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Nicky gets awoken from his lovely lovely nap by the sounds of his house falling apart.
This is in no way unusual, and in fact, Nicky half prefers it over the tense silence that permeates the air half the time, but it is unexpected. He was meant to be home alone, after all; Aaron was out with Katelyn ‘studying’, and Andrew, Kevin and Neil were out doing…whatever it is those three did on a Saturday afternoon. He thought it would be a nice time to relax, put on a movie and have a long overdue day all for himself.
The title menu of whatever DVD he put on their player lets him know he did not get very far. In his defense, the whole team has been working like crazy in the court to fill the absence Andrew and Neil left behind-the injuries caused by the ravens are making them all have to work twice as hard to pick up the slack as they get closer and closer to the finals.
He sits up and by the smell alone he can tell it’s Andrew. Since the attack, he hasn’t really been showering and it shows-not that he plans on pointing it out anytime soon. “Hey, you’re back already.”
If looks could kill, Nicky would be a medical miracle, so he’s pretty nonplussed by his cousin’s staredown.
Nicky lazily looks over to where all their cutlery is lying on the floor. He doesn't particularly care for it-most of it was swiped from Sweetie's anyway. The rest were from PSU’s own cafeteria. He clicks his tongue.
“You know, you can ask for me to get things for you,” he declares, and maybe last year he would have been terrified of the glare Andrew shoots his way, but now he is mostly sure the boy won't hit him with the drawer still in his grip. Mostly. “You don't even have to be polite about it. I've been washing your dirty laundry for five years now, and not once have I gotten a thank you. You think I'm going to start caring about it now?”
Andrew doesn't say anything. Of course he doesn't. He just keeps glaring at Nicky and breathing heavily like the next thing he'll tear off the walls are the pipes. Despite the cast on his arm, it’s still quite the intimidating look.
The older boy jumps to his feet, ignoring the way his bones crack and the droll still linking him to the couch cushions where he was having the most wonderful nap. He sighs and walks over to the kitchen-there is a pint of ice cream sitting on the counter and that is all Nicky needs to know before he kneels down and starts gathering the not-quite-silverware.
“Where are Kevin and Neil, anyways?” He asks, setting aside a small spoon and getting up to rinse it underwater. Andrew doesn’t say anything, but he really doesn’t have to. “Ugh. Nevermind, I heard it as soon as I said it. How come you're not at practice with them?”
Aw shucks. He absolutely drenched his shirt. Whatever. “Doctor's orders.” Andrew replies, dryly. Nicky cackles.
“And you're such a diligent patient,” Nicky rolls his eyes, sinking the spoon on the ice cream. It's a little hard still, and he would normally suggest throwing it in the microwave or running some warm water over it, but it does not seem like Andrew is feeling particularly patient today. “But, like, you don't actually play with them, do you? I always figured it was a pretext so you and Neil could get it on in the locker room.”
He offers the pint for Andrew, who stares at his hand for long enough to Nicky's hand to start going numb. Usually, Nicky would steal a bite for himself, but there is a sanctity in the relationship between Andrew and ice cream flavors over four words long that he does not dare to mess with.
Finally, after Nicky starts to worry for the safety of his fingers, Andrew places the drawer on the countertop before quickly taking the pint for himself, at Indiana Jones speed. He gives his cousin a bright smile as he turns around and stalks off to his room.
“Good talk!” Nicky calls after Andrew, and he knows the only reason he doesn't get the bird in response is because Andrew's ice cream-less hand is in a cast.
The drawer stares at him with disdain as Andrew's footsteps echo up the stairs. Nicky pokes his tongue out at it. He noticed it kept getting caught on something almost a year back at this point, but he didn't really think it was a big deal, until…
Stupid. Doesn't matter now. He grabs their cutlery by the armful and dumps it all in the sink, despite a voice in the back of his brain trying to insist that it is fine, really, 20 second rule, no one would ever know. Just staring at it all makes him lazy, so instead he goes back to staring at the hole left behind by the drawer and fantasizes about putting it in place.
Footsteps echo back down the stairs, but stop not too far from the top. It takes Nicky a beat before he can tear his eyes away from all the things he has to do and look up at Andrew, just standing there like he usually does.
“We don't have whipped cream,” Nicky tells him, with a sigh. “You know Kevin freaks out whenever it's in the house.”
