John's not reliably conscious, he doesn't open his eyes again until Alan finds and gets his helmet back on. He seals it, oxygen from the pack on his back flooding into John's lungs, rousing him slightly. All this does is elicit a long, aching groan as Alan brings his radio back online. John's in and out the whole time it takes Alan to look him over. He winces as he finds the cracked panel in the back of John's suit, the pack housing the circuitry smashed open and the hard drive damaged. No wonder the bio-circuitry cut out, the motherboard is halfway gone.

"Oh god, Johnny, that thing hit you hard," he whispers, fumbling in his brother's belt for a spare piece of circuitry. Alan's hands are shaking as he pries the back of the shell open. Any impact that would have cracked the casing on the suit will definitely have left his brother bruised, might have broken bones, maybe even left him bleeding internally. They need to get back home, get John taken care of. Alan slots a fresh CPU into John's suit and hits a button for a hard reset. It'll start to transmit data to Brains back on the island, but for now, Alan needs to get back to his own ship, and out of the wreckage of John's.

"Hang on, John," he murmurs, looping his older brother's arms over his own shoulders-he's never felt so much smaller than John than he does right now-and cinching John's wrists securely with a loop of data tether. "I'll get you home."

It seems like it takes forever to get back aboard TB3, and yet Alan's brain doesn't snap out of autopilot until he hears John's voice, and somehow it feels like only moments have passed.

"Al...Alan?"

"Hang on, John," Alan answers, terse with anxiety about the G-force they're about to undergo. He's taking it as gently as possible, but Brains has been on the holocomm, telling him that John's got broken ribs, that one of his lungs has partially collapsed. Alan's swapped a fresh tank of pure O2 into John's helmet, easing his breathing, but it's a stopgap. John needs help.

There's a pained, hissing intake of breath over the radio in Alan's ear, just as they hit the upper atmosphere. John's voice is faint, whispering weak, and he stirs feebly against the restraints crossing his chest in the co-pilot's seat. Alan can't spare a glance away from his console, but he steals one anyway, his eyes darting sideways to his brother's colourless face; his bright, glistening eyes, damp with tears of pain. Or grief.

"My-m-my station. Five. Alan. Go back."

"Can't." Stubbornly, with a jut of his lower lip that he gets from Scott. Alan shakes his head.

John's voice breaks, pleading, "Please, Allie. I-I...home-I have to-to go back...home..."

"We're going home."

And then the force of reentry hits Alan square in the chest, the way it always does, but this time he knows it's hitting John all the harder. There's a stifled groan, and then a half-choked sob and then Alan shuts his radio off. He can't listen to his brother like this. He clenches his jaw and bows his head, forcing himself to concentrate on his landing sequence.

"It's gonna be okay," he murmurs, into the open channel in his brother's ear. "We're going home, John. You're gonna be okay."

There's nothing in response, but of course he wouldn't hear it anyway. Alan's eyes are hot with tears of his own, for his brother, and for what he's done.

The rest of the family is all still out on assignment. They've checked in, they've been briefed, but no one can make it home yet. Alan sags in his seat as the track beneath him hums and whirs. John is slumped limply in the other chair, blacked out during the tail end of the burn. Alan can just see the slow rise and fall of his chest. It's not enough to assure him that John will pull through, but it'll do.

When the command pod returns to the lounge, Brains and Grandma are waiting. Brains goes immediately to John's side, even as Alan's getting up, still vaguely nauseous from the adrenaline and the crushing pressure of reentry. Grandma's there, holding out her hands and taking his arms to steady him, help him to his feet. Alan feels a little as though he's stepped sideways out of the situation. He's wishing for his brothers again. His dad.

"I-I'll n-need your help to g-get him to the Med-bay," Brains says, not looking up as he carefully unseals John's helmet. There's a hiss, a loss of pressure and John's chest heaves unevenly as his eyes fly open, panicked and darting everywhere. Alan takes another step sideways, towards the edge of the picture, where he doesn't have to be part of this.

"J-just here, Alan." Brains is brusque and unfailingly capable whenever it's a medical emergency-he and Virgil have that in common-so numbly, mechanically, Alan does as he's told.

Time skips. Alan's got John's arm around his shoulders again, and his arms are on fire from the weight he's supporting-John's tall. Alan always forgets how tall John is. John's face is cold, pressed against Alan's shoulder and his breathing is still shallow and catching every other breath. It takes Alan a moment to realize that he's holding his brother, halfway sat up on the gurney Brains had had ready and waiting. They're already down in the med bay. Brains has a stethoscope, has a pair of fingers together, gently moving his hands down John's back, pale beneath the unzipped seam of his spacesuit. Alan finds himself staring at a dark, horrific looking bruise, all down his brother's side and spine. He closes his eyes.

Alan's having a hard time staying anchored in the moment, because it feels like he's blinked, and then he's hovering anxiously next to his brother. He's taken John's hand, and can't seem to stop marveling at the weight of it, how John's long, slender fingers are dead weight in his own. It's funny how that makes a difference. Alan lifts his gaze to John's face and can't figure out what's changed-until he realizes that John's acquired an IV and an oxygen mask.

Brains is gently tugging on Alan's elbow, with gloved hands. He says something soft and kind, trying to usher Alan out of the room. He says something further about a thoracostomy and a chest tube and there's a gleaming steel tray with a a scalpel and other instruments that Alan can't seem to stop staring at.

But at some point he must have, because the next thing he sees is the hallway outside the med bay, the lift door, and Grandma, and he must really be out of it, because he's next aware of being curled up on the couch with tears on his face and his head in her lap. He seems to have used up his ability to stay in the present in getting through the ordeal-it's only been two hours since he launched-but no, because he opens his eyes and yawns, and it's dark now, and Grandma's gone. Alan's still in his suit and his head is resting on a pillow. He looks up and Virgil and Kayo are standing over him. The window behind them is the deep, midnight indigo, and the sight of the star-field brings tears to Alan's eyes again.

"I-is John...is he...?" His voice doesn't seem like his own, too small and frightened to be fully in his command.

Virgil's hand on his shoulder is warm and Kayo's gently brushing his hair out of his eyes. "He's going to be okay, Alan. We're all very proud of you," she assures him softly, and she sounds proud. "You did a good job."

"Did he wake up?" Again with that tremor in his voice. "Is he mad?"

Virgil nudges him gently into a sitting position and ruffles his hair. Kayo makes a faintly irritated noise and brushes it back into place. "John's not gonna be anything but flat on his back unconscious for another twelve hours or so. C'mon Allie. Let's get you to bed."

Alan nods and accepts the hand up to his feet. It feels like Grandma had done the same only minutes ago. By the time he's curled up in bed, time seems like it's finally settled back into place. The weight of the reality pressing down on him has him fleeing beneath his blankets, closing his eyes, and hoping that things feel better in the morning.