Andy couldn't text Chucky back when he left Caputo's place. For one, his phone kept receiving all the messages at once, and also, he wouldn't quite know what to say. What would he say when he returned?
Suppose he just said, "Hey, Chucky, I met your old buddy who left you behind to rot."
That would be disastrous. Bad idea.
Andy sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets as he crossed the yard onto the dirt road towards home. He walked as slowly as he could, trying to leave himself more time to ponder how he could deal with this situation with the least possible outbursts and anger.
He could think of none.
Chucky was already at the door when he got home. "You son of a bitch!" he growled. "Just go ahead and ignore me, why don't you? I could be texting you that I was dying, but I would already be fucking dead, you stupid shit." He continued to gripe, even at Andy's still silence.
Well, they were off to a great start. "I turned my phone off," he replied simply.
If he was completely honest with himself, there was no way that he could go through with this without any sort of drama if Chucky was involved. There was just bound to be some sort of angry squabble to occur between them. Unless he just didn't tell the doll who was there- nonsense, he thought immediately after. What would he say? Would he lie?
He could lie- it isn't as if Chucky would ever put up the effort to go over there and see who it was. Chucky would believe every word he said. But that was because he had undeniable trust in him, and Andy really didn't want to break that trust, even if telling the truth meant several days of no peace.
Chucky was still cursing at him for his "neglective behavior" when Andy finally spoke, lowly and heavily. "Chucky, I have to tell you something."
There was a sudden, deadly silence. Something about the way Andy said those words stopped Chucky short, and he looked up at the young man, still panting from his long winded rant. He had only been a little angry, really. What was Andy so worked up about that there was no smile to ease away that small frustration? What had him so quiet and serious?
He was a bit afraid to find out. "What?" he choked out, not all too eager to receive the answer.
Andy shifted his feet uncomfortably before answering. "Our neighbor. Ah- he's someone we know. You more than me, actually." Chucky had no response, his face still frozen in an awkward stare of uncomfortable questioning. Andy waved him over to the couch, saying, "sit down. Just sit down."
Chucky tried to just growl, as if this was a small annoyance, but it came out more like a whine. Fuck.
He scowled and shuffled over to the old couch, choosing to look interested in it rather than what Andy had to say. The pattern was definitely dated, but they had gotten it from some old cheap junk store. Chucky had told Andy that this couch was a piece of shit, but the knucklehead hadn't listened. He thought it had had character. And fuck me, Chucky thought. This piece of shit actually grew on me. There were a lot of memories embedded in the old cloth, and if you asked him now, he wouldn't want to change it.
Actually, he would probably lie and say he still hated it. But that was besides the point.
The fact was, the whole couch was besides the point. Andy obviously had something he needed to say, and it seemed to be really important. He seemed really aggravated about it too, wringing his hands and waiting for him to look up.
"Well," Chucky said, at last. "What is it?"
Andy put a hand on his shoulder. That was not a good sign.
"C'mon, Andy, seriously," he said, trying to ease the tension. "What the fuck happened? I was kidding about the hot chick, I swear. It's fine if you helped her, really. I don't really give a da…" he stopped at the feel of Andy's fingers over his mouth- he would've cussed him out, for shutting him up like that, fuck him. But Andy looked much too serious.
"Chucky, you remember that one day you made me go to some old house after school? And you blew it up? Remember when they said the resident in that house died?" Chucky nodded. So what? "And so?" he asked aloud. "What the fuck does that have to do with anything? Some old dead shit?"
"Chucky, he's not dead."
The doll blinked once, twice. Took it all in slowly. "What?"
"He's not dead. Eddie Caputo is not dead."
Chucky shook his head. "No, no, shut up, you stupid shit, you don't know what you're talking about," he started, covering his ears as Andy tried to continue. "He died. He's dead. He's fucking dead, Andy, we saw it. He's dead, he has to be-" he was pushing Andy's hands away, he didn't want Andy touching him. That little fucker was dead. He was.
Andy continued to patiently reach for him, finally getting a hold of the angrily waving hands. "Chucky, Chucky, please, listen- you've got to listen to me," he kept saying, keeping a firm but gentle grip around the small fists. "The fact is, he's alive. He's here. He's right next to us."
