#thank you anon so much for letting me brainrot about ethubs

[tunastime]

If you're still taking requests for the fanfic two words list ask game, how about #11 with ethubs?

11. stain / unravel (x) (781 words)

He hears Etho before he sees him. He hears snow being pushed aside as he cuts through the wall (why they haven’t made a door is beyond him), as Etho worms his way through. Etho drops his tools and bag in a pile as he walks in, sighing to himself. Bdubs feels his gaze on the back of his neck for only a moment before it slides away.

"Hey."

Bdubs looks over. Etho’s halfway up the steps. His hands are stained red.

"Hey-yoh,” Bdubs starts. Etho’s halfway up the steps. His hands are stained red. “Yo. Woah."

Etho turns to him. He still hasn’t pulled the mask from his face, but his eyes give away his confusion.

“You good, Etho?"

"What?"

"You got a little..." Bdubs gestures to his hands, then to the stains on his jacket. Etho hums. Bdubs narrows his eyes, hands moving to find his communicator. He would’ve gotten a message. His mouth suddenly feels very dry. "Did you...?"

"Hm? No, it's mine."

Well that’s not any better. Etho frowns, more with his eyes than anything else.

"It's nothing."

Bdubs scoffs, folding his arms.

"Well, clearly it's something, otherwise you wouldn't be so damn dodgy—"

"I slipped, that’s it,” Etho quips. Bdubs winces.

"Ouch."

Etho shrugs. Something about him radiates discomfort more than apathy.

"It's fine. It doesn't hurt."

Bdubs lets him turn away and walk up the rest of the stairs, watching the patches on his jacket.

"Okay,” he says, to the impression of him.

He follows him a moment later. He hears him rustling around more than he sees him, and something in his chest becomes unbearably tight. 

When he steps into the space, hands braced along the wooden beams of the fence, skipping over the notches, Etho is ducked over his hands, holding a rag. He scrubs at his hands, as if to wipe off the blood that stains them. He rubs, and he rubs, and he isn’t stopping.

"Etho." Bdubs says it slowly, announcing his presence. Etho doesn’t stop. 

"Etho," he tries again. Etho keeps scrubbing. His skin is red raw under the stains. He doesn’t stop. Bdubs braces his hands on the fence before he hauls himself over. He doesn’t stop. "Etho, stop—" 

He grabs at him, hands around his hands, and Etho freezes, muscles going taut under Bdubs’ hands. Etho meets his eyes. His are wide, dark, still green, framed with his pretty white lashes. His mouth hangs open like he can’t make words form in his mouth. His mask is off.

"Bdubs,” he finally says. Bdubs watches him swallow.

"Stop,” Bdubs manages, even if it comes out as a whisper. Etho tenses, more if possible.

"Other side,” he says. Bdubs shakes his head.

"No,” he says. “Not if you don't stop."

Etho squirms, but only for a moment. Bdubs keeps holding him.

"Let me go."

"No."

Finally, Etho seems to sag under his grip. Or resign. He isn’t sure what’s worse. But when he lets go, Etho doesn’t move. He also doesn’t look at him. He doesn’t look up when Bdubs finds a bucket of water, or when he takes Etho’s hand again and rinses the cloth. Bdubs wipes the palms of his hands, littered with nicks and cuts, a slice on the heel of his hand that only looks bad when it’s bloodied. His hands come surprisingly clean with little effort, still rubbed raw. Bdubs works gently, his eyes flicking up every so often to Etho’s face, expecting to see something. He never does. Etho keeps watching his hands, like he might watch Bdubs disappear from his grasp, or better yet, watch Bdubs take his first life.

Bdubs wraps his hands, too, pulling the bandage over his wrists. Only when he’s satisfied with his job does he pull away. He takes the bucket with him, the rag, the rest of the bandage. He turns his back to Etho, a dangerous thing that he cannot help but do (I’m not going to hurt you. Not right now. I don’t think I ever really could). He’s braced on the fence, again, dividing them, before Etho speaks.

"Thank you,” he says. Bdubs nods.

"Sure thing."

Etho looks up at him, tries to look him in the eye, finally, and something inconsolably warm washes over Bdubs. He doesn’t know if he wants to truly meet those eyes.

"Thank you."

"Hey,” Bdubs ducks his head, smiling a little. He can’t meet his eye, as much as he wants to. He gives him a shrug instead. “Don't worry about it. You're welcome."

He leaves when he feels Etho’s eyes leave the back of his neck and pretends that he won’t be staying up to make sure he sleeps.