(A.N. This is a gift and a part of an art exchange between me and my good friend Grackles-Hoard on tumblr (cackling_grackle on ao3). Definitely check out his art, he's a rad dude. This short story deals with extensive descriptions of wounds and blood, read at your own risk. This was posted to Ao3 a while ago and ported recently to FF.)

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Lonely Evenings and Troubles Borne

...

Evenings, coming like southbound birds, followed the arch of the sky as the sun's golden light as it whisked away to the moon's realm. The moon rose due east, its luminance covering its full sphere as stars followed diligently in its wake.

Steve pulled his arms back to stretch, feeling the pop and shift of each vertebra as he rolled out his shoulders and neck. His concoction of a stew was nearly finished and left simmering as chunks of beef, carrots, and potatoes rolled around the murky broth.

He'll be able to eat his fill of dinner and wash up to bed. Nothing better than a quiet evening of living on his homestead. Evenings like this were slow and mellow, droning on as each task sent him closer and closer to the embrace of blankets and pillows to whisk the night away.

In this splendor also lived loneliness. An ever-growing cavern that loomed in his heart. Only the sounds of a creaking house, howling winds, crackling fire, and bubbling soup filled his ears. There were no sounds of shuffling nor sighing. No heat kept this hovel living and breathing other than him.

There was another, but that other's visits were brief and far-between. Coming into his home for comfort and sanctuary and leaving the next morning to flee the constant pursuit of his jailors and hunters who wanted his head as a prize.

Bubbles stirred as Steve stirred one last time and grabbed the nearby bowl, serving himself a hearty serving before tapping the wooden ladle on the pot's rim and sat it aside. Steve cut the air to the stove's fire and placed his meal at the table. Oh, it smelled more than fantastic.

Half a thought rattled in his head to leave an empty bowl ready to be served for the other in his mind. Maybe a friendly visit, have some dinner and shoot the shit. Surely the demon in the back of his mind wouldn't mind discussing exploring a cave or two with him?

Even then so much was unknown and unsaid. There was an adventure in the other's eyes. Yet danger nipped at his heels every waking moment, threatening to send him over every unconscious one. Fear raking and spearing his beating heart at every single breath.

Steven couldn't understand how one could live such a life. Surely if he wasn't a bedrock to support from, the poor man would surely have been... Well, even that was difficult to imagine. That sallow face with gaunt eyes and cheekbones. A thin, wiry man who had hardly an ounce of meat on his bones. That shaggy hair falling over blank misty eyes. His pointed ears, almost from a fairytale, would perk up with his presence.

"Thump!"

Steve jolted as the bang shook his front door.

Glancing outside the window, the faintest hints of sunlight would still deter any stray undead, but the image of monsters wandering near sent shivers down his spine. He grabbed a spare sword near the door and inched closer. Waiting for the second thump or the woeful groans of a decayed throat.

"Scrrtch! Scrrrrriiiitch!"

"Mph...Steveeeeen..." A woeful voice, cracking and weak, muttered on the other side.

Nails clawed at the wooden barrier as the soft mumblings devolved to pain groans and grunts all emanating from the other side. Words half mixed into growls set his worries aside and arose new ones.

Tossing away the blade, Steve fiddled with the lock and flung the door open. A quivering body fell at his feet, heaving with bloodied breaths and tingling with an unstable power that leaked out of every laceration to the being's already marred flesh.

"H…Herobrine?"

The head beneath the shaggy mob of dark slicked hair rose then slumped down at the call of his name. His pale, sallow skin was clammy and dripping with sweat as he lay prone to the other. Behind him were trails of blood that smeared across the steps to his porch.

Bruises, cuts, and smears of ash splattered across the demon's visible skin.

Quickly, Steve dragged the other into his arms and kicked his front door closed. It had been a considerable moment since the demon had arrived beaten to a bloody pulp. Steve had half a mind to think that maybe the demon was staying out of trouble.

It was always nights like these that the demon would arrive at his doorstep, aching for the touch of comfort. Solace in a familiar place. His sanctuary he found in no other place, so sacred to him that he could only exist within the home at his most desperate.

Steve, in whatever wisdom locked behind those amethyst eyes, would embrace him without question.

Heaving the fallen god was easier, worryingly so. Steve jostled and jolted Herobrine as he slowly made his way from the front door and further into the house.

