"You're alright?"

"Yeah." Gordon bit his lip. "It was just a broken nose, Johnny," he continued in a softer voice. "I'm alright."

John stared at him for a moment longer than gave a sharp nod and turned on his heels, stalking back into the villa. It was only the dripping of Gordon's blood onto the patio that shocked them all back into action. Penelope followed Virgil and Gordon in, but Scott remained in the pool with Alan.

"John's not alright, is he?"

Scott was watching the top window in the Roundhouse, where the curtains twitched. "No," he said, distracted. "I don't think he is."

Everything began to spiral out of control from there. If the last two weeks had been relatively normal, then they were beginning to drift back into the nightmare dimension. Gordon, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, albeit with his nose strapped up, led the conversation at dinner where everyone else sat still, unable to find the words. John no showed. This was unsurprising.

Scott stayed behind, sat in the lounge with the hologram projector switched on. The International Rescue logo was lazily spinning in mid-air, and he was staring, not actually seeing it. Virgil tapped him on the shoulder, asked something inaudible, and retreated to Dad's old liquor cabinet. Scott remained seated for a moment longer, then stretched and joined him, taking the glass half-full of amber with a nod.

Alan left them to it. Penelope and Gordon were in the Den, watching a movie. Parker and Grandma were both in bed. The villa seemed dark and threatening, shadows creeping up the walls as hallways stretched out in front of him. Alan shivered and slapped at the light switch, the weight in his chest easing a little at the golden glow. His back was aching where he'd knocked his still-healing scars against the poolside, so he stopped by the bathroom for the painkillers before heading to bed himself. It was still early, but he felt too anxious for anything else. Sleep offered a relief that he couldn't find anywhere else.

He was curled up into a tight ball, duvet drawn over his head and pillow clutched close to his chest, when he startled awake with a physical jolt so strong that he almost tipped off the bed. Footsteps were pounding in the corridor. Someone screamed. Alan scrambled free of his blankets and yanked his door open, glimpsing Scott disappearing around the end of the corridor. Virgil burst free of his own room opposite and Alan grabbed his shoulder before he could run off.

"What's going on?"

Virgil, half-asleep and dazed with drink, widened his eyes. "John? I think."

"John screamed?"

"He screamed?" Virgil was suddenly wide awake. "I just heard Scott's door crash open, so I figured it was either you or John."

Alan didn't give him time to continue, breaking into a sprint. John's room was right next to his, but apparently John had taken to sleeping in the spare room, farthest away from anyone, at the far end of the villa. The door was open, and Alan caught himself on the frame before he could trip over the carpet. Virgil skidded to a halt behind him. In the distance, more footsteps were thundering as Gordon and Penelope heard the commotion.

Scott didn't acknowledge their presence, but he knew that they were there. He was crouched in front of the bed, his hands on John's shoulders, speaking in quiet, rapid tones. John was doubled over the side of the bed, his breathing coming in frantic wheezes. He was gripping one of Scott's wrists in a death-grasp, tight enough to hurt. Alan wouldn't be surprised if he left bruises.

"Breathe in on one and out on two, okay?" Scott didn't wince as John's grip tightened. "I know you can do it, Johnny. We've done this before. Just copy me."

This was news to Alan. "John has panic attacks?" he asked Virgil under his breath.

"No." Virgil was gripping the doorframe hard enough to leave indents. "Scott does." He lifted a hand to try and ease Alan out of the room, when John moved, lightning fast, slamming a hand into Scott's shoulder with enough force to knock him back a pace.

Scott lifted his hands. "Just me."

John ignored this, in favour of clawing at Scott's shirt until he found the scar that wound around Scott's torso, a gift from one of his closest near-misses out on rescue. Alan could still remember that rescue. He could especially remember sitting in a hospital waiting room for hours.

John lifted his gaze from the scar to Scott's eyes.

"I'm okay," Scott assured him. "I promise."

John wilted against him, resting his head against Scott's shoulder for a minute. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, he was up, surging to his feet. Scott moved to join him, reaching to place a hand on his brother's arm, and John smacked him away, shoving until Scott sighed and stepped back as far as the doorway. Virgil caught him with a hand to the shoulder, not moving, steady as a rock.

"John," Scott began.

John didn't give him the chance. "Get out."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"I said get out." His voice rose to a desperate shout. "Get away."

Scott took a step closer and John whirled around to face him.

"Seriously, Scott." He was practically begging, anger melting into panic. "Don't come any closer."

"Alright, alright, I'm not." Scott froze, reading something in John's face that Alan couldn't see. "I'm staying right here, see?"

John's hands fell to his sides. "You've gotta go," he whispered. "Please."

"I'm not leaving you."

"I'm going to hurt you."

Scott shook his head. "No." He took a step closer and John flinched back. "You won't hurt me. I know you. You won't do that."

"I won't." John looked past him, locked eyes with Alan, silently begging him to understand. "It will."

Alan jolted back so violently that he almost smashed his head against the far wall of the corridor. Virgil swore and reached out to grab him, pulling him close to his side. Alan couldn't catch his breath. Scott, inside the room, kept all his attention on John.

"I know you're scared. I get it. I've been there. But John, I promise you, I won't let you do anything. I promise that."

John's back hit the glass doors that led out on the balcony. Scott took a step back, easing his hands up again.

"You can't protect them from this." The panic was gone. John had never sounded this cold.

Scott straightened up. "John."

"I told you," John told him in a strangled whisper. "To get out."

Scott moved, just in time as John was suddenly right there. Alan didn't get a chance to see what was happening as Virgil physically shoved him out in the corridor, blocking the entrance as a human shield. Alan ducked under his arm, despite shouted protests, and stumbled into the room, just in time to see Scott catch a very unconscious John, lowering him gently to the ground. He looked up and caught Virgil's eye.

"Infirmary. Now."

Brains was many things, but Alan had never seen him entirely at a loss. He stared at the readouts from his various scans, unblinking, until he finally removed his glasses and pinched the brim of his nose, shoulders slumped. He placed his console face-down on the desk and swung around in his chair to face the anxious family crowded into his lab.

"There's nothing wrong with him," he stated finally. "There's no toxins showing up in his bloods either. As far as I can tell, he's in perfect health asides from the healing lacerations."

Scott collapsed into a spare chair. "Brains, there's gotta be something." He lifted his head. "Tell me I didn't just knock my brother out for no reason."

"He attacked you first," Virgil reminded him quietly, moving forwards to rest a hand on his shoulder. Scott didn't look up. Brains, gripping his glasses tight enough to flush his knuckles a ghostly white, shook his head grimly.

"I've run the scans multiple times, Scott. I'm sorry, but I can't find anything."

Alan backed out of the room a little and flattened himself against the wall, trying to rid his mind of memories. When he looked down at his hands in the dim light, for a second, they looked as though they were still coated in blood. Penelope reached out and took his hands in her own. She gave him a reassuring smile when he looked up at her in confusion. At her side, Gordon was tapping, his fingers drumming an uneven rhythm against his thighs, a tell-tale sign that he was nervous.

"I'll tell you what we're going to do." Grandma took control, perhaps sensing that Scott was getting a little too close to his breaking point. Any traces of alcohol had well and truly worn off by now. She came to stand next to Brains, her purple jumpsuit a sharp contrast to the clinical whites of the lab equipment. "We're going to go back to bed. If Brains says there's nothing wrong, then there's nothing we can do now. Let's get some rest and try again in the morning. With any luck John will be able to help us with figuring this out then."

With some reluctance, they all headed back to their respective rooms. Scott remained behind. He struck a lonely figure, slumped in a chair next to John's bedside, but everyone knew well enough that trying to talk him out of it was hopeless. Virgil offered to wait with him, but Scott waved him off. Alan let Grandma tug him out of the room and upstairs. He sat cross-legged on his bed, staring at his hands on his knees, until Kayo poked her head around his door and came and joined him, with two mugs of hot chocolate as a bribe to let her stay.

Breakfast the next morning was hushed. Alan woke up when Kayo tried to sneak out of his room around 5am and joined her on a run. By the time they got back and showered, the table was set and covered in various boxes of cereals and a couple of jugs of yoghurt. Grandma was attempting to chop up some fresh fruit to go with it and Alan didn't see how she could mess that up, so he left her to it, sliding into his usual chair. Penelope was out on the patio reading, whilst Gordon finished up his swim. Virgil was asleep on the sofa. No one was expecting Scott to walk in with John, given the last they'd seen of the younger was him tied to a bed.

"Before you say anything," Scott announced, halting them before they could start. "We've talked. He's himself again." He hesitated, shooting a look to John. "He also doesn't remember anything after Gordon breaking his nose."

Something clattered in the kitchen. Grandma had dropped a plate. Kayo had leant across the counter to catch the knife before it could do any damage.

John shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at his shoes. It was the most painfully awkward Alan had ever seen him, asides from that one Tracy Industries party he'd been dragged to.

Penelope glided in from the patio and looped her arm through his. "Well darling, it's marvellous to see you back on your feet. Would you like a coffee? I believe Parker was just about make some."

Penelope was a diplomat for a reason. Ice officially broken, the household fell into its usual chaotic chatter. Alan stole a strawberry from the bowl and dropped it onto Virgil's face to wake him up. Virgil reached up and promptly slapped himself, tumbling off the sofa in the process. His eyes widened upon spotting John, and Gordon immediately rolled over the back of the couch to fill him in.

Eventually everyone was herded over to the table. Kayo and Scott had a brief fight over the last helping of Cinnamon Crunch left in the packet. Virgil almost knocked one of the jugs over. Parker sipped his coffee and looked as though he were a million miles away.

"So… you couldn't find anything?" John stabbed at his cereal with his spoon to avoid catching anyone's eye. "I'm just losing time for no reason?"

Brains ducked his head. "It appears that way," he admitted, sounding very guilty as though the entire thing was his personal failure.

"At least you're speaking to us now," Gordon announced, entirely too cheerfully.

Penelope winced.

"Tactful," Kayo drawled.

Gordon threw a strawberry at her.

"You're right." John finally looked up. "If it makes you feel any better, it wasn't personal. I couldn't talk to you before."

Scott frowned. "What, like…you couldn't find the words?"

"No, I mean I physically couldn't talk to you. It was like something was stopping me."

Alan's spoon clattered into his bowl. He blinked, realising that everyone was staring at him. "Sorry."

Attention returned to John.

"What changed?" Virgil asked quietly.

John gave a helpless shrug. "No clue. Whatever it was, it's gone now." His gaze drifted to Alan. "I don't know what to tell you. There's a lot of things that don't make sense anymore."

There was an awkward silence. Scott broke it with a grin. "Well, we're glad you're back."

"Yeah." John was still staring at Alan. "Me too."

With breakfast over, Gordon somehow managed to persuade everyone to hang around the pool area. Virgil allowed himself to be challenged to game of water volleyball and Kayo joined in, coercing Penelope into teaming up. Alan sat on the edge and dunked his feet in the water to try and coax himself back to swimming, but he didn't trust himself enough to join in their game. Grandma read her book on a sun-lounger, with Parker asleep inside, the news chattering in the background from the hologram projector. Brains was nowhere to be seen, presumably back in his lab.

Scott reappeared with drinks as the sun rose towards the heat of midday. John was at his heels, apparently refusing to leave his brother's side. While he may not remember anything, it appeared that the fear of whatever he'd seen in his nightmare had stuck with him. Alan watched them both closely, only getting up from his spot by the pool when Gordon went to take the last Fanta.

It seemed too easy. Too peaceful. Alan rubbed a hand over his shoulder, feeling the rough surface of his scar under his thumb, curving just below the base of his neck. A sharp sting rocketed down his spine and he yanked his hand away with a yelp.

Kayo paused in her throw. "Al? You good?"

"Yeah." He was suddenly very cold, to the extent that there was goose-bumps rising along his arms. A shadow fell over him and he twisted to glimpse Scott standing over him. "Scott, I swear I'm fine, quit hovering."

Scott went to reply when a shaky voice called from behind him.

"Scott?"

John had gone very pale. He was trembling and as he took a step forwards he staggered, legs giving out under him. Scott swore and dashed forwards in time to catch him, guiding him down to the floor. Alan scrambled to his feet to join them and to his right, Virgil threw himself bodily out of the pool, practically crawling in his haste.

"John? Can you hear me?" Scott had John's head pillowed in his lap. He snapped his fingers in front of John's face, but John didn't register the movement, screwing his eyes shut with a pained whine. Alan reached out to press his hand to John's wrist, searching for an elevated pulse, and immediately drew it back. What he'd thought were tremors were actually shivers. Somehow, in the heat of the sun at midday only a few degrees south of the equator, his brother was cold enough to be borderline hypothermic.

"John!" Gordon skidded to his knees, eyes wide and panicked. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know! He just collapsed." Scott looked to Kayo. "Get Brains." She nodded and sprinted off into the villa.

"We've gotta get his temperature up." Virgil's voice was low and urgent. "Gordon?"

"Towels have been in the sun all day."

"That'll do until we can fix up an IV. Get them."

Gordon vanished to the opposite poolside.

"Scott?" John was barely audible, his whisper cracking as though he hadn't spoken in days. Scott leant down, bending over him in a protective barrier from the glaring sun. "I think…"

"What?" Scott tapped at his forehead as John went to close his eyes again. "Johnny, what?"

John didn't say anything more, but twisted free, collapsing onto his front, and choking. Scott shouted something Alan didn't hear, gripping John's shoulder to wrench him upright, looping an arm around his chest for support. John was drawing awful, wheezing little gasps until he doubled over, practically smashing his elbow into Scott's neck as he heaved so violently that his entire body trembled like he was having a seizure.

"Alan, move." Gordon gripped his bicep and yanked him back. Alan lost his balance and tumbled onto his back, Penelope catching him before he could knock his head into the concrete. The towels were pointless now, and Gordon tossed them aside. "What do we do?"

Scott gritted his teeth, and merely held John closer to his chest. "I don't know."

"Back off. He needs space." Virgil reached across and shoved Gordon, hard, when he didn't immediately respond. In Scott's arms, John suddenly went limp, his breathing ragged. He was still trembling and as Scott sat up, John slid down in his lap.

"Oh fuck," Gordon breathed. Alan shoved him aside to see what was happening and froze. John was out cold but dripping down his chin from his nose was a steady stream of black treacle.

"It's not possible."

Brains, clutching his notes to his chest like a shield, looked meek and uncertain in the face of Scott's misdirected fury. "I don't understand it either, but the tests are all clear."

Scott snarled and turned away, slamming his hand against the wall. "Goddammit. There has to be something."

"Scott, don't." It had been roughly twenty minutes since John had initially collapsed and he'd passed out for exactly six of them. Now he was sat up on the bed in the infirmary, curled up in the corner to lean on the wall for support. He was still deathly pale, skin waxy and eyes glassy as though he had a temperature, although the opposite was true. Black blood was still dripping from his nose. Virgil wordlessly passed him another tissue. John dragged it across his mouth, his lips still stained black. "Don't," he repeated once again until Scott finally backed down. "Alan."

Alan startled at the sound of his name, and crept forwards from the doorway. "Yeah?"

"Come up here a moment."

Alan reluctantly joined John on the bed. He couldn't look him in the eyes. John could read him well enough to know that.

"Quit that. I told you I was okay with it. Turns out that it wasn't exactly what I thought it would be, but we'll figure this out, alright?"

