For those first few days, the inhabitants of the Owl House held a collective breath.
Living apart from the unwelcoming arms of greater society, isolated in the forests as they were, the lot of them were no strangers to nursing their own injuries. Eda had spent more snails and hours than she'd ever like to count stitching up her own cuts, coaching King through bouts of childhood illness – though they were fairly rare, thankfully – and scraping the stucco exterior of their home free from any parasites that might've harmed Hooty's artificial hide.
Still, for all their collective experience with self-reliance, none of them had much exposure to anything as serious as the scars that their newest guest sported. The Owl Lady, at least, was familiar enough with the countless medical texts she'd squirrelled away over the decades to know that what she had pulled off, especially counting her patchy medical knowledge on humans, was no less than a miracle. There were plenty of gruesome accounts filling pages of hospital booklets about the danger of blood loss and shock, though thankfully her potioneering offered answers that might have otherwise eluded her.
And then there was the glaring issue of the projectile wounds to the girl's head, two winking dimples in the curve of her skull, thankfully free of any fragments from bone and metal.
They all hoped, somewhat vaguely, that the newcomer would wake without further issue. Eda understood that such a thing, however, was more than likely a pipe dream. No matter how hardy someone was, a traumatic head injury of that nature was not something walked off lightly.
As the black-haired girl remained mostly unresponsive, dozing in and out of a vague wakefulness while days passed, her fears were soon validated.
It wasn't the kind of conversation she expected to have anytime soon with King… or Hooty, who was aggressively naïve in the oddest of ways. Generally speaking, the Boiling Isles presented a consistent undercurrent of danger to its inhabitants, and death was no unfamiliar fiend to any of them. What was new for the boys, however, was the concept of a slow spiral – either into the end, or towards recovery. The Owl Lady gave it her best shot at describing it in as gentle a manner as she could manage, but she still felt a twist of guilt in her gut at how King hovered around the wounded woman, yellowed eyes tracking her with worry when he thought the witch wasn't watching and he could let his haughty countenance drop.
And then there was Hooty, who received the explanation with about as much grace as she expected from him - which was to say none at all, as he wailed dramatically at the very thought of losing out on his newest opportunity to talk someone's ear off until the sweet embrace of death looked downright tempting.
Oh, Hooty, the exasperated woman thought as he flailed about the living room while they worked to calm his hysterics. You really make me wish I was the one in a coma, sometimes.
Still, in the end, there was little left that any of them could do but to modify their assorted schedules around the inclusion of the infirm girl now occupying their homestead, and hope for the best.
Not much changed in the active goings-on of their little gaggle of misfits – at the end of the day, Eda Clawthorne was still a busy woman in high demand. Potions needed to be made, night market goods needed to exchange hands, and the bills that nipped her heels still had to be paid – unlike taxes, which would not shut off the few utilities of the Owl House that were still connected to a wider grid. It wasn't as if the government could possibly have any more of a reason to put her head on an unfortunately literal pike, after all.
And then there was the ever-present cost of suppressing a decades-old curse that still ripped at her bones, stealing her vigor from her with every passing year as it bleached her hair and supped at her magic – though, if she had her way, King wouldn't ever have to worry about that, at least.
That was her problem, and hers alone to bear.
What that meant, though, was that the pale witch could only split her precious time between life's responsibilities, which now included caring for the unconscious girl taking up her lovely living room window view. Bandages needed to be changed regularly, to avoid infection; healing enchantments had to be renewed to remain effective over the growing period of time spent in Eda's care; and whatever concoctions of rejuvenation potions and edible gruel she could conceive of needed to reach the girl's system, in one way or another.
She was no doctor, but considering the sort of shape her guest was in, going overboard on the medical magic could only do her favors in the long run, right?
It was a small mercy that the salvaged texts she'd hoarded for years had plenty of suggestions on hexes and infusions meant to aid those who couldn't care for themselves. Frankly, if Eda had started needing to change diapers and scrub down a limp sack of human meat, she'd probably have lost what was left of her patience rather quickly… even if the unkindness of that internal admission shamed her to think it. With a bit of clever spellwork and some hand-me-down clothes, though, her concerns were largely avoided, leaving her to ponder the more active requirements of her patient.