Herobrine was lighter than feathers to Steve. A bone-thin frame riddled with scars and gnarled swathes that knit his flesh back together in terrible marks and macabre decorations. Assailants had added new ones in the form of broken arrowheads and swipes from a blade. His front was terrible, his shirt had been torn straight through with a massive gash oozing and dripping quickly.

Drops of blood streamed down the demon's body as they smeared Steve's shirt and fell to the floor in the hurried path. The demon's clothing had been scorched once again to charred patches of tattered scraps of cloth that helped little to his shivering form.

The bathroom was the first stop to this little ritual.

Steve placed Herobrine into the tub and began tearing the remaining scraps of his shirt away. His back was the worst. Clear rods of snapped arrow shafts dug in deep to his gnarled patch of flesh upon his back. Another scar to add to the conglomeration of unsavory history.

Herobrine winced and flinched as the cracked shafts were disturbed by the jostling and brushing of cloth and hands across his tender back. Each flex of his muscles agitated the severed muscles and throbbing vessels and streamed blood.

Next came the pants, or what remained of them. Herobrine growled with a flash of his eyes before settling back down and moved to let Steve take the new rag scraps off his form till he was shivering and nude.

He knew what had to happen. What good would it be if he couldn't let Steve help him if he would snap and growl like a feral dog at every movement? Why bother coming to this little house in the middle of nowhere if the process of relieving the pain wasn't good enough for him?

Herobrine groveled and swallowed growl after snarling growl as Steve's gentle fingers prodded and poked at every gnarly scrape and wound across his visible body.

Steve took a second to assess the damage. Only the wooden shafts of arrows were visible in splintered nubs. Wounds littered his back in sweeping speckled lesions. Bruises dark and angry already had bloomed across every inch of his flesh. Herobrine held one of his arms closer to himself, cradling it as he drifted side-to-side in the tub.

Steve rubbed the side of Herobrine's neck as he guided the arm out to inspect. It confirmed Steve's fears with the demon's fingers being gnarled and discolored from joint to tip. Broken. The imprint of a boot's heel was clearly visible.

Along his arms and legs were cuts and scrapes from running through dense brush and tripping through foliage, bruises and bumps everywhere, some breaking skin and others in horrid marks of dark purple and red. Among the wounds on his legs were deep teeth marks of a canine latched tight to the flesh of his calf and the aftermath of the canine being torn away.

Sighing, Steve rummaged through his cabinet for the kit he had outfitted himself for just this occasion. There were towels placed on the toilet seat as well. A basket full of clean cotton lengths. Originally scrap fabric cleaned and reused for every interaction of this ritual of theirs.

Steve handed Herobrine a towel to press against the wound on his stomach as the other procured a pair of tweezers and rubbed the demon's shoulder. Patting it in warning. Herobrine leaned over, one hand pressed the towel to himself and the other gripped the side of the tub as he knew what came next.

The demon's lungs froze as the tweezers clamped down on the first shard of sharpened flint. A mewling whine rumbled in his throat as the claws in his good hand dug into the porcelain surface of the bathtub; the other pressed the towel tightly to his belly. Steve ripped the first shard straight out rather than dancing around the irritated flesh.

"Klang!" The stony arrowhead clattered to the bottom of the tub. Serrated edges ensured it would not come out without a toy with such an item was to prolong the agony. The demon will heal.

Herobrine choked back cries as the wounds in his belly coughed up blood to his tongue. Pooling in the pits of his lips and splattering with every cry, echoing the clattering of flint to the bathroom floor.

Robotically, it was rip, cry, clatter, over, and over, and over. Blood stained the white tub as streaming trails ran hot down Herobrine's back. Each wound weeping and mourning as the scent of tinny blood seeped ripe in the bathroom.

Wordlessly, Steve rubbed Herobrine's neck again, signaling the worst of it was over.

Steve got up as he tossed the used tools on the counter to disinfect later. Herobrine heaved himself to sit on the lip of the tub and turned on the bathtub's faucet himself and watched as the water spewed and splashed. He looked over at Steve who pulled out his shirt with a sigh to look at the mess left as a large stain to its fibers.

It was quiet other than the rush of sloshing water slowly heating. The man approached Herobrine again and pressed their foreheads together for a single breath, before pulling away and placing a cup to run beneath the hot tap.

Herobrine sat back down as the full cup ran over his head. Near scalding water passed over his body and made the stinging tingles more bearable for the brief moment. The warmth was something to relish. Heat. A demon craving the scalding bath most others would reject and hiss in pain.

The heat he craved put the redstone work of Steve's plumbing to its limits. But Hero didn't care, if it broke he would fix it. Redstone is easy as it is to him.

