Work Text:
He’d already had a difficult morning. The coffeemaker was broken, so he’d had to resort to the (significantly worse tasting and fundamentally Wrong) green room coffee. He hadn’t gotten more than three hours of sleep in the past 52 hours (yes that’s oddly specific, shut up), and his eyes were starting to play tricks on him. His hands were shaking slightly, and he’d felt almost nauseous for hours in spite of the fact that he’d already eaten. And he’d still had to go to work and be Mike. Truly, TV world was a cruel and unjust place.
Pluey had warned him and Jongler that today was looking difficult when they came back from their shift. Apparently there was a whole host of technical difficulties plaguing the set, but it wasn’t enough for Tenna to cancel filming. Jongler had reported much the same when they came back from their shift several hours later, which hadn’t filled Battat with confidence. Still, he’d gone in, because what else could he do? Have Mike mysteriously disappear at the tail end of a difficult day? Tenna would be so upset, it would take days to get him back to normal. And he wasn’t even sick, he didn’t have an excuse.
He’d tried to keep his energy relatively low-key, partly to match with what he assumed Jongler’d been like as they left, partly so he didn’t get lynched by the already pissed-off crew. Props were getting lost, cues missed, scripts destroyed, one of the stage lights had shattered at some point earlier and lighting was still trying to find a replacement, the list went on. Lanino and Elnina were fighting again, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, but people were starting to choose sides. That wasn’t good. And through it all, Tenna was apparently oblivious, carrying on as if there were no problems whatsoever. It would have seemed forced, except for all his acting chops onstage, Tenna was really terrible at hiding his emotions.
Needless to say, Battat found himself rapidly approaching his limit. He was trying not to yell at people, because Mike was much more chill and laid-back than he was, but he was about to lose it. It didn’t help that Mike didn’t stim much, especially not when upset, so Battat couldn’t even vent his frustrations that way. (Battat’s Mike didn’t stim much. Pluey’s and Jongler’s Mikes stimmed frequently, but not in ways that Battat liked, or would be helpful to him right now. Just his luck.) It wasn’t healthy, far from it, but he’d given way too much to back down now. It was just a couple more hours, he would live. He’d survived worse.
Right as they were about to be done for the day, hell broke loose. Elnina and Lanino had gotten into a screaming match, and Tenna had gotten to them before Mike could. A small crowd had gathered at that point, so Tenna arriving would only make things worse. Mike arriving wouldn’t have been fantastic either, but he was good at talking, and could probably (maybe) defuse the situation. The best thing Tenna could do here was give people a temporary distraction. The worst? Battat didn’t want to think about it.
Tenna was being uncharacteristically timid, Battat thought as he ran over. He couldn’t make out words exactly, but he could see the body language and hear the extremely loud yelling that made large parts of him want to curl up in a ball until the sound stopped. He arrived on the scene just in time to hear Lanino and Elnina shouting in unison for Tenna to shut up. Oh, shit.
Tenna violently flinched, screen going dark. The two seemed to realize they’d fucked up, going silent, but it was too late. Fuck. Battat spoke quietly into his crew headset, “Mike speaking. Everyone near Tenna, get out as quickly and quietly as you can. Now.”
Unfortunately for everyone, today was the day that the crew headsets decided to glitch out, and the violent screeching of mic feedback filled the air. Battat clapped his hands over his ears, forgetting he was wearing the Mike head and it wouldn’t do anything to block the sound. The high-pitched scream filled his ears and drilled into his head, and it looked like about half the crowd was similarly affected until a loose zapper hit the mute button. He breathed a sigh of relief as the noise cut out. He didn’t even know if anyone had been able to hear him speak before the screeching. After a few seconds, the zapper unmuted, and the feedback was gone. His ears hurt. He was absolutely going to have a serious headache (if not a migraine) by the end of today.
Tenna had been shocked out of his frozen position by the feedback, and he was livid. Distraction, now! “Whoop, sorry about that, Mr. Tenna! I swear, there must be some kinda tech ghost on set today, it’s been really strange! Nobody’s fault, of course, but I’ll have a team go and check it out, can’t have that happening live, nosiree!” His voice was wobbly at first, but he corrected it near-immediately. He couldn’t break character, not now.
