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Chapter Text

“Andrew I swear to god if you’re not here in the next five minutes you’ll be fired so fucking fast that you’ll get fucking whiplash.”

Andrew hummed noncommittally and snapped his gum between his teeth. It had lost its flavour a good 15 minutes ago, but even Andrew was above spitting it out the window.

"Andrew dont hmmm me, I’m fucking serious. You were expected here already, what's taking you so god-damn long!”

“There was traffic,” Andrew replied dryly, “but I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that, seeing as you don't need a car when you have your private jet, your highness.”

Kevin’s tortured sigh was audible down the phone as Andrew sped round the corner, the fancy hotel he was supposed to be at 30 minutes ago coming into view. It was a white monstrosity, tiered and iced like a wedding cake, fitting for the white veil occasion currently in session within its walls.

Andrew could practically smell the capitalism rolling off of it in waves. 

He hung up on the call with Kevin, and manoeuvred his Maserati into the line of cars waiting to be parked, rolling down his window to glare at the bored valet lingering in front of the entranceway. 

“Where do I park this thing?” he snapped, and the valet looked up, the bored expression melting off his face like butter, a pleasantly neutral smile taking its place. He leant forward toward the open window, keeping his hands carefully tucked behind his back as he spoke. He smelled like menthol cigarettes.

“No need for that, Sir. You're a guest to the wedding, so the parking is catered for. Just give me the keys and I’ll handle it for you.” 

The nametag on the valet’s pristine uniform read ‘Chris’. It was a dull name that didn’t suit the man, whose cheekbones could slice bread and whose brown hair looked like spun sugar in the afternoon sun. There was a glimmer of sweat on his forehead and a light in his eyes that didn't match the flat, just-doing-my-job tone of his voice.

 It made Andrew want to break something. 

“Yeah, no. No-one touches my car but me. So just tell me where to park it, then fuck off.”

The valet stepped back, and the neutral smile morphed into a thoughtful expression. He blinked wide brown eyes at Andrew, then shrugged, his features adapting the same bored look he’d worn when Andrew had first pulled up. 

“Just ‘round the corner there,” he gestured vaguely, “there should be a sign or something. And I ’m sure I don’t have to tell you not to leave any of your personal belongings in your car. Thieves and rascals tend to target this area.”

The light in the valet’s eyes flashed savagely, and Andrew was suddenly, briefly concerned that the valet was all too well acquainted with these rascals. 

It was then the main doors to the hotel opened and another man came stumbling out, sweat dripping down his face and his cheeks burning red. He wore the white apron of what Andrew presumed was the serving staff, and a stressed expression to match. 

“Now.” he huffed out of breath to the valet, who looked amused. “We’re swapping now. I can't do another minute in there. God, it makes me sick, and it's so hot, I'm losing my mind.”

Andrew had no interest in the trials and tribulations of the hotel staff, he was about to have enough of his own when Kevin got hold of him. Starting the car, he skidded out of the valet spot and in the direction that had been pointed out to him. It didn't take him long to find a place to park, but as he climbed out of the car a creeping sense of paranoia pressed at the edges of his brain, the valet's words echoing in his mind. He had seemed awfully nonchalant about the idea of thieves in the area, though Andrew consoled himself that it was probably just because he hated his job. He probably lived for the idea that the rich assholes who he catered for could get their stuff stolen. 

The inside of the hotel was even more luxurious than the outside. It was primped and polished, the marble floors glittering like they were inlaid with jewels. Huge stone columns, decked in ribbons and trailing strands of lights, twisted their way towards the gold lacquered ceiling like great vines reaching for the sun. There were more than a thousand people in the room, yet somehow the space managed to envelop the crowd, a gracious mother curving her arms around her children. 

Andrew could genuinely appreciate that it was a truly magnificent place for a wedding, if only for a second, before he remembered he was only there at Kevin’s insistence and the promise of free booze. He snagged a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. It could only be Kevin, who was probably out of his mind at this point, either with rage or with worry. Andrew reluctantly scanned the room, his eyes hunting for the sight of the tall, dark haired man. Unfortunately for Kevin, he wasn't that unique appearance-wise, almost every other guy Andrew glanced at had the same tousled hair and aloof, snot-nosed expression that made it all too clear how much better they thought they were. At least, Andrew supposed as he finally caught sight of the man lurking behind one of the giant marble columns, Kevin’s demeanour wasn’t a conscious choice. He just couldn't help the way his face looked. 

Andrew felt a small thread of satisfaction wind its way through his stomach as he sidled up to Kevin, scaring him just enough to elicit a small yelp of surprise. He refused to let it show on his face, though, instead matching Kevin's ensuing glare with equal, if not more, ferocity.

“Remind me, Kevin, do you actually have the power to fire me? Because the last time I checked, we were on the exact same level, working pretty much the exact same job. So, and correct me if I’m wrong, but I don't believe that gives you any power over whether or not I'm employed. ” 

Kevin looked like he was going to spontaneously combust on the spot. 

“Jesus christ, Andrew, how long did it take you to park the fucking car? I've been waiting here for ages'' 

“It took me a normal amount of time, asshole. And you didn't answer my question. Do you, or do you not, have any authority to fire me.’ 

“No, I don't. But I am able to go tell Boss about how atrociously late you were to the most important event of the month. Then I guess your employment status is up to him.”

“Kevin, I don't know how to break this to you, but this wedding can't be that important when I genuinely have no idea whose wedding it even is.”

Andrew didn’t know how it was possible for Kevin to get any more angrier, but he was witnessing it with his very eyes. 

“You don't know- How can you possibly not know whose wedding this is? It's all everyone in the department’s been talking about for months! The two biggest names in our branch are finally tying the knot!” 

Andrew drained his champagne flute in one gulp and had a sinking feeling that he might need more than a few more in order to get through the night. 

“Are you sure that’s our department you’re talking about? Because as far as i know we’re the only from our unit here. There are a lot of departments in the FBI, Kevin, maybe you've had a few too many drinks and got them mixed up.”

“I haven't, actually.” Kevin muttered.

“Sorry, Kev, I couldn't quite catch that. Can you say it again, but just a bit louder?”

“I haven’t got the departments mixed up, because one, I haven't had any drinks tonight, and two, I distinctly remember Nicky talking about how the groom is on some sort of personal list of his, or something”

Andrew remembered that conversation, however much he wished he didn’t. Mainly because it had started off with Nicky moaning about how far away his own fiance was and how lonely he felt not being able to have sex with a real live human being, and had ended with Nicky saying that if he wasn't already wholeheartedly devoted to his partner, and if the groom-to-be wasn’t straight, then he would totally go for it. 

“Seriously though, Kevin, why are we here? And why are you not drinking?” 

Now that Andrew knew about Kevin's impromptu soberness, he could see the way Kevin's eyes tracked every waiter coming their way, gaze fixed on the sparkling crystal that loaded the trays. 

“Because if you had listened to what I told you when I invited you,” Andrew rolled his eyes, “Then you would know that Rhenman is going to be here. And he is the only one rumoured to be able to influence the Director, so he is the only one who could possibly help me get back in the field.”

Andrew sighed the sigh of the long suffering. He fixed Kevin with the most sympathetic look he could manage, which wasn’t much, and tried to make his voice as gentle as possible, which wasn’t particularly gentle.

“Kevin, you are not going back into the field. Not when your accident was only a year ago, and especially not when there are people out there who still want to hurt you. Now I’m not going to be your moral support, which I assume is why I'm here, when you're making a stupid decision.”

Kevin’s accident was legendary among the FBI. So much so, Andrew would be willing to bet that every single person in this room had heard the story. He knew any new recruits were definitely told the cautionary tale of how Kevin Day, only 25 years old and already a celebrity among agents, had decided that he knew enough information about the underground drug ring he had been infiltrating to try and stage a bust. How he had gotten too cocky and had earned himself a failed bust and a bullet in the chest for his troubles. How he’d spent weeks in the hospital before anyone was sure he would survive, and how he was subsequently sent to the Behavioural Analysis Unit, where he could sit behind a desk and not do himself any more damage.

 “You’re right,” Kevin mumbled dejectedly. 

“I usually am. Now, get yourself a drink because I will not be able to cope with you sober all evening.”

Kevin brightened up, and reached out to take two glasses off the tray of a passing waiter. The waiter startled, clearly surprised by the sudden loss of weight, and stumbled. For a brief moment, Andrew thought he was going to regain his balance, but no, instead he toppled sideways and crashed into the pillar Andrew and Kevin had been leaning against. There was a great crash as the glasses shattered and the boy was left sitting in a puddle of expensive champagne and broken glass. 

Mutters of “careless brat” and “i never trust these waiters” floated around as the crowds tilted their elegant heads to look. 

The boy seemed unconcerned by the sudden attention, but as he gathered the pieces of razor-edged glass his cheeks heated until they were a bright, rosy red. He didn’t seem bothered by the glass cutting into his fingers and Andrew’s gaze sharpened. The boy’s hands were crisscrossed by tiny, almost imperceptible scars that covered his knuckles and the back of his fingers and palm. They were straight and obviously deliberate, and Andrew felt the inside of his wrists, concealed in layers of black cotton, prickle in sympathy. 

And now that Andrew was paying attention, he noticed that the boy’s cheekbones were unusually sharp, and his brown hair fell in thick curls that looked like they would have the texture of spun sugar. First,  Andrew wanted to run his fingers through them, then he wanted to pick up one of the broken pieces of glass and gouge out his eyes. 

He felt it was an appropriate reaction, because no one should be allowed to look so attractive when the seat of their trousers was wet from split champagne and their hands were bloody from the fragments of crystal. 

The valet stood up, cursing himself as he piled glass on his tray. 

“Fucking Gideon, I cant belive I let him fucking swap jobs with me. I wasn’t fucking trained for this.” 

Schooling his impression into something that resembled calm, he straightened and glanced at Andrew. If he recognised him from earlier he didn’t show it. “I’m terribly sorry about that sir, I hope your suit’s alright.” 

Then, with a small, awkward looking bow, he disappeared into the crowd. 

Kevin shot Andrew a bemused glance as Andrew patted down his suit. It wasn’t wet, and he could feel the shape of his wallet in the suit pocket, and his phone in his trousers. 

“Did you know him?” 

Andrew shook his head, and resolved to find and consume as many drinks as he possibly could before it was socially acceptable to leave. 

In the ensuing hours, Andrew was introduced to more people than he cared to remember. Nearly all of them had words of condolences for Kevin about his accident, and inquisitive questions for Andrew. Where he worked, what he did, why he did it. Did he like his job? Did he hate his job? What motivated him, what drove him? 

He got the gist after a while. This was the first event he’d been to where the company was mostly older FBI agents who all knew each other, somehow. He was fresh meat. 

The valet never reappeared. Andrew presumed he’d gone home, or at least back to his old job where he couldn't make so much of a mess. Speaking of, Andrew probably should go check on his car. It wasn’t that he’d believed the valet’s stories about thieves, per se, the little shit was probably only saying that to mess with him, but he liked to be more safe than sorry. 

He dug in his pocket for his keys. There was an empty space where they should have been. 

Feeling panic rising rapidly in his chest, Andrew withdrew his wallet, only to find a crumpled notebook in its place. Flicking through the pages, agitation and rage filling his mind, Andrew skimmed the list of cars scrawled out on the pages. Times of entry, what number the keys were kept under, it was evidently written by the valet. Andrew understood all of a sudden. He should've seen this coming. He should've known. He worked for the FBI, for fucks sake, so why had this taken him so utterly by surprise. 

“Kevin, we’re leaving.” He didn't care about the fury in his voice, or the way the crowd surrounding Kevin looked at him like he’d grown a second head. 

“But Andrew I-”

“I honestly don’t fucking care Kevin. We are leaving. Right. Now.”

Andrew practically had to drag Kevin out of the hotel’s double doors. The cold night air met his face like a slap, and only managed to enrage him more. He stormed over to the valet stand, where the red faced man who’d come stumbling out of the entrance all those hours ago stood nervously. 

“Oh thank God!” The man - Gideon, his name tag read - breathed out a sigh of relief. “You found the notebook! I was going out of mind with worry, how was I supposed to know whose car is whose-”  

Gideon trailed off as he looked up to meet Andrew’s gaze, obviously seeing the incandescent rage there. He took a step back, raising his hands in a show of innocence, fear evident on his face. 

“What is it sir? Can I help you with anything?”

“This notebook, when did it go missing?” Andrew all but snarled.

“Well, sir, normally its kept in the locker right here with all the keys, you know,” he fumbled awkwardly with the door, trying to demonstrate, “but after Chris and I swapped shifts I couldn't find it and I was panicking because then how would I know-”

Andrew didn’t bother listening. He knew all he needed to know, just like he knew what he would find when he walked around the corner. He stalked off anyway, not bothering to check if Kevin was following behind. 

The space where his Maserati had been was like a punch to the gut. Andrew managed to keep his face impassive, but he felt exactly how Kevin looked when he caught up to speed. 

“Shit, Andrew, your car.”

“Mhmmm. Gold star for Kevin. He finally figured it out. Well done you.” His voice was scarily calm to his own ears. “Guess I’m catching a ride back with you then.”

“Yeahh,” Kevin dragged out the word like he was scared of what would happen when he finished it. “Are you okay, Andrew?” 

Andrew contemplated the question. “I’ll be okay when we get back to the office and I have the resources to catch the little shit. And I’ll be especially okay once I’ve killed him.” 

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It had been ten years since Mary Hatford had died, which meant it had been ten years since Chris had last driven a car that he actually owned. Well, eleven years, technically, but Chris thought that when your mother died in a car, that more or less gave you ownership of said car, seeing as no-one was ever going to use it again. 

He laughed as the windows of the stolen car slid down noiselessly, and pushed the accelerator down to the floor. He’d spent months working as a valet for that stuck-up hotel, wishing he could be the one properly driving those cars instead of merely parking them, and now here he was. 

It served that blond asshole right, he thought, for thinking he was too good for a bit of help. For thinking his car was more special then the others. They were all the same. Big hunks of metal that could go really, really fast. Honestly, if the blondie hadn’t gotten so pissed off, hadn’t made Chris want to prove him and his holier-than-thou attitude wrong, this would’ve never happened. Chris had been planning for it to be his last night in that city anyway, had his bag packed and hidden in one of the hotel’s kitchen fridges, but he’d never planned to steal a car, let alone one belonging to someone obviously so important. He’d had money for a bus tucked into his bag pocket for weeks. He could spend that on food now, he thought, or new hair dye once his roots started showing. 

The wind rushed through his hair and the miles sped past. Chris had no idea how long he’d been driving, but it had to have been more than a few hours because the clock on the dashboard told him it was almost six in the morning. Blondie should’ve figured out his fancy-ass car was missing by now, but Chirs was confident that he had enough of a headstart to keep the car for a few days before he had to dump it. 

He was heading North, running toward the winter instead of away from it. He’d spent too much time in the South and the heat had seeped into his bones, making him sluggish and complacent. For the past few years, he’d paid less and less attention to the nagging fear in the back of his mind, telling him to run and run and never, ever stop running, not for anything, not unless you want to find yourself in an early grave, but he’d been working at that hotel for four months and knew that if he stayed any longer he would blink and wake up one day, 30 and brain dead and still working the same old job.

Something beeped on the dashboard and Chris looked up to see that the fuel gauge was dangerously low. It was roughly a couple day's drive to Minnesota from where he’d been staying in California, and he knew he’d need to stop for gas at some point, but the idea of stopping while he was still on the wrong side of the state border filled him with apprehension. Old habits died hard, and fear had been ingrained in Chris for so much of his life that it was practically part of his DNA. 

He pulled into the next gas station he passed, and cast a glance around the empty pumps before sliding out of the car. It was a dingy place; a broken security camera hung off the wall of the small shop and the shelves Chris could see inside were only half stocked. 

He filled the car to the brim, and pulled the stolen wallet out of his back pocket to check for cash. He was greeted with at least five hundred dollars and an ID that bore the unsmiling face of Andrew Minyard, 26 years old and FBI agent for 3 of them. Chris almost dropped the wallet in shock. FBI agent? Fuck. 

Well now he’d have to dump the car a lot sooner than he’d wanted, because no FBI agent would just accept a stolen car lying down. They were probably tracking him already, scanning the surveillance cameras on the highway. They were probably already on his tail. 

Calm down, he told himself sternly. They might he looking for you, but you have a few hours ahead of them and its a fast fucking car, so just pay for your gas and keep going. Everything’s gonna be alright. 

He tucked the stolen wallet back in his pocket and made his way towards the small shop. The bell on the door tinkled as he walked in and the cashier looked up for a brief second, before lowering her head and going back to filing her nails into razor sharp points. Chris browsed the half-empty store warily, conscious of the camera high up in the corner. He didn’t know why he was worried, it was probably broken, just like the one outside.

He approached the cashier as nonchalantly as he could. She glanced up, and something sharpened in her expression, something that made him feel trapped, like he was prey. 

“That’s your Maserati out there, is it?”

“Yeah.” Chris couldn’t see how it was a question. There was no one else here so no one else it could reasonably belong to.

“Honestly, I think it's literally the most attractive car a man can have. Like, it's just so sexy, a man with an expensive car. It’s like, my lifelong dream to ride in one of them.” The cashier pushed a lock of hair out of her face and leaned forward, right up into his space until he could feel her breath on his cheek. She smelt like candy floss. 

“You wouldn't mind giving me a joyride, now would you, mister?”

The feral look in her eyes told him she wasn't exactly talking about the car anymore. He was no stranger to this sort of thing - he knew he was what others considered attractive and it didn't bother him. In fact, it often made it a lot easier for him to get his way. 

He shot her a grin and gestured to the locked cabinet behind her. 

“Pack of Newports, please.”

He paid for his cigarettes and gas with a hundred dollar note, courtesy of Andrew Minyard, and flashed one last smile at the cashier before leaving the store. The car sat in the early morning sun, a great black beast. It looked awfully judgemental for a car, Chris thought, like it could tell that the person driving it wasn’t its owner.

 The lock beeped with a click of the fob and Chris opened the back door. His duffel bag was still tucked in the footwell of the seat where he’d thrown it when he’d left the hotel all those hours ago, and he slid it out. It was light - too light for something that carried all his worldly possessions.

 He checked through the contents systematically, checking them off in his head. 

• $200 in cash, along with the 100 he’d saved for the bus and an extra 400 from the stolen wallet
• Two fresh pairs of clothes
• A hunting knife
• A torn bible with a hollow inside
• A plastic wallet of fake ID’s
• A beat-up notebook with a kids padlock on the front. 

It was a pathetic excuse for a life, but it was everything he’d ever needed. 

He closed the back door and skirted around into the driver's seat. Leaving the bag on the floor of the passenger side, he reached over and popped the glove box open and - jackpot. 

A gun lay on top of some old newspapers. It was small and compact and absolutely perfect. It was also fully loaded, which saved him from having to buy magazines, which would probably attract suspicion. He tucked into the waistband of his valet’s uniform - which he definitely needed to change out of, and continued his search. Underneath the newspapers was one of those FBI badges on a chain, which Chris pocketed as well. 

He started the car again. 

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Andrew was having the worst day of his fucking life. First, he'd allowed Kevin to convince him that going back to the office to track down the car stealing lowlife at one in the morning was a bad idea, so he’d agreed to let Kevin take him home so he could sleep. Now, 5 hours later, sleep deprived and angry, he was staring at a screen on which a recording of his car was playing, speeding down a highway toward the Nevada border. 

“Andrew, c’mon, it could be worse.” Andrew’s boss, Wymack, spun round in his chair. If he noticed Andrew’s hands, shaking with rage, he didn’t mention it. “We’ve got eyes on him everywhere. About an hour ago we got CCTV footage of him at a gas station 10 miles west of the state border. We can track his movements exactly. You will get your car back.” 

Andrew shrugged. “Yeah, I know that, boss. But the point is, that no-good scheming criminal degenerate will have tainted it. That car was so beautiful, so pure, so clean. And now it’s - dirty,” he finished lamely. 

The office around them was empty. The only reason why Andrew’s boss was there was because Andrw had bullied Kevin into calling up and begging Wymack to come and access their CCTV rights, or something. Perks of your dad being the boss, Andrew guessed. He hadn’t bothered asking Wymack to look into the identity of the car thief though, Andrew knew that ‘Chris’ wouldn’t have been the man’s real name and any files they would have dug up would be squeaky clean.

“Look, Andrew, we can call and ask for someone to be sent out, but I can’t promise you that it'll be seen as high enough of a priority. We should just put out an alert and leave it to local police. It’s a pretty recognizable car, after all.” 

“Don’t worry about it, Boss. I’m going after the little fucker myself.” 

Wymack’s brow furrowed. “Andrew, I don’t know how to break it to you but, um, you don’t have a car.”

Andrew had already figured that bit out. He was going to hire a car, drive without sleeping, and once he caught up to that fluffy haired son of a bitch, he was going to wring his pretty neck. To Wymack, though, he waved his hand dismissively.

“I’ve got it covered. But I’m taking some time off work. Oh, and I’m going to need another badge. I lost mine when my wallet got stolen.”

...

In all honesty, Andrew thought to himself, the stolen badge and wallet didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would’ve. What nagged at him more was the feeling of vulnerability, something he hadn’t felt in a really long time. That car had been his for 9 years and now some stranger was sitting in the driver’s seat, his feet on the pedals and his fingers on the gear shift. It felt, to some extension, that the stranger had his hands on Andrew’s body. 

Andrew had packed an overnight bag at his apartment last night and now it sat on the backseat of his rental car like a lead weight, his knives equally heavy in his armbands. He’d had no cause to use them in years, as he spent most of his time behind a desk perusing files, but he felt comforted by their familiar shape after all this time. They were like his armour, his last line of defence, and as he drove off toward the last known sighting of the motherfucking car thief, he felt immense relief that they were on his side.              

Chapter Text

Neil Josten walked out of a shitty bungalow in the Nevada desert with a plastic baggie full of fake ID’s in his left hand and a small pile of clothes in his right. The guy who owned the house had followed him out, and was learning over the fire pit in his front yard with a cigarette sticking out of his mouth. 

“You’re gonna want to burn those, mate,” he called over his shoulder. “Mary must’ve taught you well if you’re still alive all these years later, but you get caught with those and you’ll be in jail for identity fraud or some shit quicker than you can blink.”

Neil didn’t ask how the guy knew his mother, nor did he ask how he knew that she was dead. All he knew was the house was just another address to scratch out in his notebook, another contact that made up his mother’s legacy. He would never see this guy again. 

Neil tossed his valet’s uniform and the plastic bag into the metal can and watched as the guy dropped his lit cigarette on top of the heap. The glowing filter sparked gently once, twice, then the flames began to build. Neil watched as the glowing tongues of fire licked at the identities of Chris Hale: hotel valet for 4 months, Stephan Smith: rookie bartender, Austin McKinley: high-school student. 

Neil dug a cigarette of his own out of the pack in his back pocket and leaned over the firepit to light the tip. He put in between his lips and inhaled the minty scent deeply, trying to block out the  smell of burning plastic. It didn’t help, only making things worse, and Neil’s stomach churned. That was what his mother had smelt like in the end, menthol cigarettes and melting vinyl. The car they’d been in, a trashy thing Mary had hotwired outside of a used car dealership, had given up 10 miles north of Pacific city on the Oregon coast. Black smoke was billowing from underneath the hood and Neil - only he hadn’t been Neil back then - had somehow managed to manoeuvre them onto a deserted stretch of beach, foolishly thinking the water would help cool down the engine. Mary had been half-dead at that point, her breathing shallow and her blood slowly seeping into the vinyl seats. She’d had to force him out of the car with her last breaths, pushing her notebook into his hands and hissing at him to never stop running Nathaniel, never ever stop. He’d stumbled away from the car on shaking legs and collapsed, sobbing and howling as the car exploded behind him. 

He still smoked Newports in her memory, but Mary had been gone so long now that her pinched face and paranoid warnings were merely bad dreams, albeit ones he still woke up screaming from. He knew why they had been running, knew why she was always so frightened, but it had been so long since then that Neil’s own fear had dulled to something manageable, even ignorable. 

He hadn’t had a proper reason to run since he was 19, and the only reason he continued to do so was out of habit more than anything else. 

The guy across the firepit shot Neil a sympathetic look, like he knew exactly what he was thinking. 

“Okay, to get this clear,” he started, “You’re Neil Josten. You’re 24 years old and you come from Millport, Arizona.”

Neil nodded. He scratched the back of his hands, feeling the raised lines of scar tissue that crosshatched his knuckles, and the man’s eyes followed his movement. 

“Look, kid. Your mother was a good woman. Strong, like. I was sorry to hear that she’d died. God, must be 10 years ago now, so you were what, 14?” 

Neil didn’t bother correcting him. He could’ve been any age, really, depending on what his mother had decided. Nathaniel, however, had been 13. Too young to lose a mother. Far too young. 

“Yeah, it's whatever.” Neil kept his voice as level as possible. “But I really should be going now. I appreciate it.” He didn’t specify what it was, but he didn’t have to. He could feel his new ID and driver's licence in his back pocket, tucked safely behind the stolen wallet.

The guy nodded. “Good luck.” 

Neil shot him a smile, and dropped his cigarette into the slowly dying fire. 

The car sat waiting for him on the curb, and Neil felt a sense of comfort sink into his bones as he sat in the driver's seat. It was a shame he’d have to leave the car behind, but he really wasn’t interested in the FBI catching up with him, Minyard especially. He hadn’t seemed like the kind of guy to forgive and forget, and Neil had enough self preservation left in him to want to avoid a confrontation with Minyard at all costs. 

He’d been driving for about 10 hours all together when the exhaustion began to take its toll. 

Just over the border, he told himself. Just get into Utah and then you can find a shitty motel and crash for the night. So he drove until the clock on the dashboard said 2 pm and the desert sun was imprinting itself into his eyeballs. He drove until he saw an empty parking lot in front of a dull neon sign and a run down building. He skidded into an empty space and staggered out of the car, feeling his skin begin to boil underneath the long sleeves of his hoodie and sweat drip down his face. 

The motel was empty except for some old wrinkled guy at the front desk who chucked Neil a set of keys and directed him to his room. Pushing open the door, Neil felt the sweet relief of air conditioning on his face, and he glanced around what was to be his accommodation for the night. 

The bed was suspiciously stained and the ceiling light was hanging on by one measly wire, but the shower looked clean and there was a large flatscreen TV on one wall. It was much better than nothing, and all paid for compliments of the wad of cash in Andrew Minyard’s wallet. 

Neil rooted through the draws in the nightstand, finding a set of padded handcuffs, a box of expired paracetamol (still, he tucked it into his pocket for later), an empty plastic water bottle, a lighter and a copy of On The Road, by Jack Keroac. He couldn’t help himself, he snorted out a laugh, it was so incredibly fitting. 

He tucked the book and the lighter into his duffel and slid out the bible, whose empty insides now contained the stolen gun, tucking it under his pillow. Then, he used the handcuffs to secure the handles of the bag to the bed frame, before heading outside to find a vending machine. He hadn’t eaten for a whole day, not since he first started his shift at the hotel way back in California, and his stomach was rumbling. 

Five minutes later, stocked up on granola bars, pot noodles and energy drinks, he flopped back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. The feeling of freedom, the one that always came when he started a new ife, hadn’t caught up to him yet, though he had a slight suspicion that was a result of the FBI being on his trail. He felt more trapped than he did when he’d been working as a valet. 

Neil thought of his mother, with her steely eyes and coarse hands. She would be so disappointed with him, drawing unnecessary attention to himself like this. He’d never truly been able to please her, she’d always been too anxious and paranoid to spare him a kind word. He’d grown up with her claw-like fingers digging him into his shoulder, dragging him around the nearest corner or into their next safehouse. 6 countries and 24 American states they’d stayed in while on the run. They’d moved so fast and so far that eventually Neil forgot what they were running from, why Mary slept with a gun under her pillow every night, why she kept a list of addresses and phone numbers written in a notebook strapped to the side of her hip, even as she slept. But she would always remind him, whispering promises in the dark of the night. 

Your father is a very bad man, Nathaniel. He will kill us without a second thought when he catches us and maybe my death will be quick but yours will be long and painful. He views you as his property, and when you were taken away he got very very mad. He wants you back more than anything and he has been chasing us for years. It is because of me you are still alive. Never forget that.

Sure, it was because of her that he’d survived, but she’d gotten herself killed in the end and left him to fend for himself. He’d spend years sleeping in bus shelters and begging on the streets, too poor to afford food or hair dye or the coloured contacts his mother had always had an endless supply of. It was a surprise he’d lasted as long as he did without starving, and by the time he managed to get off the streets he was a husk of a human being, shrivelled and sickly. Still, he’d been lucky, he supposed. Luckier than his mother, that was for sure. 

...

Neil sat up, his heart racing, and the room was in darkness. He must have dozed off, because the clock on the nightstand read 1.05 in the morning and light was only barely peeking through the blinds. 

His duffel bag lay beside him on the bed and Neil could feel the hard corners of the hollowed-out Bible through the thin pillow and his jackrabbiting heart slowed to something normal. There was no one out to get him, not anymore. There was no reason to be scared (apart from one, presumably very angry Andrew Minyard) and certainly no reason for him to be waking up, panting and sweating this early in the morning. 

He calmed himself by running through his planned journey in his head. It would take roughly another two full days of driving to reach Minnesota, maybe longer. He would leave the car here, he decided, it was too risky to keep it with him. He’d slept for almost a full day and given Minyard plenty of time to catch up with him. It was safer to just cut his losses and move on, however much he knew he would miss the great hulking black beast with its top speeds of 130 miles per hour. 

In all honesty, Neil wasn’t sure why he wanted to go to Minnesota. There were lots of lakes there, he’d been told. His mother had never taken them, mostly because Mary didn’t like the cold or the Canadian border, and Minnesota was uncomfortably familiar with both. Neil, on the other hand, saw Canada as an opportunity. A whole new country, unspoilt by his mother’s touch. Neil Josten could shake off the ghosts of his past in Canada, he thought. Neil Josten could be born again. 

Neil Josten also needed to leave. If he wasn’t careful, Andrew Minyard would discover both his car and the thief who had stolen it in the same place, and there was no way Neil wanted to make it that easy for him. If he was lucky, Minyard would find the car and decide that it wasn’t worth chasing some random guy around just to get some form of closure. He would head back to his well-paying job in California and leave Neil (formerly Chris the valet) to his dreams of Minnesotan lakes and the Canadian border. 

Neil unclasped the handcuffs and hoisted the duffel onto his shoulder. He tucked the Bible into its designated pocket and counted the remaining cash thoroughly. He still had over $200, which was plenty. He was also fully prepared with enough energy drinks and snack bars that he shouldn’t need to beg food off of whoever he was hitchhiking with. 

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it as he strode out into the early morning darkness. The neon lights glowed brighter in the night and reduced the stars to washed out, distant pinpricks of light in the distance. It would’ve been an apt metaphor for modern technology, Neil mused, if only he could think of how he would phrase it.

The man behind the front desk was asleep and drooling onto his arm when Neil pushed the door open. He startled and jerked upwards as the doorbell chimed, blinking blearily and attempting to straighten his glasses on his wizened nose. 

“When does your shift end?”

The old guy blinked again and Neil had the feeling it had been a long time since anyone had tried to have a proper conversation with him.

“Never. It never ends. I sleep here, I eat here, I basically live here. Don’t end up like me, kid, wasting away behind a desk.” 

Neil had no plans to. “Look, mister, if I give you $200 would you do me a favour?”

The man looked suddenly way more awake and nodded eagerly, leaning forward in his chair. 

“Okay, great. So, at some point today a very small and very angry blonde man is going to come here asking for the owner of the maserati in the parking lot. When he does,” Neil reached into his pocket and removed Andrew Minyard’s car keys and wallet, “Tell him I left him these. Oh, and tell him this-” 

Neil leant forward and murmured in the old guy's ear for just a moment, then leant back, unable to keep the self-satisfied expression off of his face. The man laughed, a strange husky noise, and Neil shot him a grin before turning and leaving through the doors. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His Royal Queenliness

Andrew you’re fucking insane

Andrew we have people who can do this kind of thing for us 

Are you seriously going after this guy on your own he’s just a car thief calm down

Andrew why didn’t you tell me I had to hear from Wymack 

Andrew answer me 

You can't skip work like this

This is in no way good for your career 

Andrew I can see you reading the messages 

Andrew if you don't answer me i'm telling Nicky you used

to have a crush on his fiance

U wldnt dare 

Learn to type asshole 

And of course I would 

Kevin ur dead to me 

Whatever 

Just get back as soon as you can okay 

And don't let that guy kill you it would be very embarrassing 

ok

Boss Man Y

Perp last seen at 2.37 pm pulling into a parking spot of the sundance  motel on highway 80, 35 miles over west utah border

thx 

It was 5 in the morning. Andrew had been driving for almost twelve hours with no sleep and an unholy amount of caffeine to keep him going, and as the Sundance hotel’s neon signs came into view he almost fainted with relief. The shitty rental car he’d been driving was cramped and uncomfortable and he’d had to spend an awkward amount of time adjusting the seat to the right height, but he hadn't got the proportions quite right and his legs were beginning to seize up. 

The parking lot of the motel was strangely empty, and Andrew’s coffee-addled brain caused the tarmac to shimmer like a mirage. Then the shimmering stopped and Andrew sucked in a breath, because that was his car . His beautiful, sleek black car, parked haphazardly across two spaces, looking calm and serene in the sun. His car, the car he’d genuinely thought he would never see again. His car, but with no sign of the thief. 

Andrew climbed out of his rental as fast as he could and was by the Maserati’s side in a second. There was no stains or damage to the interior as far as he could see, but there was no way Andrew trusted that motherfucking good-for-nothing to keep it truly clean. 

He practically sprinted across the tarmac to the entrance and the sign advertising cheap rooms , pushing open the door and not caring as it smashed into the wall. The old man behind the counter looked up and a gleeful smile stretched across his wizened lips. There was a strange look of recognition in his eyes but Andrew would bet all of his life’s savings that he had never ever met this man before. 

“He told me you’d be here,” the man said. 

Something heavy and unpleasant settled in Andrew’s stomach. He knew, he just knew, that the car-stealing motherfucker was still playing with him from beyond the metaphorical grave ( ie- beyond the parking lot of this shitty hotel ). Would he ever get enough? First he stole Andrew’s car, his baby, then he played his sick mind games even after Andrew chased him halfway across the country. He was probably already on his merry way by now, laughing to himself, imagining the rage in Andrew’s eyes as he faced down the old motel owner. 

God, would he be sorry when Andrew caught up to him. So very, very sorry. 

The old man looked up at Andrew’s face and his joyous expression dimmed slightly, but persisted nonetheless. “He told me you would be angry. Said not to worry about it though. You wouldn’t hurt me, not if I gave you these.” He held out a hand and Andrew’s keys dangled tantalisingly from his middle finger. 

Andrew snatched them as fast as he could and cupped them in his hand fondly. The cold metal bit into the flesh of his palm and he relished the sensation, concentrated on it, the sting of the familiar cool iron and the feeling of relief it gave him. It was a piece of himself, something that he was ashamed to admit he feared he would never get back. 

The man’s grin widened to its full blast again. He reached under his desk and pulled out Andrew’s wallet, handing it over with sly fingers. At Andrew’s inspection it was completely the same as it had been the last time he’d had it, although he was missing the $500 in cash. Whatever. That was fine. The thieving valet had left his FBI ID untouched, however, and Andrew breathed a second sigh of relief.

Andrew was turning on his heel when the man called out, his smile evident in the delightful curve of his voice. “Oh, wait! He told me to tell you one more thing.” 

Andrew didn’t bother turning: the man would tell him anyway, the glee in his voice betrayed him. 

“He told me to say that you should try harder. That for an FBI agent you were surprisingly slow at realising your wallet and car keys had been stolen right from out of your pocket. Oh, and better luck next time.”

Andrew felt rage boiling in his blood. That shit-eating bastard. How dare he insult Andrew when he was nothing but a nobody, a lowlife, a nothing. Andrew's whole body was alight with fury as he strode out the door, back toward his car, ignoring the delighted cackles of the old man as he did so. 

The maserati was his, Andrew knew that, but it stank of something else. It stank of mint and sweat and crime and Andrew felt his stomach rolling as his shifted gears, the lines of the highway blurring past the window. The thief had his money - and his gun and badge, as Andrew had recently discovered - but Andrew had his car and his sense of self back. It felt terribly refreshing. 

He’d abandoned the rental car at the motel in favour of his baby and was currently in the process of calling Kevin, a complex and treacherous activity in of itself. He never knew how Kevin would pick up, whether the man would be cheerful or angry at some slight thing and Andrew was to face his unending wrath. It gave Andrew a jolt of adrenaline every time he let the phone ring. 

Andrew! You are not dead! Wonderful news! 

Andrew could hear the exclamation marks in his voice, just like he could hear the slur to his words. “Kevin. Be honest with me right now, because it is five in the morning and I am in no mood whatsoever for your shit. Are you drunk?” 

Andrew my maaaaaaan. How could you say such a dastardly thing? How could you accuse me of such heinous crimes? As you said, ‘tis five in the morning and that is definitely one hundred percent not a time to be getting drunk. 

“It’s always happy hour somewhere, Kev.” 

Yes yes I know I knoooooooooow. Now, tell me news about your thief. Did you find him? 

“Not yet, but I will. I got the car back, though and this thief can't hide for long. He’s bound to be along the highway somewhere, I can't imagine anyone would be stupid enough to give him a lift. I mean, his face practically screams criminal.” 

Andrew you can’t tell if someone is a criminal just by taking a good long look at their face. For example, you are a criminal and every time I see your face I think how soft your skin looks. Thus thereforeeeee, criminal vision is not a thing.

“Criminal vision?” 

You know what I mean. Crime-dar. Like gaydar, but, like, for crime.

Andrew bit his laugh into the fabric of his sleeve and hung up the phone. Drunk Kevin was no unique thing but drunk Kevin at five in the morning was slightly worrying. Not worrying enough for Andrew to turn his car around to California just yet, but still. If Kevin was drunk now that meant he’d been up a good few hours, and that in turn meant that he’d had a nightmare.

Kevin’s nightmares were a terrible thing to witness and Andrew had only had the pleasure of observing them a few times, when Kevin was living on Andrew’s couch after his accident, in the same pair of sweats every day and rotting into Andrew's expensive leather. They were of his time undercover, and were mainly filled with protests and pleading in a pathetic little voice that had set Andrew’s teeth on edge and turned his spine into jelly. There was such a difference between Kevin's daytime confident self and the way he begged his dream captors to “Let me go, please, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. Please, please, please no no no no no no-. ”

It took almost two hours of cruising up and down the Utah highway - like a fucking creep Andrew thought to himself - before he admitted to himself that there was absolutely no way he would be finding the runaway valet. He was probably long gone by now, in someone else's car with someone else's name and a shit-eating grin on his face. 

So Andrew did what every reasonable man would do: he pulled into the next diner he saw and ordered himself two of everything he wanted on the menu. Only when his booth was piled high with pancakes and milkshakes did he drop his head into his hands and allow himself to feel the exhaustion that had slowly been advancing on him the past 12 hours. So much had happened, and so fast as well, that Andrew’s capacity for muddling through, something that tended to work for him the majority of the time, was at breaking point.

He felt so vulnerable, so exposed. Something precious to him had been stolen, literally snatched off his very body, And not that he would admit it, not to Kevin or Wymack or his cousin Nicky, but for a while he’d been horribly, terribly scared. Scared he wouldn't get his car back. Scared that the one thing he’d retained from his teenage years would be lost forever. Scared (and this was the most irrational one of all, because he hated her more than anything) that his mother had died just for her memory to end up in the hands of a thief. 

But the Maserati was sitting in the parking lot outside and maybe Andrew would never get the opportunity to punch the valet in the face but he was okay. He was okay now and he would be okay later, when he was driving back to California, his home. He would be okay when he got the car dusted for prints, just in case, and he would be okay when they inevitably didn’t find anything. Mostly, though, he would be okay when he sat down at his desk in the morning and went back to the job that he liked well enough, his car keys zip tied to his pocket because, well, just in case.

One week later

“ANDREW!” 

Andrew looked up from the file he’d been reading, something about a serial killer with mommy issues, as his boss’s voice echoed through the office. Kevin looked up as well, as did the majority of people Andrew had the misfortune of working with. 

“What did you do?” His cousin Nicky’s voice was tentative in a way that told Andrew that the second he was out of the room everyone would be hearing Nicky’s theories. Renee, who owned the desk beside Kevin and whose job was pretty much a mystery, caught Andrew’s eye and winked. Her girlfriend Allison was perched on the edge of her desk and made a tsk’ing noise with her perfect pink lips, taking a judgemental sip of her coffee. Allison technically worked downstairs in forensics, but from what Andrew understood she was important enough that she could instruct other people to do her job for her. That, and the last time someone had reminded her where she actually worked he’d walked around like a penguin for a week. Andrew was pretty sure that Allson had sucker punched his balls into non-existence. 

