route666rp | [Open] Birthday Boy

Entry tags:

[Open] Birthday Boy

Who: Andrew Blur and anyone/everyone
What: It's his birthday
When: October 19th
Where: Somewhere around the carnival
Warnings: Nothing yet, aside from drinking
Also I will gladly match format! I'm good with brackets/action and prose ♥︎

a. Another Year Older - the happier option

[There was some kind of carnie game booth that had seen better days, and didn't seem to have been in active use by any of the ghosts. That might have been because it was a bit off to the side, not on a main path, and had maybe been deemed not a prime location. A lack of ghosts worked out fine for Andrew.

He'd set up there a few days ago, moved what might have been pieces of a broken ring toss game over to one side of the interior--which left plenty of room, honestly. It wasn't tight enough to be claustrophobic, and he had room to do...whatever, or have a few friends over, or...no, that was it, that was all he had in terms of potential activities. Aside from drinking, anyway.

They weren't cold, but he had a small hoard of whatever alcohol he could find on the fairgrounds, taken when he could get away with it. He had enough for some celebrations, which in turn might be enough to...well, this still wouldn't make it onto his list of 'great birthdays', he figured.

Taking a swig from the open beer he had, he hopped up to sit on one of the booth's counters, feet not touching the ground. He was long overdue for a hair cut, especially his undercut, which wasn't even close to being shaved anymore, but it hadn't felt like a priority lately. Maybe when the convoy was actually cars again, he'd look into taking care of it, or asking for some assistance.

For now though, if someone happened to wander by for whatever reason, whether he knew them or not, Andrew raised his beer bottle in greeting.]

Hey. I've got more if you want a drink. I'm celebrating.

[Was he a bit tipsy already? Maybe. ~~Yes.~~]

b. First Year Lonely - the emotional option

[Or maybe you happened to wander by at a different time during the day, or evening. The time of day all felt the same to Andrew, with its near constant cloud cover or whatever was going on.

He was still in the booth, still had beers and a limited assortment of other alcohol, but he wasn't immediately visible, due to sitting on the ground inside. Various noises were audible, giving away his position, as he leaned his phone against his leg. The screen was scratched, maybe the slightest bit cracked in one place, and the rest of the case, well. Equally scratched. It worked just fine though, and that was the part he cared about.

He swiped through saved pictures and snaps, sound coming from the seconds of video. Firecrackers, two different Southern drawls, a different snap, just one Southern accent, not Andrew's. He swiped through a few more pictures, tears burning his eyes.]

Happy fucking birthday.

[He followed that up with what seemed to be his best attempt to chug the rest of his current beer in one go.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[It's the sound that draws Edward in.]

[He's been more reclusive the last few days, retreating as high and far into rafters and tent roofs as he can. He still tends the web that's providing food, but he hasn't been there to greet or talk to anyone, preferring to catch the monsters and drop them down for people to come gather as they wish. Hopefully everyone in the convoy uses the honour system and doesn't hog all the food.]

[But he'd also be lying if he said that hadn't gotten lonely, so at a lull in the festivities around the carnival, he's crept down to see if anyone is out and about. He keeps to the shadows, moving on the walls and ceilings where he can, and that's how he finds Andrew. He climbs over the top of the booth and pauses there on the roof, listening. Andrew isn't moving enough for him to get a clear sense of where he is, beyond 'down there, in the booth', but he recognises his voice, along with the voice of someone else.]

[It's only when Andrew speaks that Edward creeps forward and leans his head and shoulders over the top of the booth.]

Andrew?

[Edward was quiet enough that Andrew didn't realize he was there at first, or maybe Andrew was just too wrapped up in trying to drown his sorrows, left with nothing but pictures and stale recordings of his best friend. He'd at least put the beer bottle down before he heard Edward's voice, so that when he flinched, he only had to scramble to catch his phone as it slid to the side. It wouldn't have far to go at least, and he slapped his palm over it to keep it from falling.

Then he took a breath and looked up, tipping his head back.]

Hey. I, uh- I didn't realize you were there.

[Sniffling, and not even subtly, he pressed the heel of one hand to his eyes, smearing the tears away so he could at least see more than blurred shapes.]

But I wouldn't mind if you stayed. Plenty of room. And alcohol.

[He paused, wrestled with himself so he wouldn't say something self-deprecating about how he was a mess right now, then added, quieter.]

And I've never been alone on my birthday.

[Sneaky spiders gonna sneak.]

I wasn't advertising my presence.

[At the invitation, though, he lets himself down, and the reason he wasn't being forthright becomes immediately clear. Edward is looking rough; he's paler than usual, the dark bags under his eyes making his scars stand out in harsh relief. The sleeves on his shirt have been slashed to ribbons, and all four arms have healing cuts on them, like someone raked him with claws. The worst, though, is one of his legs: the back spider leg on the right side cuts off abruptly, significantly shorter than the other three. It's been wrapped and bandaged with silk, but Edward is lurching and graceless without all four legs. He lands next to Andrew with an ungainly plop, and curls the injured leg in close to his body.]

I could use some alcohol, please.

[He sighs softly.]

I'd wish you a happy birthday, but it seems as though the time for that has already passed, hasn't it?

Yeah, don't blame you.

[Andrew usually didn't announce his presence either, but he was generally so awful at sneaking around that it didn't matter because people knew he was there anyway. But he could definitely think of a list of reasons why someone would want to be stealthy here.

He blinked, then blinked some more, when he actually got a look at Edward as he joined him. Concern wormed its way through Andrew's sea of misery, and he set his phone to the side, out of the way, as he shifted, looking him over. It didn't matter that he'd only spoken to Edward once before; when Andrew decided he liked someone, his protective streak would flare to life regardless of how long he'd known a person.]

What happened? You- you don't seem alright.

[He looked awful, but Andrew wasn't going to come out and say that; it felt rude. He started to reach out, then stopped, hesitating, more because he wasn't sure where good places to touch were, so he wouldn't cause pain, but also because he didn't want to spook Edward.

Had it been the arena again? Or a person? Was Andrew going to get himself in trouble with someone when his temper flared and he ended up doing something stupid?

Sniffling again, he leaned over to the side where he had the alcohol he'd found collected in a crate.]

Is beer alright? There's a few bottles of other stuff too, but I'm not sure how they taste.

[And if beer was alright, he didn't have a bottle opener, but using the bottom edge of his shirt to help get them open had been working decently enough so far.]

I still appreciate the sentiment. I'm-...it's my first without my best friend.

[It'd be fine. Edward knows he looks like garbage. He feels like it too, although being around a friend is already helping.]

[When Andrew reaches for him, Edward lifts one of his hands and catches Andrew's, then just holds it. Sorry, buddy, hope you can get the beer with just one hand!]

The arenas. I got caught and put there again. This last time was... a bit more strenuous than the others.

[Classic British understatement.]

[Edward takes the offered beer and drains most of it in one long pull. He won't even complain about how it must be an American beer because it's not strong enough. Or maybe he's just exhausted, in pain, and pissy about everything today.]

Oh?

[Edward tilts his head towards Andrew. He was just going to move his head, but then the alcohol and exhaustion hit his empty stomach like a ton of bricks, and he ends up letting himself fall the rest of the way sideways, until he's leaning against Andrew, his head on his shoulder.]

Tell me about him? I'd like to hear about something good for a change.

[Oh, well. Andrew didn't mind at all, and he did manage the beer with only one hand.

Better--for Andrew--that it had been the arenas; he couldn't charge in there as easily and pick a fight with the person he'd actually want to fight. But it didn't mean he wasn't pissed about it, because he was. It wasn't fair, and he'd meant what he'd said before about hating bullies. This definitely felt like that, like targeting Edward because he'd had a rough time in the arenas before, and so someone got a kick out of watching him struggle.

