Alan didn't want to be here, but he had left his den in search of something to drink and was swiftly pounced on by his Grandmother. He needed to see his brothers, he had been putting it off too long apparently and now he was going to be dragged to see them come hell or high water. The upside was that John was here, he wasn't sure he had ever been so happy to see his brother and on setting eyes on him had almost bowled him over. John laughed and hugged him, quietly asking if he was okay. No he wasn't, he wasn't sure he'd ever be okay, but he nodded for now. John smiled, he knew he was lying but he knew he would found out later, when they were away from the prying eyes. He asked if he was coming to the hospital with him, and Alan caved. He would, for john.
It was as Alan remembered that first day, hours after the explosion and screaming and blood. He felt sick and hot and clung to john as their shoes clattered loudly on the hard floor, rolling down the corridor like thunder. He was in that field with the mud and rain and screaming and— he jumped as John placed his hands on his the concern in his eyes. Alan couldn't do it, he couldn't face them he tried to pull away to escape but john's grip was like a vice and he pulled him out of the main way and to the side before dragging him closer, wrapping arms around him and cocooning him from the world, and Alan cracked. He had to tell someone and if he couldn't tell john who could he tell.
So he told him everything. It was his fault, he hadn't meant to but it was his fault and he should have listened but he didn't and now they were here and he was sorry.
So, so sorry.