Regressor!Shane Headcanons
Sometimes we find coping mechanisms that work without really having to seek them out, though sometimes we stumble a bit before we do and maybe even have to purposely try to find them. And Shane definitely stumbled—more like he tripped, really—for quite some time. He hadn't even realized how bad his addiction and dependency on alcohol had gotten until the new farmer in town found him drunk at the cliff. Not that he remembers too much from that night, although he comes to the next day with a killer hangover and an appointment with a therapist in Zuzu City. He considers not going, believing that nothing they say or do will wind up helping—after all, nothing he's tried has worked and that's what got him to this point. But apparently Harvey had to pull some strings to get him the appointment so quickly, and his aunt practically forces him into her old pick-up truck to drive him there herself. So he humors them both, not wanting to seem ungrateful and too tired to fight it anymore. One appointment and he'll be done; one appointment and he can go back to the cliff to finish what he started. His last therapist couldn't help him much, and he expects the same song and dance here—only to be surprised, shocked even, when Harvey's old friend seems to get it, get him. She doesn't try to force him to talk, or blatantly analyze him and goad him into responses she thinks are the problem; this therapist actually treats him like a person and not a lost cause. By the end of the first session, he thinks it might be worth coming back.
And come back he does. It takes a few sessions before he feels comfortable enough talking about the situation—why he is here as an emergency case, according to Harvey—and what happened at the cliff. Shane recounts that night the best he can, repeating the same sentiment to his therapist that is one of the few things he remembers telling the farmer: "I'm too small and stupid to take control of my life". The way his therapist starts making a few notes goes passed his notice as he trails off, muttering that it probably won't happen again so he doesn't know why he's even here. When he's said his piece it seems his therapist has decided something, has latched on to the fact that he's expressed he thinks he's too small. Unsurprisingly, they explore those thoughts and feelings for the rest of his time, and by his next appointment she has a suggestion for him: age regression. Carefully explaining that it doesn't make him stupid or a failure, and that feeling small can actually be really good for him. And that she wants him to try leaning into being small instead of drinking the next time he starts feeling lost in his head. It's a lot to take in, but she gives Shane a few pamphlets and tells him that's his homework for the next two weeks. Just to try it at least once and see what happens. He's flipping through the pamphlets on the way back to the truck, catching sight of Marnie and Jas waiting for him; he tried telling her that he can catch the bus, but she insisted on taking him every time and even made excuses of them taking Jas to an ice-cream parlor while they were in Zuzu. When they have the family-sized sundae brought to the table he notices for the first time how his aunt not only tucks a napkin into Jas' shirt, but also reaches over to gently tuck one into his as well—something she's always done, but for once something that he realizes is her showing she cares about him.
The pamphlets sit in his back pocket heavily the entire way home, the same heaviness resting at the back of his mind. Would it help? His therapist seemed to think so. But it seemed so...stupid. As if drinking his troubles away wasn't. At least this wouldn't burn his wallet—he could try this. Over the next few days Shane finds himself getting lost in thought whenever he's picking up Jas' room (the cleaning routine being another suggestion that's part of his ongoing homework), dolls being held for far longer than necessary before he remembers to put them in her toybox. After one such time he finds himself crawling around Marnie's attic, knowing she hangs on to everything and, lo and behold, finds the toybox that used to belong to him. Because of course she kept it, covered in dust as it is. It opens with a creak, and a small part of him thinks he'll get caught—but that doesn't stop him from pulling out his childhood bear and hugging it close. The stuffing smells a little musty like the wood of the toybox it was stored in, but underlying that is the familiar smell that brings to mind safer nights when he was allowed to feel scared and tuck himself up to his aunt's side for comfort. Shane doesn't realize he's crying, only clutches the toy and doesn't try to box away his feelings for once. Telling his teddy that he's so sorry (and for what, he doesn't even know, in the moment he only knows that he is), that he won't do it again.
