crying's easier in secret

Out of the corner of its eyes, the Changeling sees Augustus startle as the first peal of thunder rumbles out overhead.

"Shit," she says, stumbling to her feet in the same blink of time it takes for Changeling to turn to face her fully. "I've got to go," she adds abruptly as she peeks around the edge of the blinds to see outside, where Changeling is beginning to hear the faint patter of rain against the glass. "Bye, Changeling!"

By the time Changeling has caught up to what has happened, Augustus is already gone.

It feels its face twist up into an expression, and crosses its arms tightly over its chest, feeling off-balance and annoyed by the sudden deviation from their usual routine. That is not the way things typically go. Augustus should have stayed to at least finish the page she was working on, should have lingered as she prepared to leave at her usual time, and should have allowed Changeling to walk her to the front door and bid her a proper goodbye. That is the way they have been doing things for weeks and weeks. That was how it should have gone. 

The Changeling crosses its arms more firmly, hinging forward at the waist to pin them between its thighs and chest where it has been kneeling on the floor. This deviation is understandable, it corrects its irritation firmly. Augustus does not prefer to drive in the rain, it knows this — she will often even reject invitations outright if it even appears as though it might begin to storm. Tonight is a deviation only because she likely had not anticipated the turn in weather, and thus had elected to leave quickly before the storm had the opportunity to worsen. Her instinct was not incorrect — already, the Changeling can hear the downpour of it, noisy against its windowpane. The abrupt deviation was logical; it does not serve a purpose to be annoyed by this.

That does not leave it inclined to uncurl itself with any urgency. It registers that it is pouting, and thinks that is lame, so it decides it is plotting instead. It is impossible to prevent unexpected interruptions as a general rule, but if Changeling checks the weather prior to Augustus' visits, then it will be able to anticipate the possibility of rain even if Augustus forgets. That will reduce the likelihood of a repeated incident in the future.

"Okay," the Changeling says to itself, and flops to its side to attempt to find its phone so that it an set an alarm for itself. 4:30PM, weekdays: Check weather for rain. That way it will know what to expect before Augustus' new store even begins closing, so it will have ample time to anticipate a course of action. "Okay," it repeats, discarding the phone in favor of indulging in twisting its body haphazardly against the floor, feeling the fibers of the carpet catch and pull against its clothes and skin and scrubbing away the lingering irritation, though it halts when the movement jostles its ears uncomfortably by the band.

It rolls back onto all fours and allows the evening to come to an adequate close by ensuring its game is saved and the controller is put properly away. It attempts to not feel the off-kilter silence around where Augustus' typical background chatter should be by humming noisily in the back of its throat. Quickly resigns itself to the reality that the two noises are not comparable in the least, and ceases.

"Oh, there you are," its mother comments when it finally emerges from its room, but there is an odd hesitation to her that the Changeling does not know how to interpret. Like an uncertain twist of the ears, a cautious sort of yawn in the air. It makes a vague attempt to decipher the shape of her face, and fails.

Changeling steps further into the room, wary, twisting its hips deliberately to feel the brush of its tail against its calf. The television is turned on, but the volume has been muted. "I swear I can hear something strange," its mother says, under the cacophony of thunder shuddering through the air, almost rattling the windows with its noise.

"Thunder," Changeling offers, and is ignored. It watches as she rises to begin approaching and peering out of the nearby windows, searching for the source of her strange noise. The Changeling's own hearing is keener than hers, but between the rain, the electronic buzz of the nearby kitchen appliances, the passing hum of a car engine, and the repeated interruptions of thunder and lightning, it cannot focus well enough to decipher anything in particular.

Its mother has reached a window over by the front door. "Oh, hell," she says abruptly, startling it. She does not swear often, or at all.

"Why," it asks, voice almost a bark as the combination of a particularly bright flash of lightning and its mother's abruptly urgent donning of a rain coat sets its teeth on edge. The impulse to retreat entirely and put on its ear defenders rises up in its chest and is dismissed.

"Do not come outside," mom says firmly instead, and then goes out of the front door and into the torrential rain.