Alan stared at him. "Are you kidding me?"

"Are you blaming yourself?"

Alan clenched the sheets in his fists and took a shaking breath to calm himself. "Brains, I've got a weird question." He caught John's eye for a second before continuing and his brother nodded. "How certain are we that it's actually blood?"

"What else would it be?" Virgil pointed out.

"I've seen it before. At the house. I don't think it's blood. I think it's like a parasite."

"That would actually make a lot of sense," John admitted, pausing to wipe more black liquid from his nose. "If it's a parasite, then my body will be trying to get rid of it. A purge if you will. That would explain the sudden temperature changes and the seizures."

"Parasite." Gordon had remained very quiet up until this point. Now he lifted his head to lock eyes with John. "It's not the same texture as blood is it?"

John dabbed a thumb to his lips and shook his head. "Nope. Stickier. Tacky."

Gordon slumped against the wall with a hysterical laugh. "That's because Alan's right. It's not blood. It's fricking ectoplasm." He whirled around to Virgil. "I told you there was a reason not to mess with supernatural shit. You laughed in my face."

"Gordon," Virgil told him, deliberately slowly. "There is no physical proof that ectoplasm is a real phenomenon."

"Physical proof? Are you kidding me?" Gordon flung an arm in John's direction. "Our brother literally has this shit coming out of his body and you're asking for physical proof? Give me a break, Virg."

"That's enough." Kayo's snap was enough to break them apart. She crossed her arms. "Besides, according to all the lore, ectoplasm is only secreted from a living person when they're possessed."

Alan's blood ran cold. "Oh god." He slung himself off the bed and grabbed Gordon's wrist, dragging his brother out in the corridor. The door swung shut behind them. "I need to talk to you."

"In case you hadn't noticed, now isn't really a good time."

Alan didn't have time for Gordon's sarcasm. He slammed his brother against the wall with all his body weight and pinned him there with an arm across his throat, low enough to allow him to breathe but with enough pressure to warn that this was serious. Gordon stared back at him with wide eyes, shock written across his features. He slowly raised his hands and tapped at Alan's wrist. Alan studied him for a moment longer and released him, satisfied that Gordon would hear him out.

"I think I made a deal with a demon."

Gordon had looked shocked before. Now he looked terrified. "Tell me you're joking." There was a darkness to his voice that Alan had never heard from him before.

"I don't know for sure, I just think."

"Alan, how can you not know whether or not you made a deal with a demon? It's a pretty major thing to happen!" Gordon seized his biceps and studied his face intently. "Listen to me. If you made a deal, we have to undo it."

A thought occurred to him, fleeting but enough to rouse a shred of terror in his chest. "What if I don't?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Because… I think John might die if I do." Alan leant against the wall for support, legs shaky. "Or go back to being dead."

Gordon's grip fell limp. "Oh my god Alan. What did you do?"

"I told you I saw John die. I wasn't lying. He took the hit because he thought it was the only way I was getting out of that house alive. He died. I know. I had him in my arms. I begged him to come back, alright? If that thing was listening, maybe it took my words and twisted them."

Gordon took a deep breath. "What did you say?"

"I don't know."

"Well dammit, Alan, start knowing! I need to know exactly what you said."

Alan racked his brains. "I said a whole load of things! I was a little bit preoccupied with the fact my brother had just fucking died for me."

Gordon ran a hand through his hair. His fingers were trembling. "Alright," he said, gentler this time. "Just try and think back. If you can't, then we'll figure something else out."

"Whatever it takes."

"Huh?"

Alan raised his head. "That's what I said. Whatever it takes. Come back, whatever it takes."

Gordon slid down the wall to land in a heap. Alan dropped to his heels to join him.

"Jesus, Al. Making any kind of deal is bad enough, but bringing someone back from the dead? That's…" Gordon shook his head. "I don't even know where to start with that."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me honestly that you wouldn't have done the same." Gordon couldn't look at him. "Exactly. Besides, I didn't know what I was doing."

"Yeah, I know. I'm not angry, I'm just…"

"Scared?"

Gordon exhaled. "Yeah," he admitted. "Frickin' terrified actually." He knocked his head back against the wall with an audible thump. "Demon deals come with a price."

"Well you would know," Alan was saying before he'd even registered the words. "You were the one who did rituals back in high-school."

Gordon froze. "Who told you that?"

"John." Alan laughed humourlessly. "He also said the whole thing was complete BS but then he literally got stabbed by a demon, so you know…"

"Oh he said it was bullshit did he?" Gordon looked at him intently. "Did he also tell you that he was there too?"

Alan lost his words. "What?"

"Yep. He was in the house that night. For the ritual to work, everyone present had to take part. John was bored and didn't believe so he joined in. He's more of an adrenaline junkie than he'll ever admit, so I guess he got hooked on the fear, as he kept joining. He was there for every ritual in the damn book. It was a dare thing at first. I was in with the wrong crowd at that time, and I guess John thought that by tagging along he could protect me. He was more worried about someone pulling a knife on me than he was of any ghosts."

"What happened?"

"We were all there for a laugh. But a few of the group took it seriously. One of the other guys made a deal. It went wrong. A lot happened. John decided it was all bullshit because he's a logical guy and demons don't really fit with reality's rulebook. He's been lying ever since. He saw what I saw that night. It's real and it's out there and you don't mess with it."

Alan swallowed. "What happened to the guy?"

"You don't need to know that."

"The hell I don't."

Gordon was quiet for a beat. "It tore him apart," he finally said. "It took him for a ride and tore him apart. Deals have consequences, Al. They're called deals for a reason. They're not one-sided. There's always a price to pay."

"You think it wants John?"

"Maybe? I do know one thing though." Gordon offered him a hand and hauled him to his feet. Alan steadied himself against his brother's shoulder and tried not to shiver at the pure terror hidden in behind Gordon's eyes. "We have to go back to that house. We need to break the deal."

"What about John?"

"If you're right about this, then it may not even be John we've been talking to."

Chapter Text

"Would you please stop staring at me?"

Alan continued staring. John hissed, balled up a bit of clean tissue, and threw it at him. Alan batted it away with one hand without blinking.

It was definitely John. Alan could say this categorically without even the slightest hint of hesitation. Gordon had a point, there was no denying that, but it was a point that they didn't need to concern themselves with. It wasn't just that the person sitting in front of him had John's behaviour down to the tiniest detail, or that his memories were perfectly intact, or even that he had that uncanny way of finishing everyone's sentences before they'd even finished forming the thought. If the truth be told, Alan wasn't sure what it was. But, as he gave his brother one final stare-down and was treated to a glower that could sour fresh milk, he just knew that, at least for now, this was John.

"If you have something to say, go ahead." Alan kept his mouth shut. John leant forwards, carefully hid his wince at the movement, and tugged the bedsheet out of Alan's hands where he'd been twisting it around his thumb tight enough to leave indents. "Seriously. You're just irritating both of us if you sit there like a mute."

"I'm angry at you."

John didn't seem too surprised. He sat back against the wall, folded his arms across his chest, and raised a brow expectantly. "Angry at me or with me?"

"Both." Alan yanked at the corner of the bed sheet again and shredded the tiny threads that were beginning to fray along the edge. "You had no right to do that."

"I have the right to make my own decisions."

"Not like that! You always do this. All of you do." He discarded the bed sheet in favour of glaring at his brother, because John had the audacity to just sit there and take it without a word of protest, which was arguably more annoying than a full showdown. "I don't want you guys to take the hits for me. I never did. I never will. I get that you're trying to protect me, but you never see it from my perspective. How was I supposed to live with the fact you died for me?"

"I was rather hoping the fact that you'd have to live with it at all was enough of a pay up."

Alan shoved his chair back with an ugly screech. "Screw you."

"Alan." John's voice rose as Alan continued to storm away. "Come on. Alan! Come back."

He paused in the doorway. There were distant voices down the far end, probably echoing up from the hangars. He had no intention of getting caught up in the middle of whatever row Virgil and Gordon had fallen into and besides, he did need to sort things out. If International Rescue had taught him anything, then it was that leaving situations unresolved never ended well for anyone.

"You need to listen to me," he stated, trying to keep his voice steady.

John was quiet for a beat. "Alright," he agreed. "I can do that. I can't guarantee that you'll like my final answer, but I can listen to what you have to say."

Alan folded himself into the chair, drawing his legs up to sit criss-cross, perched so far back that the entire thing threatened to topple over backwards. John slid a foot out and hooked his ankle around the arm, as if he could support Alan's entire weight with one leg. There was another minute of uncertain silence before either of them spoke.

"I would do the same for any of you."

Alan forced a smirk. "You're saying I'm not special?"

"Cut the act. I'm saying that you aren't to pin any blame on yourself. You have no responsibility here. There was no other solution. Losing you was unacceptable."

"And losing you was?"

John drummed an unknown rhythm against his knee. "If there is any other possible outcome, no matter how… drastic the price is, I have to take it. If any one of you gets hurt in the field when I had any other options I could have chosen, then that is on me. I will not take responsibility for a death that could have been prevented, so I prevent that from happening in the first place. Make sense?"

"No."

"Fine. Here's the basic rundown: victims are statistics. You are not. You are my responsibility. There were two possible outcomes: one in which you died and one in which you survived. Do you genuinely think I could ever have chosen the former?"

Alan suddenly found the floor incredibly interesting.

"Hey." John was speaking in that soft, cautious voice again, as if approaching a wounded animal that had never known the meaning of trust. "We don't have normal lives. Normal families don't have to think about this. We take the hits for each other. It's awful being the person to watch another get hurt, and trust me when I say I get it, because I've been there."

Alan listed a little further back in his chair to stare at the ceiling. He was racking his brains to try and think of the incidents John was referring to. "Scott," he decided finally. "And… Gordon, right?"

"Virgil's sensible. The others run in without considering all the options." Alan looked at him without speaking but John caught his question with a grin. "Scott and Gordon think with their hearts rather than their heads. Virgil manages to blend the two, so do you."

"What about you?"

"Like I said, victims are statistics." John tapped his temple. "Do you understand now?"

"Do I understand why you were a complete idiot? Yes. Do I accept it? No."

John released the chair and didn't bother hiding his amusement when Alan nearly went flying head over heels. "I can live with that."

Night crept upon the island like a shroud. Thick ropes of storm clouds were piling up along the horizon, inky and bruised blue, slithering ever closer on all sides, caging them in. Thunder growled hungrily and, down in the hangars, the wind wailed through the pipes and air-vents. The villa seemed plagued with shadows, lurking around each corner, and vanishing before anyone could get a proper look at them.

Alan sat in bed with his back pressed to the wall and the duvet drawn up as high as he dared without losing sight of the room around him. Every time his vision blurred with tiredness, he blinked frantically, certain that he'd just missed gleaming eyes from the corner. The pile of clothes dumped over his desk chair loomed in the darkness, an unknown threat, and the second his eyes slipped shut, a low cackle met his ears. Finally, at midnight, with a thunderclap that sent the palm fronds lashing against the window, Alan gave in and threw himself from the bed, fumbling at the door to try to escape into the hallway before whatever was lurking in his room could snatch him away into the darkness for good.

A thin beam of light slithered from beneath Kayo's door. He didn't bother knocking, simply letting himself in and shuffling over to the bed. Kayo was half-tipped off the side of the mattress, twirling one of her throwing knives between her fingers. She let it thud against the carpet and sat up, dull stare replaced with a concerned look as she spotted him.

"Hey. What's up?"

Alan collapsed onto her bed with a groan that trailed into a whimper. "I think I'm losing my mind."

"I highly doubt that." Kayo sounded so sure of herself. Alan pushed his face further into the tangled blankets and tried not to flinch at another thunderclap.

"I'm seeing things. Everywhere." He took a shuddering breath and lifted his head. "I can't sleep. I want to. That's the only time everything's okay."

Kayo fell silent. Behind her, something clawed and dripping with ochre slime dragged itself across the carpet with a rasping whine. It twisted, red pupils sizzling, and raw bone twisted into an ugly smile. Kayo's hand landed on his shoulder, and Alan flinched back, choking on clean air.

"Hey. Look at me." Kayo's voice was firm. She gave him a stern nod. "I am real. Whatever you're seeing, I'm not going to let it get to you."

"You can't see it coming."

Her eyes flashed with deadly intent. "I don't need to see something in order to beat it." She shuffled away a little until she could rest her back against the wall, and crossed her legs, patting her lap with an affectionate grin. "C'mon. You need some sleep. I was planning on staying up for a while anyway."

Alan was too exhausted to argue. Kayo wasn't usually open with her emotions, so for her to show her protectiveness so blatantly meant that he truly was showing cause for concern. That was a problem for his future self, however, so he scrambled higher up the bed with minimum reluctance, stretching out to bury his feet under the throw and rest his head in her lap. His heart pounded, elevating the second he closed his eyes and a slight rustle had him clenching his fists. Kayo hummed some long-forgotten lullaby, casually flicking through her book. She lowered her other hand to his hair, running her thumb along his forehead to banish the tension headache developing there, and began working her fingers back through his hair.

Another snarl of thunder rattled the windows in their frames. Kayo didn't react. She simply turned another page in her book and continued with her impromptu head massage. Alan, finally, closed his eyes and lay in the semi-darkness, counting from one to a hundred in time with the rustling of worn pages. It was only when he was finally drifting off, rolling onto his side, and drawing one hand up to his chest, that there was a quickly concealed gasp from above him.

"What?" His mind was foggy with sleep, but he recognised the flash of panic in Kayo's gaze in an instant and flung himself upright. "Kayo, what?"

Kayo tossed her book aside. "Stay still." She reached out and tugged at the neckline of his old tee to examine his back. Alan tried to twist to glimpse what she was seeing, but he needn't have worried as she snatched up her phone. A second later came the distinctive sound of a camera shutter, and then she passed it forwards for him to examine.

"What the hell?"

Kayo gripped his shoulder. "Don't freak out."

"How am I not supposed to freak out? What other reaction is appropriate in this scenario?"

She bit her lip. "We should go to the infirmary. Right now."

Alan stared back down at the phone screen. Somehow, despite all medical science and the rules of reality, the thick scars woven across his back were glowing a pure, luminous white.

The hologram projector whirred into life. Even Kayo jumped at the sudden movement as Virgil's avatar appeared above the desk, hair skew and eyes dark with circles.

"You need to get down here. Something's happening with John."

"There's only one conclusion," Gordon announced grandly, his attempt at humour ringing hollow in the artificial lights of the infirmary. He spread his arms wide. "We're living in a hell dimension. We have fallen through the fabrics of time and reality and we are now in the Upside Down. John, clearly, is transforming into a Demogorgon. Alan, you're just weird. No clue what you are. Probably some relation to Eleven."

"Gordon," Scott asked tiredly, rubbing his temples. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Stranger Things," Gordon replied cheerfully. There was an awkward silence. He threw one leg over the other and flopped back in his chair with an exaggerated groan. "Y'all make a terrible audience. I'm trying to lighten the mood here, c'mon, give me something."

Penelope, somewhat sarcastically, forced a laugh.

Gordon snapped his fingers at her. "See? That's what I'm talking about. Thank you, princess."

"Never call me that again."

"Agreed, it felt weird and now I'm mildly scared that you're going to castrate me with your stilettos."