Andrew doesn’t say anything. His breathing is weirdly labored and his lips twitch a few times. Nicky frowns and starts to move towards him, worry worming its way to his guts, but Andrew takes a step back and puts a hand up.
If the microwave clock is correct, it takes two more minutes before Andrew finally speaks. “I need a bath.”
Yeah, I could have told you that from down here, Nicky thinks, but doesn't say, because he's a good cousin who enjoys having all 10 fingers and 10 toes.
“Ok…” Is what he settles on instead, but Andrew scowls just the same.
Where is Neil when you need him?! The little freak would for sure know what it is that Andrew wants to say. He is a weird mind reader like that-even if he can’t read a social cue to save his goddamn life. Not that anyone in this house is any better, Nicky included.
“I can’t wash myself with this stupid cast on,” Andrew continues through gritted teeth. Nicky keeps staring at him. He has the feeling that, if he wasn’t wearing a cast, Andrew would be throwing his arms in the air in frustration at this point. “You’re going to wash me.”
Nicky doesn’t mean to startle as badly as he does. He would sooner expect Andrew to ask him to make friendship bracelets than…this. But he can’t let himself gape and stare for long. “Uh, your brother is-”
“I’m not asking Aaron,” He says, like the suggestion is ridiculous. “I’m asking you.”
Nicky refrains from telling him that what he’s doing isn’t exactly asking. He refrains from saying a lot of things actually, like ‘who are you’ and ‘what did you do to Andrew?!’.
Instead he sucks in a breath and tries to limit his blinking to two per second. “Uh. S-Sure! We can totally-wait, like…now?” Andrew stares at him like he’s an idiot. “I-I mean, of course! I’ll just-”
He starts scrambling for things under the sink, like this is the first time he has ever heard the word ‘bath’ in his life. He does find some trash bags, which he is pretty sure is what they used back when Neil was hurt and needed to shower. Should Andrew shower instead?! He could always use Nicky’s bathroom for that-but no, Andrew said bath, so bath it was. Right. Cool.
“Why don’t you finish your ice cream and I’ll meet you up there?” Nicky calls, gathering the things in his arms. They must have duct tape in here somewhere too. Neil seems like the kind of guy who spawns in rolls of the stuff wherever he goes. When he looks back, he sees that Andrew is already gone and knows that that’s the most consent he’ll get out of him.
“Right, that’s-’ He mumbles to himself, before shaking his head. Never a quiet day with this lot. “Right.”
Right.
Five minutes later, Nicky is standing over the second floor tub with a loofah in hand that doubles as a way to stop himself from fidgeting. Andrew stands next to him with his own towel wrapped across his torso and his cast already encased in plastic.
“What’s with the bubbles?” He asks after a beat, and Nicky feels himself blush. The tub is not that full, but it’s practically overflowing with foam.
“It’s, uh, dish soap,” He explains, clearing his throat awkwardly. “It’s not great for your skin, but you can borrow my moisturizer to balance it out later.”
Andrew is still staring at the tub as if it’s a particularly hard puzzle he has to solve. Or a hurdle he has to overcome. He can’t quite differentiate between the microexpressions yet. “Why?”
“Uh…”
When Nicky first took in the twins, he knew that, maybe better than most, that sometimes it feels as if there is an ocean separating guardians and their teenagers, but that was never the case for them. No. Instead, between them there was a minefield, with a war waging around it. Sometimes, the generals might sign a treaty and the bullets would wain long enough for him to smell the gunpowder in the air; for the rest of it, it was as if they were all handling live grenades and playing chicken. Either way, it didn’t matter-one wrong move was enough to send them all flying anyway.
Nowadays, the war has slowed into more of a knife fight in a parking lot, but the mines are still buried, and this is all brand new terrain. All his previous knowledge is void; he has no idea which answer gets them closer to each other, and which one results in certain death.
“I just-” Nicky sighs. Fuck it, honesty it is. “I figured this way you’re not as…exposed.”
He winces at his own wording. Stupid. It makes it sound like he thinks Andrew is some delicate flower who needs protecting, which obviously isn’t-well, he certainly doesn’t smell like a stupid flower and it’s not like Nicky has ever actually protected anyone, much less-
“Let’s just get this over with,” Andrew says, rolling his eyes. Which is…not anger nor murderous intent. Huh.
No explosions in sight, would you look at that.
