stilljustandrew | [ainmhianverse] same as it ever was

Entry tags:

[ainmhianverse] same as it ever was

Andrew isn't sure how long he's been here. There's no clock in the room, no watch on his wrist, no phone in his pocket. Nobody's come into the room, and that feels like a test, or like a trap. Someone's waiting to see what he'll do.

It takes what feels like hours, between deciding to try opening the door and putting out his hand to grip the knob, and almost as long again to try to turn it. It turns, smoothly, effortlessly, almost silently, and with a tiny whimper of fear he pulls his hand away as though burned and stumbles back several steps.

On the second attempt, he's able to ease the door open the tiniest amount, and then freezes to see what will happen. When nothing does, he opens the door a touch further, and further until there's an opening wide enough to step through.

He steps through.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Max forces himself to take a long breath in through his nose. Relax. It doesn't help Andrew now if he gets so upset.

"Yes. You can skip that part." Max is shamefully relieved not to have to hear more of it.

Andrew, for his part, sighs in relief not to have to tell it.

"The, the important part is that he told me -- Lucifer told me that when they were done I should come back to him and he'd heal me. And I ... I didn't make it all the way, but he found me and, and carried me back. I think he did. I, I only remember him bending over me, and all the pain going away." His voice has grown steadily softer, with a touch of that faint ache of nostalgia coming back into it.

"And the next thing I remember is waking up, lying on this little padded bench in the bathroom off of Lucifer's study, and ... it was dark and quiet, and nothing hurt, but my hands were still splinted."

(It will not occur to him to explain that aspect of the part he skipped.)

Max has to work to keep the disgust off his face, but he feels it like a poison sickening his soul. The way Andrew talks about Lucifer, healing him as if it's some divine mercy. As if it wasn't his Master's fault in the first place that he was so hurt?!

But, wait. Splints?

"Why were your hands splinted, Andrew?"

"What? -- Oh." He blinks up at Max, and then looks back down at his hands, curling one around the other.

"She, um. The, the splint was to keep me from -- doing anything with my fingers, anything magic, because there was one time when I did? But she, uh ... she broke my fingers first. This time."

His voice has dropped almost to a mumble, and he takes a shaky breath and starts again, a little louder. "I know, I know it's awful, I'm sorry."

"It is awful, but you aren't the one who should ever be apologizing for it." Max's voice boils over with vehemence. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

Deep breaths. Getting upset now wouldn't make Andrew feel any better about it. He takes a few extra breaths to make sure he's composed enough, then speaks again.

"So, you awoke and you still had your hands immobilized. What came next?" Even as he asks it, his stomach begins to churn with worry.

"There was ... someone in there with me. He said Lucifer sent him to take care of me when I woke up. B-because ... because I did well. Because he was pleased with me."

It's beyond that distant nostalgia now; the note in his voice, gradually increasing, is closer to yearning.

"I never -- he never told me his name. But he, he gave me water, and he -- helped me take a shower, because I couldn't ..." He lifts one hand, loosely curled as though to illustrate its immobility. "And he brought me food, and -- and fed it to me -- and he was, he was so kind, and gentle, and so beautiful --" His voice shakes, just a little.

"And he kissed me."

The sickness in Max's belly rises at the back of his throat. Oh god. He already knows what happens next...

A memory flashes in his mind, fuzzy, more sense than visual. A dark room, cold, lonely, hungry. And his Master appearing in the darkness with a blanket so warm it must have just been taken from the dryer. He wraps it around Max's shoulders and then holds Max against his chest while he makes him drink something warm and salty from a thermos. It makes him sleepy, and he closes his eyes. But it's more like floating than sleeping. There's a brush of cold lips, a sense of fingers on his naked skin. Then teeth on his neck. It should have hurt, but it felt good. So good he...

With a shudder, Max shakes himself from that memory. It was so sudden. He'd completely forgotten about that. But he knows what it is, what it was meant to do. Following misery with kindness, creating a cycle of punishment and reward, and eventually... dependency, when it's understood that the good things can only come after enduring the bad. Oh yes, Max knows that technique well.

"He made you feel better, Right?" Max says, voice slightly cracking. "He made you feel good?"

Andrew nods, his head lowered again, his eyes shut.

"He took care of me," he whispers.

The bile threatens to rise again. Max swallows it down, hard. Think, he cautions himself, before you say another word. Max doesn't want to add more pain or shame on top of this. But there's something he still needs to know.

"Did this happen a lot? Did he... do that often?"

This time he shakes his head, and the whisper is harder to hear, as though forced through a tight throat. "I never saw him again."

Andrew swallows, and scrubs the back of one wrist across his eyes. "There were, um. Other times Lucifer gave me a, a reward for something? But never that again."

