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Whumpril Day 30: Holding Hands

Squeeze My Hand: A Parallel Story

Written for @whumpril Day 30: Holding Hands | Human Shield | “Don’t let go.”

Stranger Things

Steve Harrington (age 6) and his mother

Eddie Munson (age 6) and Uncle Wayne

When both kid Steve and Eddie are hurt, both have someone there to hold their hands through it.

--

Crash. 

Steve can hear the ticking of the bike wheel, the sound of muffled shouts. He squeezes his eyes shut against the sudden burning on his knee. There’s red on his knee, it looks like his marker spilled. 

He blinks, and before he can do anything, there’s arms around him. He smells his mother’s floral perfume and cuddles into her. He’s not crying fully, but small tears seep down his cheeks.

“Stevie, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Steve uses one small hand to wipe his eye. “M-my knee.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” his mom says and carries him inside. Steve watches as the world passes from his mother’s arms. The green of the yard, the white door swinging closed and slamming just as they start up the stairs. Steve watches the carpet of the stairs grow as his mom climbs them, and he shuts his eyes.

The white tile of the bathroom greets him when he opens them. He’s sitting on the counter; he can see himself in the bathroom mirror. His mom comes back carrying a bottle and band-aids. He recognizes the bottle from when he fell down the stairs and hit his head. “Owwie juice,” he whispers. 

His mom nods. “These need some owwie juice, okay, Stevie?  But it’ll be okay. You can squeeze my hand if it hurts too much, okay?” 

She offers her hand and Steve holds it tight, already preparing.

And when his mom pours the cold alcohol over his knee, he squeezes her hand for all its worth. 

---------------

Thwhump-thunk.

Eddie feels heat and the grainy ground in front of the trailer. The sky is blue above him, the sun is in his eyes, and he feels something burning up his leg and shoulder. A small sob coughs out of him and in seconds, his uncle’s face is above him.

“Eddie? Geez, kid, you okay?”

“U-Uncle W-Wayne?”

“Woah, woah, don’t move, I gotta make sure your head’s okay.”

Eddie whimpers as he feels his uncle’s rough fingers on his forehead before feeling his ears and then and behind his ears and neck. 

“You fell down the steps, son. I wanna make sure you’re okay.” 

“Owwie on my arm,” he tells him as another sob cries out. 

“Ah, I see it. Must hurt.”

Eddie cries as he nods. His knee looks scribbled with red and his elbow looks the same.

“I’ve got you, kid. “C’mon, we’ll get ya cleaned up.”

Eddie can feel the ground fall away as his uncle picks him up.

“It’ll be okay, y’know? I’ve fallen down these stairs a few times myself.”

Eddie watches the door to the trailer slam shut as they enter the familiar home, and then watches how the room swings and he watches the couch get farther away as they head past the kitchen and into the bathroom.

“You have?” he asks curiously, hiccupping over cries. His uncle places him on the seat of the toilet. “But y-you’re big.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t trip just like you,” his uncle says, reaching under the sink and emerges with a bottle and Band-Aids. “But these owwies need some alcohol, okay?”

Eddie whimpers.

“This won’t be a walk in the park,” his uncle continues, already dabbing the clear liquid on a piece of gauze.  “But I’m right here. And you can squeeze my hand if it hurts too much,” he says, offering his free hand.

Eddie pouts but nods and when his uncle dabs the gauze against his small, scribbled knee, Eddie squeezes his hand for all its worth.