And maybe charging in wasn't an option, but setting the whole goddamn place on fire sounded like a good back up plan. In theory, anyway. In practice he knew it would be a mess.]

You can stay here. If you wanted. Might be safer.

[He didn't know if the ghosts or whoever would stumble across this out of the way place, but until or if that happened...]

'Cause I'd be here too, and I'd- you know, I wouldn't let them take you again.

[Andrew would protect him. With fire and claws and his new trick of turning into a dog, he liked to think he was at least somewhat formidable. Maybe he actually was.

His breath caught for a moment when Edward leaned against him, and when he exhaled, tension went with it, uncoiling from his muscles. Something good. He wished there were only good things to say about Eddie, that Andrew didn't carry a void of loss inside him. He wished he could say Eddie'd be there waiting for him at home.]

Yeah, I-

[He scrubbed the back of his hand over his eyes before snagging his own beer to finish off the little bit he'd left.]

We pretty much grew up together, knew him for more of my life than I didn't. He's...he was everything, my whole world.

[His voice cracked for a moment, and he had to stop for a breath, until his throat wasn't as tight.]

He was always the more charming one, between the two of us, but he could be an ass, too. Didn't mind, most of the time, except when his temper got us into a little too much trouble. I liked trouble, otherwise.

[Parties and street racing and everything in between.]

He looked out for me, and he brought out the best in me. He knew how to make the hard shit easier when it got to be too much. And he loved knowledge. He's why we went to college after high school, and then grad school after that.

He was great, and I miss him so fucking much.

[He didn't quite make it through the last sentence without getting choked up, without wanting to curl in on himself, or curl in towards Edward. Andrew squeezed his hand, more gentle than not.]

[There's a moment, when he realises what he's done, when Edward nearly pulls away. It's not appropriate, he knows, to just go flopping all over another person, no matter how worn out he is, and the polite thing to do would be to pull away. It's not Andrew's fault nor his problem that Edward has been pushed so far and is teetering on the edge of collapse, and he doesn't need the added stress of Edward's problems when he's clearly not doing well himself.]

[But then he feels Andrew relax under him. He doesn't push Edward away, or take his hand back, and Edward takes this as permission. He sighs through his nose and relaxes further, leaning more heavily against Andrew's side. He'll apologise later, but he needs this warmth and connection now.]

Thank you. I believe I will, if it isn't too imposing to have me here.

[Odds are, he'll fall asleep and that will be the end of that.]

[But then Andrew starts talking about his friend, and all the little tells and tricks are there. The sadness in his voice, the past tense, the confession about how much he misses him: Andrew is talking about someone who has died. Edward has heard far too many soldiers talking about their buddies who fell in combat to miss the signs. But Andrew is no soldier, hasn't had the experience of watching his friends die again and again to harden his heart. He's a civilian, from a kinder, gentler age, and his friend's death is obviously still raw and painful.]

[Edward squeezes Andrew's hand back, then shifts slightly, turning towards him and angling his body so his chest opens up. He won't be so bold as to actively invite him in, but as he's learned from the turtles, sometimes just offering the opportunity is enough for people from these sweeter worlds to take the initiative on their own. He certainly won't be opposed to Andrew curling in against him, if that's what he needs.]

He sounds lovely.

[Edward's voice is soft and respectful.]

What were the two of you studying?

[It feels like the softest option to get Andrew to keep talking. That's another thing Edward knows: once these conversations start, it's best to let them play out, to let the grief run as dry as it can and then lance the wound. Swallowing it down just makes it worse.]

It's not too imposing at all.

[Andrew was the kind of person who didn't make offers unless he really meant it. When he didn't want to do something, he dug his heels in and protested or dodged as much as he could. So he meant it that Edward could say, and Andrew wouldn't mind at all. He'd been even lonelier since they'd all been stuck in the carnival, feeling more unsafe than usual, and he'd never enjoyed being alone. He'd always had someone with him, been around Eddie.

He did seize the opportunity, shifting closer, leaning into Edward. What he wanted, more than anything, was to be held, but he didn't know how to ask for something like that when he'd never had to. Eddie had always been extremely hands-on; casual touches, kneading Andrew's shoulders and back, lifting him off his feet--considering Eddie'd had a good number of inches on him in height, and had been stronger--rolling on top of him in the middle of the night or during naps. Andrew'd never not had enough physical contact, until the end.]

He was, to me.

[He knew other people thought Eddie had been cruel and selfish, but they hadn't known him, not like Andrew had. Sam and Riley had seen the good in Eddie, though, his kindness and generosity, even if he'd toed the line a few times with Sam, tempers clashing.]

American Studies, both of us. My focus was on music, wrote my undergrad thesis on murder ballads and folk-country. I'd been going to continue the research.

[But now he wasn't sure anymore. Music didn't feel the same. Nothing felt the same.]

Eddie had been doing local Appalachian folklore. Ghosts and magic and shit. Southern gothics were his thing.

[Andrew sniffled until he could breathe a little better, so he could keep talking.]

We were supposed to start together. He bought a house for us. But he kept me away, and I think he was trying to protect me, but fuck that, I should've been there for him.

[He should've just not listened, he should've gone down anyway, been there with him.]

He visited after spring term, and I never thought that'd be the last time I'd ever see him, but-

[But it had been. Andrew hated crying around other people; he'd managed to hold himself together so far until he could cry when he was alone, but not now. Now the tears were hot and stinging, and his throat was tight, and he shifted again, to better tuck himself against Edward.]

[Just as Edward suspected: once the torrent started, there was no stopping it. That's fine. He wouldn't want to try.]

[When Andrew leans into him, there's only a moment of hesitation before Edward lifts his arms--all four of them--and gently draws him closer. It's clear that's what Andrew wants, what he needs, and maybe Edward could also do with some closeness now. He lost two friends and a part of himself in the arenas; now he's trapped in the spider body for the foreseeable future, hobbled and in pain, and his vibrations are stunted by only having three legs. It's been a shit week for him too.]

I'm so sorry.

[He doesn't ask what happened to Eddie. He doesn't need to. It's obvious that whatever it was, it was bad, and that he died. Those first deaths are always the hardest to face, the ones you end up carrying with you the longest, especially if you were close to the person who passed.]

[Andrew had been worried, just a bit, that he'd been...too much in some way, but that worry was silenced the moment Edward gently pulled him closer. Slow and careful, Andrew slid his arms around him in return. He didn't know if there were injuries he couldn't see, so he took care to be a bit cautious, even with how emotionally cracked open he was right now.]

Me, too.

[Two words were all he could manage right now. He hadn't cried like this since before he'd woken up in the sky scraper, and months of keeping it all bottled up, dancing around one subject or another, probably wasn't good for him. The numbness that he felt now and then was probably a survival instinct, his body cutting off emotions when they were going to overwhelm him completely. He'd felt less numb here, more lonely or angry or on edge, and he hadn't relaxed a whole lot.

Trying to keep pushing himself forward, learning about things here and how to protect himself, were one thing, but they were also a distraction from the pain that kept festering. It'd taken him weeks to stop missing Eddie's revenant, missing the frostbite cold touch of ghostly fingers on the back of his neck, just because it was all of Eddie that was left. But the revenant hadn't been brought with him, and he'd only recently reached the point of being relieved about that. It'd given him time and space to try and sort through things a little better.

Yet here he was, and he didn't feel like the grief would ever lessen. Maybe it took longer than a few months, was all.]

I still expect to hear his voice, or see him. Forever's too long.

[To go without him.]

Edward can tell Andrew is being cautious with him, and he appreciates it. Even with the battering he’s taken, though, it’s surprisingly pleasant to have Andrew’s heat and weight in his arms. He wishes it were under more pleasant circumstances, but things are what they are.