Virgil reached across to shove Gordon's chair into the wall. Gordon flailed, giving an outraged shriek as he lost his balance and slid onto the floor in an ungraceful heap. Virgil, arms folded and expression stern, glared down at him.

"You're nervous. I get that. But please stop because you're not helping."

Gordon squinted up at him. "I'm not nervous. Whoever said that I was nervous? Me, nervous? Never. A simply preposterous idea… hey, hey, John, are you proud of me? I used a big word!"

"You ramble when you're nervous," Virgil pointed out. He tilted his head, something unspoken passing between the two as Gordon finally shuffled back against the wall, drew his knees up and flung his arms over the top to wait in silence for Brains to return from his lab.

Alan raised a hand. "I, for one, am pretty nervous."

Sprawled across the bed, John gave a strangled laugh. "You're glowing like a radioactive alien, so that's hardly surprising."

Gordon snorted. "Sorry." He clamped a hand to his mouth. "I just love it when he's on painkillers. He has no verbal filter. It's like bye, bye logic and hello sci-fi nerd." He lifted his hands at Virgil's glowering stare. "Alright, shutting up again in three, two, one…"

Alan found himself wishing that Gordon would actually keep rambling. He was spewing complete nonsense but just the sound of his voice was mildly comforting in its familiarity and besides, Alan would take almost anything over the deafening roar of the silence that stood in its absence. They were all huddled into the infirmary, and the clinical whites were too bright for any monsters to claw their way to the surface of Alan's subconscious, but all the while he could hear his heart in his ears and the blood rushing through his veins. Everything was too, too loud. It was too hot, too. His back was bathed in sweat.

Scott caught his hand as he went to scratch at the top of his left scar. "Is it hurting?"

"No." Alan shook his head vigorously at Scott's doubtful look. "Really." He rolled his shoulders with a grimace. "I'm just really, really hot."

"And modest too," Gordon teased, shooting Virgil a bashful grin by way of apology.

Both the self-proclaimed responsible adults in the room let this joke slide. Scott released Alan's wrist, satisfied that he wasn't about to claw his back to shreds, and Alan struggled free of his shirt, letting it land with a damp smack on the floor. Even with the cold wall pressed to his bare skin, he still felt like he was burning up, tearing through Earth's atmosphere without a heat shield. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, rubbing the sweat away before it could trickle down his neck. When he looked up again, he could glimpse the glow from his back radiating across the tiles by his feet and swallowed past a wave of light-headedness.

John was the opposite case, quite literally. Where Alan was running a temperature that was dangerously close to a high fever and getting hotter by the minute, John was so cold that he'd stopped shivering. He was swaddled in layers of thick thermal blankets and hot water bottles, but nothing seemed to make a difference, as his temperature kept ticking closer and closer to hypothermic levels. Now, buried in so much faux fur and tatty knitted quilts that he resembled an Egyptian mummy, the original cause for concern was hidden entirely from view, but Alan knew that below all that, past the slight tinge of blue to his skin, was a thick web of black veins, crawling their way up from the base of his spine. Whatever the black sludge had been that had been dripping from his nose only a few hours earlier, it was now in his blood stream, and with every minute that passed, it was getting worse, carrying the infection further, deeper. Yet still, with all the best brains and technology in the world, they were none the wiser as to what was going on.

"It has to be connected," Alan murmured, not for the first time. He rubbed a thumb over the top of his left scar and winced at the sharp burn that seared across his skin from the light. "Look at the routes the black…vein…things… are taking. It's the same pattern as my scars. And now I'm glowing? That can't be a coincidence."

Virgil wound his hands so tightly together that his knuckles cracked. He gave a whine that sounded faintly like but science and then knocked his head against the wall where he was perched on the end of John's bed, watching the stats helplessly. "Say it is. What does that even mean?" His gaze drifted to Gordon, who threw up his hands and then mimed zipping his mouth shut. "Are you serious?"

"Hey, you were the one who told me to shut up."

"Gordon." Scott put an end to the argument before it could truly begin. It was even more concerning that John, their secondary family peacekeeper, observed these proceedings with a glazed stare, barely processing what was going on. "Look. You know more about this than anyone."

"This being what exactly?"

Scott gritted his teeth. "The supernatural," he muttered grudgingly.

It was the first time he'd admitted it as being the cause. He'd humoured them before, but now, with his hand gripping John's wrist under the bed sheets and a deep-rooted terror in his eyes, he truly believed it. Something had shifted. Gordon, still huddled against the wall, gulped.

"Uh…alright." He rose to his feet, stretching his stiff muscles out and starting to pace. "Hypothetically… um… maybe, I may have messed with some stuff that I shouldn't have, when I was a kid. And it's possible that… uh…" Raw fear flashed across his face as he looked to John. "It's possible that John did too. Mess with the supernatural, that is." He waffled a hand. "Anyway, point is this: there's a demon in that house. From what we understand, it takes your worst fear and uses it against you. These things need energy. Terror is pretty dang powerful."

"Like in Monsters Inc?" Alan suggested.

Kayo muffled her laughter. Scott, so tightly wound with worry and exhaustion that he resembled a spring about to snap, slumped against John's bedside with an affectionate smile, shaking his head.

"That's…" Gordon was struggling to hold back his own laughter, eyes glittering with mirth. "That's a really good comparison actually. Yes. Exactly like Monsters Inc. So. We…uh…" All humour evaporated. "We heard that mission report. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that what we thought was a trauma-induced misconception was actually the truth, which is… John… did actually…"

A baleful growl came from under the blankets. John shook one of the quilts free of his head and pointed a shaking finger at Gordon like a possessed ET. "Just s-say it," he complained through chattering teeth. "I died."

"I…uh…yeah." Gordon's shoulders slumped. "That's what happened, yeah. And then you un-died."

"The correct term is resurrected," Penelope told him quietly.

"Right, sure, resurrected, thank you honey." He caught her eye and backtracked. "Not that one either? Okay. Yep. Didn't like it either." He dragged a hand through his hair with a shaky breath and swung back to the face the room's occupants. "Okay. So to bring someone back takes an awful lot of energy and funnily enough, demons aren't known for being generous and handing out miracles for free. You make a deal. More to the point, Alan made a deal. We think. Anyway. We don't know what the price is."

Virgil, who had remained quiet up until now, silently thinking and monitoring the medical readouts on John's chart, finally looked up and caught his co-pilot's gaze. "You have an idea."

Gordon tangled his fingers together and swung his hands awkwardly in front of him, ducking his gaze to the floor. "That's possible, yes." He groaned upon their waiting silence. "Okay, fine. This thing wants energy, clearly. Probably enough energy to finally break free of that house. Alan wanted John alive again. He never specified anything after that. I think… and this is just a theory, so don't take this as the truth and run with it, but I think it wanted one of you to stay. In the nightmare dimension or worst fears or whatever. After so much time, that would be more than enough energy. And now, as neither of you stayed, I think… right, okay, Alan, your scars are demonic wounds, right? So now they're glowing, I think it's because a connection's been activated. It's a warning. And John's weird black spiderweb Tony Stark palladium poisoning thing… I…" He tore his hands apart in favour of tugging at his hair as he paced.

"Just spit it out," Kayo snapped.

"Oh for… Alan, turn around." Alan clambered to his feet and braced himself against the wall as the room swum around him. Gordon jabbed a hand at the base of the two scars and yanked his hand back with a yelp at the heat.

"Right, there. Where the weird scar wings meet. That point. On John, they're reversed right? So that means the point where they meet is up here." He raised his finger higher, gingerly tapping higher up Alan's back. "Turn around." Alan, grudgingly, obeyed. Gordon caught his gaze and offered a reassuring nod, sympathy glimmering in his eyes. "That point on his back is roughly here."

Alan followed his brother's pointed finger and came to a stop directly above his heart. Gordon registered the exact moment the realisation hit him and snatched at Alan's bicep to steady him, despite the heat radiating off his skin in waves.

"So what you're saying is that the final point the infection will reach is directly above his heart?" Virgil was the one to say it. Scott looked suspiciously as though he were about to throw up.

Gordon let Alan sink back to the floor. "Yeah," he agreed grimly. "That's exactly what I'm saying. And when it reaches that point… well, it's a hypothesis, right? Probably won't even happen. I'm wrong about most things, why would this be any different?"

"How do you break a demon deal?" Kayo's voice was sharp, razor-edged. "Gordon?"

"I don't know!" He tossed his hands up, turning to pace back across the room. "I'm not a frickin' expert! I've never made a deal, let alone broken one. You want me to guess? Fine. We give the demon what it desires more. Energy. Enough energy to set it free. That should break the deal. But that much energy? That would require a lot of people to be very scared. And I'm ninety-percent certain that one of them has to be Alan."

"Oh hell no." Scott flew to his feet. Gordon actually took a step back, not quite flinching but evidently very unsure. Virgil was at his side in an instant, resting one hand on his brother's shoulder and the other on Scott's chest, gently pushing until Scott relented.

"We don't know anything for certain," he reminded them both. "If Brains comes back and those blood tests don't `show high levels of toxins, then yes, then we'll have to consider going back to that house, but until that point, there is no point in arguing. Besides, I don't know as much as Gordon about this stuff, but I'm willing to bet that driving us apart is exactly what this thing would want. We're stronger together. We all know that. International Rescue works so well because we're a team, and the last thing we should do right now is forget that." He lowered his hands. "Clear?"

Scott retook his place by John's side wordlessly.

Gordon scrubbed at his face. "Crystal," he muttered.

It seemed strange that with so many people crowded into one room, the shadows in the hallway beyond could still be so terrifying. Alan kept his back pressed to the wall, crammed into the corner between the bed and Kayo's chair. His temperature, mercifully, seemed to have levelled off, and in turn, so had John's. Now, wiped out with exhaustion and still a few degrees polar of healthy, John was dead to the world, but for the first time in hours this appeared to be a result of genuine sleep rather than unconsciousness. He was still curled up under the blankets as though protecting himself from some unseen threat, but one hand was stretched out, perhaps subconsciously seeking comfort. There were doubts that he would instantly snatch it back once he awoke, but for now Scott and Penelope were more than willing to squeeze onto the slither of space at the bedside, and keep vigil, Scott's hand resting on John's shoulder and Penelope maintaining a loose grip around his wrist.

Gordon had migrated to the floor. He had the drawstring of his hoodie tucked into the corner of his mouth and was tipped back against the wall, eyes closed. It was only the steady drumming of his fingers against his knees that proved he was still awake, although even this was growing increasingly lethargic. Alan too was exhausted, but the shadows flitted back and forth in the corners of his vision were too great a threat for him to drift off and besides, his back was awash with a dry, arid heat, keeping sleep impossible.

Brains scuttled into the room around 2-am, as flustered as anyone had ever seen him. Grandma was at his heels, Parker nowhere to be found, but presumably upstairs fixing coffee for the various addicts around the room. Scott, who'd been in the process of slowly falling off the bed as he lost his grip on awareness, startled awake, his shoes slamming into the ground as he caught himself. The sudden bang woke Virgil and Kayo and Brains visibly swallowed as multiple sets of eyes stared at him.

"Uh…" He lifted his tablet like a peace offering. Virgil slid out of his chair to retrieve it and studied the notes that made little sense to anyone else. Brains returned to his explanation. "There's high levels of sulphur dioxide in his bloodstream. However, that is the only toxin I could find, and there's little evidence of induced poisoning as a result."

"He's not displaying any of the symptoms either," Virgil mused, attention mostly caught by whatever notes were on the tablet. He rubbed at his eyes, yawned, and blinked rapidly. "God, this is insane. Are these real?"

Brains nodded grimly. "Yes."

Virgil flipped a hologram up from the tablet to spin lazily in mid-air. Gordon yawned like a cat, stretched until his back clicked, and rolled onto his stomach, staring up at the holograms with a dazed expression.

"Yeah," he said, raising a hand. "I don't know what any of that means, Virg, so mind explaining the medicine to someone who doesn't have a doctorate in science?"

Virgil didn't seem irritated. He gave Gordon a long look and then, slightly gentler than before, continued. "It means that, realistically speaking, he shouldn't be conscious. And yes, I know he's asleep, but I'm talking about a level one coma. These stats are not compatible with a living human. Having said that… Brains is right. There's nothing showing up on the blood tests that suggests poisoning, or infection. Whatever this is, it's invisible. Either that, or it's mimicking blood cells so as to remain undetectable, which is also possible."

An uneasy silence fell across the room.

"We have no way to treat this then?" Scott's question was more of a statement, and everyone knew it, but Brains nodded all the same. He was fiddling with the stem of his glasses, evidently uncomfortable with being the centre of attention. Alan couldn't help but feel sorry for him – it was bad enough having to hold someone's life in your hands as it was, let alone when that person was a close friend.

"Well what can we do?"

Alan wasn't sure who spoke next after that, or even what their words were. He was drifting in a haze of tiredness broken by brief intervals of loose lucidity, and it was only when a sharp sting rocketed up his back that he startled back to full consciousness, instinctively reaching over his shoulder. The pain was gone almost instantaneously, but it was enough to banish the blurriness from his vision, and it brought the room's attention to him.

"I'm okay," he reported. His voice wavered a little. No one looked convinced. His back was beginning to heat up again and a moment later there was a soft blink from the monitoring medical scans as John's temperature fell another degree.

No one spoke. Eventually, after a tense minute, Grandma coaxed Alan to his feet and beckoned him after her, leading the way up to the kitchen. All too glad to escape the infirmary, Alan followed her, hopping up onto the counter as she rifled through the cupboards for an edible box of premade cookies, triple-chocolate chip with a can of whipped cream from the fridge to go with them.

"We won't tell your brother about this," she informed him with a glint in her eye.

Alan stared down at his cookie with a huffed laugh. "I think Virgil's got more pressing matters to worry about than us overloading on sugar."

Grandma raised her cookie in acknowledgement. "True." She took a bite and waited until Alan had finished squirting whipped cream on top of his diabetes-inducing monstrosity before continuing. "When did you last sleep?"

"I've had naps." Suddenly the snacks didn't seem appetising. "I'm just worried, y'know? Everything's insane. We're literally in a nightmare." He entertained the possibility for a brief moment that it was, in fact, exactly that: a nightmare, and he was still in that house, but dismissed this a second later. Grandma's arms wrapped around his shoulders and drew him close to her chest, hushing him with warm words and whispered reassurances, light kisses falling across his hair. Alan buried his face in her shoulder and took a shaky breath. His hands were trembling, and he lifted them to her back, revelling in the familiar smell of cinnamon and soap powder. His eyes were burning.

"Is it ever going to be okay again?"

"Of course it is."

She had always been good at lying.

Scott and Gordon were arguing. At this point, it was not so much of an argument as it was a cold war, and it infected the rest of the villa like a virus. Penelope refused to get involved, but the others appeared to have chosen their sides. The truth of the matter was that it didn't matter how many people believed which was the right decision, because in the end it fell to Alan to make that call. Gordon said they had to go to the house. Scott refused, on the grounds that Alan had received enough trauma from that place and returning was simply begging for trouble.

Alan didn't care anymore. He just wanted John back. The irony was, of course, that this was exactly the wish that brought all the trouble about in the first place.

He snuck back down to the infirmary after John kicked Virgil out, demanding that he got some rest in a proper bed. It was easy to avoid the makeshift lookout post Kayo had taken up outside the door by tripping the perimeter alarm. She'd been dying to run off some steam in Shadow for days now, and sure enough, she sprinted past him on her way down to the hangars a second later. Satisfied that no one was about to follow him in, Alan slid into the infirmary and locked the door behind him.

