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Chapter Text

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The house was dark when they arrived.

Andrew knew Aaron would be unbearable when they first saw each other, he could already feel the vibration coming from his phone with the seemingly infinite amount his brother could send in a short amount of time—but he knew that asking Aaron to take Nicky, Kevin, and the rest of the foxes back to Palmetto had been the right choice.

Andrew had asked Stuart to borrow a car when he saw the state Neil was in, he knew they both needed to be alone to fix Neil as best they could before facing any of the foxes again.

He opened the car door with a sigh, Neil had been too quiet since he told Andrew that Riko knew who he was. After that, his partner shut down, he didn't say a single word and barely moved.

It wasn't unusual, Andrew knew that killing did things to Neil's head that he couldn't just help the way he wanted to. So Andrew did what he could and helped him fix himself, help him heal. Getting enough time to be able to speak.

"Neil, we're here."

The way his partner looked up, the blue eyes opaque in the darkness, the blood that smeared the perfect makeup Neil had done on both of them—it all told Andrew how exhausted he was.

But it was the smudged lines under his eyes, running down from his lashes to his chin— that told Andrew how much Neil probably took it upon himself to blame for what happened today.

“Ok.” Neil said and Andrew had to tighten his hands on the steering wheel to not react.

It was the first thing Neil had said in almost an hour.

He got out of the car, walking a little faster to stand beside Neil as he dragged himself out of the car. Andrew wrapped an arm around his waist to support him as his leg gave out, and he locked the car without looking too long to make sure he'd done it right.

It was obvious that being home helped, Neil still hadn't stopped looking at him as they walked through the door and started upstairs to the bedroom, Neil's injured leg leaving bloody prints wherever he went.

When they entered the room, Andrew locked the two locks he had on his door and also locked the window—Neil sat on the floor, even though Andrew had told him to go to bed.

“Staring.” he said, mumbling under his breath as he looked around for the half-decent first aid kit they had. It was pretty much the same shit Neil carried around with him while running from his dad, so basic it was one to describe.

Andrew carried the kit over to where Neil was still rummaging through the box. There were bandages, gauze, sutures, needles, and even a small surgical stapler that Aaron had probably stolen from one of his classes. None of that was helpful in stopping the pain Neil would feel when they went to close the wound—unless Neil thought he could drink the bottle of antiseptic as if it were anesthetic.

Andrew frowned, anger burning in his stomach for a second before it came back to nothing.

Neil would definitely accept drinking antiseptic as an anesthetic, he probably already had.

-”What was it?” The quiet question was enough to snap Andrew out of his futile search.

He sighed.

“We don't have anesthetic.” Neil stared at him for a second, as if confused. Then he turned his head and looked at the bedroom closet, where Andrew knew he'd hidden at least three of Kevin's vodka bottles while trying to keep him sober. “Not alcohol, idiot. Just thought this time—” He clenched his jaw, teeth grinding under the force of the bite. “We could make you not feel so much pain.”

Neil's gaze softened, his whole posture softened, and he smiled—a dopey sort of thing, probably thanks to the loss of blood.

He sighed and moved closer, picking up one of his knives and looking at Neil for permission.

It only took a little wave for Andrew to touch the damp, clammy fabric—a deep, dark crevice where you couldn't tell where Neil's dark jeans began and where the flesh torn in two, blackened by residual gore, began.

It was deep. Too deep to sew with normal stitches.

Andrew sucked in a breath, exhaling slowly as he pulled at the skintight jeans.

The sound was probably the worst part, especially for Neil. It wasn't the same as dried blood peeling off vinyl, it wasn't the same sound as Velcro being unfastened—but it was still…close to it.

Neil probably didn't even notice when he pulled his leg away, the wound, which had just stopped bleeding, reopening with the sudden movement.

Neil's anguished grunt was enough for Andrew to be sure he was exhausted. Neil didn't like to worry him, it directly involved hiding pain and discomfort whenever possible.

He couldn't do that now. Neil was on edge.

Andrew held up his hands, showing Neil that there was no danger there, that no one would hurt him, and that he was safe. It only took a few seconds for Neil's bleary, scattered gaze to focus on him and then soften.

There was a lump in Andrew's throat, probably the exact shape of Neil's heart—a heart that was pain, that ached and hurt. All the time, non-stop. Neil breathed in pain, he didn't know how to stop, he didn't know when to open up and share. So Andrew swallowed it whenever he could, he'd devour every ounce of pain Neil had without even thinking about it.

And it was just for that. A glow of recognition and a soft look.

Andrew would give anything for that.

“Sorry.” he said, his voice hoarse. His throat was probably sore, Andrew would give him something to drink when they were done here. The idiot wouldn't realize his thirst until it nearly killed him.

“Shut up. Let me take care of it.” Neil's eyes searched his face.

"I can do it myself if you want."

And there she was.

Anger. Well, hello, old friend.

“ When in this life have I wanted you to do anything for yourself, Neil? All I ever wanted was to be there from the start . ”

“I know.” He replied, weak and soft. “I know, Andrew.”

His jaw ached from his grip.

“Don't push me away.” The anger was replaced by something different, something more harrowing. Fear. This too was an old acquaintance, no matter how hard Andrew tried to pretend he couldn't feel it. “You're bruised, bleeding and I'm here for the first time to fix you, don't push me away. No… throw me away.”

“Sorry, I know. Just…” Neil closed his eyes, new lines of tears running down his cheeks. “I don’t know what to say. I was scared, still am. I don’t know what to say.”

Andrew studied Neil's face. They should take that makeup off, they should probably go to sleep too.

They definitely never should have ignored Neil's instinct.

"I'm going to cut your pants and sew you up, okay?"

The only response he received was a brief nod.

Andrew approached again, knife gleaming in his hand. This time when he pulled back the fabric, there was no sound, but there was again a steady stream of blood leaking from the wound. It wasn't much, but it took nearly an hour to stop before that and Neil had already lost enough blood to be barely coherent.

He slashed the dark fabric with the knife, slicing from the top of the thigh to the ankle.

Everything was stained red, some crusts of blood thicker than others, but the problem would be the same in this or any other scenario.

Infection.

The wound couldn't get infected, or Neil would be in trouble. He couldn't play, and if he couldn't play, they would be eliminated.

If the foxes were eliminated, Neil would lose his chance to rescue Jean from the nest, and with that their whole plan would go down the drain.

“Needle and thread won't cut it. It will take time to heal.”

Stitches broke easily and wouldn't hold the skin together enough to not strain the muscle. Mainly because the knife was deep enough that Andrew could see a thin layer of fat when he moved just a little bit away from the bruised flesh.

He looked at the stapler. It was a bad idea, a really terrible idea. It would hurt like hell and Neil wouldn't…fuck, he did’nt deserved go through something like this.

But it was really the only alternative that seemed viable. This would stop the bleeding and leave even the scar small enough to be barely noticeable.

"We're going to need a drink." Neil said, humor overcoming pain and tiredness, a shitty grin creeping across his face.

It made him feel less scared.

It definitely made him feel more comfortable.

Andrew then fetched the drinks, handing Neil a bottle of whiskey—because Mary had a habit of using cheap vodka and any hard liquor she could get her hands on for less than ten dollars. So Andrew would at least try not to link Neil from here with Neil over there .

Not that it changed anything, his partner hated the bitter taste of spirits, no matter how good the drink was.

Still, it was always fascinating the way Neil's throat rose and fell with the long swallows of alcohol in the hopes of getting him numb enough. He could only imagine what it was like, the drink probably tasted like medicine at that point.

When he was satisfied, that's when Andrew got to work.

He cleaned the wound as best he could, trying to be as quick and efficient as possible.

If the sheen of sweat on Neil's forehead was an indication of anything, it was a clear sign that his tolerance was slipping, that the thread was about to snap.

The smell of antiseptic, alcohol and blood wasn't doing much for his stomach, especially with all the events of the night still making him jittery and his nerves on edge.

When Andrew picked up the stapler, a part of his blood ran cold. Neil didn't flinch, but his eyes narrowed and his breathing quickened a little.

“This is going to hurt.” Warned.

Neil snorted.

“What's new?” Andrew clutched the device in his hand, heat sparking in his stomach in a bad way. “Stop it, it's not your fault.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You're the one who says you can tell what I'm thinking by the way I look at you. Stop apologizing, it wasn't your fault.”

“They were there for me. It was because of me.”

“Yes, for what you mean to me. If there's anyone to blame, it's me.”

Andrew could see the logic in what Neil was saying, it was almost impossible not to. He just didn't like it.

He didn't like being a weakness, something to protect, something that would hurt if taken away.

He was constantly obscured by the cloud of people's ignorance about who he was and who he was for.

Neil was never with anyone long enough for them to question Andrew's existence, to let them know they could use him against Neil.

There were the foxes and Mary. Never more than that.

To Mary, he was a faceless body and nameless existence—a living drag she would love to wipe out.

To the foxes, he was a strange friendship that Neil cultivated for reasons they didn't try or want to understand.

But now there was Riko, who knew where to aim for damage.

And it was on him.

If they put him at gunpoint and told Neil to shoot himself in the head he would do it without even blinking and Andrew knew that . 

He hated being used to hurt.

He hated even more that he had to hurt Neil for getting him out of this position.

“It’s going to hurt.” And if he came out strangled, his voice as distressed as he felt, Neil didn't comment.

He just closed his eyes and, this time without trying to distract Andrew, he said in a tired tone:

“I know.”

There were facts about the two that no one could deny, no matter how much they hated them.

They protected each other.

They trusted each other.

And most of all, they had courage for each other.

Andrew had courage as he squeezed the gaping wound until it closed in a thin line, had courage as he lowered the stapler and punctured the skin.

And Neil had courage to clench his teeth, clench his fists against the carpet in their bedroom, and courage to not scream.

And maybe that was the worst part.

The lack of screams made Andrew realize how loud the stapler sound was.

Click click click 

A high-pitched, metallic sound at first, but it ended in a wet squeak that was just wrong . Metal digging into flesh, the trickles of blood seeping out as Andrew stapled over and over and over and over again.

Click click click

There were thirteen staples in all, Andrew left just enough space between them for the wound to breathe, but not enough space that there was a risk of opening the skin between them.

When it was over, his hands were red and Neil's face was pale. The sweat had destroyed the rest of his makeup and Andrew was sure his own wasn't much better.

Neil's chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace, probably something close to hyperventilation, but he didn't seem panicked.

His eyes were very sober and very focused.

…in Andrew.

“Are you good?”

The sound was still repeating itself in his eardrums, echoing like a sticky melody in his brain. The repeated muffled thuds of metal piercing flesh.

Andrew would probably throw up if he hadn't seen so many horrible things in his life.

“I'll stay. You?”

Neil frowned, moving his leg a little.

“It hurts. But I can play.”

Andrew rolled his eyes, wishing he could call out Neil for his obsession with a game, but they kind of needed him to be able to play.

It was a chance.

Everything or nothing.

Neil wouldn't survive another escape, not now that Riko knew who he was, that he knew who Andrew was. 

He walked over and touched Neil's forehead with his own. The skin was cool to the touch, damp and a little sticky. It didn't matter.

Andrew kissed him. It was light, nothing that required effort or air or even Neil to move. It was just…the faint pulse he found in the heat of Neil's mouth whenever they kissed.

Things would get even more complicated now, Andrew knew Neil would double his vigilance, but for now, for the night, in this place, this time—they could enjoy it. They could breathe each other's air and pretend everything was fine.

— 

Things didn't turn out well, but they were better than Andrew had expected them to be after the Halloween debacle.

With Neil's game being affected by the injury, Kevin had to be involved, which resulted in two really angry strikers for different reasons.

Neil thought he was fine, that nothing would happen and that Andrew and Kevin's concern was completely unfounded.

Kevin, however, seemed anxious for putting Neil in a hospital room, locking and throwing the key from the top of the empire state building — which, again, Andrew would agree if they didn't have so much to come up with some really decent placement in the damn sport.

Which, unfortunately, led to them actually telling Kevin what was going on. At least a little.

There were screams, panic attacks, fear and Neil had to hide all of Nicky's liquor bottles for two whole days, but by the end of the second day, they had Kevin playing along.

It was a little surprising to see Kevin so invested in something for someone else, he played like he was about to be killed if he stopped and it increasingly took all the weight that Neil had put on himself by being such a good player.

In the end, it became a custom. Kevin started to really keep pace with Neil and Andrew found himself having to really push himself in the night practices.

Days passed, and then weeks. Time flew by as they divided their attention between planning, games, college, and their few spare moments.

His own birthday has come and gone, receiving gifts from Abby, Bee, Nicky, Aaron and Neil.

Stuart and Wymack tried, but with Wymack unable to break the pose and Stuart still trying to maintain the facade of the concerned, overprotective father—both gifts turned out to be disastrous enough to give Neil a fit of laughter.

If Andrew told that's the gift of both, he would not tell anyone.

As the foxes progressed through the games, week after week, Andrew found himself using his dreams more and more—a byproduct of the fact that they both didn't exactly have that much free time and didn't want to be caught off guard on some road trip or something. Not that it was necessarily bad, Andrew didn't mind forming dreams of fantastical settings for Neil.

It was after one of these dreams, where he remembered exactly what the warmth and texture of Neil's skin felt like, the salt of sweat on his tongue and the scratches of grass on his back, that Andrew woke up to be greeted by a pair of blue eyes staring at him.

“Staring, rabbit." he murmured. Eyes still heavy with sleep and the warmth of the blankets looking extremely inviting. Neil chuckled and moved closer, close enough for Andrew to feel but not close enough for Andrew to touch.

Unacceptable. It was on days like this when he allowed himself a vulnerability that he didn't consider suitable for everyday life, at least not when they had to unfold with a thousand strategies so that Neil didn't end up dead or being made a slave in the end of the year.

He opened his arms, just a little, just enough for Neil to see how inviting he was.

Andrew closed his eyes as he felt Neil's arms wrapping around his torso, he closing his own in returning his body to his waist. Neil's hair tickled his nose a little, but nothing bothered him enough to make him think about getting out of there.

It was a vibrant sensation coming from Neil's body—the pulsing through his skin as Neil's heart beat rhythmically. Tum Tum Tum.

"We should get up." Andrew squeezed him hard, earning a snarl in return. He didn't say anything either, too lazy to talk 'no, fuck you, it's saturday' out loud and very confident that Neil knew how to read his non-verbal language well enough to understand the message. “Okay, not yet." He buried his face in Neil's neck, feeling the softness of the skin and sinking his teeth there without force. Andrew enjoyed the way Neil's entire body tingled and the way he shuddered when Andrew flattened his tongue against his wrist. "Andrew." he said, dragging out the 'e' in his name with a sharp note because of the provocation. He snorted a soundless laugh and tried to pull away a little, only for Neil to hold him in place. "Stay."

"I thought it was time to get up?"

“You've ruined my desire to get out of bed."

"And this is now my fault?" Andrew flattened his hands on Neil's back, moving them up and down gently, the way he knew Neil liked because of the tickle.

“You've made it really hard to want to leave here."

“And if we left, we'd have to face Nicky." he reminded, giving Neil one more reason for them to stay in the room, where only Aaron was brave enough to bother them.

Neil groaned, pulling himself deeper into Andrew's embrace.

Nicky for the past three days had been acting… weird. Looking at the two of them like he's scared, often opening his mouth like he wants to say something but then changing his mind at the last second, walking in circles like a bloody imbecile.

It was tiring him out. It made him uncomfortable and he knew it was also making Neil act more defensive.

Whatever it was, if Nicky didn't spit it out soon, Andrew would be forced to get it out of him.

"Want me to talk to him?" I know you don't like that kind of talk. Andrew blinked. Well he could send Neil.

Neil always managed to get people talking.

He frowned.

“Don't torture my cousin." His partner pulled back just far enough for Andrew to see him raise an eyebrow.

"As if Nicky needed any encouragement to speak ." Andrew smiled, a little disappointed that Neil strayed farther. “Let's go down, I want to get this over with while I still have patience and Aaron promised us bacon for breakfast today."

“Sometimes I miss how it was in the beginning, when both of you were too skittish to talk to." Neil chuckled and pushed himself off the bed, wincing when his foot hit the floor. Andrew narrowed his eyes, fisting his hands in the sheets as he watched the blanket being pulled from his soulmate's legs. "Is it still bad?"

The wound was still aggressively red even after they had removed the stitches.

It didn't open, but Andrew could see that it was infected and that no matter how much they tended to the thing, it didn't seem to get better as it should.

“I think the exertion of the games doesn't let it heal enough to stop hurting."

Andrew stared at him some more, the long red line, the green, purple, and blue bruises around the raw, sensitive flesh. It was hard not to feel the bitter taste of frustration.

“Maybe you should drink the pills Kevin handed over.

"We already talked about this." he said, his face contorting into a brief grimace before turning serious. "They would do more harm than good."

"Neil."

“They would cut some of my ability, Andrew. I'm not going to deal with the side effects of that crap. Not now ."

He got to his feet and Andrew gritted his teeth at the way Neil faltered as he took a step.

“We need you healthy if we're going to go through with this. You will have to go to the Nest , Neil. You are injured. "

"I can't do it. You wouldn't give up your abilities for any injury."

"I'm not the one who will be killed at the end of the year if we don't get your freedom and Ichirou's support." Andrew said, but he saw the second it left his mouth the damage it did. "Neil—"

"I know," he whispered. "I know."

Andrew got up, going over to him.

Neil's thigh was trembling and his expression was grim.

“We've discussed this before." Andrew said, taking his soulmate's face between his hands. “I know that, but it's not getting better."

"It's dangerous , Drew." His thumb stroked the thin scar on Neil's lip.

“You haven't painted since it happened. You didn't even break into the college music studio either."

"Andrew—"

“Neil, you can't actively let yourself get hurt because you're afraid something will happen. I can defend myself."

That wasn't what Neil's protection was about, Andrew knew that. But he didn't mind making Neil feel guilty if it would help him heal.

Andrew wouldn't even mind being hated, he would rather see Neil hurt when he could avoid it.

“I know you can."

“Prove it. Take care of yourself for the first time in your life. If something happens, we'll deal with it, but first take care of you. "

Neil's eyes went from stormy to soft in a split second and he sighed, lowering his head until it rested on Andrew's shoulder.

"Ok. Ok. I'll try it for a few days, but I don't promise to use this for a long time, okay?"

Andrew nodded, letting his head rest against Neil's.

“It's good enough for me."

— 

It was around two in the afternoon when Neil decided to get Nicky to talk.

Andrew didn't ask what he was going to do, he just said he wanted some ice cream when Neil said he would be taking Nicky to the market while he handed over the car keys.

Aaron didn't let him enjoy the silence, dragging him into the kitchen demanding his help baking a peach cobbler — apparently it was Katelyn's favorite and Andrew really only helped because his brother agreed to make an extra one so he could give it to Neil. 

When his partner and cousin got back, Andrew had flour and sugar in his hair, a brother with a mouth full of peaches, and a worktop covered in flour and butter from when they missed the first dough.

Andrew could see in Nicky's eyes that whatever was bothering him had been relayed to Neil, who looked serious for a second, before melting into a smile at the pitiful state Andrew was in.

They didn't talk about what it was, Neil deciding to help him with the cleanup even though Andrew insisted he shouldn't be stupid and go sit down. Aaron wasted no time in running away from the mess when he saw that Neil had taken his place—the coward. Andrew wouldn't let it go. It was Aaron who dropped the entire bag of flour on the counter that caused Andrew's hair to turn white.

It wasn't until they went upstairs and Andrew had a shower and they sat on the bed that Neil spoke about it.

“It's a bad idea." he said, not quite studying Andrew's face. Just watching, like she was trying to keep him in her mind. “That's what's been on Nicky's mind lately."

Andrew glared at him.

Neil wasn't used to judging other people's ideas unless they involved him or Andrew, he just didn't care enough. He noticed the way the corners of his lips were curled down, the way his eyes looked misty, the way his shoulders were slumped forward and his back was rigid.

"What is it?"

Neil sighed, the air slowly leaking out of him as he adjusted his posture.

“Your uncles called. They want you and Aaron and Nicky to come home for Thanksgiving dinner. It can't just be Nicky, if you don't go he can't go either."

Andrew's first thought was: suspect . But seeing Neil's position, how he looked more bothered than really pissed off, he knew that Luther and Maria really posed no threat to him. No, Neil wouldn't even have finished listening to Nicky if he felt the whole thing was dangerous.

Which led to his second thought and probably the reason why his soulmate was so upset.

Luther didn't believe Andrew. Luther defended Drake when he learned of the attempted rape, he questioned Andrew and when he read his file, he mocked saying that boys cannot be raped.

Luther was also a homophobic son of a bitch and Andrew was gay as fuck, which didn't make for a good combination, because as much as Andrew wouldn't bother defending himself against attacks with words, Neil and Aaron they would definitely get a little bristly.

“This… is a really bad idea." Andrew looked away, staring at the ceiling, but still sitting up. “What did you say to him?"

"Nothing. He asked me to try to convince you to go, but I didn't answer him. I think he took it as a no." He counted the stars Neil had managed to paint on the ceiling. There were twenty-seven of them. Andrew still didn't know how he had made them. "I didn't say no, but I would like to. I won't answer for you, though."

