The only reason Neil didn’t run the second his hands and feet were out of the cuffs was because Minyard stayed unusually far away from him. That, and the fact that he felt two seconds from passing out.
Neil flinched when something hit his back. He then realized that it was Jean’s sweatshirt he left on the floor—one that Minyard so eloquently threw at him—and quickly pulled it on. His cuts slid against the fabric, lighting a fire across his chest and back.
Neil glared at Minyard, who was leaning against the wall to Jean’s bed—wait, hang on. Jean’s old bed. His vision made truly pathetic attempts at clearing.
“What the actual fuck are you doing here?” Neil asked. Minyard just shrugged. Neil didn’t have the time nor the patience for that. “Leave. Get out.”
“What, no thank you?” Minyard asked. Neil saw his blurry, painted-on smile and shuddered in sympathy, knowing the effects that drugs can have on you. Riko had tried them when he was younger, but later learned that he liked seeing the true reactions of the people he tortured. His words, not Neil’s.
Neil pushed himself up on the bed, hissing in pain. Minyard didn’t move, for which Neil was very grateful. Jean’s sweatshirt then slipped off his shoulder, and as Neil went to pull it back up, he physically felt Minyard tense. Neil traced his eyes across the ground, looking at the tension that he held across his shoulders.
Neil went to lock eyes with Minyard, wanting to gauge his reaction. They locked eyes–well, not really. Minyard wasn’t seeing Neil. He was looking at him, but Neil knew that empty, slightly glassed over gaze like the back of his hand.
Andrew wasn't in the room.
Neil didn’t know where he was—obviously no place good. Minyard’s right hand went under the cuff of his left sweatshirt and started to scrape at the skin there.
Then Neil had major deja vu.
He knew where he had seen that look before—and not just on his own face. He’d seen that process so many times to have it down to a science: trigger, dissociate, violence (back when Neil had known him, it was typically self-harm). Neil had seen that, for almost four months, in a disgusting cell that lacked personal space, in a tiny town in California. The realization made his brain short-circuit, yet by the time he looked back at Andrew—oh my god, it’s Andrew—he still wasn’t in the room. Neil wondered how much blood he lost if it took him that long to notice.
“Drew,” Neil said. Andrew, wherever he was, didn’t hear him. Neil pushed himself off the bed and leaned against the adjacent wall as his vision frayed because of the pain.
Once his vision cleared, Neil started to worry. He could only think of a few things to snap Andrew out of the state he was in.
“Andrew Doe. Tell me five things you hate about exy,” Neil said. Andrew then blinked and Neil watched his shoulders slightly relax. It was never truly that easy, but for someone who didn’t care enough about exy to hate it, that one question was very out of place for Andrew.
They locked eyes. Neil couldn’t believe that they were in the same room together again. That they weren’t dead. At least, not yet.
In the Nest, to steer clear of Kevin the past year, Neil avoided the press like the plague. He obviously knew that Andrew Minyard had joined the Foxes, and knew every single stat that Andrew had, courtesy of Riko. But when Neil knew Andrew—correction, when Spencer Green knew Andrew—he was Andrew Doe. And because Minyard also avoided the press with more effort than he put into life, Neil only ever saw him with goalie gear on.
Even then, in that room, Andrew looked different. Minyard, now, was built like a fucking wall. And Neil knew that it wasn’t just because he was a Class 1 goalie.
It was all very Daisy Buchanan meeting Gatsby again, no?
“My, Abram, what red hair you have,” Andrew said. “And what blue eyes.” Neil snorted.
“Asshole,” he said.
“Right back at you,” Andrew responded.
“Not an asshole, a ju—”
“Junkie. You, Abram Green—or so you said—are a junkie,” Andrew said. His eyes narrowed on Neil’s neck. Neil didn’t have the energy to go swap Jean’s sweatshirt for one that actually fit to help hide the bruising on his neck. Despite his efforts, Neil was never able to hide from Andrew. Even if he tried, Neil didn’t know how to. “Fate is a bitch.”
