Disabled Billy and Steve Week
Day 7- Invisible Disability Awareness
My prompt: Steve on a low spoons day
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Steve wakes up on the wrong side of the bed. Literally. He’s face down in his girlfriend's pillows, drooling on her favorite squishmallow.
It isn’t rare for Chrissy to get up in the middle of the night and move to sleeping on an air mattress in the living room. Her condition is more rare than Steve’s, a type of synesthesia that mimics touch. So if Steve had his face squished against a pillow and hair all over his eyes, Chrissy would feel the same sensation.
Sometimes it could get frustrating, especially if she was having a bad sensory day, so it wasn’t surprising or offensive that she would put a little distance between herself and Steve.
The part that makes him admittedly sad is that he’s having a bad day too. He hadn’t just woken up normally, it had been from a tic. It was a subtle one, but his sleep had been light enough that kicking his leg and knocking his blanket off had been enough.
That one annoying twitch of his leg has quickly turned into a full scale tic attack.
“Chrissy- Chrissy- Chrissy-“
That particular name tic was born from a time he’d called for her, and she couldn’t hear him because of her noise canceling headphones. So he’d yelled out a second time and suddenly his brain decided it needed to say her name as many times as possible.
These days it usually only pops up during tic attacks, but that only makes it more frustrating, since he’s probably trying to communicate something he needs when it takes root.
But that isn’t what gets Chrissy to actually come in. It’s probably the loud, somewhat squeaky shout that alerts her that Steve is both awake and probably not doing so well.
She’s there by his side within a few minutes, her hand on his chest and soothing him softly, “Steve, darling, deep breaths.”
His shoulders slam backwards into the mattress before he can answer, another tic cutting him off, because of course it would, “I’m sorry -Chrissy- Chrissy- Chrissy- Today’s not a good day..”
“We can rest, baby. There was nothing important to do today anyways.” Chrissy offers, getting settled back in next to him.
“Fudge!” Steve shouts unexpectedly, his arms flying up like he’s frustrated with something.
Chrissy looks hesitant now, taking that tic as maybe a reflection of how he feels, just in case, “Is that okay with you?”
But Steve assures her, “Sure. Napping sounds- fudge! Fuck! -fun.”
A long, frustrated hum trails off after his words, deepened when his closed hand pounds on his chest exactly three times.
He’s already so over this, “Nevermind.. I can’t sleep like this.”
“We don’t have to. Just get comfy, Stevie. It won’t fix it but, maybe it will help a little.” Chrissy keeps him from giving up.
They ran out of the medicine they could give him when his attacks got too severe, but Steve didn’t like to take it anyways. Not that he enjoys his tics so much, but they’re a part of him, and being without them after almost fourteen years of doing this makes him feel strange.
He bets Chrissy probably feels strange too, with all the physical sensations Steve is having that are undoubtedly mirroring in her body. If it weren’t for the amount of times they’d talked about it and Chrissy said she didn’t mind since it’s not Steve’s fault, he would’ve felt guilty.
Instead he lets her pull the weighted blanket up over him gently, and even hands him his chewy scarf, the red one that’s his instead of the pink one she wears, instead of the blanket when it’s clear he’s about to bite the hell out of it. He would’ve too, because his tics make him bite down on that chewy fabric until his jaw almost hurts.
When it releases, he makes sure to let Chrissy know he appreciates her gentle pampering, “Thanks.”
“That’s what I’m here for, Stevie.” Chrissy reminds him lovingly.
This time, not for tic reasons, he blurts out, “I love you.”
It makes his beautiful girlfriend smile, a sight that is instant comfort on its own, “I love you too, honey.”
All this repetition of words triggers some kind of tic response, “Lovey dovey, lovey dovey, all the tiiime.”
For some reason, Steve’s Tourette’s loves music. He isn’t really sure about any of the science behind it, but his mouth is always blurting out random song lyrics, no matter how situationally inappropriate. Like the time he shouted a few lines of Fat Bottomed Girls in a butterfly garden he and Chrissy were visiting.
This time though, a couple of lines of some 1950s love song is just cute enough to get a pass. Chrissy at least thinks so, since she giggles and says, “That’s very sweet.”
When Steve bonks himself on the nose, it’s not quite as nice. It actually really hurts.
Steve seeks comfort for the pain, “Can I cuddle you?”
Chrissy opens her arms up wide to make room for him, “Of course, snuggle bunny! Come here!”
That’s an invitation Steve wastes no time to accept, laying his head on Chrissy's chest and breathing deep to stay relaxed. It works a little, in that her cuddles at least eases the frustration and the exhaustion mixing together in his mind.
Maybe Steve can’t sleep, but he can relax, and this is the peak of his bliss. Just lazing about with his girlfriend Chrissy, a beautiful and positive force in his life he never expected to have when his diagnosis came at fourteen.