Tenna turned to face him, slowly, flexing his hands the way he did when he was trying to keep his claws under control. The group didn’t need further invitation to get the hell out of dodge, thankfully Elnina and Lanino included.
“Mike.” His screen was still dark. His voice was carefully measured.
“That’s me, Mr. Tenna. Whaddya need?” He tried to project cheeriness, a sense of calm that he absolutely didn’t feel. If only Pluey was here, they were way better at calming Tenna down. Something about the fur, he thought distantly.
“This is your fault. You know that, right?”
“What? Boss, you’re not making sense—”
“You heard me!” he shouted, fully facing him, screen active but staticky. The others had run by this point. Good, no chance for them to make things worse. (Also bad, no potential backup. He’d live. Probably.) “All of this is your fault!” he waved a hand through the air. “All the technical problems! You’re supposed to check and make sure everything is okay! This is your fault, you negligent little—”
Battat interrupted, “Boss, I did check last night, just like I do every night, and before filming, just like I do every morning.” Technically a half-lie. Presumably Pluey had checked this morning, but he didn’t know for sure. He knew he’d checked last night, though. “Everything was fine. That’s why I’m setting up an investigation to see what’s gone so wrong today.” It was probably just coincidence, but it didn’t hurt to be careful, and it made a good rebuttal to him being called negligent. Battat would let Tenna call him a lot of things when he was upset like this, but insulting his work? No. Absolutely not.
“Oh, shut up, Mike,” he said dismissively, expression shuttered. “I don’t want your excuses. You messed up. I’m disappointed in you, honestly.”
Ouch. Rude and patronizing. And fully incorrect, which stung worse. He hated being misinterpreted (ironic considering the fact he was in costume right now). His ears were ringing, and the words caught momentarily in his throat. “I’m sorry, boss, I’ll be more thorough next time.” His tone was off, but he couldn’t do anything about it now.
“You’d better. Cancel the rest of filming today, I’m going to my room. Don’t follow me, I’ll call if I need you.” He stalked off, fists clenched.
Well. That could have gone better. Could have gone way worse, though. He stayed in the empty area for a bit, just breathing for a moment. He could smell the terrible green room coffee on his own breath, magnified in his costume head. Gross.
He headed straight for the sound booth, rather than using the crew headset again (he didn’t know if he could survive another feedback scream like that). There were a few shadowguys working there, one curled into a ball with their hands covering their rabbit ears, face hidden. Battat could sympathize. He kept his voice quiet as he asked about the feedback. No clue as to the cause, of course. Why would his life be easy like that, he questioned rhetorically. The loudspeakers were still working properly, so he made the announcement that filming was over for the day, and to start cleaning up.
He made a tactical retreat to the green room. It was a poor choice of location, honestly, the lights were too bright and the music grated on his frayed nerves. He scanned the room. Lanino and Elnina were on one of the couches, holding each other as they sobbed rivers of tears.
He felt a flash of rage, biting his tongue. How dare they get to take time away from everything and start sobbing their eyes out? How dare they make Tenna so mad and then bail immediately? How dare they leave him to do the cleanup, him and the rest of the crew, when they were the second-in-commands?! They should be taking on more of the work, he should get to take a break and cry, it wasn’t fair!
He spun oh his heel, leaving the room almost as soon as he entered, heading back to the set, breathing hard. His hands were still shaking from this morning, though now partly with barely-contained anger. The walk was long enough that hopefully by the time he got back, the crew would be mostly done with cleaning up, and he’d be able to end this disaster of a shift relatively painlessly.
He should know better than to trust his luck.
As he rounded a corner, he fully ran into a shadowguy carrying a small tray of coffees. He fell backward from the impact, and the tray was knocked out of their hands, spilling coffee everywhere. Burning enveloped his hand, and he could feel the hot liquid immediately seeping through the padding of his costume. Battat felt one of the last threads of his sanity snap, and it took everything in him to not immediately start wordlessly screaming.
