#not pictured here: Splinter - searching the sewers and absolutely Losing His Mind

[yzas-oc-blog]

This has... nothing to do with any of my other projects. But it's been sitting in my files for over a year now, so I figured it couldn't hurt to share.

For all that it worked out in hindsight it was, objectively, one of the stupidest things she’d ever done.

In her defense, she was in the middle of a catastrophic spiral into a hot mess of a mental health crisis, a truly spectacular downslide into numb self-destruction, and she probably should have gone to see some sort of grief counselor months ago.  However, that would require some very, very delicate balancing of her down-to-the-penny budget, which she hadn’t exactly had the brainpower to manage, due to the aforementioned spiral.

That is to say, she couldn’t really be blamed, even if the decisions she made were the dumbest, most insane things she could have done.  Objectively.

Here’s how it went:

She woke up far, far too early in the morning, on account of having fallen into bed long before dinner the day before, and despite her best efforts was unable to get back to sleep.  When she finally gave in and stumbled out of bed she somehow, despite it being too early, still had 18 missed calls and seven unread voicemails waiting for her on the answering machine.

She ignored the phone and its little flashing light, crawling her way to the fridge on the other side of her shoe-box apartment.

Time stretched thin as she stared blankly at its contents.  Her stomach screamed at her; it was easy to drown out, though, as she’d been doing it for weeks.  More importantly, her brain screamed louder, a senseless drone that drowned out all other thoughts, getting louder at the thought of plates, and finding jars, and utensils that she’d then have to clean -

At that point, her brain cut out like a short-circuiting light, and she slammed the door shut.

When she turned around, she was confronted with a stack of papers whose contents she knew intimately and probably should have dealt with weeks ago (months ago) that she summarily ignored.  There was a stack of boxes against the wall, a pile of photos scattered across the floor, her phone started ringing again, and she knew she had to get out of there before she cracked.

She didn’t really remember leaving the apartment but came back to herself at the bottom of the stairs when she started shivering.  The sun was coming up, but it was still far too chilly for how hot she knew it would get at the height of the day.  Worse, it was damp, leaving a film of moisture clinging to her, pressing the chill into her bones.  She should turn around and grab a jacket.

She didn’t.

Instead, she walked, aimless, eyes a bit glazed over in a way that was edging on dangerous, but she didn’t really have the mind to spare for that kind of concern.  She just walked, the steady thump-thump-thump of her feet carrying her through, giving her something to sink into and avoid the screaming in her head.  Face blank, one hand in her pocket, the other thumbing over the rings on a chain around her neck in tune with the pounding of her feet, she walked, and she walked, and she walked.

And then the chain snapped.

It came with a sickening lurch in her stomach, like the worst kind of roller-coaster, the rings fumbling from her fingers.  She managed to catch one of them, but the other slipped away from her and went skittering across the ground.  She saw it coming before it happened, but despite her heart beating in her throat there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The ring went down the drain.

This was where, objectively, she went from normal levels of self-destructive to out-and-out stupidity.  Because the smart thing to do would have been to leave it, to accept the loss and move on.  If she wanted to push it, she could go home and dig through her boxes until she found the phone book, or maybe go to the library, and see if she could figure out the department that covered the city’s sewers and see if they had any systems for this kind of situation.  The last thing she should have done was try and handle it herself, but.

But.

She was on the ground staring at where her Mom’s wedding ring disappeared, and there was a buzzing in the base of her throat and a burning behind her eyes and pressure building in her chest.  It was stupid, but she could swear she heard the ice cracking, the frozen mass that had settled where her heart should be, that kept her cool and stable – or stable enough that she could still go to class, and pass her classes, and keep her scholarship, even if she wasn’t managing much more than that.  It was so stupid, but it was the 6-month anniversary and if she lost anything else of them she thought she’d actually break, just start screaming and hitting and falling apart till there was nothing left of her and she couldn’t.

She couldn’t.

It was stupid, but there was a man-hole cover right there, and no one on the street, and she moved before she could think.

Manhole covers were apparently heavy.  It took her forever, maybe, or possibly just minutes, but time hadn’t really worked right for her since she got the call, and she managed to shimmy it up and off eventually.

There was a ladder inside, thankfully.  In hindsight she knew that wasn’t always true, but at the time she didn’t question it, just robotically made her way down, hand after foot after hand.  When she landed, she couldn’t see the ring and thought she might puke.  Instead of doing the smart thing and giving up, she did the – objectively – dumber option and walked down the tunnel to keep looking.

In her defense, she did find the ring.  It was covered in grime and she didn’t want to think about what else, but it was there.