“You truly loved him, didn’t you?” There’s more than the slightest hint of wistfulness to Edward’s tone. He’s quite sure no one has ever felt this strongly about him, or would mourn his passing so strongly.

“I’m sure he would be honored to know how strongly he’s missed.” One of Edward’s hands lifts and idly smoothes down some of Andrew’s hair. “But would he want you to be in such pain? Would he want you hurting for the rest of your days, in his memory?”

Based on how Andrew has described him, Edward thinks the answer is likely no.

Andrew wished the circumstances were better too, but it'd been so long since he'd been held that he didn't feel inclined to let go any time soon. His mom had hugged him at the funeral, but that was different and had been months ago already.

"I did. I still do." He loved Eddie more than he'd ever loved anyone, and he hadn't even figured out half of it yet, even though everyone in Nashville had been telling him the same thing.

"I-..." Andrew started to answer, but stopped when Edward touched his hair, his shoulders drooping a bit in relaxation. It took a moment for him to scrape his thoughts back together. "He wouldn't. But I-" He shouldn't, he knew he shouldn't, and yet-

"I think his ghost blames me for not being there. It's so angry, and it made sure I knew he died trying to reach out to me." That Eddie had tried to use the power they shared to heal his wounds, but Andrew had been too far away to tap into his share of it. The revenant wasn't Eddie, but it was hard not to let it hurt, when Andrew blamed himself for not being there.

Edward won't make him let go. This is helping him just as much as it's helping Andrew. The longer he goes without his sight, the more other things are to take its place, and touch and texture is one of those things. He'll never complain about his vibrations, but they don't capture colour at all, so he's become more attracted to textures as of late, using them to fill in the gap colour left behind. Andrew's hair is softer than his own, the curls looser and more gentle, and Edward loosely plucks a curl or two to run between his fingers.

When Andrew starts talking about ghosts, Edward's hand slows down for a moment, but only for a moment and then it picks back up, toying with curls. Once, he might have scoffed at the idea of a ghost following anyone. But then he went to war, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't have ghosts of his own these days.

"I've seen many men die in the Great War. Too many." Does Andrew know Edward's time period? He's not sure, so he specifically mentions the war to contextualise things. "I think, when people die unexpectedly, there's often a great deal of anger, and regret, that still exists. Sometimes, it feels like it's all that's left."

That, and despair, but he's not going to mention that.

"Are you able to communicate with his ghost?"

Andrew wasn't sure he could remember the last time someone had touched his hair so gently, if ever, and he hadn't quite realized the affect it would have on him until this very moment. It was soothing, enough that his breathing evened a little, less shaky from crying, and he definitely noticed when Edward paused. The pause was short enough that Andrew's nerves didn't have too much of a chance to spike. He didn't know what to expect when it came to bringing up ghosts in a serious sense because...Eddie was the only person he'd ever really talked to about it--and had avoided talking to about it just as much.

Edward's response had the new tension easing out of Andrew's shoulders, unraveling some of his worries. Except... "The-" Great War. Well, replying to that with 'world war i?' sure as hell felt like it would be a difficult conversation, if it hadn't already been had with someone else, and he wasn't going to say a damn word about it right now. It did help put things into context for him, and he might not have ever been anywhere near a battlefield, but he knew war was full of horror and nightmares. "I'm sorry you've had to go through that."

But-...how did Andrew explain haunts to someone when he wasn't used to talking about it with people who didn't already have all the same information he did? He wasn't sure he could do it in an adequate way, but he'd started this, so he was determined to try.

Most haunts seemed to be nothing but anger or regret--or despair--so he couldn't argue there, but those haunts felt more...mindless than Eddie's revenant. His felt like it had a purpose, a goal it was trying to make him understand.

"It's..." he sniffled, taking a breath while he tried to find the words. "It doesn't really work like that. Haunts--that's what him and I call ghosts--haunts aren't really chatty. They're not the same as the person they used to be. They're what's left, the scraps, so they do talk, sort of, but it's these horrible whispers." And he'd only managed to make out a few phrases from the revenant, but nothing actually helpful.

"I'm pretty damn sure his understands me, though, but his is different than any haunt I've ever experienced." And he was scared to think about why that was. But the revenant had never actually tried to hurt him, and that was telling, too.

Edward is used to that little pause when he refers to the Great War, and he has a fairly good idea what Andrew bit back on and didn't say. Simply the way he speaks and carries himself tells Edward that he's from the future.

"Thank you." There is, perhaps, the faintest hint of a smile in his voice. "I'm aware that there is another war afterwards, on the same scale, so it's all right if you call it World War I."

For him, it will always be the Great War, though.

Haunts. In Andrew's accent, to Edward's British ear, it sounds more like haints, so it takes him a few moments to realise what Andrew is actually saying. He's not surprised to hear that they don't really speak, mostly just whisper horrible things. The ghosts from the war are like that too, but most soldiers pretend they don't exist.

Not for the first time, Edward asks a simple question that he doesn't truly expect to have answered.

"How? How is he different?"

How are you different?

"Oh, thank fuck." He huffed out a bit of a choked laugh, the sort that went hand-in-hand with being too stressed. "Didn't want to have to be the one to say the world still sucks and people keep going to war." But the world did suck, sometimes. He was still sorry, genuinely, that Edward was acquainted with how awful war was.

"It's- I-" Again, how did he explain it? How did he put it into words when he'd spent the better part of a decade trying to pretend haunts didn't exist and that there wasn't a cold power coiled in the marrow of his bones that itched sometimes, itched under his nails and pulled at him when the night was darkest? "Haunts always stay where they died, because they're attached to that place, like an anchor. His found me in Ohio before he was even buried. It looks like him, too, and haunts are only ever the barest human shaped shadow." But not Eddie's. It looked like him, gaping, bloody death wounds and all.

"Haunts don't try and get you to solve their murder." And Eddie's revenant was as casually physical as he'd been when he was alive, except the revenant's touch was frostbite cold, burning, and it'd been so bad once that Andrew'd had to dump himself into a hot bath, clothes and all, just to warm up. Andrew didn't think he was trying to hurt him when he touched him, more that the revenant didn't fully grasp how painful its touch was.

"I think it's because of the power we share." The words came out in a whisper; he couldn't bring himself to say them any louder. "When shit got fucked when we were kids. It's like it gives his revenant a boost. Like it holds him together." And if that was Eddie, everything hurt even more, knowing he was existing like that. But even more terrifying was the thought would that happen to Andrew someday, too?

"No one but us sees haunts."

"Ah." It's all starting to come together, and Edward resumes playing with Andrew's hair. "You were able to see your haunts before, and he was as well. After he passed, you saw his spirit, but it was more active and vocal than other haunts. Am I understanding everything correctly?"

Had he grown up in a different time, Edward might not have taken this so well, but he was born in the very late Victorian era, a time of seances and spiritualism. He also lived in a time when death was always close, even before the war, so the idea of ghosts and spirits lingering after death isn't something too far removed from his every day life.

"What happened when you were children? Were you able to see haunts before then?"

Andrew's relief was immeasurable. "Exactly, yeah. His breaks all the rules we'd established for haunts." Eddie had always broken the rules, and his revenant didn't seem to be in a hurry to change that trend.

The rest though, the realization of the sort of corner Andrew had backed himself into regarding his and Eddie's 'childhood accident'... usually it would make him want to bolt, just- remove himself from the situation as quickly as he could. Maybe it was the beer he'd had, or how much he'd already talked about, or how he felt safe enough to bring these things up--but he didn't want to bolt right now. He'd kept so much bottled up for so long; he hadn't realized how talking about things made the dam inside him feel less like it was going to crack open. He felt less like he was going to crack open and break.