Nicky respectfully looks away when Andrew takes off his towel. Obviously with practice and sharing both a house, and a dorm, he’s seen Andrew in various states of undress before, though way less than he has seen Aaron and even Kevin in both frequency and quantity. Still, this feels different than a locker room, and even in those he’s not exactly looking for opportunities to see his baby cousins in their birthday suits so he waits until he has heard Andrew settling in the water to turn back around.
The process from then on is extremely awkward, and yet oddly peaceful. Andrew can thankfully wash his own stomach and…bits, and Nicky genuinely doesn’t mind helping with what’s left. Of course, this is not something he had ever imagined himself doing, but in a weird way it aligns with what Nicky once thought taking care of the twins would be, back when he first signed the custody agreement.
Well, metaphorically, that is. He knew he was not going to be bathing a couple sixteen year-olds, duh; but he had thought he would be helping them far more than he actually did. Sitting with them, talking, showing them they were loved, being there for them after Tilda’s death. But that was not what they needed, so he adapted. He changed. For them.
Did he do an ok job? Most days he is more than certain that he didn’t. But, maybe. A year back, Andrew would rather have his collar bone removed than be in this position, so, who knows? Perhaps being butt naked with his cousin is progress, or something.
Nicky stays quiet throughout, only speaking to announce his movements. He is used to running his mouth a mile a minute to keep himself from going crazy, but he doubts that’s what Andrew wants when he’s this vulnerable. This is a lot already, the least Nicky can do is let Andrew be wherever he needs to be for it.
“I’m going to shampoo your hair now,” He tells Andrew. His voice seems to echo in tiles around them, and comes out both louder and gentler than he expected. “Can you lean your head back and close your eyes?”
Andrew does lean back, but his eyes remain open, staring at Nicky as he works. Maybe he has been doing this the whole time, but, weirdly, he hadn’t noticed. Not that it particularly matters. Nicky slathers one hand with shampoo, and keeps the other upright in the middle of his forehead to keep the shampoo from running down.
Andrew draws his eyebrows together ever so slightly, but doesn’t protest, so Nicky starts massaging his scalp. It’s funny, Nicky has never been close enough to notice before but he has a mole by his hairline, in the same spot Aaron does. The discovery makes him smile.
“I wish-” He starts, but then quickly stops himself. He hadn’t meant to say anything out loud. He can feel Andrew’s eyebrow brush against his finger.
“What?”
A blush rises up Nicky’s neck. Damnit. The twins will never let him live this one down. He takes a deep breath. “I just…I wish I looked more like you both, that’s all.”
There is a beat of silence. “You once called me ‘plastic bag boy’ because you said I was ‘so white I was practically see-through’.”
“And you are,” Nicky nods. “But, I don’t know. I just-”
I wish I didn’t have to call you my cousin for people to know we’re family. I wish I could carry you with me like you and Aaron do each other.
“It’s stupid,” He shakes his head. “I’m going to rinse this off now.”
They don’t have a showerhead, so Nicky has to make due by cupping his hand under water and dropping it over Andrew’s head. It must be a weird feeling, but Andrew doesn’t complain.
“I wouldn’t have asked for this,” He declares, once Nicky tells him he can put his head upright again. “If you looked like me, I would have asked someone else.”
Nicky blinks. “Really?”
Andrew shrugs. “I didn’t ask Aaron.”
That’s true. It must be really weird, being vulnerable with a carbon copy of yourself. And sure, the twins don’t actually look that much alike if you know where to look, but Nicky feels like he understands the two of them much more, all of a sudden.
He doubts he would be able to live with another one of himself, let alone be nice to it.
“Huh.” Nicky let’s slip, but can’t think of anything intelligent to follow it up with. Soon enough, Andrew’s hair is looking cleaner than it has all week. “All done. Though, I don’t know what this cheap-ass shampoo is going to do. What happened to that nice, purple-”
“Nicky,” Andrew stares at him. His hair looks golden when wet, and that added with the white of the bubbles makes him look like a cherub painting in a cathedral, or perhaps a detergent commercial, his expression forever frozen in ethereal indifference. “Less.”
Right. Nicky raises his hands in surrender, but he is more than ready to circle back to this later. Andrew's split ends won't know what hit them.
