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There’s a haze at the edges of Etho’s world, and it drifts in and out like the tide, making them lose the finer control of their hands without realizing until their pen skitters across the page, drawing errant lines. They right themself, blink slowly, and close their eyes just for a moment. It feels like a thousand years must have passed when they open their eyes, but upon checking the clock, Etho sees it’s not even been two minutes.
They try writing again, trying to not wince at the messiness of their prior notes, hardly readable if at all. The pattern repeats until it feels as if Etho has been sleeping and waking, sleeping and waking, for hours on end, control of mind and body running away from him, always just out of reach. He tries turning to other sketches, to redstone notes, and reaches clarity for only a handful of blessed moments at a time before the haze comes back no matter how they try and chase it off.
Their comm pings. Etho misses it the first time they reach for it, like their depth perception is somehow different than it’s been all their life. When they get it in both hands, they blearily read a message from Beef, asking if they’re coming to NHO night.
Etho squints at the clock. Oh.
He types a message back saying he’s running late, but knows the moment he hits send that it’s barely legible.
<ethoslab> runnign behhijinrrd
<ethoslab> wow that was bad
<ethoslab> it comes innawhiles so typing hardd
<ethoslab> blackout moment
<VintageBeef> Yea, I see that
When he stands up from his desk, Etho paradoxically feels like he’s both waking from sleep and just having begun to sleepwalk. It’s a perilous flight over to Beef’s place, with Etho occasionally dropping into a few heart-attack-inducing and very unintentional dives. At times, though, with the wind in his hair, Etho feels completely, entirely awake, and convinces himself the blackout is over.
This is unfortunately not the case. By the time he walks in, he’s feeling cramps in his wrists and fingers from the dexterous work he did all day, the whole world feels far too bright and loud, and even upright, he’s absolutely fighting to keep the narcolepsy at bay. His pounding head is full of cotton, words are long forgotten, and he really wishes he hadn’t lost his noise-canceling headphones.
The others’ greetings vaguely go past him as Etho staggers to the couch, hitting the arm of it and tilting himself over it until he hits the cushions and curls into a ball. They pull their hood over their head, facedown, and try not to cry. He doesn’t even realize his hands are clamped over his ears until soft hands are coaxing his hands away, and something is slipped over his ears in their place.
Everything goes muffled, more survivable. They can recognize the timbre and tone of Doc, Beef and Bdubs whispering over them, but not any words. He’s already lost track of time. Since he’s still facedown and no one’s moved him, he probably wasn’t actually asleep, but there’s no telling if their brain ticked out for a second or several minutes.
There’s a hand in his hair, softly petting him, thumb just catching the edge of his ear and soothing it. The hand is just a bit cold, but entirely steady, and Etho knows the touch to be Doc’s without even having to see.
“Etho?” The tone makes it seem like Doc has been trying to get Etho’s attention for a few minutes. Etho swallows, tries to find his words, and manages an eloquent,
“Hh’yeah?”
Doc’s hand paused, just cupping Etho’s head. “May I lay you down?”
Etho could probably manage that on his own. However, the haphazard position he’s in only serves to confuse any attempt to control his limbs through the sleep-haze, and he just sort of rolls to the side. It’s very dim in the room now, he notices, and he can see Doc looking down at him.
Etho nods in answer. Doc’s touch is exceedingly gentle as he takes Etho under the arms and draws him out until he’s actually laid down on the couch. Bdubs comes up behind Doc, a blanket in his arms, and lays it over Etho, kissing Etho’s forehead before he pulls back. It’s someone’s weighted blanket, and the pressure is familiar and comforting.
“You can sleep.” Doc murmurs to Etho as he goes to take off Etho’s boots. “You don’t have to fight it.”
It’s not as if Etho has much control, whether or not he’s trying to fight it. But it’s still nice to hear. When the black haze creeps back in, Etho surrenders to it.
He wakes up, confused and too alert, and he’s shot into a sitting position before he can even comprehend where he is. The only reason he doesn’t throw off the blanket and get to his feet is because the blanket is much heavier than he expects.
