Sam Kirk is nineteen when his world falls apart.

It was a normal day, at first. He sat in his cheap apartment, the kind without windows, with his roommate watching a boring documentary about how old-fashioned cars used to be made. The thought crosses his mind how his genius little brother would love this show and how much he misses him when the program is interrupted by breaking news.

Sam rolled his eyes. He didn't care if some far-off planet suffered from flooding or whatever their soon to be fixed problem was. He pushed his sore body off the couch, about to get himself and his roommate another cold beer when he registered what the anchorwoman was saying.

"— planet Tarsus IV's colony, founded only four Earth years ago, was reported to have had over half the population of eight-thousand found dead. So far, Starfleet has discovered three-thousand-four hundred-and twenty-three survivors. They estimate that there may be a dozen or so more still in hiding.

"Though facts are still unclear, it is apparent that there was a famine caused by an unknown foreign fungus. There have been rumors that the colony's governor, a man by the name of Kodos, conducted a mass-murder—"

The nearly empty bottle falls from Sam's now shaking hand for what feels like hours but really the rewarding crash comes in only seconds. Not that he truly notices it, though. The only thought going through his mind is Jimmy.

Jimmy who was sent to Tarsus IV only six months ago.

Jimmy who cried when his brother fell from a tree and broke his arm. Jimmy who sat in desolation when he went without food for a day because Frank punished them. Jimmy who couldn't accept the weight of their father's death. Jimmy who died a little more inside each time their mother left. Jimmy who begged Sam not to abandon him.

Jimmy who laughed every time Sam ruffled his sun-catching hair. Jimmy who smiled a grin worth countless amounts of gold when Wiona came home with hugs and cheers. Jimmy who would muster Sam improvised stories of adventure when the sleepless nights spent stuck at the farmhouse hit especially hard on their dreaming hearts. Jimmy who made his worst days bright.

Jimmy who was probably dead, his straved corpse lying on some back-water planet's famine riddled soil with his impossible blue eyes now dull and pointed to heaven, no one bothering to close them—

And then very suddenly tears are pouring down his face. He should've been there, he should've fought for him. Sam could have protected Jimmy with his bright blue eyes and gleaming smiles.

If only he hadn't left so soon—

"Sam! Sam, what's wrong? Is someone—" his roommate, Trep, says, his alarmed voice rising in pitch and his expression bending in concern. Sam interrupts him mid-sentence.

"Wrong? Wrong! Everything is wrong! The last fucking person I have left to care about is on that fucking planet, probably dead because of some fucking famine! No, no, I know, Trep, he could be alive. He could be enjoying a nice fucking brunch with some shit-faced 'Fleet. If he even is alive up there, he's most likely sick and dying and cold and wondering why his brother or mom isn't there to be with him. How come no one's notified me about this!? I'm his goddamn brother! I—" . . . left him.

And as if the tears weren't enough, the sobbing starts. Sam can barely even speak as Trep leads him into his room to rest, but he does manage to muster out a weak "I should have been there." between sobs.

His friend's expression dissolves entirely.

"Go to sleep, Sam. I'll call Winona."

He's too far gone in nightmares to protest.

Jim Kirk knows there is a fine line between man and animal, human and beast, and has known ever since Frank laid his feral eyes on him. But that division became blurred as the people around him changed.

He isn't so sure if there is even a line between them, really, but if there is, well, he's crossed it.

He's crossed plenty of lines in the past weeks.

It starts when the domestic kitchen life fades so he begins to eat the dying leaves and he scavenges for insects under rocks. And when he sobs over the body of his best friend—he's too young to see this—and promises her that he'll keep the kids safe. He will— whatever it takes.

Whatever it takes.

And soon he's scurrying into his neighbors' houses— I'm so sorry, Mrs. Pickfield, I'm so, so sorry— stealing their food, then he's filing into boxing matches to fight strangers for their ration stamps and goddammit— it's still not enough.

Nothing will never be enough.

He will grow into his old age coming home to half a dozen gleaming eyes, never with enough food, never, and have to accept their disappointed gazes. They will never ask for more because they know JT is doing everything he can to feed them, that he hasn't eaten in days, and he is so, so tired.

But these kids need to eat more than JT needs his sanity.

He spends the night awake, as always, on guard, allowing himself to wonder why me? for the first and last time in his life. Because he knows what he'll have to do tomorrow.

Whatever it takes.

He wanders into town like he does everyday, chills seeping into his body bone-deep, and his step lacking the confidence he usually strides in with. He makes his way to stand in front of the guard (whose appraising gaze always seems to linger a little too long) but his eyes can't seem to lift up to meet his. Part of him hopes the man will refuse his silent offer.

This weak piece of him is disappointed.

Whatever it takes.

JT leaves the room feeling disgusted and filthy and absolutely gone. He is one-thousand percent gone, his weathered soul finding a restful place to have peace, something he can never, never have because the screams of the dead are already haunting his dreams and he can't even feel his stomach anymore and he knows he will never be the same.

All he has left to want is death.

Then his body littered with his dead father's blue eyes, his ghost mother's blonde hair, his gone brother's smiles, his uncle Frank's scars, and the murderous guard's finger prints will be dead with their horrible art printed on it. Printed on him.

He finds it morbidly comical that so many people have left their marks on him, but he will never be able to touch them. They're gone, they left you behind.

Nevernevernevernevernevernevernever

Never. It's all he seems to be able to think about (other than the phaser fire and screaming and whispers that always play in the background, of course). And it turns out that JT is so lost in his unsound thoughts that he doesn't even realize he's made his way back at camp until the two squirrels clutched tightly in his grasp cause the desolate children to hop out of their own misery for a moment of excitement.

"JT! JT, where'd you get these?" Seven-year-old Kevin grins crookedly. It's not something he sees everyday, this happiness. Of course the kids are excited to see him come back, but his haul today brings lots new cheer.

He wishes it wouldn't.

His mouth won't work as he opens it and tries to speak. Kevin looks concerned, his brows furrowing together and he turns his big green eyes up to look at him, but Jim can't make the eye-contact. When he looks above Kevin's head he finds that Tom is staring at him with confusion from across the camp.

Already his friend suspects something.

JT quickly lowers his gaze to the ground again. He knows how to hide emotions, it was his lifestyle living with Frank alone, but the shame and self-loathing are becoming part of him. He has to do better.

Kevin is still standing in front of him, watching and waiting, and Jim supposes he should say something, if he can.

He impresses himself when he smiles at the little boy. It's weak and incredibly fake but the fact that he can even manage it at all surprises him. It disgusts him at the same time, though, because how can he smile when everything is wrong?

Practice must have been helpful, he supposes. He used to have to act that way around Sam. Before he left, of course.

And, like always when he thinks of his brother, he feels the stab of hurt. Was Frank too much? Did Sam not care about him? Did he do something wrong?

He must have done something wrong, he always does.

Kevin walks away slowly, suspiciously and all Jim wants say is to stop worrying about me! even though that was the only thing he wanted six months ago, for someone to care. The only thing he longs for now is to crawl into his broken mind and to never come out.

No one can touch me there.

JT's smile is gone (was it ever really there?) when his mind drifts to a happier place and he doubts it will ever come back.

...