Taking a rag, Steve ran it under the hot tap and plopped himself at Herobrine's side. The demon regarded him with a huff and pouted as cold air grazed his skin between splashes of the hot water.

Steve placed the hot rag at Herobrine's back, wiping away stray crusts of dried blood and smudges of dirt from the other's tumbles and falls. Inch by inch, dry blood wiped away as the water turned milky pink to a saturated red. Steve didn't concern himself much with how much blood was leaking out, considering from mere moments before as the demon was crumbled at his feet to now, it had slowed considerably.

Water flowed over Herobrine's head as Steve poured cup after cup to rinse out the dirt, grass, and caked blood that saturated the dark strands. Herobrine sputtered with each pass but not a word came from him as he pouted.

"What's wrong? Mad that I'm giving you a bath?" Steve joked, trying to lighten the tense air.

"Hmph."

After gravity had swept most of the filthy water down the drain, Steve plugged the drain hole and allowed the steaming water to fill the basin.

A groan of satisfaction rumbled in Herobrine's chest as his aching feet soaked into the steaming hot water. Slowly, the surface of water reached up to his ankles and further. Not hesitating, Herobrine leaned himself back with a passive grunt. Though contact with the back of the porcelain tub to his own tender skin stung, it was worth it. The warmth of the steam was a familiar hug. Despite each stinging ache and searing pain, within his turbulent mind, the swirling thoughts were calm.

The demon needed little else as the water in the basin slowly filled. A pink tint of leaking blood swirled around his body as his body kicked in its healing process, clotting in large thick chunks along the large lesions.

Steve sauntered out of the bathroom to collect whatever clean laundry was in his dresser before returning to the bathroom.

A smile dared to pull at Steve's lips as he saw the demon fully relishing in the hot bath. He tilted his head back, and both arms were resting on the edges of the tub. Herobrine had turned the faucet off as the water had reached up to a decent portion of the demon's chest.

The fleeting drop of joy was whisked away as Steve stared at the demon's gnarled fingers. The joints were bent sideways in all the wrong ways. Bruises had picked up on healing as they spread further across the demon's sallow flesh and turned yellow in small patches.

Pure bliss was across his features, though. As he relished in the steaming water, heat soaking into his muscles and bones. More scrapes had become little marks and other wounds began to close, slowly, and painfully. But of utmost importance, they were surely closing.

Privacy would be best for his comfort, until Steve decreed it was time to get a move on since midnight was surely underway soon.

Steve left the bathroom to chow down whatever was left cold in his bowl and packaged the rest of the lukewarm stew into the fridge to eat for the next few days.

The other bowl was left cold and empty. It would be a fruitless task to even attempt to make the other eat a meal in this state. What good would it do anyways if it would cause more stress and tension? It would be there in the morning for him.

Busying himself wasn't as much of a task as anticipated. Cleaning dishes, cleaning the kitchen, pulling out pajamas after he scrubbed the blood from his body, tossing soiled clothes in the hamper and tattered clothes to be scrapped.

Herobrine needed time to himself as Steve wasn't bothered at all. Why else would he have lived so far away from civilization? Rather, a village was nearby, but a taxing trip for anyone in their right mind to visit. That's besides the point.

Believing enough time had passed, Steve sauntered back to the bathroom to check up on his patient. Steve pulled another towel from the cupboard and approached Herobrine, holding it open to wrap the other in.

He stood at the edge, staring at the other to acknowledge him. Steve waited for Herobrine to stand and continue this little ritual of theirs but... he didn't rise. Rather, Herobrine tilted as his head lolled. The poor thing could barely keep himself awake. The smaller scratches from the underbrush had closed and scabbed, nearly gone.

Perhaps he needed some more time to soak?

"Herobrine?" Steve called.

The other did not respond. Not even a hint of recognition as those fiercely gleaming eyes dulled down. It looked as if he was staring into space, comprehending another plane of existence if anything at all.

Steve would relent and leave the fallen god be if it weren't for the slightest hints of the man lulling into an uncertain state. Unresponsive to his name nor capable of moving his body to flee the water if an incident were to occur.

Kneeling down, Steve reached out to touch the demon's cheek. Not even a flinch.

"Hero!" Steve gripped the other's shoulder.

Still no response.

This was territory outside of the practice they would do. Herobrine would stand so Steve could dress his wounds and be set for the night. Now, the other wouldn't even respond to touch. Even breaths as Steve observed the smaller cuts and scrapes begin the scabbing process.

