Andrew Minyard was born to die. It was the sad, harsh truth of his existence. It was something he lived with everyday, a weight like the world on Altas’ shoulders. He was carrying his demise. It wasn't even scary, the thought of death. Maybe it’s because death could be compared to a parasite; it lives inside you, festering, forming, until it takes you apart slowly and then you become rot and ruin and dust, until you decay from history itself.
Andrew Minyard knew he was going to die well before he was supposed to.
And he couldn't do anything about it. He was expected to give his life, if so needed, for whoever bought him. Andrew doubted that would happen. He resented the fact that he could be owned like a dog by someone. Someone who was weak and pitiful, who couldn't protect themself. If he didn’t take a bullet for his master, he would probably be killed when he was deemed no longer useful.
That’s what happened when you were bred like a fucking dog. No one got out. You had kids, raised them to be loyal and ready to throw themselves off a bridge if their master asked them to. They put down the rabid ones, the ones who bit the hands of those who fed them.
But Andrew had survived. Maybe it was because his psychotic tendencies had never shown themselves properly. Maybe it was because he had never really snapped at anyone. But the madness was there. It was inside every fibre, inside his bones. Andrew was his madness, his madness was him. It lay dormant, sitting, aching, waiting to take over and make its host more dangerous than he was already.
No one wanted a rabid dog. They were killers; they could turn at the drop of a hat and kill whoever decided to take them in. It was dangerous, to ask them to protect you when they were waiting for the right moment to strike and rip your throat out.
Maybe his mother could tell what was inside him. Maybe that was why she tossed him away. Maybe that's why she kept his pitiful brother instead.
Andrew despised his brother. They were identical, and the only thing that distinguished them were the bands which Andrew wore on his arms. No one cared enough to ask why he wore them; he had given them their answers when they first asked him (a false smile and a short reply about how they were ‘none of your goddamn business’).
Aaron was pathetic, at least in Andrew’s eyes. His mother had dealt so many blows that Aaron cowered beneath them for his whole life. He had learnt to deal with his erratic mother, to not say anything. Andrew knew that was the problem, that he was passive and took whatever he was given. Andrew hated him. He had grown up unaware of his shithead of a mother. He had grown up with steel skin, believing he was untouchable if he deemed it so (and often he did deem it so). He grew up with silent tears at midnight, the only way to take out the pain was to cut and scratch and bleed. Aaron grew up with pills washed down with cheap vodka, fresh bruises on any patch of skin that wouldn't be noticeable. Andrew noticed.
Aaron cried when his mother died. Andrew just grinned throughout the whole thing. His medication left him buzzing above everyone else, every feeling elevated. His hatred for Tilda though, that was real. It was solid, a lump in his stomach that kept him grounded.
The wake’s turnout was poor; there were a few people who stayed for tea and coffee, for the finger sandwiches that Aaron's aunt Maria had prepared. Andrew had asked mocking questions and laughed at her efforts, but she hadn't replied, instead continuing to butter bread and cut slices. Perhaps Aaron had warned her of his hostile behaviour.
Andrew stood alone, hands in his pockets and smile still present on his face. The high of his medicine was shit, really, but he was doped up so often he was used to it. He missed the days when his foster brother would pass him a joint, and they would take turns inhaling the smoke, children getting high.
“Andrew.”
His head cocked, turning towards the sound of the voice. A woman, with a large grin plastered on her face. Andrew smiled back, and the women's own grin seemed to grow.
“You must know about me.”
“I can’t say I do,” he replied, taking a small step towards her. “Are you here to pay your respects? Do you miss dear Tilda? She was such a lovely woman.” His lips curled at the word lovely, teeth bared and glissening ferally.
The woman laughed a hollow laugh, tossing back her head. She straightened up and leaned in towards him, eyes showing the madness that she had. “Fuck your mother. I’m here to collect you.”
Andrew tapped his index and middle finger against his temple, eyes cold. “That’s not very nice. Are you here to put me out of my misery?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, though the smile she wore never faltered. “You’ve been bought.”
It was Andrew’s turn to laugh, and it was just as false as hers had been. “Who’s fucked up enough to buy a broken dog?”
“Someone desperate.”
“No one is desperate enough for that,” he replied easily, shrugging his shoulders. “Now please, let me mourn in peace.”
The woman didn’t move, just standing there, eyes trained hungrily on him. Her smile had turned sour, and Andrew was thrilled by how wound up she was getting. “You’ll come with me, Andrew, or I will make you.”
He waved his hand dismissively, turning his back on her.
“I’ll kill your brother.”
“I hate him.”
He turned away from her without another word. She said nothing, and Andrew could faintly hear the sound of the woman walking away. The sound of Maria’s scream broke his reverie. He turned on his heel, and saw the woman was holding a knife to Aaron's face, one arm locked around his neck. He wasn’t moving, keeping his eyes locked with Andrew.
