Time Heals All Wounds
Andrew "Pope" Cody x reader
Description- The aftermath of Andrew telling you that Cath isn't really missing
CW- mentions of Cath's death (no graphic details), Pope is canonically mentally unwell and having a hard time coping, reader is anxious and upset to a comparable level
AN- So this is the first of a two three part story, and this is more hurt while the second part has more comfort. There are no gendered or physical descriptions of the reader other than having smaller hands than Pope's and having hair on their head (shoutout bald baddies, love you but had to go with the statistical average here), no use of Y/N
IF YOU ARE MY ROOMMATE DO NOT READ THIS. THIS IS MY BEST CHANCE AT GETTING YOUR ATTENTION, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE (<3)
It had been three and a half weeks since you had last seen Andrew Cody. It wasn’t uncommon for you to go a handful of days without seeing each other, usually Andrew’s unpredictable schedule turning even more upside down or the perpetual issue of finding trustworthy childcare for Lena being to blame. Andrew was always overly apologetic when you went more than a few days without seeing each other. He wouldn’t repeat apologies on a loop, but you could see it in the way he looked at you, his big hazel eyes downturned as he stared at you, frowning at himself from guilt and holding his posture ever so slightly different, more hesitant to take up space like he was unsure if you still wanted to be around him. You had noticed early on that he was always punishing himself, even for things that weren’t his fault.
In the time you had known each other, you had never gone more than a week without checking in on each other, at least over text, and for the first time since you’d met, it was you who caused the distance. Everything had changed one late night when Andrew had shown up at your doorstep, knocking until you answered the door in your pajamas, though the fogginess of sleep that clung to you disappeared the moment you saw how upset he was. You had seen him cry before, but even when the door first swung open, you could tell this was different. It wasn’t sadness that clouded his soft hazel eyes, but guilt.
You still weren't sure how you felt about the added space in your life that Andrew had once filled. Part of you wanted to pack your bags and leave Oceanside, just to be sure you would never see him again. But another part of you, a traitorous part you tried hard to pretend you didn’t notice, dared to ask why you felt the need to go to such lengths, uprooting the life you had finally scraped together for yourself in this new city, just to avoid running into him. At the very heart of yourself, where you never dared to look, you knew you knew the answer. Because if you ever saw Andrew Cody again, your resolve and all of the anger you had clawed together and held so desperately like a shield would crumble, and you would end up back in his arms. Even after three and a half weeks, part of you reached for him, absentmindedly thinking you should tell him about something funny that had happened at work before reality caught up to you, or picking up the pamphlet at your doctor’s office for a new school that sounded like it might be a good fit for Lena before remembering you wouldn’t get a chance to give it to him. That you didn’t want a chance, you reminded yourself.
You’d even caught yourself, phone in hand with the screen already unlocked, on autopilot, about to text him that you got home safely from work. You had blinked at the screen when you caught yourself, thumb hovering over the one picture you had managed to take of him when he wasn’t looking while you’d walked along the beach one night, the simple silhouette of the back of his moonlit curls against the night sky. You had saved it as his contact photo that night, you remembered, after he’d dropped you off in the early hours of the morning. It took you too long to lock your phone again, shoving it back into your pocket and letting out a breath of air you refused to admit you had been holding.
More than anything, you missed him. Just having him around, a comforting presence even when he didn’t speak. The light weight of one of his broad hands on your shoulder could calm you more than a whole afternoon spent with your friends complaining about the stressors of life. Even his small flicker of a smile would send your heart skipping, all other thoughts fading into background noise.
That was the worst part. He had taken that from you when he told you the truth. Because how could you stay when he confessed to you, tears streaming down his face and shoulders shaking, that Cath wasn’t missing? That he knew where she was, and that he had been the one who put her there.
He had been your one sense of comfort, the anchor in your life even if his own was unsteady, and he had taken that from you. You found yourself hating yourself for that, hating that you had allowed yourself to trust him, and hating that part of you still wanted him after knowing what he had done. You had shut him out after that night, telling him you needed space and that he needed to leave. You ignored the few times he tried to call you over the next couple days, watching your phone ring on the counter and trying to remind yourself that you hated him, but unable to find it within yourself to hit decline.
You told yourself you just needed time. He would fade into the background of your life, and before you knew it, it would be like he never existed. You would move on, and forget the things that he had said, and how devastated and heartbroken he had looked when he pleaded with you, begging for your forgiveness. Time heals all wounds, you would repeat to yourself time after time, ignoring the pain in your jaw from clenching it shut too tight.
By the third week, you had begun to break. Things weren’t fading, and if anything, they were getting worse. Your nerves were shot, the nights of not sleeping catching up to you, and you couldn’t ignore the aching in your chest anymore when you thought of him. You saw him everywhere, in the dad at the store holding his daughter up so she could pick out her own box of cereal, and the levelheaded teenager quietly pulling a kid who could have been his brother away from a crowd at the beach when he could feel a fight beginning to brew, tucking the small kid under his arm and glancing behind them as they walked away to make sure he was safe.
