Prequel
Fluffy was having the nightmare again. The thing about the nightmare was that it wasn’t scary, not until after he woke up, but there was the cold knowledge that once he did, he would be an absolute mess for a long, long time. It was a strange contradiction, how in the nightmare he wasn’t afraid at all, but seen through the lens of his waking mind it was the most horrible thing imaginable.
He watched his babbehs play, in the nightmare, even though he knew they were grown and off to make families of their own. He lay on the soft grass, watching but not joining in, even when they asked him to. He lay there, watching but not moving, not speaking, barely blinking. His babbehs cried, asking him why he didn’t love them anymore, but he just watched, an impassive observer.
…
He awoke with a soft peep, terror suddenly surging through him. His special-friend didn’t notice, having long ago gotten used to his night terrors. He hugged her, hearing her make a quiet, half-conscious noise and return the hug. Warmth and softness soothed away a little of the terror, but he felt himself taking stock, the same way he always did after the nightmare. Was it as warm and as soft as he remembered? How would he even tell?
It was already early morning, the spot of sky he could see from the nest growing a lighter shade of gray by the moment, and he decided to just get started foraging. Times had been rough, recently, with less food to find and humans acting colder towards him, even if the air stayed warm. He wandered if it was almost cold-times. It had to be, it’d been so long since the last one, but he couldn’t really gauge time that well.
Something had changed, but he had no idea what, and the world had grown harsher seemingly overnight. They’d been chased away from the nice park they’d spent so long in, finding an abandoned burrow of some kind to live in. It wasn’t as nice, and food wasn’t easy to come by, but it still wasn’t as bad as his life had been long ago.
But he had another worry, one he didn’t dare confide in his special-friend. He didn’t want her to worry, it would be bad for her tummeh-babbehs. No, he had to figure this problem out on his own. The problem was he had no idea how long he had, and his fluffy put him at a huge disadvantage, as did the tummeh-babbehs.
He had to find a human mummah or daddeh, and do it quick. If he didn’t…they might all starve.
…
May was having a shitty day. Literally. A sewage pipe had ruptured, leaking rancid, raw sewage into the creek that ran not from from her office, and the air smelled like the ghosts of a thousand flushed turds. All day she’d worked while stewing in the stench, nerves fraying faster than a lazily knitted scarf.
But now she was home, at least. Now she could spend some time relaxing. In her case, that meant working in her garden. It wasn’t anything special, a few tomato plants, some herbs used in local cuisine, and a dozen different plants she’d been gifted and been too kind to tell her grandmother gave her hay fever.
She quickly changed out of her work clothes, grimacing at the thought of how hard it would be to get the reek out of them, and went outside to get some fresh air. Her nose rejoiced, and her lungs thanked her, but her eyes pointed out a problem. Or rather, two problems.
A pair of fluffies, a light brown unicorn stallion and a lime green, very pregnant, earthy mare. Normally, May kept her gate shut, but she’d had a package delivered today and they always left her gate open. In the past, it hadn’t been a big deal, but lately the fluffy population had been increasing thanks to a few unusually gentle summers. Normally the heat roasted the critters, but recently they’d just been showing up everywhere.
With a sigh she prepared to catch the two before they could do too much damage, knowing that it meant the literal shittiness of her day wasn’t over. While she was sorely tempted to just club the pair and drag their corpses to the road, she would never do that. Didn’t mean she couldn’t fantasize for a moment, though.
The pair noticed her as she walked out, and the mare took off, saving her some trouble. The stallion, on the other hand, moved towards her, and she groaned internally. So, a smarty paradoxically stupid enough to think attacking her to try to take her land was a good idea. Wonderful!
“Hewwo, nice wady,” the stallion said, voice meek, and she reevaluated. Here came the begging for a home, and toys, and spaghetti, and probably enfie-mares, too. “Pwease wet speshow-fwiend stay wif nice wady?”
Just the mare? That was strange, normally they begged for her to take them all in. Maybe he’d been beaten down by life enough to realize that two fluffies, plus their brood, was a hard sell. “I’m sorry,” she said, surprised that she actually felt a bit of sympathy for the wretched thing. “I don’t have time to take care of a fluffy family right now.”
The stallion nodded sadly, as if this just confirmed what he’d expected. “Am otay. Fwuffy nyo nu am gud fow nuffin’, just nu wan babbehs an speshow-fwiend tu gu fowebah-sweepies.”
Okay, that was a bit of an overreaction, but it was understandable from a brown fluffy. He’d probably spent his whole life being told he was shit (often literally), so of course he had self-worth issues. The second part of the statement, however, drew a bit more of her attention.
“Why would she die?”
“Fwuffy am bad daddeh, nu nyo if can fin’ nummies fow speshow-fwiend an’ tummeh-babbehs.”
