Chapter Text
Can’t hide emotions
Alan / Gordon
Alan made his way up from the hangars, his hand rubbing over the sharp, deep muscle ache that had dug into his shoulder. He’d gained this terrible pain like a badge on his mission while transferring from the doomed ship to his own for the final time, the people he was rescuing safely inside 3. He was grateful that the debris had barely touched him, though its proximity to his head still made him uneasy.
Everyone in his family had already gone to bed. Of course they had- it was past midnight and he always got himself home fine. Why would they NEED to stay up? For him?
Ridiculous.
He opened the fridge door and found a tray that hadn’t been in there when he’d left. Removing the loose tinfoil, Alan winced from the electric pain in his shoulder and made a resigned sound. Had it been Scott or Gordon who’d finished off the leftovers?
“Damnit” he whispered, shutting the door with his foot. His arm was feeling more and more useless with every passing minute.
He used his left hand to make a sandwich instead, struggling to spread the jam with his usually unusable limb, but the muscle ache in his right shoulder was more pronounced with even the slightest movement. His fingers were tingling, the nerves dancing over his bones.
He’d been starving on his way home, but as he sat down his stomach made a roller coaster loop and eating seemed impossible. The slight change in elevation had sent pins and needles up his arm and his lunch from hours earlier threatened him with acid in the back of his throat.
He closed his eyes and pushed his left hand into his forehead, the cool skin on skin contact soothing enough to stifle the brewing fever. Tears brimmed in the corners of his eyes and his teeth rubbed together from the combination of pain and frustration.
Shaking, he undid the latch on the armour covering his right shoulder, his gloved fingers weaker than usual as they dug under the flat metal clip.
A slight release in pressure, he took off the heavy screen covering his forearm and unzipped the gauntlets. They dropped onto the floor. He couldn’t lift his arm to put them on the table.
The light touches from his suit were boulders crushing his bones that made him wince. He pulled off his right hypothermal glove, but the way he pulled it away from his body was enough to send a rocket of agony deep into the muscles around his shoulder.
Hot flashes rushed his head and sparks blinked in front of his eyes as the sudden sensation of lightheadedness took him. He grabbed onto the bench with his left hand, suppressing a cry as his right arm knocked gently into the marble counter.
“Ow” he moaned pitifully, the first tear falling down his cheek hot and heavy. A slight adrenaline rush, Alan took the opportunity to sit his ass back down and put his head on the cold counter, genuinely scared that he might pass out.
The world righted itself again and Alan took the brief opportunity to sit up. He tried to expose the rest of his arm, to show himself the real damage that the space debris had caused, but it was ultimately hopeless. His right arm felt like it had been severed from his body while somehow still attached and set on fire, every inch of it screaming at him.
He thought of John’s words from earlier, from when the small rock had whipped past without the extent of its damage being known. They were a reasonable set of words, a common phrase they asked each other every single day: ‘are you alright Alan?’
He’d replied yes, and it was true. True enough anyway. His arm had felt a little warmer than normal, but he’d felt ultimately fine. John had accepted his answer, and why shouldn’t he? It was his usual answer.
The pain had lay dormant, waiting for everyone to leave him before pouncing. It had teased him, but now it was unbearable.
Alan closed his eyes. He tried to change his headspace, to become accustomed to the discomfort… he could wait it out. He’d done the same when he twisted his ankle falling off his skateboard as a kid. Just wait it out.
“Alan?” Someone asked from the doorway.
Alan sat up and looked in the newcomer’s direction, discretely wiping the corners of his eyes with his fingers as if he were only rubbing away sleep. The puffy bloodshot eyes were merely a symptom of his tiredness, or at least he could try to convince them that this was the case.
“Hey Gordon. Sorry if I woke you up.”
“No, no. I wasn’t sleeping yet.”
Like a deer in the headlights, Alan followed Gordon’s eyes as he took in the poorly made jam sandwich on the countertop, the partially removed sleeve, and the tech lying on the floor underneath him.
“Good” Alan added, hoping he sounded organic, “I’m gonna go to bed.”
He stood up and sat back down immediately as his head spun, his shoulder reminding him mockingly of its severity. Gordon dived forward and grabbed Alan as he went into a hunch. Luckily, it was the uninjured shoulder he locked his fist around. Maybe he was a little too perceptive…
“Need some help to get there?”
