Archive of Our Own ^beta

The clank of the letterbox is what wakes them. They so rarely get mail to the house in Colombia that Andrew isn’t automatically attuned to the sound of the metal flap creaking open and clanging shut, especially not so early in the morning.

He jerks awake, and isn’t able to hide his start from Neil, whose upper half is resting comfortably on Andrew’s naked chest. He rouses as Andrew twitches, blinking through the early morning gloom at him.

“Whuzzwrong?”

It’s a testament to how early it is that even Mr Wake-Up-Early-For-A-Five-Mile-Jog is still sleepy. Andrew pats him mildly on top of his ridiculous bedhead as he swings his legs over the side of the mattress.

“Letterbox,” he says over his shoulder as he shuffles out of the room, pausing on his way to grab one of his armbands with its hidden sheaf of knives. Just in case.

He needn’t have bothered. All he finds when he makes it to the front door is a simple white envelope. He hears Neil clomp blearily to a stop behind him as he picks it up gingerly. It’s not just simple- it’s blank. No delivery or return address, no stamps. Clearly it had been hand delivered by whoever had written it; he has half a mind to open the door and check the street to see if the culprit is still hanging around, but he doubts it would do much good.

“What’s that?”

“That, my dear Neil, is what we call an envelope,” Andrew replies, not looking away from the letter as he takes it into the kitchen. “They’re very handy for carrying messages back and forth.”

Neil doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead heading straight for the Keurig and fetching two mugs from the cupboard. Andrew sits himself down at the kitchen table and holds the envelope up to the weak dawn sunlight that streams through the windows. There’s nothing suspect contained within that he can see, and if he had to guess from weight alone, there was maybe a single sheet of paper inside. Andrew waits until the coffee is made and slid onto the table in front of him before he opens the envelope. Sitting next to him, their thighs pressed together under the table, Neil sips from his own mug as he watches, then hisses as he burns his tongue like a moron on what he seems to have forgotten is just-boiled water. Andrew plucks the mug from his hands and pushes it across the table with one hand, while he reaches for a knife with the other. He flicks open the seal with the tip, and slides out the sheet of paper. He takes a sip of his own, much cooler, coffee (thank you to the four creamers) as he shakes it open.

He stiffens.

Neil hisses in a breath beside him, fingers tight on the corner of the table.

A large black bird embosses the page as a sinister watermark. It’s handwritten, but there are no indentations on the paper from the pen, like it had been photocopied.

Josten, Minyard.

You have a week to decide whether or not one of you is willing to answer for the damage you’ve done to the Raven name. One week to choose if you’re content to let the rest of your team bear the punishment for what you did.

Blood for blood.

You for Riko.

There’s a number at the bottom of the note, and before he can think about it, Andrew has it committed to memory.

There’s another clanking sound from the front door just as Andrew finishes scanning the note. Before he can stop him, Neil is on his feet and headed for the door, Andrew swearing at him a few feet behind. There’s a loose sheet of paper lying in front of the door, but while Neil stops to pick it up, this time Andrew does wrench the door open and storm down the garden path. As he’d expected, there’s no one there, despite the meagre head start. Ravens didn’t do anything by halves- if they were going to spend their Saturday mornings sending threatening notes, they weren’t going to hang around and get caught doing it. Cursing under his breath, Andrew casts another glance up and down the peaceful suburban street before turning back to the house.

In the pale dawn light, he can see Neil just through the doorway. Can see his white knuckled grip on the now-crumpled piece of paper they’d been sent, can see the haze of panic in his eyes and the way his breath is heaving in his chest. Andrew is back at his side in a flash, pushing the door closed behind him with one hand, while the other comes to rest on the back of Neil’s neck. There’s a choked edge to the sound of his harsh breathing. His gaze is laser-focused on the piece of paper in his hands, so Andrew tugs it from them as he steers the pair of them towards the sofas.

“Neil, listen to me. You are safe. There is no-one here but us, you need to breathe, okay?”  Panicked blue eyes meet his steady gaze as he manoeuvres them onto the couch, and he pulls on Neil’s arm until his hand is resting on his chest. His fingers are trembling against Andrew’s torso. Andrew breathes exaggeratedly, and he sees Neil focus on the rise and fall of his hand on Andrew’s chest, working around the terror clawing up his throat to take a full breath. He whines as he exhales, and Andrew tightens his grip on the back of his neck, pressing their foreheads together. Neil closes his eyes and screws up his face, breath hitching.

“Breathe, rabbit. No-one is going to hurt you. I’m here.”

It takes a few minutes for Neil’s breath to come easy, and more still for him to open his eyes and sit straight again. Andrew releases his hold on Neil’s neck, but doesn’t move away. He presses his hand to Neil’s chest, feels his slowing pulse. Neil meets his questioning gaze and nods.

“What happened?”

Seeing his gaze flicker to the piece of paper crumpled in Andrew’s hand, he takes his hand off Neil’s chest to smooth it out across his lap. At first glance, he doesn’t understand what triggered the panic attack, but then he sees Neil rubbing at the scars on the backs of his hands, and he gets it.

The page is blank, but for one number. A single ‘7’ is written so it takes up a quarter of the page, across the chest of the raven watermark. Andrew thinks back to the first note. “You have one week”, it had said. A week. Seven days. This is the start of the countdown. And knowing how the last countdown Neil had been sent had ended for him, Andrew can understand the panic. That doesn’t make him like it any more though.

He can feel Neil’s gaze darting across to where the page is resting on his lap, and sees the way his scarred hands are twisting in his lap. Andrew thinks about reaching for the lighter on the living room table and setting the note on fire, but isn’t sure it’s a good idea to bring fire into the room right now, knowing what memories Neil is currently reliving. Instead, he settles for shredding it with his fingers into the smallest pieces possible and dumping them into the bin next to the table. Then he settles back against the sofa cushions and waits for Neil to work up the ability to speak.

“It’s another countdown.” Neil’s voice is hushed but clear of the panic of a few minutes ago. Andrew holds back the sarcastic retort that springs automatically to the tip of his tongue. Neil swallows audibly, “just like before. I saw the number, and it just…”

Andrew looks at him now. Neil’s eyes are fixed on his hands, so Andrew, telegraphing his movements very clearly, reaches out to turn his chin towards himself, and catches Neil’s gaze with his own.

“Lola is dead,” he says very clearly in a flat tone. “Your father is dead. This is not them. This is a bunch of jumped-up jocks getting all upset because their miserable cult leader died. This is nothing like before because, one, you are not being an idiot and keeping it from me this time,” Neil huffs out the ghost of a laugh at that, turning his face into the hand Andrew has kept on his face and pressing a soft kiss to his palm. Andrew waits for their eyes to reconnect before continuing, “and, two, because you are not going to willingly walk away with people who are going to do you harm. Nothing is going to happen to you. Unless you’re a moron. Okay?”

Neil nods, but Andrew shakes him lightly until he says, aloud, “okay.”

Andrew wants nothing more than to go back to bed, sleep for another few hours then wake up and start the day again, but he can tell that’s not going to happen. Neil is practically vibrating with the need to run, to wrench open the front door and move until all he can think of is the pounding of his feet on pavement. Andrew watches him squash the urge, his face clearing and jaw working against his instincts. Something warm flares in his chest at the thought that Neil is pushing against his own muscle memory of flight to stay here with Andrew, but he mentally pokes that warmth with a sharp stick until it stops being so distracting.

Suddenly irritated at himself, he stands abruptly off the sofa and stalks back to the kitchen. He hears Neil follow, and sits down to sip at his coffee. Neil doesn’t join him at the table, instead leaning back against the kitchen counter with his arms folded tightly across his chest. One of his legs bounces ceaselessly. He’s frowning, chewing absentmindedly on his lower lip as he gazes out the kitchen window into the back garden.

Andrew watches the rising sun play angular shadows across the planes of his face, and briefly allows himself to enjoy the way the golden light threads through his auburn hair. But Neil is clearly working himself up to something, and Andrew has nearly finished his coffee and is bored of waiting.

“Something to say?”

Neil starts a little, then shakes himself. He turns to look at Andrew, who has to hold back a sigh.

“You look constipated. I know that look, rabbit, that’s the way you look when you want to do something stupid. Spit it out.”

Neil huffs out a laugh, and picks up his cold coffee, swigging half of it back in one go. He drops the mug back to the table, taps his fingers on the surface as he chooses his words.

“I know the Ravens aren’t- well, they’re small fry, really, aren’t they?”

Andrew raises an eyebrow and leans back in his chair.

“I’ve always thought so. Hardly worth thinking about.”

Neil runs a distracted hand through his already ridiculous hair.

“Especially now that Riko’s gone, I mean, they’re hardly the main concern in my- our life right now. They’re not the FBI, they’re hardly relevant to the Moriyamas any more, they’re nothing to do with whichever of my father’s men are still at large and out for my blood. Like you said, they’re a bunch of jumped-up jocks panicking without their leader.”

Andrew hums assent and watches Neil twist his fingers together.

“But?”

“But…” There’s a resigned look in Neil’s eyes, and Andrew isn’t a fan of it and what it suggests. “That doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous. That doesn’t mean we should ignore them and not take their threats seriously. We know them, we know they don’t make empty threats, they’re more than willing and able to make good on what they said they’d do. And I- I don’t think I can put anyone else through this again.”

Keeping his face and body carefully neutral, Andrew meets Neil’s conflicted gaze.

“So you’re thinking about giving the Ravens a ring, telling them to come meet you and make good on whatever sick revenge plot they’ve got planned so the rest of the team don’t have to deal with another bout of dead woodland creatures in their cars?”

Neil scoffs and pushes off the kitchen counter.

“Come off it, you know what I’m talking about here. The Ravens have never been afraid to get physical, and now they know what the team means to me, to us. It’s- I’ve put everyone through so much shit already- your car, Allison’s car, the riot at Binghampton, Seth-”

“And you’re stupid enough to think that any of that was your fault, are you?” Andrew is on his feet now, too. He doesn’t raise his voice, but there’s a frantic pressure in his chest telling him to go to Neil, to grab him and hold him close and not let him go lest he do something stupid like Andrew is suddenly terrified he might.

“Come on, Andrew, just- I can’t do this to them again. I can’t let everyone else get hurt because of the quite frankly ridiculous number of enemies I’ve managed to make myself.”

“So you’re going to cave to their bullying and go get the shit kicked out of you, or worse, just because you want to stop feeling guilty. I thought you said you weren’t going to do anything stupid?” His nails are digging into his palms so hard he thinks he might be seconds away from drawing blood.

“I don’t know what else to do!” Neil cries, looking desperate, throwing his arms wide. “Andrew, I don’t, I can’t, I can’t live through the next seven days spending every minute thinking about the end of another countdown. It was bad enough the last time when I knew that I would be the one getting hurt at the end of it, but this, when the others are the ones in the firing line? When I’ll spend the whole week thinking that I could end it all immediately, that this time I could do something to stop the mess before it happens for once in my life? I can’t do that, Andrew, I’ll go mad, I can’t, I can’t-”

Suddenly Andrew has his hands on Neil’s shoulders and their faces are inches apart. Neil stares at him with frantic, pleading eyes, and Andrew aches, because there’s something Neil’s missed, something Andrew knows for a fact that Neil never even considered, and Andrew hates him so, so much.

