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Scythe
Medkit was beginning to regret showing Scythe where his apartment was. It hadn’t been completely intentional on his part; he only invited her over because it was easier than taking the full ride to Lost Temple.
His only issue with it was the fact that she’d begun to show up uninvited. Not only was she showing up uninvited, but she had some ‘goal’ in mind.
He could see it in her eye.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t close the door?” He questioned, only keeping it partially peeked open to properly look up at her. She had some soap in her hands, along with some beer he hadn’t drunk since his time in Blackrock.
The gift was just as thoughtful as it was nausea-inducing.
“‘Cause I’m ‘yer boss, and I’ll cut your pay if you don’t let me in.”
Was that one of her jokes? If so, he was keen on ignoring— oh, she was dead serious. Scythe hadn’t even popped a grin the way she typically would.
She was frowning. The whole thing had put unease straight into his head.
He’d seen her look happier during police chases than she did now, trying her hardest to glare at him with one eye.
Medkit sighed, pushing the door open with a quiet, “Right.”
He didn’t need her to acknowledge the mess his apartment was in. Scythe’s little feigned ‘kindness’ wouldn’t allow her to, but the way her eye narrowed was noticeable.
“Now, I’ll give ‘ya a heads-up: you can drink before I bother you too much.”
Scythe had clearly tried buying a beer he’d specifically liked, and her guess was, for the most part, correct. He would’ve preferred something like wine; he’d make do with it.
“If you plan on bothering me so much that I need to be drunk, I’d prefer you go home.”
Medkit was being honest, but she was ignoring him, placing the bottle in front of him before grabbing her own cans out of his fridge.
She shrugged, murmuring, “It’s for embarrassment’s sake, nothin’ else,” while opening her can.
“Turn on ‘yer TV.”
The audacity to come into his house, drink his beer, then demand he become the one to do the smallest of actions. He scowled at Scythe before turning it on, ignoring her quiet “Fix ‘yer face.”
By the time she was on his couch, he’d been dragged down too. Medkit sat directly next to her, being adapted to how much space she’d take up whenever the two of them sat together.
The beer tasted more similar to bread than anything else; he appreciated it more than nothing.
Besides, being drunk always made old Western shows look more entertaining than they did before.
Especially with how Scythe reacted to them, eye narrowed before letting out a little scoff at the horse riding.
But they’d only watched around forty minutes together, drinking in silence, before she cracked.
“Y’wanna know why I’m here, Med?”
“We have to get a new nickname for me,” he mumbled, ignoring the slight slur of his words. There’s no way he’d be drunk enough to get anywhere beyond slightly tipsy.
“Med works fine. Now what I was gonna say is—” She looked him up and down before grumbling, “You need a bath. ‘Yer not that sneaky when you’re going through one of your little episodes, so I’ll try and be nice about it.”
Was this an intervention?
“You’re not meant to bring alcohol when staging something like this.”
“You wouldn’t have heard me out if I didn’t!”
Fair enough. He groaned, only massaging the bridge of his nose before murmuring, “I’ll take one tomorrow.”
“And that’s why I’m here.”
He didn’t like what that implied. No, he was annoyed by it, and it showed. She pulled up to his house this late, not even letting him put his eyepatch on for the meeting.
“Meaning?”
“I won’t if ‘ya don’t want me to. Okay? Keep that in mind.” Scythe was looking at him, clearly not doing her whole charismatic act anymore as she spoke, “I know it gets harder for you to do ‘yer baths when you’re all like— this.”
“Right.”
She was being nicer about it than she had to.
They’d changed in front of each other to get out of bloody clothes multiple times. Medkit had seen almost everything about her whenever she needed healing.
It wouldn’t be anything new, pretty much.
“And I figured I could help. I won’t if you don’t need me to, but you gotta take a bath.”
He didn’t want to tell her off for this, and rejecting the offer wouldn’t work much better either. She had a completely valid reason to be worried enough about something like this.
Chances are he wouldn’t have bathed tomorrow, despite saying he would anyway.
Medkit couldn’t make eye contact with her, eventually mumbling in a reluctant tone, “You can help if you feel like it.”
“‘Kay then, come on. I’ll go ‘head and run the water before you get in; just let me know where the towels are.”
“Don’t make it too hot. I prefer cold baths.”
“Freak.”
He’d ignore that comment, trying to drag out his last minute of sitting down before getting up. Staring down at the TV when he heard Scythe turn the water on wouldn’t fix anything.
With one quieter groan, Medkit moved himself into his bathroom, appreciating the fact that she had enough decency to step out if he wanted to strip in private.
The water was already soapy enough to cover him if he needed it to; thankfully, his towels were just far enough from the bathroom that she’d take a minute to get them.
By the time Scythe was in his bathroom, she was quick to roll her sleeves up.
“We don’t have to talk.”
She could see the hint of shame in his face.
Scythe didn’t bother commenting on any of the older injuries he had, only getting the shampoo on her hands and beginning to wash through his hair.
She was being too considerate about all of this.
“We can.”
With that one small comment, Medkit had apparently changed her attitude regarding the whole thing.
