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Wash’s life has definitely got weirder since he moved in with Maine.
Not that he regrets it - he’s not gonna knock the benefits of living with another vet. But still. Way weirder.
Maine’s a childminder, amongst other things. He ‘specialises’ (he hates that word) in kids other people would hesitate to look after; neurodivergent kids, kids who sign, kids who have ‘specific needs’ (Wash and Maine both hate that phrase, a lot, but it’s better than the alternatives).
Kids like Junior.
Wash has never asked what’s divergent about Junior, because it's none of his business. But he knows Junior has trouble with words, and prefers to communicate in sign (or noises, or pictures, or dance moves).
And his dad is really cute. Which isn't a sign of neurodivergence. It is something Wash thinks about. A lot.
It's kind of a problem.
"Morning." Wash says, walking into the sunlight-bright kitchen.
Junior is sat at the kitchen table, which is covered in those little multi-coloured elastic band things Wash keeps seeing ads for on TV. It looks like very carefully organised chaos.
Junior looks up from whatever he's doing and grins at Wash. Wash smiles back, slightly more subdued. Keeping up with Junior is tough enough at anytime, but it's especially hard when he hasn't had any coffee.
"It's two in the afternoon." Maine signs, from where he's leant against the counter.
"And? I don't have work 'till five."
The 'I didn't get to sleep 'till four' goes unspoken, half because Junior, a seasoned gossip even at eight, is in earshot and half because Wash just isn't good at admitting weakness out loud, even now.
Maine still hears it loud and clear, and hands Wash a cup of coffee by way of reply.
Wash takes a grateful swig, then sits at the table opposite Junior, turning his attention back to the kid and his busy fingers. "Oh, cool, is that a bracelet?"
Junior nods, bouncing up and down in his chair.
"I like that colour." Wash says. It reminds him of Junior's dad, actually, though he's not sure why. "Are you making it for yourself?"
Junior shakes his head, then makes a chirping, bird-like sound that generally means 'Dad'.
"I'm sure he'll love it, J."
Junior beams.
---
After that, loom bands (which is what the multi-coloured elastic bands are called. You learn something new every day) become a disturbingly prevalent fixture in Wash's life.
Junior takes them with him when he leaves, except they're tiny and really hard to pick up, so Wash keeps finding them on the floor, or inside boxes, or down the side of the sofa, for days afterwards. And, because apparently it's One Of Those Fads, several of the other kids Maine looks after turn up with them too.
Their house very quickly begins to look like a bomb went off. A new and exciting kind of bomb, filled with loom bands instead of shrapnel.
Maine thinks they're great, in the way he thinks anything that'll get kids to sit still and stay relatively quiet for hours at a time is great. Meaning he ends up buying some for himself.
When Wash walks into the kitchen one morning and sees Maine sitting at the table, a look of extreme concentration on his face and a loom and a pile of bands scattered on the table in front of him, he almost turns around and goes straight back to bed.
The kids start making bracelets for Maine, meaning he's almost always wearing at least five in various colours. And then, inexplicably, they start making bracelets for Wash.
He doesn't know why. He's baffled they like him at all, to be honest - he's not exactly kid-friendly material.
(His therapist clucks her tongue at him whenever he says that, though. So that's-- something.)
The first time it happens, he's just got in from work. Literally just got in - he's toeing off his shoes by the door when Junior appears.
"You!" Junior says.
"Yeah, Junior, it's me. I'm home." Wash says, smiling.
But Junior shakes his head, then holds out a hand and says, "You!"
Which is when Wash notices the bracelet he's holding. It's mostly grey, with a few stripes of yellow. "...Is this for me?"
Junior nods. "You!"
"I." Wash swallows. "Thanks, J." He takes the bracelet and slips it onto his wrist. It fits perfectly, which means Maine must have helped, because Junior is notoriously bad at judging the sizes of people's wrists.
Wash stares at it, at the way it looks against his skin, for several seconds, then looks up at Junior. "It's great, kid. I love it."
Junior beams at him, before disappearing again at considerable speed, probably to report back to Maine.
Wash stays standing in the hallway for a while longer, until the lump in his throat lessens.
It's not that he doesn't know Junior considers him a friend, it's just that he doesn't really understand why, and it still catches him by surprise every time he's reminded of it. It catches him by surprise whenever anyone does anything nice for him, ever, but that's something he's working on.