The next few things happened quickly. Andrew laughed, and the woman craved a line down Aaron's face. Blood welled on the laceration. Andrew was across the room in seconds, anger fuelling his advance. His knuckles connected with the soft tissue of her throat. He felt her windpipe move beneath his hand. He felt her let go of Aaron, heard her breath come out of her mouth. She fell to the ground, her laughs drowned out by her coughs.
Aaron stared at Andrew, his gaze empty. He wiped a hand over his cut, and stared at the blood. “You were bought.”
“I don’t care. What was our deal?”
“The deal is off. You’re going to go,” Aaron hissed, looking towards the woman. “Fuck off, Andrew. You've done enough damage here.”
The woman grinned up at them, teeth bared like a wild animal. Aaron's words only seemed to encourage her. “Come with me, Andrew. Nathan will be happy with his purchase.”
“Fuck you,” Andrew said, eyes trained on the woman, though his words were meant for his brother. “I belong to no one.”
“You are Nathan Wesninski’s dog. You belong to him. You will die for him,” the woman said, voice still hoarse from Andrew’s attack. Andrew wanted to hurt her again and again, until she stopped moving and her heart beat ceased.
“Fuck you.”
“Andrew, you know the rules,” Aaron hissed from behind Andrew. “You’re going.”
Andrew turned around, and looked at his brother. He stalked forward, until the two were almost touching. Andrew dug his nails into Aaron’s cheek, tilting his head forward.
“You want me to break our deal?”
“We were never going to be bought together. I don’t know why I ever agreed to that deal,” Aaron said, not bothering to move away from the nails biting into the skin of his face.
“You’re coming with me.”
Aaron allowed himself to smirk, turning his head towards the woman staring at them. “I think she only wants one of us,”
“I won’t allow you to get hurt anymore. You are mine, remember?.”
“You’re not even yours. Get the fuck out of here.” Aaron placed a flat hand on Andrew’s chest, pushing him away. Andrew stepped backwards, the hand on his chest sending waves of both anger and anxiety through his petite frame.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” A reminder, one that Andrew knew that Aaron would never have to remember. “I hate you.” Andrew could feel the presence of the woman behind him, hovering too close for his comfort.
“The car is waiting, Andrew,” the woman whispered in his ear, her smile evident even in her voice.
He had to go. He was a sold dog, who was forced to stand by his owner’s side, guns and knives strapped to his body. A dog who would be shot if he yapped too loud. He was fucked, in every sense of the word.
Andrew Minyard was going to die well before his time.
Raised with a blade in his hand and taught cruelty, he knew how to hurt someone. He knew which bits to cut open, how to make them scream and beg and plead for their life. He knew how to get what he wanted from someone. And then he didn't care.
It wasn't his job to dispose of the bodies. Lola did that. Nathaniel didn't care what happened to the bodies. As long as Lola did her job, Nathaniel never had to think of it ever again.
That's what life was like.
You tortured, maimed, and then you killed. The bodies got burned or buried or whatever the fuck Lola did with them, and you moved on.
Since he was born, he had lived through the same day over, and over again. Nathaniel was a born killer.
He was a dangerous, unprotected man.
“Nathaniel,” Nathan said, calling his son over. A single finger curled beneath Nathaniel's chin, forcing him to stare into each other's eyes. Nathaniel hated how cruel his father's eyes were, how cold and lifeless they were. He hated his own identical pair.
“I have a present for you. Though this one is not for you to play with.”
Nathaniel's brow furrowed, bottom lip jutting out for a mere second before he wiped his expression blank. He tensed, waiting for the sting of Nathan's hand across his cheeks.
It never came.
“I bought someone for you,” Nathan said, other fingers curling around Nathaniel's jaw, nails biting into his skin, small amounts of pain blossoming across his. If you moved, it got worse, until blood streamed down your skin and the pain didn’t stop. The pain never stopped. Ever.
"His name is Andrew Minyard. He will be here soon. You will give him the Wesninski greeting, yes?” Nathan asked, the venom lacing his tone hardly distinguishable to Nathaniel’s trained ears. Nathaniel bowed his head, dropping his gaze from his father.
The nails digging into the skin let loose, and Nathaniel felt as if the weight on his shoulders had lessened, like he was able to stand on his feet once again. He wiped his hand over his skin, and looked at the smear of red over his skin. He had seen enough blood to not even flinch, but the sensitivity of the open wounds made Nathaniel grit his teeth. He had been hurt enough to learn that Nathan expected no reaction. If you moved, cried out, did anything to show how the pain had affected you, it only got worse. His scars had healed long ago, but Nathaniel could swear they ached.
The sound of feet brought Nathaniel’s eyes up, and in walked Lola. She had a bruise blooming at the base of her throat, light purple in stark contrast to her skin. She wore her smile, and Nathaniel saw a second figure following her.
He was short, face hidden in shadow, but Nathaniel could tell he had a shock of blonde hair that fell into his face. Lola stopped, waiting for the other to walk in front of her. Nathaniel stared at him, eyes narrowing at the sight of the stranger.
“Junior, I brought your present,” Lola said, cocking her head. Nathaniel bit back a scowl at the nickname, and merely nodded in her direction. Nathaniel assumed that the stranger was his new bodyguard.