The walk into Wymack’s office was a painful one. Andrew pretended not to notice Kevin trailing behind him like a lost puppy, and pretended some more when Kevin started intensely studying the paintings outside of Wymack’s door as Andrew pulled it open. He closed it behind him extra firmly, however, letting the slam of the hard oak tell Kevin that this conversation was really none of his business. 

Wymack sat in his large chair, fingers steepled on the desk in front of him and lips curved in a satisfied smile. The screen in front of him was glowing with a dull light.

“Minyard.” 

“Boss.”

“Dad,” Kevin’s voice sounded faintly from outside the closed door. 

“FUCK OFF KEVIN!” Both men inside the office yelled. 

Wymack pursed his lips and continued. “Andrew, we have received some very good news. The fingerprints we managed to recover off of your car have matched something in the system.” 

Andrew could hardly breathe. His heart was beating fast in his chest, and God, his standards for excitement were depressingly low. 

“An arrest was made last night at a bar in Minnesota. A fight or something, it’s not entirely clear. What is clear, however, are the fingerprints taken from one of the men arrested. The name he gave the cops is Neil Josten and he has the paperwork to prove it, but his prints are exact matches from the ones off your car. So this means we can get him not only for stealing your car, but for possession of a fake ID, because I distinctly remember you telling me that his name was Chris, and not Neil Josten.” 

Wymach was either unable or unwilling to keep the distaste out of his voice. 

“This kid is going away for a long time, Andrew, don’t you worry.” 

Andrew wasn’t worried. He did wonder, however, if Neil Josten would still be around now that his name was in the system. He’d already shown he was a runner and Andrew wasn’t looking for any more proof. He voiced his concerns to Wymack, who grimaced like he’d thought of the exact same thing. 

“He’s in holding at the moment and he’ll stay there for as long as we can keep him. We’re in contact with Minnesota police but the kid’s smart. He knows his rights and while he might’ve been a little disoriented when he was arrested he’ll know they can't keep him there much longer. If I'm being honest we’re lucky we got him in the first place. Police think he wasn’t even at fault in the fight, they just took him in as a precaution.”

Andrew nodded and nodded and all the while tried not to keep his face from showing the smugness he felt bubbling in his stomach. But then Wymack said something about getting the kid flown into the state or sending someone to collect him so he could be charged with the car theft in California and Andrew spoke before he could stop himself.

“No.”

“Sorry, did you just say no?” Wymacks tone was dangerously incredulous but Andrew felt his eyes harden in a way he knew was threatening. (He’d practised it in the mirror for years as a teenager).

“I am going to get him. I will drive to God-damn Minnesota and I will pick up this kid and drive him back and I will try my very hardest not to kill him. I want to be the face this idiot sees when he knows his life is over.”

“You are insane, Minyard.” 

The thing was, Andrew knew that he wasn’t. He was extremely sane and had been so for an awfully long time, but he knew that once the people around him had gotten a taste of his insanity they couldn’t seem to get enough. No one here cared particularly about the trouble he’d been in as a teenager, they all came from messed-up backgrounds, but there was a difference between an abusive household and a teen on trial for murder. They silently pinned it on him at every turn, using it as an excuse for all his decisions. It seemed to Andrew that the only one who could see through the skin of madness he kept wrapped around him was Kevin. Kevin was a constant source of balance in his life, something Andrew would never admit on pain of death, although currently Andrew suspected Kevin was balancing on his tiptoes to try and listen in through the crack at the top of Wymack’s door. 

“You are welcome to go ahead and catch this guy, Minyard. And because I am quite literally the best boss, I’ll give you a week's paid leave. But you better make this little roadtrip worth my time. I want this guy back here, in a week, whole and relatively unscarred. No missing fingers, no stab wounds, no nothing. I want you to be on your fucking bestest behaviour so that when this guy arrives here ready to go to prison he will have nothing but good things to say.”

Andrew was already out of his chair, one hand on the door handle. This was turning into a very, very good day. 

Chapter Text

Neil had been out of jail for 4 hours, 26 minutes and 30 seconds and he was currently at work, because his boss was a stingy bastard who wouldn’t give him his last check until he completed his last shift. The all-night diner, true to its name, was slow and sleepy in the late night darkness. Apart from a grumpy chef and his check-hoarding, equally grumpy manager, Neil was the only one working. It was late enough that it didn’t matter, however, only a few patrons slumped in the tacky vinyl booths, to-ing and fro-ing from their night shift jobs. 

The diner job was a pathetic excuse for normalcy that Neil had adopted, a way to pass the time while he sorted out contacts and accommodation and a new life over the border in Canada. It was harder than he had thought, because his mother had hated how cold and kind and peaceful Canada was, so she’d never made any connections with anyone over there

Neil had been left to find contacts of contacts, calling up numbers, half-hopeful, on pay phones and praying they wouldn’t hang up. 

He’d found the job the first night in Grand Rapids, the city he’d found himself in, after wandering around looking for a warm-ish place to sleep. The diner had been glowing a warm gold, the light spilling out onto the street and the ‘help-wanted’ sign lit up in the window. The manager, mean and stingy as he was, had hired Neil on the spot in what was evidently a fit of desperation from them both. He didn't seem bothered by the fact that Neil was only willing to work for a week or two. He’d even, after casting a judgemental glance over Neil’s sleep-crinkled and sweat stained clothes, recommended some decent hostels and hotels. 

So now Neil was about to collect a check for a week's worth of work and he’d checked out of his hotel and his bag was tucked into a fridge in the back kitchen - really all it was a tragic reenactment of his previous job. 

All he needed was an asshole with an expensive car and hey ho - he was off. 

The humming of the diner lights drilled into Neil’s brain. It was eerily similar to the sound of jail, the disquieting murmur of the electric bulbs that Neil was sure were designed specifically to torture the inmates. The guards hadn’t seemed too bothered when he’d pointed it out to them, and not even Neil’s scathing commentary on their customer service ( “You motherfuckers really need to up your hospitality game if you want me to leave a good review on yelp.” ) could get them to react. Sure, they’d seemed nonplussed when Neil’s fingerprints had scanned, but had refused to tell him what was wrong, no matter how much he’d begged ( “If you don’t tell me what you made that stupid fucking face for then so help me God you won’t be able to make any more of those expressions for the rest of your life after I smash you nose in!” ). 

The arrest had been stupid, honestly. Neil regretted it more than he’d regretted anything for a long time, mainly because it meant he’d had to get a new identity after only a week of being Neil Josten. 

Canada Neil couldn't have an arrest record: Canada Neil had to be spotless. Canada Neil wouldn’t even be Neil anymore, he would be Canada-someone-else. 

Really though, it wasn’t Neil’s fault some shit-faced frat bro at the bar had gotten handsy and couldn't learn how to take no for an answer. Just like it wasn’t his fault that his punch had been harder then he’d anticipated, or that frat-bro’s friends had gotten offended and decided that diving across the bar to defend their mates honour was a good idea. 

Neil had escaped, relatively unscathed, right into the waiting hands of the cops. He’d been as bothersome as possible, thinking they would release him as soon as they could, but they’d seemed extremely reluctant to let him go. Eventually, after Neil had politely reminded them about how long he'd been there ( “It’s been more than 24 hours you twats I’m pretty sure you have to let me go now,” ) he’d been released onto the street. 

It had been 10 at night and Neil had been due to start his diner shift at 12, so he’d emptied his hotel room and showed up at work as casually as he could. His boss wasn’t bothered when Neil informed him it would be his last shift, just wrote a check and groused about handing it over once Neil's work for the evening was done. 

Now, slumped over the counter with the smell of hash browns and cheap coffee clouding his brain, Neil couldn’t wait to escape. Canada was only a drive away, which meant that freedom, true freedom, was so close that Neil could taste it on the tip of his tongue. 

There was no-one out to get him anymore, his mother could rest easy in her grave knowing that all those who would wish her son harm were either locked up or dead. He could travel without fear, could talk to strangers without wondering if they would pull a knife on him or throw him in the boot of their car. He could stay in place for however long he pleased without bolting awake in the middle of the night, shaking and terrified that someone would burst down the doors and he would be unable to scream. He could fall asleep, alone in bed and not fear the nightmares that pawed at the edges of his brain. They hadn’t affected him for years and with any luck he would spend the rest of his life viewing sleep as a solace rather than one more thing to resent. 

Neil needed a cigarette.

He also needed some new hair dye before his roots started showing. Canada Neil would have black hair maybe, something darker then the light brown curls that currently tumbled over his face. They were messy and needed to be cut, but Neil’s vanity had grown so much he could no longer bear to hack at them himself in motel bathrooms.

The bell above the diner door jingled. 

Neil didn’t bother looking up from where his head was pillowed on his arms: if he was needed he would be called. The customer’s heavy footsteps echoed across the linoleum and Neil snuck a glance at his feet through the cage of his fingers. The man was wearing heavy, laced-up black boots with steel tips. Neil snorted into his palms, and the emo wannabe paused before switching direction to lean, uncomfortably close, against the counter. When he spoke, it was with the thick Californian drawl that Neil had become so accustomed to during the last four months. 

“I always assumed that places like these would have good customer service.” Impatient fingers tip-tapped a rhythm on the bar by Neil’s head. “But I guess I was wrong.” 

Neil lifted his head. He saw the neat black turtleneck, the pale skin and the blonde hair. He saw the golden eyes boring into his own in the exact way they’d stared down the camera man taking his ID photo. Neil had a split second to think as Andrew Minyard’s face twisted into something triumphant, then made his decision. 

He ran. He ran like hadn't run in years. 

He sped into the kitchen out back, feeling his feet pump beneath him. He refused to look around and check if Minyard was following him, focusing instead on the roaring of his pulse in his ears, the grab of his hands as he snatched his duffel bag off of its shelf, the yell of the chef on duty as Neil barged past him on his way to he door. 

The cool air was a slap in the face but Neil refused to let it slow him down, his feet carrying him around the corner and onto the main street. The part of his brain that wasn't concerned with what was possibly impending death - or at least jail time - dimly registered the sleek black Maserati he’d left sitting in a motel parking lot a week ago on the side of the road. Neil let it be, his screaming muscles moving him onward down the lamp-lit street. 

There was nothing except the wind in his hair and the pant of his breath as the darkness rushed past him. He was alive, so God-damn alive, and scared in a way he’d thought was impossible for him to be again. He was being hunted like prey: this man had come looking for him, crossed states to find him and it had been so fast that Neil’s heart was in his throat because it meant that he was nothing. All the energy he put into staying anonymous, every night that he stayed awake, meticulously planning exactly what to do to keep himself under the radar, it all amounted to nothing. 

Neil was so concentrated on the slap of his shoes against the pavement that he didn’t notice the skid of wheels behind him. Then something slammed into his stomach and he collapsed to the ground, breath ripped from his lungs like the tightening of a noose. He curled in on himself, instinctively checking for cracked ribs. There was a strange, broken sound echoing in the viscous darkness and it took a second for Neil to realise that it was his breathing, tearing out of his chest in great shuddering gasps. 

“Stand up, rabbit.” The California drawl had a tinge of impatience. Neil couldn’t see the man, his vision was blurred with red, but he could see the outline of broad shoulders standing imperiously over him. 

“Fuck you,” Neil choked. The scars on his hands burned against the cool concrete. 

“Maybe later.” 

Andrew Minyard sank down on his haunches so that he was in Neil's line of vision, something metallic shining in his hands. Handcuffs. 

Neil felt himself scrambling backwards, legs pistoning against the cool air but Minyard was quick and before Neil could blink the man had straddled his thighs and was gripping Neil’s scrawny wrists in a vice-like grip. There was a clink and then the hard metal was secured around them. 

“You motherfucker,” Neil panted, desperately bucking against the hold on his arms and legs, “How did you fucking find me?”

“You got arrested. Your name is now in the system, idiot. Did you think I wouldn't find you?”

The sad thing was, that was exactly what Neil had thought. He’d assumed that Minyard would’ve been happy enough with his car back, and possibly stupid enough to think that Neil wouldn’t have changed his name and scarpered as fast as he could. But now, with Minyard’s heavy weight pressing into his thighs and cool steel trapping his wrists, he was willing to admit he might’ve been wrong. 

Neil went limp on the ground. Leaning his body into the grip of Minyard’s knees, still firmly clamped around his hips, he relinquished all of his pride, turned his head toward the glow of blonde hair in the lamplight and said in his meekest voice, “Okay, okay, you’ve had your fun. Now will you let go of me, please ?” 

The reaction was instantaneous.

One moment Neil was lying pressed against the ground and the next he was flattened over the bonnet of a car, the razor-sharp point of a knife pressed against his neck. Something stilled in his heart as the blade dug into the exposed skin just above his collarbone, a comfort that came with the familiarity of violence. 

Minyard’s breathing was ragged, tearing out of his chest in stripes of ice cold air that brushed his the back of Neil's neck, but his hand was eerily steady on the knife handle. 

“Don't you ever, ever, say that word to me again. I have been given explicit instructions to bring you back alive but I will completely disregard that if I hear that word from your lips one more time.”

Neil could do nothing but manage a shadow of a nod. 

Once upon a time, he had been intimately familiar with angry men and the consequences of skirting too close to their boundaries. Now, even though years removed from his childhood and its steel knuckles, he still kept a timid voice in the back of his mind, reminding him to keep still, if you don’t move chances are it will hurt for a much shorter time. 

The voice often sounded a lot like his mother. 

Neil allowed himself to be frog-marched into the backseat of a car that smelled of clean leather, and mint. He spread himself out on the backseat, refusing to flinch when Minyard swapped out a cuff on his wrist in favour of the door handle and tried to make himself as comfortable as possible. He expected Minyard to slide into the drivers seat, and after a heartbeat he did, but with something large and bulky and unpleasantly familiar clutched in his hands. Neil surged forward and the blonde chuckled mirthlessly as the handcuffs brought him up short, Neil’s grasping fingers only a scant inch from his own duffel bag.

“I am under the impression you have something of mine in here.”

“Fuck you. Give it back.”

“Stealing is a sin, Neil. Or should I say Chris? Whatever, it doesn’t matter, prison isn’t too fussy about what names it books its inmates under.”

Neil could only watch helplessly as Minyard’s fingers peeled down the zipper on the bag and slowly began to pry through its contents. That was all of Neil’s possessions in that duffel; everything he’d ever needed to survive, and now he could do nothing but sit on the sidelines as his life was dissected in front of him.

First, Minyard pulled out the FBI badge and Neil swallowed a laugh because he’d honestly forgotten he’d had that. Then the clothes, along with a disgusted look on the blonde’s face, and finally came the cash (although there was only a meagre amount) and the book and the cigarettes and the knife and the Bible. This at last elicited a furrowed brow and a glance from Minyard, before he tucked the knife and money into the console between the driver and passenger seats. He went to open the Bible and Neil’s heart stilled because then he would find the gun and Neil would be completely defenceless and so he made his voice as strong as he possibly could and said “I would appreciate it if you left that alone. My faith is incredibly important to me and I’m sure you can understand how uncomfortable it would make me if you pried through my, er, private prayers.”

He felt bad even as he said it. He’d been on the run for years and he’d met hundreds of people, begged rides and food and petty cash out of them. Many had been kind, but the one he remembered most in particular was an middle-aged woman who’d driven him out of Chicago and across the border to Indiana. He’d been 20, or maybe 21, and she’d picked him up outside of a gas station. As he’d climbed into the car his hollowed-out bible had slipped from his bag and fallen into the footwell and he’d glanced up just in time to catch the glow of passion in her eyes, hands clutching the cross around her neck. 

“Are you a believer too?” Her smile had been so wide-eyed and wondrous he hadn't had the heart to tell her no. She’d introduced herself as Stephanie, and over the next five hours they’d spent in the car together she’d fed him protein bars and regaled him with stories of how God had changed her life. In the beginning, he’d listened as politely as he could, but after a while the gentle lull of her words had calmed him, and the drive had sped by in a blur of Neil thinking that maybe believing in something higher wasn’t as scary as his mother had thought. It was hard, he supposed, to believe that everything was preordained when you lived such a hard life, but the way Stephanie talked made Neil imagine that believing in an all-loving power was something that could possibly give him some sort of meaning. 

She’d dropped him off with her warm smile and 20 dollars pressed into his hand. She’d driven in one direction and then spun the car around, slowing down as she passed him again. 

“My daughter would love you,” she’d called out the window. “You are exactly her kind of person.” 

Neil had blushed and nodded and watched her licence plate recede down the highway, trying not to relive her words in his mind.

Her kind of person, ridiculous. He wasn’t even his own person. 

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It seemed that Neil Josten was trying to make himself as annoying as humanly possible. He was sprawled out on the back seat, his head pillowed on his arms and his feet kicked up on the handle of the opposite door. He hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the damp streets of Grand Rapids but honestly Andrew wasn’t complaining. He had a slight feeling that if Neil were to open his mouth and speak in that sexy, ambiguous and utterly unidentifiable accent of his, Andrew would get a sudden compulsion to swerve into oncoming traffic. It was something he’d done once before and he wasn’t willing to experience it again. 

It didn’t escape Andrew that Neil looked the exact same as he’d looked a week ago, sitting on his ass in a pile of broken glass and spilt champagne. Andrew had assumed that there would be something different about him, that with a new identity would come a new appearance change. But his hair was the exact same shade of brown, glowing hazel in the early morning sun, and his eyes were the same too, fringed by long lashes and thin, sleeplessly bruised skin. 

It also didn’t escape him that Neil was very, very, pretty. 

Andrew cracked the radio on and let the despondent country music bleed through his eardrums, drowning out the existence of the man in his backseat. All he wanted was to crawl into the backseat and hold a knife against Neils throat and demand he recant his whole life story, possibly starting with where those scars on the backs of his hands had come from, but he prided himself on the modicum of self-control that he’d managed to keep, so instead he left his white-knuckled hands on the wheel of the car. 

In the back, Neil’s breathing slowly petered out into an even pattern. It was an impressive show of fake sleeping, and the only reason that Andrew knew it was fake was because he knew there was no way that Neil would fall asleep with a stranger in the car. He had a generally flighty demeanour and shifty eyes, all tell-tale signs of a classic runaway. If Andrew wasn’t careful, he would be speeding off into the distance as soon as Andrew let his guard down for a single second. He was clearly someone's damaged goods, but as much as Andrew wanted to, it wasn’t his business to find out. For the moment, at least. 

From the pocket in the car door, Andrew’s phone buzzed. Presumably, it was Kevin.

Neil's head snapped up and Andrew heard the faint crack as the bones in his neck popped. He didn’t wince though, instead leaning forward in anticipation, tracking the movement of Andrew’s hands as they reached down to grab his phone, press the answer button and prop it up on the dash. 

“Andrew.” 

“Kevin. Lovely to hear from you.”

“Where are you? Have you apprehended the criminal yet?”

From the corner of his eye, Andrew saw Neil's lips curve into a smile. It was the first display of real emotion he’d shown since he’d been strapped into the car hours earlier. 

“Yeah. He's in the car with me right now and he can hear every word you say, so watch it, Kev.”

“Whatever. He should know what's waiting for him when he comes back here.  HEY- idiot, if you didn’t know stealing is a crime, so jail is not going to be fun for you. And Andrew is my friend, so I will make it especially difficult for you to ever see the light of day again.”

Neil’s eyebrows had climbed so far up his forehead that they had disappeared beneath the flop of his messy hair. He opened his mouth to retaliate, but Andrew really didn’t want to hear what kind of venom he would spit at the man over the phone, so he reached and flattened his palm over the other man's mouth. 

His skin fizzled. 

Neil’s eyes widened above Andrew’s fingers for a brief second, and then he jerked back so fast that he was practically a blur. In seconds he was pressed against the back seat with a fervour that made it seem as if he was moulding himself into the leather, every inch the terrified fugitive Andrew had first assumed he was. He didn’t speak, didn’t even make a sound, only watched with wide eyes as Andrew returned his hand to the gearshift. 

The only noise in the car was the perpetual spin of the Maserati’s expensive wheels and the eventual beep as Kevin hung up the phone, finally tired of the tense silence on the other side of the line. Andrew kept one eye on the road and another on the reflection on the man slouched in the rearview mirror. He had the desperate urge to speak, something he was incredibly embarrassed about, because he hated this man, obviously, and was definitely not feeling like some stupid high-schooler desperate to talk to the pretty boy in the hallway, or the car, or whatever. 

“So, you’re a runaway.”

The words were out of his mouth faster than he could stop them. 

What the fuck. What was actually wrong with him. He was taking Neil to literal jail and yet here he was, trying to strike up conversation like some loser. 

Neil looked up, suspicion crinkling the corners of his eyes and a way that was definitely not adorable, thank you very much, because Andrew was a grown man and that sort of thing didn’t appeal to him at all. 

“I wouldn’t say that. Runaway implies that someone is chasing after me.” 

“Are they not?” 

“Not to my knowledge, no.” 

“Well you seem awfully keen to get out of the country for a man not technically running away from anything.” 

“Maybe I just wanted to escape your knife-wielding revenge plan.” Neil’s smirk was amused in a way that made Andrew feel irrationally pleased with himself. He felt the muscles in his cheek twitching up to match and forcibly bit down on his tongue in an effort to get his facial expression as emotionless as possible. 

What the actual fuck was happening to him. 

There was a brief moment of silence and then - “I prefer untethered. Or maybe drifter. I've never really settled in one place for too long, I tend to get claustrophobic.” The bark of laughter that slithered out of Neil’s mouth was self deprecating. “And I don’t know why I told you that, so don’t expect any more truths on credit from me.” 

On credit. That was interesting. 

“A trade then. You have told me something about you, and so I will return the favour.” Andrew said, feeling the words stick in his mouth. In the rearview mirror, Neil nodded enthusiastically. Something calmer settled in his suspicious eyes. The handcuffs around his wrists clattered against the door handle. 

But unlike Andrew expected, Neil didn’t take his turn straight away. He seemed perfectly content to sit in silence, comfortable enough in the tense atmosphere. Andrew was tempted to prompt him, but found that he didn’t mind the quiet that had fallen over the car’s interior. 

This wouldn’t be so bad, he decided. Sure, he was delivering this man to his prison sentence and sure, a couple days ago he would have given anything to wring Neil’s pretty neck, but now they were tolerating each other and it wasn’t terrible. They could manage a day or two of this, trading truths back and forth, and then Andrew would get retribution when Neil was locked up for the next few years. 

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Neil was confused. 

First, Andrew held a knife to his throat and threatened his life, but now he was making casual-ish conversation. Maybe he was unaware of how fast his personality was switching up, giving Neil whiplash, or maybe he had decided that Neil was less of a threat then he’d first thought. In reality, Neil had never been a threat at all, technically unarmed and scared out of his mind. The fear was leaving him now though, had been for quite some time, and in its place was a creeping sense of quiet confidence.

He had some sort of influence in this car, he knew, there was something powerful in the way the cold metal around his wrists tightened imperceptibly every time he moved. He knew that Minyard was waiting for him to ask a question, to complete the first trade of truths, but he wasn’t sure what he should ask about. 

‘ I don't like the word please ’ was practically begging for a question, however the violence that had accompanied it made it seem like it had some sort of deep, super-personal and possibly traumatic meaning, and Neil wasn’t really interested in turning the car into a therapy session. There was always Kevin, the voice over the phone, but to be honest Neil was happy to sit in the silence for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t like he was planning on going to jail, he would run at the first opportunity afforded to him, but he supposed that if he did end up in some kind of short-term detainment, he would need to practice being quiet. 

Neil looked up and caught Minyards gaze in the rearview mirror. His eyes were narrowed and his chin was set and he looked incredibly intimidating. Neil thought of his gun, tucked away inside his Bible in the centre console, and his knife and money beside it. It hadn’t escaped his notice that while rooting through his bag, Andrew had neglected to pull out the small, tattered notebook that Neil knew was tucked away at the bottom. Whether that was because he didn't notice it, Neil didn’t know, but there was something in the hard set of his eyes that promised Neil it would come up at sometime in the future. Neil could only hope that he would be able to snatch the bag and run before Andrew could think to breach that certain topic of conversation. He wasn’t interested in explaining why he had a list of slightly dodgy and very illegal contacts to an FBI agent.

Neil didn’t know how long they had been driving, or where they were, or what time it was, but he could no longer fake sleep because of the dawn sunlight burning into his eyes. There was something tired in the set of Minyards shoulders as he drove, and Neil felt his mouth opening before he could stop himself. 

“You look tired. I can drive, if you want me to,” He offered cheekily. 

The stony glare and pursed lips he received in return was more then enough of a reply. 

“And why,” Minyard drawled, “Would you think that I would let you behind the wheel of my car?’ 

“Well, for starters I would only have to adjust the seat slightly.” That was a lie. When he’d stolen the car, Neil hadn’t had to adjust the seat at all, and he estimated he was only maybe 3 inches taller than Minyard at all. “Which means that it would inconvenience you less when we swapped back.” 

“I do not want your filthy criminal hands anywhere near my steering wheel.”

“Is there anything else you do want my hands near?”

Neil knew he wasn’t imagining the flush that climbed slowly up Minyards ears. Something triumphant bloomed in his stomach. This he could work with. 

But Minyards face was impassive and his tone was steely as he replied, “Is that your choice of question? Is that what you are asking?”

“Are you joking? I already know the answer to that myself. I don't need you to answer it for me.”

“Well then, what is your question?”

“Careful, Minyard, you’re getting a little impatient, I fear.” 

The truth was, Neil didn’t want to ask his question. He didn’t have anything to ask that didn’t make him sound like a) a nosey asshole, or b) a loser. Deciding which one was worse was quite possibly the hardest decision he’d had to make in his life, and he’d lived on the run for years and years. He made a split second decision, threw his pride out the window and asked, “So, Mr FBI, do you, um, have any siblings?”

The muffled snort from the front seat was satisfaction personified. 

“Seriously? That is your question? Are you fucking stupid?”

Minyards voice was heavy with disbelief and - possibly - amusement, although Neil didn’t want to get too ahead of himself. 

“Well my other option was: do you smoke? But that was predominantly for selfish reasons, because I could really use a cigarette right now.” 

“I have a brother, a twin. His name is Aaron. And I smoke Camels, because I have taste.”

“Ohhhh, you’re one of those pretentious assholes who thinks the brand that you smoke equates to your superiority. I can't lie, that makes a lot of things about you make a lot more sense.”

Their conversation died quickly. It became clear to Neil that proximity would not be enough to form a friendship between the two of them, and that the captor and captive dynamic would be hard lost. Neil could not forget that this was essentially his walk of fame. 

All his efforts had been ruined: he would not get to Canada, at least not anytime soon, and he would have to invest a lot more into keeping his identity, his true identity, one that had haunted him for years, under even tighter wraps. He couldn’t have the FBI poking their noses into the business of Nathaniel Wesninski, making connections and assumptions and deciding that, just maybe, he deserved a place alongside his father. That would cause a lot more problems for a man who already had a countdown on his current identity. 

He only noticed that the car had slowed down when they stopped completely, pulled into a gas station car park. Minyard climbed out of the car languidly, striding round to yank open the door that Neil was cuffed to, pulling Neil halfway out of the car with his force. Neil glared, but his anger was met with impassivity as Minyard unlocked the cuffs on the door handle and refastened them around his own wrists. Then he was gone, leaving Neil scrambling to catch up and maintain pace as the smaller man carved a defiant path toward the open door of the gas station shop. 

It was slightly better maintained than the last one Neil had been to, with colourful displays of energy drinks, vapes and candy stacked up on the shelves. The cashier, who smelt significantly less like candy-floss than the one Neil had previously  met, gave them a funny look, but seemed ultimately unimpressed with their handcuff situation as Andrew asked her for a pack of Camels. She handed them over and Andrew pulled a wallet out of his back pocket, the sleeve of his shirt hitching up and-

Holy Shit. 

His forearms were encased in a stretchy black material, and under any other circumstances Neil would have overlooked it, but he remembered the knife that had been pulled on him while he’d been splayed over the hood of the car. He’d known the kind of men that carried knives on their person, had been that kind of man himself for a long time, always keeping his flip knife close to his body, but had never known anyone to have the dedication to build sheathes into a pair of armbands. The men he’d known had not cared whether or not their weapons were seen, had thought it made them tougher and stronger and sure it did, but there was something indescribably threatening about how concealed Minyard kept his blades. It was designed so that you wouldn’t know that they were there until he needed you too, and at that point it was probably too late, because they would be buried in your flesh. It was a subtle, if you know you know kind of warning, and Neil considered himself severely warned. 

He kept his gaze trained on the small flex of the blade against the fabric as Minayrd tucked his wallet back into his pocket and led him out of the shop and back toward the car. He slid through the open back door and gazed longingly at his duffel where it sprawled in the passenger seat as he was cuffed to the handle. If he could just reach over and grab it, he could make do without the weapons and cash and simply bolt, running into the sunset and never be seen again. 

As if sensing his intentions, Minyard leaned over and shoved the bag into the footwell, starting the car with an aggressive jerk of his keys. He lit a new cigarette using the car’s built-in lighter but didn’t take a puff, instead rolling down all the windows simultaneously and stretching his arm out behind him. It took Neil a moment to realise that the lit cigarette was for him, and when he reached out his free hand to curl his fingers around its familiar shape a feeling that he could only describe as homely settled in his stomach. 

Chapter Text

Andrew had created a mental list of all the things he knew about Neil Josten. 

1. He was very pretty.
2. He was distinctly, smugly aware of how pretty he was.
3. He was also incredibly intelligent.
4. He smoked like a dying man, but only after nearly burning his face in an effort to, apparently, smell the smoke.
5. The scars on his hands were straight and deliberate and had been carved with painful intention. 
6. He watched out the car window for road signs with the intensity of a hawk circling its prey. 
7. He did not like being cuffed to the bedpost in the room of the shitty motel they were in, which was the situation he currently was in. 

Andrew had been taking no chances when they’d pulled into the motel parking lot, wasting very little time and not allowing himself to relax until Neil was chained up and out of trouble. It was only then that he’d locked himself in the bathroom, away from the judgemental glare and sharp tongue of the toddler he had decided to drag around with him, and allowed himself to root through Neil’s belongings in private. 

He examined the knife, checking it for any use at all, but the blade was blunt and nicked and Andrew guessed it was a weapon only to be used in desperation.

The cash he’d tucked into his own wallet and the book he’d left in the car (it wasn’t like he’d admit it to Neil, but Jack Keroac was one of his favourite authors, and that book was most definitely going to get many good reads). He’d also reclaimed his FBI badge and stoutly ignored how safe he felt as he hung it back around his neck. That only left the Bible and the small, beaten up childrens notebook that somehow Andrew had missed when he’d first skimmed through the bag. 

It was a pathetic little thing: the edge of the pages were stained dark brown and the tiny plastic padlock on the front was practically holding the whole thing together. It looked miniscule in comparison to the Bible, which weighed about a ton and felt suspiciously hard, like it wasn’t made of actual paper at all.In fact, when Andrew ran a finger down the edges of the pages of the pages they didn’t budge, but instead bunched up under his nails. He frowned, cast a quick glance at the closed bathroom door and then prised the book open. 

That motherfucker- 

His fucking gun. That was his gun, hidden inside that runaway’s fucking bible. His bible! He pried it out, feeling the cold metal burn into his palm. There was something relieving about holding the weapon in his hand, despite the fact that he’d never been a fan of guns. There was an unpredictability in a gun that Andrew had never thought about a knife. The violence from a knife was careful, precise, controlled. The meticulousness of a knife matched exactly the thin white lines that ran like tally marks down the inside of Andrew’s arms. The blade he’d used to make those marks had been a shitty pen knife that he’d shoplifted out of a gas station, not unlike Neil’s own flip knife, and the metal had burnt like ice every time it had scoured his skin. 

He hadn’t felt the urge to carve himself up in a very long time, not since his teens, and thinking about it didn’t send him down the rabbit hole of depression like it used to. Now, all he thought about when he pictured the thin black bands that covered his forearms was a distant sadness, like a memory of a dead loved one. Bee, his shrink, and by extension Kevin, and by even further extension, Wymack, would say that his lack of a visceral reaction was his mind healing from the trauma inflicted on him from a young age. 

Clearly the runaway didn’t have the same luxuries that Andrew did, a good therapist and a close friend who cared about him, and was still diving deeper into whatever trauma he was swimming in. Andrew knew acutely what a drowning man looked like and even one look at Neil was enough to set alarm bells ringing off in his head. 

Setting the gun on the cold tiled floor beside him, Andrew turned his attention toward the notebook. It took barely any effort to open it, completely ripping the paper cover apart and leaving the padlock suspended on a mere scrap of ribbon. 

The first page was empty apart from a washed out inscription in red ink: Mary Hatford. If found please burn.

The rest of the book was just as neat. Every page was covered in blood-red writing, ordered lists of what appeared to be names, numbers and addresses. But the efforts of the author had been rendered completely useless, because each page was accompanied by scribbled notes and annotations, thick black lines that dashed across the pages of text like burn marks. 

Andrew flicked through the book and every page was the same: words and lines crossed out, sequences of numbers changed so many times they were completely illegible, some parts completely stuck together with something viscous and ominous that Andrew hoped desperately wasn’t blood. 

The only difference was the last page, which was completely untouched. It only contained one line in all caps: DO NOT CALL STUART. 

Andrew wondered who Stuart was. He wondered if Neil would tell him if he asked. 

Before he could test his theory, his attention was distracted by a huge crash from the main bedroom. Holding the gun loosely in one hand and the notebook in the other, he pushed the flimsy bathroom door open, letting it smash against the outside wall. 

Neil was on his knees on the dusty carpet, his wrist still cuffed to the metal bed frame, an expression of agony on his face and his cuffed hand clutched to his chest. The bedframe seemed to be faring only slightly better: two of the metal poles were hanging off and there was a large dent in the side where it had presumably bagged against the wall, causing the sound that Andrew had heard. Neil looked up at Andrew with wide eyes filled with fury and pain, although as soon as he caught sight of the gun his expression softened into something meeker. 

Pliable, Andrew thought. Vulnerable. 

Something tugged in the place at the base of his stomach, the place that Bee liked to say where he ‘kept his emotions’. He ignored it, tucking the notebook into his pocket and keeping the gun close to his side as he approached the panting, glaring man crouched on the floor. He didn’t touch Neil, vividly remembering the incident in the car, but instead yanked on the handcuff chain to get him to stand upright. He was rewarded with a violent yelp of pain and a scowl that would’ve caused lesser men to evaporate on the spot.

This close, Andrew could see what the problem was, no matter how hard Neil tried to hide it. His left thumb, the one attached to the wrist that was in turn attached to the bed frame, was sitting at a very wrong angle. It was almost directly perpendicular to the rest of his other fingers and was already turning a remarkable shade of purple. Andrew almost laughed, and Neil seemed to catch it, because he turned his thin body away from Andrew’s amused gaze and ground out “Fell off the bed. Its not fucking fault these stupid fucking things,” he clattered the cuffs for emphasis, “prevent me from actually protecting myself.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “I would argue that falling off the bed would mean that the only fingers you are liable to be breaking are the ones that actually have an opportunity to come into contact with the floor.”

Neil raised an eyebrow to match. “And I would argue that you have no right to be kicking a broken man when you have so evidently been going through his possessions.” 

“Hypocrite.” 

“Asshole.” 

“Rabbit.” 

Neil made a rude gesture with his free hand. “Whatever. Clearly my escape plan didn’t work.”

“Clearly,” Andrew replied dryly. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the swelling knob of skin and bone that no longer resembled one of Neil’s knuckles. He imagined Neil sitting on the bed, knowing that Andrew was going through his possessions and being helpless to stop it, so instead resorting to breaking his own fingers in an attempt to get out of his chains. 

Neil sighed. “The bone broke the wrong way. It was supposed to go in rather than out.” He slumped back onto the bed, and eyed his ruined hand with distaste. “ Fuck, its going to hurt getting it straight again.”  

Andrew sat down beside him, mindful to keep a comfortable amount of space between their bodies. “You talk like you’ve done this before.” 

Neil looked up through long lashes, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I don't hear a question mark in there, Mr FBI.” 

“Have you done this before, then?” Andrew asked resignedly, hating the way that Neil’s grin widened even further. 

“Only once. Or maybe twice. The first time was definitely an accident, I was pulling so hard that I didn’t even notice when the finger snapped. Blessing in disguise though.” 

He looked hard at Andrew’s face as if trying to gauge a reaction, but Andrew’d had years of experience with the horrors of the world and refused to let anything affect him deeply enough for him to show real emotion. 

“I thought you said you weren’t running away from anything. Breaking your fingers to get out of handcuffs seems like awfully contradictory behaviour to that.”

“I said I’m not running away from anything anymore. ”

“Tomato tomahto, rabbit.”

Andrew stood abruptly, and turned to look down on Neil, who’d splayed his legs out leisurely in the space where Andrew had been. “I am going to get you some bandages from my car. Can I trust you to stay put until I get back?” 

Neil nodded, fidgeting with the blanket. Andrew cast one more look at him before striding out the door. 

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Neil took a deep breath and closed the fingers of his free hand around his broken thumb. A spark of white hot pain lanced up his arm but he ignored it valiantly. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and bit down hard, before twisting his wrist and - SNAP.

His thumb exploded with an agony that surged up his shoulder and wrapped itself around his skull, the acute pain slowly dulling to a persistent ache. Neil blinked through the red clouding his vision and examined his deliciously parallel thumb, still violently bruised but now pointing in the same direction as the rest of his other fingers. He felt his smile unfurling across his cheeks, triumphant and pleased, and he looked up to catch the gaze of the man sitting across from him. 

Andrew Minyard was sitting cross legged on the opposite side of the bed, expression unreadable and the silver gun in his hands pointing directly at Neil’s chest. It had been his condition for letting Neil out of the handcuffs, although the both of them knew it was just for appearances. Neil wasn’t going to run, at least not while he had no feasible hope to escape and when he knew how dangerous Andrew was. 

Neil shuffled in place, twining a thin bandage around the maroon skin of the knuckles and hissing in pain every time it brushed the knob of ruined bone. Andrew’s eyes followed the movement, and Neil felt suddenly self conscious. He hadn’t changed clothes in days and it had been even longer since the last time that he’d showered, and now here he was, moaning and groaning like a little fucking baby. 

 “Are you done?” 

All of Neil’s self conscious thoughts vanished when he heard the annoying grate of Minyard’s voice. 

“Are you incapable of giving me a fucking break? I’m literally patching up my own broken bones, in case you haven't noticed.”

Minyard scoffed. He’d come back from his car with not only a first aid kit but copious amounts of alcohol, and now he chugged from the bottle of whisky like a dying man. When Neil had asked him about it, wasting a perfectly good question in their trade of truths, he’d replied smugly that it was ‘to drown out your incessant, unavoidable whining’.

Neil had glared. Andrew had grinned.

Now, the two of them were watching each other in an overly aggressive staring match that Neil was determined not to lose. Not only was the close proximity to Andrew making Neil feel a lot more irritable than he normally was, but he was concealing a pretty big secret beneath the blanket he was sitting on. 

Neil had noticed his notebook clutched in Minyards fingers when he’d walked out of the bathroom. If he weren’t so preoccupied with the unnatural angle of his thumb, he would’ve been a lot more panicked than he’d actually felt, but as it was he‘d had slightly more pressing matters to attend to. But then Andrew had slipped the notebook into his back pocket and Neil had to conceal his burst of laughter in a grunt of pain at the absolute stupidity of the man. Honestly, how he’d passed the FBI screening process, Neil didn’t know. 

He’d wasted no time slipping the notebook out of Andrew’s pocket the minute he’d sat down beside him, tucking it under the blankets for safekeeping. It was a miracle the other man hadn’t felt anything, because Neil’s fingers were fat and clumsy with pain, but he’d pulled it off and now his mother’s only legacy was safely stashed right underneath his left knee. 

The staring contest ended when Minyard blinked and looked away, a red flush climbing his ears as he took a swig from the bottle in his hands. The golden liquid inside sloshed like a stormy sea, and Neil snuck a hand beneath the covers, palming the notebook up and into his sleeve. When Minyard looked up from trying to give himself alcohol poisoning, Neil was sitting like he always had been. 

“I need to shower.” He announced. 

“Good for you,” Andrew muttered, “But I don’t think you’re above trying to climb out the fucking bathroom window.” 

“I don't care what you think. I need to shower and I need to change my clothes. I’ve been to jail in these clothes, dipshit.”

Neil was counting on the disgust on Minyard’s face making an appearance, and when it eventually did he knew that he’d won the argument. He laughed as his duffel bag, reduced to a floppy bit of fabric containing just his pitiful supply of clothes, was tossed his way. Staggering off the bed and toward the bathroom was the hardest thing he’d done in a while, his head spinning and his hand aching savagely. When he reached the door, he turned and cast one last look at the other man on the bed, who was watching him with a vacant expression, before sliding himself through the opening and closing the door. 

