Chapter Text
Millport is a horrible, dry as fuck little town in the vast nothingness of the dust hole that is Arizona, and Andrew hates it with vigor.
He has been tracking a horde of Manticores for weeks now, and isn’t that something? A half-blood having to chase after the monsters. He is starting to feel like one of Renee’s hunters, when Andrew is pretty sure the nasty scorpion-cats should want to kill him more then he wants to kill them.
Maybe luring his ass out to bumfuck nowhere is one way to do that. It is improbable, since last time Andrew spotted them, one of the Manticores looked him dead in the eye, before turning it’s lion head away, scorpion tail swinging like it was offended Andrew was still there.
Now, this might be his first official quest – well … technically it had been Aaron’s, but still. Andrew has had his fair share of experience with monsters over the years, mystical or not, and that is not natural behavior.
The Manticores he is after aren’t even humanoid. They are smaller then their man-faced cousins, and missing the leathery wings, making them incapable of complex thought. Whatever is going on with them has to be purely instinctual.
So far Andrew has narrowed his assumptions down to two possibilities: they are either running from something more dangerous then Andrew, or they are chasing better pray then he would be.
In either case, Andrew doesn’t particularly care, getting this shitshow over with can’t happen soon enough.
After all the fuzz they make about it, he had thought going on a quest would be more interesting.
Not that he is longing to go back to camp, where Aaron can blame every misgiving of his life on Andrew, and he has the same meaningless tasks to drag him from one day to the next. Not to mention that Andrew has to wear orange throughout it all. Why orange? The gods really fucking hate their kids.
Sleeping off the weeks of traveling in a decent bed doesn’t sound too bad, though.
Far away from this fantasy, Andrew is trudging through the streets of a dying desert town, where the deep hanging sun makes everything look disgustingly picturesque. Cacti and palm trees sprout from expensively watered strips of grass, and red stone is lining the horizon.
Spring in Arizona equates to summer up in New York, so the temperatures are high. There is an according number of people out and about too, enjoying the end of their workday and filling the town square with life.
With his long-sleeved black on black wardrobe, Andrew doesn’t quite fit into the crowd of shoppers and people going out to eat, but it isn’t as if he is inviting second looks. Crows just parts naturally for him.
The Manticores have to be somewhere close, if the barely there vibration in Andrew’s knives has anything to say about it. The weapons are beautiful stygian iron and the only useful thing Andrew has ever gotten from his godly parent.
Actually, they are the only useful thing Andrew has ever gotten from either of his parents.
How someone can have two mothers and both of them are deadbeats, really is beyond his understanding at this point.
Andrew follows the call of his blades over dusty roads, until a football field appears in his vison, followed by a crap-colored building that is the local highschool.
Since Andrew doubts the Manticores are there for an English lit class, he slips one of the humming weapons out of his armbands.
He carries eight knives on his person at all times. Six belong to the set he got when he was claimed and have ridiculous names Andrew refuses to use, two are for the kind of monsters that are only immortal in the scars they leave.
The Stygian Iron in his hand is pitch black, and sensing the closeness of creatures without a soul, it looks like the darkness is bleeding out of the metal. It is surrounding the blade in a hue of impossible night, leading Andrew closer to the stadium.
It doesn’t take long until he hears hissing and crashing from the locker rooms.
Despite that, Andrew doesn’t rush forward, instead he calmly draws a second knife and opens the door to the building quietly.
The sound of a fight is coming from down the hallway, there is yelling Andrew can barely make out over the snapping and rumbling of the Manticores, and he wonders briefly what he will walk into, before he pushes open the door to what used to be an athletes lounge.
The room is mess of torn up, toppled over couches, parts of a destroyed entertainment center and deep gashes in the walls. Not to mention the blood. Sticky red liquid is smeared over busted pillows and streaks the floor in a long, ugly stripe, clumping monster dust and feathers together.
Another corridor leads further into the locker rooms, but before Andrew can follow the sound of the fight, movement catches his attention.