"Why," Changeling demands, louder, but knows it will not receive a response. It hesitates a moment, and then shifts closer to the door in order to follow the angle of its mother's trajectory from indoors. Augustus' car is still parked in the driveway, it notices immediately. The car engine was not passing at all, but idling, and when Changeling's mother opens the door to lean inside, a noise in the cacophony sharpens enough to be distinguishable to Changeling's hearing: Augustus is crying.

When a bolt of lightning illuminates the shape of her through the rain — a split second recognition of her hands pressed harshly over her ears — the Changeling can hear her shriek.

It can feel the phantom press of its ears flattened against the top of its head, tail tucked, and bares its teeth anxiously. It twists its fingers into a tangled knot and yanks, watching as its mother turns off the headlights and retrieves the keys, hauling Augustus out of the car and into the downpour with an unwavering grip on one of her arms. Changeling chews harshly against its knuckles as its brain begins to catch up with itself, and then haphazardly scampers off to find as many towels as it can.

Augustus is being forced through the front door as it returns — its mother doggedly pulling her along the last few steps into the entryway despite the resistance of Augustus' shaking legs and flinching and fighting to keep her ears covered and her eyes shut against the incessant noise of the thunder overhead. Changeling's mom is strong for her size, however; strong enough to catch the Changeling around the waist and completely halt its body's impulse to elope on the sporadic occasions it must leave the house with her. She does not relent until the front door is shut behind them, and only then allows Augustus to yank free and collapse into a frightened hunch on the floor.

Something cold and alarmed sinks uncomfortably down into the Changeling's stomach. It recognizes Augustus only abstractly — in the length of her hair, and the cut of her shirt, the skewed shape of her glasses — but distress has made the familiar planes of her face strange and alien. She cries loudly: long, drawn out wails and big heaving sobs, enough to make Changeling's chest hurt. It flinches forward when her frantic efforts to shove back the way strands of her hair cling soddenly to her face knock her glasses off and onto the floor, and then grits its teeth and steels itself more deliberately.

It does not touch her, but leans in to drape one of its towels over her head. As she reaches to dry her face haphazardly against it, pulling it down over the back of her head and bunching the fabric up over her ears, Changeling ducks around to retrieve her glasses before they can risk being broken. It leaves the rest of its towels near by her side, but keeps a small washcloth so that it can dry the lenses before the droplets can leave streaking marks behind on the glass.

Mom grabs the edge of its sleeve to catch its attention, and Changeling ducks back out of reach, annoyed. It turns the glasses over to ensure there are no cracks in the glass or bending in the frame, and then freezes as it tries to determine what to do with them afterwards. Its mom pulls lightly on its sleeve again, and Changeling sets them carefully on the small entryway table before acquiescing to her retreat towards the living room.

"Augustus lives with her parents, doesn't she?"

The noise of Augustus' crying is an unhappy distraction. Changeling does not want to focus on whatever this exchange is. There is something electric coiling taut under its skin. The noise of the rain is incessant, the thunder increasing in frequency, and Changeling is annoyed by it and the knowledge that Augustus is afraid of it. It rocks backwards on its heels and twists its arms up tight over the back of its neck. The noise of its mother repeating the question is an additionally obnoxious grate on its senses.

"Her dad," it bites out finally, skipping back a step out of reach when its mother attempts to get its attention by reaching out. "Not her mom," her mom lives somewhere else, but the Changeling cannot remember where.

"Okay," mom replies, raising the phone in her hand demonstrably. It's Augustus', Changeling recognizes. "I'm going to call her dad to let him know what happened, and see if he can come pick her up."

"No," Changeling says automatically, but cannot pull the complete thought together in its head yet. Its gaze pulls to the side again — Augustus' crying is getting quieter, but the rain is not. There are too many things crowding up the air for Changeling to sort through correctly.

"No?" its mother repeats, dragging its attention unhappily back to their dialogue. "Why no?"

Changeling rocks forward, bending with the movement a little, and groans deep inside of its throat until the noise shifts up into a snarl in its sinuses. There are too many things; it cannot pull the complete thought together in the right way. "New-, she-," it chokes, and stomps its hindpaw in frustration. "She has a new job. She leaves after her dad does. She will not have her car. She eats lunch in her car," it spits finally, rapidfire, gritting the words out as quickly as it can. "New-, too many new problems. He leaves before her in the morning. She will not be able to go to work. She will be upset. She should stay here."