Andrew had been right, Neil wasn’t above climbing out through the bathroom window. He would’ve gone for it, running off into the distance without a second glance if he had thought that he’d be able to squeeze himself through the sliver of space left for him. As it stood, he was small and thin but not that small, and definitely incapable of fitting through the two inch gap between the open window and the ledge. Instead, he turned and switched on the shower, letting the hot water cloud the room. The mirror fogged up in seconds and only then did Neil allow himself to look at his reflection.

In the distorted glass, his face was frail, fine boned and handsome. He could see the dark purple shadows swimming under his eyes and the cheekbones that threatened to surface through the skin of his cheeks. His hair was definitely too long, and when he grabbed a handful and pulled it away from his scalp he could see the traces of red shooting up from the roots. 

But it was his eyes that posed the biggest problem. He’d used his last set of contacts yesterday after they’d let him out of jail, and by now his eyes were itchy and sore. 

Neil didn’t want to have to make the choice between keeping his real eye colour hidden or partially going blind, but at this rate he would have to make that decision soon. He took a deep breath, pinched his eyelid between his first and middle fingers, and tried to keep his broken thumb out of the way as much as possible while he pulled the brown contacts out of one eye, and then the second. When he was done, weak and teary-eyed, he met his gaze in the mirror. 

His fathers eyes stared back at him. 

Bile rose in Neil’s chest and he forced it down, clutching the porcelain sink with both hands. It didn’t matter that he no longer had to fear his father, still the sight of those deadly blue eyes never failed to make him feel sick. The only warnings of his mother that he’d retained for all the time since she’d died was a promise to never, ever show anyone his real identity. And if real meant blue eyes and red hair, then that was a secret he’d keep for himself. 

Although now, Andrew Minyard was going to get a front row view of the unravelling of one Neil Josten and the slow, piece by piece rebuilding of Nathaniel Wesninski. 

Neil shucked off his shirt and ragged trousers and climbed into the spray of the shower. The water scolded his skin but he ignored its painful burn, the way it made the scars that littered his body fizz and crackle like fireworks. He allowed the water to wash over his face and pretended that he was washing himself clean of the events of the last two days, that when he left the bathroom he would be alone and no one would be dragging him to meet his fate, presumably in some jail in California. 

He didn’t know how long he spent under the hot water but it was long enough for Andrew to get impatient and start banging on the door. Neil rolled his eyes and hurriedly dressed himself in a pair of clean clothes before throwing the old ones into the bathroom trash can. The notebook he tucked into its rightful place at the bottom of his duffel, praying that it would be a long time before Minyard noticed it was missing.

He swung open the door in the exact moment Andrew’s fist was raised to deliver another hit to the fragile wood, and met the blonde man’s eyes defiantly. Andrew’s face paled for just a second, but by the time he’d regained his composure it was too late for Neil not to have noticed. Neil raised an eyebrow in a challenge and Andrew lifted a hand, stopping just short of the fragile skin of Neil’s temple. When he spoke, there was a bite to his voice. 

“A slice of unexpected honesty, I see.” 

“You weren’t asking any particularly juicy questions. I thought I’d encourage you a little bit, speed the proceedings along, if you will.”  

“It was not my turn to ask a question.”

“God, are you always this uptight? Fine, fine. I will ask a question and then you can ask a question and then we will gloss over this,” Neil waved a hand vaguely in front of his face, “situation.” 

Andrew nodded, his gaze considering but still. 

Neil asked, “Why do you keep knives in your armbands?”

There was nothing on Andrew’s face to show that he was even the smallest bit surprised by Neil’s question. If anything, he looked like he had been expecting it. 

“I keep them as a reminder. Not long ago, they were the only thing that was keeping me alive. Although I no longer need them to defend myself, it is often useful to have them around.”

Neil nodded in understanding. He waited for Minyard to take his turn.

“Who is Stuart?” 

Neil sucked in a deep, unwavering breath. He should’ve known this was coming the minute he saw Andrew step out of that bathroom with the child’s notebook in his fist and a dangerous expression on his face. He steeled himself, felt his heart pounding and steeled himself some more.

He would honour this game of truths, but Minyard didn’t have to know the whole entire story.

“Stuart is my uncle, my mothers brother. He lives in England. When my mother and I were, um, travelling, he was our last resort in case things ever got really bad.”

“Travelling?” 

“Is this you taking another turn, because I’m pretty sure that it’s my go.”

“Consider it a question on credit. You can take two turns next time.”

“Okay.” Neil nodded in agreement. “I have been on the run since I was 10 years old. My father was not a particularly nice man, he had some, uh, violent tendencies. My mother eventually had enough and stole me away, along with a substantial amount of money. We ran for years until he managed to find us. She died and he gave up and I was left to fend for myself. I’ve been doing so ever since.” 

Andrew looked entirely unconcerned with the mention of Neil’s dead mother, although Neil suspected that if he knew the circumstances that she died in he would be slightly more worried. Insead, he cocked his head for a brief moment and announced “I am going to get food.”

And then he was gone. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Andrew had bitten off more than he could chew, he knew that now. 

Here he was, 26 years old with a respected job that made him lots and lots of money, standing in front of a vending machine and freaking out over what to buy the man in his room. He got the feeling that Neil wouldn’t be picky, runaways could rarely afford to be, so why was he having motherfucking conniptions over which energy bar Neil would prefer. He stared in anger at the rows upon rows of unhealthy snacks as if glaring at them would make anything in his life make sense right now. They seemed to stare back at him, foil wrappings and neon lettering wilting under his anger like dying plants. 

Paying for his shitty motel food with Neil’s cash, Andrew stalked back to his shitty motel room while contemplating the situation he had gotten himself into. 

As much as he didn’t want to, Andrew believed Neil’s story about his uncle, the violent father and the escaped mother. Neil obviously didn’t want to spill his entire family history out to a man he‘d just met, but he seemed to be aware of how to say exactly the right amount to stop Andrew questioning him. Andrew wondered how many more secrets he was hiding underneath the skin of his scarred hands - did his father do that? - but he refused on principle to disrespect the rules of their honesty game, therefore Neil had to take two more turns before Andrew could continue with his interrogation. 

He wondered how long it would take for him to lose his sanity completely. The edges of his mind were fraying already and he suspected that after a couple more days of staring Neil’s pretty - no, scratch that, mesmerising - face he would go entirely insane. The whole blue eyes revelation did not help his cause much either. Never had Andrew gazed into a pair of eyes more riveting, more open and honest and deceptively vulnerable than Neil’s. Whole wars would be lost and won over those eyes, Andrew thought. Ships sunk to the bottom of an ocean for a gaze as hypnotic and frozen as the water that would surround them. 

Andrew took a deep breath before he pushed open the motel room door, greeting the sight of Neil splayed out across the bed with an inward sigh and a glare. He dumped his spoils across the covers and watched Neil gingerly pick through the pile until he found something that seemed to satisfy him. He sat back against the headboard and considered Andrew with an open gaze.

“Who is Kevin?” 

The question was not startling, as such, but Andrew had not expected Neil to be taking his turn just before they ate. The other man maintained eye contact as he took a bite of his energy bar and God if that didn’t do something strange to Andrews insides, but somehow he managed to keep a straight face as he answered. 

“Kevin is my friend. We work alongside each other at the Bureau. He had a few issues with some undercover drug ring about a year ago and ended up being dropped from any more missions, so he transferred to my department because his dad is actually my boss.”

“Wow, office parties must be really awkward with his dad breathing down your neck.” 

“Actually, he’s really chill. I don’t think he cares about anything we do as long as we get him good alcohol as a Christmas present.” 

Neil laughed. It was a bright, unholy sound that rang around the small room like a bell. Andrew felt his cheeks heating a violent red, and hid his face in an energy bar. He needed to keep it motherfucking together, because this was swiftly turning into the most pathetic thing he had ever done.

 Atracted to a fucking criminal. Wasn’t he a cliche?

He looked up again to spot the beginning of a second question forming on Neil’s pink, pouty, perfectly shaped li- Jesus he needed to calm down. He pulled a cigarette from the pack in his back pocket, ignored Neil’s pointed look at the ‘No Smoking’ sign in the corner of the room and lit it. Inhaling the smoke soothed him significantly, and he gestured at Neil to continue with a flick of his wrist. 

But Neil opened and closed his mouth like a fish, looking simultaneously embarrassed and slightly nauseous. It seemed that whatever he wanted to ask was tearing him apart at the seams. When he did speak, his voice cracked in the middle in a way that made Andrew’s stomach feel tight with guilt. (Which, frankly, was ridiculous. Andrew hadn’t felt anything as pathetic as guilt in a very long time. He was a crime-stopping, federal agent machine, and guilt was for the weak).

“Are you really taking me to jail?” 

And, well - what could Andrew say to that? The simple answer would be to laugh in Neil’s face and tell him ‘ of coure, you stole my car you fucking idiot what did you expect? ’ The not-so-simple answer was that, while Andrew had, realistically, only known Neil for a day, he had become inexplicably fond of the squirrely little runaway. Jail would be an awful waste of Neil’s crime evading talents (and his good looks) and Andrew was slightly reluctant to relinquish what could blossom into a beautiful friendship with this man. 

He thought of the look on Neil’s face when he had first caught him in that diner. The raw fear that had spread over his delicate features, all consuming as a wildfire. He thought of the expression in Neil’s eyes when he’d mentioned his father, despite his assurances that he wasn’t escaping anything anymore. He thought of Wymack, who always had a place in his heart for the most hopeless of causes, and he knew that Neil definitely qualified as one of those. 

He wondered how much time that Neil had spent surviving, and how much he had spent actually living. 

He opened his mouth to answer but then the phone rang. 

Andrew handed his cigarette to Neil so he could answer, pressing the phone up to his ear. He watched as Neil breathed in the smoke swirling from the tip without actually putting it between his lips, and almost missed Kevin’s frantic yell. 

“Andrew! Andrew you asshole can you fucking hear me?” 

“Kevin. Kevin, slow down, all this screaming is giving me a headache.”

 Andrew held the phone away from his face in disgust, not missing the grin that Neil smothered in the purse of his lips around the cigarette. Andrew’s stomach swooped.

“I do not care about whatever fucking problem is in your life right now we have a big big issues and nobody thought to tell us even Wymack refused to tell me so I had to make so many fucking calls and call in so many fucking favours to find out what the fuck is going on and oh my God Andrew this is a big deal NathanWesninskiescapdedfromprisonnobodyknowswhereheis.” 

Kevin took a deep breath, like he had just poured out his entire soul. Andrew, on the other hand, frowned and tried to say as clearly and as calmly as he could, “Kevin I genuinely have no idea what you just said.”

“Oh my sweet Jesus Andrew don’t you fucking listen to me? Nathan. Wesninski. Escaped. From. Prison. And Nobody. Knows. Where. The Fuck. He is.” 

There was a strangled noise to Andrew’s right, but he ignored it in favour of staring down at the phone disbelief as Kevin continued, outlining the details of the very elaborate jailbreak that had taken place this morning. Eventually, after Kevin had stopped briefly to suck in a deep lungful of air, Andrew muttered something about needing to go and hung up. 

Nathan Wesninski, escaped? Seriously?

Surely he only had a couple years left on his sentence at this point, maybe even 18 months. Money laundering didn’t get you much time, especially when you were rich enough to get good lawyers and pay off the judge, both of which Wesninski did in full.

Andrew remembered exactly when they’d got him, the shockwaves it had sent through the Baltimore community he’d built up around him. He’d still been in FBI training then, but he’d seen coverage on the news, watched the fox-faced, redhead, hulking figure of a man led out of the courthouse in handcuffs. Back then, he’d seemed like the kind of guy who would pay his penance and return, tail between his legs, to the people who swore up and down what a loving, kind man he was. A pillar of the community. 

The strangled noise had stopped. 

Andrew glanced up at Neil, who presumably was still smoking his cigarette without any knowledge of what was going on. Instead, Neil was hunched over himself, origami folded into the tiniest shape. His hands were laced over the back of his neck as he rocked back and forth, faint wheezes audible through the clench of his knees and the cross of his ankles. 

He looked like a child. Like the smallest, most vulnerable thing Andrew could think of.

He looked petrified. 

Andrew reached over and thought better of it almost instantly, when Neil shrank back from his hand. Andrew could hear him muttering to himself in between his laboured breaths, a frntic repetition over and over again. He can’t hurt you he can’t hurt you he can’t hurt you he can’t hurt you he can’t hurt you again. 

Again, Andrew reached out a hand but kept it palm-up this time, his movements slow and and as gentle as he could make them. When he was as close to Neil as he could possibly be without making either of them uncomfortable, he placed his hand over the top of Neil’s laced fingers, pinching the thin skin of his neck with his fingernails. Neil gasped and his head shot up from his arms, bright blue eyes searing into Andrew’s. 

“Neil. I am going to touch your face. Yes or No?”

The ‘yes’ that Neil squeaked out was barely audible, but it was there nonetheless. Andrew nodded in satisfaction and moved his hands so that they were cupping Neil’s jawline, manoeuvring his body so that their foreheads were pressed together. He began to breathe, slow and deliberate, in for three seconds, holding for three seconds, out for three seconds. It had been the first trick that Bee had taught him, and he’d had so much use of it with Kevin that it had become almost second nature to him now. His breath fluttered onto Neil's face, ruffling his lashed and brushing against his nose and mouth. It was encouraging Neil to follow its steady pattern and it seemed to work, because after a while the other man calmed somewhat, relinquishing his white-knuckled grip of the bedsheets and relaxing into Andrew’s hold. 

“Thank you, Andrew.” Neil’s voice had lost any edge, any modicum of personality it had once had. It was a lifeless, empty shell that rang in Andrews ears like a flat drum. 

Andrew was not interested in Neil’s thanks.

“If I asked you what that was about, would you tell me honestly?” 

Neil’s desolate face seemed to consider it for a second. When he eventually nodded, it was with such resignation that Andrew felt cold dread pool at the base of his spine. 

“Nathan Wesninski is my father. He broke out of prison, and now he is coming to kill me.”

Chapter Text

Andrew hadn’t spoken to Neil in three hours. 

The first hour they had spent in a silence punctuated only by Neil's shuddering breaths and the brush of Andrew’s thumb against the nape of Neil’s neck. Halfway through the second hour, once Neil had calmed down enough to gently extract himself from the curled-up mess of blankets and fear, Andrew had excused himself to the bathroom. A moment later, Neil could hear the shower running through the thin walls. The third hour had been full of half-started sentences that’d failed to creep out of Neil’s mouth every time he looked up and met Andrew’s eyes. He couldn’t stop the simplicity of the words that just melted back into the meat of his tongue with each of Andrew’s raised eyebrows. 

Andrew wasn’t a kind person. The knife that had dug into his skin the first time they had met had reinforced any doubts Neil had about Andrew’s antagonism toward him. But the second that knife had replaced itself with Andrew’s fingers, warm and calloused and strong, Neil had felt the stirring terror within him settle. There was a stability in the emptiness in Andrew’s expression, the small smirk that twisted the end of his words into a question, the way his hands had held Neil secure. 

Andrew wasn’t kind, but he was safe . 

Neil opened his mouth to speak again, willing the words to come out this time. He made a sort of choking noise instead and Andrew looked up, his face blank but a smile crinkling the corner of his eyes. 

“Fuck off,” Neil managed, his throat hoarse. 

Andrew shrugged, his shoulders lifting and dropping elegantly. He’d changed his clothes after he’d showered, Neil knew, but the only indication was the slight mess in his hair and crease in his jeans. Everything else was pristinely identical: black sweats and shoes and turtleneck, silver chain round the wrist, FBI badge hanging around his neck. In contrast, Neil felt sticky and uncomfortable, like the second skin he’d worn all his life was slowly peeling off. 

He felt exposed. 

“You did a brave thing,” Andrew said suddenly, breaking the quiet with his empty voice. Neil was surprised enough for it to show in the jerk of his head and the widening of his eyes as they caught Andrew’s. The impassivity lodged in the other man’s gaze said he did not expect to be thanked for his words. Neil did not thank him. Instead, he murmured “I need to leave.” 

Andrew nodded like he completely understood, but then shook his head like he knew that wasn’t going to be an option. His tone was monotonous as he continued. “You did a brave thing, Neil, telling me about your father. But I am not going to let you run away and continue living the rest of your life like this. I have a plan, beneficial for the both of us, and I would appreciate it if you would at least hear me out.” 

Neil knew there was no feasible alternative. He was not stupid, after all. 

“You are going to tell me everything you can remember about your father. Then, I am going to call Kevin and tell him the details that I believe will help him track down and apprehend Nathan Wesninski. While this is happening and for as long as it takes for your father to get caught, I will keep us moving from state to state. I promise you, we will not stay in one place for too long. It can be a roadtrip of sorts. And finally, after your father is inevitably sentenced to die in jail, you will accept a paid position at the bureau, because I have an awful feeling that you could be very useful, if only to satisfy my bosses need to adopt a new stray every couple of years.” 

Andrew finished, looking far too satisfied with himself. Neil was too stunned to speak. 

He thought about the part where Andrew wanted to know about his childhood. He thought about the part where Andrew wanted to help put his father away in prison - for life this time. He thought about the part where Andrew offered him a job. He thought of a million things to say but what eventually slipped past his lips was: “I’m not a stray.” 

Andrew didn’t laugh, but instead leant forward so that their noses were barely a inch away from each other, his breath warm against Neil’s quivering cheek. His voice was steady when he spoke. “I will protect you, Neil.”

Neil believed him. 

...

The story of Neil’s life was a thing that stopped and started with each of Neil’s fragmented memories. He pieced them together bit by bit, fixing his gaze to Andrew’s face as he spoke so intently that he caught the exact moment when he began to recount information about his father that Andrew didn’t know. The brief flash of surprise that washed over his features the first time the word ‘mobster’ wormed its way into the air between them. Neil spoke carefully as he described his childhood in their silent house, aware of his own mental boundaries as he narrated the tiptoe of his mother past the closed doors in the hallway, the wave of her hand as she explained to a younger Nathaniel that the screaming was just because of how excited his father got over a football game. 

Neil explained to Andrew how there was even more screaming the night they left, sneaking out under the cover of darkness and driving down the road with the headlights turned off. How Mary’s fingers had gripped the car wheel so tightly that the crusted red under her fingernails was set in stark contrast to her white knuckles. He had been 10 years old, too frightened and confused to understand anything except the cruel words Mary spat at him as he crouched in the footwell of the passenger seat, crying for the safety of his bed instead of the father they’d left behind.

He skimmed the next three years quickly, detailing the way the two of them hopped between states and countries as minimally as he could. He mentioned their brief stop in London, his only encounter with his Uncle Stuart, with a twist of displeasure colouring his words. Mary had vowed never to return after the two of them had been chased from Stuart’s English mansion complex by a knife-wielding butler, and then Neil had been made to promise the same thing, her harsh tone telling him that no matter how bad their situation got they would ‘never deign to stoop so low.’ 

Neil told Andrew that he didn’t know what Uncle Staurt had asked of Mary to make her refuse his help with such finality. He remembered very little of that visit, but the finger-shaped bruises Mary left on his arms the night they’d ran from that place had lasted for weeks afterwards. 

Neil’s tone grew more hesitant as his story veered toward his mother’s last few weeks. They had been running on borrowed time that had given the impression that was simply theirs to spend as they liked. The day before she’d died, Mary had even sat him down and asked him if he would like to enrol in the local middle school. When he’d nodded an enthusiastic yes, something close to a smile had whispered across her lips and a mirroring feeling had swallowed itself whole and slid down Neil's throat.

That morning, with dawn light barely creeping through the thin curtains, the two of them had woken to the slam of a kitchen cupboard and a peal of women’s laughter that sounded too aggressive to be happy. With one hand, Mary had reached for the gun under her pillow and with the other she’d gestured for Neil to collect the duffel bags the two of them kept stashed under their shared bed. They’d attempted to sneak out of the window, all of Mary's fight dulled from the months of complacency and almost-smiles. The only thing that was important was their survival, and even that failed to matter when Lola Malcom was carving the first line into the back of Neil’s hand while her brother held a gun to Mary’s stomach. 

She had been attempting to spell out ‘NATHAN’ on his skin, he explained quietly to Andrew, but had gotten annoyed with his panicked thrashing and lost the pattern completely. The thing that had stopped her was the bloodied wad of spit Neil had managed to hit her in the eye with and the elbow Mary had shoved into her brother’s groin, but she followed the trail of blood he left behind as he ran out of the house all the same. The last things Neil heard was one, two, three gunshots echoing in the stillness of the morning and a high-pitched call of “daddy misses you, junior,” before Mary’s laboured breathing and the slap of soles of concrete and the roar of fire took away anything else. 

Neil told Andrew sparse details of everything after that. He did not think he had to emphasise how hard it was living on the streets by himself at 13, then 14, then 16 and 17 and back to 16 again. His age was an erratic thing that only mattered when the fake IDs wanted it, and his name did not matter at all. 

He’d had no money and very little friends and an unlimited supply of hair dye and shoplifted coloured contacts, spent his time hitchhiking between states and waiting for that maniacal laugh to stop ringing in his brain and start ringing in his ear instead. The silence that had instead followed him had been disconcerting and Neil had refused to let his guard down despite it, remembering the panic in Mary’s eyes as she had jolted awake that morning. Only when his father’s face had flashed up on screen one morning, two weeks after Nathaniel’s 19th birthday, some bullshit reporter listing off some bullshit charges, did he let out a breath he’d been holding for close to 10 years.

...

When Neil finished his story, he realised that what he had given was not what Andrew had asked for. Andrew had wanted conclusive information that would lead to an arrest, not Neil’s sob-story about a traumatic childhood. His mouth was opening for an apology quicker then he could formulate one when a palm flattened itself across his lips. Neil tasted calluses and lavender soap (which definitely had not been present in the motel bathroom when he’d been there) and Andrew did not say anything, just shook his head. 

Neil had no words to describe the whirlpool churning in his stomach or the pounding in his head. His vision was fuzzy and unfocused at the edges, the bed he was sitting on rocked violently and the man beside him slid in and out of touching distance. Neil had been free of his father for so long that he was not quite sure how to cope, now that the name Wesninski had come skidding back into his life. He felt suffocated. He felt hunted, much like Mary probably did all those years ago. 

The hand pressed flat against his jaw pushed imperceptibly in further, like it was trying to prevent anything escaping from between Neil’s teeth, apologies or otherwise. Neil wished he could do the same thing to his brain, push his thoughts back in before he had to actually think them. 

They sat still like that for an age. The hand against Neil’s face grounded him and the silence was comfortable. 

Eventually, Neil mouthed ‘thank you’ against Andrew’s skin and pretended not to notice the slight flinch in Andrew’s fingers as he did so. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Andrew couldn’t pretend to not be surprised at what Neil had told him. 

It had taken so much effort to keep his face impassive, knowing that Neil didn’t want his sympathy or anger, that by the time Neil’s stream of words was running out Andrew’s cheek was twitching. At one point he’d lit a cigarette just for something to do, only to hand it over almost immediately as Neil’s grasping fingers reached forward. He held onto it like a lifeline as his mouth moved but his eyes stayed flat, Andrew watching his clutching hand rather than bear the deadness of his face. 

They were sat side by side on the bed while Neil breathed steadily in-and-out, Andrew’s hand lying abandoned between them, when his phone rang. Neil jerked aggressively, his face whipping through so many different emotions before it settled on something bland when Andrew showed him Kevin’s name on the screen. 

“Seriously? What more could he possibly have to say?” Neil’s voice was only a tiny bit raw, and Andrew raised a shoulder in a shrug before answering and pressing the phone to his ear.

“Motherfucker!” 

It sounded like a greeting, so Andrew replied with the most monotone ‘hello’ he could muster. Beside him, Neil snorted with broken laughter that sounded more surprised at its own existence rather than amused. 

“Andrew, I'm so stressed right now. Dad - sorry, BOSS, put me in charge of the analysis of this Wesninski dude and I was reading through the mental competency tests they ran on him before he went to prison and-”

“Kevin, stop,” Andrew said. Kevin stopped. “I do not care about how hard it is for you to read whatever files Wymack put in front of you. It’s not my fault whatever rich-asshole kindergarten you went to taught you about the stock market instead of the alphabet, I have some information you are going to want to hear.” 

Kevin was silent. Andrew took it as his sign to continue, but before he did he shot a glance at Neil, raising an eyebrow. Are you still okay with this? 

Neil pursed his lips. Do I really have much of a choice?

On the bed between them, Andrew flexed his prone fingers just slightly, his pinky lightly brushing against Neil’s thumb. There is always a choice. 

Neil’s nod was resolute. Andrew matched it with his eyes. 

“Okay, Kev, you might have to sit down for this one.”

…

There was a lot of yelling on Kevin’s part. More than Andrew had prepared himself for, and definitely much more than Neil was expecting, because midway through he peeled himself up off the bed and went to hide in the toilet. Andrew tuned out most of Kevin’s outraged ranting, preferring instead to listen to the peals of slightly deranged laughter he could hear echoing through the bathroom door. At one point, whilst Kevin was in the middle of asking Andrew to estimate how long it would be before Neil tried to kill him, the man in question poked his head back out and asked, with an expression of the utmost seriousness on his face, “Is he, like, not okay, or something?” 

“It might have something to do with the fact that he now knows that your dad is a serial killer,” Andrew replied. 

Neil nodded sagely, his eyes twinkling with a mischief that died as quickly as it had appeared when Kevin’s voice rang through the phone. “What are you going to do about him, Andrew?”

“I am going to protect him.” He said it without a second thought, the words spat into the stale air of the motel room. It was only the second time he’d said it, and the words felt strangely intimate, even as they sped away from him down the phone to Kevin’s ear. 

“You are an idiot.” Kevin’s tone was colder than Andrew had ever heard it be before. “This man is not worth protecting. What we should do is use him as bait, lure his father into coming to get him, then put them both in jail just for the hell of it. He is a criminal, Andrew, he stole your fucking car, or have you forgotten?”

Andrew had not forgotten, and he was just about to tell Kevin that when a sharper voice cut him off.

“Wow, okay, so what I’m getting at is that you are completely willing to use me to capture my father, the big bad man you’re all terrified of, but as soon as my life might be worth something else you completely disregard it? From what I know about you, which isn’t much because, let’s face it, you’re not that special, you are a selfish, dependant asshole with no personality whatsoever except to call up Andrew and tell him whichever first-world problem is bothering you at the moment.” Neil’s face was a darkening storm, rage boiling under the ocean sheen of his eyes. Andrew hadn’t noticed him come in but now his presence was unignorable, a fierce sun burning up in Andrew’s vision. 

“Now, uh, that's not- '' Kevin spluttered.

“Shut the fuck up. I have known Andrew for little more than a day and I can already tell that he is twice the man you will ever be. You are an overgrown child who needs to think before he speaks. I will not get involved with you or any plans you have for my father, and I sincerely hope I never have to meet you in person because your voice is insufferable enough.”

The silence that followed was so thick Andrew was tempted to pull out one of his knives and cut it into slices. Neil was breathing hard, and he suspected Kevin was too, judging by the rasping static he could hear in his ears. There was a something swelling in Andrew’s stomach, a something he didn’t like and was determined to ignore, but a something nonetheless. It was the stopping and starting of Neil’s ragged panting, the slump of his shoulders as he collapsed on the bed. It was the itching of Andrew as he almost threw himself onto his back to join him. It was the way his thumb hovered over the ‘end call’ button, even though he knew he couldn’t. 

“Kevin? Are you still there?” 

“I am still here, Andrew. Your new friend is a total asshole, by the way.” 

Andrew responded with a grin that Kevin couldn’t see. “I know that, why else do you think I’m keeping him around if not scare you out of my business.” 

“Fuck you, you love me really.” No matter how hard he tried to hide it, Andrew caught the ends of Kevin's muffled laugh. 

They sat in silence again for a while. Neil didn’t move from where he had fallen face down on the covers. Andrew alternated between watching his prone form, wondering if he had fallen asleep, and staring down the phone, imagining Kevin sitting by himself in an empty apartment. He wondered how his life had separated itself so cleanly into two: before Neil and after Neil. The life he knew before, with Kevin and Wymack, his brother, Renee and Allison, and the life he knew now: Neil and the road. 

When Kevin spoke again, it was with a cautiousness. “Well then, how are you going to protect him?”

Andrew didn’t even need to think, he’d had it all planned out in his head from the moment Neil decided to trust him enough to tell him his life story. He explained how, while Kevin made sure that every department in the FBI was chasing down Nathan Wesninski, he and Neil would never stop moving. Motel to motel, state to state, down as many shitty roads as they possibly could so that no one would be able to track them down. He would elicit as much information about Neil’s father as he could, of course, but the main priority was that Neil was safe.

Kevin listened patiently and didn’t interrupt once. By the time Andrew was finished, the only reaction Kevin gave was a small “ mmph” and a click of his tongue. That was how Andrew knew that he would agree.

After Kevin had hung up with a muttered goodbye and a whispered “You will text me everyday. I  want to know that you are safe.” Andrew finally allowed himself to relax. Beside him, Neil stirred and opened an eye, sleepy but not fully unconscious. He opened his mouth in a yawn, the delicate skin around his blue, blue, oh God they were so blue, eyes wrinkling. The gaze he fixed on Andrew was sleepy, but reluctantly so, like he could think of nothing worse than falling asleep. 

“Do you want the bed?” he asked tentatively, already curling in on himself, preparing to stand up. It took a moment for Andrew to realise he meant for the whole night and wasn’t just asking if Andrew wanted some personal space, and another moment for Andrew to stop himself blurting out how badly he wanted Neil to stay. 

“Where would you sleep if I did?” 

Neil wrinkled his nose in consideration. “The floor maybe? There’s really nowhere else. I mean it would be useful if the bathroom had a tub, those are always fun to sleep in, but I’ll have to make do.”

Andrew shook his head definitely, imagining Neil tossing and turning on the thinly carpeted floor throughout the night. He knew how much pain Neil was in, both with the bandages swarthing his thumb and the rattle of his father’s name around his head, and leaving him to sleep on the ground would be cruelty too great for Andrew.

“It’s okay,” he said, registering the blooming surprise in Neil’s eyes. “We can share”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Andrew apparently counted whatever he was wearing as clothes appropriate for bed, because it only took him five minutes and one trip to the car to be ready, curled up under the covers of their shared king size. He was reading ‘On The Road’ and barely glanced up as Neil slid in beside him, leaving such a distance between them that Neil suspected he could double both himself and Andrew and there would still be room to spare. 

“Have you read that before?” Neil asked, baffled at how far into the book Andrew was after such a short time. 

“I read it when I was younger,” Andrew’s voice was hesitant. Neil couldn't see his face. “Well, I read it while I was in juvie. The library was full of mostly educational shit like textbooks or nonfiction, but I found this shoved down the back of a shelf. I had two years in that place and reading, especially reading this, got me through a lot.” The expression plastered on Andrew’s face was knowing and Neil felt his heart stutter to a stop. He knew exactly what the other man was doing, could hear both the honesty and the calculation behind his words, and it made his mouth dry up. 

“You don’t have to,” He managed to whisper.

Andrew didn’t react, his face as impassive as ever. “I couldn’t remember whose turn it was and I figured you gave me enough information to warrant something for free anyway. Now I can pretend what I just said was an answer to a question, so now the next go will be mine.” 

“Asshole,” Neil muttered. “Taking all the fucking turns with your interesting fucking questions, getting actual fucking answers out of me.”

The noise Andrew made was the closest thing to laughter Neil had ever heard coming out of his mouth. Neil smothered his own giggles with the back of his hand and locked eyes with the other man, laughing harder at Andrew’s flushed cheeks and beet-red ears. 

“Go to sleep, rabbit.” The nickname sounded fond, not filled with the venom that Andrew had spat onto the back of Neil’s neck when he’d pushed him against the car bonnet all those hours ago. There was a flat sort of encouragement in Andrew’s voice, like he was trying to reassure Neil, like he knew how nervous Neil would be sleeping in the same bed as someone. And it was true, Neil was unspeakably nervous. He hadn’t slept in the same bed with anyone since his mother, had never allowed anyone to get within an arm's reach of him while he slept. Even when he was sleeping on the streets he’d always holed himself up in the remotest, hardest to reach corners where he could mostly guarantee he was going to be undisturbed.

Neil rolled over, turning his back to Andrew as he did so. He’d noticed that Andrew had chosen to sleep with his back to the wall but decided not to question it, choosing instead to make himself comfortable any way he could. He was in no place to judge a man on his sleeping habits, not when he was still aching to return his gun to its rightful place beneath his pillow. 

Eventually switching out his bedside lamp took more courage than Neil would’ve liked to admit. He lay on his back in the semi-darkness, resting his broken finger on his chest and pretending not to watch Andrew turn page after page in a rhythm that made Neil’s eyes heavy. His eyelids weighed more and more and his brain was foggy and Andrew got consistently blurrier until he was merely a patch of fizzing air and Neil was asleep. 

...

Neil woke wrapped in darkness, his heart beating an erratic rhythm and blood rushing through his ears. He could envision only fading strands of his nightmare but the vivid terror was far too real. He sat bolt upright and scrambled out of the mess of blankets, sliding down to the floor and relishing the scratch of the cool carpet against his palms.

He had been back in the house, the one that Lola had caught up to them in. He had been pinned under her knife like he had been 10 years earlier, blood streaming down his wrist and the feeling in his hand slowly fading, Mary’s screams in his ears. She was still screaming, a raw sound that echoed over and over and over, ricocheting around the small room and Neil’s eyes snapped open again and then he realised that it was him. 

Andrew was stood in front of him, crouched in the darkness. Neil scrambled back, not wanting to be handcuffed again, not wanting to be hurt, please no just leave me alone I won't move this time I’ll go with you just don’t hurt her please no please. 

“Neil. Neil, stop.”

No, Neil couldn’t stop because his hands were heavy and his head was full of water and he was drowning. He was drowning and he couldn’t breathe because his lungs were shrivelled, empty, hollowed out. Andrew was there but he also wasn’t because Lola was there instead, crooning to him. Daddy misses you, junior. 

“Neil, I need you to breathe for me.” 

Neil would’ve shouted if he had enough air in his lungs to muster up the sound. How could he explain to Andrew that his throat was closed up, that he would never speak again.

“One, two, three, four, breathe with me dipshit I’m not counting for nothing. One, two, three, four, five, six.”

Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.  

Eins. Zwei. Drei. Vier. Fünf. Sechs. Sieben. Acht. Neun. Zehn.

Un. Deux. Trois. Quatre. Cinq. Six. Sept. Huit. Neuf. Dix.

Neil could not remember any of the other languages he spoke, although there were many. There was a hand wrapped around the back of his neck, a thumb on his pulse point, tapping along to the inconsistency of his heartbeat. Andrew was in his face but not really, there was a distance between them. Neil could slow down his breath without worrying it would hit Andrew in the face, controlling the deep in-and-out of his lungs. 

“Neil, you are doing fine. You are more than fine, you are safe. ” 

Neil didn’t feel safe anymore, he felt vulnerable. 

Andrew sighed, shifting down so that they were sat pressed together but never loosening his grip on the nape of Nei’s neck. “Nightmare?” He asked, his voice gentle through the rushing in Neil’s ears.

“Is that your question?”

“Fuck you, Josten.”

Neil managed to choke out a soft laugh, although it turned into a broken sob somewhere toward the end. “Years. I haven't had a nightmare like that in years, Andrew. I - I mean I’ve always known that my father is still alive but, you know, I needed to live. I couldn’t live with them breathing down my neck and I managed to forget but everything has just come rushing back and-”

“What you were doing was not living, Neil. It was running. You cannot live and run at the same time, those things are not mutually exclusive.”

“Whatever, I was alive .”

“If that is what you are proud of then your standards for life are depressingly low. You are a thief and a runaway and a hunted man, but for now you are safe. The people of your nightmares cannot hurt you now and they will not hurt you ever again, because they will be going to prison."

Neil rolled his eyes. He was aware he had no high ground to stand on, especially from his place crouched on the floor, but he didn't really care. “You may be an FBI agent but I fail to see how you'll catch the most prolific serial killer in Baltimore, as well as his accomplices, when you didn’t even realise when your wallet was being stolen right out of your pocket.”

“He has been caught once before.”

“On a bullshit charge, Andrew!” Some reporter stumbled over a lucky fucking golden tread and followed it down until they found him. Do you want to know what happened to that reporter?” Neil could feel his temperature rising in sync with his temper, knew that his eyes glistened with something darker than rage. “Two weeks later, he hung himself. In his basement. And the police classed it as a suicide but no one, no one , could explain why a man would pull out his own fingernails before killing himself.”

Neil watched the blank expression on Andrew’s face shutter down even more. He grinned at the thought he had been able to render the other man speechless, the swell of pride that rose in his stomach making him want to vomit. His smile widened and widened and Andrew stared resolutely back, unflinching. 

Neil pushed himself up off the floor, a throb of pain shooting through his hand as his quivering legs refused to support him, leaving him to collapse on the bed. Andrew stayed where he was, crossing his legs to make himself comfortable and propping his chin on his hand to gaze up at neil. It was disconcerting, the way his face was empty of all emotion but his eyes were so intense. The atmosphere improved only slightly when he spoke, and even then his tone was vapid. 

“This thing is only going to work if you trust me, Neil. I have said I will not let anyone hurt you and I mean it. Of course I would understand why you find that difficult to believe but you have to consider that right now I could be taking you to jail, where you would most likely die, instead. I am putting my ass on the line for you and I have only known you for the better part of 48 hours, so why you think that it is okay to question me is beyond my imagination. Kevin is extremely competent and I am more so. We will catch your father and his people, but only if you decide that cooperating is not beneath you.”

Neil nodded, feeling stupid and ashamed. Of course he trusted Andrew, well, as much as he could trust someone he’d known for such a short amount of time. He shuffled his legs back so he was sitting in bed the right way and locked eyes with the other man, hoping his gaze could convey the things he couldn’t say out loud. Andrew seemed to be appeased, because he heaved himself upward and slid in beside Neil.

The two of them lay in the darkness for a long time. Neil knew that Andrew wasn’t sleeping and knew that Andrew knew he was awake also. Still, neither of them spoke, letting the black settle in the space between their prone bodies. 

Just before Neil felt himself begin to drift off, though, there was a noise in the shadow like the clearing of a throat. “I know you took back that notebook.”

Something akin to guilt pooled in Neil’s chest. “I-”

“I don’t really care, it was yours to begin with. But I need you to promise me something.”

“Yes, any- anything, Andrew.”

“Promise me you won’t run away. That you will stay with me until this situation is resolved, for as long as I need to keep you safe. ”

It took a second for Neil to realise that Andrew couldn’t see his nod in the pitch. “I promise.” 

“Good.” 

A white shape appeared in Neil’s line of vision. He rolled over, reaching out and clasping Andrew’s hand with his own. There was a pleasant warmth to the roughness of Andrew’s fingers that stilled him, making his eyelids droop and his racing thoughts slow. 

“Goodnight, rabbit.” Andrew muttered when his grasp eventually slackened, “See you in the morning.”

And Neil fell asleep thinking how, for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel trapped in the slightest

Chapter Text

By the time Andrew managed to stretch himself awake the following morning Neil was dressed and ready to leave, pacing the room in clear agitation. Andrew watched him for a brief moment, cataloguing the length of the stride, the wrinkles in his jeans, the bend in his knees, before he pushed the duvet to the floor and swung his feet onto the cool carpet. Neil startled, head whipping round, the neck of his jumper sliding down to reveal a stretch of bony collarbone. It was covered back up almost immediately, Neil’s frantic fingers yanking at the thin fabric, but not before Andrew caught a glance of something bright and hot and firetruck-red branded into the meat of Neil’s shoulder. He craned his neck subtly to try and get another look but Neil had already turned around and begun rifling through his duffel, carefully organising his one pile of clothes over and over again. 

“We need to leave soon,” He threw over his shoulder, voice a little too casual.

I need to get him some more clothes Andrew thought. Out loud, he said “Don’t worry rabbit, we’ll be on the road soon enough.” 

Andrew changed in the bathroom, shucking himself out of his sleep-crusted clothes and into fresher jeans and a black t-shirt. He left his armbands on, running his fingers over the ridge of the knife blade that he could feel through the material. It had been the longest he’d gone without taking them off and his forearms were itchy and sweaty, but under no circumstances did he feel comfortable to take them off around Neil. Sure, he thought Neil was pretty and sure, he’d heard pretty much all of Neil’s life story, but attraction and good listening skills did not equal two-way vulnerability. 

Still, some small part of him buried deep in the back of his brain would not stop whispering, its scheming voice optimistic. It cannot hurt, Andrew. Letting someone in isn’t too bad and he’s already given you so much, the least you can do is show him a little bit of your soul in return. 

“Shut up,” Andrew hissed, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead. 