Neil scoffed.
“Karma is a bitch. We knew I wouldn’t make it far,” Neil said.
“Fine. We will discuss this later. We have to go,” Andrew said. “Can you walk?” Neil was then thrown back into reality. He looked around, noticed Riko lying on the ground, and remembered that his reality hadn’t changed.
“I can’t leave,” Neil said.
“Why.” Neil shrugged. “Elaborate, Abram.”
“Because the main branch will kill me if I do. Just go, Drew,” Neil said.
“It’s ironic that you thought those words would work a second time,” Andrew responded. Neil felt like he got punched. They stared at each other. Neil had tried hard to forget Andrew, but by God, he missed him.
“I can’t go. Riko is about to wake up. You need to leave,” Neil said, sentences clipped. Neil knew that Andrew could tell that something was wrong, other than the obvious.
“Do you really think I’ll walk away after what I just saw? This is Hell. Don’t even try to tell me otherwise.” Neil clenched his jaw. Andrew knew his uncanny ability to ignore pain to survive.
“We don’t have a deal,” Neil said. “And if you stay here one minute longer, the person who you do have a deal with is going to march his ass down here.” Andrew said nothing, burning hatred behind his eyes. So Neil’s assumption was accurate. Andrew had a deal with Kevin. And with that, Neil knew the only way to make Andrew leave without him.
Neil watched Andrew clench his hands into fists.
“I promised Kevin that I would not let you die,” Andrew said.
“I won’t die. I have a plan,” Neil said. “A very time sensitive plan that requires me to not pass out before I execute it.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Andrew said.
“I’m not,” Neil gritted out.
“I promised him.”
“And I promise you that I won’t die,” Neil said, then relented, “... unless something diverges from the plan.”
“Promises are shit if you don’t mean them,” Andrew said.
“I’ve had them broken too many times to believe them, too, and fuck you for thinking I would mean anything less.” Neil’s words were dripping with venom.
“I never thought that,” Andrew said. “Only that your martyr addiction tends to outweigh it.”
What a way to repeat the past, Neil thought.
“Fine,” Neil relented. “I have a burner phone.” Andrew considered that before nodding. Neil was ready to jump out of his skin with anxiety, because Riko, though unconscious at the moment, was still a major threat in the room that he’d rather remove. Andrew started walking towards the door.
“You call me so I know you are alive,” Andrew said. Neil told Andrew his number, knowing he wouldn’t forget it.
“Fine,” Neil said. He watched Andrew turn away, getting another major deja vu from when Neil was dragged away from him in Oakland. “Wait.” Andrew turned his head to the side to show that he was listening. “Tell Kevin that I want to leave but I can’t. Main branch issues. He’ll get it.”
Andrew nodded.
“Andrew,” Neil called. “My real name is Nathaniel.”
Andrew turned around and slowly looked at him. Neil didn’t feel like he was being watched, though. The weight of his gaze wasn’t uncomfortable like most are.
“Even now, you’re still lying,” Andrew said. Neil furrowed his brows.
“I’m not—”
“Really?” Andrew asked. “You want to be Nathaniel? Who named you Nathaniel?” Neil couldn’t find any words. There was something different about Andrew. Neil couldn’t see the psychopathic, apathetic, manic asshole Riko made him to be in Neil’s mind. He couldn’t even picture them being the same person. Andrew was apathetic when he needed to be—when he was forced to be to survive—but doesn’t everyone do that? When the situation forces it?
“Neil,” he said. “Neil Abram.” Andrew looked at him and nodded.
“Unfortunate to meet you, Neil,” Andrew said. “Andrew. Andrew Minyard. Nothing else.”
Neil knew that he heard him and would tell Kevin exactly what he said. Andrew didn’t look back and Neil didn’t expect him to. Neither of them were fortunate enough to have the privilege of feeling regret.
Neil shoved anything he felt about Andrew down where he put all of his emotions. He could think about that after he finished everything he needed to do for Jean.
He would text Kevin the number for the burner phone later, too.
Okay, Neil thought. Ignore it. Focus. Time for step two.
—
Andrew walked out towards the car, seething as blood dripped from his clenched fist. Abram was alive. He told himself that he wouldn’t ever see him again. That Abram would die or leave or abandon him like all the other people in his life. He did end up leaving, didn’t he? Andrew knew it wasn’t voluntary, but his mind had a fun time telling himself that it was for the three months he had been left in juvie by himself.
If it weren’t for Kevin, Aaron, and Nicky, Andrew would drag Neil out of the Nest kicking and screaming. Yakuza be damned.
He ascended the steps of Hell and part of him (the part that wasn’t thinking about Neil) thought that it was too easy. Yet with mama birdie taken out for the time being, and post-game celebrations underway, Andrew thought that was possible.
He saw their car. Thanks to Kevin, it was the same model that all of the Ravens got, rendering it less suspicious. Andrew felt nausea envelope him, his veins screaming for drugs that he didn’t want to give them. He stumbled and landed against the side of the car, doubling over his knees and retching.
Throwing up in the bushes outside the Nest was the least of Andrew’s problems. He almost preferred it if he did.
Wymack threw his door open, but Andrew signaled him off, squeezing his eyes shut and willing his world to stop tilting on its axis.
A couple minutes later he got in the car. Wymack pulled directly out of the parking lot and hit the suburban roads going fifty. Technically, he wasn’t far enough over the speed limit to be pulled over by a cop. Andrew then remembered the French bastard they actually went into the Nest to get and turned around in his seat. Kevin and a reluctantly angry Jean were arguing in French. The romance language made it sound much more poetic than Andrew assumed their conversation actually was.
The French bastard was a sight. He was objectively handsome; reaching 6’6” with black hair and built like a professional athlete. He had the stare of a natural-born asshole, which just added to it, if you asked Andrew.
Kevin cut off abruptly, seemingly too wrapped up in their bickering to notice that they had left. He looked around the car, and Andrew could see the panic behind his eyes, though subtle. Andrew knew that mask was practiced. Or forced, depending on how one looked at it.
“Andrew,” Kevin said. “Where–”
“He’s not here. I have a plan. Don’t ask me again,” Andrew said. Kevin, who Andrew had learned was very protective and fond of Neil, looked ready to argue. “I will tell you later. You know that.” Kevin took that for the truth it was.
Andrew then looked over at Frenchy, who was doing his best to stare at the receding trees outside the window. Andrew raised his eyebrow at it before looking over at Kevin.
“I just told him,” Kevin started, “that I came to get him out. I know Riko too well.” Kevin then turned to Jean. Raven number two had much more of a spine than people gave him credit for. “You know him, Jean. You couldn’t possibly think that the second he heard of my transfer, he wouldn’t kill you. And Kengo is getting sick, which won’t help.”
Jean turned on him, mild surprise flickering over his features before he quickly buried it.
“I get that, Day,” Jean said. “What I do not get is why you left Nathaniel in there. What the fuck are you thinking?”
“I wouldn’t have been able to get you both out. And, the main branch can kill you, not Nathaniel. We have a plan to get him out,” Kevin said. He was practically yelling. Andrew could tell that Jean’s words were hurting him more than he let on. They all understood, though, that if Jean knew it had been Neil who got him out of the Nest, he would go right back. His situation needed to look like it was out of both Jean’s and Neil’s control.
Andrew made a mental note to ask Wymack how he managed to keep Jean in the car for so long.
“That is rich, Kevin, really,” Jean said. His face was a war, wanting to defend Neil but not share anything he shouldn’t.
“We will get him out, Jean. You had to be first. The main branch would kill us if three out of their four star players left the Nest within the span of a year.”
“He could die in there, Kevin,” Jean snapped. Andrew knew which side of the war just won out.