Half hidden under one of the couches is a middle aged man – No, Andrew corrects when he spots the telltale horns, a Satyr.
Their eyes meet and Andrew can’t help but think it a miracle that the Satyr is still alive.
A Manticore has punched a ghastly hole into his chest, leaving his Millport Dingos shirt soaked red. One shoulder and half of the Satyrs face was either chewed or clawed off, and his breathing is labored and receding.
Well, at least now Andrew knows where all the blood comes from.
The pain the Satyr is in has to be immeasurable, but he still tries to tell Andrew something. Whatever he chokes up isn’t more then heavy, ragged gasps for air, but he tries pointing down to the hallway with a last effort of strength.
Maybe there was the word protect' in the gurgle of breath, before the Satyrs eyes go from pleading and agonized to glassy, but Andrew can’t be sure.
The Satyr stops moving then, and Andrew watches, as leaves take over his hair. They continue to sprout out of his mouth and chest, and in a matter of seconds the Satyrs body is covered in fresh green, reclaimed by nature.
An unpleasant weight settles in Andrew’s stomach. Watching someone die is never enjoyable, especially if the sight is burned into your brain for eternity, but Andrew is more worried about what the Satyr stands for.
Chances are high, the man was a scout, trying to get a half-blood to camp. The problem is, those half-bloods are almost always children under the age of twelve, and that is not something Andrew is equipped to deal with in any way.
Could that half-blood be what the Manticores were after all this time? It isn’t unheard of that instinct driven monsters are drawn to powerful half-bloods. And that child would have to be powerful for the Manticores to ignore someone as strong as Andrew this close.
Preparing himself, Andrew adjusts the grip he has on his knives, and goes down the way the Satyr indicated. He is already imagining the wide eyed, scared kid he will have to take care of on top of the monsters.
To him, they all look the same when they come into camp: traumatized without a doubt, and completely overwhelmed, but also excited and curious.
Andrew had never looked like that, which is why he would rather not be anyone’s welcome committee into the fucked up life of a half-blood, but it is not like Andrew can just leave them here. No child deserves that.
No child deserves to be ripped apart by Manticores either, so Andrew speeds up his steps, hoping he isn’t too late.
There are several doors leading off to different locker rooms and Andrew’s blades are insistent enough that he wouldn’t have needed the ear grating sound of metal screeching against metal, to know where to go.
When a Manticore jumps him with fledged teeth and a overdramatic hiss, the second Andrew swings open the correct door, he is ready.
The knife Andrew throws lodges itself right between the monsters eyes and he doesn’t have time to watch it burst into dust before Manticores number two and three follow. Now Andrew is down half of his stygian Iron knives and there is an unholy screech behind a row of lockers. Definitely not human.
Thinking about the potential child trapped back there, Andrew jumps over one of the benches and skids the corner – only to see the last remaining Manticore explode.
The burst of golden dust blinds Andrew, but the sudden quiet makes the panting breaths coming closer even louder.
So, when a shadow races out of the monster remains, Andrew reacts.
Unfortunately for the kid, Andrew’s mind is still wired to fight, and while he has enough sense of mind to drop the knife in his hand, the next best weapon available is a broom. At least that is the conclusion Andrew’s brain comes to when he spots it by the toppled over janitors cart.
Next thing he knows, Andrew has his hands around the broomstick, and it connects heavily with the kids stomach.
Except … the person going down with a grunt is not a child at all, at least not more then Andrew.
It is hard to tell with the other boy wheezing in a ball on the ground, but he can't be younger then fifteen. There is still enough natural light coming through the windows for Andrew to make out dark auburn hair, and a baggy, worn sweatshirt.
He is confused for all of a second, before the boy looks up and Andrew feels like someone slammed a broom into his stomach.
Blazing eyes, in an unreal shade of blue, drill a hole straight through any coherent thought Andrew could have had. The other boys beauty doesn’t stop there though, anger has painted his fine cheekbones red in a literally breathtaking blush, and the frown he wears makes his lips look all pouty.
