"Hi, I'm Chucky…"
Andy's chuckle drowned out the rest of the doll's line, and Chucky ended up cutting himself off before it could finish completely, leaving only the last word absent. A baby blue eye peered up at the man before him, widening it as much as possible so he could look at Andy without having to peer through his eyelashes. Only being able to see out of one eye was a bitch, but he supposed he should just be happy that he wasn't in pain anymore. Truthfully, Chucky had nearly forgotten what pain felt like; Andy's torture had numbed him to the point where even a drill to the skull was something more akin to the sting of a bumblebee. Not that he told the kid that - last thing he wanted was for Barclay to up his game, make something of a challenge out of it. So he screamed when Andy brought out the tools, and he writhed and spat and cursed, and made it as believable as he could. He didn't know if Andy could do anything worse to him, but he wasn't about to underestimate him. Hell, he'd gotten the best of Chucky, hadn't he? And that was hard.
He prided himself, every time he watched Andy pick up one of his tools, every time Andy went at it with a knife, or a drill, or a blowtorch. He wasn't stupid by any means; he knew why Andy had learned to do these things, why he had seemingly skilled himself in the art of torture. He'd been waiting for this, all these years, since he'd been a six year old little boy. He'd been ready. Ready to face Chucky again and win. He could say he was proud, because he was the reason the kid's life had spiraled into this. Living in an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere.
Torturing a fucking doll for kicks. Whoo, boy, it wasn't ever going to get old.
Once again, now heaving out a quiet sigh, Chucky turned his attention back to studying Andy. The man was silent now, clicking through his laptop with a concentrated frown on his face. Chucky knew that expression well - moody, somewhat distant. The kid was brooding. It was a look he got either when he got back from a rough date… or when he was thinking too hard. It had to have been the latter, though; Andy usually informed him of when he'd be going on a date, and during those times, Chucky was put in a vault, locked away until Andy's inevitable return. Andy usually told him what he was doing so that Chucky could have a good idea of how long he'd be gone (and the doll had made a habit of jokingly telling him 'see you in a few hours, pal' when this happened), so that he wouldn't, quote, unquote, 'try anything stupid'.
Like he could do anything with his head nailed to a wooden board, though. Chucky often wondered aloud who the 'stupid' one was when Andy told him that, but the man had a rather accurate response to this - 'we all know what you're capable of, Chucky, don't play dumb'.
But, Andy hadn't been anywhere recently. Actually, if Chucky bothered to keep track of time, he'd have realized that this was the longest Andy had ever kept him out of the vault. Even if he wasn't leaving, there was a limit to how much the man could take regardless, and Chucky had made it his life's mission to torment him as much as he could without being able to torture him.
He squinted as the screen on the laptop changed. "Stalkin' your next date's Facebook page?"
A smirk tugged at his lips at the glare he received, and Andy sank back in his chair with a sigh, turning away from the laptop completely and instead swiveling around to face him. Chucky let his lips tug into a grin, studying the exhausted expression on his face. He knew what Andy was really looking at, but it was funner to tease him about his failed love life regardless. "Yeah… I mean, the last one didn't go so well," Andy informed him somewhat exasperatedly, and the smile on Chucky's face diminished as he realized that he was being mocked. "Figured I'd do my research this time. Didn't you do that with your girlfriends? Y'know, before you killed them."
Chucky rolled his eye in response, pulling his mouth into a brief sneer. "That was good."
"I thought so." Andy's narrowed eyes never moved from his face. He was impassable, he was… frustratingly resilient. Chucky liked to think it was because of him, and all his years dedicated to torturing and destroying the young man's life. That maybe Chucky didn't have a chance at breaking him anymore because he was already fuckin' broken. But even if a part of that might have been true, there was still a liiiiittle voice in the back of his head that reminded him that even at the age of six. Goddamn. Years. Old. Andy had always, always been the one person he couldn't seem to get to. He'd had so many chances to destroy the kid once and for all, and rid the world of his stupid fucking face - and yet, for one reason or another, he always failed.
