CH1: Betrayal of Voices

Nathaniel made his best attempt at ignoring the pain and pushed up to his knees, his hand almost slipping out from under him due to the blood on the floor. Whether the blood was his own or Jean’s, Nathaniel couldn’t be sure.

“Nate,” Jean breathed out in quiet French. “Stop it. Get the fuck back down.”

Nathaniel never fully understood Jean’s need to please Riko—well, honestly, that wasn’t true. He assumed his motives weren’t much different than Nathaniel’s himself: to have the greatest chance of survival. That had always been Nathaniel’s goal, from the second he was born (don’t worry, he wasn’t blind to that irony). Yet Nathaniel had never been very good at keeping his anger down. Just another wonderful thing he attributed to his fantastic father.

And, just to be clear, Nathaniel meant the ludicrously far-fetched definition of fantastic, not the extraordinarily brilliant one. There was nothing brilliant about Nathaniel’s situation in life.

Despite not being able to keep his anger in-check (thank you, genetics), Nathaniel knew that Jean’s ability to keep his pointed inward wasn’t an innate talent. Nathaniel wasn’t blind to the pure hatred in Jean’s eyes every time he had to stitch Nathaniel up or sit with him as he came back to himself. It was in the way he had to shake out his clenched fists before he could grab the needle. That resentment was never there when Nathaniel had to do those things for Jean, though.

The other Ravens didn’t understand Jean—they always thought his submission made him look like a coward. Jean was many things, an annoying arsehole, for one, but he wasn’t weak. If anything, Jean was stronger than Nathaniel because he was smart. He knew when to give in. Nathaniel, though, wasn’t as lucky. Both methods have their positive attributes, however, and Nathaniel will always point that out.

Jean would tell him that he still didn’t understand how Nathaniel hadn’t learned his place in the Nest. What Jean didn’t realize was that he had. In fact, Nathaniel would only have to look in the mirror to remember his place as fourth from Riko.

Nathaniel knew getting up after a beating like the one Riko just graciously delivered would only push Riko to continue while standing over them laughing. But Nathaniel never felt very safe under Riko, or the people he put over him.

He watched bleary-eyed as Riko walked away.

“Fuck you, Riko,” Nathaniel spat. He smiled as Riko turned around and shoved him back to the ground. Nathaniel collapsed onto his back and Riko straddled his hips to get better leverage to choke him. The lack of oxygen was a relief from the pain. Riko’s cruel smile curled on his face when Nathaniel winced after taking his hands off his throat. Riko then reached down and grabbed Nathaniel’s hair to haul him up before slamming his head into the court wall.

Now that was the final straw. Nathaniel allowed his head to rebound and lull against the black wood of the court when Riko dropped him. Riko stayed on him for a few more seconds before shoving off. Though Nathaniel couldn’t get his eyes open, he doubted the hesitation was anything good.

“Number three,” Riko called once he reached the court door. Jean didn’t move. “Handcuff Wesninski to his bed when you both get back.”

Riko then closed the court door and locked it with a click. The lights shut down a second later. Only then did Nathaniel open his eyes, knowing he wouldn’t see anything different than if he kept them closed.

Nathaniel and Jean listened to each other's breathing as they slowly bled out for about seven minutes before Nathaniel even tried to get back up. He pushed up to his knees, coughing on the floor, unable to help the cruel smile that drew across his mouth.

“Jean,” Nathaniel said. He knew Jean was conscious by the sound of his breathing, but his slight verbal response confirmed it. “Get up.”

Nathaniel dangerously swayed once he made it to his knees and used the court wall to shove himself into a vertical position. He was breathing heavily after standing. He held out a hand for Jean. He and Jean had been together for too long to not have a sixth sense for each other. Jean’s hand met his own a few seconds later and Nathaniel stabilized his arm as much as he could for Jean to pull himself up.

It took some work to get Jean on his feet but once they were standing, they leaned heavily on each other.

“We have to get out of here,” Nathaniel said, switching to French. No one was around to hear, but it felt safer, somehow.

Nathaniel had been trying to come up with a plan for years, but nothing short of a Hail Mary would help them. He hoped that once he joined the college team—if a year early—an opportunity would present itself. Two years in, and nothing had. Nathaniel had to—no, needed to—come up with something.

