#me? traumatize gramble? i would NEVER! /s

[zombified-queer]

well i'm always fascinated by pre-canon stuff so perhaps a fic exploring gramble's past?

He’s not the son they wanted. Gramble knows and his parents know and the tension hangs heavy in the house.

It’s the knitting that does it. To Gramble, it’s a soothing activity. The way the yarn comes together to make a nice jumper just soothes that voice in the back of his head that shrieks and shrieks and won’t stop. The magazines are just little bits of inspiration. Colors and patterns he wants to try.

But to a ten-year-old Gramble Gigglefunny who stored these in the back of his closet, they’re an unspoken accusation.

He stares at the knitting needles and skeins of yarn on the kitchen table. And then his father takes them out back. To the burn pit.

Gramble’s made to work in the barn for long hours. Alone. Working off the shame by piling up the hay and clearing out the horse stalls. 

He’s not allowed near the sheep. That’s work for his sisters. The three of them watch him working with the horses. They never lift a finger to help.

But why should they? This is his punishment.

Gramble spends eight more years at home. And then he comes back from running errands with his father. Gramble’s bedroom is packed up, his clothes folded into a battered suitcase. His mother hands it to him without a word.

He doesn’t need to be told. But it hurts all the same. 

In the city, he finds a job at an animal shelter. He takes veterinary courses when he can. And he’ll often pause in the aisle of craft stores, admiring the knitting needles. But he’s too scared and too ashamed to buy them.

Elizabert Megafig asks for him by name. She’s got a bloodhound that needs to be kenneled for the week.

“You’re the only one I trust,” she tells Gramble. And then she cocks her head. “D’you knit? I think you’d be good at it.”

“Well, I, um. No?” Gramble strokes the bloodhound’s fur, admiring how shiny and neat its coat is while the dog licks his face. “I mean I used to.”

“It’d suit you,” Elizabert says with a nod. “Nice de-stresser.”

And then she’s finished with her paperwork to board her dog and gone. Gramble feels just that small bit of pride.

Gramble goes back to the craft store. He trembles all over at the thought but he’s got his own money and he can buy whatever he wants.

He gets a skein of blue yarn. A set of needles that fit right in his paws, needles meant for sweaters.

And then a week later he gets a letter from Elizabert Megafig asking for him by name. She considers him something like her little brother.

Gramble digs out the battered suitcase. He packs his knitting things and what little he has. And there’s not a trace of shame in it.