Chapter Text
Neil had lots of things to be pissy about, starting with his empty wallet, glass shards stuck in his hands and ending with the rumbling of his stomach.
Nevertheless, he was too determined to stop now.
You are my heir, his father once told him, And also my greatest disappointment.
Then, it meant nothing much, just a piercing comment like all the others. The faint remainder of Nathan's motivations, however ridiculous. Neil thought, as most six-year-old kids would have, it is only his responsibility to make that man proud, therefore not so willing to hurt him.
As a boy - nothing less, nothing more - Neil became a specialist in the art of reading people. It's easier when you expect a blow to come. Life never actually gets simple, but even manageable sits about right with him.
As a runaway and expert liar, Neil started getting a view of a new perspective, where existing could depend on his choices - where he was capable of making a path for himself.
No matter how many bodies lined up the road, he could not find it in himself to give a fuck. All of them got what they deserved. Maybe, although he tried not to dwell on it for too long, he was tired of getting hurt too.
Neil was not a helpless creature - not a rabbit huddled in the corner, every muscle tense and ready for a run. He would rather spill blood if it came to it, but he prefered not to get cornered at all.
Usually, though, it took a monster to destroy a monster. And Neil was pretty sure his father was dead when he left Baltimore.
Right now, Neil was not the kindest man. If you met him in the dark alley, you would probably at least eye him warily or omit to cross his path altogether.
Neil could, however, mould himself from a shapeless blob into something.
Probably not entirely kind or correct, but human.
So, on chilly Friday night, he found himself on the doorstep of a certain individual with a soft spot for broken and battered strays, who apparently decided it best to hire an assassin.
It felt odd to do something reckless after all those years of constant paranoia, but he hasn’t slept peacefully since Jean died and he felt it only fair to get revenge on Riko.
He was startled from his thoughts when the infamous Foxes’ coach pulled the door open.
Neil was certainly not in a hurry; he allowed the man to take his entire less-than-impressive, five-foot-three form, noting how his brows slowly reached his hairline and how his eyes stopped on the cigarette dangling from his lips.
“I’m hungry,” Neil said in a way that left no room for arguments, “I advise you to make up your mind about our contract fast, or give me food.”
Wymack sighed with resignation, pinching the bridge of his nose and eventually gesturing for him to step into the apartment. Niel huffed in disapproval at the coach’s recklessness. No wonder even someone as dumb as Riko could get his nose into the teams business if their coach was such a softie.
He took a long drag of his cigarette while Wymack settled himself on the couch, folding his hands over his chest and gracing Nathaniel with an expectant look.
“Well,” The man started when he understood Nathaniel could stand there all day in silence, “I assume you are here for the Riko issue or are you just some punk bothering me at five in the goddamn morning?”
He sounded utterly displeased and Nathaniel probably shouldn’t push his luck but he was an instigator at heart. “Is it five? Weird. I could have sworn it’s slightly later.”
Wymack looked beyond unamused.
“And why call me a punk? I’m not even a punk,” He looked down at his outfit consisting of a black denim jacket with patches, black t-shirt underneath paired with black ripped jeans and heavy boots, “Is it the jacket? Or the eyeliner? I might’ve gone a little overboard on that one.”
“Kid, please,” Now David was just tired, “Just explain.”
Neil decided to drop his faux playfulness. His face went blank and he stared at the man so coldly it gave Wymack chills. The Coach seemed to lose some of his confidence at that fast change, his eyes widening a little and brows scrunching together in confusion.
“We made a contract. I take care of Riko. You pay.” Neil listed simply.
He barely managed not to laugh when Wymack dug out a stash of money from his jacket’s pocket that was already prepared for his arrival. Lucky day, he supposed, even if he knew there was no such thing as luck.
He was halfway on his way out when Wymack stopped him with a serious look.
“Let’s go for dinner to my friend’s house,” He said, still squeezing his arm, “You are hungry anyway and I need to know who am I working with.”
Neil pulled his arm out of his grip harshly and with a growl. “Do not touch me.”
Wymack held his hands up with a guilty expression. “Sorry, it won’t happen again.”
Neil clicked his tongue. “Lead the way, David. I’m hungry.”
---
“You sure are a cheerful one,” Nicky laughed with a pointed look at his grumpy expression, “Oh, come on, stop with the glares!”
“I’m literally fuckin’ melting here, you prick. It’s too hot, too loud, too many parasites running around,” He spat, gesturing wildly at the people crowding the small dining room, “I agreed to go with Wymack to dinner so he can decide if I am a ‘trustworthy assassin’, apparently, but I sure as hell do not remember signing up for this!”
Nicky patted his back in an attempt to soothe his anger. It only resulted in a threatening glimpse of a knife.
“There, there, you angry child,” He said with a dopey (even though slightly wobbly) smile on his face, “I am trying to converse with you.”
“Who are you calling a child?” Neil shoved him harshly to the side and brushed his red hair from his face. Unfortunately, he will have to have a haircut soon since the shaved sides were starting to grow out and the longer top was getting in his eyes far too often for his liking, “I’m literally an assassin.”
“Neil, are you our guest for the time being?” Abby interrupted them.
“I guess,” Neil made his best impression of modesty, “If you don’t mind.”
Abby immediately started insisting and if Neil was anybody else he might have not noticed Andrew’s displeased expression or Nicky’s not-so-quiet comment.
And once again - he was an instigator at heart - it was perfectly fine for him to sleep on the couch but he could not miss the opportunity to rile someone up.
Andrew graced him with a roll of his eyes when he politely accepted the guest room.
“Amazing,” He snarked, “I am overjoyed.”
Nicky and Aaron exchanged worried glances, already sensing the oncoming argument.
“Don’t sweat it,” Neil grinned sharply, “I’m sure your fragile ass won’t fall off after a couple of nights without silk bed sheets.”
“Asshole,” And with that, Andrew marched out of the room.
---
Andrew and Wymack agreed on a plan right after Kevin showed up in Palmetto with a shattered hand, sputtering what at the time seemed to be nonsense about Wymack being his father and begging for protection.
Kill Riko Moriyama.
They couldn’t do it on their own, but in the era of the Internet, it seemed easy enough to hire an assassin to do it for them, instead.
How surprised Andrew was when said assassin turned out to be a year younger than him, mouthy little shit with scars all over and weird habits such as polishing knives at their dining table (it’s not funny, Andrew was too gay for a hot guy with a shiny blade in his hand accompanying his breakfast).
What also came as a surprise, Neil was absolutely shit at taking care of himself, especially during work.
“Neil, food,” The idiot forgot to eat all the time for fuck’s sake, “Did you even sleep today?”
Right now, the boy was hunched over a napkin, scribbling frantically as if the world was ending. He grumbled something incoherent in retaliation to Kevin's nagging. An insult, perhaps. Neil was predictable like that.
"I said food," Andrew observed as Kevin slammed a bowl full of his disgusting, pre-made healthy breakfast on the table (because they both already knew that allowing Neil anywhere near the kitchen would most likely equal fire) and pushed a fork into his palm.
This time Neil glared and Andrew couldn't help but feel a little smug about Kevin’s offended expression. Unfortunately, Kevin managed to glare back with similar ferocity and a typical Day’s bitch face.
"And I said fuck off." Without breaking eye contact Neil reached into his sweatpants' pocket, pulling out a cigarette along with a lighter.
Kevin let him think he won for a total of ten seconds, before he grabbed the cigarette, crushing it. "I meant nutrition, not nicotine."
The redhead scoffed, being his usual petty self. "Nutrition is too much effort."
You see, their assassin was a frustrating asshole, impossibly thick-headed, the master of insults and sarcastic comments, a huge pile of anger issues - an issue in general, to be fair.
But, Andrew Minyard was, well, Andrew Minyard.
All that behaviour? Not news. At this point, it would be much more concerning if someone so similar to him didn’t act like that.
Unless he put some effort into therapy as Andrew did. That would be nice.
"No, idiot," Andrew decided to butt into the conversation, his voice firm and demanding. Neil was like a cat, you had to lift yourself above him in the hierarchy if he was to listen to you. Earn respect, get him to believe you can take care of yourself just fine, "Organising a burial ceremony, buying a casket, making a funeral speech - that is too much effort. Not dying is supposed to be easy."
Silence stretched for long enough that it finally prompted Neil to eat. With a pissed off expression no less.
---
At two in the afternoon, Abby decided to send them all on a trip to Walmart for a long list of products that disappeared faster than usual with five grown men occupying her house and clearing her fridge.
That’s how they found themselves here, driving fast on the highway.
The world blurred outside, rain tapped out a rapid rhythm on the windows and Andrew couldn't help the joy blossoming in his chest as the adrenaline pumped through his veins. If he was anybody else he would have laughed.
Neil threw a glance at him. His cheeks were rosy, lips stretched in a crazy grin, his blue eyes glowing - and, oh, if he wasn't falling hard.
"Dude, please, I beg you, if you are trying to kill us, at least do it with grace and face the goddamn road!" Nicky screamed from where he was pressed into the backseat, clutching on Aaron's shirt for dear life.
Neil glowered at the comment and Andrew found himself missing the pretty smile from a second ago. He felt himself scowl as well.
Then, the idea struck his mind.
"What the fuck?" Came Aaron's terrified squeal when the windows started opening, a car still going well above the speed limit, some rock song playing louder and louder.