“No. He won’t,” Kevin argued, though Andrew knew Kevin didn’t truly believe it. Kevin had broken down too many times over it for him to truly believe anything else. “He–”
“You have no idea what it has been like since you left,” Jean said. “You left the man you loved, Kevin—who loved you. It nearly killed him, do you know that? I found him, twice, nearly dead in our bathroom without help from Riko. And you just came and took me away from him. Tell me, Kevin. Who is looking out for him right now? You and I both know that it certainly is not himself—so who?”
Andrew felt like he was drowning. Sinking ships in flames.
“I was the only person in there who cared enough about him to keep him alive. Do you remember why there is a partner system in the first place? The real reason? You know, Kevin. You know better than anyone that it is impossible to survive the Nest by yourself. Nathaniel does not leave the court without me there to pull him off. He does not make it out of the locker room unless both of us are there to fend off Riko and his players. He does not fucking eat without me constantly reminding him to. The only reason he refuses to torment Riko is because he is afraid that it will turn around on me. He does not give a damn about himself.”
This wasn’t all new news to Andrew. He had seen some of it in juvie. Just like back then, anger still enveloped Andrew’s entire being.
He wasn’t lying when he said he had a plan. That plan, he believed in. Whether or not Neil would agree to the plan, is a different story.
Neil? Andrew wished he had more faith in Neil than he did. Andrew would put his life in Neil’s hands, but not Neil’s own.
Kevin clenched his left hand repeatedly, a near indecipherable wince covering his features every few times. Andrew could nearly hear the creak of the steering wheel as Wymack tightened his hands around it.
Andrew turned around and grabbed one of the plastic-wrapped mints that you get at restaurant reception desks out of the cup holder. He threw one at Kevin’s hand, and after two more and an annoyed glare, Kevin finally got the hint and stopped hurting himself.
“He and I were together, Jean. You don’t think I know this?” Kevin said.
“But you have not lived it since you left,” Jean said.
“I get it. I fucked up. But we can only do so much this second–”
“I am not mad you left, Kevin. I am mad that you took me out.” Jean tossed a look at Kevin, brimming with contempt.
“I’m not going to waste my breath telling you that there was nothing I could do because you won’t hear me. There was one way to do this,” Kevin threw back.
“Fuck you,” Jean snarled.
“Frenchy,” Andrew cut in. Jean looked over at him. “Kevin went to get you out of the Nest multiple times. I stopped him. If you are here to yell at someone, yell at me.” Andrew felt his lungs expand and contract in uneven, labored breaths. He could feel his meds—or lack thereof—tearing his insides.
“You and what army?” Jean asked. At least the French bastard knew how much Kevin fought for something he wanted.
“Me,” Wymack said. “And every other fox. We’re not an easy group, but we’re protective.” This was news to Jean. He was more than certain that Nathaniel didn’t know Kevin tried to come back for him.
“And before you actually yell at me,” Andrew said, “listen.”
“What?” Jean snapped. Andrew looked over his shoulder and saw Wymack take the exit for the airport.
“I have contact with Neil,” Andrew said. Jean looked surprised. “I will not let him die. I will find a way to get him out, but it can’t be this second. It was either take one or leave both. I decided to take one.” That wasn’t true, but it was the next likely story.
Jean stared at him for a moment, looking for something. Andrew’s head tipped forward, the lack of drugs shutting down his system, his hand slipping from the center console. Kevin grabbed the blanket he brought and put it over the console before Andrew hit his head. Fucking striker reflexes.
Kevin handed him the pills, the sound of the bottle simultaneously repulsive and relieving. Andrew downed two dry and flipped back around in the passenger seat.
“He does not hate you,” Jean told Kevin. “I do. Only because it is easier to hate someone than it is to forgive them.” Jean paused. “I am not mad at you for not taking me with you when you got out. I am not mad at you for leaving.” Andrew heard Kevin sigh.
“What are you–” Kevin started. By the time Andrew turned around and his vision cleared, he saw Jean grab Kevin’s left hand, the gentleness of the gesture juxtapositioning with the anger radiating off of him.
