This is a disaster. The thought looped in Steven’s mind. It wasn’t an exclamation, there was no urgency in the statement. With each new development his mind reiterated it. This is a disaster. Not “there’s going to be a disaster,” not “that was a disaster,” but this is a disaster. He is inside of the disaster, and there’s nothing he can do about it now. When he came back into his office to see the machine glaring at his webcam, red faced. This is a disaster. The machine’s browbeating washed over Steven, his world became angry words and expectations, but they were far away, on the outside of his mind. All that was inside was
this is a disaster.
And so he sits
and nods
with apologies on his lips
and after enough time
like every other disaster in his life
it passes.
With a sigh Steven slumps into his chair. Thank god that’s over. He turns to look at the mess Mister Kindly made when he picked him up. He can clean that up later, right now he wants to have a talk with a certain disaster maker. Steven walks into Mister’s safe room to find him sitting in the corner, sullen as a fluffy had the capability to be. His rounded body had a definite line of sorrow in his posture. Maybe he was too rough when he kicked him out of the office? Then again, he did make a mess of his pen which Steven will now have to clean up. Steven decides to interrogate his little prisoner to see why his warning at lunch didn’t work.
“Hey Mister, your time out is over.”
“Daddeh-me! Mistew wub ou! Mistew gud fwuffy!”
He sighed. Mister had already forgotten the earlier drama, it seems. While Steven was glad his fluffy wasn’t too shaken up about his rough treatment, it did bother him to see Mister Kindly act like nothing had happened.
“Mister, do you remember why you’re in your safe room right now?”
“Uuuuh, fwuffy nu wememba, hab biggest saddies.”
“I asked you not to ask for scritches when I was in my meeting, but you did anyway. Why did you do that? I thought we were on the same page here.”
“Bu’ fwuffy was quiet! Daddeh-me said nu noisies, fwuffy nu make noisies!”
“That’s not true Mister. You started begging, remember? Then I had to put you in your pen, and then you yelled really loud.”
“Bu- but fwuffy jus su itchies, an Daddeh-me nu gib bestest scwatchies!”
“You’re itchy? For god’s sake it was just a 10 minute meeting! How hard is it to-”
There are times in a person’s life where something that they knew, but didn’t consciously acknowledge, makes itself heard. The force of this special moment can be strong enough to physically move people that have it. It can be something that’s so obvious to an outsider that everyone but the person themselves knows about it, something that can even be a fundamental building block of their life, taken for granted. This is what happened to Steven as, like an autism diagnosis, Mister Kindly’s last cry put everything into dreadful context.
He’s itchy. This fluffy has allergies. I HAVEN’T BEEN GIVING HIM HIS MEDS. Steven reeled, taking a few steps as his hands found his temples. He was supposed to take care of Mister and he had forgotten his allergy medication for weeks! No wonder the poor guy had been asking for scritches more, he was back to scratching himself raw like before he was adopted. Well, now that he realized his mistake, he could fix things. He turned back to Mister, who was scratching himself behind the ear with vigor, the pleasure twisting his face into a strange, constipated grin.
“You’re right, Mister. Your allergies have been making you itchy because you haven’t been getting your medicine, but I can fix them. Does that sound good?”
Mister Kindly gasped, jumping up and down on his front hooves as he replied. “Yus! Mistew nu wike dummeh itchies, make dummeh itchies gu way! Fwuffy wub 'ou Daddeh-me!”
“Okay, we can do that during dinner. But Mister, you still made bad poopies in your pen. That’s not good, now I have to clean it up! Why did you do that Mister?”
If a fluffy could be said to look incredulous, Mister Kindly was pulling it off. He reared back, plopping onto his butt as his mouth fell open in an almost exaggerated fashion. “B-buh, fwuffy nu hab wittabawks, nu can make gud poopies! Nu mean to make bad poopies buh fwuffy nu can make gud poopies. Sowwy pwease?”