If he dropped his standards and didn’t think about it too much, then a plan would work. Nathaniel, theoretically, would be able to live with himself if he just got Jean out. Whether or not he could continue living with Riko was something Nathaniel refused to think about. Part of him knew that answer, yet thinking about it would validate it, somehow.

Nathaniel was like a burner phone—it has one use, then it’s thrown out. At this point, getting Jean out is all Nathaniel thought he was useful for–

“I know,” Jean said. The difference was that Jean had no intent on making a plan. He only said it anymore to address what Nathaniel said, and Nathaneil knew that. Both of them wanted to get out, it wasn’t a matter of that. They both went through the same torture, and had been for years. Jean made other plans, just never one for escape.

Nathaniel nodded in the dark before following the edge of the court to the door. He had been left there too many times to not know the way out like the back of his hand.

They made it to their room with Jean only tripping once. Nathaniel twisted the doorknob and felt something off about it. He stopped in his tracks and turned on the lights.

“That motherfucker,” Nathaniel said. The lock on their door was missing. Not that it had ever been useful, but they knew what it meant; despite locking it every night, Riko found his way in easily. It was more of a warning than it was an action.

“Nate,” Jean whispered, Nathaniel scowled as he walked into their room. His eyes zeroed out on the handcuffs hanging off the edge of his bed.

“It’s not like it’s going to make a fucking difference,” Nathaniel said. Jean walked up and stood next to him. They had both been through what Nathaniel was inevitably going to go through that night. Riko’s torture was unpredictable when he was bothered or maybe a little mad.

Riko had patterns, though, when he was really upset—they had been together long enough for Riko to dig up the best way into their minds. Knowing what was going to happen didn’t make it any easier.

When they had first shown up, neither he nor Jean listened to what Riko had told them to do. They had even fought him together, but when you have a whole team at your back that is too scared to do anything but fight with you, Riko won with a floor show.

“I’m not going,” Nathaniel said in French.

“I know,” Jean responded. “He’s going to kill you if you don’t.”

“I’d like to see him try,” Nathaniel said.

“Nate– No. You would not.” Jean turned to look at him.

“It can’t be any worse than what’s going to happen.”

“Yes, it can, and you know that,” Jean responded, harsher that time. Jean knew better than to tell Nathaniel to give up.

“He’s not Nathan.”

Jean sighed and held his arms up for Nathaniel. He didn’t think twice before walking into the embrace, despite the sting that their cuts caused. Jean wrapped both arms around Nathaniel’s shoulders and let his fingers run through his hair. Nathaniel buried his face in Jean’s neck, breathing in the comfort it brought.

Nathaniel and Jean had a weird relationship; they weren’t siblings, but they were as close to brothers as they could get. They were partners, in the true Raven sense of the word. Neither of them knew what family was beyond indifference and pain, so the Raven system was the only description that suited them.

“We’re getting out of here, Jean. This isn’t living,” Nathaniel said.

“You know what will happen the second you leave,” Jean whispered, always the realist. Before he and Jean had come up with some sort of alliance, Nathaniel had thrown it in Jean’s face that he was a coward. That he could run any time he wanted. That he didn’t have the Butcher as a father, waiting for the second Nathaniel inevitably tried to disappear. That Jean’s parents were all the way in France and couldn’t care less about what he did.

Jean could have left whenever he wanted. He knew it didn’t work like that, but if Jean was desperate enough, he could’ve done it. Nathaniel might have even helped him, just on principle.

Nathaniel liked to think that it was because Jean was weak. He couldn’t have been more wrong. He refused, now, to believe that Jean wasn’t willing to leave him there by himself. Jean would have left, during their first years together. Not currently, though.

The feeling was mutual—it was either both of them or neither. Until that night, this was the one moral Nathaniel never thought he would bend on.

“Tomorrow,” Nathaniel whispered into his neck and Jean tightened his arms around his shoulders.

“We can’t leave tomorrow,” Jean said.

“You’re right. Our best chance is during a game. More press-faces and less attention from person to person.” Nathaniel paused before pushing away. “You smell like blood. You need to clean your cuts.”

