It's everywhere.

He can feel it in his bottom lip. In his wrist. That spot behind his leg that seems to be their favorite. His heartbeat. He can feel it, thumping and thrumming, confirming that they didn't kill him. Not this time.

He knows he's bleeding, but it's impossible to tell which parts are and which parts aren't. He knows he supposed to stop the blood, because that's what all the books say, but his arm won't move and he can't, for the life of him, pick up his own head. Instead, he just stays there, his heartbeat swallowing him whole, buh-bump, buh-bump, buh-bump, drowning out the sounds of crickets and fading laughter.

He wants to cry, but he won't. He wants to disappear, but he can't. All and all, he's out of options, and all he can do is think about how much easier this would be if he could at least see the stars.

He hears the doors clatter, and his heartbeat picks up, banging against his ears and pulsing through all of the pain. They're back, he thinks. They're back, they're back, they're back.

But his logic remains. If there's anything he has left, it's that, and he knows that they have the key. That they wouldn't need to kick through the door. All of a sudden, he knows exactly who's on the other side.

The doors are supposed to open outward, which he knows not just because he's read about every fire-safety law in the country, but also because this isn't the first time he's been locked inside. The doors are supposed to open outward, but those doors had never come face-to-face with Virgil Tracy on a mission.

Scott's the first one in. Of course. He always is. At first, John can't hear him over his own heartbeat, but soon Scott's words become their own pulse. "It's okay, John. It's okay. It's okay–shit! It's okay."

Virgil's just standing there, trying to figure out what the hell he's supposed to do.

"I'll kill them," Scott says.

This is what finally gets John going again. "No," he says. His heartbeat is too loud–to present. It's everywhere. Buh-bump, buh-bump, buh-bump. "That's what they want. That's why they do it."

"Well merry Christmas to them," Scott spits. "Looks like they're getting what they asked for."

"Scott," says John. He can't be sure how well his words are coming out. His lip's busted and they knocked his head around pretty hard. "Promise. Promise you won't."

Scott looks to Virgil and John knows he's in bad shape. That's the only reason those two ever exchange that look. He's not surprised when Virgil takes his big, brooding steps forward and scoops him up. Little brother. Yeah right. "Let's get you the hell out of here," says Virgil.

But John doesn't give up. He may not be strong or heroic like his brothers, but he's persistent. "Scott," he says again. "Stay away from them."

The word isn't much more than a grumble when Scott says, "Fine."

John tries to look at him, just to see if Scott's lying, but he can barely get his eyes open and even then, he can't turn his head. He's just stuck there, listening to his heartbeat as Virgil carries him back to Scott's car, but he smiles anyway.

Because at least now, he's looking at the stars.