Andrew welcomed the familiar feeling of freedom. He was entirely soaked in mere minutes, but he couldn't care less, all worries swept away with the wind howling in his ears.
Neil let out a scream, trying to be louder than the world around, and it was nice while it lasted.
---
Later that day, Neil had an announcement for them, “The fall banquet is in three weeks,” He started with his eyes firmly locked on the knife he was currently sharpening with practised movements, “It’s the best opportunity I will get. It will be loud, crowded and dark - perfect.”
Kevin stilled with a glass of green smoothie halfway to his opened mouth. He looked like a fish out of the water.
“He will be dead in three weeks, Kevin,” Neil emphasised, “Get ready for what’s to come.”
“I-” Kevin stuttered, “Oh my God…”
And he left, probably to ride the vodka stash and get himself so drunk he couldn’t even form a coherent thought in his terrified little brain.
Neil remained unphased but his eyes shined with something else that Andrew found quite intriguing.
Suddenly, it hit him, seemingly at the same time as it hit Wymack because when he looked at his soon-to-be Coach the man was already staring at him.
“You have something personal to establish with Riko, don’t you?” Wymack started carefully like he was approaching a wild animal, trying his hardest not to startle him, “It didn’t occur to me at first but it’s been three days and you already have a plan. You hate Kevin, yet you’ve been awfully invested in your work.”
Neil bristled at that. “Maybe I am just a good employee, you know, I’m doing my job.”
Wymack sent him an incredulous look and Neil shrugged one shoulder, pressing his lips in a hard line.
---
Neil breathed, even if it felt like he was going to rip his lungs apart, his heart stuttering in its steady beat, his teeth biting his lips so hard he drew blood. For a brief second, he thought, he would like to die now.
You see, even long before he met Jean, he knew he would eventually end up like that - alone and hurting, seeking violence in retaliation, making foolish decisions, following his worst instincts.
Today a month has passed since Riko the Dickhead murdered his boyfriend when he was not there.
And now Neil couldn’t sleep.
His brain half-consciously slipped from identity to identity - from Neil to Nathaniel, from Nathaniel to Abram, to Alex, to Stephan and back to Nathaniel.
He was spiralling, he knew.
He just finished his second pack of cigarettes when a knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts. He turned to look at the intruder - Andrew - standing in the doorway with a calculating look and two steaming cups of something in his hands.
You should have heard him coming, his mother’s voice chastised him, You should have been aware.
“If you drug me I will kill you,” He managed to grit out. Because it was infuriating how the blond observed him all the time - with intrigue, with caution, with understanding.
“No,” Andrew said simply, not bothering to lower his voice, “It’s not that I wouldn’t. It seems to me I don’t have a good reason for that much effort, though.”
“What is it then?” He felt Abram’s curiosity blending with Nathaniel’s learned distrust.
“A trade,” Andrew explained in a way that you would speak to a distressed child, which was at least a little bit strange if Neil was to judge, “I want you to tell the truth and I will give something up as well.”
Abram scoffed. “Sounds like you.”
“You don’t know me.”
Abram thought of the many secrets he hid, many stories he never meant to share with anyone, all the painful memories and what Andrew would give him in exchange; he discovered it felt right.
He swallowed. The words were not his ally today. He would surely stumble, or stutter, or shut down completely if he even tried to start on the whole Jean drama.
Instead, he picked up his jacket and gestured at Andrew to follow him out of the house.
They only stopped once, at the porch, to drink the thing the blond brought in the mugs - which turned out to be the best hot chocolate Neil ever had, and he didn’t even like sweets - observing the stars littering the sky.
In silence.
---
When they finally reached the graveyard, Andrew was almost jittery, which was strange because the whole appeal of the other boy was his statue-like stoic demeanour.
They stopped in front of one of the newest graves, made with polished black marble and golden letters carved into it in elegant cursive.
Jean Moreau, it read, and nothing else besides the date of birth and death was there.
Andrew looked at him with furrowed brows. “Who?”
“Jean was-” As predicted, he stumbled over his words, his entire body shivering with a feeling of loss, “Jean was important.” He settled on. It was hard to say I loved him when Nathaniel never even knew love and the warmth - the safety - of it.
“And Riko killed him,” Andrew guessed.
Nathaniel only nodded, feeling Abram helplessly scratching the surface and trying to replace this mask with the other.
Nathaniel didn’t cry, didn’t scream, didn’t crumble. He once heard from his father, when he was around six, that crying is for babies. Nathaniel ought to be a man.
So, he stood there, observing the grave in the sea of others with detached interest, but Abram was the one who fell for Jean and never got the opportunity to mourn.
Nathaniel wanted Abram to get the chance.
Neil didn’t let him.
“It’s cold,” Neil spoke after the silence stretched for too long, “Let’s go back.”
The coldness didn't go away.