Maybe Andrew’s lungs aren’t working right.
Gorgeous is simply not enough to describe the boy in front of him. Even with overgrown hair and clothes that make him appear scrawny, he looks like … well, a young Greek god.
There is no doubt left, that the boy is a half-blood now. This sort of handsome cannot come from mortal blood alone. It's simply impossible. Andrew can’t help but wonder if Nicky just got someone new to join him in the Aphrodite cabin.
„Fuck you.“ The boy gasps from the floor, clambering to his hands and knees. „Did you just hit me with a broom?“
Andrew looks at the cleaning utensil he is still clutching and throws it away with a shrug. „Survival tip. Don’t come running at someone who is in the middle of a fight.“ Andrew drawls, kicking the knife he dropped up into the air to catch.
He might be showing off a little, so what? The boy is very pretty and Andrew is very gay.
Apparently the boy is also fast as fuck, because before Andrew's hand can close around the handle of the knife, the boy plucks it out of the air. His very pretty face is suddenly very close and anger is a devastatingly good look on it.
Fuck, he's hot.
Those blue eyes are crackling like the heart of a flame, intense enough to make Andrew believe he could burn by proximity alone. Never before was he so sure that something is going to be a problem. Not even when Higgins told him about the identical twelve year old he just brought to camp half-blood, successfully prying Andrew away from the Spears for the summer.
„Who the fuck are you?“ pretty boy hisses at Andrew, the tip of his own knife pointed at his chest. „And where is Hernandez?“
„Andrew.“ The answer comes automatically, because Andrew's brain can apparently not compute what is happening while having a gay crisis at the same time.
Good to know. Good to know.
„And if you are talking about the Satyr, he is dead, I'm afraid. Turned into a prickly looking bush.“
Pretty boy curses lowly, resignation warring with grief. „I told him. I knew … Fucking shit. He should have just …“ with a shake of his head, he gets himself under control again, seemingly postponing his reaction in favor of sweeping his eyes over the stygian iron in his hand and then over Andrew.
„You're a half-blood.“ He says, and it isn’t a question.
So he knows what those are, Andrew thinks. Interesting. Most demigods are completely clueless until they come to camp. Pretty boy's posture loses none of it's intensity as he keeps the knife up.
„What are you doing here?“ he asks.
Andrew’s face stays dead, knowing the apathetic expression portrays enough. „Taking an evening stroll, of course. Just – enjoying the sun.“ He waves sarcastically, absolutely enchanted by the things annoyance does to pretty boy's face. He huffs.
„Bull.Fucking.shit.“ he declares not a moment later. „You look like you haven't seen the sun a day in your life.“
„I’m from California.“ Andrew deadpans, just to be contrary. He knows he is pale as milk.
„Who the fuck cares?“ pretty boy snipes. „I want to know what you are doing here.“
Andrew just tilts his head in mock-consideration, before clicking his tongue once. „No.“ He says simply.
Surprisingly, pretty boy takes half a step back „No?“ he asks confused.
„No.“ Andrew repeats, enthralled by the effect that simple word had on the boy. He wonders if it will work again. How far can he push? „You ask a lot of questions, why should I keep answering?“
Contemplation flashes over pretty boy's features and Andrew wonders what he will come up with now. It’s a positive sort of rush.
„I could just make you answer.“ Pretty boy says, thoughtfully flicking the knife through his fingers a couple times. It sounds more like a question, so Andrew doesn’t worry. Besides – „I doubt you could.“
The shadow of a smile appears on pretty boys face, and it isn‘t a nice one. „That is something I doubt.“ He tells Andrew lowly.
Sparks zip down his back in response. It is so, so self-destructive, but that confident, teasing tone is pulling Andrew in fast.
„Oh?“ he makes, watching the tiny curl of lips fold into a smirk before disappearing.