“Good, 'cause I was gonna mention, 'yer hair’s too long for you not to take care of it.”
He kept it in a ponytail most of the time because of that, but sure, if she preferred taking care of it, that was fine.
“I’ve been planning to cut it.”
“Now don’t go doing all that!”
Medkit almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of Scythe’s words, having started so gently before immediately ridiculing him for something as simple as hair.
“It’d grow back.”
“Your hair’s at a good length. No need.”
He shrugged, feeling the soap bubble up on her hands whenever she tried washing a bit harder around his scalp. Scythe only seemed to remind herself of being gentle when he frowned, deciding to start washing out the shampoo.
“When’s the last time you conditioned your hair?”
Silence.
“Can’t think of when.”
Scythe only pursed her lips before mumbling, “I’ll just comb your hair with the conditioner in, then.”
Fine by him.
He couldn’t think of what to say when she started, still being patient with all the tangles.
“That beer wasn’t because I’d be uncomfortable, was it?” Medkit didn’t say that question too loudly, only being affirmed by Scythe’s little nod.
It was harder to get sad when he was drunk.
All the care had still overwhelmed him, only a bit.
She combed a particularly tangled piece of hair while replying, “‘Yer too smart for your own good.”
Scythe was treating him so kindly. Sword was nice to him too, but for someone who’d seen him at his worst— or committing his worst- she was treating him nicely.
Medkit didn’t tear up on the spot, only wiping at his face with some of the water.
Which intensified the sting, and he didn’t bother with telling whether or not it was from salt or soap.
“Don’t say anything.”
“Wasn’t planning to, Doc.”
He was quieter when crying, especially now. It wasn’t like he had good reason to. Experiencing too much affection had broken him down to a softer and shorter degree.
The whole experience felt more like tears coming out with no good reason.
She got glared at when she attempted to wipe one with the back of her hand, but Scythe only laughed it off before finishing up his hair.
“Do y’want to wash your body?”
Scythe had combed his hair pretty thoroughly, and she’d already washed out the conditioner for him. Thankfully, she knew Medkit’s limits before doing anything else.
“Yeah.”
“‘Kay then. I’ll go ahead and put your clothes out by the door for whenever ‘yer done.”
She hadn’t bothered with commenting on any of the scars down his body, only closing the door as she got out.
Thank sword deities he’d made a good enough ‘friend’ for something like this.
The rest of his bath went as they always did, a quiet examination of his old scars from Blackrock before using soap and practically trying to scrub them off.
It never worked.
Medkit still felt fresher before drying off, opening the door and finding a ‘neatly’ folded stack of his clothing.
Scythe didn’t know how to fold well, did she?
No point in commenting on it.
He only threw on the pair of sweatpants she’d found, scowling at the fact she’d found one of his older band shirts.
That must’ve at least been from when he was fifteen.
“You dug too far into my closet,” he mumbled as he got back into the living room, going quiet upon seeing her lying on his couch.
She was trying to sleep here for the night.
That— as much as he hated to say it- was okay with him. Just for today. Scythe had done enough to earn the rest, anyway.
All he did was throw a blanket over her before moving back to his room.
Medkit didn’t have any night terrors that night.
The solution was temporary, as it always was, but he didn’t forget about it.
—
Sword
“Rocket?” Sword was already on the other’s couch, somewhat sprawled out as the two of them rewatched some crappy cartoon from when they were little.
“Mmm?”
Good hum. He could ask away, then.
“If you think someone’s going through like— a hard time, maybe even an episode- what are you meant to do?”
Rocket didn’t look up from the show at first, but by the time he did, he properly sat up before answering.
“You mean Medkit, right?”
“No, well, I don’t know, maybe.”
Sword tried to draw out an answer a little bit, vaguely gesturing with his hands before giving up.
“Yeah, I do.”
“He kind of looks like he goes through that sort of thing all the time,” Rocket mumbled, adjusting himself more on the couch while adding, “I can’t imagine it’s much different right now.”
He didn’t reply to that for two reasons. One, Rocket was absolutely right, Medkit always seemed a bit gloomy. But the second one was because— it was different this time!
Sword didn’t know how to explain it, but more of the light in Medkit’s eye had clearly vanished.
His pout gave him away.
“Sword, if you think he’s suicidal, that’s the first part you mention.”
“But I don’t! He might be, but that’s not the main thing.”
“I can’t imagine any other reason you’d tell me about a depressed person being depressed.”
Rocket only quit the taunting when he could see the genuine concern on Sword’s face, letting out a sigh as he answered:
“Just show him you care. I don’t think he needs one big musical act or anything for that.”
“But I care all the time!”
“Not like that, though,” he could see his best friend thinking of how to word it before continuing, “Show him he matters. Something like that. You don’t have to say a lot of it out loud, but reassure him a little.”
“Thank you, Rocket.”
Sword adjusted himself to lie more properly by Rocket after saying that, snickering slightly at how his friend flushed when he did.
…
Medkit was beginning to grow tired of answering his door late at night for Scythe. The woman had an extra key! She could use it for when she had arm-related problems, not when she needed a drinking buddy.
