#ENOUGH of power imbalances!!!! Im gonna be on equal footing!!!!!!!

[fungus-no69]

i wanna be the threat in fanfics please please please ple

[hermannsgayhands]

does hermanns cane have like...some kind of sentimental significance because i realized its just the solid wood kind without anything on the handle and those are Not comfortable for regular/longterm use. my first cane had a wooden handle and my hand got so sore even just going out a couple times a day (so probably not even as much as he would be using it in any given day bc its not like hes working from one single desk in the lab, theres a lot of standing and walking) and he rly seems like the kinda guy to care about functionality

(i know Realistically it was probably just that the costume department probably doesnt have a lot of cane users to be able to know this from personal experience But Obviously Im Going To Fixate On This and if ppl r gonna piece together explanations for massive plot inconsistencies i can let myself have this lol)

i Also know the kinda-sorta-canon-but-its-not-really-canon-canon reason for him using a cane is bc he was in the wrong place at the wrong time during a kaiju attack and it fucked up his hip but uh. my city now so I Propose:

needing a mobility aid when youre not old enough for it to be expected (so basically anywhere younger than Really Old) gets a lot of...attention...and its not usually positive, even if its not overtly negative its usually kind of just. weird and uncomfortable. people dont really know what to do with it and it gets awkward

and hermann was so much younger than everyone he would be spending most of his time around starting at such a young age, he was already set apart, he wasnt on equal social footing with his peers however much he was their equal (and then some, a lot of the time) intellectually and academically. even when people were nice and friendly and welcoming, there was always going to be that imbalance, because hes just a kid, hes just a teenager, hes just

and he tries not to Cave, because thats what he tells himself it is, rather than not wanting to be seen as even more different than he already is, because he thinks thats vanity, and he isnt vain. its something he can power through until he cant, and hes in labs staring at the clock with twenty minutes to go counting down the seconds until he can sit down and do something about his legs screaming at him to stop and taking all of his focus away from what hes trying to do, and twenty minutes turns into thirty, and forty, and eventually he starts dreading sitting down just because it means hes going to have to stand up again, but he can push through it, he keeps telling himself he can, until the room goes silent at the shattering of a beaker hitting the floor, and he realizes its coming from him

he usually works on assignments in the waiting room before physical therapy, but he cant put any pressure on his legs that time, even the thinnest binder he has too heavy to write on

and the physical therapist gives him a cane.

it looks like he came out of a hospital with it; at first he likes that, because its no-nonsense and simple, until everyone thinks it is from a hospital, and he has to explain no, its not, i didnt hurt myself, this isnt an injury, i know, im not actually too young for this to happen, thats not how this works—

arent you a little young for that was something he was used to hearing, but all the other times, he had been able to prove them wrong and impress. even after rattling off his conditions—he shouldnt have to, its not their business, he just wants to be able to walk, but they dont stop asking, they dont stop looking—theres nothing impressive about that, no satisfaction in proving them wrong.

he has one professor who uses a cane; shes old and withered like a tree that looks like it could break in the wind but thats been there for decades without falling, smoothly going from standing to sitting without enough of a break to it for anyone to take much notice, but hermann does, now

she gets tense, her breathing a little heavier, and she directs a wheely desk chair to where she needs it to be before smoothly sitting down without a break in her sentence. hes seen old faculty pictures of her, old enough that she wasnt yet, the same heavy wooden cane in her hand in each one even when her hair was still brown.

she knows what shes doing.

she makes eye contact with him on his way in the first day he uses the plain gray cane, just for a second, a second longer than she normally did, and she doesnt say anything that she wouldnt normally, the first person whose tone didnt change even a little when she called on him.

the staring and the questioning makes his chest twist a little less for the rest of the day.

his shoulder is killing him, though, his back below his shoulderblade a constant twinge that gets worse throughout the day the longer he stands, worse on lab days when he cant sit down much.

hes trying to reach that one spot with his fingers when the professor makes eye contact again.

she waves him over at the end with a question about a paper he had turned in a couple days before, but the question was such a simple clarification that hes sure it has to be something else—

“thats too tall for you,” she says, gesturing with her cane towards his. “stand up.”

he does.

“no, relax your shoulders, like you normally stand.”

he does.

she holds her hand flat with the side at his hip and scoots her chair forward, looking between the cane and hermann with slightly raised eyebrows, and he nods.

she clicks the little button on the side, twisting the two pieces until it lowers to the next notch.

“see how that feels,” she says, “itll wreck your back if its too high up.”

his back doesnt hurt after that, from an adjustment of just an inch and one look at him rubbing at his shoulder, not even asking why he uses it in the first place.

she knows what shes doing.

its more than that, hermann realizes, the more he watches and the more he picks up on from personal experience. she can command a room with it, walking with such purpose, even limping, her chin high and the rubber tip hitting the ground at the exact right moment for the exact right emphasis.

hes reluctant to use the word inspiring after the way hes heard it used about him, people like him, just doing what they need to do, but he holds his head higher, and eventually hes not just pretending that the twisting feeling in his chest from the feeling of eyes on the back of his head isnt there anymore, at least most of the time.

it feels like a wall thats been put up, but it feels safe, and he decides he would rather push someone away by not putting up with that sick-sweet way people started talking to him once he started using the cane than let them pretend they were being kind.

he was already plenty used to being coddled and talked down to and patronized for assumptions made based on his appearance; he knows it when he hears it, and hes hearing it loud and clear. if he couldnt prove them wrong and impress, he could at least keep that sick-sweet tone from sticking to his skin the way it used to, always leaving him feeling like he needed a shower.

it still doesnt stop all the questions.

its the end of the year when hes started looking at canes online.

he cant find any that he likes, partly because he feels like he shouldnt like it; its a piece of equipment, something to get around, and he had never put much thought into what his shoes looked like, so it doesnt feel like he should be so stuck on what his cane would look like.

his mind is made up for him when he comes in for his last lecture with the professor like an old tree, and she has a different cane.

he recognizes the brand from the google searches; its fiberglass, light and strong and expensive, matches the pale blue of her glasses, and he finds himself almost disappointed not to see the wooden one, attached to it even though it wasnt his own.

she waves him over at the end with a question about a paper.

all of his papers had already been plugged into his grades.

he doesnt know why his heart is thudding against his ribs when she pulls out something long and wrapped in newspaper from under her desk.

she had it shaved down to the right height, she tells him—its old, it wasnt made to be adjustable, and she says it like an apology, but hermanns eyes are stinging as he pulls apart the newspaper, a new rubber tip attached to the bottom, the handle still worn down in a couple places, and the cane that looks like it came from a hospital stays in the back of his closet after that.