"Well that wasn't suspicious at all," John commented. At first glance he seemed in perfect health, lounged across a series of pillows with the blankets strewn around his waist, a book sat at his side with a blue bookmark peaking out the top. Upon closer inspection, it was increasingly obvious that all was not well. His temperature had gone from freezing to the opposite extreme, and he was soaked in sweat, yet shivering in the full force of the aircon. As Alan sank onto the end of the bed, he caught a glimpse of inky veins twisting their way higher, skin flushed an angry red around the markings. John turned away, deliberately blocking his view. "So?"

Alan drew his feet up and knocked his head against the wall. The lights drove spots into his vision, and he closed his eyes. "How are you feeling?" He didn't wait for an answer. It was a pointless question. "Why did you lie to me about not believing in the supernatural?"

John set his book aside so as not to crush it as he sat up. "I didn't. But Gordon's right: something did happen when we were kids. I played along with his games, but the memories are hazy. As far as I know, they were just that – games." He chuckled darkly. "Repression is a fine art and I appear to have mastered it perfectly." There was a hint of defeated sarcasm to his voice. Alan picked at the ragged edge of his thumb and tried not to catch his brother's eye.

"I know what you're gonna say, but I want to apologise anyway."

"Alan." John went to say something more but cut himself off with a hiss through gritted teeth. There was a half-second where Alan, panic drumming a war cry in his chest, considered calling for help, but then John released his white-knuckle grip on the sheets, sucking in deep gulps of air.

"Does it hurt?"

John slumped against the pillows. "Yeah," he admitted faintly.

"Badly?"

"…Yes."

Upstairs, distant voices were raised again, a tennis-match of words flung back and forth across the living-room. Alan stared at John for a moment, recalling that split-second decision. John had died for him, and was still suffering, and yet here he was, waiting around because he was afraid.

"I'm going to fix this," he vowed. "I promise."

John smiled. "I know."

There was the same comforting lie in his words that had rung in Grandma's the previous night. Alan slid off the bed and padded around so that he could hug him.

"I mean it. Just… hang on, yeah?"

John studied him for a moment. "Don't do anything stupid, Alan. Promise me."

"I promise." He waited until the door closed behind him before uncrossing his fingers where he'd hidden his hand in his pocket. It was a short trek up the stairs, but silence fell as he burst into the living-room.

"Scott, I know you don't like it, but Gordon's right." He took a deep breath and banished all thoughts of darkness and pain and alone, alone, alone from his mind in order to stand up tall. "We have to go back. It's the only way to fix this."

There was a strange relief that came with being in the air again. On one hand, Alan couldn't banish the gaping panic in his chest that had him sweating through his uniform, but on the other, finally taking action to try and fix things brought a sense of control that he hadn't felt in weeks. The others seemed to share this sentiment, and there was a warm sense of hope and comradery in Two's cockpit as they made the short hop across the patch of ocean between the island arc and the Australian coast.

Penelope had remained on island, with Parker, Grandma and Brains, assuming the role of John's official companion. Kayo, after much arguing, had planted herself in Two's cockpit and refused to move, going so far as to handcuff herself to the seat until Scott gave in. Virgil and Gordon had taken their usual places at the front which, surprisingly, Scott hadn't questioned, simply taking the second passenger seat next to Alan, in front of Kayo.

The one upside was that they weren't going in blind this time. They knew roughly what they were up against and what to expect. Gordon, joined by Grandma and Penelope, had scoured through the original mission reports and what little footage had been rescued from the suit cameras, hunting for any tiny details that may have been missed. They'd drawn up a conclusive plan of all possibilities that could be accounted for. The only risks that remained were a) the literal freaking demon and b) the unpredictable reaction of the individual human psyche to whatever threat was shown to them.

They had to go in, face and overcome their fears, and find a way to release the demon. No one liked this plan, but there was no other option. From the look of things, Alan wasn't the only one who was nervous either. Gordon hadn't stopped tapping since take-off, Kayo was rereading the mission reports for the hundredth time, Virgil had a white-knuckle grip on the steering column, and down in the pod Scott was presumably pacing a hole into the floor.

Landing was smooth and came far too quickly. Virgil cut the engines and took the power-down checks far slower than usual, a silent play for time to delay the inevitable. No one called him out on it.

Gordon lifted his boots onto the dashboard. "Ahoy me-hearties, are we ready for an adventure?" He tipped back in his chair to glimpse Kayo's half-smile. "That's the spirit. Virg, my man, what are we thinking?"

Virgil yanked at his sash harder than strictly necessary, double-checking his equipment. "I'm thinking we should get this over and done with."

Gordon dipped his head in acknowledgement, cracked a grin, and swung himself up and over the arm of his chair to go and retrieve Scott from the pod. Alan watched him go, the door swinging shut behind him, and remained in his seat, digging his nails into the cushions. Beyond the familiar barrier of Two's reinforced glass windows, the desert was cast in a dull haze, dark sand framed by a sky of worn grey. The house was hidden from view, clinging to the hill that stood behind them. Somehow, not being able to see it was even more disconcerting than having an eye on it.

Kayo let her hand brush his shoulder on the way past. She was stood tall, steps even and light, arms swinging casually by her side as if she didn't have a care in the world.

"It's just another rescue mission, boys," she reminded them, pausing in the doorway without turning.

Virgil came to stand by Alan's side. "We know."

"Good." She flipped two fingers from her temple in a salute. "Catch ya down there."

The door swung shut louder than expected. Alan flinched back in his seat. Virgil examined the ring of his helmet, pretending not to notice, but gave up a second later.

"Hey." Alan avoided his gaze. "Al, I know this is…" Virgil trailed off. "No," he admitted with a dark chuckle. "I don't know actually. I don't have a clue. But I know this was a traumatic experience and I'm sorry you have to relive it. For what it's worth, you have all of us looking out for you."

Alan finally looked up at him. Virgil gave a little shrug, face shadowed with concern rather than fear, although there was a definite uneasiness in his movements as he stole a glance out of the cockpit windows.

"What if we can't reach each other?" Virgil turned back to him, silently waiting. "I couldn't wake John up from his hallucination. He couldn't hear me or anything."

Virgil remained quiet for a beat. "Actually, Gordon has a plan for that. He thinks we can go into the fears together, as a group."

"How?"

The beginnings of a smile crept onto his face. "By maintaining physical contact. Whether it'll work or if it's just an excuse to hold hands like grade-schoolers because we'll feel a little safer, I don't know, but it's worth a shot." He held out a hand. "C'mon. The sooner we get down there, the sooner we can get this over and done with. I'm thinking pizza after this. What d'you say?"

Alan looked at his proffered hand. "Hawaiian pizza?" he asked in a small voice.

Virgil gave a pained whine. "Yes," he replied grudgingly, warmth still audible underneath. "I'll even buy you a Hawaiian you absolute heathen."

"Pineapple on pizza is great."

"You disgust me."

"Virg, you literally drink green smoothies every day."

Virgil side-eyed him as they stepped into the elevator down to the pod. "Your point is?"

"Nothing green ever tastes good."

"Broccoli. Spinach."

"You're literally proving my point here."

Virgil didn't bother hiding his laughter. Alan shook his head with a grin, unable to deny that he felt a little lighter as they stepped out into the sandy landscape. The others were gathered a little way up the slope, Gordon leaping around as Scott held the console out of reach just to annoy him.

"Virg, wait." Alan grabbed his brother's wrist. "Just…" He ducked his head under Virgil's expectant gaze. "Thanks. For making me feel better. And… uh…. Whatever you see in there… just know that we're here for you too. We've all got each other's backs, not just mine."

Virgil looked at him for a long minute, then rapped his knuckles against Alan's helmet with a warm smile as he headed up the hill without another word. Alan waited a moment longer, revelling in the last few seconds of safety before following him, Two's green bulk slowly fading from sight in the reflection of his visor.

The house seemed smaller than Alan remembered. He forced himself to move forwards until his boots sunk into the clumps of sand that had fallen from the overhanging roof onto the front steps. The door stood half-closed in front of him, scarcely a metre away, and something hot and prickly writhed in his chest. He clenched his hand into a fist, tightened his grip on his sash with the other. His lungs felt constricted.

Gordon knocked their shoulders together. "Remember to breathe," he mouthed silently, offering a friendly grin as Scott looked at him questioningly. Alan sucked in a breath and shot his brother a grateful glance. Gordon merely returned his attention to the door in front of them without another word.

"From what we've learnt, it starts out with smaller fears and works its way up to the greatest. That means that as soon as we step over the threshold, it'll begin to manipulate us." Scott was speaking in the matter of fact, clinical tones that indicated he had slipped into his Field Commander persona. It wasn't a bad idea: the further he could separate himself from his own personal self the better – maybe the demon wouldn't have a strong a grip on him that way. "If any of us lose contact at any point, we stop and don't move on until we're together again. The aim is to break through each fear at the last possible moment…" He paused, hunting for the words. "We need to be scared, in order to set this thing free and break the deal, but the second it starts getting too much? That's when we move on. We need to communicate here. No martyrdom, you hear me?"

"It's not a family reunion until Scott's being a hypocrite," Gordon sing-songed. He shrugged, sniggering at the irritated glower Scott directed towards him. "I'm just saying. Who's a) the stubbornest and b) the most self-sacrificial here? Those awards definitely go to you, Scotty-boy."

"Don't call me…" Scott pinched his nose with a sigh. "Alright. Let's do this." He waited a second longer, in case any of them decided to back out, and then stepped forwards, shoving the door fully open with a single purposeful kick.

"Overdramatic entrance," Gordon stage-whispered from behind. "I like it."

Scott flipped him off without turning around. Gordon sniggered. Virgil sighed. Kayo rolled her eyes and barged past them all to take the lead. Alan focussed on the familiar banter around him and ignored the shiver that scuttled down his spine as he stepped back into the house that had haunted his nightmares ever since that day so many weeks ago.

It was as if he'd never left. His old footprints still lay fossilised in the dust, the ground around them stained with a deep rust of dried blood. Along the corridor, smeared around the doorway of the first room, crimson handprints smothered the walls. Alan didn't dare look inside that room, knowing that if the scenes in the hallway were bad enough, the murder scene that he'd fled from would be even worse. Gordon didn't get the memo, ducking his head around the door and sucking in a breath, shoulders going rigid. Virgil stopped by his side and murmured something inaudible, touching a hand to his bicep. Gordon lowered his head and hissed through gritted teeth but continued on with rugged determination.

The open space below the stairs loomed out of the darkness up ahead. Alan slowed down, trying to calm his racing heart, when another flicker of movement caught his eye. He stopped and turned, noting the painting from before tilted at an angle where it had been knocked from its nail, only now, in place of the grand gentleman with the snide sneer of before, there was only a smeared black canvas, a dab of violent red vanishing into the threads as Alan stared at it.

"Hey Virgil, I think you should paint a few things, lighten this place up a bit." Alan jumped at Kayo's sudden voice as she came to stand at his side. "Look at this thing. Whoever they commissioned last time took minimalist to a whole new level."

Alan found his voice before Virgil could reply. "It wasn't empty last time." He looked up until he caught Scott's eye where his brother had backtracked to join them. "There was a guy last time, with a pipe. And then there were red eyes just now, but they're gone."

A grim silence fell. In the distance, a shriek echoed around the rafters. Alan shivered.

"It's just the wind," Scott told him gently.

"Yeah." He tugged at his sash absently. "I know. But the painting isn't."

Gordon shoved past them to closer inspect it. Alan grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand away before he could touch it.

"I cut my hand open on it last time," he explained.

"On a painting?" Kayo asked doubtfully.

Virgil snapped one of his glowsticks into life. "Remember the rules of reality don't apply here." He passed the light to Gordon to study the painting. "We can't assume anything to be true. Or real, for that matter."

"Like in a nightmare," Alan muttered.

Gordon tossed the glowstick back over his shoulder and Virgil caught it with a growl. "Can you stop throwing things at my head?"

"It's good for you. Hones your reflexes." Gordon turned away from the painting, forced smile replaced by seriousness. "Alright, so here's the deal. I think this is the first…" He waved a hand, trying to think of the word.

"Portal?" Alan suggested.

"That's the one. From what you told us, there are different locations around the house which activate hallucinations. Some of them are stronger than others, and those are the ones that drop you elsewhere… literal portals. I don't know what this one is because you didn't enter it last time, so…" Gordon trailed off. "Virgil, what are you doing with your face?"

Virgil glowered at him, an unspoken bark of screw you as he brushed a cobweb from his suit with a scarcely concealed shudder. "There are cobwebs. Everywhere."

"Oh, I'm sorry, the cobwebs are freaking you out? Should I not mention the giant spider currently descending above your head?"

"What?" Virgil glanced up, glimpsed the massive arachnid slowly spiralling down towards him on a thin line of silvery lace, and screamed. The spider landed lightly on the floor and paused, abdomen pulsating as it considered its options before scuttling towards the two, legs spread wide, hairs raised and prickling. Virgil threw himself behind Scott with another horrified yelp. "Kill it!"

Alan jolted away from its path. Gordon, a little unsettled by the sheer size of the thing, accompanied him. Kayo looked up at their movement and her eyes went wide.

"Don't-"

Whatever she had been about to say was drowned out by a sea of white noise. Alan fumbled for something to grip onto as the ground evaporated beneath him, his elbow smashing into dark wood and canvas that splintered away under his touch. A strong grasp closed around his wrist, almost painfully tight as it twisted under the sudden loss of gravity before they lurched down into the darkness.

The ground rushed up to meet them. Alan smashed into it knees first and crumpled with a pained whine. The grip on his wrist yanked to the left as his companion also hit the floor and collapsed into a sprawled heap. Alan went to drag his hand back only to have the hold tightened, sliding down his arm to intertwine their fingers, squeezing until he got the message not to let go.

It was still too dark to see anything. Alan didn't particularly know if he wanted to glimpse their new surroundings, but double-tapped at his watch anyway to illuminate his torch. The immediate area lit up in a warm glow, reflecting off a familiar yellow sash.

"Gordon? You good?"

Gordon rolled onto his back with a groan and lay staring at the ceiling, sucking in air in pained wheezes as he tried to catch his breath. "Yeah. Kinda." He waffled a hand vaguely. "Just got the wind knocked outta me. I'll be good in a minute." He raised his chin until his helmet knocked his chest and observed their surroundings. "Where the heck are we?"

"Somewhere dark without walls or a ceiling," Alan reported, shining his torch up to discover that the roof he'd thought Gordon had been looking at was actually just another swamp of impenetrable darkness. It was a little like swimming in a part of the ocean where the seabed was so far below that anything could sweep up out of the deep without warning, and he shuddered. "Any ideas?"

Gordon propped himself up on an elbow. "Uh…" He frowned, surveying the shadows in all directions, shifting into a crouch as he did so. "Who hit the painting first? Me or you? Because I'm guessing that's whose fear we're in."

Alan thought back. He'd taken a step away from the spider, but he was fairly certain that his arm had knocked into Gordon's before the painting. In fact, he thought the painting had been what he'd hit last. "Did you grab me before or after you started falling?"

"No idea."

"Gee, thanks for that, you're so helpful."

Gordon glared at him. "Well I don't see you coming up with any miraculous realisations either, Einstein, so shut your piehole."

"That's not even the correct saying."

"It is if you're a Supernatural fan."

Alan stared. "Like… of the show, or the demon in this house?"

"You're insufferable."

"Thanks. That's a big word though, are you sure you know what it means?"

"Listen brat, I graduated high-school just like the others, just because I didn't go to college doesn't mean that I don't know just as much as…"

A sudden crash had the words drying up. Alan scooted a little closer to Gordon until their shoulders were pressed together and when his brother's grip on his hand tightened, he didn't say anything.

"What are you afraid of?"

Gordon looked at him with wide eyes, his pupils blown so wide that his irises were constricted to a thin rim of amber. His hold was almost painful, and Alan flexed his fingers until Gordon recognised and loosened his grip with a start.

"How does this place make you feel?"

It wasn't the reply Alan had been expecting. Still, he twisted and studied the ups and downs that weren't quite ups and downs at all. Looming out of the shadows lay a sweeping loop of twisting mirrors, so that the path forwards was indistinguishable from a portal into another sea of green and grey darkness, lit only by a thin beam of red that reflected amongst the panels. Behind them, slowly creeping closer, was a great wall of spiralling dots, roaring with dull static.

"Like nothing makes sense. There's no clear rule linking any of it together."

Gordon offered a terrified grin. "Yeah man," he replied breathlessly. "Remember how it starts off with your small fears and works up? Welcome to high school me who didn't understand anything which really kinda sucked when you're told that your entire worth is based off a grade sheet at the end of your senior year and whether you can stick a degree or not, but y'know, it's too confusing so you get left behind, but everyone else seems to understand, it's just you who'll never see what they see…"

Alan smashed their helmets together. Gordon choked, stopping his rant to take a breath. The static wall seemed to splinter a little at the top, fragments of glitching glass plummeting from the sky to shatter all around them. Gordon didn't seem to notice.

"Hey." Alan raised his voice. "C'mon. How do we break out of this?"

"By not being the only person in the family to fail Physics?"

"Gordon."

Another asteroid of glass and condensed static exploded around them, ice shards skittering across the floor to open up great chasms in the floorboards in their wake. Alan leaned over the edge as far as he dared. Below, all that remained was a void of darkness, empty of everything, even time and space and reality; a dimension between worlds. He yanked himself back to where Gordon was doubled over, bent over his knees to shelter from the raging torrent of incomprehensible chaos that was falling from the sky like bullets. Alan gripped his shoulder with his free hand and squeezed until his brother looked up.

"This is one of your weakest fears, right? That means you've worked past it… most of it, anyway. So how do we break it completely?"

"I don't know," Gordon shouted at him, voice raw. "That's the whole problem. I never know. I try my best but that's all it is. I don't understand it, I just pretend to." He held up a trembling hand and stared at his glove, collapsing into hysterical hiccupping giggles. "Fake it 'til you make it."

"This isn't real."

"Isn't it? The fear is real."

The floor crumbled away until gravity threatened to drag them both down. The static wall had reached its full height and was now bowing under its own weight, buckling under the pressure to arch over their hands, smashing into the ground to their right until it encompassed them in a giant fishbowl of static.

The noise was unbearable. Alan smacked at his helmet, fingers slipping over the buttons until he'd activated the blockers so that all he could hear was Gordon over their radio link.

"You're right. This is a fear. But it's a fear forged from an insecurity. You know what insecurities are? Cognitive distortion. They're not real, Gords, and neither is this. You're scared of not understanding and being alone because of it? Well you're not alone." He reached up and snatched Gordon's other hand from the air. "Listen to me. I'm here with you."

Gordon leaned forwards until their helmets were pressed together. "Do you trust me?"

Alan blinked. "What kinda BS question is that?"

"I need you to trust me. You said this was a fear forged from an insecurity, and you're right. Yeah, I'm not a scientific genius like the rest of you guys, but I can improvise. So maybe that's how I break through this thing."

"What?"

Gordon nodded at him. "I'm gonna improvise," he repeated, and surged forwards, throwing them both off the edge of the universe.

The world flipped inside out. The light was purged by darkness. His stomach tied in knots, an unseen force shrieking in his ears, Alan twisted, flinging out his arms to try and grip onto something. Someone was shouting at him, but he couldn't hear, see, feel…

"Alan!" Gordon was right there. Alan could feel his brother's nails digging into his back through his suit. He blinked in the darkness until Gordon reappeared in front of him. Their helmets were gone, snatched by the shadows. "Hey. Hey. Look at me. This isn't my fear. I'm not scared of this… whatever this is."

"The void," Alan murmured. "It's the void."

"Right." Gordon shook his hair out of his eyes and tightened his grip. Everything was blurring out of reality in corners, the world closing in, condensing, but there was only darkness, so it was folding over and in on itself like a collapsing house of cards. Alan couldn't catch his breath. He scrabbled at Gordon's sash to try to drag himself closer as a twisted gravity tried to snatch him away. Gordon grabbed him tighter, yelling to try to be heard over the wailing of the wind. "Alan! You need to take a breath!"

Alan stared at him. "You're fading," he choked.

"What? No, I'm not."

"Yeah. Yeah you are. Gords, I can't see you, I can't… Gordon. I can't…"

Gordon snarled a curse and dug in his nails. Alan yelped at the sudden sting, and clawed his way closer, burying his face in Gordon's shoulder until all he could feel was Gordon's arms around him. He still couldn't breathe. He wasn't in control. He was losing sight of that yellow sash, and they were still falling.

"This isn't real. This is your hallucination. Nothing exists in the void." Gordon was shouting so loudly that Alan's ears were ringing. He didn't dare lift his head. "So, make something exist."

"Make something exist? I'm not God!"

"This isn't reality! There are no rules here, remember?" Gordon's grip was loosening, and he struggled to keep hold. Alan could hear his brother's heartbeat, pounding like a hunted rabbit's, and tried to draw in a breath, only this was the void and oxygen didn't exist here. "Alan! You can do this. I believe in you, okay?"

Something yanked them apart. Gordon caught his wrist, and everything flipped, polarities pulling apart the fabrics of time and space. Alan screwed his eyes shut and willed with every fibre of his being to draw that feeling of safety and control into being and didn't dare think of anything else. Cold metal smashed into his side, pain igniting along his ribs. He doubled over, coughing and heaving until he caught his breath, dimly aware of Gordon doing the same at his side.

"I knew you could do it."

Alan threw himself onto his back with a groan and peeled his eyes open. The familiar orange of Three's cockpit met his gaze and he tipped back his head with a laugh. "Huh. I didn't think that would work."

Gordon caught his eye with a grin, face bright with the fierce pride that Alan usually associated with Scott. "Eh. You're Alan frickin' Tracy: of course it was going to work." He scrambled to his feet and winced. "Everything aches. Jeez." He held out a hand and wiggled his fingers. "C'mon rocket-boy, let's get outta here."

Alan took his hand and let himself be hauled to his feet. "Wait." A thought struck him. "We lost contact. I wasn't holding your hand just then. How are we still together?"

Gordon shrugged. "This is your safe place." He gestured around them. "You're in control of your own hallucination right now."

Alan wandered over to the controls and collapsed into his usual chair. "Strap in. If this is my reality, then I think I know exactly how to get us out of here." His hand hovered above the throttle until he realised that his usual controls were gone, replaced with a colourful mishmash of unknown sci-fi dreams. "Holy shit. I have a warp drive!"

"Like from Star Trek?"

"The exact same!"

Gordon snorted. "Nerd."

"You want to push the button with me?"

"Oh yeah, definitely."

Alan came to on a hardwood floor with a thin layer of black goo snaking around his wrists like handcuffs. For a moment, he simply stared at the ceiling, at the faint strands of cobweb that dangled from the rafters, swinging back and forth like pendulums. His heart was still pounding, chest tight as he drew deep, slow breaths. He could taste copper on his lips. When he lifted his hand to his nose, he found a small trickle of blood. Finally, he gathered the strength to turn his head.

Gordon was sprawled on his side, eyes closed, but his breathing was too uneven for sleep. One hand was clutched protectively to his chest, and when Alan crawled closer he could see painful welts carved into the skin around the torn edges of his glove where nails had dug in from holding on so tightly. Looking down, he could make out the same marks on his own hands. He nudged Gordon's shoulder and rocked back onto his heels to wait.

"Where are we?"

Alan craned his neck. "Below the staircase I think."

"The others?"

"No clue."

Gordon didn't move for another long moment. When he finally drew himself to his feet, he swayed a little. Alan reached out a hand to steady him and he looked away, suddenly incredibly interested by his own feet. Alan let his hand fall back to his side.

"Are you okay?"

Gordon mustered a bright smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Never better. Let's go find the rest of the scooby gang."

It didn't take too long to track them down. Scott looked a little flustered, Kayo's eyeliner was smudged, and Virgil's eyes were slightly bloodshot, but other than this they were all none the worse for wear.

"I don't get it," Alan complained as they traipsed up the staircase. "How come everyone else got a weak fear? Because what I got was definitely not weak. It was well up there." He gestured with his hand a little overzealously and accidentally smacked Scott who batted his arm away with a resigned sigh.

Gordon casually kicked a spider out the way before Virgil could spot it. "He's got a point. He definitely didn't get one of his weaker fears. I'm imagining that would be… what, like falling off the stage at a school show?"

Alan growled at him. "That happened once."

"Twice," Scott amended.

Alan growled at him too. Scott didn't hide his fond smile.

"Aw." Gordon clapped his hands together. "It's like watching a kitten try to be fierce." He patted Alan on the head and dodged the furious swipe sent his way. "Adorable."

"I am not adorable."

"Sure thing, pipsqueak."

"Scott, can I kill him?"

Scott shot them both a longsuffering stare. "No."

"Maybe it's because Alan's been here before," Kayo mused aloud, cutting off any further quarrelling between the youngest two. "From the sound of things, your first hallucination was a mashup of a variety of horror movie moments, which is a fairly weak fear compared to your later experiences."

Virgil squeaked. "Sorry. Something moved." He shivered.

"Did this something have eight legs?" Scott asked him dryly.

"Possibly."

Gordon sniggered. "I think Virgil's genuinely more scared of the spiders than of the literal demon."

"They have eight legs! Nothing needs that many legs! Clearly they can't be trusted!"

"So do octopuses," Kayo pointed out. "You're fine with them."

"Actually, octopuses genuinely can't be trusted. They're one of the cleverest creatures on Earth. They've been known to open jars from the inside, and escape from their aquariums back to the ocean, and…" Gordon trailed off at their stares. "What? I really like octopuses, alright? They're cool."

"You're just proving my point about not trusting creatures with more than eight legs."

"Wait, so does this mean that my hallucinations are just going to keep getting worse and worse? I thought I faced my worst fear last time." Alan was met with silence.

Kayo cleared her throat. "Actually… you only faced the worst fears that you're consciously aware of."

"Kayo." Scott didn't say anything further, but it was warning enough. Kayo shut her mouth and slunk on ahead, torch beam igniting the corridor for the rest of them. Alan watched her go, unable to fight the unsettled chill that had crept under his skin. "Hey." He looked up at Scott's voice. "Don't think about it too much. Whatever you face, we face it with you. We're not going to let anything bad happen."

"I mean, I'd say this is pretty bad already."

"Gordon, shut the hell up."

"Right-io, Captain-o."

Alan stumbled over his own feet. Virgil caught him, brow tight with concern. "You alright?"

Alan didn't reply. Instead he took a step back and stared up at the crack in the ceiling to glimpse a pulsating red glow through the gap. Something slithered above, blocking the light, closely followed by the scuttling of hundreds of tiny legs against wood. A deep screech like chalk down a blackboard rattled the air. Alan flinched away, jumping as his back collided with Virgil's chest. Virgil wrapped an arm around him and held him in place.

"Hold on to each other!" Kayo fled back along the corridor to join them, her steps squelching. Alan looked down to glimpse the black treacle from before, slithering out of every nook and cranny and curling around his ankles, up his legs. Gordon scrambled to his side, snatching up his wrist and grabbing Virgil's hand. Scott yanked Kayo closer and gripped Virgil's shoulder just in time for the ceiling to give way.

Alan's vision whited out. He blinked rapidly, sunspots collecting across his closed lids. His hands were filled with a gritty substance as he rubbed his fingers together, mouth dry. A dull pain was throbbing across his lower ribcage. In the distance, something exploded. The world was filled with an overwhelming heat. He rolled onto his knees, coughing as he sucked in a lungful of sand.

His nose and eyes stung with the acrid stench of smoke. He rubbed at his mouth and spat out grains and bloodied saliva onto the floor. As his vision cleared, he was met with the sight of a never-ending sea of sand.

Kayo was spitting curses, yanking her hair into a higher tail, and scrubbing sand from her face. At her side, Gordon was rubbing at the back of his head dazedly. Virgil was sprawled in a heap between his two youngest brothers, shaking sand from his suit as he slowly raised himself to his feet only to freeze.

"Any idea where we are?" Gordon queried, stumbling and catching his balance on Kayo's shoulder.

Virgil was still frozen. "Ah, shit." He whirled around. "Where's Scott?"

"Um…" Alan spun in a wide circle with a dawning sense of horrified panic. "I thought he was with you."

Kayo's eyes were damp with guilty tears. "I let go. I didn't mean to, I swear, it was an accident, I just couldn't hold on, it was like something was dragging us apart."

Virgil looked more panicked than when he'd seen the spider. "We need to find him now," he snapped, reaching for Gordon's sash, and yanking his brother after him. "Alan, Kayo, come on."

"Hey!" Gordon dragged his sash free, frowning. "What's with you?" He examined their surroundings a little more closely. "And where are we?"

Virgil came to a sudden halt. "This is a desert in Africa," he stated and jabbed a finger in the direction of the smouldering wreckage on the horizon. "And that is a crashed plane. Specifically, a crashed fighter jet."

Realisation dawned like a rush of hellfire. Alan felt like he was going to be sick. He knew with absolute certainty that whatever they were about to face was something Scott had never wanted any of them to see.

Kayo seemed to share the same realisation. It took Gordon a second longer before the penny dropped.

"Oh," he realised. "Shit."

Virgil gave them a moment before picking up the pace again, trudging through the sand towards the flaming debris. "We've gone through each of our weaker fears already, so this thing knows us well enough to find our strongest fears. This is…"

Gordon swallowed. "Not good?"

"Yeah." Virgil shook his head. "Not good is putting it mildly."

Kayo jogged to catch up. "What exactly are we about to witness? All I know is that Scott had a crash and was MIA for two months."

"Fifty-six days," Virgil corrected quietly. His hands were trembling. Gordon reached out and bumped their shoulders together. Virgil seemed to take strength from the action. "He was MIA for fifty-six days. We don't actually know all the details. He wouldn't tell me."

"Does anyone know?" Kayo demanded to know, anger a mask for the obvious concern.

Virgil stared grimly at the downed plane. "USAF. Presumably his therapist. Dad, I think." He hesitated before adding, finally, "John."

"That… actually explains a lot." Gordon went to add something further when the world ignited in another sea of fuel fumes and fire and sand and flying glass. Alan briefly recognised the sensation of gravity shifting before the world fell out under his feet. Desolate sand was replaced with the grey walls of a cell, the corners lined with thick mildew and dried blood. He was sat in a plastic chair, he recognised, tugging at the restraints pinning his wrists to the arms and his ankles to the legs. As far as he could see, he was completely alone.

