Chapter Text
Andrew’s hand is hanging between his knees, limp and bloody. He doesn’t acknowledge his split knuckles apart from an occasional testing flex of his fingers. Thankfully, nothing looks broken, but Neil can’t quite tell whether it’s causing him pain or not.
Andrew’s barriers are high tonight. It had settled into place the second they’d gotten back to the house. Andrew had been fighting with his emotions for the whole car journey, hands tight around the steering wheel despite the state of his hand.
Now the familiar apathy is back in place. This detachment is Andrew’s method of coping with strangling emotions, Neil knows that, but he can’t help but feel so fucking useless as he hesitantly trails up to the bedroom.
Getting into a fight hadn't been the plan for this evening. Aaron’s temper is usually subdued by copious alcohol consumption, but it wasn’t far enough into the night for him to be agreeable. If only the man could have waited an hour or two. The details of the verbal argument are a bit fuzzy. Whether it was a Ravens fan or just an asshole, Neil didn’t get to find out. He was off getting drinks with Andrew when he looked over and saw commotion.
“What’s going on?” Neil had asked, but Andrew’s focus was elsewhere.
There was heated shouting; Aaron shoved the guy backwards. Nicky was trying to stop things from escalating, but putting himself in Aaron’s path meant he was shoved away and collided with Kevin. Neil doesn’t remember seeing Andrew move, but the second the guy threw a punch, Andrew was there.
The guy was kicked out, but they didn’t stay long after it. They are all sporting different injuries and equal foul moods. Nicky has a bruised arm from being shoved around. Aaron has a split lip from the punch. Andrew has bleeding, bruised knuckles and his eye is starting to bruise. Neil and Kevin are physically unharmed, but the tense atmosphere pulls them into the discomfort as well.
Now they’re back at the house, Aaron, Nicky and Kevin are in the kitchen. By the sound of it, Kevin and Aaron have gotten into an argument about something and Nicky is trying to ease things. Neil is thankful he is up here, locked away from the chaos with Andrew by his side.
But Andrew is hurting. He won’t show it outright, but Neil isn’t unobservant. Andrew’s edges are frayed and raw.
Neil hasn’t said anything yet. He wants to soothe Andrew’s pain with soft kisses and reassuring touches, but he doesn’t have to say ‘no’ for Neil to sense it. Any ideas of kisses or sex are thrown out of the window for tonight. That had been apparent from the second Andrew had gotten into the Maserati with a fierce glare in his eyes, a glare meant for someone else.
Eventually, quietly, he says, “Can I clean you up?” with a pointed look to Andrew’s injured hand.
Andrew looks at him flatly. Luckily, there’s no blood on the blankets, but it’s dribbling down his wrist and is threatening to drip off.
“It could get infected,” Neil adds, although Andrew is perfectly aware of that. He just wants to fill the silence with something other than tension.
“I don’t care.”
“Can I bandage it?”
“Do what the fuck you want.”
“Andrew.” Neil’s tone is calm, searching. Andrew’s eyes look up to him and finally he notices something stir in them. They are dark and angry, but Neil knows that the anger isn’t meant for him. “Let me bandage your hand. Yes or no?”
It takes a few seconds, but Andrew grits out: “Yes.”
Trying not to outwardly show his relief, Neil heads downstairs to get the first aid kit. The others have stopped arguing now, but Aaron still doesn’t look pleased by the blood which has dried on his chin. Nicky is armed with a wet washcloth which Neil assumes is an attempt to clean it up, but Aaron is adamantly not letting Nicky touch him with it. In any other scenario, it would be a funny scene to walk into, especially with Kevin pouring himself more to drink in the corner like an overly stressed mother, but Neil can’t find it in him to smile now.
When Nicky greets Neil, Aaron scowls even more.
“How’s your lip?” Neil asks Aaron, although he doesn’t really care about the answer. Aaron’s cut is shallow. It might sting a bit, but Aaron will be perfectly fine by tomorrow.
“Fine,” Aaron replies shortly.
“How’s Andrew’s hand?” Nicky asks. “It looked pretty bad.”
“It’s not broken, but it needs bandaging. You got a first aid kit?”
“Yeah, sure,” Nicky says, handing Neil a box filled with bandages and other first aid things. Neil looks at it for a second, briefly lingering on the stinging pain of his mother’s rough hands stitching up his wounds before finding his voice.
“Thanks.”
Nicky just smiles good-naturedly.
Just as he’s about to turn and leave, Aaron says, “He didn’t have to do that.”
His voice is a strange tone.
Neil pauses and turns. “Do what?”
Aaron avoids all eye contact whilst speaking. The floor suddenly becomes his prime interest. He seems like he regrets saying anything bit it's too late to back out now. “Protect me.”
