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Max has cried himself to sleep every night since Ash's suicide attempt.
Jessica's tried to comfort him, but he knows it's been hard on her, too. Not that it's Ash's fault—fuck. God. None of this has ever been Ash's fault.
Ash probably wouldn't even call it a suicide attempt. He seemed disappointed when he realized that he survived, like he was so certain that death was the best option for him. Like he was ready to finally be out of this life. To be free, since he never really had been before.
But Max isn't ready for him to be free. Not like that. Eiji, and Jessica, and everyone else—
God fucking damn it. Ash is going to live out this fucking life, whether he wants to or not. At least for Eiji's sake. Max is going to make sure of it.
He's going to cry himself to sleep every night, but he's going to keep Ash alive. And he's not going to let Ash see him cry.
That part has been hard, since Ash is staying at Max and Jessica's place until Eiji can fight his way to a visa back into the States. Ash seemed determined to go back out onto the street, to continue being the lowest filth of this city as he put it, but Max insisted that Ash was released into his care.
His goddamn care, because he's going to take care of the kid. Again, whether Ash likes it or not.
Max knocks on the guest bedroom's door—Ash's room, now. He tries to give Ash his own space and privacy, since he knows Ash isn't exactly used to having his boundaries be respected, but he worries when he hasn't seen him all day.
"Ash?"
"What do you want?" comes the grumble from inside the door.
"You eaten yet today? Michael wants spaghetti for dinner."
There's a pause. Then, "Not hungry."
Max frowns. "You didn't answer the question, which means you haven't eaten today, doesn't it?"
"Fuck off," Ash mumbles, still from behind the closed door.
"Language," Max snaps, before he really thinks about it. Ash doesn't respond. Sighing, Max asks, "Can I come in?"
"It's your house."
"It's your room."
"No the fuck it's not."
Max almost chides Ash on his language again, but lets it go this time. "Kid. Are you okay with me coming in?"
"... I guess."
Max hesitantly reaches for the doorknob, but after a moment, the door swings open anyway, Ash glaring at Max from behind it.
"Sit your ass back down," Max says. "You're injured."
"Language," Ash snaps, mockingly. "And I'm barely injured."
"You almost died?" Max says, exasperated and confused at Ash's insistence. He raises an eyebrow.
"Should've. Could've. Would've," Ash mumbles.
Max doesn't know how to respond to that. Instead, he just says, "Sit down, Ash. Please."
Ash looks at the floor, but trudges back to the bed and all but collapses onto it. "What do you want?"
"You haven't eaten."
"Does it matter?"
"Yes. Can I sit down?" Max gestures to the bed. It's a queen—large enough for him to sit without getting near Ash, but he doesn't want to startle the kid. There's nowhere else to sit in the room, since it wasn't used much before Ash started staying with them. Mostly just when Jessica's sister visited, or occasions like that.
Ash rolls onto his back and stares up at Max. "It's your bed," he intones.
"It's not," Max insists. "You're using it, and I'm not going to take that from you. Or take—anything from you. Just tell me what you're comfortable with."
"You that desperate to get in bed with me?" Ash teases, and Max's stomach turns.
Max sits down on the floor without another word.
Ash peers over the edge of the bed at him, blinking slowly.
"What is it?" Max asks.
"Just ... didn't expect that," Ash admits.
"What, for me to not ... ?"
"Not take the jailbait?" Ash says, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, I didn't expect that."
"Well start expecting it, kid." Max takes a slow breath. "Has Jess come in to change your bandages yet today?"
"I can do it myself."
"Yeah, but are you going to?"
"What's it matter to you?" Ash challenges.
"Are you gonna get it through your thick skull that I actually give a shit?" Max snaps.
Ash glares at him from the bed.
Max closes his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry. But I do care about you. And this is hard on all of us."
"I know I am."
"That's not what I mean, and you know it." Max tips his head back and opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling light. He loves Ash like his own son; he really does feel like just as much his child as Michael is. But it's frustrating, seeing Ash twist his words like this. Seeing someone you love always expect the worst out of you.