“Andrew?” Neil’s concerned voice rung through the bathroom door like a bell. “Are you alright?”

Andrew didn’t answer, considering the black hoodie in his hands, the contrast of the colour against his white-knuckled grip. Black wasn’t really a colour, he knew, merely the absence of one, an empty space, the colour of the void. That was exactly how he felt when he put it on: an absence of a person, the soft underbelly of his arms and the hard muscles of his chest concealed. Polar opposites contained within a scrap of fabric.

Eventually, and with a boldness he didn’t feel, Andrew packed the hoodie back into his bag and shouldered his way out of the bathroom. Neil looked up from where he’d sprawled belly-down on the floor, his legs crossed behind him and a sharpie in his teeth. His eyes darted from the armbands to Andrew’s face and back, but it wasn't his turn to ask a question so he didn't ask one and Andrew didn't answer. Instead, he pulled the sharpie from his mouth and gestured with it in Andrew’s general direction, holding it loose between his fingers like he would a cigarette. 

“I stole this,” He crowed, mischief sparkling in his cerulean eyes. “And - oh shit, where is it?” 

He hoisted himself up onto his elbows, craning his neck to stare at the carpet underneath him like it held the secrets of the universe. Andrew scoffed.

“What have you lost, idiot?”

“I had it here somewhere, I just can't find  - Aha!”

Neil withdrew his hand in victory, a small, crumpled paper map clutched in his fingers. He unfolded it with the self-satisfied air of someone who has just completed a feat of greatness in a triumphant manner so similar to Kevin’s that for a moment Andrew’s heart ached. 

He thought of Kevin, left behind in California with nothing but files and vodka to keep him company. Kevin, relegated to tracking down a criminal from behind the safety of his desk while Andrew and Neil gallivanted around. Kevin, who originally had not thought that Neil’s life was worth saving. Kevin, Andrew’s best friend.

“ - would be good as well, I think,” Neil was saying, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth as he drew a wiggly black line on the map. “The receptionist guy said we were in Iowa and I said bullshit, but apparently he was telling the truth.” He looked up at Andrew with blank accusations in his eyes. “You drove us into fucking Iowa, you asshole.” 

“Have you got a problem with Iowa?” 

“Not fucking normally, but I do when I’m driven there without my knowledge.” The accusation in Neil’s expression had morphed into something lighter, easier, smoother. “Also, there’s literally nothing interesting to do!” 

“What’re you looking for, a playground?” 

Neil flipped him off, his gaze returning to the map in front of him. Andrew missed the weight of it. 

“What are you looking for, Neil?” 

“Honestly?” Neil’s eyes drooped heavy with the acknowledgement of Andrew’s question.

“Honestly.” 

“When my mum and I were on the road we always used to drive past those stupid signs. You know, the ‘fattest rubber band ball in the world’ or things like that. And she would never let me go see any of them. But earlier I went to steal more cigarettes and I found this,” he gestured to the map in front of him, “And I thought it would be a good idea. To keep us moving, and all that.” 

Andrew didn’t mention that Neil should probably stop his thieving now he was in the company of an FBI agent. He crouched down instead, pulling a corner of the map so it slid over towards him. 

The line Neil had drawn was winding and chaotic, long enough for Andrew to wrap twice around his neck as a noose. It was punctuated by circles and stars, exclamation points scribbled with an eagerness missing from the sombre set of Neil's mouth. Andrew traced it with his finger, watching Neil follow his movements. The map itself was brightly coloured, each state containing a stupid cartoon picture of whatever roadside tourist attraction it boasted. Andrew couldn’t count the amount of times he read ‘world biggest’ on a single page. 

In all honesty, he couldn’t think of anything worse. 

Neil looked apprehensive when they finally locked eyes, his mouth furrowing into a frown as if he could read Andrew’s mind. Andrew tried to relax the scowl he knew was blossoming across his face and it must have worked because Neil’s trepidation faded. He nodded briefly, encouragingly, and Andrew felt words that he never thought he would say bubble up behind his lips. 

“Okay, okay, we’ll do your stupid roadtrip.” 

“Stupid? This was your idea in the first place!” His tone was affronted but the grin that unwound across Neil’s cheeks seemed to be splitting his face in half.

“How was this my fucking idea?” 

Neil puffed out his chest and affected a deeper voice with a perfect imitation of Andrew’s California accent: “ I will protect you. I will keep us moving. I will do this and I will do that and blah de blah blah-”

Andrew rolled his eyes, feeling an inexplicable fondness swell up in his throat. “Whatever. What’s the first stop?” 

Neil pointed out somewhere in South Dakota and Andrew pushed himself back up off the floor, letting Neil rant while he milled around their motel room to collect their stuff. He packed his clothes carelessly, shoving everything he could find into his bag. He could feel Neil’s eyes on him but the other man didn’t stand up until Andrew was ready and waiting by the motel room door, his foot tapping impatiently whilst Neil collected his own meagre duffel. 

“What happened to being in a hurry to leave?”

Neil rolled his eyes, sidling up beside Andrew with a smirk. “There are some things I just like to take my time with.” Then he winked ( he fucking winked, that bastard ) and left the room, swinging the door closed in Andrew’s face. 

Andrew tried desperately to ignore the way that all the blood in his body rushed downward to his groin as he followed in Neil's wake. How the fuck was he supposed to live with this man for the foreseeable future?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Andrew had let Neil sit in the front seat, and Neil was pretending that it wasn't a big deal but it definitely was.

It wasn’t that he was freaking out about it, because he wasn’t, and it wasn’t that Andrew was making a thing about it, because he wasn’t either. It was that he knew this was a concession, a final declaration of truth. This was Andrew saying ‘We’re in this thing together’. This was Neil accepting. 

They drove along the endless roads. When Neil had put the location of their first stop into Andrew’s GPS, the estimated drive time had been 3 hours and his first thought had been Well, that’s not bad. Oh how wrong he’d been. Iowa seemed to be without end, it was just twist and turn after twist and turn, road upon road upon road. Neil had turned the radio up as high as it would go, aggressively blasting music while he chainsmoked out the window and watched Andrew grind his teeth, but it still wasn’t enough to quell the boredom.

“What’s your favourite book?” The question popped into the musty atmosphere of the car like a newborn baby. From the disgusted look on Andrew’s face it might well have been; a squalling thing that leaked placenta all over his leather seats. 

“What?”

“Your favourite book. What is it?” 

Andrew shrugged, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the road as he drove. Neil could see the tense set of the other man’s shoulders as clearly as he could see his own hand in front of his face, but he was unsure why Andrew had suddenly become so uptight. Nothing had happened since they’d left the motel, at least as far as Neil knew, and Andrew’s sharp indifference toward him was disorientating. 

He didn’t wait for an answer, knowing enough about Andrew to understand that if he didn’t want to do something he wouldn’t, even if it meant not answering Neil’s question. That was why it came as such a surprise when Andrew stole the cigarette out of Neil’s limp hand, took a drag, and exhaled more than the smoke. 

“Girlfriend in a coma.” 

“Huh?” Neil said eloquently.

“That’s my favourite book. Girlfriend in a coma.” 

Neil tipped his head to the side, considering Andrew’s side profile. He didn’t want to risk disrupting the equilibrium they’d seemed to have reached but he was curious by nature, and, well, fuck it. 

“What’s that about, then?”

“Some guy's girlfriend falls into a coma.” Andrew shot a sidelong look at Neil, who failed to keep the annoyance out of his raised eyebrow. Andrew sighed and continued. “It’s basically an apocalypse novel, but it’s the smartest one I’ve ever read. The girlfriend of who you think is the protagonist falls into a coma, but she gives birth to a daughter while she’s unconscious. When she wakes back up she reveals that she’s seen what happens in the apocalypse and tells them that the world ends in like a year. The rest of the novel is the main group of friends struggling to survive when they’re the only people left in existence. And at the end it all turns out to be a moral lesson about responsibility or something.”

“Thrilling,” Neil deadpanned. Andrew scowled darkly. 

“I’m not giving it the justice it deserves. I haven’t read it in years anyway, haven't been able to find it anywhere.” he turned to look at Neil, fire burning in his eyes. They’re hazel, Neil noticed, warm and inviting and glowing gold in the Iowa sun. “But it had such a big impact  on me when I did read it. It made me realise that death - ” Here Andrew froze, a truth he wasn’t ready to share yet almost dripping off his tongue. Finally, meekly, he said “Plus, younger me appreciated all The Smiths references too.”

Neil frowned. “Who are The Smiths?” 

The disbelieving look he received made him laugh out loud. Andrews snatched his phone away from the dash, loading up an app and pressing on one of his playlists, all the while muttering about ‘uncultured swine’ and ignoring Neil’s delighted giggles.

Jazzy guitar and someone’s sad, whiny voice began blaring out the speakers. Neil watched with fascination as Andrew drummed his fingers along the wheel in time to the bass. 

There were times when I could have murdered her,

but you know I would hate anything to happen to her

“Oh!” Neil exclaimed delightedly, his grin astronomical. “This must be how you feel about me!” 

“Fuck off,” Andrew snarled but there was no heat in the words. Neil could see the music as it swirled around him, a halo around his blond curls. He looked more at peace than Neil had ever seen him. 

The song changed, morphing into a different voice together, something fast and angry and passionate. It was miles better in Neil’s opinion and he told Andrew as such.

“God fucking save me.” Andrew dropped his forehead until it met the back of his hands on the steering wheel, his voice muffled as he spoke. “Blur? You like Blur?” 

“I don’t know who that is either but sure, this is good. Now can you focus on the road?”

Andrew looked up and shot Neil a glance dripping with disdain but didn’t switch off the music. Neil bopped his head along with each new song, ignoring the words but letting the beat seep into his brain until the pounding of the bass was ingrained within his skull, matching his heartbeat. Andrew faithfully told him the name of each one and Neil collected them all into a mental list. He didn’t speak until the tempo shifted, the words softening as the singer’s British accent whispered through the car. 

“I think I’d be pretty good in the apocalypse, you know.”

Andrew didn’t blink at the change in topic, but the corner of his mouth curved into a small smile. “I think you’d be fucking awful. You wouldn’t pack enough food and consequently die of starvation.”

“No, I would be amazing. I’ve survived on the run by myself for this long, what’s a few zombies added into the mix. You would be awful though. You’d probably prioritise your fancy-ass car over anything else and the zombies would attack you while you were cleaning it or something.”

They dissolved into bickering and somehow Neil didn't notice the drive time on Andrew’s GPS go down until the robotic voice announced that their destination: Buffalo Ridge, South Dakota, was up ahead on their right. 

“Fuck me, this is going to be awful,” Andrew grumbled as they drove slowly down the dirt track, the little car icon on the GPS advancing along it’s own blue line. Neil chuckled, craning his head out the window ro watch the rolling brown fields. 

They parked the car a little way off and climbed out hesitantly. Neil could feel the cold earth through the thin soles of his sneakers and grimaced with each step he took, glancing around them for signs of anyone else, but there was no one. 

Meandering down toward the shape of buildings in the dusky light, Neil felt the thin mist settle on his face. When he wiped at his cheek it was damp, the remnants of the fog sticking to his skin like tears, catching in his lashes and beading at his lips. Neil wasn’t familiar with Iowa’s weather system but he supposed that some rain would be nice, after the months in California and his short week in bitingly cold, yet disappointingly dry, Minnesota. 

Neil had never told anyone before, not even his mother, but he loved the rain. 

Andrew didn’t seem to share his feeling though, he groused and grumbled as they made their way down the path, muttering about ruining his shoes in the mud. 

“Calm down,” Neil huffed out, just as they turned a corner and their destination came into view, Andrew sent him a disparaging look and made to stalk ahead, but stopped in his tracks immediately when he saw where they were.

“What,” He asked, voice bitingly flat, “The fuck. Is this.”

Neil flashed him a grin and pulled his map out of his back pocket, ignoring the way the fabric of his jeans seemed to sag the minute he removed his hand. He really needed to get new pants. 

“Buffalo Ridge’s iconic 1880’s cowboy town,” he read brightly, forcing as much excitement into his tone as possible. “Represents the pinnacle of 19th Century American living, with its life size mannequins and realistic buildings creating a cosy, welcoming atmosphere. It’s apparently got 4 stars on TripAdvisor, so I don’t know why it’s so empty. Maybe we’ve come in the offseason?”

Andrew looked like he could not care about anything less. Still, he moved on down what appeared to be the main street, leaving Neil to scurry after him like a lost child. The two of them strolled together side by side, Neil refusing to let Andrew’s apathy discourage him from peeking into the various windows or open fronted shops that they passed. At one point, Neil caught sight of what appeared to be a tiny blonde cowboy mannequin, complete with hat and bandana, smoking behind the counter of a shop that was signposted ‘general store’. He pointed it out, letting his raised voice catch the other man’s attention. 

“Hey, Andrew look! It's you!”

The glare that was shot his way would’ve killed a small child, possibly even a teenager. Neil barked with laughter and sped up again, letting his and Andrew’s steps sync up as they continued to walk. After a moment of silence Andrew extended his own arm, gesturing toward a small, rodent-like dog sitting at the feet of yet another cowboy statue. 

“That one’s you.”

“Awwww, thank you.

“It wasn’t meant to be a compliment.” Andrew’s voice was dry, yet his eyes crinkled with what Neil assumed (hoped, wished, prayed) was glee. He was still, less fidgety than he’d been in the car, the stiffness in his back and shoulders melting out into the earth as he walked. Neil felt an overwhelming sense of pride and accomplishment, like making Andrew Minyard smile was an achievement in of itself. Maybe it was. Neil didn’t know the other man that well, after all. 

The walk dissolved into silence but Neil found that he didn’t mind very much. Andrew was an easy presence beside him and the cool air on his face was refreshing and the emptiness of their surroundings awoke something peaceful and relaxed in him. He had always loved the quiet but never until now had he appreciated it. It was like they had walked into a dead spot in the universe, a place where light and noise and reality didn’t exist, a place where it was just them and the stupid mannequins. 

Neil didn’t realise that he’d stopped moving until Andrew called his name, turning around from where he’d also frozen, four steps away. The distance between them stretched for an age.

“Are you okay, Neil?” 

Neil nodded. His head felt glued on to his neck; moving it was a sticky, slow endeavour. He tried to unclasp his lips to speak but the fog had sealed them up. He watched mutely as Andrew came toward him, concern furrowed in his brow. 

“Neil?”

Neil’s mouth opened, finally. “I’m cold,” He whispered. His voice sounded pathetic but for the life of him he couldn’t think of why. 

Andrew nodded and deliberately extended a hand into the gap between their bodies. “You are woefully underdressed. I will be picking you up some new clothes in the next proper services that we pass. But for now, shitty coffee will have to do. Can I take your hand, yes or no?” 

Neil muttered a yes, and the minute that Andrew’s warm fingers closed around his wrist something grounded within him. He allowed himself to be pulled down the remainder of the street, barely casting a glance at the dilapidated ex-houses that they passed, only permitting himself to breathe once he was bundled into a cramped shop. 

“This isn’t a coffee shop,” he questioned Andrew, looking around the shelves curiously. 

“This is a general store, Neil, catch up.” Andrew set off between the aisles, single mindedly hunting for what Neil presumed was a coffee machine. Neil didn't bother following, letting the heat of the store seep into his bones as he wandered around. He picked up a cowboy hat and placed it on his head, admiring his reflection in a dusty mirror. Grabbing a bandana to match, he set off to show his new look to Andrew, who was crouched in the corner beside a coffee machine that looked about a hundred years old. 

“What do you think?” 

Andrew looked up at Neil and laughed. It was abright, guttural, captivating sound that echoed around the tiny shop like a gunshot. Neil found himself taken aback, his cheeks warming and eyes narrowing as Andrew simply did not stop, laughing and laughing until he was red faced and tearful. 

“It can’t seriously be that bad, can it?” 

“It’s- God Neil it's- Are you taking the piss?” 

Neil shook his head vehemently but refused to tamper down his smile. Andrew was laughing. Granted, Andrew was laughing at him, but laughing all the same. 

The two of them didn’t move for a long while. Neil shyly took the hat off, clutching it to his chest as they stared at each other. Andrew’s giggles were dying and a sombre look was replacing them and Neil didn’t want to lose what he had just seen, so he changed the subject quickly. 

“Do you need my help getting that to work?” He asked, gesturing to the coffee machine. 

Andrew startled and jumped around, pressing a few more buttons before plucking at one of the reusable paper cups, holding it under the coffee dispenser thing. The machine stuttered and spat and finally emitted a long, steady stream of dark liquid. Once two cups were filled to the brim, Andrew held one out in Neil's direction.

“No cream,” He hissed, glaring at Neil like the machine’s failure was his fault. 

“That’s okay,” Neil shrugged, “I take my coffee black anyway.”

“Heathen.”

Neil shrugged and the two of them sidled through the shop until they came upon a small counter with a singular bell on the hardwood top. Neil pressed it once and a pleasant ting ricocheted around them over and over and over until the door behind the counter opened and a ruddy-cheeked woman stepped out. She looked surprised to see them, her smile hospitable but hesitant all the same. 

“Hiya boys! What can I do for you?”

Andrew looked pointedly at the two steaming cups of coffee on the counter and the women nodded briskly, punching some numbers into the ancient looking till. 

“6 dollars 53 cents, please. Oh, and I’ll need to see your admissions ticket. You just would not believe how many tourists think they can just pull up, buy a coffee and leave without buying the necessary ticket.” Her eyes narrowed and Neil gulped. She held out a hand. “So, then, ticket please.”

They didn't have an admissions ticket. 

Neil cast a sidelong glance at Andrew but the blonde man was staring straight ahead, either lost in thought or completely apathetic to their whole situation. Whatever it was, it meant he was completely useless. 

Neil cleared his throat. “Actually, ma’am, we’re here on official business. FBI business.” 

The woman paled. Neil prayed to high heaven that Andrew wouldn’t get too mad and reached around, plucking the leather wallet out of his pocket. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured while his head was turned away from the woman. Andrew didn’t react, instead only raised an eyebrow as Neil flipped his ID open, baring his unsmiling face to the shop. 

“Oh, I- I didn't realise. You just look so-” 

“That’s okay ma’am, how could you know?” Neil felt his smile coming back in full now, the easy course of lies slipping down his tongue. “We’ve gathered all the information we need now anyway, so we’ll be on our merry way.” 

He clicked his tongue and, before she could protest, was spinning on his heel and making for the shop door. Andrew followed close behind, a silent presence, the smell of coffee floating off of him. Once the door was closed though, Andrew sped up, taking his steely glare and Neil’s coffee back to the car. Neil had to jog to keep up, the pant of his breath steaming into the air. 

“What is your problem, asshole? I just got us free coffee.”

“You. You are my problem. Is this what you were doing all that time you had my badge, pretending to be an agent just so you could get free shit?”

Sometimes, Neil didn’t see a point in lying. He nodded. Andrew sighed and turned around, facing Neil completely. 

“What you just did is a crime. While I recognise I can’t stop you committing them, I would prefer if you did it out of my sight.” 

“Okay.”

Andrew furrowed his brow. “Okay? Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all. I won't commit crimes in your field of vision ever again. Now can you give me my coffee, I’m freezing my balls off.”

The moment the steaming cup met the cold flesh of Neil's hands he swore he could see God. He gulped it down with great sucking breaths, not caring about the filthy noises he was making or the way the bitter heat burned the back of his throat. When he was finished, out of breath but deliciously stated, he looked up to find Andrew watching him. 

“What?”

Andrew’s head shook but his eyes were pure fire. “Nothing."

Neil knew what nothing looked like, he saw it every time he looked in the mirror. The glint in Andrew’s eyes was not nothing. It was a spark that burned so brightly Neil felt his eyes blinking out of use the longer he stared at it. It was no longer a small blush that coloured Andrew's ears, like it had been the first time they'd sat in the car together, it was a riot of colour. It frightened Neil to a point that he couldn't articulate. 

So he did what he did best when he was frightened. He ran.

“I’ll race you back to the car,” he announced, watching Andrew’s expression sour so fast it looked like he was sucking on a lemon. He didn’t wait for a response, instead pelting off toward where he knew (roughly, because even after all this time on the run his internal compass was a bit shit) Andrew had parked the Maserati. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Both Andrew’s GPS and Neil’s map said that the next leg of their journey would take about 6 hours, so Andrew put his foot down and decided that one tourist attraction was enough for the day. Neil grumbled about missing out on the cliched ‘World’s largest ball of twine’ but once Andrew pointed out that they were only staying in a motel for the night and Neil could look at twine to his heart's content the next day, he shut up and smoked out the window. 

Andrew spent his time pretending that Neil’s second hand smoke didn’t affect him and fixing his eyes on the road until they turned bleary. The other man was uncharacteristically quiet, and had been since what Andrew had mentally named his ‘break for freedom’ but had actually been a one man race back to Andrew’s car. Andrew had refused to run on principle, instead preferring to stroll leisurely while sipping his God-awful coffee, but he would be lying if he said that Neil panting and out of breath didn’t make a hundred dirty thoughts fly through his mind. 

Now though, as the Maserati sped toward the Nebraska border, Andrew’s mind was somewhere else entirely.

He pictured his brother, partway through a medical residency somewhere in North Carolina, holded up in a flat with his loving wife and two children. The perfect picket-fence family. The last time he and Aaron had spoken had been at the twin’s first birthday party, 6 months ago. Andrew wasn’t sure what he’d done to cause the radio silence between them but he still kept in regular contact with Katelyn, his brother's wife, hoping for answers. They communicated often, mostly with photos of the children or one-line pleasantries and sometimes, if he was feeling especially nice, Andrew dropped an ‘ ask after Aaron for me. ’ 

He very rarely felt nice enough though. 

Neil’s lazy, smoke-thickened voice cut through the car’s silence. “Whose go is it to ask a question?” 

“I can count that as yours and then it will be my go.” 

Neil barked out a laugh that went straight to Andrew’s dick. He stoutly ignored it, hating the way his body had started reacting to Neil’s every movement, hating the way he looked forward to everytime the man opened his mouth. 

Neil’s brow was furrowed when Andrew glanced over, lips pressed tightly together and his icy eyes staring into nothing. “What are you thinking of?” Andrew asked, finding himself genuinely invested in the answer. 

“I’m trying to figure out a decent question to ask you,” Neil replied. “Do you think that asking about your job is too boring?” 

“You can ask whatever you want.”

“Yeah, of course you would say that. The stupider my question, the less truths you have to tell me.” 

It was undeniably true, and Andrew felt his chest heavy with the honesty of it. Neil pressed on anyway. 

“Whatever, fuck it. Why did you decide to become an agent?” 

Two weeks ago, trapped in a hotel ballroom surrounded by old men in fancy suits, Andrew had heard that question flung at him over and over and over until his answer was merely a script he’d whipped out when it was needed. Something about bringing ‘justice to the nation’ and ‘wanting to do something good for once in his life’. But now, sitting in a car with a man who had spent his whole life running from both the law and the men who broke it, Andrew couldn’t get those words out. 

He wanted to be honest. 

“I was in the foster system from birth. I- It was- 17 foster homes in fifteen years, so it wasn’t good.”

No one wants you, Andrew. We are your last chance, so you better get used to this. Personally, I love some good old foster brother bonding!

Andrew shook his head violently. Neil hadn’t reacted, was still staring at Andrew with inscrutable, steady eyes. 

“My last foster home ended badly, it was how I ended up in juvie. Really, it wasn't that bad, there was decent food and a sports team, but it made sure that no future employer actually considered me. I took criminology in college but never properly got a job until my roommate, Kevin-”

Neil snorted derisively. “Fucking idiot.” 

“Yeah, whatever. Anyway, he applied as field agent in our final year, and I figured that it was an easy way to like, get paid decent money and hold a job.” 

The laugh that Neil spat out was more sarcastic than amused. “Not to do any good for the community?” 

Andrew flipped him off, pretending to not notice the building confusion in Neil’s eyes. Another question was coming, he could feel it in his bones. 

“Hang on… If you were in the foster system, and you said you had a brother-”

Andrew cut him off. “Aaron thinks that Mother dearest decided that she could look after one itty-bitty baby better than two. My opinion though is that she was so strung out she forgot she had twins and thought one of them was a hallucination. Leaving me in a foster home was at least better than throwing me in a bin, I guess.”

Neil tossed his cigarette butt out of the window in favour of replying. He gazed at Andrew, who ignored him. There was building relief in his stomach, a weightlessness that came with telling the truth. He wondered if this was how Neil had felt that night he’d blurted out his whole life story, or if the other man had merely felt closer to the grave. Andrew had never liked being honest before. He supposed that Neil was having a bigger influence on him than he wanted to admit. 

They drove and drove and drove. At one point the bright lights of a city came into view and Andrew was reminded of his mental decision to get Neil some better clothes. He pulled off the highway, blanking out the confused noses from the man on his right, scanning the city streets until his eyes landed on the comforting sight of something familiar: a mall. 

“The fuck are we doing here?” Neil groused, climbing out of the car slowly. 

“What? Don’t like malls?” 

Neil shook his head, tendrils of hair falling over his face. He swept them off his forehead, glaring at Andrew with a fervour that would’ve made a lesser man quake in his boots. “No, of course I don’t. Too many security cameras.”

Andrew smirked. “I should've known. Relax, rabbit, I’m only getting you some new clothes. Even looking at you is making me cold.” 

They found a generic clothes store quickly enough, and Andrew waited in the changing room whilst Nel tried on his chosen pile of basic, non-branded clothes. He watched the red curtain twitch in front of him and wondered idly what Bee would say if she could see him in this position, buying clothes for the man who stole his car. 

His phone rang. 

“Speak of the devil, Betsy.”

“Andrew!” Bee’s voice was cheerful, even through the crackle of the phone. “Kevin told me you were off on a mission and I wanted to check in, see how you were doing.” 

Andrew considered it. How was he doing? “Fine, Bee. I’m doing fine.” 

“Good, that’s great to hear. And how is your friend?” 

“Neil? He’s fine as well, I think. He does have an awful taste in clothes though."

A faint ‘hey!’ echoed through the red changing room curtain, but Andrew ignored it. 

“Wonderful, wonderful. Andrew, I don’t want to get too ahead of myself here, especially since all I know is what Kevin has told me, but it sounds like you’re making a real friend here.” 

Friend. Is that what Neil was?

Andrew had never had many friends. He’d had acquaintances, occasional hookups, coworkers, but never friends. The two people he might even think to put into that category were Renee and Kevin, but not Neil. Neil was just some guy. Some guy whose dick Andrew thought about putting in his mouth. Some guy whose blue eyes haunted Andrew’s dreams, but some guy all the same. 

“Mind your pay grade, Bee.”

“I’m your therapist, Andrew. Your friends are my pay grade.” 

“Whatever. I need to go, because Cinderella here has decided on his outfit for the ball. Goodbye, Bee.”

Neil poked his head out of the curtain at the exact moment Andrew hung up the phone. “Who was that?” He asked curiously, emerging with a pile of clothes in his arms and a satisfied expression on his face. 

“My shrink. She says hi.” 

Neil waved, bemused, at the phone in Andrew’s hands like Bee was watching him through the metal. Andrew snorted, gesturing to the clothes in Neils hands. “Are you done?” Neil nodded, and two of them slowly made their way toward the counter. If Neil wandered off on the way there, probably to pickpocket some innocent lady, well, that wasn’t Andrew’s business. And if Andrew maybe added a couple of decent outfits to the bundle that he was paying for, then that wasn’t Neil’s business. Not yet, anyway.

Chapter Text

“Andrew?” 

Neil’s voice was sleepy from where it echoed across the room. They’d got twin beds this time, and Andrew missed the feeling of waking up beside him. In a protective way, though. He missed having Neil where he could reach him. To protect him, of course.

“Mhmm?” 

“How long have we known each other?” 

Andrew opened his phone. He’d sent one text to Kevin, yestierday morning. 

I’m still alive 

There had been no reply. He grunted with annoyance and fired off another one, shutting the phone down quickly to avoid feeling like a bothersome child, something that tended to happen whenever he texted Kevin.

“I don’t know. Three days, maybe?”

Neil grunted, rolling over in bed so that their eyes locked, blue staring into hazel. He looked incredibly comfortable, swaddled in cheap motel blankets so that only the top half of his face and spikes of messy hair were visible. Andrew could see a shift in colour at their roots, the brown fading into something lighter, redder, truer. 

“Three days, really?” He was softer in the morning, Andrew saw, like his edges were blurred. He wasn’t a runaway, he was just a boy sitting up in bed, the lines of his long-sleeve shirt crinkled and drool crusting over in the corner of his mouth. 

Andrew wanted to kiss it away. 

“Is it weird-” Neil began, hesitation clouding his words, “That even though it’s only been three days I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone before.” 

Andrew felt his heart pause. Neil was looking at him like his world stopped and started with him and and well- What could Andrew do? 

“It’s not weird. It’s called Stockholm syndrome, idiot.”

“But you didn’t kidnap me! If anything I kidnapped you, by forcing you to go on this road trip with me.” 

“You didn't force me to do anything. I never do things that I don’t want to do.” 

Neil nodded. He looked comforted, like he’d thought Andrew would laugh at him. Andrew wasn’t that cruel. He was, however, extremely unexcited to go to the world’s largest ball of twine. 

Day Four 

There was about three hours left of the drive from their motel to the next stop on their road trip, and it was mostly spent in silence. Neil’s newfound comfort around Andrew meant he was far less critical of Andrew’s music taste, which in turn led to the car being filled with The Smiths and Radiohead and, reluctantly, Blur. Andrew hated Blur, but watching Neil bop his head along to ‘Song 2’ made the seething anger Andrew felt at Damon Albarn’s voice shrink somewhat.

The World's Largest Ball of Twine, Cawker City, Kansas, was far busier than the cowboy town had been. Neil seemed to be in his element, darting among the crowds of people like a rabbit, his eyes wide and his new, Andrew-approved jacket flapping in the wind. When Andrew refused to pay the $3 entrance fee, he even disappeared into the throb of people, returning with a black leather wallet and a shit-eating grin. 

“I told you to stop committing crimes!”  

“Actually, you said to stop committing them where you could see me. And you didn’t see that one, so-”

Andrew blanked him out, wandering toward where a crowd of people were gathered around the massive, 12 foot tall lump of string that he’d driven all this way to see. Up close, it was mouldy and unimpressive, and even an excited Neil couldn’t make it seem any better. 

“It took the guy 29 years to make it,” Neil said, awe colouring his voice as he read off of the flyer in his hand. He’d probably stolen it from someone, Andrew thought. “Isn’t it just amazing?” 

“It's certainly… large.” Andrew managed to deadpan. 

Neil rolled his eyes. “Everything is large to you, you’re basically 4 feet. What I mean is, this took some serious dedication to create, and I think that is great.” 

“I am not four feet tall!” 

Whatever, five feet then.” Neil watched as if waiting for Andrew to disagree, then laughed triumphantly when he didn’t. “Five feet? Are you kidding me?” 

“You’re only like three inches taller than me, get off your fucking high horse.”

The grin that split Neil's face in two actually caused some people to turn around and stare at him. Andrew had to fight the visceral urge to whisk Neil away, possibly hiding him in a tower or something, just so no-one else could look at him. 

“3 inches can make all the difference sometimes, Andrew.” 

Andrew felt heat rise to his cheeks. He didn’t think his body would be able to cope with it if Neil pulled out another wink, like he had when they’d left the motel yesterday morning, so he splayed a palm over Neil's face. Neil laughed again and fixed his own grip around Andrew’s wrist, the two of them standing stock-still in the midst of a throng of milling tourists. Finally, when the physical contact grew to be too much Andrew dropped his hand, his fingers still warm from where they’d touched Neil's skin. Neil followed suit, unspeaking as he twisted around to stand beside Andrew, a comfortable distance between their bodies. 

“Soooo,” Neil’s tone was hesitant, “What do we do now?” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s not like this is exactly thrilling. I mean sure, I wanted to see it, but there’s not really anything to do here apart from stare at a giant ball of string.” 

“You wanna get lunch?” 

Neil nodded enthusiastically. They’d lived off of motel vending-machine food the past couple of days and Andrew was craving something that could actually sustain him. Luckily there was some sort of bar nearby (not the kind of bar Andrew was used to, but it would have to do) and the two of them wandered down the street toward it. 

Once inside though, Neil was tense and shifty, his eyes darting around and unsubtly checking out the exits. 

“Hey, rabbit. What’s the matter?” 

“I just- well the last time I was in one of these places I got arrested, so-”

Ahhh, yes. The arrest. Andrew had forgotten about that.

“How did that end up happening anyway?” Andrew asked, “You seemed pretty good at not getting caught until then.” 

Neil snorted derisively, his tense posture remaining but an expression of disgust flitting across his features. “I punched some shitty frat-bro whose mommy never taught him to keep his hands to himself. Shit escalated, the cops were called, etcetera, etcetera.”

Andrew felt a smirk pull its way across his mouth. Neil relaxed slightly under it, his eyes searching for reassurance in Andrew’s face and obviously finding some. He didn’t even flinch when a harried-looking waitress appeared suddenly over his shoulder, her questions about their order frantic and rushed and entirely too hasty to seem normal in the near-empty restaurant. Still, she calmed down visibly when Neil spoke to her, addressed her by name, asked her if she was new and complimented her on the job she was doing. Andrew felt a bitter spike of jealousy rise in his chest and squashed it down ruthlessly. 

Neil turned back toward him but neither spoke until their food arrived, and once it did Andrew couldn’t bear to interrupt the rapt attention that Neil fixed on his plate of steak and salad. Was it normal, Andrew thought, for a man to eat his food that quickly, shovelling it into his mouth like he’d been starving for years? Maybe it was. Maybe Neil had been starving for years. 

“What?” Neil asked finally, mouth full, and Andrew realised too late that he’d been staring. He blinked away and picked up his burger with both hands, cramming as much into his mouth as he could to avoid answering. 

The silence that they sat in for the rest of the meal was comfortable. 

Once both plates were clear and the two of them were sated, the waitress wandered over again, this time with a calm smile and a check. Neil looked at Andrew quizzically, eyebrow arching, badly-concealed relief splashing his face when Andrew pulled out a credit card. The waitress laughed girlishly, pushing a ginger curl out of her eyes as she leaned across Neil to pass him the card reader. 

“So, um, ya’ll are together together, right?” 

Neil’s affronted face offended Andrew to no extreme. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“Good.” The waitress giggled again. This time it was higher pitched and directed wholly at Neil. “Because I left you a little something on that receipt there.” 

Then, with a sashay of her hips and a flick of her ponytail, she was walking away. 

Neil blinked after her, flipping the receipt over to reveal a scribbled phone number and two capital X’s, kisses. He looked at the message for a second, then down at the table, where the girl had left the card reader behind. 

“Do you think she’ll be wanting that back?” His voice had a twinge of amusement in it. He looked completely uninterested in either the waitresses’s phone number or the residual smell of her perfume, and the fire of envy roaring in Andrew dampened. 

“I don’t know. I think coming back to collect it would reduce the effect of her dramatic exit.” 

Neil’s laugh was bright and joyful and it rang in Andrew’s ears all the way back to the car. 

That was surely it for the day, Andrew thought as they drove back through the town. He didn’t think he could take anymore dumb tourist traps, and if Neil laughed like that again he was sure to combust. Unfortunately, Neil’s map decided otherwise. 

“Come onnnn, Andrew.” Neil whined as they sped out of Kansas. “It’s only five hours to the next one.” He pointed out the location on the ratty bit of paper Andrew had the misfortune of being stuck with. ‘Carhenge’, read the words above his finger. 

“No.” 

“Yes.” 

“No.” 

“Look, all that happens is we either do it today or we do it tomorrow. And this,” he shook the map at Andrew like he thought it would intimidate him into submission, “Says that it looks even better at night. They have floodlights and everything!” 

“In your fucking dreams, rabbit.” 

Neil didn’t reply, but five minutes later when Andrew barked out “Fine, we’ll do it tonight,” a smug smile climbed over his face, carving joy into the meat of his cheeks.

...

Neil (or rather Neil’s map) was right, Carhenge did look spectacular in the dark. Lit up by huge, blinding floodlights, the silhouettes of the rusted heaps of junk eerie and alien-like in the semi-darkness, it was straight out of a science fiction movie. Andrew couldn’t stop his mouth from hanging partly open, reluctantly amazed. Neil mirrored him, although he was a lot more open with his amazement, darting aground in the cold grass like a wild thing, the tips of his sneakers soaking but no indication that he cared on his face. 

“Isn’t it fantastic?” he yelled and Andrew had to nod his head, because it was, indeed, fantastic. 

“It’s certainly something.” 

“Come on, live a little Andrew! Showing some emotion isn’t going to kill you! Just say that you like it.” 

Something glittered in Neil’s feral eyes and for a brief moment Andrew was frighted. Frightened of the swoop of his stomach, the rush of adrenaline in his veins, the precipice that his toes were curled over. Neil was a long fucking drop down, a jump into the unknown that Andrew didn’t know if he was prepared to take. 

“I’m scared of heights!” He called out, hoping that Neil would understand what he meant and dreading if he did nonetheless. 

Neil blinked, confusion misting his features. “What?” 

“I’m scared of heights.” It came out softer the second time. 

“Oh.” Neil’s tone was tentative, understanding in his eyes but an understanding of the wrong kind. “I’m scared of fire. And my father, but I guess that goes without saying.” 

Andrew managed a taught nod. He spun on his heel, heading back to the car with a deep silence in his bones. Neil followed without a word and the two of them walked peaceably side by side. The Maserati was a welcome source of warmth and Andrew sunk into it, burying his icy frame into the leather seats. The clock on the dash read 00.14 and his eyes almost closed just looking at it. When had staying up late bothered him like this? Never before, he thought, but he had also never enjoyed himself like he was with Neil. Neil, who was falling asleep beside him, contented sighs falling from his wind-chapped, frost bitten lips.

They were blush-pink. Andrew wanted to kiss them.

What he did instead, though, was drive them 20 minutes down the road, pull into the carpark of a third shitty motel and bury himself beneath the blankets of his single twin bed. 

Day Five

I am still alive

Andrew sent off the text the moment he woke up, hands sleep-clumsy and vision foggy. He even almost dropped the phone on his face and had to muffle a shout, because Neil was still asleep in the bed across the room and Andrew was definitely not enjoying watching him sleep. Definitely not, because that would just be creepy. He only liked being able to see that Neil was calm and safe and protected, just where Andew wanted him. 

Andrew was so focused on cataloguing the rise and fall of Neil’s chest that he almost missed the three dots that appeared just below the timestamp of his sent message. A jolt of surprise shot through him as he registered them, then as he read the subsequent line of text from Kevin that pinged through. 

His Royal Queenliness

Good to know. How is your new friend? Any more info on his father?

Shit. Andrew had forgotten to ask about that. He’d been too caught up in the gleam Neil’s smile, his endless laugh, his bright eyes, the glint of red in his hair- 

not yet i am trying tho, give me sum more time

That is fine with me

We are still looking for any evidence of the father over here 

No one even knew he had a kid, the only records are of the wife

Mary Hatford

Try and ask about her maybe you’ll get somewhere

ok will do how is ymack

Stressed.

I think he misses you.

Don’t tell him I said that though he WILL fire me 

Anyway I have to go duty calls 

Stay safe :)

The smiley face set something alight in Andrew’s chest, something warm and blooming that calmed the turbulent storm in his mind. He settled further back into the bed, the lumpy pillows doing nothing to prevent his skull bumping against the headboard. He figured that at some point during the night he must've shuffled back, because he didn’t remember falling asleep this high up, his feet lying only just past the halfway point of the bed. Last night, sleep-deprived and barely conscious, Neil had laughed at how short Andrew had looked compared to the length of the bed, but the next second the other man was asleep, curled up on himself like a child, his body managing to take up a quarter of the mattress. 

Now, Neil was shuffling around under his blanket, muttering something about giant cows. Andrew watched him warily. Was Neil losing his mind? Was Andrew losing his mind? 

“Neil,” He managed cautiously, the early morning scratching through his voice. 

“Hmmm?” 

“What are you doing?” 

Neil rolled over, revealing messy bed-head and that fucking map clutched in his fingers, an unlit cigarette trapped between his teeth. “Next phase of the trip, idiot. We are going to visit this giant cow in Montana.” 

There was excitement blazing in his eyes, a joy that didn’t match the combination of words he was saying. Giant and Cow and Montana. Andrew felt his stomach roil. 

“I am going to need a lot of alcohol to manage this one, rabbit.” 

Neil nodded jerkily and scrambled out of bed. He didn’t seem to care about the thwump of his bedsheets hitting the floor, instead grabbing his bag of clothes and heading off into the bathroom to change. Andrew watched him go from the warmth that the cheap covers provided him, cataloguing the carefulness with which Neil closed the bathroom door behind him, the click of the lock resonating in his ears. Neil was so deliberate with his movements, the oversized slouch of his clothes, the tug of his fingers against his hems, that Andrew knew the roadmap on the backs of his hands continued under his shirt. 