Tentatively, Steve braced himself as pulled the plug to the bath. The crimson tainted water swirled and sucked itself down into the drain, leaving behind traces of blood. There was so much of it. In the beginning it made Steve nauseous with the sight of it all, but now it was routine. The demon would be okay, he would be okay.

Steve turned Herobrine around to face him, and half-lidded eyes rolled with his lolling head. The demon lifted his head lightly before resting back on the tub's curve with a grunt and sigh. Drifting off, at peace with his predicament.

"Hey, hey, hey. Stay with me now. We're not done yet."

Steve pulled the demon back up as he reached for a towel, draping it over the demon's back and pressing the fibers into the fresh wounds across his back. The demon's forehead nestled itself into the crook of Steve's neck as his arms dangled lifelessly.

Battered and bruised, the body of a god cradled in his arms. His likeness was a testament to his resilience and a harkening to the torment of time. His ribs protruded from his sallow flesh as if carved by famine itself. Matted hair twisted in knotted tendrils that sat flush against his head, saturated heavy with water. Muscles deceived the eye as his strength hid in the wiry frame of his bones. Unyielding in dark hours.

Blood soaked into the towels, quickly blossoming a deep crimson into the fibers. Steve needed to get Herobrine out of the tub and into something much more comfortable than this. This... was so out of his normal. The demon had been coherent and now... dead-weight.

What energy Herobrine had spent, fleeing and resisting a bloody demise, had fizzled out like a candle submitting to molten wax, unable to keep its embers from submerging and energy dissipating.

Steven maneuvered Herobrine to lay back against the curve of the tub as he dug around for the strips of cotton he had in his special kit. It would be a waste to use the blotting cotton when the towel got most of the blood.

Weighing his options, Steve settled on lifting the demon once again, Steve switched out the towel for a fresh one and placed another to affix the front wound. Then, immediately began wrapping over and over till the demon's torso was stiff with the wrappings. After Steve wiped most of the blood away, the dog bite on his calf wasn't as bad as it had first appeared.

Infection would have plagued any other being. Though within the strange culmination of the demon's code and biology, he was immune to illnesses that plagued the rest of the populace. It definitely made Steve's job loads easier.

Around and around. Steve unwound the rolls and consequently wound them over Herobrine's limbs. Within the moment, Steve spread the cotton lengths across Hero's chest and back, stiffening any movement to blot spilling blood. Red bloomed from beneath the inner layers and spread to the outer layers, yet the process was much, much slower.

Steve sat back, confident in his wrapping ability but there was a pang in his chest at the demon's relaxed face. The faint up and down of his shoulders as he breathed. He looked peaceful. A morbid, peaceful escape from a world of pain and aches that would soon come once he awoke.

The man stood and rolled out his shoulders as he turned on the sink faucet and began scrubbing his arms and hands of the demon's blood.

Such was the occurrence that was nearly routine. Steve watched as the crimson blood was washed away and slipped down the drain. Crusts picked out from beneath his nails and the rest wiped by a spare hand towel.

From the other side of the bathroom, Herobrine's sight came like a faint pinprick of blaring white light and throbbing aches pulsing in time with the rush of his heart in his ears. It felt like cotton had filled his mouth and ears and invisible blocks of lead chained his limbs to where they lay draped unceremoniously against his body.

Blood embedded deep into the crevasses of his teeth and coated thick across his tongue as he tried blinking away the all-consuming darkness within his mind.

Tilting his head to the side, he saw the figure of a man. Something his body called and yearned for. He would not fight his instincts in this state. They kept him alive this long, why fight in the inevitable?

The man's dark skin was covered in stains of his blood, dripping as he washed away the tarnishing color with soap and water. Concentration knit deep in his furrowed brow and those crystalline purple eyes. Bright and saturated like those of an enderman, mysterious.

Herobrine's sanctuary never asked questions nor did he ever turn him away. Welcoming arms embraced him with every raggedy sigh and blood-filled gargle as he had spent many nights wallowing in this tub as his sins of crimson red slipped down the drain.

His comfort, his solace...

"Hrn... St..." The faintest sounds from his weary throat.

The man's focus snapped to him as two slivers of white peeked from beneath the strands of hair met.

Steve quickly shut off the water, abandoned the sink, and dove straight to Herobrine's side, caressing the demon's cheek as Herobrine stared absentmindedly at him. The demon's lips curled faintly as he leaned into Steve's palm. Cool against his heated skin. The tingling of his body attempting to knit itself together spread from the man's hand and throughout his body, racing along his veins like butterfly kisses and the ghosting touch of feathers.

