AN: Told you. I had to write something sweet to calm my mind after Let It Burn. 3
It was five in the morning and Chucky was screaming.
He sounded pretty angry. Andy awoke with a start, thinking that maybe he had kicked him or something. He was still drowsy from the heavy dreaming state he had been in a moment ago, so it was with clumsy hands and a groggy voice that he reached towards the aggravated doll. "Chucky... Chucky, what's wrong?" he asked, still feeling around in the dark. Fingers finally found what they were looking for, and Andy slowly latched on.
"Don't touch me, you fucker!"
Andy jumped at the sudden anger coming in his direction. His mind was jolted awake. "What is wrong with you right now?" he asked, feeling a bit frustrated. He had to get up for work in two hours- and he really wanted those last hours to sleep. The doll continued to swat at him and everything else, knocking the covers- and a pillow which Andy barely dodged- everywhere. "Don't get any closer to me, I swear to god... fuck you. Fuck you!" Andy reached over for the side lamp and pulled the switch on.
He had been slowly building up steam until he realized that Chucky was still asleep. "I told you to get away, dammit! I mean it- I'll..." Andy was grabbing at his small, still flying fists as the doll's attitude slowly changed from aggressive to extremely pathetic, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Alone... a... alone... I swear to god... fuck you..." he was crying now. Andy took a hold on both of the doll's hands in his palm while quickly wrapping his free arm around the violently shaking body.
"Hey... hey, Chucky... wake up, buddy. You're having a nightmare. Wake up, baby..." Andy found himself tiredly yawning in between sentences as he tried to gently coax Chucky awake from whatever it was that was plaguing him. "Wake up... please... it's only a dream..." Chucky opened his eyes, finally waking to the sound of Andy's voice. Andy. Andy was here. It was Andy who was holding him, Andy and no one else. No one else. Just Andy. He tried to pull himself back together, but the crazed mix of emotions were still furiously racing around in his body, and all he could do was lean into the man's arms and cry and babble incoherent words.
Andy sat quietly in the dark, searching in his foggy mind for the words to say. He didn't know how to hold the doll, any wrong move or touch could set him off again, and he didn't want that. Carefully, gently, a bit tense, he very cautiously placed his hands on his back. A safe choice. The doll made no sudden move, he only continued to sob into his shirt. Andy sighed in relief. "It's me, Chucky," he whispered softly. "It's Andy. Andy Barclay. I'm here. I'm holding you." Code words and assurances so that he could slowly lace his fingers into the doll's coarse and tangled hair without alarming him.
It was several minutes before he finally spoke again. "You wanna... wanna talk about it?" He felt the doll shaking his head. No, no, of course no, it was always no. He never said anything about what it was that woke him in the dead of night, what it was that haunted him and nearly drove him to insanity. Andy was lucky tonight it was pillows. Several times he'd found the doll in a corner brandishing a kitchen knife, daring him to come closer, threatening him with the sharp steel. Those nights were harder. Andy wondered how long it would be before they would make any progress.
Chucky was looking at him with wide eyes now. Hurt, angry, scared eyes. Eyes that were full of things that Andy couldn't even begin to guess at. Things that he was afraid he could never heal. They would be there forever, somehow always ripping them apart, somehow being that one wall they could never break down. Somehow being that one fence that kept them farther away from each other than they should be. Andy swallowed his anger; it wasn't the doll's fault that he'd been tossed and torn and scarred to the point of this mad cycle that ran from spiteful cynicism and defensive hate to helpless need and hopeless wanting. It wasn't.
Still, the tension and stress of this relationship was maddening sometimes. Andy wondered if he wasn't slowly sinking into the same cycle himself.
He looked tiredly at the clock. "Let's go back to sleep, okay?" he asked, trying to coax Chucky to lay back down with him. But the doll remained sitting there, his eyes fixed on Andy. "I don't want to," he replied firmly with stubborn determination. "I'm not fucking tired." Andy sighed. "Suit yourself," he responded with a yawn, making himself comfortable under the covers again. He lay as still as he possibly could, hoping maybe Chucky would change his mind and join him.
