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It wasn’t.. that different.
At least, he told himself that. The reality was, it kind of was. Sure, things were similar. Everybody fought to keep some sort of normalcy, if not because they felt the same attachment to routine he always had, but because they wanted some comfort in the harsh reality of recent events.
They all still woke up at 7:30, and ate breakfast together. Sprout still woke up earlier to make the breakfast with Cosmo, and sometimes another toon if they wanted to help out. But there were no more visits. Which was.. daunting, but they could work off the schedules they had on days they never had visits from any kids. Sure, Sprout missed the little ones, but it was okay without them.
What really threw everything for a loop was the new-found necessity to visit the buildings lower floors. Previously, the handlers did that. When necessary, to either fix machines or collect any of the stored items, they would go down and finish it themselves. They never had any fun stories to tell about it, so the toons hadn’t expected anything big when they finally realized it was necessary.
Oh, how they were wrong.
That was where everything fell apart.
It’d been a few months since things fell into this new routine. Sprout was still getting used to it— he didn’t know what was expected of him all the time. He fought to protect everybody, spending late nights trying to figure out ways to heal them. Med kits weren’t always available. He needed to find out a way to protect everybody— he could hear them, every heart beat. Surely he could make use of it?
He found it out.
It made him a healer.
And so, he was brought into more runs. What was most distressing, though, if you asked him, was he was never warned beforehand. It was always a morning announcement what he’d be doing that day. Now, thatwas hard to adjust to. To not be able to plan for his day the night before, like he always had. That threw him off.
Cosmo tried to comfort him, help him figure out how to make it work, but really, Sprout was the only one who could figure it out.
All that to say.. the past few months had been some of the worst in his life. It wasn’t even just that. The grief from losing everything they’d known his everybody, and Sprout had always been sensitive to others’ emotions. Every last toon was struggling, and of course he would never say he felt it worst, he did feel it. For everybody. The mourning that weighed them all down had run him into bed late into the day on multiple occasions. It was getting better, but sometimes he just couldn’t do it.
It was harder to eat, too, and overall.. so many times he’d cried to Cosmo about this. He didn’t want to bother him, but it made it just a little bit easier. Just a little bit more bearable to have somebody who knew how much it hurt.
Today was.. no exception. He told himself he should be over this by now— it’d been months. But even as the conversation slowly came back, even as everybody began to get lively again, it wasn’t the same. He could feel it. The way everybody’s heartbeats thumped out, normally comforting, was.. different. Every one still held that sense of dread to it, a sound he couldn’t explain to somebody who had never heard it the same way he couldn’t describe a color to someone who had never seen color in their life.
It hurt.
The conversation was going on as usual. Nothing abnormal. Loud, but that was normal. He was created with good hearing, it was to be expected. He was used to it.
The conversation had included him, but it petered out a couple minutes ago when he stopped responding with as much enthusiasm. Well. He never really replied with enthusiasm this morning, just more effort. But today was just not a good one. Why was that? It wasn’t even that different than usual. The food in front of him was good. At least it had been. It was simple— eggs and bacon. And moments ago, it was suitable.
He poked the eggs with his fork, and brought up a bite to his mouth. The feeling of the utensil in his hand was weirdly prominent, cold and strangely heavy.
The texture was both too runny and too solid all at once, it made his stomach churn and a sudden sensation he hated curl up from his chest. He debated spitting it out, but out of fear for worrying somebody, he forced it down; it wasn’t fully chewed, so it wasn’t easy nor pleasant (and it made the nausea roar up again, worse, continuous), but it got rid of it quicker. That was better than chewing.
He never really liked chewing anyway.
The bacon sounded just as unappetizing. It made no sense. He’d been eating it fine just a while ago; his plate was halfway done. Why was this a problem now? Why couldn’t he eat it now?
The heartbeats got louder.
He could hear his own. Which wasn’t uncommon, but it was usually easier to tune out. His own wasn’t necessary to hear.
The conversation got louder.
Which was a problem, because even on a standard basis, it was loud. Any more, and could he handle it? His ears roared with a sound he couldn’t place. The fork suddenly felt too heavy. He put it down.
There were more conversations going on now.
He woke up this morning feeling weird, a little overwhelmed, but hadn’t expected it to get this bad. Why did it hurt? Why were his ears ringing? He could hear so many different sounds. Laughing. Chewing. Squeaking. A few yips and barks. Snickering. Talking, whispering, the clattering of utensils and plates. Every little noise, normally easy to tune out, was suddenly on full volume.
Why was that?