Hearing that it only happened once doesn't really make Max feel better. In fact, cold sweat is rolling down his back from how hard he's trying to suppress his sickening rage.

"Andrew..." he's whispering now, too. "That wasn't the last time you had contact like that with someone... was it?"

Some note in Max's whisper makes Andrew open his eyes and look up at him, uncertain.

"Do you ... do you mean like, seeing other people at all? Or someone bringing me food, or --"

He has to say it, it's harder but he has to say it. "Or t-taking me to bed?"

"I mean sex."

Max figures dancing around it is too risky now, with Andrew asking questions like that. He's doing his best to keep the tones of his voice neutral, at least.

"I know that's a really personal question. I'm sorry."

"Then ..."

He swallows again. Max's voice is calm enough, but he can't shake the feeling that there's anger there, and he doesn't know why, and it's hard not to be afraid of that.

"... yes?"

That confirms Max's worst fear. The abuse Andrew has suffered... it's hard not to want to rip a hole through dimensions and find the monster who did this. But he must stay calm, for his Pet's sake.

"How do you feel about that?"

"I don't know, I --" He swallows, and looks down. "I wanted to see him again, but it didn't ... seem important? When I was still with Lucifer? And, and then after ..."

He doesn't really know how to unpack any of the layers underlying the certainty, doesn't know how to explain why he believes it; it's just self-evidently true.

"I mean ... like I said. People don't want me. Not like that."

"It's okay." Max soothes him with soft strokes to his hair. "Feelings are complicated at the best of times. That's okay."

The way Andrew was treated was FAR from okay, but it's not the man's fault. It will take time, like all these things. Time to untangle the web of lies that was woven around him.

"I know you think that. But, I think people here might want you. And I want what's best for you. I just want to make sure that, if someone does want you like that, you'll be okay with it. It's my job to protect you."

The soothing touch feels like a reward, for honesty, for speaking aloud something that's hard to even think about for too long. For just a second he closes his eyes in bliss under Max's hand, and then jerks them open again; stay awake, he reminds himself.

"I, I know you said ..." Slowly, stumbling a little. "That I'm not allowed to ... to let anyone do something like that with me if I don't want it. Right?" He'll pause just a moment, looking up into Max's face to be sure he's got it right, before continuing. "What if ... what if I'm not sure what I want?"

Edited 2021-09-10 21:38 (UTC)

Max smiles and adds a touch of pride to the expression. Yes, he's happy Andrew took that lesson to heart.

"If you aren't sure, then you should not do it. Something like that should wait until you know for certain that you want it." Max is firmly in the camp, now, of thinking lukewarm isn't enough.

"It might take you a little time to explore your own feelings. The answer may not be clear for a while. I encourage you think about it and to talk to me about it if you need help sorting through your thoughts. Kind of like what we are doing right now. Talking about it might be hard, but it's good for us."

Andrew nods. "I, I'll try. And ..." Hesitant again. "If there's something I think I want, but it'd be bad for me, you -- you'll tell me?"

"Yes," Max says without hesitation.

He doesn't add that, if it's something Andrew thinks he wants, then they may have a discussion about it at the time. They will just cross that bridge when they come to it.

"I promise."

He breathes out shakily, in relief and acquiescence.

"Thank you," he whispers, and once again has to swallow the word master.

Andrew has done well. Really well. So Max thinks it might be a good time for a break. Besides, the poor guy was almost falling asleep already a few times.

"What do you say to taking a little nap with me? You look like you could use it."

Andrew's face turns up to Max's, like a flower to the sun, and he smiles.

"I'd like that. Thank you, Max."

--------------------

Gradually, they develop a routine. Andrew makes the bed every morning and washes the dishes on alternate days, happy to be useful. Max gives him a mandatory free period every day, to go do something he likes, and encourages him to meet people. He exercises, and visits the library and the bookshop, and spends more time outdoors than he has in years.

He decides, with a dizzying blend of trepidation and excitement, that sometime soon he's going to ask Max if he could try to help cook.

They've settled into a routine. Andrew has adapted well to it, much to Max's relief. In fact, they both have. He finds those moments where he asks Andrew what he did with the day to be some of the highlights in his own day. Usually, these conversations happen while he's making the evening meal. But, despite working over the stove, Max always pay very close attention to everything his Pet tells him.

Today, he can tell, there's something on the man's mind that he hasn't yet said. There's a kind of nervous energy about Andrew that he's become good at picking up on.

"I'm really proud of how sociable you've been lately," says Max as he sets a pot of potatoes on the burner to boil, "I think you're doing really well. And, you know if there's ever anything you want or need, all you have to do is ask."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject