They Broke Him And They Beat Him And Break He Did
AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84907311
“Don’t look at me like that.” Frederick spits at you from where he stands by the vanity in the bedroom.
“Like what?” You ask, although with more force than you really had to and you felt the shame of it for only a second.
Frederick watches as you pace from across the room, his hand supporting himself against the vanity of the bedroom. His bedroom that he just welcomed you into, to be exact, but he wasn’t going to directly tell you to go away. That wasn’t the goal. He even didn’t even know what he wanted out of this spat he started, but he did it anyways. Attention? Any attention was good attention really, even as you glared at him in frustration. He always did this. How were you not sick of him yet? Validation? Yeah, because being self deprecating about your appearance was really the best way to have your partner validate you! What genius thinking, Mister Butchered Psychiatrist! Frederick heard the thoughts reverberate in his head, but refused to give any inkling of backing down in a way that might hurt his ego. Frederick’s face remained neutral despite his change in footing to better lean against the vanity and shift his weight onto the furniture.
You stopped in your pacing, having to take a double take to where Frederick is. He’s half leaning against the wall and vanity, changing his footing. His eyes don’t leave you, his eyebrows don’t raise like he thought he said something so intelligent that it negated all other others. You can see a wince flash across his face for just a second though and your frustration was replaced by concern. He almost never brought his cane into the bedroom, wanting to keep its “outside germs” contained to literally anywhere else but where he slept. You didn’t understand, trying to gently bug him into just getting a simple cane for the bedroom in times like this when you noticed his limps before bed. He refused, sometimes got snippy. It was his own house and body, so you didn’t push it. However, it seemed more obvious that maybe he was just lashing out a bit because he’s in pain and doesn’t want to ask for help. So, you step closer slowly and let your tone soften, like someone would for a scared animal almost. You don’t dare to say that part out loud.
“Do you need your cane? I can grab it, Freddy-” You begin to offer, but the sudden change in tone seems to catch Frederick off-guard.
Frederick’s green eyes scan you over, seeing if this is somehow a cruel joke, then he breaks his gaze. He doesn’t make eye contact, as if he’s ashamed by his next answer.
“I can grab it, it’s really not a problem.” You offer again, honestly just wanting to help him now, then take another step closer and corner him without realizing.
Frederick stiffens, feeling hot warm pricks along the back of his neck and down his back. He really doesn’t like being cornered and quickly interpreted your sudden change as manipulation, getting something out of him, or it’s just a joke again. He hated that. He couldn’t stand that. He buried all the memories of his time in school before university deep down to never be addressed again, yet he was so quick to think he was back in those positions. He couldn’t interpret their words or smiles. He can’t understand yours now! You were overwhelming him as you come with about a foot of distance, going to grab his free hand. Frederick flinches and moves to support himself less on the vanity, the weight instantly shifting back to his core, where he was having a flare with scarring, and his feet that were already sore from work earlier. He feels the dull ache hit his joints and the tender flesh inside of him, but he just lets the pain come out with a cracked voice.
“I’m fine! Stop looking at me like you love me!”
“W-What..?” You pause, needing to ingest that for a minute.
So, he was trying to shove you away because he was just insecure. Again. Ah, well, even if it’s annoying or frustrating, you knew you could certainly handle that. The issue was that he was acting like a scared dog and if you didn’t figure out what exactly was getting him to escalate from the loathing in his voice to being tense, then he wasn’t going to listen.
“What are you on about?” You ask with a bit of a relieved sigh and slight smile.
That was alarming to him. You could see him readjust his foot and how his fingers clung to the side of the vanity for support, turning his knuckles white.
“Stop looking like you’re caring. I’m not stupid. Give it up.” Frederick demands, the crack in his voice gone to fully mask himself.
Your eyebrows furrow and you let both your gaze and smile drop. Where was this coming from? Did someone say something to him? But, your gaze follows where the vanity connects to him and then to the wall. And you’re also keeping him in. Oh.
You step back, glancing behind you for his bed before sitting yourself on the edge. That opens up his space and while you would hope he wouldn’t deflect or run from the conversation that he started, it still gave him the mental pathway to run if he needed and in turn, feel safer. He does, his posture slouches a little, but his face remains the same type of defensive.
“You can go. I would rather be alone than deceived.” Frederick says, finally crossing the line of telling you to leave, which he didn’t really want, but this was the line of thinking he decided to go with.
Your mouth falls open for a moment, then you shut it and slip off his bed. Without a word, you walk past him and shut his bedroom door behind you. Frederick can hear your footsteps become more distant, as he presumed you went down the stairs and to the front of the door. The jingle of his doorknob only confirmed it, so he tuned out the rest of the noise. Your absent presence was already stinging in his chest, tearing its nails into his heart and the shame of pushing you away making his guts sick, but it hurt less than rejection. He still won this battle and at least he was in control still. He would, however, need his cane sooner than later. The ache and throbbing in his raised scars along with joints was becoming more of a priority than his self-induced heartbreak.
