Reprogrammed (Hunter Angst)

Core of My Rage

It was early on Sunday morning. Hunter sat in the living room awake, lost in thought. The boy mulled over the conversation he'd had with his therapist yesterday, glancing nervously at the article about autism gripped in his sweaty hands.

Surprisingly, it had given him some useful information. Once he was actually able to focus enough to read it, each page was carefully mulled over. Hunter learned that autism wasn't something that he'd fallen victim to as a result of his time in the Coven, or because of Flapjack's death. The disorder had no cure, no medication, and wasn't really something that could be "treated". Instead, the text offered coping mechanisms and possible causes for certain behaviors.

Mrs. Rose had also annotated the margins of the paper in some places, suggesting potential theories. On page 3, under the "stimming" subsection, she'd written "scratching wrists and picking at fingernails?"

He frowned deeply as he realized that at this very moment, he had been scratching at his wrists using dull nails. Fuck . Despite everything, he still had his skepticisms. A rather defiant voice in his head protested the diagnosis, telling him that he was, once again faking his symptoms.

However, there was another part of him that argued back, saying that Mrs. Rose had spent a long time analyzing his behaviors; that her diagnosis seemed very thought out and deliberate.

Hunter flipped another page, and started reading the text at the top. It described how people with autism have a hard time with new and large changes, including those in schedules, food, and in general life. "Sometimes, it can take longer for people with autism to process certain changes..." It said.

Honestly, he was starting to feel angry. He did struggle with change in things. He had a hard time breaking away from the rigorous schedule that the Emperor's Coven followed; he had a hard time with the drastic change in food in the psych ward; and... he was having a hard time with accepting this diagnosis, as it was also a source of internal change. Fucking shit . Were all of his behaviors just explained away by this stupid diagnosis?!

Luz walked into the room right as he tossed the stapled packet of paper onto the floor and put his head into his hands. Stringbean wriggled out from a pocket in her hoodie and swiped up the paper, depositing it into Luz's hands.

"Don't look at that," Hunter cautioned, peeking through a gap in his fingers.

"Not looking!" Luz said playfully. She padded over to him and slid the paper back into his lap. Then, she plunked down on the living room couch next to Hunter. "How did you sleep?"

"Not the best. Too many dreams about..." Hunter cut himself off before finishing.

"I get it. Me too."

This caught Hunter's attention and he turned his head to look at her. "What do you dream about?"

"Just kinda the same stuff... I dream that I never get to see Eda and King again, that they... died somehow because of the Collector or Belos. I dream that Amity gets hurt or killed, or my Mamá gets injured somehow." She was blatant and honest in her response. "What do you dream about?"

"Flapjack, a lot. That night in the graveyard is always a hot topic for my brain. When I'm stuck in a nightmare, it's terrifying. But when I wake up, I'm just tired of having the same dreams again and again."

Luz heartily agreed. "I know, right?! It's like, get some new material, brain! I've seen this all before!"

Hunter laughed, short but genuine. "I get what you mean." The teenager watched as Stringbean gently drifted into his space, and gently rested her head in Hunter's hand. He massaged her cheek, and he smiled gently when he heard her purr.