“I will after,” Jean said. There was only one person in the world who Nathaniel trusted more than anything, and it was the person in front of him, pressing a kiss to his hair before fully stepping back. He knew Nathaniel had reached his limit.

Nathaniel couldn’t help his stomach from bottoming out and the wave of nausea that overtook him. Riko knew what he was doing when he forced Jean or Nathaniel to be the one to hold or tie the other down.

“Riko is going to be back soon,” Jean said.

“I don’t want to,” Nathaniel said.

“I know.” He refused to look in Jean’s eyes and see the pain they held. All of that pain for Nathaniel, never any for himself.

“I want to kill him.” Jean shut up at that. Nathaniel was sure that Jean wanted Riko dead also, but he had most of the want beaten out of him years ago.

Nathaniel winced on his way over to the bed. He was sure he would get blood on the sheets but it wasn’t like it mattered. The sheets were black, for starters, and they looked so tie-dyed by then that it wouldn’t have made a difference if he bled out completely.

Nathaniel laid on his back, ignoring Jean’s look, and tried to calm his breathing. He crossed his wrists in a much too familiar manner. Jean reached for his wrists and Nathaniel cursed himself when he visibly flinched at the touch.

Jean withdrew his hand immediately, closed them behind his back, and waited until he calmed down.

He wasn’t Nathan, but Riko knew the damage he caused.

Jean went back a minute later and clicked the cuffs around his wrists. A spark of fear ignited in Nathaniel’s stomach, lacing its way through his veins before enveloping his throat and closing his vocal cords. He made his best attempt at ignoring his panic at being completely trapped, sprawled across his own bed.

Nathaniel and Jean indirectly hurt each other in so many ways, but they also kept each other alive.

“Je suis désolé," Jean said. He said the same thing every time that happened. Nathaniel didn’t think he or Jean knew why he still said it, much less what it was supposed to mean.

“Jean.” Jean got up and left his bed. “Go to bed,” Nathaniel said. “I don’t give a shit, but you’re going to put yourself through more torture if you watch.”

Nathaniel then turned his gaze to the door and waited.

He had to get out.

Nathaniel then heard four sets of feet in the hallway.

He needed to get out.

The door opened and Riko’s sickening smile was the first thing he saw, clearly looking forward to the show. It made Nathaniel sick. Three other Ravens flanked him.

“So sweet of Jean to get you all ready, Nathaniel. It’s nice to have two playthings,” Riko said. Nathaniel weighed his options, realized that it could only get so much worse, and let his father’s smile stretch across his own face.

After all, his mother taught him where to sink the knife to kill someone and his father showed him how to twist it to cause the most pain. He didn’t have a knife, but he could do them justice in other ways.

“What a pity, Riko, that you can’t touch me yourself. Daddy said no, right? Wait, nevermind—Kengo doesn’t talk to cast-away, side-branch mistakes. Ironic that he cares more about me,” Nathaniel said. He didn’t like labeling himself—despite the truth it was—as a possession, but the way it wiped Riko’s smile off to a clean slate was well worth it. Nathaniel knew he hit home when it took a little longer than usual for Riko to snap back to himself.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed, Wesninski?” Riko asked as he moved forward, holding the door open for three senior players to walk in. Nathaniel felt sick at the sight of them. Each of them had tens of pounds of muscle and height over Nathaniel.

“It doesn’t matter, Riko. You’re not allowed to kill me.” It wasn’t his best comeback, and Riko knew it, if his smile was anything to go by. Nathaniel didn’t want to take his eyes off of Taylor, Johnson, or Baustin. Riko then walked up to Nathaniel, knelt by his head, and used the tip of his knife to turn his head to look him in the eyes.

“You know there are worse things than death.” Nathaniel didn’t answer. “And I’m going to show you that, number three.” Nathaniel hated how Bautsin’s eyes seemed to light up in disgusting need. Nathaniel took a breath before speaking again, staring right into those sadistic, satanic eyes.