Frederick leaned forward, using both of his hands to hold onto the vanity and to guide himself along it to make it to the bedroom door. He limped, his hip hit the corner of the vanity hard when he lost his footing for misremembering where one of the vanity legs were. He sucked a sharp breath in and squeezed his eyes shut, wanting the temporary pain of that to wash through it and just pass before just getting the remaining two feet to the door.
Then, the bedroom door opens again, and startles Frederick. He jumps and hunches over the vanity, the table part of it digging into his stomach absolutely where the lower end of his abdominal scar was. He refuses to let a pained groan leave his lips though, especially since you had come back and startled him. Just a stifled, distress gasp left him as he’s hunched over with his eyes squeezes shut. He was worried he might start crying if he moved too soon, especially with your watch. This was shameful. On every level.
You, however, just come behind him and wrap an arm around his waist, but above his scar. You gently pull him back, mumbling words he couldn’t quite understand about how he could lean on you. Your warm hand just squeezed under his, rubbing where his chest meets his upper arms, and your tugging did take the pressure off his stomach. It was an instant wave of relief inside Frederick, but still stung a little from being touched this roughly in the first place. Frederick opened his eyes, seeing your arm hold him, and he felt held. Secure. His hands still supported at least his upper body, but he let his middle lean into you. Before he could say anything to drive you away, your other hand comes into his vision and offers his cane.
“Take it. You can lean on me, but take your mobility aid.”
Frederick cringes a little at what you deem what his cane is, but he knows you are actually correct. It is a mobility aid, as much as he wants to pretend it’s just a fashion statement, but admitting that to himself was embarrassing. It shouldn’t. He was attacked, maimed, injured. He’s allowed to use mobility aid such as canes, but it always just came back as something he should have been better for as to not rely on it. With a swallowing of his pride, he takes the metal head of his cane into the palm of his hand and shifts to lean his weight onto that instead of you. You hold him until he slips away with ease, but stay still to watch him. Just to be safe.
“You can go. Thank you.” Frederick mutters, feeling your eyes on him.
“I’m not leaving. I love you.” You insist.
Frederick clicks his tongue, stepping beside you but he can’t make eye contact still. You cock your head and reach for him, tugging his suit jacket sleeve on his free hand. He stills, but doesn’t turn around. Why couldn’t you just leave him be?
“I.. I am going to bake something. You can find me in the kitchen when you want.. Me.” You finish, the disappointment clear in your voice.
Frederick nods silently and you feel there’s nothing else to say. He was being insistent on you to leave, at least let him decompress or something. You didn’t want to leave him be though on the worry he might fall though, just for one. He was capable, but he was still your partner despite his attempts to shove you away.
You let your grip loosen, then get by him slowly. He hears your footsteps disappear down the stairs again and he’s left in his bedroom to be alone with multiple stinging emotions he would rather repress in his chest.
A few hours pass in mostly silence. You bake a basic pan of brownies in his kitchen downstairs and while he has a full pantry and refrigerator, he’s missing some basic ingredients to do baking. It’s clear he doesn’t do it often, or at all. He’s missing brown sugar, baking power, and even cocoa powder! He does have a very expensive bottle of vanilla extract in his cabinets though, with real vanilla beans it looks like. Your respect for his kitchen is restored by that, but minus the oven going off to say it’s preheated, it’s too quiet. You don’t hear Frederick move upstairs. Maybe he took a nap.
When around five ‘o clock comes around, you finally see a shadow from your peripheral vision standing there. You turn and jump upon seeing Frederick, nervously giggling and coming to him.
“Sorry, you scared me, Freddy!”
Frederick isn’t tense, but he is using his cane still. However, a bigger anxiety fills your stomach when he just stands still instead. His eyes were watery, even his bottom lip was cracked from biting it looked like.
Upon that, Frederick wraps his free arm around you and pulls you to him. You hug back in a heartbeat, but your hand starts rubbing his back when you feel him jerk. You hear a hiccup, then feel warm tears slip from his nose and cheeks onto the exposed flesh of your neck as he hides his face in it. He clings to you tightly, with need. With anxiety. He didn’t mean his words and he honestly just felt relieved to see you where you said you would be.
“What’s been going on today, Frederick?” You ask, tilting your head to press a tender kiss to his fluffy hair.
Frederick jerks, harshly sucking in a breath of cold air, then forces his voice to work again.
“I’m s-sorry.. Why do you want me? I.. I use a cane. I’m scarred. I..”
“Shhhh.. Oh, Freddy..” You start, trailing off when you try prying yourself away to see his face. He doesn’t let you. Despite how weak he might feel, his grip can hold you in place quite easily.
“Frederick.. You make me laugh. You’re funny and intelligent. You’re charming. You have everything planned and organized. You learned my routine and you listen to me when you’re not all up in your own head. I like being around you. I like your touch. Your kisses. You. You know being disabled doesn’t erase any of that.. Right?”
Frederick sobs, his shoulders jerking, but you feel him shake his head “no”.
“Let’s go sit down and cuddle while we talk..”