Shane doesn't get caught in the attic, and though that all-encompassing small feeling only lasted for about a half-hour he still takes Baby Bear (because that's his name, Shane remembers!) out of the toybox and down to his room where he rests on his bed, carefully hidden under his pillows until it's bedtime. Because by bedtime he lets himself take out the toy again and snuggle with it, finds that when the urge to cry comes back that he's soothing himself by pressing a thumb into his mouth as if it were the most natural thing in the world and not a habit he had given up by the time he was five (or maybe eight, if he was being honest). And by the time morning comes he feels okay. Lighter, even. And most notably there's no pounding in his head or pain behind his eyes. Maybe this whole regression thing could work after all. Although he had thought his...regression age? was that the term? would be older. When he brings all of this up with his therapist she seems genuinely happy and supportive, something that makes the small space being carved out in the back of his mind swell with something akin to a sweet softness. Like cotton candy. But she says the cotton candy is a good thing and not to worry about it, and to keep doing what he's doing whenever he finds it helpful. He winds up leaving the session teetering on the edge of regression, much more eager and excited to go get ice-cream than he usually would be. It's been a long time since he was excited over something so trivial. But the ice-cream is sweet, and Shane doesn't even get mad when his aunt wants to wipe away the sticky trail at the corner of his mouth.
Slowly but surely more of his childhood toys find their way out of the toybox and into his room until eventually the chest itself has to be brought down from the attic and tucked away safely in his closet instead. It's an interesting process of learning how to play again, but once he loses himself in it he starts to have a lot of fun. Finding joy in the simple act of playing starts to bleed over into his big time as well, when the little things gradually start to make him feel something close to happy again. Not to mention it provides him with some much needed routine—after his shift at JojaMart he comes home for dinner, and after helping with the washing up he retreats to his room for some small time. However after a particularly rough day that new routine is abandoned and he goes straight to his room, wanting nothing more than to forget things for awhile, to be little. Which inevitably leads to a concerned Marnie walking in on Shane, who is the middle of a tea party with some of his toys. It takes some time before he notices that she's there, and when he does he certainly doesn't expect the soft look on her face. For the first time in years he actually calls her mama, whines and hiccups that it isn't what it looks like...but all of that is pushed aside as she comes to sit on the bed next to him, and ask if Baby Bear needs his graham crackers and cheese for the tea party. Because of course his aunt remembers the snacks he always said were for his teddy. And all he can do is nod, blushing as she brushes away his embarrassed tears and kisses the crown of his head before leaving. Shane doesn't know why she played along, but he does find himself pushing the pamphlets about age regression that he did have shoved in the back of his dresser drawer underneath her door later that night.
Crumpled as they are, Marnie reads through the pamphlets. She had a general idea about what was going on, though she didn't have the correct terminology to put with it—in the moment all she knew was that her nephew was happy and smiling while he was playing so innocently, so it must be a good thing. And judging from the pamphlets, it's something his therapist recommended too. The fact that he had slipped up and called her mama—something he hadn't done since he was very, very young before someone had corrected him—only added to her pre-existing want to be there for him, just as she had been the first time. If he would allow it, of course. Shane knew a talk was coming even before he gave her the pamphlets; Marnie had always stressed the importance of talking things over, especially if feelings were involved. And Shane had shown plenty of feelings, way more than he has been since returning home a few months ago. The talk is about as awkward as anticipated, but Shane tries to remain open and not shut her out out of fear of rejection. Though he gets the exact opposite. Marnie tells him that if regression is something that helps him, then she will support him in any way that he's comfortable with—including acting as his cg. She's already done it once, and she's more than willing to do it again. It doesn't matter how many years have passed, if he needs to be her little butterbean for awhile then that's more than okay! And as the awkwardness and embarrassment fade from Shane's mind, he realizes that he would like that a lot, actually.
It's a whole lot easier to let Marnie in on his regression than he imagined it would be. The process of letting her in is gradual, as is building up the courage to leave his room when he's feeling small. But Marnie is patient and goes at the pace Shane sets, never forcing him out of his comfort zone but always providing encouragement wherever she can. Perhaps somewhat expectedly, once Shane gets accustomed to having someone around while he is regressed they both slot back into old habits. Habits like her teaching him about the farm animals and how to care for them, especially the sheep since they only had chickens and cows when he was a kid. Although they form a few new habits too! Like how she brings him a sippy cup of warm vanilla milk to take his antidepressants and insomnia medicine with at bedtime, or how (depending on the day of the week and if he's feeling small) she'll help him with his t-shot, carefully placing a band-aid patterned with farm animals over the spot where the needle pricked his thigh (his favorite, naturally, being the ones with little chickens on them). Some things might have changed, but for a little while at least Shane can take comfort in knowing that her care for him hasn't.
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