stilljustandrew: (not the best day ever)
He's tried to think about taking off the cuffs, as Brix told him to. It's hard to think about: painful, and frightening, and disturbing in a way that's somehow worse than either. It feels wrong.

But he said he would try, and he's been trying. It isn't his fault if it's too hard to keep doing for long.
stilljustandrew: (Baby)
[The morning after this.]

There is a note with Bar, for anybody who might inquire after Andrew Wells, saying that he is currently staying in the cells for his own safety.

No one has told Bar anything about people who maybe shouldn't get that note, even if they ask.
stilljustandrew: (defeated)
It's been about two days.

Nobody's come for him.

Andrew's lying down, staring at the far wall.
stilljustandrew: (Baby)
He doesn't take the tisane.

What he does, after Brix leaves... )
stilljustandrew: (Baby)
[Previously: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5]

What's worried Baby the most, over the past few days --

Well. What's upset her the most is Andrew's consistent refusal to speak to her mind-to-mind, or out loud beyond the few necessary words she might exchange with any other inmate, such as requests for food, fresh clothes, an extra blanket.

But what's worried her is that he hasn't asked for anything to pass the time. No tablet with games or videos on it, no pencil and paper, no baseball to bounce off the opposite wall.

No books.

In the cell, Andrew finishes his breakfast (cornflakes, with sliced banana), sets aside the bowl, and settles down leaning against the wall.
stilljustandrew: (breathe)
[After this: 1, 2, 3]

It's late, at least by his body-clock. There's nothing else he can do, so he may as well take a nap.

The cot feels unreasonably exposed; he spends a few minutes wrangling the thin mattress onto the floor, at which point the framework obligingly vanishes to give him a convenient place against the wall to lay it down. He takes off his shoes and socks and his button-down shirt, and lies down in his jeans and undershirt, and stares at the wall.

A week. Maybe in a week he can convince them that he isn't a danger to anyone and they'll let him go.
stilljustandrew: (direct)
It's a brisk clear day in early fall at Milliways. Perfect for a picnic by the lake, especially by the Caribbean inlet where the lake has been made to think it's an ocean and the warmer tropical air blends with the cool crispness of autumn in Scotland.

Andrew's been intermittently eyeing the picnic basket Matt's carrying as they make their way toward the shore.
stilljustandrew: (silent)
The note's on medium-weight ivory paper (formal-looking but not expensive; the sort of thing a broke college student might print a resume on), in painstakingly neat handwriting, and has very clearly been crumpled and smoothed out again at least once. )
stilljustandrew: (d20s)
"So can you bring me up to speed?" is the first thing Dr. Millman asks him, once they're settled in one of the infirmary's consultation rooms. "Nita didn't give me too much of the context."

Previously on Milliways, he thinks (with what he really wishes were more genuine humor), and takes a deep breath. And plunges in.

The first time he met Matt, trying to read auguries in the fragments of a broken teacup. How quickly he'd warmed to him, talking shop about different magic systems; how he'd offered to show Matt the Council Library sometime.

"And that's not something I should have even considered with a guy I just met, you know?" he adds in an aside. "I mean there's sensitive stuff in there, information that could be seriously dangerous in the wrong hands ... I don't think he took anything but the point is I didn't know, I -- god," he groans, "that was so irresponsible."
stilljustandrew: (silent)
It's not that he hasn't been eating. It's that he hasn't been able to muster the energy to do much more than unwrap a granola bar or a stick of beef jerky or open a packet of chips, once or twice a day. And even at that rate, he's run out.

He made himself take a shower yesterday, which means his clothes have only been slept in once, so he can probably make it through the bar without attracting too much attention. There's a baseball cap to hide his bedhead, and obscure his face a little. If he's lucky, maybe he won't run into anyone he knows.

Down the stairs, one step at a time, and towards Bar.
stilljustandrew: (desolate)
The corridor outside the Security Office isn't the busiest place, usually; not a common spot to run into someone else.

Andrew might be upping the odds a little, though, by dithering indecisively outside it for several minutes.
stilljustandrew: (d20s)
He struggles with himself for close to an hour before deciding to write Matt a note instead of going to see him again.

I talked to Nita and she says I'm not going to die of this. I thought you should know.

When he heads to the Security office... )
stilljustandrew: (neutral)
[From this continuity. Content warning for magically impaired consent and mild-to-moderate smut.]

Getting the okay from Giles wasn't hard at all; after all, he's brought other friends from other worlds to the Council library before. He managed to avoid mentioning that this was a guy he'd only just met, so that worked out all right.

Andrew steps into Milliways, looking about hopefully.
stilljustandrew: (serious 2)
Andrew's got a table near the Observation Window, a Coke, a plate of fried paradoxes, and an X-Factor trade paperback in a plain brown cover.

(You never know when an actual member of X-Factor might walk in, here.)

It's shaping up to be a pretty okay evening.
stilljustandrew: (weary)
Ever since they started what he's been mentally referring to as the Interdimensional Witness Relocation Program, Andrew's been getting most of his sleep at Milliways. Between helping Sam Winchester settle in at the Academy as a putative Watcher-in-training and trying to juggle his own schedule around that, there hasn't been time to sleep at home.

Especially since about half the time he finds himself lying awake anyway, jittering from a combination of nerves and caffeine.

Andrew rolls over, bunches up the pillow under his head, and lets out a sigh of tired frustration as he tries to relax again.
stilljustandrew: (grim)
He's expecting something like a throne room, when Meg leads him upstairs.

He's not too far wrong ... but a closer simile, he thinks numbly, would be a war room.
stilljustandrew: (look aside)
Jonathan's vision was pretty well unmistakable. Gabriel's in danger, and doesn't know it -- or at least doesn't know the specifics.

That would be enough on its own, even if Andrew didn't more or less owe him his life.

Gabriel's nowhere to be seen at Milliways, and no one seems to have run into him in the past couple of days. Well, and that's normal enough; there's no reason he'd be here all the time, and plenty of reason to make himself scarce, all things considered. Maybe he's just back home.

Please just let this not be too late.

Andrew writes out a note at the bar giving Jonathan's vision in as much detail as he can, folds it carefully in quarters, and writes "The Trickster (G.)" on the outside.
stilljustandrew: (dark)
There's a triple circle on the floor of the room: standard Summoning, and two extra tracks. The one of holy oil is a matter of last resort.

Oddly enough, it's the true name part that's easiest this time.

Andrew speaks the last words of the Summoning, and rises to his feet.
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