#autistic taylor and autistic hermie so real ♡

[cookies-over-yonder]

Fun and Games

CO-WRITTEN BY @silverlistenstothings

Taylor takes Hermie to the arcade! ... Things don't go as planned.

Part 15 of The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Roommates

ao3

When Taylor insists on going to the arcade, Hermie reluctantly agrees. They’re really not that interested in doing anything that involves being around people other than Taylor and maybe the rest of the Leading Cast—not that they showed any interest in being around them, though they suppose that’s only fair—but Taylor is incredibly enthusiastic about some newly imported game cabinets straight from Japan and Hermie is, at their core, a pushover. They arrive soon after it opens, with Taylor’s hand wrapped around Hermie’s as he eagerly leads them inside. 

“Do you know where you’re going?” Hermie asks, skeptically glancing around the arcade. It already smells sticky-sweet and sweaty, the air stiff and just barely cooler than it is outside. 

But Taylor is practically bouncing as he leads the way over to a claw machine and presses his face to the glass. 

“Look! Hermie!” Taylor points out a round pink plush bird wearing a green hat, half buried amongst the other plushies. “Bun-chan…”

“Who?” Hermie asks, circling around to the other side of the machine. 

“It’s a plush bird from the UFO Catchers in Yakuza ! It looks just like that!” Taylor says, tapping his claws against the glass. “I need it.” 

“… I assumed, from the title, that that was a game about organized crime?”

“Uh-huh! But it’s also about playing baseball and card games and crane machines!” Taylor explains, before glancing at Hermie and giving them a look. “You should play Kiwami sometime, I think you’d like Majima.”

“… alright,” Hermie says, helpless to dispute it one way or another. “I don’t have any money on me, so you’ll have to get your own token card.”

Taylor gives one last longing look to the plush bird, before trotting off towards the card machine. Hermie remains by the crane game, glaring at the little plush bird. It seems entirely unrepentant in its position. 

Taylor returns, pressing a card into Hermie’s hand and pushing them out of the way in one movement.

“I’m gonna get that bird,” Taylor vows, sliding his own card into the reader. 

Hermie looks down at the card in their hand, quietly baffled. The bright logo of the arcade shines up at them. 

“You didn’t need to—“ Hermie starts, and their voice comes out sounding so pathetic that they give up on the sentence altogether. “You know these things are rigged, right?”

“Not to me! I’m great at crane games!” The machine beeps, and Taylor maneuvers the claw over the bird. 

Hermie circles over to the other side, where they can see that the positioning is way off from this angle. Before they can say anything—not that they were planning on saying anything anyways—Taylor slaps the button and the claw descends. It pokes uselessly at the top of the next plush over, before it moves over to deposit a whole lot of nothing in the prize slot. 

Hermie claps mockingly. Taylor glares at them. 

“You have a go if you’re so good at it!”

“I’m not,” Hermie says, though they circle around the machine to take over the joystick anyways. “Nobody is, that’s the whole point.”

They move the claw over top of the bird, checking from all angles and carefully nudging it into place, before reluctantly tapping the button to descend. The claw lowers around the bird, wrapping around the little green hat and tipping the plush to the side, before ascending with nothing to show for it. Taylor gasps.

“Told you it was rigged,” Hermie hisses, glaring at the claw as it deposits its empty bounty into the receptacle. 

“But you were so close! Try again!” 

“I’m not going to get any closer,” Hermie scoffs, even as they position the claw for another try.

And then another. And then another, and another, and another, swiping their card again and again and hissing at anyone who tries to form a line behind them. They will get that stupid bird. It’s a matter of pride. It, of course, had nothing to do with the way Taylor’s eyes lit up when he first saw it. 

Speaking of Taylor, he’d wandered off at some point to play any number of games that were better than this one. If he’d told Hermie where he was going in the first place, it’s long since been forgotten, because Hermie is incredibly focused on this damn crane game. Nothing else matters. 

Hermie isn’t sure how long they’ve spent nudging the joystick and slamming a fist against the button before the claw finally closes around the body of the bird and holds firm all the way until it drops it into the receptacle. Nearly in disbelief, Hermie scrambles to retrieve their prize. 

