stilljustandrew | [ainmhianverse] same as it ever was

He doesn't...know. Sweet Jesus. Imagine losing so much control of your life, you don't even know how many years it's been?

Max's hand reaches out to Andrew's arm. "It's okay. That's close enough."

Regardless of the exact number, the man is still some years older than Max. It's odd, being younger and yet being the master. Just one more thing to get used to about this whole thing.

There are more pressing questions now.

"Tell me about the other world you went to?"

"I -- it's a long --"

He hesitates, torn between conflicting orders.

"If, if you want me to start at the beginning, there was -- there was a lot that happened before the other world, but, but I can skip it if you'd rather?"

Even this feels like questioning too much, and he has to struggle not to cringe as he says it.

Right. Right, he did say to start at the beginning. It's becoming quickly apparent that he will have to choose his words carefully. The orders Max had always taken from his own master were more...loose. Max was trusted to follow the spirit of the instruction rather than the letter of it. Andrew seems much more literal.

"Thank you for asking." Max wants to reward that. He wants Andrew to know he can ask for clarification. God knows, he will likely need to do that often.

"I've changed my mind about it. Just answer the questions as I ask you, okay? What's the name of the new world you went to?"

That thank you for asking is a bit of a jolt, but also a relief; it means questions are allowed, at least some of the time.

"I ... don't know if it has a name. It, it's a version of Earth."

Another hesitation, biting his lip. "Does your world have magic? Or, or supernatural creatures? Demons, ghosts, werewolves ... vampires?"

Max sucks in a slow breath. Does his world have those things? His world is made of those things. He drums his fingers lightly against his coffee mug and contemplates adding the whiskey after all.

"Yes. My world does. I don't know if it's magic in the same way as yours but...Demons, ghosts...vampires. Oh, yes."

Max lifts his hand to the back of his neck and points to the mark he showed Andrew before. "This was given to me by a vampire."

That gets a sharp gasp, and a stare.

"Your --" Stricken, almost to the point of pain; he can barely get the words out. "Your m-master was --?"

He nods solemnly. "Yes. I was a vampire's human servant."

If that reaction is anything to go on, Andrew has had dealings with vampires before. Max is suddenly wondering if this is going to be an insurmountable problem for them. If it is, is it too late to back out of this contract?

"Are you going to be okay with me being your...Master, knowing that?"

"It's not -- I, I just --"

He swallows, blinking hard, and the stricken look resolves itself into something more like ... grieving. For Max.

"It's just, I, I know a little. About vampires. I think I ... I m-might have some idea what that was like."

Somehow that sympathetic look is more devastating for Max to see than the fear. Andrew already has so many burdens on his soul. He doesn't need to carry Max's too.

"I'm sure it's not hard to guess that he fed on me regularly." Max reaches for Andrew's arm and squeezes in a way that compliments the reassurance in his voice. "I won't pretend it was a good life. But...it's maybe not as bad as you're thinking."

But, when Andrew says he knows about them, what is he really saying? "Your former Master wasn't one too?"

Andrew shakes his head, a tiny movement. "No. No, he was ..."

Was? Is? Either one feels wrong, and neither one helps with the explanation that has to follow.

"An archangel," he says, because he has to answer the question, and because if Max doesn't know the word then he'll know how much more he needs to explain.

"Really? But angels are supposed to be...good?"

He's aware of archangels a vague sense. He went to bible school as a kid. That was a long time ago. His memory is fuzzy.

"Which one? Can you say his name?"

Oh, he can. It'll just take him a moment.

And at least two failed attempts, in which he opens his mouth but can't make his voice work.

"Lucifer," he says finally, low but very clear.

Max sucks in a shocked breath. Lucifer Holy shit. Holy fuck. No, nothing holy about it. Christ almighty, no wonder Andrew is so... FUCK.

Max can't think of a single thing to say. So, he pulls Andrew into another hug instead, crushing him to his chest and holding him there like he'll never, ever let go. And also, to say he will never ever let that son of a bitch touch Andrew again.

He isn't expecting the hug, and it knocks the breath out of him a little -- but he buries his face in Max's chest and clings.

It's a good feeling, being held like this. Being pinned in place, tightly, securely, like the arms around him won't ever let go. He could melt into this hug and just ... stay, pretty much as long as he's allowed to.

"I can't begin to imagine the things he did to you," Max whispers in Andrew's ear, still clutching him tight, "And I'd never ask you to relive those memories just to tell me. But I promise you, I'll never let him take you back. You're mine now and I'll keep you safe."

A memory of his own floats back to the surface at these words...

"They will not have his blood... Take him to the manor. He belongs to me now."