Andy Barclay was, in so many ways, the bane of his existence. And he knew that Andy knew it, too. He knew the kid was doing all of this on purpose. He knew it - all of it - was just a big, elaborate scheme to get back at Chucky for practically burning his entire life to the fucking ground. And there were so many things the doll wanted to do to him now. If, for some reason, some part of him hadn't wanted (or been 'unable' to, as Andy so often insisted) to kill him, that part was gone. Now more than ever, Chucky wanted the man's blood on his hands.
"Ooh," Andy's voice brought him back to the present quickly enough; he flicked his gaze back up to the man quickly, lifting his 'eyebrow' upwards slightly. "Got something on your mind?" Andy grinned - and Chucky wasn't sure whether to feel furious or proud at the trickle of fear that managed to crawl its way down the back of his neck when the man leaned a little closer to him. "Why don't you tell me what you're thinking, Chucky? I'm your best friend, after all."
Chucky managed to tilt his head just a little bit, making a show of hissing and wincing as he did so just to keep Andy's suspicions down. Being nothing but a head nailed to a board made it hard to move, and he would assume it should hurt. But, once again, Andy's new hobbies had left him… interestingly numb. "Best friend, huh? Pretty sure best friends don't hold each other hostage. Or torture each other. Or rip each other's fuckin' heads off and nail them to a board." He lifted his 'eyebrow' again, moving his head back to its upright position and snickering slightly. "Eh, I guess you've got a pretty messed up idea of what a 'friend' is, though, don't you, pal? Not like you could make many of those in the mental hospital. Say, did'ja ever go back to school?"
Andy sighed. "I ended up in military school."
"Yeah, 'cause you get a degree from that…"
"Yes," Andy said slowly, "you do. Either you've spent too long possessing a doll, or you're not as smart as you want everyone to think. Then again, since you kinda killed people for a living…"
"I didn't kill people for a living, Andy," Chucky scoffed. "That was just a hobby… come to think of it, I didn't really do anything for a living," he mumbled, mostly to himself; ignoring Andy's raised eyebrow, he went on, "hey, it's not like my dad pushed me to go out and get a job or anything. And I'm sure you remember how school was," he added, throwing Andy a grin, but the man's face remained frighteningly blank; the doll narrowed his eye and huffed, "okay, moving on. Regardless, yeah, no, I didn't exactly kill people for a living. I mean, I sure as hell didn't get paid for it. You show me somewhere I can get paid to murder people and sign me the fuck up."
Andy actually managed to look somewhat amused at this; Chucky couldn't help but think back to when the kid was much, much younger than he was now. Back then, saying something like that to six-year-old (or even sixteen-year-old) Andy would have put a look of revulsion on his face, a look of horror and fear. Now the man in front of him only studied him with absolute calmness, an odd sense of serenity mixed with amusement that bordered on condescending.
He ended up changing the subject, rooting his gaze to Andy's. "So how's Mom?"
There it is. A slight twitch of the eyebrows, a shift in the jaw. It was subtle, but Chucky was good at picking out the subtle differences in Andy's facial expressions by now, considering that, while facing him, the only expression on the man's face tended to be little more than a blank stare, or an amused gaze. And he usually didn't leave much room for anything in between - so it was comforting to see he could still get somewhat of a reaction out of his old best friend now. Of course, his excitement over this was his ultimate undoing; he really needed to learn how to keep his mouth shut and leave well enough alone. "Come on, they did let her out of the psych ward."
The amusement was back; Andy rested his chin in one hand, now regarding the doll somewhat curiously, and leaving only a few seconds for Chucky to internally kick himself for blowing it. "You know what, Chucky? I'm starting to think you might just be a little bit obsessed with me."