“Fucking finally!” Hermie shouts, lifting the bird above their head. 

Their exclamation earns a few disapproving looks from the surrounding parents, because there’s a lot of parents, and a lot of kids, and a lot of people. Taylor was right to get here before it got crowded, because it’s crowded now and it sucks. 

Hermie holds the bird to their chest as they suck in a sharp breath. The sweet-and-sweat scent of the air has only gotten stronger and it’s nauseating now that they’ve noticed it. It’s also fucking loud , people yelling to be heard over the noise of the arcade cabinets. Lights flash and people move around, an endless blur of sights and sounds. It’s not so crowded that it would be hard for Hermie to move, but they will risk running into people, and the very thought of touching anyone, especially a stranger, makes their skin prickle. 

They check their reflection in the glass of the claw machine to ensure that it’s not literally prickling. The shade of the left side of their face is midway between that of their scars and their unblemished skin. Something bulges beneath the skin just before their hairline. 

They tap the horn back into place with the heel of their hand, harder and harder until it sticks, then a few more times for good measure. It’s hot in the arcade but suddenly they're wearing a hoodie anyways, pockets to hide their claws in and sleeves to cover their arms. It’s so fucking hot but it’s better than anyone noticing just how much of a freak they are, and it’s better than letting their bare skin touch another person’s.

Hermie throws the hood up over their head, and glances longingly at the door.

They could leave. They couldn’t get home on their own, obviously, but they could leave, just until they calm down, just until the arcade clears out a bit.

They hold the plush bird closer to their chest, take a deep breath, and delve deeper into the arcade. They need to find Taylor. They don’t give a shit what he’s doing, they just need to get out of here before Hermie kills someone. 

Their legs hurt, now that they’re forcing them to move. Their shapeshifting had returned their ability to bend half the joints below the hip after they were sealed in place by scar tissue, but they seemed to have locked back up. It happens sometimes, but they sure wish it wouldn’t happen now. 

They limp through the arcade, hissing and snapping their teeth at anyone who bumps into them. None of them notice, none of them move out of the way, and each time Hermie brushes up against another person they feel their scarred skin writhe , trying to create an additional barrier between them and the rest of the world. 

They pass the food court with no sign of Taylor. The overwhelming scent of grease and sugar makes them sick, a nausea that follows them even once they leave the scent behind. Their tail coils tightly around their leg, hidden beneath their pants. They’re glad they ditched the sweatpants in favor of something lighter, but it’s still so fucking hot. They shouldn’t be able to feel the sweat collecting along the back of their legs through all the scar tissue, but they swear that they can . 

God, they wish they were dead. 

Everything is so loud, but they can hear their wheezing breaths and the pounding of their heart over it all. They’re sure everyone around them can hear it too, can hear just how pathetic they are. 

They’re staring. Nobody ever pays attention to Hermie until they don’t want them to. Everyone is staring. Of course they are, they’re disgusting. 

They run a hand down their face. They feel the way the left side of it shifts beneath the pressure. The sensation makes them gag, and they snap their mouth shut against it. Their fangs catch on their lower lip and they bite down until they taste blood. They had hoped that the pain and familiar taste would give them something to focus on, but it’s just another sickening addition to the sensory onslaught they’re already subjecting themself to. 

God, they’re gonna fucking kill Taylor when they find him—

As soon as the thought crosses their mind, their eye catches on the familiar colors of Taylor’s cane. It’s laid across the floor between two arcade cabinets, and Hermie feels their stomach drop before they stumble a step closer and their eye lands on the tip of Taylor’s shoe, peeking out from between the cabinets. 

They take a deep breath to prepare to voice the rant they’ve been writing in their head, but the words die on their tongue the moment they see Taylor in his entirety. 

He’s pressed against the wall in the narrow space between two arcade cabinets, entirely ignored by the people around them. His knees are curled up to his chest with his head buried in them, hands pressed over his ears. His breathing is sharp and shallow, and he’s shaking badly. 

Oh. 

