Chapter Text
The kid was still there, on the couch when Ash stepped into the office. He looked a lot more lucid than before. Ash slowed down his walk to reduce the noise of his heels because he noticed the kid flinching at every single one. Purple eyes followed Ash as he moved to sit on the chair with his legs crossed. He took his jacket off and opened his mouth.
"What's your name?"
The kid seemed confused at that. He looked a bit like a fish, actually. Ash waited another minute for him to answer, to no avail. Maybe the kid was nervous? Understandably so, he was in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people. Specifically with a man that looked less like a man and more like a faceless monster. Ash decided to lead by example.
"My name is Ash, from India. What's yours?" The prodding didn't work, and the kid continued to gape at him. Ash didn't let himself get irritated. Ghosty didn't like to talk much either before her passing, so he'd grown used to communicating silently. He doubted the kid knew sign language, though. If what he'd observed was right (it always was) the kid would not be familiar with a lot of things.
Ash took out a book and a quill from his inventory and held them up for the kid to take. He flinched when Ash's hand neared him, but didn't take his eyes off for a moment. A shaky hand reached up to hold the items, careful not to drop them, then he continued to wait.
"You can write if you don't want to speak. Does anything hurt?"
Everything.
Everything hurt, all the time. Wether it was the medicine in Its arms or the ache in Its legs after another run, didn't matter. It hurt. It would continue to hurt until Papa made It better, perfect.
It didn't know why It couldn't speak. The words were easy to say, ingrained in Its brain, but Its vocal cords did not listen. It opened Its mouth and forced air through, but all that did was sound out a pathetic whistle. Shame welled up in Its gut, It should be able to follow the simplest of instructions without a problem- tears threatened to spill down Its cheeks, but It held steady. It was taught not to cry long ago.
The man, Ash from India, waited patiently for It to answer. Instinct overpowered the shame, and It opened the book to an empty page and started writing, instead of speaking, the report It always gave after another medicine dosage.
Nothing of difference.
It's hand trailed off as it looked at the quill, actually looked at it, because it was blue. It liked blue, it was a pretty color. A color It never got to see because the sky at the park was fake and it always looked slightly off, and everywhere else was just white.
Ash from India coughed pointedly and It belatedly realized It hadn't given the book back to let him read it. Gloved hands reached out (the workers always used latex, but Ash had leather) and gently took the book, one finger holding the current page open. It waited for the mans reply with anticipation.
It always had to give concise reports with minimal filler, or Papa would berate It. This was taught in education too, but It still preferred the lessons on colors and animals more. Papa would get really upset if It got a report wrong, but wouldn't mind the mistakes It made about animals.
"Difference? Uh. Do you always pass out then? Actually, just tell me, how much does it hurt from one to ten?"
Ash's hand reached out again to hand the book back and It didn't flinch this time. It seemed like Ash wasn't used to this reporting system. That was fine, It had been taught how to adapt to varying requests of all separate doctors that helped It. It held the quill, careful not to get distracted this time, and answered.
6/10, concentrated around the head. Loss of consciousness is an expected side effect of the medication.
It felt the smallest bit of pride as Ash took the book from It and gave a nod. It had done the report right, then. There wasn't much to be discerned from the mans expressions and body- but searching for Papa's approval meant that It had to be perfect in everything, including understanding the thoughts of others.
There was something… different with Ash though. It always needed a moment to think and explore the subject before settling on an emotion. But with Ash, it was almost as if he was an open book. It understood the meaning behind the tension of his shoulders and the clenching of his fingers instantaneously, as if on instinct.
Ash was someone It could understand as if they were cut from the same cloth, It thought that Ash could read It just as well.
"Tell me more about this medication that you're taking. Are you sick?"
It went to shake Its head but paused at the last second. Was It sick? It wasn't perfect yet, and that was why Papa always called doctors for It. Was that a sickness?
It didn't feel sick. The only times It felt sick was after the medications. But that was a bad thought, Papa would be mad if they heard It thinking like that. Papa always wanted the best for It and if that required some pain that was okay with It. So It nodded.
Ash looked unconvinced.
"Uh. Are you hungry…? I have some more questions but Tobias would get mad if I let you go without food, so. He was the one that found you by the way."
Ash looked uncomfortable, as if showing the slightest bit of affection was causing him physical pain. He must have a lot of respect for this "Tobias" person, then. It nodded again and moved to get up from the couch, mourning the loss of the warm blanket. The moment Its feet touched the ground and bared Its weight, they buckled and the marble flooring raised to meet Its face.
Bracing for impact proved to be unnecessary as Ash had no trouble reacting fast enough to catch It. Its legs kept shaking even without the added weight, there was no way It could walk like this.
Shame crawled up Its throat once more at the show of weakness. It was supposed to be perfect damn it, why couldn't It walk? Complete the most primitive task?
"No walking yet, okay, I'll just carry you then."
Its center of gravity shifted and settled as Ash raised It higher and maneuvered It to sit comfortably on his hip. Its face flushed in embarrassment at being carried like a baby, yet no word managed to escape the confines of Its mind. In a futile effort to cover Its reddening face (as if It needed more proof It wasn't perfect yet) It hid Its face in the crook of Ash's neck.
Ash jolted with that, as if he was unused to such close contact, but his shoulders relaxed minutely. It couldn't see any of Ash's facial features, but felt the mans stubble rubbing on Its forehead. Ash had facial hair, then.
It decided that, yes, Ash could in fact read It like a book. Because the man reached down to pick up the discarded blanket and draped it over Its shoulders. The warmth of the blanket was nice, but the heat radiating off the man was much more comforting.
It didn't say anything. Ash brought the both of them to the big white building anyway.