Chucky stared at him for a moment. "Oh. Really?" He narrowed his eye a little, and Andy chuckled and pushed himself away from the table, rolling his chair to the other side of the room and spinning back around to face his desk again. Chucky could do little more than watch, scowling slightly to himself now. "Just because I check up on you every once in a while-"
"It's a little bit stalkerish," Andy told him, voice muffled now; Chucky saw why when the man turned back to him, holding a joint between his teeth. "But sweet, in a psycho kinda way."
"Sweet?" Chucky laughed at that. "The hell happened to you, Andy? You've lost it."
"Eh?" Andy pushed himself back over to the table, pulling the joint out of his mouth and lighting it with a smirk. "I mean, think about it. You knew my Mom was out of the hospital for how long? There's no way you could've found that out as long as I've had you here, which hasn't even been for that long regardless. And you-" He flicked the joint in Chucky's direction, and the doll glared at him silently, "-didn't do anything. Hell, you didn't do anything to me. But somehow, you still knew where to find me when you wanted to. You seem to know all these details about my life, like with Kristen and my mother and all these little things." Andy grinned down at him, sticking the joint back in his mouth and letting the lighter fall to the table with a quiet click. "Keeping tabs on me without the intention of doing anything harmful? Yeah, kinda sweet."
"So I was waiting for the right time to strike," Chucky told him with a frown. "Figured I'd give you a few years of peace and do a little shit for myself. You know, get hitched, have a kid or two… check in on an old fling and terrorize her daughter… you know, personal stuff. Biding my time?" He sighed at the kid as he pulled the joint out of his mouth, blowing the smoke to the side. "Trust me, I had plenty of harmful intent. I was just letting you get comfortable so I could take you by surprise when I finally popped out of that god damned box to finish the job once and for all."
"Yeah, but it's not like you had to come back for me anyway," Andy commented. "Like you said, you had personal shit to take care of. You could've moved on with your life. Forgot about me."
"Man." Chucky sighed. "Kid, I knew I messed you up… but I didn't know it was this bad." He blinked, peering up at the man through his eyelashes as he took another hit from the joint. "Listen, Andy, in case you haven't noticed, I'm a fucking doll. And I can't exactly seem to die. So, I've got a lifespan of who-knows-how-fuckin'-long at this point, and I wasn't gonna waste most of my time on you. So, yeah, I went off and did some other shit - but did you really think I wasn't gonna come back when I got the chance?" He tugged his mouth into a grin, looking up at the man, who let out a low hum, blowing smoke out again. "I told you… friends to the end."
Andy looked down at him for a moment, then smirked slightly as he took another hit, pulling the joint out of his mouth and leaning forward to blow the smoke in the doll's face this time; Chucky flinched back with a gasp, and Andy dissolved into laughter as he started coughing, moving his head as much as possible as he struggled to breathe through the familiar smell of marijuana. "Friends to the end," Andy agreed, and grinned down at him as Chucky finally stopped coughing and glared up at him. The man chuckled, waving the joint in his face. "You want a hit, Chucky?"
"Go fuck yourself," Chucky snapped. "Asshole." He huffed out another cough and finally managed to shift his head upright again, scowling up at the man before him. Andy only grinned, sitting back - and the doll was once again left to wonder what had happened to the innocent boy he had known before. He'd been so fun to fuck with back then, but now it seemed like it was Andy doing all the 'fucking', and Chucky was at the receiving end of his constant torment. Unsurprising, though; he'd always known Andy was going to want revenge, but he'd never thought the kid would actually have the balls to pull off anything like this, not in a million years.
He sighed, and peered up at Andy through his lashes again. "You never answered my question."
Andy leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and regarding him with a curious expression once again. "My Mom's fine," he finally replied, taking another hit and letting the smoke filter out from the side of his mouth. After a moment, he offered Chucky a crooked smile. "Hey, maybe I'll invite her up here one day. Let her have a go at the blowtorch. Think you can sit still and look pretty and put on a scream-show for her, or is your little act only reserved for me?" Despite himself, Chucky flinched in surprise. Andy didn't give him much time to come up with a response, or to even fully register that the man knew he'd been faking being in pain this whole time; huffing out a laugh, the man leaned his head back and grinned. "You're a horrible actor."
"Yeah?" Chucky shot back, managing to tear himself out of his shock in order to retaliate. "Well, let's see if you're any better. Go ahead, invite Mommy Dearest down here so she can rip me apart, too. Maybe show her some of your own moves while you're at it. I can just see the pride on her face now- her sweet little baby boy Andy, a real psychopath. Maybe she had some doubts way back when, but now? Seeing you like this? Buddy… you've seriously cracked."
The way Andy sighed at him then grated at his nerves, finally feeling a rush of tense anger now that he'd been caught off guard. He could feel it bubbling away, like a pot of boiling water ready to overflow. And he was somewhat content to let it. But Andy's words managed to catch him off guard again, managed to rip through his head before he could muster up the proper energy to keep himself going, before he could figure out what to say that might be able to get to him the way Andy seemed to be able to. "Maybe I have," the man relented, and there was hardly any amusement in his gaze now, more stoic and monotonous than Chucky had seen in him before. "Maybe I'm worse than you." Another hit, another cloud of smoke. This time, when it drifted in Chucky's direction, the smell of it only left him dizzy, with a sharp, burning ache where his lungs would be if he still had a body below the neck. "Maybe I'm the next Charles Lee Ray."
And Chucky laughed, because he wasn't sure what else to make of the startling, cold sensation that flushed through his skull, nor the ever-present tingling on the back of his neck that only seemed to grow stronger and stronger the longer he spent here, in Andy's presence.
Andy smiled, and the psychopath this little shit had turned into almost managed to look innocent. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Leaning forward, Andy lowered his voice, softening his tone, and Chucky wasn't going to be quick to admit the terror that clouded his mind as the man came face to face with him; he narrowed his eye, set his jaw and flared his nostrils, trying to look threatening, but Andy remained undeterred. "'Atta boy, Andy'." He grinned. "'Atta boy'."
Chucky growled, snapping his teeth at the man threateningly. But that damn kid, that damn kid snapped his teeth right back, laughed, and leaned back to take another hit from the joint. For a moment, it was like they were in a different place, but nearly the same scenario. Chucky, bloody and beaten by a kid he had spent too much time with, a kid he had traumatized, his own kid…
He wished he knew whether it had been Andy's intention or not. He wished he could see past the calm exterior that Andy had built up, all of that hollow amusement and the frightening apathy. He wished he could see the gears turning in his head, wished he might be able to, for just a second, understand Andy's motives. Know how much he knew. Know how much information he had stored away in that brain of his. But the truth was, Chucky may have known Andy Barclay back then - he may have known that scared little kid that wouldn't hurt a damn fly. The same kid Chucky would mess around with during the day while Karen was gone and the babysitter was passed out on the couch. The same kid he'd run around the house with, playing hide-and-seek and jumping out at Andy when he couldn't find him quick enough. The same kid that accidentally knocked over a picture and cracked it and burst into tears for ten straight minutes until Chucky reluctantly relented and took all the glass out and hung it back up, insisting his mom wouldn't notice a thing and they could get back to playing and 'stop being a wuss'.
This… this wasn't that kid, though. Not anymore. Andy was bigger. He was taller. He had sharper features and his cheeks didn't dimple anymore when he smiled. His eyes didn't light up. When Chucky called him a wuss, he didn't sniffle and wobble his lower lip like a child on the verge of tears that was trying to pull himself together for the sake of his 'best friend'. Now he grinned, teeth and all visible, down at the doll before him - finally holding all of the cards, finally in a position of power, of control, after all the years Chucky had spent hunting him down. When Chucky threatened him, he didn't tremble in fear or avert his gaze. He didn't spit back shaky insults and desperate words in an attempt to seem like he was a little stronger than he was. His retorts were soft and smooth, ranging from patronizing to hollow words that struck more chords than Chucky would have cared to admit. And the doll wasn't stupid. He knew that Andy knew what he was doing. He'd known not to underestimate the kid the moment he turned around and saw a shotgun aimed at him, saw the stone-cold look on Andy's face instead of fear.
Play with this, he had said.
Chucky thought, now, he might have meant, play with me, motherfucker. I pick the game now.
The doll heaved a sigh and forced a smile at the man in front of him, blue eye flickering rapidly between both of Andy's as he fought to see some kind of emotion past the hollow amusement. "Yeah. Atta boy, Andy," he echoed, and struggled not to show how much his own words affected him. Because they did - they really, truly did, in a way he would never be able to really express. "You're just the perfect little psychopath. And you've got me to thank for it, don't'cha, kid?"
"You think so?" Andy leaned back, smiling as he crossed one leg over the other and pinched the joint out with his fingers. Chucky just stared at him, somewhat unnerved by the lack of reaction. He'd had to assume it would hurt, but the man in front of him only smiled back calmly, not even seeming bothered as he flicked the joint to the side, letting it roll onto the floor. He let his gaze follow it, eye flicking as far as possible to watch, before finally returning his gaze to Andy when it left his line of sight, fixing his gaze on the kid once again. "Again, Chucky… military school."
"Right," Chucky agreed. "But I was the reason you went to military school." At this, Andy only looked down at him with a grin that sent more chills down the back of the doll's neck, and he couldn't help but release an instinctive growl. "Oh, come on. Even you can't deny that I fucked up your childhood. I fucked up your life, Barclay. Are you really gonna sit there and tell me I'm not the reason you're so fucked in the head now? Why you answer your door with a shotgun? Why you got all these prized possessions mounted on the wall?" He grinned, letting his eye flick toward where the shelves were, where Andy's collection of knives and guns were hanging. The man turned his head, but other than a slight twitch of his mouth, he didn't react much. "Face it, Andy. I fucked your world up. And that's why I'm like this now, isn't it? You wanted payback."
"You're like this." Andy gestured toward the doll, and Chucky managed to steel himself before he could flinch away, letting his gaze flick toward the man's hand before he rooted his eye back to his face and frowned. "Because it makes you less of a threat to the world." And he almost bought it. He probably would have bought it, would've believed the damn kid, if he hadn't seen the way Andy grinned when he went at him with his tools, if he hadn't heard his laughter when the doll screamed. He would have bought his 'good guy' (heh) act if he hadn't seen exactly how much of a psychopath the kid could really be. 'Less of a threat to the world', his ass.
"Yeah?" Chucky leveled his stare with Andy's. "And what about all the torture?"
Andy smirked. "That's payback."
"God, you're sadistic," Chucky laughed, though his heart wasn't quite in it this time. Andy laughed with him, though, and the doll let his own laughter fade with another sharp growl. "Come on. I know I did a lot of awful shit, but I damn well didn't torture anybody." The man arched an eyebrow and Chucky narrowed his own eyes in response, sneering back at him. "Not like this, anyway. And you know I didn't. I didn't burn anyone with a blowtorch or anything. The worst thing I did was strangle people, and sure, it's painful, but it's not like I torture for pleasure. The killing is it for me. Most of my victims ended up dead pretty damn quickly. And, if nothing else, I put 'em out of their misery even if it did hurt." He narrowed his eyes at Andy. "Asshole."
Now, this seemed to strike something, but Chucky couldn't quite place it. He placed his hands on the table, on either side of the doll's head, and he blinked rapidly, eye clicking furiously, as the man pulled himself up and leaned his head down to come face to face with him again; he breathed through his nose, keeping his mouth set in a firm scowl, as Andy smiled down at him. "Chucky," he crooned, his tone soft, sweet, as if he were talking to a child. "You talk too much."
"That so?" Chucky asked, voice tight. He was uneasy, looking back at Andy as he was now. He didn't like not being the one in a position of power, of control. Right then, the man had all the control over this situation. Chucky couldn't do shit right then but talk. "Well, y'know what? I don't think you talk enough. Maybe if we had conversations more often…" He arched his 'eyebrow' at Andy, who only smiled back at him in response. "Hell, why don't you talk, Andy?"
"You want me to talk?" Andy grinned at him, displaying all of his teeth in the process. "Alright. Okay. I'll talk. You wanted to know how my mom was doing - that was actually really sweet. But, you know, I feel like we talk about my family too much, we've never really discussed yours." The man propped his elbows up on the table and let his chin fall into his hands now, sinking back down into his chair and curling his lips into a smile. "Why don't you tell me about your mom?"
Chucky breathed in silently, refusing to answer for a second. "That'd still be me talking."
"Sure," Andy replied sweetly, "but you'd be talking about something I'm interested in for once." He put his hands together, still balancing his chin on them. "So let's talk about your mom, Chucky. What was she like, huh? Was she anything like mine?" He leaned forward a little. The doll wished he could lean back, lean away, but he was stuck just staring back at him silently, gritting his teeth together. "Maybe not, though. You wouldn't have killed her then, would you? Or maybe you would've." Andy lowered his voice a little. "Just doing what daddy wanted, right?"
"Shut up!" Chucky yelled, furious. Seething. "Shut up, you little bitch! You don't know anything about me or my fucking family, you fucking fuck! So just shut your goddamn mouth!" At this, he finally managed to surprise the man; Andy blinked back at him, only briefly looking startled, before his expression smoothed over into one of… pity. Goddamn pity. And that, that just made Chucky howl even harder. "Oh, oh, don't you- I'm gonna kill you- I'm gonna fuckin' kill you!"
"So your dad's a sensitive topic," Andy noted, but Chucky was already seeing red. And he had no doubt in his mind that the kid had already fucking known that already - seeing how much he knew anyway and how he had known exactly what goddamn buttons to press, he had to know.
Chucky snarled, practically foaming at the mouth now. "You little shit. You wanna talk about dads, you fucker? Let's fuckin' talk about dads. Let's talk about your dad, Barclay."
Andy frowned at him then, but it seemed to be mostly for show, judging by the slight sparkle that had entered his gaze. There was a smile on his face almost immediately, lighting him up like a goddamn kid on Christmas morning, and Chucky wanted to rip Andy's face off with his teeth. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific. I've had so many fathers over the years. The foster system is pretty interesting," he told Chucky coyly, and Chucky curled his mouth back into a snarl as he glared back at the kid. "Alright, okay. Fine. Howard Barclay. But what can I say, Chucky? I never knew the man," Andy told him with a sigh, laying one arm down and curling his fingers against his chin with a pout. "Died when I was like… what, three? I didn't even remember his name until my mom started talking about him again. And I forgot what he looked like until I was like, five, and saw a photo." The man rolled his eyes with a half-hearted shrug.
Chucky stared at him for a moment, genuinely at a loss for words. Seriously, the fuck did he have to do to get a reaction out of the kid now? All it used to take was looking at him to get the boy quaking in his boots. "Wow," he drawled. "Growin' up without a dad. That's rough, kid."
Andy peered down at him. "I didn't grow up without a dad. I just grew up without mine." He laid both arms down over the table, crossing them and curling his hands into loose fists as he leaned his head back and yawned. "Sure, none of them were my biological fathers, but it didn't matter. From one place to the next, they got worse and worse… then they got better," he recalled, and Chucky only narrowed his eye slightly as he listened, quirking an 'eyebrow'. "But it didn't matter to me either way. I didn't need a father figure. I didn't need adults who looked at me and saw a traumatized kid with a wild imagination. They got nicer and I got colder and in the end it resulted in me being sent to the military school. Kyle was right, you know," he almost smiled, looking fond as he spoke of the girl, but Chucky couldn't keep back a growl. Right, that little bitch that had sent him through the windshield that one time. "Only one I could count on was me. All in all, I could've turned out way worse." He pushed himself away from the table.
