#sprite edits by seth and azuries

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

The silence stretches onward. Even though the Dark Hour is behind them for the night, its eerie stillness lingers. Neither of them seem to know what more to say until Akihiko finishes his impromptu examination. Satisfied that nothing’s going to start bleeding, he reaches for the first-aid kit again.

He starts with the one on his stomach since Shinji’s already standing up. Shinji sways a little on his feet, clearly exhausted, but he keeps his eyes bullheadedly open. At Akihiko’s prompting, Shinji sits again so Akihiko can re-bandage his shoulder, but he continues to force himself to remain alert. It’s as though he thinks letting himself rest before Akihiko does would be admitting defeat.

Akihiko does not comment. He still hasn’t got the energy for an argument.

Despite his stubbornness, Shinji appears to be losing the battle against his own fatigue. He speaks up, apparently as a last ditch effort to stay awake.

Akihiko sighs and begins to explain. Aigis is most likely okay, thankfully. Whatever the Chairman had done to her, it seems like she’d been able to snap herself out of it through her own sheer willpower. Koromaru was a real hero too, for swooping in at the last second and breaking the remote that had been controlling her. Akihiko still isn’t sure how he even got up there, or evaded capture in the first place, but he isn’t complaining. However Koromaru had pulled it off, he’s more than earned a lifetime’s supply of Shinji’s cooking.

Akihiko averts his gaze.

Shinji scoffs. He doesn’t sound the least bit concerned.

Akihiko winces. It doesn’t entirely sit well with him to casually curse the dead like that, traitor or not, but it’s not like he can blame Shinji for his contempt. And it’s not like he really disagrees with the sentiment, either. He’s very grateful for the opportunity to change the subject.

He grabs Shinji’s sweater and drops it in his lap, then sets about packing the first-aid kit back up.

The request brings a very unexpected smile to Akihiko’s face. It was something they had often done at the orphanage when Miki had a nightmare or Shinji one of his sleepless nights. The three of them would sneak down to the common area and turn on the television with the volume lowered to zero. Huddled together under the cool, flickering light, they’d whisper stories and guesses about what was happening on the screen. Shinji eyes him with a sour expression.

Akihiko doesn’t answer beyond a quiet laugh and a shrug. On his way back to the supply closet, he does as Shinji asked, and the atmosphere is suddenly so nostalgic that he can almost imagine that he’s back in those days. Back when the worst thing they had to worry about was getting caught out of bed.

He dawdles through putting away the first-aid kit to give Shinji time to pull his sweater back on and save him the indignity of being watched while he struggles with something that would normally be no effort at all. 

When he turns back around though, Shinji isn’t dressed. His hands poke out from the sleeves but the rest of it sits bunched between his arms. He glowers at nothing in particular, and mumbles something under his breath that Akihiko only barely catches about his arms not cooperating.

Akihiko assists without comment. After Shinji’s head pops free of the sweater his hair is still trapped under the turtleneck. Akihiko gently tugs it free to fall well past Shinji’s shoulders. Idly Akihiko rolls a lock between his fingers.

Shinji shrugs with his good shoulder.

Akihiko chuckles. He can’t argue with that. He doesn’t know how they stand it either. Constantly feeling something moving against the back of his neck would drive him crazy, but that would still be nothing compared to something cutting off half of his field of vision at all times.

Akihiko laughs and stands, heading towards the stairs to grab a brush. Shinji makes an incredulous noise from behind him.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

[continued from here]

Definitely not the most graceful way to change topics, but Akihiko’s fairly sure that eloquence would just serve as yet another obstacle between him and the things he needs to say. 

Shinji hums and leans his chin in his hand, looking perturbed.

It’s not exactly a clear picture, but Akihiko can’t blame Shinji for not knowing precisely how to describe something like that. He doesn’t think he’d be able to, either. Despite generally being taciturn by nature, Shinji’s always been better with words between the two of them; so if he’s struggling to find the right ones then Akihiko wouldn’t stand a chance.

That might have been everyone talking to him. If that’s the case, then Shinji hadn’t heard anything they’d said, at least not clearly…

Well. Except for Akihiko, apparently, if the smart remark from yesterday was anything to go by. He isn’t sure whether to be flattered or mortified. 

Or guilty. If he’d tried talking to Shinji sooner, would it have made a difference? He has no idea, and now he’ll never know.

He’s not sure how Shinji will react, but he deserves to know how much he’s cared for. Whether Shinji accepts it or not, or if even believes it, is a different story. But he’ll do everything in his power to try and get it through Shinji’s thick skull. Shinji might be as stubborn as a wild ass, but so is Akihiko.