„What would you take for your answers?“ pretty boy asks then, flipping the knife around, and offering the handle back to Andrew.
It is … startling. The lack of a tantrum. Maybe it’s just that Andrew is so used to it from Aaron, that it catches him off guard. Nobody ever stops, just because Andrew tells them to. That isn’t how it works, is it?
There is always pushing and bargaining, followed by anger, when Andrew fails to meet the insatiable demands to give something away for free. And even when he does … it is never right. Never good enough for Aaron.
„Truth for a truth.“ Offers Andrew, snatching his knife back and adding it to the ones that reappeared under his armbands. The answer comes a bit too easy for his liking, but pretty boy and his ability to listen have him intrigued beyond reason.
Hearing Andrew's condition makes the other boy falter slightly. The hesitance is there and gone in less then a heartbeat, but Andrew doesn’t miss it. He tells himself not to get his hopes up, that wanting things only leads to disappointment, but pretty boy steels himself and nods.
„Okay. Not here though. I would like a place I can oversee a little better. Come on.“
He moves, but turns around again when he notices Andrew didn’t follow. „What?“ He asks.
„I haven’t gotten your name yet. Going somewhere with a stranger is dangerous.“ Andrew mocks. It is meant to bring another rise out of the boy, and by the expression that appears on his face, Andrew managed to at least surprise him.
„Seriously?“
Andrew raises a brow, arms crossed.
It startles the barest hint of a laugh out of the other boy, who slams a hand in front of his mouth. His big blue eyes are unguarded for a second, as if he can't believe the sound he just made, and oh …
That look he gives Andrew just then might be a problem, if the fluttery sensation in his gut is any indication.
„It's Neil.“ Pretty boy has his face already back under control when Andrew pulls out of his shock.
He quickly buries himself into well known apathy and nods, brushing past Neil, and out of the locker room.
„Hey.“ he hears Neil scramble after him with a curse, causing a tiny bubble of humor to float up his throat. That shouldn’t be there, by any means. Andrew doesn’t feel. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t want.
Those are just facts.
So why, when Neil falls into step with him, a indignant little frown between his brows, do those reassurances taste sour in his mind?
*
Neil chooses a old timey little diner at the far end of Millports' main street. It is mostly out of the way, but with enough patrons that nobody looks at them twice. The huge windows are tinted a yellowish brown at the corners, and great for people watching.
That’s the idea, Andrew thinks, when Neil slides into the corner of a booth that offers a good view of both the restaurant and entrance.
He is far enough at the edge of his seat to be able to bolt at any moment, but Andrew chooses not to comment on it and settles opposite to him.
A waitress takes their orders and Andrew uses the lull in action to observe Neil. His Caribbean seawater eyes are playing hopscotch with every possible exit, and every possible threat, in a way of getting a feel for this place.
Upon closer inspection, Andrew can make out a scar running up the side of Neil’s neck, some sort of necklace disappearing under his clothes, that runs over it. There are more scars, where his hands are peaking out of the too long sleeves of his ugly sweatshirt, but they are smaller.
If they are as old as Andrew’s own? He squashes the sudden desire to reach out, heartrate speeding at the mere thought.
Neil has shimmering monster dust still sprinkled in his hair, and something so macabre shouldn’t look that mesmerizing. Outside the windows, the Arizonian sun is sinking, and Neil looks right at home with the warm backdrop of a desert sunset.
Distantly, Andrew wonders if Neil is the son of one of the Hesperides. Surely being the offspring of the goddesses of evening and golden light can be the only explanation for the way Neil’s hair turns into tarnished copper and his face is painted perfectly with contrasting shadows.
Their food comes soon enough, and Neil finally settles a little. When he looks up at Andrew over his fries, he is openly curious.
Andrew drinks his water, until he feels like he has room in his chest again.
„So. Are you going to answer now?“ Neil asks, gesturing with his fork. „What are you doing here?“
Andrew rolls his eyes. „Hunting Manticores. How about you?“ he manages to sound bored and challenging at once.