"No. We were just...kids, before that. Nothing weird." He was trying to buy himself a little time, psych himself up for the rough parts. "But when we were twelve, we almost died. I thought I had for the first few weeks after." It'd taken him until accidentally burning his hand on the stove to realize he wasn't dead. "There was a sinkhole in the forest. I swear, the fucking ghosts wanted us there. It was-..."

He hesitated, considering his options. The fastest, easiest way to convey how horrific things had been, without necessarily needing to get into all the details, would be to show someone. But that wouldn't work here. "I've got a scar from it all. It does a hell of a better job summing certain things up than I could, and touching it doesn't bother me, so- I could point it out, if you're alright with that." Guide Edward's hand, that was. Most people didn't have a problem with his scar, but it was definitely prominent, even if it had healed well.

"To be clear, I don't know anything about American haunts." Edward tries to imitate Andrew's pronunciation and accent on the word and likely fails miserably. "But spiritualism was quite common when I was growing up, and..." He pauses, grappling with how to articulate this. "And perhaps he was reaching out to you because he knew you'd see him? If his murder was unsolved, he may be unable to rest until you solve it for him."

Edward quiets down when Andrew starts talking about his accident, and the way he skirts around the details is telling. Plenty of wounded soldiers do the exact same thing, avoiding the actual details because to tell it is to relive it. Edward himself does that; he has yet to tell anyone, here or at home, exactly how he lost his eyes. The thought of reliving it overwhelms him, makes his voice curdle in the back of his throat, so he simply tells anyone who asks that it was a gas attack and leaves it at that.

He nods when Andrew suggests touching it, and offers him one of his free hands. The advantage to having four hands is that he doesn't have to stop touching Andrew's hair, or loosen his arms from around him too much. "Yes, that wouldn't bother me."

The attempt was charming though, and Andrew smiled despite everything else and how much his emotions were churning. And Edward's theory was...a good one, really. Andrew was sure Eddie knew he'd go to Tennessee either way to find out what happened to him, but his revenant reaching out to him immediately meant...well, he wasn't sure of all the potential possibilities. If he wasn't blaming him, he was trying to give him clues he needed. Or maybe he'd been warning him, maybe the revenant hadn't wanted Andrew to stumble into whatever Eddie had. But he didn't know what that was, so his chances of repeating Eddie's steps was still moderate to high.

"Could be that, yeah. I was the only one who believed it was murder from the start." He'd had doubts, because he'd been scared and heartbroken, but the revenant had confirmed that it was murder. "And I'm not going to let someone get away with that."

His hand trembled minutely as he took Edward's, gentle, and he guided his hand under the back of his shirt, until he'd found the bottom edge of his scar, just above the waistband of his jeans. It was a long line of white puckered skin that ran the entire length of his back, just to the left of his spine, and where it ended on the back of his shoulder, his sigil sat just above it, small and smooth. Visually, whenever Andrew got a glance at his scar in a mirror and remembered it was there, it looked like someone had tried to pull his spine through his skin crooked.

"The paramedics were surprised I hadn't bled out." His voice was quiet; he couldn't bring himself to say all this any louder. "I don't know how they found us, and I don't know what happened, but I felt it, when I changed. I knew when the sun came up after, even though we were underground; the earth felt different."

The ghosts had done something to Eddie, Andrew was pretty sure of that. It'd started with him, and then Eddie had shared it, and Andrew thought that'd been why he hadn't bled out. Or maybe he had. Maybe the power had brought him back. Eddie didn't remember any of it, and Andrew had refused to tell him what had happened in the cavern.

"The haunts started then. Down there, and then everywhere. And... all the rest of it." The facets of his power that he hadn't mentioned yet.

Edward isn't sure what he was expecting, when Andrew offered to show him his scar. He supposes he assumed the scar was similar to his own, somewhere visible and he's just missing it because it doesn't stand out in the vibrations. So when Andrew guides his hand under his shirt, Edward sucks in a surprised breath. It is pure dumb luck that Edward offered his second left hand for this task, and it's a good thing he did, otherwise the hand would be all too enthusiastic about joining whichever other one got the job.

As it is, Edward hardly notices the scar at first; Andrew's skin is warm under his fingertips, and he has to fight to keep from flattening his palm out on the small of Andrew's back and stroking up the length of it. The scar is hard to miss, though, and Edward traces his fingers up the long, tortured length of it. Whatever did this, it had to have been painful, and Edward's expression turns sympathetic. A wound like this would take months to heal properly, if it ever did at all.

By the time he reaches the top of the scar, Edward has most of one arm inside Andrew's shirt, hovering a few scant millimetres above his skin.

"I'm so sorry. This is... this is a wound that feels like it belongs on the front." Edward isn't sure what to do with his arm, but the left hand makes the decision for him; it traces the rest of Andrew's spine to the nape of his neck, where it positions itself to lightly cup the base of Andrew's neck. The movement presses the rest of Edward's arm--bare and sleeveless, since finding shirts or jackets with four arms is damn near impossible--against Andrew's back, and Edward very much hopes that it's dark enough in here or that Andrew is drunk enough to not notice how his face is flushing.

Edward's own sigil, between his shoulder blades, is that of the Swarm, and as such, he has a hive mind. Andrew isn't a Swarm member, but sometimes, Edward can project images or sensations to people who aren't in the Swarm, based purely on how he feels about them. He doesn't do it purposefully, but Andrew might catch a whiff of phantom tobacco smoke, unfiltered and acrid, and the sensation of a broad, ghostly hand holding his own, or taking his elbow.

"That must have been very frightening." Edward is trying so hard to focus, to not draw attention to how his second left hand is trying to play with the hair at the base of Andrew's skull. "No child should have to deal with something of that nature. I'm glad you had your friend there to help you, even if it meant he was afflicted as well."

Andrew wouldn't have minded one bit if Edward had stroked his palm up the length of his back. As it was, nobody had touched him like this in...a very long time. The better part of a year, at the very least. He couldn't help but think that he really should've just taken his shirt off, like he'd considered at first. That thought didn't really go away, he just got distracted from it for a moment, with everything else. As emotional as he had been and was, his nerves about his scar had melted away and he could hardly remember the last time he'd felt like this, content to lean his head on Edward's shoulder.

"Mother nature had it out for me. Tree root." The pain had been blinding, and he'd been terrified, and somehow he'd still been able to crawl through the tight spaces to find where Eddie had gone. "Used to bother me. Now I usually forget it's there." The scar. Out of sight, out of mind, and it didn't hurt. He knew, looking back on it all, that he probably should have been a hell of a lot worse off than he'd been. A wound like that, as deep as it'd been, should've left lingering damage. But it hadn't, and he tried not to think about why.

The press of Edward's arm to his back, his hand against his neck, was exactly the sort of contact Andrew had missed desperately. He made a noise in the back of his throat, something soft and pleased, and he shifted slightly, not to pull away, but so he could press into Edward's hand on the back of his neck. He turned his head a bit too, slowly, so as not to be jarring or dislodge any touching, until he could press his mouth to Edward's shoulder, just breathing for a moment, processing the way he felt, the phantom sensations that skated across his skin.

"It was awful." He had to move slightly to be able to speak clearly, but only slightly. "We were down there for three days. Never let go of each other." But he was thinking a little less about the horrible things he'd gone through as a child, and a little more about the unexpected heat blooming in him, different than the feeling that accompanied his fire breath sparking when he got riled up, but it was embers all the same.

"A tree root did this?" Edward is temporarily pulled away from the strange, building tension in his gut to boggle at that bit of information. The hand on the back of Andrew's neck pauses for a moment, leaving his hair alone to cup the back of his neck in a protective gesture. "Good lord, you must have a different class of tree in the States."