She hit her knees, cradling it close.  The release of tension was dizzying.  The weight in her throat suddenly released.  She went after the ring because she couldn’t bear the thought of the ice cracking, but it broke anyways, shattered, and before she knew it she was sobbing, curled up against the sewer wall, hungry and miserable and broken.

She was also dehydrated, which meant there was only so long she could cry.  Eventually the heaving sobs faded to sniffles, to unsteady breaths, as she passed her hands over and over her face, the pressure grounding.

The problem, really, was that when she stopped crying, the sounds of crying didn’t.  Didn’t stop, that was, and it took a moment before her snot-and-depression fogged brain could really comprehend that yeah, there was something crying down there wasn’t her, and that was kind of scary, and it should definitely be sending fear signals to the rest of the body.

The crying also kind of sounded like a baby, which complicated the signals.

And look, okay, it worked out for the best in the end, even if, in the moment, going towards the crying-baby-sounds in the sewer was probably the dumbest, most first-to-die-in-a-horror-movie thing she could have done.

But that’s exactly what she did.  She shoved the rings as far down into her pocket as she could, and she went looking.  At least she didn’t actually call out, or anything like that, instead creeping forward as quietly as possible – which was really not quiet at all, as she’d eventually be told, yes-shut-up-she knows, we can’t all be raised as ninja.

She wasn’t ashamed to admit she yelped when she saw it, reeling away and nearly falling because she saw movement, and a run-in with anything that lived down here couldn’t end well.  Her flailing made whatever was down there with her stop crying.  Then her eyes adjusted, and she actually saw it and screamed again, and this time she was a little bit ashamed, especially as she ended up falling flat on her back, head slamming into the pipes.  It sent her ears ringing and vision spinning, and then whatever it was (it was not human, and not an animal, not one she’d ever known) started crying again, louder.

There’s nothing like good, mortal fear to clear out the apathy fogging up your system, because her brain started racing alongside her heartbeat, hind-brain sitting up and jabbering as she struggled to control her breath, flattening herself against the wall as she stared, wide-eyed, trying to figure out what to do.  She wanted to run, but.  No sharp movements, right?  She felt like that was a thing.  She didn’t know, she was never in the girl scouts.

The creature was terrifying.  Objectively speaking.  It didn’t fit in any category her brain had, kinda looked a bit deformed, especially with its face scrunched up as it cried, eyes too small for its face and body twitching along the ground, hands grasping towards her.  But also, subjectively, it was, well -

It had too-small eyes, shiny and watery with tears, and it was shuffling forward pathetically as it reached out towards her with little grabby hands, and -

Once, when she was in middle school, her parents took her on this road-trip vacation.  It was supposed to be... educational, or something.  They stopped at all those museums that taught about local history, and she could get something at each of the gift shops, if it was under ten dollars.  And there was one place with all these little creature figurines, and they were – objectively – creepy, but they had these stupid little googly eyes painted onto the little lop-sided bobble-heads that jostled wildly at the slightest movement.  She loved them dearly, and knew she had to take one home.

Her Mom muttered about how creepy it was every time she saw it, but it always came paired with a fond smile aimed in her direction.  She still had it, somewhere, probably shoved to the bottom of a box in her closet.

The memory hurt.

The creature gave another little hiccup, a sniffle, then a too-human whine, pushing up on its little hands, shuffling forward in a toddler’s crawl for a couple inches before it collapsed, face smashing into the concrete.  There was a moment of silence before it wailed, and suddenly all her hind-brain knew was oh god there’s a hurt baby help it help it.

The next thing she knew she had the kid in her hands, their face awkwardly smooshed against her stomach because she started picking them up before she realized she didn’t know how, so now the two of them were just kind of.  Stuck there.  Halfway between a hug and a hold.

She never thought she had any kind of maternal instincts, but apparently she did get the frantic “child in danger” ones, because there was so much adrenaline running through her.  She felt like she could fist-fight god.

The baby – because all it took was one pain-filled scream for her to go from creature of the deep to baby – held onto her tightly with its little grabby hands, and it was still crying but it was at least quieter, and as she hesitantly patted its back it reduced further to whimpering and sniffles.  A little voice at the back of her brain was still panicking over fey-changelings or alien nest-parasites, and she didn’t know what this was or where it came from, and she should absolutely put it down.

She didn’t.

Instead, she – awkwardly, jerkily, wrapped her arms around it, lifting it up towards her chest where it wrapped its arms around her neck like that was its due. 

The texture of its skin was… weird.  And the lump on its back was definitely a shell of some kind, like a turtle.  Everywhere it touched her sent wild shocks up to her brain – not bad, per se, but she wasn’t sure it was good, either.  It was just.  Unfamiliar.