“Listen to me,” one of his hands finds its home on the back of Neil’s neck, but he doesn’t push down, just tightens his grip enough to ground him. His gaze is fierce, his voice determined. “It is going to be okay. We are going to figure something out. I need you to listen to me. The rest of the team will be fine, and you’re not going to offer yourself up like a sacrificial lamb. Everything is going to be fine.”

Soft breaths fan across Andrew’s cheeks. He watches Neil look back at him, like he’s drinking Andrew in, like he’s drawing comfort and security from Andrew, like an idiot. After a long, long moment, Neil forces a nod, swallowing so loudly Andrew can hear it.

“We’ll figure something out,” Neil repeats in a whisper, and Andrew echoes him a moment later. The words taste like ash in his mouth, because they’re a lie. He’s already figured the answer out, and it burns white-hot in his stomach when he thinks about how Neil never even thought of it as an option.

The note had been addressed to both of them after all.

It’s early evening by the time Andrew has a concrete plan. He’s told Neil to put the letters out of his mind for the rest of the day, insisted that the two of them be allowed to enjoy the rest of the weekend together, but for him the quiet has been less about relaxation and more about scheming. He knows what he has to do. He also knows it might kill him to do it.

Neil is at the sink, absentmindedly washing up pots and pans from dinner. They’d spent most of the day on the couch, watching TV or reading or talking. On the surface, it had seemed like any other weekend, but look a little closer and it was obvious, really, the tension in Neil’s shoulders, the slight shake to his scarred fingers when he caught sight of them in his periphery, the way he froze up and spaced out for a few moments whenever he caught sight of the letterbox. And that was why Andrew knew this had to be done. And it had to be done tonight.

Neil had been scrubbing the same pan for about five minutes before Andrew noticed. There was a rock-hard set to his shoulders that had him striding towards him immediately.

“Stop,” he orders, pressing a hand to that spot at the back of Neil’s neck. The pan drops back into the sink with a splosh, Neil letting out a shuddering exhale as he braces himself against the countertop.

“I’ve stopped,” Neil whispers after a moment, the ghost of a rueful smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

Andrew makes a disbelieving noise, taking Neil by the hand and tugging him into the hall and towards his bedroom.

“Really, I have,” Neil insists, voice a little stronger. He doesn’t pull away, but does twist his hand in Andrew’s grip so their fingers are intertwined. “You told me not to think about it, so I’m not thinking about it.”

A scathing glance over his shoulder is all it takes for Neil to acquiesce.

“Okay, yes, obviously I was thinking about it,” he babbles as they enter Andrew’s bedroom, “but how can I not? Andrew, we’re on a fucking timer, there’s insane jocks out for my blood, again, do you expect me to- mmmph!”

He’s cut off when Andrew pushes him onto the bed and places an insistent hand over his relentless mouth. Andrew leans in close, planting his other hand on the bed next to where Neil sits, wide-eyed.

“Considering how little you seem to think on a day to day basis, this overthinking must be cooking your brain,” he breathes, letting the air from his words fan over Neil’s face. Neil closes his eyes and leans a little into Andrew’s touch. There’s a coil of tension in Andrew’s stomach that shudders as he realises this is when he’s going to have to do it, there’s no putting it off. Not when Neil is getting more panicked by the minute, no matter how much he tries not to focus. He has no excuse not to go through with it, here, now.

He can’t believe he’s about to do it.

He moves the hand over Neil’s mouth to the side of his face and cups his jaw.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” comes the whispered reply, Neil tilting his face up to where Andrew leans over him.

Their lips meet gently, and it’s like Andrew can feel the fear leaking out of him. He loathes the way Neil seems to take Andrew’s presence as a comfort. Especially now that he’s planning to abuse and exploit that trust. Neil breathes in shakily around the kiss, and Andrew takes Neil’s hands in his, and places them pointedly on his shoulders and gives him muttered permission to touch above them. Neil immediately winds one hand into Andrew’s hair, and Andrew presses closer, pushing Neil back so he’s lying on the bed with Andrew kneeling over him.

They lie there for a few minutes, the kiss turning deeper and messier. It’s only when Neil starts wriggling impatiently under him that Andrew pulls back slightly. He can’t go any further, not now, not when he knows he’d only be doing it as a distraction from what he has to do next.

To head off any suspicion, he licks his lips and says, “what an effective way to get you to stop running your mouth.”

There’s a glimmer in Neil’s eyes that has Andrew diving back down to push their mouths together again for a moment.

“You should shut me up more often,” comes the mumbled retort, slim fingers combing insistently through Andrew’s hair. In any other situation, Andrew would be the closest he ever got to content, but right now he’s trying not to think about how disgusted with himself he is. He detaches himself once again and pulls back to look at where Neil lies below him, finally seeming relaxed.

He can feel himself panting, a little out of breath and a little anxious, but he knows himself well enough to know that Neil can’t tell anything is up yet. Andrew leans down to give him a firm peck before pulling back properly and standing off the bed.

“Stay there,” he orders, and waits to see Neil comply before he leaves the room. There’s a lump of something in the back of his throat, and a pit of nausea grows in his stomach as he enters Nicky’s room. He really wishes he didn’t, but he knows for a fact that his cousin has what he’s looking for, and it only takes him a moment of blind searching under his cousin’s bed to find it. Once the cool metal is in his hands, everything seems that much more real- he’s going to do this, he’s going to betray Neil like this, in the worst way. There’s no coming back from this.

The handcuffs in his hand clink a little as he pulls on them with all his strength. They don’t give at all, and it sickens Andrew to know that his plan is going to work. Trust Nicky to provide such sturdy methods of restraint. To cover, he also scoops up a thin tube from the box, and kicks it back under the bed.

With the handcuffs tucked low in his back pocket, he stands by the doorway to his room, Neil lying exactly where he left him. For a moment, Andrew considers leaving now. Neil would stay where he was told, maybe the cuffs weren’t necessary? But then Neil notices him in the doorway and says with a smile, “you took your time,” and that plan is shattered. Neil would stay until he heard the door open and close, and then he’d be downstairs quick enough to see Andrew running down the street, put two and two together and run after him. Loathe as he was to admit it, Andrew knows Neil would catch up to him in an instant, realise what he was trying to do, and then where would they be? He’d have betrayed him anyway, and they’d be back at square one, but on much worse terms.

No. If Andrew was going to do this, he was going to do it properly.

“Wanted to make sure we were prepared,” he replies curtly, waving the lube he’d taken from Nicky’s room in the air. Neil raises a salacious eyebrow and smiles.

“Did you now.”

Andrew makes his way across the room, pulling off his hoodie and toeing off his shoes. He sees Neil pulling his phone and lighter out of his pocket and putting them on the nightstand, before lying back down. Andrew kneels back over him, his hair dangling over his forehead as he looks down at the face beneath him.

“Smug isn’t a good look on you, junkie.”

Neil pouts a little, then raises his hands questioningly. Andrew swallows, then whispers, “anywhere above the waist.”

Light fingers begin trailing up and down Andrew’s sides, gentle through the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Can I kiss you?” Neil’s voice is quiet but clear, and there’s a horrible, undeniable fondness in his eyes.

Andrew swallows again, feels bile rise in his throat. He does his best to darken his eyes, to hide his intentions, and says, “until I say no.”

Surprised at the rare level of permission, Neil raises an eyebrow, but before he can get too suspicious, Andrew leans in again, pressing their lips together firmly, insistently. Neil gasps into his mouth as Andrew pushes him deeper into the mattress, their breaths growing heavier and louder.

Andrew’s building up to it, he knows he can’t just do it immediately and risk fumbling, but he feels sick at the thought that he’s taking advantage. He can’t help pulling back, leaving Neil breathless below him.

“See?” He says roughly, watching the way Neil’s eyelids flutter under his breath. “An excellent way to shut you up.”

Neil grins underneath him and closes his eyes, leisurely stretching his neck and pushing his head back against the pillow. The weight of disgust in Andrew’s stomach grows as he allows himself to look, to enjoy the sight, while knowing what he’s about to do.

Maybe that’s why he lets himself look- he doesn’t know if or when he’ll ever be granted this kind of trust and intimacy again once the day is through.

Neil’s hands trace lazily up and down Andrew’s sides, his eyes still closed. Andrew watches his face as he begins to move, shifting his weight onto one arm so he can reach the other behind himself, where the handcuffs feel like they’re burning a hole through the back pocket of his jeans. Revulsion crawls up the back of his throat as his fingers make contact with the cool metal of the cuffs. He grasps them, and tugs them out softly, pressing them tightly between his fingers so the links of the chain don’t clink together.

Andrew begins to shift his weight back onto his legs, so he’s upright, straddling Neil’s hips with his knees pressing into the mattress either side of Neil’s hips. He brings forward the hand holding the cuffs. Feeling Andrew’s movement, Neil’s eyelids begin to stir as he lifts his head from the pillow.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Andrew almost snaps, fighting to keep the tension from his voice. He feels like he’s choking, like every emotion he’s ever pushed down over the years is leaping into his throat, set loose by the boy under him and the way Andrew is planning to betray him. He works to keep his breathing steady, hoping Neil won’t hear anything amiss, but he knows that if he opens his eyes, Neil will take one look at him and know that something is wrong.

Neil makes a questioning rumble in the back of his throat, but does as he’s asked and lets his head thump back into the pillow, his hands continuing their comforting ministrations across Andrew’s torso.

With his heart in his throat, Andrew leans forwards over Neil’s chest, pressing the cuffs into the mattress above Neil’s head. He holds himself there for a minute, gazing down at Neil’s peaceful face. The early-evening light coming through the window by the bed is casting shadows over the planes of his cheekbones, painting his skin a purplish-grey. His lashes are dark against his cheeks, his reddish curls splayed out across the pillow like some kind of tragic hero in a Romantic painting.

Andrew hates him.

He hates himself more.

With every movement of Neil’s light fingers across his skin, he can feel his resolve waning, dissolving against the rising tide of self-loathing, and it is that, the thought that he might not be able to do it, might not be able to protect Neil this time and the absolute terror that accompanies this thought, that spurs him on to finish his task. To cut the cord. To finally hurt Neil the way he’d promised never to do.

His voice is low and quiet when he speaks, not trusting himself to speak any louder lest Neil hear the hatred sparking in his throat.

“Put your hands above your head.”

He feels it, he feels the moment Neil feels something is wrong, and tenses, readying himself for a fight. Neil’s fingers have left his waist and his arms hover in mid-air, unsure. There’s a slight crease in between his eyebrows, a note of confusion that would be almost invisible if Andrew weren’t staring so intently at him, drinking in the sight of him like it was the last time he’d be able. He prepares to move, prepares to grapple Neil into submission even if the thought makes him feel like he’s going to be violently ill- and then Neil’s shoulders are shifting, his arms coming to rest on the mattress above his head, the backs of his hands curved upwards against the railings of the headboard.

Because he trusts Andrew. Because Andrew had told him to. Because Andrew has done his very best over the last two years to prove to Neil that he’d never do anything to him that Neil hadn’t explicitly consented to.