Someone says something. Why is it so quiet, though? Etho’s gaze settles on Beef, Bdubs and Doc, all looking at him, and it’s suddenly very unpleasant to be looking at the world. Etho covers his facial scar reflexively, not entirely sure if he’s feeling the start of a headache or if this is overstimulation. Everything feels too much, and despite the momentarily alertness and clarity, Etho swiftly begins drowning beneath the black hae of sleep within minutes.
Someone is talking. Etho catches none of it. Bdubs is signing at Etho, but Etho just sort of stares blankly.
Etho blinks and Bdubs is suddenly in front of him, and he’s reaching up. Instead of touching Etho’s shoulders or face, as he expects, Bdubs grabs and shifts something.
Etho had entirely forgotten about the noise-canceling headphones.
“Hi kit,” Bdubs says softly, and this time, Etho can hear him.
“Hi.” Etho answers, voice sounding rougher than he expected. He means to follow it up with something, but the words drift past before he can grab them and voice them.
“How are you feeling?” Bdubs asks, and in answer, Etho just closes their eyes and rests their head on Bdubs’ shoulder. Bdubs loosely wraps his arms around Etho in return.
“Brain hurts. Tired.” Etho replies in a muffled voice.
Bdubs gently lays Etho back down, curling up next to him. Etho tugs Bdubs to lay half on-top of Etho, breathing in his smell.
He sleeps. He wakes sometime later, disoriented, and Bdubs kisses his forehead and says it’s okay.
Etho believes him.
The next time Etho wakes up, he’s much clearer, and discovers it’s only been an hour and a half since he arrived. The NHO curls up together for snacks and a movie, but it’s only a third of the way through before Etho feels himself starting to lose it again. Sitting in the dark with the flicker of the TV doesn’t help, but he’s pretty sure he’ll want to tear his hair out if they turn the lights on, so it’s a lose-lose situation.
Etho excuses him to the bathroom and takes a lap in the hallway before bouncing on his toes in front of the bathroom mirror for a bit. Then he quickly washes his face, refills his drink, and returns to the others, awake as ever as he curls up again in Beef’s lap.
It lasts about five minutes before Etho starts shifting position, trying to sit up more, and generally squirms as he tries to convince his brain to not be sleepy. He starts to blink too long, and suddenly time is moving past him again, and he feels like he’s stranded outside of it. He claws for control when he can, but it’s just too easy to be swept away. So Etho closes his eyes, intentional or not, and the rapids take him away.
“Etho?” Beef asks, with an arm around Etho’s waist to steady him. Etho sees a bowl of popcorn tipped onto the floor and suddenly remembers that it had been on his lap before. Well, shit.
“Narcolepsy’d.” Etho reports as he tries not to sway.
“You’re allowed to sleep.” Beef reminds him. “We can pause the movie.”
“I don’t wanna sleep,” Etho whines. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” A lie and they all know it, but no one tries to force him.
He excuses himself to the bathroom again a bit later and ends up sitting on the side of the tub with his head in his hands, tail flicking absently. He loses time again, and considering there’s a knock on the door now, he must’ve been here awhile.
Doc enters. He kneels in front of Etho and cups Etho’s cheek as Etho looks at him with uncomprehending eyes.
“Come on.” Doc says. “It’s alright.”
Doc takes Etho’s hand and leads, and Etho staggers more than he’d like to admit. In the bedroom, Bdubs is already in his pajamas, and Beef is laying out clothes for the others. Etho refuses help at first, but after he fails to get the sweatpants on properly, Beef insists, gently nudging him to sit.
Etho flops back onto the bed and stares at the ceiling while Beef takes each of Etho’s feet in turn and slips them into the legs of the pants, bodily hiking Etho’s weight up to get the waistband around his hips.
“I’m dying. I hate this.” Etho complains, facedown in a pillow, as the four of them cuddle up.
Someone lays a hand on Etho’s back and starts drawing a line up and down Etho’s spine so expertly that he turns to mush almost on the spot.
“Go to sleep.” Bdubs whispers. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Cocooned in the warmth of the people who love him, Etho lets go and subsumes to sleep.