If only he could figure out how to ask about it. 

The drive to the giant cow ( “His name is Steer, Andrew. Have some respect.” ) was 8 hours of hell. The Maserati’s AC and Neil’s incessant chatter about nothing in particular couldn’t distract him from the rolling field outside the window, the stench of boredom seeping in through the gap left by his rolled-down window. His eyes grew blurry and his head fogged with each new farm they passed and at some point Neil must’ve noticed, because his talking slowed and he repeated the first question he had ever asked Andrew. 

“Do you want me to drive?” 

For the briefest, most embarrassing second, Andrew considered it. Considered letting Neil slide into the driver's seat, twist the key in the ignition, slide his smooth, scarred, beautiful hands over the steering wheel-

“No.” His answer was far shorter then he wanted it to be, given that all that reflected out of Neil’s eyes was concern. “No, I don't want you to drive.”

Neil nodded and settled back in his seat. It was going to be a long drive. 

...

“Your mother. Her name was Mary Hatford, was it not?” 

Neil looked at him suspiciously. “It was.” 

“Would you- do you think- Kevin wants to know where you think her body is.” The words came out in a rush. Neil arched an eyebrow, but it was shaky instead of disdainful. When he flexed his fingers they were shaky as well. 

“Oregon. She’s on a beach in Oregon. I don’t remember where, exactly, but it had ‘Pacific’ in the name.” He gulped, his throat bobbing determinedly. “I hope that helps, though.” 

Andrew nodded. He uncurled the fingers of his right hand, letting go of the wheel and ever so slowly reaching across to brush them across Neil’s knee. When the other man didn’t shy away, he tightened them, feeling the smooth jab of Neil's knee joints in the pad of his fingers. 

...

“How did you find your brother? You know, if you were in juvie and he, well, wasn’t.” 

Andrew cut his gaze to Neil’s in the rearview mirror, tightening his grip on the other man’s keg imperceptibly. “Tilda, the woman who gave birth to me, was in trouble with the police a lot. Which meant that Aaron was in trouble with the police a lot. Some cop came to do some young offenders rehabilitation fuckery in juvie and recognised me. He called me Aaron. Asked me what shit I’d done for my mother to end up there. I told him I didn't have a real mother and he asked who the sad sack of shit running around in the outside world wearing my face was. Everything just went downhill from there.” 

“Downhill? But you met your brother. Surely that’s a good thing?” 

“Eh. Aarons an asshole. Gave me someone to move in with when I got out of juvie though.” 

Neil’s laugh was rueful and surprised. “God, sounds like you’ve got a real special bond there.” 

Andrew snorted. “Sure do. Haven't spoken to him in 6 months though, so I’m not sure that brand of brotherly love comes with a long term guarantee.”

…

“How did you manage to get around by yourself if you were 13 when your mum died? No 13 year old I know could survive on the streets for years.”

“Do you know any 13 year olds? Apart from yourself, of course.” Neil’s smile was teasing in a way that had no real mirth to it. He didn’t seem tense, but rather sad, his eyes large and round and emotionless. The truth carried a lot of weight for Neil, this Andrew knew, but the way the other man seemed to zone out of his own skin was still a little unsettling. It reminded him of himself, the self he had buried, deep in the past. 

“Fuck off, Josten. Answer the question.” 

Neil shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t really know. I got really good at stealing really fast, I guess. Got caught maybe once, twice, in the first few years? And when you’re starving to death people are very eager to take pity on you, give you a hot meal and a lift or two. One time,” And now Neil was perking up, his hands gesticulating wildly, “I pretended to be a sociology major, taking information for a survey. Got all the way to New Mexico on that one!”

“You should not look as pleased as you do right now.” 

“You have no right to be judging me- oh look! We’re here!” 

The giant cow museum was exactly what it said on the tin - a giant cow museum. Andrew could not even begin to contemplate how long he stared up at the great bovine beast, Neil practically vibrating with laughter at his side. 

“Did you know,” he spluttered, lips quivering in his effort to get the words out, “That people think he got so large because of the copious amounts of whisky mash he consumed?” 

“No, surprisingly I did not know that.” 

“Huh.” Neil’s fake confused face was more of a barely-struggling-to-contain-his-giggles face. Andrew flipped him off, returning his attention to the massive animal in front of him. 

It was beautiful, in a strange, ugly and all-round horrific kind of way. Its great brown eyes stared at Andrew with a fervent, dead expression and its nose was long and coarse. It looked like a cow. Like the biggest, fattest and deadest cow Andrew had ever seen, and he hated it with a passion. 

“Do you wanna go to the gift shop?” He asked, wanting to leave, to get out of range of those headlamp-like eyes. Neil seemed to understand because he nodded, stretching indecently and winding his way through the sparse crowd around them toward the sign that read ‘gift shop’. Andrew watched the slim strip of skin visible beneath his shirt all the way, a thin stripe of gold above the black band of his underwear and the frayed belt loops of his jeans. 

The gift shop was remarkably unremarkable, though Andrew suspected his standards had been raised by the cowboy hat and shitty coffee selling general store they’d visited two days previous. Neil trudged around, his footsteps heavy, periodically picking up cow-shaped merchandise and twisting around to show Andrew. A mug in the shape of a cow head, with a nose ring for a handle. A vase, with fake plastic flowers sticking out of the china cow’s nostrils. A poster displaying a giant cow behind the wheel of a car, driving it straight into what looks like a river. ‘STEER!’ read the text across the top. 

Neil cut a small, contemptuous look at Andrew, the corners of his mouth flaring in a ragged smirk. “Not much, is it?”

“Don’t forget, rabbit, it was your idea to come here. You can hate on it as much as you like but you’re the one who drew a line on your map through here.” 

Neil scoffed and walked away, Andrew rolling his eyes but following behind. Like a lovesick dog some scornful part of his brian hissed, but it flattened it immediately. That just wouldn’t do, not when Neil was undoubtedly so wrapped up in his own issues that he clearly didn’t give a shit  about what Andrew was feeling. 

Neil was off limits. And on the small, small, ever so small chance that he felt the way Andrew did, a line would have to be drawn, because Andrew’s brand of sex (once and never again with the same person) was hard to maintain when you were travelling together. Ergo, Neil was literally untouchable. Forever. 

This, unfortunately, meant that Andrew could not shut Neil up the way he wanted to. So he was forced to listen to Neil’s voice, hour after hour, the two of them trapped in a car on the road to God knows where. Speaking of- 

“Where to next, rabbit?” 

“Idaho!” 

“Idaho?” Andrew had long given up trying to keep the boredom out of his voice, knowing that Neil no longer cared. Neil knew him, a scary thing in of itself, and knew him enough to recognise that Andrew’s apathy was a facade that he slid into place. Perhaps it was because Neil had so clearly spent his whole life being someone else, but he was uncannily good at looking past the mask of passivity, his electric blue eyes boring deep into Andrew’s own. No one had seen him like that before, like they genuinely cared about him. Kevin often came close, but there was always a motive hidden behind his kind words and smiles. The only thing Neil stood to gain from Andrew was his own safety, and the willingness with which Andrew handed that out made the other man simple, relaxed, undemanding. 

It frightened Andrew, that someone could be so bare while still hiding so much of themselves.

It made him want to learn everything about Neil. 

Day Six

“Andrew-oooo!”

Neil’s singsong woke him up with a start at what he assumed was an unnaturally early time in the morning. Sunlight filtered through the slatted blinds that covered the window, painting orange stripes on to the back of Andrew’s eyelids. 

“Mhmmmmph,” He grunted, burying his head further into the ratty pillowcase. “Too. Motherfucking. Early.” 

“Too bad, Mr FBI.” Neil sounded upbeat and with his head pressed into the musty white of the bed sheets Andrew could picture him: lithe and tan and willowy in his massive jeans and hoodie, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. Andrew couldn’t bear to turn his head, match up the vision in his head with the man in the doorway, because nothing in Andrew’s mind could live up to the naked wonder that was Neil in person. 

The blankets were yanked off him with a snap and he groaned, the cold air making his eyes water and limbs ache. Neil bent down at the waist and through the cracks in his eyelids Andrew saw their hairlines match up in height, Neil's reddish-brown for his blonde. 

He opened his eyes. Neil beamed. 

“Andrew! Welcome to the land of the living!” Neil smelled like menthol cigarettes, dew drops and warm pastry. He pushed a curl out of his eye and held up a plastic bag, the brightly coloured packaging inside pulsing with the smell of butter and chocolate. “I got us breakfast!” 

Andrew pushed himself up on the bed, his whole being condensed into the rumble of his stomach and the scratch of his armbands against the mattress. “You did what?” 

“I got us breakfast! There’s a bakery across the road and I went to have a look and I couldn’t figure out what you wanted so I got everything.” 

“But you don’t have any money.” 

Andrew knew exactly what Neil was going to say in the moment before he said it. In a strange way he looked forward to hearing it out loud. “I stole them, obviously. It wasn’t even that hard as well, no security cameras or anything and I’m pretty sure the cashier was hungover.” 

Andrew shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, be eating illegally obtained food, but the smell was so good and Neil's grin was so wide and he just couldn’t help himself. His hands were on the plastic bag before he could blink, peeling apart the wrapping and biting into the warm, chocolate goodness of a pain au chocolat. Neil sat down beside him, sinking his teeth into a croissant and simultaneously pulling a pot of fruit and a wooden fork out of the bag. When Andrew raised an eyebrow, mouth sticky with melted chocolate, Neil shrugged. “I don’t really like sweet things. Fruit is about the limit of sugar that I can handle.” 

“Fucking weirdo."

Neil’s laugh echoed around the crevices of Andrew’s mind, even as the other man pushed himself up and disappeared with his duffel into the bathroom to get dressed for the day. While he was gone Andrew texted Kevin, updating him on the information he’d learnt about Mary Hatford the previous day. He knew it was important information but time with Neil just seemed to fly by so quickly that telling Kevin anything had slipped his mind. 

He waited for a text back but one didn’t come.

He was still staring at the phone when when Neil reentered, the flop of his fresh hoodie a reminder that Andrew was still sitting in his own sleep-stained clothes. But Neil hovered in the bathroom door, unsure and tentative, clearly with no intention of moving. 

“Have you- have you got any information about my father? From Kevin, that is?” 

Andrew shook his head. “Nothing yet. He's pretty good at staying under the radar, clearly.”

“Of course he is,” Neil shook his head ruefully, traces of despair winding their way into his eyes, “He’d got a whole network of people he can stay with, keeping him hidden. Lola, Romero, DiMaggio, and those are only the ones that I know about.” 

Andrew recognised those names. Neil had mentioned them the first time he’d spoken about his childhood, his face blank as he’d recited the lists of people his father was friendly with. Lola had carved those lines on his hand. Romero had shot his mother. 

“Okay, I’ll tell Kevin about it. Can you give me any more information, anything you know about these people?” He felt his tone flattening out, professional Andrew replacing Neil’s Andrew. 

Neil scrunched his nose, thinking hard. “Lola and Romero, they were brother and sister. She was my father’s right hand woman and my personal tutor. When I was younger, she tried to teach me, you know, how to use knives and shit like that. Following in my father’s footsteps, and all. I was never any good at it, better with a gun, you know. She didn’t like that.” 

Andrew kept his gaze steady, trying to convey as much encouragement with his eyes as he could. Neil slid slowly down the bathroom door until he rested on the carpet, hands trembling as they tugged a cigarette out of the pack in his back pocket. 

“Romero, he was body disposal. Lola and my father did what they wanted and Romero was in charge of making sure no one ever found what they left behind. And he was fucking good at it too. If my father had gotten what he wanted I would be in one of the graves that he dug, six feet under somewhere in the fucking desert or something.” Neil took a deep breath. “DiMaggio was the business guy. Lola was impulsive and dangerous and Romero was all fucking muscle, but neither of them had a investing bone on their body. My father needed to keep up the front of all the business he was running, so DiMaggio was his guy for that. Helps that he was pretty good with a shotgun as well.” 

Andrew felt Neil’s words soak into his brain, in one ear and out the other. He couldn't remember the last time someone had told him such bone-chilling information so casually, sitting on the floor of a shitty motel room and spilling secrets that could put people away for life. Or rather, get him killed before he could tell anyone else. 

Neil stood up shakily, legs trembling and breath uneasy. He took a deep inhale on his cigarette and blew out the smoke in a long stream of smoke and chuckled, coughing as he did so. 

“Jesus Christ, Andrew. How do you get me to tell you all this shit.” He took another drag, wincing as it exploded out of him. 

“I ask. And you also have a problem with controlling your word vomit.” 

Neil laughed properly this time, his lips pursing. Andrew watched the way his cheeks hollowed and ever so slightly shifted his legs, crossing on over the other to hide the bulge in his pants. He really needed to get dressed but he wasn’t so sure he could stand up. Fortunately, Neil chose that exact moment to sniff deeply, shake his head and mutter something about needing to clear his head. Andrew watched him leave out the door. 

The walk to the shower was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his entire life. Every step sent reels of delicious friction to his dick and even more shame rushing to his head. Neil had just spilled out more of his traumatic life story, and here Andrew was already planning the fantasy he would concoct to jerk himself off in the shower. 

Still, the shame did nothing to quell the images of Neil: his scarred hands, slim frame, red lips wrapped around the head of Andrew’s cock. His body, naked and soaking wet, pressed up against Andrew, tracing steady fingers along his hip bones and the shell of his ears. Neil's teeth sinking into the skin of Andrew’s collarbone. Neil’s ass, perfect and round, as he bent over- 

Andrew came over his clenched fist, shaking and weak with tremors racing through his legs. He pressed a hand flat against the slick tire wall, closing his eyes and letting the water wash away Neil’s residual presence in his mind. He dressed quickly, pulling new clothes on but feeling Neil against his skin all the same. Only when he heard the door swing open again did he seem to snap to his senses, swinging open the bathroom door at the exact moment that Neil unfolded his map with a flourish. 

They locked eyes, For a moment Andrew was still, wondering if Neil could see the shame on him, wondering if Neil could smell it. 

“I was wondering,” Neil began, unsteady and unsure, “If we could skip the tourist stop today? If we could just drive? Would that be okay?” 

Andrew nodded. “Of course it’s okay. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I would much rather spend a day in my car than walk around whatever you had planned.” 

“Understandable. Though I’m sure you’ll be gutted to know that we’ll be missing out on the thrill of the Idaho potato museum.”

The laugh that slipped out of him was truly joyful. Neil flipped the map around and pointed him in the direction they would be heading, and once they were in the car Andrew programmed it into his GPS with a sigh. 

‘Seattle - 20 hours away’ recited the automated voice as the Maserati roared into life.

Chapter Text

Neil couldn’t pinpoint it, but there was something different in the atmosphere of the car, something hot and sticky, not quite enough to make him uncomfortable but enough to be noticeable. It had something to do, he thought, with the tenseness that sat in Andrew’s spine like an iron rod. It carved hard lines into his posture, making flat angles out of the bend of his knees and knuckles, and Neil studied him interestedly, tracing the rigid set of his jaw with curious eyes. 

Had he caused this? He didn’t think so, was almost positive of the fact, but as the minutes ticked down on the GPS and still Andrew didn’t speak, worry began to unfurl its delicate petals in his chest. 

“Andrew,” He tried, letting his voice placate the angry mess of air around his mouth, “Are you okay?” 

For a second, Andrew didn’t move, but then he swivelled around so slowly that Neil's heart sped up with the anticipation of finally being able to meet his gaze. When he did, it was weighted and bottomless and Neil’s pulse was pounding a million miles an hour in his ears as they stared at each other. 

“And why wouldn’t I be?” Andrew’s voice was heavy, but Neil couldn’t detect any disdain. What he could hear was a deep, empty resignation. He fiddled his fingers together, craving the familiar clutch of a cigarette, and stared out of the windscreen, suddenly feeling too shameful to look at Andrew. 

“I don’t know, you just seem a bit odd, I guess. Like you’ve got a lot on your mind.” 

“No shit, Neil. I’m transporting the son of a major criminal around the country, all the while trying to keep myself alive as well. You’re not exactly fucking easy cargo to carry, and while I can appreciate you’re probably not having a great time right now, that doesn’t mean everyone else is living the fucking high life. I’ve got a lot of responsibility and you breathing down my motherfucking neck every five minutes isn’t exactly helping anyone, so why don’t you just shut the fuck up and appreciate what I’m doing for you in silence .”

There was a desperate hiss to the last words and Neil felt it deep in his stomach. He sat back, his face flushing with humiliation, and tried to force his body back into the leather of his seat. Andrew dropped his forehead to the backs of his hands and murmured “Fuck,” his voice muffled against sweat soaked skin. At this angle, Neil could see the soft black lines of his armbands that lay wrinkled and puckered against his soft flesh and they no longer screamed danger, because all Neil saw was vulnerability. Desperate, childlike vulnerability. 

So instead of shutting up, he squared his shoulders, turning his whole body into the question that he forced out of his lips, bracing for the impact he knew was coming. 

“Why do you hate the word please?”

Andrew froze. Neil had never seen anyone so still. He was unmoving and preserved, a perfect golden picture of honey curls and hazel eyes, sitting immobile behind the wheel of a car that he wasn’t even driving, his hands slack against the wheel. When his lips finally peeled themselves apart it looked painful, and the words he spoke were bleeding and ruined. 

“What the fuck?” 

Neil swallowed, hard. “Why do you hate-”

I heard you the first time, rabbit. What I mean is, why are you asking me that?” He still hadn’t looked over but Neil wasn’t sure if he was looking at anything at all. The car was moving in a perfectly straight line but it seemed to be out of control all the same, a beast left to its own devices. Maybe that was why Andrew flicked on the indicator and swerved to the side of the road, pulling to a stop on the hard gravel. 

Neil felt his heart stutter. This was it . He had pushed it, had risked his luck and now Andrew had finally had enough. He would abandon Neil on the side of the road like unwanted furniture and then it would only be a matter of time before his father caught up to him. Neil didn’t have any doubts, knew that while he was driving off Andrew wouldn’t think about the fate he’d left Neil to, released from the burden that had weighed him down this past week. 

“Andrew-” Neil’s hand was flat on the door handle before he could even think properly about it, wanting desperately to retain some of the dignity he had left and not be kicked out like a crying child.

“What are you doing?”

Neil shook his head and pushed the door open further. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked and I know I pushed it too much and I’ll just go now, you don’t have to do anything.”

“Neil, get back in the car.” 

Something extended itself in Neil’s field of vision and when he looked over Andrew’s hand was stretched out, fingers splayed in the air. He stared at it for a minute, examining the tender joints of the knuckles with caution, not even allowing himself to hope for the things that he so desperately wanted to. 

“Neil, get back in the car. ” 

Neil got back in the car. 

Andrew sighed and unbuckled his seatbelt, turning his whole body in the seat and giving Neil his full attention. Neil did the same, pulling his knees up to his chest and curling his arms around them, feeling small and pathetic and painfully close to tears, his eyes overfilling with things he hadn’t felt for years, not since his mother had died. 

“I haven't been fair to you,” Andrew began, his voice deep and serious. There was an unspoken truth buried in the whites of his eyes, something Neil couldn’t interpret but fervently wished he could. It was reminiscent of the dark gleam that had lit up his face only a couple hours ago when he’d stepped out of the bathroom in their motel room, the gleam that had faded when he’d laughed at Neil’s stupid jokes. That laugh seemed a whole universe away. 

“It’s okay,” Neil said, the comfort he tried to convey emerging flat and confused. 

“No, it’s not. You have told me so much about yourself and I-”

Neil was silent, watching the bob of Andrew’s adams apple, its dip and fall as he spoke. 

“Ask me again.” 

“What?”

“Ask me the question. Ask me again.” 

“Why do you not like the word please?” It came out different than it had the last time, fragile as it spilled into the air between them. Andrew closed his eyes and tipped his head back. 

“When I was seven, I got a new foster home, the first one I can properly remember. The foster father, he was so lovely and kind. He bought me new shoes. And then I went to bed and he followed me to tuck me in but- He told me that he would stop, if I begged him. If I said please. And I thought he was telling the truth.” 

Neil didn’t say a single word. He just sat there, watching the flutter of blond eyelashes on the face of a child, because that’s what Andrew was, a child, a child, a child, he had been a child. 

“I’m so sorry, Andrew.”

Andrew shook his head, his eyes reopening with hard focus. “I don’t want your pity. It happened a long time ago.”

“Was it- was that the only one?” He needed this, needed the assurance that child Andrew would be okay. 

“I can’t remember a good family after that, Neil. Not all of them were the same, but none of them were good. ” 

Oh. 

What had Andrew said when he’d told Neil about going to juvie, that it had been an improvement from his last foster home? 

“I’m so sorry,” He whispered again and this time, finally, their eyes met. Andrew blinked once and then inclined his head, a small gesture of acceptance. 

“B ee has helped me a lot. She’s my shrink and she’s wonderful.” There was hesitant but genuine warmth in Andrew’s eyes as he spoke, twisting the key to start the car and pressing his foot down on the accelerator. “You’re gonna go see her, when I’ve decided you’re safe enough to live a normal life. I think she could probably help you a lot as well.” 

Neil couldn’t bring himself to do anything except nod, gripping the edge of seat as the maserati roared into life.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Neil had gone quiet, but not unpleasantly so. Andrew knew exactly what he was doing, could hear the emphasised cheerfulness that he’d crushed into his tone with each interjection into the nonexistent conversation, and found that he didn’t hate it. Neil wasn’t treating him like a broken thing, wasn’t pitying him or crying for him, so Andrew would take whatever he was willing to give. Even if that meant entertaining his stupid fucking ideas for good discussion. 

“No, I’m being serious, you asshole. Why the fuck would you name your cat King Fluffkins?”

“Because it's a good name!” Andrew felt indignation rising in tandem with his lifting spirits. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. 

“It’s ridiculous, is what it is. Why can’t you just call it a normal name, like-”

“Like what? Jeff? Fucking boring, that is. Call it something exciting, like King Fluffkins or… Sir Fat Cat McCatterson.” 

Neil burst into laughter, peals of delight that echoed around the car and slipped out of the windows. Andrew felt his mouth stretch wide open to mirror it and almost didn’t notice another minute slipping by on the GPS, the time ticking away unseen. It had been five hours since they’d set off in the first place and the only residual evidence of the passed time was the press of Neil’s thumb against his middle finger, his need for a cigarette clear in the white of his knuckles and the pink blush of the skin under his nails. 

“So,” He began, pretending not to watch the glow of Neil’s eyes, “Seattle, huh.” 

“What?”

“Seattle. That’s where we’re going, right? What does your map say about it?”

Neil shrugged, pressing a finger to the corner of his mouth and running the other hand through his hair. In the daylight the red was more prominent, a deep auburn hue that melted through his roots and shone like a beacon in the sun. Andrew forced the whisper of awe that bubbled up his throat back into his lungs and swallowed, gulping down dry air. 

“Some giant troll under a bridge, apparently. But I’ve been meaning to ask you, there’s somewhere else I want to go. See, I’ve got a couple friends down there and the last time I saw them I promised that I would visit if I was passing through. And I know that they won’t realise I’m in the city but I think it would be really nice if I just popped in and, you know, said hi.”

“Sure.”

Neil’s eyes widened with badly concealed surprise. “Really? You mean that?” 

“Yeah, whatever.

“Okay!” And just like that something indescribable dissolved into the rushing wind, disappearing as easily as a ripple in a stream as Andrew slid the car windows down and Neil tipped his head back, his grin as violent and genuine as ever. 

…

They traded no more truths for the rest of the whole day. Instead, Neil recounted funny stories from his life on the run, detailing all the odd people he’d met and the strange places he’d stayed, and in return Andrew told him about life in college. More specifically, Kevin’s life in college. More specifically, stories of drunk Kevin’s life in college. He talked and talked until his voice was sore and five more hours had passed by in a blur of Neil’s laughter and empty fields. 

The phone rang. 

“Speak of the devil,” Neil muttered, casting a disdainful glance at Kevin’s name flashing on the screen. 

“Andrew!”

“Kevin.”

“I have good news! Is your boy-toy there, he might want to hear this as well.” 

Neil made an odd choking noise and Andrew felt his own cheeks heat to an angry red. He glared at the phone with vigour, wishing Kevin was sat beside him so he could stick a knife through his chest. 

“I’m here, Mr FBI, sir.”

“Good. How’re you holding up, Neil?” 

Andrew didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone look as confused as Neil did at that moment. His brows were scrunched and his lips pursed as blinked first at the phone, then at Adrew, a hundred questions moments away from spilling off his tongue. Andrew shrugged, helpless to everything except the giggles that frothed under his skin. 

“I’m good, Kevin. How are you?” 

“Wonderful. I’m absolutely wonderful!” If Kevin had noticed the hesitancy in Neil’s tone then he didn’t seem to care, his cheerfulness pouring forth from the black screen propped up against Andrews’s dash. 

“What’s your good news, Kev?” Andrew interjected. 

“Okay, so, when you texted me the names of those people this morning I immediately sent them around because, you know, this is an all hands on deck situation."

Neil raised an eyebrow curiously. Andrew mouthed at him ‘Lola and Romereo’ and hated the small flinch that Neil tried to conceal. 

“Well, anyway, I got a message like only five minutes ago that one of them was taken into custody at about midday today. Apparently they weren’t gonna fucking tell me, because they knew I’d tell you and that you’d tell Neil and for some unspecified fucking reason they don’t want him to know, but I managed to worm it out of one of them. The guy, I think his name is Dimarkio or Dimannio, was caught stockpiling a shit ton of weapons down in Mississippi. Cops’d had eyes on him for weeks, figuring he was part of a gang or whatever, but now they think he was preparing for Nathan's big return or something like that. He's in jail now, and soon enough I assume they’re gonna get to work extracting as much information from him as they possibly can.”

“Oh god.” Neil’s voice was small and barely audible, even Andrew struggled to hear it. His eyes were wide and blank, unseeing as he stared off into the distance. “Oh my God.”

“Neil, are you there? Can you hear me? I said we got one of them."

“I heard you, Kevin. Oh my God. Oh my God oh my god oh my God oh my God!” The last words came out as a yell, flung into the stale car air with the force that only pure joy can muster. Neil was practically vibrating in place, delight radiating in every fibre of his being, a smile endlessly wide splitting his face in two. Andrew felt his own grin blossoming and didn't even try to tamper it down, relishing the way that when Neil met his eyes the expression that reflected him was pure, unadulterated happiness. 

“One step closer, Andrew,” He whispered, his voice hoarse and glorious and he was so beautiful that Andrew couldn’t breath. “One step closer until I’m free. Free of him, free of running, free of all of it. Until I can just be with you and-”

Neil stopped, his face reddening as he seemed to realise what he’d just said. To his credit, Andrew managed to keep a straight face, although he wasn’t quite sure how. 

Neil’s words had sent a pulse of blood rushing straight down to his groin and now he was in a very unfortunate position, trapped in the headlamps of Neil’s gaze and the growing need of his dick 

Fortunately, he was saved by a tinny, awkward cough from the phone. “Ahem. So, as I was saying, I think it’s only a matter of time before we get the locations of more people connected to your father, Neil. And if we’re especially lucky, we’ll be able to catch Nathan along with the rest of them.” 

“Thank you, Kevin. Thank you so, so much.” 

“No problem. A friend of a friend, and all that business. Anyways, I really must go now so you boys have fun and I'll update you if I hear anything else.” 

There was a beep as Kevin hung up the phone, and a few seconds of pure silence before Neil’s cry of happiness rang out so loudly that Kevin probably still heard it all the way in California. Andrew attempted to cover his ears as he drove but that only served to make Neil yelp in indignation and shout louder, turning on the radio so that he could match the dreadful country music both in pitch and enthusiasm. 

… 

The motel they found themselves in that night was, frankly, awful. It was dingy and sticky and they’d only just managed to persuade the man behind the counter to give them two beds, both of which were suspiciously stained and so small they appeared to have been designed for children. Even Andrew, who's 5 foot nothing height made fitting into a lot of things easy, felt cramped and claustrophobic as he crawled under the thin covers to try and fall asleep. 

Neil, however, seemed to be having less trouble, still riding high on the news of DiMaggio’s arrest. Andrew had his doubts that the man was even going to be able to sleep, what with how wound-up and excited he was, but he shouldn’t have been worried, because the second Neil’s head hit the pillow he was out like a light. 

Andrew was left alone, wide awake in a silent room. 

That moment from the car kept coming back to him. They way Neil had looked just before he’d stopped talking, when his lips were still curved around the residue of ‘I can be with you’. The blush that had sat high on his cheekbones as he’d stared Andrew down but not taken the words back, instead leaving them suspended between them. 

Andrew slid a hand down under the blanket, feeling his cock half-hard in his boxers. He concentrated on Neil, not the prone figure in the bed beside him but the version of him sitting in the car, loud and joyful and so God-damn alive. He let his arousal wash away the shame as he took himself in hand, mindful not to make any noise because Neil was a light sleeper and Andrew really did not want to be interrupted.

Although, maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing. Maybe Neil would wake up and see the situation with a mischievous glint in his eye. Maybe he would swing his legs out of his bed and make his way over to Andrew’s, desperate hunger in the soft pad of his feet and the sharpness of his teeth. Maybe he would pull back Andrew’s duvet and swing a leg over Andrew’s lap, reaching down with his own hands to finish off the job that Andrew had started. Maybe he would sink those teeth into Andrew's neck, biting down harder and deeper and he jerked Andrew off with ruthless precision. Maybe he would smile when Andrew came and offer himself up, rolling over to give himself to Andrew. 

Andrew shoved a knuckle into his mouth as he came, warmth spilling over his fingers even as white-hot discomfort settled over him. In the bed on the other side of the room, Neil stirred but didn’t wake, so Andrew deemed it safe to make the journey to the bathroom to clean himself up. He crept across the room with almost dainty cautiousness, somehow managing to get there and back without waking the sleeping man. And when he finally crawled into bed, drained both emotionally and physically, he fell asleep almost immediately. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The journey on the other side of the motel was quiet enough that Neil allowed himself to fully relax into it. Andrew had reverted to being grumpy and irritable, only this time Neil found comfort in the blonde man’s snappish remarks; a familiarity in the way he grumbled and groaned and refused to look Neil in the eyes. So they sat in silence, bad music wafting through the speakers as the road sped past and the tall, gleaming white and silver towers of Seattle appeared over the horizon. 

“Okay, look,” Neil said, tilting his head in Andrew’s direction, “These people, my friends, don’t like cops. They’re not criminals,” He added hastily, “But people like you haven't exactly done anything good for them. So you need to keep your badge and gun out of sight, and when anyone asks how we met, you just say that you picked me up on the side of the road, okay?” 

Andrew blinked, once, scornfully. Neil pretended to ignore how the distaste in his expression did something twisty to his insides and- Oh God, that was new. That was very, very new. What the fuck?

Was this going to be a problem? No, Neil didn’t think so. At least, he hoped it wouldn’t. So he squashed down the twisty feeling ruthlessly and squared his shoulders, meeting Andrew’s gaze  head on. “I mean it, Minyard. I know you're doing me a favour but you need to be on your best behaviour during this meeting or so help me God, your blood will be on my hands.”

Andrew raised both eyebrows and God that feeling was back again and also what the actual shit? Neil had never felt like this before. It was confusing and weird and not unpleasant, but it was probably showing on his face because now Andrew looked more perplexed than annoyed. 

“You alright, rabbit?”

“Yep.” Neil coughed into the back of his hand, hiding his red cheeks valiantly. For a moment Andrew’s brow furrowed, but it smoothed over faster than a stormy sea and neil allowed himself to relax again, sinking back into the seat as the sky-high silhouette of Seattle drew ever closer. 

…

The door to the house was exactly as Neil had remembered: tall and imposing and very slightly scratched around the edges. The house itself was a hulking monstrosity of red brick and white wood, and Neil’d directions had almost driven them straight past because it was identical to all the other houses on the row, distinguishable only by the neon green door number on the front. 

“Number sixty nine,” Andrew said dryly, one corner of his mouth twitching in a way that Neil had come to identify as a smile. 

“My favourite,” He replied, throwing the shorter man a lewd, over-exaggerated wink but spinning around fast enough so he couldn’t catch Andrew’s reaction. His heart was beating a million times a minute and he wasn’t sure if it was the prospect of seeing old friends or the proximity of Andrew’s body to his that was causing it and it was all very confusing. 

He reached out and knocked on the door. Once, twice, three times. 

Nothing happened. 

“Guess I was right and your friends are imaginary,” Andrew muttered from behind him, his soft breath causing the hair on the back of Neil’s neck to stand up. 

“Oh, fuck off you miserable little gremlin. You wouldn’t know imaginary if it hit you in the-” Neil stopped abruptly as the door swung open. “-face,” He finished lamely.

For a moment, the man standing in the doorway looked superhuman, his head bumping against the door jamb and his long legs practically at Neil and Andrew’s eye level. But then he stepped forward and bent his knees slightly, wide eyes narrowed and spiked of black hair tumbling into his eyes and he simply looked kind.

‘’Alex?” He asked tentatively, and internally Neil chastised himself, because of course he would’ve had a different name when he first met them, but externally he merely grinned and extended a hand, the weak sunlight obscuring the thin white scars that criss crossed it. 

“Matt!” 

“Alex!” And there was nothing tentative in the way Matt smiled now, how he lunged forward and crushed Neil's hand in an iron grip, basically pulling Neil’s entire frame toward him. Neil hissed as pain spiked violently up his arm, a residual gift from the broken thumb he’d completely forgotten about, and Matt seemed to notice, because he pulled back immediately. 

“Alex? What’s wrong?” 

‘Nothing, Matt, everything’s okay. Only it’s Neil now, not Alex. And I, well, we , were just passing through and I wanted to stop by, see how you were, you know. Is Dan home?”

“Yep, she’s just inside.” Matt was jubilant, practically quivering with excitement as he held the door wide open, gesturing for them to head in. “It’s really lovely to see you, Neil. Dan’ll be thrilled.” 

Neil could only beam in response as he made his way down the carpeted corridor, snickering as he heard Andrew’s whispered response to Matt’s enthusiastic greeting, the hushed “Touch me and I’ll kill you” reverberating through the quiet of the house. 

Dan was in the living room but jumped to her feet as soon as they entered, hurrying over and swooping Neil up in a hug so tight he could feel his bones grinding together the longer she clutched at him. Eventually she pulled away but still held onto him, keeping him at arm’s length as she surveyed him from head to toe, searching for God-knows-what. When she seemed to finish she stepped back, turning her attention to Andrew with a suspicious glare. 

“Alex-” She started. 

“It’s Neil, actually.” 

“Neil, then. Who. Is. This?” There was a pause between each of her words, something he recognised as dangerous. He closed his eyes and prayed, just from a brief second, that Andrew would stick to the script they’d agreed on in the car. 

“This is Andrew. He picked me up a couple of weeks ago down in Minnesota while he was soul-searching or some shit. We’ve been travelling around together ever since.” 

Dan didn’t look convinced and her eyes remained narrowed. Matt had sidled into the room as well and now wound an arm around her waist, soothing but not restrictive. 

“Are you sure?” She asked. “Because he kinda looks like a fed to me. Are you a fed, Andrew?” 

Fuck shit fuck fuckity fuck. How the fuck had she figured it out so quickly? Neil thought to himself, hoping against hope that Andrew would say the right thing. 

“Last I checked, they had a height restriction on those sorts of things, and I don’t think I would make the cut.” Andrew’s tone was placid and calm and Neil settled down almost immediately, all his worry disappointing. Dan looked similarly appeased, because her smile widened apologetically. 

“Hey, I’m sorry about that. There’s been a few of them sniffing around here recently and although I know we’ve got nothing to worry about, we’re pretty easy scapegoats for any of the shady shit happening in the neighbourhood. The shit that happened in college, the shit that happened to the both of us, follows you around, you know? Criminal records don’t just go away.”  

Neil nodded. Beside him, Andrew flexed his fingers so they brushed against Neil’s pant leg and when their eyes met his gaze burnt with questions. 

‘Tell you later’ Neil mouthed as the two of them followed Matt out of the room. 

“You need to stay for dinner,” The tall man called out. “Oh, and you need to meet Sonya, she should be waking up from her nap soon.” 

…

Neil didn’t have any other babies to compare it to, but Sonya was probably the ugliest baby he’d ever seen. She was tiny and wrinkled and goblin-esque and despite Dan’s reassurances that ‘ she’s only two months, that's what they’re supposed to look like’, Neil wasn’t convinced. He refused to hold it, refused to touch it, refused to be anywhere near it, terrified that it would puke all over him. And while Dan and Matt both seemingly found his repulsion nearly as endearing as the baby itself, to Andrew it was evidently a source of great amusement. 

“Come on, Neil,” He goaded, clearly unphased by the death-like grip the baby had locked around his middle finger, “Isn’t she just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” 

“She's the scariest thing I’ve ever seen. How is she so small and so loud at the same time? I don't understand it!” 

Sonya had indeed woken up from her nap, and then proceeded to scream all throughout the dinner that Matt had served no matter how much Dan jiggled her on her knee or Matt played airplane with the tiny fork. She'd even spat up her water all over the table and Neil had shot her a disgusted look, appalled at her lack of manners and sure that he’d never done such a thing as a child. Although, that was probably because if he had, he would've gotten slapped, or worse.

Andrew however, was completely unphased and even delighted at Sonya’s tiny antics. And once dinner had finished and Dan, Matt and Neil had gathered to talk and tell stories about the past year (most of Neil’s were lies) Andrew had sat back, gathered Sonya in his arms and allowed her to tug on his curls.

It was the most beautiful thing Neil had ever seen, and would’ve only been more beautiful if that ugly gremlin wasn’t there to ruin it. Still, he stored the image in his mind for future use, either as a fond memory or as blackmail. 

“So, Neil,” Matt was saying, “You’ve been holding up good? We thought about you for a long time after you left last year, wondering if you would be okay and all that. And I must say, we’re both very glad you found a friend.” 

“Not that we’re not your friends,” Dan cut in, “But we can’t travel around with you. It’s good that Andrew can.”

Neil gave a stiff nod, his head moving jerkily as he tried to concentrate on Andrew with one eye and the kind faces of Matt and Dan with the other. All he managed to do, however, was wear himself out and so he yawned, a great thing that stretched apart his entire face. 

“Oh God! Neil, buddy, you must be exhausted. I’m so sorry, I completely didn’t think!” Matt leapt to his feet, his huge frame towering over Neil for a brief second. “Do you want to stay the night? Wait, what am I saying, of course you’re staying the night. We have a spare bedroom up in the attic but it’s a double bed so I’m more than happy to pull out the sofa and one of you can sleep there, if you want?” 

“No.” The words were out of his mouth faster than he could think about saying them. All heads in the room turned towards him, including Andrew and Sonya’s, both of whom seemed to wear matching curious expressions. “What I mean is, I don’t want you to go to any more trouble for us. We can share. We’ve shared before.”

Matt nodded and Dan’s smile was kind, but Andrew’s curious look remained as they trudged up the stairs, Neil clutching his duffel in one hand and using the bannister with the other. He was so tired, God, so tired that it took all his energy not to completely collapse face down on the bed the moment he saw it. 

Instead he hovered by the door a moment and in that moment he realised with a sinking feeling of horror that while the room was massive, there was no on-suite.

Andrew seemed to realise at the same time he did, because he wandered into the room slowly, inspecting every corner like he was expecting there to be a trap door or something. Eventually, when he turned back around to Neil, there was an almost apology in his eyes, and it reflected through his tone as he spoke. 

“I can- I can go wait outside, if you want me to. While you change, that is.” 

And God did Neil want to say yes. He wanted to say yes so badly that the word was dripping off of his tongue and he had to bite down with his teeth to stop it escaping altogether. Because if he did say yes, if Andrew went and left and Neil was able to change by himself, then what was he proving? That he was still allowing his father to rule his life? That he was still ashamed, living in fear of a man he hadn’t seen in years? That he was still tethering himself to the one person he was desperately trying to escape from?

“You can stay.” The words were an offering, Neil’s tongue the silver platter. They are a take-it-or-leave-it declaration of trust and Neil knew exactly what Andrew was going to do before the other man had even opened his mouth, so it came as no surprise that all Andrew replied with was “Okay.” 

Okay then.

Neil bent down, pulling a clean pair of sweats from a bag much fuller than it had been a week ago. He clutched them tightly for a moment, feeling the fabric scrunch in his hand, then shucked off his hoodie in one easy movement and abandoned himself completely to Andrew’s stare. 

This thing was, Neil knew what he looked like. He knew about the battleground of his torso, the grooves and trenches that had existed with him so long they’d merged with his identity, his sense of self. No matter how many times he changed his name, his eyes, his hair, the scar stayed the same. He’d grown as used to them as it was possible to be used to something so ugly and twisted that it hurt to look at. 