The fear was draining from her system, though, leaving her rattled and shaking from the absolute roller-coaster her brain had been on over the last thirty minutes.  She stood in the middle of the sewers, the only light coming from the still-open manhole around the corner, with some kind of turtle-baby-creature in her arms, the only sound her breathing, and its sniffling, and that weird scraping sound nearby.

Like her brain was on a delay, the fear was suddenly back, her ears straining for sounds in the distance.  She could hear voices echoing down the tunnels, fragmented words – find it, and chance, and capture.

She held the baby to her chest, hushing it quietly – and, in hindsight, she didn’t think most babies would know enough to go quiet like that, but in the moment she just counted her blessings – and peered around the corner. 

There was something moving through the shadows.  She wasn’t sure why their movements read as hostile but then she saw the flash of sharp metal and no, yeah, nope, it was time to get out of there.

There was a baby in her apartment. 

She.  Had a baby in her apartment. 

Her: twenty-two and single, in her last semester of college, living in a tiny studio apartment she could only afford using the money from selling her childhood home.  Or, what remained after settling the mortgage, and the funeral, and –

Her: who’d never wanted kids, who was an only child, who’d never even babysat because, again, she’d never been interested in kids. 

She had no idea what to do.  What were you supposed to do with a baby?  She didn’t know how to take care of a baby!

Mom would know, she thought, reaching for her phone, then had to sit and breathe through the lance of pain that speared her from head to toe.

This was, objectively, kind of a stupid decision.

In her defense, whatever was down there was obviously hunting for the baby, and even if she’d never been interested in kids, she wasn’t going to abandon one to be hurt.  She wasn’t a monster.

It’s just, she wasn’t really sure what to do now.

Mom always wanted grand-kids, she thought hysterically, nonsensically.  She always knew she’d never have them.  It was this underlying tension between her and her mother, and they never really got the chance to reconcile it before – before.

The baby was chewing on an old plush toy she’d offered it in lieu of its own hand.  Teething, maybe?  Babies teethe, she thought, like puppies do.  She had no ideas about turtles, or weird not-turtles, but it wasn’t hurting anything, so.

The point is, she had no idea what she was doing, and no resources to help.

That’s a lie, a whisper at the back of her mind pointed out, even as she tried to ignore it, like she ignored the missed calls on her phone.  You could call Grandma, she's raised kids.  Obviously.  She’d have advice.

She didn’t... want to.  Though.

It was just that ever since Mom died, Grandma been so, so over-protective, the way she talked to her slipping back like she was ten years younger, like all the ways Grandma couldn’t stop Mom’s death, couldn’t protect her, she was now putting onto her granddaughter.  And she knew Grandma just cared about her, that in the same moment she lost her Mom, Grandma lost her daughter.  But she couldn’t take Grandma’s constant directions, and critiques about every decision, and demands to come home and let her deal with everything, and paranoia on top of everything else.

And anyways, what was she supposed to tell her?  I grabbed a mutant baby out of the sewer, please help?  Yeah, no, Grandma would start up the campaign for her to change schools and come live with her in earnest again, or else try to talk her into a psyche ward and no, thank you, she was good.

Also, there was the fact that, maybe, the last time she saw Grandma in person they got in a big fight that was possibly, definitely, her own fault for overreacting, and even after apologizing everything still felt weird.

It was fine, she was fine, she had this.

She lasted about three hours, till the baby started crying again and she had the neighbor banging on their shared wall in anger.  Unlike last time, picking it up and carrying it didn’t help, and maybe it was hungry but trying to think of what to feed a mutant turtle-baby hybrid made her own brain start crying, and the only other reason she could think of for its crying was, you know, bathroom issues, and that was a whole other problem she wasn’t prepared to address.

The point was, she sucked it up and called Grandma.

“Hi, Honey, how are you - “ Grandma cut off quickly, and she winced, knowing the kid’s crying was very, very clear, “Is that a baby?”

“I’m. Babysitting,” she got out.  It wasn’t the worst lie she’d ever told.

“Babysitting?” Grandma echoed, entirely disbelieving and it kinda stung even though, yeah, that was completely fair.  Everyone in her family knew about her disinterest in kids.

“Yeah,” she said, “My neighbor had a sudden interview come up and asked me to watch her kid.  Since it’s, you know.  An emergency.”

Her neighbor had, actually, said she had an interview the last time she talked with her.  Only, the last time she talked to her was four months ago, and also said neighbor was forty-five with all her kids out of the nest.  Grandma didn’t have to know that, though.