“Oh, fucking fantastic! Great! Just what I needed today!” He shouted, hands shaking as he stood up, ignoring the shadowguy’s offered hand and warbled apologies. He was going to have to clean the entire suit. His pristine white gloves were probably ruined. Inexplicably, he felt tears starting to burn in the back of his throat and around his eyes. A stray musical phrase caught his ear, and he managed to get out, “No, you’re not fired, you idiot! Just get out of my way!”
They moved, and he went past them, heading for the Mike room. Screw the checks, screw Tenna, he was going to kill someone if he had to be Mike for another hour, and his suit was ruined. Those were his favorite gloves, and now he’d never be able to get them back to how they were. Fucking damnit. He bit his cheek against the building tears. He couldn’t cry here, what if someone saw, not safe, not allowed. His skin was burning.
As soon as he got in the room, he was tearing off his suffocating costume. It smelled of coffee, and the stain was clearly visible on every single layer, it would take forever to get out. Tears were starting to blur his vision now, he couldn’t breathe, it was like all the upsets of the day were swarming him.
“Hey boss, how’d it go?” he heard Jongler ask, distant but somehow so much louder than it should have been. His ears still hurt, were still ringing, everything was too much.
Tears blocked his speech, acidic and burning at the back of his throat. His skin was still on fire. He hadn’t finished getting out of the stupid costume. He ignored Jongler’s question, wrestling with a zipper. He breathed, and it was agonizing. Finally the fucking thing released, and he escaped, violently throwing it to the floor.
“Batts? You’s okay?” they asked, concerned. For some reason that was what finally got him, and he covered his face as a horrible broken noise escaped him. Great. Just what he needed right now, to be pitied. His whole face felt like it was on fire as the first tears actually escaped him. He couldn’t look at them. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to be crying right now, he didn’t want to be seen.
“Aw hell, dat bad? I’m sorry, Batts.” Pluey made some noise from the kitchen, but his ears were ringing too much to make it out. His breathing sounded so loud, it was disgusting. He was thinking too loud, everything was too loud, too much, his skin was on fire, he couldn’t breathe. He needed to leave, to hide, he couldn’t move, what was wrong with him, why couldn’t he just move? Stupid, useless, idiot, can’t even cry properly.
He flinched at his thoughts, a hand automatically balling into a fist and hitting himself in the back of his head. The impact was too loud in the room, louder in his head, and was hard enough to knock his thoughts out of place. He heard Jongler hiss in a breath and Pluey’s alarmed squeak, and the shame was immediate. No, no, they were still here, they weren’t supposed to see him like this, idiot, moron, he should have just moved, why couldn’t he move, he was a terrible boyfriend, they were going to break up with him—
He hit himself again, again, his other hand flapping rapidly. His face was uncovered, he looked ridiculous, he should be able to stop, why couldn’t he stop, get out of there, run, hide, anything!
He barely heard the footsteps approach him, and got no warning before Pluey grabbed his wrist, stopping him from hitting himself. Their grip was a vice, it burned, he couldn’t pull away, he was trapped—
He screamed wordlessly, flailing as he tried to escape. Distantly some part of him registered Jongler clapping their hands over their ears, wincing. Pluey flinched, and it was enough for him to break out.
He lashed out with his claws, trying to stop them from grabbing him again, as he shouted, “DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!”
They backed away, clutching their arm, possibly wounded. He barely registered it, running to their bedroom and slamming the door, wincing at the sound.
He hid behind the bed, curling into a ball as he started rocking back and forth. He kept hitting himself, he couldn’t make himself stop, he was in pain, he probably looked like a complete mess. Falling apart over something so stupid, it wasn’t even a big deal, fucking idiot. The thoughts just made him cry harder, his only chances at air through shuddering gasps that echoed in his skull.
Eventually he was able to get enough control of himself to just flap his hands instead of hitting things. His emotions were still too much, crashing over him in waves, overwhelming him. He could still smell the shitty green room coffee, but he didn’t know if he was hallucinating it at this point.