He hates him, he hates him, he hates him.

Helpless against the tide of emotion that threatens to drown him, Andrew gives in for one last, brief moment. He closes his eyes and leans down to press his forehead against Neil’s, letting a breath sigh out of him to wash over Neil’s face. There’s a hot pressure behind his eyeballs, but he ignores it in favour of pressing his lips to Neil’s, chaste and pure and gentle. It’s an apology, but Neil doesn’t know that yet.

Steeling himself, Andrew lifts his head up again, and lifts his weight slightly so he’s in a sturdier position should this come to a fight. In his right hand, he readies the handcuffs. With his left, he trails his fingers up Neil’s left arm until they clasp gently around his wrist. He presses slightly, and feels the fluttering of a pulse beneath his palm. The pulse jumps suddenly, and Andrew looks down. Neil’s eyes are open and staring up at him with what Andrew knows is understanding.

In an instant, Neil is bucking under him, desperately trying to throw Andrew off him. His legs thrash against the mattress and his torso twists violently, and he’s strong, and scared and stronger for it, and Andrew nearly loses his balance- but Andrew had been ready for this. And in one swift movement, he presses Neil’s wrist to one of the railings of the headboard and twists, clasping one of the cuffs around Neil’s wrist and the other to the railing. In the next second, he’s off the bed and standing across the room just as Neil jerks up and moves to escape- then realises he can’t.

It’s like a physical blow, the pain that appears in Andrew’s stomach as he catalogues the fear in Neil’s eyes as he looks between Andrew and his restrained hand. He knows he’s not imagining the immediate shake in his breath, the way Neil pales at being tied down like this again.

“Andrew,” his voice is quiet, like Andrew’s had been before, and he can tell it’s so it doesn’t shake or crack around the panic he knows is clambering up Neil’s throat. “Let me go.”

Andrew doesn’t answer, instead moves Neil’s phone out of reach from its place on the nightstand to the opposite corner of the room, then crosses back to pick up his shoes and his hoodie where they’d been thrown earlier. His hoodie is inside-out, and it takes him longer than it should for his shaking hands to wrangle it the right way round and wrestle his arms into it. Neil’s breathing is growing harsh, and he fights against every instinct in his body not to look at him. There’s a clinking, scraping sound as Neil tries to wrestle the cuff off himself, twisting and pulling against the chain restraining him. It won’t give, Andrew is sure of it.

“Take it off, Andrew. Don’t do this.” His voice is louder now, the panic sharpening the sound of it. Andrew keeps his eyes on his useless, trembling fingers as they struggle to do up the laces of his trainers. There’s the sound of more scuffling behind him as Neil grows more frantic, both from the knowledge of what Andrew is about to do and from the memories pressing down on him.

A choked sound, the creak of the bed and the relentless clinking of a chain.

He knows well the stories of all Neil had had to endure at Evermore. Riko’s torture and taunts, Jean’s silent, pained complicity. Then, a few months later, Lola tying his hands behind his back in that car to Baltimore and spending hour after hour carving into his skin and turning it red and raw with burns. Ever since, Neil has made it clear he doesn’t mind Andrew holding his wrists, pressing them into the bed by his sides when Andrew needs to feel a little more in control, but he’s never liked them being held above his head, and handcuffs have always been a hard no. Even the sight of them takes him back to hours in a car surrounded by enemies, heading towards nothing what he could only assume was death, takes him back to weeks tied to a hard, ungiving bed, a heavy weight on top of him and pain slicing into him relentlessly until he drifted off to sleep with the knowledge that the next day promised nothing but more of the same.

As he stands, finally ready to leave, Andrew knows he’s not only unlocked the door to those memories, but is practically waving them back in with welcoming arms, encouraging them to make a home in Neil’s head.

He can hear the panic in Neil’s breathing now as he fights to remain cognizant and present against the tide of fear. He stands with his back to the bed, facing the door as Neil cries out, and lets himself grip the keys in his hand until they bite into the flesh of his palm. He welcomes the slight sting of pain as he remains, frozen, listening to the distressed moans coming from Neil and trying to work up the courage to leave him there. He can do it. He knows he can. He’s strong enough to save Neil even if it hurts him.

Just as his foot rises off the floor to take the first step, Neil cries out again.

“Andrew, no, take them off, don’t- please!”

He can’t help himself; he turns back. Neil never says please. He knows how much Andrew hates it, never even starts the word, never has to catch himself and cut the word off halfway through. He’s so attuned to Andrew’s needs, so automatically accommodating to all that Andrew demands of him, he barely even has to think about it. He just never says it. A tiny, insignificant part of Andrew recoils and hates him for saying it now, but the rest of him is overcome by the knowledge that Neil would never willingly cross Andrew’s boundaries like that. It tells him just how little Neil is in control of himself right now, and he’s not quick enough to curb the instinct to check on him.

When Andrew looks at him again, he has to consciously work to keep his face calm. He’s not sure if it works. Neil is panting, pale-faced with sweat starting to bead at his temples. His free hand is wrapped around the railing he’s tied to, and the cuffed wrist is already chafing red where it pulls unceasingly against the metal. He’s knelt on the bed, turned towards Andrew, who can see, even in the dimming evening light, the glaze in his eyes, the way his pupils are blown wide with terror.

“Andrew,” Neil pleads again, his voice choked. “Don’t, don’t leave- don’t go to them, take this off, Andrew, please, Andrew, just- don’t do this!”

Andrew stares at him for another moment. He won’t talk, won’t say anything. He won’t apologise, never has done. He can’t offer comfort or reassurance, not while he’s the one causing pain.  He sees Neil’s half-crazed eyes rake his face, following the movement of his jaw as he swallows. As he watches, Andrew sees the first droplet of blood start to trickle down Neil’s cuffed wrist, the skin shredding with every weakening tug.

Wordlessly, he zips up the hoodie, keys jingling in his hand, and he turns for the door.

Neil calls out as he descends the stairs, begging, pleading for Andrew to let him go, for Andrew not to sacrifice himself. As he walks to the front door, he can hear Neil’s words devolve into cries and sobs, knows he’s lost the battle against the panic Andrew caused.

The noises of anguish follow him all the way down the street.

He doesn’t take the Maserati. Doesn’t want to risk it getting caught in the crossfire of whatever he’s about to volunteer himself for. Instead, he takes off into the darkening suburbs, digging his phone out of his pocket as he marches on, trying desperately not to think of anything.

Least of all red hair, that last kiss he’d allowed himself, the way his name had been coloured with betrayal in Neil’s mouth, the way Neil had begged.

They answer the phone practically the second it starts to ring, but wait for Andrew to speak first. He rattles off an address, unprompted, directing them to a section of backroad he knows is backed by unused buildings on one side and open parkland on the other. He expects them to hang up once they’ve got the location, but there’s a pause, before an unfamiliar, male voice speaks calmly on the other end.

“Name?”

Andrew frowns.

“Andrew Minyard,” he pushes out through gritted teeth. Why would they care which one of them answered the fucking summons? As long as they got their blood one way or another, it shouldn’t matter to them whether or not they knew whose they were taking. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it for long, as there’s what can only be described as a chuckle down the line at him.

“Well well well,” the man on the other end sounds amused, smug. Andrew waits for him to continue, his feet pounding against the pavement. “If you’re the one coming to meet me, I have to assume you’ve finally found a way to keep Josten on a leash?”

The clink of metal, rough breathing, unseeing blue eyes, panicked pleading.

When Andrew doesn’t answer, the Raven presses further.

“Either you’ve found a way to keep him subdued or you’re not coming alone like you were told. Which is it, Minyard? I told you what would happen if you didn’t do as you were asked.”

The note hadn’t specified, actually, but Andrew’s not stupid enough to call him out on it. He knows the implicit threats contained in the note were far from empty and that he’s doing it this way for a reason and that he should do what he can to get back to Neil and the others in one piece.

“Neil won’t be bothering us,” Andrew spits out, “he’s staying at home for this one.”

There’s movement on the other end of the phone, presumably the Raven preparing to leave and come meet him.

“Excellent,” he says easily. “That means you and I can conduct our business in peace and no-one gets hurt. No one extra, that is.”

Before Andrew can say anything else, the line goes dead.

He shoves the phone back into his hoodie pocket, but not before he sets up a timed text to Kevin, Coach and Renee. If he isn’t able to call if off in four hours’ time, they’ll be told what has happened, where he went and to go free Neil with the key to the cuffs he’d left on the living room table. He’s not entirely confident he’ll be alive to stop it, which is the only reason he adds an extra line of text, only in the message to Renee.

Tell Neil I’m sorry.

It doesn’t take much longer for him to reach the location he’d picked. He chose it for a reason: it’s out of the way enough that they’re unlikely to be interrupted by any more passing cars, and the wall of unused buildings at his back means he’ll be much harder to sneak up on. The open grass on the other side of the road disappears into a wooded park a few hundred meters out, providing potential cover if it looks like he’ll need to play that sort of game, but he’s not counting on it. Andrew isn’t exactly sure what kind of fight the Ravens are looking for, whether they plan on leaving him alive, but he’s sure as hell not going to go down without giving as good as he gets. Not after what he’s done to be here.

He fights the urge to reach for a cigarette as he settles in to wait, leaning back against the brick, ears intently listening for cars. He doesn’t allow his mind to wander, doesn’t let himself think of Neil. He knows if he lingers too long on thoughts of his choked, strangled voice, he’ll cave and run back to the house to free him. And then they’d be right back where they started.

Time passes. The evening grows darker and colder. There are orange streetlamps casting a hazy glow over the expanse of road where he waits.

He grows impatient.

He’s not sure where the Ravens will be coming from. He’s sure they won’t have flown back to the Nest after delivering the note, but he had no idea where they’re staying. It could be here, closer to the city, or it could be back near the University. After all, they hadn’t known where Andrew would send them. Nevertheless, even if they’d found somewhere to stay on the far side of the University from here, it shouldn’t be taking this long.

Just when his temper is about to fray and he moves to dig his phone back out of his pocket, there’s movement. A lone figure is trudging its way along the pavement towards him.

Reaching for one of his knives, Andrew narrows his eyes. He can’t tell from this far away who they are- it could just be a normal civilian, but he doubts it. The figure coming towards him is too hulking and broad, too purposeful. But why is there only one?

Suddenly wary of an ambush, Andrew straightens and readies a knife. What if this one figure is a distraction, to take up his attention while others gather behind him to take him down? He looks around, straining his senses through the gloom, but can see and hear nothing except his own breathing and the footsteps growing louder. Then again, the note had said nothing of whom Andrew should expect to meet. Whether it would be a one-on-one situation or him versus a group. The man on the phone had spoken as if he were the only one involved, talking about himself like he was alone in coming to meet Andrew. Maybe he really was stupid enough to try and take him on solo.

The figure stops a few meters away, directly under one of the streetlamps. Andrew can feel eyes on his face, but can see nothing beneath the dark hood obscuring the stranger’s features. He has to give it to the Ravens; they really commit to an aesthetic.

“Andrew Minyard.” The figure declares.

Andrew raises an eyebrow but doesn’t bother replying. There’s a moment of silence, a stand-off. Andrew isn’t sure if they’re each waiting for the other to make the next move, or waiting for something else to happen.