It shifts restlessly on its feet. Its sinuses are beginning to ache. There are too many things being held in its head at once. It had changed its mind to deviation in routine and the tracks are difficult to pull back now that the situation has changed a second time. Sometimes Changeling kicks things when it has meltdowns — what if Augustus accidentally kicks the table and knocks down her glasses? It regrets not keeping them close by.

It cannot go anywhere until its mother decides whether she will listen to it or ignore its advice.

If Augustus has to leave her car here, it will likely make the meltdown worse. The rain is already one thing too many.

"I will let her dad know that's an option," mom settles on. Changeling swallows back the impulse to snarl.

"Augustus' dad believes we are both boys," it makes itself say instead, remembering what is most important. Augustus has not said why this is important, but she never lies about anything, so Changeling knows it is vital. "He does not know Augustus is a girl," it emphasizes. "You cannot tell him." 

It attempts to make its voice as serious as possible when it says this. It is important. More important than the car or her work schedule.

For a moment, its mother only stares, making a face the Changeling is unable to identify in any useful capacity, and then she nods. "Alright," she says. "I understand; I won't tell him."

The Changeling nods, abruptly bereft of words to continue. It has said everything it can think to address anyway. Whether its mother will listen to its first insistence is as of yet to be determined, but Changeling lacks both the skill and capacity to press or argue any further. Instead, it takes the break in conversation as tacit permission to hurry back to the entryway, collecting Augustus' glasses from the table and holding them carefully in its paws as it sits against the wall. It ensures it is close enough to be noticed, but not enough to broach Augustus' personal space.

It is difficult for the Changeling to ascertain, but it seems as though some of Augustus' distress has reduced. She is no longer crying as loudly, although Changeling can still hear her sniffling under the towel, and she has stilled aside from the rhythmic rub of her face against the towel's terrycloth. She has discarded the original, sodden one in favor of a new towel from the pile it had left for her. That is all very good, it thinks.

Changeling does not speak, but begins to consider all of their options in its head. If Augustus' father listens to reason and allows her to spend the night, then the living room will be the best place for them to retire. Its own room is better in most regards, but it does not have a place for Augustus to sleep, there — not unless they share the bed, which Changeling has never done before. The couches are better in this circumstance, despite the rest of it.

So, they will move to the living room, and Changeling can close the curtains to block out most of the lightning, and if the TV is not enough to distract from the noise of the thunder, then Augustus can borrow its ear defenders as a buff. Regarding what to watch, since Augustus is dealing with a significantly larger disruption in routine, the Changeling will allow her to choose the show they watch. Although they have watched some Yu-Gi-Oh! and Bakugan together in the past, Augustus has spoken often of different Sonic shows she has wanted to show it, so perhaps that would be a safe suggestion.

So, then, once Augustus has calmed down enough, they will move to the living room couch, and Changeling will close the curtains, and turn on the TV, and retrieve its ear defenders just in case.

"Augustus," its mom's voice says, disrupting the flow of its thoughts.

Changeling tenses in uncomfortable anticipation. "I called your dad to let him know what happened. Spencer said it might be better if you slept here so that you wouldn't have to worry about your car tomorrow, and your dad agreed that was okay. He also said that if you change your mind, you just have to text him, and he'll come get you tonight, and you can figure out your work schedule tomorrow instead. It's up to you. I'm going to give your phone to Spencer, alright?"

She gives Augustus a wide berth as she moves to hand Changeling the phone, so Changeling swallows back the warning bark that had been building in its chest. "I know you have some clothes that should fit her," its mom tells it directly as it is putting the phone in its cargo pocket so that it can continue safely holding her glasses. "But if you have trouble finding something specific, let me know."

That is an important addendum to its plan, it allows. New step one: they will go to its room so that Augustus can change out of her wet clothes, and then the rest of it can file in afterwards. It nods obligingly for its mother's sake, and wishes she would go away. The planning is helping, but there is an odd buzzing ache behind its back teeth and it is feeling abruptly annoyed by it all. It does not want any additional barriers between itself and its plan that is waiting to be executed. Just as she is finally walking back to her own room, however, the buzz reaches around the Changeling's sinuses and settles firmly in front of its eyes.