The clock continued to tick away. Andy realized that neither him nor Chucky were asleep. He sat up again to see the doll still staring at him, his eyes moist. "I can't," he whispered softly, so terror stricken that Andy felt chills running down his spine at the ghostly sound of it. He brought the doll into his arms again. "Well, of course you can't," he observed, taking in how cold the doll felt. "You're freezing." He wrapped himself around Chucky, trying to engulf the doll within his warmth.
But Chucky pushed him away. "No," he said again. "You don't understand... you can't make me sleep. Please don't make me fall asleep... I can't do this anymore, I just can't..." His voice faltered as he tried and failed to stifle the yawn that escaped his lips. "But you're tired," Andy protested. "You can't just not sleep forever. Sleep with me, Chucky. Come on... let's sleep." He reached behind the doll, fingers stroking the nape of his neck, sliding up and down the smooth curve, trying, trying to get Chucky to just fall asleep. The doll seemed to be drifting; his eyes were closing, his shoulders were drooping, he was starting to go...
"Andy?" The young man jerked awake. Oh. He had been the one falling asleep, not Chucky. "Andy... can you... talk to me?" he was asking shyly. Andy started. Times like this, when the doll wasn't crude or violent, they were rare, and no one else knew about them. No one else could know, according to Chucky. This was something they kept in confidence. But as much as Andy experienced them, as much as he knew this, it still got him every time. It still stuck to him when Chucky would speak to him like this, gently and almost pleading in a way of its own.
He cradled the doll in his lap under the covers with him. Leaning against the wooden headframe, he caressed the small cheek tenderly with his thumb and looked at him questioningly. "What about?"
Chucky shrugged, looking up at him with a wistful, hopeful, begging expression. "Anything," he said, almost hoarsely, as if he was fighting the urge to breakdown again. "Just anything..." He watched him, Andy felt those intense blue eyes staring at him, waiting. Just waiting. He closed his eyes, thinking, thinking of what to say, but it seemed nothing would come. The pressure was sinking on him; he wanted to be able to comfort the doll, but no words would seem to arise. He's asking for anything, Andy, anything in the world, you've got to have something in mind...!
"Frogs," he said finally. Chucky jumped, not expecting Andy to speak at all. He thought the man had fallen asleep. "What?" he asked, not understanding. Andy opened his eyes and smiled, and the doll felt safer already- just from seeing that smile, that warmth that only Andy seemed to posses. "Frogs in a pond," the man said, his hands ushering the doll to lay back down against his chest. "When I was little, before I met you, I used to play with the frogs that came out after it rained."
Chucky scoffed softly under his breath, but listened anyways. The sound of Andy's voice was calm and soothing. "I liked to try and line them up and watch them hop away. I pretended they were racing," Andy laughed, almost sheepishly. "I even made up a little song about them... gosh, it was so stupid..." He stopped, just stroking the doll's hair, and there was silence for a while. Chucky watched Andy, waited for him to go on, but the man seemed to be in a state of reminiscence. "What was it?" the doll asked, bringing him out of his thoughts. "What was what?" Andy asked. "The song... how did it go?"
Andy looked down at his doll in disbelief. "You really wanna know?" he asked incredulously. But when he saw Chucky nod with sincere curiosity in his eyes, he leaned back against the headboard again and closed his eyes. "Let me see... I think it went something like this..." He cleared his throat before starting to sing softly:
"Froggies in a pond, froggies are green,
Some are dirty and some are clean
ribbit ribbit ribbit, says the all the froggies
hop hop hop go all the froggies
I love the froggies, and they love me
Froggies in a pond, froggies are green..."
Chucky laughed despite himself. "You're a fucking moron, Andy," he said. But even with the crude language and sarcasm, there was a gentleness to his voice now, and he curled against the man, breathing steadily. Andy's fingers were making mesmerizing circles in his hair, and the childish tune was playing itself in the doll's head, over and over and over...
It was raining outside. Chucky couldn't really see where he was going, and he couldn't see where Andy was either. "Andy?" he called out. "Andy, where are you?"
"I'm right here, Chucky." Andy was a little boy again, smiling at him with those lovable golden-brown eyes. "Look at the froggies, Chucky! They're hopping!" The doll splashed over to him, taking his hand and watching the green amphibians croaking in the murky pond...
The young man watched his doll sleep peacefully with a trace of a smile on his face. "Frogs," he murmured to himself, still laughing at how ridiculous he must've sounded. "Frogs in a pond."