Neil isn’t sure what to say to that. Aaron is right - Andrew doesn’t have to fight Aaron’s battles for him anymore, not since the deal is over.
“He’s your brother,” Neil says. It’s not quite an explanation, but at the same time it is.
“The deal is over.”
“You’re right.” Neil doesn’t understand how Aaron misses the point of his own brother's intentions quite so clearly. “But I’m sure that you getting your jaw broken would have made the night much worse, so you could be grateful.”
Aaron does a strange little thing - not quite a laugh, but some degree of humour within his scowl. “Fuck off. I am.”
“You’re what?”
Aaron shoots him a glare which could start a fire. “Don’t make me fucking say it.”
“He’s grateful,” Nicky interjects, who is holding an ice pack to his own injury.
Neil feels a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, but then the first aid kit in his hands reminds him of Andrew, upstairs and bleeding and angry. Neil irons out his expression and shoots a, “See you tomorrow,” over his shoulder. The only one who returns it is Nicky.
When he gets back upstairs, Andrew is still in the same position, but the hard lines of his body seem marginally less tense. Maybe Neil should sleep on the couch tonight. Although Neil doesn't want to leave him up here, alone time seems to do Andrew better than another presence.
He sits on the side of the bed. Andrew just stares.
“Can you come to the bathroom?”
Although he doesn’t say anything, Andrew swings his legs over the edge of the bed and marches into the bathroom. He is still wearing his shoes.
Once they’re in the bathroom with Andrew sat on the side of the bathtub, Neil holds his hand out in an offering.
“Can I?”
He nods curtly. Neil takes his hand and holds it gently, keeping his touch clinical and light. Two of his knuckles are split and bruising, but Andrew doesn’t betray any pain when some blood is wiped away with a warm, damp cloth. The white cloth comes away with blood and Neil remembers, with a stab of affection, when the roles were reversed and Andrew was taking care of him after Baltimore.
Wetting the cloth more, Neil cleans the blood off of Andrew’s hand. When he nears the ugly gashes on his knuckles, Neil tries to be as soft as he can, but even that isn’t enough to stop Andrew’s eyebrows from pinching together in discomfort.
“Sorry.”
He makes a vague noise in the back of his throat. Neil can’t tell if it’s reprimanding or reassuring, but he doesn’t pull his hand from Neil’s grip.
“What even happened?”
“You saw.”
“I didn’t see all of it. I saw Aaron get hit, but not what happened before that.”
Andrew shuts his eyes for a few seconds. When he opens them, they are sharp and angry and dark. Neil doesn’t think Andrew’s going to grace him with a response until he manages to talk, voice strained. Divulging emotions has always been difficult for Andrew. He prefers to show his feelings through his actions - shielding, protecting, touching.
“That guy was close. Too close.”
It takes Neil a second to figure out what Andrew means by ‘too close’. When it clicks, he sort of wishes it hadn’t.
There are very few things which get to Andrew enough to break him like that. Neil remembers Andrew telling him about Drake’s twisted words. About wanting a matched set. The words had made Neil’s insides crawl when he was told about them, and he can only imagine how they must have fucked with Andrew.
It also explains the black eye. Usually, Andrew is careful enough to hit someone without getting hit back. He hits them once, hard, and then when they’re down, he keeps them there. But when he saw what was happening, Andrew must have lost control and ignored the fists flying back in his direction.
“Oh,” is all Neil says. That is all he needs to say.
He cleans off the last of the blood and wraps Andrew’s hand in a bandage. He keeps his eyes firmly on the task, not wanting to slip up and end up hurting him, but Andrew’s eyes feel heavy as they’re focused on him.
Something deep stirs inside of him when he finally meets Andrew’s gaze. He isn’t sure whether it’s the desire to protect him, shield him from the world or whether he wants to kiss him until their lips are both numb. But he shoves that far, far down. Andrew is angry and vulnerable and kissing will only serve to bring up more traumatic memories. There’s been enough of those tonight.
“I can sleep on the couch,” Neil offers.
Andrew reaches forward and smooths down a stray bit of Neil’s hair. He mulls over the suggestion, fingers light, and eventually says, “No.”
Although he wasn’t expecting that answer, Neil nods, refusing to question the decision. Andrew never says anything he doesn’t mean. He never gives away anything he doesn’t want to. Neil always feels warm and strange inside when he is trusted enough to give him those things, things which had been off limits to everybody else.
After a few idle seconds pass by, with Andrew’s uninjured hand still smoothing down the same strand of hair, Neil says, “You need to ice your eye.” His voice feels far too loud and it snaps the silence they were comfortable in, but his eye will be horribly swollen by tomorrow if he doesn’t ice it tonight.
Andrew levels a flat stare in his direction, although he knows that. He’s the one holding the ice pack to Neil’s face most times.
“I can get you something for the pain,” he adds. It’s pointless to even offer.
