Chapter Text
Neil’s full name is Nathaniel but as long as he can remember he has been Neil. Sometimes he’s kiddo or boyo or love as well. But he’s always Neil underneath that.
He was named after his father, Nathan, but his parents have always called him Neil. Once, his dad said that it’s because he wants Neil to be different from him, better than him, even. To have no part of Nathan himself, even his name. Neil’s never understood that - why would he ever want to be different from his dad? How could he ever be better than him? His dad is great and brave and kind - he gives the best hugs and ruffles his hair and checks for monsters under the bed.
Secretly, Neil likes being called Nathaniel.
-
“Daddy, what’s that on your hand?”
Nathan Wesninski glances down at his hand, holding his son’s stuffed bear. He notices almost immediately what Neil had: a smear of dried blood on the side of his finger, exposed as he holds Mr. Cuddles up for his son’s amusement. There is something stark about the blood and the horrors it represents juxtaposed over the soft golden fluff of Mr. Cuddles.
“Hm? Oh, that’s nothing to worry about, Neil. Daddy just accidentally hurt himself earlier.”
Nathan did not cut himself. It is not his blood. He must have missed it when he was washing his hands earlier. He’d been rushing because he’d promised Neil a bedtime story and would hate to see disappointment cloud his son’t bright features.
“Oh no, Daddy! Don’t worry, Neil will make it better!”
Neil is wide awake now, pushing up out of bed. Nathan knows that he should stop him, make him go to sleep as Mary would want, as is best. But he wants to know how Neil plans on making it better.
Neil takes him by the hand and leads him out of his room and into the bathroom next door. He drops Nathan’s hand and crouches down to open a cupboard. He rummages about for a few seconds before shooting up victorious, a box clutched in his hand. He has Nathan sit on the closed toilet while he opens the box, upending it on the counter, a collection of brightly coloured plasters pouring out.
He picks one up and with his other hand picks up Nathan’s tainted hand. He then presses the still sealed plaster to the smeared blood and moves his hand away. The plaster falls to the floor. Neil pouts.
“You need to open it so it’s sticky, give it to me and I’ll try.”
Neil passes him the plaster and Nathan opens it easily before hovering it over his bloody finger, letting Neil stick it down. Neil does so with gusto, then bends down to kiss the plaster.
“There! Now it’s all better!”
Nathan wishes it was all better, that this plaster, with its design of woodland animals running over his finger, had fixed all his problems. He wishes it were that easy.
“Yes, it is. Thank you, Neil. Now it’s time for bed before Mummy comes and gives us in trouble for being up past your bedtime.”
Neil has a slight look of fear at his words and grabs his hand again, pulling him back to the bedroom. How funny that he fears his mother’s telling off but not the man wearing a dead man’s blood. The man who had taken his cleaver over and over to a not so innocent man not an hour before.
Neil climbs into bed, droopy lids blinking slowly over eyes dimming with sleep. Nathan strokes his hair, the auburn fluff sticking out every which way in what is already an impressive bed head.
“Night night, kiddo. I love you.”
“Night night, daddy. Love you.”
-
Later, Nathan looks at the plaster on his finger. There is a fox there. It seems to be laughing at him, the Butcher of Baltimore wearing a child’s plaster to cover up a dead man’s blood.
-
Nathan finds it funny, really. That his son is scared of the empty space under his bed but clings to the real monster in fear.
“Shh, Neil. Look, there’s nothing under there,” he says, holding his son in his arms as they peer under the bed.
“No, daddy! I don’t wanna look!” Neil cries, twisting in his father’s arms. Nathan pulls the writhing boy closer into his hold, letting Neil wrap his arms around his neck and bury his face in Nathan’s chest.
Nathan sighs. How is he going to calm Neil down? He rubs Neil’s back, murmuring comforting, nonsense words in his ear.
“Neil,” he says. Neil looks up at him, tears glistening in those big blue eyes of his. “Neil, I need you to be brave, can you do that for me?”
Neil frowns, considering.
“You’re a big boy, aren’t you Neil?” Neil nods. “Well big boys are brave, aren’t they? Can you be a brave boy for daddy?”
He nods again.
“Good boy. Now, let’s look under the bed again, okay?”
“It’s going to get me,” Neil whimpers.
“Daddy will be right here with you and I’ll protect you if there’s a monster, okay Neil?”
Neil nods, blinking his teary baby blues up at Nathan.
Fuck, what a cute kid. Nathan has no idea how he’d managed to create such a soft, precious thing. How his darkness didn’t taint the lovely boy in his arms.
Nathan turns Neil in his lap so he’s facing forwards, then leans them both down to look under the bed. Neil’s little hand grips his tightly, nails biting into the back of his hand. But he looks and Nathan feels the tension leave his body as he slumps in his father’s arms upon realising that there is nothing under the bed save a few dust bunnies.
“Okay, Neil? There’s no monster, see? Now are you ready to go to bed?”
“Yes, daddy. Thank you for protecting me.”
“You’re very welcome. Now come on, I’ll read you a story.”
And so Nathan settles Neil into bed, grabbing a book from the overflowing shelf near Neil’s bed. He’d read each of the stories maybe a dozen times but Neil never grew bored of them and so Nathan was happy to read them.
He chooses one about a clever fox who befriends some other woodland animals which he thinks might be Neil’s favourite. The pages are well worn and Neil smiles sleepily once he sees it.
Nathan reads him the story, making sure to do all the voices of the different animals and making faces to go with the characters, Neil giggles sleepily as he watches him, mimicking the ones he finds funniest.
Once he’s done and Neil’s eyes are struggling to stay open, Nathan reaches out and ruffles Neil’s auburn hair, twin to his own. He kisses his cheek, murmuring “goodnight,” as he pulls away and leaves the room.
He sighs once the door is closed behind him. Then makes his way to the basement – he has work to do.
-
Neil is sitting in the living room surrounded by a veritable army of toys.
He and Mary had settled here after dinner while Nathan worked in the office. Neil had delighted in introducing all of his toys to his mum (as if she didn’t see them every day) and explaining his game to her.
Now, they were playing together, moving the toys and doing their voices when suddenly there came a loud bang from downstairs.
Neil flinches at the interruption and Mary stills, knowing exactly where that sound came from – Nathan’s basement workshop. Only his people ever use that door, and they only ever come to the house unexpectedly when they have someone with them for the Butcher.
Sure enough, she hears muffled yelling and pleading coming from the basement.
The office door bursts open just as she is moving to hold Neil who looks scared by the sounds.
“Mary,” Nathan barks with murder on his face. “Get him upstairs.”
Mary nods, reaching for her son who wriggles away in protest, running to his dad who’s heading for the basement.
“What’s happening daddy? Who is that?” Neil asks, reaching for Nathan.
Nathan turns, kneeling and face softening as he faces his son. “It’s nothing for you to worry about Neil, just some of daddy’s friends. Now you go with mummy, okay?”
There’s another loud yell from the basement, followed by a thump. Neil shakes.
“Come on Neil,” Mary says, picking him up. “It’s time to go to bed.”
She carries him away and as the door to the living room closes behind her, Nathan makes his way to the basement. He’s going to make them pay for scaring his son like that, for bringing this darkness so close to Neil.