“I’m okay. Thanks though.”
“Did you eat yet?”
“Not hungry.”
“There’s some pie left if you-”
“There isn’t.”
Gordon sighed. Of course Scott ‘Scoff’ Tracy ate it.
“Well sit back down and I’ll make you a real sandwich.”
Alan stopped half way to the door. There was nothing he wanted more than to believe that Gordon hadn’t been sleeping, but he knew that it wasn’t true. He didn’t deserve one of Gordon’s famous grilled cheese sandwiches.
“I should really get to bed.”
“No, come sit down” Gordon insisted, and when had he gotten closer? He put a hand firmly on Alan’s good shoulder and steered him back to the seat he’d occupied moments before. The jam sandwich was gone and it was a show of how far the pain had taken him out that it had really felt like teleporting. He tried to shake it off, to show no sign that he had no memory of the previous 10, 20 second, however minor they had been.
“You okay?” Gordon asked conversationally, buttering the outside of a cheese sandwich.
“Yeah. Just late. ‘M tired.”
“Hm.” He dropped the sandwich in a pan next to another one he’d made.
With four sandwiches ready in minutes, all cut into triangles, Gordon dumped the plate in front of Alan and leaned over the bench, scrutinising him.
Alan thanked his immediate older brother and took one of the cheese sandwiches in his left hand, something Gordon observed but didn’t mention.
Partway through the first slice, Alan was fighting back tears again. He’d woken his brother and now he was… caring for him? Feeding him? Watching him. And damnit he was so tired. And sore. And-
“What happened to your arm?” Gordon asked casually.
Alan dusted his crumbed fingers on his spacesuit, avoiding looking at his brother.
“I’m sorry I woke you up.”
Gordon smirked.
“I already told you, you didn’t.”
A fresh tear fell down Alan’s cheek.
“What happened to your arm?” Gordon asked again sternly.
Alan pushed the plate away, the ceramic making a grinding sound against the marble, and wiped the tear away with one of his knuckles. It was pointless to do so though- his face was red and his eyes were shining.
“It got brushed by debris. It-”
Alan sighed deeply. He was going to say ‘it hurts’, but how childish did that sound?
“It doesn’t matter.”
Gordon teleport again. One moment he was on the other side of the counter, the next he was in Alan’s personal space.
However Alan had blacked out, he came to in time to feel prying fingers pulling at his shoulder pads, trying to be careful but dabbling his skin with agonising touches that made his stomach churn, the sandwich he’d just eaten rising back into his mouth, making him suppress any grunts he made.
Turning his head on the side Gordon wasn’t occupying, he threw up down the side of the chair while Gordon’s effort kept him sitting up. Or he thought he had.
One moment he was sitting on the chair. The next he was lying on the floor, staring up at 3 heads and the ceiling.
He was cold and hot at the same time. His body shivered, the spacesuit finally removed from his upper body and his shoulder free, his back pressed against the cold stone floor. He felt sweat sticking his fringe to his forehead and he felt acidic vomit sitting at the back of his tongue.
Swallowing the burning taste, he felt himself turning red again.
“What’s the time?” He asked hoarsely.
“Never you mind that” Grandma Tracy responded, and where had she come from, and where had the others gone?
Alan stared at the ceiling, his head lolling, blinking randomly.
“Alright Scott, it should be working now” Grandma said to the others.
“Okay…”
Grandma disappeared from his line of sight and Alan felt his two oldest brothers on either side of him.
“…and lift!”
They hoisted him up between them and Alan screamed loudly as his arms jostled, pinned to his sides by those carrying him. The pain had been dulled, but he could still feel his arm being ripped apart from the inside. Was it broken? He’d probably find out later, but oh god why couldn’t he black out now?
To Alan’s chagrin, they carried him to his bedroom and plopped him down on his plush, too soft bed. He suppressed a groan and resisted cringing from the cold back of Scott’s hand on his forehead.
Suddenly Virgil was back on his aching arm- scanning, injecting, wrapping. Within a few minutes, his shoulder was firmly cast against his body and unable to move.
