Chapter Text
Andrew had always been a dog. A snarling beast with sharp fangs that he barred at anyone who got too close. He had never liked being one, it always felt more like an insult. Like God deemed him to be unworthy of being a full man.
Since Pope was a child he had known he was different, even from Julia, his twin. All of the other children at the various motels and trailer parks that they had lived in always seemed happy and so care free. It made his stomach curdle. He wanted to be one of them, to experience what it would be like to only have to worry about getting good grades in school and who would play with them on the playground that day. Instead he sat on the couch all day trying to ignore the urge to break something. He couldn't muster up enough feelings to have any feelings other then a overwhelming anger and a gut wrenching guilt over his actions. There were moments of calm like watching stuff burn or when Julia got him to sit with her and talk, but they were always fleeting, always left himself feeling more empty than when he had started.
He also knew from when he was little that Smurf was different from other parents. She constantly had Julia and him on a leash, never relenting no matter how much she cooed and babied them. She would act so sickeningly sweet; promise them the world and then dangle it above their head whenever she deemed them unworthy. Her influence haunted them both, he knew that. And yet, Andrew always came back defeated. He was a mutt leashed to her under the threat of her "love".
This time would be different.
He was out of California.
He had been on the road for a week now, swapping cars as he went. He was careful not to leave any trail that Smurf could potentially sniff out. He didn't even tell his brothers.
He didn't know where he would end up, only that it would be east. It would be somewhere busy, he had decided before he left, it was far easier to hide that way, to blend into the crowd. He had stopped in several cities to see how they would feel on him: Vegas, Phoenix, Denver, Kansas City, Chicago, Cincinnati, hell he even made his way up to Minneapolis for a day. None of them ever felt right though. They were either too far from his life in Oceanside, or reeked too much like it. And so, Andrew would drive through, look around, gain a sense of what the atmosphere was like, and then move on after no more than half a day. He took his time along the road, taking small back roads where he could. He could savor the freedom this way, he thought to himself, he could breathe in the salt-less air and feel something other than guilt.
So here he was, in Pennsylvania of all places. As he approached Pittsburgh he hit the usual city traffic. Cars of all colors swarmed every side of the stolen black Hyundai he had picked up when he hit the state border. He wasn't unfamiliar to it given that he had traveled throughout so many, but it was always a bit jarring compared to the softness of Oceanside. The road stayed the same however, the rush of asphalt on wheels was as reliable at it came in Pope's books.
Taking in a breath he took in the scene, from this angle the city seemed to sprawl out in front of him, as if it had it's arms open, ready to accept him into its bustling streets.
There was nothing but a soft beep as Andrew drew in shaky breaths. The air smelled different here, like antiseptic and blood. Darkness surrounded as he attempted to orient himself. He felt prodding at his side. The movement quickly went up his arm and to his face before his eyes were yanked open and a bright light cascaded over his face.
"Vitals are stable. BP is 120 over 80. Pupils are reactive." he heard someone say from far away, relishing the wash of darkness that enveloped him as the person let go.
Sounds were becoming louder now. A low buzz of voices now accompanied the beep and only seemed to grow more intrusive by the second. It hurt. The cacophony filled his ears and jabbed at his brain. He tried to move his arm to stop the ruckus, lifting up his shoulder as he felt his left arm, or rather couldn't feel his arm, lie heavy as a brick on the flat surface.
"Sir! Sir? Can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?" The same voice from before came back, invading his eardrums.
Pope groaned at the sound, his vocal cords feeling raw. "Pope."
"Pope?" the voice paused, "Alright Pope do you have a last name?"
"Cody" he ground out.
"Ok Mr. Cody, can you tell me what day it is?"
"Tuesday."
"Right. Can you open your eyes?"
He furrowed his brow, barely peeking into the room before the bright lights drove into his eyes. He hissed, opening his eyes as much as he could manage. He needed to see where he was, who was in here with him.
"Good." The voice above him praised.
Andrew looked up to meet the gaze of a young man dressed in black scrubs. He had one arm braced against the side of the scrappy bed he was on. Dirty blonde curls gathered on his brow. Below, his blue eyes sparkled with concern, reflected in his equally big eyebags. freckles danced across his cheeks, leaving a trail dusted across his nose. His expression carried a sense of confidence that defied the man's scrawny figure.
"It's good to have you with us." He smiled, "I'm Dr. Whitaker, this is Dr. Santos, and student doctors Joy and Ogilvie. Can you tell us where you are?"
This question he blanked on. The room around him was clearly one of a hospital. With its bright sterile walls and loud beeping monitors. Last he could remember he was still sitting in that shitty car he picked up off of some rusty street in the back hills of Pennsylvania. So, at least he knew the state.
"Pennsylvania…" Then, the highway, the towering skyline, "Pittsburgh."