Alright, Taylor’s off the hook this time.

Fuck.

Okay.

Hermie kneels down to match his height.

"Taylor, hey," they say, in a voice soft but hopefully loud enough for him to hear it over all the other various overstimulating sounds.

"Mmmnnn," is all Taylor replies with, a mix between a groan and a whine.

"Taylor, come with me, it's quieter outside."

Another whine.

It's at this moment that Hermie remembers that Taylor likes touch when he's panicking. But this is sensory overload… so it would make the most sense for him to be averse to it, no?

Well, he's barely responsive right now, and despite every fibre of Hermie's being telling them to not, not, not touch anyone right now, the state Taylor's in and the opportunity to do something about it is all overpowering.

Hermie puts a hand on Taylor's… head. It's hot and his hair is so sweaty and oh, god, touch makes Hermie feel sick to their stomach, but this is Taylor .

Somehow, it kind of works? Taylor is lifting his head, opening his eyes, and looking at Hermie, and Hermie is moving Taylor's hair out of his eyes, and his forehead is so sweaty and gross—

And Taylor has clearly been crying. There's a fresh set of tears in his eyes. And he's still covering his ears. And he's squinting, which makes sense, because everything in this place is too fucking bright.

"Taylor, can you come outside with me?"

Taylor's head tilts in the smallest, tiniest fraction of a nod. Hermie pulls their hand away from Taylor's hair in favour of passing him his cane.

Taylor hesitates, but then he slowly pulls one hand away from his ear—wincing at the noise—to grab it. Then he pulls the other hand away, just as slowly, and puts it flat on the ground in an attempt to lift himself up. He's shaking from head to toe, so Hermie isn't surprised when that doesn't work, and he crumples back to the ground.

And starts sobbing.

"Okay, here, take my hand."

Taylor grabs it, and Hermie pulls him up, keeps a tight grip, and guides them to the exit. Taylor's sobbing the entire time. The sound of it is somehow even more grating than the beeps and shouting children. The sensation of Taylor’s sweaty hand in their own, even more sweaty hand makes their stomach roll, but Hermie is sure that if they release him he’ll crumple back down to the floor. 

The arcade is even more difficult to navigate with Taylor trailing after them. They don’t want to pass the food court again- they’re fairly certain they won’t be able to keep themself from throwing up this time- so they alter their course to avoid it. This, of course, means that they have no idea where they are and how to get out. And they need to get out.

Something touches their shoulder and Hermie jumps. It retreats as they whip around to find the source, which is probably for the best because Hermie was moments away from sinking their teeth into it.

An arcade employee stands behind them, hands held up placatingly. They’re saying something, and their face reads as concerned, but Hermie can’t catch the words. Something about ‘okay’ and ‘brother’ and ‘help’. Objectively, Hermie knows that they probably could help, but they can’t get their mouth to form anything other than a wordless snarl. The employee reaches out again, and Hermie snaps their teeth at their approaching hand. They’re already suffering through Taylor’s touch, they can’t stand a stranger’s. 

The employee pulls away, face dropping from concern to something like fear or disgust, but Hermie has no interest in dissecting the intricacies of their expression. They turn on their heel and continue towards what they believe to be the exit. It feels like an eternity before they finally see sunlight and manage to escape the arcade. 

They expected everything to be better as soon as they got out, but it’s just as loud and bright and stinky outside as it was inside, just in a different way. The sunlight is overwhelmingly bright and the cars rushing by are overwhelmingly loud and the scent of gasoline and hot asphalt is… well, overwhelming. 

There’s no way either of them can get on the bus right now. They need to find someplace quiet to calm down. Hermie’s brain scrambles uselessly for a solution for far too long until they remember the library they passed on the way over.

“Close your eyes,” they tell Taylor, linking their arms together to pull him closer even as the increased contact makes them want to tear their own skin off. “I won’t let you bump into anything.”

“‘s loud,” Taylor sobs, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s an undeserved show of trust given the last time Hermie navigated the Leading Cast blind, but they’re not really in any mood for mischief at the moment. 

