Cool Me Down [The Owl House]

Hettie: If the Shirt Fits

Hettie was accustomed to pain, for lack of a better way to say it.

It wasn't her pain, never. It was just "empathy pains", as Terra called them (what empathy she was referring to, Hettie didn't know). Ever since she started experimenting with healing magic as a kid, she could feel the pain melting away from others and clinging onto her, until it was just her sheer presence that sapped them of any agony. And ever since Belos found out how she could reverse her healing abilities, she could almost feel her magic bite back at her. It was nothing a few shakes of the wrist and cracks of the knuckles couldn't dissipate, though. Even the most bone-shattering, viscera-tearing experiments were momentary.

This, though, was something new. It wasn't quite pain, but not just discomfort. It made her skin crawl and made her subconsciously rub her nails down her arm, like she wanted to peel off the surface and keep anything from touching it ever again. It didn't just itch, but burned. It made her still for a second, just to keep her breath even and keep herself from squirming— she was the strongest witch within a hundred miles, she could pick up a griffin with her pinky and kill a witch with hardly so much as a blink passing her face. So why was she following this trail up to the living quarters, trying not to scratch off her epidermis?

The feeling was most intense as she stopped in front of the door of the Golden Guard. They were often forbade to see him on such terms, and it wasn't a rule anyone felt a want to contest, but Hettie knocked nonetheless.

There was a pause in the rocking of something against a wall. Then, "State your name and business."

"Hettie Cutburn," She said flatly, "To see the Golden Guard."

"...Head-witch Cutburn?"

"To see the Golden Guard, yes."

There was an uneven stumbling that dragged on for maybe minutes before the door creaked open. 'Hunter' stood there, red in the eyes with his nails digging into his palms. He was dressed normally, aside from the black button-up he'd put on after being splattered with oatmeal at breakfast. He opened his mouth, but she put her hand up (why that made him wince, she wasn't sure, but it squeezed her heart a bit). "I could sense you were in distress."

"Uh, and you care, why?" He asked, scoffing. "And I'm not distressed."

"Because it's affecting me. Now, sit down and let me assess you." He reluctantly sat down, his hands twisting around each other. The shirt appeared to be Belos', as it was made of the coarser and less-flexible material he adored.

Her finger dragged the dark blue light into a circle, and she scanned over him. She tried to control her face under her mask. "You don't appear injured. There's nothing disagreeable in your system. Not growing pains." She scratched her chin. "There's...no reason for you to be so uncomfortable."

"Maybe I'm not uncomfortable, then," He said. He cracked his knuckles.

"I can feel it, Golden Guard." Hettie balled her fist at her side, pointing with her other hand and keeping her dark lip from drawing itself into a grimace. "I demand an explanation. What is the meaning of this?"

The guard didn't reply. Instead he curled his hands tighter, and she felt a little sting on the inside of her own. "What are you doing?"

"I—" He swallowed, and cracked his neck either way. A part of her said to step forward, but she didn't. She just looked at him, watching him gnaw at his lip and mess with his hands. If she recalled right...

Oh. She relaxed and sighed through her teeth. "Golden Guard. It's your shirt."

"What?"

"Your shirt. You need to remove it."

"Uh— Now?! In front of you?"

"I'll turn around if you wish." He stared at her, mouth open. "You have a highly sensitive nervous system, so textures you dislike become unbearable," She explained. "It's causing an influx of stress hormones in your brain and clouding your judgement. You won't be able to do your work most efficiently or effectively without a comfortable set of clothes." She opened his closet.

"Are you kidding me?" I'm the Golden Guard! I can't let a little bad texture get in my way, the Emperor needs—"

"The Emperor needs you to be at your peak ability which is directly affected by your comfort level." She pulled out a softer, but not too clingy t-shirt. "This should be better." She tossed it at him. He stared at it like she'd just tossed him a pound of gold. "Tell Belos I ordered this if he asks."

She went to step out the door while Hunter pulled the new shirt over his binder, but stopped. "You also might want to look into autism."

"Into what?"

"Also called autism spectrum disorder," she said, "Some cases were formerly known as Asperger's syndrome. Osran has some books on psychology, if you ever want to know."

"...Thank you?" Hunter said.

"Don't mention it," she said. "I'll see you at dinner."