you're a pipe dream

Violence, for Andrew, is not about rage. It’s about clarity.

When Andrew hurts someone, he is drawing a line so unmistakable that it cannot be crossed again without consequence. Violence becomes punctuation. A period at the end of a sentence he has already tried to say quietly.

This is why Andrew’s violence is almost always reactive, not proactive.

He does not seek out conflict.

He does not explode over misunderstandings.

He responds when boundaries are ignored, consent is violated, or someone he loves is threatened.

When Andrew hits Allison, fandom loves to flatten it into senseless brutality. But canon makes it explicit: Andrew was doing what he believed he had to in order to defend Aarob.

Because arguing would have taken time.

Because explaining would have required trust.

Because people don’t stop when they think they’re right.

They stop when they’re afraid.

Andrew understands that.

This is also why Andrew’s violence is targeted.

He doesn’t lash out at bystanders.

He doesn’t escalate situations that don’t involve him.

He doesn’t harm indiscriminately.

His actions are always directed at the person crossing a line.

Andrew’s relationship with Kevin is another example. Andrew protects Kevin not with reassurance, but with presence. He stands between Kevin and Riko without posturing or speeches. He doesn’t tell Kevin he’s safe: he makes him safe.

Because Andrew knows that safety is not a feeling.

It’s an outcome.

This is also why Andrew’s rules are so rigid.

“Yes or no.”

“Do you want this?”

“Don’t touch me.”

These aren’t quirks. They’re preemptive violence avoidance. They are Andrew’s attempt to replace physical force with verbal consent. When those rules are respected, Andrew doesn’t need to escalate.

When they aren’t, he does.

Andrew’s violence is not the absence of empathy, it is the result of too much of it, filtered through trauma.

He understands exactly how much damage people can do when they feel entitled, righteous, or justified. He has lived on the receiving end of it. He knows that harm rarely comes from villains: it comes from people who believe they’re allowed.

So Andrew removes the illusion of permission.

And here’s the quietest, most devastating part of it:

Andrew does not enjoy being violent.

He tolerates it.

It is a tool he learned because nothing else kept him safe.

This is why Andrew’s growth isn’t about becoming less violent, it’s about needing violence less.

With Neil, Andrew begins to trust that words might hold weight. That consent might be respected. That boundaries don’t have to be enforced with blood every time.

And still, Andrew never stops being capable of violence.

Because love, to Andrew, isn’t gentleness.

It’s readiness.

Andrew Minyard doesn’t use violence because he doesn’t feel.

He uses it because feeling was never enough to stop the harm.

And until the world proves otherwise, Andrew will continue to speak the language it taught him.