A buzzing sound comes from the Raven. He brings his phone out and casually checks the message. Andrew still can’t see his face, but something in him is telling him that he’s smiling. The Raven doesn’t bother to tap out a response before putting his phone away and looking back at Andrew.

“You weren’t lying when you said you were leaving without Josten.”

The words are simple enough, but something in them sets off a spike of nerves in Andrew’s stomach. He’s not sure what, but something is off.

“I said I was coming alone,” he replies smoothly, pushing away from the wall and walking into the middle of the road to face the Raven better. He doesn’t bother to hide the knife he’s twirling between his fingers, but the other man doesn’t seem bothered. “You said if I came alone, that would be the end of it. No-one else gets hurt and this is put to rest. And I’m not one for going back on a deal.”

The Raven makes a noise that Andrew isn’t sure can be counted as a laugh. “Of course you’re not.”

There’s something wrong. Andrew can feel it. Something is off, something’s about to happen, something catastrophic. He thinks furiously as the other man goes to speak again, and makes the connection the second he opens his mouth.

“Unfortunately for you, the Ravens have no such qualms.”

The moment he twigs, Andrew is moving. He darts underneath the Raven’s raising arms and drives his knife deep into the other man’s shoulder. He doesn’t wait around to see him go down or finish him off. He doesn’t even wait to retrieve his knife. In fact, he’s running back the way he came as fast as he thinks he ever has in his life, because he’s made a stupid, stupid mistake.

He’d known something was wrong from the first moment he’d seen the lone figure. Before that, even. When it had taken the Raven so long to even show up, that he’d come alone, even the fact he’d come from the same direction as Andrew had all added up to one sickening result. Because the man he’d just stabbed wasn’t the man he’d spoken to on the phone. Andrew had heard it in his voice almost immediately, had known something was wrong, but hadn’t put it together until the man spoke of breaking their deal. And if the man on the phone wasn’t here to hurt Andrew, that meant he was somewhere else.

Andrew needs to get to Neil.

In the following days, Andrew’s panicked flight back to the house comes to him in flashes. The pounding of his feet against the pavement cracking through the silence of the evening. Harsh, desperate breaths tearing from his lungs. The thought that despite his speed, the journey back seems to be taking a thousand times longer than it had before.

He fumbles with his phone as he runs, not daring to slow down for a second, even when his fingers slip and the phone nearly smashes against the concrete. Andrew just grabs it from the air and wrenches it open, dialling clumsily as he keeps determinedly running. It rings for a few seconds, and when the voice on the other end speaks, he barely hears it over the thunder of his own pulse in his head.

“Andrew?”

“House in Colombia, now.” Andrew orders, heaving breaths past the words. “Bring Matt and Abby.”

He doesn’t give Kevin a chance to respond before he’s shoving the phone back in his pocket and is left with nothing but the burn in his legs and lungs, and the unceasing voice in his head telling him he’s going to be too late. He ignores it, and focuses on the hope that Kevin will do as he’s told.

The fear in his stomach (as, for all his posturing and apathy and insistence that he doesn’t feel anything, Neil, how could this knot of pain and weight be anything else?) seems to deepen and double when he streaks up to his front door and sees it standing open. He puts on a final burst of speed as he crosses the threshold and makes his way to his bedroom. He doesn’t bother to try to mask the sounds of his approach; they had to know he’d come back sooner or later, and if he slows even slightly to try and quieten himself, then that’s a few unacceptable seconds longer that Neil is… well. He doesn’t slow down.

When he reaches his door, it takes him a split second to take in the scene before him. The light has been switched on since he left, and it leaves everything painfully visible. There’s a figure lying half-propped against a wall, a bruise purpling across his face and scarlet dripping from his nose down his chin. Andrew barely spares him more than a cursory glance, just enough of a once-over to see the man is clearly unconscious. He then turns to the bed, and that’s when his feet finally come to a stuttering stop.

Neil is facing the door, knelt on the bed with his shins folded under him. His spine is bowed backwards over his feet, a painfully taut position. His cuffed wrist is a mess, bleeding freely onto the bed and, even now, still tugging weakly at the chains.  His other hand is being pulled behind him by a third Raven, the stranger’s knee pressing Neil’s forearm down onto the mattress. The Raven kneels on the bed behind Neil, one hand over his mouth, pushing Neil’s head back so it rests on the Raven’s shoulder. His other hand is holding a knife to Neil’s throat.

The room is frozen.

Nobody moves, except for Neil who is still twisting his cuffed arm feebly. Andrew hardly dares look at him. He can’t not.

There’s a thin trickle of red making its way from his temple to his jaw, where Andrew can see a bruise blossoming. His eyes are unfocused and insensible, gaze a thousand miles away. Struggling to breathe around the hand over the lower half of his face, small, wheezy moans gasp from his mouth, the noises of his obvious terror sending rods of ice down Andrew’s spine. Under his dark clothing, Andrew can’t tell what sort of state the rest of his body is in, so he turns his attention to the man restraining him.

The Raven seems to have been waiting for Andrew’s gaze to turn to him. When it does, a slow, vindictive smile crosses his face. Andrew doesn’t dare go for his knives with that blade so close to Neil’s throat, but he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to stab someone so badly in his life. He does his best to plaster on his usual veneer of apathy, but it’s impossible with such an unwelcome and unfamiliar cocktail of emotions swirling in his stomach.

“I should thank you, you know,” the man on the bed says. Andrew knows what’s coming. He doesn’t think he can bear to hear it and he shifts slightly in the doorway, and freezes again when the man moves his knife tighter to Neil’s neck in response. “You really did make it a whole lot easier for us-”

“Don’t,” Andrew snaps, fingers twitching restlessly.

The man grins again.

“All we were expecting was for him to be left alone- either you’d agree to let him come and stand his ground or you’d leave him here defenceless. But not only did you abandon him here, you actually tied him up for us! It was very helpful, really, more than we could have hoped for.”

“Well maybe you’ll return the favour and stab yourself in the throat,” he hisses before he can stop himself. The Raven responds by pulling Neil’s head back further down, earning a whine of pain from the other man as the sharpness of the blade draws a bead of blood from his neck.

“Josten didn’t seem to enjoy being left behind though,” the man continues like Andrew hadn’t spoken. Andrew can tell from his voice that he’s the man he’d spoken to on the phone and he pushes down on a bubble of hope in his chest that tells him maybe there aren’t any more of them. He can’t afford to let his guard down. “Gave Bruins over there a hell of a kick when he came over to help pin him down, and he hasn’t gotten up since.”

A slight flash of grim satisfaction flickers across Neil’s face. It’s so quick and faint Andrew would have missed it had he not had every inch of his face committed painstakingly to memory. He tries not to look like he’s looking at Neil too hard, and Neil continues to seem as though he barely knows Andrew is in the room.

A dull shudder thrums through Andrew as he stands there, useless, waiting for the Raven to make the next move. He has no plans, no ideas. Every scenario he can think of ends with, at the very least, Neil with a knife somewhere vital. He can’t wait for his reinforcements to arrive- the Raven will hear them coming and slit Neil’s throat. He can’t go for his own knives and try to land one in the man’s eye- the Raven will see him move and slit Neil’s throat, and then probably use his body as a shield against Andrew. He can’t use the fists that are aching to be buried in the man’s face- the Raven will see him coming and slit- godfuckingdammit. He’s screwed. Neil is screwed.

Despite Andrew’s carefully constructed blank façade, the Raven seems to be able to see his despair on his face, judging by the way his Cheshire grin stretches further across his cheeks. Putting on an air of thoughtfulness, he taps the tip of his blade absently on Neil’s throat, smearing the beading blood like a deadly necklace.

“You look like you have something to say,” the Raven muses, pulling his eyebrows together in an infuriating act of concern. “Please, don’t feel like you can’t open up to me. Speak your mind, Minyard.”

Andrew grits his teeth, straining to keep his face calm. He knows he’s not pulling off his usual, bored look, but the familiarity of the act is all he has to hold onto without the comforting weight of a knife in his hands. He knows what the Raven wants. He wants to hear him beg. For anyone else, Andrew would tell him to go to hell and stalk out of the room, probably flip him off for good measure. But- this is Neil. It’s Neil. Brave, stupid, clever, ridiculous Neil. He’s the only one Andrew lets hold him, and Andrew’s the only one he lets hold him back. He’s the shelter Andrew seeks in a storm one day, and the storm that chases away a drought the next. He’s the most important thing in Andrew’s life, and right now he’s scared and hurt and betrayed and in danger and it’s all Andrew’s fault and he thinks maybe there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do to try to put that right. So, he steadies his rolling stomach and looks back at the Raven.

“What do you want?”

The man chuckles.

“I want lots of things, Minyard. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

His fingers start to shake with the strain of holding themselves back from wrapping themselves around the Raven’s neck.

“From me,” he chokes out, revulsion at how weak the words make him feel crawling up his throat. “What do you want from me.”

The man laughs at that, and the shaking of his chest in apparent mirth jostles Neil where he’s being pulled tight as a bowstring across the man’s body. Andrew can hear him groan as the man shuffles, his knee pressing insistently down on Neil’s forearm. The angle looks agonising and Neil’s shoulder looks moments away from popping out of its socket.

“I want to hear you beg me not to hurt him.” The man says simply. Andrew’s hands clench involuntarily into fists. “I want to hear you beg me to take you instead, to let him go, and then I want to see the hope die in your eyes when you realise you didn’t ask me nicely enough. And I want to see the look on your face when I cut dear Josten’s throat right in front of you. So if I were you, I’d ask very, very nicely.”

His hands are shaking now. He can’t stop them. For a moment, the only sound in the room is Neil’s ragged, muffled breathing and the unceasing clinking of the handcuffs pulling against the bedframe. Andrew drags his gaze up to the Raven’s and feels his face grow hot. His teeth grind together as he clenches his jaw and swallows.

“Don’t hurt him,” the words are hollow and low, almost whispered past the choking feeling in his throat. “Take me instead.”

He knows what the Raven will ask of him next, but he can’t bring himself to pre-empt it. Even the thought of the word makes bitterness blossom on his tongue, but he’ll do it. For Neil. He’ll say it. He waits for the Raven to demand it.

He doesn’t disappoint.

“Come on, try a little harder, Minyard,” the Raven says gloatingly. “That wasn’t very impressive at all. I hardly believe you even want me to let him go.” He gives Neil a rough shake at that, fingers gripping onto Neil’s face so hard his cheeks bloom white under the pressure. “What’s the magic word?”

Andrew doesn’t dare look at Neil as he works the word into his mouth. Which is why, just as he opens his mouth to speak, he catches the exact moment the Raven’s face twists in pain and lets out a yelp of anger. Andrew’s gaze jumps to Neil in time to see Neil unclamp his teeth from the hand the Raven had had across his face. The Raven howls as his hand begins to bleed, and raises the knife in his other, arcing it down, point-first towards Neil’s chest, but now Andrew is moving. He dives forwards, sliding an eager blade into his hand, and tackles the Raven backwards onto the bed just as the tip of his knife pierces the skin over Neil’s heart. Andrew has misjudged his attack slightly, and pays for it instantly as he hears a dull pop as Neil’s abused shoulder is yanked out of place by the weight of both the Raven and Andrew falling backwards onto the bed. Andrew doesn’t have time to consider it, too busy burying his knife up to the hilt in the Raven’s shoulder. The other man barely has time to react before Andrew is winding back his elbow and thundering his fist into his shell-shocked face, one, two, five times. There are sick crunching noises under his hand, and the bedspread is staining dark red from so many places, and he’s panting and cursing and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so much in his life.