Only Andrew didn’t seem to be hurting. He was blank faced, scarily so, and advanced on Neil with cautious grace, stopping just short of the ridged abomination of Neil's flesh. “You can touch,” Neil found himself whispering and Andrew did not hesitate, pressing a palm flat against the rough patch of skin that skidded across Neil’s navel. 

“Road rash,” Neil supplied and Andrew nodded, unquestioning even as his fingers moved on, tracing a delicate path across Neil’s stomach. “Gunshot wound,” Neil murmured as Andrew found the puckered indent just below his left rib cage, and then “Knife stabbing,” as steady digits brushed the thin line stretching up his sternum. It was only when Andrew’s hands came to a rest, fingers pressing into the individual bumps of the burn of Neil’s shoulder, did he allow his terrible breath to still. 

“Hot iron. I was still at home for this one and I guess I wasn’t quiet enough when visitors came round to call.” Neil winced as phantom pain shot through his and Andrew’s fingers dug slightly deeper before withdrawing completely, only to return seconds later as they handed Neil his sweatshirt. Neil shrugged it on, relishing the coverage it gave him, and was almost so absorbed in covering himself up that he almost missed what Andrew was doing. Almost.

When the first armband hit the mattress, it didn’t make a sound. The second one did, although Neil suspected the soft whoosh of air was caused by him, and not the piece of material. 

Along the inside of Andrew’s arms, which were turned and bared toward the light, were a series of lines like tally marks, each one pale and perfectly straight against the soft pink of Andrew’s flesh. Neil looked at them for a long time, burning the shape of them into his eyes because never in a million years could he have imagined Andrew, uptight, frightening, wonderful andrew doing something like that to himself. 

And when he looked up Andrew must have seen the question splashed all over him because he opened his mouth and spoke in the same detached voice he’d used in the car all those horrible hours ago. 

“My last foster home, the one before I went to juvie, was awful. The woman though, she was lovely. She baked me cookies and bought me books and let me put posters all over her walls and she was so, so very blind. She was so blind that she didn’t notice her adult son sneaking into my room every night, and she was so blind that when I begged her for a lock on my door she discarded it as teenage angst and she was so blind that she didn’t seem to care that I was wearing too many long sleeves for the summer months. She was so blind that when I finally had enough and pulled a knife, a stupid pocket knife I’d stolen from the gas station, on the man who’d been abusing me for months that she called the police before pressing a cloth to his eency-weency little scratch and telling me to never come back to her house. So I didn’t. I showed my knife to the arresting officer and then I showed him literally right where he could stick it and then they gave me two years and I don’t regret it. Not. One. Bit.” 

Neil could do nothing but sit in silence. He had nothing to say, too scared that any words he tried to force out would be wrong. So instead he tried to speak with his eyes and the way he sat on the very edge of the bed, leaving Andrew the side against the wall. He didn’t speak until Andrew was ready as well, the two of them perched on opposite ends, breathing heavily and exhausted from their honesty. And finally, when the lights were out and Andrew was a dead weight on the other end of the mattress, Neil let his voice carry through the darkness between them. 

“I don’t understand what you’ve been through. But I know what pain feels like, and I know what it’s like to feel it so deep in your soul that you’re afraid it might never leave. And I know that we’re only friends and that I haven't known you for that long but I also know that you are safe now. Kevin seems to really care about you and, if I’m being honest, I do too, as much as it pains me to say.”

Neil barely heard the slight snigger, irregardless of the fact that Adrew was so close beside him. And only because he was straining his ears so much to try and catch another one did he manage to hear what came next: a small and whispered “Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Andrew woke cocooned in warmth, another body lying so close beside him that he could feel warm tendrils of air fluttering across his face. His body reacted faster than his mind, the knowledge that it was only Neil doing nothing to stop his racing pulse and how he scrambled sideways, landing with a thunk on the floor, wincing as pain shot through his lower back. Still, his legs pistoned him backwards until his spine hit something solid and he stayed there, laboured breathing and frantic thoughts wracking his whole frame as he listened to the rustle of sheets and a slow, confused yawn echo out from above him. 

“N’drew? Is that you?”

Andrew shook his head violently, not making a sound. The bed rustled some more, and the noise of the sheets sliding against each other made him want to vomit. 

“Andrew?” 

A pillow thudded to the ground and Andrew flinched, a whole body thing that made the table or desk or whatever was behind him jolt. And maybe that was what finally made Neil concerned, because not a half-second later there was a pair of blue eyes and a few soft tendrils of reddish brown hair peering down off the mattress. He was so stark against the white of the duvet, a thing of colour and beauty and light, that for a moment Andrew’s unbreathing body had all its breath taken away again, his gasping form reflected in the unending well of sky of Neil’s gaze. 

They stared at each other. Hazel and blue. Blonde and brown (red?). Dark and light. 

Neil climbed out of bed slowly, movements steady like Andrew was a frightened cat he was trying to placate. His footsteps were silent across the floor and when he sank to his haunches only a metre away, back to the wall and a soft look on his face, he kept his hands extended and clenched in front of him. Visible. Unarmed. 

“Are you okay?” 

Was he okay? “Don’t ask stupid questions.” 

Neil huffed something that was far too close to a laugh for Andrew’s liking and he scowled, narrowing his eyes at the beautiful boy in front of him. Neil laughed again, undeterred, but it petered off into concern somewhere near the end. 

“Is there something I can do?”

“Talk to me.”

“Oh. Uh- okay. Is there anything you want me to talk about?”

Andrew felt exasperation rising. It made his heart rate speed up and his eyes flick wildly and it caused Neil’s face to pale frighteningly fast. 

“Anything, huh? Okay I can do that. Um, oh God this is hard. Jesus I need some specifics- Oh I know!” 

“Hurry it up, Josten.” His voice had a strange raspy quality and he watched how Neil winced with a distant concern. He needed a cigarette but his throat felt ruined. 

“Okay, so. I first met Dan and Matt about a year ago when I was- shit, well my age doesn’t matter. Anyway, I had been hitchhiking in this guy's truck for three days in a row and when I got to Seattle it was literally like heaven on earth. Everything was clean and the locks were so easy to pick and-”

Andrew coughed, a meagre burst of air that still managed to convey all his disapproval. Neil’s throat bobbed and he had the good grace to look sheepish for a second, but grinned as he carried on. 

“Well I stole some lady’s gym pass and slept there for a few days. Gyms are nice places to stay, you know, because I had access to the showers and all the exercise machines and I don’t know if you know this about me but I love to run. Like, for fun and shit. So the time I spent there was the most comfortable I’d been for years. But basically, to cut a long story short, Matt found me there one night while I was sleeping and offered me a place with a real bed and when I said yes, however reluctantly, he took me back here and set me up.”

Andrew could imagine a younger Neil, sprawled out on a changing room bench night after night. It didn’t matter how little Neil was complaining, the situation couldn’t have been pleasant and he must’ve been desperate enough for some semblance of security, given that he’d said yes to Matt’s offer.

“They were lovely though,” Neil continued, his voice thick with warmth, “And I stayed for maybe a month. They’ve been together since college, you know? And I guess when you’ve known someone that long you get so easy around them, like you can read their mind and know exactly what they want. They did these little things that I would notice, just small things but their love was so loud. For example, Matt knew exactly how long to leave the heating on for before Dan started to complain that she was too hot. And Dan always used this one specific mug for Matt’s coffee, because he especially liked the handle of it. Stuff like that.” Neil sighed deeply, and there was a longing in his eyes when he looked up to Andrew. “Sonya is lucky. Kids always imagine that what their parents have is true love, and at least for her it’ll be true.”

Andrew felt that, deep in the pit of his stomach. There was such raw emotion in Neil’s voice and right then, curled up on the floor of the attic bedroom, Andrew couldn’t sympathise with anything more. They had both grown up with absent parentsNeil’s mother consumed by a will to survive and Andrew’s with drugs. Neither had known their fathers: Andrew literally and Neil figuratively. And they were both left on their own eventually. 

In a lot of ways, they were the same. 

Somehow, Andrew found his voice and in a fit of desperation, willing the sad sensation in his chest to leave, he asked “What was Dan talking about, when she mentioned the Feds yesterday?”

Neil swallowed and Andrew watched his adams apple dip. “Right. I figured you would ask about that. Um, so Dan worked in a club in college, and-”

“A club?” 

“God, this isn’t even my business to be telling you. A strip club, okay? So anyway, she worked there and that’s where she met Matt, freshman year. And one day there was an anonymous tip that some gang had been doing deals out of it and the police raided the place. They didn’t find anything, but the fuckers were still suspicious enough that they wrote up all the names of the employees, even the dancing girls, just so they could keep it for future reference. Dan said that they didn’t end up doing anything with it for years, not until she left college and began to get other jobs and then they started calling up her places of work, warning them about her or some shit. And when Matt went to talk to them, they completely shut him down. Said if he was going to date a ‘woman like that’ then he’d better get used to her past catching up to her.” Neil quivered with a rage that didn’t belong to him. “She’s got a good job now, with someone who doesn’t give a fuck about the work she took to put herself through college. But that doesn’t mean she’s forgiven the cops, or that she’s gained back any of the trust she once had in them.”

Neil was breathing hard by the time he'd finished, eyes alight with righteous anger. Andrew blinked, his pulse and breathing regained but words escaping him. Neil didn’t look like he was waiting for anything Andrew could give him, however, and instead pushed himself to his feet, extending a hand down after only a moment of hesitation. Andrew looked at it for a long time, considering the implications that would come with the skin on skin contact and eventually deciding that he didn’t care. He allowed himself to be hauled up and knew that Neil's wicked smile would haunt him for the rest of the day. 

“Let’s go,” Neil said as Andrew extracted himself from the sweet softness of his hands. “Dan said she’d make pancakes for breakfast.”

…

They left about two hours later, only because it took Neil and Matt so long to say goodbye. Andrew packed up both of their things and waited awkwardly by the door, making stilted small tak to Dan and trying to refrain from cooing at the baby, while he watched Neil and Matt lock themselves in the tightest hug he’d ever seen and not let go. Andrew only caught snippets of their conversation, most of it muffled in the bend of Matt’s elbow or the curve of Neil's neck, but what he could hear was sappy, gooey mush that he really didn’t like to dwell on. 

Eventually, Neil’s feet hit the floor again and he ran a hand through his hair as he beamed up at Matt, who looked suspiciously like he was trying not to cry. 

“Neil, buddy, you will come back right? It's just, it's been so nice and I didn't realise how much i missed you and-” 

Neil laughed. “Matt, don’t worry about it. I came back this time, didn’t I? I’ll come back again, I promise.” There was a deep sincerity in both his voice and his eyes, something reflective of all the times he'd talked to Andrew and spilled the truth of his past. 

Neil turned to Dan, wincing slightly when he saw Sonya clutched in her arms. Still, he allowed himself to be pulled into a one-armed hug and only shuddered a small bit when Sonya’s wet fingers grazed his cheek.

“Don’t be a stranger, Neil.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Look after yourself, Dan.” 

“You too. And look after him . ” This was accompanied by a threatening pointing gesture toward Andrew and a less threatening gurgle from the baby, whose big eyes were practically begging Andrew to stay. 

Neil giggled - fucking giggled - and moved toward the door, one hand clutching his duffel and the other blindly reaching for Andrew’s wrist, as if to drag him away from the baby. Andrew sent one Sonya one last longing look and then the two of them were out the door and it was closed behind them and Neil was practically doubled over with laughter in the front steps. 

“Did. You. See. Your. Face? You looked so angry! Dan was all like ‘look after him’ and you were all like ‘let me just kill you with my eyes’ and my God it was so funny!” 

Andrew’d never had to pretend to glare so hard, and apparently he wasn’t even trying enough because Neil could clearly see right through it. 

“You,” and this came with a finger in the face, not two inches away from Andrew’s nose, “Need to stop acting so upright. I know you in your soul, Andrew Minyard, and I know you’re a big softie.” 

They were so close. Close enough Andrew could count the flecks of silver in Neil’s eyes and close enough that he could pinpoint the exact shade of flowering red at the roots of his hair. Close enough that Andrew definitely (definitely) did not miss the way that Neil’s gaze shifted, just briefly, down from Andrew’s own to his lips and then back up again. Close enough that the blush that bloomed across Neil’s cheeks was inescapable, as was the way he took two hasty steps back toward the car. 

Andrew stayed very still, because if he moved then he would’ve imagined it. So he didn’t move. He didn’t move until Neil was standing beside the Maserati and tapping one foot impatiently, a mischievous look in his eyes but pink still colouring his face. 

“Andrew, you coming?” 

God yes. “Sure rabbit. Where to next?”

Neil pulled out the map, although from where Andrew had no idea. A hidden pocket, maybe? His arse? “Nevada. Some alien thingamabob that’s apparently not the same as Area 51. I don’t really know, I just go where the map tells me to.”

Andrew snorted. “See, this is where the issue of free will comes into things. Because who’s really in control here Neil, you or the map?” 

He pressed the key fob and the car door beeped open. Neil climbed in languidly, shooting Andrew a glance over his shoulder, all fluttering eyelashes and arched eyebrows. Andrew pretended not to notice the way it caused his steps to falter, just a tiny bit, as he crossed to the driver’s side, Neil already talking as he settled into the seat and closed the door behind him.

“You just don’t want to admit how much you like the map, is that it? This map has practically saved our lives!”

“The map has given our trip structure. Meaning that it’s probably easier to track us down.”

“Spoilsport.” Neil pouted, an unfairly good look on him. “You love the map.”

“I hate the map.”

“Sure. Like you hate me, right?” 

Neil’s smug grin was insufferable but for once Andrew couldn’t find it within himself to contradict him. Instead, all he did was start the car with an aggressive jerk of the keys and roar out of the parking spot, relishing the way that Neil’s hand, just briefly, crept up to the handle on the inside of the door. The other man didn’t say anything though, only watched out the window with wide eyes as Andrew drove the two of them south and out of Seattle. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The silence lasted for a while, long enough that Neil had a comfortable amount of time to memorise the profile of Andrew’s biceps and the slope of his shoulders. And he was just moving on to counting the freckles that dotted the back of the other man’s long, slender fingers, when Andrew spoke, scaring Neil so much he practically leapt up in his seat. 

“You missed one.” 

“Wh-what?” 

“You missed a state. We’re driving from Washington to Nevada, a journey that’s going to take us another 20 hours of driving, because you skipped one. You skipped Oregon.”

This wasn’t news to Neil. he’d known that it was going to happen at some point, known that the option had been either driving toward where his mother had died or driving toward his father’s home state, and he figured he’d made the best choice. The line he’d drawn on the map had veered so deliberately toward the west coast that its mere existence had calmed him somehow. But then, staring at that very line on the front porch of Dan and Matt's house, Neil had realised how stupid he’d been. How foolish, thinking that he could drive through the last place he had ever seen his mother alive. 

“I know.” 

Andrew finally looked over, taking his attention off the road. His gaze was unreadable but still sent a shockwave of electricity through Neil’s bloodstream when their eyes met and Neil shivered, itching at the skin on the back of his hands. 

“I told Kevin about your mom, you know. Where she was buried and everything. He said the chances of them finding a body were basically zero, but that it would be a good idea if we stopped by there ourselves, just on the way through.”

Neil gulped, his throat dry. “Why? I mean, if there’s no body, then there’s no point, right?”

“It’s called closure, Neil. My guess is you haven't stepped foot in Oregon for the past ten years, correct? Kevin thinks, and I agree, that this could be good for you. Maybe bring you some peace.” 

For once in his life, as he thought over what Andrew had said, Neil had nothing to say. And for once, the thought of driving through that state where he’d watch his mothers body burn in the seat of an old car didn’t fill him with cold dread, like it always had done. And for once, he didn’t feel the need to hide the shake in his shoulders and he nodded his head in assent to Andrew, who huffed, satisfied. 

After that, the minutes seemed to tick by faster and faster and Neil even found himself relaxing into the journey. Andrew didn’t talk to him much, and he found himself chasing after tidbits of conversation like a dog after a bone, hating himself for how excited he got every time the blond man opened his mouth. 

This feeling, this desperate need for someone else's approval and validation, was so scarily new that Neil couldn’t stop trying to analyse it. He’d never felt this way before, and although the past day had given him enough time to acclimate to the swirling butterflies in his stomach, there was still something thrillingly foreign in the magnetic pull of Andrew’s attention. 

And of course, there was the slight chance that Andrew felt the same way. Neil had spent the past day cataloguing each movement, each glance and wry twist of lips the other man made and he thought (hoped, prayed) that maybe, just maybe, Andrew had been feeling the exact same. 

“Hey, rabbit-”

Neil jumped, his head whipping round so fast that he managed to catch the last vestiges of concern on Andrew’s face, before it smoothed over into neutrality. 

“Huh? Yeah?” 

“We’re here.” 

They were. Neil had been so zoned out, lost in his Andrew-centric thoughts, that he’d completely missed the final chunk of their journey, And now the car was parked somewhat precariously, tilting over the edge of a small embankment that overlooked a empty stretch of beach and the endless ocean. 

Neil blinked. “Is this the same place?”

“The same place? Oh- No, it’s not. It's a little ways down the coast from there.”

Neil couldn’t force any gratitude into his terse nod. He climbed out of the car, feeling the sea breeze whirl through his hair and the smell of salt and mint fill his nostrils. Andrew followed suit, grimacing at the sand that stained his shoes as the two of them trudged slowly down to the water's edge. 

Neil stared out at the skyline. The sea was a deep blue but the sky was just turning pink, its edges stained with violent orange and flickering reds. It was the colour of fire, the fire that had split Neil’s mother in two and shuddered at the edges of his mind ever since. 

“Smoke?” Andrew’s hand reached across, proffering a small white box into Neil’s peripheral vision. Neil took one and allowed Andrew to light it, the scent spiralling up his nose as he kept the cigarette close to his face. Andrew glanced across but didn’t comment, instead lighting up one for himself and setting it between his lips. 

They must make an odd pair, Neil mused, as he stood and watched the last of the sun sink below the horizon. They hadn’t moved for god knows how long, Andrew content to silence with Neil beside him. At some point, Neil felt his attention slip out of focus, the sky blurring into one great, roaring flame, and he was back on the beach from 10 years ago, listening to his mother burn. Only she hadn’t made a sound, already most of the way to death, and it was Neil that had been crying, screaming into the air like the noise could’ve brought her back to life. 

It had never worked. Not the first time, and not every time after, when he’d woken up terrified in the middle of the night and called out her name. 

The nightmares had stopped soon after he’d convinced himself she wasn’t coming back. 

“Staring.” 

Oh. Neil hadn’t realised. “Sorry.” 

Andrew reached out, his fingers digging into Neil's jawline as he physically turned Neil’s face away. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

“Like what?”

“Like I’m your answer.” 

“I don’t remember asking you anything.” Andrew’s hand hadn’t moved. It took all of Neil's effort not to lean into the touch, his legs going weak with the strength it required. 

“You,” Andrew tapped his middle finger once against Neil’s cheek then withdrew altogether, “Are a fucking idiot.”

“Why don’t you spell it out for me then.” 

There was no reply, and Neil stood there until he couldn't take it anymore. When he finally turned his whole body toward Andrew he found the other man gazing back at him, his stare even and calculated. They were barely a step apart. 

“Andrew-” Neil’s skin was thrumming with white-hot energy. “I really want to kiss you right now.”  

Andrew didn’t move, hardly even breathed, and Neil felt the anticipation within him build and build and build until it was at breaking point. He shuffled forward, the sand bunching up under his shoes and the wind at his back, but stopped when they were mere centimetres away from each other. He wouldn't cross any boundaries, wouldn’t be the person that Andrew used his armbands to hide from. So he waited. And waited. And waited. 

“No.” 

It was not the answer that Neil expected. He’d thought, he’d really thought, that Andrew felt the same way. After all, what did all those small looks and private glances mean if not this? What did it mean if Andrew blushed every time Neil walked in the room, or when the other night he’d left the shower looking more worse for wear then he’d looked before going in? Neil wasn’t stupid, or at least hadn’t thought he was. But now, staring into the void of Andrew’s expression, he might have to reevaluate that. 

“Okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“This is a breakdown, Neil. I can see that even if you can't.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m thinking straight, aren’t I?” 

“You just spent the last hour letting a cigarette burn down in your fingers while you stared off into nothing. Forgive me for thinking that your head isn’t screwed on straight at the time being.” Andrew took a step back and Neil watched him go. “Now I am going to get back in the car. Are you coming?” 

Neil didn’t know if the humiliation would ever stop flaming in his stomach. Every step back toward the Maserati only served to ignite it even more, and as he trailed in Andrew’s weight Neil felt himself sinking further and further down into the soft beach sand. 

… 

Neil didn’t know how long the journey to their next motel stop was because he drifted off only minutes after strapping himself into the car, not quite asleep but not awake either: somewhere in between. He didn’t see the point in staying present, not when Andrew was ignoring him and shame bubbled at the surface of his skin. He didn’t know how he could’ve been so wrong.

He fluttered into true consciousness when the car skidded to a stop. The landscape outside the windscreen was a neon forest and Neil arched an eyebrow, triumph blooming inside him when Andrew denied to reply with a shrug.

“It was the closest place I could find.”

A chuckle skidded out of Neil's lungs. “It looks like a circus. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so bright.”

Andrew paused, something hesitating on the tip of his tongue. Neil watched it, waiting with bated breath only to sigh in disappointment when Andrew swallowed it back down. 

He pushed open the car door and stepped out, leaving Andrew to his thoughts. The motel really did look like a fairground, neon signs and advertisements everywhere Neil looked. There was music playing as well, deep bass that pounded through the concrete and made every step that he took toward the motel reception shaky and unsteady, like he was about to trip over any second. Even the door that he pushed open was trembling on its hinges and Neil envied the earplugs that the girl behind the desk sported. 

“Hey there!” She called out, her grin wide and white as she removed the foam plugs one by one. Neil smiled in return, sauntering over to her and watching her watch the movement of his feet. 

“I need a room for two.”

She giggled, typing something into her computer. “Don’t we all, sweetheart.” 

Neil frowned. Did that even make sense? 

“I’ve got a few spare ones free. What do you want, a double bed or two singles?”

“Two singles.”

“Perfecto! That’ll be 20 dollars then, please.”

Well shit, Neil had forgotten that he wasn’t the one with the money in this situation. He asked the girl to wait for just a moment and she bopped her head, plugging her earbuds in as Neil stuck his head out of the reception door. 

“Andrew!”

But as much as he strained his eyes, Neil couldn’t see the blond man sitting inside the car. The headlamps were off, the light of the electric signs reflected dully off the black hull and there was no sign of Andrew. 

“Andrew! Where the fuck are you?” 

The parking lot was empty for one second longer and then bing! The door of the small, sterile-white corner shop swung open and in its absent space stood Andrew, his arms loaded with brightly coloured candy packets and a softly smug expression plastered over his face. 

“Hey, fucker!” Neil called, letting his voice carry across the tarmac, “Hurry yourself up, because I can’t pay for a room by myself.”

Andrew looked unconcerned as he made his way towards Neil, and even less bothered when he dumped his haul all over the reception desk, freeing up his hands to dig in his pockets for his wallet. The girl wrinkled her nose but accepted the crumpled bills irregardless, and Neil shot her a grateful smile, snatching the keys (and a couple pairs of earplugs) off the desk before leading the way to their room. 

The second Neil had pushed open the door Andrew was rushing in, letting all his packers of sweets and chips scatter over the bed as he sat down heavily. Neil smirked, crossed the room to his own single mattress and shucked his shoes off, tucking his socked feet under his leg as he grinned across the room. “Crossing that parking lot must’ve taken it out of you, huh? You look like you’re about to pass out.” 

Andrew glared, but pushed himself up to sit. Neil watched him, tracing his elegant movements with watchful eyes, so engrossed that he hardly had time to react when a sweet packet came sailing at his head. Still, he caught it and threw it back, relishing the way Andrew’s arm came up just a little too late and the packet flew right past him. 

“You need to fix your reflexes, Mr FBI. Shitty ones like those can’t be beneficial to the job.” 

“Careful, rabbit. You’re starting to sound like Kevin.” 

Neil gasped and pressed a hand to his chest, mock offended. “How dare you. Take that back!”

“Only if you agree to try one of these.” Andrew held up a hot pink bag of something. Neil wrinkled his nose, hating every step he took toward Andrew’s bed, reluctantly peering at the bag’s powdery contents. 

“What is it?” 

“Popping candy. You’ll like it, I promise you.” 

Neil doubted it, but Andrew looked so eager and he didn’t have the strength to tell him no. So he reached in and took a pinch of the candy stuff, pulling out a fistful and shoving it in his mouth before he could think better of it. 

It was the weirdest thing Neil had ever eaten in his entire life. It sizzled in his mouth like a lit cigarette, danced along his tongue and down his throat, leaving burning footprints as he swallowed. His face contorted into a grimace and Andrew’s eyes twinkled with amusement as Neil spluttered and coughed, hacking up whatever was left of the dissolved mess into his hand. 

“The fuck? Why would you give me that?” 

“Because it’s nice, asshole. Not all of us are fun sponges like you.” 

Neil rolled his eyes and watched as Andrew took a handful of the shit, dropping the small pieces into his mouth one by one. 

“I just never liked sweet things, that’s all.” 

“Yeah, yeah. You like fruit better, I get it. You’re not special Josten.” 

There was silence for a moment, and when Neil looked up from studying his hands their eyes met. The air between them was charged by a thousand particles. 

“Do you take it back now?”

“What?” An expression relatively close to confusion flitted across Andrew’s face. His brows furrowed and he leaned closer, a reaction that must’ve been instinctive yet caused Neil's breath to catch all the same. 

“Do you take it back? Am I really like Kevin?” 

Andrew snorted and the sound reverberated through Neil's chest. 

“No, Neil. You’re not like Kevin.”

“Good.” There was barely a gap between them and Neil could see his breath ruffling Andrew’s eyelashes as he spoke. “Because Kevin seems a bit too much of a workaholic for my tastes.” 

“You and Kevin could not be more different.” Neil watched as Andrew reached out, almost blindly, until his hand settled itself around Neil’s jawline. The contact surged with heat. 

“Careful, big man. Your bad-boy exterior isn’t going to hold up much longer under these conditions.” 

Andrew’s eyes flashed dangerously and Neil wondered for a vicious second if he had overstepped the mark. “Yes or no?” Andrew ground out and the ‘yes’ that slipped out of Neil in reply was instinctive. 

But Andrew still didn’t move and Neil's patience was waning. “What are you waiting for, Andrew? Because at the rate you’re going the earth will have frozen over by the time I figure out what you’re trying to do-” 

“Shut up.” 

And then Andrew was kissing him. 

Neil had been kissed before. He could count the number of times on one hand, and each occasion had been so memorable that he could remember exactly when and where they had taken place. But none of them had been good memorable. This was good memorable. 

Andrew kissed him the same way it had felt to punch that frat-guy in the bar. It was heat and ferocity and warmth, a mess of lips and spit and Andrew’s tongue on the inside of Neil’s teeth. It was Neil's hands freezing halfway between them, only to be placed on Andrew’s shoulders with careful precision. 

“Here and up.” 

Neil nodded and they broke apart, a tangibility stretching between them as he pressed a finger to his kiss-swollen lips. 

“Where for you?” Andrew asked, his voice thicker and rougher than it had ever been, its cadence doing something twisty to Neil's guts.

“Huh?”

“Where can I put my hands?”

“Oh. Anywhere, I guess.”

Neil expected Andrew to challenge him, to say that it wasn’t a real answer or something like that, but the blond man only shook his head and pulled Neil back into another biting kiss.  

They lost hours that way. Andrew pressed lightly on Neil's collarbones and pushed him down into the mattress, levering himself on top, pressure and friction engulfing them both. Neil gasped into some kisses and moaned into others, uncaring of the noises that escaped him when all Andrew did was kiss him harder and faster. At one point, Andrew pulled back, eyes scanning Neil’s body below him with a deep, hungry satisfaction, and Neil only lasted a moment before arching up and pressing a sloppy open mouthed kiss to the side of Andrew’s neck. This elicited a shudder and Neil yelped in surprise before doing it again, basking in the tremble that wracked Andrew's body as teeth grazed his pulse point. 

They were still kissing, Andrew’s nimble fingers teasing at the hem of Neil’s jumper when there was knocking at the door and they both jumped, momentarily paralysed. Andrew tilted his head and Neil pushed himself up on his elbows, both glancing toward the empty panel of frosted glance that reflected the blurry neon lights. 

“Can you see anyone?”

Andrew shook his head and Neil watched the veins in his neck twist. But then he was gone, an empty weight lifting off Neil’s chest and leaving him bare, unable to move as he watched the bathroom door close behind Andrew’s retreating form. 

“Fuck him,” Neil muttered to himself, but the word carried no heat in the wake of the kisses and his lips felt puffy as he spoke. Still, he heaved himself up and over to his own bed, pausing to survey the wreckage they had left behind: crumpled sheets and scattered packets of chips all over the floor.

In the bathroom, the shower began to run. The room smelled like Andrew. 

Something caught in his throat, a half-formed question to himself that he couldn’t quite put together. Something he couldn’t quite ask himself. 

Neil found his feet carrying him toward the door, only truly noticing when his hand was on the door knob, twisting without the direction of his brain. The door swung open easily and Neil looked out, paranoia slow to form what all that ricocheted around his head was the feeling of Andrew’s mouth on his. Maybe that was why it took him a while to see the piece of paper left on the doormat, its edges weighed down by three small rocks. He picked it up and unfolded it. Inside was a number etched in neat, blocky handwriting. 

5

The shower stopped running. Neil didn’t move. 

The bathroom door swung open and still, Neil didn’t move. 

Andrew’s footsteps echoed across the carpeted floor and still, Neil didn’t move. 

“Rabbit?” 

The note looked up at Neil, taunting him, laughing at him. 

The number five. 

Five days. 

Neil scrunched up the paper into a ball in his fist and stared down at it before shoving the whole thing into his mouth. He chewed once, twice, and then swallowed, feeling it slip down his throat as he turned to face Andrew, a smile already fixing itself into place as he met the other man’s eyes. 

“Was your shower okay?” He asked and Andrew's expression seemed to soothe, melting into an agreeable softness. 

“Yeah. You should try it.” 

“Maybe I will.'' Neil was not going to bring up the fact that Andrew had walked off without a word when they had been kissing for God knows how many hours. It seemed like Andrew wasn’t either. 

“Good.”

“Good.”

Neil took two steps forward and faltered slightly. The note was a lead weight in his gut and that unspoken question from earlier a matching one on his tongue. He wanted Andrew to kiss him again. He wanted to vomit. 

He did not want to die. 

“Well,” He managed, crossing the room to the bathroom and resting one hand on the doorframe. “Goodnight, Andrew.” 

“Goodnight, Neil.” 

Neil closed the door too fast. Andrew waited too long to smile. 

Chapter Text

Day Nine (day five)

They hardly talked in the morning, the silence heavy as a weighted blanket, and Andrew found himself wilting under its pressure. Neil seemed closed off somehow, like he’d receded into himself over the course of the night, his eyes reserved and his smiles rare, a stark difference from his usual normal energy. Andrew couldn't shake the unbearable feeling that it was his fault, his actions that had caused this, and it rested in his mind as the two of them got ready for the day. 

He had walked off, he supposed. He had pushed himself up and yanked himself away from Neil's crooning, kiss-bitten lips and put tangible space between them, separation through the physical barrier of air and bathroom door. And yes, maybe that hadn’t been the best decision, but it had been the only one he could think of in the moment, brain spinning and hands restless and a head too full of the things he wanted to do and not the things he could do. The desire churning in his mind had felt dangerous and Neil, lying on his back, had been vulnerable to it. Too vulnerable. 

Andrew knew that he could explain this to Neil, just like he knew that Neil would accept it without question. That was the problem with him, he took all of Andrew’s words at face value, accepting them and moving on and not making Andrew feel guilty for telling the truth and baring his soul. He was trusting and kind and compassionate, more so than Andrew had thought any person could be, and that made him scary. Scary in a way that meant every time they locked eyes, dressing in silence on either end of the motel room, Andrew felt words bubbling off the tip of his tongue, explanations that Neil was sure to snap up in a heartbeat. 

But they wouldn’t come out, and Andrew was sure that he wasn’t imagining the disappointment in Neil’s eyes each time his lips sealed themselves shut again. 

The quiet didn’t last particularly long, just as Andrew had suspected it wouldn’t. He’d known Neil long enough to know that holding his tongue wasn’t his greatest skill, and the masochistic part of him took some sick pleasure in waiting for the interrogation that was sure to come. And yet when Neil spoke it was with soft vowels and big eyes, devoid of any anger or accusations. 

“Where do you want to go today?” 

Andrew turned around to look at Neil, who was dressed completely and holding his duffel in a limp hand. He shrugged, letting confusion seep onto his face. “I thought you were the one making the decisions here. Or rather- I thought the map was making the decisions.”

“I’m not completely reliant on a piece of paper, asshole,” Neil said indignantly. “And plus, we’re basically on the border of California here. I figured you might want to give that bit a skip.” 

Huh. That was exactly what Andrew wanted. “Well, okay then, we skip California.That’s actually a pretty good idea, because it means I don’t have to do damage control between you and Kevin, a confrontation which is sure to end in flames.” 

Neil scoffed, his eyes lighting up for the first time that morning. It brought back such joy into his face that all the tension bled out of Andrew, melting into the floor as Neil came back to life in front of him. 

… 

They didn’t miss out California completely. A good few hours of their journey were spent on the wrong side of state lines, time that Neil wasted on speculation about what Kevin looked like. His ideas were endlessly amusing and Andrew caught himself dissolving into laughter more then once, giggles wracking his body as Neil grinned, rattling off lists of Kevin's supposed unattractive attributes. 

“I mean, come on!” He cried scornfully. “The way you're talking makes it sound like this guy is perfect.”

Andrew shrugged. “That’s because he is - appearance-wise at least. His personality leaves something to be desired.”

“The personality bit I believe, but the rest is bullshit. No-one looks perfect, that would be impossible.” Neil scowled, then spun around with a vicious light in his eyes. “Okay, I got it. Does he have buck teeth?” 

“Nope.” 

“Hairy knuckles?”

“Nope.” 

“A face tattoo?”

Andrew hesitated and Neil's smile unfurled impossibly wide. “A face tattoo? Fucking seriously? My God, what is it?” 

“The queen piece off of a chess set,” Andrew offered and Neil laughed like a wild thing, his hysterics cascading through the car and out the window, whipping out behind them like a banner. 

… 

They pulled up outside of their next tourist spot approximately two seconds before Neil realised his mistake. He stared at the shack in disbelief, confusion clouding his gaze as he turned disbelievingly to Andrew. 

“It’s a fucking bar?”

“Apparently so,” Andrew said, surveying the tiny, white and blue hut outside the car window. It was tackily adorned with what looked like a UFO on stilts and some tasteful graffiti, neither of which seemed to appeal to Neil, who wrinkled his nose in badly contained disgust even as he climbed out of the car. 

“The little alien. The little ale-in. Motherfucker!” he exclaimed scuffing at the dirt with his shoe and glaring like this was all Andrew’s fault.

“Come on now, rabbit. Just because you can’t read properly doesn’t mean this is a hopeless situation. Come on in, I’ll buy you a drink and then we can rent a room for a night, easy peasy.”

Neil seemed to cheer up instantly, brightening as Andrew led the way toward the doors of the shack. “Gonna buy me a drink, huh? If you’re trying to get me into bed, Minyard, you’re gonna have to put in a little more effort than that.” 

A week ago, hell maybe even a couple days ago, Andrew would've been capable at maintaining a neutral facade, unreacting to Neil’s words on the outside yet ecstatic on the inside. However, now he’d felt Neil’s lips on his and Neil’s tongue licking into his mouth, he was incapable of such a miracle. So his steps faltered slightly, his hand freezing on the handle of the bar door as Neil chuckled behind him and almost tripped over his own feet in his attempt to push past Andrew, the brush of their shoulders sending a sizzle of violent electricity down Andrew’s spine. 

...

The bar inside was unremarkable in how remarkable it was trying to be. Andrew sighed despondently into his third whisky of the night as Neil, who’d quickly overcome his initial displeasure, pointed out another feature of the tasteless decor and giggled childishly into his soda. He was loose and relaxed in the cramped room, strangely at home amongst the throbbing crowds of people and as buzzed as if he were the one drinking Andrew’s alcohol. He glowed electric under the shitty strobe lights and Andrew couldn’t take his eyes off of him. 

“I’m sorry!” He called out and watched Neil's gaze snap into focus quicker than anything. 

“Sorry about what?” 

“I’m sorry that I left last night. I just, I wasn't thinking straight.” It was vague and he knew it, but judging from Neil's newly sombre expression he completely understood. 

“It’s okay. I get it, don’t worry. I do just want to say, though, that I really enjoyed it and maybe, um, if you enjoyed it as well then it could be something, you know, that we continue to do in the future and, um-”

“Neil. Neil, stop.” Neil froze mid sentence, eyes wide and panicked and Andrew was suddenly struck by the knowledge that despite all his bluster and general flirty-ness, this was possibly very new to him. Like very, very new. “I did enjoy it. And I would very much like to do it again.”

Neil blinked, tentative glee spreading over his face. “Okay. Okay, so like, right now?”

“Not right now, idiot. When we’ve got a room, maybe, and we’re not in public? Does that sound good to you?”

“Yep.” Neil nodded enthusiastically, grinning so hard Andrew thought his face might split into two. Something complicated was happening in Andrew’s stomach, something warm and fuzzy and very possibly related to the downright adoring way that Neil was looking at him. And the worst part was, he couldn’t say for sure that he hated it. 

... 

It was safe to say that when their room at the inn was booked, with surprisingly very little comment on Neil’s part about its ET-themed decor, that they didn’t get much sleeping done. Andrew felt his elbows and knees wearing down with every passing minute he kept them pressed into the mattress but the destroyed look on Neil’s face, complete with swollen lips and flushed cheeks, was completely worth it. And that time, when they’d both run out of breath and he staggered on feeble legs to the bathroom, he made sure that Neil knew exactly what he would be doing in there. 

Day Ten (day four)

Neil found the note tied to the door handle of the room, a small piece of folded over paper swinging innocently in the breeze-less hallway. He didn’t even have to open it to know what it said yet he did so anyway, absorbing the deep rush of fear that balled up in his stomach and surged up his throat at the sight of the small number four, written in the exact same handwriting as the last one. 

Four days. 

He clamped his lips shut as the ball of fear turned suddenly into dry-heaving onto the doormat, bent double with his death warrant clutched tightly in his hand. All that time running, all that time surviving rather than living, all that time that he had spent without Andrew, it was all going to be for nothing. Each and every lesson his mother had beaten into him, her harsh words and pinching fingers, had been meant to ensure his survival and yet he had still ended up like this, merely a fox running from the hounds, a victim of the chase. 

He couldn’t escape death forever, he supposed. No one could. It was simply better to come to terms with it quickly and quietly, dignified in life if he couldn’t be so in death. And although when he eventually stood face to face with the nightmares of his childhood he honestly couldn’t say how well he would fare, but fuck him if he didn’t put up a fight. 

He spun around on his heel and headed back into the room, making a beeline toward the bathroom and treading as quietly as he could, so as not to wake Andrew. The blonde man was curled into a ball in his bed, back to the wall and his hair mussed against the pillow. He was adorable when he slept, Neil thought, peaceful and quiet and so unlike his grumpy daytime self. If Neil wasn’t so bothered by his inevitable death at the end of the countdown, leaving Andrew would be the thing to frighten him most. 

Neil managed to flush the note down the toilet and start to run the shower before the noise of the water roused Andrew, who stumbled into waking with a curse muffled into his pillow. 

“Do you have to be so God-damn loud?” He muttered. 

“I’m literally showering,” Neil called in return, stripping off and stepping under the spray. 

“Well be more fucking quiet about it then.” 

Neil scoffed and let the warmth soak into his skin. After a brief moment of silence he could hear Andrew rummaging around in the next room, presumably getting dressed in his trademark black outfit. His rough voice echoed through the bathroom door, swearing and grunting and - moaning? Neil froze, straining his ears as the sound filtered through again, a small breathy moan that ricocheted off the glass walls of the shower and embedded itself in Neil’s ears. Andrew was invisible on the other side of the door yet the noise he was making made it seem like he was standing directly opposite Neil. The image was strange and confusing and somewhat … arousing. 

Neil looked down at himself and saw with mild surprise that he was half-hard under the water and steam. He reached down cautiously, unsure how to proceed with his newly-discovered desire. It wasn’t that this was entirely new for him, but this kind of attraction toward someone was something that he’d never experienced before and its intensity frightened him a little bit.