That was a trait about Neil that would never cease to amaze him. Neil's ability to simply not take Andrew's right in choices directly concerns him.

It was always good to be heard.

"What do you think?"

“If I had the opportunity and permission, I'd put a bullet between Luther Hemmick's eyes and not even feel guilty about it." Neil propped himself up on the bed in an awkward position, keeping his leg immobile while the rest of his body reclined. “But I know I can't. So at the very least, I'd like to keep you as far away from him as possible. But then again, it's not my decision."

“No, but you're entitled to opinions too."

"And I've made my point. The question is, what do you think of that?"

Andrew closed his eyes, letting the image of Neil's stars fade and the memories of Luther surface.

The man who made them dress incredibly well while Aaron mourned his dead mother because he needed them to look impeccable even in grief. The man who ignored the clear signs of drug addiction in a child because he didn't care enough to have something like that tarnishing his image before the faithful. The man who saw his son and condemned him for being gay, who sent him to a conversion camp and said it was for love.

The man who looked Andrew in the eye and demanded that he drop the charges against Drake because he was a good kid, a good man and nothing like Andrew who grew up without decent father figures and a natural liar.

But Andrew never lied and Drake was nothing short of rotten.

He couldn't even drop the charges if he wanted to, the fucker was arrested red-handed.

But the proud reverend's phrase didn't fade from his mind, Andrew could still feel the bitterness in his mouth and the poison in his veins.

"What did Nicky say, specifically?"

There was a pause, a sigh.

“That he already knows you're probably going to say no.  But that he had to try, that they were still his parents and that he missed them and couldn't help but hope."

Oh, Andrew knows now why Neil hesitated. What had he said before?

'I can't help to have hope when it comes to you'

Andrew understood Nicky and Neil knew it. Perhaps that was the most shocking piece of information in that entire conversation.

“You already knew what I was going to answer."

"I had my suspicions."

"Have they changed?"

"No."

Andrew opened his eyes and glared at him, only to find that Neil was already looking at him.

There were things that both didn't agree about each other, but that would in no way interfere.

Andrew's family, even though Neil was the first and oldest of its members, was still a subject in which Neil had no voice and did not claim to have one.

“He deserves closure."

Neil's eye twitched, the only show of any emotion he might have felt.

“He will be disappointed."

Andrew crawled on the bed until he reached Neil, he wrapped his arms around his soulmate's waist and laid them down at the same time. There was no resistance from the other, so Andrew had no problem keeping his weight off the leg and centering it entirely on his chest.

“Maybe it's the final crack in his heart so he can move on once and for all."

“Or the final crack that makes it fall apart."

Andrew poked Neil in the rib.

“Nicky is smarter than that."

Neil raised an eyebrow but smiled.

“You have a lot of faith in them. In all of them."

“It's not faith. It's knowledge." Andrew paused, the conversation from earlier probing his mind. "The meds?"

Beneath him, it was easy to feel Neil tense. Air freezing in his lungs and discomfort gripping him.

Andrew thought about getting up, but before he made a move, Neil's hand reached into his hair.

“I will. Just two weeks. No more than that."

It was good enough.

More than enough, it was probably the first time Neil had decided to take care of his own health instead of taking care of Andrew.

"Thanks." he murmured, burying his face in the shirt Neil was wearing.

Fragile, so fragile.

Andrew was so fragile to him.

Neil didn't answer, he just continued stroking his hair.

It was clear to Andrew the unspoken message.

He still didn't let himself think about it.

After all, if Neil promised and kept it, Andrew wouldn't be the one to make him break his promise.

— 

Kevin was upset, to say the least.

Of course, the trip to Exites cheered him up a bit, the whole thing of outfitting Neil like he was a dress up doll and giving him a heavy new racket just enough to distract him while they were there. By the time everyone was heading towards the Hemmick house, Kevin was back to his normal complaining.

“For someone who grew up in such a strict place, Kevin is very spoiled.” Neil said in Russian, catching Andrew's attention. Probably everyone else's too if the way Kevin's eyes narrowed at her name was any indication.

“As if any creation could take away from Kevin the infinite ego he possesses.” He replied in the same language. Andrew was kind of thankful they'd learned a language just for the two of them. Before, he never realized how the ability to speak to each other using Andrew's soul bond was so…convenient.

When that disappeared, it was lonely. He knew that for Neil it was going to be even worse.

“It's even a little surprising that he can stay in closed spaces under the suffocating weight of his own vanity.”

Andrew looked at him. Neil was looking out the window, but there was a little twist to his lips that indicated a smile.

“It's rude to speak in a language that everyone doesn't know.” Nicky muttered. He was quiet all day, probably having used up all his energy over the course of the week.

It was the first time he'd seen his parents since taking in Aaron and Andrew. He knew his cousin was nervous.

But he was the main reason everyone was in a bad mood going to visit people they didn't like, so their whining was largely ignored.

“Leave them talking in their strange language.” Aaron said, pursing his lips. It was an exaggerated expression, one Andrew knew to be false. “I don't care what they're saying.”

In the rearview mirror, Andrew saw Kevin nodding slightly.

He rolled his eyes, focusing as much on the road as he did on the slightly disconcerting heat in his stomach—his brother's affection was something he was still struggling to fully accept. Andrew had years to assimilate Neil's affection, it was gradual and it was always there. Andrew has had long exposure to Neil's protective zeal, dry humor and bouts of care.

Aaron? Aaron came out of nowhere and hit him with something Andrew convinced himself he didn't want or need.

Aaron hit him square in the chest with the certainty that Andrew had always had a family.

Not like Neil, Neil to him always was more . Always more than a friend, more than a lover, more than family. Neil was his and Andrew was Neil's and had been since foxes were born on his wrist.

Aaron wasn't there from the beginning, but he wanted to be. He didn't see the worst parts of Andrew, but he wanted to try.

Aaron chose him.

He tightened his hands on the steering wheel, the wall he normally kept in his chest when he wasn't alone with Neil, the very wall that kept uncomfortable emotions from invading, began to crumble easily when Andrew allowed himself to think about matters like Aaron.

“What was it?” Neil’s voice was always deeper in Russian. Deeper, as if the words were each spoken with more intensity. It was something Andrew got used to, it was normal, familiar. He sank into it, into the familiarity. “Andrew?”

“Just thinking.”  He responded. “About Aaron.”

“Oh, that explains it then.” Andrew raised an eyebrow. “You always get that expression when you're thinking about something. If I could hear it, there would probably be static.”

Andrew's eye twitched at that. Being known never ceased to be surprising, even if you were Neil.

“Is nothing.”

“If you say.”

His soulmate's smile was still there, small enough for few to recognize as one smile in fact. But Andrew knew him, knew every line of expression on Neil's face.

"Is it just me or are these two talking more than usual?" Nicky whispered to Kevin, or at least did something similar to it.

It was loud enough for everyone to hear.

Andrew's body stiffened and he avoided looking at Neil.

He missed the buzzing under his skin that constantly reminded him of Neil's restless soul, the static when his partner started to think too much, the pain he felt in his fingertips when he wanted to touch him and didn't.

It had been a difficult week, Andrew's skin burned without Neil's constant thought, it burned being so alone.

But he didn't complain, because even already had a week of solitude, it was just a week and Neil's wound improved almost instantly.

The meds were strong, but just as they attacked their emotional and mental bond, so did the infection staining the wound an angry red.

Andrew was many things, but not selfish, at least not to Neil. He could bear being just Andrew on his mind, could bear missing Neil if it meant his soulmate didn't flinch every time he stepped too hard or if it meant Neil couldn't cling to his injured leg as he gritted his teeth every time. End of the game.

“It’s fine.”

He still didn't look.

“I'm not sorry.” Andrew said.

“I know.”

His teeth ground together. The Russian became smooth now, melodic, sad.

“You’re getting better.”

“I know.”

Neil was sad. He was hurt.

Andrew couldn't help it.

“One more week.”

Neil leaned back in the seat, his eyes on the road again.

“I know.”

The trip after that proved surprisingly short, especially since Exites wasn't that far from Nicky's parents' house.

Coming to that place did nothing for Andrew, he looked at that house in the suburbs, two stories, a garden and green lawn and felt nothing but apathy. It was different for Aaron, he could see it, but he was definitely cruel to Nicky.

That was his childhood house, the place where he grew up, the place where he learned to take his first steps and where he started to become who he is today.

Andrew also knew that within those walls was also where Nicky was first shot, probably where he was first told how disgusting he was for who he was.

No, Andrew had no feelings for that place. The vivid memories of Luther dragging them there after dear Tilda had taken her meds and gone for a walk were the only memories Andrew had of that house.

It was enough to make him think about what it would be like to burn the place to the ground.

"I think he's regretting it." Neil said as he approached. He had unfurled his protective shell in the last few minutes, probably ready to put everything away and be a backup for Andrew and his family when things undeniably went wrong and everything went to hell.

“A little too late.”

"Let me know if you need me to stick a fork in someone's eye?" Andrew resisted the urge to smile. It wasn't the time, it wasn't the place.

“I will let you know.” Neil nodded, taking Andrew at his word. It was funny that he knew that Neil's line wasn't a joke either; if Andrew said the word, things would be over before they even started. “Behave yourself for now.” That already made his partner grimace.

“OK.” He looked around, attention lingering on Nicky for over a second before returning to Andrew. “I'll stay with him.”

Andrew nodded, watching as Neil walked towards his cousin at the same time that Aaron walked into his.

“Hey.” Andrew didn't answer, just looking at his brother. Aaron didn't look offended, nor did he look discouraged. “How is he?”

This was another thing about Aaron that Andrew was still trying to wrap his head around; that he not only adopted Andrew into his life, he adopted Neil as well. Aaron worried about him, and took care of him.

He was his friend.

“It hurts him not to know when I might be in danger, it hurts not to be able to talk to me when we're apart. He probably also doesn't like that he can't feel my pain and know when I'm hurt.” Aaron didn't seem surprised by any of this, and maybe he really shouldn't have. He saw Neil in his protective state when he tended to the wound Andrew closed and he lectured him about how crazy it was to do something like that and then he heard from Neil a sermon about how Andrew had probably saved his life.

There were few people who knew the lengths Neil would go to protect who he considered his. It was nice to know that Aaron was one of those people, even if it came at the expense of his brother having to listen to one of Neil's rants.

They both started walking, looking at the cars Luther kept in his driveway and lawn.

It was interesting to see how alien faith, distorted principles and absolute lack of empathy with anyone who had the same distorted values yielded good monetarily.

He narrowed his eyes, thinking of Neil's heavy new racket that had been left in the car. What he could do with the windshield of one of those flashy cars.

“Don't even think about it.” A voice came from behind him and Andrew narrowly avoided jumping with the fright he took. Neil was the only one who could get close to him without Andrew knowing, probably because of the almost cellular trust they both had in each other. That didn't stop him from staring at him accusingly. “I know that expression. If I can't cause trouble, neither can you.”

Andrew rolled his eyes and elbowed Aaron in the ribs, when the son of a bitch grinned in fright.

They approached the door; Nicky looking to be walking towards his own execution, Kevin very preoccupied checking his new racket that he refused to leave behind, Aaron looking just pissed off and Neil looking very much like he was ready to hit someone — he probably was, since he couldn't feel danger approaching Andrew, Neil was in a constant state of vigilance and more paranoid than ever.

And Andrew, he just wanted this to be over as soon as possible so they could leave.

Columbia was boring on Sundays. The streets were still and silent. It wasn't that Andrew didn't like silence, but in situations like that he infinitely preferred some loud, uncomfortable sound that didn't allow him to be alone with his own thoughts.

Aaron didn't leave his side when Nicky finally decided to ring the bell, planting himself firmly to Andrew's left and keeping their shoulders together.

United front or something.

It was good, even if a little weird.

It was also when Maria answered the door.

She wasn't that tall, but the resemblance between the woman and his cousin was always something to witness.

Same shade of dark brown, same curly brown hair, same big dark eyes, same mouth and same nose.

Except for the smile, Nicky never smiled like that.

It was cold.

"Why did you ring the bell?" she asked instead of hello.

"This isn't my house anymore," Nicky reminded him, in a tone of voice that Andrew knew meant it hurt to admit.

She pressed her lips together, but didn't argue. Maria backed away from the door, giving them room to step out of the cold and into the warm hallway.

The woman closed the door behind them and turned to face them. Neil and Kevin were next to her, his partner's gaze was cold, but Kevin seemed unable to abandon his press image.

“You must be Kevin and Neil.” she said, a little too lethargic to convey the warm impression the woman seemed to be trying to maintain. “I'm Maria, Nicky’ mom.”

Kevin put on one of his nice fake smiles and said:

“Nice to meet you.” He spoke while nudging Neil with his elbow, probably trying to teach him how to behave.

Neil didn't spare her a glance, too busy looking at Andrew.

If Maria noticed, she didn't care. She was too busy looking at Aaron and him.

In fact, it was almost comical the way she looked at the twins then, her gaze going completely over Aaron as she smiled at Andrew:

“Aaron, it's been so long.”

Andrew smiled, a small, bitter little thing that instantly turned Maria pale.

Both had dressed in the same type of clothes today at the insistence of Aaron, who ever since finding out what Luther had told him, had been in a constant state of spite towards the man.

Aaron had tried to persuade him not to go to the dinner, but Andrew had given him every reason that Neil knew — it wasn't too hard to convince him after that.

“Wrong twin, Aunt.” Aaron replied correcting her. Maria looked from Andrew's smile to Aaron's wary expression back, her eyes widening as she leaned her body back a little.

“Oh yes, of course.” she said, but looking disconcerted to talk to him. “You two seem… close.”

“He’s my brother.” Aaron crossed his arms, his expression becoming even less friendly than Neil's, who out of the corner of his eye Andrew saw start to smile. "Does it surprise you that I didn't believe all the rubbish you and Uncle Luther said about him?"

“Aaron.” Nicky interrupted in German, eyes wide. Beside her, Neil's smile only grew as he glanced between Aaron and Andrew.

If anything, just by the look of his soulmate, Andrew could figure out exactly what he was thinking:

Looks like I won't have to worry .

And Andrew would have replied:

I should have known your big mouth would infect my brother.

And then, just to be sure, Andrew searched for that thread that united him with Neil, the one he came to see later in life—and when he found it and tried to speak through it, it felt numb. It was still there, but it was faded, dim.

Blocked.

It wasn't like the days when the connection was broken between him and Neil when they were both younger — there was nothing there, it was broken. The wire snapped and when Andrew tried to follow it, it led nowhere.

No, that blockade was exactly like the drugs Neil was put on after his shoulder was burned and he was shot.

Andrew continued there, in that dark corner, poking at the line with his mind, trying somehow to make it work. Did not happen.

However, when he came back from his mind, he realized that he was already seated at the table. With Neil on one side and Aaron on the other, both separating him from Luther, who sat at the end of the table; the pompous, superior air that emanated from him might as well have been cut with a knife.

Andrew controlled his expression, deciding not to show his confusion. Instead he asked Neil, in Russian with almost no inflection in tone:

"Did he talk to me?"

“He tried. Aaron and I kept him distracted.”

He didn't say thank you, but nodded. That was fine, if he must talk to Luther, let it be when he was out of his own mind, where it was safer.

Apparently, it wouldn't even take long. The sound of his voice brought the man's attention to him, the brown eyes turning to Andrew, assessing him before opening his mouth.

“It is immensely disrespectful not to offer compliments to your host, Andrew.” Beside her, Neil's body stiffened. “You haven't changed at all.”

Aaron's hands tightened on the table and his eyes remained fixed on the roasting tray in front of him.

He, on the other hand, felt nothing for the words. They were meant to embarrass him, to make him withdrawn.

Andrew didn't care enough about Luther to give him any power.

They sat in silence while they waited for Maria to finish serving the dishes—there was a bounty there that Andrew could only imagine as a child, and it was nothing like when he lived with Tilda either.

The man's hypocrisy was almost laughable, the way he preached in his sermons talking about mankind being doomed, how man was weak and lacked empathy, the way they should try to approach God through humility.

Yeah, do as I say and not as I do, apparently.

Once the entire table was set, Luther cleared his throat and began a prayer, the table taking on an even more tense silence as the man's empty words took up all the space and left him suffocating.

The prayer lasted a full two minutes, and when it ended, Luther looked past Andrew and Aaron, focusing entirely on Neil.

Who probably didn't have the nicest of expressions, if Andrew knew him.

"Are you religious, Neil?"

“No.” he replied, his tone dry and unyielding.

Luther continued to stare, giving Neil a minute to elaborate, but he looked back at the man in complete silence.

And since Nicky's father wasn't someone known for his abundant patience, he soon frowned in disapproval and pressed for an answer.

“Why not?”

“You don't want me to get into this.” Neil replied, looking between Luther and the patch of peas in front of him. “You don't want to start a fight.”

“I don't see how a question of this nature could do such a thing.” He responded.

Whether Luther was being willfully obtuse Andrew couldn't say. But Neil's eyes were full of malicious intent, the kind Andrew loved to see him unleash when he decided to tear someone apart with words.

Nicky, on the other hand, looked like he was still trying to salvage that catastrophic dinner.

"Do you really want to start with that question, Dad?" Nicky asked. The meek, submissive voice. It was like when Andrew first met him, nothing like everyday Nicky. “You don't want to ask about how we're doing at school or the season? We had a game in Florida yesterday. We won, you know.”

“Congratulations.” said Luther automatically, the inflection in his tone being enough to make Nicky's head drop.

“Yes, it really sounds like you meant it.” he said, more sad than really angry. The awkward silence continued, but Nicky quickly broke it: “When did they paint the kitchen?”

“Two years ago.” said Maria, the feigned serenity being as obvious as her discomfort with everything that was happening. “The contractor attends our church. Looks good, doesn't it?” She waited for Nicky's silent agreement, looked at Luther for inspiration, and said, "So what are you studying, Nicholas?"

Andrew narrowly stopped himself from turning up his nose at the name. Nicky didn't even introduce himself that way, but he didn't say anything, too amused by the sour look Aaron shot his aunt.

Did Nicky know that Maria wasn't really interested? Did he know that all the woman was trying to do was fill the silence with more than the sound of silverware passing from hand to hand as everyone set their plates?

Probably.

“Marketing.” To his credit, Nicky actually seemed excited to talk about it. It was a skirt, a light of hope. Even though it was fake, his cousin seemed to cling to it, a spark gleaming brightly in the downpour. “Erik's cousin works for a public relations firm in Stuttgart. She thinks she can get me there after graduation if I keep my grades right.”

“Are you going back to Germany?” Maria shot a startled look at her husband, whose shoulders had heaved into a dominating position, ready to subdue his own son. Nicky's jaw clenched, but he looked his mother in the eye as he said, still holding the spark, still trying to keep the flame of hope alive:

“Yes. Erik's career is there. I would never ask him to leave her for me and I don't want that anyway. I loved living in Germany. It is a wonderful place. You should visit us sometime.”

Ah, there was the bravery that Andrew saw the day Nicky stood up to his father and told him he would be taking custody of him and his brother. Nicky might have all the faults, but he would never, ever deny his feelings for Erik.

"Us," Maria said weakly, her dark skin paling at least two shades as it softened in its place. "Are you still…"

She couldn't finish — maybe too shocked, maybe too horrified. Andrew didn't mind — so Nicky said:

“Yes, we're still together. I came back to take care of Andrew and Aaron, not because things went wrong with Erik. I love him, mother. OK? I always have and always will. When will you understand this?”

“When are you going to accept that this is wrong ?” Luther asked, venom in his voice, hatred, revulsion, disgust. Andrew froze beside him, Neil too. "Homosexuality is…”

“Luther.” Andrew said, just a warning. His throat dry and tongue bitter.

The urge to reach across the table and grab Neil's hand. Andrew had received his fair share of homophobia in orphanages and foster homes, no one could ever really say for sure that he was gay, but the hate was still pretty sure and all it took was a guess.

It didn't affect him as much, in a way, but it was bad and over time it made Neil sick.

Luther wasn't going to affect his soulmate with his hate speech based on nothing but shit.

“I love him.” Nick insisted. “It doesn’t mean anything for you? Why can't you be happy for us? Why can't you give him a chance?”

“We cannot tolerate sin.” Maria said, robotic as Luther conditioned her. “You shouldn't either.”

"You don't have to love sin," Andrew could tell Nicky was really trying, but what chance does reason have against someone who cares nothing but their own beliefs? “but you must forgive and love the sinner. Isn't that what the word teaches?”

“The word follows the commandments of our Lord.” Luther spoke, his voice booming as he extolled his son's adamantness. His eyes are narrow and his hair is a bit messy.

No one has forced themselves to eat yet.

Everyone was served, but dinner seemed to have been forgotten in favor of the discussion.

“But I don't need to be so black and white.” Nicky whispered softly, eyes not rising to meet his father's. “And I won't. Why did you call us here if we're going to have the same old fight all over again?”

Luther was unmoved by the sadness, the hurt of his own son and said quietly:

“Things have come up recently that have made us question our current situation. We are committed to repairing this family.” He looked at Maria, who nodded with almost happy encouragement. “But we understand that it will be a long and arduous road. We brought you here so that we can decide the first steps together.”