But then Andrew turns and his lips touch Edward's shoulder, and Edward goes still again. Tree roots are forgotten; all of Edward's focus suddenly shifts to the spot where Andrew's mouth is touching him, to the heat of it, far warmer than he has any right to be but also not burning. If Edward didn't know better, he'd think Andrew was breathing fire onto him, with the way the nerves in his shoulder flare to life and start rippling down the length of his arms.

Is this what Jayce meant, when he spoke about undeniable attraction? Edward isn't sure, and Jayce isn't here to ask. How would Edward even put this to words? It's like how he used to feel when Thomas came to see him in the hospital, except stronger, because he's actually touching Andrew instead of simply dreaming about it.

The second left hand, always the boldest part of Edward, shifts on Andrew's neck. It turns until it's cupping the base of his skull, the fingers entwined in his hair. The second right hand, taking a lesson in bravery from its partner, rises to touch Andrew's chin, gently lifting it before sliding along the length of his jaw to cradle his face in its palm. The first left arm is already around Andrew's shoulders, and it simply contracts, pulling him just a touch closer. And finally, the first right hand, Edward's dominant hand, sinks to land on Andrew's hip, the thumb brushing along the top of his belt, toying with the hem of his shirt.

Edward doesn't say anything. He drums the fingers touching Andrew's face lightly along his jawbone, and follows the rippling vibrations to gently press his lips against Andrew's.

There were some days where Andrew thought his injuries had been very much on purpose, a situation constructed by the ghosts. If those voices had been able to lure Eddie out there, lead the pair of them to the sink hole, what else where they capable of? They'd wanted Eddie; Andrew had been collateral. Or a bargaining chip. Or both. But he didn't say any of that, only thought about it for a moment. There were other, far more important, things on his mind.

He already felt like he was about to melt, pleasantly, with so many hands on him. He'd always been a very tactile person, and whether he was sober, drunk, or high, touch settled him, made him feel good. This was more, not just comfort and contentment, but all that and attraction and desire, too. Drinking had taken the edge off the way he tended to overthink everything and get caught up in his own head; he was only thinking of Edward's hands on him. Andrew couldn't help the way he practically nuzzled against Edward's palm for a moment, lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

It was probably ~~definitely~~ better not to say anything right now, so Andrew wouldn't have a chance to trip awkwardly over his own tongue and his words. He slid his hands to Edward's shoulders, one resting there, the other moving to the back of his neck without breaking contact, so it wouldn't catch him by surprise. Holding still was something of a challenge for Andrew, but he did, especially when he knew what Edward was doing with the vibrations.

Andrew had only recently started giving more thought to certain things about himself that he'd spent years shoving into a box that he'd never unpacked. The uncertainty he'd been carrying with him was silenced when Edward kissed him; it felt right, it felt good. All of this did.

And this time, the noise Andrew made low in his throat was a soft whine. He pressed a fraction closer, and though taking things slow wasn't one of his strong suits, either--especially not when he felt the way he did right now--he tried, kissing Edward slow and sweet. He felt a bit electric, everywhere he was touching and being touched, his heart beating faster.

Edward's breath quickens in his throat when he feels Andrew move his hands. There is a moment of abject terror where he's certain Andrew is going to shove him away, push him over and start shouting the words Edward has heard all his life to describe men like him, the words that he's told don't matter or mean anything here but that he's deeply internalised all the same. But then Andrew doesn't push him aside, he draws him in closer, and the moan Edward makes could almost be misconstrued as a sob of relief.

Three of Edward's hands tighten, almost possessively, as Andrew kisses him back, and this time it's Edward who's melting, leaning in against his chest with a sigh. The fourth hand, the one on Andrew's hip, is more bold, and slips under his shirt, splaying flat against his abdomen, soaking in the heat of his skin like a plant reaching towards the sun.

Edward is not very well-versed in kissing; his experience is limited, and his experience with men even more so. But he's enthusiastic, responding to Andrew's pace and the pressure of his lips, letting him take the lead.

Andrew knew what it was like to worry that way, to be terrified of what someone would do. For years, he'd been dealing with the slurs lobbed at him and Eddie, from hateful assholes who couldn't keep their damn mouths shut. It'd become the fastest way to send him into a white hot rage--and why he'd awoken on the skyscraper months back with his face an absolute wreck--but also part of why he'd never unpacked any of those boxes. Who was he going to talk to about things when he didn't know when it was safe to talk about them? He'd never even talked to Eddie about it, too scared he would ruin their friendship, that maybe it was just him who had things to unpack.

He wasn't sure he would have been brave enough to make the first move here, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let things slip through his fingers once they'd started. Especially not when the noise Edward made had every nerve in his body flaring, Andrew's attention narrowing even more than it already had. He was incapable of focusing on anything else, just this, Edward pressed against him, his hands, his mouth. And when Edward's hand pressed under his shirt, Andrew groaned.

While he might not have been a stranger to kissing and intimacy, this was his first time kissing a man. He'd never realized it was supposed to be like this, this good. He hadn't realized everything before had been...mediocre. He'd never felt this alive, this in the moment, this hungry for more.

Sliding his hand slowly up the back of Edward's neck, Andrew pushed his fingers into his hair, mindful of his claws. Any nerves he might have had, any skittish worries, were long buried now, though he was still feeling things out, trying to balance desire with making sure he didn't accidentally toe or cross any lines. He was more gentle than not when he nipped Edward's lower lip between kisses, breathless and wanting.

Edward, conversely, is still fairly new to kissing and intimacy. There had been a handful of awkward, fleeting kisses with various girls when he was younger, but when they'd left him feeling nothing, he'd assumed it meant he wasn't ready yet and that it would eventually come to him. Whatever he was waiting for never did, and one fumbling, disasterous attempt with a prostitute in France had further driven the point home. He may have been the only soldier in the war who paid a regular prostitute to leave him alone in her room for an hour to read, on the condition that she'd pretend they had been intimate.

(He wasn't, but he has no way of knowing what the historical record would eventually reveal.)

This, though... in this, Edward doesn't feel broken, or unprepared, or not ready. He is shy, yes, and more fumbling than he would like, but this feels right. Andrew under his hands feels like he belongs there, and Edward's heart picks up its pace, throbbing in his chest. He can feel Andrew's heart beating, too, both against his chest and close to the hand he has under his shirt, and Edward moves the hand upward, closer to Andrew's chest.

"Look," he whispers against Andrew's lips when they both have to break away for air, and he slips his hand between their chests. Then he reaches out with the hive mind to show Andrew the vibrations caused by their heartbeats, Andrew's shimmering waves moving out and crashing against Edward's darker, smoky waves, the vibrations catching and entwining across the surface of Edward's hand.

Andrew was a little shy, himself, with the newness of everything, but there was something to be said, too, about firsts. Fresh steps, and... and he'd already spilled his secrets, the rough shit he'd worry would put someone off. He was even being honest with himself now, too, and he hadn't realized the kind of relief that would accompany this kind of honesty.

It took him a moment to re-focus as he tried to catch his breath, but it was worth it when he did. He didn't expect the feelings that hit him upon realizing those vibrations were their heartbeats. Maybe he shouldn't have been surprised, after everything they'd been talking about, and how Andrew hadn't felt this comfortable at any other point during his time here, as he did in Edward's arms, and then kissing. The emotions that made his throat tighten for a moment weren't bad, but rather the good kind of getting choked up.

After a decade and counting of seeing death and haunts and the miasma that clung to the living who were close to death themselves, seeing life was unexpectedly breathtaking. Their heartbeats, the overlapping vibrations--and he didn't miss the differences, how Edward's were darker. He'd wondered about things like that before, if Edward was able to sense the vibrations of a heartbeat, and what his own vibrations were like. He had wordless answers to both those questions.

And it was beautiful, the way their heartbeat vibrations met and twined together, knowing that each raised pulse was because of each other.