He never expected a kid he sees a couple times a week to help so much.
---
He forgets to take the bracelet off.
Well, at first he doesn't want to take the bracelet off. He likes the colours, and it's grounding, having a physical representation of the sometimes-uncertain fact that people do like him.
Wash needs grounding a lot.
He means to take it off before he goes to work, because he doesn't want it to get damaged (though he's sure Junior wouldn't mind, would probably be delighted at the excuse to make another, but still. It's the principle of the thing). Except it slips his mind.
And then he rolls up his sleeves halfway through his shift at the cafe, and suddenly Grif and Caboose materialise at his side with matching shocked expressions.
"Is that a bracelet?" Caboose asks.
"Is it made of elastic bands?" Grif adds.
"Junior made it for me." Wash says, defensively, resisting the urge to cover the bracelet with his hand.
"Aw, that's cute." Grif says, with a grin.
Caboose nods. "It's a very nice bracelet, Wash. Junior is very good at bracelets."
"I'll be sure to pass that on."
Wash grabs a cloth and moves to wipe down tables. It's definitely not an escape. Why would he need to escape Grif and Caboose? They were only crowding him and asking him personal questions, their eyes bright and curious--
...Okay, maybe it was an escape. Whatever. He's fine, really. His hands aren't even shaking.
"Hey, man, are you okay?"
Church reaches out a hand and Wash jerks back, eyes wide. Church frowns.
"Did something happen? Do I need to kick someone's ass?"
"No, no, it's-- I just-- It's nothing, I'm just bad at-- emotions, I'm just really bad at emotions, I'm gonna. Outside."
"Sure, man." Church says, concern all over his face, "Take as long as you need."
Wash ends up sat on the ground out back, leant against the wall, his head on his knees, for almost twenty minutes. He focuses on breathing until the roaring in his ears quietens, then until the weight in his chest lessens, then until his hands stop shaking.
He starts twisting the bracelet round and round and round his wrist without realising. It's a better nervous tick than biting his fingernails so short they start to bleed, though, so he'll take it.
He'll take it.
---
"I heard Junior made you a bracelet."
Wash looks up from the book he's reading. Tucker, Junior's dad, is standing in the door to the living room.
Wash always forgets that Caboose is both friends with Tucker and a terrible gossip.
"Yeah." Wash says, holding up his wrist for Tucker to see. "He's getting pretty good with those things."
"I caught him making a necklace in bed the other day." Tucker says, his tone conspiratory, and Wash huffs a laugh. "Anyway, I just-- I dunno, wanted to check you were okay? Caboose mentioned you freaked out a bit at work."
"I'm easily overwhelmed." Wash admits, quietly. "Even good things get too much sometimes. I'm working on it."
A beat passes. Tucker doesn't say anything, just gnaws at his lip, looking thoughtful.
"...I served with Church, y'know."
"He's never mentioned it."
'Yeah, it wasn't for very long. I had to quit when I got full custody of Junior - can't be stationed overseas when I've got to get my kid to school every day, y'know?" Tucker smiles. "I was pretty pissed then, but it was for the better, really. I got out before I got really fucked up. But, I mean, I get it. Not exactly, not always, but... I get it."
Wash swallows. Tucker's eyes are kind, and he asked if Wash was okay like he honestly cared about the answer, and Wash still has no idea how to deal with this. People keep being nice to him, and he has no idea why.
He swallows again. There's a lot he can't say, but he's sure there's a lot Tucker isn't saying, either, so it's fine. They're fine. This is fine.
He lets out a breath, slowly, and says, "Thanks."
Tucker grins. "Anytime."
---
The next time Wash sees Tucker, he’s not having the best day.
There’s no real cause, no rhyme or reason - he just woke up like this. Jumpy, twitchy, hyper-aware of his heart beating too fast in his chest. Yet also disconnected, muted, fading in and out of himself.
It’s not the first time he felt like this. When he first got home, this was all he felt like for months. Huge swathes of time lost to panic attacks and dissociative episodes.
If nothing else, at least he’s used to it.
He called in sick to work. Or, at least, Maine called in sick for him. Texted. Whatever.
He’s spent most of the day lying in bed, listening to the radio, twisting his bracelet round and round and round. He’s building up to go for a walk. Maybe. If he trusts himself to go outside.
He’s not expecting the knock on his door.
“Wash? Can I come in?”
Tucker. That’s Tucker.