It’s only when a voice in his head that sounds oddly like Aaron’s is yelling at him to stop that he does so. The voice impresses upon him the importance of him not landing himself back in prison, no matter how much he might want to keep going and going and going until the man is nothing more than a puddle of red mush on the ruined bedspread. He tears himself away, (the voice makes some good points after all) and comes back to himself a foot away from the bed. His hands are shaking and his breath is heaving in and out of his lungs like a death rattle and he doesn’t trust himself to do anything else right now, so he turns for the door. The feelings swirling around in his brain are too much, too complex for him to do anything but hurry back to the living room table where he’d left the key to the cuffs earlier.

Outside his bedroom door again a minute later, Andrew takes a moment to centre himself. He desperately wants to try to pull his usual carelessness over himself like a shield, like a child tugging up the duvet at night to defend himself from the monsters the darkness hides, but he’s not sure it would work. Not with the maelstrom twisting deafeningly through his brain. And it’s not what he needs right now anyway. Because it’s not what Neil needs. Neil needs him to care right now, and some deep, smothered part of Andrew whispers to him from the recesses of his psyche that he wants to care right now, too.

He swallows and grips the tiny key tighter in his hand and steps back into his room.

The Ravens are both still unconscious, Bruin lying prone against the wall like he had been when Andrew first arrived on the scene. And the nameless Raven, well, he’s faceless as well now, too. Andrew can just about make out the struggling breaths wheezing themselves past the mess Andrew has made of his nose and mouth, and while the knife wound in his shoulder is deep, it’s only bleeding sluggishly past the blade still embedded in his collar, and not near enough to anything vital for Andrew to worry he might have killed him.

He wouldn’t have worried even if he had.

Stepping tentatively towards the bed, he turns his attention to Neil. He’s lying on his side, shuddering, curled into himself with a few inches of space on the bed in between him and his attacker. There’s a slow spread of red dyeing the front of his shirt where the Raven had just barely pierced him with the knife, but it’s not concerning. Andrew is more worried about the obvious displacement of his abused shoulder, and the way he’s curling in around his centre suggests there may have been more of a struggle before Andrew had arrived. His cuffed wrist is an absolute mess when he turns his attention to it. He’s unable to see the depths of the damage Neil has worked into it by the mess of skin and blood surrounding the cuff, which he guesses is an answer in and of itself.

What really concerns Andrew, however, is the full-body flinch that sends Neil jerking across the bed when Andrew takes a purposeful step in his direction. His whole body is shaking violently, the chain tinkling with the constant movements even though he’s not actively pulling on it any more. Neil’s eyes are open, but focused with wild fixation on a nondescript patch of carpet in front of him. At apparent risk of clenching so hard he cracks a tooth, his mouth is shut tight, the tension in his jaw visible even from the doorway. He doesn’t seem to be blinking.

For one of the first times in his life, Andrew is at a true loss.

When he’d left, Neil had seemed well on the way to true insensibility, and when he’d first returned, that suspicion had seemed to be correct. He’d seemed blank and almost catatonic from fear and panic. But he’d clearly been cognizant enough to put up a fight, as evidenced by the still-downed Raven on the floor, and Andrew had been sure he’d seen that flash of satisfaction when the other Raven had brought up his resistance. And, of course, he’d fought back again at the end, biting the Raven hard enough to draw blood. Andrew wasn’t sure, but could the timing be coincidence? Just as Andrew was about to lower himself to that point, to grovel and beg against every instinct and boundary that had governed him for years, that was when Neil had summoned the fortitude to fight back, to distract the man enough that Andrew had the time to make an attack.

So where is that clarity now, now that it was over and he was safe again? Worse, what can Andrew do to help now that it’s gone?

Unaccustomed to this new feeling of helplessness, he dithers in the bedroom doorway for another moment, his eyes not moving from the redheaded figure trembling on the bed. He’d never dithered before. He doesn’t care for it.

A minute passes.

Andrew puts another foot forward, taking a determined step to the bed, raising the hand with the key clearly towards the hand of Neil’s still tied to the bed. The reaction is instant, Neil shuffling himself frantically backwards away from the edge of the bed, knocking his dislocated shoulder against the unconscious Raven behind him. A ragged moan tears from his mouth, and he resumes his weak tugging against the cuff. It seems almost subconscious, a reflex at this point, as there is no recognition in his face, no sense of purpose. He is buried so deep in himself, pushed so far down under the memories, pain, and panic Andrew barely recognises him. And he doesn’t know what to do.

They remain there, Andrew isn’t sure how long for. Andrew, frozen in place in the middle of the room, Neil insensible and bleeding on the bed next to his attacker. It seems almost unbelievable that it had barely been two hours since he’d left Neil there in the first place, stranger still that the letter that started it all had only come that morning.

Andrew doesn’t dare move until he hears footsteps entering the house. He doesn’t take his eyes off Neil’s body as he leaves the room walking gently backwards, seeing the way Neil flinches with each movement.

Andrew reaches the living room just as Kevin opens his mouth to call out. He’s panting slightly, like he’d run from the car, and Andrew could see Matt and Abby pacing it up the path behind him, their faces all filled with confusion and fear. All three of their gazes snap to Andrew immediately as he comes into view and Matt shoulders his way past Kevin as he passes the threshold.

“What’s happened? Where’s Neil?”

That single-minded focus on his friend’s wellbeing was the only reason Andrew had insisted he’d been brought along. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have, but, as much as he’d hoped it wouldn’t be the case, a part of him had told Andrew that Neil might not want comfort from him after what he’d done. It was the same reason he’d asked for Abby not Aaron to patch him up- simply because Neil preferred her.

“He’s in my room,” Andrew begins, and is forced to throw an arm out to stop Matt from going to him immediately. “He’s- they- he can’t…” He doesn’t know what to say. Where to start. How to tell them that it’s all his fault.

“Andrew,” Abby is moving gently towards him now, Kevin behind her pale-faced and worried. She has a large hard-case first-aid kit in her hand. “Let’s prioritise and simplify, okay?”

Andrew wants to be annoyed by the exaggerated, cloying softness in her tone, but there’s an unwilling sense of relief that washes over him when he realises someone else is helping make the decisions now. He nods curtly.

“Is Neil hurt?”

He nods, and Matt, predictably, takes another step towards the bedroom but stops at the vicious look in Andrew’s eyes. He can’t just go storming and blustering in, not with the state Neil’s in.

Abby makes a soft noise and Andrew’s eyes snap back to her. She’s a little closer now, and her voice is calm and quiet.

“Is he hurt badly?”

He doesn’t know what to say.

“I don’t- I didn’t see. He- I’m not sure. I wasn’t here… not for all of it.”

Abby nods, like this information means nothing, like she isn’t burning with confusion and concern.

“Is he conscious?”

Again, Andrew hardly knows how to answer her.

“Yes. I think so. But he can’t- he’s not present, he- I don’t think he knows what’s going on. He won’t let me near him, I don’t know what to do, and it’s all my fucking fault and it was a stupid, stupid mistake and now he’s trapped in his fucking memories and he’s bleeding and-”

Abby moves like she’s going to embrace him, but he’s too tired and drained to do more than back away from her gently raising arms. She drops them the second he does, and the room pauses for a moment, Matt and Kevin hovering with anxiety and Andrew rattled and exhausted.

Kevin is the next to speak.

“Andrew,” his voice is barely a whisper. “What happened?”

“Not now, Kevin,” Matt snaps, half-turning to him but not taking his eyes off Andrew. “Andrew, just let us go to him, okay? He needs help and we’re not going to hurt him. You asked us here, so let us help.”

They share a look. Andrew can see the desperate care in Matt’s eyes, and decides to trust that he’ll be able to hold back his usual smothering tendencies and be an actual calming presence. Andrew nods carefully and leads the way to his room.

He pauses outside the room again.

“Don’t make any sudden movements. Don’t talk too loud. You and you,” he points to Kevin and Matt, “stay here until I say you can come in.” With that, he gives Abby a significant look and steps with her through the doorway.

She stifles a soft gasp at the sight that greets her, but to her credit, takes it in her stride and doesn’t react further. Andrew is blocking most of the doorway with his body, but Kevin and Matt are both so much taller than him that there’s nothing he can do to block their view of the room and the carnage within. They both gasp and Kevin lets out a quiet yelp at the sight of the Ravens, but neither of them try to push past Andrew to get to where Neil is quivering on the bed.

Abby is speaking to him gently from across the room.

“Neil? It’s Abby here. You’re safe now, okay?” She hazards a small step forwards, but stops halfway through the movement when Neil gasps and tries to curl in on himself. Abby raises her arms slowly, palms facing upwards and keeps them close to her body, elbows pulled in. “No-one here is going to hurt you Neil. We’re here to help.”

Every instinct in Andrew’s body is yelling at him to pull her away, not to let anyone near Neil when he’s so vulnerable but he grits his teeth against the feeling.

He watches silently with Matt and Kevin as, over the next several minutes, Abby makes her way over and crouches next to the bed, each progression achingly slow. She sets her first-aid kit on the floor as she kneels, painstakingly careful. Her head is level with Neil’s and his eyes are looking near her face but there’s no sign of recognition. She’s talking to him constantly with a low, soothing voice, reassuring him that he’s safe and they’re not going to hurt him.

“We should move the Ravens,” Matt whispers quietly behind Andrew. He agrees, but isn’t sure how well three extra, male bodies entering the room would be received right now. He makes a noncommittal noise and keeps watching Neil.

Abby is slowly raising a hand towards Neil’s face and before he can stop himself, Andrew is taking a half-step into the room, protective instincts blaring. There’s no need. The second Abby’s gentle fingers make hesitant contact with Neil’s sweaty forehead, it’s like a wire has been cut. His whole body slumps into the mattress, his jaw relaxes enough for him to suck a shuddering breath in through his open mouth. His eyes snap to Abby’s and Andrew sees the first sign of true understanding in hours cross them. There’s a high whine coming from his throat as Abby strokes a hand through his hair and an emotion Andrew doesn’t want to name coils in his stomach at the sound.

Neil’s breathing is ragged but more purposeful than before, like he’s consciously trying to catch his breath. His hand is still shaking in the cuff and but his eyes are fixed on Abby’s, drinking in her reassuring face like a man starved of water. He swallows roughly and draws in another shaky breath before he speaks.

“Can- can you uncuff me?” He asks quietly and Andrew hears Matt suck in a gasp behind him, apparently just now noticing the handcuff through the mess of blood and torn skin. Not taking her hand from its comforting place in Neil’s matted curls, Abby darts a quick, asking glance across at Andrew. He steps gingerly into the room and tries not to notice the way Neil stiffens at his approach. Abby doesn’t seem to feel it, but Andrew still passes her the key instead of freeing him himself, and steps back to his sentinel post in the doorway.