Dr. Whitaker nodded, "You are currently in the emergency department of the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center."
Oh. Tearing his eyes away from the soft man in front of him, Pope moved his head to locate the rest of the noise. Three people were standing around his bloodied left arm, picking out shards of glass delicately. The woman who was standing, Dr. Santos, he assumed, was carefully guiding the two students through the procedure. He stared at the gore, not wanting to blink away from it.
"You were in a pretty bad car crash along the 376. You took most of the impact on your left side with two broken ribs, a broken radius, and lacerations along your arm and torso. Lucky, all of these should heal cleanly and there will be no permanent damage. " Whitaker said, sensing that Pope's confusion. "Do you have anyone that you want to call?"
Andrew furrowed his brow, he had no one he could reach out to anyways, they would just drag him back. "No."
Whitaker smiled softly next to him, "Alright. The majority of glass in your arm has been removed, so Joy and Ogilvie are going to finish up with that and then patch you up. You'll need to stay overnight for observation, we want to make sure you don't have any lingering neurological side effects of the accident. If all goes well you will be out of here tomorrow."
Pope looked back up to the doctor's shining face. It was so odd how someone could not be at least a little unnerved by him. He knew what looked like, he knew that he had a reputation of being blood thirsty and dangerous. But these people didn't know this, they didn't know him. Dr. Whitaker didn't know him. It was odd, not having to carry around that other half of him that constantly had a muzzle affixed to his face. It was even stranger to think that someone could look at him that brightly. Could they not see the blood that stained his hands?
Dr Whitaker turned away to the trio, "You guys got it from here. Come find me or Santos when you're done."
The two doctors walked away, taking off their gloves and tossing them before pushing the door open. Andrew's eyes never left the young man's face. He needed to take in the shimmers that danced in he eyes when he talked to Dr. Santos, the way one corner of his mouth curled up when he laughed, the way his teeth shone in the light making the gap in his front teeth seem impossibly darker. The door shut with a soft click, muffling out the small conversation that the two doctors were having. The melodious sound of Whitaker's voice vanished, replaced by the still, suffocating silence that was only marred by the shuffling of tools by his side.
Watching the last curls on Whitaker's neck disappear behind the doorframe he sighed, leaning his head against the propped up bed. The room didn't seem to swim any more and the lights weren't as blindingly obtrusive, even the stinging that ached behind his temples had subsided.
The two student doctors were silent mostly. On occasion one would pipe up with a snarky comment against the other's craftsmanship or the pace they were going at, but it always ended after a moment, as if they remembered that there was a person still attached to the arm they were working on.
He wondered about the other people who were in the crash. How hurt were they? Did they get off with only a couple broken bones and cuts across their body, or did they go through worse? Did any of them die, bleeding out in the front seat of their car? Were they scared?
Death was more than a familiar concept for Andrew. He had helped his own mother kill a man at the ripe age of seven after all. In his family's line of business it couldn't be avoided, even at the best of times. Robberies gone wrong, shootouts, kidnappings and ransoms. He could count the amounts of times on his hand when he was ordered to kill people for the family. A necessity they said. He could count even more times where he watched others die at the hands of Smurf. It was safe to say, the whole dying thing never affected him that much anymore.
In truth, it was the whole living thing that made him squirm.
It was long and tiring, only interrupted by moments of adrenaline rushes and harsh, blinding pain. He had learned to deal with it a long time ago. maybe he learned it back in Folsom, maybe it was when he was still kid, he didn't know. Now, living only meant to see another day free from Smurf's crushing control.
Painstakingly, he moved his head to scan the damage on his body. He had been moved into a hospital gown at some point while he was unconscious and could just make out the outline of bandages covering his chest and his calf. He never had access to this type of care before. Its not like they couldn't afford it, it just caused too many complications. Smurf had always hated hospitals anyway.
He rolled his head to the side, letting his neck relax against the bed as he watched the students work. They both moved meticulously, albeit with varying attitudes towards the work. A tray next to them was filled with small bloody shards. The bright florescent lights shone through the red glass creating something reminiscent of a window in church.
"What time is it." He croaked out to them. He knew what day it was, but the lack of windows left him with a sickening memory of solitary: unaware of day or night.
The boy, Ogilvie, jumped slightly at his voice.
"Its 1:40." the girl, Joy, answered, unfazed by the situation.
Pope nodded, resting his eyes back on the blood. It shone so brightly under the florescent light that it looked like someone had scattered rubies across the metal surface. Warm, metallic, invigorating.
He wondered when Dr. Whitaker would come back.
A tiredness wracked his broken and battered body. He could worry about what to do once he got out of this place later, for now he needed to succumb to the heaviness resting above his eyes. Before long he was back in the darkness that got him here. He let it swallow him whole.