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So what, Etho tussled with a few spiders and got a couple bites for his trouble. They were regular spiders, after all, not cave spiders, so there’s no venom to contend with. Just some scabs healing up a bit gruesomely — sure, Etho’s ankle is a bit swollen where he got several bites, and the itchiness varies on a scale of ‘unnoticed’ to ‘almost unbearable’ (emphasis on almost) and Etho’s pale skin is marked all over his legs with harsh red bites, but at least the couple on his arms are by his shoulders and easily covered.
It’s all to say that Etho is fine. He’s weathered worse. The only issue is the discomfort and the absent urge to scratch, which leads Etho to accidentally starting the bleeding all over again.
But it’s fine. Etho’s fine. (If he keeps saying it, he can make it true.)
He puts on his loosest and softest pair of pants and deals with it.
He runs into Beef, who gives Etho a casual pat on the shoulder while they’re talking right where Etho has a bite, and the involuntary flinch means Etho has to explain.
“It’s healing.” Etho tells Beef. “All good.”
Beef squints at Etho just a little, in that way only Beef can look right through him. Etho tries not to sweat.
“Okay,” Beef says, and Etho has to force themself not to sigh in relief as Beef goes on with the conversation they were having.
It doesn’t last, though; Beef catches Etho the next day when he’s accidentally scratched off the scabs on his ankle again and is awkwardly trying to stem the blood.
“Beef,” Etho starts, but Beef doesn’t wait for an explanation and sweeps Etho onto his shoulder. “Hey!” Etho objects, squirming and open-palm smacking at Beef’s back. “ Seriously? Put me — ow!” Etho whines as Beef grabs their offending ankle, ostensibly both to stop Etho fighting and to apply pressure for the bleeding, but it hurts , and, unfortunately for Etho, it does dissuade the struggling. “I hate you.” Etho says in a dejected voice as he lets himself slump over Beef’s shoulder.
“Sure you do, buddy.” Beef replies in a terribly lighthearted way.
It’s not the first intervention Beef has put Etho through, and it’s unlikely to be the last. Etho can’t quite tell where they’re going, and chooses to play it cool for awhile until he wiggles just enough to get into position. Then, Etho yanks down his mask and sinks his needle-sharp teeth into Beef’s shoulder.
Beef yelps. Etho starts kicking. He sinks his teeth deeper until Beef lets go of his legs and Etho goes pinwheeling to the ground. He barely lands on all fours and skitters away from Beef with his tail lashing, though his speed is heavily impaired by his aching ankle.
They’re looking over their shoulder at Beef, making faces, which is why Etho never sees Doc until Doc scruffs them, effortlessly lifting Etho off the ground by the jacket collar. When Etho tries kicking Doc, Doc grabs Etho by the tail.
“You’re a fucking menace.” Etho grumbles as they go still. This isn’t fair, and Etho’s already plotting revenge.
“We’re one and the same, then.” Doc responds.
Though Etho’s chances of escape are severely diminished, he refuses to accept defeat so easily. The moment Doc dunks Etho down onto Beef’s massive four-poster bed, Etho prepares to go for escape attempt number three, only to be immediately waylaid by a weight on his chest.
Etho looks up into the huge and wide puppy-dog eyes of Bdubs, who is sitting on them, and Etho covers their face with their hands.
“Nope. No.”
“ Ethoooooooo,” Bdubs pleads. “C’mooooon.”
“This is a war crime.” Etho mumbles as Bdubs grabs at their wrists.
“I’ll add it to the list.” Doc says from somewhere slightly distant.
“Let us care about you Etho, it’s only fair!” Bdubs argues, pulling Etho’s hands from their face, but Etho keeps their eyes firmly closed.
“Odds are against you, kit.” Beef points out. “You lost this one. Bdubs, just — yeah, thanks.”
“It’s not over unti— hey!” Bdubs shifts enough that Beef can grab the waistband of Etho’s pants and pull them down, leaving them in their boxers and with the ugly bitemarks and scabs exposed.
“Oh, Etho.” Beef sighs, and that’s another reason Etho’s not going to open his eyes. He doesn’t want to see whatever disappointed expression Beef has on right now. Etho’s hands find grip in Bdubs’ mossy hoodie, and he mutters,
“Are you actually going to sit on me the whole time?”
Bdubs responds to the question with one of his own. “Are you gonna make a break for it?”
Etho chooses not to answer, which is a response in and of itself.
Bdubs gently pets Etho’s hair while Beef and Doc gather first aid supplies, chatting without any expectation of Etho responding. Etho, personally, is working on a way to astrally project out of his body.