Blinking up at the light above him for a moment, Max tries to calm his breathing and heart rate.
"Ash," he starts. "Let me dress your wounds. Please."
"Why?" Ash breathes.
"Because I'm always going to be here for you, to help you in the ways you aren't able to help yourself."
Ash seems to hesitate. He's still looking over the edge of the bed like a child. "But there's a reason I'm not helping myself."
"Not a good one."
"You don't know that," Ash insists, leaning forward slightly. Max realizes that Ash probably has a hand pressed to his side.
"Your reason is that you don't deserve help, right? That's a shitty reason, because you do deserve help."
Ash glares at Max some more. Max almost wants to laugh, and cry, and scream.
"Let me help you. Please."
Slowly, Ash readjusts in the bed until he's laying on his uninjured side, and pulls his shirt up to reveal his bandages. Max figures that's as close to permission as he's going to get, but even still ...
As he stands and sees the blood staining Ash's side, he bites his lip and whispers, "May I touch your wound, Ash?"
"You can do whatever the fuck you want to me," Ash mumbles.
"I want to help you."
"Then do it. I can't stop you. Not when I'm like this."
Max grimaces. He really wishes he could actually get permission from the kid, but he doesn't think it's going to happen. If Eiji were here, he would probably reason with Ash—keep asking permission, or insist that Ash change his bandages himself if he's not going to let someone help him. But, perhaps unfortunately, Max isn't Eiji, and isn't able to offer Ash the same patience and grace that he deserves.
But Max is still sure as hell going to do what he can to help. Even if that's just changing the kid's bandages.
"Okay," Max whispers, half to himself. "I'll be careful, but let me know if it hurts."
Ash rolls his eyes, but looks away as Max moves in. Ash's body is tense, and Max can tell that he's expecting—consciously or not—for Max to touch him beyond just dressing his wound. That fact has Max's eyes watering, especially because he does have to touch Ash, even if it is just his side, and—
He wants Ash to trust him, but he's afraid that the kid never will. Oh god. He's so afraid. He doesn't want to be just another ...
So many adult men have failed him so severely, or worse ...
Max feels sick, and there are tears pooling in his eyes. He sniffles a little, rubbing at his eye with the back of his wrist.
Ash looks up at him curiously, still laying on his side.
"Sorry," Max breathes. "I'm going to pull back the bandage now, okay?"
"Do whatever you want," Ash responds dryly. Everything he says makes Max wish he didn't have to do this. But he does—if no one else will help him, he will. Although ...
"Would you feel more comfortable if I called Jess in?"
"It doesn't matter," Ash says, rolling his eyes. Then, even quieter, "Women have had their way with me, too, you know." Max wasn't sure if he was actually supposed to hear that or not, or if Ash even really knows that he said it. Either way, Max is going to ignore it for now.
"I u-um—" Max stammers, grimacing. "I'm going to help you," he says again.
Ash smirks. "Heard that one before."
God, the kid isn't making this easy. But then, no one's ever made life easy on Ash, either, have they? Max is determined to be one of the few to make things as easy as possible for him.
Holding back tears still, Max carefully peels back the medical tape holding the dressings in place.
The wound does not look good.
The sutures are red and inflamed, and there's blood seeping from the wound. Based on the color, it might be infected as well, but Ash won't be eager to go back into the hospital.
Thinking about that, and how afraid Ash was when he woke up, sedated and confused ...
Max's breathing turns unsteady, and he sobs. "Fuck," he says under his breath.
"Crying, old man?" Ash teases, though he tries to get a look at his wound as well.
"You need to take it easier than you are. It shouldn't be bleeding like this. And are you taking your antibiotics?"
"... I don't like pills."
"They're just antibiotics, Ash. Please. It's going to get infected."
"Good," Ash bites. "Hopefully it'll fucking kill me this time, like it should have the first time."
"Ash!"
"What? The fuck do you want from me, if not the truth?"