"Hello?" His throat was raw, as though he'd been screaming for a long time. He swallowed past the raging thirsts and twisted. Thick blood dripped from the plastic restraints slicing into his wrists as he tried to yank his arms free. "Is anyone there?"

There was a brief pause, then, distantly, someone screamed.

"Can anyone hear me?"

Alan shook his head to try and rid himself of the buzzing in his ears. "Kayo?" he called back.

"Alan?"

"I'm here!"

"Virgil?"

"Alan, can you hear me?"

"Where are you?

"Can anyone hear me?"

Alan gritted his teeth and bent double, pressing his face to his knees. His back ached in protest and the dripping of blood onto concrete sped up. His vision filled with dots. The screaming started again with vigour. Around him, his family's voices filtered through the vents.

"Can everyone shut the hell up?" he shouted.

Silence dawned.

"Sorry," Gordon called back sheepishly.

There was a short pause.

"Has anyone seen or heard from Scott?" Kayo asked.

As if a cue had been given, darkness suddenly descended. Thick cloth was constricting his mouth and nose and Alan lashed out instinctively, clawing and biting at whatever he could get his hands on, kicking and bucking to try to throw off his captors. Freezing water cascaded over his head, seeping under his suit and drenching whatever was over his face so that each breath came with a mouthful of dusty water. Coughing and spluttering, he panicked. Hands were all over him, snatching and tossing, all violent lunges and distant foreign words that blended into a threatening rumble. He smashed into cold concrete, pain rocketing out from his shoulder from the impact. His nose was throbbing. The rag was snatched from his face and he struggled to rise to his knees. Two sets of hands dug into his shoulders and forced him back down.

A tall man with deep set eyes and a thick beard stepped forwards. A thin set of scars stretched across his knuckles and reached up along his forearms. Alan studied his movements with a growing sense of claustrophobic panic and struggled to back away. A series of demands in a language he didn't understand echoed around the room.

"I don't know what you're saying," he replied, unable to keep the note of desperation from infiltrating his voice. "I don't understand."

Another series of angry barks was flung towards him. A flash of cold metal ignited as the interrogator retrieved a set of blades from the side table. Behind him came the distinctive sound of a blowtorch. Alan flinched away, yanking at the ties binding his wrists together.

"I don't know what you're saying!"

A scream echoed from another corridor. Alan thrashed under the weight of the hands on his shoulders.

"Gordon!"

The cries stopped short. Alan gasped for breath and lashed out with one foot, earning a sharp smack around the face for his troubles. Something sharp and metallic cut into his cheek. Warmth trickled down his jaw and dripped onto his knees. Alan screwed his eyes shut and tried to block everything out, but the words were short and final like gunfire, and the roar of the blowtorch grew louder.

"It's not real," he whispered to himself. "This isn't real. This isn't even my fear. This is…" He lifted his head and raised his voice to a desperate shout. "Scott! It's just a memory! This never happened! Not to us, anyway… You can stop this! It isn't real!"

Another fist smashed into his nose. Blood trickled down his throat and he retched onto the floor. His uniform was smeared with crimson. His ears were ringing, and the right side of his vision was dark. Real panic was raw and rich in his chest. He choked on thick copper.

"Scott!"

His ears were ringing again, but this time with gunshots. The weight lifted from his shoulders in a flash of aquamarine and blue lightning around silver bracelets – Kayo's electro-stuns. Hands swept under his arms and gently coaxed him to his feet.

"I've got you," Kayo murmured, carving a hand through his hair and bringing his head to rest on her shoulder. "It's okay." She raised her voice. "Scott, any chance we could get out of here?"

"Scott?" Alan yanked away from her hold to glimpse his brother. Scott was standing in the place where the interrogator had stood, casually wiping the blood from his knuckles. Crimson was splashed across his uniform and face, speckled in his hair. At Alan's voice he looked up and the cold, calculating stare melted away. Gone was the murderous shark and here was warmth and concern. He was no longer the survivor, hunting down his enemies in order to live another day, but rather the guy who'd taught Alan to ride a bike and then to fly, who took him to nerdy conventions and had stayed up to watch Disney with him when he had nightmares as a kid. The one who showed up at the parent-teacher meetings, sat through all the school shows and then, when Alan began home-schooling, made sure he did all the work but reminded him to take breaks too and talked through whatever was bothering him.

Alan tore free of Kayo's arms to throw himself at Scott.

"I'm so sorry," Scott whispered, drawing him close and wrapping his arms around him as though he was afraid to let go. "I should have broken free sooner. I'm so sorry, Allie."

"You're an idiot," Alan informed him.

Scott gave a damp laugh. "Thanks."

"No, I mean… you don't need to apologise."

Scott didn't let him say another word, simply hugging him tighter. Alan let him and pretended not to notice the way his brother was trembling, hurriedly wiping tears from his face as Kayo reappeared with Gordon and Virgil.

Virgil stopped a few feet away. Alan wriggled free of Scott's hold to stand by Gordon, who was leaning heavily on Kayo, his arm wrapped around her shoulders to hold himself up.

Virgil sent Scott a searching look. "Are you alright?"

Scott lifted shaking hands stained with blood. "I remembered how to breathe."

Virgil let his breath go in a rush. "Dammit Scott, come here." He closed the distance and swept Scott into a fierce hug. Scott melted into the hold, dropping his face to Virgil's shoulder. Alan turned away to let them have their moment.

Everyone was quiet after that. Scott kept jumping at the slightest sudden movement or noise, staring at things that no one else could see. Gordon and Kayo were walking side by side, unspeaking, but shooting one another looks to communicate without words. Virgil was obviously unsettled, taking turns between watching Scott and watching Alan.

Still there was no sign of the demon beyond brief snatches of movement (that could very easily have been a spider) and traces of black slime sidling out of the walls and floorboards. Time was ticking on. Their watches had stopped accurately telling minutes the second they'd stepped over the threshold, but Alan estimated that they didn't have long left before John was out of time.

They fell in and out of weaker fears, some stronger than others. Virgil was scratching at his arms so badly after they broke through his hallucination of a room smothered in spiders that Gordon grabbed his hand and didn't let go. Kayo rapped her wrists together to activate her electro-stuns and didn't turn them off again, continuing with blue lightning sparking over silver plating like a human taser. She only let them power down when she spotted Scott flinch.

"Well this is fun," a familiar voice drawled.

Gordon's free hand clenched into a fist. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

"This isn't real," Kayo told him before he could jump to conclusions. "Trust me." She turned to face the Hood where he was leant against the doorframe, lips twisted into a smirk. "I would know."

"How?" Virgil asked quietly.

Kayo sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to open her eyes. "Because I'm seeing you bleeding out right now. And I'm the one who caused it. On his orders."

"Come now, Tanusha." The Hood unravelled himself from his perch and sidled closer, running a hand up her arm to cup her cheek, tipping her chin back to stare into her eyes. "You can deny it all you want, but a good person wouldn't have these thoughts in her head. I may not be real, but you created me."

Kayo tore her face free. "I am not your plaything. I am my own person. I may fear becoming like you but fearing something and it actually happening are two very different things." She activated her electro-stun and drew out her wrist to tap the electricity against his neck. The Hood observed her with glittering gold eyes. "You are a murderer. I am a Tracy."

The being evaporated into scattered particles of black and gold, fluttering away to join the ashes that littered the ground in a carpet of death. Kayo slumped against the wall, her breath coming in desperate gasps.

"Hey, hey, Kayo." Virgil stepped in front of her and reached out slowly so that she could see his movements. "Kay, look at me. You broke free." He offered her a tentative smile. "You did it."

"Yeah." Kayo sniffed and wiped her eyes. "I guess I did."

Virgil opened his arms and she fell against his chest. Virgil wrapped her up in a protective embrace and tucked her head under his chin, kissing the top of her head and tucking her hair back with the same careful gentleness that surprised everyone who didn't know him when it was coming from such a large man.

"How much longer do we have to do this?" Scott asked in an exhausted voice. He ran a hand through his hair, helmet hooked onto his belt, and closed his eyes for a split second. Gordon waited until he'd opened his eyes again before gently clapping a hand to his bicep in a silent show of support.

Alan studied his own hands. His knuckles were speckled with blood and there was a thin cut along his forearm that was oozing blood. He wrapped his arms around himself and forced a confident smile on his face.

"We can do this."

Gordon caught his eye. "We're the frickin' Tracys, huh?"

"Exactly."

This is not what we agreed.

Alan startled so violently that he tripped over Virgil's heels and was only prevented from face-planting into the ground by Kayo's superhuman reflexes. His head was pounding, limbs oddly numb as though they belonged to someone else. Down his back, his scars were throbbing.

"Did no one else hear that?"

Scott frowned. "Hear what?"

Just you. Where is the other?

"Great. That's just… great." Alan threw up his hands, ignored the confused queries from his family and spun in a wide circle. "What do you want?" he shouted at the ceiling.

The other. That is what we agreed.

"You're not having him."

You made a deal.

"No, you manipulated me into agreeing to something that I had no understanding of. In a court of law that would not stand up…"

"Maybe don't preach the law to the demon," Gordon suggested.

Alan hissed at him. "You want to be free, right?" He gestured around him. "Well that's what we're here for. How much more fear energy do you need?"

You will set us free?

Alan double-took. "Us?"

Free?

"Yes?"

A dark chuckle resounded about the walls, shaking dust from the webs and toppling clumps of congealed blood and sand like sheets from an ice cap. Gordon jumped closer to Virgil.

"Yeah, I uh…" He laughed nervously. "I heard something that time."

We will be free. More energy.

"How much?"

More. Stronger fear. Go deeper.

Alan looked to Scott who nodded, despite not having heard the question. The clock was still stuck on the hour they'd entered, but there couldn't be much time left.

"Do it."

As you wish.

"Guys?" Gordon lifted his hands to his eyes, patting at his face as he stumbled back, voice tight with fear. "I can't see anything."

"You're not the only one," Kayo replied darkly, jaw set with uncertainty. She reached out blindly until she found Scott's arm and Alan surged forwards, pulling Virgil into the group huddle as well before spots overwhelmed his vision.

This time it felt as though he tilted head-over-heels. He tried to suck in a breath only to choke on salty water. Up and down seemed reversed and he forced his eyes open. There was a series of bright lights flashing to his right and he twisted to swim towards them, breaking the surface to heave lungfuls of seawater and suck in air between retches. Sirens were shrieking. A raging inferno was igniting the back of the cabin. Twisted hunks of metal struck deep gashes in the hull and it was through this that icy water was gushing into the tight space.

A spiderweb of cracks covered the windows, but Alan waded a little closer to try to peer through anyway. There was nothing outside beyond murky darkness that faded to black where the flickering lights gave out. Something hot was dripping onto his face from above. He looked up and touched a thumb to the control panels. It came back red.

Virgil surfaced a couple of metres away, bracing himself on the back of the pilot's chair as he gasped for breath. His hair was plastered to his face, dripping in his eyes in a strawberry trail as the gash along his temple sluggishly bled. He scraped it back and took in their surroundings.

"Gordon?" Alan asked. Virgil nodded. It wasn't really a question. Alan recognised the basic design of a hydrofoil even if he had never been in one. Besides from that, the fact it was filling with water was another clue – Gordon had come far too close to drowning many times in his life and the fact that he had been awake for all those experiences had led to some serious trauma.

"Well this sucks," Kayo announced as she appeared towards the back of the craft. She dove back under until she was a safe distance from the flames and scrambled onto the chair to crouch on her heels, running a quick diagnostics analysis.

"That's pointless," Alan told her. "This isn't real."

Kayo shrugged.

Scott surfaced alongside Gordon, doing his best to shield his younger brother from the sight of the roaring flames slowly consuming the back end of the cabin. It was growing unbearably hot in a very short time and Alan found himself wishing for his helmet more than ever – this hallucination had decided to confiscate those once again it seemed, as they were dressed in the bare minimum – their suits, without even a sash to match.

Instinctively Virgil reached for a glowstick as the lights flickered, cursing as he came up empty handed. On the control panel another alarm blared as the power drained to critical levels. Kayo slammed at any buttons she could find and managed to dim them to a whine rather than a wail.

Gordon flattened himself against the side of the hull, eyes wide and arms wrapped around his chest in a feeble attempt to keep himself from hyperventilating. Scott took his side closest to the flames and squeezed his shoulder. Gordon took a breath.

"Crap."

Alan slid away from the control panel to stop in front of them. "Not real, remember?"

"Oh yeah, I remember that part." Gordon was shivering so violently that his teeth were chattering. It took Alan a second longer to realise that the freezing ocean was dropping their temperatures too quickly. A glance at Virgil revealed that he shared this concern.

"Okay, so… hydrofoil." Scott's voice was gentle but searching as he waited for Gordon to gather his senses.

Gordon shook his head. "Not exactly." He yanked a glove free of his hands with his teeth and threw it to Virgil who pressed it to his temple with a thankful nod. "I mean yes, but this is more of a two-in-one scenario."

"How come?" Kayo hopped off the chair with a graceful splash.

Gordon gestured to the hull. "Where's the escape hatch?" He dropped his hands to his sides with a hysterical laugh. "There isn't one. Which is crazy. I mean, how would you even get into a ship with no door? Do they seal you in? Is it like a coffin? Oh shit, that was a bad thought, no, no, no, darn, now I can't stop thinking it, wow, okay, this is fun, but not really, I can't stop thinking of coffins, what the hell, why can't I stop…"

Scott gripped his shoulders and pressed him against the bulkhead. "Listen to me," he stated slowly, leaning forwards to press their foreheads together. "Take a breath. We are here. You are safe."

Gordon sucked in a breath and then another. "Alright."

Scott didn't release him. "Are you with us?"

Gordon gave a breathless nod. As if on cue, the entire craft lurched violently. Reality spun upside down. Alan couldn't help but cry out as his entire left side became crushed against the bulkhead, inhaling water and the toxic taste of leaking fuel. Something screeched, metal against metal. There was distant shouting. Everything was spinning. The hydrofoil was rolling in the water. Alan flung out a hand and fumbled around until his fingers connected with an edge. He tightened his grip to yank himself above the surface, coughing and spluttering. His muscles were burning with the effort to support his entire weight and he clawed at the edge of the shelf with his other hand to try to lessen the strain.

Virgil was bracing himself against the chair. Kayo had a hand curled around the edge of the control panel, her eyes shut and legs drawn up to her chest in a protective ball. Somewhere to Alan's left, Scott was gripping the shelf too, pinning Gordon against the bulkhead. An ear-splitting whine reverberated through the walls. The rolling finally began to slow. Alan tilted away from the wall a little in order to glimpse the bowing metal along the ceiling where the panels were beginning to buckle under the pressure.

"Told you," Gordon rasped through heaving breaths, his eyes bright with tears. "Two-in-one. Not only do we get a hydrofoil crash, we get drowning too. Yippee. Do you reckon they offered a demonic discount for that one?"

There was another groan as the metal buckled further. Scott, as the tallest, had to bow his head in order to stay standing upright. Virgil registered this in an instant and took a step back towards the windows, eyes going wide.

"Gordon, how sure are we that this is just your fear?"