“While you do this, Riko, I want you to remember that no matter how much you torture me, or how painful you make my nights, I am not going to back down and I am not going to quit. And no matter how many petty, stupid insults you throw my way, or how many lines you carve into my body, at the end of the day, no one will care when you die. The only people who show up at your funeral will be people too afraid to do something different. Not Ichirou, and definitely not your father. It’s not like anyone actually cares about you,” Nathaniel said, digging his own grave. He noticed Jean sit up in his bed in his peripheral vision, willing him to stop with the weight of his gaze. Nathaniel had never been one to follow orders well. And the pain was on him tonight, not on Jean, so did it matter? “I bet Day won’t even take one step in your direction, dead or alive.”

Nathaniel hated how he loved the truth of that last statement.

Riko seethed with such clear anger that Nathaniel smiled, almost laughed. He knew the torture he was going to go through that night would be as bad as it could have been regardless; provoking Riko was just a little plus. It didn’t make anything worse. Well, at least not too much worse.

“You’re going to regret that, Nathaniel,” Riko gritted out. “I’m going to have you begging me to make it stop, begging me for my generosity.” Jean got off his bed, moving to intervene. Riko smiled at his movement. “And if not, I’ll turn this over to Jean.” Nathaniel froze at that. Taylor and Johnson walked over to Jean, grabbing his arms before he could make it to Riko, and then Johnson started throwing punches. Nathaniel knew Jean could take it, but Riko also knew how to make Nathaniel listen.

Riko knew how to make Nathaniel beg, and Nathaniel resented him for it.

Jean groaned at a brutal hit to his abdomen, doubling over his stomach if not for Taylor holding him. Nathaniel didn’t need to turn and look.

“Stop,” Nathaniel said. Riko did nothing to stop, just looked at Nathaniel and raised his eyebrows. Jean’s knees hit the ground, the sound echoing through Nathaniel’s head. “Stop, King.” The name tasted like bile in his throat yet caused Riko to smile, knowing how much Nathaniel hated saying it.

“Where are your manners, Nathaniel?” Riko asked, because of course it wasn’t enough. Nathaniel gritted his teeth.

“Please, King. Stop hurting him. Hurt me instead,” Nathaniel said and Riko finally held up a hand, calling a halt to his players. Taylor shrugged and let go of Jean, causing Nathaniel to wince when he heard Jean collapse on the floor, gasping through clenched teeth.

“I know how to break you, Nathaniel. Now tell me that you deserve to be punished for what you said,” Riko commanded.

Nathaniel had seen it all from Riko, had seen or experienced every terrible thing that Riko had done, but using his own words against him almost seemed worse. It was something Riko recently tried out, and it worked-–oh, it worked. When everything else was stripped away from him, constantly and whenever Riko felt like it, he should have control of what he does or doesn’t say. Jean knew how much it tore into Nathaniel when his own voice was used against him. After a few particularly brutal nights, the sound of Nathaniel’s own voice made himself flinch. His own fucking voice.

“I deserve to be punished,” Nathaniel said. He felt himself slip away a little.

“Why?” Riko asked, always amused yet never pleased.

“Because I disobeyed my King.” He slipped a little further with each word. Riko then motioned for Baustin to come over before nodding at him. Baustin then straddled Nathaniel’s waist and the panic enveloped his senses despite the walls he tried to build around himself. He was always too late.

“Good boy. Now tell me that you deserve this, Nathaniel,” Riko said, grinning all the while. Nathaniel felt like he was going to vomit. He hesitated. “Tell me that you deserved this and thank me for making it happen.”

“Non,” Jean whispered, earning him a punch from Riko himself. “Do not do it. I will take it.” Riko then backhanded Jean, causing him to groan where his head collided with the post of his bed. Riko didn’t like to be left out of conversations.

“Say it or I’ll do that again, Nathaniel,” Riko said. He could hear Jean trying to stifle any noises of pain.

Nathaniel knew Jean could handle it. He knew that Jean didn’t offer himself up blindly, or stupidly. He knew when to back down, yet he knew when to try and save his partner.

“I deserve this. Thank you for this, King,” Nathaniel said. He wanted to scream. And worst of all, he knew he was going to

“A new toy,” Riko taunted. “Remember that I own both of you. You are possessions, Moreau and Wesninski.” Riko then walked back to the wall and leaned against it. “You can start whenever you like, Baustin.” Nathaniel glared at the backliner as he leaned down, running his hands under the hem of his shirt before traveling them upward. His shirt was cut off quickly and Baustin reached the waistband of Nathaneil’s pants, slipping his fingers under the bands before ripping them down. It was when Baustin then reached to undo his own where Nathaniel really started to panic.

Riko laughed.

“It’s okay,” Baustin whispered in his ear. One of his rough hands held Nathaniel’s head while the other played with the lines of his scars. “Shh. It’s okay. You look so pretty, exactly where you belong. You’re so good, Nate.” Nathaniel did a full body flinch at the name. Only Jean ever called him that. Riko laughed out loud, obnoxious in his ways.

Nathaniel didn’t even hear Baustin when he said it again, too busy gagging over the side of his bed. He eventually pulled in ragged breaths, his throat tightening. Nathaniel caught Jean’s eyes. He could see the misery in them.

“Come back to me,” Jean said. “Do not leave.”

Sometimes, Nathaniel wished he stopped fighting.

All Nathaniel knew was that he had to get out. He never managed to stop struggling.

After seeing his reaction, Baustin–then Johnson–got full use of calling him Nate, Riko smirking the whole way through, never taking his eyes off him and Jean.

He needed to get out, because Nathaniel didn’t know how much longer he would last.

–

Jean heard and watched everything. He heard four people walk in. He heard Riko taunt Nathaniel. He heard Nathaniel’s ingenious yet stupid remarks soon followed by Jean’s own attempt to protect him. He was never really able to stop himself when it came to protecting Nate, despite it having helped them only once or twice.

He got beaten until his vision started to blur before Riko hit him one more time himself. His head colliding with the post of his bed ensured a concussion he was trying to avoid. He shut up at that point, knowing it would only bring them both more pain.

Jean tried not to scream as he watched Nate—his Nate—get raped in front of him. He vomited beside his bed twice, once Nate started pleading. Nights this bad didn’t happen often, but they were frequent enough that Nate’s mind wouldn’t block it out.

Riko knew the exact torture it put him through, considering his glances at Jean every so often. Jean then heard the cries Nathaniel tried to muffle in his sheets. He heard Riko laugh. He heard them talk about what they planned to do to Nathaniel if he ever said a word, and what they planned to do to Jean. He watched Nat—no, not anymore—his partner white-knuckle the headboard as if it was a lifeline he was afraid to let go of.

Only Jean knew that he actually was. Throughout everything, this idiot was still scared to die. Jean did not understand.

He thought about a new name for him. His partner had always struggled with his names. He used to flinch every time someone called him Nathaniel, and after he got used to that, every time Riko called him Wesninski. Clearly, Riko had gotten bored as his partner no longer flinched at that either.

Riko and the seniors eventually left, throwing the keys to the cuffs at Jean. He saw the kick coming but his processing speed had slowed throughout the night. It landed on his ribs, throwing him back into his desk. The sudden movement jerked his already blurry, fading vision, but the pain that spidered across his ribs made the darkness take over.

—

Jean woke up sometime later, not sure how long it had been. There was no clock or window to tell, but most of his cuts had clotted by then, so he assumed it was a while. It took a moment for him to get his limbs relatively coordinated. He sat up and froze when his vision swam. His disgust towards sudden movements overpowered his need to throw up.

He eventually made his way over to Neil, without feeling most of his body.

“Neil,” Jean said. It took Neil a minute to understand the name-change. “Can I touch you?” Neil nodded his consent. He had once told Jean that he no longer had to ask him, but Jean never planned on stopping.

Jean reached up and slowly pried Neil’s hands off of the headboard. He then undid the cuffs. They both stilled for a couple minutes, Jean unwilling to move Neil until he was ready. It gave him time to fully take in his partner’s condition; he was lying limp in his bed, his face bloodied and his eyes barely open, with a partially split lip, one of his eyes red from where Riko had nicked his eyeball with the knife. Bruises were forming on his wrists and thighs, blood and other things soaking into the sheets.

If it wasn’t for Neil’s shallow breathing, Jean would have thought he was dead.

“Neil,” Jean said, wanting to move Neil’s arms that were still above his head. A cruel smile drew across Neil’s face and Jean winced. “Fuck, Neil. Can you not do that?”