A whine followed as Steve pulled away. A trembling hand grasped the side of the tub as he tried to follow the man, but hands gently settled him back against the tub.

"Gr...hmph..."

Hands. That's all that mattered to him. Hands were touching him, holding him, ghosting across his skin. Herobrine latched onto an arm and guided himself to rest against the man's chest, hearing that strong beating heart like a beacon in the night. Present and confident. Herobrine grinned at its quickening pace as he wrapped his arms around the man's chest pressing and digging further.

Steve sat there, confused. Just as he had been smoothing out the shirt placed over Herobrine's head, the demon suddenly lunged and clung to his body, whimpering and whining. A crushing hold around his ribcage.

Steve huffed through his nose before returning the embrace, letting Herobrine cling.

"We gotta get up now. Come on, the couch is much better than the floor." Steve spoke into the mop of hair beneath his chin.

A grunt was Herobrine's response.

"Come on, dude... are you sure you're feeling alright? You're never this... cuddly..."

It sounded as if the demon had drifted back into dreamworld with soft sighs and shallow, even breaths.

Steve did his best to gather the demon into his arms. An arm supporting Herobrine's back and the other beneath the crook of his knees. The demon's head, again, lolled in his direction nestling against Steve's bicep. Scars dotted in long lines across the other's face, the one across the bridge of his nose dominated over the others.

Heaving the other up, Steve waddled over back into his living room to place the demon on the sofa and leave to replace his soiled clothing before further spreading the mess.

Steve took the other set of spare clothing and changed quickly, watching as the demon curled up on the couch, flexing his back with a whine as the bizarre sounds of ripping flesh emanated from beneath the bandages.

A fooling sound, the popping and bubbling had unsettled him in the beginning. But now, like everything strange about the other, it was a comforting thing to hear. Skin knitting itself back together. Pulling and stretching. Morbid and gruesome, it was comforting in the strangest way.

Each and every supernatural process of Herobrine's body fascinated Steve.

Steve sauntered forward, reaching to comb his fingers through the demon's hair. Tousling and pulling the strands away from his face. A sliver of white peeked open before slipping shut and huffing.

A smile, small, placed on his pursed lips. Steve sat down, pulling Herobrine into his arms to lie down on the couch. The last step to their routine ritual.

The demon curled up instantly, shoving his head into Steve's neck as he rested against his chest. Steve wiggled himself to lay longways on the couch and allow the demon to fall to his side and hold closer and tighter. Sharing warmth on this isolating day.

Mumbles formed from half-awake lips. "Steve...I... mm you..."

Steve shook his head. Herobrine lost a lot of blood just within the time in the bathroom, he didn't want to imagine how much he had lost out in the wild. The healing process always made the demon loopy and strange.

"Crack... snap!"

Steve's jolted at the blood-curdling sounds. The demon whined in pain as he shuffled next to him, clinging harder to Steve as he cradled his broken hand to his chest. Steve turned so the two would face each other and hugged Herobrine close, rubbing circles into the demon's back.

Fascinatingly, each snap and pop was the tendons and ligaments pulling bones back into place as fractures regenerated. Every digit realigned slowly and painfully. Despite the shivers, it was a good sign, a fantastic sign.

Herobrine's face contorted as his body tingled and twitched. His face scrunched, and he bared his teeth as the joints in his broken hand settled back into place. The cuts and lesions across his torso bubbled and scabbed as who knew what was going on internally.

Claws dug into Steve's back as the demon pressed his forehead into Steve's shoulder. Limbs entwining as he writhed. A gift so glorious yet also a curse, a double-edged blade.

Seconds turned to minutes turned to hours. The rush of what was a passive evening kept Steve on the verge of sleep yet just coherent enough to measure each even breath as the demon slept.

Herobrine was okay. They were okay.

Tomorrow would come and they would both be there to see it pass.

...

Comfort. Silence buzzed as the creaking of wood and twittering morning birds reached his ears. The scent of morning dew whisked away by the outside breeze. Quiet and pleasant, an easy, sunny day from the streaming ray passing through waving curtains.

Fingers ran over soft cotton. The form resting on top of him moved in time with his own breaths, solid and warm. Breathing. Steve rubbed circles over Herobrine's back.

