Work Text:
Kevin was halfway under the hood when it happened.
There was a sharp metallic clatter, the sound of a tool slipping where it shouldn’t, followed by a breath pulled in too fast to be steady. Gwen looked up in time from her textbook to see him jerk his hand back and brace it against the edge of the car, shoulders rigid.
“Kevin?” she said.
“It’s nothing,” he replied automatically, wiping his palm against his jeans.
Gwen was already moving, reaching for his wrist before he could tuck his hand away again.
“Hold on,” she said. “Let me see.”
He hesitated, then relented with a quiet sigh. Gwen gently opened his hand.
The scrape itself was small. A shallow abrasion across the center of his palm, already slowing, already healing the way his injuries always seemed to. Gwen exhaled in relief she hadn’t realized she was holding.
Then she really looked.
Kevin’s palms were rough in a way that went beyond normal wear. The skin was thick, uneven, shaped by repetition— absorption, years of fighting, of grabbing onto debris, of working engines down to the last bolt. The faint scars were everywhere once you noticed them, pale lines layered over one another, healed but never erased.
His nails were cut short, but not evenly. Some edges were torn down too far, others cracked. Practical. Necessary.
Gwen’s chest tightened.
“It’s fine,” Kevin said again, quieter this time. “Doesn’t even hurt.”
“I know,” she said softly. “Just…come here for a second.”
Kevin was gently led towards the garage`s sink.
She cleaned the scrape first, quick and efficient.
Kevin barely reacted.
That, somehow, hurt her more than if he had.
When she finished, she didn’t let go.
“Sit,” Gwen told him, guiding him towards the wooden table and chairs as she put her books aside.
This time, there was no joking resistance from the teen. Just a tired compliance.
She filled a bowl with warm water at the sink, testing it carefully, adjusting the temperature until it was just right. When she set it down in front of him, steam curled faintly upward.
Kevin eyed it like it might bite. “What’s this for?” he asked, wary.
“Your hands,” she said simply. “Humor me.”
After a moment, he lowered his hands into the water.
The reaction was immediate, though subtle. His shoulders dropped a fraction. His fingers loosened, spreading slightly as the warmth soaked into skin that was more used to cold metal and abrasive surfaces than anything this gentle.
Gwen knelt in front of him, carefully lifting one hand at a time to pour water over his palms, letting it run slowly, deliberately. The calluses softened under her touch. The scars caught the light differently when wet, easier to see, harder to ignore.
She thought about how often his absorption abilities forced his body to adapt without asking him what it would cost. How the materials he took on left impressions behind, even after he returned to himself. How his life rarely gave him a chance to be careful—only durable. How his hands have always been tools first, something to endure damage rather than receive it.
When she dried his hands, she did it slowly, patting rather than rubbing. Then she worked her hand lotion into his palms, pressing gently but firmly, thumbs tracing circles over stiff muscle and hardened skin. Smoothing over each scar gently, as if silently acknowledging it.
Kevin watched their hands, lashes low. He didn’t pull away. Every so often, his fingers twitched, as if he wasn’t used to being touched in such a matter before.
“Isn’t this…girly?” he asked quietly.
Gwen shook her head. “No. It’s just care.”
He nodded once, swallowing. The tension in his jaw eased.
She filed his nails carefully, evening them out, rounding the edges so they wouldn’t catch or tear more. Every so often she glanced up, checking his expression, but he stayed still, breathing slow and even. When she was done, she held his hands for a moment longer than necessary.
When she finished, she held his hands between hers for a moment longer than needed. They were still rough. Still marked by years of survival. Still unmistakably Kevin’s.
But they were clean. Warm. Treated like something worth care.
Kevin flexed his fingers, testing the feeling. His expression shifted, something like surprise crossing his face before he could hide it.
“Huh,” he murmured.
Gwen smiled faintly. “Better?”
“…Yeah,” he admitted. He didn’t argue. He lifted one hand slowly and pressed it lightly to her cheek.
Her eyes met his, quiet and steady, and for a moment the world outside the room seemed to fade away.
With his other hand, he took hers, holding it firmly but gently.
“…Thank you,” he said, voice low, raw in a way he didn’t often allow.
Gwen squeezed his hand gently. “Anytime,” she said softly.
And for her, that was enough.