"Clarify this for me, dear uncle," Andrew said, leaning forward on his plate, looking forward to the hollow reply Luther would give this time. "If the first step is tolerance, would your dear God be very offended? How does a couple of religious fanatics who don't think about anything but extremist shit even begin to make amends?”

The look Luther shot him was appraising and far from reassuring.

“With amends for past wrongs. That's why you're here.” Neil looked up and Andrew narrowly stopped him from getting to his feet. His hand gripped his partner's wrist, murmuring softly in Russian to soothe him.

“Oh no,” Andrew spoke, his gaze fixed on Luther and the new distrust rising in his chest. “Leave me out of this. I am not and never was your family.”

Aaron looked up from where they were fixed on his plate, but it wasn't Andrew he looked at.

“You're not going to involve Andrew in your bullshit.’

 Luther frowned, nostrils flaring with the realization that he had lost power against Aaron as much as he had over Nicky.

Yes, Andrew figured it shouldn't do wonders for his god complex.

Across the table, Maria raised a calming hand, looking at her husband warily and saying:

“Let's eat. This kind of conversation is very difficult on an empty stomach. We'll eat and then try again, and then we'll reward our efforts with dessert. There's pie in the oven. Apple, Nicholas. It used to be your favorite.”

It was a meager peace offering considering the harsh words that interrupted, but Nicky was desperate for any glimmer of hope.

Desperate enough not to mention that ofenschlupfer, it was his favorite now.

He nodded and started to eat his dinner. Silence reigned over the table, the clatter of cutlery still a less disturbing soundtrack than Luther's authoritative voice.

Andrew glanced out of his peripheral vision at Neil, who appeared to be munching on sawdust as he took another bite of his roast.

“You're doing good with the not causing trouble thing." he said in Russian, not caring for Luther and Maria's gazes going instantly to them.

"Not if he keeps up the attitude."

“Neil.” 

“He acts like all of you are the problem.”

“Did you expect anything different?”

Neil shrugged, eyes on his food.

“I can't help but hope when it comes to you, either.”

Andrew swallowed hard, placing the silverware on his plate.

He looked at the food there, all broken into small pieces, perfect for him to eat in one bite.

Andrew lost his appetite.

There was no denying to himself that the hope Neil was referring to was his almost childlike wish that Andrew would find a family that was enough.

It didn't have to be perfect, it didn't have to be tweaked, it didn't even have to be really big. Just… that was enough.

To get him back on his feet in case Neil fell.

To protect him in case Neil failed.

To keep him alive in case Neil died.

It was one of those things they never agreed on, one of those things they normally kept to themselves.

Because there would never be an agreement, not about that—Neil was constantly trying to find ways to tether him to someone if he couldn't, and Andrew was pretty sure that the instant the soul bond permanently snapped, he too would be dead.

There would be no winner.

“Dinner time is for silence and appreciation for the food offered to us. Our Lord told his disciples not to speak at the table until he himself did. Please maintain decorum at the table.”

The word went down Andrew's stomach like fire, the meaning taking on a sticky form and lodging in his gut. It was different from when Neil said it at the feast, he used to fuck Riko with his words—and also, Andrew was too busy finding him incredibly hot to care about the word.

Now it was different. It wasn't Neil's speech.

It was different and it was bad.

Beside him, Neil bristled, eyes narrowing and pupils shrinking, giving way to the icy blue of his partner's eyes.

"Will you forgive me," he began, the tone one Andrew knew. Neil was irritated. “If I say I don't give a damn what your Lord thinks about my private conversation with my friend.”

Luther's nostrils flared and Maria made a gagging sound, the cutlery stopped.

“You are in my house, young man. You will respect me and what I say in my house.”

Neil raised an eyebrow.

"Are you going to take the pain of someone who isn't even here?"

“God it's at all places.”

“ God would be horrified with people like you.”

Andrew turned fully to Neil. There was no concern in his expression, there was no fear in his eyes, there was nothing but cold anger.

That's when he realized that Neil had been holding back since Andrew had decided they were going to attempt the trip to Nicky—he wondered if he could talk to Neil through the loop, if there would be anything besides static.

Andrew didn't realize how much Neil was bottling up until it all boiled over.

“Who you think you ar—” 

“ I think that I am someone who has only known your son for a few months and I can say with absolute certainty that he is a thousand times the man you are. Your god preaches love , you disgusting, prejudiced son of a bitch. He would be the first to hug your fucking son and tell him he's perfect.”

He knew Neil didn't like the idea of a god, he knew Neil hated anything to do with religion—they both did, in fact, it was hard to accept that a benevolent existence would purposely put them through the hell that was their lives. But Neil knew the shit that was in the bible.

Apparently it did Nathan's image good to force his kid and wife through a few dull Sundays listening to a sermon from some pastor who probably didn't even believe what he was saying, only for when they got back home, Nathan would force Neil to open another still screaming animal.

Neil could probably beat Luther at any wordplay he tried and from the look on his soul mate's face, he wanted this, hoped for this.

Unfortunately for Neil, just as Luther filled his chest to speak, nostrils flaring and eyes narrowed, Maria touched him on the arm, muttering something that made him deflate like a balloon.

The man dragged his chair back, rising to his feet with what he must have guessed was something like grace, and then said:

“We must start over. I didn't really invite them so there would be more fights. Andrew,” Luther glared at him. "Help me get dessert from the kitchen?"

“I’ll go.” Aaron said, making a move to get up, but Andrew stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “He's been acting weird. I won't leave you alone with him.” The German did not surprise him, Aaron and Neil and they got along very well in the paranoia department.

“I'll bring Neil.”

His brother pressed his lips together.

“I don’t like it. Uncle Luther is looking at you a lot.”

Andrew pushed down the urge to look at Aaron's uncle.

“I noticed too.”

“Aaron, I know I taught you better than having secret conversations in front of other people.” Luther's gaze went between him and his brother and the way Aaron flinched the tiniest bit had him clenching his fists. "I'm sure at least my sister did."

“This,” Andrew began, feeling Neil get up beside him. Probably protective mode kicking in seeing a big man get angry with Andrew. Well, it wasn't necessarily with Andrew, but he knew well how irrational Neil's instincts could be. “is an excellent way to pick a fight you won't win. Don't talk to my brother like that.” He turned to Neil and saw his soulmate's hand behind his back. Neil didn't trust anyone lacking his skills, so he was a little over-armed. There were three knives on a belt around her waist. “Calm down.”

Neil's pupils dilated and he took a step back, complying with Andrew's request.

“I won't let you threaten me in my own house, Andrew.’ Luther scolded, but he didn't sound angry.

Cautious.

Luther was cautious. To whom, Andrew couldn't say for sure.

“And I won't let you think you have any authority over Aaron.” He got to his feet next to Neil. "Let's just get the damn pie and get this over with."

Luther narrowed his eyes at Neil but didn't say anything.

Andrew saw out of the corner of his eye his partner approach his brother and say something to him in a whisper, but he didn't bother to ask what it was about, if it was something important Neil would have told him too.

When they arrived, he realized that the kitchen was exactly what Andrew expected from someone like Luther—there was probably more luxury in the crystal chandelier in the center of the room than in many of the families who attended the church the man commanded.

The strong smell of caramelized sugar and cinnamon did little for Andrew's stomach, which was saying a lot since he was basically fueled by sugar.

The thing is, everything he put in his mouth that came from those people tasted like sawdust.

Andrew didn't want to be there, didn't want to eat their food.

But Nicky needed to see with his own fucking eyes that Luther and Maria were a lost cause.

Sometimes it was better to let the house of cards crumble, Nicky would never move on if he thought his parents could ever love him again — if they ever did.

Neil stayed at Andrew's side, not moving a muscle as Luther reached down to check the oven, grabbed a glove, and removed the enormous apple pie.

The fragrant smoke normally would have made Andrew's mouth water, but all that happened was his stomach clench at the sight of the dessert.

Luther handled the hot thing carefully, setting it to rest on a wooden stand by the window, removing his gloves, then turning back to them.

The man sighed, as if tired of dealing with all the people he invited into his home. He looked Andrew up and down before moving closer and reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Andrew took a step back and Neil stepped to the side, stepping in front of him with his arms crossed.

Luther's hand hovered in the air, the fingers flexing before being clenched into a fist and Luther's face breaking into a brief scowl of rage.

“Contrary to what you and your friend seem to think, Andrew, I'm not here to rekindle old feuds.” The man withdrew his hand, keeping it glued to his side and well away from Neil and Andrew. “I brought you here as a sign of good faith.”

“Yeah, the way you practically chased your son away the first chance you got proves it.” Andrew said, pulling Neil away from the man by the hem of his shirt. “Don't get the wrong idea, Luther. I just came so Nicky could have an end point to cling to.”

"There shouldn't have to be an end point. If he would just see and accept that what he is doing with his life is wrong , Nicholas would never have to be denied his own home.”

“You say it like it's his fault.” Neil said, his voice low and gravelly. The anger from earlier still hadn't dissipated and Andrew knew Luther it was a very tempting target. "Speaks as if everything he did wasn't love somebody. But I imagine it must be very difficult for you to assimilate, isn't it? You should have been able to do this shit in the first place.”

One thing Andrew enjoyed seeing was the way other people reacted to his soulmate's words, it was intriguing how so much damage could be done so quickly and so simply.

Neil didn't think before he spoke, he didn't assemble sentences in his head, think about how they sounded and then throw them like a hand grenade. No, this was Andrew . 

He measured his words, seeking to do as much damage as possible in the fewest syllables he could find. Andrew racked his brain and took his time before uttering whatever the sentence was.

But Neil? Oh, Neil was all momentum and zero damage control. He would hurt anyone and no matter how the person was left, if they deserved it, Neil would tear them apart without mercy. Few times did Andrew get on his partner's bad side and it was never a fun experience.

Watching Luther squirm, eyes wide and mouth open like a fish, however, was one of the most amusing things Andrew had ever seen.

Sadly, however, all their fun was eradicated when Luther decided to open his mouth.

“Nicholas does not love another man. He is possessed and does not see that what he says is love is actually abomination—” 

Andrew blinked. An insistent buzzing in his eardrums as he grabbed the knife hidden in his armbands and approached Luther fast enough for the man to stumble. Andrew blinked again and the knife was pointed at Aaron's uncle's face, his hand tightening around the man's throat.

“Careful, Reverend.” Andrew put the tip of the newly sharpened knife to Luther's chin and pressed down. "You need your fucking tongue to extort your faithful, don't you? Then be careful .”

“You can't threaten me, Andrew. You can't bring weapons into my house.” he said, the gagging sound resounding as Andrew tightened his grip on the blade.

“Your son nearly killed himself trying to mold himself into the shape you wanted. Nicky doesn't need this, doesn't need you. Try contacting him again and I won't be so nice.” He cocked his head. "Did I make myself clear?"

Luther's eyes darted between Andrew and Neil, probably looking for a sign that Neil would stop him from sticking that knife to his throat with the slightest of disturbances.

It wouldn't happen.

Neil would never stop him.

“Let's get out of here.” His soulmate spoke, his face bored in the face of violence.

Andrew let go of Luther's neck and started to walk away when the man's hand grabbed him by the wrist. It was a little tricky to contain his instinct to attack, but Andrew had enough self-control to grit his teeth and snarl a ‘let go’ angry.

The touch disappeared in a second, but Luther didn't pull away completely.

“I've prepared the guest rooms in the house for you to sleep here today. We can try to speak .”

“There's nothing to talk about.”

The man's lips pressed together before he let out a sigh.

"Fine," he cleared his throat. “at least go to the room where you would sleep, it's the same as Nicky's. I bought a gift, a bottle of Blue Label, Nicholas said it was his favorite. I bought it as a peace offering.” His fingers trailed over the reddened skin of his neck. "Even if it's not much use right now."

Andrew narrowed his eyes, but Luther didn't look like was lying and the chances that he was actually planning something were low. Luther might be hypocritical and short, but he was also stupid and not exactly a threat.

Also, the idea of drinking after the whole shitty show sounded tempting.

He turned to Neil.

“You come?”

"I won't leave you alone here.” Andrew knew Neil probably didn't share his belief that Luther wasn't dangerous, he was still too resentful for anything.

Not that being alone with Neil while everyone else ended that awful meeting was a bad thing.

Andrew didn't address Luther again, he just turned and started toward the stairs, hoping Neil was following. The sound of footsteps said yes.

“That was better than I expected.” Neil said, standing beside him. “No blood spilled is our new record.”

“Not over yet.” Because pessimism was second nature to him at that point, but even so, Andrew still agreed with Neil.

His partner walked in front of him, asking which room they were in when they reached the top of the stairs. Andrew pointed to the last room on the left side of the hall, Nicky had told him when they first met that this was where he spent most of his childhood.

At the time Andrew was forced to keep the information in his head as he was unable to ignore everything his cousin said, some little things always escaped his filter. Now, it was useful not having to ask Luther for directions.

Neil went ahead of him, showing the first trace of real amusement since they'd gotten there as he smiled at Andrew, saying he'd steal his drink.

It was a lie, he knew Neil hated the strong taste of alcohol, it probably tasted like hospital waste to him.

But it was the smile that was worth it, the joke, the arms behind his back when he reached the door and opened it, looking into Andrew's eyes and walking backwards into the room.

The smile and warmth in Neil's eyes are gone in a second, practically at the same time as the Blue Label bottle connects to his temple and shatters.

The sound of breaking glass sounded to Andrew like he was underwater.

Cottons in his ears.

***********

A familiar face appeared, tugging at his shirt as Andrew felt his blood run cold.

The smile hadn't changed in seven years, still the same big teeth, though now more yellow than white.

The smile twisted into a disgusting thing as the lips moved to form the words:

“Hey, AJ.” he whispered, the name reaching at the same instant his chest burned as Drake attacked him with the shards of the broken bottle. "How long, little brother."

Trauma it's a treacherous little thing.

There are many answers, some better than others.

Freezing was one of the worst.

It made you immobile in the face of fear, frozen in the face of a situation where you should be able to move, to fight back, to not be a weak fucking kid again.

That's what Andrew felt.

Thirteen, he was thirteen. Drake had never tried to hurt him that way before, it would get too much attention from Cass.

Would Cass be here soon? Will Andrew make it out before Drake catches him?

The blood staining his shirt, Drake's eyes on him.

Andrew had to run, had to fight. He couldn't let him get close. He would hurt them, he already had.

Drake took a step forward, diving where Andrew had landed, but he dodged, narrowly missing the broken bottle.

Neil. Where was Neil?

He tried to call out to him, but the line was dimmed, he could barely touch him.

Andrew was alone, he looked for the sting in his neck, the pain in his arm, but there was nothing. Andrew was alone and couldn't find Neil, warn him that they were in danger.

Where was neil

Where was neil

Where were—  

Andrew rolled across the bedroom floor, out of Drake's reach, when his hand slipped on something sticky.

It was blood. A puddle of blood.

It was small, but fresh and bright. The blood was building, and when he saw the source, Andrew remembered he wasn't at Cass's house. He wasn't thirteen.

The weight of the knife in his armbands was testament to where he was, who he was, and what he would do to the son of a bitch who dared try to hurt them.

Neil's eyes blinked at him blearily, bewildered as Andrew scrambled to his feet and turned back to his assailant.

His chest was burning, but it was a good way to stay present.

He wasn't thirteen, he was twenty. Not in Oakland, he was in Columbia.

Not about to let Drake touch him.

Andrew grabbed the knife in his brace and threw himself at the man coming towards him and did as he had been learning for over ten years and created an opening.

He was smaller, but he was built. Where Neil was fast, Andrew was strong. Everything he'd learned from Neil could very well apply to him, but it was from Renee that he'd learned to hit to hurt—his foot connecting with Drake's leg as his elbow connected with the sternum, the knife in his hand slicing the surface of Drake's stomach at the same time the man's fist found Andrew's temple.

He staggered, but didn't miss the opening as the man doubled over from the cut and managed to drive the knife into his shoulder.

Unfortunately it wasn't deep enough to be incapacitating, which was proved when Drake lunged so fast it threw him off balance, which he regained a moment later, but it was enough that Drake had a chance to grab his arm and twist.

Andrew managed to disengage with some success, soon taking a few steps back, weighing the blade and doing something Neil had told him never to try unless he was sure he would succeed.

Andrew threw the knife.

He had calculated the distance, aimed for Drake's left eye. Andrew took lessons long enough to know that if he fired, he would hit. And with the length of the knife, Andrew knew it would cause Drake's death—instant or not, there was no chance.

So he threw fast, but when his arm curved back, he realized his mistake.

Adrenaline hid pain.

Andrew was gripped by it, adrenaline was probably in every cell of his blood and he had already calculated everything — but he didn't realize his arm was dislocated until he felt the bone move in the wrong place and the knife was thrown with less strength than it originally should.

Andrew threw the knife.

And adrenaline hid the pain.

By the time the thing hit the ground, Andrew was already picking up the other, mentally cursing himself for not paying attention to all the details, but Drake was faster.

He advanced, but not towards him.

He went to Neil.

Andrew instantly felt his mind go blank and he ran to reach Neil before the other man, only for the second he felt the touch of fingers on his back he realized it was a trap.

In addition to the pain in his face, arm and chest, Andrew felt his hair being pulled back hard, his head lifted and an arm wrapped around his waist and pinning his arms.

Andrew squirmed, kicking and fighting to get out of the grip, but as strong as he was, Drake seemed to be stronger.

Where Andrew was built with technique taught to him by Neil, Drake possessed brute strength and his height seemed to swallow him up. It was like when Andrew was a kid and had to watch Neil get busted under DiMaccio over and over again because as good as he was, DiMaccio was better.

Time passed, but everyone who wanted to hurt them still looked so big and they still looked so fucking small , still so fragile in their desperate attempts to keep themselves safe.

Fuck, it wasn't fair.

“I thought you'd be happier to see me, AJ.” Drake dragged him to the nearest wall and slammed his head there hard. Andrew could feel the moment his brain shuddered, an immediate feeling of nausea and dizziness washing over him. "You've always been an angry kitten, haven't you? Not wanting to accept myself when all I wanted was to play a little.” Drake pulled harder on his hair, Andrew's eyes filling with tears as the sting increased. The dizziness only got worse when he got his head slammed against the wall again and then pushed down.

It didn't hurt when it fell, the surface was smooth, smooth.

Andrew's heart froze as the realization hit him.

Andrew was thrown onto a bed.

He tried to get up, but Drake's body pinned him against the sheets.

No

Andrew struggled, but it was no use. Drake took his hands and lifted them above his head, keeping them pinned to the headboard. The other hand slid down his shirt, down his back where the cigarette burn scars were.

No no

“You were such a bad kid, AJ. Most never complained, you know? Cass was too good for anyone to complain about. But she wasn't good enough for you, hmm?” Andrew felt bile rise in his throat as Drake's fingers moved up and down his back. The image of Cass popped into his mind, she was good, kind, caring and affectionate. Everything he wanted in a mother, but not all what he desired. He had Neil, Cass was never worth hurting Neil. “I don't think so. You were always trying to escape, a troublesome little boy who spent more time in squares and libraries than at home. It was because your little boyfriend warned me that I wanted to play a little, wasn't it? So smart, coming up with a plan to get me away. It made me curious, honestly.” Andrew opened his mouth to scream, but his face was slammed into the pillow hard, the fabric barely letting him breathe as Andrew emptied his lungs in the hope that there was any chance remote for someone to hear him. It was bullshit. No one has ever heard it. Not until Neil. “I was so pleased when Luther called saying he'd been told I was out of jail, that he wanted to help me sort out the misunderstandings.” Drake's hot breath neared his ear and Andrew fought harder. Teeth sank into his neck, nails left what were likely to be bloody marks on his back. “I thought, why not? Riko was kind enough to get me out of jail and talk about your boyfriend's meds that wouldn't let him spoil my fun.” Andrew felt Drake's disgusting lips kissing his hair. “But don't worry, Luther will soon be taking his little friends out for ice cream or whatever and then you can watch while I fuck your precious soulmate, okay? Will you like it? Huh? Be quiet or I'll skip you and go straight for him. I've always liked dessert before the main course.”

NO

Andrew squirmed, his vision turning red as he jerked and screamed against the fabric and felt Drake's body tightening around him.

He was going to slit the motherfucker's throat . Andrew would cut him to pieces, pull his cock off and make him eat it.

He was going to kill him.

He  would rip the flesh off your bones and feed it to a fucking dog.

Don’t touch me

Don't touch us

I will kill you

I will kill you

I am going to KILL YOU

Just as he suddenly appeared and started it all, so suddenly it all stopped.

The whole body on top of Andrew was filled with tension, the breath stopping instantly. Warm liquid dripped onto the broken skin of his neck and Andrew felt it as another and another drop fell—the liquid trickled down past his ear and wet the pillow so that Andrew could taste it on his tongue.

The cloying metallic taste, bitter as iron, was unmistakable.

Blood

He held still, heart pounding desperately in his chest as his entire skin throbbed, begging him to fight and get out of there.

***********

"You'll think better of it if you want to breathe again, you pig." Neil's voice was husky and muffled, too ragged for Andrew to miss the tremor, the fear. Anger. "Get off him."