"Oh, yeah," Chucky sighed. "You could be out there torturing actual, innocent people. But, nope. You're in here. With me. Torturing and talking to a doll. Have you ever considered that maybe you are just a traumatized kid with a wild imagination? That this is all in your head?" He watched as Andy shoved himself back toward his desk, reaching in his drawer and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He narrowed his eye at him, but he continued, "maybe you really are insane, Andy." The doll cackled. "Maybe you belong in the crazy house with your mommy."
Andy rolled back over and grabbed his lighter, not looking at him now as he lit the cigarette. "Mental hospitals are overrated. There's no cure for insanity. Maybe a temporary fix. Medication," he added, rolling his eyes and putting the lighter down. He took a drag from the cigarette, and Chucky watched the end of it light up, continuing to stare even long after Andy had pulled it out and let the smoke filter out the side of his mouth with a low, steady sigh. "So even if I was crazy, which- let's be honest with each other here, Chucky, I probably am - being in a mental hospital wouldn't help me. I'm not a danger to myself, and I'm not a danger to others, and no, you do not count," he added when Chucky opened his mouth to object. "Don't say it."
Instead, Chucky sneered back at him, and Andy let out a sigh that bordered on affectionate.
"Well," he began after a moment, pursing his lips around the cigarette and pushing himself to stand. Chucky inhaled sharply as the man reached for him, gently curling his fingers around the board and lifting the doll's head into the air, and ignoring the low growl Chucky offered him. "Maybe we can continue this little chat later, huh? I have somewhere to be."
"Another date doomed to fail?"
"No," Andy hummed, walking over to the vault; Chucky bared his teeth as he was placed inside, and the man grinned back at him and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, blowing another rush of smoke toward Chucky; he had the foresight to hold his breath until it faded somewhat, but he still couldn't keep himself from wheezing slightly as he still ended up inhaling just a little of it. "Visiting Nica at the mental hospital. We're gonna have a little chat about our favorite doll."
"Fuck you," Chucky snarled, seething at the idea of Andy finding out more than he already had. He needed to keep his damn mouth shut, and not tell his life story to people he didn't intend to murder almost instantly; fuming, the doll almost tried to lunge forward before realizing there was no point, there was nothing he could do, and Andy was already backing away to close the vault. He could still hear the man laughing, and it only made him screech louder even after the door had been shut. "FUCK YOU, BARCLAY! YOU PIECE OF SHIT! YOU MOTHERFUCKER! YOU'RE NOT GONNA FIND OUT ANYTHING THAT'S GONNA HELP YOU WHEN I FINALLY GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE AND BEAT YOUR ASS!" He screamed, managing to rock back a little. A soft beep indicated that the vault had been locked, and he heard footsteps walking away; the little bitch really was leaving him, and Chucky didn't know what time it was, nor did he know how long it would be until Andy got back. So he screamed again, without words this time. There were no words that could express the anger he was feeling, the rage, and the hatred.
But he did know this. Andy Barclay was a dead man. He just had to bide his time, wait him out and take a moment to figure out how to get himself out of this fucking head and into another body in order to properly take care of the damn kid. But, one way or another, he was going to gut Andy's sorry ass, and he was going to look into his eyes as the man finally fucking died. It'd be a long time coming, for sure - and Chucky was desperate, determined, to get his revenge.
He closed his eye, snarled, and breathed in through his nose. The only thing keeping him sane here was the promise of being able to finally give Andy Barclay what he fucking deserved. And he'd do it. Whatever it took. Whatever the cost. In a way, he'd already killed him. But he needed to finish the job physically somehow. He needed to get this little fucker out of his way for good.
Andy was dead.