Mark didn't need any explanations of what was going on. He had a sick kid, it was inevitable there would be times that he just needed to get it, without needing everything spelled out. Justin was in tears. Not just crying, but those heartbreaking sobs that Mark had seen him locked in many times before. You never wanted your kid to get to the point where they were in that much pain and that upset they lost the ability to speak because they were crying so hard. Wishing it not to be was pointless when you had a child who had suffered as much as Justin had. He was going to have times where his mind made living just that bit too hard and he lost his footing. It didn't matter anymore who helped Justin have these breakthroughs in his illness during the dark times. Whether it was Mark, or Gen, or Sam, or James, or Nate, or Will... it just did not matter, so long as someone was there to catch him when he fell. This time, it had been Sam, and as angry as Mark had been at himself and let the anger be misdirected to his twin, now, he was so fucking grateful Sam had run to Justin's aid as soon as he heard something terrible was happening.

Seeing the cuts on Justin's stomach and thighs, Mark's breath caught in his throat in a sharp gasp that he couldn't stop. This was it. Justin had been self-harming again, the cuts on his stomach were clearly terribly infected. Mark had been thinking Justin hadn't self-harmed in a long time, but really, it just meant there had been no sign of it. Some parents might zero right in on the wounds and fly off the handle about how terrible they looked. Mark wasn't your general parent. He was one who had been to hell and back with his kid more than once. "Justin? It's okay, son. Come here," he said softly, gently prying Justin's hand from his face so he could fold his son in a tender hug. "I love you. Look at me. I'm okay. I'm not going to have a heart attack. You can talk to me. You can talk to me about anything."