Neil then pushed himself on one of his elbows before leaning forward and wrapping his arms around Jean’s neck.

“Can I?” Jean asked.

“Yes,” Neil mumbled, voice strained, before lightly flinching at the sound. Jean then latched onto Neil and had to bite his lip when he heard Neil quietly cry into his neck. No one would have noticed, Jean was not even sure if Neil was truly crying, yet his shoulders wracked with unsteady breathing. Jean hated how much he could understand it.

Jean subtly pulled up the cuffs of his sweatshirt, letting his scarred wrists run over Neil’s bare back as his hands traced up and down to help steady Neil’s breathing. They all played exy—everyone’s rough hands felt similar. Jean hated why he knew that.

“Can you walk?” Jean asked. Neil slightly nodded before pushing away from Jean. He then swung his legs over the side of the bed and relied heavily on Jean as they both limped to the bathroom. Neil was shaking. Jean got Neil in the shower, gave him privacy, and went back into the bathroom until he heard his name.

Jean handed Neil sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt that he knew Neil liked but was actually one of his own. Jean was shirtless at that point and had been stitching the wounds he was able to while Neil showered. Neil slowly sat on the counter once he was dressed and they looked at each other.

“Let me help,” Neil said, barely a whisper. Jean nodded, handing Neil the first aid kit and two pills. Jean bit his lip and ran his fingers through Neil’s hair as he stitched a particularly deep cut on his side.

“You need to learn how to actually do your hair,” Jean said and Neil huffed.

“Now why would I do that when I get the pleasure of you complaining about it every day?” He ignored how void their voices sounded. Neil barely spoke, but Jean was used to reading his lips by then.

“So I do not die an untimely death due to the eternal annoyance of this mop that you call hair.”

“Fuck you,” Neil said. “At least I don’t look like a stuck up private school kid from the 1800s.” Jean scoffed just as Neil finished tying off the stitch.

“I’m leaving today and I’m going to kill him tomorrow,” Neil said. Jean passed him a flat look. “The time frame might be off, but it’s going to happen. I’m not living like this anymore.” Jean winced once Neil started laughing and he reached up to run a thumb over his cheekbone.

“Can you see out of your left eye?” Jean asked.

“N–not important,” he responded and Jean sighed. He had known Neil long enough to not push that topic. Neil moved to hop off the sink before Jean held up his hands in a questioning gesture. Neil rolled his eyes yet nodded, allowing Jean to pick him up off the counter. Jean did not miss his wince as they walked back into the room.

Jean turned off the lights, sliding into his bed and against the wall. He then pulled open the covers for Neil, who got in next to him. Jean did not move until Neil reached back and grabbed his arm, pulling it over his stomach. Neil moved back and settled against his chest, and Jean physically felt him relax. Jean tightened his arm out of protectiveness and took a deep breath.

They both knew Riko was done for the night, so they had relative privacy for a few hours.

Neil and Jean started sleeping in the same bed about two years ago, after Kevin left. By that time, they had gotten close, and neither of them had been sleeping. Neil had let it slip that he could not sleep not only because they weren’t safe, but because when he was on the run with his mother (though a short time it was), they always slept together. He liked knowing that she was safe and pressed against him.

Jean felt unbelievably more secure sleeping with Neil—not safer, because nothing was ever safe in the Nest—but having the wall at his back and a protective asshole in front of him took some of the fear away. It did not take the two of them long to fall into the habit. They somehow managed to keep it from Riko.

Neil pressed a little more into his chest as Jean let his forehead lean on Neil’s shoulder.

“Where are we going?” Jean asked, entertaining a thought that Jean had never let himself before. Neil talked about leaving the Nest a lot, but Jean had always been too afraid to leave. If it got Neil safe, though, it did not matter. And at this point, Jean was starting to get desperate. He did not know how much more a person could take.

Neil was the reason Jean was still alive. Neil had pulled him back from the ledge multiple times; even after he had jumped off it a few of them. Jean knew he would make it to graduation–Neil, though? He would make it, but Jean did not know how much of him would be left.

“Follow the Kevin-brick road,” Neil said. Jean was outright surprised by that answer.

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