Andrew almost went to throttle him, but Jean just waited until Kevin opened his hand before laying his own palm flat on top.
“What–? Why are you–”
“Shut up, Kevin,” Jean said. Andrew knew the war going on in Kevin’s head. Though Andrew wouldn’t admit it, Kevin was the person he was closest to. Kevin stared at Jean, his face intentionally blank.
Kevin spent sixteen years in the Nest.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Jean said, just above a whisper. He was still staring out the window. “You do not deserve that. You never did.” And you don’t have to do it yourself.
Andrew continued to pry his eyes open for the next ten minutes.
“Minyard,” Wymack called. He looked over at Andrew when they reached a stop light. “You can sleep. I will get them—and you—home safely.” Kevin and Jean were talking in quiet French, too wrapped up to hear Wymack. Andrew cut his eyes over to Wymack, glaring at him through his half closed eyelids. “Trust me, kid.”
Andrew slowly nodded, and dropped off to sleep less than a minute later.
In the Nest, he wondered just how alive Neil actually was.
—
Neil stood in the bathroom, staring at the amount of damage Riko managed to inflict on him. It was a surprising amount, honestly, and that was coming from someone who had lived with the perverted asshole for almost thirteen years. Neil needed to start phase two of the plan now, and not think about Andrew. It was proving to be more difficult than he liked.
Neil wasn’t stupid enough to think that Kengo and Ichirou didn’t know what happened in the Nest. They just… looked the other way until it either caused a slight annoyance or had an effect on Moriyama's income. Neither of which had fully happened yet. Riko had been ‘spoken to’ a few times—whatever the Hell that meant.
However, Neil threw a massive wrench in both of those priorities by getting Jean out of the nest. And he knew it, which meant that he had to make Ichirou believe that it was necessary.
That, and negotiate a deal that would never, in any mafia book or movie, actually happen.
Piece of cake.
He pulled off his sweatshirt and cursed when he saw that some of his wounds had already clotted. Biting down on his toothbrush and bracing against the bathroom sink, he started to pull the half-formed scabs off all of the cuts Riko made. They immediately started bleeding, which was the intended purpose. Neil needed to look like Riko attempted to reenact a scene from The Shining on him. And he did, which was good. It didn’t take too much effort, after all.
It hurt like absolute Hell.
Neil limped his way out of the bathroom. He looked down at Riko, still passed out, and gave him an extra kick in the head to make sure he didn’t feel like waking up before Neil finished with Ichirou.
He stumbled his way out of the room and drunkenly attempted to find his way to the East Tower. Neil had been there enough to know it by heart. Luckily, he wouldn't need to fake passing out if the black spots surrounding his vision were anything to go by.
He got to the elevator and left a bloody handprint on the button for the proper floor. The only floor, really, that this elevator went to.
In and out. This is for Jean. Just breathe.
He knew Ichirou would be there, as he was during every game night, but the sight of him—albeit blurry—still caused Neil to flinch. He tripped on his way out of the elevator and went crashing to his knees, not even intentionally.
Ichirou turned around at the noise and Neil watched his eyes widen a fraction of a centimeter. The fact that they widened at all, though, meant he had gotten his attention. Neil leaned against the elevator doors as his vision blacked out for a few seconds, before dragging himself to his feet. He prayed to Gods he didn’t believe in that he stayed standing. Neil then made a pathetic attempt at a bow, even for his standards.
“Nathaniel,” Ichirou started. “How lovely to see you, interrupting my private time, in the beautifully appropriate state you are.”
Neil tensed, righting himself. Muscle-memory had his eyes searching for the exits, despite knowing that the only one was behind him. He noticed six bodyguards positioned throughout the room, with drinks scattered on the wet bar and various side tables. Neil wondered how long ago the others left.
