Ashley: 2 or 16
(oh, Ashley, you terrifying monster woman. Don’t worry @blackstar-1391 - this doesn’t count as your request, I am 100% doing a longer piece to fulfill your Denners + Nate request!)
“How are you feeling today?”
Her twin brother’s boyfriend stares her down as he asks the required question, setting the plate in front of her, and she stares right back.
Her favorite, of course - toast with Irish butter (their time in Ireland had been so good - how long ago was that? There were a lot of miserable people back then, skinny and starving) and two eggs, over hard, a dash of the hot sauce she gets at the store down the block.
Nate is so good, these days - and the bandages under his long-sleeved shirt give away just how long it took him to learn.
Upstairs, Brammie’s still in the shower - honestly he’s probably still singing, a sound she loves to hear - Brammie has such a good singing voice, and he just doesn’t know it.
More people should get to hear Brammie sing - not just Nate in bed, when Brammie sings him to sleep (or the drugs do, and honestly, who gives a fuck which it is but Brammie himself?) or Ashley when she overhears him and he doesn’t know she’s listening.
Nate isn’t looking as good these days as he did when they first followed him home. No, these days, trapped in the house with them, Nate has grown pale, gotten thinner, and she can see the marks all across his neck from where Brammie got a little aggressive with him last night.
Brammie likes his sweethearts skinny and showing every inch of the life they’ve had taken from them. Ashley never really likes to let them live this long, but she has to admit it’s kind of nice to have the eye candy around every day.
“I’m feeling lovely, Nate, thanks so much for asking.” Her voice is a sultry, pleased purr, and she watches his jaw tighten as he glares down at her, his green eyes full, absolutely full, of abject hatred, blurred and foggy from whatever Brammie put in his water when he woke up this morning.
“Glad to hear it,” He nearly snarls, and sits down at the table himself, staring down at his own plate - just toast with the butter for him, the drugs make his stomach upset in the mornings a lot. Ashley likes to joke that maybe he’s pregnant.
Nate doesn’t like that joke.
He doesn't like that joke at all
She doesn’t care.
Ashley picks up her toast to eat, and says pleasantly to him, “How are you feeling today, darling?”
“Like I’ve been kidnapped by a couple of goddamn psychopaths,” Nate replies, his voice a snarl of anger.
“Then do something about it,” She says softly, so softly, and he stares at her for one more moment before his eyes drop back to his plate.
“I can’t,” He whispers, just as Brammie enters the room.
Ashley grins as her brother slides an arm around Nate’s shoulders, leans down to kiss the top of his black hair.
“Good morning, baby,” Brammie says lovingly. “How are you feeling today?”
Nate straightens a little under the touch, then looks up at him, and Ashley watches the hate melt a little into something closer to fear, maybe even love. As close to love as you can feel for someone who cuts you up each night, she supposes.
Ashley wouldn’t know.
“I’m, I feel fine, Bram, thanks,” Nate answers him. Bram kisses him, white-blonde hair still soaking wet and dripping just a little onto Nate’s shirt, and when he pulls back to sit down, Nate gets back to his feet, and Ashley watches him serve Brammie his favorite breakfast, too.
Two eggs over easy, plain white toast with nothing on it (for dipping in the egg yolks), two pieces of sausage, all of it kept perfectly warm until he was ready.
Brammie grins up at Nate as he sets the plate down, and written all over his face is his pure, unadulterated love.
Ashley smiles and takes another bite of toast.
Another perfect day, and she feels fucking great about it.