Abby makes quick work of the cuff despite how careful she has to be around Neil’s ruined wrist. Once he’s free, Neil doesn’t move the wrist other than letting it drop into the blood-soaked sheets underneath it. He finally closes his eyes and sucks in another shuddering breath, and a final piece of tension bleeds out of him, as though the restraint had been holding him back from his final vestiges of sanity. Abby waits for him to look back at her before she speaks again.

“Where are you hurt, Neil?”

“Who’s here?” He ignores her question, but doesn’t look around to see for himself. There’s a business-like clarity to the question, a sharp juxtaposition to his incoherent panic of a moment ago. Andrew guesses this is a different kind of survival instinct kicking in. Now that the danger has passed and he’s not wrestling with his own mind, Neil is focusing on cataloguing his situation and taking stock of his surroundings.

Abby gathers herself quickly from the abrupt turn around in tone.

“I came here with Kevin and Matt, and they’re just outside the door. And Andrew’s here in the doorway, he’s the one who called to let us know that you were hurt.” Andrew can see Neil very deliberately not react to that. “And there are two other men who are unconscious.”

“Can you get rid of them?” Neil asks quietly, not looking away from Abby. “The Ravens, can you get them out please, Matt?”

“Sure thing, buddy,” Matt says calmly from behind Andrew, who has no choice but to step aside to let him into the room. Once Matt is in, Neil lifts his head slightly to look him up and down, like he’s confirming to himself that it is, indeed, Matt. He nods at him and Andrew sees Matt’s shoulders slump in relief at the acceptance. “Is it alright if I get Andrew to help me move these guys?”

“Get Kevin to help,” Neil tells him.

Andrew has no choice but to stand by and watch as Kevin and Matt march determinedly march over to the unconscious Raven on the floor and pick him up, one at his shoulders and one at his feet. They lift him silently out of the room and Andrew moves back into the hallway to let them pass. They return empty-handed a few minutes later and Andrew tries not to read into the fact that Neil doesn’t recoil as they approach the bed to tug away the mutilated attacker behind him.

Returning with laser focus to her task, Abby prompts him again to tell her where he’s hurt when the other two are taking the man away. Neil, predictably, sighs at this, but begins cataloguing his injuries with an almost detached efficiency.

“The guy caught me in the chest with a knife, but I don’t think it’s any more than a scratch, honestly. I think my shoulder is dislocated, he was kneeling on my arm, and, uh, the guy I kicked in the face got me pretty hard in the stomach with his combat boots but I don’t think anything is broken. They got me in the head a couple of times but nothing serious.”

The coil of emotion in Andrew’s stomach begins twisting faster and faster as Neil lists his injuries. Abby waits a moment before she asks her next question.

“And your wrist?”

Neil sighs again, and there’s enough of a dark hint of a laugh in it to make Andrew want to hit something.

“Yeah,” he says in a low voice. “My wrist is pretty fucked up.” Abby nods and begins to open her first-aid kit. Matt and Kevin return and Andrew doesn’t have the energy to wonder what they’ve done with the Ravens.

“Neil, can I come in?” Matt asks gently from just outside the door, and steps eagerly inside when Neil nods. Kevin doesn’t follow him, staying silently in the hallway with Andrew. He can feel Kevin’s eyes on his face and does his best to keep his face neutral. He’s not going to give anything away before he has to.

Matt is bent over next to the bed now, with a comforting hand on Neil’s knee. Abby asks quietly if he thinks he can sit up and Andrew tries not to notice the spasm that goes through him when Neil lets out a groan of pain.

She patches up the thin slash on his chest, the bruised temple and the tiny scratch on the skin of his throat, but eventually there’s nothing more Abby can do with his shoulder as it is. Neil grits his teeth as he readies himself, but a cry of agony still escapes him as Abby makes a quick assessment, then slams his joint back into place. She and Matt catch him as he slumps forward afterwards, and there’s a physical ache permeating Andrew’s being every second he forbids himself from going to him. He can practically feel Kevin getting more and more confused and inquisitive every moment Andrew is not by Neil’s side, but Andrew continues to ignore him with gritted teeth as he watches Abby gently pull Neil’s arm into a sling. Abby had offered him painkillers when she started patching him up, but Neil had unsurprisingly declined, and he’s sweating through the pain now, jaw clenched and brow furrowed as he’s bandaged up.

Now turning to Neil’s mutilated wrist, Abby leaves Matt to keep propping him up as she readies wipes and bandages. Andrew can’t seem to look away as she painstakingly wipes away the congealing blood and gently wraps rolls of white cloth over the ruined skin. He can’t quite ignore the low moan of pain Neil doesn’t catch in time, nor the way he turns his face slightly into Matt’s protective embrace as Abby ties the bandage off. She’s done her best to be gentle and efficient, but Neil is sweating bullets and he looks queasy and worryingly grey, practically slumping into Matt, who’s now perched on the bed next to him so as to support his exhausted body better. Abby taps his palm gently.

“Can I lift up your shirt, Neil? I want to take a look at where you said they kicked you.”

Neil looks nauseated and this is where Andrew would normally put his foot down and push the others away- but before he can step in and growl at Abby’s prying, Neil gives the tiniest nod and closes his eyes. Andrew deflates and settles back on his heels. Kevin’s gaze is positively burning on his face now.

There’s not much Abby can do for the darkening bruise on Neil’s scarred stomach, but she confirms with gentle fingers that nothing is broken or damaged past the visible blemish. She begins to pack away her first-aid kit and there’s a sense of relief through all present when it becomes apparent that there’s no need to continue panicking.

“I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking you to come with me to the hospital?” The words are half-joking, as though Abby wants to ask but knows she won’t get anywhere.

There’s a huff of breath that can’t quite be counted as laughter.

“If you’re bothering to ask it means I don’t really need one,” he says, in a poor imitation of casualness.

Abby laughs at that, and Matt finds somewhere to pat him that doesn’t make him wince.

“Well alright then,” Matt says with forced cheer. “Did you want to come back to the Tower with us or stay here with-”

“I’ll come back to the Tower,” Neil interrupts, and Andrew forces his face to remain neutral as Matt’s eyes flick momentarily to him and back.

They begin the slow process of manoeuvring Neil up off the bed and out to where Matt has parked haphazardly on the curb at the front of the house. Partly to put off the inevitable, Andrew busies himself while they do, with packing up what little he and Neil had brought to the house, but there’s only so much time he can waste before he’s stepping outside and locking the door behind him. He turns to the street in time to see Neil determinedly stepping into Matt’s truck, and the resulting glances his way from Matt and Abby. He pretends not to care and goes to unlock his Maserati, throwing his and Neil’s bags into the backseat and. He straightens as he goes to get into the driver’s seat and finds Kevin waiting on the passenger’s side. There’s a moment of eye contact, a quick stand-off that is oddly silent from Kevin’s side before Andrew remembers he’s pretending nothing’s wrong, and acquiesces.

He and Kevin are buckling themselves in as Matt’s truck peels away from the curb. He wonders vaguely if Matt knows the journey back well enough to lead the convoy. Then he figures either Matt or Abby will have navigation services on their phone, or that Neil will be able to direct them back to the freeway at least.

He’s following Matt’s truck out of the dark suburbs before he realises he doesn’t know what happened to the Ravens- not the two Matt and Kevin had removed, nor the one who’d come to meet him and had wound up with a stab wound. Andrew works his jaw while he ponders whether or not to bother mentioning it to Kevin. He doesn’t want to invite conversation of any kind, and, truly, he doesn’t give a fuck, but it would maybe be helpful in the long run to know whether or not he’d left a corpse on that road or just a battered Raven who’d think twice about coming to face him one-on-one again. He resolves to bring it up at a later point, once his knuckles aren’t so tense on the steering wheel they’re turning white and making gentle popping noises.

The car is silent for once. He’s impressed with Kevin’s restraint, really he is. Usually, Kevin would have said something unbearably obnoxious by now, like asking when Neil would be able to get back on the Exy court or just being completely bull-headed and just going ahead and asking why Neil won’t look at Andrew. It’s only a matter of time, though, and Andrew has little confidence in his ability not to punch whoever asks first.

They’re halfway back before Kevin speaks up, and it’s with an uncharacteristic carefulness when he does.

“I just realised, none of us thought to check earlier, we were so focused on Neil, but are you okay, are you hurt?”

He wasn’t expecting that to be the first question out of Kevin’s mouth. It is, at least, one he can answer.

“I’m fine.”

It sounds as though Kevin is trying to stifle a laugh. Andrew doesn’t ask, but Kevin tells him anyway.

“You sound like Neil when you say that.”

At the resulting look on Andrew’s face, Kevin very wisely stays quiet for the rest of the journey.

Matt gets to the Tower just ahead of them, which is a feat in and of itself. Andrew had spent most of the drive confidently abusing the speed limit, the feel of the powerful engine growling under him and the sight of the landscape flying past the windows making the tiny voices in the back of his head quiet a little for the first time in hours. Matt and Abby are guiding Neil into the Tower just as Andrew is pulling into the parking lot, and he barely takes the time to check the Maserati is locked behind him before he’s speeding after them. He’s not sure what Kevin told the other Foxes before they left so he has no idea what kind of reception Neil will be walking into right now. Once he’s caught up, Kevin lagging behind by a few moments, he stays a respectful few steps behind them through the lobby, but has no choice but to crowd into the elevator with the rest of them or risk drawing even more attention by arriving separately. He feels eyes on the back of his head the whole way up. Once they reach the team’s floor, he steps against the wall to let the others pass him first. Matt looks like he’s holding Neil up more and more with every step, the shorter man leaning tiredly against his side with his bandaged wrist slung around Matt’s waist.

There’s nobody waiting for them in the hall, but once Matt tugs Neil into his suite- Neil’s old suite, not the one he now shares with Andrew, Nicky and Kevin, there are low voices calling out in greeting and then shock. Andrew lags behind again, stopping in the doorway to see Neil waving off the concern of the assembled Foxes and heading into the bedroom with Matt. Dan, Nicky, Allison and Renee are sat together in the living room, and are joined immediately by Kevin and Abby. Aaron emerges from the bedroom a moment later, his usual veneer of disgust at having been displaced tinged with curiosity.

Kevin is immediately bombarded with questions, which he answers as best as he can. Andrew isn’t blind to the confused glances sent his way through the next few minutes. Everyone is clearly baffled by the distance he’s allowing between himself and an injured Neil, but Andrew gives them no response, his bored countenance belying none of the uncustomary turmoil beneath. Nicky is the only one stupid enough to ask him a direct question, which he returns with an unblinking, silent glare until Nicky swallows and turns back to the others, clearly more curious than ever.

Andrew isn’t quite sure what he’s going to do next. He’s used to being on the fringe of conversation, but this sense of helplessness is new to him. He wants nothing less than he wants to step forwards and explain himself to the Foxes and face their wrath, but he doesn’t want to go back to his dorm alone and wait for some of them to follow him, either. He thinks he wants to go to Neil in the bedroom, but is sure he wouldn’t be well received. He really wants to call Bee, but it’s the middle of the night by now, and he can’t have the conversation he needs with so many people around. And, as unwelcome as he may be right now, he doesn’t want to move further from Neil.

