{oOo}
Fulgrim looked up as the door opened. He wasn't expecting visitors, although Sanguinius might have returned earlier than expected. Then again, he didn't think that his winged brother would kick the door open again...
Oh.
Angron glared at his brother for a moment and then reached down and wrapped the fingers of one hand around the crown of Fulgrim's head. For a moment the tormented primarch couldn't help but shudder at the thought of those stained fingers touching his immaculate silver hair. Then he remembered that his hair wasn't exactly immaculate at the moment.
He didn't resist as Angron dragged him to his feet. "Get off your arse. Your legion need you."
It genuinely didn't occur to Fulgrim that maybe he should resist until he was being thrown face first at the wall. His nose broke. So did the brickwork.
"Are you crazy?" he exclaimed, trying to scramble back. "What are you -!"
"They don't need you to be pretty. They don't need you to be sane..." A very nasty smile cracked Angron's lips as he grabbed Fulgrim by the ankle and hurled him across the room, breaking an abandoned attempt at taking up sculpture again. "My boys do fine with me."
Scrambling to his feet, Fulgrim jumped away from Angron, feeling his body moving in that same unnatural fashion... his vision blurred and when it cleared he got a very brief, very clear view of his brother's knuckles. And then his nose exploded in pain again.
Angron gave him a judicious look and then kicked him savagely below the ribs. This time, however, Fulgrim rallied and somehow turned his instinctive attempt to curl into a ball into a roll forwards and lashed out with one foot. There was a pained grunt and he looked to see that his heel had made crushing contact with his brother's groin. Angron's smile grew even wider. "They just need that."
He turned and walked away, apparently unconcerned by the kick. "Can't stay, got a rebellion to crush. Brought you something though."
The bag he produced from outisde the door was clearly made by amateur hands. Fulgrim couldn't place the fabric though. "What's in made of?"
"Daemonhide." Angron answered absently. "First one that I..."
"Killed?" Alright, Fulgrim did NOT like the twinkle in Angron's eye at that suggestion.
"That too." He unfastened the neck of the bag and pulled a small... blue and white...
"I thought you hated those things?" Fulgrim exclaimed as he caught the Plushie Angron.
"S'right." Angron buckled up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Hear they're good against monsters under beds though."
And then he was gone and Fulgrim sat clutching the doll, laughing until he cried and crying until he laughed.
{oOo}
AN: And here is Angron's attempt at 'therapy'.