A hint of mischief plays in Neil’s features, hidden, but not enough to go unnoticed. „Running from Manticores.“ He answers. „Now, who told you to go chase monsters? Have you considered they don’t like you?“
Andrew huffs. Nobody told him to chase monsters. Aaron had been the one chosen for this quest, but even after their huge fall out two and a half months ago, there hadn’t been a chance Andrew would let him go.
„Actually, people told me specifically not to do this.“
He doesn’t mention that those people don’t like him either.
„Ah, a rebel.“ Neil nods, nibbling on the orange slice that came as decoration on the side of his plate.
Andrew shows him a flat look. „You knew I was a half-blood. How?“ he wants to know, not to be distracted from his turn to ask a question.
„You aren’t the first one I had the pleasure of meeting.“ Neil shrugs. „You also killed three Manticores without batting an eye, and you fight with weapons made of stygian Iron. It wasn’t that far of a mental jump.“
Fair point, Andrew has to admit, but … „If you know we exist, why aren’t you in a camp?“
Neil wrinkles his nose in clear distaste. „First of all, it’s my turn, asshole, but whatever. My answer to camps is a big ‘no thank you.’ I tried to tell Hernandez to fuck off too, but he didn’t want to listen.“
„I don’t care what you do.“ Andrew points out, which is true.
„Good.“ Neil annunciates the word by taking a aggressive bite of his chicken sandwich.
It isn’t like Andrew never considered leaving camp, in fact, he had told his own Satyr to make it someone else’s problem. But then there had been Aaron, and the declining survival rate of maturing half-bloods. Living like Neil – nomadic, constantly on the run, but free …
Neil’s entire being has something flutter to life behind Andrew’s ribs, and it doesn’t go away when he fights it with mac and cheese.
For self-preservatory reasons, he calls it interest. Not want.
Andrew Minyard doesn’t want.
„Where is your camp?“
Andrew looks up with a raised eyebrow. „Thought the answer was ‘no thank you’?“
„It is.“ Neil agrees. „But it is truth for truth, and you owe me two.“ He leans his head on his hand and looks at Andrew smugly. By the gods, this boy is a nuisance.
„Long Island, New York.“ Andrew says, a bit confused when the answer lightens Neil’s mood instantly. He hadn’t even realized, how wary Neil had still been, until it isn’t there anymore.
How distracted had he let himself be?
„Great. Second question, aren’t those monster killing field trips normally a multi person job? Like … did you ditch them, or were they eaten or something?“
Andrew is amused by the lack of tact. Not everybody would ask you this bluntly, if you watched your friends die, thirty minutes into meeting you.
„As I said,“ Andrew drawls, keeping up the image of being unimpressed. „I wasn’t supposed to go. Plus, group activities are despicable.“
To that, Neil nods heavily. „Oh, fuck yeah. Group assignments suck.“ He agrees, startling a twitch out of Andrew's lips.
The tiny, reflexive reaction drops a heavy pit in Andrew's gut. He can’t react like this to Neil, it’s against everything he forces himself to be.
„Is that why you are alone out here, even if you are way too old to be?“ He asks. Maybe if he acts like Neil isn’t managing to coax forbidden feelings back to life, it will stop.
Yeah. That is a solid plan.
At least it is, until the question makes Neil’s posture change into something hesitant. It reminds Andrew of someone trying to hide a sprained ankle or sore muscle, and it looks like Andrew just applied pressure right where it hurts.
The slip up is momentary, but it has the sweet tendrils of hope in Andrew freeze at once. Of course he would manage to make it uncomfortable.
That is why even the beginnings of fondness or interest are dangerous. Andrew shouldn’t have allowed them, just because Neil offered a conversation that suggests he thinks Andrew is actually a human being.
He had thought he could keep it up for more then ten minutes.
Great, and now he just sounds pathetic.
„No, not really.“ When Neil looks up from his half finished plate, there is a hollow, washed out shine in his eyes, that reminds Andrew of driftwood. Neil attempts to distract from it with a wry draw of his mouth, but the ruse comes up short.