He sits back on the floor and winces at the feeling of water seeping into his sweatpants. He should have put a towel down first, but it doesn’t really matter. At least it matches with how soaking wet his shirt somehow is. Who knew bathing someone meant taking a shower yourself in the process?
“Ok, arm now,” Nicky says, nodding towards Andrews uncovered limb. The boy’s hesitance lasts longer than it has so far as he stares at Nicky, and the older cousin has no problem meeting it head on. “Andrew, this floor is cold as hell. Let me wash your arm before my ass falls off and you deprive the entire gay community of its grandeur."
Andrew doesn’t say anything for a long time. Nicky knows he’s being tested, or, no, maybe measured? But he doesn’t know with what metric. Eventually, the younger man puts his arm forward and Nicky takes it with the same care as he has everything else so far. “Thank you, I promise to be-”
And then he freezes. Because there, nestled beneath soap duds and water, there are lines.
Tons of them. A truly incomprehensible amount that crawl from his wrist all the way to the inside of his elbow. The skin bumpy and raised and faded, and yet each scar sickingly perfect. Planned.
Nicky stares at it for what he realizes is probably a moment too long before shoving the loofah underwater fast enough to splash himself. The water is almost enough to startle him, but he doubts he will ever be more startled than he is now for the rest of his life.
This time, when he bites his tongue, he tastes blood. So he keeps biting.
This truth isn't for him. Nicky knows this. This is not a truth Nicky would ever get were the circumstances any different. Maybe one day he would finally start suspecting the arm bands, but he doubts it, because for as long as they’ve known each other, it has always been easier for him to shrug off any and all of Andrew's oddities as his own, unexplainable quirks, personality traits with no rhyme or reason behind them.
Whose benefit was that for? Andrew’s or his own?
He drags the loofah gently, as gentle as he possibly can, across Andrew’s arm and tries his best to ignore the screaming inside his mind. At least they look old, but how old? Andrew is only 21, when did this start? When did he stop? Did he-God, did he do it inside this house, while Nicky fooled around just a floor away, completely unaware?”
The mine field extends in front of him, and there are mounds of dirt all over. He knows all the paths are wrong, there is no answer that will leave either of them unscathed. But he can’t look at this and stay quiet. He won’t.
“I-” He starts, when he looks up he is not surprised to see Andrew’s eyes locked on him, but it does make him shiver. “I guess we look more alike than I thought.”
Fuck. Stupid. This was not the time-but if he saw that and said nothing then what would-
Andrew’s face does not shift and he wishes so desperately that that was confirmation that he had not heard. No such luck. He looks down to Nicky’s wrists and then back into his eyes.
The man’s face twists into something that maybe some cultures could call a smile. “Uh, m-my thighs,” He explains, with a shrug that looks more like a dislocation. “Luckily, I look better in boxer briefs anyway-and they aren’t that deep, really. Back at camp, I thought I could get them to send me-”
He winces, more out of embarrassment than anything else. Yes, he hasn’t really spoken about them to anyone but Erik before, but…it was a long time ago. There is no reason to dwell on it. He won’t.
A part of him hopes Andrew will follow up with his own confession, a part of him dreads that exact scenario. It doesn’t surprise him when the boy says nothing though, and he makes sure to keep his face neutral about it. This is not about what Nicky wants.
He keeps washing up Andrew’s arm, the scars finally fading from view. The need to be gentle with Andrew’s upper body means he has to put his whole attention on what he’s doing, and the opportunity to diverge his attention is one he takes gratefully.
Well. Not gratefully, of course. He isn’t happy Andrew was hurt. Does Andrew know that? Andrew probably knows that. Most likely. And Nicky also knows that. He wasn’t glad to be rid of the boys all day, he wasn’t-
“There’sthispark-” He says, without fully realizing. Oh god. But now Andrew looks as expectant as Andrew ever does, and okay, yeah. Nicky clears his throat. “Sorry. There was this park near my-where I used to live, and it used to fill up with butterflies in the spring-like a crazy, unthinkable amount of butterflies. When I first came back from Germany, I made this list in my head of all the stuff I was glad to come back to and going to that park again was, like, right below having a DQ Dipped Cone again.”
Andrew raises an eyebrow. “Good park.”
Nicky laughs. It always feel like a win to get a joke out of Andrew. He nods. “Yeah. I thought I was going to take you boys there someday, have a little picnic,” He smiles fondly, making sure to look into the boy’s eyes as he does. “You should take Neil there someday.”