“Bad? What did you do?” May asked, confused. Then she saw something change in the stallion.
“Nu wan, nu wan, nu wan, nu wan,” he murmured, tears moistening his face, rocking back and forth. May waved her hand in front of him, but he didn’t react. Something had traumatized the hell out of this fluffy.
“You okay?” she asked, knowing he wasn’t.
The stallion didn’t respond, but the mare made her way out of hiding, trying to give the stallion a hug as best she could with her limited mobility. “Am otay. Nu am bad daddeh. Nu am speshow-fwiend’s fauwt. Soon-mummah am otay. Nu bwame speshow-fwiend.”
“What happened to him?”
“Nu nyo. Wun day speshow-fwiend hab finky-pwace huwties, bu’ am bettah nao! Bu’ membah’in’ gib mowe huwties. Nu nyo wut happen.”
Well, that made things a lot harder. No wonder he was so desperate. He thought he was broken, that he was a failure, and that his mate and children would die because of it. May felt her heart ache, then made a spur-of-the-moment decision, scooping up the rocking stallion. “Come on, I can let you stay at least for a little while. Maybe I can figure out what’s wrong with him.”
…
Fluffy felt himself being picked up and carried, but only distantly. Nausea gnawed at his belly, and every other connection to the world felt tenuous. Only the memories, of time spent devoid of will, of laying immobile for so long, of despair so complete that even death seemed too good for him. Everything in the world became secondary to his overwhelming terror that it would happen again.
Eventually, after what felt like eternity, he snapped out of it. He smelled of flowery soap, not of the mud and filth he was so used to. His special-friend was holding him tightly, softly sobbing, begging him to wake up. Finally able to act again, finally back in the real world, he let out a brief, involuntary scream.
Again, he felt himself taking stock, as he always did after the nightmare. Was the hug as warm, as soft as it should be? He couldn’t tell, and it terrified him. Maybe he was falling back into that pit, the horrible disconnection with the world, alone in his mind, trapped in looping, eternal dismal thoughts.
…
May woke up early the next day, to check on the pair. Fortunately, some time during the night the stallion had snapped out of his flashback, and the pair were sleeping peacefully. Although she knew it was a bad idea to set expectations too high, May thought the pair needed a bit of positive stimulation, and so decided to give them some spaghetti for breakfast. Even if it wasn’t a breakfast she would have chosen.
By the time she’d finished cooking, the aroma had woken the two up, and the mare was exploring the makeshift saferoom. There wasn’t anything stopping them from leaving, at least not yet. She’d have to see about getting a gate if she decided to keep the pair and their foals, something she was still pondering. Fortunately, the mare had found the old quilt she’d bundled up into a makeshift bed for them more than comfortable enough.
“Sketties?” the mare asked, tone more incredulous than hopeful. Of course, as feral fluffies they probably saw spaghetti as more of some distant dream than anything they’d reasonably get themselves. The stallion raised his head, seeming utterly exhausted, simply murmuring “Smeww pwetty,” before lowering his head and dozing off again.
“Is he okay?” May asked, concerned.
“Hab bad finky-pwace-owwies aww dawk-time, am bewy tiwed,” the mare explained.
“I’m going to have to get him checked out,” May decided. She’d checked, but there weren’t any injuries on the stallion that indicated trauma, and according to the mare he’d been completely fine until shortly after their first litter was born, so she doubted he’d seen family die or anything. Still, he was definitely exhibiting some pretty extreme traumatic flashbacks from something.
“Here, eat,” she said, setting a bowl in front of each of them. The mare began eating ravenously, but the stallion just licked the sauce a little, looking haunted. “Is something wrong?”
“Nu nyo,” he responded, seeming to be thinking. After a moment he apparently made a decision. “Nu, nuffin am wong. Fank 'ou, nice wady.”
“Mummah,” the mare corrected.
“For now,” May stipulated. “I’m still not sure if I’ll be able to keep you.”
“Am otay, onwy nee’ stay untiw babbehs am hewe,” the stallion said.
May couldn’t understand why he was so fixated on that, but didn’t want to ask out of fear of triggering another episode, so she pretended she hadn’t heard. “Okay, eat up. I’m going to go get something to eat myself, and then I’ll see about getting a litterbox set up.”
“Wittahbox?”
“Place for you two to make good poopies and peepees,” May explained. Of course, living on their own it would be a new concept for the two. “If you don’t, it’ll make the room smell not-pretty, and I don’t think any of us want that.”
“Otay, mummah!” the mare chirped happily. May could tell she was by far the more outgoing of the pair, and whatever had left the stallion in his current state had apparently not touched her. She wondered what could have caused so much damage to the poor creature.