Why couldn’t he turn it off?
It hurt.
He inhaled, noting how it felt harder. His lungs hurt, like they were being compressed; his chest hurt. He brought his hands to his lap and began to fidget with the charms of his and Cosmo’s friendship bracelet. It was all he could really do to handle it. Everything was so.. loud.
He could feel every inhale. The way his breath ran across his skin hurt. He shivered slightly at the feeling, and then immediately bit the inside of his lip at the disturbing feeling it gave him. It felt like his skin was crawling even after he had finished the shiver. It made him feel sick.
Too much.
It was too much.
There were too many voices— calling out different things.
And then somebody yelled.
Instantly, he flinched, feeling his body curl in on itself. He couldn’t choose between holding the charm tighter, tighter until it hurt, maybe until it bled, or covering his ears.
His body chose for him. Unfortunately, covering his ears didn’t do much. They were already heightened. He could hear himself make a quiet noise, maybe a whimper, but it was drowned out by all the other noises in the room. Too much. Far too much.
He didn’t even realize that things had quieted down, because the only thing he could hear was noise. It was getting louder and louder, making up for the lost volume. His hands gripped tighter, and he didn’t even care how he looked. It hurt. His skin felt like it was crawling, burning, like he could feel his blood moving under the surface, roaring in his ears. So much. He’d never felt like this before. It was terrifying.
“..out,”
Please, quiet. Stop. Stop, please.
“Sprout.”
He whined, digging his hands into his head, harder, anything. Like it would help it. It just hurt. It was just pressure. But maybe pain was better than noise?
“Sprout!”
He flinched again, feeling the tears build again, but he blinked them away and looked up. Shelly startled back, and her breath hitched.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she replied, her voice suddenly much quieter. And Sprout realized that the portion of the table closer to him had gone quiet; the other half hadn’t noticed yet, but the mains were all watching him.
Oh.
Oh, no.
He couldn’t breathe. The stares bore into him, and then suddenly, Vee was standing up. She stood in front of him, and gestured for him to get up. Shakily, slowly drawing his arms down and returning to fidgeting with his bracelet, he did. And he followed her, silently. She said nothing, and he didn’t know what she was doing, but he followed.
They walked. The footsteps were loud, and overwhelming, but it was slowly making that up with the loss of the noise from the dining room.
Sprout bit his lip, and without the fear of everybody in Gardenview seeing, he finally let his tears fall—he wasn’t afraid to let them know he was stressed, but to let them see him cry? He couldn’t.
Eventually, the dining room noise was a drone in the background. Still too much, but it was.. it was less. And then Vee slowly sat down on the couch in the room she had led him to.
He took a deep breath, holding the charm so tight he worried he may actually break skin, and then sat down.
The tears were falling now, and his whole body shook with the effort of his tears, developing into sobs quickly. It hurt. His hands slowly moved to his wrists, scratching up and down, anything, anything to fix it. He could feel his blood and it was so wrong. It was so, so wrong.
And then a stuffed animal was being forced into his hands, and he heard it.
A soft, light tone. He looked up, his breath stuttering to a halt for a minute. Vee sat there, not looking at him. In his hands was a small stuffed version of her, taken from the shelf of stuffed toys on the wall behind them, each their own main. Sprout slowly forced himself to breathe again, looking down at the little thing.
His hands slowly found their way to the flimsy antenna, running up and down them. The tears were still falling, but it was.. quieter.
The music helped. It was soft, not loud, but clear enough he could focus on it. So he did. He took deep breaths, as deep as he could, running his hands up and down the plush’s antennae, focusing on the rhythm of the song. The notes as they went, trying to predict them.
There were no words.
Just soft music, and the steady thrumming of electricity. It wasn’t a heartbeat. Vee didn’t have one— maybe that was part of why she wasn’t overwhelming him. It was just electricity through her circuits, softer than most but ever familiar. And now music.
His head hurt.
But it wasn’t the same pain from earlier. It was.. more bearable. His hands slowed down slightly, and he swayed a bit. His eyes hurt. He was exhausted— was it from the crying? Or maybe it was because he’d stayed up so late last night, unable to get sleep.
Why did it matter? He held the plush up to his chest, and slowly felt himself lean over a bit, head gently falling on Vee’s shoulder. Closer to the music, which was filling the room. It was so soft, but loud enough it was becoming all he could hear. Before he knew it, he was being adjusted to lay down on her lap— when did a pillow get there?
And there was a hand gently running up and down his arm.
Maybe resting for a bit would help his headache go away.