Wash glances at the clock, blinks until the lights translate into numbers and the numbers into a time. 6:47PM. Tucker’s here to pick up Junior.
“Yeah.” Wash calls, or tries to. His mouth is dry, and his voice comes out like a croak. He clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah.”
The door opens, slowly, to reveal Tucker. He’s wearing a grey shirt, his hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, there’s paint all over his hands. There’s an expression on his face, but Wash can’t work out what it is.
“Sorry to bother you.” Wash frowns. Tucker isn’t bothering him, Tucker’s great. He’d say that, but words are hard when his mouth feels like someone else’s. “I. Um. I made you this?”
He’s holding out a bracelet.
That’s weird. Wash could have sworn he wasn’t dreaming.
“And, um. This is real. I’m real, you’re real, we’re all real here, it’s a real party.” Tucker rubs at the back of his neck. “Maine said I should. Clarify. Just in case. Sorry you’re having a bad day, by the way.”
“It happens.” Wash says. He looks at the bracelet again. “What does it mean?”
Tucker blinks. “It’s a bracelet, Wash. You wear it?”
Wash flaps his hand ‘no’, something he picked up from Junior. “Why give me it?”
“Oh.” Tucker says, eyes widening in-- realisation? “Right. Sorry. It’s a reminder that I like you and consider you a friend and enjoy spending time with you. The kind of reminder you can touch, which is the best kind, in my experience.”
“...Friend?”
“Yeah, Wash. Friend.” Tucker says. He signs it, too, which he started doing because it was a way of signifying emphasis that didn’t rely on tone, which Junior finds hard sometimes.
Friend, underlined.
Tucker made Wash a bracelet. A friendship bracelet.
“Thank you.” Wash says.
Tucker smiles. “You’re welcome, Wash.” He puts the bracelet down on the desk by the door. “I’m going, now. Dinner’s at half seven, y’know how it is.”
Wash nods. Tucker nods back, still smiling, then leaves, pulling the door shut behind him.
---
“Tucker made me a bracelet.”
The morning after days like yesterday is never fun, but at least today is better. Wash is out of bed, for starters. He’s not going to work - he called Church to ask about his shift today and got a lecture about knowing his own limits and not putting himself through unneeded stress, goddammit - but he’s got a therapy appointment, which is a fifth of the length of his shift but just as exhausting.
Maine raises an eyebrow. “A bracelet?”
Wash holds up his wrist as proof. He’s wearing Junior’s bracelet on one wrist and Tucker’s on the other. Symmetry is important. “He said it’s because we’re friends.”
“That’s good?” Maine signs, in a ‘I don’t understand why you’re telling me this’ kind of way.
“I'm not actually sure what to do with that information."
Huffing, Maine signs, "I think this is a conversation you should have with your therapist."
Wash sticks out his tongue and turns his attention back to his coffee.
---
"Hey, you gained a bracelet!" Grif says, pointing at Wash's wrist.
Wash nods. He hasn't taken it off all week, except to shower, and Maine keeps giving it meaningful looks that Wash is very pointedly ignoring.
"Now you're all symmetrical and shit." Grif adds, in an approving tone. "Was it Junior again?"
"This one was Tucker." Wash admits.
Grif's eyes widen. "Tucker?" Wash nods. "Tucker, the fully-grown man? With a kid and a job? Tucker made you a bracelet?"
"I couldn't quite believe it myself." Church says, with a look on his face that's equal parts knowing and worrying. "I got a text message the other day asking your favourite colour. I asked him three times if Junior had stolen his phone again before I accepted the fact that I do actually live in a universe where Lavernius Tucker makes people friendship bracelets."
"It sounds like something Caboose would do." Grif adds. "Or Simmons, maybe. God, how have I managed to be friends with Tucker for so long without realising he's a giant nerd."
Even though he knows they're only joking around, Wash feels like he has to defend Tucker. "I like it."
"You're a giant nerd too." Grif says, instantly. "I'm surrounded by them. It's terrible."
"You married one of them." Church points out. "I think that one's on you. Also, I don't force you to work here."
"I've said it before and I'll say it again, I married Simmons for his cooking and that thing he can do with his tongue. His nerdiness is something I've had to learn to live with."
Church rolls his eyes and mutters, “Sure.”
Grif hits him.
Wash watches them bicker, and twists his bracelet round his wrist, and feels something that feels suspiciously like happiness bloom in his chest.