Clearly Shinji doesn’t believe him at all. Well, it’s not like he really thought it would be that easy to convince him.

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

Akihiko practically has to excavate the first-aid kit from under layers and layers of built up miscellanea that has been stashed in the supply closet over the years. As he digs, he thanks god, Buddha, or whoever else might be listening that Shinji hadn’t put up a fight about being checked over. That has to count as a minor miracle.

It has been a while since they’ve dressed each other’s wounds like this, now that he thinks of it. Since before Shinji had left, back when Akihiko was the only one on the team with any healing abilities and they’d had to budget his stamina to a miserly degree. 

These days, between Takeba, Amada, and Arisato, they basically never have to worry about anybody spreading themselves too thin with healing, so they don’t ever leave Tartarus battered enough to need mundane patching up.

Once he finally finds the kit, Akihiko sheds his battle harness and armband and sets them gracelessly on the dining table. He settles on the couch next to Shinji while he undresses himself. It’s slow going, Shinji’s movements stiff and careful, but Akihiko doesn’t insult him by butting in. He peels his gloves off and waits patiently. When Shinji pulls the sweater over his head, his hat slides off along with it. He doesn’t bother putting it back on.

He looks smaller without any of his usual layers to bulk out his shape. It feels wrong to think of Shinji as ‘small’ in any context, even if it’s only in comparison. Objectively, Akihiko knows it isn’t even true– Shinji’s taller now than he was back then, his shoulders wider and his ribcage broader.

At the same time, it’s harrowingly true. He’s visibly underweight, and not all of that can be due to his time in the coma. It’s like there simply isn’t enough of him, and what’s there is stretched too-thin over his frame.

This is also the first time Akihiko’s seen the bandages around Shinji’s shoulder and abdomen. There are no red stains seeping through the gauze, which is a relief. He starts to carefully peel the medical tape free from Shinji’s skin, letting the crash course Nakai-san had given him on bandage changing run on loop through his mind.

It doesn’t occur to him until the first bandage is removed and the knotted starburst shape is on full display: it’s the first time Akihiko has seen the scars, either.

A halo of puckered skin interrupts Shinj’s shoulder, fanning out in shiny pink ridges around the bruise-red, sunken center. Its twin on his chest is slightly larger and more concave.

He hadn’t realized how big any of them would be. The ones up near his shoulder especially, where the bullet had gone all the way through him–

It reinforces with sickening clarity just how much of a miracle it is that Shinji pulled through. That he’s still here.

Akihiko jolts. Shinji isn’t even facing in his direction, so what–?

Shinji rolls one shoulder– the unscarred one– and Akihiko knows without needing to look that he’s rolling his eyes too. He ignores the display of petulance and gets to work surveying for new damage, starting with the shoulder.

There’s no fresh blood, and the area around the scar doesn’t look damaged or inflamed at least. Just to be sure, Akihiko probes the surrounding skin gingerly with the pads of his fingers, testing for swelling or anything that feels overly warm to the touch.

Shinji shudders and Akihiko jerks his hand away.

Shinji only shrugs– he does it with both shoulders, evidently by mistake, since he immediately flinches and bites out a curse under his breath.

Well, even if he’s downplaying it, he’s still admitting to it. Akihiko had been planning on getting Shinji started with his physical therapy routine tomorrow (or today, he supposes, since it’s after midnight) but…now he’s not sure.

Maybe he should hold off and give Shinji a break. He knows both from his own experience and the extensive amount of research he’d pored over after Shinji had (begrudgingly) asked for his help– pushing too hard will only stall his recovery, or even make things worse. 

There are some simple stretches he could try to coach Shinji through that wouldn’t be too strenuous or time-consuming, and that might also help with the pain. But he knows Shinji will still push back against even that, on principle if nothing else. Picking that particular fight would probably put just as much strain on his body as Akihiko was trying to avoid to begin with.

And hell, after everything that’s happened, Akihiko isn’t sure he has the energy for it, either. They all deserve a break.

Shinji obeys with the put-upon air of a cat being moved out of the way of foot traffic, but he’s not able to fully conceal how much of an effort it is for him. The scar on Shinji’s side doesn’t seem to have re-opened either. There is no exit wound counterpart on his back.

Unbidden, Akihiko’s thoughts are invaded by the question of whether they had removed every piece of the bullet while Shinji was on the operating table, or if some fragments of it had been irretrievable. Nausea crawls through his stomach at the idea. He doesn’t ask.