#implied ableism

Part one ~ next part (soon maybe)

--

@suncast-moth(I hope it's ok to tag you) YES I forgor Seth, Pac-man (to this canon) canonically will be called Seth now!

Red is Chatter* and Caine

Blue is Bubble and Abel

Pac-man is Yellow and Seth

i wanted us to take a break because we forgot our heart, pain and blood medicine.

i asked our brother whos the main cook on the shift if we could sit down because we were in a lot of pain. i then bought some food so we can regain more energy. our boss did not like that at all. i kept asking our brother if he needed help but he said no its ok take your break

then our boss showed up, and instead of telling us anything he decided to talk about how irresponsible we were being to our brother IN FRONT OF US. he said we cant afford breaks since we barely work three hours a day (because of our disability) and that he shouldn't let us take breaks like that. he said if were not gonna work then we should just leave.

we ended up getting back up without being able to finish our meal and went back despite our pain. i was silently crying so much from it.

when we were clocking out, he pulled us aside telling us how he cant have us doing a half assed job because we barely work and that we have to work better next time.

he also said we "shouldnt just eat free food whenever we wanted" and said we shouldnt have ate because we're stealing from the business??? but we paid for our food?? and told us we should have asked him for permission.

so we ended up leaving work with me sobbing our eyes out because of everything he said to us. we worked this body to exhaustion to keep doing our job. we came in sick, in pain, even when we couldnt stand. and the one time we willingly take a break and suddenly we're just the employee that does a half assed job and risks everybody's job with our behavior??

i always knew they looked down on us for our ability to do our job but i couldnt imagine this. i feel so awful. luckily we went to celebrate our friend's birthday after work so that helped me calm down. i dont want to come back after that. am i overreacting?? am i being reasonable? i dont know but i dont feel safe for us to be there anymore because of our disabilities. if they can't handle us having a break, what will happen if our condition got worse?

"Here," Charles says, stepping between Edwin and the aisle, the lean line of him neatly obscuring the sight of Edwin's hands. "Have at it for a minute, yeah?"

It takes a moment for Edwin to understand, and when he does hit throat immediately constricts with emotion. They have never truly talked about this quirk of Edwin's. Not in the way they perhaps should have, at any rate. It is largely Edwin's fault: for all that he has learned to pursue his interests more openly and unashamedly, there are some areas of his life he has yet to dare confront. Cut and dry is all well and good, but even he can be made to appreciate the value of ambiguity. And so: they haven't talked about it. The way Edwin's fists knead against one another without thought whenever he feels tense, the way he rarely wears less than three layers of clothing if he can help it. The way busy weeks at work make him come home impatient to shed them, the very contact of cloth against his skin so intense as to feel like pain. The way loud noises make him want to stick a pencil in his ears, sometimes.

They haven't talked about it, but Charles took note anyway, and never once expected Edwin to change. Edwin, almost overcome with gratitude, lets out a long, quiet sigh of relief, and leans forward until his forehead can rest against the back of Charles' neck.

"It's no use, you know," he sighs, murmuring to ensure his voice won't be carried out to where his paternal grandmother is slowly walking towards the door. "The minute they see--"

He does not stop himself from pressing his fists together this time. Doesn't try to ignore the tightness of his shoulder, or the beating of his heart--and because he doesn't try to pretend they aren't here, they grow smaller. More manageable, in a way, than they ever were when he was alone. Without quite meaning to, Edwin smiles down at the back of Charles' suit, red in a sea of greys and blues. Here, hidden behind Charles, Edwin knows no one will try to pull his hands apart.

"You don't worry about them," Charles says, quiet but firm. "I won't let them touch you."

Charles once slapped Edwin's father's hands in the middle of dinner at the Ritz, all for the crime of trying to stop Edwin from mashing his fists together. Edwin belives his latest proclamation immediately, and without reservation. Still:

"You cannot fight my entire family," he says, just for the pleasure of hearing Charles put on his cocky voice and retort:

"Just you watch. First one to look a little too close gets whooped on their bum."

Edwin, despite himself, finds himself chuckling, straightening up until he can look at Charles properly. The light from outside lines the edge of his cheek in golden light the hoop in his ear as bright as a halo. He is a flame in the darkness of the church, bright and warm as a fire in the hearth. Edwin, born and raised in the icy cold of a winter lake, can never get enough.

"Surely," he says, "you don't meant Granny Gladys."

"Especially Granny Gladys," Charles retorts. "I'm not gonna turn my back and let her get me with her rollator."

Edwin, with some difficulty, bites down on a burst of laughter. In front of him, Charles turns his head just far enough to flash a wicked grin, sharp and shameless in a way that makes Edwin's stomach expand into the warmest of feelings. Charles must see something in his face then, because he turns serious, hands coming up to frame Edwin's face as he looks into his eyes and says:

"I'm serious you know. If your father tries to slap your hands again, I really will send him down on his arse."

"I believe you", Edwin says, insides turning embarrassingly gooey at the fierceness of Charles' tone.

"Good," Charles says, still frowning in intensity. "There's nothing wrong with you. There's nothing wrong with your hands. I know I haven't been where I should have been--"

"Charles," Edwin interrupts, heart picking up speed with the alacrity of a racing car, "you don't--"

"No, listen to me," Charles insists, hands pulling gently at the sides of Edwin's face until their foreheads touch, "no more hand slaps. No more eye contact. I couldn't be with you these past seven years, and I'm sorry--but I'm here, now, and I don't care what anyone in your family says, as far as I'm concerned, unless you want to, you don't have to look anyone in the eye ever again."