Slowly, the weight that held him was lifted tautly. Andrew turned the second he felt he was no longer trapped and kicked Drake in the stomach, catching a glimpse of the metallic sheen of Neil's knife sinking a little deeper into the man's throat as a gagging sound filled the room.

He blinked and found himself pressed against the wall, holding his arm across his bloodied chest and staring at the scene unfolding before him.

Neil was straddling Drake's waist, teeth bared and eyes blazing with angry fury—one hand gripping the other man's fringe hair and the other wrapped around the knife that was pressing against Drake's throat.

“I—” 

“ You stay still while I try to control myself and not cut you from nose to navel.” The eyes turned to Andrew, who couldn't help the instinctive reaction to shudder at becoming the target of so much anger. His head ached as he noticed his bright eyes going dim, as if they'd been blotted out by whatever Andrew's reaction was. Neil turned his attention away from him, jaw clenched and body tense as he spoke again. "Andrew, how are you?"

He closed his eyes, assessing his situation.

His head ached in a way that reminded him of when he'd suffered a concussion, his chest and part of his abdomen were still bleeding and there were probably glass shards in his skin, his shoulder was still dislocated and the pain came in irritating waves whenever he moved a little.

All of that was a little numb, though. Maybe because of the adrenaline that was still being pumped through his body or maybe because of the way Andrew felt like he was outside his own body, seeing the whole situation as a fourth person in that room.

The only constant sensation was disgust and horror.

However, it wasn't anything he was going to say to Neil right now.

“I’m fine.” And immediately hated the taste of the words in his own language. Andrew wasn't used to lying, least of all to Neil and even though they both knew he wasn't telling the truth, the way the word formed on his lips sounded like a betrayal.

Neil didn't meet his eyes, he gripped the blade harder, tipped his head back and laughed.

A hollow sound, lifeless, joyless. It was a mockery of his own pain—it wasn't Neil who was arrested, but Andrew knew it probably would have hurt less if it had.

Neil had a habit of wanting to soak up any pain that was directed at Andrew—he knew that. Andrew did the same.

Still not looking at him, Neil's lips parted in a grim smile, his eyes so blank Andrew had to search for that thread to make sure it was still there, that it hadn't disappeared a third time.

“Yeah, I can understand why you guys hate that fucking phrase so much.” He said. "And you, are you okay too?" Neil asked, pulling Drake's hair hard enough that Andrew could see a few small tufts breaking off the scalp. Drake yelled with his mouth shut, probably too concerned with getting attention. “I hope not. I hope it hurts. And I hope you know that I'm going to make it hurt a lot more.”

"Neil," Andrew got his attention. He didn't care how Neil killed the fucker, but they needed there not to be too many witnesses; More than anything, he needed his brother not to be around. “Down there.”

Neil hummed, letting the smile fade and returning to that cold thing that reminded him of when they were kids and Neil was forced to cut living things while they were still screaming.

“I knew something was wrong.” He said. “He shouldn't be long now.” Drake's eyes widened and he opened his mouth, but Neil wouldn't allow him to say anything, slamming his head hard against the floor. The harsh sound echoed off the walls, the room being too quiet for Andrew not to notice the repetition a second later.

He tried to get up, move away from the bed and go to Neil. Andrew wanted to be the one with the knife, the one to cut that nasty son of a bitch's throat deep—but his body wouldn't obey him, the idea of standing up turned his legs to Jell-O and his heartfelt seconds away from exploding every time. who fancied himself close to Drake.

So Andrew tried to get rid of the numbness that enveloped the thread that connected him to Neil, tried to give Neil back his color, his warmth. He tried calling Neil, going to Neil's side—anything.

But there was nothing he could do, the medicine his soulmate drank was still blocking out everything emotional.

With this last thought Andrew stuttered in his own mind.

The medication blocked emotional and mental connections.

There was nothing that could block physical connection.

Neil was still feeling what Andrew felt—the burn from the scratches on his back, the pulsing pain in the back of his neck, the constant throbbing of his shoulder and chest.

“Neil” he called, to no avail. There was nothing, not a single reaction. “Neil”

he called again

Once again

Again

Again

Again

Again

Neil's eyes were still dull, lifeless.

Andrew wanted him in his mind. Andrew wanted himself out of his skin. It was overwhelming, painful.

He missed Neil's voice.

He missed his safe places.

After a few minutes there was a hesitant knock on the door to bring him back to the present. The tone of voice of the person on the other end being low but familiar.

“Andrew? Neil? If twenty minutes have passed, is everything okay?” Aaron asked and Andrew's eyes almost popped out of his head and he hopped off the bed, his legs giving out when his feet hit the floor. Aaron shouldn't be here, it was dangerous, his brother was in danger. Andrew's head ached, everything was spinning as he got nauseous again.

Don't let him in

Don't let Drake set his eyes on him

Neil

Neil— 

Fortunately, his partner didn't need a telepathic connection to know exactly what was on Andrew's mind.

“Aaron. Get Nicky, Kevin and your aunt out of this house. Don't ask questions, don't give them a chance to fight back. Knock out your uncle before anything else, tell him Andrew asked him to come upstairs and hit him in the head after that. Take the others and don't let them know.” Neil's eyes didn't leave the bag of shit still breathing beneath him, but Andrew could see the tension building.

“My brother—” 

“Will be safe, no questions now. Get them out of this house. Now.”

And Andrew knew that Aaron was not someone easy to get along with, easy to trust. He had a hard time following orders from anyone, but there was barely any hesitation in his step as he walked away from the door.

Aaron trusted Neil in a way he probably would only trust Andrew—it was both a relief and a worry because it meant Aaron was always counting on Neil to get him back alive and Andrew wasn't exactly sure why.

They didn't say anything about it, didn't say anything at all. Andrew remained on the ground and Neil continued to keep Drake immobile. It was easy to even hear the sound of their own breathing.

It was probably ten minutes before they heard the sound of doors closing and the car pulling out. Andrew had no idea what Aaron had said to get them all out so quickly, but he didn't doubt his brother's ability.

He grabbed his phone when the thing vibrated in his pocket, a message popping up on the screen: Luther is locked in the bathroom. Tell me what happened next. Give news.

“Aaron left.”

Neil's face didn't even move, Andrew didn't know if he was even breathing.

“Text Stuart.” he said, his voice low. Lower than before, lower than when they ambushed Andrew and he killed four people in an alley, lower than when he told Andrew to abandon him after Mary's death. "Say we have someone for him."

Something in Andrew twitched.

He wanted to be the one to slit Drake's throat, the one to rip out his tongue for daring to threaten to talk about Neil and cut off his hands for daring to touch him.

But knowing it wouldn't be Neil, knowing he wouldn't kill anyone with those eyes that reminded him so much... Nathan , was better.

Neil hated his father. Andrew wouldn't let him near that man even for revenge — mainly for revenge.

So instead of doing or saying anything, Andrew sent Stuart a text message informing him of what had happened.

Andrew ignored the persistent tremor in his fingers and concentrated on the task of typing with one hand, as his shoulder rendered the other useless. He ignored the blood staining the phone's keypad, the metallic smell making him nauseous, and the way the glare from the screen made his head hurt.

They wouldn't be long in coming, they never were, not when it came to Neil—Neil, the one who had powerful men wrapped around his little finger, but who wasn't able to get his own freedom.

Anger gripped his stomach the way it always did, but Andrew focused only on his boyfriend and telling him that the message he got back: Understood.

“They're on their way.” Neil nodded, but still didn't look at Andrew. It was making him uncomfortable, but given the situation, it wasn't like he was looking forward to eyes on him.

But then one thing changed, Drake made a gagging sound, the sparkle returned to Neil's eyes and the knife trembled in the grip.

“Know,” he said. “that the only thing keeping you alive is your ability to give me answers. If you look at it again, you miss it.” Andrew felt a shiver run up his spine at the knowledge that Drake's eyes were on him. Bile rose in his throat as he straightened his clothes and walked a little farther away. "On second thought, I should kill you. You would be the first one I would like to do this to, because you deserve your piece of shit. You deserve it for what you tried to do before and tried again today. You deserve it.” Neil's lips parted in a cruel, mocking smile. It wasn't like Nathan's, it was a tougher, more joyless version of that one. His own smile, his own anger, teeth bared in an expression contorted with so much self-loathing and hatred that it seemed to ooze like poison. "I should kill you, peel the skin from your body and salt the flesh and leave it on display as a warning to those who would harm Andrew. I wonder if Riko would like to get his face in a box as a reminder that he's next fucking next .

Andrew swallowed the rage in his throat and forced himself to dismiss the idea of Drake dead right then and there for something more urgent.

He had to get Neil out of there, had to calm him down.

Neil hated when he spoke like his father, he would never forgive himself for sounding that way.

“ Abram. ” He did. His voice came out hard, a little higher pitched than usual, but still steady enough that he was sure Neil would hear him. “It's not the place.”

“I know.” Neil said, still not looking at Andrew. It bothered him again, but there were more pressing things to deal with at the moment than the inconvenience of not being able to have his soul mate's eyes on him. Neil's hand pulled Drake's hair hard enough for the man to scream. “You're going to die, you can't help it. You are a dead man Drake Spear, you and anyone who helped you get here. Every fucking person that knew who you were on your way here and didn't stop you, they're all dead . You touched the only person in this world you shouldn't have and now you're a fucking corpse and it won't be quick and much less painless, you're going to suffer and when you think you've had enough, I'm going to make it hurt more. When I've gotten all the information I need from you, I'll hand Andrew a weapon so he can do the honors of ending your useless life.” He lifted Drake's head until it was level with his own, a trickle of blood running in a steady stream. “I hope you enjoy living in hell, you disgusting son of a bitch. It's going to be a fucking long stay.”

Then, with the hilt of the knife, Neil hit the back of Drake's head with a hard blow, causing the man's eyes to roll back in their sockets and he passed out.

Neil got up, still not looking at Andrew and walked towards the bed. He pulled back the sheets and deftly tore off long strips, coiling them until they resembled rope. Then he went back to Drake, tying his hands and feet and stuffing a ball of fabric into his mouth.

When he was satisfied, Neil turned to Andrew, his eyes still downcast as he walked towards him.

He could see the way Neil assessed his injuries, his eyes lingering on the cut across his chest and the swelling on his shoulder. Neil himself was also injured, his face and neck were covered in blood, some of it having got into his pupils in a way that stained the sclera. There was a long, ugly gash across his temple, where in the light Andrew could see some shards of glass. He lifted his good arm when Neil got close enough and gingerly touched the open skin, removing some of the shards of glass trapped in the crusts of blood. Neil closed his eyes and leaned his head into Andrew's hand for just a second, then opened them again and said:

“We need to fix your shoulder. The longer this is, the more the dislocation deteriorates.” He nodded, knowing they would have to do this sooner or later. It wouldn't be the first time Andrew had a dislocated limb, he knew how to deal with it. “Can I?” Neil asked, raising his hands but keeping his distance.

Andrew stared at them for a second, before deciding that he wasn't exactly comfortable, but that the harms of evading contact at that moment would be bad enough for him to accept the touch.

After all, it was Neil.

“Yes.”

His partner, as he always did, took his word for it and touched Andrew on the shoulder. It was hard to contain the shudder that came with the pain, having his bones in a position like that was never funny . It hurt like hell, but Andrew held still as Neil pressed his fingers into the flesh—just the fingertips, no nails, not the scratches on Andrew's back. Neil must have had those too, he probably knew — looking for where the biggest bump would be.

“Take a deep breath and let it out when I say it. If you want to scream, scream. Don't care who listens.” He spoke low and was just so careful, so Neil. He never told Andrew to bear it, not to make a sound. Andrew remembered all the times Neil had been beaten up for doing or talking out of turn, for showing he was human. It made sense, but it didn't stop Andrew from raging.

He took a deep breath, letting it out at Neil's signal, who at the same time began to slowly twist the bone, moving in a way that dragged the joints until they lined up again.

Andrew brought his free hand to his mouth and bit down to stop himself from screaming—as much as Neil gave him the go-ahead to do so, Andrew knew full well that the last thing they needed was to have to explain why the screaming was coming from a pastor's house on a Sunday afternoon.

When he felt his bones back where they belonged, Andrew saw Neil quickly make a makeshift sling out of more sheet scraps.

It didn't last long, his partner soon walked away, getting to his feet and taking a step back.

"Would you rather stay out of my conversation with Luther?"

His shoulder throbbed, his head throbbed, and honestly Andrew felt sick enough that he could throw up at any moment.

He kind of wanted to do it on Luther's feet.

"Are you going to kill him?" Because if so, there would be complications. Too many unanswered questions, questions they couldn't afford to raise.

“Not yet.” The answer came quickly, there was not even a trace of hesitation. “But sometime during the next year he's going to die.” The disgust on his features was probably the knowledge that he would have to leave Luther alone, at least for the time being. “Doesn't mean I won't teach him a lesson.”

Lessons, for Neil, it was broken fingers, black eyes and ripped hair. It was something he never let die when he lost Mary.

And Neil's lessons were saved only for those who hurt Andrew.

“I will go with you.” He said. Not because he didn't trust Neil, but because whatever was done, Andrew wanted to be there to see it.

Neil just nodded, offering his hand if Andrew needed help.

He looked at the offer but decided it could wait until they were both out of there.

Andrew just made Neil wait a second while he sent a text to Aaron, informing him that he should just drop Maria off here in about an hour and then go home — he didn't inform his brother that he and Neil would probably be staying at a hotel, he just assured Aaron that they were both fine.

It tasted like a lie.

It really didn't matter that much at the time.

They made their way in silence to where Aaron said he had arrested Luther, the upstairs bathroom. From the stories Nicky told, he was banned from using that one when he said he was gay and it ended up becoming Luther and Maria's personal bathroom, presumably the two not wanting Nicky to frequent and infect the same intimate environment as they did.

As Neil stopped in front of the door, hand outstretched for the doorknob as he shook with rage all over, Andrew considered how satisfying it would be if Neil killed him in that filthy space.

“You'd better open it.” He said after a few seconds, looking at his feet. Neil's expression was twisted, teeth clamping down on his lips in anger. “If I get in here before you do, there's nothing stopping me from killing him. My logic isn't working as well as it should.”

Andrew nodded, taking the lead to face Luther.

He knew from experience how rational Neil could be, but in equal measure he could be extremely emotional. There was never a middle ground, and the closest to when that happened was when Neil made decisions to protect Andrew.

The latter was a weakness. One that Neil knew and recognized a lot, very well.

One that Andrew only tolerated because he had nothing to do about it.

When he opened the door, he found Luther sitting on the floor. He looked composed for someone with bruises around his eye and jaw who looked like he was managing to keep his head up just by clinging to the toilet bowl.

Andrew looked at him and expected anger, expected revolt. Luther had willfully ignored Drake's police record and red-handed arrest solely out of a belief plucked straight from his ass. He had put a rapist in the same place as Neil and Aaron, he had sent Andrew to one of his greatest fears like a gift wrapped in red ribbon. Andrew wanted to feel anger, he wanted to feel hate enough that he could say fuck the consequences and then rip Luther's throat out with his fingernails.

But the only thing he felt was disgust.

And above all, tiredness. So tired it was hard to stand.

When the reverend first laid eyes on Andrew, his expression turned comically shocked.

"Andrew," he said, wonder in his voice. Andrew wondered how he seemed to cause such a reaction. Probably bad, if it was as bad as it felt. "In God's name, what happened to you?"

Behind him, Andrew could feel Neil tense. Anger making him shake even more.

“Curious question and answer even more dear uncle.” He spoke taking a step forward, but not getting close enough to stay within reach of the man. "That," He pointed to his face. “It has nothing to do with God. This is your fault and your actions.’ Andrew wasn't one to smile, even menacingly. That was very much Neil's thing, the thing of baring his teeths at a veiled threat of violence, he learned that as a child and never made a point of unlearning. Andrew learned that a cold, neutral expression was better for some people. Then no. He wasn't one to smile, but he made an exception this time. The sight of Luther cringing at that made it worth it.

"I don’t," he stammered. It was barely coherent and definitely very broken. Oh, it felt like someone put the puzzle pieces together. “I… I don’t…”

“You know, this all makes a lot more sense now.” Andrew said, letting the disgust he felt turn to poison and drip from every word. “The first orphanage I grew up in was also run by religious fanatics who didn't care if the kids were treated like shit if they still looked good. They also tried to send me to a house with a rapist, you know? You guys have that in common, even though you sent me straight to my room. Fuck foreplay, right?” He walked over to where Luther was standing, staring in horror at the damage Drake had done to him, probably also mortified by the fact that Neil was right behind Andrew, a twisted appearance that probably closely resembled the demons from the books of apocalypse. He really should, especially with the way that now, all of Neil's anger seemed to be being directed at him .“The difference is that before I didn't have to hold Neil down so he wouldn't kill anyone.”

It wasn't necessarily true, Neil wouldn't kill Luther, at least not now. Not with Andrew standing in front of her to divert her attention.

It was still good the way Luther paled.

“What happened?” he asked in a whisper.

Behind him, Neil made a disgusted sound that Andrew agreed with. There were also the sounds of locks being opened on what was probably the back door, the Hatford staff never failed to act quickly when it came to Neil.

“It happened what happens when you send unsuspecting people into the hands of abusers. Well, it almost happened. But not thanks to you.” The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs was loud, Luther's eyes widening at the second house. “We're moving this piece of shit out of your house. You're not going to tell Maria what happened, you're not going to talk to the police, you're not going to open your fucking mouth, do you understand?”

Pride was a funny thing, but added to arrogance, it was dangerous.

Luther's fear quickly turned to anger as he tried to get to his feet, bracing his legs against the flag, his face furious as he took a step forward.

— You can't threaten me. ”

Andrew looked him up and down, wondered if it was worth spending what little energy he had left on someone so pathetic and decided that no, it wasn't.

Then he took a step to the side.

“Neil.” 

And as if he'd read Andrew's thoughts, Neil walked quickly over to Luther, kicking him in the shins and bringing him to his knees. A knife at her throat and a hand lifting his head by his hair.

“Breathe wrong,” Neil said in a low voice. “or say anything that makes me angrier than I am right now and you bleed like a pig. Think carefully, because my patience is already at its limit.”

Luther didn't blink, but his Adam's apple twitched as he swallowed hard.

"Do you even know who I am?" He spoke. The threatening tone was almost as obvious and as present as the fear. The center of his head was covered in sweat, his thinning hair fanned out and plastered to his forehead. He looked terrified, but he didn't lower his head. Stupid to the core, Andrew would give it to him. "You can't do this to me I'm—"

Neil pulled the hair hard and squeezed the knife, cutting the skin just enough to sting.

“I know who you are. You think I wouldn't do some research? Luther Mason Hemmick, age fifty-one. Reverend of a large church. A prejudiced and petty idiot. Do your faithful know about your small fortune accumulated with all their efforts? I bet not.” Andrew looked at Neil. He wasn't surprised by the research, he was more surprised by the fact that he didn't shared The informations. "Your million-plus in a tax haven doesn't seem very in line with god's teachings, does it? Don't worry, I'll take care of it for you. I will not let a man so good suffer this temptation. What was the pass? Is it easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for rich people to enter the kingdom of God? Don't worry, Luther. I won't leave you to test the theory.”

In the hallway, Andrew could hear footsteps heading towards the bedroom, the door opening and some loud grunts coming along with the sound of something being dragged.

Andrew's skin prickled, still feeling the nails on his skin. His hanging shoulder burned, but somehow, the pain in his neck was the worst.

He wanted out, but he knew intimidation was an important part—probably the most important part in cases like this.

Luther wasn't going to die, not yet, so Neil had to make sure he didn't open his fucking mouth. Which would be difficult, considering the look of contempt on the man's face.

Terrified, yes. But no less proud.

Neil probably saw it too.

“Here's what we'll do. You're going to tell your lovely wife we had a little disagreement, you're not going to go to the police, and you're not going to contact Nicky or Aaron ever again.” Neil put down the knife and hair, crouching low so he was face to face with Luther. “You'll forget you ever came in contact with Drake Spear, you'll forget you have a family, you'll forget all of this. You will live up to your insignificance, or I will come here and kill you.”

Luther's eyes widened and he didn't dare move, but he still had the nerve — or stupidity — enough to speak:

“I feel sorry for you. You, no… your soul has no salvation.” Neil screwed up his face, an ugly, bruised thing, but murderous enough for Andrew to see the danger.

And then, just as quickly as it arrived, it was gone.

“That's where you're wrong, Luther. My soul is the only part of me that deserves saving.” He got up. "Perhaps I should show you this. Now, don’t move.” Neil walked past Andrew and opened the door, saying softly in Russian without looking at him, "I'll have him brought in. If you don't want to see this, leave.” But Andrew shook his head. The image of Drake as he was didn't affect him beyond a small surge of satisfaction at seeing the fucker in pain. Neil nodded, taking his word for it. "Bring the garbage in."

He then left the door open but returned to where he was before. The cold gaze and tense expression that seemed to have been hewn from stone.

Andrew remembered little Neil, an eight-year-old, standing in front of DiMccio and facing him with a knife and getting kicked in the stomach over and over again. He always carried that same look and expression, Andrew could almost see them overlapping.

Stuart's men entered, they carried Drake's limp and now handcuffed body. The man looked a little bloodier than when they'd left him.

