The Crucible fires with a shattering roar.
John grabs at the console for support as the metal platform beneath his feet jolts and groans in protest, but his fingers are slippery with blood. He falls and lands hard; the impact sends a fresh rush of pain through him, and for a while he simply lies on his back in the ringing silence.
A Reaper drifts past overhead, a sharp black outline against the stars. It's twitching spasmodically, its legs curling in towards its segmented body and jerking out again sharply as red energy flickers across it. John finds the sight absurdly funny; he'd laugh if he could spare the breath. A distant, clinical part of his mind wonders if he's going to die (again) and decides that maybe it won't be so bad this time-
'John? Shepard?'
Steve.
John pulls himself into a sitting position against the console, hissing through his teeth as the movement brings another flare of pain. It takes him three attempts to hit the voice link on his omni-tool.
" 'M here." he slurs thickly. He turns his head, spits blood onto the platform, and repeats more clearly "I'm here."
'Thank God.' The utter relief in Steve's voice is clear even over the crackling comm link. "It's over, John. The Reapers are down."
"I know, I saw-" He breaks off, coughing and wincing at the stab in his chest. Broken ribs, at the very least.
'You're hurt.' It isn't a question. 'Stay where you are. I'm bringing a shuttle to you.'
Even smiling hurts. John closes his eyes and drifts; he's vaguely aware that the voice link is still open and Steve is barking orders at someone, but it all seems to be happening very far away. Shock, the clinical part of his mind supplies helpfully before it fades into the fog that seems to be consuming the rest of his thoughts.
'John? Come on, stay with me.' There's an edge to Steve's voice that John recognises even in his fogged-in state: fear. His tongue feels thick and useless in his mouth, but not responding is unthinkable.
"Not … not going anywhere. Coming back. Promised."
Steve gives a choked laugh. 'Yes, you did.'
"Still in one. Piece." It's getting harder to string sentences together in the haze. There's something else he needs to say, though.
"Love you. I …"
If Steve replies, it's lost in the noise as the shuttle descends nearby. John looks up groggily as a swarm of medics bears down on him, with Dr Chakwas at the forefront; she shakes her head at the sight of him and directs the others to start cutting him out of his charred armour. Even when the chestpiece comes off and they move him onto a stretcher, it takes three of them to carry him back to the shuttle.
Steve is waiting there, his face drawn and anxious. He stays well out of the way while the medics are setting up the transfusion kits and IV lines; when the crowd around the stretcher lessens a little, he comes forward and takes John's hand as his eyes begin to slide closed.
The last thing John knows before darkness takes him is the sensation of Steve's thumb rubbing small, comforting circles on his palm.