You knew you had to do something, anything, to settle the storm of emotions inside you, but your willful pride got in the way. You couldn’t just run, even if you berated yourself over it every night. You’d put in too much work in Oceanside, and you were finally making progress, finally starting to feel like you had a home. You couldn’t just throw that all away. And you couldn’t throw him away, as much as you wish you could. You couldn’t stop picturing the good times you’d had before it all came crashing down.
Late night drives with him, the streetlights catching his curls just so, the wind blowing through your hair from the open windows. He would let you talk for hours if you wanted to, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh, just enough to remind you of his presence. You had been shocked the first time he had reached for you when he was driving. He was usually so cautious, an absolute stickler for the rules, and you’d expected that to extend to driving as well. But he had reached across the console, one of his hands taking your smaller one in his own, and giving it a gentle squeeze. He had smiled at the way your face heated, having to turn to look out the window and let the breeze cool you down, though you squeezed his hand back.
The first night he had slept over, laying awkwardly in bed beside you in just his boxers. Andrew had settled a few inches away from you, seemingly holding his breath, his eyes narrowed in concentration, as if he was working his way through a puzzle. He had inhaled sharply when you rolled onto your side to face him, freezing like he was caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.
“There are no wrong choices here, y’know,” you reminded him, your whisper barely traveling the few inches to him. “You’re not going to do something wrong or get in trouble. We don’t have to cuddle, or touch, if you don’t want to. But we can, if you want. You just have to let me know what’s going on in there.”
You brushed your fingers through the hair at his temple, and he practically melted into your touch, his hand closing over your own when it cupped his cheek, thumb stroking absentmindedly over the crows feet starting to show at the corner of his eyes.
“Okay,” he whispered back, staring at you in a way he hadn’t done before. Less analysing, like he was learning from you and the subtle ways you moved, and more…breathless. Just admiring what was before him and taking it at face value.
You had smiled at the sight, wiggling closer to him to give him a sweet kiss, and giggled when his arms closed around you, pressing you to his chest and nuzzling his nose into the hair at the crown of your head.
“I’ll take that as a yes to cuddles,” you had joked, feeling your heart skip a beat when he drew in a deep breath, relishing the smell of your conditioner, and again when his warm breath fanned against your scalp when he spoke, his words muffled by the proximity.
“Yes. Definitely, please.”
You were trapped in a cycle of your own creation, and you knew it. You kept finding yourself missing Andrew, tormenting yourself with the memories you had shared, but being too stubborn and prideful to reach out to him. You lashed out at yourself, frustrated to even feel the need for him in the first place, or to acknowledge the void he left in your life that you hadn’t realized had grown so large. It was overwhelming, the stress of it all threatening to implode the life you had worked so hard to create for yourself.
Until one night, you snapped.
You paced as you held the phone up to your ear. You could feel your heart thumping loudly in your chest, each second feeling like an eternity of that little voice in your head screaming What are you doing?! You heard a click on the second ring, the faint static-y sound of the call being answered invading your mind and your breath catching in your throat.
“Are you okay?”
Whatever words you thought you had, you lost. Somehow it surprised you to hear his voice. When you didn’t answer, his voice came again, more insistent.
“Hello? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” There was an edge to his voice, but you couldn’t tell if it was anger, concern, or something else entirely.
“I-I’m here,” you stammered, still circling your living room like a shark who might die if you stopped treading water. “I’m safe, Andrew. I just…We need to talk. Can you meet me somewhere? Maybe the park?”
“Like now? Right now?”
You nodded, taking a moment to roll your eyes when you realized he couldn’t see you.
“Yeah. Can you do that?”
He exhaled, and you could hear the faint sound of shoes hitting flooring. He was pacing.
“I have Lena. Is it-could I bring her?”
You swallowed thickly. “I, I guess.” You shook your head, digging the heel of your palm into your eyes as you sighed. “Actually, no. I don’t know. I don’t know if either of us will get upset, and Lena shouldn’t have to see that.” You didn’t finish your thought, but you knew he could follow where it was leading. Lena shouldn't have to see you yelling, see it get physical. She shouldn’t be afraid of her uncle, even if she really should be. You sighed again. “She’s your kid. It’s your choice.”
Andrew’s voice was tense when he spoke again, the way he usually sounded when he was trying to cling to his stoicism. It was a small difference, a different form of rigidity that even his brothers might not notice.
“Yeah. Okay. I’ll drop her off at a sitter or get someone to come here. I’ll meet you in an hour.”
You bobbed her head in another nod.
“Okay. I’ll see you there.”
The line disconnected with a click and you let out a deep breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.
Andrew arrived sooner than you’d expected. You had left to go to the park fifteen minutes after he’d hung up, unable to stand waiting at home even a second longer. You’d settled on the swing set where you and Andrew had pushed Lena and her friends just a few short weeks prior. It felt like a lifetime ago when you sank down onto the plastic seat, your knees coming up close to your chest from the low height of the swing. Andrew had smiled when he pushed Lena into the air, a genuine smile that spread across his handsome face and showed his uneven teeth when she giggled and asked him to push her even higher. Now the seat next to you was empty, waiting to be filled by the man you once thought you’d known.