Maybe it would have worked on someone else, but Andrew knows this exact shade of desperation. How couldn’t he? His world is covered in it.
„Who?“ Andrew asks, because he knows. He knows Neil’s pain, his loss and confusion. The fight of hanging on to a steadily thinning thread, because letting go is simply not an option.
For a second, Andrew is convinced Neil will bolt, that he will run out that door and disappear. Instead something in him breaks.
„My mom.“ He whispers.
„Monsters?“ Andrew guesses.
Neil nods slowly, choosing to hand a piece of himself over to Andrew in this raw moment. Andrew, who is left breathless by the tentative show of trust the other boy allows.
It is the first time he doesn’t have to beg, or pry it from someone.
„Cyclopes.“ Neil agrees tightly. „They were the wild and violent type; got her a couple months ago. We didn’t know there were two, and let us be herded to the coast. The second one came out of the water, he surprised us.“
Andrew accepts that answer with a nod, wondering if Neil’s mother had been able to see through the mist, or if she hadn’t even known what killed her in the end.
He can’t offer any sympathy either way, but he can repay the truth that Neil gave him with one of his own.
„I killed my mortal parent two years ago. She was even less of a mother to me then my godly one. Quite a feat she accomplished there, really.“
Neil lets that sink in silently, while Andrew braces for a reaction. Maybe Neil would be angry about Andrew’s lack of tact, or hurt by the way he brushes off his mothers death. It’s not like Andrew doesn’t know how it goes. Everybody always assumes the worst, because his approach on things isn’t conventional.
Well, it seems Neil is deadest on being the exception to every fucking thing Andrew accepted as a rule long ago.
Something like greatfullness and understanding flashes in his eyes, it is a look that shakes the very foundations Andrew built his understanding of the world on. It’s like Neil just told gravity to go fuck itself and expects Andrew to be perfectly able to navigate without it.
„Did she deserve it?“ Neil has the nerve to ask.
„I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.“
And Neil … Neil just nods. He accepts Andrew’s words as an absolute truth, no questions, no doubt, even though he doesn’t know the first thing about Andrew.
It makes his body cramp with anger. What fucked up joke is this? He drove Aaron to the point of breaking their deal, and now there is someone who believes him? His own fucking twin would be happy to never see him again, having their attempt at being brothers chalked up as a failure. What is he supposed to do with this godsdamned stranger, that looks at him like he understands him?
Neil, for all Andrew knows, could be a vision made of monster dust and the desert sun. Nothing more then a pipe dream Andrew’s broken mind conjured up, to cope with the loneliness that’s been eating at him since Aaron called their deal off.
He fights monsters, and he climbs roofs when he wants to feel alive. It makes him feel incontrol, but there is nothing controlled about Neil. He hates it. Hates him.
Even having Neil in his peripheral right now feels like falling, when Andrew only wants it to stop. An ache, so deep and old Andrew had forgotten about it, stirs. There is no way he is making that mistake again though.
Silently he goes back to forcing mac and cheese toast down his throat. He doesn’t taste a thing, but Neil respects his unspoken bid for quiet and they finish their meal without another word spoken between them.
*
Two hours after leaving the diner Andrew is waiting at a bus stop. Night has settled in, and with it a chill, that replaced the superficial warmth Andrew had been struggling with way too quick. Stupid Arizona with it’s stupid fickle temperatures.
Andrew knows that his bad mood comes from trying to tell himself that he isn’t still feeling that weird restlessness that started when Neil walked away.
Thanks to the shitty gift that is his eidetic memory, he can’t even pretend to forget about it. No, the image of Neil disappearing down the street is forever stuck in his head, just like the exact cadence of his voice and all the shades of blue mixed into his eyes. Every freckle and every goddamn strand of hair.