“I know it is,” Hermie agrees as softly as they can while still being audible over the sound of cars. “We’re going to the library, it’ll be quiet there.”

“Wanna go home,” Taylor whines, burying his face in Hermie’s shoulder as he clings to them. Hermie tries very hard not to flinch.

"I know," Hermie says, turning them in the direction of the library, walking slowly but with a steady pace so Taylor can follow, and they can get there quickly.

As soon as they enter the sliding doors to the library, Taylor shudders. There's strong air conditioning in here, and they both run hot, so they're bound to get cold faster.

Fucking hell, the library is bright too, and Hermie scans the area before their gaze finally lands on a spot in a corner where the light doesn't quite hit it. Hermie starts toward it, guiding Taylor along.

The library is nowhere near as crowded as the arcade was, but there are still a few looks shot their way. Hermie's glares seem to make them avert their gazes, and whether or not it has anything to do with their figure becoming less uniform and more grotesque is the least of their worries right now.

After what feels like an eternity, they reach the darkest corner in the library.

"Taylor, let's sit down, okay?"

"Okay," he mumbles, opening his eyes the tiniest bit to see where he's going, and then he crumbles against the ground, leaning his back against a bookshelf and drawing his knees up to his chest once more.

He's breathing fast, and breathing loudly, and then it's muffled by a hand in his mouth that he's biting, and he's definitely piercing the skin with his fangs, but Hermie would be a hypocrite to make him stop that.

Hermie sits across from him, holding their hands up, but not quite sure what to do.

And then he says something, but it's muffled by his hand, and Hermie has no idea what it is.

"What's that?"

Taylor seems to realize this, and pulls his hand out of his mouth in favour of burying his head in it, covering his eyes. "It—it… loud."

It's significantly quieter in here than outside, though Hermie can hear the low chatter of people scattered about, and the AC running, and yeah, it is a little loud.

"Okay, I'm going to cover your ears," Hermie says, and when Taylor nods, they bring their hands around to cup his ears.

Hermie feels the shift as their hands morph to close the little gaps left after they cup Taylor's ears, and they get a little thicker. The odd sensation of their hands shifting does nothing to ease the nausea still roiling in Hermie’s gut, nor does it protect them from the unpleasant prickle of contact. 

While he's still very much panicking, Taylor seems to loosen up ever so slightly, and it reassures Hermie that their somewhat noise-isolating hands are helping a bit. They can suffer through.

As they fight to get their own breathing under control, they reflect on the day’s events and try to determine where it all went wrong. Getting out of bed was probably their first mistake, followed by agreeing to go to the arcade. They probably shouldn’t have let themself get quite so enraptured by the crane game either, so they could have noticed their own signs of overstimulation, found Taylor, and left before things got this bad. But then, Taylor should have done the same.

… but who's to say he hadn’t? If they hadn’t noticed how overwhelmingly crowded and bright and loud the arcade was in the depths of their hyperfocus, who’s to say they would have noticed Taylor? Had Taylor come to them and asked to leave, only for Hermie to brush him off? He didn’t seem like the type to give up that easily, but what if he was already shaken and struggling at that point, enough that he couldn’t force Hermie to focus on him? It was easy to blame Taylor for bringing them here in the first place, but this all could very well have been Hermie’s fault. 

The familiar weight of guilt settles in Hermie’s chest. Even if Taylor hadn’t come to them, they still could have— should have prevented this. The realization has their eye stinging, but they can’t break down, not when Taylor’s busy doing it already. It’s fine. They can—and will—beat themself up over it later. For now, they can perform their greatest role yet: a pair of noise-canceling headphones that can touch people without wanting to remove their flesh from their body. Not that most noise canceling headphones have flesh, an attribute Hermie very much envies at the moment. 

… they wonder if they could shapeshift their flesh away entirely. Now probably isn’t a great time to test that out, though. They put the thought out of their mind before their body can get any ideas. 

They’re not sure how long it takes, but eventually Taylor’s shoulders stop hitching with muffled sobs and hiccups, and his breathing starts making an attempt at evening out. Hermie still isn’t sure if they’re allowed to move away yet, but Taylor’s hands slowly begin to lower from his eyes, and that’s probably a good sign.