“Hey.” Bdubs says softly just after Etho pulls his mask back up. “I love you. You know that, right? We love you a lot. No shame, you’re allowed to need help, okay?”
Etho swallows, unable to conjure his voice for an answer.
The mattress creaks and Beef puts a hand on Etho’s hip.
“Gonna clean and bandage these up, okay?” Beef tells them. “We can take a break whenever you want.”
“Yeah,” Etho says, because if he doesn’t answer then everyone will be waiting and watching to gauge his response and the less looking at his face there can be, the better.
Beef’s touch is as gentle as always as a cool cloth swipes over each bite in turn. For what it’s worth, Etho does their best to be still despite the general discomfort, socked toes curled and tail twitching. Beef and Doc go back to talking, and Bdubs is still running a hand through Etho’s hair, parting his white hair around his pressed-flat ears. Etho is avoiding Bdubs’ eyes, but everytime he takes a furtive glance to check if Bdubs is staring at him, Bdubs isn’t. After several checks, Etho tries to accept that it’s probably more than chance, and Bdubs just knows that Etho hates to be stared at, particularly in moments of vulnerability, and is respecting that. There’s no reason that Bdubs wouldn’t respect that boundary, of course, but that thought is a little rational for Etho’s spooked state.
Etho knows Doc’s furred hand and curled claws the moment they run down his leg, lifting Etho’s ankle.
“It’s rather swollen.” Doc says aloud. “Does it hurt to walk on, Etho?”
Etho stares up at the ceiling. “Sometimes.” They admit. They hope Doc doesn’t think they’re lying. For once, Etho’s not trying to minimize things, because it doesn’t always hurt, that’s why it’s been so annoying.
Doc merely hums, adding something quietly to Beef. Then, to Etho, “I think you should try and stay off it until the swelling is down. It shouldn’t be more than a day or so.”
A response, whether an okay, yeah, or something more noncommittal, is caught in Etho’s throat, and they cover their face with their hands again. In terms of fight, flight, fawn and freeze, Etho has used up all chances of fight or flight and is far too mortified to fawn, leaving paralysis as the only option. His heart is an erratic thing, flickering in barely-swallowed panic and trying to escape the cage of his ribs. These are the people that love Etho the most, and yet it’s all Etho can do to not start kicking and screaming for the world to go the hell away. It’s stupid and embarrassing, and this is why Etho hides and handles their own problems in the first place —
Bdubs leans forward, draping himself more over Etho’s front. His elbows are pillowed on the mattress behind Etho’s head, and he’s scooted up far enough that his hoodie drapes over Etho’s face. Bdubs’ chin rests lightly on top of Etho’s head. It’s enough of a bizarre position that it breaks Etho from his own hurricane of thoughts.
“Hi.” Bdubs murmurs, the words so quiet that Etho can only hear them by virtue of the fact that they’re pressed together. “It’s okay to be scared.”
Instinct demands that Etho objects to such a descriptor, but Bdubs is going on.
“We know it’s hard. That’s why we all come together when we want to help you.”
Bdubs presses a kiss into Etho’s hairline. “I promise you’re the same big bad impressive Ethoslab. Whether you’re scared or not, whether you bandage all your hurts or other people help you. We love you, always.”
Etho moves their hands from their face to gripping Bdubs’ hoodie, so tightly that their knuckles go white. He manages an acknowledging mmmm , with no further words forming.
“It’s okay. I promise it is.” Bdubs whispers, pressing a kiss into Etho’s hair.
Bdubs’ weight on top of him is comforting, but Beef and Doc are still touching Etho’s legs, oh God, they’re touching him, and Etho fumbles as he grabs for Bdubs’ palm and trembles a little as he tactically signs, ‘Break’ and ‘no touch’.
Bdubs raises his head. “Guys, back off. They said break, no touch.” Bdubs immediately goes to roll off Etho, but Etho wraps his arms around Bdubs’ back, keeping him there.
Etho scrabbles his hand up over the collar of Bdubs’ hoodie, tapping into the warm skin at the back of Bdubs’ neck, ‘Stay’.
“That’s stay,” Beef says quietly, from somewhere further back.
“Oh.” Bdubs settles again on top of Etho. “Yeah, course.”
Curling tighter around Bdubs, Etho tries to regulate his breathing a bit better. Safe. Safe. Safe.
It’s hard to say how much time passes, but Etho slowly extends one arm, reaching out for where he last heard Beef’s voice come from, grasping at air, and after a few moments, Beef’s hand takes his, and Etho pulls Beef closer. When Beef settles on one side of him, Etho reaches out again, and Doc’s hand is there almost immediately.
Piled together on the bed and wrapped in their warmth, Etho breathes.
Safe.