"God. I-" His voice was barely above a whisper, affected and emotional. "That's all for you." How his heart was racing, he meant, but he wasn't good with words at the best of times, so now and then he hoped people understood what he was trying to say before he had to fumble through a better explanation. "I've never- I'm glad you kissed me. I want to kiss you more. I want-..." But he wasn't sure of specifics, he just wanted, and kissing was good too. Very good.

It's a new thing for Edward, too. Beyond the closeness, the kissing, the feeling right about something for the first time in awhile, watching their heartbeats interact releases something inside him that he didn't know he'd been holding back. He is so tired of death, of being surrounded by it on the front and then in the hospital. He's so exhausted by people he knows dying, whether it's in violence or fading away. This, the way their heartbeats connect and move together, is life, an act of creation that neither of them could accomplish alone.

He doesn't even realise he's crying until he feels the tears on his cheeks.

"As am I." Edward takes one of his hands back and swipes the tears off his face, but others immediately follow. "I apologise, this is... I hadn't realised how much I needed this. How long I'd been waiting for someone like you."

Someone who understands.

Edward takes the hand off his face and tries to put it back on Andrew, but then it occurs to him that he has two of his four arms stuffed up under Andrew's shirt and they're quickly becoming a tangled mess. He huffs quiet laughter through his nose. "I think... would it be too forward if I suggested you remove your shirt?"

His two hands that are free retreat to Edward's collar and start unbuttoning his own shirt, which makes Edward blink and then chuckle again. "These little scallawags have made it quite clear that I'll do the same, of course."

Andrew shook his head minutely, sniffling, blinking away the blur of his own tears. "You don't have to apologize for anything." There was nothing wrong with being emotional or crying, especially here and now. He wasn't bothered, not a bit.

He hadn't realized, either, how much he'd needed this. He hadn't realized the effect everything would have on him, and seeing their heartbeats--it spoke to something deep inside him, and for a change that didn't mean the feral thing in his bones. That meant him, his emotions, the deepest part of who he was.

"I've felt alone for so long." Even when he'd been around other people, he'd felt disconnected, like there was a chasm between him and everyone else. "But not here. Not with you." He hadn't felt like this in...a long time.

He wanted, for a moment, to gently catch Edward's hands and kiss the backs of them, kiss his knuckles, and though he was distracted from that thought when Edward asked him about taking his shirt off, Andrew only tucked it to the side, not forgetting but shifting priorities.

He huffed out a little laugh of his own. "Nah, it's not too forward. I'd been thinking about doing that at the start." But he hadn't wanted to go through the bit of pulling away that would have required then. Now? Now was a good moment, and he leaned back just enough to be able to grab the bottom of his shirt and tug it up and over his head. The collar caught for a moment on his hair, then the whole messy, grown-out-too-long-in-most-places mop flopped back down, over his ears, across his forehead. He dropped his shirt over his shoulder, not bothering to look where it landed--it wasn't like it was going to get lost.

Scallawags. That made him smile. "They've got minds of their own, huh?" That did nothing to dissuade him from wanting to kiss Edward's hands. In fact, it made him want to more, but he'd wait a moment, with as much patience as he could muster--at least until Edward had gotten his shirt off.

The movement of Andrew's hair, as it flops everywhere when it's released, is mesmerising. Edward's second left hand, previously trapped against Andrew's back by his shirt, is free again, and it makes a dive for his hair, twisting and twining through it.

His other hands are better behaved, and once Edward's shirt is unbuttoned and shrugged off his shoulders, he folds it before setting it aside.

"The second left one in particular," which gives Andrew's hair a gentle, friendly tug, "doesn't listen to reason most of the time. If it, ah, handles you indelicately, I apologise in advance."

With them both shirtless and Edward's arms free, he reaches out with the other three, to draw Andrew back in against him. The shock of so much skin against skin nearly overwhelms him, but in the best way possible. Andrew's warmth seems like it seeps into Edward's bones, more healing than any balm or ointment, and Edward drops his head to trail a line of kisses along Andrew's collarbone.

Oh. Andrew did end up distracted--even more distracted, anyway--from his want to kiss Edward's knuckles, when the hand in his hair gave a tug. He couldn't help the way he shivered, or the reflexive soft groan.

"You can handle my hair as indelicately as you want." That was his biggest physical weakness, in any sense; someone pulling on his hair. It was both grounding and thrilling, kept him from overthinking things, but also lit a fire in him in situations like this.

He draped his arms around Edward's shoulders, fingers trailing along his skin, before sliding lower, along his sides, light, settling low on his waist. Every press of Edward's mouth was heat Andrew was acutely aware of, even as he circled his hands around to run his fingers up over his spine, the backs of his shoulders. Touching for the sake of it, to map out the feel of him.

And, when he could, when it felt the least intrusive, he reached to gently snag one of Edward's hands--not the one in his hair, but one of the others, whichever seemed the most receptive. Andrew guided that hand towards his mouth, pressing a slow kiss to the back of it, then the knuckles.

Edward chuckles against Andrew's shoulder. "Don't encourage it. It's behaving itself relatively well for the time being."

The hand, thus encouraged by Andrew's groan, wraps deeper into his hair, really twining it around and through its fingers, then gives it a long, slow pull, only stopping when his hair is stretched out taut from his scalp. Then it releases, dropping onto Andrew's head and stroking along it for a moment before gathering another handful in a different spot and repeating the process.

Edward goes still when Andrew's hands drift down to his waist, close to the border where human skin morphs into spider body. He's not entirely sure he wants anyone touching him there, so he breathes a sigh of relief when Andrew's attention turns to his spine and shoulders. For as much as he appreciates having the spider body, and for all that it's been useful, Edward can't picture it as something sexually desirable or alluring. He'd much prefer Andrew stick to his human parts.

He's only too happy to let Andrew take one of his hands--it happens to be the second right one, the rascally left hand's partner in crime--and has to bite back a moan of his own when Andrew starts kissing it. The hand immediately flips and twists in Andrew's grip, turning so it can run fingertips over his lips, tracing the lines and edges of his mouth. At the same time, the left hand in Andrew's hair tightens and pulls, trying to get him to tilt his head back, so Edward can press his lips to the column of Andrew's throat, kissing along his pulse and under his earlobe.

Andrew would be only too happy to encourage misbehaving, so long as it wouldn't result in some kind of serious trouble. Telling him not to, well- now it was his turn to try and behave. To the best of his current abilities, at least.

"Misbehavior is- no, mischief is my middle name." That'd gone better in his head, before he'd gotten tongue tied with words. But he didn't think he could be blamed, all things considered. Especially not with Edward's hand in his hair, pulling.

Andrew whined, his pulse jumping again. For a moment, he just sort of melted in Edward's arms, head tipping slightly in the opposite direction his hair was being pulled until he could feel the burn on his scalp. Being so focused on him meant Andrew still noticed when Edward went still, and when he seemed to relax again. He made a note of that; he didn't want to fuck things up and he didn't want to make Edward uncomfortable.

He had zero issues with the hand he'd snagged turning over in his grasp, and he let it, charmed by its touch. He'd been going to do basically the same thing himself, which made him think that maybe he hadn't actually been off with his comment about mischief. A little mischief of this variety didn't hurt anyone--the opposite, in Andrew's opinion. He kissed those fingers as they traced over his lips, sneaking in a little flick of the tip of his tongue against the pad of a finger.

Obligingly, taking the hint, he tipped his head back, his other hand settling on the back of Edward's neck. Every touch, simple or otherwise, was so much more, and every time Andrew thought he knew how something would affect him, it was double that. Edward's mouth on his neck was a new jolt of pleasure and heat.

"Fuck." The word spilled out on a groan.