Good

“You said I don't know you, that I don't know who you are. Let me tell you, the same goes for you.” Neil didn't turn around, didn't raise his voice. His tone remained bland, expression remained cool. “My name is not what you should fear, but the power I wield. And Luther, I have all the power here.” He shook his head a little, looking over his shoulder. “You, on the right. Give me a name I can use.”

The answer came immediately. A subordinate receiving an order from someone high up in Hatford.

"Jacob, sir."

“Jacob.” Neil looked at Drake for just a second and then turned back to Luther. "Break his left leg." There was no hesitation. Jacob lifted his foot and stepped right into the crook of Drake's knee, a screeching sound crack wet and sickly echoed off the walls and the scream that followed was muffled only by the ball of fabric Neil had shoved into Drake's mouth earlier. “Good. Now the right arm.” Other crack and another scream, tears welled up in Drake's eyes and Andrew looked at them with great satisfaction. “Cut off two of his fingers.” And it was done. Neil gave a few orders, nothing that would threaten Drake's life, but things that caused enough pain that Luther grew increasingly pale. When he was satisfied, Neil looked the man up and down. "Are you going to do as I say?"  Slowly, Luther nodded. "Tell me exactly what you're going to do, swear.”

“I won't look for the police. I'll tell Maria it was just a little misunderstanding. I won't remember that I have any family, I'll live like the insignificant person that I am.”  Luther’s voice was cracked, like he was about to cry. Luther looked ready to start begging. It was pretty pathetic. It suited him. “I swear to God.”

Neil considered him for a few seconds before nodding and turning away, turning his back on Luther and facing the mess the bathroom had become.

There were fingers on the floor, nails, blood and skin. Neil didn't even blink at that, just waved at Jacob, who pulled Drake out the same instant he was dismissed. Neil turned to Andrew and said in a soft, caring voice that was at odds with everything his soul mate had been doing in the last few minutes:

“Can we go?”

Andrew didn't hesitate to agree, he needed a shower, he needed to lie down and he needed to be alone with Neil.

He needed that day not to have happened, but as long as he couldn't figure out how to turn back time, Andrew would be content to stay away from that house for the rest of his life.

— 

When Andrew got out of the shower, his skin was bright red from all the scrubbing. He can't say he wasn't careful washing the wounds, because he was—not for himself, for Neil. To diminish as much as possible the memory of what had happened.

When he came out of the bathroom, Andrew avoided looking at himself in the mirror, even though it was foggy from the cloud of steam. He dressed meticulously, in large, comfortable clothes—a pair of sweatpants and Neil's frayed gray shirt—and stepped out to face his partner.

Neil was sitting on the left end of the bed, his knees pulled up to his chest and his eyes fixed on the white sheets. He hadn't showered yet, but I could tell he'd wiped off the excess blood somewhere, probably in the sink.

Andrew approached him in slow steps, assessing the condition of the skin on his temple. It was red and swollen, but clean and if they kept it that way, the chances of a scar were slim.

It wasn't the physique that worried Andrew, anyway.

Neil was small, picked into a corner, not taking up any space on the bed as his own. The eyes were sad, not empty like before, just…sad.

He still wouldn't look at Andrew.

Getting close to your boyfriend was never difficult, it was like a magnet, like coming home and this time was no different. Andrew reached over and cupped Neil's face in his hands, gently pulling him up.

It was when his partner closed his eyes that he understood, Neil couldn't look at him, or maybe he didn't want to.

“Why don't you look at me?” His jaw clenched, his eyes twitching under their lids. “You are mad? Neil,” He pinched his cheeks together. “ Neil, look at me. I can apologize if you want, but look at me.”

Do not hide

Do not leave me

Do not go away

Stay

Stay

Stay

Blue received it.

Neil's eye color had a tendency to get more intense when he cried, the already light blue becoming even clearer.

Tears greeted him, rolling down his partner's cheeks.

“Don’t you dare. You didn't do anything, none of this is your fault, don't you dare, Andrew. Don’t”

He knew it.

"Then tell me what you want me to do to get you to look at me again. I'll do it. You know it. Anything.”

“Fuck you, Andrew. You were scared . ” Andrew squeezed a little harder, Neil's face leaned into his hands, but then he pulled away. Andrew gathered his hands to himself and watched as Neil shrank even further. His partner looked down, his face drawn and sad. So sad. Andrew hated seeing him like this. He hated even more knowing that the cause was probably a guilt that wasn't even his to bear. “I don't want you to be afraid of me, I never wanted to. That I couldn't bear, Andrew. Never . And you were scared, you looked scared. And you were looking at me , you were scared of me .” He whispered softly.

And Andrew, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't explain.

It was irrational, he was attacked and he was in pain and in defense mode. He saw Neil, the furious eyes, promises of blood and violence and then that hand outstretched for him and Andrew just forgot that the blue didn't belong to Nathan. 

It could be Neil's fear, it could be the bogeyman of Neil, but Andrew had seen Nathan enough times that his presence was present in his nightmares as well.

He was afraid, but not of Neil.

And Andrew didn't know how to explain . 

“What happened,” I said then. “It wasn't your fault.”

Neil stared at him, the sadness giving way to an inward-turned, self-directed anger.

“It’s not? Because I was the one who pressured Riko, I was the one who badgered him into snapping and coming after me. I pushed him and now,” Finally Neil looked at him. Not for his cheeks, nose or eyelids. Neil looked at him. “You get hurt. He was supposed to come after me, but it was you who paid for my recklessness.”

Andrew shrugged. That's how their lives worked, change never took effect. Andrew did not expect to come out of this year unscathed.

“It doesn't matter.”

"Don't say it didn’t matter. Because it matters, I should protect you and put you directly in front of Riko's target.”

Andrew rolled his eyes.

“Don't come with that shit. I set myself up for Riko's target long before you even considered coming here.” Andrew moved closer to the bed, his hands itching to touch. "And that goes for you as much as it does for me. I should protect you too . You don't carry everything on your shoulders, Neil. I'll take care of you too, in case you forgot. And I've said it before and I'll say it again, it's worth getting hurt if it's for you, so no. I. Don’t. Care.

Neil shook his head, his face contorting into a confused, anguished expression. He got up, moving away from the bed — away from Andrew — in long steps backwards.

“But you should!” Neil didn't yell. He didn't yell because he wasn't yelling at Andrew, but that was about it. There was desperation in his voice and in the tears on his face. There was dread in every way he carried himself. “You were almost raped, Andrew! And you can't say it wasn't partly my fault because you don't lie and that would be a fucking lie.”

Andrew clenched his jaw, furious that Neil was right.

“Your hero complex is really annoying sometimes.”

“You don't like that I'm right. But I am and the reality is it's always you getting hurt for me. And guess what? It's impossible not to blame myself in situations like this. It's impossible not to blame myself for knowing that I can't offer you more than pain. It's been like this since we were kids, you suffer for me and I turn to you when I have to lick my wounds. And it sucks to know that the only thing I can ever offer, that my only birth inheritance is death ; be it my own or the people I—” Neil cut himself off abruptly. Andrew knew what he meant, half expected him to break his promise. He would even forgive him in that moment, anything to take that despair and self-loathing off Neil's face. But that wasn't how Neil was, no. He didn't break his promises, at least not the ones he made to Andrew. “That I care about .” He spat, as if the word hurt him. "Always seems like all I have to give."

Having the memory that Andrew had most often meant bad things. Of course, there were exceptions, there always were — but the overwhelming majority of the time, it was bad.

So Andrew wasn't exaggerating when he said he knew every one of Neil's injuries, that he had a topography in his mind mapping out every overlapping injury, every gnarled scar, every dislocation, every bump, every bit of broken or irritated skin. If Andrew were to paint them on a chart, Neil would be all over in red.

Neil would be in red, black and blue — which are the colors Mary left him with after calling the police to save Andrew. Which were the colors his father's people left him when Neil had to hold his stomach with both arms to stop himself from throwing up after another kick in the belly, all because he was trying to be strong to protect Andrew. They were the colors that Andrew himself painted on his skin when he caught one and another and another and one more time without rest as he moved from house to house, orphanage to orphanage.

He knew how his soulmate thought, he knew the way he was trained to never think of himself and always think of others—not altruistically, but as if he had an obligation to erase his own feelings and needs and make himself so small that its presence didn't even matter in the grand scale of things.

Little machine boy Nathaniel Wesninski still managed to pierce through the veil of the past and wrap himself around the throat of real boy Neil Josten.

Andrew got up and went after Neil, catching him by the shoulders. He had to fight the sudden urge to shake Neil to see if the idea that he was worth less than shit would get out of his head with the sudden movement.

“You think I don't know?” His throat was dry and his heart was racing. Everything hurt, his very existence hurt. Neil didn't deserve any of this, none of them did. But sometimes it took one of them to be cruel, to touch where it hurt for the other to realize he was being stupid. Andrew would never hurt Neil, but he also wouldn't let Neil push him away, rip himself to shreds. "That I don't know why you worked so hard in the lessons? Why did you go on without complaining? Why not just give up? You think I don't know why you never let Mary have her way? That you'd be quiet and she'd take care of everything? You think I don't know that you hate blood and still bathe in that shit whenever you feel like it? It's for me . If it weren't for me you would have already let yourself give up by now, you would have accepted the death knells that I know are ringing in your head, because guess what? They play mine too. We exist to hurt each other and honestly, Neil, I don't care . Because it's worth it, feeling this pain is worth it because it's you, you colossal, stupid fucking idiot. It's you , and we can go on hurting each other for the rest of our lives and I'll still take each injury with a fucking smile on my face if I have to because we have something good, something I adore and something I wouldn't give up for anything .” Andrew took a deep breath, Neil's eyes on his, bright blue full of grief, tears flowing. Neil once told him he lost the ability to cry for a while, Andrew never asked why. He wondered now if he should. “Don't say we're not worth it because you know it's not true. Don't lie to yourself, don't lie to me .”

Neil stared at him for a few seconds in silence and then collapsed.

Andrew barely held him, wrapping his arms around him, keeping him strong as his partner buried his face in his neck and sobbed loudly.

His soulmate's hands gripped the back of Andrew's shirt, and he somehow wrapped his arms around Neil's knees and shoulders, lifting him and carrying him to the bed, where he held him and allowed Neil to cry all he wanted. 

There were long minutes of sobbing and the feeling of his shirt getting wetter, but it gradually subsided to just heavy, shuddering sighs.

Neil's head was still on Andrew's chest when he spoke again, his voice hoarse and worn from crying and exhaustion.

"Do you think God hates us?" His brows furrow, brow furrowing. It was a curious question, but almost entirely meaningless.

"I thought you didn't believe in God." He replied, bringing his partner closer. As if he could take the fear out of his own body and Neil's by melding them together as one.

“I don’t. But I was thinking about what Luther said. About… about my soul not having salvation. And it's so false , because you are my soul, and I feel like I can be saved by that. And I don't believe this bullshit, but I have you now. And things aren't easy, sometimes it's hard to live in my own head, but I have you, and...” Neil rubbed his nose against Andrew's chest, probably smelling him. He was being careful not to touch her injured shoulder, gentle in his touch, caring in a way that for Andrew, only Neil could be. “To me, you are the only reason that would lead me to accept something like this as real.”

Andrew didn't roll his eyes, but it was pretty damn close. At times, Neil was the epitome of cliché, with lines and attitudes that seemed straight out of a children's best seller of magic about young people in love who only find peace in each other when the rest of the world turns its back on them.

It wasn't bad, far from it. Andrew liked that, a lot. But sometimes it was too much.

It made it hard to keep his heart in check and words he couldn't say off his tongue.

He pinched it, but it had no effect. Then he sighed and kissed his hair.

That made Neil lift his head, staring at him with wide, confused, puffy blue eyes.

"We have to give you a bath." He poked. “Come on.”

"Are you saying I stink? How cruel, Andrew.”

Now, he rolled his eyes.

Sure, Neil smelled like dried blood and a little sweat, the blood in his hair was quite noticeable, but none of that really bothered Andrew.

It was the tension.

“I'm saying your shoulders feel like they're made of stone and a little hot water might help with that. Come on, I'll help.”

For a second, Neil stopped breathing. Andrew knew why.

He was assaulted. There were hands on him, violent touches he never wanted, the desperation that this time he couldn't get away and then he would still have to see the same thing done to Neil.

Andrew knew that Neil didn't want to invade his personal space, he knew that he would stay away as long as Andrew needed to.

Turns out he's had distance for nearly thirteen years, Andrew knew all too well what it was like to rely on Neil's distant support to lick his own wounds as they healed.

He pulled him closer, his nose touching Neil's.

“Neil.” It was almost imperceptible the way his soulmate shrank, but Andrew saw it. He always did. “Hey.”

“You can have space if you want." he whispered, his warm breath tickling his cheek. “I have no problem waiting.”

Andrew ran a hand through the mess of red curls. They were still soft even with the roughness of dried blood.

He whispered a request, which was granted without the slightest hesitation.

Andrew kissed Neil the way he liked at times like that. Slow, hot, and deep—a rather poor way of getting everything he felt past his lips.

His nails in his partner's scalp and one hand on the back of his neck pulling him closer, never pushing away.

Andrew was fed up with being away.

He never wanted to be away from Neil, on the contrary. Proximity means protection, security.

Home. 

Neil meant home . 

— 

Stuart became more involved after that.

Andrew knew it was concern not just for his nephew, but for himself as well. He'd been furious when he'd come all the way from England, a wrinkled suit and deep circles under his eyes, to take it upon himself to take Drake to the Hatford lair. Andrew expected it to be an uncomfortable journey.

There was more, of course. Stuart also gave Andrew and Neil the exact date when Fleur's younger brother's safety would be at its lowest—it would be winter break, right around New Year's. If they wanted to succeed, it would be on that date.

Andrew could tell that Neil didn't like the idea of him being involved, but that he kept quiet about it for the sake of their plan. It was similar to how Andrew felt about Neil eventually having to go to Evermore—the difference being that the only likely major harm Andrew would suffer could be from a firearm. Neil would be sent to Riko .  

Things went on… smoothly, in a way.

Riko hadn't made a move after sending Drake to Andrew, but he hadn't stopped his jabbing at each of the foxes every few interviews.

Andrew supposed that since there weren't severe repercussions regarding his latest strategy, he was probably up to something bigger and worse.

But as a result of Riko's lack of real action, the foxes, Andrew and Neil could actually have some peace.

Thanksgiving—the real one this time—came and went in the blink of an eye.

Andrew memorized it.

He had a few experiences about Thanksgiving dinner a few times growing up, but living with Nicky each and every holiday was celebrated with zeal. But this was probably the first Thanksgiving Neil had spent surrounded by people who didn't want to see him hurt and it was good . 

Neil's reaction to receiving the bowl full of mashed potatoes staring at it as if the container might tell him what to do after that, the way he turned up his nose at the idea of putting cranberry sauce in the same space as his slice turkey breast, as if the idea were too abominable to contemplate.

The way Neil looked at him silently when Abby told everyone to think of something to be thankful for that year and then handed Andrew his slice of pecan pie after seeing that he was already halfway through his own.

Everything was so quiet and mundane that Andrew sort of stayed the entire time waiting for some crazy mobster to storm the place with a machine gun firing in the air and screaming that their time was up.

None of that happened.

Andrew could clearly see his thread to Neil—it was a no-brainer on Neil's part when Andrew asked if he was going to stay on the medication after the attack—and they were talking more than ever. Andrew didn't have to admit that he'd missed his voice in his head, even the static, but he would if Neil asked.

The games also went well. Andrew had to take it easy for a while because of the untreated dislocation, but as the games weren't really challenging, it didn't make that much of a difference.

Oh yeah, and Aaron. That had changed a bit too.

"Your boyfriend is an fucking idiot , Andrew.” his brother said walking into their dorm without saying hello or even knocking.

Aaron had become much more present. Much more protective of the two of them — he even kept an eye on Neil for Andrew when he went out with one of the upperclassmen. All with the pretense of appeasing Andrew's unhealthy curiosity, of course.

Aaron would probably eat his arm before saying he was scared of the idea of someone trying to hurt Neil like they tried to hurt Andrew—because they were brothers and they had come to the same conclusion. Neil was great at protecting them, but who was protecting him? — and that he was standing guard.

Andrew cocked an eyebrow, closing the refrigerator door after checking a third time to see if any edible ice cream had magically appeared there—the espresso flavor Neil liked was disgusting—and leaned right there, arms crossed over his chest.

“Well, I know. That's what I liked about him in the first place. But what did he do now?”

Aaron grunted, walking over to the counter and taking a seat. Andrew opened the fridge again and this time he actually got the ice cream and a spoon. He joined Aaron at the counter and handed him the revolting tub of bittersweet ice cream.

Aaron didn't thank him, but bumped his shoulder against his as he opened Neil's ice cream container and took a spoonful.

His brother's and Neil's taste in desserts were so similar, it was a threat, Andrew should never have introduced them.

“The others are desperately trying to cram in all the pop culture that Neil seems to have lost by living under a rock for the last ten years." he said, his mouth full of ice cream. “I kind of don't blame Neil, if I was on the run from my psycho dad and an entire empire of three different types of mafia, I wouldn't be worried about Christina Aguilera's latest hits either. Hey, that shit is good, where did you get that flavor?”

Andrew snorted but didn't say anything. It was somewhat reassuring how his brother just… accepted all his and Neil's cargo. Abusive foster homes, literal torture, murders, mafia, everything.

Aaron looked at Andrew and saw a brother he always wanted.

“Ask Neil. He probably brought it from the same hellhole he got all the candy he eats from.”

His brother looked at the ice cream pointedly, as if wondering if he should go back to eating it knowing now that it was Neil's, because apparently having Neil's taste in sweets was just too revolting. Then he shrugged and took another spoonful.

"I think he made Marissa cry." He hummed with the spoon in his mouth. “You know, if you're trying to turn him into a real person, I think you should start by working on his tact. It sucks.”

Andrew's brow rose and he took the tub of ice cream from his brother's hand, taking a spoon and crinkling his nose at the taste. He took another.

“Who the hell is Marissa?”

“The cheerleader?” Andrew shook his head. “Katelyn's friend?” Andrew ate another spoonful. He handed the ice cream back to Aaron, who snorted. “The blonde who cheers for Neil louder than any other Vixen.”

Oh that girl

Andrew had noticed, she was about Allison's height, with green eyes and waist-length wavy golden hair. She was very obviously smitten with Neil—who knows why—and her voice was pretty loud when it came to screaming the vixen war anthems in every match.

Andrew also noticed every time she tried to somehow flirt with Neil and ended up being ignored, the woman's perseverance was something to note, to say the least.

“Right. What did he do?”

"Aaron said you were making girls cry"

"Me what?"

"The Cheerleader"

"There are a lot of those around here"

“We were all having breakfast and she kept trying to get him to talk to her. The whole time Neil was looking out the window or playing with his food, but when they decided to leave, she touched him on the arm and offered him her number.” Aaron grunted, his nose crinkling as if the memory image was disgusting. “He asked what for, and when she said it was to get to know each other better, Neil said he wouldn't call her and that he didn't interact with anyone outside of the foxes.” His brother sighed, looking down at the half-melted ice cream in his lap. "And what's worse, she probably thought it made him even more attractive, because she said if he changed his mind, he knew where to find her."

Andrew, not as surreptitiously as he would have liked, turned away and stifled a laugh.

"You were with her at a diner apparently"

"Oh, Marissa. Why would she cry?"

"You rejected her, idiot"

"Wait, was she flirting? Was that flirting?"

"You think that's funny!" Aaron said, sounding equally amazed and irritated. But then he stopped for a second, rolled his eyes and muttered, “Why am I shocked by this? Of course you think it's funny.”

"I guess I'm a little pity"

"Fuck you"

"No, really. I know how long it took you to notice my flirtations too"

"Again, fuck you. I knew it before you did, asshole"

Andrew didn't argue with that, because it was the painful truth that, unfortunately, Neil deserved the credit.

It took a lot of pain for Neil to realize, Andrew would never take that away from him, no matter how much he wanted to.

He just shrugged—mentally to Neil and physically to Aaron.

“So where did they go when Neil got tired of breaking cheerleader hearts?”

Aaron mimicked his movement, his shoulders slumping in the same way as Andrew's.

“An ice cream shop. They're trying to find some ice cream dessert that doesn't make Neil want to throw up.”

"Bring me cookie dough ice cream with extra caramel"

"Disgusting. I already bought it"

Andrew didn't suppress his smug smile, his brother's presence was welcome, he didn't have to keep his mask on him.

“Good to know.”

"You're going to order something, aren't you?"

“I have to leverage my boyfriend's money somehow.”

Aaron frowned.

“Fuck, it's always weird to remember that you're rich.”

“ Neil Is rich.”

“And he'd put it all in your name if you asked, jerk. Don't think it's not your money because you know it's not true.” Andrew rolled his eyes and stole back the ice cream. He was about to take a spoonful when Aaron spoke again, "Speaking of money, do you have any plans for what to do for the holidays? We could travel, the four of us. We left Kevin and Nicky with someone else and—”

Andrew put the spoon down, his tongue bitter enough without any help.