Hermie looks away from Taylor to scan the area once more, and they spot an array of headphones on a rack nearby.

Slowly, Hermie pulls their hands away from Taylor's ears, feeling the instant relief of no contact at the expense of Taylor's exposure to the noise.

Another pang of guilt.

They slip their hand into their pocket and pull out the plush they won earlier—something once so rewarding, and now so, so insignificant compared to every horrible thing that obtaining it has caused.

Taylor's hands are further away from his face now, and he's lifted his head up slightly. His eyes are still closed, but when Hermie places the plush in his hands, they open.

He looks at it with a half-lidded gaze, says nothing, and holds it tighter.

"I'll be back in a second."

Taylor nods, still not tearing his eyes away from the plush.

Hermie grabs the headphones as swiftly as possible, returns to their spot kneeling in front of Taylor, and slides them on his head.

Taylor lets out a little sigh, and closes his eyes again. That thought in the back of Hermie's mind creeps up again: the thought that Taylor trusts them enough to give up his sense of sight. It’s so entirely undeserved that it makes them sick. 

But it’s fine. Hermie’s not gonna worry about it right now. With Taylor reasonably comfortable, or at the very least not getting worse, they need to figure out how to get home. The bus still isn’t an option. They really don’t want to call a Lyft, considering it would be on Taylor’s dime and they’d have to interact with a stranger. According to the clock across the library, it’s about an hour past when Ms. Swift said she’d be home, so that’s… an option. It’s not one they like, at all, but it is an option.

They hate asking Ms. Swift for anything. It calls to mind all the times their adoptive parents refused, all the times Hermie had asked, then pleaded for them to go to his performances, to come and see the one thing he’s good at, only for them to sneer and turn up their nose. Besides, they know they don’t have any right to. She’s given them too much already.

But this is for Taylor, not for them. Hermie could suffer through the long bus ride back to the house, but Taylor probably couldn’t without another meltdown. They can call Ms. Swift if it’s for Taylor’s sake. 

They stare at her name in their contact list for far too long. She gave it to them when they first moved in, and it has since gone entirely untouched. They’re pretty sure she has their own number registered as well, which means their stupid fucking name would show up on her phone if they called.  

She’d probably ignore it, if she knew it was them. Luckily, they know what pocket Taylor keeps his phone in, and they can grab it from him easily enough. He doesn’t even notice, distracted as he is by… everything else that’s going on. 

They know his passcode, no shapeshifting for the sake of Face ID required, which is probably for the best considering they still don’t feel like they’re entirely in control of that part of themself. 

Most of the recent calls are to his mom, so it’s easy for Hermie to find her number. They don’t let themself think about it for too long before dialing and bringing the phone up to their ear. 

“ Hey honey !” Ms. Swift answers after the second ring. “ You at the arcade with Hermie ?”

Hermie swallows, and then in their best approximation of Taylor’s voice, “um, we’re at the library now, actually. It got kinda… loud and overwhelming at the arcade, so we’re hiding out here until… I was wondering if you could pick me up?”

“ Yeah, of course, baby ,” Ms. Swift says immediately, voice going soft. “ Is Hermie with you ?”

“Mmhmm.”

“ He’s okay ?”

What? What ?

“Uh—yeah, yeah he’s fine.”

“ Alright, you two stick together alright? I’ll be there in fifteen. ”

Oh. That makes sense. She just wanted to make sure Hermie was there to look after him. Why she trusts them to do so is a mystery, but it makes more sense then her being worried about them .

“Okay. Thanks Mom,” they say, glancing at Taylor. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be paying attention to them at all. 

“Of course. See you soon. I love you .”

“… Love you too.” 

Ms. Swift hangs up. Hermie breathes out a sigh of relief, and slips Taylor’s phone into their pocket. They slide to the floor beside him, and Taylor immediately leans into their shoulder. Hermie just barely manages not to flinch. It’s a little less sickening than it was at the arcade, but it still makes their skin roll. They wonder if Taylor can feel it through the fabric separating them. If he can, it doesn’t seem to bother him. They can’t force themself to lean back into Taylor the way they usually would, but they tolerate the contact. 

