Fingers as gentle and as delicate as silk traced raised lines that crisscrossed pale, rosy skin like the lines of a paragraph in a novel. The words there should have hurt, and yet the soft touches he should have flinched away from only made him lean into them with a sigh of content like a pure resignation. He wanted to bat away the hand to save any ounce of something akin to pride that he had left, and yet the difference of soft comforts and constant hurt was one he could not escape.

And so he sighed, something he tried to make sound annoyed and yet one given away by how his body relaxed despite himself and he leaned into the touch. "Fuck, Andy," He tore his gaze from those eyes like bark that shone with such concern that it had an uncomfortable knot forming in his throat and stomach. "Don't look at me like that."

Andy had held onto the words that had been spit out like they had been meaning to for years. The story told with shaky breathes and curses like thunder, rattling deep and meaningful in his chest. The story that those scars alone told.

"Do they, do they hurt?" The question wasn't exactly unexpected when he spent so long staring into those eyes which such present concern and curiosity, and yet his breathe hitched despite it.

"Yeah, I mean," He tried to swallow the lump in his throat that had him sputtering when he saw such concern in those eyes shining like the sun itself. "Sometimes, It's not bad, though." He caught Andy's hand when he had flinched away, borderline desperate for such touches. "It uh, it doesn't hurt when you," He stuttered with a voice hoarse and trembling. "Do that."

And so the man intertwined their fingers with a small smile, nervous and radiating warmth like the sun itself, he couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. "Yeah?" He placed gentle kisses to each scar, noticing the way the other shivered and gripped his hand just a bit tighter with a silent pray that he wasn't hurting him.

"Why haven't they healed?" His voice was dangerously soft and hesitant, testing the waters and tried not to smile when he didn't react violently. And yet it was sad almost, when the ginger only shrugged like such a thing was usual for him. "Voodoo doesn't work that way. There's always something." He laughed, a laugh tired and with something else bitter and sad lying beneath it. "Some people call it Karma, others call it a 'price'. Depends on who you ask."

"What would you call it?"

With a scoff and a grin unreadable in it's true spiteful meaning, Chucky tried to hide the self-consciousness. A rare thing, and yet something that seemed to melt him in that moment like a spotlight when Andy looked at him so intently. "I'd call it voodoo being a little bitch like always." He gestured to himself, the body he had been contained in for so long and one getting softer by the day.

"If you hate them so much, why don't you just get them removed?" With a voice cracking past the lump forming ever presently in his throat, the doll laughed with an unsteady smile and frustrated tears he despised prickling his eyes like needles. "Look at me, I'm a fucking doll!" He spat with words supposedly harsh and yet ones lost in the way he gulped back sharp tears.

"I can't fucking-" Andy cut him off when he took his hand once more, having been let go amongst the outburst.

"Shh, baby, it's okay." Andy smiled, and tried not to let the effects of the way the doll shivered with wide eyes like watery pools. "Fuck, hey, don't cry." With a gentle, shuttering laugh he wiped away tears that had just begun to fall that made the doll grin bitterly at the pure irony of it. "Hey, look at me, okay?" He put a gently calloused hand onto chubby cheeks flushed with pure unbridled emotion and the aftermath of such. He was trembling just the slightest, and yet he stilled, watching with wide eyes at the man who held him so dearly.

"I was trained as a medic, you know." Watching those baby blue eyes light up with such the slightest bit of hope made him grin. But that hope was hesitant, as if it had been shattered like glass so many times before.

"You can't-It won't-"

Andy cut him off with a soft laugh and a hand through ginger hair. "Baby, they haven't healed because you haven't had them removed. That's why they hurt like they do."

So he sat fidgeting nervously on the toilet lid, squirming and complaining about the most mundane things as Andy set up the First-Aid Kit. Organizing the setup with the precise touch of a professional that he became after he had snapped those sterile blue gloves on. "I, uh," He casted a nervous glance towards the doll. "I don't know much about how exactly you work, Charles. You're anatomy's pretty unique." He cursed his word choice the moment the doll grinned and winked. With a sigh and a grin he himself could not help, he continued on. "But from what I've learned over the years; so far in this body you're not completely human. Not yet."

The doll listened far more intently to Andy's words than he would care to admit. "Yeah, no shit." He crossed his arms and bobbed his crossed legs with a scoff. "But yeah, okay, go on."

"Because of that, your stitches were just thread in plastic. Not thread in human flesh, which would heal." Andy smiled though, trying to calm the other whose face fell just the slightest. God, he looked so scared. "But, that's not a bad thing! Because if your skin was completely human flesh at this point, they could get infected. Or not heal correctly." He continued to explain as he prepped everything that Chucky swore he wasn't smart enough to understand. "But because of this strange limbo you seem to be in-between plastic and flesh, they have just started to completely heal. Which means that if I take them out, you won't," He gestured around the air. "Come apart, you'll be alright and you should heal fine."

Andy took his hand and traced one of the many stitches that would be removed. "It won't hurt a bit," He hushed, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"'M fine Andy, I've been through worse." He grunted, shuffling away from the affection as Andy only smiled with soft words and kind eyes despite such a medicinal exterior.

Andy squeezed his hand and stood up, small scissors already in hand. It was almost as if they had switched places, the smaller of the two trying not to shiver at the thought of what was to come as he sat there. He had always despised doctors. But still he sat trusting Andy, but ever presently helpless.

Removing the stitches initially wasn't too awful, but the aftermath of sterilization had him cursing louder than he would ever like to admit. "Fuck, Andy." He had shouted and jerked away when the rubbing alcohol was dabbed onto the wound.

"I know, I'm sorry baby. But you have to stay still." He hushed in a voice like a whisper, rubbing some other paste onto the wound when he had finished. "You've been shot, I know you've been through a hell of a lot worse."

"Fuck I know, but that shit it evil." He gestured to the oversized tub of rubbing alcohol with what could only be classified as pure hatred. Glaring at the thing as it was continuously applied to the cuts that felt so very different from before.

This continued on for a while, stitches cut without any sort of bleeding or pain and then being cleaned while he tried to hold back whimpers that formed in the back of his throat. But fuck, he couldn't hold back a stout groan when Andy had finally finished the one's on his face.

Andy traced one of the cuts on his face with a small smile. "Feel better?"

The doll couldn't help but shiver at how exposed he felt. But he couldn't help but smile at the absence of the usual sharp, stabbing pain. He put a hesitant hand to his face. "Holy fuck."

With a grin he took the doll's hand in his own for what seemed the hundredth time that day. "Be careful, okay? They'll hurt for a while, but they'll began to heal soon." With one last kiss to his face, he patted his cheek. "Now, we have a lot more work to do, baby doll."