I’ve been thinking a lot about late-deafened Steve, and what that actually would have looked like. Because the thing is: I love this head cannon. Boy got bashed around so much, ESPECIALLY on his left side, theres no way he didn’t come out of that with some long term damage. And I’ve been thinking about what that means for him, when his hearing starts to go, and how isolating that would be.
Except. Then I keep thinking about Robin.
Give me child-of-Deaf-adults Robin. Robin whose parents met at Gallaudet. Who were confused and upset when the doctor said, relief clear on his face, oh thank god, how lucky, your baby is normal, she can HEAR. Robin who grows up a in a Deaf home with a Deaf family. Who learns ASL before she learns English. Who never learns to be quiet because at home it doesn’t matter, so she can blast trumpet all day long to no complaints, and forever feels uncomfortable in places where she has to try to keep it down. Robin who grows up learning ASL and English and thrives, loves the way her brain works when it’s parsing languages, and starts teaching herself French and Spanish too, blasting day time Spanish soap operas constantly whenever she’s at home, shouting along with the screen. Robin who interprets for her parents, taking on burdens no seven year old should when she’s the one who has to tell her mom the cancers back. Robin who, four years later, gets to tell her dad that the surgery worked. The cancers gone. Moms gonna be ok. Robin who, at eleven, doesn’t know the sign for remission but she signs CANCER-one hand eating at the other like the disease that almost took her Mom-and signs FINISH, signs NONE, signs MOM-OKAY, MOM-SAFE, and is glad her dad can’t hear how loud her sobs are because even she’s embarrassed at the noises she’s making.
Robin who doesn’t quite fit at home, the loud little girl in the odd quiet house (not that her house is ever quiet: if you dont realize you’re making noise you don’t do anything to tamper it), and who doesn’t quite fit at school, when she shows up in kindergarten signing instead of speaking and all the other kids make fun of her for years, call her spazzy Buckley and imitate the signs, crude and heartbreaking and she can’t even cry here because everyone can hear her. Robin who teaches herself to speak without signing, sits on her hands and tries not to internalize the hatred, but her fingers still twitch constantly along with the words. Robin who thinks she’s never going to fit in, and tries to separate out the two different parts of herself because it’s easier, most days, to pretend to be “normal” even though that feels wrong too.
Give me Robin, who knows Steve inside out and who knows what it looks like when someone can’t hear you but pretends they can. Robin who clocks Steve immediately, even though he tries to brush her off like he’s been doing to everyone. Robin who finally takes him home to meet her parents, explaining it all in the car (into his right ear, which is better than the left though still starting to fade). Robin who gives Steve the gift of understanding and hope for the future. Who holes up with him and teaches him sign, slow at first (because Steve has never been good at grammar, and he constantly furrows his eyebrows despite her pleas that eyebrows are important in ASL and he needs to use his face more or he’s going to confuse everyone, it’s the visual equivalent of lilting your voice up like every sentence is a question and it’s weird, Steve!) and then faster as he starts to realize how useful it is, starts to bring her lists full of signs to learn, starts to lean on and cherish the experience of this new way to communicate. Robin, who helps him practice lipreading even though she’s terrible at it. Robin, who finally convinces him to get a hearing aid and lets him sob into her shoulder when the doctor says it’ll help for a few years, but long term there’s probably nothing they can do, and then tells him to buck it up because there are way worse things than being a little deaf and besides, now the Buckleys will just have to adopt him for real because they did always talk about adopting a deaf child or two, if there was ever one in need.
Give me CODA Robin, whose never felt like she belonged until she nearly gets murdered by Russians with her best friend. Who brings Steve into her life, shows him Deaf culture, gives him a place where he fits. Robin who finally realizes that this is her place too, and it’s so much sweeter for getting to share it with the people she loves.
And then, after, give me Eddie knocking on the Buckley door and begging to learn ASL too. Give me Robin’s mom, somehow roped in to teaching him and the party, as they try to learn in secret to make Steve’s life easier (and their own, because ASL is god tier for pulling pranks from opposite sides of a high school cafeteria). Give me Dustin, excitedly telling Miranda Buckley to FUCK-OFF every week for months because he thinks he’s saying THANK-YOU and she finds it too funny to correct him. Give me Eddie trying to surprise Steve and ask him out on a date, but instead of signing HUNGRY, WANT YOU&ME GO AFTER WORK? he signs HORNY, WANT YOU&ME GO FUCK?
And give me Steve, who thinks about it for a long minute (partially because Eddie totally botches the grammar, but partially because he looks so hot, standing there nervous and trying to communicate with Steve in a way that will make him the most comfortable) before he smirks and signs back YEAH, and takes Eddie on the best goddamn first date of his life.
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