Belatedly, he processed that he’d almost certainly injured Pluey after they’d already let go of him, and the guilt nearly made him vomit. He was a terrible boyfriend. Why did they even date him in the first place, he’d hurt them, injured them. He felt dizzy, and it was all he could do just to breathe, digging his nails into his arms to ground himself. (Any pain was probably deserved, anyway, for what he did to them— stop. Don’t think that.)
A while later, he calmed down enough that his sobbing turned to weeping. As he rocked slowly, he took stock of himself. He realized his fingers had gone tingly and numb, probably from how hard he was flapping earlier. His arms both had a short line of small puncture wounds from his claws. They were fairly shallow, but still bleeding. He needed to clean and bandage those soon. His head was pounding, though it was impossible to tell if it was from the hitting, a migraine, or the meltdown. Probably all three, but his hands didn’t really hurt, putting a dent in the hitting theory. His whole body felt almost numb, staticky. The inside of his mouth tasted vile.
Emotionally, he felt like a used dishrag. Dirty, kind of gross, worn out, wrung out, more descriptive words probably applied if he had the brain to think them.
…He should probably go and check on Pluey. The thought made another wave of guilt crash over him. In his own defense, he hadn’t been thinking clearly (if at all), but even in his own head that sounded weak. Besides, the idea of leaving his safe area, even just to climb up on the bed, was inexplicably terrifying. So instead of doing something useful like bandage his wounds or helpful like check on his partners, he stayed curled in a ball, rocking back and forth as he hummed to himself. At least his vocal chords were working, sometimes he couldn’t make sound after a meltdown like this.
Eventually there was a soft knock on the bedroom door. Battat still flinched, not expecting the noise. “Batts? Can we come in?”
Oh, great. They were coming to check on him. He managed to stand up, only wobbling slightly as his muscles protested the change in position. He sat on the bed before he got lightheaded, only then saying they could come in. He didn’t want to make them worry about him any more than he already had, and barring their entry (and seeing him hiding from the door) would definitely not help.
They entered cautiously, quickly scanning the room and seeming relieved at the relative lack of destruction. A section of Pluey’s forearm had a bandage wrapped around it, though thankfully it didn’t look like it covered too much area. Shame was a chunk of lead in his stomach as both his partners looked at him. Unconsciously, he curled back in on himself.
Pluey sat on the bed (within reach if he stretched), and Jongler soon followed. There was silence for a moment. Battat could feel his throat constricting, words growing difficult. Just what he needed.
“You’s bleeding,” Jongler said simply. Battat nodded. No need to deny the obvious. “Ya want one of us ta get the first aid kit?” He looked away, but nodded again. Seeing the concern on their faces was too much. “Does it matter which of us goes?” He shrugged, shaking his head. He knew he should probably speak sooner rather than later, but he didn’t have anything to say.
Jongler patted Pluey’s shoulder and left the room. The silence wasn’t awkward but it was far from comfortable, hanging over everything like a too-thick blanket, smothering.
They came back fairly soon, setting the first aid kit on the bed. “D’ya want me ta get ya anything else?”
He grabbed the kit, opening it and checking if the pain meds were still inside or if they’d gotten moved. They were still there. He hummed, breaking his silence, “Water would be good. Thank you.” His voice sounded… not exactly hoarse, but definitely more than a little strained. How loud was he?
They nodded, leaving the room again and soon returning with a couple bottles of water. Considerate, getting him something with a lid, given he still didn’t feel really present in his body and his hands were still shaking.
He took some of the medium strength pain meds, as the high strength ones had a knockout drug in them, and he wanted to be awake (for now anyway). He nearly immediately realized how thirsty he actually was, chugging about half the bottle before forcing himself to slow down and breathe.
After finishing the first water bottle, he started disinfecting and putting bandaids over his injuries. It didn’t take too long, though his trembling hands didn’t make it easy. Too soon, he was done, and out of things to stall with.
“… I’m sorry for scratching you, Pluey,” he eventually said as he rocked back and forth. Pluey wrote in their notebook, showing him once they were done.
“It’s alright, they weren’t that bad. The bandages are mostly from Jongler being overly cautious ♡. Really, I should be the one apologizing. I’m sorry for grabbing you without asking. I was scared, and couldn’t think of another way to get you to stop hurting yourself, but I still should have asked first when you were so clearly distressed.”
It was written out so simply, the idea of him hurting himself. It made him feel wrong-footed, disoriented. “It’s not…” he started, trailing off. It’s not so simple, but that wasn’t the point right now. He shook his head, started again, “It’s alright. You let go. You left me alone when I needed it. Call it even?”
Pluey shrugged, but nodded. They made a looping motion with their hands, indicating he should finish his earlier thought. He didn’t know if he wanted to, but he was stuck now.
He lightly traced his fingers over the words ‘stop hurting yourself,’ words momentarily failing him as some unnamed emotion twisted in his chest. “It’s not… hurting myself. It doesn’t even hurt that badly, I can usually stop before it does.” Oh, that sounded way worse out loud than in his head.
There was silence for a second. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his partners, it was too much. This was why they weren’t supposed to find out, they were going to make it into something way bigger than it was, and start treating him like glass, and he didn’t need their pity, he just needed to get over himself.
(He didn’t dare let himself start to think this would be the thing that made him too much, that would make them break up with him. He couldn’t let himself start questioning if that would happen. It wouldn’t. He had to trust them. He had to.)
Eventually, Jongler broke the silence. “Batts, was dis what ya meant da other day when ya said ya hit things when you’s overwhelmed?” Their voice was carefully level, in the way it only got when they were really upset and trying to hide it. Pluey squawked, and Battat couldn’t stop himself flinching at the noise.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He risked a glance at his partners. They were holding hands, supporting each other. Both were visibly upset, Pluey more visibly than Jongler (but that didn’t necessarily mean much). They wrote something short with their free hand, showing it to Jongler. He grabbed the other water bottle, taking a drink. His throat was tight.
“I knew? Oh. Sorry, Plues. I guess I forgot ta tell ya,” they said apologetically. “In my defense, we’s had other things ta worry about, an’ he only briefly mentioned it. He didn’t even say what type of things he was hitting. I had my suspicions, but den we got busy an’ I guess I forgot. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s not like I was exactly advertising it. Ideally, you two would never have known about it, but I should know by now my plans don’t ever work out,” he said bitterly, ignoring the devastated look he got from Pluey.
“… (Ɔ˘ ³ ˘) (≧◡≦) (˘ ᵋ ˘ C) ♡? ” Pluey asked.
“…What?” Battat was usually pretty good at interpreting them, but that one was confusing, at least to his melted brain.
They huffed, writing out, “Sweetheart, you do know we love you, right?”
He nodded, the pet name sparking a little warmth in his chest. “Yeah, I love you both too.”
They underlined “we love you” twice, then circled it, looking back to him after each new line of emphasis. He just looked at them, completely baffled as he tried to figure out how they wanted him to react. Helplessly, they looked to Jongler, who gave him absolutely nothing to work with.
Eventually he admitted, “Pluey, I know you both love me. I don’t know what you want from me.”
They were writing for a while this time. The scratching of the pen burrowed into his ears, and he found himself humming to try to lessen the sound. It only worked a little. When they finished writing, they tore out the page, handing it to him.
“I want you to know and understand that we’re never going to leave you. We don’t think you’re stupid, or a failure, or anything of the sort. We care about you as much as we care about each other. We want to know when you’re hurting, we want to know what we can do to help. We love seeing you, hearing you, showering you in affection, and none of that would change just because you’re having a rough time. We want to help. Let us. Please.”
He read the note once. Twice. His vision was blurring on the third read. Why was he crying again? He knew all of this, they’d said similar things before, both of his partners had. So why the tears? He wiped his eyes, emotions bubbling incoherently like a multicolored tar pit.
Jongler asked quietly, “Batts, can we touch ya?”
How the hell was he supposed to answer that right now?! “I don’t know,” he managed to get out through the tears. He sounded a complete mess.
“Dat’s okay. ‘S all okay. Ya don’t need ta know right now.” Their voice was so soothing, it was honestly embarrassing.
He eventually calmed down, still feeling gross. Pluey and Jongler had shifted to be half-hugging each other, with just enough space between them for him. He didn’t know if it was by accident or on purpose, but either way, it made his heart clench.
