In the End

It Will All Come Out in the Wash

"You realize that this is the second time you've narrowly missed death."

Andy tries to say it as a joke, but he is in no laughing mood. He manages to keep himself together, even though seeing Brett as mangled and bandaged as he is makes him quiver inside. He had run over as soon as he could, closing the shop midday and taking a taxi instead of walking like he normally would. He can't remember the last time his heart beat so fast; or, he can, but he doesn't quite want to think about it.

Brett just snickers. "It isn't worth it, man," he says, and Andy wonders how he can genuinely be so unbothered, with the position he is in. "The hospital food is awful. I think I might actually go this time."

Andy knows he is joking, but he still feels his throat constrict. He tries not to show it, for whatever reason, and pretends that there is something lodged inside his shoe and leans over while Brett picks at the so called awful food on his tray.

The nurse comes in for a little while, just to check his vitals, and Andy watches. He knows that everything is fine right now, and that Brett is alright, but he still can't help but panic inside. He watches and finds it hard to breathe until he hears the words everything seems normal, and even then, he waits for there to be a mistake. He holds his breath, and he waits.

He waits until Brett starts talking to him again, prattling off without a care in the world, and he wonders how Brett lives like this, with no worries, no inhibitions. He fusses with his shirt sleeves and tries to listen, but his mind is still whirling so quickly. Brett may have survived now, but he is still in extreme danger. If Andy knows Chucky at all – and much to his disgust, he thinks he knows him somewhat well – he knows that Chucky will not be pleased to see that Brett has survived. He may come back with a vengeance, and an ugly one at that.

He's trying to listen to Brett, but he can't help that creeping worry. He can't help a lot of feelings these days, disappointingly enough. He's not as dead inside as he'd hoped. It hurt much less when he was.

"I just wasn't looking, you know?" Brett is explaining, his eyes wild. Andy snaps back into the conversation, suddenly, and there is a strange white noise in the back of his mind. Brett hasn't seemed to notice. He carries on with his story, Andy now aware and alert. "I don't know, I guess I was so excited, thinking about starting here, with you and Kristen, and everyone else, and I didn't look at the streets. The streets are a terror here, by the way."

"Yeah," Andy gives, half-heartedly. He's trying to piece Brett's story with Chucky's, and things start to click where he does not want them to. The streets are a nightmare, he knows. They're too dangerous to wander out into, and too dangerous to drive without a clear head. It's why he doesn't drive anymore. He can't stand the thought of such a loud and busy death, with people trampling all over like they do in life.

When he goes out, he wants to go out quietly, like a candle snuffed into the dark. Alone and silenced, and at peace.

"... and then, this flatbed, just," Brett pauses, and Andy noticed the way Brett's cheeks redden a little. Almost embarrassed. "Well, he wasn't breaking any rules. I was. I ran a red, and this guy had no way to stop."

He sighs and lays his hands on the bed, flattening the sheets. "They told me my car is totaled. I scared so many people. I wasn't thinking, and I caused such a mess."

"You didn't do it on purpose," Andy tries to encourage him, but now the pieces are all connected, whether he wants them to be or not, and he feels sick inside. Twisted and sour, and he wants to vomit. Everything, as he had feared, feels wrong. He remembers so instantly why he hates to let himself live. Everything always turns sideways and backwards until he's so dizzy he can hardly breathe.