That comment probably should have put Frankie on guard, but something in him had snapped. Not in a dramatic collapse, but a sagging structure slowly sliding to the ground under the weight that kept piling on top. He didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t. He had no space left in him for it. And maybe that’s what the coven wanted, but he didn’t care what they wanted anymore.

He turned away from the machine, back out to the room, and looked down at the clothes he was wearing, picking at the shirt and scowling.

“You know, if they’re going to make me wear actual clothes you’d think they’d give me more than two outfits, right? Like, obviously they don’t want anybody to see me, but it’s just being assholes to only give me two fucking pairs of everything.” He glanced over at the man calmly folding his laundry and sighed, leaning back against the machines until his head thunked against them.

“You seem nice. I’d ask what it’s like having a nice normal life, but you’re here at three in the morning washing clothes for an entire army and giving the weird kid peroxide and offering to fix up his wounds so I don’t think you’d actually be able to give me an answer.”