Jongler passed him a tissue box from the nightstand, and he blew his nose gratefully. It was such a small thing, really, but everything felt like it was a lot right now, his emotions so much bigger than himself.
“Sorry. I don’t know why that got me so much,” he eventually said. He tried to hand back the piece of paper, but Pluey wouldn’t take it.
“Dere ain’t nothin’ wrong with crying, Batts. You’s had a tough day. And you’s should keep dat,” Jongler said. Pluey nodded emphatically. Battat didn’t even try to argue, setting it off to the side.
When he didn’t speak for a few moments, Pluey flipped their notebook so he could read it. Apparently they’d written more when he was crying. “You don’t have to talk about anything now, even if I would personally like to have everything out as soon as possible. Your well-being comes before my preference.” There was a gap, and then a short list. “Would any of these help? Food, water, contact (hold hands, cuddle, kiss), distraction, Talking.”
Part of his mind calmed at the list of options. He loved his partners so much.
“…Why is talking capitalized here?”
Pluey mimed hitting themself in the head, and Battat winced. Ah. That makes sense. (Also, yeah, he can see why they were so distressed, given he winced when Pluey didn’t even make proper contact.)
He sighed. “I need to talk about it today, or I’m never going to have the courage. Just… Not right this second.” They both nodded, looking unsurprised.
He ran through the rest of the list, mentally trying out each idea individually. Absent-mindedly, he started gently biting one of his fingers as he thought. Abruptly, Pluey got up from the bed, moving to the closet and rummaging around. Thoroughly distracted, Battat watched them eventually triumphantly hold up an item, sitting back on the bed and setting it on top of their notebook, pointing at Battat.
The item in question seemed to be a necklace. It had a silvery chain and an emerald green pendant shaped like a tall, relatively thin diamond. (He definitely wasn’t reminded of Card Kingdom, shut up.) He picked it up. The pendant was weirdly almost rubbery. It wasn’t bad, though.
Pluey set a newly-unfolded note right where the necklace was. “It’s chewelry, jewelry you can chew on. I use it sometimes, and noticed how often you chew on pens and stuff when you’re thinking, so I got a piece for you.”
Battat blinked. Oh. That was. Really thoughtful, actually. He put the pendant in his mouth experimentally. Slightly odd texture, but interesting rather than disgusting. Biting down, it had some slight give to it, but not so much that he would break it immediately. The chain was nice, too, it was just the right thickness to not feel weird on his neck, and long enough to not make him feel choked.
They’d clearly put a lot of thought into this, actually. Tears were pricking his eyes again, he distantly realized. He took it out of his mouth, putting the necklace on properly. His voice was way smaller than he intended when he spoke. “Thanks, Pluey. Really.” That didn’t sound at all genuine. Pluey just made heart hands, blowing him a kiss. He smiled softly, ‘catching’ it.
He went back to the list, this time chewing on the pendant. A few minutes later, he took it out so he could speak clearly. “I’m not hungry right now, maybe in a couple hours. I’m still alright on water. I feel like we’re going to get distracted no matter what we do, honestly. I… I think I’d like to try contact, but I’m worried it’ll make everything worse again.”
Jongler smiled easily. “We could try holdin’ hands? If ya don’t like it ya just let go, no problem.”
Battat nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good.” He really hoped his skin didn’t start burning again. The static was manageable, but that? He took a deep breath to calm himself. It would be fine. They weren’t trapping him. He scooted closer to them, still not making incidental contact but now within easy reach.
Jongler and Pluey extended a hand each, palms up. Gathering his courage, he put his hands in theirs.
It didn’t immediately start burning, and he relaxed slightly. The static didn’t recede, but it didn’t get worse, so that was good. He closed his hands around theirs, and they both (gently) reciprocated. The position was slightly awkward, given they were both sitting facing him rather than next to him, but that was fine. They all sat quietly for a minute as he mentally adjusted. It didn’t feel bad, it wasn’t fully overwhelming, but he did need to take the time.
After a bit, Pluey started purring. Jongler pressed their face to the side of Pluey’s head in a kiss. It was a little embarrassing to admit, but it did help him to relax, to calm down.