Gordon was too out of it to respond. Scott, gripping his younger brother's biceps and talking in calm, rhythmic tones to try to get through to him, looked over and cursed. "Virgil, is this a problem?"

"The possible drowning? No. The intense claustrophobia as this thing condenses further and further until it crushes us all? Yes. That may be a slight problem." There came an ominous groan all around. The roof gave way a little further and Scott ducked lower with a hiss. Virgil, gripping onto the edge of the control panel so tightly that metal rim was slicing through his gloves, let out a choked whimper. Kayo pressed herself to his side and reached for his hand. Virgil clung on so tightly that she was forced to conceal a wince.

Still clinging onto the shelf, Alan shook his head. The sirens were wailing. The ocean outside was a distant thunder as it hammered down on the hull, demanding to be let in. There was a dull pain constricting his ribs and a sharper sting at the base of his skull where he'd struck the edge of the chair when the hydrofoil had begun to roll. It all felt so, so real.

"If we die here," he wondered aloud, "do we die in the real world?" He felt the ice of the rising water creep higher up his chest, wriggling beneath his armoured plating and sweeping frozen fingers down his spine. "But if we can't get out and we can't break free then we're going to die so are we actually going to die or if not death… do we end up in limbo?"

"Stop rambling," Kayo snapped.

Scott looked as though he'd been slapped in the face. "No. No, no, no. That's not… that can't be…" He looked to Virgil, but Virgil couldn't tear his eyes away from the bowing ceiling. "No. We have to wake up if we… goddammit." He slammed a hand into the bulkhead with a growl. "I brought you here. If we… and I…" Gordon flinched. Scott whirled around, all soft apologies and gentle reassurances. "I'm sorry."

"What are you talking about?" Kayo tried to step forwards, but the force of the water pushed her back against the control panel. "Scott, you sound like you're giving up."

He gestured towards the water flooding through the gashes in the hull and the buckling spine of the craft. "By all means, tell me what I can do. There's no way out of this one, Kayo!"

"Yes, there is! There's always a way!"

"Not this time. This time we failed." Scott went quiet. He pressed himself against the bulkhead by Gordon's side. "This time I failed."

"There's got be something we can do." Kayo's voice had risen to a plea. She turned a frantic gaze on Virgil, but he was simply cowering against the slowly shattering fibreglass. "There's always a choice." Her voice broke. "You guys taught me that."

For the first time in his life, Alan was seeing his family at a pure and utter breaking point. It scared him deeper on a fundamental level than he had ever known, and it was recognising this innate terror that struck the realisation.

"Stronger fear," he recalled in a rush. "Go deeper."

It wasn't just Gordon's hallucination. It was all of theirs. Gordon's fear of the hydrofoil accident and drowning, Virgil's claustrophobia, Kayo's fear of not having a choice and Scott's terror of being unable to protect his family… and now Alan's fear for seeing them in such a state.

"Guys!" He slammed a hand against the bulkhead. The bang echoed around the steadily condensing space, sending ripples across the water. No one responded. "It's all of our hallucinations in one. It's not just Gordon's, it's ours. We have to take back control! Dammit, I can't do it alone… Kayo!"

Kayo's eyes were glazed. She was simply staring at the water as it rose towards her chin. Alan took a gulp of air and dived under the surface.

The alarms were muted down here. He swam closer towards the gashes and inspected the water beyond. The fierce sea of bubbles as it rushed through the gaps made this almost impossible, but Alan willed the sight of a familiar yellow submarine. Fragments of searchlights began to materialise but flickered back out of sight. He wasn't strong enough to control the shared hallucination by himself. He swam back to the surface and threw himself at the bulkhead, grabbing hold as the hydrofoil took another lazy spin that sped faster and faster until Alan could only focus on not throwing up.

It slowed, but now the water was rushing in even faster. Alan released his tight grip and swam the short distance to Scott and Gordon. Gordon was muttering something under his breath, inaudible, his eyes blank as he stared at something no one else could see. Alan brought his hand up and smacked his brother across the face hard enough to leave a mark.

"Quit being a little bitch and listen to me." He hit him again, his hand stinging with the impact. Gordon didn't even blink. Alan gave a growl of frustration and knocked their heads together, practically snarling the words. "Wake up. Gordon! Come on!" His voice rose to a shout. "You were always complaining that I didn't look up to you as much as the others, so get off your ass and show me you can be a hero too."

There was a pause. "Screw you," Gordon finally croaked. "I'm totally a hero. I saved a grasshopper from drowning in the pool last week."

Alan laughed hysterically, his face damp with tears. "Damn straight, dude."

Gordon grinned at him. "Sorry I checked out on you for a time there." He glanced around them and didn't conceal his shudder. "Okay. This is horrifying. I'm literally about to have another panic attack right now. Tell me what you need me to do."

"Should be easy enough for you," Alan told him. "Focus on Four."

"As in focus on seeing Four or being inside her?" There was a short pause. Gordon was smirking. "That sounded wrong."

"Oh my god, you're such a five-year-old."

"Do five-year-olds tell dirty jokes? I'm shocked. What kinda five-year-olds have you been talking to?"

Alan glared at him. "Just… focus on Four? Please? Before we drown?"

Gordon winced. "Right. Yeah. I'll get on top of that then."

Alan closed his eyes and focussed on Four's cabin. The details grew clearer the more he thought about it but then hazy when he tried to fix them all together. A distant groan yanked him out of his thoughts with a sudden skip in his heartbeat and his eyes flew open to spot a steady spray of water cascading down from the straining bolts in the ceiling.

"Oh god."

"That doesn't sound good," Gordon reported without opening his eyes. "What's going on?"

The walls were flickering around them. For a second Alan glimpsed intact windows and a familiar yellow glow, but then it faded out again.

"Just keep focussing," he shouted back. "You almost had it then."

"You sound like my high-school maths tutor," Gordon grumbled but fell silent again, a sign that he was genuinely concentrating. Alan waded over to Virgil and Kayo when a new movement caught his eye. He leant closer to the windows to check, but no, there was no denying it as a new flurry of cracks raced across the pane – the glass was about to give way.

"Gordon! Any time today would be nice!"

"Would be nice if you pulled your head out your ass and actually helped for once," Gordon shot back.

Alan growled and shut his eyes. "Okay. C'mon Four."

"Yeah, Four. Come to daddy."

"I'm actually going to murder you in real life."

"Great. Make sure Penelope wears a rainbow dress to my funeral like she promised."

Alan's eyes flew open. "Would you stop distracting me?"

Something crunched behind him. There was a rush. His ears popped with a sudden change in pressure. He had just enough time to yell something – he wasn't sure what, but it may have been Gordon's name – before the water was rushing in as the windows gave way. Icy cold ocean exploded into the open space. Alan flung out a hand, grabbing at something, anything, and managed to find Virgil's hand in the water. His chest was aching with the need for air. Lights flickered and died and this time they stayed off. Suspended in the water in the pitch black, Alan felt a lot like he was back in the void, and a little note of panic ignited in his veins. He kicked out but couldn't feel anything. He needed to breathe. It was too cold. It felt like tiny needles stabbing all over.

He face-planted onto something cold and flat.

"Four! Baby! Yes! I did it!"

Gordon's knees hit the floor next to him. Alan spat out a mouthful of dirty seawater and raised his head to inspect his brother. Gordon was drenched and shivering from both shock and the cold, but his eyes were bright with adrenaline.

"What'd ya say, Allie? Was I awesome or was I awesome?"

Alan stared at him. "You definitely upgraded from saving grasshoppers in swimming pools."

Gordon snorted and smacked his bicep. "Gee, thanks."

"Gords, I'm kidding." Alan struggled to lift himself upright. "And by the way," he added quietly as the others began to stir. "I lied. I looked up to you too. I never doubted that you were a hero."

Gordon fell silent. His eyes were shining with unshed tears. He opened his mouth and closed it again, settling for a simple nod. Alan grinned at him. Some things didn't have to be spoken to be understood.

The others were beginning to stir. Virgil scrabbled at the side of the bulkhead to heave himself upright and proceeded to cough up water for the next few minutes. Kayo gingerly raised herself to her knees, wiping the thin trickle of blood from her nose with a wince. Scott bolted upright, only relaxing when he spotted that Gordon and Alan were alright.

"Someone tell me that we've earnt enough energy now," Virgil mumbled from where he was curled up against the wall, eyes tightly shut.

Gordon crawled across to him, still too shaky to stand up. "You good, V?"

"Four is very cramped," Virgil replied hesitantly. "Very small."

"Ah." Gordon winced. "Right. Yeah, probably keep your eyes closed then." He looked to Alan. "So? What's your demon pal saying?"

"He's not my pal," Alan grumbled, but obediently stared up at the ceiling. "What now?"

Deeper.

"No." Alan shook his head so viciously that his vision flashed with dots. "No, no, no, not again."

Around them, Four's walls began to fade out, replaced with snaking ribbons of inky darkness. Virgil felt one of the tendrils wrap around his ankle and jolted back, smacking his head into the bulkhead with a pained cry. "What's happening?"

Gordon threw out an arm and pinned him to the bulkhead. "Alan?"

"We need to go deeper," Alan reported, scrambling closer so that he could grip Kayo's hand and let Scott wrap an arm around his shoulders. "More fear."

"For fuck's sake," Scott growled. "This is like Inception all over again."

"Hey! Don't insult a Nolan movie."

"Really, Kayo? Is now really the time?"

Are you ready?

Alan choked. "Ready for what?"

A low cackle filled his ears until all he could hear was a thunderous ringing. Four's warm glow splintered into hundreds of tiny gleaming red dots, rimmed with a thick line of twisted bone. They blinked once, vanishing along with the Thunderbird around them, and then they were falling again. A stench, rotten like sulphur, scorched. Alan plunged waist-deep into frozen water and caught himself against Scott's shoulder.

Kayo was spitting curses. She fell silent after a moment, the jolt of pain from landing awkwardly on her ankle finally dissipating. "Where are we this time?"

Alan took in his surroundings. They were in a large room with a curved ceiling that stood choked with cobwebs. As he looked up at it, he glimpsed something massive moving within the thick threads; long, sinewy limbs and an ebony abdomen glittering in the dull light from the fires running along the back wall behind them. As he continued staring, one curved talon punctured through the web to descend towards them. Scott yanked him back, a tidal wave surging towards them from the impact zone. Alan's feet slid out from under him and he scrabbled at Scott's arm to try and keep himself upright.

"What the hell is that?" Virgil was shouting, his voice taut.

Kayo's electro-stuns flickered into being, illuminating her determined expression with a purposeful blue glow. "Whatever it is, it isn't good."

"The room's closing in," Gordon reported, taking a step closer so that he and Virgil were stood back-to-back. "We need to figure out how to break free."

Scott's grip grew almost painful on his arm. Alan blinked, knocking himself back into awareness with a sharp gulp of acidic sulphur that had him retching. Scott released him to move his hand up to grip the base of Alan's neck, squeezing lightly until Alan caught his breath.

"Alan?"

Alan wiped his watering eyes. "I don't know." He looked up and locked eyes with his brother, a new fledgling of panic taking flight in his chest, thrumming through his veins like electricity. He clawed at his arms, stumbling as something slimy wrapped around his ankle and snapped.

"New problem." Kayo sounded odd. Alan struggled free of whatever lurked beneath the surface and looked at her, forgetting how to breathe. Kayo was fading at the edges. At she lifted her hands, her fingers dissolved into shadows, filtering away into the flames where they ignited in sharp bursts of light.

"Oh shit," Gordon choked. "It's like Infinity War all over again."

Virgil cleared his throat. "It's not just Kayo."

"Yeah." Gordon waved a hand with a hysterical giggle. "Me too."

Alan raised his own hands into the light and wiggled his fingers. He was stuck here. The others were leaving. "No, no, no, this isn't… you're not…"

"Alan, it's okay." Kayo caught his eye and nodded. "We'll see you in the real world."

Gordon was crying. They were silent, trembling sobs, but he mustered a smile anyway and reached to knock his elbow against Alan's. "You've got this. Save all the grasshoppers from all the pools."

"That doesn't even make sense," Alan cried.

Gordon offered him a tearful smile. "I know. Just… I believe in you."

Alan stared at the space where his brother had been standing, faded from existence just like Kayo. All that remained were a few ripples, and those were steadily dissipating. There was a splash as Virgil waded closer until they were stood in a circle, just the three of them.

Alan couldn't breathe. His chest was too tight and the air was too thick. Virgil was fading around the edges, shadows to darkness to bright flashes of firelight as fragments of reality exploded around the corners. "Virg, no."

"Hey, hey, hey. Alan, c'mon." Virgil leant closer so that he was towering over Alan in a protective shield. "It's gonna be okay. This is just your fear, right? Losing us? But it isn't real. We'll be just on the other side waiting for you, I promise."

Alan gave a choked sob. "I don't want you to go."

Virgil blinked back tears. "Yeah, buddy, I know." He gave Alan a gentle smile. "I'll see you soon. I love you."

Alan threw out a hand, but his fingers met with empty air. He whirled around, the dull roaring in his ears growing louder and louder until he caught Scott's eye. "No. Not you too."

Scott caught him and tugged him closer. "Alan, listen to me."

Alan shook him free, yanking at his hair, his breaths coming in terrified wheezes. Scott reached out and cupped Alan's face in his hands, tilting his chin back until they made eye contact.

"Listen to me, alright? You are braver and stronger and cleverer than you realise. You've got this, I know you have."

"What if I don't? I can't do this alone, and now John's gonna die because of me."

"He won't."

"How do you know?"

Scott pressed their heads together. "Because I know you," he breathed. "And I am so, so proud of you. I know you can do this. I'm so sorry you have to do it alone, Allie, and I'd do anything to stay, but I have to go now."

Alan wasn't sure when Scott had started crying. "Please don't," he whispered. "Please, Scotty."

"Remember this, alright? I love you. We all love you." Scott tapped Alan's nose with a tearful grin. "Hold onto that. It's stronger than fear." He wrapped his arms around Alan and drew him close, kissing his hair. "Now close your eyes."

Alan obeyed. "I love you."

There was no reply. He opened his eyes, one at a time. The room was empty. And, along the wall, the fires were steadily extinguishing.

"Scott?"

His voice rang small and tinny in the massive expanse around him. A thick droplet of sticky black drool dripped from the creature above and splashed into the ebony waters. A thin spray of treacle scattered across his sash and he ran his thumb along it, his glove coming back stained with a deep, penetrating red. The sulphur stench was growing stronger and with it so was the heat. A bubble swelled by the wall and popped, sending an eruption of dark viscous liquid into the air.

Alan stepped away. The water grew hotter, edging towards boiling point where it met the ends of the room. In the dim light, he could see that the walls were leaking, tendrils of black veins snaking their way to dribble into the rest of the lake. Further droplets fell from above. Protruding from the water, the talon began to retract, light reflecting off its sleek curves. It hung above the surface, poised for another strike.

A deafening roar began to rumble all around, so loud that the walls shook. Alan could feel it in his very bones, unable to think of anything other than the sheer overwhelming fear. With another wail, the creature shifted in a sharp jolt, thick coils of web shuddering under its weight. It was descending, Alan realised in a rush, just as a dim red glow cascaded down, capturing him in the beam of light that was pouring from the creature's thousands of glittering eyes. He plunged under the water and rolled to the side as the talon stabbed into the place where he had been a second before.