Blue eyes, eyes much too bright, were wide and set on him. Underneath the deepening frown, Andy could see where the hurt was buried. "Fine. So the bastard's alive," Chucky was mumbling, as if he didn't care. But they both knew better. "So what's it matter to me? I don't give a fuck that he's here. I hadn't wanted to go visit neighbors anyways. That was your stupid idea." He still struggled a little from Andy's hold on his wrists, but Andy wasn't letting him go anytime soon.
"I think you should go talk to him."
"What?"
The doll looked incredulously at him for the second time in just a few minutes. Was he out of his fucking mind? No way was he going to see that disgusting, traitorous, asshole! There was absolutely no fucking way. None whatsoever. "No," he growled, staring at Andy with a poisonous glare. "I am never speaking to that piece of shit. Never! Do you hear me? Do you even know what he fucking did to me?"
"He left you behind."
Andy said it quite calmly, almost too quietly for the doll to hear over his own rage. "He abandoned you to be caught or killed- either way, he left you behind." Chucky was, in the best word to describe it, enraged. How dare that motherfucker tell his secrets without his permission, and how dare Andy just tell him to go back when he knew this!
"How dare you!" he screamed angrily, finally able to jerk away. "How dare you tell me what I should and shouldn't do with that ass-hat! Even though you know exactly what he did to me!" He wiped his eyes hastily- he would not, no, he would not fucking cry. Not here, not now, not ever. No tears wasted on that bastard.
Andy was trying to reason with him still, but Chucky would have none of it. "You don't understand, do you?" he shouted over what the young man was saying, whatever the hell it was. He didn't care. Andy had to understand, he didn't fucking care.
"Because of him, I had to be in this fucking body in the first place! I would have still been out there, free, not stuck in this stupid weak ass excuse of a body! I would have never been chased down through the streets, never had to use that stupid voodoo chant, I would have never been your…!"
There was a moment that froze. It felt as if time had suddenly slowed down extremely as Chucky almost screamed out words he would have regret forever.
I would have never been your doll. I would have never met you, Andy Barclay.
He stared, wide eyed, waiting for Andy to get angry. Or extremely upset. To punch him, please, goddammit, punch him. Tell him that wasn't very nice. Or at least yell back angrily that he didn't need all of the doll's shit. Chucky had abandoned him, too.
Chucky waited for a response, any sort of response. But Andy just sort of stared back at him, with a look the doll had only seen one other time, a long time ago.
The first time Andy had realized he was a killer. That shocked, blank look of denial, when Chucky had told him they were never really "friends to the end."
"Andy, I…"
"I was just going to say," Andy interrupted, his tone very bland, but it betrayed how hurt he was. "I was just going to suggest that you try to see him. He said he was really sorry, and he seemed to feel really bad about it, that's all. I wasn't going to make you do anything." He got up off the couch heavily, breathing slowly and deeply.
Chucky had been about to speak again, but once more, Andy cut in, muttering, "if you need me, I'll be in the shower," and Chucky was left noticing that the young man had almost said want instead of need.
He hadn't meant to hurt him that way, really, he hadn't! He was just so angry. He had harbored a hatred for Caputo for leaving him for so long- and had focused on all the bad things that had come about as a result of being abandoned instead of realizing some of the good things that had come from it.
He heard the water turn on, having a sinking feeling in his gut that Andy was probably letting out all his own hurt under the spray, only to later turn off the faucet, dry himself, and behave as if Chucky had done nothing wrong. He would probably not even mention Caputo again unless he absolutely had to. He would wait until the doll was ready.
Fuck, he probably hadn't even wanted to mention their neighbor in the first place, but Chucky knew that Andy Barclay was a terrible liar. He would have had to tell him eventually, that Eddie was not dead, but alive, and not only that, had moved in right next door to them.
What was he going to say to Andy about what he'd nearly done? Simple apologies wouldn't do the job, he was sure of that. And Andy would never mention that he had ever been hurt in that moment on the couch. He would never even bring that moment up again, God forbid that he ever try and make Chucky feel fucking guilty.
Goddammit.
He sat in the aftermath of his anger, regretting everything. He had made a mess of things, again, and he wasn't sure how to fix it, as usual. Andy would, of course, forgive him for being so angry, but what was he going to do about Caputo? He still felt a harsh animosity for the son of a bitch, and was still in no mood to go see him. He figured he never would be.