“No.”
Neil knows that he doesn’t like taking anything. He doesn't push it.
“Okay. I’ll get you an ice pack.”
Before he hurries back downstairs, Andrew uses his unbandaged hand to pull Neil in. He kisses him. It isn't soft or slow or sweet, but Neil recognises the simple touch as the thankyou which Andrew intended but would never say out loud.
The next morning, Andrew opens his eyes, one of them aching more than the other. His hand and the side of his face are throbbing with dull pain, but it’s bearable. He’s been through much worse pain. A few bruises are no trouble.
Neil has always been a light sleeper, so the second he feels Andrew shift around, his eyes open. His eyes are always icy and sharp when he first opens his eyes, but after a few seconds of staring at Andrew, they become soft and calm, like the stretch of the settled sea over the horizon.
“Morning,” Neil says, a small smile twisting at his lips. Andrew feels a warm ache in his chest which has nothing to do with the fight last night.
Andrew lets his eyes float down to Neil’s shoulder, where the collar of his oversized sleep shirt has slipped down. When he feels Neil's eyes fix on his cheek, he murmurs, “Staring," ignoring the total hypocrisy of that statement.
“Mhm. Yeah.”
“Fucking stop it,” Andrew says, shoving Neil with his foot, although there’s no heat in his voice. If anything, he sounds far too affectionate. Neil must notice and hides his smile. Resisting the urge to lean forward and kiss him, Andrew just pulls the covers more over him and says, “What’s the time?"
“Nine.”
“You didn’t go on a run.”
Neil hums noncommittally. He’s not hungover. He barely drank anything the night before. There’s no good reason for him to skip his run.
“Why not.”
“Didn’t feel like it.”
That’s a lie. Andrew knows why Neil remained behind. After the fight last night, memories could have resurfaced, about Drake and Aaron and Cass and Tilda, and he wanted to be there just in case Andrew got lost in his own caustic thoughts.
But Neil doesn’t know what a calming effect just his presence has. Andrew has never liked using people as coping mechanisms, but Neil’s deep eyes and smooth voice and the uneven battleground of his skin works to battle his demons better than anything else ever has.
That should scare him. It just floods him with something strange, something which pulls at his stomach until he feels the overwhelming urge to press close to Neil, skin to skin and mouth to mouth.
“How’s your hand?”
Andrew just looks at him.
“If it’s swollen really badly, you could have - hurt something.”
“I’m not going to a hospital.”
“What if you need to?”
Andrew glares harder. “I don’t fucking need to.”
“How is it?” Neil asks again.
Andrew sighs heavily, his ire obvious in his furrowed eyebrows. “It’s fine.”
“What about your face?”
“Neil.”
Neil huffs out a breath, something similar to a laugh but with a fair amount of annoyance buried in it. “You could have done something. I’m just checking.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me.”
There’s a moment which they seem to share the same memory. Andrew remembers when Neil came back from his father as a broken man, covered in burns and bandages. He remembers holding Neil up physically whilst Neil held him up emotionally.
Andrew feels the awful, strangling emotions which he felt when Neil had disappeared begin to rise like bile. His chest clenches and his fists follow, balling into fists -
But it passes, disappearing into the air quicker than a whisper. He relaxes again. Neil is here right now, blue eyes flashing as they stare into Andrew's, simple adoration written onto his face.
Neil’s eyes crinkle in a smile. “That’s what we do, right? You take care of me, I take care of you.”
“Shut up,” Andrew growls.
It is not true. Andrew had to hold Neil up because of their deal, nothing more. He agreed to protect Neil and his continuation of that promise has got absolutely nothing to do with the influx of warm feelings which make him feel like he’s hanging off the edge of a cliff. Neil is nothing, this is nothing, they are -
“Make me,” Neil says softly.
His thoughts seem to evaporate and he’s left with absolutely no choice but to kiss away Neil’s smile.
If he lets Neil rebandage his knuckles later that morning, nobody has to know.
And he definitely doesn’t enjoy it when Neil holds ice to his eye, fingers combing through his hair at the same time.
You take care of me, I take care of you.
The words feel dangerous. Too close. Too heartfelt.
But Andrew relishes the little thrill he gets from it, as if he’s turning around to the universe and saying fuck you , I’m happy , as if he’s escaping the box he’s confined himself to. He’s found something worth keeping, something he can take care of.
Forever always seemed like dream. Anything good which Andrew had is snatched away in a cruel twist of fate, but Neil is still here. Neil has been here for a year now, always present with kisses and questions, cigarettes and respect.
Although he doesn't like to hope for things due to the inevitable disappointment, Andrew finds his emotions spiralling beyond his control. He promptly stamps it back down, but the glimmer of hope which flutters over him doesn't disappear for a long time. It lingers in the air, hovering above them - I want this forever.