“Scythe, if this isn’t an actual emergency—” He cut himself off, blinking back at a much younger face than hers.
That was Sword.
He could see his brother processing part of what he’d just said before asking, “Who’s Scythe?”
“Never mind, never mind, come in.”
Beer and popcorn.
What would Sword want with him that would warrant needing that much beer and a similar amount of popcorn?
“I have work in the morning, so if you’re planning to drink hard with me, I can’t.”
“Bummer,” Sword mumbled, immediately cheering up afterwards, “Just leaves more for me.”
It wasn’t even a good beer brand. But the cans were cold, and Medkit had done way too much for the Broker to complain about getting free beer.
“Do you want to explain why you’re here?”
“Rocket’s asleep, and we haven’t hung out in a bit.”
Medkit stared at the boy’s face, determining it was a lie. Sword wouldn’t lie about anything if it’d get him hurt, though, so he decided to take the bet on it being a white lie.
“You still have my Netflix, right?”
“Mhm.”
The moment he got confirmation, Sword was taking up almost all of the space on his couch and drinking some of the beer he’d brought for himself.
Medkit didn’t complain, watching the other fumble with his remote for a minute or two before getting onto the right app.
“I can’t stay up too late with you either.”
Sword yawned when Medkit said that, so at least they were the same in that aspect.
“That’s fine. Come on, just sit down!”
Medkit was beginning to quietly swear that the people in his life didn’t know how to be tiny if their lives depended on it.
His couch was way too small to handle Scythe’s manspreading, and Sword could only be comfortable on it while lying down.
He sighed and decided he’d make do with the space he got, opening his own can and bringing the popcorn closer to the couch than to the kitchen.
“Your couch is so small.”
“Really? I’ve never noticed that before.”
“Just saying.”
Bojack Horseman.
Horrible show choice for two people intending to drink, but he didn’t care. Part of it was Medkit’s fault anyway, accidentally showing Sword the show back when the boy was only fourteen.
It had become somewhat nostalgic.
“Did you start rewatching this?” He questioned quietly, seeing how Sword had picked out a specific episode.
“Only a little.”
That was a lie, again. Sword couldn’t hide his expression for the life of him. Medkit was fine with the lie earlier, but seeing him lie about not picking out a certain episode of this show in specific was concerning.
Especially because it was Sarah Lynn’s episode.
He wasn’t too keen on watching Bojack kill her all over again.
By the time they’d gotten halfway through the episode, Sword was staring directly at him whenever.
“Medkit?”
This show was too personal for him.
“Hi,” he muttered, taking a longer sip and loathing how he hadn’t experienced the effects yet.
“Would you tell me if you were feeling bad?”
Intervention part two, wasn’t this? He didn’t mind it, seeing how sweetly Sword was trying to go about the whole thing.
Watching an episode where a woman directly says there are some people you can’t save was horrible.
Medkit leaned back into the couch, taking more space for himself and giving an honest answer:
“Probably not.”
“Can you promise you won’t do something bad?”
“Who told you to help like this?”
Rocket had told him to do the opposite, actually; Sword didn’t know how to word something like this properly!
“I don’t know what you want me to say instead,” Sword was grumbling now, the episode still playing in the background.
Still, he appreciated the background noise.
“You don’t need to say anything.”
Medkit appreciated the effort too much. All the sweet interactions back to back with people caring for him were a lot.
“I guess,” Sword murmured, foot tapping up a beat on the floor.
He paused the episode the moment Sarah Lynn had gotten to the planetarium, not wanting to overwhelm Medkit with watching it.
“I care about you, okay? That’s what I meant.”
He’d skipped to the next episode without letting Medkit protest against not seeing the full scene. Fair enough, he wouldn’t know how to handle something like that properly.
“You can go to sleep, Sword.”
Watching his brother try to stay up, all drunk and hazy, while worried about him, was too sad for him. He would feel too guilty for keeping him awake over something like this.
“I don’t want to, though— We have to talk.”
Sword’s words were slurring. Medkit laughed softly at it, only stopping because of how serious the other was.
“We don’t. I got it.”
What did Rocket say, again?
Sword had almost forgotten, but he remembered it now that they talked like this. His brother wasn’t the sort of person to need one big musical act.
Only a little bit of reassurance.
“You promise?”
“Pinky promise.”
Seeing Sword’s concern got to him more than he’d like to admit, and he was beginning to feel more selfish for having any of those thoughts to begin with.
He didn’t want to think harder about it.
Medkit didn’t feel like getting off the couch by the time Sword fell asleep.
The show was still playing in the background, but he didn’t pause it. Having the noise in the background would help him sleep, anyway.
Sword would usually talk more when the two of them were lying down together; not having his voice in the background this time was weird.
Regardless, this was nice.
He didn’t think of the back pain he’d get in the morning, already planning to use painkillers whenever he woke up. Instead, Medkit curled himself up more against the other, being cramped on the couch together.
It was hard to sleep, sure, but he didn’t have a nightmare that night.
Two nights of care in a row had quietly reminded him of how easy dreamless nights were.