A short while later, Battat squeezed his partners hands (they both squeezed back) and let them go. They both dropped their hands with no complaint, though Pluey did quietly vocalize a question.
“Cuddle?” he asked. All that time and he couldn’t figure out a better way of asking. They scooted apart slightly, making space for him to sit between them.
After a bit of shuffling, there they were. Jongler on one side, Pluey on the other, legs tangled together, both of his partners a comforting weight and presence surrounding him. Something in his chest settled, and he breathed easier. The static under his skin prickled at first, but soon calmed back down. Pluey was back to purring, and he could feel the vibrations in their chest.
“Dis is nice,” Jongler said. Battat hummed agreement. The pain medication was kicking in, and the relief of that combined with his partners’ warm embrace was everything he could have wanted.
They just sat in relative silence for a while, occasionally shifting around for comfort reasons, sometimes giving each other light, gentle kisses. He never wanted this to end.
Unfortunately, it seemed this particular moment of quiet bliss had an endpoint. Pluey grabbed their notebook from where it had been set aside, writing, “Are you ready to talk yet, or do you want to set a specific time?”
No room to duck out of it. Expected, but damn. He sighed. Jongler was gently petting him, probably trying to be supportive. (It wasn’t not working, it just felt a little silly that something so small was helping as much as it was.) “May as well do it now.”
He struggled to find words for a minute. Where to start? He heard Jongler take a breath to ask him something when he finally managed to start talking. “It’s really not that bad, honestly. It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose. It’s just… sometimes it’s the only way to get the emotions out of me. I try to redirect to flapping my hands, or hitting something cushioned, but most of the time in the moment I can’t even think enough to do that.”
Jongler tapped one of the bandaids on his arm. “An’ what about dese?”
Right. He hadn’t even mentioned them yet, kind of forgot they were there. “Ah. Those are from my claws. I think I was trying to ground myself and accidentally broke skin. My pain tolerance is weird, so I didn’t even register it until I saw I was bleeding.”
“…Ya think? Ya don’t know?”
Oops. “Uh. In my defense, I wasn’t exactly coherent. I usually don’t remember exact details of what happened during a meltdown, more like a general idea of what type of things happened.” He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Probably better that way, all things considered.” Not a lie, but only just.
Pluey hugged him (maybe a little too tight, but it was fine). “An’ dat doesn’t upset you’s at all?” Jongler seemed baffled.
He scoffed. “It’s not like it’s a good experience. I’m fine with not having that echoing in my brain forever, thank you.”
“…Fair enough,” they said, continuing to pet him. “I just figured you’s hate forgetting things, so ya seem weirdly chill about dis one.”
They weren’t wrong, it was upsetting. Deeply upsetting, every time he thought about it. That’s why he didn’t think about it. Poking at what memories he did have was rarely productive, and usually made him feel like shit anyway. Not worth it.
Apparently he’d been quiet for too long, because Pluey gently caressed the side of his face, trying to coax him into looking at them, painfully tender. He turned away, mentally cursing himself as he did so. “It’s fine,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “I’m used to it.”
Jongler sighed heavily. “Okay, guess we’s doing dis again. Just because you’s used to something doesn’t mean it’s not hurting.”
He scowled. “I know that. Just— just leave it, alright? It sucks, but there’s nothing anyone can do about it, so drop it. It’s not like the memories would be anything pleasant, and I know for a fact that any deductions made while in that state are garbage at best, and—” Jongler gently took his hand (the one that wasn’t dramatically gesturing), cutting him off.
“Batts, I wasn’t just talkin’ about da memory thing.”
“…What? What do you mean by that?”
Jongler paused, carefully thinking through their words as they fidgeted with his hand, finally coming out with, “Can I be honest? You’s way too casual about hurting yourself. It’s real concerning.”
Battat didn’t have anything to say to that. Jongler waited, in case he was going to say something, eventually continuing, “Ya keep sayin’ it’s not dat bad, dat it doesn’t ‘really hurt,’” they made exaggerated air quotes, “but den ya say ya can’t remember details of what happened, and you’s pain tolerance is weird. I know I’m da last darkner to talk about rememberin’ details, but d’ya not see what’s wrong with all dat?”