He grunted when he took himself in hand, then immediately clamped his lips shut, glancing nervously at the bathroom door that separated him and Andrew. But when there was no sign that Andrew had heard him, he began to move his wrist up and down, twisting as he did so to create waves of delicious friction between his skin and the water. Neil tipped his head back as his hand kept moving, resting his skull on the slick shower wall and his hips jutted out over and over again, keeping in time with the slide of his fingers until the building heat in his stomach grew unbearable. With a spluttered swear word pushed out between clenched teeth Neil came, spilling out into the shower as he tried to regain his breath. 

He dressed hurriedly, waiting anxiously for the shame and embarrassment that he was sure to come. But it never did, and by the time Neil pushed out of the bathroom door, confident that the blush in his cheeks had faded to normal, he was almost excited to see Andrew again. Only, the sight that awaited him in the room was not what he expected it to be. Andrew was sitting on the floor, surrounded by jumbled clothes, and clutching what looked to be an ice pack to his foot. 

“What the fuck?” 

Andrew looked up, anger and pain rioting on his face. “Stubbed my fucking toe, what does it fucking look like?” 

Oh. That was what the noise had been from: Andrew had been in pain. Still, somehow Neil managed to keep his composure and even mustered up a smirk when Andrew met his gaze. “Jesus Mr FBI, every day that passes I get less confident in your criminal catching abilities.” 

“Go screw yourself rabbit,” Andrew huffed, pushing himself to his feet, “And let’s get the hell out of this alien-infested hellhole.” 

… 

Going off the map had been a mutual decision, one that had been made mostly because of the fact that Neil had left it in the alien bar and had no intention of going back for it. So instead they were winging the journey and Neil’s only consolation to the grief of losing his precious map was the knowledge that, now that their journey was completely random, it would be a lot harder to stay on their tale. At least, that was what Neil told himself as the Maserati sped down the endless roads. 

They didn’t speak much, both seemingly content to sit with the radio or, when Neil eventually requested it, the music on Andrew’s phone. Neither had much to say and the day passed smoothly in a flurry of darkening skies and glistening stars and when they eventually pulled up into a motel parking lot Neil found his voice croaky with disuse. 

“Can you go in and book the rooms for once? My legs have fused together and I don’t think I can walk that far.”

Andrew scoffed but for once didn’t reply with a smart remark, only climbing out of the car and disappearing through the dark toward the motel reception. Neil watched him go and visualised himself out there in the pitch, the two of them walking side by side together. It was an odd image and soon enough it blurred into another one, Andrew’s shaky form morphing into someone taller: a man with dark red hair, perfect posture and a blade glinting suggestively in his hand. Nathan Wesninski. 

Neil blinked frantically and sure enough, the image cleared as soon as it had formed. Still, he sat there shaking and drained, refusing to take his eyes off the window lest another nightmare materialise in plain sight. He sat there an age, unblinking and unseeing and eventually, when Andrew still hadn’t appeared and his eyelids began to wilt, he sank into a sleep that felt like death. 

Day Eleven (day three)

“Why don’t you speak to your brother anymore?”

Andrew startled, whipping around faster than he ever thought was possible for him to move. Neil was sitting up in bed, looking dazed but very much awake, his eyes trained on the space right next to Andrew’s ear. 

“What?” 

“I said,” Neil huffed impatiently, “Why don’t you speak to your brother anymore. You said it has been six months, right?” 

“Fucking hell, Josten. It's like, 9 in the morning.” 

“Whatever. I want to know. So are you gonna tell me or not?”

The thing was, Andrew would tell him. Andrew would tell him anything, something which he had recently realised and was totally not changing his whole entire ‘I-don’t-need-anyone-ever’ world view. However, there was only one problem with that new development: Andrew didn’t know why Aaron wasn’t talking to him. 

“I don’t know,” He said honestly, and something on Neil’s face shuttered down slightly. 

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” 

“I mean I don’t know. After my mom died we had a somewhat healthy relationship, despite the fact he was a complete and utter asshole, but 6 months ago he just cut all contact and never told me why.”

Neil blinked. “Hold up, and just roll back for a second there. Your mom died? When the fuck did this happen?”

“Oh, did I not tell you?”

“No you fucking didn’t!”

Andrew hadn’t realised and now, judging by the hurt expression that Neil was concealing very badly, it was just another way that he’d put him and Neil on uneven footing. Another truth he had concealed. “I told you that my mom was into sketchy shit, didn’t I? Enough so that the cop who came into the juvie thought that I was Aaron, given all that he did for her. Well, when I got out I discovered that she’d got him hooked on all sorts of shit, stuff that she and her junkie friends would do. She used to beat him as well and no matter how many times I told her to stop she never listened. So one day, when she’d given Aaron a black eye so bad that he couldn’t go to school, I asked her to give me a lift and then when she was driving I put my hands on the wheel and I swerved us both into the opposite lane of the road.” 

He said it so matter factly that he expected his disdain to register something in Neil's face. But instead the other man blinked only once and pursed his lips together before asking, “You killed her?”

“Yes, I did. I did it to protect him, and I would do it a thousand times over. He’s my brother.”

Neil nodded. “It sounded like she had it coming. So is that why Aaron won’t talk to you now, did he figure it out? Does he know that you killed her?”

“No. It was ruled an accidental death and he never told me he suspected anything, but he's not stupid. Maybe it just took him a while to think it through.” That was the least Andrew could hope for; that Aaron had decided to hate  him based on something he actually did and could own up to, rather than something he didn’t know about. He just wished that his brother would reach out and talk to him about it, if only to grant both of them some closure.

“Okay then.” Neil was surprisingly happy, calm aand relaxed against the motel room sheets and completely comfortable in the fadingly tense atmosphere. “Hang on, how did I get in here? The last thing I can remember was falling asleep in the car.”

Andrew scoffed. “I’m surprised that wasn’t your first question. You just had to go right in with the personal stuff, didn’t you?”

“That’s not a fucking answer, Andrew. How did I get in- Wait a second! Did you carry me?”

Andrew spun around on his heel, ignoring the blush that bloomed in his cheeks as the truth threatened to spill from his lips. “Shut up and help me pack, you insufferable idiot.” Neil seemed to catch on though, reading Andrew as easily as a book and the redhead’s giddy cries followed him across the room. 

Day Twelve (day two)

The hours pretty much blended into each other, when all of their time was spent in the car and Neil’s head felt constantly foggy with stress and fatigue. But their incessant movement did nothing to slow his pursuers, who were relentless in the chase and single minded in their aim to catch him. Two days in a row, Neil had found small paper notes tucked under the windshield wiper of Andrew’s car and two days in a row he’d managed to conceal them. He didn’t know how much longer he could last. 

The previous day, Andrew had reached across and rested his warm, rough hand on Neil’s thigh as he drove, the contact simultaneously calming Neil’s racing mind and sending tendrils of desire down into his stomach. They’d lasted an awfully long time like that, but it seemed Andrew only had so much patience and soon enough he’d pulled into a layby, beckoned Neil across the centre console, bundled him into his lap and kissed him senseless. Neil had laughed into the kiss and after a moment Andrew had too, the both of them breathless and hard and so Goddamn alive. 

Today though, with the remnants of an ink-stained number two fading into his palm and the last vestige of a crippling nightmare slipping into the recess of his mind, Neil couldn’t even spare Andrew a glance, much less any casual contact. He spent his time laser-focused on the black screen of Andrew’s phone, praying to any God that would have him that a call from Kevin would come through and he would hear of his fathers capture. It was the only thing that could save him now, he knew. Andrew couldn’t do anything, because Neil had long since figured out that he would much rather sacrifice his own life than put the blonde man in any danger. 

It was a strange sensation, the urge to put someone else’s safety above his own, but he liked it. It made him feel selfless and oddly free. It made him less afraid of the inevitable death that awaited him. 

“Are you alright, Neil?” Andrew’s tone was concerned, yet all his eyes reflected out was their trademark bored expression. Neil nodded fervently, terrified that his voice would betray him. Andrew quirked an eyebrow but ultimately shrugged, tipping a cigarette from the pack they’d picked up in their last gas station stop and lighting it with the dashboard lighter. He proffered the pack in Neil’s direction and Neil took one, marvelling at how steady his fingers remained as tey curled around the stick. He propped it between his lips and lit it, inhaling the smoke so quickly that he coughed huge, forceful lungfuls of air, tears streaming from his eyes.

“Fucking hell,” He managed in between chokes and Andrew laughed, a proper sound that warmed neil to his core. It had been a long time since the last of either of their walls had fallen down and now each of them could see the other for who they truly were, right down to the darkest corners of their soul. This meant that Andrew laughed openly around Neil, and in turn Neil no longer felt that being completely honest was a chore, rather something that he found comfort and relief in. 

“Go easy, rabbit. You’re no good to the FBI offices if you choke to death on cigarette smoke.” 

Right. Andrew expected Neil to join him back at work when this whole debacle was over and Neil’s father was captured. That had been what Neil had promised. 

Andrew didn’t know that Neil’s time was limited. 

“My bad. Sorry mom, I’ll be more careful next time.” 

… 

It wasn’t planned, but they spent that night sleeping in the car. Neil could see that Andrew was blatantly tired from driving all day, but when they checked the GPS map on his phone the next sign of civilization was a further three hours drive down the road. The sky was pitch-dark and Andrew’s eyes had glowed hazel when Neil suggested that they just lie down in the back seat and try to get some rest. 

“We haven't got any blankets or pillows, asshole.” 

Neil held up his duffel bag demonstratively. “We could use this. And if we huddle up together we should be able to keep each other warm. It’s not winter yet anyway, so it shouldn’t get too cold.” 

He was met by silence and a stare so heavy that Neil felt himself wilting instinctively, his energy draining out of him even as he refused to break Andrew’s gaze. Finally, when he didn’t think he could take it any longer, Andrew opened his mouth and uttered a single word. “Okay.”

“Okay? Really?” 

“I don’t do things that I don’t want to, rabbit. You know this by now.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do know. Well then, I’ll go first I guess.”

“No. Let me go.” 

Neil watched, fascinated, as Andrew snatched the duffel bag from his unresisting hands and climbed feet-first into the back seat, stretching himself out languidly, like a cat. He pressed his back to the leather behind him, stretched his legs out and then tilted his chin in Neil’s direction, a feral sort of look in his eyes. Neil took a deep breath and followed, if a tad more awkwardly. He managed to swing himself into the back seat and meanever so he was sitting roughly next to Andrew’s knees, but then got confused and froze up. Where did he put his hands? Where was he actually supposed to lie down? 

“Come on now, Neil. This was your idea, don’t go getting all shy now.” There was a mocking tone to Andrew’s voice, but his hands were gentle when he reached out and gently grabbed at Neil’s bicep, pulling him down so that Neil's back lay flush to Andrew’s chest, Andrew’s chin rested on Neil’s shoulder and their legs tangled together. 

“Oh.” The noise rushed out of Neil’s lungs, more an exhale of breath than a fully-formed word. He wiggled slightly, pushing back even further and Andrew grunted, going stiff for the briefest second before throwing an arm around Neil’s waist and curling his fingers into the fabric of Neil's shirt. They were so close, no space between them whatsoever, and Neil should’ve felt constricted but instead he felt safe, like nothing could ever hurt him again. 

It was a feeling he never wanted to lose. 

Andrew shifted forward, pressing a dry kiss to the nape of Neil's neck and sending ripples of pleasure through his body. They stayed like that for an age, Andrew’s warm lips occasionally parting against his skin, Andrew’s arm wrapped around him, Andrew’s legs tucked around his. And when Neil eventually fell asleep Andrew was still there, a weight pressing him down and shielding him from the abyss. 

Day Thirteen (day one)

The air was ice-cold when Andrew awoke, a hollow sensation taking hold of him when he realised that Neil wasn’t where he’d been the night before. He sat up quickly, knocking his head against the door of the car in his haste to right himself, and cursing as an ache sprang up in his neck and back. Fuck sleeping in the car he thought vehemently as he climbed out into the crisp morning, blinking rapidly as he searched the scenery for Neil’s familiar shape. He needn’t have worried though, because Neil was simply perched on the car bonnet, sucking on a cigarette and puffing out near-perfect rings of smoke into the air above his head. If he wasn’t so cold, Andrew would’ve been impressed. 

“Fucks sake, rabbit. Have you got a death wish or something, because it’s fucking freezing out here.”

Neil looked up. His mouth pulled into a smile but for some reason Andrew froze, fixated on the expression in his eyes. Because while Neil’s face was the epitome of joy, his eyes were bottomless pits of sadness and frustration so unlike his outward demeanour that a spike of worry shot through Andrew’s chest like a bullet. 

“Morning, Drew.” Neil yawned. “I cleaned your windscreen for you.”

And indeed he had. The frost that had clearly formed overnight had been scraped away, wide sweeps of it pushed to the side. The sleeve of Neil's jumper was soaking wet as well but Neil didn’t seem to feel it, instead focused on studying Andrew’s face with frightening intensity. 

“I see that. Thank you.”

Neil nodded and his eyes cleared with alarming speed, reverting back to their normal, ice blue cheerfulness in seconds. He hopped down from his perch and pulled open the door of the car, calling out to Andrew as he climbed in. “I’m just going to change into some clean clothes, so gimme a minute okay?” 

Andrew inclined his head in assent but Neil didn’t seem to see, already preoccupied with shucking off his wet hoodie. Andrew watched him through the windows, the perfectly clear windows his mind supplied, and tried to keep his mind from racing. So what if it didn’t make sense that only one of the windows had frozen overnight? And so what if it wasn’t even winter, which meant there was no reason at all for any of the windows to be frozen? Andrew wouldn’t let his paranoia get the best of him now, not when he was only starting to relax properly into his time with Neil. Not when he had only just managed to put words to the feeding bubbling inside him every time Neil said his name. Not when he was just waiting for the right time to say those words. 

There was a hum, and then the car’s back window slid down to reveal Neil's cheekily grinning face. “Come on, old man. I’m getting hungry and really, really don’t know how much longer I can go without a decent coffee.”

Andrew chuckled and skirted the car, climbing into the driver's seat and turning the key in the ignition, relishing the growl of the car as it leapt into life. 

… 

They stopped at a gas station about an hour down the road and loaded themselves up on vending machine coffee and shitty pastries, eating and drinking until neither of them could speak coherently and all that came out were stated grumbles. Neil was loose-limbed and relaxed, allowing Andrew to press small bits of doughnut into his hands and even deining to eat some of them. The conversation flowed smooth and easy and Andrew found his earlier worries dissipating as the sun climbed the sky and Neil's eyes brightened with each crappy joke he made. 

They decided to find somewhere to sleep early in the day, but it was harder said than done and they ended up trawling down desert roads for hours on end. Andrew’s GPS said they were in Colorado, which Neil had followed up by admitting that out of the many states he’d been to while on the run, Colorado hadn’t been one of them. Andrew tended to avoid any travelling while he could, preferring to stick to the sweaty sands of California, so the long roads they drifted down were new to both of them. They found a motel eventually, however, and Neil blinked wide eyes when Andrew pushed open the door of the room he’d booked to reveal a large, double bed. 

“We’re sharing?” He asked, mouth hanging open in a way that only he could make look attractive. 

“No shit.” Andrew reached across and flicked him on the forehead, which made neil’s nose wrinkle in annoyance. “Now I’m going to have a nap, because I’m fucking tired and I spent the whole of last night on a hard leather car seat. Can I trust you to wake me up when it’s time for dinner?” 

Neil nodded, a small smile on his face. “Of course all you're thinking about is food.”

“And why wouldn’t I be?” Andrew shucked off his shoes, before padding across the room until he was standing directly in front of Neil. “Is there a problem?”

“No problem, it’s just-”

“What?”

“You’re amazing,” Neil whispered. His expression was shy and his hands tentative as he threaded them through the fine curls at Andrew’s nape. He leaned forward, a question in his eyes that Andrew answered with a small nod, and pressed a chaste kiss to Andrew’s lips. “Now go to sleep, because I know how grumpy you get when you’re tired and I really don’t want to deal with that more than I have to. I’m going to check out the swimming pool.” 

And then he was gone, the motel door swinging behind him and an absent feeling in his place. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Neil sat on the steps of the motel for what felt like an age. The sun sank slowly, the darkness creeping up like an unwanted guest, and the cold seeped into his bones. It wasn’t yet winter yet the chill was inescapable, embedding itself into his heart and brain until his blood flowed sluggishly and his thoughts were blurry. 

He was afraid. He’d known that he would be, had anticipated the all-consuming fear that was sure to come, but he didn’t know that it would be like this. He was so scared he could barely move, his hands fused to his knees and his eyes barely blinking. That was why, when she finally appeared, he thought she was an illusion at first, a trick caused by his terror-addled brain. 

She walked slowly, dragging her feet like she had all the time in the world. One hand she held by her side, a black gun clutched in her fingers, the other was buried in her coat pocket. She was tall, her mound of black curls making her seem even taller than she really was, but the bottom of her flared jeans still brushed against the grotty tarmac. She waited until she was directly opposite him to speak, and when she did he felt his blood freeze over completely. 

“Hello Junior.”

“Hello, Lola.”

“You’re getting a little impatient, I see. Don’t even have the grace to wait for the countdown to finish.” She giggled, withdrawing a small piece of folded up paper from her pocket and dropping it on the ground. 

“I wanted to get it over with.” 

“Sure you did. Or maybe you just missed us. It’s okay, Junior, we’ve missed you too. Daddy especially. He's looking forward to your little reunion.”

Neil pushed himself to his feet, unsure how he managed to stay so steady. He took a step forward, then another, and watched Lola’s eyes darken as their proximity increased. She raised the gun and pressed the barrel lovingly to his forehead, gentle as a kiss. Neil smothered a flinch. 

“I hear you got yourself a boyfriend, Junior. I saw you two when I drew that little message on the windscreen last night, very cosy you looked. I also hear that he’s an FBI agent and helped out with the operation that took DiMaggio down. Daddy’s not very happy about that, I warn you.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Neil spat, anger rearing in his blood. Lola did nothing but giggle. 

"Don't worry, baby boy. Daddy is only interested in you. I just have to make sure that blondie isn't going to be a problem." She arched an eyebrow and Neil felt sick to his stomach. He pictured Andrew, lying asleep and oblivious in the double bed, waiting for Neil to come wake him up. Only, Neil wasn't coming back.

"It's okay," He whispered, hating every syllable that came out of his mouth. "He's not going to be an issue."

"Good!" Lola giggled again and this time it seemed to last forever. "Well then Junior, I think it's time we get on the road. Daddy isn't going to wait forever, you know."

Neil sighed and stumbled forward, almost bowling into her. She darted off of the way and quickly stepped behind him, so the gun was pointing at the back of his head as he walked toward the large white van she pointed out. When he reached it, his hand rested on the handle for just a second, before he pulled it open with tentative fingers.

In this reality, Nathaniel Wesninski was climbing into a van and preparing to be driven to his death. In another, Neil Josten was climbing into bed with Andrew and curling his arms around the man who made him feel safe. He knew which one he preferred. He also knew which one was possible.

So he took a deep breath, stepped into the van and left Neil behind. 

Chapter Text

Andrew’s eyes snapped open to the sight of an empty room. He was lying down, splayed out across the streets and fully dressed, exactly like he’d been when he’d first fallen asleep. His arm was hanging off the side of the bed and there was an unpleasant tingling in his fingers, subtle and bordering on the fringe of pain. The atmosphere was eerie, too quiet almost, and Andrew felt his gaze sliding to the window that looked out onto the motel pool. 

The sunlight outside shone bright and strong, reflecting on the stillness of the chlorine-blue water and beaming in through the open slats of the window blinds. It hurt his eyes just to look at and he stumbled out of bed, hobbling over and yanking the blind shut with impatient hands. It crashed to the sill with a thunk and the noise echoed around the room, Andrew wincing as he waited for Neil to yell at him for causing a ruckus, 

Only Neil didn’t yell. Neil was nowhere to be seen. 

Andrew scrubbed a hand across his face, surveying the empty bed, empty bathroom, empty everything. Neil’s duffel lay abandoned on the floor where he’d left it last night, plump and stuffed with all his new clothes. Last night, Neil had shrugged it off his shoulder with some difficulty, relaxing visibly as it had crashed at his feet. Last night, Neil had kissed Andrew on the lips and called him amazing. Last night, Neil had promised to wake him up at dinner time and then disappeared to check out the pool. 

You’re amazing. That’s what he had said, soft-eyed and loose in Andrew’s arms. Neil had never given him a compliment, not that Andrew could remember, but he’d been so tender and open then, so gentle with his smile. Andrew had felt his heart stop for the briefest second, willing the moment to last forever so he could get lost in Neil’s sky-blue eyes. 

You’re amazing. That wasn’t the kind of thing that came out of nowhere, especially from Neil, who was a conundrum of searing words and ice-pick wit. It was the kind of thing that you said when you were saying goodbye, when you knew that you were saying goodbye. 

Andrew felt his heart race begin to speed up scarily fast in his chest, his breath coming out in frantic bursts. He strode over to Neil’s bag and yanked it open, uncaring of how much damage his hands were doing as he threw clothes to the floor left and right, scattering them in his haste. His gaze was tinged with red as he found what he was hunting for, pulling the battered notebook out with vicious speed and ripping it open. He didn’t bother to even read the names as his feet were carrying him out the door, the small, rational part of him telling his to make sure, triple fucking check that Neil wasn’t simply lounging outside the door or stealing breakfast from somewhere. 

The sunlight hit Andrew like a gunshot, temporarily blinding him even as his legs kept moving, carrying him down the steps onto the tarmac. The parking lot was sparsely scattered with cars, his Maserati reclining like a king among them, but there was no sign of Neil. Even as Andrew cast his eyes around, scanning every corner with frantic haste, the reddish-brown head of hair that frequented his dreams each night failed to appear. 

He took one step forward and then another, his knees weak as he tried desperately to justify the situation, willing Neil to pop up out of nowhere, explain this all away and calm Andrew’s jackrabbiting pulse. His mind was still in overdrive even as he felt his foot catch on something, a small roll of paper bunching up under his shoe. Andrew bent down to look, prising up the smudged note and unfolding it with uncertain fingers. On the inside was a small, shaky number ‘0’, the tail end trailing halfway across the page as if it had been written in a rush. 

Andrew’s heart stopped in his chest. Hopelessness crashed over him like a wave and it took all his strength to remain upright. Zero meant zero days, it had to, and that must be the reason why Neil was missing. They had come and they had taken him, all while Andrew had been fast asleep and powerless to stop them. Had Neil gone quietly, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering? Or had he kicked and screamed, spitting venom while he was dragged away? 

Andrew didn’t know how long he stood there, despondent and unresponsive in the middle of the tarmac. All he knew was that, when his head finally swung into focus, was that he needed to be strong, for Neil if no-one else.So he did something that once, in college, he had promised himself that he would never do, for fear of looking like he actually had friends. He picked up his phone, dialled the number and, with hands that were shaking so badly he could hardly keep the speaker pressed to his ear, called Kevin first.  

… 

It had taken five separate phone calls for Kevin to pick up and when he did his tone was snappish and irritated. 

“What? Because if Neil is asking about progress tell him it’s really fucking hard to catch a mob boss when their annoying fucking child is breathing down your neck-” 

“Neil isn’t asking anything.” Andrew whispered, barely managing to keep his voice even. He clutched his knees tighter into his chest and stared at the note beside him on the steps. “He’s missing, Kevin. I can’t find him and I think- I think they’ve taken him.”

“Holy shit.” Kevin's voice crackled with static and a newfound, desperate worry that Andrew could hear all the way down the phone. “Holy shit. Are you sure?” 

“Almost positive. He wasn’t here when I woke up this morning and I found a note outside with the number zero on it. He’d been acting really dodgy the past few days and I hadn’t thought much of it but now I’m pretty sure that they’d been sending these for a while, like a kind of fucked-up countdown.” 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” There was a crash on the other end of the line and a brief, vicious spike of jealousy flared through Andrew at the way Kevin was able to express his anger, the violence that Andrew could hear but not see. Andrew couldn’t react like that, because if he started he would never stop and then he would be no good to anyone. 

“Okay, Andrew. It’s going to be alright. Everything is going to be alright.” Kevin sounded composed, if slightly out of breath. The trembling in Andrew’s whole body still hadn’t stopped. “Where are you now? I think it’s easier if you come back and we can figure it out from here.” 

Andrew pushed himself up slowly and made his way back into the motel room. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but the silence that surrounded him had an impatient tinge, like it was waiting for Neil’s voice to come and fill it. It made him feel sick. “I’m in Colorado, so it’s going to take me a while to get back. Can’t you just keep doing what you’ve been doing, why do you have to wait for me?” 

“Because you know the most about Neil, and you're the one who’s been travelling with him for the past two weeks. Plus, despite the amount of effort we’ve been putting in, what we’ve been doing hasn't really worked very well thus far. The guy we caught has been refusing to talk and every lead we’ve found has led us to a dead end. It’s a shitshow, man.” 

Andrew felt rage bubbling on the tip of his tongue, and all of a sudden he couldn’t hold back anymore. “Well that’s not fucking good enough, is it?” He spat. “We’re supposed to be the best of the goddamn best, but you’re saying that we’ve been beaten by some two-bit, lowlife gangster who let himself be caught for fucking Money laudering ? Pick yourself up out of the fucking gutter you pathetic asshole, because Neil could be in serious danger right now and you are not. Fucking. Helping!” 

For a moment, there was only static. Then Kevin’s voice echoed through, tentative and slightly sheepish. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise that you two were so, um, close. I’ll tell everyone and we’ll make sure to double down. Where are you right now, because maybe we can access the CCTV or something.” 

“The Rocky Inn, just off highway 50.” Andrew pressed the speaker button on his phone and set it down on the bed. He began to pack up both his and Neil's belongings, an easy job since neither of them had actually bothered to unpack last night but calming all the same. He could hear typing noises coming from down the line and waited for what Kevin would say next. 

“Okay, I got your location up. It’s about a 18 hour drive from you down to us, but-”

“I’m not coming back.” Andrew pushed as much confidence into his voice as he could, feeling the words fall off his lips limply and thanking God that Kevin couldn’t see how unsure he looked. “I’m going to Baltimore instead.” 

“Andrew what the fuck? We already agreed that you would come back!” 

“We didn’t agree on anything, you just made an assumption that I would. I’m no use to Neil if I’m in California, but I might be able to help him if I’m in Baltimore. That’s where his father's from, right? So that’s where they’ll be taking him.” 

Kevin made a non-committal noise, but Andrew was too busy piling both his and Neil's bags by the motel door to notice, much less care about what he thought. He bent down, doing up the last inch of zipper on Neil's duffel, and something small fell out of his pocket. It was the notebook, sad and pathetic looking as it lay on the motel carpet. Andrew picked it up and it fell open in his hands, the pages fluttering until only the back cover was visible. The three red words inscribed there screamed out at him, and all of a sudden the first flare of hope lit up Andrew’s mind. 

“Kevin,” He started slowly, “What was Neil’s mother’s name again?” 

“Mary Hatford. Why?”

“Because Mary Hatford had a brother. He lives in England and from what Neil's told me, he's fucking rolling in both money and power.”

“ You want me to contact him. You think he can help.”

Fucking bingo. Gold star for Kevin.” Andrew shoved the door open and, with both his and Neil's bags in his hands, teetered down to the maserati. His phone rattled from where he’d wedged it between his shoulder and his ear, and Kevin’s thoughtful hum rang in his head.

“Yeah, okay. I don’t know how easy it will be to find him, but that could definitely work.”

“I know, asshole, that’s why I pitched it to you. Now send me the location of the nearest airport, I’ve got a fucking flight to catch.” 

… 

Andrew hated flying, something he always forgot until he stepped foot into an airport. This is for Neil he thought viciously as he strapped himself into the seat, but still his breath came out in  short bursts that only worsened when the plane began to move. It was a short-ish flight, barely 3 hours on account of the fancy private jet a quick phone call and a flash of his FBI badge had secured him, but it wrecked him with nerves all the same. All he had to distract him was the incessant clicking of his  retractable pen and the occasional text messages from Kevin. 

His Royal Queenliness

We accessed the CCTV fyi

Got a clear picture of Neil getting into a van with some woman

Dimaggio positively id’d her as lola malcolm

Got the licence plate as well

Renee is tracking their movements right now

Last seen crossing the border into ohio about five hours ago

Renee thinks they might’ve ditched the car 

We’re looking into it don't worry

It had been 20 hours since Andrew had last seen Neil and the separation was already wearing him down. He didn’t know how you could be so attached to someone, had never experienced this type of connection before, and its intensity frightened him in a way that he couldn’t understand. The thought of someone hurting Neil made him so incredibly, savagely mad that he was finding it hard to control himself, even buckled into the seat of a moving plane, and his head reeled with the potency of it. 

By Kevin’s estimation (or more accurately Renee’s), Andrew would arrive in Baltimore a few hours before Neil did, which gave him more than enough time to get to the location that Kevin had sent him. For the millionth time he pulled up the picture of the house on his phone, scrutinising the pixelated white brick and grand facade, imagining all the horrible things that Neil had experienced behind its walls. 

The hours on the plane passed at a snail's pace. Andrew alternated between staring out the window and trying not to vomit, to visualising all the horrible things he would do to Nathan Wesninski when he found him. That was why he hardly noticed it when his phone buzzed, Kevin’s name flashing frantically on the screen. 

“I got it! I got it, you miserable, doubting asshole, I fucking got it!”

“Hold on, Kev. What the fuck are you taking about?” 

“Stuart Hatford’s number. His private fucking number. I had to pull a lot of strings and go down a shit ton of rabbit holes, but I finally found it. You’re fucking welcome.” 

“You’re not doing me a favour here Kevin. You’re trying to save someone's life, so instead of sounding so Goddamn pleased with yourself, why don’t you call it.” 

“Oh, uh, I was going to let you do that actually. Figured you’d be better at talking to him, given that you know Neil so much better than I do.” 

The ever-present, simmering anger that had relit in Andrew’s chest at Kevin's smug  tone stopped bubbling long enough for his voice to come out steady as he muttered his ascent. Not a second after he’d hung up the call, a text pinged through, containing a phone number and a few short words. 

You got this. Everything’s gonna be okay.

Andrew’s fingers hardly hesitated as he input the number into his phone, yet he waited a few heartbeats before he pressed the call button. His heart had started racing again, filled with both hope and a flourishing despair, dreading the outcome of the phone call and excited for it all the same. What if Stuart couldn't help? What if he didn’t even care? What if he never picked up at all? 

The phone rang for what seemed like an age, so long that by the time the call connected Andrew had all but given up hope. For a second he sat in silence, unsure as he listened to the void of noise from down the line, and prayed for the other person to start speaking first. But there was still no sound, so he mustered up all of his courage, opened his mouth and said “Hello?” 

He cringed at how pathetic it sounded. But the terse female voice that followed it, brisk in her professionality, didn’t seem to mind. “Hello. This is Mr Hatfords office, what is the nature of your call?” 

“I need to speak to Mr Hatford. It’s urgent.” Andrew was unsure kind of etiquette was required when speaking to a British gangster’s secretary, but fuck him if he was going to say please. 

“That’s what every other person who calls says, sweetheart. Tell me why I should give you priority.”

Andrew swallowed hard. “It’s a personal matter- a family matter. Regarding his nephew.” 

The brief silence that followed was so thick that it seemed to take root in Andrew’s stomach, crawling up his throat and clogging his airways. He forced himself to breathe, even in and outs that  only stuttered when there was a small beep from the speaker, the line clicking in a way that told him his call had been transferred. He sucked in a final lungful and parted his lips, only to be cut off by a crisply accented British voice. 

“Hello, Mr Minyard. How can I help you?” 

“How do you know my name?” 

“FBI phone calls are notoriously easy to trace when you have the right technology. Since about five seconds ago, I pretty much know everything about you, including the hospital you were born in, the college you went to and the flight you’re on right now.”

Andrew gulped, but the voice didn’t seem angry or accusatory, merely curious. “So you know why I’m calling then?” 

“No, I don’t. My staff cannot read minds, Mr Minyard, no matter how talented they might be. Although, my secretary did tell me that you wished to talk to me about Nathaniel. May I first ask how you got into contact with him?” 

It was all too polite, too formal and professional, and Andrew was more than a little confused. Stuart knew he worked for the FBI, which meant he knew that Andrew knew he was a gangster, yet he didn’t seem worried in the slightest. Maybe it was all bluff, maybe he was all bark and no bite, except Andrew wasn’t stupid enough to miss the blade glinting through the placid words. “Nathaniel- Neil is under official FBI protection over here in the states. His father broke out of prison about a week ago and we believed that he would target Neil. Last night, Neil went missing from the motel that we were staying at, and we have good reason to believe that he was taken by Wesninski’s people, specifically one Lola Malcom.”

“Oh.” 

‘Oh’ was fucking correct, Andrew thought as he listened to Stuart’s pixellated breathing. He had no idea why Stuart wouldn’t be aware of his brother-in-law’s recent jailbreak, but what was becoming more and more apparent was the British man’s clear disregard for anything American.

“So Nathaniel- Neil, as you call him, is missing?” 

“Yes.”

“And Mary, is she with him?” 

Holy fuck, how did he not know? “Mary’s been dead for a long time. Neil said that he’d been living on his own for up to ten years now.” 

The pause that followed was long and hopeless. When Stuart finally spoke, it was laced with deep resignation. “Believe it or not, I haven't had contact with my sister in a long time, not since Neil was a child. Years ago, I invited her to stay here with me, give her a safe place to raise a child and the protection of everything I had to offer. She lasted a week before she ran off in the night, leaving only a note behind. The note forbade me from reaching out to her and told me that she and Neil would be better on their own, which I presume is what she also told him. That was the last time I saw either her or Neil, as well as the last time I involved myself in any American business. I have people to do that for me, you understand.”

“I understand that, Mr Hatford. But Neil is in trouble-”

“You didn’t let me get to that part, Mr Minyard. To my family, blood is everything. Neil is my blood, however much that careless Baltimore bastard contaminated it with his violence, and I will protect him as such. However, I have conditions. I presume you already have a team heading to the location that Neil is presumed to be arriving at?” 

They had. Kevin had texted Andrew that information first, confirming the six SWAT teams currently on route to the Wesninski manor. 

“Excellent. I want you to let them know that my people will be arriving and although they’ll cooperate, they are also not to be interfered with. I also want the opportunity, once Neil has been extracted, to deal with my brother-in-law, American politics be damned. He cannot get away with hurting my nephew like this, and the death of him and his followers will send a much needed message.” 

“Done.” 

“Wonderful. The people I have stationed on your side of the Atlantic will be on their way very soon. My secretary will message you when they are close. It was lovely doing business with you, Mr Minyard.”

“The same to you, Mr Hatford.” 

There was a small beep, and then Stuart was gone. 

… 

Wesninski manor was no less imposing in person than it was on Andrew’s phone. He gazed up at it, feeling more angry than intimidated, letting the stone burn icy white blind spots into his vision. Even surrounded by huge black SWAT cars and FBI agents with guns, Andrew felt the house still commanded its surroundings, taking charge like the dictator that’d lived within its walls. 

Someone brushed against his arm and he jumped, whirling around and digging his nails into soft flesh. There was a high-pitched squeal, and suddenly Andrew was face to face with a small, squirming girl carrying an earpiece and a pained expression. He let go but refused to soften his expression, and she cringed as she held out the earpiece to him. 

“Boss says to give this to you. He said Kevin’s on the line.”

She scurried away before Andrew could answer, his eyes following her hesitant path and wondering if he’d ever been that young. The earpiece settled in his ear easily and Andrew only had to tap it once before Kevin’s voice rang out. 

“Andrew! Nice of you to join us.”

“Fuck off Kevin,” Andrew hissed, retreating inside one of the massive cars and tucking himself into the seat. “What more could you possibly want?” 

“Just checking that everything’s all right down there. Trying to do my best, as much as I can from the other side of the country.”

“Everything is fine, Kevin. There's a shit ton of people and Stuart's guys are on their way down. His secretary texted me their ETA and I reckon it's about half an hour before they arrive. When Lola shows up, we’re going to be ready for her.”

And indeed they were. Andrew had been high strung and wrecked with adrenaline when he’d stepped off the plane, but kevin had been a fucking godsend, not that Andrew would ever say it to him. The cohesion and deadly commitment of all the agents he’d met so far soothed his severed nerves and calmed his mind, so much so that he n longer felt like strangling everyone that he met. 

“Excellent, excellent. Now Andrew, I just feel like you need to be prepared. Neil wil have been trapped in a van with these people for almost a whole day, so he’s not going to be in perfect condition-”

“I know that, asshole.”

“Do you, though?” 

Andrew did know. It was all he knew, all he’d thought about every second of every hour that he and Neil had been separated. Neil had never been perfect,would never be perfect again, his body a wasteland of scars and his mind damaged and marbled with trauma, but he was wonderful. He was kind, quick-witted and nimble. He was elegant fingers and iceberg eyes and hidden smiles. He was warmth and security and honesty, even when it clearly pained him to be so. He had been a constant presence in Andrew’s life for the past two weeks and Andrew had gotten so used to him that he couldn’t picture spending the rest of his life alone. 

He was impossible to lose, but he had been lost somehow and Andrew wanted nothing more than to get him back. 

His silence must’ve been enough of an answer, because Kevin sighed and muttered a curse down the line. “Okay then. Well, everything seems to be running smoothly. We’ve got people on all the roads leading in and out of the city, We’ve got people watching every entrance of this godforsaken house. We will catch them, Andrew, and we will get Neil back. Alive. That I can promise you.” 

“Thank you,” Andrew all but whispered, and Kevin made a small noise of confirmation before the line went dead. 

Andrew tucked himself further back into his seat. The text from Stuart's secretary, received twenty minutes ago, glinted on his screen. The timer he set around Neil’s predicted arrival counted down steadily, 59 minutes and 24 seconds, 23, 22, 21, 20, 19- 

Andrew pushed the countdown out of his sight and climbed out of the car, leaving his phone on the seat. He desperately needed a cigarette, yet his fingers were shaking as he lit it, the smoke streaming out of his mouth and spiralling up into the blue sky. For the millionth time, he thought of Neil, how he’d looked with a cigarette in his mouth and his head out of the window. He got lost like that, mind racing through memories of the past two weeks, stuck like a broken record. 

Something rang from inside the car. Andrew spun around as his timer went off, his phone practically vibrating off of the seat. He rushed over, ignoring the huge 00.00 and pushing the button to silence it with hesitant fingers, his cigarette barely a smouldering stump. He managed not to yelp as it burned him but flinched back all the same, dropping it on the ground outside before turning back to his phone and the messages that waited for him. 

There were three of them. Andrew’s heart sank a little further with each one, until it was on the floor and he was gazing up at what was left at his soul. 

Unknown

At the location. Where is your team? 

Mr Minyard, we expected you to be here. 

Cannot wait. Going in. 

No.

No. No. No. No. No. 

“No!” Andrew didn’t realise he was speaking until the word was ripped out of him, slicing his throat and landing bloody at the floor by his feet. He clutched at his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow and his mouth ache with such desperate pain that he could barely breathe, tears welling in his eyes as he stared down at the words on the screen. Neil wasn’t here. Neil wasn’t coming. Neil was somewhere else, had been taken somewhere else, somewhere that Andrew wasn’t. 

Neil was unreachable. 

Andrew’s hands and legs moved faster than his brain, simultaneously pushing the call button on his phone and scrambling into the driver's seat. The car roared to life with an earthy growl and through the windscreen Andrew saw the people around him jerk in shock, staring slightly horrified as he sped away. 

The call connected just as he left the grand gates of Wesninski manor, and in his terror addled haze Andrew swerved just a little too hard, clattering around the corner just as an impatient British voice murmured through the speakers. 

“Mr Minyard, I’m a little busy right now. How may I help you?” 

“Where is he?”

“Excuse me.” 

“Where. The fuck. Is. he?” 

“Are you referring to Nathaniel?”

Who the fuck else would I be referring to?” The car was gaining speed almost as quickly as Andrew’s temper, the all-consuming fear giving way to pure, unfiltered rage. He glared at the road in front of him, somehow managing to drive in a straight line although he wasn’t sure the conscious part of brain was doing anything. 

“Nathaniel is-” And here the voice paused, unsure for the first time. “Nathaniel is alive. Barely.” 

“Where?” 

“Baltimore county hospital.” 

“I’m on my way then. Tell them to expect me.”

“Mr Minyard, wait just a moment. While alive, Nathaniel is in a, um, bad shape. There’s no telling whether he’ll survive the next hour, not to mention a day. The doctors are trying as hard as they can, but there is only so much they can fix on someone so broken.”

Andrew’s lips twitched, the dim echo of a hateful smile stretching his mouth. “I do not need your prep talk. I know Neil. I will be there.” 

“No.” 

“What?”

“You will not be here. You will not come within a mile radius of this hospital. If Neil survives the operation he is scheduled for, which is very unlikely, then he is coming back to England. Stuart is not having his nephew messed up in any of your goddamn American politics ever again.” 