He’s saved from making a decision a few minutes later when the door to the bedroom opens and Matt storms out. The Foxes’ conversation dies out as he marches across the room, murder in his eyes and Andrew braces himself. He takes the punch to his jaw with silent acceptance, and lifts his aching face back to meet Matt’s furious gaze once his head has stopped spinning. Matt’s breath is coming in and out of his flared nostrils like an angry bull’s, chest heaving. The room is in uproar. Nicky and Abby cry out, Aaron sounds furious at Matt. Dan runs forwards and starts tugging Matt away as Renee moves to stand next to Andrew and he’s not sure who she’s there to protect. The room seems to be waiting for him to react to the attack, but he doesn’t oblige, simply staring back at Matt with his hands in his pockets.

“What the hell was that for, you moron?” Aaron is yelling.

Matt shakes himself out of his angry stupor and turns back to the bedroom, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder as he leaves the room again.

“Ask him.”

There’s no way Andrew can hope to avoid the eyes that turn to him this time, but before anyone can ask him anything, there are two simultaneous message tones from people’s phones. Renee and Kevin dig their phones out of their pockets and Andrew really wishes he were just about anywhere else right now. He curses internally as they both scan their screens, then turn back to him, their faces aghast.

“Are you fucking serious?” Kevin’s voice is practically a whisper, eyes wide. The room goes silent again. Allison makes a grab for Renee’s phone, but she keeps it from her greedy hands with ease. Nicky is looking fearfully between Andrew, Kevin and the door between them and Neil. Dan looks like she doesn’t quite know what to do. Andrew knows how she feels.

A silent moment later, everyone jumps as Andrew’s phone starts buzzing. He wants to throw it out the window, but sees Coach’s number flashing on the screen and turns back in the hallway to answer it, ignoring the instant babble of conversation that starts up behind him the second he turns away.

“Andrew? Is that you? I swear to god, if this is one of the fucking Ravens I will hunt you down and-”

Andrew cuts Wymack off before he can go any further.

“It’s me.”

“Andrew, thank fuck, what in the hell is going on? Abby gets a call from Kevin two hours ago telling her she needs to get to the Tower and go straight to Columbia and then I hear jack shit about whatever crisis is apparently happening until I get a text from your phone telling me you’re probably dead and you’ve left Neil handcuffed to a fucking bedpost so you can go square up to some sodding Ravens!” There’s movement from the other end of the line, and then Andrew hears a car starting. Wymack’s voice goes echoey like he’s on speaker, and Andrew knows he’ll be at the Tower in minutes. “Andrew, what the fuck is going on? Are you hurt? Is Neil hurt? Are you at the Tower, because I’m on my way. Or do you need me to come to Columbia?”

“We’re at the Tower. I’ll explain when you get here.” Andrew tells him shortly, ending the call and shoving his phone back in his pocket. He knows he’ll have to explain everything properly and he doesn’t have the energy to do it more than once. Even the thought of having to bare everything to Bee has him throwing walls up left, right and center, but he shakes the feeling off and goes back into the suite.

By the look of things, nobody has been clued in any in his absence, which Andrew attributes mostly to Renee’s influence. She’s waiting for him by the door, a guarded look on her face but her customary gentleness is like a soothing balm to Andrew’s jagged edges. He allows himself to take a little comfort in her reassuring presence then turns to look at the others. Kevin looks like he’s been forbidden from showing the others the text and is sulking a little, but there’s more than a little judgement in his eyes when he looks at Andrew. Everyone else still looks totally bemused and the door to the bedroom is still shut tight.

Feeling half a dozen pairs of eyes following his movements as he does, Andrew crosses the room to drop himself into an empty armchair. He lets his head fall backwards against the headrest and kicks his feet up onto one of the low coffee tables, the very picture of boredom.

“Coach is on his way,” he tells the ceiling. The others don’t respond, and even without looking, Andrew can tell they’re exchanging glances. His attitude isn’t surprising, but the fact that he’s here and not with Neil or off on his own is doubtless enough to give pause to those who don’t know what’s going on.

They seem to know that he won’t be forthcoming with any more information until Coach gets there, and the room fills with tense, quiet chatter.

Andrew senses a presence near him, but doesn’t react as Renee settles herself on the floor next to his chair. She doesn’t speak. She just sits there, and he wonders if she’s there for comfort or in case he snaps and she has to restrain him. Wouldn’t be the first time, so he doesn’t blame her.

It’s not long before they hear footsteps in the hall outside. The tentative conversations that have sprung up die out as Wymack barrels into the room. He comes stumbling to a stop as he takes in the group facing him, and Andrew can see him doing a mental headcount. He obviously comes up short and turns to Andrew.

“Where’s Josten?”

When Andrew doesn’t respond immediately, Abby gets to her feet and moves to gently tug Wymack into the room, settling him on one of the sofas.

“He’s in the bedroom, with Matt. He’s okay.”

Wymack doesn’t look entirely confident with her assessment, but refrains from going into the bedroom to check for himself and turns to Andrew again.

“Are you going to explain what the fuck you meant by this, Minyard?” He waves his phone in the air, and it’s like a red flag in front of a bull. The rest of the Foxes lock onto it like heat seeking missiles.

“You got a text too?” Dan looks desperate for information, her eyes begging to be let in on whatever is being kept from her.

“Sure did,” Wymack bristles, opening up his messages. “Almost gave me a fucking heart attack. What in the hell is going on, Minyard?”

Dan is reading the text over Wymack’s shoulder, and Andrew watches passively as her face pales. She claps a hand to her mouth, and looks up at him, aghast.

At her reaction, Allison has clearly had enough of being kept out of the loop and plucks Kevin’s phone from his hands, ignoring his squawks of protest. Andrew doesn’t bother trying to stop her as she pulls up the text and reads it out loud.

“If you’re getting this it means I’m either dead or too hurt to stop it from being sent. Neil is at the house in Columbia. The Ravens sent us an ultimatum and I’ve gone to meet them to stop Neil from getting hurt again. He’s cuffed to the bed in one of the bedrooms. The key is on the living room table. Tell Neil I’m sorry.”

Everyone is looking at him. Andrew looks past them all to the bedroom door and tries to guess what they’ll ask first, and who will be brave enough to break the silence.

“Are you hurt?” Wymack is first.

Kevin assures Wymack that he’s fine when Andrew doesn’t reply.

“So what happened?” Allison is shaking her long hair out of her face, chucking Kevin’s phone back to him and crossing her arms over her chest. “You went to all that trouble to be the one to go meet the Ravens, you cuffed Neil to a fucking bed to keep him safe, but somehow he’s the one who comes back looking like he’s been hit by a truck.”

“And, really, Andrew, you couldn’t take five seconds to turn off the timed text? I’m getting old, you know, you can’t be pulling this kind of shit and expect my blood pressure to cope with it.”

Andrew answers Wymack first.

“I forgot,” he shrugs, keeping his hands in his hoodie pocket so the others can’t see his shaking hands curling into fists. “I was a little preoccupied.” He turns to Allison next, and barely bothers trying to keep the venom out of his voice. “And Neil was the one who ended up getting hurt because I misjudged how much exactly the Ravens were thirsting for his blood. They never really wanted mine- they only cared that I was the one going to meet them because it meant I’d left Neil defenceless. Imagine how thrilled they were when they realised that I’d not only left him alone, I’d left him handcuffed and insensible with panic. It’s no wonder, he’d already torn his wrist to shreds trying to free himself before I’d even left the room.”

He takes vicious pleasure in the way the team blanches at that. It’s vindictive and petty and macabre, but a tiny part of him feels a sense of release now that everyone else knows what he did and now will be haunted by the image of Neil tied down, panicking and injuring himself in his attempts to get away.

“Jesus,” Dan whispers, hands over her mouth.

Nicky is avoiding his gaze, seemingly transfixed on his hands on his lap, eyes brimming with tears he looks like he’s afraid to let fall. Aaron doesn’t seem to know what to do with his face, and Kevin and Wymack look queasy. Abby looks like she might cry, but stays quiet and still. Renee is a silent presence at his side, but Allison seems to be gearing up for another attack.

“How could you do that to him? Why didn’t you come to us? We could have helped, you didn’t need to go and- I mean, you, of all people, know the shit he’s been through, how could you do that to him, how could you tie him up and leave him there panicking and scared, and, Jesus, tearing his own wrist open to try and get away? You fucked up-”

“You don’t think I know that?” Andrew is on his feet now, and everyone is staring at him again. He doesn’t raise his voice, but there’s that familiar undercurrent to his tone, that bite of spite and viciousness that makes them recoil in fear as he speaks. “You don’t think I hated myself every second I left him there, knowing the memories I was pulling up and shoving back into his brain? He was bleeding and sobbing before I’d even left the room, but I did, I left him there and went to go and try and protect him like I haven’t been able to before, and guess what? It didn’t even fucking work. They were a step ahead from the start, they knew that either way he’d be left alone and I went and made it so much worse. I didn’t protect him, I didn’t just let him get hurt, I betrayed him and now he won’t let me touch him, he won’t look me in the eye and there’s nothing I can fucking do to make it better. So whatever you have to say to me, whatever you want to yell and scream at me, however many of you want to punch me in the face until I bleed, just know that I deserve every second of it and I won’t stop any of it because nothing I can do will ever make up for what I did tonight.” There’s a hot pressure behind his eyeballs when he stops speaking. His lungs feel starved for air despite the evenness of his tone and his teeth clack together as he snaps his jaw shut, words exhausted.

Someone clears their throat.

“He wants to talk to you,” Matt says from the doorway to the bedroom. Everyone jumps, and turns to look silently at him. Andrew hadn’t even noticed him appear, too caught up in his horribly emotional tirade. When he doesn’t move, Matt steps to the side and gestures him into the bedroom.

He finds it immeasurably difficult to urge his legs into movement. The heads of the Foxes twitch between him and Matt like spectators at a tennis match. As Andrew draws level to Matt, the taller boy moves to block the doorway with his body, but wisely doesn’t move to touch him. Andrew has already decided not to retaliate to his earlier punch, but has no faith in his ability to not respond to another unwanted touch right now. Matt leans down slightly to put his mouth close to Andrew’s ear.

“If you ever do something like that to him again, I don’t care how noble you think you’re being, even if it doesn’t wind up with him getting hurt, I will kill you or die trying.” His voice is low and clear. There’s no real sense of violence in his tone, just a clear sense of promise and candour. They make eye contact as Matt pulls away, and Andrew thinks something like understanding passes between them. He doesn’t nod or say anything back, but Matt must take his lack of answer as the response he’s looking for because he lifts his chin and steps out of Andrew’s way.

Conversations spring up immediately in Andrew’s absence, but the noise falls away as the bedroom door swings shut behind him.

Neil isn’t lying down, as Andrew had expected him to be. He’d seemed so exhausted on the journey back from Columbia that he’d half-anticipated he’d be going to sleep the second Matt left. Instead, he’s sitting perched on the end of his old bunk, slightly hunched over with his good arm wrapped round his bruised torso. Well, the arm that’s not in a sling. It’s still wrapped in thick bandages from his wrist to halfway down his forearm.

