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English
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Published:
2016-09-26
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1/1
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A broken silence

Summary:

The world is startlingly dark, empty, too big, void. He doesn't understand what's going on.

It was loud, and then it wasn't.

Notes:

just started watching season two (finally). as soon as i saw this bit i knew i had to write a fic

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Something's wrong, he can feel it. He was dizzy. It was loud, it was too much, pulsing throbbing pain in his head made worse by the sounds, the click of the pill bottle opening, the sound of the pills hitting the table, the sound of car engines and whining brakes outside, the sound of people talking in the apartment below his, he can hear it all.

And then he can't. 

The world is startlingly dark, empty, too big, void. He doesn't understand what's going on. 

It was loud, and then it wasn't. 

He didn't catch the cup, the cup hit the floor, he felt the impact under his feet and the spray of water but didn't hear the glass break.

He knows there are shards there, but he doesn't know where. He slides his feet away from the slowly growing pool of water. Presses his back against the brick, doesn't want to lose where he is.

He doesn't know where he is.

It was loud, and then it wasn't. 

He makes a noise. Feels it vibrate up his vocal chords. Doesn't hear a thing. 

That's wrong. Matt doesn't make noise like this often, but he does it sometimes. The sound of his own voice is weird, but good to block out sound that he doesn't want to hear. When Matt screams, he's supposed to hear it, that's the whole point. A sound he can control, the best way to block out a bad noise is to make a louder one. It's been working since Matt was a kid.

But Matt can't hear anything. His throat stings, vibrates, he doesn't hear a thing.

One of his hands comes up by his head, flapping anxiously. If Matt doesn't scream a lot, he allows himself this even less. His hand flaps, he can feel the cold brick banging against his knuckles, it hurts. 

He can't hear it.

Can't hear the muscles in his hands shifting, can't hear the joints creaking, can't hear the impact of bones and flesh thudding against the wall. 

Can't hear a thing.

Bad, this is bad, this is bad. 

He's breathing too hard. He can't catch his breath. Matt's getting dizzy, making the disorientation worse, but he can't calm down. He can't hear. His throat vibrates, he's making noise but he doesn't know what because he can't fucking hear anything. 

He should call someone. He should. The metal salt of blood spreads through his mouth, he can feel it in his nose. This is bad. He should call someone. His brain catches the words and holds onto them, repeating them endlessly in his head, taunting him. Matt doesn't know where his phone is. Wouldn't be able to hear if someone even picked up. 

He presses the back of his head against the brick. Resists the urge to bang his skull against it. 

This is happening because he hit his head. Banging it wouldn't only make it worse. 

But there's an aching burning pressure agony curling under his skin and he has to get rid of it, he wants it to go away it hurts and it's wrong and it's awful and it feels like if he just pressed hard enough then that would be enough to fix it. 

He really needs to fix this.

Matt drives his fist into the floor, desperate for something, anything. He doesn't know what, but the pain and the repetition eases the pressure off of his chest in minuscule increments. His knees curl up to his chest. 

Time passes, Matt doesn't know how much. It blurs into a meaningless smear of information that he isn't able to decipher anymore. The only thing that anchors him to the earth is the feeling of his fingers on the cement, being rubbed raw against the floor. He wouldn't have thought that the world could get any more distant than it was without sound, but somehow it manages. 

He can't think, he can't breathe, he can't move. 

He doesn't know how long he stays there, doesn't know what's going on. 

Someone knocks on the door.

Matt can hear it.

The world slams itself back into focus, Matt comes back to himself all at once.

Someone's at the door. He can hear them. He snaps his fingers. He can hear that too.

The sound of car engines outside, the roar of the air conditioning unit, the whine of a child down the hall, a heartbeat behind the knocking on his door. Karen. 

He staggers to his feet. Wipes his nose, tries to orient himself once more. Speaking after a shutdown is hard, lying is even harder.

But Matt will manage it. 

He can handle anything. 

Notes:

I'm planning a longer autistic Matt fic too. a much longer one. here's to hoping that i actually manage to get it posted soon.

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