She began to take her meals sat beside the dozing girl, as the household's diet slowly shifted towards broths and stews that would be easier to pass through the lips of a person barely able to respond, kicking her feet up on the sill before them and lounging in the faded luxury of her old recliner. Some days, when the silence of the living room and the comatose body beside her grew to be too much, she'd plop her old crystal ball before their perch, flicking through the monotony of daytime shows and rerun movies that the local stations insisted on broadcasting for hours on end.
And on others, when the drone of meaningless blabber from overpaid celebrities grew too much for her, Eda would shut the staticky broadcasts off and simply try to relax, with her slumped, looming guest beside her, in the mornings with her oats and in the nights as she shoveled gulash into the jaws of someone who seemed just cognizant enough to chew through what was offered.
One particularly sunny afternoon, where the bruised sky scattered beams of translucent red and orange through the canopy of the nearby woods – a sure sign of the approaching brutal heat that came with the true onset of midsummer - Eda finally gave into the silence with a sigh.
"Sorry for being such bad company," She apologized to the unmoving girl, whose eyelids occasionally flickered with a blind, roving gaze. "I've been told my bedside manner probably would've gotten me kicked to the curb, if I were an actual doctor." The witch pondered that thought for a moment, before amending with a snort, "Assuming I didn't get myself caught nicking all of their pricy meds and reagents before they finally got sick of me."
There was no response from her lunch buddy, not that she expected much of one. The quiet filed back into the living room, uninterrupted by Hooty's dozing form; King and Owlbert were already out for the day, delivering potions, and Eda hadn't expected them back until the evening hours anyway.
"I've gotta admit, human…" Leaning over, inspecting her handiwork, the pale woman made note of the slight seep of crystallized blood lining the girl's scalp, where her stitchwork had likely been pulled by her rolling neck. "You sure are one tough cookie. Even if I'm pretty hardy when it comes to dropping bits where I shouldn't, that doesn't mean jack if someone decided they were set on punching some holes in the back of my head.
"Though…"
Here, the witch looked about conspiratorially, in spite of the fact that she knew it was only the pair of them, an old woman and her recovering Guest.
"Don't tell the boys this, they'd never let me hear the end of it -" She decided to take the black-haired girl's ongoing silence as complicity in keeping her secrets. "There was one time where I fell down the stairs – tripped real bad over a crate of potions I put at the top of the landing like an idgit. When I hit the bottom, my head just…" Knuckles cracked between her palms for emphasis, filling the air with the snap of bone, even as Eda's hands shot forward dramatically. "Whoosh! Right off, just about bounced myself right into the garbage can. Would've been a pretty impressive shot, if I were playing grudgby. And, uh. Meant to do that."
Her self-deprecating chuckles subsided as the witch leaned back in her chair, safe in the knowledge that her conversational partner would very likely have a hard time passing on tales of her little mishap… until that unburdened worry soured with the reality of the situation.
"Whoops, there's those depressing thoughts again. And… the mood's right back down. Dang it."
Craning her tensed neck back with a grunt, the infamous Owl Lady desperately racked her mind for some other topic of a one-sided conversation she could continue, something, literally anything –
Only for her head to jerk back down, gaze sharpening, as movement beyond the window caught her peripheral attention.
"Huh," She muttered in quiet astonishment, watching as a herd of dappled brown and soft red hides moved into the clearing, tiptoeing on cloven hooves about the Owl House's grounds with instinctual caution. "Don't see many animals 'round here. Hooty probably scares them off with all of his… whatever you'd want to call that."
As the prey beasts milled about, sampling grass and saplings from her front yard, Eda felt a bolt of inspiration strike. She leaned in close, scooting her chair towards the old rocker that held their patient, voice dropping into a low, informational croon.
"So, you probably don't know too much about Boiling Isles wildlife, I'd bet. Some of our critters are pretty close to what you'd see back in the Human Realm – like these little guys." Her claw-like nails gently brushed over the girl's shoulder as the witch eased into her lesson, as if to direct the attentive eye of a lectured student. "We call 'em Feer, on account of how skittish they are. Don't let the cute muzzles and big eyes fool you, though – they're definitely omnivores. I've seen one chase down some unfortunate shlub before when he thought'd be a good idea to pet one, and let me tell ya, it had a heck of a time trying to take a chunk out of him while he ran around yelling like a moron…"
Eda let the spew of words flow, gently traveling through stories and snippets of biology texts she could just barely recall from introductory courses in beast keeping from so many years before. The rest of her brief luncheon flew by without interruption, punctuated by her singular chuckles and personal observations to the immobile form beside her, as the witch basked in the peace of the day…
That was, at least, until her security detail finally woke up.