They tap their claws against Taylor’s knee. He slides the headphones off one ear, looking at them.

“Your mom’s coming to pick us up. She’ll be here in fifteen.”

“M’kay. Thanks, Herm.” Taylor mumbles, hugging the plush bird a bit closer to his chest as he cuddles nauseatingly close to Hermie’s side, using Hermie’s shoulder to nudge the headphones back over his ear. 

Hermie continues to bite at their lip. The pain is much more pleasant to focus on than the contact. The coppery taste of blood only makes their nausea worse, but it’s fine. Hermie’s fine. They’ll have to be until Taylor’s safely on the way home. 

They wish they could close their eyes too, but people keep trying to enter Hermie’s little section of the library, so they have to be on guard. Luckily, they’re fairly easily dissuaded by Hermie’s one-eyed glare and, perhaps, Taylor’s pitiful aura. The fact that Hermie’s horns have grown out enough to distort the shape of their hood and that half of their face looks more like hot wax then human skin might also serve as a deterrent. 

Fifteen minutes is a remarkably long time when you and your companion are sitting, overstimulated, in a corner of a library. Hermie tries to spend the time forcing their skin back into human form, but every time they try to focus on shifting their burns into something more regular, they’re forced to acknowledge the weight and warmth of Taylor against them and they end up not making any progress at all. They can’t even force their horns back beneath their skin, and even if Hermie can pull the hood up far enough to hide what they are, they still form a strange shape on top of his head. 

There’s no hiding them. They’ll just have to find a way home that doesn’t involve Ms. Swift. They can take the bus on their own. Sure, it’s about 4 and it’ll be stupid crowded from people trying to get home from school or work, but it’s better than letting Ms. Swift see them like this. They’ve already failed to carry their own weight like they promised, finding out just what her tenant is would surely be the last straw. It’s a miracle that she hasn’t found out so far, but Hermie is a very good actor. Still, even the best have their limits, and this will be theirs.

“Taylor?” Ms. Swift’s voice.

Hermie hunches in on themself, raising their unscarred hand in a feeble wave. They jostle their shoulder to get Taylor’s attention. He perks up immediately upon seeing Ms. Swift, jumping to his feet and stumbling into her arms. She catches him, wrapping her arm around him and peppering kisses onto the top of his head. 

“Hey, baby, hi, let’s get you home, okay?” She runs her hand soothingly through his hair, pushing it back so she can kiss his forehead when he pulls away enough to let her. He moves to her side, clinging to her arm with both hands and burying his head in her side. 

For a moment, Hermie thinks that they’ve been forgotten about entirely, and they’re very glad that they won’t have to explain themself. That hope is immediately dashed when Ms. Swift looks up and meets their eye. She looks startled for a moment, before she schools her expression.

Well. They’ve certainly been caught. 

“I um—“ their voice comes out strained and weak, trembling like they’re about to cry. Fuck. Goddamnit. 

“Can you grab Taylor’s cane for me?”

Hermie’s mouth clicks shut. They nod helplessly, unsure of what else to do, and grab Taylor’s discarded cane. They shakily rise to their feet, and follow Ms. Swift as she leads the way out of the library. Once the entrance is in sight, they stumble to a stop. 

“Ah, um—wait, the headphones—" they gesture over to the rack they snagged them from. 

“I was wondering where those came from,” Ms. Swift muses, pulling Taylor out of her side enough to take the headphones and whisper reassurances all the while. 

Taylor immediately melts back into her side once she’s done, and she offers Hermie the headphones. They return them to their place, and hesitate beside it. Maybe they can still slip away, to avoid the worst of Ms. Swift’s scrutiny. Unfortunately, she remains where they left her, looking at Hermie expectantly. A furrow has formed between her brows, but Hermie can’t read into it before they’re ducking their own head and following like a scolded dog. 

