Chapter Text
Monty has been avoiding the Tower of Respect as much as he can get away with it since the battle with the beast. Perhaps wisely, their lessons in respect have been taking place in a different classroom. Less wisely, all offers of counselling following the fight would have required him to come to the tower and he hasn't worked out a way to say he is uncomfortable with that.
So, he simply hasn't turned up.
This time is different though. This time Mr. Kelly, or Edgar's spare-dad or whoever he is, had found him at lunchtime and specifically requested to see him. Monty had agreed to go, mostly so that he could get back to his lunch, and now he is here at the end of his lessons, standing at the heavy oak door and fidgeting with his hands instead of knocking.
He persuades himself to do it, takes a deep breath and taps on the door.
And waits.
Still holding his breath.
Still waiting.
"Everything alright, Mr. Finch?" Sarge's voice snaps him out of the vision-greying light-headedness and he sucks in some air and nods firmly. "What are you doing waiting out here?"
"Seeing Mr. Kelly, Sarge," he replies dutifully, talking mostly to the door as he continues to wait for it to open. "He found me at lunch and said he needed to see me and I agreed to come even though I didn't really want to. And then I knocked on the door and then I waited for a bit and now I'm still waiting."
Another breath. He glances at her as she takes him in, eyes sticking as they often do on his slightly too-loose tie (he doesn't like it strangling him) and his ever-moving hands.
"Well, the tower's rather tall," she says in return, "Sound doesn't travel too well through the thick concrete" - she either doesn't see or chooses to ignore his slight wince - "Mr. Kelly doesn't mind students letting themselves in."
"Right," Monty nods, staring at the door again. "Maybe I should come back later when he's definitely here."
He gets half a step before a hand on his shoulder steers him back. Sarge sounds a little stricter and opens the door for him. "Or you should go up and find him."
"Or that," Monty nods reluctantly, "Go up and find him."
"Good lad," Sarge says when he steps across the threshold, instantly avoiding the sight of the concrete ceiling and stubbornly not thinking about the times he became a little too well acquainted with it. "I think you might find it helpful, what he has to say."
"You mean you know why he's asked me to come?" Monty asks, finally looking up at her properly. He notices the faintest flicker of a smile on her face, as if she is amused by something. He doesn't understand it; no one's made a joke; she can only be finding something about his behaviour funny.
He's not trying to be funny.
Maybe the smile meant something else.
Maybe she was thinking about a joke she heard earlier.
"Mr. Finch," Sarge interrupts his theorising, "I said he's probably on the fifth floor. So..."
She trails off and Monty raises his eyebrows, not understanding until she tips her head towards the stairs.
"Go to the fifth floor?" He guesses slowly.
"That would be a good place to start," she agrees, standing in the doorway until he gets halfway up the stairs. "Try and listen to what he has to say, Monty. Make sure you tell him if - if we could be helping more."
Monty doesn't understand the reams of subtext she is choosing not to say. But the door is closed and she is gone before he can ask her to clarify.
He keeps his head down as he climbs the stairs, trying not to think about the last time he was here. The windows have been fixed but he knows from Kevin and Roland's accounts what happened on each floor.
The floor where the beast first crashed through.
The height from which Edgar fell.
And he jumped.
Edgar has been spending rather a lot of time alone since the fight. Mr. Kelly has been trying to get him to go to the tower as well.
"Ah, Montague!" Mr. Kelly's voice confirms he has made it to the right floor and he looks up to find a desk and an assortment of objects in front of it. His hand is on the next railing and he wonders if he would have kept climbing had the teacher not noticed him.
"Hello, sir," Monty says politely, "You found me at lunchtime and asked to see me so I..."
"Yes, very good," Mr. Kelly interjects with a smile. "Take a seat, take a seat. Any chair you like."
Monty looks for a moment at the assortment in front of him. A beanbag, a bench, a - yoga ball?
"There are no wrong answers!" Mr. Kelly continues cheerfully.
There are also, in Monty's opinion, no right answers. Because none of these are chairs.
He perches on the bench, perhaps the least comfortable option but the most fitting for what he imagines is a professional conversation. His dad always used to dress up fancy on days he had business meetings. He always told Monty to try and make a good impression.
"Very good," Mr. Kelly says again. "Now, Montague" - he aims finger guns across the desk - "Monty..."
"Yes, sir," Monty straightens his back slightly, aware of the lack of support behind him.
"We had a slight - delay getting our medical records in order this term," Mr. Kelly explains, waving his hand up towards the ceiling. "Nurse Lenny was a little - preoccupied. Normally we are careful to make note of any pre-existing conditions or medication one might need during their time at the school."
"Oh, I don't take any medication," Monty says, relieved that this seems to be nothing but a check-in. He does wonder what Sarge meant though.
"No, I know," Mr. Kelly smiles again. He smiles a lot - Monty has noticed. "We did find in your records - something else..."
Monty waits for him to finish, belatedly realising he is meant to fill in the gaps.
"Oh," he buys himself some time, searching his brain, "But the doctors don't know about my transformations." He frowns at Mr. Kelly. "You already know about them, don't you? Every ten business days, I have to..."
"Yes, we know about that," Mr. Kelly clarifies, mumbling almost to himself, "Probably best for everyone that the NHS doesn't," then smiles for at least the third time at Monty, "I was talking about your diagnosis of autism, Monty."