"Hoot HOOT!"
The house demon was quick to scatter the frightened herd with his playful lunges, leaving the Owl Lady to sigh remorsefully at the loss of her entertainment.
"Welp. That's on me for not seeing that coming," Came the dramatic groan, even as the witch stood with empty bowls in hand. "It was fun while it lasted. Right, girly?"
She glanced down at the seated patient absentmindedly, shuffling around their crowded chairs – only to pause, and doubletake, as two sunken brown eyes stared back up at Eda, their gaze intense. It was if she'd been pinned in place by the overbearing presence of a hungry predator, bearing down on her as it leered from a darkened tree line… only to be released from its grasp as her sullen stare slid away, irises twitching as they tracked the passage of Hooty back and forth across the yard.
The bout of activity, so sudden and shocking in its appearance, only lasted but a few minutes. Eda stood, almost transfixed, until the wounded girl's eyes fell wearily shut, and the tension of her posture finally faded into the boneless rest that the witch had become familiar with over several days.
She did not move again, not for some time.
The Owl Lady… didn't know what to say, really. She could only really turn to the sink, and comment under her breath…
"Huh. Well, alright then."
Something to keep an eye on for the future, it seemed.
At least it meant the girl wasn't dead.
Since her awakening in that echoing, inverted space between worlds, Taylor had done the one thing she truly excelled at.
She'd fought against her imprisonment as best she could, writhing and tugging, straining against the ethereal force that sought to encage her battered form without conscience, only the judgment of the uncaring.
It was no unfamiliar thing, being trapped. She'd experienced it constantly, ever since waking in the hospital from the mess that had ruined her health and mind, so long ago. Trapped by a distant father, by the lurking horrors that stalked the halls of her high school disguised as giggling teenage girls – trapped in an unending sea of blood and terror and pounding adrenaline as ghosts piled higher and higher on her shoulders –
The only way out, as far as she could see, was to bite and scratch and claw until she could do so no longer.
Not that such a thing was easy, in whatever limbo Taylor found herself entrapped within. Her limbs had been cemented into the organic walls of the cavern as if she'd grown there, the same as the stalagmites dripping running water that ascended upwards and the floating flocks of tumbling phantasmal cubes, distant sounds echoing with their abnormal passage.
Even her scalp had been sucked in, tucked against the porous stone as it chewed on her precious hair like a hungry beast.
Her only saving grace, beyond untiring resistance, was the presence of her Passenger.
Worming tendrils of geometric perfection and pulsing flesh had worked just as endlessly at her bonds, slithering and slicing and writhing into the meat of the odd world they found themselves in as it struggled to free Taylor from the strange, voracious wall.
It didn't help that she was still bombarded by flickers of somewhere else, where warm sunlight tickled aching muscle and the hum of wandering life reached across the gulf of space to trickle over Taylor's senses. The experiences were muddied and muffled, distorted in their passage through a body splintered by conflict, but they reached her all the same and she clung to the faint sense of firmness they provided against the unreal horror of her situation.
Some indecipherable stretch of time spent pulling at her shackles passed before Taylor felt a… shift, in her efforts. Something was finally giving, yielding uncertainly before her persistence, and the faint feeling of give was enough to drive her efforts into a frenzy. The searching limbs of her Shard homed in on her desperation, whipped into their own sort of determination as crystalline needle tips dug at the space about her skull, slicing through strands of hair and fingers of rock.
Taylor no longer cared about the state of her scalp – all she yearned for was the sweet, distant release of freedom.
Her skull disengaged from the clinging stone without a sound, and suddenly, the disorienting wave of twin realities swam before her mind's eye –
As the clack of heels reached her ears with a pop that jolted the girl, driving the confusion further into her mind like a dagger as someone dropped into a seat beside her, the sight of pale, bare arms swimming into view with a steaming bowl leaving Taylor cross-eyed –
Until her vision fuzzed out once more, and only the press of the void surrounded her.