Aaron was making plans for them. Like a double date trip. It was so clichéd that it sounded ridiculous just thinking about it, but Andrew kind of… liked it.

He liked knowing that Aaron wanted him close, that he wanted him close to the family he was going to build for himself.

It also made Andrew realize that the time was coming. Soon he would have to leave to retrieve Fleur's younger brother and, to be honest, he was scared. Andrew wouldn't admit it to Neil, he would barely admit it to himself. It wasn't even the mission that scared him, it was being far away, unreachable.

He knew Aaron could defend himself and Neil could defend them all, but…

'I'll have to travel to meet Stuart for the holidays.” he spoke, his voice calm in contrast to how quick and sharp his brother's gaze was. "We’ll try to catch the youngest Moreau."

Aaron didn't know what the plan was about as a whole, but he knew parts.

He knew that Neil's survival depended on Ichirou acquiring a debt that could only be paid off with a life.

He didn't say anything, just sighed and walked closer.

Aaron leaned into his shoulder, leaning in as he supported him.

Things were going to get tough, but for now, Andrew wouldn't be stupid enough not to enjoy the peace he could have. It's been years learning to fear the worst while trying to live the best.

"Bring brownies too"

"Absolutely disgusting. I'll take ten"

Things would get worse and that was just how it always worked. Winter dinner would be here soon, Neil would have to come face-to-face with Riko once more, and Andrew would somehow have to manage to contain him so Neil didn't end up sticking a knife in Riko's left eye.

Not that it wasn't a tempting idea, and as much as Andrew hated holding back and being restrained...

He wanted Neil alive. That wouldn't happen if Riko was killed, not with the attention it would attract, not even Ichirou could save him like that.

Andrew sighed and leaned back against his brother, who didn't move, just let him have that support for a moment.

He was afraid. Andrew was always scared.

The plan sucked, it was going to hurt, but it was the only option they had. They had to save Neil, needed.

Andrew didn't know if he would survive if he lost him.

He probably doesn't.

☽✴☾

Andrew looked anxious.

Of course, Neil didn't blame him for that. It was prom night, the year was almost over, more than half the time Neil had promised him had already run out.

The dark clothes, bulletproof vest, and ear communicator were really good reminders that Andrew wasn't there. Stuart had told them that everything would be ready soon, but it was still surprising when, at the end of the games, one of the Hatford men came up to them during one of their sparring sessions and said that everything was ready, that Andrew should go now.

Neil felt his heart drop at that moment, he thought there would be more time, that he would just have to say goodbye after dinner.

"I smell burning. Are you thinking again?"

Oh yeah. Back to the old times.

Neil rolled his eyes, fiddling with his clothes. He wanted to wear the same suit as last time, but apparently Andrew and Stuart had entered into some sort of truce when it came to his clothes.

The consensus was: no.

Neil couldn't wear the same expensive outfit to a different event. Neil couldn't wear his old clothes from when he was on the run. Neil couldn't buy cheap clothes just because they were cheap.

Stuart did this because he wanted Neil to have nice things that belonged to him—Andrew did this because he liked using Neil as a dress-up doll and apparently hated that his boyfriend looked like a beggar.

"Just getting ready"

Andrew walked across the room and sat next to Neil on the bed. It was nostalgic to feel Andrew touch without actually feeling the touch.

It wasn't like feeling the static in her mind, the constant proof that Andrew was there—feeling Andrew untouched was just… lonely.

He never realized it growing up because he had nothing to compare it to, but now? Neil missed the warmth. I missed the calluses on Andrew's hands, the soft touch, and his slightly long fingernails.

He missed the kiss, the hug and the smell.

Andrew had only been gone a week, but Neil felt like it had been years.

"Neil" He lifted his head at the intonation. In fact, I hadn't even realized I'd lowered it to be honest.

It was a bad day.

Neil felt like he was having a bad day.

"Sorry. My head isn't working right"

"Don't apologize for something you can't control" Andrew came closer. "Talk to me. That's how it works with us"

He bit his lip and lay back on the bed, it was awkward when Andrew lay down next to him. The bed didn't sag, the sheets didn't move, the springs didn't make a sound.

Andrew was not there.

He wasn't there and Neil missed him like he was a severed limb.

"It's nothing. Just longing" He turned, meeting Andrew's eyes as he did the same. "A murderer's son's greatest weakness. You"

"Sorry?"

Neil rolled his eyes and smiled, wishing he could touch his forehead to Andrew's and breathe the same air he did.

"Never apologize for existing. You're everything I've ever wanted"

Andrew's eyes were golden today, the green barely noticeable and the brown lit to the point of honey.

Neil loved those eyes. That nose, the eyebrows, the freckles, the slightly crooked piercings, the chipped canine and the slightly out of place dimples.

Andrew was all small details that Neil captured and burned into his memory.

From the mole on the hip to the acne scar on the forehead or the wispy blond beard.

Everything, Neil loved all of it. I wanted it all.

"Am I your wish for the blue star, Pinocchio? Wouldn't you rather be a real boy?"

Neil smiled when Andrew's hand hovered over his cheek. He felt it, but no. It was like before.

There, but not quite. A touch that was present but could not be felt. Like a phantom pain.

"You make me want to be real. I don't want more than that"

And for a second, Neil saw Andrew's eyes taking on a strange glint in their eyes.

For a second, Neil felt him there.

— 

As if the universe was trying to catch up with him for the last few terrible events — not having Andrew present was definitely getting the worst of him, Neil could barely sleep, and when he did it was only in hopes of meeting him in his dreams — and the winter feast would take place at night.

That meant the foxes could sleep after the party—which Neil was dragged off by Allison—before the long seven hour bus ride to Breckenridge.

Neil didn't sleep the whole trip, he kept himself busy making sketches in his notebook. When they finally arrived he had already drawn landscapes, constellations and had about 3 new simple sketches of each fox and two very complex ones of Andrew.

They were the last to arrive at the stadium, the atmosphere deadly tense and silent for the last thirty minutes of the journey.

The foxes knew that today would be dangerous, especially now that they all knew what Riko would do to them without hesitation if they gave him the slightest of loopholes. Kevin looked panicked, Nicky looked kind of green, and Aaron barely left Katelyn's side the entire time.

Neil was keeping an eye on them, his thoughts racing as he filled Andrew in on what was happening. He really hoped that everything would go smoothly, but there were no guarantees. Riko would attack, Neil didn't know where or at what time, but he knew.

Neil beating him was a lot of provocation.

Of course, neither he nor Andrew considered Drake's attack a victory, not when Andrew was having trouble sleeping and was spending even more time pulling away from the touch of everyone other than Neil. The fallout was bad, no matter how much Andrew said it could have been worse.

The fact that Drake was easy to talk to must also be a sore spot in Riko's fragile ego, it was barely an hour before Drake spilled the beans and told them everything he knew.

Of course, that hasn't changed anything. Neil promised him months of torture and Stuart was more than happy to keep his promise.

All of that, added to the fact that the foxes really were playing well and united even after the loss of Seth, should probably be making him angry. Furious.

Neil would take advantage of that.

"Static"

"Am I forbidden to think?" He scoffed, knowing Andrew wouldn't take the tone seriously.  

"Yes. Absolutely. You do stupid things when you think"

"I thought I was doing stupid things when I wasn't thinking"

"Your life is a compilation of bad decisions"

"So nice the way you talk about yourself"

Neil waited for an answer that didn't come, he knew very well how to render his boyfriend speechless when necessary, thank you very much.

And embarrassing Andrew by reminding him he was dear to Neil was always necessary.

Wymack shooed the foxes and their companions out of the bus, locking it behind them. When he turned around once more, he snapped his fingers at Kevin, getting his attention.

“Look at me.” Kevin dragged his blank, half-terrified gaze to Wymack, who gestured between Neil and Matt. "Do you see these two? If I notice you aren't at least five meters away from them, I won't let you play a single goddamn game this spring. Do you understand me? They will be your shield. Use them. Use me if you need it. Now, say yes, coach”

“Uh, right.” Kevin said.

“Animator.” Wymack said, expression weary.

"Don't worry, man," Matt reassured. “He won't be able to do anything with so many witnesses.”

Neil didn't open his mouth to remind them that it didn't matter to Riko, but unfortunately, Allison did:

“At the last dance he got through to Neil.” And by some miracle, everyone decided to ignore her, Renee just patting her gently on the shoulder.

Kevin, however, looked at Neil.

Neil, who met his gaze without hesitation and didn't let any nervousness show on his face.

Kevin knew who he was, what he would do to keep him safe.

Apparently that was enough for the hour.

They retrieved their clothes from the luggage rack and followed a security guard inside. Neil changed quickly in one of the bathroom stalls and inspected his reflection afterwards.

He didn't have Andrew to fix his hair this time, so it was a little messier than before, but that was good enough.

Neil looked like the portrait of his father that hung above the fireplace in the old Baltimore mansion. The light gray suit, navy blue tie and white shirt.

It was like seeing a portrait of Nathan as a young man, ready to take over an empire of blood and death.

He looked away, the blue being too much to take in without his stomach twisting at the image.

"I look like my father"

It barely took a second before Andrew's image appeared before him. The face was tense, but not neutral. He looked nervous, angry. His brow was furrowed in a way that Neil liked to squeeze to undo the lines.

He lifted his hand on impulse, only to drop it when he felt that emptiness in his chest that reminded him Andrew wasn't really there.

"Do not be stupid"

"I thought we already talked about this"

"Neil"

He swallowed hard, looking away.

"It's difficult. I'm afraid of him"

Andrew approached, he didn't try to touch, probably because of Neil's reaction.

"I know, me too"

And Neil knew it. That Andrew was afraid of Nathan.

Of course, it would be weird if he didn't. Andrew was forced to see horrible things because of Nathan, all to be with Neil through the worst of times. Andrew knew what it was like to see a person being kept alive while ripped open and agonizing over hours only because Nathan wanted to teach Neil personally how to prolong someone's suffering.

They were children and they were afraid of the bad man with a cleaver in his hand, knife playing between his fingers and a crooked white and pointed smile on his face, all accompanied by blue eyes that seemed to be of someone without a soul.

Andrew was also afraid of his father.

This was proof that Neil was not  like him.

Neil didn't scare Andrew.

…not like that, at least.

"I am not my father"

"Glad we clarified"

"Sorry. Thoughts are kind of hard to control"

Andrew finally lifted his hand, letting it hover beside his cheek and then smiled.

A beautiful, sad smile, one that reached his eyes.

"Call me if you need me. I can't stay all the time, soon we'll leave too. But call me, I'll hide and find you if I have to. I'll be here"

Neil didn't answer, he probably didn't need to either.

Andrew disappeared as soon as he nodded.

Neil exited the cabin and found Kevin waiting for him. His friend's suit was similar to that of the previous event, but his expression didn't seem to be the same.

He was still scared, it was visible, but he didn't look like he was going to run away any second.

Kevin looked firmer.

“I will protect you.” Neil said, even though he knew he didn't have to. Kevin swallowed but nodded.

"I'll do what I can for you too."

He smiled, but didn't retort that he didn't need help.

Kevin offering was enough.

“Let's go.”

The stadium had been decorated for Christmas. Poinsettias graced the walls everywhere and a huge tree was in the corner. Neil assumed it was fake, because there was no way he could have gotten a tree that size through the door unless they brought it in pieces. The thick carpet ensured it didn't scratch the stadium floor, and small gifts were piled underneath it. Neil wondered, for a moment, if they were fake too or if they were gifts for Jackals to gift each other temporarily borrowed for decoration.

He decided he didn't care enough to find out.

Whoever arranged the seats was smart enough to keep the Foxes and Ravens away from each other this time, which was just as well, as Neil was hoping to at least get some rest before he had to start a fight.

Not if, but when.

Fights would be inevitable. They were kind of the goal, actually.

The Foxes sat across from the Wilkes-Meyers Wasps and Neil ended up between Renee and Kevin.

The Foxes and Wasps hadn't seen each other since the end of September, so Neil half expected a certain amount of aggression once the Foxes won that game — but with the season over, the Wasps were relaxed and boisterous. An ordinary team, one that didn't get involved with mob and assassin issues.

It was a little sad that it was so intriguing.

After all the teams arrived, it was Tetsuji who tapped on a wireless microphone to get everyone's attention. Someone cut off the upbeat Christmas music and Tetsuji surveyed the teams present with a stern expression. Neil remained motionless, except for the hand that gripped Kevin's knee, reminding him of his presence there.

“The season rankings have been set.” he said, without introduction or inflection.

This was old news — the instructors and coaches had been racking up points all season — but everyone perked up to hear it anyway.

Tetsuji was a monster, but not many knew that.

— The following four teams qualified to represent the Southeast District in the Spring Championship. I'll list them in rank order, first through fourth. Edgar Allan, Palmetto State, Breckenridge, Belmonte.

He passed the microphone to a more pleasant Coach who offered enthusiastic congratulations and seasonal greetings. One of the Wasps didn't wait for him to finish, but leaned across the table and gestured to Kevin and Neil.

“How the hell did you two get over the Breckenridges?”

“We're not the only players on the team.” Neil replied, his tone hard.

The look Wasp gave him said she wasn't impressed with that modesty, but the way he didn't speak back probably said he didn't want to pick a fight.

Neil shrugged his shoulders and let it go — he understood the skepticism, but stood by his words and wouldn't let anyone say otherwise.

Technically, since Palmetto State beat the Jackals in the first game in August, they got a head start.

It wasn't easy, the Jackals were a team without many scruples that didn't care a bit about the rules or physical condition of the opponent. They were like the Ravens in many ways, at least in how despicable they were.

Neil kind of hung up after that.

He watched the couples, the players, the coaches.

Neil just… stood there. He wasn't amused, but it was interesting the way he cheered when he saw Allison pull Renee onto the dance floor and how Aaron and Katelyn retreated into their own private world.

Kevin seemed a little calmer, but that wasn't enough reason for Neil to let his guard down. Instead, he just kept an eye out for any Raven that might show up there while the Foxes were distracted.

It was kind of nice the way Dan and Matt insisted on staying, trying futilely to hide their intentions to keep an eye on both Kevin and Neil.

It was a little funny that they thought it was Neil who needed any protection there, but he tried not to judge. Neil was well aware that his appearance and size didn't help to make him menacing.

He also knew he had made the right choice when, about thirty minutes after the announcements were made and all the foxes had scattered, familiar faces appeared towards them.

Kevin froze with the glass between his lips when he saw the pair and Neil stepped forward to put himself between Riko and him. Riko smiled at the act, but it wasn't a happy expression. It looked more like the look of a psychotic child who had found a small animal to torture: half satisfied, half cruel.

Not unlike the truth, Neil knew well what would happen to him at some point. He was willing to deal with the pain, he knew how to do it, it wouldn't be anything new.

…it was still too tempting to resist the urge to cut Riko's throat then and there.

“Your lack of survival instincts is extremely distressing.” Riko said. "Wipe that look off your face before I rip it off for you."

Neil hadn't realized he was smiling too, but he took advantage of instinct and lowered his glass so Riko could see it better. He could feel his face twisted into a cruel expression, the smile Nathaniel inherited coming directly from Nathan.

“ I would love to see you try. Do you think I'm afraid of you? You're just a kid throwing a tantrum, Riko.”

“There were three offences." he said, theatrically dragging a finger across his throat and rolling his head against the hand gesture. “I'm disappointed in you, Kevin. You promised the master that you would take care of it. Obviously you didn't and I'm quite curious as to why. You should have known better than to disobey your masters.”

Neil lowered his glass, placing it on the table to avoid smashing it and getting the punch all over himself.

The ease with which Riko talked about owners and servants and masters was sickening—of course, Neil always knew he couldn't or wouldn't. it should to expect nothing from someone like him, but it was still a little shocking, even to Neil, that someone as powerless would see himself above other people as Riko did.

"He tried," Neil said, and he wasn't lying. Kevin tried to force him to be quiet for a while. Eventually he had to give up in the face of Neil's stubbornness and Andrew's lack of support.

Riko approached in slow steps, like an ominous being bringing death in its wake.

He pressed a thumb to Neil's cheekbone, in the same spot where the three of them had their numbered tattoos.

Neil let him, but narrowed his eyes at the attitude.

“Do us both a favor and don't speak again. Your insolence has already cost you two teammates. You can't even imagine what comes next.”

Neil's smile faded and bitterness crept onto his tongue.

Neil stared at him, eyes suddenly dry and his voice as dead as impossible as he said:

“I'm shaking with fear.”

“You should be. You think you can defy me because I'm not your father, but you're forgetting a very important fact: I belong to the family your father is afraid of.”

Neil raised an eyebrow.

“But not from you." he said with fierce emphasis. “You're not part of that family, really. And your daddy was too busy taking me under his wing that he forgot to notice that you existed.”

He expected it to hit him, he knew how deep it would cut.

Neil knew he had signed his invitation to time in hell.

"Jean," Riko called, still not looking away from Neil. “Take Kevin and leave us alone.”

“Go to Matt.” Neil said to Kevin, when his trembling became very noticeable. Kevin looked at him like he was crazy, like the idea of abandoning him was unthinkable. He smiled, more genuinely this time. “I'll take care of it.”

“ Now .” Riko said, sharpness in every syllable.

Neil sat for Kevin as Jean gave Riko wide space and grabbed the other man's arm.

Neil watched as Jean dragged Kevin away as quickly as possible without attracting too much attention.

He then turned his focus fully to the most pressing threat, the one standing in front of him that stared back at him with murderous eyes.

"Did I touch the wound?"

Riko grabbed his wrist, face twisted in a scowl of fury.

He felt the twinge as the man twisted his wrist in a way that he knew would only take a slight bend for the bone to snap. He felt Riko's nails digging into the skin, like a snake's bite and saw the skin break and the red appear slightly.

Neil allowed. He didn't make a sound.

They both knew Riko wouldn't, not here.

Not when Neil was his invite to Kengo's meeting.

He raised an eyebrow, ignoring the pain, ignoring the burning sting of broken skin.

“We both know you're not going to do that.” He looked to where Riko's fingers were digging in. “At least not with so many witnesses.”

“I don't mind them seeing it. A dog that bites its master's hand deserves to be put down. The venue and audience are irrelevant.”

“I'm not a dog, Riko.” Neil saw the way the nails dug deeper into the skin, the aching throb of the wound being pressed. “And we both know I don't need both hands to knock you down. I suggest you let go before I lose my temper.”

Riko stared at him for a few seconds, probably judging if Neil was serious.

He pulled away, but not too far. It was enough to loosen Neil's wrist, and he resisted the urge to rub it away from Riko's phantom, disgusting touch.

The man looked him up and down, sizing him up, then took another step back.

"It's time to show you who’s your king, Nathaniel.” Riko spoke quietly, probably not wanting to attract even more attention than she already was. “You're going to spend Christmas at my castle. You're going to Evermore for the winter break.”

Neil knew this was coming. He prepared himself to listen, prepared himself for what he would suffer.

That didn't stop the shiver that went up his spine.

Andrew wasn't there, he wouldn't be back until after the new year, that wasn't the plan.

Andrew it wasn't there.

He suppressed a shudder and forced himself not to swallow hard.

“You know damn well I'm not Kevin, Riko.” Neil looked into the other's dark eyes. The difference in height between them was minuscule, there was little to stop him from twisting his neck in the opposite direction. He could probably do it fast enough that no one would see. “I don't obey you.”

Riko looked at him for an interminable minute, then smiled.

Neil's stomach lurched involuntarily. It was difficult to control his basic instincts that told him to stop teasing and try to appease. Neil didn't want to go to Evermore, he was scared, he didn't want to feel pain.

He still had to do that though. Just playing well enough that Riko didn't suspect he was basically manipulating him to force him to go.

It would be the beginning of his downfall.

Neil would leave Evermore broken, he knew. He would leave in pain and wanting more than anything else to just disappear again, get back on the run and pretend that the half year he spent with the foxes never existed, that he never subjected Andrew to what he would have to go through when Neil returned.

But Neil would leave with Jean. It would leave Riko alone with his broken expectations, as well as her perfect team.

Neil snatched the 5 out of his hands and Andrew protected the 2.

It was time to return 3 to where it belonged.

With Fleur, his older sister. With Ravi, his younger brother.

Hell, even with Ichirou.

But not Riko. Fuck, not Riko.

Still, it was a shock to hear the next words that came out of the other:

“If you don't want your beloved daddy to find out about your little boyfriend, you better cooperate.”

Neil's fist connected with Riko's cheek before he could think about it.

Screw this, screw this

He would not involve Andrew in that game, Neil would cut his throat if he tried.

He could hear the sound of hurried footsteps heading towards them, but he didn't care. His blood was pure ice as he grabbed the collar of Riko's immaculate black suit and pulled it down. His lips close to the motherfucker's ear as he whispered:

“You don't want to test your luck. You hurt him twice, a third time and you're out.”

Neil didn't really pay attention to anything else after that, his blood roaring in his ears. He felt arms pulling him, felt everyone's eyes on him.

Neil didn't hear anything. Everything was a blur, his anger turning him cold and his hands aching to hurt Riko.

Neil blinked and he was in the bathroom, Kevin with a sad expression on his face and passages in his hands as he whispered that he shouldn't have done that. He blinked again and Matt was laughing, clapping him on the shoulder and praising his punching form.