At this Steven frowned. He was sure he’d ordered duplicates of Mister Kindly’s essentials to have them in the pen for an occasion just like this. Then again, Mister is supposed to be a children’s toy, and he isn’t very bright. What are the chances he’s even capable of having the idea to lie, let alone carrying it out? Without a word he steps back over the child gate and returns to the scene of the crime. There’s the pen, the old dog bed that was Mister’s original, now retired bed, the new puddle of semi liquid shit, and a set of food and water dishes stacked on his litter box, still in their packages. Damn it all, at least the little guy hadn’t been lying. The pen had never been used due to Mister’s tendency to wander, and caught up in the current of daily life he never bothered to open them.
But this presented a new problem to Steven. Mister was technically right, there hadn’t been a place for him to poop. On the other hand, he didn’t want to let him off scot-free for making such a huge mess, it could set a bad precedent. He thought of giving him a swat on the nose and rubbing his face in it, but Mister was capable of speech. It seemed cruel when he could explain what he did wrong, and use the motivational approach. Plus, it was kind of his fault as well for not opening up his litter box. Steven decided he would leave Mister Kindly locked in his safe room for the rest of the day; his house roaming privileges would return when he gave him his dinner, and his shot.
After breaking the news to Mister, who whined and stomped his feet in protest, Steven reluctantly put on gloves and tried not to puke while he cleaned up Mister’s shit. The smell was absolutely rank! It had the usual foul stench of shit, with an acrid smell like stale urine mixed in, topped with something Steven could only imagine was a dedicated stink gland, the way it overpowered him. Thankfully the floor was hardwood and didn’t require special equipment to get clean, just a strong stomach. After many shallow breaths and a 15 second long spray of Febreeze, his office was habitable again. And with that, he settled down for a much deserved joint and gaming session. After a satisfying few hours, Steven realized that it was dinner time in his household. He reluctantly got out of his chair and made his way to the safe room. After clearing his throat, Steven prepared Mister for what was coming up: “Okay Mister, today is the day you get your medicine! If you’re a good fluffy and you behave, I’ll give you spaghetti afterwards. Does that sound good?”
“SKETTIS! YUS! Mistew wub bestest sketties, be gud fwuffy fo Daddeh-me.”
“Alright buddy, I just have to cook it up first, ok?”
Steven sets about the kitchen, opening a few jars of sauce to make a meal that’s tasty and easy for him but an unimaginable luxury for a fluffy. After boiling his pasta, he sets aside some of the water and combines the pasta with his jarred sauce. For the magic touch, he adds some pasta water and mixes everything on medium until the sauce sticks to the noodles nicely. He served himself a bowl, then filled Mister’s bowl, and set it aside while he filled a disposable syringe with the medication. With his instruments prepared, Steven turns to Mister Kindly and sets his expectations.
“Okay Mister, I’m gonna give you your shot and then you can have spaghetti. Remember to be a good boy so you can get your spaghetti faster.”
Instead of his expected reaction to the idea of skettis, Mister seemed to blanch. He shifted his weight between his front hooves nervously, his eyes darting around him but never looking up. “Shot? A-actuawy itchies aww gone, nu hab wowstest itchies nu mowe. Can fwuffy stiww hab skettis?”
It seems someone is afraid of his shot. Steven can’t exactly blame him, needles skeeved him out too. But this changed nothing; Mister needed his meds.
“That’s great, Mister! Tell you what though, just to be safe we’ll give you your dose anyways. Now, just hold still and you’ll have your spaghetti in no time.”
He held the syringe in his right hand and stepped towards his fluffy. To his shock, Mister Kindly took two little steps back, half turning away from Steven. He put on an authoritative voice: “Don’t you run away from me, Mister. You need your medicine!”
At this Mister kindly proceeded to slink away with surprising speed. Steven was forced to follow him, the fluffy pulling away from him as he refused to do more than stroll after him. To speed walk after his pet in his own home was undignified, and it might scare Mister. Irritation made his pulse quicken as his fluffy made his way under the kitchen table, the chair legs becoming a thicket that Steven didn’t want to pull him out of. Steven stood, stared at the spot where Mister Kindly would be if the table were invisible, and sternly said “Mister Kindly, if you run away from your shot you’ll never be able to get your spaghetti. It’s getting cold, you don’t want to be a bad fluffy, do you?”