Max had always understood that his master, Erik, took him in to save him. That was always made crystal clear. The vampire always seemed perfectly happy with the arrangement. But, sometimes, Max could feel a weight between them, in the small looks of pity or the vampire's furtive frowns when he thought Max's mind was elsewhere. A hint of sorrow, regret, that Max could never quite place. Max thinks he understands now what his master was feeling that night.

Fiercely protective and agonizingly guilty for knowing the only way to save a life is to take it for himself.

But unlike Erik, Max has a plan to set his Pet free. He just needs time.

"Lucifer has no control over you anymore. Do you understand?"

He nods against Max's chest, whispers a muffled yes.

Oh, there are so many things he could say to that, and at least some of them he probably should -- but right now none of them seem to matter. You're mine now and I'll keep you safe, those are the only words that matter, and he sinks into them and clutches them close like a second embrace.

Max can feel the bonds strengthening almost like a physical chain, being built link by link. The right, touch, the right words, the right actions...they strengthen the chain. They tighten the shackles. By the end of today, he intends to make them unbreakable. He has to.

"I'm glad I know this now. I'm glad you told me. I'm so sorry for all the things he must have put you through... I'll be a better master than he was. I won't hurt you. Not ever. And I won't make you hurt anyone else.

"I want you to have the closest thing possible to a normal life here. That's what I want."

"Thank you."

Andrew stirs in his arms, lifts his head.

"I'll tell you everything," he says, a touch muffled. "I will, I promise. I want to. It's just ... some of it's hard, and there's so much of it."

"I know," Max soothes. His hand strokes gently at Andrew's hair. "I don't want to overwhelm you too much. So, we'll take it a little at a time. And I'll tell you more about me too. Okay?"

He finally draws back so he can look Andrew in the face better. "Can you tell me what you were doing for a living before you got taken to that other world? Did you have a job in California?"

"I ... I'd moved to New York by then," he says slowly. "Sort of. Half in New York and half at the Academy in the UK. I was ..." A long breath. "See, this is why I asked before about supernatural creatures. I was working with people who fight them."

As he talks, his gaze drops to his hands in his lap, but at the same time he becomes a little more animated. This is something he knows, an explanation he's given countless times, until it's grown smooth in his mouth.

"There's ... in that world there's something called a Vampire Slayer. There used to be only one in every generation, there's a lot of them now. She -- it's always a girl -- she's got superhuman strength, agility, perception, and she has all these things so she can slay vampires. And for centuries there was an organization called the Watchers' Council, who studied the lore and kept diaries of each Slayer's life, and assigned one Watcher to train and look after each Slayer. I ... I was working with the New Watchers' Council, at the Slayers' Academy. After all the potential Slayers got Called at once, and we needed to train as many as we could all togther."

A beat. "That was one of my jobs. That was the bigger one. The other one was ... a little group of supernatural troubleshooters in New York City. I was sort of support staff for them."

He soaks all that in with a carefully neutral expression on his face. How strange. Worlds can be so similar in some ways and so different in others.

"I take it vampires are still maintaining secrecy in your world and killing people? Otherwise, why would you need to hunt them?" He's not really mad about that. Vampires are, well, bloodsuckers. They might be tame in Max's own world, but he remembers the stories of how it was before the Accords.

"We have an organization in my world, too, that handles the supernatural, but it's all done officially, and with full public knowledge. We call it IOPSA."

He nods at the question about vampires and secrecy. "I mean a lot of people know, there's this whole sort of subculture that knows about vampires and demons and magic and everything, but ... most people don't, and think none of it's real."

And he hesitates before saying "I didn't know any of it was real until I was like fifteen. And there was a lot of it in my town."

Max nods. Yes, there's a subculture around such things in his world too. There are even establishments that cater to the curiosity of tourists who want to see a vampire but in a nice and safe fashion.

And then, beyond that, there are actually people in his world that simply refuse to acknowledge any of it as real. They stick their heads in the sand and pretend they can't see it. Max isn't sure which group is more foolish.

"What happened when you were fifteen? How did you find out?"

A faint, distant smile. "My brother ..."

He has to stop for a moment at the unexpected pain in his throat, like the word brother had some hidden barb in it. Without thinking he reaches for his coffee mug and takes a swallow; the bitterness and heat make him wince, but it clears his throat to keep talking.

"My older brother, Tucker. He got into all of it before I did. And one day out of the blue, he just said hey, show you something. And he summoned up this tiny, tiny little water demon, in an empty mayonnaise jar, and then banished it again. And I was like: most amazing thing ever, right? And then he said there was more to it, a lot more, and he ... he showed me which books were the real deal, and how I could use what was in them, and ... "

That smile again, painful and nostalgic all at once.

"And that was where it started," he finishes.

There's something more to this. He can hear it in Andrew's voice, see it in the nervous gestures. The way he talks... makes it sound like the beginning of the end.

"Did something happen to him?" Max asks quietly.

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