Oh, it thinks unhappily, and hurriedly hooks the arm of Augustus' glasses onto the collar of its shirt, just in case its hands tense or jerk unexpectedly. Changeling's muscles lock up around it before it can bring its arm back down into its lap. Bad timing. Nausea slams into it like a metaphorical wall, and it feels its eyes blink compulsively against the swell of it. The buzz coalesces into a wave, spreading out from its eyes and crawling all over its face and body. It wants to wipe the sensation away but cannot. It wants to lay down but cannot do that either. It wants to snarl in anger, but the emotion does not come together correctly underneath the suffocating malaise.

"Damn," Augustus says eventually, voice rough and muffled. Changeling becomes aware of the slackened corner of its mouth when it feels saliva begin to gather there, but its irritation is hindered by the incessant buzz and unsettled confusion. "Damn. That was-, was really embarrassing." 

Distantly, the Changeling is annoyed it cannot tell her she has no reason to feel ashamed. Mostly it is preoccupied with the increasing flush of its skin. Its face is hot; its face is hot, and it is annoying. The tingling sensation crawling all over the Changeling's face reaches an unbearable peak, and then snaps. It breathes in sharply, pulling the saliva back in over its tongue. It moves its body deliberately, testing the push and pull of its muscles. It had worn a watch in high school, but had stopped at some point. Likely, the event lasted a minute, perhaps less, which is acceptable. 

"Why," it says, which it did not mean to. The Changeling shakes itself off, cautious of rattling its head around too badly. "No," it interrupts before Augustus has a chance to respond. "You should not feel embarrassed."

"I really was going to leave," Augustus mumbles, looking doggedly down at the ground even as her neck tics pull her head upwards and to the side. The Changeling wonders if she is feeling as fatigued as it abruptly does. "I'm not, I don't get so scared when I'm inside of places, but in the car, it's — you can't see, and it gets loud. And if you drive into a puddle, like if it's deep-, a deep puddle, if you drive into it wrong then the engine could break. Or, even if you do it all, all right, then someone else might still hit you with their car cause they can't see." She sniffs, blinking hard. "I was go-, I was going to reverse. But then it, the rain started to pour, and it was very loud, and I couldn't see." 

The Changeling has never sat in the driver's seat of a car in its whole life; it does not really envy Augustus this particular freedom.

"Embarrassing," Augustus reiterates to herself, the R's in her voice softened down to W's more intensely than Changeling has heard in a while. "I'm-, I'm almost thirty and I'm still-, still scared of thunderstorms."

"You are barely 29," the Changeling argues, clipped, although perhaps it should be attempting more reassurance instead of this. It has never been particularly good at comforting others, however; it is mostly just good at arguing. Its face twitches in annoyance, but it does not walk the words back or attempt to scrounge up ones that would be theoretically 'better'.

Augustus slants her eyes over at it. "I round up," she asserts, stubborn. And then, "My shirt is really wet." 

The Changeling has never been very good at having comforting words. What it does have is dry clothes. "There are several extra large shirts in my room," it tells her. It does not get up yet. "Then we can move blankets to the living room couch." It turns the order of operations it had come up with over in its head, trying to think through the headache beginning to fog up its brain.

"And then we can watch Sonic," it adds belatedly, as Augustus tilts her head and looks at it, teeth chewing into her tongue. "I have your glasses. They did not break."

She sniffs. "Yeah, okay."

So Changeling rises up to its feet, blinking heavily through the dizziness that rises with it. It blinks its eyes deliberately to clear them, assures itself this is postictal, and settles itself more firmly onto its feet in order to lead Augustus back down the hall into its room. 

"Thank you for asking your mom to let me stay the night," Augustus says as Changeling sorts through its shirts for one of the larger ones that will be able to fit her. It does not have any pants in her size, but it will get her a blanket off its bed so she can cover up and that will be good enough. Perhaps she should bring a few outfits to keep at Changeling's house should this ever occur again. "It's-, it would be, I'm-," she pauses, and sighs, and tries again. "I did not want to have to figure out how I would have gotten my car home," she says, each word stilted and precise.