“Nuuu! Nu wike dummeh shot, gu way! Shot bad fo fwuffies! Fwuffy nu nee’ shot, fwuffy nee’ medicine!”
Shaking his head, Steven knelt down to reassure the poor guy. “Mister, this is your medicine. It’ll ma-” the statement cut short as Mister Kindly saw his weakness and used the chance to escape again. Steven grunted in frustration, making an exaggerated motion as he got up to pursue. In four long, stomping strides he closed the distance to the fleeing horse and used his free hand to block Mister’s path.
That’s when the screaming began. “SCREEEEEEEEEEE! WHY DADDEH-ME HUWT FWUFFY! WOWSTEST HUWTIES EBA! NU WAN, NU WAN!”
“Jesus Christ Mister, I barely even touched you. You’re screaming to raise the damn dead!”
“NU WIKE BAD WOWDSIES! NU HUWT FWUFFY PWEASE! NU WAN, NU WAN!”
“Shush! What if the neighbors hear?” Anxiety bores a hole into the back of Steven’s skull as he instinctively moved his hand over Mister Kindly’s mouth to stifle his cries. The little rascal was fighting with every ounce of his fluffy strength. Screaming muffled fluffy curses, wiggling his head back and forth to try and break free of his grip. As Steven carefully picked him up with the assistance of his other hand, Mister added flailing his legs and wormish wriggling to his tantrum. He was like a fluffy possessed, bucking and rearing his head to the best of his ability. It didn’t stop him from being carried back to the kitchen where there was better light, and spaghetti. Setting down his now tired prisoner, Steven put the fluffy between his legs, and used his left hand to make a small pocket of skin on Mister Kindly’s back. He felt him buck at the touch and tightened his knees a little, eliciting a wheeze from Mister Kindly that sent guilty pangs through his heart. With a breath, he positioned the syringe at the angle Helen had described to him weeks ago, inserted it gently but swiftly, pressed the plunger, and pulled it out. Thankfully, as the needle entered Mister’s skin he tensed up, meaning there were no complications. This, however, didn’t stop him from sobbing as soon as he was released.
“Huuhuhuuu, Daddeh-me gabe fwuffy the wowstest huwties! Nee mummah! Nee huggies! Huu huu huu.”
More guilt wracked Steven as he saw the anguish he had caused his fluffy. He could understand why he was afraid of the needle, after all. Even if he had been a little stinker, hiding and screaming like that, what else could he expect? He’s not even as smart as a kid, and kids react the same way. He cleared his throat. “Okay Mister, remember our deal? You got your shot which means now you get to have spaghetti. How does that sound?”
Mister Kindly’s ears twitched, and he hitched a little sob before looking up at Steven. “Fwuffy c-can hab skettis?” he asked, doe eyed.
“Yes buddy, you got your shot so you get to have spaghetti to make up for it. That’s the deal.”
“Otay Daddeh-me!” Mister popped onto all four hooves, his tail wagging with happiness as the bargain was struck. Satisfied, each of them set to eating their respective dinners, settling down in front of the TV as usual. They both seemed more than happy to put the past day’s unpleasantness behind them.
Author's Note
Hello my friends! Last chapter I made a poll about whether or not Steven muted his microphone. Yes won the poll, and I did some DND style randomization from there to decide how he’d react and everything. AND THEN, I decided to do something different with it lol. Disassociation is something I don’t see talked about a ton, but I tried to get across what it’s like at the beginning. No real recollection of the specifics, just “this sucks I can’t wait until they leave me alone.”
As always I really hope you enjoyed! This chapter took a while to get together partly because of the dialogue and partly because my brain said no. I decided I had reached a good ending point here, sorry if you were disappointed with the lack of hard abuse 
it’s more of a slow burn I guess. It’ll get there! I have ideas for how things will escalate from here, and maybe a chapter from Mister’s perspective, who knows? Until next time!