Max glares at him. Then he sobs again, shaking his head and letting his tears fall. He needs to focus on the task at hand. He has to get Ash's wound cleaned up and rebandaged.
"You've at l-least been keeping it dry, right?" Max asks between heaving breaths.
"I, uh—yeah," Ash mumbles. He seems genuinely confused at something, now, though Max couldn't begin to guess at what.
"Okay," Max mumbles. "Lets get you all sorted out, yeah? We'll clean t-this up and make sure you're okay."
"... I'm fine," Ash whispers. "I'm sorry."
"Nothing to apologize for, kiddo."
Ash's expression looks troubled, but it passes quickly. He doesn't even wince as Max cleans his wound, gently clearing away what he can of what shouldn't be there. Max knows it must hurt, but if he commented on it, Ash would probably say something else sardonic. Max doesn't know if he can handle that right now.
He's already crying his eyes out. And he told himself he wouldn't let Ash see this ...
"There," Max whispers once a fresh bandage is back covering the wound. He steps away. "Are you okay?"
" 'M fine," Ash mumbles. He doesn't lower his shirt, so Max carefully reaches forward and lowers it for him.
Ash looks up at Max, then bites his lip. "You cry that easy?" he asks.
"Not usually," Max admits. "Only when someone is especially important to me."
"... Oh," Ash whispers. He doesn't protest this time. Doesn't snap at Max, or offer himself up on a goddamn platter. Not this time. Instead, he just whispers, "I'm sorry."
"What for?" Max asks, instead of assuring Ash that there's nothing to apologize for. He wants to know why. He needs to know exactly why Ash seems to think so severely that he needs to apologize.
"... Hurting something you care about, I guess," Ash says, so quietly and quickly that Max almost misses it.
Max blinks.
There's such a mixed bag there. He called himself something, instead of someone, but he also acknowledged that Max cares about him, and that he hurt himself.
All in all, Max has to call it progress. For his own sanity, if nothing else. "It's okay," he breathes. "Or, it's not, really. But I forgive you. I'll always forgive you, Ash."
Ash grimaces. "There's a lot to forgive."
"And I'll forgive it all. And I'm sorry, too."
"The hell are you sorry for?"
"So much, Ash." That I wasn't there for you sooner. That I ever let your brother leave me. That he left you at all to begin with. I'm sorry that this whole world has treated you the way it has. "But we can discuss that another time. Will you let me help you, from now on?"
"I ... I'll try," Ash lands on, nodding a little to himself. He seems determined, actually, and Max thinks he means it.
"And all it took was me crying?" Max teases, but Ash looks up at him with some sort of something in his eyes.
"Most men never let me see them cry," Ash admits. And, slowly, Max realizes that the look in his eyes is awe.
Max swallows. "Oh," he whispers. "Well, uh—I've cried over you a few times." Every night since you almost left me. "And I'm sorry I haven't let you see it before. I was afraid you'd blame yourself."
"I do," Ash confesses, and that's more something to forgive than anything else Ash would ask forgiveness for. Max hates that the kid blames himself. "But it's nice to see, too. That someone else can cry like that, especially ... especially over me. Especially because you care about me."
"Well I do, Ash. I do care about you. A lot, kid."
"T-thanks," Ash mumbles. "For that."
"Will you join us for dinner?"
Ash makes a face.
"Come on. Michael's gonna help make the spaghetti sauce, and he'll be ecstatic if you at least pretend it tastes good."
It's silent for a moment. Then, "I won't have to pretend," Ash blurts.
"Huh?"
"Everything you make, here—you, or Jess, or Eiji—everything tastes good, when it's coming from you all. Which is part of why it's hard to eat."
Max swallows. "Come on, kid," he whispers. "Family dinner."
Now there are tears in Ash's eyes. "Are you sure?"
If I'm sure of anything, it's family. But instead, Max just nods. "Yeah, kiddo. I'm sure.'
The two of them head out to the kitchen, and Ash even lets Max pull out the chair for him. Lets Max help him.
... Yeah, Max thinks. I'm sure. You're family.