Andrew Minyard.
He wasn’t much to look at, small and with a Cheshire Cat grin plastered on his face, so similar to Lola’s own. Nathaniel could assume that he was the one who put the bruise on Lola. A small smirk hitched itself onto his face at the thought.
“This is Andrew,” Nathaniel asked, and Lola nodded.
“He's a dangerous son of a bitch,” she said, hand pressing against the mark fleetingly. “He's highly medicated, but we'll be taking him off it.”
Nathaniel stepped forward, finger extended towards Andrew. “Touch me and I'll break your arm,” he said, voice calm. Nathaniel could hear the dangerous undertones.
Nathaniel did scowl now, which only seemed to widen Andrew’s grin. “Do you know what you are? You are my property. I will do with you what I please. Otherwise, I'll kill you.”
“Do it,” Andrew said. A challenge. He knew how it was going to end for him. It was just a matter or when. Nathaniel wanted to scream at him. He wanted to hit him and feel his body underneath his hands. He wanted to feel him being taken apart. Violence was the only thing that Nathaniel excelled at.
“How long until we take him off his meds?” he asked.
“When do you want him?” Lola replied easily.
“Now,” he said. He could feel his anger pulsing inside of him, hot and dark and deadly. He could barely feel the dull bite of his nails into the soft flesh of his palms. He stared at Andrew’s smile, and every moment that passed it felt like Andrew was taunting him. Nathaniel turned away from him, mouth twisting into his father’s smile.
He wanted to hurt someone.
Because the only way he knew how to deal with feelings: to bleed, to make someone feel as fucked as he did. There was a ragged hole inside of him, and nothing fixed it. No matter how many bodies lay at his feet, no matter how much blood coated his hands, nothing would ever make him feel better. Nathaniel was fundamentally broken.
He would never be fixed.
It was a sad existence, and it belonged to him.
“Just get him out of here,” Nathaniel hissed, waiting to hear the sound of receding footsteps. He wouldn’t let himself look back if Andrew was still there. He didn’t trust himself to not lash out at him.
“Right away, Junior,” Lola replied. Nathaniel stiffened, chewing at his lower lip in anger. He could taste blood on his tongue, could feel the dull ache in his mouth. But he kept gnawing at the skin until he heard them leave. And then he was all alone.
His first cry was pitiful. It called for sympathy, for someone to come and take him away from all of this. The next was fuelled with anger. It was spiteful, hateful. Nathaniel walked forward, and put his fist through the wall. And then another. He hit the wall until his hands were numb, until he couldn’t hear the sound of his labored breathing. The wall was a mess, drywall and dust littered the area, a gaping hole in the wall. Nathaniel examined his hands quickly, wiping the dust on his pants.
Nathan would hurt him for this, for the mess he made. Nathaniel couldn’t bring himself to care. He wondered if this was what his life would have been like if he wasn’t so scared of his father.
Nathaniel moved through the house, towards the room designated for Andrew. All the dogs lived there when they first entered the house. Lola waited outside, her smile wiped from her face, replaced with a scowl.
“He’s rabid, Junior. He’s high as a fucking kite and he tried to take my head off,” she spat, “so just imagine what he’ll be like sober.”
“Maybe you would be better without your head,” Nathaniel replied, twisting the doorknob.
years and eears and years past , and lukas was STILL angry @ philip. but eeryday he wore his ring and he couldn’t look at dogs o the street bcuz he wood tgink of philip.
philip crys evry thxgivijg because he thinks of Lester and wat if the turkey was him !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! he wuz so depressed that he could not move on. it was like they where divorced
but one day lukas was sitting in a cafe and he saw a familiar head he started to cry and then he blinked and it wanst philop. he pulled out his phone and calls him “hi” “philip is me ily Nya”
and Philippines said “new phone who dis XD”
lukas started to cri and PHILIP says “baby don’t cry where ru” and lukas tols him and thhen later he came and lukas started to cry and philip hugged him and said “baby ily”
lulas was like “ik i would die for u”
~~~~~~~~~~~
they went 2 the house and philip took off his clothes and lukas cris because he is do beautiful!
“u want to sex?” lukas asked and philip barked
they began to yiff but not in fursuit s but when philip cames he went BARK BARK
philip was holding the bby and he says “i would never i love u sm Nya~” and lukas atarted krying because he is still in love with philip ! and he said “but he is not a turkey like me !!! he is not lester kin” “yes but their is sumthing u dk”
lukAs wos surprised so he GASPED and he waved his wings !!!! wat is it"
philip took. a breath and said “"i am actualy a sceret agent and this baby is not real ! teh vet is evil and he is under a rest !😴”
lukas screamed WHY I THOUGH THE BABBIE WAS MINE !!!!!! and he startd 2 cry
phlip hug him and says “i love u we can make a real baby now daddy lester ”
lukas got all hard because damn daddy (:
and they has SEZY TIMES and phlilp barked when they yiffed
afterwards lester looked at their wedding rings and said philip i love u phlip