He doesn’t look up as Andrew crosses the room to stand, tense, a few feet away from his silent companion. He just looks out of the window across the dark campus with tired eyes. The only light in the room is coming from the bedside lamp on the table next to him, and it casts soft shadows across the planes of his bruised face.

Andrew can’t look away.

He’s experienced so much for the first time today, and the continued helplessness that has plagued him through this whole ordeal is an unwelcome novelty. It’s tinged with something different now- there’s no immediate danger or drastic steps he must decide to take, but the lack of peril doesn’t make his next moves any less important. Andrew doesn’t know how thin the ice he’s standing on is right now, if it’s creaking and groaning under his feet with every shift of his weight. Perhaps he’s already smashed his way through and has sent himself to a freezing watery grave. Maybe he’s in the water, floundering, and his next moves will be the ones that decide whether or not he’s thrown a rope and pulled back to dry land.

He has no idea what he’s supposed to do next, what he’s supposed to say. Or, even what he wants to say. Andrew’s never been one for apologies, or begging forgiveness, but even he is feeling a pull to lay him and his mistakes bare and ask for absolution. So much for not believing in regrets.

He finally goes to open his mouth, without even knowing what words will be coming out of his mouth, but Neil is faster than him. Always faster than him.

“I said please,” he says into the still quiet of the dark room. His tone is even, measured. Andrew closes his mouth and watches him. “And you still left.”

A pit opens up under Andrew’s feet and he’s falling down, down, into the darkness. Poison crawls through his veins, revulsion throwing bile into the back of his throat, and the urge to grab one of his blades and just slice-

“So I’m sorry, for that.”

Everything freezes.

A rope snaps taut around his middle, and he’s no longer falling but swinging in midair, miles from the light above him. The poison stops its inevitable creep, but his veins are stained green and, if anything, the urge to throw up is stronger than before.

“What?” His voice is a nothing more than a feeble croak and his gaze is burning into the side of Neil’s face where it’s turned away from him. If Neil would just look at him, just meet his gaze with those infuriating blue eyes of him, maybe Andrew could delve into his brain and work out what the hell he’s thinking.

Neil doesn’t look at him, just keeps staring out the window. He speaks matter-of-factly, without emotion. It’s odd, hearing that level of apathy from him. Andrew hates it.

“I would never want to put you in a that kind of position. I know what that word means to you, and know what it must have done to you to hear it in that context and not be able to do anything about it. I know it must have made you- well, I’m sorry for how that must have made you feel. I don’t want you thinking you’re like the rest of them, like you’re-”

“Are you a fucking moron?” Andrew cuts him off, fury in his voice. His fists are shaking again. “Are you apologising to me right now? Is that what’s happening, Josten? Even for you, and the unfathomably low bar you’ve set over the last two years, that is an inconceivably idiotic thing to do.”

Neil shrugs.

“Just thought I could get that out of the way before we delved into the rest of this evening’s shitshow. Like I said, I know the way that word makes you feel, and I have never wanted to be the reason you feel the way you do right now.”

“Oh, and you know how I feel do you?” The heat in his tone is building as Andrew grows more and more furious. At himself, at Neil, at the whole stupid fucking universe. “You’re nothing, you know nothing about me.”

It’s a lie, an obvious one, a lie that tastes like bitter ash in his mouth but he’s walling himself off now. He wasn’t prepared for this sort of reaction from Neil. He’d expected him to be withdrawn, scared, angry. He’d anticipated to be dumped, to be yelled at, maybe even for Neil to break that last part of his own willpower and shed exhausted tears. He hadn’t anticipated an apology, and certainly not one from this quiet, calm, resigned shadow of Neil’s usual fiery state. He didn’t know what was happening or what would happen next. Andrew is becoming reluctantly familiar with the feeling. He continues his tirade, ignoring the way his stomach twists at the untruths. “Don’t believe for one second that anything you do has any kind of effect on me or the way I live my life.”

“Am I wrong?” Neil turns to look at him now. “Am I wrong about how hearing me say that word made you feel?” His eyes are grey in the dim light and they hold his, unblinking. There’s no expression on his face but Andrew feels himself quailing, feels his walls coming down no matter how hard he tries to push them back up.

“No.” He replies in a whisper, all his false anger gone.

Neil looks at him for another moment, then gives him a soft nod. “There you are, then.” He shrugs and looks out the window again. Andrew misses the eye contact immediately and goes to step forwards, to reach out, anything to get Neil’s attention back.

And then, even though Neil has never before felt truly unsafe around Andrew, even though before tonight Andrew has never laid a finger on Neil in a way he hadn’t expressly consented to, Neil flinches. Because tonight Andrew has finally gone too far, has given Neil reason to fear the thought of his touch. It’s a bond broken, a trust that was so important to Andrew, no matter how much he told the world (and himself) that he didn’t want it.

Neil seems to catch himself in the movement because he closes his eyes halfway through jerking away from Andrew’s approach. It looks as though he’s consciously telling himself to relax, and it takes him a minute to do so. Andrew remains frozen as he does, wary that even stepping away might be more cause for nervousness.

Once he’s sure Neil is truly back in the room and alert enough, Andrew lowers his arm. He hadn’t been going to actually touch Neil, of course not, but he knows Neil now has cause to expect their usual “yes or no” routine to be lacking.

The room is silent for a long minute. It’s suffocating. Neil doesn’t seem like he’s about to say anything else, so this time Andrew takes the initiative.

“I brought your things back from the house.”

Neil lets out an unexpected snort at that, then winces. He lifts his bandaged hand to gently press against his injured shoulder and rubs it absently.

“God, I’ve never seen you this lost for words.”

“I’m not lost for words,” Andrew says hotly, but his ire is stopped in its tracks once Neil looks back up at him.

“You’re making small talk, Andrew.”

His name once again in Neil’s mouth sounds a little like salvation.

“I just didn’t want you to have a panic attack when you realised you hadn’t brought your stupid running shoes back with you.”

“Don’t think I’m going to be allowed out of Matt’s sight long enough to go for a run any time soon.” Neil’s voiceless is void of blame, but Andrew reads far enough into the implications to feel it like a blow to the stomach. He’s spared of coming up with a coherent response when Neil speaks again. “Look, Andrew, we’re never going to get anywhere with this conversation by beating around the bush like this. We both have things we want to say, but the difference between us is that I actually have no idea what you’re feeling right now. But I know for a fact that you can at least hazard a guess at what I want to say, which is why I’m tapping you in to speak first.”

Andrew swallows, feeling trapped by Neil’s steady gaze. There’s still no emotion in his face, but he seems to be drooping even more now, like every second he’s getting more and more exhausted as the trauma of the day catches up with him.

The last thing Andrew wants is to add any more weight to the burden he created today, which is why he doesn’t argue with any of the stupid things Neil just said.

“I’ve never regretted anything before,” he begins in a low voice. His eyes are pleading with Neil, begging him not to look away. He’ll never be able to speak like this again, not with this impossible honesty and emotion. He’s also aware that if he says this wrong, he might lose the most important thing in his life, so he chooses his words carefully. “I’m not used to feeling things I don’t plan for. Today pulled a lot of things to the surface that I wasn’t ready for. When I- when I cuffed you, it was the worst thing I’ve ever done, and I knew it immediately. Not Tilda, not Riko. Not holding on so tight to my own deals I knew it was doing more harm than good. Not all the people I’ve ever hurt or injured or scared. I never regretted any of it, and never will. I did all of it for a reason, and even this, this I did for a reason but it- it wasn’t good enough.

“When I left you there, panicked and bleeding, I wanted to take it back. I wanted to take it back the second you realised what I was about to do and tried to stop me. I wanted to take it back the second I even realised that that’s what I was going to do, but I couldn’t because the fact that I’d thought of doing it meant I’d already betrayed you, and that meant I was past the point of no return, because I wasn’t going to betray you and have it all be for nothing. If I was going to wreck the trust between us, then I should at least betray you by managing to keep you safe.” Andrew thinks distantly that this is maybe the most words he’s ever spoken at a time in his life, but Neil is still looking at him and listening and now the words are coming, he doesn’t think they’ll ever stop. He keeps speaking, the honesty spewing out of him like poison expelled from his stomach. He’s never felt this way before, this urge to be heard, to be understood.

“And then you went and got hurt anyway. I didn’t just fail to protect you, I actively hurt you myself and made it harder for you protect yourself against the next people who came to do you harm. As long as I live, I don’t think this is ever something I will be able to forget. I sent you back into the worst memories of your life and then abandoned you to get even more of those memories carved into you. Neil, I- I’m-” and there is where the words come to a stumbling halt, because he’s never said this before.

He never thought he would, it was so far out of the realm of possibility, because Andrew Minyard didn’t regret. He was cold and calculated and uncaring. Nothing ever affected him enough for him to care how his actions impacted others. He never apologised, because he was never sorry and he never lied and said he was.  But here he was, choking on the words trying to force themselves out of his mouth because he fucked up and he couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear the distance between them. Couldn’t bear to know he was the reason he might never know Neil’s touch again, may never be trusted again. From here on, he was on his own. Yes, he had Aaron and Nicky, even Kevin, but they didn’t trust him. They expected things from him, sure, and more often than not he chose to meet those expectations, but nothing they could give him would compare to the genuine trust Neil had allowed him, had gifted him.

 He’s spiralling again, trapped in the circling thoughts rattling around his tired brain. He registers distantly that his breaths are coming short and quick and notes vaguely that maybe he’s having a panic attack.

Andrew is finally distracted from his overwhelming confusion and mental overstimulation when there’s movement from the other side of the room. Neil is trying to make his way unsteadily to his feet, trying to get to him. He’s clasping his arm around his torso and using the bed frame for leverage. The wince on his face snaps Andrew right back into the present, and he’s across the room in a flash. His hands hover inches above Neil’s shoulders, not touching but close enough that Neil gets the message and slumps back onto the bed. Somewhere in the back of Andrew’s brain, there’s a note of incredulous elation when Neil doesn’t flinch away from his presence, but he shakes it from his mind. Andrew is short enough, and the bed high enough that they’re practically at eye level, despite the fact Neil is sitting down. Neil is looking up at him, and finally, for the first time in hours, Andrew can see what he’s thinking.

Andrew purses his lips. When he speaks, it’s little more than a hoarse whisper, hardly daring to hope.

“Yes or no?”

Wordlessly, Neil lifts up his bandaged arm, the hidden wound of Andrew’s own doing just inches from his face. Neil opens his hand.

“Yes.”

Slowly, Andrew reaches out. Fingers gently wrap themselves around each other and their palms press together. The weight of stone that has been in Andrew’s stomach since the letter arrived this morning lessens for the first time, not gone but faded a little.

Neil uses their joined hands to tug Andrew those few final inches down to his level and closes his eyes. Their foreheads press together, and Andrew closes his own eyes to focus on this miraculous feeling of closeness. He thought he’d never be granted this again. He’s still not sure he’ll ever feel like he deserves it. But like it or not, he trusts Neil. And if Neil still trusts Andrew enough to allow him this, then Andrew will do everything in his power to keep it for as long as he can.