Their definitions of serious trouble may be different. In Edward's time, what they're doing right now, if they were caught, could mean arrest, court martial, and summary execution. His second left hand isn't about to rob a convenience store or commit acts of treason; its most serious crime is getting too grabby, particularly around people Edward is attracted to. Hopefully Andrew won't be offended if it decides it's tired on his hair and wants to engage in a game of grab ass.

Edward is a bit thrown when Andrew touches his fingertips with his tongue. His first impulse, which comes blaring through his mind like a klaxon horn, is to get a demonstration on what the inside of Andrew's mouth feels like by sticking his fingers in it. But that surely can't be what Andrew wants, right? It's far too forward, and what if he thinks Edward is trying to gag him? So instead Edward smoothes his thumb along the plush line of Andrew's lower lip, cradling the side of his face with the rest of the hand.

He smiles and chuckles softly against the side of Andrew's neck when he curses. "You flatter me."

But there's a hint of sadness to what he says, even as he drums his fingers lightly on the side of Andrew's face to see his expression. Beyond Edward's extremely lacking knowledge base on what to do next here, there's the fact that he's currently stuck in his spider body for the foreseeable future, with no way to shift back to his human form until he can figure out a way to keep his leg from bleeding out. Whatever they might want to do is going to be stymied by those simple facts.

In an attempt to smother those negative thoughts and any self-flagellation that might be creeping in, Edward mouthes Andrew's pulse point before trailing his lips along the curve of his jaw and back to his mouth, dropping more sweet kisses there. His mouth, at least, is the same, unaffected by his current state. Very shyly, Edward brushes his tongue along Andrew's lower lip.

Things like that hadn't crossed his mind at all as concerns Edward might have dealt with, but Andrew would have been more than a little upset on his behalf--and every single person who'd had to go through those things. Some days, he tried to wage a one man war on hateful bigots, though the last time hadn't worked out all too well for him. That said, he wouldn't mind one bit if Edward's hand got a bit grabby.

That had been Andrew's intention, getting Edward's fingers in his mouth, but he'd been feeling things out, also unsure if it was too much so soon. He didn't want to rush anything, but he was bad at being chill, too, especially with how good everything was. He did his best though, tipping his face a bit into Edward's palm.

He grinned. "I'm just being honest." Every one of Andrew's reactions were genuine, but also- "Everything alright?" The question was softer, gentle concern to match the way his expression softened, a small crease forming between his eyebrows.

Kissing kept him from fussing more though--for now--sweet enough that he managed to slow down for them, appreciating things, his other hand returning to Edward's shoulder. He parted his lips, a quiet invitation paired with lightly pressing the tip of his tongue against Edward's lower lip. Andrew wouldn't push, but he'd offer gentle guidance and reassurance where and when he could. He was building his own confidence, too, and he didn't want this to be the only time they kissed and touched.

Edward has learned not to be too forthright about the state of gay rights and relationships in his own time period. He won't bring it up unless it's necessary; all it does is make everyone sad and ruin the mood. He'd rather focus on the positives of being here and now, like the way he's able to trace one hand down the length of Andrew's spine and let it settle on the arc of his hip.

Edward doesn't answer right away; he'd rather lose himself in Andrew's kisses, taking the way he parts his lips as invitation and tasting the inside of his mouth. He doesn't want this to be the only time for them either, but the constant nagging presence of his spider body predicament is there at the back of his mind, whining and crowing until it's too much for him and he breaks off the kiss.

"I'm sorry." He lets his forehead fall to Andrew's shoulder. The hands in Andrew's hair drop too, Edward's arms landing in a loose circle around Andrew's shoulders. The hand on his hip sneaks forward, pressing against the small of Andrew's back and drawing him in. "I'm sorry, I'm..."

With his one free hand, Edward takes one of Andrew's hands and guides it down towards his waist, putting it to rest just above where his human body turns into spider. Even that, controlled as it is, makes him flinch when their skin makes contact.

"I can't shift back." He says all of it into Andrew's shoulder. "Because of my leg. I'm in this form, and... and I don't know when I'll be able to be human again."

Andrew is entirely, blissfully human, and if he has needs which can't be met by a hairy, damaged spider body, Edward will understand.

Andrew was wrapped up in everything, from Edward's hands on him, sliding down the length of his spine, to warmth of his lips. He didn't want to really stop kissing either, especially not after he knew what it was like to have Edward's tongue in his mouth. The way Andrew groaned was immediate, reflexive, and his fingers pressed against Edward's shoulder. And when Edward broke away from the kiss, Andrew's knee-jerk reaction was to want to chase his mouth, but he didn't, if only because all his quiet concerns came rushing on back.

"What-" It took him a moment for his thoughts to catch up with what was going on, though that didn't stop him from being confused at first. He didn't understand what Edward was apologizing for, what there was to apologize for.

He let Edward guide his hand, and- oh. There was no way he missed the way he flinched. It both was and wasn't what he'd thought. He'd been worried he'd made Edward uncomfortable, but now-

"Hey," Andrew said, gentle, just as gently pulling his hand from Edward's to curl both his arms around him. "It's alright." He hadn't considered, before, all the ways Edward's injured leg would also affect his non-spider-legs-form, but now he felt a little guilty about not having had that realization sooner. He didn't think having spider parts made Edward not human, either, especially since Andrew himself could turn into a dog as of recently, but as terms for distinction--he got the intention.

"Have you been worrying I'd be bothered? Or-" Or was Edward bothered by being stuck in his spider form in general? Did his leg bother him a lot? Or was it all of the above? "Because I'm not. I'm-" Andrew struggled with his words, trying to figure out the best way to say things. "It's you, I'm interested in you. If you're not comfortable with touching or- things, with your spider parts, I'm not going to push you. But I'm also not- fuck, I'm not going to toss you aside or something."

No one else knew the things about Andrew that Edward did, and no one else made him feel comfortable and safe enough to have talked about those things. And he wasn't attracted to anyone else the way he was attracted to Edward.

But- on the subject of the injured leg. "I- is there anything I could do? To help with your leg?" He wasn't sure what could be done or what needed to be done, or what the effect was on Edward's human legs. The most useful thing Andrew had going for him so far was the fire. "Does it- is it going to grow back-" or was that a completely stupid idea; he didn't know how healing worked here, or if it varied depending on types. "-or is it just- I don't know."

He pressed a slow kiss to the side of Edward's head. "I want to help, if I can." And he meant it, just like he meant it about wanting to protect him and keep him safe. And if all Andrew could do was make things a little easier for Edward while he recovered and healed, then he'd do that, too.

Edward doesn't fault anyone for not thinking about how his spider legs work and affect his human legs. He assumes that everyone's transformations happen differently, and with no other spiders around with whom to compare notes, his case is exceptional. Others' transformations--into wolves, harpies, demons, whatever--may also just happen, for all he knows. There seems to be a real taboo about talking about their changes in the convoy, and only a few people have actually witnessed Edward shifting back and forth. Of those, only Arcade has seen it happen more than once, and several of those times were deeply traumatic and involved the injury in question.

However, none of that changes the fact that his human leg is fucked up right now as a result of the injury in his spider body, and Edward is terrified of shifting back to his human form.

He breathes out a shaky little laugh at Andrew's reassurances, and leans into him, curling in against his chest. All four arms tighten around him, and while it's certainly affectionate, it's not entirely sexual; it's a bit too much like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver for it to be sexy.

"It's just... how wildly unfair it all is." Edward lifts his head to press another kiss to the side of Andrew's neck. "I finally meet someone I can be with, and... I can't."

He's really hoping Andrew picks up on the euphemism there. If Edward had access to his human form, he can't say that he wouldn't be trying to strip both of them down with all four hands by now. But he doesn't, and he has no idea when he will again, so all the things he'd like to try, that he finally can try, are locked behind the necessity of staying half-spider.