“And you just said yes?  Honey, you don’t know the first thing about taking care of a baby.  I’ve seen that apartment of yours, it’s nothing near baby-proof – and she didn’t give you any time to get ready.  And today of all days, on top of that?  Really?”

A simmering tension built in her through Grandma's entire tirade, like a rubber-band stretching between her stomach and her throat, and when it finally snapped it came with a wave of heat that burned her.

“Oh my god, I didn't call to hear about all the ways you think I'm disaster! Can you stop nit-picking long enough to tell me what to do, or are you going to be useless?!”

Grandma went silent on the other side of the line, and ice-cold guilt quickly sunk into her stomach, dousing the fire.

She had a good family, the best family.  Twenty-two years and she’d never heard any of them yell at each other; she hated that she was the one changing that.

“Look, I just - ” she cut off, bit her lip, tried again, “I - I need help.  The baby won’t stop crying, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh, honey,” Grandma said, instantly forgiving, and it hurt so much she kind of hated her for it, “Alright, have you tried feeding him?”

“Uhm.”

“Honey.”

“I don’t have – any baby food?”

“The mother didn’t give you any?  Did she not leave any supplies when she left the baby?  That’s very irresponsible.  Honey, are you sure their home is safe, should you call - “

“She was just!  Panicked, I think,” she cut in, trying to throw Grandma off that train of thought, “She really, really needs this job, and – and they changed the interview time at the last minute.  She... she left me her key, so I could get in her place, but.  Uhm.  She left the wrong key.”

“Hmph,” Grandma sniffed disdainfully, but didn’t question her again, and honestly, she was pretty proud of that lie, “Alright, I suppose we’ll have to make do.  It’s what I had to do half the time when I was raising my babies, you know.  Now, you could boil down and blend some canned vegetables into mush, in a pinch.  You’ve got some cans in your pantry, right?”

“Uhm.”

“Honey, do you have anything in your kitchen?  You’ve gotta take care of yourself.  It’s important to keep your pantry stocked.  Do you need me to send you money?”

“I’m fine!  My apartment’s just really small!” she snapped defensively, voice going sharp, “There’s not much room to store anything.”

Grandma hummed skeptically, and she hunched into herself under the tone even states away, “If you say so, Honey.  But it sounds like you definitely don’t have anything for a baby.  Honestly, it sounds like you were really unprepared for this whole thing.  It’s sweet that you want to help, but you’re barely keeping it together yourself these days, maybe you shouldn’t have -”

“I’m trying,” she cut in, humiliated at the way her voice cracked.  Grandma went silent, and she breathed deeply, blinking away the sting in her eyes as she tried to find a way to make her understand without telling the truth, “I know.  I know I don’t know what I’m doing.  But they.  They really need help, and Grandma, there’s no one else, I. I couldn’t just.  I’m trying, so please, don’t.”

And now she was crying, again, and she was going to get a headache this way, but she couldn’t stop.  Grandma began hushing her on the other end of the line, voice soft once more.

“Oh, love.  Oh, Honey, I’ve got you.  Oh, you’re such a good kid.  Listen, I’m going to wire you some money – no.  No, listen to me,” she said when she started to protest, “You’ve told me you’ve got things all under control for yourself, and I’ll trust you on that, but babies are expensive.  If you’re going to be helping out this poor family, you’ll need a bit extra.  So, I’ll wire you some money, and you’ll take it, and you’ll go out and get some baby food, and some diapers and – oh, get a pad of paper, let’s make a list.”

“Okay,” she warbled.

Grandma rambled through a list of items, and sometimes she had to bring her back on track when she went off on tangents about which variations were better, but it was useful.  Eventually they had everything down, and Grandma sounded very satisfied with herself.

“And whatever extra you have left, you’ll send home with Mama when she comes to pick up the baby, yes?  It sounds like they’re really in a hard way, and it’s so good of you to take care of them.  You’ve got such a good heart, Honeybee, but you don’t have to do this alone.  Let me help you help them, okay?”

“Okay,” she said again, and it was like a weight off her shoulder, warmth creeping in where ice had been for so long.

She could hear Grandma on the other end of the line, could picture her grabbing her hat, her purse, little echoes of childhood that carried through to this day, “I’m going to go out and start that transfer, okay?  It should be over soon.”

“Okay,” she whispered, one last time, then, “I love you.”

“Oh, darling.  I love you too, now and forever.  Don’t worry too much, we’ll get you through this.  It’s only a day, after all, and then you can go back to your life.  Be on the lookout for that wire transfer.  Bye-bye, now.”

Grandma hung up, then, and her stomach dropped to her feet.

Only a day.  Right.  She was… supposed to go back to class, tomorrow.  The baby was still going to exist, tomorrow.

She really, really didn’t think this through.