He isn’t entirely sure why he’s saying all of this, but he needs to say it. He needs to look in Andrew’s eyes and have him understand, even if Nicky doesn’t understand it himself. He has to make him listen, even if he has to wipe his own eyes as he does.
Andrew is here. Andrew is alive. We’re both alive. Nothing else matters besides that.
“Just Neil? Not you?” The boy asks, tone as impassive as always.
Nicky shrugs. “Eh, I know you’re too old to think hanging out with your cousin is cool,” He laughs, like Andrew had ever thought hanging out with Nicky was in any way cool. Aaron did; at least when they were both kids. But that was so long ago Nicky might as well have dreamt it. “Besides, it might be a fun place to take your…Neil.”
Andrew huffs and rolls his eyes as Nicky tries to contain his smile. Happiness is hard to detect on Andrew, but it does look good on him.
“I think we’re all done now,” Nicky declares, after pouring water down the boy’s arms. He glances at the scars again, but does his best not to let his eyes linger. “Do you need help up or do you want me to-oh wait!”
Nicky almost slips as he goes to find his robe. It’s a warm, pink, fluffy monstrosity he had brought upstairs with him just in case Andrew could want it.
“Here, put it on, and then I’ll help you up.” There’s a beat of silence. “What?”
“I’m in water.” Andrew declares, like Nicky is some kind of idiot.
He rolls his eyes. “Oh no, I’ll have to put it in the wash, what a nightmare.” Nicky holds it out for Andrew more insistantly. The bubbles are starting to diminish. “It’s just a robe.”
Herr Klose had sent it over for him a few birthdays ago and he wore it constantly. He reckons she would get a kick out of Andrew borrowing it, but this doesn’t feel like something he would want getting out talked about. Specially considering how funny the get up actually looks when he’s wearing it.
How Nicky missed that this wet little diva was gay for so many years continues to be a mystery and a personal failure.
After Andrew is on his feet, looking like the cuntiest drowned cat known to man, Nicky hands him a towel and turns around as he makes the switch. Goodbye Pizzaz Andrew. You will be greatly missed.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” He asks, before turning around. The question had been on his mind since Andrew first enlisted his help, but he didn’t want to corner him with it while his pants were literally down.
“No,” Andrew replies. Then he walks past Nicky into the hall. He stops and sighs before turning back to him. “Go.”
“Why did you ask for my help?” He asks, slowly. “I mean, Neil probably would have been more than happy to help.”
Andrew raises an eyebrow, and-oh. He hears how that sounds and winces. Since the trial, a lot of things about both the twins have been falling into place, but some realizations come slower than others.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Nicky winces, quickly correcting himself, but he kinda did. God, he’s an asshole. “Just-Neil wouldn’t mind.”
Andrew’s eyebrow doesn’t come down. “You minded, then?”
“What?! No! That’s-” He blows out a breath. “You’re fucking with me, and you suck, by the way. But obviously, I don’t mind, you can ask me to do this kind of stuff whenever you need to, back at the dorms. But…You know Neil, and you wouldn’t trust him as much as you do if you didn’t know he has your back, so-just-trust your gut. That’s all I’m saying.”
Once again, Andrew stares at him for a long time, but it doesn’t feel chiding. Nicky smirks. “Besides, you know that if he ever does anything to hurt you, I’ll fucking kill.” Andrew takes a threatening step forward, and Nicky is not proud of the way he quickly scrambles back with his hands up. “Kidding! Kidding!”
Andrew glares at him up and down. He’s dripping down their carpeted floors but he doesn’t seem in any particular rush to move, which is odd, because Nicky thought he would have taken any excuse to get away from him at this point. Finally, Andrew turns on his heels and goes back to walking towards his bedroom.
“Change your clothes,” He commands. “Meet me in the car in ten minutes.”
What. “What? Why?!”
Inside his room, Andrew turns to look at him. Nothing in his face is different than it was when he was threatening him a second ago, but Nicky feels no fear.
“We’re going to the park,” Andrew tells him, voice with no inflection. Nicky's confusion only grows.
“Now?!” But Andrew only stares at him like he’s an idiot. “Right, yes, ok-i’ll just-”
He nods. A small smile starts to form his face despite his attempts to hide it away. Andrew merely sighs.
“And I’m getting myself a godamn Blizzard.”