"I don't know how healing works. I've never been an injured spider before." The absurdity of that statement settles in as soon as it's out, and Edward makes the shaky laugh against Andrew's neck again. "I believe spiders can grow their legs back, but I don't know if that translates to the human leg growing back."

As far as helping goes, though, there is something Edward has been worrying over, and he lifts his head so Andrew can see his face. "May I ride with you, once the convoy starts up again? I won't be able to ride my motorcycle like this."

If it was taboo to talk about changes in the convoy, Andrew was wholly unaware. Not that he'd talked a whole lot about his so far, but that had more to do with how he had that monthly limit on hard conversations, and talking about the things he was going through felt like they qualified. But...since he'd been talking more to Edward, and had told him so much about the things he'd been through before all of this, he thought he really liked the idea of (hopefully) having someone to talk to about the changes here. Talking through things out loud tended to help with his racing thoughts more than he generally admitted.

His arms tightened around Edward reflexively, a reassuring, protective squeeze, in response to being held tighter and the way Edward leaned in. It was unfair, to have something like this dangled in front of him--Edward, that was--but he couldn't do what he wanted because of his injury. A lot of the things that happened here were unfair, and that piled on top of everything else Andrew thought wasn't fair--like losing Eddie at twenty-fucking-three, never to see him again. Never felt like an impossibly long time.

"Yeah, sometimes more than others, Murphy's law is in full effect here." He wasn't superstitious necessarily, but sometimes it really did feel like whenever something could go wrong or things could get worse, they did.

But he was also going to let himself have a moment to think about, and appreciate, everything about I finally meet someone I can be with. All of this was a big step for Andrew, an attraction he'd never acknowledged in any way before today. He thought maybe he'd feel different, like he didn't know himself, but this felt...right. It was like freedom, a weight lifted off his shoulders that he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying.

And Edward was sweet and handsome, and as much as Andrew wanted, he wanted things to be good for both of them, and for both of them to be happy and comfortable. Andrew was already going to be flustered enough considering he would be doing things for the first time, without any real idea of what he was supposed to do. What felt good, he figured, but the specifics? Unsure.

The absurdity of the statement about having never been an injured spider before made Andrew laugh, too, a soft little amused huff followed by a chuckle. "It's too bad this place doesn't have whatever their version of Google would be. We could just search about- uh..." suddenly, he realized he didn't have a proper name or term for the type that applied to Edward, besides spider person. "You know, if spider legs growing back fixes your human leg." A pause, though, while he considered something. "So. You've got four spider legs like this, and then two human legs. How does that work out?" What equaled what in one form and the other?

He didn't have to think about his answer to Edward's question, even if emotions made his throat tight for a moment. "Yeah, of course you can. Honestly, it's been lonely driving by myself." He normally wouldn't have admitted that last part, but he'd told Edward a lot of things already. Andrew was more used to riding in the passenger seat than driving the Hellcat himself, even if he'd had a lot of time recently to work on adjusting.

Maybe Edward has just been talking to people who are a bit more skittery about discussing their changes. Or perhaps it's a bit of self-fulfilling prophecy: Edward assumes people will not want to talk about things, and so no one does because he doesn't ask.

"What's Murphy's Law? And Google?" And what does some guy named Murphy and a maths term have to do with this?

Edward can hear the question Andrew didn't ask, and he loosens his hold on him. Not to let go, but to more comfortably arrange himself against Andrew's chest. "It's called a drider, what I am now. I don't know where the term came from, but someone found a book in the library that called them such."

As for the legs, he stretches out his healthy left legs so Andrew can see them. "In my regular body, I have two legs. When I shift, they split apart to form two spider legs each." He brings his legs together for a moment, then splays them out to demonstrate. "Any extra muscle on them moves up and backwards into the spider abdomen. When I shift back, the legs come together again and meld into one human leg."

He tucks the healthy legs back down and gestures at the damaged one. "I've discovered, through this injury, that the back legs are made from the back parts of my human legs. I can only assume the front legs are made from the front parts, but I shan't be testing that theory any time soon." One bad leg is enough!

Edward breathes a sigh of relief against Andrew's skin, dipping his head to press a kiss to his collarbone. "Thank you." He won't make a nuisance of himself in Andrew's car, and will periodically float to other cars to give him occasional privacy. But it's nice to know that he's welcome in at least one vehicle.

For a few moments, Edward just enjoys where he is, warm and safe in the circle of Andrew's arms, his head on his chest and rising and falling with his breathing. But then Edward's second left hand gets bored, and it creeps over Andrew's side to his abdomen, where it lingers just above his navel, tracing lines over any hair that grows there.

Edward clears his throat, and for once, lets the hand do what it wants. "I've realised something. While I might be separated from certain parts of my anatomy for the foreseeable future, I do have access to multiple hands."

He lifts his head so Andrew can see his face. "May I touch you? Can you tell me where you'd want to be touched?"

Andrew had anticipated questions about Google, at least, so he was ready with answers. "Murphy's Law says that anything that can go wrong will go wrong. You know, when shit just keeps happening and you wish you could catch a break. This place does that a lot sometimes." Life back home had been doing that a lot to him, even.

"And Google's a search engine. On the internet." Oh, but to try and explain the internet to someone who hadn't experienced it... "And the internet's like...a huge electronic database." Close enough.

He loosened his arms around Edward for a moment, too, to make things easier, and then held on a little tighter again. Drider. Andrew didn't know where that term came from either, but he appreciated being able to add it to his lexicon, so he wouldn't fumble for a term in the future. "I'd been looking through some of the books like that, myself. In the library." But they hadn't offered quite as much as he would've hoped, and mostly they were sitting in the foot-well in the Hellcat.

He listened quietly, carefully, while Edward told him about his legs, watching the left ones stretch out. It sounded painful for each human leg to split into a pair of spider legs, but he'd recently been able to turn into a dog, and that hadn't been nearly as awful as he'd been expecting. So he hoped it was the same or similar for Edward.

"I don't blame you for not wanting to test it. Better not to risk that kind of thing." It sounded like it could potentially be horrible and painful. And dangerous. Not the kind of thing that should be tested for science without some kind of backup plan in case the worst happened. He wished there was more he could do, but he didn't have any healing ability or any kind of medical knowledge, but he could offer other kinds of help. "It's- before I say anything about it being interesting, does shifting hurt?"

A little flush of goosebumps went across the back of his neck when Edward kissed his skin. "It's not a problem at all." Andrew wasn't accustomed to being alone, whether it was driving or every day or...just in general, so having company, someone he wanted to be around and liked being around, sounded nice. He'd been so lonely, even when he'd been around other people. But he wasn't lonely now.

He felt cozy and a sort of weightless in this moment, his grief cried out for now, weight lifted from his shoulders with his self-acceptance. He could've stayed like this for a long while, settled by touch and affection, and then Edward's hand moved and the heat Andrew had been feeling a few minutes ago flared back to life. His thoughts were pulled in two different directions, parsing what Edward meant about being separated from certain parts of his anatomy, and then thinking about the kinds of things he could do with multiple hands.

Andrew might have whined, low in the back of his throat, without even being entirely aware of it. For a moment, his tongue felt heavy and clumsy in his mouth as he tried to put words together in a proper order. "Yeah, you can. I want you to touch me anywhere, everywhere. And I want you to get my pants open." He sounded a bit breathless at the end, but not uncertain.

Continued over here!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Open] Birthday Boy

b GIVE ME THE SADNESS

genuinely been so eager to get to this all day, finally my time is here

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Phone tag shift to prose

No worries! also cw: vague murder mention stuff

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw: mention of wounds

no subject

cw: childhood traumas

no subject

no subject

oh no accidentally horny

he's not the only one

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

last time I used this icon: 2015

oh gosh

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject