Amidst her sobs, there was a choked little laugh when Brannon called her 'Punk'. She was 'Punk' since she could remember, even when their mother thought that it was a tad foul and not really becoming of her little baby girl. But Alana took it as a ways of setting out to prove she was more than just the baby of the family. When Brannon wiped away her tears, she immediately wanted to put on a brave face. Her smile was forced, more for herself than for either of the men present. With a nod in agreement, she let them part so that Brannon could see his nephew.
As she wiped her eyes and nose on the back of her sleeve, the two of them had their small exchange. It was still difficult to grasp that he was there at all. Her arms crossed as they felt useless to be hanging at her sides. The excitement made her feel fidgety. Breaths were slower, deeper, in an attempt to reclaim some of the calm composure as before.
He looked tired, Brannon did, and there was something else definitely going on with his leg. His knee, perhaps, the way he shifted his weight. The things he must have seen, done, been through... If he was still her brother, and it seemed so, then she knew he would be the one to fight through Hell and back.
Luke made her smile and she had to take a stand for him. "Nineteen going on, hmm, twenty-five," his Aunt Alana gave as she drew closer to the pair. She gauged how he felt; when Alana and Michael had come back to find Luke, they were ecstatic, completely elated. It was a different perspective for him, seeing his Aunt and Uncle reunited. "Luke's been strong for the both of us, more than he knows sometimes."
Not to make Luke feel uncomfortable with the spotlight on him, Alana looked back to her brother and gave a deep sigh. "Bans, when did you get so old? Seriously, you look like Dad."