In the middle of the night, Steve redressed Herobrine's wounds with the last towels in his cupboard and returned the unconscious man back into comfort on Steve's bed. Finally Steve allowed himself to drift off as he rested on top of his blankets with the demon curled up against his side. Not once had the demon released his embracing grip around Steve's chest.

By morning, the poor thing was mumbling nonsense words, twitching and tensing. It woke Steve up at the beginning. Incomprehensible words stumbled through the demon's lips that pulled him out of his sleep. Steve embraced the other's form, holding him secure as the terror passed his mind.

Steve massaged Herobrine's scalp, combing his fingers through the demon's hair as his breathing grew labored. Steve winced as the demon hugged him closer, his sharp nails dug into Steve's ribs as he buried his face further into Steve's chest.

"Hero..." Steve pouted. His mind was conflicted between holding the other close and waking the poor thing from his night terror.

Suddenly, a pair of eyes flew open as glowing misty trails spilled out, gushing.

Herobrine surged off the mattress, kicking Steve as a yell tore through his throat. The demon crashed to the floor then clambered to his feet. Sparks flew through the air, bouncing across the walls and floors, some dissipating as they hit the fabric of the bed.

Steve doubled over as he sat up, coughing at the sudden punch to his gut.

He glanced up to see feral eyes and a drooling snarl. Herobrine kicked his legs out as he tried scooting away. Steve reached out only for Herobrine to try to lift himself up by the nightstand and fell back to the floor.

"H-Herobrine!"

Steve slipped off the other side of the bed quickly, wheezing from the air punched from his lung. He slowly stepped forward as wild eyes stared up at him, sharp fangs bared with curled lips. Herobrine's claws dug into the hardwood floor as smoke wafted from beneath the baggy clothes.

Steve knelt before Herobrine cupping his hand against Herobrine's scalding skin, thumbing over the other's cheek.

A sharp breath.

"Yeow!"

Steve jumped back as a stinging pain smacked into his right cheek. Steve gingerly brought a finger to his cheek and luckily nothing dabbed on his fingertips.

Herobrine snarled before jolting and scrambled to the bedroom door, racking his sharp nails down the door, fumbling with the handle. His heart raced as his trembling hands couldn't form a firm grasp on the handle to pull.

Steve massaged his stinging cheek. Choking gasps turned his gaze back to Herobrine who scooted his back to the wall and gripped his long, scraggly hair in his fists; trembling and tucking himself into a ball, protecting his tender wounds.

"Ah shit..." Steve swallowed as he scooted forward, slower, and maintained just out of reach. "It's only me here, you're safe."

The furrowed brow softened as the demon blinked. Each muscle in his body relaxed, slowly, as recognition clawed through the darkness of his unconsciousness. The glow of his eyes mellowed down to near soft candlelight bright. The faint outline of an iris and milky pupil appeared as white eyes met purple.

"St...Steven?"

"Yes?"

"I... I'm sorry."

"I accept your apology."

Herobrine looked at him strangely as he tried to get back to his feet. The to the red scratch dashed across Steve's cheek transfixed Hero's eyes. He pursed his lips as he glanced around the bedroom, finally landing on the used roll of cotton wraps and the towel stained brown from dried blood sitting on the opposite nightstand.

"...I should go."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Uh-uh, not going to happen my dude."

Herobrine choked back again. "I hurt you! There's people looking for me, you're in danger. All because of me..."

Kneeling back down, Steve tugged on Herobrine's shoulder to fall forward into his arms. "Who said I was ever in danger? Hero, I live in bumfuck nowhere. No one's going to find you or hurt either of us. Plus, you reopened your wounds, like hell you're leaving out of my front door like this."

"I... I..."

Herobrine couldn't meet the other's eyes. He wanted to yell, scream. Anything to keep the pinpricks of tears from welling in the corners of his eyes. How could he tell Steve? His tongue turned to lead every time he wanted to say it. Every. Time.

"Why?"

Steve sighed with an exasperated smile. "Why not? Are you uncomfortable with me helping you?"

"No! I-"

Steve patted his thigh as he stood. "Then that settles it. Come on, I think I have one more clean roll."

Herobrine stared at the open palm offered to him. A small grin pulled at the corners of his lifts as he took it and slowly lifted himself to his feet. Steve dusted Herobrine off and smoothed out the baggy shirt before leading Herobrine back to the bathroom.

Words bubbled in his throat as he and the man shared a glance. So many words, so many things. Maybe, one day, the key will unlock his voice and he could tell the man everything he's ever wanted to say.

Someday.

…