You weren’t left alone to your thoughts long. Around half an hour after your phone call, he appeared next to you, clearing his voice a few feet away so as not to startle you. It didn’t work, even though you’d heard the tread of his heavy boots. You could tell he was walking more loudly than usual, deliberately trying not to sneak, and it hit your chest with a pang that you weren't expecting.
“Hey.” You didn’t turn her head to greet him.
Andrew stayed standing, a few feet behind you and to the side. “Hey,” he said back. “Why’d you want to meet here?”
You shrugged, staring down at where your sneakers dipped into the sand. You dug the toe of one shoe deeper into it, burying it as far as you could.
“We both knew it,” you replied. “I figured it would be quiet. Not a lot of people to overhear us but also not completely alone.”
Andrew understood what you weren't saying. You didn't want to be alone with him. You didn’t trust him anymore, didn’t feel safe around him.
You nodded your head to the empty swing next to you.
“Take a seat. Unless you want to do this standing.”
He paused for a moment, hands hanging unnaturally still at his sides as he thought. You thought he might speak again when he finally moved, sitting awkwardly on the child-sized swing. He was much too large a man for it, and hanging far too close to the ground to be comfortable. For a moment you wondered if you looked as ridiculous as he did.
“What do you want to talk about?” Andrew looked at you as he asked it, though he already knew the answer. There was only one thing worth talking about. His hands clenched around each other in his lap, his elbows resting atop his splayed knees.
You finally turned to face him. “I need you to tell me everything.” You were surprised at how level your voice came out, even as you felt your eyes begin to prickle with tears. “Everything, Andrew. I need you to explain to me how you could do such a thing. Because I know you. You have your issues, but this?” He flinched at your words, the muscles in his jaw working, brow furrowing as he looked away, down at his tensely clasped hands. “This doesn’t make sense. So I need you to tell me, for you to make it make sense.”
It took a few seconds for him to respond, and the air felt heavy. With anger, with sadness, or with longing, you couldn’t tell. Maybe some strange mix of the three. You could feel grief as you looked at him and saw the face of the man you’d come to care for. You knew he was still in there somewhere, but you hated the man you saw for taking him away from you.
Andrew’s words came slowly when he spoke, dragging slowly out of him with a hoarse edge. “If I do that, you’ll be in danger.”
You blinked as the first of your tears fell. You swallowed down your fear and forced yourself to ask your next question.
“From you?”
His head raised, abandoning his lap to turn and look at you. You could see his heavy gaze follow the track of the tear trailing down your cheek before moving back to your eyes. You could tell he wanted to wipe it off of your cheek with his thumb like he had once before. But no, he dared not to touch you.
“You can’t go to the police.”
You exhaled a shuddery laugh. “That’s not what I asked,” you pointed out.
“It’s dangerous-” he insisted, tone growing firmer as his volume raised.
“Don’t you think I know that?” You surprised yourself when you snapped, Andrew’s eyes widening only slightly. “Don’t you think I’m incredibly aware of the situation I’m in, the situation you put me in-” you jabbed harshly at his chest, making both of your seats swing a few inches before coming back together. “I know I can’t go to the police, I clearly know what happens when you feel threatened. But goddamit, Andy! I need to know! I can’t reconcile these two images of you I have in my head. You can’t be the sweet, weird guy I know and love and also be capable of cold blooded murder! You can’t be one of the most caring people I know and just do something like that.” You glared at him, speaking as firmly as you could. “So you’re going to tell me everything, right here, right now, or I’m gone forever. I’ll move tonight if I have to so I never see you or your family again, but I need answers. And I deserve them. You know that, or you wouldn’t have told me in the first place.”
Andrew’s jaw worked, the muscles uncomfortably tight as he considered his options. You’d had over three weeks to go to the cops and hadn’t. He had followed your car enough to know that, and spoken to the dirty cops his family kept in their pocket just to be safe. But knowing he had killed Cath, and knowing how and why were different. You didn’t know yet that Lena was in the house that night, that he brought her with him to bury her mother, the woman he loved. Would you look at him differently if you did?
Of course you would. You’d look at him with disgust and terror, like he was the monster he’d always been told he was. But you were right. You deserved to know. And you deserved to keep the life you had fought so hard for in Oceanside. He couldn’t take that away from you when he’d already done so much wrong. He couldn’t stomach adding you to his list of sins. You were already lost to him, but at least this way you would be safe, where he could watch over you, even from a distance.
“Alright.” His voice was rough and low, but he held your wide-eyed gaze steadily. “But you can’t tell anyone. Please.” His voice cracked on the word, his mask faltering for a second as he drew in an unsteady breath. “And you have to stay in Oceanside. You’ll never hear from me again, I won’t bother you. I promise.”
Part 2 Part 3