It was through his Tourette’s that they became close though, since they’d met in a neurologists office while Chrissy was still seeking a diagnosis. He’d rolled up a waiting room magazine and hit himself in the head with it. She’d been the only one to ask if he was okay instead of trying to hide a laugh like a few others, and the rest was history.
Chrissy always says someone should make a movie about them and their fantasy disabled romance. Steve doesn’t think any actress would be beautiful and charming enough to play her.
The romantic ideal can’t always be their reality though. As Steve learns when he makes a velociraptor-esque screech and his head slams back into the headboard.
Chrissy shifts a pillow there and kisses Steve’s forehead, wordlessly trying to make it better, since it’s clear that banging your skull against hardwood definitely hurts. She winces too, probably feeling the sensation herself. It makes her shake and wiggle her wrists to get the bad feelings out.
He appreciates that a lot. She’s always here for him, even when it’s hard for her, but never makes a big deal out of Steve’s tics in a way that would just make him more upset.
Steve wants to try something to make him feel even better though, using one tried and true trick, “Can we -fuck- no. Can we sing a song?”
For probably the same reason he has so many musical tics, music therapy and singing works really well for Steve. It soothes some part of his brain that is otherwise quite unpredictable. Not that it stops his tics, nothing but medications could, but it does make them a little easier to bear. Hell, maybe it’s just a coping mechanism and it’s got some placebo effect. Whatever the explanation, Steve wants to try it.
Chrissy of course agrees, though she asks first, “What do you wanna sing?”
“Magic.” Steve answers automatically.
He had first heard the song performed by a cheerleading animatronic mouse that looked suspiciously like his girlfriend, and it had rapidly become one of his all time favorites. Olivia Newton-John had held that position since Grease, and any love song of hers, even the ones he learned in an overcrowded, kid-infested pizza restaurant, was going to cement itself in his heart.
Though, and maybe it’s because he’s biased, Steve thinks Chrissy sings it much better than the mousey showbiz mascot.
She’s very gentle about starting, combing her fingers through Steve’s messy sleep hair, and humming a moment before she leads, “Come take my hand,
You should know me,
I've always been in your mind,
You know I will be kind,
I'll be guiding you.”
Steve’s verbal tics are calming down, no more shouts or squeaks interrupting the soft melody, but he does still have the motor ones. At one point, his hands try to go for Chrissy's mouth to stop her from singing, obviously not an intentional action, but one she intercepts softly, taking his hands and holding them loosely despite the way his body twitches and shakes her.
“Building your dream has to start now,
There's no other road to take,
You won't make a mistake,
I'll be guiding you,
You have to believe we are magic,
Nothin' can stand in our way,
You have to believe we are magic,
Don't let your aim ever stray,
And if all your hopes survive,
Destiny will arrive,
I'll bring all your dreams alive,
For you,
I'll bring all your dreams alive,
For you.”
Steve relaxes more and more, closing his eyes and just letting the words and the light harmony of their two voices take the tension out of his body.
“From where I stand, you are home free,
The planets align so rare,
There's promise in the air,
And I'm guiding you,
Through every turn I'll be near you,
I'll come anytime you call,
I'll catch you when you fall,
I'll be guiding you,”
In the midst, where the instrumental would be, Steve’s tics decide to make a couple of beeping sounds. These ones feel like normal tics though. Not the violent, never ending electricity that courses through his veins until it hurts during a tic attack.
“You have to believe we are magic,
Nothin' can stand in our way,
You have to believe we are magic,
Don't let your aim ever stray,
And if all your hopes survive,
Destiny will arrive,
I'll bring all your dreams alive,
For you,
I'll bring all your dreams alive,
For you.”
Chrissy kisses him again as they finish singing their song. Finally, Steve feels at peace.
He also feels exhausted, and with the intensity of his tic attack stamped out, he’s feeling beyond tired. Looking up at his girlfriend, he can tell Chrissy is too after a night of sleeping alone.
“Pretty.” Is the short phrase he mutters to describe their song and the way it connected them.
Chrissy doubles the sentiment, “Mhm! You sounded amazing, lovely!”
Steve cuddles impossible closer to her, which he knows Chrissy likes, because it’s a sensation she feels in her own body, not one through Steve’s or anyone else’s. Plus it works much better at decompression when Steve lays on her than if she was just using the weighted blanket.
He also lets her know, “Feels better.”
“I can tell, honey. Get some sleep now.” Chrissy supports him, rubbing his back soothingly.
It’s not long before Steve is dozing off. Drifting deep into the rest hadn't gotten through his sleep last night. He’s probably drooling on Chrissy, and he’s definitely snoring, but they’re at a place where they can feel comfortable doing those kinds of things in front of each other. It’s a part of him just as much as his tics are, or Chrissy’s autism is part of herself.
Steve didn’t have any spoons to get out of bed this morning, but he didn’t need to. Chrissy would love him any way she had him.