You knew that from the moment you met Chucky he would require a lot of maintenance. Not physical, but rather emotional rebuilding of emotions he had once possessed, now greatly damaged. He loved you very much, yet couldn't bring himself to trust you when he would do something such as make a mistake. He feared that you would resort to Andy's methods. Making him go in the closet, locking him in your room, or even getting him shut down again. It had become a daily routine gently reminding him to work on his trust issues, or reassuring him whenever he broke down that things were going to be okay.
A few times he would even go so far as to sneak a knife from your kitchen and huddle into a corner, pointing it at you anxiously. You would always sit in front of him, slowly talking through things with him until he eventually dropped the knife into your hands. You would then always pick him up and cuddle him, petting his hair or peppering his face with kisses while saying things such as "good job, buddy, you did it!".
Other times he would just begin to ramble about how Andy used to treat him, and how he feared you would do the same. You would always remind him that you two were best buddies, and best buddies never do anything of the sort. He had always been so surprised at how you treated him compared to Andy. He was more than overjoyed when you would agree to play with him each time he asked, snuggle and smother him with love constantly, and go out of your way to make sure he was as happy as you were. You held him close most of the time and rarely let him out of your sight, but he didn't mind, as being close to you was what he preferred.
"(Y/n)?" Chucky piped one night as you began to doze off on the couch with him in your arms.
"Yeah, bud?" you replied groggily.
"I'm really glad to have you as a best buddy," he smiled, leaning into you and closing his eyes.
You grinned and squeezed him tighter.
"Right back at ya, buddy."