He blinked once more and he was on the bus, sitting in the seat Andrew usually took as his, his face pressed against the window. Aaron was sitting across from him, not talking, just watching. Making sure Neil was safe, probably.

"Neil"

He heard Andrew calling, the voice far away, as far away as his mind was. Far, far from the body itself.

He was scared, Neil was terrified. He was exhausted and so angry he didn't feel like himself.

"Neil"

Andrew called again, but he didn't answer.

He just closed his eyes, desperately hoping he could force himself to sleep.

To disconnect, to erase from reality.

"Neil"

Andrew didn't call the fourth time.

— 

"I’m here. Remember, only speak if necessary.”

The flight was a blur.

He remembered Aaron dropping him off at the airport, expression tense and worried, but stubborn and contorted in exhausted acceptance.

He wasn't happy with Neil.

"Do not die. Don't kill yourself for anyone. See you in two weeks”

Stuart was ready to start a war.

Andrew was disappointed, to say the least. He was unhappy, angry, hurt and resigned that there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The plan was never that Neil would have to leave so quickly, the plan was that Andrew would be waiting for him when Neil got out of the hell that would be Evermore — it wasn't like that. Won’t be like this.

Andrew wouldn't be back until after the new year, he couldn't. Ravi's extraction hadn't happened yet and Neil wouldn't be able to help him, as he would be spending Christmas with Riko.

Andrew was hurt and sad and so upset he almost cried.

Andrew almost cried. Out of pure frustration, out of pain and tiredness.

They wouldn't speak unless necessary, mostly because there was a chance that Riko would make that impossible anyway. Andrew wouldn't come to him, there would be no dreams, it would just be him.

And Neil… he kind of wanted to curl up and cry, if he was telling the truth.

It was necessary, but he was terrified. He felt empty, hollow. He wanted Andrew, a hug and reassurance that he would never have to get hurt again, even if he didn't.

Seeing Jean Moreau waiting for him on landing only solidified in his chest what was about to happen. Where Neil was about to go.

Jean watched Neil's approach with a cold stare, a harsh tone of reprimand as he said,

“You shouldn't have come here.”

"My orders tell me otherwise." Neil said, biting his tongue to stop himself from simply grabbing Jean, turning around and heading straight for Palmetto. He couldn't, for this to work, Jean would have to cooperate, would have to leave voluntarily, so there was no chance that he would just… come back. “Let's go.”

The drive was silent and uncomfortable, but the first glimpse of Evermore made Neil's blood hum in recognition. Evermore looked more like a monument than a stadium, the all-black paintwork made it even more imposing and overly dramatic, if you asked him. It was almost as big as Foxhole Stadium, but Neil doubted the Ravens could fill every seat every game. Neil can only imagine what game nights sounded like in there. A big spooky castle with an angry mob, feet stamping on the stands and voices screaming hoarsely.

It was incredible to imagine in fox court.

It was dreadful to imagine in Evermore.

Jean stopped at a gate and opened the window to enter a code. The gate swung open with a silent screech and Jean drove into the barricaded parking lot, a line of cars already parked on the sidewalk. Neil wished he was surprised that they were all identical, but he really couldn't. Even the personalized name plates were only a couple of digits apart.

Neil stared until he figured out the sequence. The EA had to be Edgar Allan and the following numbers were the years studied and team uniform numbers.

“This isn't a team.” And he meant it there. “It's a fucking cult.”

And yes, he kind of knew that, but it was still a little shocking to see how these people — could they still be considered people being conditioned like that? They were robotic, to say the least. It wasn't like Neil really had any place to be in judgment, not with how he'd grown up, but the point remained—they accepted living.

“Skirt.” Ordered Jean with a dry tone and parked in the spot that his teammates left him vacant.

Neil grabbed his bag and left. Jean led him to the door and entered another numbered password. The light under the keyboard turned green, so Jean opened the door.

Instead of going inside, he looked back at Neil.

“Take a look at the sky. You won't see him again until you leave.”

Neil stared at him for a second and decided that if he wanted to make Jean understand that he wasn't going to leave alone, he might as well start now.

He switched to French quickly, keeping his tone low.

"Do you know why I'm here?" Jean's mouth flattened into a straight line. “You will return to the sun at the end of my time here”.

“You came because you're stupid enough to give yourself up to Riko. Thinks he can fight the master.”

“I think your brothers miss you.”

Neil could see the muscles in Jean's jaw working as he clamped his mouth shut and ground his teeth.

The door opened onto a staircase leading downwards.

Everything was painted black. The only light and color came from a red tube of light in the middle of the ceiling. That wasn't clear enough, her stomach twisted at the thought of spending time there.

When Jean slammed the door behind them, Neil nearly stumbled down the stairs—which made him put a hand on the wall for balance as he tried to adjust his own eyes to the dark.

It wasn't really the first time Neil had been deprived of light, but it was never fun.

Behind him, Jean didn't rush him.

Neil counted steps, wanting to know how far down they were going and reached twenty-six before the stairs ended in another door. Jean walked past him to enter a third password and then Neil walked into the Ravens' living room.

“Welcome to the Nest.” said Jean, in a tone that said Welcome to hell . 

It was right anyway.

“Cult.” Neil repeated, just to try to mask his own terror and any kind of twisted humor.

Jean ignored him in favor of taking him around.

Neil compartmentalized all the information, saving and recording everything for when and with it was necessary.

Taking into account where he was, the chances of being a with were really low, but at least that way no one could complain about their lack of positivity.

Not that he had any left, but it was more of the principle of the thing.

Jean continued to drag him around, explaining enough for Neil to understand the place, but not enough for it to be considered a risk to have him loose.

By the end of the tour, Neil kind of figured the Nest had the potential to be everything a college athlete could want—except, of course, for the low ceiling, dark decor, and complete inability to absorb natural light.

Color here was fleeting and usually just a shade of red, everything else was black—from the furniture, the sheets, to the towels drying on the office chairs. The shadows were sucking the air out of the rooms and Neil was suddenly aware of the weight of the stadium on his head.

He wasn't claustrophobic, he couldn’t be. His father or mother would never allow any ridiculous weakness like that, but he figured two weeks down here could probably force his hand on that one.

“Here.” Jean gestured, asking Neil to follow him into the last room. “This is where you'll be staying. You were supposed to be in the other dorms like the rest of us, but the master has given you special permission. He knows you need Riko's personal attention.”

Neil didn't say anything about it, bile rising in his throat with confirmation of what he already knew; Neil would stay with Riko. Completely at mercy. It would be two weeks under constant attention from someone who would try at all costs to break him and divide him into pieces.

"I feel the need to talk to you when I feel like my brain is going to get out of whack from static"

Neil swallowed hard, trying to suppress the shudder of relief at hearing Andrew's voice.

"I'll… I'll stay with Riko. In the same room for the entire period here. I knew it would probably be like this, but…"

The pain in his palm surged like needles piercing skin. Neil knew without even looking that there were small crescent-shaped bruises appearing on his hands.

"I should have gone with you"

"I wouldn't leave you, you know that"

"I don't ask permission, exactly" Neil forced himself not to gesture to someone who wasn't there.

"Andrew"

He did not answer. A holdover from the night Andrew called him three times, the worried tone and then silence when he didn't call a fourth.

Neil gulped, he knew what he was signing up for when he came up with this plan with Ichirou.

He would leave, there was no risk of being forced to stay.

Neil would leave.

If Jean thought it odd that he didn't protest his hosting with fucking Riko Moriyama, he didn't say anything about it.

"Whose place am I taking?" Neil asked. He kind of knew the answer, but it certainly couldn't hurt to make a little fool of himself while he was there and squeeze out as much information as he could.

Jean stopped by one of the night stands beside the headboard and gestured for Neil to come over.

“See yourself.”

Neil moved in beside him and if his suspicions were confirmed, it didn't stop his stomach from churning.

Postcards from distant cities, foreign and domestic, were taped to the walls, and under each one were scraps of paper. Kevin's scribbles listed dates and explanations for the trips, most of them were games, but a few indicated photo shoots and interviews.

Books lined the built-in shelves at the head of the bed and Neil knew just by brushing his fingers across the spines of the books that they belonged to Kevin.

Kevin was majoring in history for reasons Neil couldn't understand; these out-of-print titles were the sort of thing he would find fascinating.

Seeing his space preserved like that made him feel a shiver creep up the back of his neck—it was sickly the way the room remained untouched, even the sheets were still messed up.

It was as if Kevin had gone on a short trip and not transferred entirely to another team.

“Riko is in denial.” Neil said, not really bothering to disguise the disgust in his voice. "Has anyone told him Kevin isn't coming back? Or has the madness gotten big enough to ignore reality?”

“You don’t know anything.” Jean murmured, looking around as if to make sure no one had heard. "Put your things there and let's go. Try not to kill yourself by saying the wrong thing in the meantime.”

Jean moved forward without expecting him, and Neil was used enough to the almost constant darkness of the place that he didn't miss a beat in following.

Jean led him up another flight of stairs until they reached the training space, where there was an almost brutal match going on.

Neil didn't pay much attention to the details and completely ignored the hostile and disdainful looks, just focused on Riko, who was shouting orders and turned to Jean when he finished, saying:

"Show him his things. I'll deal with it when I get out of the shower.”

Jean nodded and held the door open for Riko.

Riko went one way, then Jean and Neil went the other.

It wasn't until they reached the locker room that Neil felt his stomach sink completely.

The closet Jean pointed out to him was filled with equipment in Ravens colors. And it was when Jean picked up one of the sport shirts and thrust it at him that Neil understood why the name embedded in the front of the closet was JOSTEN.

“I'm only going to be here for two weeks.” They would only be staying for two weeks, but it seems Riko and Tetsuji hadn't gotten the message. "Why did he print a uniform?"

“Don’t be stupid. Kevin should have already told you that you're transferring this summer.”

“He mentioned it. I told him to fuck off. Kevin didn't pass on the message?” Neil tossed his shirt aside.

Jean caught it in the air before it could hit the ground and glared at him.

“Try not to kill us on your first day, you asshole.”

Neil raised an eyebrow.

“Well, that would be counterproductive.”

Jean swallowed hard.

“Listen carefully to what I'm about to tell you.” he warned, thrusting the uniform at him again. Neil refused to take it, so Jean grabbed his coat with her free hand and pulled Neil close. “You forfeited the right to be an individual when you entered the Nest. The consequences of your actions are no longer yours alone to bear. The Ravens operate on a partner-based system, which means until you're gone, I'm the only ally you've got.” Neil already knew about the Ravens' partner system, but he didn't see how telling Jean that would be of any help, so he stayed quiet while the other man finished his speech. “My success is your success.” Continued. “And your fault is my fault. You're not going anywhere unless I'm with you. If you break that rule, we're both going to suffer a lot for it. You understand? They want our flaws. They want to take the starting position away from me. I won't let you undermine my position.”

Neil raised his hand to push Jean away, but watched for a split second as he froze and dropped his hand.

No touching then.

“Again, this is counterproductive.” His tone was strong, matter-of-fact. Neil knew what he looked like when he sounded like that, authoritative and confident. It was a mixture of Stuart giving soft commands and his mother giving tough commands. “You're going out with me. No more going to be a Backliner here, or whatever the hell you are.”

Jean swallowed hard and again looked around. He turned to Neil, eyes flashing with something far stronger than anger. Very close to fear, much greater than desire.

Hope.

Doubt and hope.

And a disbelief that curled the corners of her lips downward.

Neil didn't blame him. If he spent years in hell and then a motherfucker like Neil appeared and said it would be his key to the exit, he would be suspicious too.

Incredulous, actually.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, and don't talk about them here. If they listen to my brothers, they will have problems.”

Neil didn't roll his eyes because he understood , but it was close.

“It's not a promise, you absolute idiot. It's a mission. My mission. I came here for you.”

Jean opened and closed his mouth, eyes wide before the mask of coldness returned and he said in a low voice:

“Just try not to get in the way. And try on your fucking uniform, we gotta go.”

Neil knew when it was time to let go, to drop the bone and play along. Then he sighed and took off his shirt.

Jean barely expressed any reaction beyond a morbid interest in the scars that dotted Neil's chest, torso, and back. He raised an eyebrow:

"I'm sure you've seen worse."

“I try to avoid the mirror when I can.”

Neil snorted a hollow laugh.

“Yeah, I got the feeling.” He pulled on his uniform bottoms before reaching for his shirt, his fingers hovering over the number four. Neil knew that only unimportant Ravens used two digits, but it was still bittersweet coincidence that he was a four. “Shi.”

Jean watched him, he probably knew what he meant. It was more certain than not that he knew what the pun on number and action meant to Neil.

What was it he said to Andrew again? That his only inheritance was death?

Yep, that felt right. But it still left a bitter taste on his tongue.

When Jean checked to see if the uniform was right, he nodded to himself and then ordered Neil to take it back off and put his own clothes back on.

This time he rolled his eyes but didn't fight.

Neil wasn't lying when he said it would be counterproductive to kill himself and Jean, he planned not to be too much trouble since hurt Jean was not a target. It was quite the opposite, actually.

He still wouldn't put his head down, though. Not fighting and giving up the fight were different things and the day he gave up the fire that had held him and Andrew together for so long even as he ran for his life and Andrew was constantly beaten from house to house would be the day Neil put a gun to his head and blow his own brains out.

The day he stopped fighting would be the day he would be killed.

Neil took everything off and put his clothes back on. He had just done up the last button on his coat when the door opened.

Neil had his back to him, but he didn't miss the way Jean paled.

He looked back, only to see Tetsuji and Riko in the doorway.

Tetsuji had brought an ornate cane with him and Neil had never seen him with it before, but he hoped that meant Tetsuji was suffering from some serious injury or illness.

Riko let his uncle into the room first and locked the door behind them. Neil spared a moment to wonder why they'd installed locks on a locker room door, but he dismissed the thought as quickly as he could, the answer was obvious anyway.

Tetsuji crossed the room to stand before him.

“Nathaniel Wesninski.” he said, pronouncing each syllable as if they were foreign to his tongue. Neil would give it to him, they were weird for him to hear as well. “Get down on your knees.”

Neil hid his hands in his pockets so he could clench his fists, teeth clenching and fear hitting him in the gut.

Andrew's voice still echoed in his mind.

Don't kneel down for anyone.

Neil lifted his chin.

“No.”

He thought Jean had said his name, but it wasn't louder than a breath of air.

Neil didn't look at him, he couldn't. Not when he knew exactly what he was doing, when he knew exactly who he was teasing and when he knew exactly how much would it hurt.

“You will kneel.” Tetsuji said, as if he was just stating a simple fact.

Neil knew what regret tasted like, he'd tasted it countless times. But Andrew's voice was still repeating on a loop in his mind saying: don't kneel for anyone, don't kneel for anyone, don't kneel for anyone

So Neil did what was ingrained in his blood, in his bones.

He smiled.

“Make me.”

Neil saw the cane go up, but he didn't try to dodge it.

The cane hit him in the face on his cheek and the corner of his mouth. Neil stumbled from the force of the blow and collided with the lockers. He didn't feel it; he couldn't feel anything but the fire filling his skull. The metallic taste on his tongue that he knew so well, the numbness where the skin tore open and tore from the inside against his teeth.

He instinctively raised a hand to check his skull for fractures, but Tetsuji's cane hit him in the ribs next, knocking the air out of his lungs and leaving him feeling like he was a walking bruise.

Tetsuji raised the cane again, and again and again and again

It hit his shoulder and his arm, his chest, his head again, his legs. All over and over again until he seemed to get tired.

But Tetsuji didn't get tired.

Tetsuji didn’t stop hitting until Neil finally passed out.

When he woke up, feeling the pain and emptiness of the constant lack of his connection with Andrew, he could register only three things—the immediate realization that he had been drugged with the blockers so he wouldn't have access to Andrew, that he was more alone than he was at years and the horrified whisper of Jean saying: you didn't kneel.

— 

The Ravens' afternoon practice went on for four hours and Neil really wasn't in shape for any of it, but he pushed as hard as he could.

It was four hours of heavy rackets finding the spots where the protective equipment was more delicate than not, four hours of sly smiles and worried looks disguised as disgust that emanated from Jean.

The man was surprisingly kind to him throughout the entire process, considering how many times Neil tripped, fell, and messed up that resulted in more heavy blows to him and Jean.

There were fleeting conversations and a shoulder squeeze or two when no one was looking, as if Jean were trying to keep him on his feet by nurturing him with non-hostile gestures.

It was good but unnecessary.

Neil grew up with it, knew how to deal with it.

There was little they could do to break it, especially when Andrew was an ocean away.

Because of their pathetic performance, Jean and Neil were tasked with closing the court after practice. That meant sweeping and polishing the court floor, as well as cleaning up the mess the Ravens made inside the locker room. When they finally managed to shower, Neil could barely move, he didn't even care that the Ravens' shower didn't have any level of privacy. He knelt on the tiled floor under the shower and let the heat ease the pain from his ravaged body. Neil flexed his swollen fingers to make sure they were in order. They moved, but Neil couldn't feel them.

It had been a while since he'd felt this much pain, but curling it all up into a ball and tucking it into his chest was still like riding a bike.

“You should have run away.” Jean said, but there was no anger in his voice. It was almost…gentle.

It was strange to think of him as kind, but it was even stranger how it seemed to fit.

 “I'm more used to it than you think.” He growled back. “Two weeks won't mean anything.

"Three," he corrected. Neil frowned, trying to force his brain to work, but it didn't. He probably stared at Jean in confusion, because the other sighed and explained, “We run sixteen hours a day here. Time passes differently inside the Nest.”

Neil nodded, barely moving his head before grimacing.

“We're leaving here in three weeks.”

Jean made a gagging sound, a little thing that came from deep in his throat. He glared at Neil, looking equally incredulous and irritated.

"After today, are you sure you can make it? You can barely stand, how are you going to get me out of here?”

He knew it sounded hard to believe, but he also knew that could do that.

They trained him well, Nathan's men.

They trained him very well.

“I'm going to get you out of here.”

Jean snorted.

“You'll change your mind.” Neil raised an eyebrow, the other's lips pursed. “On the court, we're partners. The moment you walk through Riko's door, I'm your enemy. You know he's gonna hurt you, but you know I will have to help?”

Neil blinked.

Jean… 

Serious?

Did he think Neil was stupid?

“Of course I know. I came here knowing most of the things that could happen to me. Ichirou had a long list of injuries that you suffered over the years. He tries to at least make sure you survive . Or do you think it was a miracle that you kept him alive when Riko pushed you down the stairs the third time and you practically cracked your fucking skull open?” Neil tried not to think of the horrible things Jean was subjected to, but he had to study, had to prepare. He knew it was an invasion of privacy for Jean, knowing that Neil knew It must have been more painful than all the fingers he'd had broken in his life, but they didn't have time for that. Neil was going to get him out of there and he needed to be aware of everything that could happen. Jean's comfort did not come above her safety. “I came knowing that Riko's main objective is to turn me to bloody pulp. Don't worry about me, Moreau.”

Jean's lips turned white with the force he pressed them.

"Are you sure you can get me out of here?"

“I don’t have any other choice.” He spoke. And it was true, he hadn't. If Neil wanted a fighting chance, a chance to live, to live alongside Andrew, he could not fail. Neil wasn't there to take Jean out of the goodness of his heart, he was there because he had no other option. If he wanted his life, he had to pay with pain and another, important one. Jean's life. “I'm going to get you out of here.”

The man stared at him for a few seconds, the gray eyes cold and hopeless now a little warmer and brighter.

“If you can, then I'll do what I can to make sure you don't fall apart.”

Neil closed his eyes, the promise of what was to come.

“That's all I ask.”

Jean shrugged.

“That's all I can offer.”

He was led to the kitchen where he swallowed the food without really tasting it, and also drank a large amount of water because blood loss was always more dangerous when you were dehydrated. When he finished eating Jean put his dishes in the dishwasher and hesitated before heading out the door. He looked at Neil, brow furrowed.

“It’s fine." he said, probably guessing that the expression on the other man's face was something akin to guilt.

Jean shook his head.

“Even so. I’m really sorry. It will hurt.”

He didn't answer, didn't need to answer, silence was answer enough, apparently.

Riko was waiting for them in his room.

Neil didn't see him until he was already inside, but he half expected that if the notice he received in the kitchen meant anything.

Jean locked the door behind him and leaned against it—Neil thought briefly if he should fight, should make Riko work for the blood he would spill, but he had no energy and nowhere to go.

Then he walked over to his bed as if he didn't mind being trapped there with them and sat down on the edge of the mattress. He looked at the books and thought of Jean and Kevin putting up with this day after day, year after year.

Riko got up from the bed and Neil looked at him. The son of a bitch was grinning and the look in his eyes made Neil shiver—that look reminded him of Lola, the endless sadism and amusement as it slashed and slashed.

 She always looked like that, like Neil's blood was going to be the highlight of her day. Where Nathan was a terrible killer with a temper thinner than a hair, but who thrived on death and fear—Lola was his mad dog who preferred pain and submission.

It was like being 6 years old again.

The difference was, he didn't have Andrew for magical kisses that heal wounds, he didn't have Andrew for hugs in dreams, he didn't have Andrew for even that constant feeling of being connected.