Changeling has the vague notion that it should reply as it hands her the shirt, but does not get a chance to discover what this response might be before Augustus is already stripping off her wet clothes, shaking the lingering dampness off of her skin in unsettled discomfort. Abruptly, the Changeling becomes aware of the fact that it is staring at her — at the curve of her stomach, the way it paunches out over the waistband of her underwear and jiggles as she moves, and the dark thatch of hair there that creeps up towards her chest.

"I had a seizure," it hears itself blurt out instead, deliberately dragging its gaze away from her, up into the far corner of its ceiling. Its face feels hot; it tries to determine if there are any other auras in its vision again. When it was younger, one seizure usually meant several, but they are significantly less frequent these days. It decides its stomach feels off, but not in an oncoming seizure way. "Earlier in the hall. I may have another. If I become non-responsive, that is likely why." 

"'kay," Augustus says, muffled through the new shirt as she pulls it over her head, lifting her hair away from the collar as soon as it is on and shaking her head awkwardly through a tic. "Do you need, should you tell your mom about it?" 

It had forgotten. It stoops down to retrieve its phone to text her: 'Focal aware. Less than a minute. Roughly.' There is a dedicated folder in its AAC app to make this process easier even when the postictal symptoms are at their worst. When it looks up again, Augustus is still fumbling with her hair, squeezing water out of its length with the towel she'd brought into the room with her. Watching, Changeling realizes it does not have anything to offer her to help her with it — no brushes or rubber bands. Annoying. 

(When it was a puppy, it had owned a doll with long black hair. In its head, Changeling had called it Rita, although everyone else had called it Mary because it could not tell them its real name. Eventually, the doll was lost when Changeling had attempted to make it better resemble its namesake by driving a nail through its forehead, unable to understand how this would shatter the porcelain. Before that, however, the Changeling had enjoyed braiding its hair. The thought feels like too much in its head. Does it even recall how to do it? It swallows the image down like a metaphorical hot coal instead of allowing it to pass over its tongue.)

"Can we really watch Sonic?" Augustus asks, head twitching to the side.

Changeling hands her a blanket from its bed so that she can wrap it around her waist. "Yes," it replies, pulling itself back up off the floor again — the dizziness is not quite as bad now. "You have mentioned it before, and tonight is difficult. I do not mind trying new things. We can sleep on the couch," it adds, gathering a few additional blankets to bring with them. When another peal of thunder rumbles out overhead, it remembers to add its ear defenders to its pile.

"I've never had a sleepover before," Augustus confesses softly, leaning in over its shoulder, as if this thought is a secret.

The Changeling blinks. It had not quite put together these pieces in its head the right way before, it realizes. That is the correct term; Augustus is spending the night at its house, which is the definition of having a sleepover.

"Me neither," it says distantly. It feels something about this revelation, it is certain, but cannot decipher what it could be. Simply feels it, lurking in the hollow spaces of its rib cage. It wraps the blanket around its shoulder and attempts to peel it apart. 

Meanwhile, Augustus settles herself on one side of the sectional, and the Changeling moves to occupy the opposite edge, curling its legs up onto the cushion. The feeling is something warm, it decides, watching as Augustus takes the remote to pull up the show she wants to watch. Generally speaking, it is worse at deciphering the specifics of positive emotions in comparison to negative ones. The feeling is warm, soft around the edges, but Changeling cannot determine the specifics any more clearly than that. 

Whatever, it thinks, watching the show begin to unfold. Exhaustion settles inside of its head, but Changeling finds no desire to sleep. Not yet, at least. Its first sleepover has only just begun, and it is its understanding that going to bed on time is not a typical part of the process. It rolls its head back against the couch, closing its eyes against the faint ache building up between its eyebrows; this is different from going to sleep, which it is not doing. 

"I'm waiting," Augustus chirps under her breath, matching the pitch and cadence of the Sonic character on screen exactly as he says it. It is, Changeling thinks, unfortunately endearing.

Above them both, the thunder rumbles on.