…
Soon-mummah watched her special-friend eat, making sure he didn’t fall asleep before finishing at least half of his bowl. She wanted to go back to sleep herself, having been awake most of the night trying to comfort him, but she was just ordinary tired, not the bone-deep, soul-crushing weariness she could see in his eyes. He would need sleep, a lot of sleep, before he was back to his normal self.
Deep down, she was terrified. What if the bad thoughts hurt him again, and this time didn’t go away? What if the thinky-place-sickies came back? Could she bear to see another litter of babbehs growing up, never knowing the loving, cheerful stallion she’d fallen in love with? Could she live through watching him laying there for so many bright-times again, not knowing what was hurting him but knowing it was killing him as surely as any munstah?
Could she keep smiling, keep pretending that nothing was wrong, even after seeing so much pain in his eyes, hearing him begging whatever was tormenting him inside his head to stop? What would happen if their new mummah had to make them leave, and it happened again? She wouldn’t be able to find nummies for herself, let alone her special-friend or her tummeh-babbehs.
It was just too unfair! She couldn’t even comfort him, couldn’t see whatever demons were hurting him! They hadn’t done anything to deserve this! Why couldn’t they just live in peace?
…
Fluffy woke up again, feeling a bit better, but still deeply fatigued. He noticed that there was still a little bit of sketties in his bowl, and felt a surge of warmth. He knew how tempted his special-friend must have been, but she’d left it. He wouldn’t have minded if she’d eaten the sketties; the tummeh-babbehs needed lots of nummies.
He licked a bit of sauce off the side of the bowl, just to be sure. Was it as delicious as it should be? He thought so. He took a bite, and even though it was cold, it was still so tasty. He gulped it down, felt it settle in his tummeh. Was it as satisfying as it should be? It seemed to be.
He felt tension he hadn’t even been aware of evaporate. He was okay. It wasn’t happening again. He felt a gulf opening in his mind when the thought about it, so he tried to think about something else, anything else. He looked around the new saferoom. It was strange, being inside a housy. He was used to seeing the outside, and even then usually only until he was noticed and chased off. Did all fluffies with mummahs or daddehs live in places this nice?
For the first time, he noticed how soft and warm the nest was. It was like nothing he’d ever felt. Even a bed of fresh leaves, gathered over hours in preparation for the birth of their first litter, couldn’t compare. So many things that were nicer than he’d ever had before.
It was utterly terrifying. How could he judge how he was supposed to feel if everything was nicer than anything he knew? How could he tell if he was just getting used to living here or if it was happening again? He tried to squash the growing feeling of panic.
It was so unfair! No matter how hard he tried, something always reminded him of it! He felt the gnawing anxiety, the terror that at any moment something could remind him enough to make him fall back into the pit of memories. Worse, what if it happened again? He hoped it wouldn’t, hoped with every fiber of his being, but if he didn’t know what caused it, how could he avoid it?
Worse, he felt the fear that his new mummah might realize that he was broken, useless, worthless. She was so kind, felt so bad for him, but he knew that would change. She would see him as a pretender, a liar, a con. She thought he’d been hurt, that something terrible had happened. How would she react when she realized that being broken was just what he was?
…
May checked on the pair, seeing they’d both fallen asleep after eating. She wanted to be careful, not sure what had hurt the stallion so much, not having any idea what could set off an episode. Abused fluffies were often paranoid, so she’d decided to not talk to the vet until he was asleep. If he heard her talking about him it might make things worse.
A brief conversation later, she sat down on her bed with a sigh. Well fuck. Apparently there wasn’t really any quick fix, which she’d been expecting, but the complete lack of fluffy-safe anxiety medication to help the poor guy hadn’t been something she was prepared for. Depending on how bad things got, she might have to just take the risk and give him something less than safe, but for now she couldn’t make that call.
So, what now? The mare seemed mostly fine, if stressed out of her mind from seeing her mate like that. The stallion, though, was a mess. Whatever had happened had been recent, and May knew from her grandfather that trauma could take years to heal, if it ever did. That meant she’d be taking in a special-needs stallion, an overstressed mare, and a bunch of foals.
Yet, she couldn’t just toss them aside. The thought made her blood boil, remembering how her grandfather had been tossed aside after his military experience. She would not be like those callous bastards. If the stallion was broken, she’d just have to fix him, and if she couldn’t fix him, she could at least make him as comfortable as possible.
She shuddered at the thought of the pair struggling on their own in that state. Even if she couldn’t fix things, she could make sure life never got that bad for the pair again. Life might have kicked the shit out of them, but as least she could make sure food and shelter were never something they had to worry about.
Making up her mind, she opened her internet browser on her phone. For now, she’d have to find a decent fluffy psychologist.
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