“I—I can take the bus,” Hermie says, worrying their claws over the handle of Taylor’s cane. “I know that I—"

“Hermie,” she says, sharp enough for them to flinch. “You don’t have to do that.” 

“… okay,” Hermie agrees, voice quivering. They’re so pathetic. They should be a better actor than this. 

She leads the way to her car parked illegally outside, one tire run up partially on the curb. Taylor takes shotgun, leaving Hermie to tuck his cane under the seat and crawl into the back. They sit behind Taylor, curling up against the door as soon as their seatbelt is clicked into place. 

Ms. Swift starts the car, turns the music all the way down, and flicks the AC off. There’s the rumble of the car, but beyond that it’s so quiet. It’s almost unnerving after the constant background buzz of everything happening outside. She pulls away from the curb, and Taylor whines as it drops off it—a sentiment Hermie shares, but doesn’t voice. They need to be quiet. They can’t attract attention to themself, not right now. 

Which is what makes the tears building in their eyes so inconvenient. Hermie isn’t great at crying quietly. 

They continue to chew at their lip. The pain just makes them want to cry more. Hermie recognizes the post-adrenaline desire to break down, but they’re not safe yet. They can’t give into it. 

A tear trickles its way down Hermie’s cheek, searing hot and embarrassing . They wipe their face on their inner hood against their shoulder, but it’s followed by another, and another, until their shoulders are hitching with it. They sniffle and struggle fruitlessly to keep their breathing even, teeth grit against any pathetic noises they might make. Their lips aren’t enough to muffle it, so they raise their scarred hand to their mouth and bite. 

They wonder if it’s a demon thing, to bite at your hands like that, considering it’s a trait they share with Taylor. It would make sense as some kind of teething instinct, given that Taylor’s fangs seem to still be growing in, but Hermie’s teeth are probably as big and sharp as they’ll get. At least, they hope they won’t get any sharper, considering the damage they can do now. 

It’s a fair amount of damage. They’ll have a lot of blood to clean up later. They’re not really worried about that now, though. For now, it’s doing a passable job at muffling their sobs while also giving them something to focus on. 

“Hey, Hermie?” Ms. Swift says from the front seat. Hermie flinches hard, releasing their hand and hiding it in their pocket. They quickly wipe the blood from their mouth, before glancing up to meet her eyes in the rearview mirror. She doesn’t meet theirs, eyes still fixed on the road. “It’s okay. This doesn’t change anything, you know that, right?”

How can it not? They’re more hot wax than human at this point, complete with demon horns and animal ears and a stupid fucking tail that looks just like their dad’s. They don’t understand how Ms. Swift can just take that with little more than a raised eyebrow. 

Perhaps she just doesn’t want to show how disgusted she is in front of her son? That would make sense, Taylor is already so stressed out. Surely there’s something worse waiting for them when they get home, once Taylor is tucked away safely in his room. The anticipation is just making their anxiety worse, but their muffled sobs have tapered off into just hiccups and silent tears, and it stays that way for now. 

The Swift household is a comforting sight, despite everything. Hermie knows they’re just an intruder there, but even a mouse makes its home within the walls. 

Ms. Swift pulls into the driveway. Hermie retrieves Taylor’s cane from beneath the seat. They step out of the car on shaky legs, prepared to hand it over, but Ms. Swift beats them to the car door. Hermie shies away, only glancing at her face before ducking their head. 

“Hermie, honey,” Ms. Swift says, reaching to place a hand on Hermie’s shoulder. Hermie manages to fight down a flinch. “It’s fine. You’re okay. Thank you for taking care of Taylor today.”

Oh. That’s not what they expected at all. If they weren’t already so exhausted, they might start sobbing again. It still might be in the cards, actually. 

Ms. Swift gives them her best attempt at a comforting smile, before opening the passenger door for Taylor. 

"Taylor, sweetie, let's go inside," she says, leaning inside, and Hermie hears the clicking of the car buckle.

Taylor whines.

"What is it, baby?"

"Can you carry me?" he mumbles in a tear-laced, wobbly way.