A bolt of despair ran through the sagging parahuman, still supported only by the makeshift cuffs about her wrists and the tentacles pulling her aloft… before it was swiftly replaced by stormy determination.
Trailing murmurs reached her distant ears, warm and calming in their diction, clearer than they'd ever been since she'd arrived. Taylor fought against the fugue of her dual-sight, forcing her racing heart towards rest as she focused on the sounds twisting around her comatose physical being, letting her mind clear until it was as silent as the empty echoes of where control of millions of insects had filled her senses –
"I've gotta admit, human…"
The low, raspy voice came back into focus once more, and it was all Taylor could do to keep ahold of it, a drowning woman clinging to an offered lifeline.
She did her best to track the words, to let her unstable conscience track the strange woman's speech as some story or another passed her lips, leaving her laughing by herself in the empty space around them. Straining to grasp the sounds, fighting against the ethereal pull of that other place at her faded will, Taylor let herself doze in meditation while her caretaker continued chatting aimlessly…
Only for her eyes to snap open, blindingly unbidden, at the small gasp that reached her fuzzy hearing.
"Huh. Don't see many animals 'round here -"
Taylor battled the dizzying nausea that rushed through her as burning sunlight penetrated vulnerable corneas, compounded by the fuzziness that implied her glasses had been either forgotten or lost at some interim time in the past.
Blinking blearily, forcing her recalcitrant body to bend to her demands, the scarred girl did her best to fight against the encroaching dark.
She clung to the dancing silhouettes in her splintered vision, desperately holding onto every word about the beasts she could barely make out while they wandered to and fro, listening to the low, motherly tone of her companion as she droned on without pause.
The strain was growing, pounding behind Taylor's eyes with every passing moment spent conscious and scrabbling for independence. By the time something charged into view, sending the strange deer galloping away, the spike of stress being driven through her temple was almost unbearable.
Her sight began to fade, the superimposed image of her personal purgatory flooding back into her mind's sight; Taylor twisted her head about infinitesimally, the monstrous effort almost winding her, shifting just enough to track the movement of her savior. The older woman had finally tired of maintaining a singular conversation, and made to return her chipped dishes to an unseen kitchen, when she just so happened to turn about and catch the paralyzed girl's eye.
They gazed at each other, shock clear on the pale lady's face – an expression Taylor mimicked, if only internally. She spent long moments taking in the sight of alabaster skin and knife-edged ears, offset by the insanity of the stranger's silvery mane and the piercing, golden eyes that held her still. A tiny golden fang fell from her jaw, crossed over the woman's bottom lip, its piratical impression ruined by the open surprise leaving her jaw slack.
The strain on her protesting neck became too much, however, and the former warlord's head lolled once more, dragging her strained line of sight back to the fleeing mass of ungulates fading into the far-off blob of a treeline. They were her final glimpse of the world beyond before the call of the void grew too powerful, and Taylor's waning strength fled her, dragging the ripples of her consciousness down, down –
Into the deep, where stone and bone and the seeping chill of the lake below her sapped at her will.
Questions plunged into the void in her wake, nagging at the train of thought already circling her like a halo.
For as exhausted as the brief bout had left her, though – barely able to lend her own strength to the ongoing effort of staying upright and dry that her Passenger had provided – a sense of invigoration filled Taylor Hebert.
Soon after, she resumed pulling insistently at her encased limbs, as yielding as the stone that trapped her to the efforts of that strange world.
Feeling electric arcs pulse down her freed spine, chasing the numbness that had once flooded her as sensation slowly but surely swam back into her defiant veins, Taylor spat but one word to herself, unheard in the dark.
"Progress."
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Chapter and notes originally posted on 5-2-23.
As the kids so often enjoy saying, "Being Taylor Hebert is Suffering."
Of course, this isn't actually a self-indulgent whump fic or anything like that, but a Worm story wouldn't be complete without having our cast clawing their way out of hell on the way to the top. And, without Contessa's continued interference in Taylor's retirement package, things will be playing out a little differently before our "heroine" is up on her feet again.
Don't worry, though. A little thing like a two tap to the head isn't enough to keep her down forever. In the meanwhile, however, we'll see to her continued recovery in the next chapter, with King and Hooty's perspectives coming into play.
Thanks to everyone who's read, commented and liked!
