For islandandstars who requested Ginger Ale and Crackers.

I had fun discussing this prompt with TsarinaTorment, trying to come up with reasons why Scott would be sick…and with thanks to Gumnut-Logic for the read-through.

Alan felt like a rabbit in headlights. Hell, he probably looked like one. And he'd never felt so alone at home. At least, he'd never felt so alone when he technically wasn't.

He wasn't alone because Scott was asleep on the bed in the infirmary. Well, technically his big brother was unconscious after being knocked out on their mission by space debris. The Medscanner had shown no serious injury apart from a whopper of a concussion when he eventually woke up.

It was unnerving to be alone with an injured brother and he be the medic. Virgil and Gordon were in the South China Sea rescuing several entire fishing fleets from the dregs of a cyclone and would be several more hours. Kayo was off with Rigby chasing the Chaos Crew. Not even Grandma and Brains were on the island.

Scott was relying on him. His brothers were relying on him. Alan squared his shoulders. He could do this. It wasn't as if he didn't know how to treat concussion, he just never had had to do it alone.

As if he could read Alan needing some reassurance, John appeared. 'Al? You doing alright there?' Alan nodded and John smiled distractedly. He was keeping a close eye on Two and Four, but Alan needed reassurance. Dealing with Scott at the best of times was very much a Virgil job, sometimes a Virgil and John job. It should never have been just an Alan job, but this time circumstances had conspired against them.

'You know what to do?'

'Yeah, help with the nausea, hope he doesn't throw up.'

'Good. What are you going to give him to aid the nausea?'

'Er, there's some cyclizine that Scott can have and if he wants drink then there should be ginger ale in the fridge.'

'Yep. And you can give Scott something else to settle his stomach.'

'Oh? What's that, then?'

'Dry crackers. You should find a packet in the cupboard with the cyclizine. Nothing else, though, Al. If you need help then just call, but for now I gotta go.'

And John blinked out and once again Alan was alone. He squared his shoulders. 'Get it together, Alan,' he told himself. 'You're a trained medic. You got this.' Of course, it wasn't the same when it was your brother who was injured.

Scott chose this exact moment to wake up, of course. The groaning was indicative, and the sudden clutch at his stomach and hand on his mouth told Alan what was imminently about to occur, and fortunately he'd prepared, emesis bowl on the side.

He caught Scott's shoulder and shoved the bowl under his face just in time. It was not pleasant. When Scott was finished Alan helped ease him back onto the bed, smiling gently at the grimace on Scott's face. He grabbed some wipes and cleaned Scott's face as he scrunched up his face as the pain hit him.

'Scott? You want something for the nausea?' Scott shook his head and immediately regretted it. Alan knew that he would refuse the medication, no surprise at all there, so once Scott relaxed he disappeared to grab some ginger ale.

Only, there wasn't any in the infirmary fridge. Alan frowned. It wasn't like Virgil to not keep stocked up, but there at the back was a little note.

I.O.U.

He didn't need to be the genius he was to know that Gordon was the guilty party, and he rolled his eyes. There would be some in the storeroom, and he looked to see Scott had fallen asleep again. Good, he had time to go grab a couple of bottles.

The storeroom was precisely laid out and it took Alan no time at all to find the bottles. He frowned at the label. Virgil must have bought a new brand. Alan grabbed four and an extra packet of crackers and rushed back.

Scott was still out of it, so he poured a bottle into a glass and put the remaining three in the fridge. He added a plate of crackers and sat down to wait, pulling out his game system and zapping zombies until another groan told him that Scott was awake again.

The nausea was just as bad and the ginger ale was very welcome. Scott drank the bottle slowly, and the next. He finished the plate of crackers. He slept some more as well. Alan opened the last two bottles ready.

By the time Scott woke again and drunk the last two bottles his nausea began to abate. There was still a little churning in his stomach, and his head felt woozy rather than painful, but he felt clearer than earlier.

'Al, any chance of some more of that ginger ale?'

Alan's head shot up. Scott was ever so slightly slurring his words. He hadn't been doing that before. Alan's concern at a delayed head injury ramped up, and he called John as he left the infirmary, looking back to see that Scott was still in bed.

'John?'

'Alan? What's up?'

'It's Scott.' He checked again and Scott hadn't moved. A very unusual state of being for Scott. 'He's slurring his words, John! What do I do?'

'Hang on, I'll check.'

John didn't leave him, for which Alan was very thankful, but his eyes were looking to the side, and Alan knew he was checking Scott's biometrics and the Medscanner readouts.

What Alan wasn't prepared for was for John to break out laughing. Alan frowned. What the hell? He waited for John to get himself under control. It was…almost scary to see John like this. He could hear Virgil asking John if he was ok.

'I'm sorry, Al, Virgil.' John wiped his eyes. 'Um, Al, you're gonna want to get Scott some water.'

'What's going on, John? Alan? What's wrong with Scott?'

'He was slurring his words, Virgil!'

'John?'

'It's ok. Scott's ok.'

'The hell it's ok, John! Virgil, what do I do?'

'Ok. Ok. Calm down.' Gordon joined the fray. 'John. Stop giggling and tell us what's going on.'

'Hahaha. Sorry. Sorry. There's nothing wrong with Scott, it's not a head injury.'

'Then what is it, John?'

It was the sight and sound of Alan, almost in tears, that stopped John in his tracks. 'Al, honestly. Scott's fine. Where did you get the ginger ale from, Alan?'

'Er, I got it from the store cupboard.' Gordon appeared.

'Show me a bottle, Al.' Alan held up an empty bottle. Gordon groaned. 'How many did he drink?'

'Um, four. Four bottles in about two hours.'

'Oh god.'

Three pairs of eyes pinned Gordon.

'It's my ginger ale. Al, it's alcoholic. Scotty has a concussion and is probably a little tipsy. The concussion will make the alcohol more effective. Scott could usually handle much more before even beginning to be tipsy.'

Alan wasn't sure his mouth could drop any further. Alcoholic? What on earth? He never thought to check the ingredients other than checking it was ginger ale. He flushed.

Oh. He'd given his concussed brother alcohol. Oh god, they'll never let him live this down, and Scott would be furious when he came around.

He looked at his three brothers, all who had massive grins plastered on their faces. He looked back to Scott, still sitting on the bed. He shot Alan a grin and a thumbs up.

Alan groaned and buried his head in his hands.

'How long before you get home, guys?'