Neil was all alone.

Riko pulled a switchblade from his pocket and stepped forward. Neil shuddered involuntarily and he could see the moment Riko noticed that he caught the briefest wave of fear.

The smile on his face widened.

“I thought you weren't afraid of my knives, Nathaniel. Was it a lie to make you feel better?”

Riko sat on one of the corners of the mattress, next to Neil. He looked at Neil as if imagining what it would be like to skin him alive and then feed him his own bloody remains.

Neil didn't react when Riko put the tip of the blade to his lips, but the shock of cold metal against hot, bruised skin was almost enough to make him wince.

Jean moved to their side, presumably to help Riko in case Neil tried to run away.

He wouldn't try, but he didn't dare look away from Riko to tell Jean either.

"I will love to hurt you." Riko said in a dreamy tone. A child with a new toy. “You're going to beg me to stop.”

“You're a really fucked up individual. You knew that?”

Riko shoved the switchblade into Neil's mouth and pushed, hard enough to cut the skin at the corner of Neil's lips, but not deep enough to do any real damage.

Measured. Planned.

Neil glanced at Riko's hand out of the corner of his eye, it was shaking. Excitement or nervousness he didn't know—there was no illusion in his mind that Riko wasn't loving every second of it, but Riko probably wasn't controlling his happiness at hurting him.

Amateur.

Neil's hands never shook, even when he was only eight and had to slit a man's throat to stay alive.

"Shut up and lie down." Ordered Riko. “We don't have much time and I promised the master I'd get you in line before night practice.”

"I hope he doesn't get too angry with you for breaking a promise."

Riko narrowed his eyes, taking that as a challenge.

It wasn't that far from the truth.

Beside him, Neil heard Jean gasp.

"Lie down," ordered Riko again. “and place your hands on the headboard.”

Neil lay on his back and placed his palms above his head. Jean took his hands to guide them to the right place, his fingers were cold, whether from nervousness or just anticipation of what would happen, he had no idea.

Neil felt the wood under his fingertips and gripped the headboard. Jean released him only to place cold metal over his wrists.

He didn't need to look, Neil was quite used to the bite of handcuffs, the sharp metal digging in and drawing blood.

He didn't need to look, but the switchblade in his mouth wouldn't allow him to move even if he wanted to.

It was automatic the way he pulled his arms as far as he could, nearly grazing his wrists in the effort, but the wood didn't even creak.

Neil hated handcuffs. Always hated it.

It probably didn't matter that much at the time.

"Who is your King, Nathaniel?"

Riko asked, the sound happy and caustic as he said his name.

Neil spat in his face.

Riko froze, then slowly raised his hand to touch the spit on his cheek. He looked at his dirty fingers for a moment, needing to see the dirt to really believe it, and then he grabbed Neil's face in a hard grip.

Opening his mouth, he slammed the blade back angrily into the roof of Neil's mouth.

He could taste the blood, the sting.

Riko pulled his hair hard enough that he felt a few strands being pulled from his scalp.

Neil grunted at the stinging, violence making his eyes sting and involuntary tears welling up.

“I'm going to do this in the most terrible way I know how.” Promised Riko. “When it's too much for you, don't hesitate to cry.”

— 

Time passed differently there. Jean was right.

Neil was staring at the bathroom tiles as he watched the pink water run down the drain.

Her entire body looked like it had been ripped apart — he was shredded .

He would have laughed if he weren't so tired.

— 

A scream escaped his throat as Riko ran down another slashed line into his skin.

Neil's skin stretched and pulled as he tried to free himself from the handcuffs.

There was no rest, they must have been sleeping, but there was no rest. Everything just hurts.

“It's almost finished.” Jean whispered softly in French. A hand in his hair was a surprisingly gentle touch for a situation like this. “Almost finished.”

Riko cut again.

Neil didn't stop screaming.

— 

He was leaning against the wall of the night stadium. The hardness of the acrylic was literally the only thing that prevented his knees from bending as he heard Tetsuji say again, wielding the cane red with Neil's blood:

“Kneel down, Nathaniel.”

Neil looked up, feeling out of his body.

It was funny how much pain he could endure before his body just went numb, completely numb.

He wasn't there yet, but he was close.

“Fuck you”

The cane fell once more.

— 

Jean was closing one more stitch, but he couldn't help but fidget with discomfort.

“Be quiet, Neil.” Said with a gentle tone, Neil was almost used to it by now. It was just how Jean spoke to him when they were alone.

He hissed.

“Don’t call me like that. Riko will hit you again.”

Jean shrugged, the ugly bruise glistening on his cheek standing out with the movement.

“We only have four more days here anyway.”

Neil smiled.

Or he thought he smiled, his face hurt too much to know what the hell he was doing with every facial expression.

"So now you believe me?"

Jean's gaze on him turned sober, intense.

If he could, Neil would have swallowed hard.

"You haven't knelt down yet."

He took a deep, aching breath and then swallowed a mouthful of blood that had formed in his throat.

“The only thing that would make me kneel, I would never be asked to do that for pain. I will never kneel if not for him.”

Because putting your knees on the ground was a sign of submission.

Of defeat.

Of devotion.

And Neil would only do it for Andrew, no one else.

Just for Andrew.

“I know. That's why.”

He nodded and remained quiet while Jean re-does the rest of his stitches.

— 

Neil's throat was raw and he had never been so thirsty in his life.

The cheek where Riko grazed number four was throbbing, his wrists were raw from trying to get away, his legs felt like they were made of concrete every time he tried to move.

“Be quiet, Nathaniel.” Riko murmured. Neil was leaving tomorrow, just one more day, just one more… “You don't want me to screw this up, do you?”

A hurt sound left Jean's throat as he watched everything from the doorway. He looked almost green from Neil's uncomfortable awkward angle, his skin sickly pale as he watched what was happening as if he were witnessing a car accident.

Riko couldn't mark it on his face as he wanted, so he skinned it lightly so it wouldn't leave any scars.

Riko tried to force him to sign with the Ravens for Christmas, but only gave Neil a new set of scars when he said no.

Riko wanted him as his personal executioner, but Neil told him to fuck off and spit blood at his feet, so Riko made sure to mark him as property anyway.

“You know, I spoke to your father's friends. Not often, but enough.” Neil tugged on the cuffs one more time, unable to speak with how thick his tongue felt in his own mouth. “They told interesting things. About how you flinched when they tried to use heat on you. I wonder why.” Riko's fingers brushed hard over the iron mark on his shoulder and Neil stumbled to his feet trying to get away. "I bet I can find out."

Neil's eyes never left the object on the table.

He had studied that technique before, but never really tried it. It was something he would like to take his time, something he would like to learn.

It was going to be taken from him before Neil had a chance to get his hands on it.

“You can stop whenever you want, you know. I'm not a monster, you know.” Neil could hear the smile in Riko's voice more than he could see it. His attention was still all on the pen on the table, the pen for the kind of art where you draw by burning wood. It was already steaming when Riko reached over to pick it up. “If you accept what I propose, I'll stop. So easy. Fair enough, no?”

Neil closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

It would be over soon. The pain would be so severe, he would defy it in at least five minutes, the shock would keep him unconscious for most of the process.

Neil could take it. He could do this.

A hard slap across his face made him open his eyes.

“No no. Awake. You don't want to miss this, do you? All our fun needs to last, right Nathaniel? Including that.” Riko waved the pen. “It needs to get a little cooler. We don't want me to screw my beautiful drawing, do we?”

Neil's tongue tasted like rusty metal and his eyes watered in pain as he watched the cherry red tip of the pen disappear until only the tint of heated metal remained.

Fuck. Neil could laugh right now if he didn't feel so miserable.

Riko wouldn't let him rest, he wouldn't let him pass out.

Jean's face was that of someone who could throw up at any moment — incredibly, in the midst of those hellish days where one used the other to stay on one's feet, both became something very close to friends.

Neil would like to tell him that it would be okay.

That was okay.

He couldn't get his tongue out of the roof of his mouth.

“Ready?” Riko said, looking incredibly amused by Neil's lack of response. “Don't worry, I trained before. We don't want to deliver you defective... too much.”

The sound of laughter was the only thing Neil could hear before the hot metal touched his skin, his fingers curling and his throat ripping as he screamed as the smell of burning flesh flooded the room.

— 

Come on, we're leaving. Neil said as he took them out of the nest in the middle of the night. A very scared Jean and taking with him nothing more than a small bag of clothes. We are leaving.

He wasn't exactly sure how they'd managed to get there after Neil had stolen one of the cars and driven full speed to the nearest airport, buying two tickets for him and Jean.

Everything, every little thing Neil could remember from the day before, was nothing more than a blur.

There was pain everywhere, but somewhere in him, there was relief.

He finished.

His wrist was being held tightly by Jean, who was staring at the world outside the nest as if he was trying to memorize it, as if he was afraid it would be taken from him.

Neil allowed it, no matter how much he felt the bandages on his wrists start to get wet with fresh blood from the wounds opening under the pressure of the grip.

He dragged Jean across the airport apron until he found a hidden spot where he could rest. All the while with Jean looking like a big kicked and scared puppy following him around not really knowing what to do with himself.

If he didn't feel so much like he was going to die any second, Neil would certainly be worried about the squint looks sent their way.

When he sat down, he gave himself a second to breathe before reaching for his phone.

A message to Stuart: done .

A message to Aaron: out .

For Andrew… there was no way Neil could send a message for Andrew. Neil wanted him . He wanted a hug, wanted a lap. He wanted kisses on his wounds that made everything suddenly less painful.

He still couldn't have any of that, so he was content to go home.

Wymack's number was third on speed dial, behind only Andrew and Aaron.

Wymack answered on the fourth ring.

"Do you have a good reason to bother me on vacation?"

Neil snorted a laugh that made his lungs ache.

“I didn't know who to call.” he replied, shrugging his shoulders even though he knew he wouldn't be seen. It was a bad decision, the engraving on your neck and shoulders burned and sent out a white flash that momentarily blinded him.

He barely recognized his own voice. The last few weeks of screaming had done a number in his throat; apparently his vocal chords hadn't recovered yet, who knew.

Neil pressed his back against the wall and tried to breathe, sending Jean a look to be quiet.

“Neil?” All the snarl gone from Wymack's voice; His sharp voice was alarming. “Are you ok?”

Neil smiled. It looked like the muscles in his face were tearing from the movement.

“No. No I'm not.” Jean shot him a guilty look. Neil would have rolled his eyes if he'd had the strength. “I know it's a little sudden, but can you pick me up? I am at the airport. I'm not alone”

“Wait.” Wymack said, not even blinking at the last bit of news. “I’m on my way.”

And hung up

Tiredness was a root that seeped into Neil's bones, every bit of him felt like it weighed a ton. All he wanted was to fall like a doll with his strings cut and sleep for at least sixteen hours—but the look on Jean's face kind of made it impossible for him to actually close his eyes for a five-minute rest.

“Everything will be fine.” His voice sounded a lot like his vocal cords had been going through sandpaper, which certainly didn't help his credibility.

To his credit, Jean barely blinked.

“Your Coach won't be happy to see me here.”

“You are a fugitive. He's injured and needs shelter. He's going to take you under his wing the same way he took Kevin.”

Jean bit the inside of his cheek and looked at Neil doubtfully.

He might be tall, but three weeks — two. Neil had to remember that they were two . No matter how fucked up the weather felt when you were exhausted most of the time—it was more than enough to see the way Jean shrank to make herself look smaller. How his shoulders were constantly hunched down, how his eyes were almost always fixed on anything but other people's eyes, how he spoke calmly even when he was spewing venom and hissing at anyone who got close enough to injure him. 

"He had a reason to catch Kevin. He doesn't have that with me.”

Neil frowned.

Right, Jean told him on the flight.

Apparently a few years ago Kevin and he found a letter from Kayleigh Day confiding in Wymack that Kevin was his son.

Maybe it was exhaustion that didn't allow him to really digest the information, or it was the fact that it made so much sense—but Neil couldn't be really surprised .

He shrugged instead.

“That's who Coach is. He's going to look at you and see an injured kid who needs help, not some douchebag motherfucker who's been tormenting his team for years.”

Jean rolled his eyes, but some of the tension seeped from his shoulders.

“Right. I'm sure you've gotten him into more trouble this year than I have in my entire career with the Ravens.”

“Exactly. This proves my point. Wymack hasn't dumped me yet, so I think you'll be fine.”

He would explain the situation if necessary—Jean wouldn't stay with the foxes for long, though.

Ichirou would want to pick him up as soon as possible. He would need to keep him safe so he could get Fleur to safety.

"When will I be able to see my sister?"

Neil closed his eyes. The urge to sleep being so strong that he could barely cling to consciousness.

“Soon.”

— 

Sleep must have won out, because when Neil opened his eyes, it was with his heart in his throat, teeth clenched, and prepared to hurt whoever was trying to touch him.

He blinked, pushing the fog out of his eyes and trying to get his bearings on what the hell was going on.

Things came back in a whirlwind—feast, Evermore, pain and escape.

Jean.

Wymack. 

“I can explain,” he said hoarsely.

The coach, to his credit, didn't even blink.

“Andrew did this for me.” Neil straightened up as if he'd been electrocuted, then doubled over just as quickly. He hissed, grabbing his side and pulling back a little when Wymack tried to pull him to his feet. “Jesus Christ, kid. Calm down.”

“He is here?” Coach shook his head.

"He's catching a flight. It should be here in a few hours.”

"Does he arrive before the new year?"

There was a fleeting spark of hope.

Perhaps…

Maybe they didn't have to spend another year apart.

Maybe they didn't have to start another year away from each other.

Maybe they didn't have to be so alone.

“I'm sorry, kid. No.”

The spark went out as quickly as it lit.

He should have known, but having the hope in his chest snuffed out so quickly left him feeling hollow.

“I imagined.”

They didn't talk much after that.

Wymack explained that Jean would go to Abby's house and stay there until he and Neil talked about... what to do.

Jean needed Neil to assure him that it would be safe, that he wouldn't be hurt, and after a few minutes, the other man agreed to go.

It wasn't until they dropped him off at Abby's that Neil allowed himself to collapse in his own exhaustion. They got to Wymack's apartment fast enough that Neil knew a few traffic laws had been broken, but it didn't matter.

Neil just…wanted to feel safe. Even a little.

But Andrew was distant and he couldn't even speak with him because of the drugs that forced him into the nest that had not yet left his system.

He felt lonely.

More than ever.

Neil fell back onto Wymack's couch without saying a word, but he felt the way the man was hovering, looking down at him.

“Sorry.”

“He talks like Neil.” The tone lacked Wymack's usual sharpness. Neil wondered how bad it really felt for kindness to have clawed its way out of the coach's chest. “You didn't have to do that. We could work it out.”

Neil snorted.

He was hyper aware of his wounds, the scratches, the bruises. Every single thing that was wrong with him, Neil could feel them all at once.

“If there was another way, I would have done it.”

Neil didn’t like to feel pain.

He didn't like being skinned alive.

He didn't like being woken up with water running up his nose and a wet cloth covering his face at three in the morning and again at seven.

Didn't like to be cut over and over and once again.

He didn't like it, none of it.

But he had to and would do it again if it meant there was a chance to be able to live with Andrew.

A chance to live and point.

“You shouldn't have to go through this. You are a child, Neil.”

Laughter rose in his throat before he could stop it.

The laugh ripped out of him, ripping through something that wasn't physicist, but it hurt like it was.

Neil could feel the place where blood leaks from the undone stitches.

He could feel the blisters bursting on the burned skin.

I could feel where the dark bruises tightened when he moved and the way his ribs felt like they'd been crunched and put back together.

Neil laugh.

He laughed so hard he had to hold his stomach and stop himself from vomiting as thick tears welled up in his eyes.

He wanted to scream, he was so tired. He was just pain, pain pain pain pain

Other way?

Child?

Neil stopped being a kid the instant his dad looked at him and decided it was time to pick up a knife.

“You don't know what you're talking about.” Wymack didn't answer. Neil sat down. "Can I have a drink? And I may need to change the dressings. I'm feeling the blood.”

“Where?”

The chuckle threatened to escape again, but this time Neil killed it before it broke the surface.

“Everywhere?”

Wymack sighed and rubbed his eyes, before moving to the coffee table to grab a cigarette, light it, and hand it to Neil.

He walked to a wooden cabinet that was next to the refrigerator and from there he took a bottle of Whiskey.

When he handed it over, Neil downed three swallows quickly—the burn only hurting for a few seconds before heat flooded his fingertips.

He drank some more and then started to pull off his shirt, gritting his teeth when moving around seemed too much.

Neil could feel Wymack's eyes on him, probably watching in case he collapsed. It was pretty obvious the moment Coach's eyes finally landed on the mark on his chest.

The wide eyes were almost comical.

"Does anyone else know?"

Neil made a face.

“Abby knows. Kevin, Aaron.” He wilted. “Riko knows. I was very protective, it wasn't hard to put two and two together.”

“That explains why Andrew sounded that way.”

There was no Andrew pain in his body, at least he didn't think so. Everything hurt so much all the time that he didn't know if he could feel or differentiate if the source was himself or if it was his soulmate.

"Sounded like?"

“Sore.”

A sob left Neil's chest before he even knew it had formed there.

It wasn't the intention. Neil didn't want to hurt Andrew, but he knew he had done it anyway.

It was the notion that, even without being injured, Andrew was hurt and it was Neil’s fault which caused it to disassemble itself in one piece, leaving only broken pieces for Wymack to pick up and try to put together.

He didn't want that.

He didn't want to go through that.

Neil was tired, so tired. He had never been so tired in his entire fucking life.

“Help me .” he begged, only to then feel Wymack's arms encircling him and pulling him into a hug.

It felt like security.

It was as if Coach knew everything he wanted to say.

Help me, I'm scared.

Help me, I'm tired.

Help me, I can't anymore.

Help me, I need to protect him.

Help me

Help me

Help me

A hand ran through his hair, so gently Neil thought he could have imagined it.

“Let me.”

And then he just cried harder.

— 

When Andrew arrived, Neil thought he was seeing a ghost.

Was his hair longer? It wasn't that long ago. Just under a month, but Neil was sure it was longer.

There was a new scar on his cheek. It was barely visible from this far away, but Neil could still see it.

It was long and pink.

It must have hurt. He didn't feel it.

He held out his hand before he thought about what he was doing, a raw, aching noise coming from his throat.

Andrew was there.

Andrew was there.

His partner was across the room in the blink of an eye, Stuart and Wymack looking at each other and apparently deciding to leave to give them any sense of privacy.

“You're here, you're fine.” He whispered when Andrew took his hands and brought them to his face.

“I’m here.” he said softly in response. Eyes closing and lids fluttering as Neil ran his thumb over that new scar.

There were dark bags under Andrew's eyes and his cheeks were rough with stubble.

The hair was actually bigger, the lower part where Andrew used to shave was long enough for Neil to get his fingers through.

“I missed you.”

Andrew grunted and touched his forehead to Neil's. Eyes still closed strength.

“Can I… can I kiss you? Or does it hurt? Yes or no, Neil?”

Neil whispered an yes, already bringing his mouth to Andrew's, swallowing his lips as if he were water and he was a dying man in a desert.

It was like reviving a flame he didn't even know had been extinguished in his chest. It hurt, because Neil didn't even realize how much he wanted it until he had it.

Andrew kissed him gently, fondly. Calmly and patiently and in a way that wouldn't hurt Neil's already sore lips.

He wanted more, though. Even though he knew he couldn't have as much as he wanted right now.

Neil wanted Andrew's hands on him, everywhere. He wanted to curl up in his lap and wrap himself in his scent and never leave Andrew again.

“I was Scared. I couldn't talk to you, I couldn't see you, I was scared , Drew. So much…”

Andrew's arms circled his shoulders and he pulled him into a hug.

Andrew was shaking.

“I was scared too.” Said, as if he was telling a secret. “This is another new year that I spend away from you while you get hurt, Neil.” Andrew's voice sounded rough, hurt. As if talking hurt, as if talking about how scared he was hurt him. “Never again. Promise.”

“I don't know how the year will end, Andrew.” Because he didn't want to lie. Not for him. Not when he loved him and he lied enough every day when he said he had any hope that this year would end any different than him dead.

Making that promise would be like telling Andrew he loved him.

It would break his trust.

It would be betraying him, even a little.

“I don't care, promise . Never again, Neil. Never .

He held it tight.

“Don't make me lie to you.” And he was as kind as he could be about it.

Andrew squeezed tighter, his face burrowing into the crook of Neil's neck.

He barely managed to suppress the shudder, but he did the best he could. He let Andrew have that.

“I hate you.” The phrase sent heat through Neil's veins, and he laughed happily for the first time that month.

“Yeah, yeah.” His fingers slid through Andrew's blond hair and Neil inhaled the scent. He remembered Wymack saying the day before that new years were made for promises, and as much as he couldn't deliver Andrew the one he wanted, he could still deliver what he wished to be true. “Happy New Year, Andrew.”

You'll be fine

I will make sure you are fine

I love you

“Happy New Year, Neil.”

Andrew kissed him again, this time as if he wanted to send a message.

And it looked like Andrew was saying the same thing to him.

It tasted like salt and pain and lies.