Stan squeezes his eyes shut too but just for the impact, just instinctively, and when he opens them the first thing he sees is his brother's face. He breathes for a second, just breathes, staring at Ford with what might look like amazement, if anyone were looking to see it. Carefully, a little dazed, Stan reaches up and slowly pushes Ford's glasses back up his nose, makin' 'em straight again.

"Hey," he says, hushed, because the whole room's so quiet, it feels like if he talks too loud some kinda' bubble around them will break and the shitstorm will start its happy little rain back up again. "You can look now. We're alive. I think."

Well, sure, Stan hasn't exactly looked around to check. That feels like speaking too loud, like looking around and figuring out just what all's there is pushing it. And, well, that wasn't the first time he said a word that sounded maybe a little like the name of a certain four-eyed nerd, thinkin' it might be the last one he ever said. It is the first time he went to that place in his head and then opened his eyes and saw the face that matches it right here in front of him, the face of a guy who came, the face of a guy who saved him. "You came."

So excuse that awed expression he's still got, pardon the fuck out of him if he's gotta' maybe, you know, maybe take a couple minutes.