Battat stared at the bed, curling in on himself (and away from his partners) as he let go of their hand. Their tone had been gentle, but the words cut deep.
The worst part was that they were right. There were no good counter arguments he could make that he hadn’t already made. He wasn’t doing it intentionally, but at what point did that stop mattering? The fact they were even talking about it was agony enough, the idea of him hurting himself being forced into the open and making his skin crawl. It had to not be a big deal, because it couldn’t be anything else, it wasn’t allowed.
“ ( •́ ‸ •̀ ) ” Pluey vocalized, pulling him against their chest in a hug. He flinched, but relaxed when he realized what was happening. He turned, hiding his face in Pluey’s chest. It was childish, and probably made Jongler feel bad, but he couldn’t deal with either of them seeing his face right now. He reached out and held Jongler’s hand. Hopefully that mitigated whatever hurt feelings they had.
He wasn’t crying. He’d already cried too much today, he’d run out of tears. But his breathing was still shuddery, and his thoughts still spiraled. He clung to his partners, shoving his own shame at falling apart like this out of his mind as much as he could.
When he eventually found his words again, his voice was small and hollow and unsteady in a way that he hated. “I know. I’m an unreliable witness at best when it comes to this. But it could be so much worse. Even in my own life, I’ve had meltdowns that were so much worse than this one. And I’ve never intentionally hurt myself, so that could also be worse. Relatively speaking, I’m fine. I just need to get over my stupid shit and I’ll be fine.”
Jongler swatted the back of his head, and the shock was enough to make him jolt his head up and stare at them. It didn’t hurt, but it was very unexpected. Their expression was unreadable.
“Don’t you dare talk about my partner like dat. You’d never say dat about my shutdowns. Why da hell would ya think sayin’ it about my partner would make it better, huh?” They held his hand tightly, but made sure not to crush it.
Battat’s head spun (not literally). There was the sound of writing, and Pluey shoved their notebook in his face.
“Just because it could be worse doesn’t mean what you’re experiencing isn’t terrible. Stop minimizing yourself, coward.”
“Wh- coward?!” he spluttered. More writing.
“Yes. You’re scared about us caring for you. At least that’s what it looks like from this angle >:3”
Jongler snickered at that. Battat’s face went green, partly from rage, partly from embarrassment. “I- I’m not! Why would I be scared of something like that, that’d be stupid! Stupid, I tell you! We’re literally dating!”
“Den quit actin’ like ya meltdowns are nothin’ ta worry about, and let us take care of you’s.”
Battat tried and failed about four times to produce a coherent sentence, eventually slumping into Pluey’s arms in defeat. Cornered, foiled, whatever you wanted to call it, he didn’t have anything to say. Pluey gave him an exaggerated kiss on the top of his head, and he could feel both their grins from a mile away.
They kept talking for a while. Battat explained what had caused the meltdown this time, and his partners forced him to promise that he’d stop suppressing his stimming as Mike. He promised that he’d stim more as Mike than he had been, and they took that as good enough for now.
It also came out that while he’d been melting down in the bedroom, Jongler and Pluey had been stain-treating his costume, and the suit was nearly exactly back to how it was, and that the rest would come out in the next wash. (He’d enthusiastically kissed them both after hearing that. It was like a physical weight had been lifted from his chest, knowing that his beloved costume would still be usable tomorrow, the same as it ever was. They’d teased him good-naturedly, but the teasing paled in comparison to the sheer relief that it was safe, and without him having to spend hours fixing it.)
Eventually, Tenna called for Mike to come to his room, and Pluey suited up to take care of him, giving each of their partners a kiss before leaving. When they returned a while later (slightly damp from Tenna’s tears), Jongler was laying on top of Battat like an enormous weighted blanket, and Battat looked more peaceful than he had in at least the past week, mostly asleep under them. If Jongler could, they’d be purring, Pluey was certain of it.
They had a late dinner together, and when they finally all went to bed, Battat finally slept easily, surrounded by his loves.