Andre hesitated. The car was still moving, Baltimore state hospital little more than an hour's drive away, but there was a very real threat in the British woman’s tone, sharp like fresh ice. 

“And what will you do,” he hedged, feeling his grin widen inexplicably, “When I do arrive?” 

“You will be taken care of. Stuart does not take prisoners.”

“Good. Because neither do I.” 

… 

The hospital sat silent and hollow in the creeping darkness, but there was so much adrenaline pumping through Andrew's veins that he didn’t even pause before he was climbing out of the car. He walked slowly toward the reception, testing the weight of the knives in his hands as he slung his FBI badge around his neck and pushed open the door. To his surprise, the room was completely empty save for a bored looking boy behind the desk. 

“Can I help you?” He drawled, eyes widening almost comically as he saw the blades glinting at Andrew’s sides. 

“Neil- Nathaniel Wesninski. Where the fuck is he?” Andrew was almost growling. The boy pointed toward the stairs, the words ‘third floor’ barely making it out of his mouth before Andrew was off, shouldering through the doors and running up the stairs. 

He met the first one halfway up the second flight, almost barrelling into them in his haste. They straightened at the same he did, some kind of recognition flickering in their gaze as it locked on to Andrew. 

“You're the Minyard.” 

British accent. Fuck. 

They lunged at the same time Andrew did, hands grasping nothing as he ducked out of their reach. His knives slashed out, slipping through the fabric of their jacket like butter but missing the flesh and sending him off balance just long enough for cold, clammy fingers to close around his bicep. He flinched back, lashing out with the heel of his hand and they swerved, nimble and delicate. 

They reached for a gun. Andrew flicked out his knives. 

They were fast, but Andrew was faster. 

He reached forward again, hacking blindly, and they jumped to the side, drifting into his personal space and landing just close enough for Andrew’s foot to be able to reach out and hook around their ankle. They crashed to the floor, a sick ‘conk’ ringing through the stairwell as their head hit the bannister and they were knocked out cold. 

Andrew sidestepped the body and bent down, prising the gun out of cold hands and tucking it into his belt. 

The second one was easier to deal with, only because this time they were equally armed and Andrew was still faster. He left her propped up against the door and continued on, pushing open the door to the corridor and hitting the third one in the face. This one recovered better than the previous two, yanking the door open wider and sending Andrew tumbling to the ground. 

“You’re going to have to try harder than that,” He hissed. “I’ve got orders not to let you anywhere near the Wesninski boy and, unlike the shit stains that have clearly failed already, I'm pretty good at following instructions.” 

Andrew pulled out his gun. The man mirrored him, smiling dangerously. He din’t think Andrew was serious.

“His name is Neil, you bastard.” 

The man was wrong.

The trigger shots rang out clear in the empty hospital. The man fell to the floor, clutching his knee, face torn up with pain as he watched Andrew step past him. 

Every single door was hanging open, the rooms empty and desolate as a grave. Andrew’s steps were clear and measured as he passed each vacant coffin, the doorways all blurring into one until he stopped outside the only closed entrance. 

He reached out and gripped the handle, turning it slowly and pushing it open. The room inside was silent except for the slow, steady beeping of a life support machine, empty except for a bundle of sheets and the hunched figure of a man sitting next to it. 

The man stood up slowly, stretching his arms above his head and turning on the spot until he and Andrew were face to face. He was small and insignificant, balding slightly and with deep lines around his mouth and eyes. There were a pair of glasses perched on his nose and his suit was wrinkled, the laces of his shoes undone and the hems of his trousers fraying and stained with blood. 

“Hello, Mr Minyard.”

“Stuart Hatford, I presume? I didn’t realise that you were on this side of the Atlantic right now.” 

Stuart’s lips twitched slightly. “Well, that was the idea.” 

“You really need to get better staff, Mr Hatford.” Andrew couldn’t stop looking at the bundle of blankets on the bed, shaped almost like a man curled in on himself. He took a step forward instinctively and Stuart didn’t try to stop him, instead moving to the side to allow Andrew to pass. 

“Yeah, yeah. He’s alive, don’t worry.” Andrew’s head shot up, fingertips inches away from the white sheet. “Barely, but alive nonetheless. I cleared out the whole floor for him, you know. Wasn’t fucking easy I can tell you that, but you’ll be surprised how much you can achieve with a few guns and some well-chosen threats. America never fails to surprise me.”

Andrew’s heart was pounding at a mile a minute. He could hardly breathe. “Only the floor? So this whole place isn’t empty?”

“Who do you think I am, fucking God?” Stuart chuckled, sitting back down in his chair and gesturing for Andrew to take the one beside him. Andrew stayed standing, his knuckles brushing Neil's pillow with reverence, a deep ache bubbling in his stomach every second Neil's face stayed hidden under the blanket. In the corner, the life support machine beeped. 

“Can I see him?” 

“Be my guest. He’s been calling for you. Not consciously, you understand, but calling for you all the same.” Stuart’s smile was hesitant, demure and entirely unlike what Andrew had expected. It was confusing, but at the same time Andrew couldn’t care less, too busy seizing greedy handfuls of Neil’s bed sheets but too frightened to peel it back. 

He didn’t have to in the end, it seemed. Neil sat bolt upright, terror marring his face as he screamed unintelligibly, the words coming out broken and mangled as they wrenched out of his throat like a bullet ripping through flesh. Andrew felt his chest constrict down to nothing as Neil continued to scream, over and over until the noises he made were finally English. 

“Please! Please don't hurt him! Please!” 

Chapter Text

To Nathaniel’s surprise, Lola didn’t immediately speak when they climbed into the van. She sat opposite him on a hard wooden bench, jittery but otherwise quiet, her grin manic and her eyes fixed on the road visible through the windscreen. Her brother, Romero, sat in the driver's seat and when every so often his gaze met Nathaniel's in the rearview mirror he would smile, a quiet mockery of his sisters but deadly nonetheless. 

Nathaniel couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. It was strong enough that even when he shoved his fingers under his thighs he could feel them bouncing through the thin fabric of his jeans. He watched Lola watching him, saw the anger and glee deep in the pit of her eyes, and decided that the shaking didn’t matter. He doubted he would have his fingers for much longer, anyway. 

Romero reached around and knocked twice on the makeshift divider between the driver’s seats and the back of the van. Lola’s eyes brightened instantly and she drew the wooden boards closed at once, cutting off Nathaniel's view of the road. He wondered absentmindedly if that would be the last time he ever saw the sun. He wondered why he didn’t care very much if it was. He wondered how Nathaniel had accepted his end so quickly, when Neil had been running away from death for years. 

“It’s just us now, Junior,” Lola crooned and Nathaniel shrank back instinctively, pressing himself against the wall of the van. This drew a predatory burst of laughter, one with less mania and much more teeth. 

“Don’t touch me,” He spat. She ignored him, sliding off her bench and sitting cross legged down on the floor, watching him through inky lashes as she pulled a thick black briefcase into view. The locks snapped open with a terrifying click, and Nathaniel's breath stopped in his throat completely. 

“Daddy told me we could have a little fun together, just the two of us. He told me that I couldn’t hurt you too badly, that was his job, but that I could have an eency weency reward for helping him.” She leaned forward, her face twisting into something he could only describe as evil . “For finding you after all these years, baby boy.” 

Her hand closed around his ankle and she yanked him off the bench, sending him crashing to the floor. She straddled his hips quicker than he could blink and soon enough her hand was in his mouth, fingers squirming their way down his throat while she fastened a pair of handcuffs around his left wrist and a loop on the van door. He could do nothing but struggle and splutter as her knees tightened their grip and her hand dove deeper into his oesophagus, her fake fingernails scratching deep lines into his skull, stretching his jaw to the limit. 

“Cat got your tongue, huh?” Her giggles surrounded him, clouding the air with hysteria, clogging his nostrils and blurring his vision. “I can see why blondie liked you, your gag reflex is pretty non-existent.” 

Nathaniel saw red. He bit down. 

Lola shrieked with anger and pain, rearing back as rivulets of crimson ran down her arm and teeth marks stood out against her skin. Nathaniel couldn’t help his mouth from stretching wide in a bloody smile as she hissed like a wounded cat, running his tongue across his teeth, hating the way the copper tasted but relishing the look in her eyes. The look that was part fury, part respect.

“I gotta say, Junior, I thought blondie would’ve fucked all the fire out of you, so I’m pretty impressed. But,” She leaned forward, and he was suddenly all too aware of the metal around his wrists, “You’re going to pay for that.” 

She pulled the briefcase towards her and flicked it open, casually, like it was any other day at the office. The item she pulled out seemed innocuous at first and he furrowed his brow as she giggled delightedly, edging closer until its blunt, square-shaped plastic tip was pressed against his cheek. 

“Nowhere to run now, is there?” Nathaniel’s back was flat against the van wall and the blood in his teeth was rotting. Lola’s smile was everywhere and he feared that it would sear itself into his eyeballs, permanently. 

“Go fuck yourself,” He whispered, pathetic. 

“Uh-uh. Wrong choice.” 

And then the pain started, and it just didn’t stop. 

Neil wasn’t sure how long he lasted before he started screaming, because the smell of burning flesh filled up his senses and refused to leave. He could feel the skin on his face melting, dripping off his bones in great puddles. The cold air hit his bones, ice on fire, and he blacked out, only to be awoken by the press of a knife against his neck. For a second, in his agony-addled haze, Nathaniel was reminded of Andrew, back when they had first met. Of the rage that had clouded him, the way he’d held his knife so surely, perfectly poised between his fingers as he’d dug it into Nathaniel’s nape. How Lola had none of that finesse, her fingers clumsy with eagerness as he carved her fist line into his collarbone, knife shaking as it sliced like butter through his flesh. Andrew would never be that careless, he thought. Andrew would be gentle, his blade soft like a caress, soft like the hands he’d buried in Nathaniel’s hair only a few hours ago. 

Picturing Andrew was getting him nowhere, yet as the pain continued it was all Nathaniel could think of, images of blonde curls and hazel eyes glaring at him in the windscreen mirror. Andrew’s laugh was nothing like Lola’s, he thought dimly, it was honest and rough and hard-won, a warm tonic to Nathaniels’s damaged, pock-marked heart. Nathaniel had belonged to someone his whole life, first his father and then his mother and then his mother’s ghost, but Andrew was the first one who’d never claimed ownership. The first person who’d let Neil sit in the front seat of a car and stare out at the road, not worried where he was sleeping that night or how he would feed himself. 

Andrew hadn’t tried to brand himself on Nathaniel’s skin, but Nathaniel knew that if he asked to, the answer would be yes. Like it was with everything else. 

The next time the world around him faded to black, Nathaniel didn’t wake up for a long time. 

...

“Junior. Juniorrrr,” Lola hummed, her breath tickling his ear like a kiss. “Wake up, sweetie.” 

When he opened his eyes, there was blood in them. His vision blinked red and her face swum in and out of view, stretching and twisting and moulding like putty. “Mom?” He croaked. 

“Oh, honey! Not quite, but good guess.” 

Nathaniel struggled to sit up, his handcuffs clanking, but the second he put weight on his arms, liquid fire shot through his veins and he cried out in agony. Lola beamed and sat back, admiring him like he was a work of art. His shoulder was so sore it was practically numb by the time he managed to right himself, tears streaming down his cheeks as he bit his tongue to stop making any more noise, if only to stop Lola smiling like that. 

“Do you like it?” She asked, mirth dancing on her lips.

He tried to speak but his tongue was fused to the roof of his mouth by blood and dried spit and each time he opened his mouth all that spilled out were muffled whimpers. Lola rolled her eyes and fished around in the briefcase, pulling out a small handheld mirror and holding it up in front of him just a second after he shut his eyes tight. He didn’t want to see. Didn’t think he could bear it. 

“No,” he spluttered, the words blood streaked and raw, “I won’t. I won’t look, you can’t make me. You can’t make me do it.”

“Oh, but I can.” There was a cold blade on the skin of his eyelids and Nathaniel didn't want any more pain but he couldn’t look, couldn’t open his eyes, was frozen in fear. “I can make you do whatever I want. So open your eyes, pretty boy, or I’ll take them out.” 

Nathaniel opened his eyes, took one look in the mirror and vomited his empty stomach onto the van floor. 

His shirt had been stripped off but it didn’t really matter because strips of fabric still clung to the wounds, outlining the dark red in flecks of grey and giving it the appearance of rotting flesh. He heaved again and the movement made the ruined skin crinkle, raw wounds rubbing against each other with a wet, slapping sound as his stomach twisted itself into knots because this was it. This was the end of everything and Nathaniel Wesninski was already dead, obscured permanently in the chains of his father. 

In capital letters and written in a jagged, messy scrawl across the meat of his shoulders and collarbones was his father’s name. NATHAN, spelled out irreversibly not just on but in his body, so deep he could see the bone through the tangle of nerves, skin and emptiness. And just like that, Nathaniel felt everything he’d ever thought, ever felt, ever dreamed, drain out of him, water running down a drain. He sagged back, wishing for death to come and swallow him whole, praying that each breath would be his last. 

“I made up for what I couldn’t do all those years ago.” Lola’s manicured fingers, coated with dried blood, although whose he couldn’t tell, pressed into his palm. She turned it over, bearing the thin white scars to the lack of light, tracing them lovingly. “Honestly, I think it looks better like this, you know? More of a statement.” 

“No.” He whispered, his voice hoarse and limp. She giggled and pressed a kiss to the back of his hand, white teeth skimming his skin. He could barely see her now, his eyes foggy with pain and tears, and in his head she was a being of many faces all smiling sickly-sweet at him: his mother, Andrew, Dan and Matt, his father. 

“Yes, sweet boy,” She countered, and for the first time there was something other than hatred in her gaze. Love, maybe? “You belong to daddy now, just as you have this whole time. Whatever lies Mary fed to you don’t matter any more. You are not your own person and never have been.” She edged closer until her lips breathed poison right down his ear. “You are nothing.” 

And then she pressed a finger into the wounds on his chest and blinding-white pain erupted all around him, chasing him into a sleep he prayed he would never wake up from. 

...

Cold tiles pressed into the skin on Nathaniel’s back as he swam into consciousness, clawing desperately at the luminescence that surrounded him. He tried to raise his head but couldn’t muster the strength to lift it and settled for curling his fingers against the floor, hoping for some kind of purchase. There was none, so he let his hands roam in silence and didn’t think of Andrew, didn't think of the soft smile on his lips as they'd parted from Nathaniel’s that last time, didn’t think of the pain that engulfed him now, didn’t think of his impending death. Didn’t think of how Andrew was, surely, safe now, free of Nathaniel and his demons. 

When the light above him seemed to increase in its intensity Nathaniel blinked, startled but still unable to make a sound. The light grew brighter and closer and eventually revealed itself as a bare bulb, suspended on a long, thin chain just inches from his face, warming his pallid skin with its heat and closeness. It swayed slowly, side to side in the quiet and he tried to focus on the vague memories that had surfaced with it, pressing deep at the fold of his brain, trying to remember. 

“Hello, son.” The bulb said. Its voice was deep and raspy, the hint of a New Jersey accent buried miles underneath a dull, practised blandness. Like the bulb, the accent itself was familiar,  a cold blade against his skin. Intimate. Homely. 

“Hello.” Nathaniel said, smiling peacefully up at the light above him, finally figuring it out. “Have you come to take me home?” 

“Yes, son.” The bulb swayed up and away and Nathaniel reached out an arm to follow it, his hand grasping pitifully as he watched its smooth ascent. “Your mother is waiting for you.”

“Oh. I’ve missed her, you know.” 

“I know.” 

“Does she really want to see me, though? I stopped following her rules a long time ago, so won’t she be a bit angry?” 

“I don’t think that matters, son,” The bulb replied and suddenly it was miles above him, illuminating a cracked white ceiling in its golden glow. 

“Good. I can’t wait to see her.” 

The bulb didn’t reply, instead watching him with what he imagined to be a kind gaze, like the ones his mother used to fix him with when he did something right. Like the ones Andrew used to look at him with, just before they kissed. 

“I didn’t think I would get here, after everything,” Nathaniel admitted quietly. “I thought heaven would be a lot more exclusive with who they let in. I mean, I don’t even believe in God!”

The bulb blinked slowly, encouragingly. “I guess Stephanie was right,” he added, “And God doesn’t need me to believe in him for him to believe in me. Huh. Who would have thought? Not me, and not you I guess. And I’m- well, I’m glad it didn’t hurt too much either. Between you and  me, I don’t think I could’ve taken much more. At least it’s over now.” 

For a second the bulb flickered, and then it began to laugh. It had a deep, booming laugh, the sort that filled every room in Nathaniel's nightmares and had done since he was a child. The kind of laugh he had spent years hiding from, huddled under bed frames or crouched behind curtains. And so, when his father’s face loomed over Nathaniel, shadowed by a golden glow that illuminated his twisted smile and his blue eyes, Nathaniel had no room in him to be surprised. The peace that had warmed him only a second ago was gone. There was only fear.

“Hello, son.” Nathan Wesninski said.

“Hello, dad.” Nathaniel Wesninski replied. 

“It’s nice to see you again, son. I would say that it’s a shame your mother isn’t with us but that would be a lie, because that bitch got what she deserved.” A pair of hands that weren't his father’s gripped Nathaiels forearms and hauled him upright, so the floor at his back was replaced by damp concrete and he had a clear view of the room he was in. 

It was a basement-type area: whitewashed and plain, tiled with white porcelain and lit by the simple bulb, strung up on the ceiling by a silver chain. When Nathaniel was young and Lola was still trying to teach him the difference between pain and agony, he would watch his father lower the light and use the chain to bind a man’s feet together. The man would then be raised to the ceiling and the blood in his body would all drain slowly downwards, so much so that when Nathan pressed his knife into the skin on his legs only a trickle would emerge. 

It was always so different when Nathan drove his knife into the man’s head.

Beside his father stood Lola, one hand on the gun at her hip and another wrapped in stretchy white gauze. They were both dressed all in black and propped beside Lola's feet was the same black briefcase she’d had in the van, only this time its sides were bursting at the seams, like whatever was inside was trying to escape. When their eyes met she beamed in delight and waved jauntily at him, her bitten hand fluttering like a butterfly in the breeze. 

“I must say,” his father continued, seeming unfazed by Nathaniel’s lack of reaction, “That it took an awful lot of work to track you down. She must have trained you well, at least, for you to stay alive so long, even while I was in prison. But it was all for nothing in the end.” Nathan held a hand out and Lola passed him the briefcase eagerly. He knelt down, flicked the claspes and opened it smoothly, baring the sick light onto the contents. 

When he finally deigned to pull the weapons out, tracing them reverently with a single finger, it was like the resolution of a bad movie. A predictable plot device, if anything. After all, what was a butcher without his blades? 

“I think I’ll start with your legs, '' Nathan murmured, using the knives to tear away Nathaneil’s pants at the knees. “Lola did such a beautiful job on your torso and I want to preserve that for as long as I can. A memento, if you will.” 

Nathaniel gulped, forcing saliva into his arid mouth and willing his lips to part, only to have sweaty fabric shoved between them as his father tutted, disappointed. “Now, now, Nathaniel, you know how much I always hated it when you spoke out of turn. You’ve been such a good boy up until now, so please don’t ruin it.” 

Nathaniel- no, Neil- no, Andrew didn’t like that word, but it seemed like Nathan didn’t care. With one hand he seized Nathaniel's ankle and twisted, with the other he traced his blade along the fragile tendons along the back of Nathaniel’s knee. The skin there was so thin, so pale, so susceptible to the bite of silver. 

When Nathan pushed the blade in, Nathaniel didn’t scream. Instead he cried. He sobbed and begged and pleaded, whimpering around his makeshift gag and unable to look away from his blood pooling on the spotless floor. He felt the flesh in his leg splitting, a thread pulled too tight, as his father sliced and sawed and laughed as he did so. He didn’t stop crying when Nathan started work on the second leg, but sometime halfway through his cries turned to prayers - not to any god, but to his mother instead.

Predictably though, Mary didn’t reply and Nathaniel was left screaming into an empty room. 

Eventually, Nathan paused in his work and stepped back, surveying Nathaniel critically like an artist inspecting his work. He pursed his lips and clutched his hands behind his back, before finally grinning widely, wildly, evilly. “Run,” he hissed. 

Nathaniel was frozen. His voice hadn’t done much but yell incoherently for the past- well, for as long as he'd been here- and he was rendered speechless. 

His eyes must have expressed confusion somewhere through all the pain, however, because Nathan bent smoothly at the waist until their faces were a hairsbreadth apart. “I will not repeat myself, boy.” He gestured toward the basement door, which Lola pulled open with a flourish. “Run.” 

Nathaniel ran, and in doing so discovered that while his father hadn’t taken his ability to walk, he would probably never experience pain in the same way again. As he ran, putting one foot in front of the other in a jumbled mockery of human movement, he knew that there was no escape, no matter how much Lola gestured enthusiastically, or how hard he strained his broken body toward the stairs. It was only a cruel trick, but Nathaniel had been running for all of his life and the knowledge that it would get him nowhere was not new, nor was it surprising. So he fixed his eyes on the first step and pretended not to feel the insides of his legs rubbing past each other, coarse sandpaper instead of bleeding wounds, with each jerk of his ruined muscles. 

He didn’t make it to the stairs. 

When he finally collapsed to the floor, exhausted, the life streaming out of him in steady pumps of red, it was relief that his father must’ve seen on his face. Nathan’s mouth twisted, in displeasure or satisfaction, but Nathaniel didn’t care any more. All he wanted was for it to stop hurting. 

“I was wrong, I would seem,” Nathan said. “You’re not as strong as I thought you were. Maybe your survival was down to luck, if nothing else. Clearly, Mary actually did become what I always thought she was: a useless whore who couldn’t do anything right, not even raise a child. Still, no matter how quick your death may be, I’ve got other things to look forward to. Your boyfriend being just one example.” Nathan grinned and raised his knife in a final, killing swoop. "You didn’t think Lola was working alone, did you? For an FBI agent, blondie’s been a little slow at shaking his tail. Maybe I’ll spare him the trouble and cut it right off.” 

Nathaniel’s heart stopped, and for a second he imagined Andrew in his place, white skin bare and flesh punctured by a thousand bleeding cuts. And in that moment, raw and terrified and dying, Nathaniel lost his voice and Neil found it instead. “Please,” he wailed, “Please don’t hurt him.”

Nathan beamed. “Too late.”

Three things happened next, all of them in quick succession. Nathan’s knife began its swift descent, Lola gave a piercing shriek, and then the confused expression on Nathaniel's father’s face lasted only a beat before he keeled over, a bullet hole blooming indigo on his dark shirt. 

But it was only when a pale, dazedly concerned face appeared above him, that Nathaniel finally passed out.

Later

When he woke, surrounded by a familiar kind of white light, dread sunk to the pit of Nathaniel’s stomach. “No,” he pleaded, a small part of him marvelling at how his voice wasn’t completely broken, “Please no. You’ve had me, you can finish with me. You don’t need him, you’ve got me. Please, please don’t hurt him.” 

The light dimmed, and something moved in his peripheral, as if shifting uncomfortably. Nathaniel tried to move his head, straining to see, but even the slight twitch in his muscles caused burning pain to shoot up and down his body. He hissed in discomfort and in the corner of his eye the thing moved closer, illuminated gold under the light. A small, pale shape reached toward him and Nathaniel flinched back. 

“Neil?” The voice was tentative, unsure but hopeful all the same. “Neil, can you hear me?”

“I can’t see you. Why can’t I see you?”

“The doctor said you hurt your neck, that you’ll have to wear a brace for a little bit. You hurt a lot of things-”

“My legs,” Nathaniel panted out desperately. He didn’t know why the strange voice was calling him Neil but they hadn’t pulled a blade on him yet, so he was willing to put up with anything if it meant he could stay alive a little longer. “What happened to my legs?” 

“Your legs are fine,” said the voice, but the quake in its tone wasn't very reassuring. “It’s your chest that’s the problem. You’ve suffered a lot of damage, there are some severe lacerations, doctors weren’t sure you would survive.” 

Doctors. “Doctors?”

“Yes, Neil, doctors. You’re at the Baltimore county hospital and you just came out of surgery. Your uncle drove you here, do you remember?” 

Nathaniel didn’t remember anything except his father’s face, mouth agape as he stared at the spreading stain on his black shirt. His father, dropping his knife as his hands went slack. His father, who was most definitely- “Dead? Is he dead?”

“Nathan is dead, yes.” This voice was different, posher, crisper. “You are safe now, Nathaniel, just like your mother always wanted to be. I’ve made sure of it.”  

“My mother? Oh, my mother. She’s dead too, isn’t she?” 

The first voice returned, and this time the fear writhing within it was more noticeable. “This can’t be normal, Stuart, he barely remembers anything! I don’t think he even knows who I am!”

“It might be a side effect of the trauma. His mind has been through a lot of stress these past hours and I wouldn’t be surprised if it shut down completely. It might take him a while to kick himself back into gear.”

“And what if it doesn’t? What if he never remembers, and he’s stuck like this forever?”

“Please, calm down Mr Minyard. Nathaniel will have the best quality care when he returns with me to England, you really don’t need to worry about anything” 

“I don’t like that word. And I’ve already told you, Neil will not be going back to England with you, you fucking moron-”

Stuart.

Mr Minyard. 

Andrew. 

And suddenly, Nathaniel remembered everything.

“Andrew!” Nathaniel broke off coughing and spluttering as he tried to raise his head again. This time, the agony that accompanied the movement didn’t slow him down and he struggled higher and higher on his pillows, panting with the effort. 

“Neil. Oh, Neil, you remembered.” Andrew was desperate, Nathaniel could hear that now. The shape of him still hadn’t fully solidified in Nathaniel’s peripheral but his features were less blurry; they were clearer and glowed with golden light . He was just as beautiful as the last time Nathaniel had seen him. 

“Andrew,” Nathaniel panted once he was halfway upright, tears streaming down his face, “I’m so sorry.”

“Shut the fuck up. You have nothing to be sorry for. We don’t choose our fathers, asshole.” 

“But I still-” Nathaniel’s bed began to move, sliding smoothly under him until it had propped him vertically against the headboard. “I left you and I- I didn’t say goodbye.” 

“It’s okay," said Andrew’s silhouette, even though it most definitely was not. He reached forward with a pale, smooth hand and Nathaniel hiccuped, hesitating only a moment before grasping onto it like a lifeline. “You can come home now, Neil.” 

Nathaniel’s eyes cleared, and he saw Andrew properly for the first time. The other man was smiling softly at him, perched uncomfortably on a rickety chair beside his hospital bed, sleep rumpled and sticky but So. Goddamn. Beautiful. “Can I really?” 

Andrew nodded his head vigorously and it was only then that Nathniel recognised the expression in his eyes. The expression Andrew had worn the first time they’d kissed, or the last time Nathaniel had said goodbye. The expression that blinked out at him now, warm and welcoming. 

Love. 

“No, I mean, can I really come back to myself? Can I be Neil again, properly this time?” 

“Who else would you be?” 

He thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” He squeezed Andrew’s hand and felt Andrew squeeze in return. “Hold on a second, though. You need to tell me, how did my father die?” 

“That was me.” 

As one, Andrew and Neil swivelled their heads in unison to the small, hunched man sitting in the corner of the room, and finally Neil was able to place who the second voice had belonged to. 

“Uncle Stuart,” he asked. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Chapter Text

When the phone rang at 8pm on a Saturday, Andrew knew it could only be one of four people. 

It couldn’t be Bee, because it wasn’t one of their scheduled call times, and it couldn’t be Kevin, because that evening in a sudden burst of self-confidence he had said yes to the woman from forensics who’d been dropping hints of a date for months. Thea, her name was, and despite what Kevin said Andrew had heard her tactic had been less subtle and more, well, aggressive. It also couldn’t be Neil, because Andrew could hear the combined timbre of his singing voice and the shower spray echoing off the tiled walls of the bathroom down the hall. Even months later it was a sound Andrew couldn’t get used to, joyful and happy and proud, like he hadn't a care in the world. Andrew would pay anything to make that sound last forever. 

He waited a beat before picking up the phone, contemplating how polite he wanted to be. When the receiver was pressed against his ear, the speaker at his mouth, he decided the answer was not very.

“Stuart.” 

“Mr Minyard, nice to hear from you. How is my nephew?” 

“Showering. What can I do for you?” 

“I was just wondering if Neil’d had a change of opinion about coming to England. To stay with me, of course.” 

“It has been eight months, Stuart.” 

“And I am simply suggesting that-”

“I know what you are suggesting, Stuart. You're suggesting that Neil isn’t happy over her with me, that he isn't safe. Your british manners don't fool me, and neither do your bi-monthly, secretary-scheduled phone calls, I understand what you are trying to do and I dont fucking like it.” 

“You don’t have to like it, Mr Minyard.” Stuart's voice had a small tinge that could’ve been amusement or impatience, Andrew couldn’t tell. “But what I would like is to speak with my nephew.” 

From the other room, Andrew heard the rush of the shower shut off and a resounding silence sweep through the apartment. A few seconds later, soft footsteps padded down the hall and Neil’s face, heat-pinked and clear, peeked around the door. There was a question in his raised eyebrows and a smile on his blush coloured lips and Andrew had never been so in love in his entire life. ‘Who is it?’ he mouthed and when Andrew whispered Stuart’s name in return Neil’s forehead crinkled in an adorable display of disgust. 

“ Andrew?” Stuart crackled down the line. “Are you there? Is Neil there?” 

Andrew wordlessly held out the phone in Neil’s direction, grinning widely as Neil slunk around the corner with a wicked smile on his face. In the evening glow the scars on his chest shone blood-red fresh against his tanned skin. “Uncle stuart?” He asked, and Andrew strained to hear the British man’s reply. 

What he did hear was what Neil said next. “While I appreciate your bribery tactics, I am quite happy to stay where I am. Still, I wouldn’t say no to that hundred thousand, so I’ll give you my bank details. Call again in another two weeks, uncle.” 

And then the phone was hung up and Neil was smiling in the burn of the overhead light, unselfconscious with a towel low around his hips and a body littered with scars, as damaged and beautiful as an old map. They stood face to face for a moment, every atom in Andrew's body screaming at him to close the distance between them and press their lips together, the same way he’d done countless times over the past eight months. Yet he kept himself still, letting first Neil’s gaze, and then his measured words, answer the question he knew was brewing in his face. 

“How many times do I have to tell you, Andrew, I’m not moving to England.” 

“As many times as he calls, rabbit. He is persistent and he loves you, in his own strange and desperate way. I know how persuasive love can be.” It was true, love had resulted in Andrew doing many things: his love for Cass had kept him locked up in her house and his love for Aaron had landed him on trial, motherless and brotherless.

“I don’t care about his love, Andrew, you know I don’t. His money is useful and his phone calls are entertaining, if not annoying, but I have everything I need right here.” Neil’s eyes were cyan blue, endless and hypnotic. “Right here, Andrew. With you.” 

So it was Neil who stepped forward and wound his hands around Andrew’s waist, skin warm through his thin shirt, lips chapped as they brushed against Andrew’s cheekbone. “I love you,” he murmured, “Have done for the last eight months and will continue to do so, until the day I die.” 

Eight Months Earlier

The first week back had been difficult to say the least. Neil had spent most of his time stretched out in Andrew’s bed, swaddled in blankets like an overgrown baby, communicating with cracked vocal chords and slow blinks. It hadn’t taken long for Andrew to realise that the Neil he’d seen in the hospital, desperately scared, jittery and alert, had been a fluke of sorts. Instead, the Neil that he’d brought home was quiet and submissive. He barely talked, barely even moved, wasted hours on end staring dead-eyed at the ceiling with one ruined hand resting on his abdomen over the scars that Andrew knew were there. The room had been kept in permanent darkness and Andrew had slept with plugs in his ears, but nothing could’ve drowned out the awful screams that slipped through the cracks of the door every night. 

That was partly the reason why Andrew had wanted to see Kevin, because for the first time in his life he’d found something that Kevin could help with. 

“Hey.” Kevin’s voice was almost completely devoid of emotion, his gaze wary as it met Andrew’s through the open doorway. “How are you?” 

Andrew didn’t reply, only moved aside wordlessly and let Kevin into the apartment, observing him survey the nest of blankets on the sofa where Andrew slept and the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. He knew what he looked like, knew about the dark bags under his eyes and the grease in his hair, and saw the recognition in Kevin’s face clear as day, hating every second of it. 

“I haven't slept more than three hours for the past week, Kevin. I cannot go into my own bedroom and I am fielding calls from an angry British mobster who does not seem to understand that his nephew cannot drink a glass of water by himself, let alone travel to Europe. I spend my days walking on eggshells and here I am-” Andrew spun around and watched how Kevin didn’t shy away from the anger in his eyes, “Moaning to you about it!” 

“Oh, Andrew.” Kevin took two steps forward, hands outstretched, and Andrew didn’t even hesitate before collapsing into him. Together they slid to the floor, Kevin’s arms tight around his midsection like a chain, binding and yet oh-so reassuring. He dropped his head back and it found Kevin’s shoulder and they sat like that for an age, losing hours as the sun sank below the window panes and treacle-think darkness coated the apartment. 

They were so close that Andrew didn’t need to see Kevin’s face to gauge his reaction when the wailing started, because he felt it instead. The full body flinch that wracked Kevin’s body, and Andrew’s in turn, was violent like a bomb. His head turned a fraction of an inch, just enough for Andrew to see his tortured expression, before he pushed himself up on shaky legs and started toward the closed bedroom door. Andrew followed a half second behind and managed to catch Kevin’s hand before it settled on the handle, before Neil could be disturbed, before Andrew could see that twisted, derelict face of his, before those screams weren’t blocked by the door anymore. 

“Don’t,” He choked out. 

“Andrew you can’t leave him-” Kevin was trembling in both voice and body, his frame weak against Andrew. “It sounds like he’s dying, you need to make it stop. Ple- you have to make it stop.” 

“Dying in dreams is better than the alternative, Kevin. I cannot stop him, I will not stop him, so feel free to leave if you would like. I’m not making you stay here.” 

Andrew watched Kevin consider it, saw the indecision in his eyes even as he eventually made the decision Andrew knew he would. He spunk on his heel and marched over to the overgrown tangle of cushions on the sofa, sat himself down and turned on the tv. “Well then,” He announced, “If I’m going to be staying here there might as well be something good on your Netflix to watch.” 

Andrew honestly couldn’t say how many days sped by like that: he would awaken to Kevin huddled at the end of the couch, then sneak into Neil’s room and exchange the half-eaten plate of food for a new one. He would stand for a minute, watching the flutter of Neil’s eyelashes against his violet skin and hating himself for not doing more, before Kevin would poke his head through the door and gently tug him away, murmuring consolations in his ear. He would sway on his feet in the kitchen while drinking his coffee and listen half-heartedly to Kevin’s nonsensical chat about Thea and Wymack, Renee and Alisons’s wedding plans and the new car he was going to buy. He would spend his day reading or watching shitty TV then he would drift off in the evening, only to be awoken by Neil seconds, minutes, hours later. 

There was no productivity to his new found way of life, but as long as Neil was still breathing each morning and evening when Andrew went to check on him, nothing else mattered. 

Only it couldn’t last forever, because nothing ever did. Andrew should’ve known that Neil wouldn’t be one for settling into routine, which meant he really shouldn't have been surprised when one night, two and a half weeks into his self-imposed house arrest, the screaming didn’t come. 

The night was completely silent and he had been waiting, as he did each day, for the terrible noise. And when there was no hint of a whimper, no rustle of bedsheets and no nothing, Andrew exchanged a frightened glance with Kevin, the two of them inching forward together. There was  a terrible weight in Andrew’s chest and it felt like a gravestone, or a handful of water-logged dirt. The bedroom in front of him was a tomb and in his mind he could already smell the rotting flesh, already knew what he would see when he pushed open the door. 

He hesitated, his hand on the doorknob, and Kevin huffed in impatience and shouldered the whole thing open. He crossed the room in seconds and left Andrew dithering in the open doorway. “Neil?” He all but roared, and it was the borderline-aggressive note in his tone that shocked Andrew into action. 

“Neil?” Andrew echoed softly, his voice fragile in the pitch-black room. He could barely see Neil’s body for all the shadows, but the lump of him under the blankets was as still and lifeless as it always was. Only this time, when Andrew sat down and pressed a hand on top of the covers, there was no rise and fall of Neil’s chest, no sign that he was breathing at all. 

Everything was still. 

“Neil,” He repeated brokenly, “Can you hear me?” 

There was no reply, and somewhere at the back of his mind Andrew felt Kevin’s hand rest gently on his arm, but he couldn’t really process it. His heart had stopped in his chest and was refusing to beat, his eyes burnt and no sound would come out of his throat. He was moulded to the bed sheets the same way he had once been strapped into the seat of Tilda’s car, and in that moment he was content with the fact that he would never move again.

He would never live again. Not while Neil didn’t. 

“Andrew,” Kevin muttered softly. “Andrew, let's leave him be. We need to call someone.” 

Andrew dimly registered Kevin pulling him up and away from the bed and didn’t fight it, only letting himself fall limp in the other man’s grip. His feet dragged along the carpet and his hand caught on the door frame, silently urging Kevin to give him one last look, one last moment before he had to say goodbye forever. At least this time, he thought, he could be with Neil the whole way, until the very end. At least this time Neil was at peace somewhere he was safe, looked after, loved. 

It was just them, fighting back tears in the entrance to his own bedroom, that Andrew caught the remnants of a voice, hoarse with disuse but vaguely audible nonetheless. 

“So, I take it that was Kevin? I see you weren’t kidding about the face tattoo, it really does look like shit.” 

“Neil?” Andrew stumbled forward, his feet barely hitting the ground. “Neil, you’re alive?” 

Neil’s eyes blinked colourlessly in the dark, swimming with tears and hollowed by fatigue. Still, there was a touch of amusement in the way he croaked out “No shit, asshole. Now can you get me something to eat because I’m fucking starving.” 

Present Day

They were lying in bed when Neil finally asked it, with the air of someone tired of waiting for the answer to present itself. “What are you going to do about it, then?” 

The it he was referring to was the text that currently sat on Andrew’s phone, unread and unreplied to. In all the excitement of Stuarts phone call it had completely skipped Andrew’s mind, but now it returned, heavy as a lead weight. It was three simple lines, unemotional and professional. 

Clone

Wondering if you wanted to catch up. How does Saturday at 11 work for you? Katelyn sends her best. 

“I don’t know,” Andrew replied honestly, and the crease in Neil’s forehead was so familiar that Andrew’s heart ached just to look at it. Neil nodded understandingly, but then his gaze hardened and he pursed his lips in a way that meant he’d made his mind up about something. 

“Well you’re definitely going to go, that’s for certain. Whether you’re a bitch about it is your decision, but I would recommend that you treat your brother, the one you haven't spoken two for over a year, with the respect he deserves.” 

“But why now? Why did he choose now to want to see me?”

Neil shrugged, as well as could while lying on his side. He shuffled a few inches closer to Andrew, his bare skin radiating with heat. Instinctively, Andrew reached forward and traced the thin skin of his cheek, marred by small circular burns and straight lines of scar tissue, reverently with a finger, the way one would handle a precious relic. “Maybe he saw the documentary about you?” Neil offered.

Andrew scoffed in return. “That came out, like, five months ago, and didn’t feature either of us. It actually only said my name once, and was more focused on cramming as many shots of your father’s dead body into its 45 minute runtime as it could.” 

“Fuck you. I thought it was a masterpiece.” 

“It called Nathan a nasty, flea-ridden shell of a man, so of course you did.”

This pulled a bright laugh out of Neil and without hesitating Andrew leaned forward to capture it with his lips. Neil sighed, twining his hands into Andrew’s hair and squeezing. He pulled Andrew on top of him with a swift tug and Andrew lost himself in the sweet press of his tongue, the clean, baby-power small of his skin, the small moans that fizzled out of him. Only, he should’ve known that Neil wasn’t one to let things go, and when they finally pulled apart, panting and desperate for breath, the stare Andrew was met with was steely and focused. 

“You never answered me properly. You’re definitely going to meet him, aren’t you? “ 

There was no fighting Neil when he was like this, and anyway it didn’t matter. It seemed that Andrew had subconsciously made his decision. “Yes, I am.”

“Good,” Neil huffed, and then he pulled Andrew in for another kiss.

There had never been a time in his life when Andrew hadn’t felt like he was hiding from someone. Until he’d met Neil, he’d never imagined that anyone could feel the same way. But then the boy with the dyed hair and the fake eyes had roared into his life and it hadn’t taken long for Andrew to figure out that not only did he never have to hide again, but that he would sacrifice everything within him for Neil to feel the same freedom that he did. 

And only after both of them had been broken and battered in all of the worst ways imaginable, subject to all of life’s worst qualities and left aching for release, only after they had lost each other and Andrew thought he would never see in colour again, did they come back together. 

And with Neil by his side, Andrew knew that from there on out, everything was going to be okay. 

They were going to be okay.