His eyes snapped up to the faces of the bodyguards, and let out a slow breath when he didn’t see any of his father’s men. The relief was short-lived, because two of the guards weren’t staring at Neil like he was a threat. Their eyes ran up and down his chest, a dark hunger pooling behind their badly concealed sneers.
Just like that, Neil didn’t think he belonged there anymore.
And Nathaniel didn’t care enough to mourn how quickly Neil died. If anything, he was thankful, because his father taught him that death itself isn’t the worst part of dying.
“My Lord,” Nathaniel said. There was no way around it. “Jean–”
“Is no longer in the Nest,” Ichirou interrupted him. “I am aware. You played quite a significant role in that, I heard.”
Nathaniel didn’t know how Ichirou knew everything; simply that he did.
“I also know that Jean would never leave the Nest of his own accord. If you are here to plead your case, you might as well get on with it.” Ichirou didn’t turn away from the court, as if Nathaniel wasn’t sharing anything important, as if… as if Ichirou already had a plan for Jean.
Shit.
Nathaniel wanted to look down and see if his feet were still touching the floor. He knew better than to move. Ichirou’s men wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. If they did, Ichriou would likely kill them himself.
“Riko has some… difficulties dealing with hard emotions,” Nathaniel said in Japanese. He kept his voice steady. “He didn’t take well to Kevin’s announcement, My Lord. He would have killed Jean tonight and you would have lost an asset. I ensured that didn’t happen.”
Ichirou clinked his nails against the whiskey glass he held, but didn’t say anything. Nathaniel hadn’t expected an answer.
“My Lord, I believe Moreau will bring in more revenue if he finishes his collegiate career at a different university. He isn’t suited to the Nest. He is made for someplace like USC, where he can train to become one of the best backliners in the country.” Nathaniel took a breath. When no one shot him, he took that as permission to continue. “Moreau is a good player, and if he stayed here, that is all he will ever be. He has the chance to be great, My Lord, and USC can provide that.”
“Katsu, inform Nathan that Moreau is his next job,” Ichirou said. Nathaniel felt the air get sucked from his lungs, and they refused to expand. Red painted his vision, blending with fear and creating a mix of emotions that Nathaniel didn’t have the energy to properly deal with.
“Do you really think it’s more productive to have Jean fertilize soil instead of making you over a hundred million dollars a year while pro?” Nathaniel had never been able to control his anger. He felt someone grab his shoulder and slam a steel-toed shoe into the back of his right knee. The bodyguard pulled his left arm so far up his back that he worried it would dislocate. Nathaniel fought through the pain, trying not to gag at the hands touching his bare skin. “...My Lord.”
A hand grabbed Nathaniel’s hair and wrenched it back. Ichirou hadn’t moved, except for one finger that was no longer touching his glass. Nathaniel wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t find it in himself to apologize.
Can you blame him? Nathaniel didn’t know who he would become if he killed Jean. He didn’t trust himself to not become some sick twist of Lola and DiMaccio.
Ichirou looked over his shoulder, his black eyes pinning Nathaniel to the ground. The bodyguards didn’t even need to hold him—he couldn’t move if he tried. Nathaniel saw the right side of Ichriou’s mouth pull in a small, lethal smile.
“Send me to Nathan, My Lord. Moreau is more important than I’ll ever be,” Nathaniel said. Ichirou turned to fully face him.
“There is only one way to stop this, Wesninski,” Ichirou said. Nathaniel knew, without a doubt, that he would agree to whatever Ichriou said. “You, more than Moreau, deserve to die—but I don’t like to kill my things if I don’t have to.”
Nathaniel’s world narrowed to include himself and Ichirou, nothing and no one else.
“My Lord?”
“Your father sold you to me, Nathaniel,” Ichirou said, as if discussing the weather.
CH5: I Promise, I'll Do Better
“Your father sold you to me, Nathaniel,” Ichirou said, as if discussing the weather. Nathaniel felt his entire body start to shake after the initial shock wore off, and the hands on him tightened. “So, you’re not in the position to be making demands, are you?”