“Thanks guys” Alan murmured once Virgil finally stepped back to admire his work. He gave them a tiny smile that he hoped conveyed gratitude, but he found himself only wanting to know what the time was. He knew they wouldn’t give it to him though. He hated keeping anyone up just for him, and they were well aware of the fact. It seemed the only thing they were aware of when it came to Alan.
Grandma came into his room and scolded him for not waking them up sooner, finishing with a sloppy kiss on the cheek and the reassurance that they WANTED him to wake them up if something like this happened. Alan thought bitterly that if they really cared, someone would stay up for him to make sure he was okay, and he wouldn’t have to wake anyone up.
Virgil and Scott watched him sympathetically and a little boredly, trying to ask him how he was even though he’d already answered them a dozen times.
“You can go to bed if you want” Alan said again and again, but they kept shutting him down, saying they WANTED to be with him. The silence eventually became too awkward though, and Virgil took his leave. Scott followed after checking just ONE last time if Alan was okay.
Gordon waited for all of them to leave and crawled onto Alans bed, leaning into the side that wasn’t injured.
“It’s 4:30” he whispered.
“Thanks” Alan sighed. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes.
“You can go to bed if you want. I’m okay.”
“I can tell there’s something bothering you.”
“Well my shoulder IS shattered.”
Gordon put a hand on Alan’s.
“That’s not the only thing. You can tell me.”
Alan could feel tears threatening him, but they had the decency to stay hidden.
“I’m sorry I woke you up” Alan repeated with sincerity.
“…it’s fine.”
“But it’s not!” Alan hated both how childish he sounded and the tiny voice crack his teenage voice was still victim to.
“…no one saved any dinner for me. My shoulder was broken, and NOONE noticed… not even John. You all treat me like a kid, like I can’t handle myself, but you also leave me so alone that no one notices when I’m-” Alan lost his words.
“…when you’re hurting” Gordon finished for him.
“Yeah! And I don’t get it! No one cares until something goes wrong, but then everyone overdoes it.”
Alan stared down at Gordon’s hand over his own. Tears bubbled over and dropped down his cheeks in twin streams.
“Didn’t even get any pie.”
Gordon watched with that same stupid sympathetic look everyone else had given him. Did Gordon see him as a kid just lashing out too? He’d always felt closest to Gordon, since they were the closest in age. Now he seemed much older though. Alan was still a teenager, and Gordon was twenty one. Those four years never seemed more distant.
“I could bring you that cheese sandwich… although it has been sitting out for a few hours.”
“I’ll pass” Alan sighed, completely ignoring Gordon’s attempt at being funny.
After a moments hesitation, Alan turned himself so he was lying on his ‘good’ side with his broken arm on top of him, facing Gordon. The older brother put his arm around his kid brother, his fingertips brushing against the hair at the nape of Alan’s neck, and Alan raised his head onto Gordon’s chest, contributing to the half hug.
“You don’t have to hide it, you know” Gordon whispered.
“It’s kinda hard to hide a broken shoulder.”
“I don’t mean the shoulder.”
Alan stayed silent. The old rule was that ‘kids should be seen and not heard’, and as the youngest, he had held himself to the standard expertly for the entirety of his life. He didn’t mind being left behind when there was a huge party, or getting outvoted on which pizza toppings they’d get, or coming home to a dead quiet house when he was in agony and ready to scream.
Something welled up in his chest and bubbled into his head, pushing behind his eyes and hurting his sinuses, putting too much saliva into his mouth. Like a balloon that finally burst, Alan broke down, sobbing quietly into Gordon’s chest. He pushed his fingers into his eyes, trying to push the tears back in, but they were already dropping onto Gordon’s shirt, staining it grey against the white.
Gordon shifted Alan closer and hugged him properly, propping his cheek against his little brother’s head. He closed his eyes and listened to his brother cry. His own chest constricted at the sound, but Alan needed someone to hear it. It had been a long night, the kid was probably starving, and not even John had seen how bad his shoulder was (something Gordon would have to talk to him about later. How could anyone be hit with space debris and NOT be hurt by it? Even he knew that that shit was hard and fast, and he spent most of his time as far away from space as humanly possible.)
He was going to ask Alan if he wanted something else to eat- anything- he’d get him anything he wanted, but his sobbing subsided and his breathing eased into real sleep. Instead, Gordon shifted himself slightly so his neck wasn’t on such a strange angle, and closed his eyes too.