"Oh," Monty nods, "Yes, I am... I do have..."
"So, I'd like to apologise on behalf of the school for our oversight," Mr. Kelly says kindly, "I hope our lack of" - he snaps his fingers - "understanding hasn't made things harder for you."
"No, I've been okay," Monty looks around the room, hands gripping the sides of the bench as his feet skim the ground, back and forwards, back and forwards. "I've made friends, you see. And that makes things - better."
"That's very good Monty," Mr. Kelly agrees more gently. "We're all pleased to see you settling in. However, we do feel this is something we could be supporting you with."
"How so?" Monty asks.
"Well, we can give you permission to leave classes if you need some quiet time," Mr. Kelly says, "We can provide somewhere for you to go - here, for example - if you want to be alone. We will be informing all of your teachers so they can keep an eye out for anything getting overwhelming."
"Okay," Monty says when he isn't sure what else he should say instead, "Thank you."
"And, last thing," Mr. Kelly says ceremoniously. He pulls out a drawer from his desk and lays out a strip of green fabric dotted with sunflowers. "Do you know what this is?"
Monty shakes his head. He's seen people wearing them before, at the supermarket with his grandma. She usually had to tug him away by the hand and tell him to stop staring. He was just curious though.
"This is a sunflower lanyard - because of the..." Mr. Kelly gestures to the patterned material, "Anyway, it's used to inform people of a hidden disability - something that can't be seen just from your appearance. People wear them to inform those around them that they might need some extra support or time."
"And you want me to - wear one?" Monty guesses.
"You certainly don't have to," Mr. Kelly replies quickly. "It's just a thought - it might help your classmates and other students understand better." He carries on after a moment. "You can choose when to wear it - maybe just mealtimes or field trips. It's up to you."
"Thank you, sir," Monty reaches over to take the lanyard. It has a clip on the end that he instantly starts to fiddle with. "Was that everything, sir?"
"Well, yes," Mr. Kelly says, hurrying on when Monty starts standing up. "I did hope to ask how you were doing. I know you've had an - eventful start to your time with us."
"I'm okay, thank you," Monty tells the desk. "Like I said, I've made friends."
"Very good," Mr. Kelly relents far easier than Monty has expected. "Remember my door is open any time you want to talk about something. The teachers are here to help, even if you have a strong group of friends."
Monty bites his tongue before he can point out that the door to the tower was actually closed when he arrived.
He also doesn't bring up the numerous times the four of them have been forced to figure something out on their own because the teachers were being actively unhelpful.
Mr. Kelly seems nice. It doesn't feel right to blame him for all of that.
Monty slips into the free chair next to Edgar with his hurriedly acquired tray of food. Edgar waves a hand over his plate without a word until the pasta in front of him is steaming.
“Food’s a bit cold today,” Roland reports from the opposite side of the table. Monty bobs his head in acknowledgement, smiling faintly at Edgar.
“Thank you for warming it up,” he says dutifully.
“No problem, really,” Edgar replies, nudging at his glasses unnecessarily. “How was it with da- err… Mr. Kelly?”
“Fine,” Monty shrugs. He’s never had much reason to feel ashamed about his autism. Diagnosed early, his family got used to his quirks and had stopped really mentioning it before he – well, before they weren’t around anymore.
“What’s that?” Kevin asks, waving his fork at Monty’s tray and the coiled-up lanyard he had dumped there in his rush to collect some food. “Did Mr. Kelly give it to you?”
“Oh – yeah,” Monty grabs it, shoving it deep into his trouser pocket. “He thought it might be helpful.”
“What – What is it?” Roland asks innocently. “I don’t think we had those in Lower Eastcombe.”
Monty shovels some pasta into his mouth in the hopes that Edgar or Kevin will answer instead.
“Well, it appears to be a sunflower lanyard,” Edgar says eventually, looking to Monty for clarification. Monty nods, stabbing at another collection of pasta shapes so that Edgar continues his explanation. “They’re used to indicate an invisible disability so that the wearer can communicate that they might need extra assistance.”
“Oh, I see,” Roland replies, looking a little lost. He often doesn’t seem sure of what questions are acceptable to ask, especially about personal things. Monty wonders if he should make it easier and just answer what is clearly on his friend’s mind.
He rather likes not being instantly labelled as the autistic one here though.
“Why – Why did you get that?” Kevin asks, shattering that hope. “I assume it’s not about the wolf thing because that’s not exactly – invisible.”
“No,” Monty agrees, “No, it’s not that.” He talks down to his tray. “It’s for something that I had before I was cursed. I’m – I have autism. I don’t really know why Mr. Kelly thinks it will help but I took it anyway.”
“Maybe it will make your lessons a bit easier,” Edgar suggests brightly, barely reacting to Monty’s news. “At least you can leave them if you need to or get some more help.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Monty agrees again, nodding mostly for the rhythm of the gesture. He wants to change the subject now. “Anyway, how was football?”
He looks up at Roland hopefully and isn’t disappointed by the enthusiasm with which Roland launches into a match report. Monty lets the noise wash over him as he continues to eat, one hand in his pocket as he smooths over the lanyard in his pocket.
Maybe it will make things easier.