Lazy Hermin

He’s ready to throw all caution to the wind and yell the boy’s name at the top of his lungs, when he hears it: The faint sound of Dustin’s voice, pleading and scared, and still much too far away for Steve’s liking.

He doesn’t hesitate for a second, dashes off and in the direction of the voice. And he’s getting closer, can make out the boy’s words. The shaky little “Please, don’t hurt me”. The “I didn’t know” and “I’m sorry”.

Steve crashes into the clearing and stumbles to a halt when he takes in the scene.

Dustin is on his knees, his hands raised in a placating manner and in front of him …

It’s not an animal, that much’s for sure.

Steve’s staring at the back of what appears to be a man wearing a heavily stained hospital gown. His hair seems to have been shorn short a while ago. There’s the beginning of curls on the back of his head, pressed flat against his skull, looking matted and dull.

His naked arms are pale and covered in gnarly white scars. Steve can see it because the hospital gown guy raises his hands as if to strike. And only then does Steve notice the glint of metal reflecting the rays of the now quickly sinking sun.

A knife.

No, a scalpel, crusted with dried blood.

And suddenly the realization hits him that the stains on the scrubs are blood too.

Time seems to come to a jarring standstill. Steve’s breath is so loud, it drowns out all other sounds but the beat of his heart, thundering in his chest. And when the world sets into motion again, he doesn’t hesitate.

Three things happen almost simultaneously next: The guy lets out a whimper-roar that would have confused Steve had he had the faculties to think, and Dustin cowers in fear, his arms raised protectively in front of his face which will do fuck all against a fucking scalpel

And Steve? He takes three big steps that bring him between Dustin and the man, yelling at the boy to “Run! The hell are you waiting for, Dustin?! Just go, go, GO!”.

But Dustin doesn’t move.

And Steve raises his balled fists, ready to fight even if it’s completely futile, thinking that if only Dustin fucking moved …!

The sun is almost parallel with the treetops now, and its dwindling light is blinding Steve, so all he sees at first is a black shape surrounded by a golden halo. But then it sinks further and he makes out a gaunt face, deep purple shadows around the eyes, stark as bruises.

And that’s when it hits him like a stab with the scalpel between the ribs. Only instead of blood, the wound it leaves behind is oozing grief, black and viscous and bitter.

He swallows hard, but his throat is stuffed with barbed wire. It can’t be. It’s abso-fucking-lutely impossible is what he’s seeing.

“St- …“ The voice sounds like a slab of granite dragged over gravel, but still, it’s unmistakable. “Stevie?”

The scalpel drops to the ground. The impact is soundless, courtesy of a thick layer of dead leaves. It’s wrong, Steve can’t help but think. It should be loud. Ear-splitting. Earth-shaking, the way he is shaken. The way it feels like the world is ripped out from under his feet by the realization that he was wrong.

He didn’t know.

He …

He steps close. Slowly. Slowly. Trying to be as non-threatening as possible, like he would, faced with a frightened, hurt animal.

“Hey,” he whispers. “You’re safe. No one’s gonna hurt you. I’m not gonna let them, okay? You’re safe. We didn’t know. But you’re safe now. With me.”

The muscles in his shoulder and neck are so tense it has to hurt, but he’s not flinching away from Steve’s touch. He blinks and his eyes that were more animal than human before seem to clear, and he lets out a broken sob and throws himself into Steve’s arms.

Steve wraps himself around the too thin, violently shaking body.