Resurfacing and gasping for air, he struck out for the side. The water here was so hot that he could feel it scorching his skin, blisters welling up beneath his suit, but it bought him a few precious seconds ahead of the creature. He inspected the wall in front of him and closed his eyes, imagining with all his will.

"This is my hallucination. I am in control."

Are you really?

Alan tore his eyes back open. "Yes," he spat in a growl, and slammed his palms into the wall in front of him. It flickered a little but reverted back to the opaque black concrete. His gloves were streaked with soot and deposits of hellish sulphur. He smashed his hands back into the wall, again and again, pain shooting up his forearms into his shoulders and igniting the ache in his scars, but gradually cracks were beginning to form across the surface. Another tidal wave from the talon's calculated stabs rushed towards him, water rising up to his chin and falling back to his waist. Alan gritted his teeth, ignored the flood of red light that had engulfed him once again, and flung his fists into the wall with all the force he could muster.

The wall shattered into thousands of tiny glass shards. Alan tumbled through the gap to land on his knees on a sleek mirror. Scrambling to his feet, he twisted back around to find that the previous scene had completely disappeared. Now he was stood in a small box room with black walls and a mirrored floor and ceiling. A single wooden door was set into the wall at the far end. In front of it, slowly clapping, was his carbon copy.

"Well isn't this fun?"

Alan stared at… himself? "What the hell?"

"Oh yes, quite literally." The Other cracked a smile, inspecting his knuckles casually. "Hell isn't all fire and brimstone you know. Hell is what you make it." He raised a hand, wiggling his fingers towards the mirrors. "Self-reflection can be very informative."

"Who are you?"

Other lowered his hands with a pout. "Really? Can't you tell? Take a closer look, kid."

Alan studied him. Other was his mirror image, only with his hair slicked back and coal eyeshadow streaked under his eyes like soot. Thin scars ran a spiderweb across his skin like shattered glass. There was a cold, calculating sense of amusement glittering in his eyes.

"Honestly," Alan told him, "I've got no clue. You mostly just look like an off-brand version of Anxiety from Sanders Sides. You are the Walmart, I am the Gucci."

Other rolled his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. "Ah yes, I forgot how much we rely on humour when we're out of our depth." He dropped into a low bow with a smirk. "I am the manifestation of your fear. And everything else, really. Your dark side if you will."

Alan crossed his arms. "That's bullshit."

"Is it though? You say this isn't real, but how do you know what is and what isn't? Is this another dimension, or are we inside your head?" Fear cackled to himself. "Aw, just think about it. Such a wonderful conundrum. Just a shame that by the time you figure it out, you'll have already failed. Tell me," he cupped his hands to his face with a mock gasp, "how does it feel to know that you're the reason for your brother's death?"

Alan recoiled. "John's not dead."

"Isn't he?" Fear stalked closer. "And I suppose that technically, given it was your failure that resulted in his injury, you are his murderer? Now what do you have to say about that?"

"I have to say that you're a hallucination and this isn't real."

Fear rolled his eyes. "You refuse to accept the truth because it scares you. You've spent so long repressing me, pushing me down, refusing to believe that there's this darkness within you, that now you can't tell what's real and what is simply a nightmare. But believe me, Alan, I am very real." He reached out a hand and pressed to Alan's face, lips peeled back in a shark-smile. "I am the truth and you cannot hide from me."

Alan tore free of his grasp and flung himself towards the door. His hands slipped on the handle, but he managed to yank it open and stumbled through to land on his knees on a thick, cream carpet. The door slammed shut behind him. He looked up to discover a room with fresh flowers on a table, family photos on the wall and a set of Disney DVDS stacked on the coffee table. A fraying rug of varying colours sat sprawled across the carpet in front of the sofa, where a blanket lay discarded alongside a half-eaten bowl of popcorn. A black Labrador slumbered away, head propped on the arm of the sofa, rumbling with soft snores. Alan fell back onto his heels. This place was familiar, like a distant memory, slightly golden with faded age.

Downstairs there were childlike voices and laughter. The scent of baking cookies wafted up. Alan padded over to the door and onto the landing, peering over the stairs. Various shoes were discarded by the front door along with a thick winter coat, a scarf and a vivid green dog leash. In the doorway to the kitchen, with his back turned, was a tall man with dark hair and a worn blue jumper, with a red-haired toddler cradled to his shoulder.

Alan froze. "Dad?"

Something shattered in the room behind him. Fear knocked another photo off the wall with a mere flick of his fingers. "Memories are such fun, aren't they? So easily corrupted."

Alan took off sprinting down the stairs towards the kitchen. His father didn't turn around.

"You can't run from me forever, Alan," Fear called after him. "I'm a part of you. You have to face me at some point!"

The front door blew open with a sudden gust of wind and Alan dashed through it without stopping. The scene around him faded to white and then, as he blinked to adjust his vision, he found himself in another long corridor, this time instantly recognisable. He was home on Tracy Island. Behind him Fear strode into sight.

"This is getting boring. Aren't you tired of running by now?"

Alan pushed past the burning in his muscles and forced himself over the limit. Around him familiar walls blurred, but no matter how fast he ran, a streaking darkness was growing faster and faster, overtaking him to obscure the path ahead. He burst free into the kitchen.

"Alan. Stop this." Fear's voice had risen to a snarl. "Accept the truth. Face me."

Alan skidded to a halt. Around the table, which was laden with plates of various dishes, some distinctly more edible than others, was his family. They were laughing and chatting; Gordon was throwing cookie crumbs at Virgil who was trying his upmost not to retaliate, Scott and John were discussing something (probably arguing over Star Trek versus Star Wars again), Grandma and Kayo were deep in conversation, and even Brains, Penelope and Parker were there. One chair stood empty, waiting to be filled. Alan stopped and stared at it until the darkness had overtaken that as well and he was back in the first box room.

Fear was sprawled across a cobweb-strewn armchair. A spider scuttled up his arm. He flicked it off and turned his sights on Alan. "Are you ready now?"

Alan clenched his fists. "You may be my fear, but I'm the one in control here, not you."

"Oh?" Fear laughed. The spider curled up and died at the sound. "Really? How do you come to that conclusion?" He didn't give Alan a chance to respond. "Because here's the truth: you play the hero, but you know that's not who you really are. You have these thoughts in your head and this darkness that will always be within you because, no matter how hard you try, how desperately you wish to believe it, you aren't a good person. You want to be, for their sake as much as your own, but truly that's unattainable."

Alan shook his head. "You're wrong."

"Am I? Think about it. These hallucinations, they're the manifestations of your fear, but fear can only arise from your own thoughts. You saw your family in pain, dying, but just remember… that was your thought first. You imagined that. The demon can bring things to the surface, but it never created them. That was all your doing." Fear raised a hand into the air, tendrils of black treacle twirling between his fingertips. "Of course you're a bad person, Alan. How else do you explain all this? How else do you explain me?"

"Demonic manipulation."

Fear stopped short. "What?"

Alan forced a smile. "Demonic manipulation. You aren't real. This is just the demon messing with my head. If I believed my heart then yes, you're right. But it's like John said: I can't rely on my heart alone. Emotions are messy. You can use them for guidance, but they aren't a map." He stepped closer until he could reach out and press a hand to Fear's chest. "You aren't real," he breathed, "and you don't define me."

Fear studied him with a wide-eyed, vaguely amused stare, before he evaporated into thin air. A second later, the room began to dissolve too, fading to reveal a large ballroom with spiderwebs amongst the chandeliers and a series of dusty curtains that flung themselves apart to let light stream in through the windows. Alan wandered forward into the centre. His sash and helmet were back, the latter clipped to his waist, and his watch, glittering in the light, was lit up with the correct time again. He had five minutes left.

The floor was pulsing with a red light, rushing along thin lines to meet at the centre. Alan spun in a wide circle to discover that it was a massive pentagram. He knelt down, pressed a hand to the surface, and willed the demon into existence.

"Come down and face me."

A mass of heaving black sinew rose up from the centre of the pentagram. It was so vast that Alan was forced to take a few steps back, craning his neck in order to view the spiders that skittered away from the point where the demon's bulk brushed the ceiling.

I am here.

Alan forced himself to take a breath. "I have enough energy to break the pentagram. If I do this, you have to let my brother go. He will be free from you and he will suffer no side effects. Do you understand?"

I do.

"Good." Alan studied that swirling mass of pure, agonising red in the centre of the demon's form and broke through the rush of paralysing terror that threatened to engulf him. "Do we have a deal?"

A low chuckle rattled the windows. We do.

"How do I know that you're telling the truth?"

We have made a deal. I do not break deals.

Alan stepped back to the very edge of the pentagram, kneeling to press his hands to the glowing outer line. It felt hot to touch, vibrating ever so softly. Closing his eyes, he summoned the rush of energy itching under his skin and drew his thumb across the floor, slicing through the pentagram rim like a knife through butter. A wave of heat flooded up his hands, across his forearms and down his shoulders, igniting the scars on his back and he grabbed hold of it, willing it to stay there. Power rushed through his veins, almost too much to handle and he forced himself to stand upright, stepping away from the broken lines.

The demon rushed out. The windows along the ballroom shattered with the force of the energy that erupted from the broken lines. Alan ground his heels into the floor and stood tall.

"I've set you loose," he stated firmly. "However…" He released the power scorching under his skin in a wave, willing it into a pure form of emotion. Plan with your head, act with your heart – that had been what John had seen in him. He raised his chin and stared directly into the pulsing core of the demon. "I cannot let you roam free. I have a duty to protect the world. That includes saving people from you."

Bright light engulfed his vision for a second. Something brushed his shoulders, soft and warm. A new mass weighed down his shoulders and, as he brought his arms forwards to grip the handle of the golden blade he'd manifested, he glimpsed what this new weight was. His scars weren't aching, rather they were a warm buzz of energy and power; curving around his back and up over his head, were great, glowing wings. The primary feathers ranged from silver, orange, green, yellow, red, purple, pink and turquoise to a gentle golden glow that lit up the rest of the wings.

Alan grinned. "Oh hell yeah. Badass."

You dare break our deal?

He twirled the sword between his hands. "I'm not. I set you loose of the pentagram. I never agreed to set you free from this house."

The demon let loose a roar that threatened to shatter the very fibres of reality. Alan tightened his grip on the sword and flung himself upwards, wings outspread and catching the air to tilt him up and over, landing behind the demon as talons lashed out. The sword plunged into the edge of the seething dark carcass and sliced down, leaving great gashes that spewed plasma into the air, sizzling and dissolving anything it touched. Alan launched himself sideways, twisting and turning to avoid each blow. The wings moved instinctively, as much a part of him as an arm or a leg.

You will perish.

Alan saw his opening. He dropped to his knees and forced himself into a slide underneath the writhing mass with one flap of his wings.

"You're wrong about me. I will do this, and you will fail."

You think you can defy me? You, a mere child?

"Honestly? Yes. I'm Alan frickin' Tracy."

The sword plunged through thick bone and dripping flesh to gouge a deep canyon through the crimson core. The demon flung itself back, shrieking and writhing. Talons lashed wildly across the room. Alan dove into a ball, wings wrapped over his head protectively.

"Alan."

The voice was familiar.

"C'mon, it's okay. You did it. You can wake up now."

He drew his wings a little closer. "How?" It was a pointless question. He already knew. The room was dissolving around him as plasma and blood leaked from the dying demon. Wings outspread, he plunged the sword into the floorboards below him and released the energy still coursing through his veins. For the final time, the world splintered and flung him into the darkness.

The sun was setting on another day. A soft golden haze had settled across the island, turning the palm trees into gentle giants and the sea to silk. Alan lay on the diving board and trailed a hand through the air, fingers parted to watch the parrots perched on the roof, vibrant feathers bright and hopeful in the glow of the sinking sun. Across the forest, crickets were beginning to chirp. A frog croaked. Out to sea, a sailing boat dipped out of sight below the horizon. Far above, where the stars were beginning to appear, a bright light slowly curved along the sky. Alan waved at it. A moment later his watch sang with an incoming call.

"Hey, Johnny."

John fixed him with an amused look. "You do realise I can't wave back, right?"

Alan tilted his head back a little further to watch Five trail out of sight. "Yeah, but you saw me. Isn't that technically spying? With your super-duper cameras?"

"I'm keeping an eye on you."

"Why? In case I sprout wings again and fly off?"

John didn't bother hiding his laugh. "Somehow I don't think that's going to happen in the real world, Alan. Especially not after four months."

Alan tipped his head a little further off the diving board. "Shh. Let me dream. I liked the wings." He slid his watch off and propped it against his knees. John's hologram brightened in the sunlight. "Are you doing okay?"

John – miraculously not wearing his spacesuit for once – tugged down the neck of his t-shirt to reveal clear skin. "See? I'm fine. Not dying anytime soon."

"Dude."

"Alan, how many times do I have to tell you? You cannot jinx yourself. That would require an external being to control your actions, which, in agreement with the philosophy of…"

Alan zoned out. He wasn't about to argue Theology with John again – he'd learnt his lesson the last time. He let John ramble on and watched the parrots ruffle their feathers, preening in the warm sunset. Below him came a splash and he twisted to glimpse Gordon gliding along the pool-bottom. Virgil had come out to join him, stretched out on a lounger with his sketchpad in his lap.

"Hey John!" Gordon surfaced at the pool-edge and waved up at the hologram. "How's space?"

"A cold, empty vacuum as ever."

"Ah, Johnny, such a buzz-kill."

John folded his arms, not truly offended. "I'm rethinking coming down this weekend."

Gordon threw himself out the pool and clambered up the diving-board ladder. "You can't do that!"

"I can and I will."

"It's literally my birthday on Sunday."

Virgil lowered his sketchpad. "We know," he sighed wearily. "You won't shut up about it. You're worse than Alan, and he's the actual teenager."

Gordon flung himself back into the pool with a dramatic wail. "This is bullying! Scott, they're bullying me!"

"Good," Scott replied distractedly from where he was leaning against the sliding doors, leafing through Brains's new designs for one of Two's pods. "Hey Alan, get down here would you? I could do with your input on these."

Alan rifled through the diagrams, a familiar buzz of excitement igniting in his chest. "These are awesome… but we could adapt the exoskeleton here to install an airlock so we could use them in space without wasting time on changing the launch procedure." He shrugged. "Just an idea."

"It's a great idea. I'll suggest it to Brains." Scott took the file back from him and set it down on the table next to the tray of drinks. A fat fruit fly was gorging itself on a droplet of Fanta that had dribbled down the side of a glass. Alan batted it away and retrieved his drink. Out on the patio, Virgil was absorbed in his sketching and Gordon had switched from butterfly to backstroke. Just above the horizon a small object was glinting, signifying Penelope and Kayo's return from the mainland.

"Hey." Scott flicked his forehead. Alan ducked away with a protesting yelp. "Everything good?"

Alan let Scott wrap an arm around his shoulders. "Everyone's safe." He clasped his hands together, twisting the hem of his shirt. "But… there's more demons out there where that one came from. I keep waiting for another to pop up."

"Hmm." Scott examined the sunset. "True. But remember something…" He tapped the top of Alan's back where the phantom sensation of wings still brushed against his skin every so often. "You're more than capable of beating them."

Alan looked to John's hologram, still bobbing above the dive-board despite the fact that his brother was simply reading a book, unspeaking. "Yeah," he agreed with a soft smile. "I guess I am."