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.