Ms. Swift hesitates. "I can try," she says, and she doesn't sound sure at all. She's adapted to many other activities with only one arm, but Hermie suspects that carrying Taylor isn't one she's practiced.

Taylor throws his arms over her shoulders, and she scoops him up, with her arm wrapped around his back, and her hand reaches under his knees to hold them up.

"Mommy…" he mumbles, burying his head in her shoulder.

"I know, baby, it's okay," she hums, pressing a kiss against the top of his head. 

The familiar feeling of envy rears its ugly head at the sight. 

Why does Taylor get a loving mother and decent father when you get four parents who all hate you ? it growls, but Hermie knows the answer to that. For all the differences between the King of Hell and a trickster deity and two completely average upper-middle-class human doctors, there’s a single common factor, and that’s Hermie. Skill issue , as Normal might say. They’re not entirely sure what they’ve done, but they’re certain it’s their own fault. 

Hermie watches Ms. Swift carry Taylor toward the entrance and notices his breathing pick up again.

"Taylor, honey, breathe," she hushes him, to no avail. In fact, Taylor gets dangerously close to hyperventilation. Again.

Hermie, trailing behind them, notices that Taylor's hands are shaking. It looks like he's grasping for something.

And then Hermie's gaze lands on the plush, left behind to face the elements on the concrete driveway. They’re a bit bitter about how easily their gift was discarded—not that they expected anything different—before they put two and two together. 

They pick it up with their unbloodied hand and catch up to Ms. Swift and Taylor.

"Here," they say with a voice quiet, rough, and most prominent of all, weak .

Ms. Swift turns to face them, and her eyes cross theirs before they land on the plush.

"Taylor, look," she says softly, and he pulls himself away from her chest, and once he spots the plushie, he's reaching for it.

Hermie hands it to him, and once it's safely in his grasp, his breathing starts to slow.

Ms. Swift shoots Hermie a small smile, one that is so incredibly undeserved. 

“Keys are in the front pocket of my purse,” Ms. Swift says, pivoting so the purse resting against her hip faces Hermie. “Could you unlock and open the door for us?”

Hermie nods, a bit too eager to have a task. They carefully unzip the front pocket and fish out the keys, fighting against the urge to root through the bag for anything else. Ms. Swift isn’t even looking at them, still focused on Taylor. They could swipe her wallet, no problem. 

But they don’t. They’d probably be the first suspect anyways. They just take the keys and unlock the door, holding it open for Ms. Swift to enter through. They don’t even do the facetious little bow they usually do when holding the door open for people. That would require an amount of energy that they don’t possess at the moment.

“I’m gonna take Taylor upstairs, but we can talk afterwards. If you want, I mean. Whenever you want. Just know that I don’t care about…” She turns back to tilt her head at them meaningfully. “I’m not gonna kick you out or anything like that.”

Why not , Hermie wants to ask, but it’s a kindness they can’t bring themself to question. Instead, they follow Ms. Swift up the stairs, darting ahead to open Taylor’s room for her, before they duck away and go to their own room. Their legs feel weak the moment they cross the threshold, and they barely have the presence of mind to close the door before they’re stumbling over to their bed and collapsing on it. They feel like they’re in desperate need of a shower, and they definitely should clean up their hand before they make a mess, but they grab a pillow with their unbloodied hand and bring it up over their face instead. 

Finally, they’re free to wail into their sobs, loud and ugly and exhausting. They have a headache that they won’t be able to sleep through without medication, and they really need to wrap their hand before it stains something, but going into the bathroom means getting far too close to Taylor and Ms. Swift, and they can’t risk being heard when they’re finally letting themself sob. 

It feels so stupid to be breaking down over a bit of overstimulation and undeserved kindness after everything they’ve been through, but there’s some comfort in the fact that Taylor’s doing the same on the other side of the bathroom. After everything, it almost feels good to cry over something any other teenager might. 

#angst #hurt/comfort #taylor swift dndads #hermie unworthy #cassandra swift #dndads #dndads au #fic #arcades #the mortifying ordeal of being roommates #cookies writes and cookies wrongs #autistic taylor and autistic hermie so real ♡