Neil will probably have forgotten about their encounter in a few weeks, but Andrew doesn’t have that luxury. Just one of the wonderful perks that comes with having the goddess of balance, retribution and vengeance as a mother.
It isn’t enough that he remembers all his fucking trauma in complete clarity, from now on this beautiful, jumpy stranger will haunt the back of his mind for eternity.
If it weren’t so dangerous, Andrew would curse out the gods for not keeping it in their pants. As it is, he has to settle for Tilda.
How the fuck do you even manage to get the attention of someone like Nemesis? He wishes the stupid bitch would have died of shock when she found out she got pregnant from fucking a woman.
Ironic, isn’t it? She runs away from her homophobic family because she isn't as straight as they want her to be, and then she ends up with two babies she never wanted.
Now Andrew has to deal with life. A tragedy.
Jittery from both the cold, and the buzzing Neil left behind under his skin, Andrew checks the time again. The bus won’t show up for another fourty minutes.
He tries to care about going back to camp, about seeing Aaron and Nicky again.
A brother, who wants nothing to do with him, and a cousin, who has no idea how to even speak to him.
Over the years Andrew witnessed countless people return from quests, and the joy and celebration that sweep up the entire camp are always the same.
His own return will be nothing like that, he isn’t holding on to any illusions there.
Maybe Aaron will throw another fit over the fact that Andrew ‘stole’ his quest, before he disappears with his latest girlfriend. Nicky could try to get some stories out of him, before something else is more interesting. The only thing he knows for sure is, that Wymack will scold him for leaving on his own.
After that it will be back to resentful glances and tense silences between him and the rest of camp.
There is Betsy, of course, regularly inviting him into her cave for hot chocolate and gossip. The Oracle might be the only person who is always genuinely happy to see him – well, apart from Renee. But as the lieutenant of the hunters of Artemis, Renee is roaming the woods with her chosen goddess right now. It could be months until he sees her again.
The only reason he is starting the journey back without even taking a night to rest is, because he doesn’t trust himself to not do something stupid if he stays. Like going out to look for a certain boy with blue eyes.
Another look at the time tells Andrew that there are still thirty-three minutes of waiting left. He sighs, fiddling with the straps of the camp issued backpack he snatched before leaving.
There is a Snickers bar squished somewhere under his clothes, and Andrew is contemplating the pros and cons of trying to find it in the dark, when something crashes in the alley behind him.
Andrew’s fingers still. Other then a weirdly shaped cactus down the street, there is no one and nothing around. Millport is deader then dead, the only thing missing to underline it, is one of those tumbleweed grass-ball-things that always show up in western movies.
Guard up, Andrew slides one of his knives out of his armbands. He approaches the alley silently, blade poised forward, while listening for any suspicious sounds.
It could technically be a stray animal, but he is a demigod. One of the first things you learn with this fate is that ninety-nine percent of the time, it isn’t the harmless option. In fact, it is probably a horrible, dangerous option you haven’t even considered yet.
With that in mind, Andrew is accordingly surprised, when the only thing in the alley are trash bags. He blinks, eyes searching up and down the faded walls and cracked up pavement, but nothing happens.
Not trusting the whole thing, Andrew stays low, his boots barely making a sound as he closes in on the trash bags.
He sees a leg first.
If not for his memory, maybe Andrew wouldn’t have even remembered the sneaker. As it is, he throws caution into the wind, and almost trips over his feet in order to get to Neil’s collapsed form as fast as possible.
His brain isn’t really catching up to the movements of his body, but Andrew bans every doubt as soon as he sees the dark spots soaking Neil’s side. It is unmistakably blood.
„Neil.“ The other half-blood is conscious, but completely out of breath. Andrew almost chokes on the gust of pure relief that rushes through him at the sight of him awake.
His hasty movements made Neil snap up into a sitting position, his blue eyes wide and scared until they settle on Andrew.
„Oh. Hi Andrew. What are you doing out here?“ Neil tries, grimacing at the pain every move causes. „You know, it’s really dangerous out in the dark.“
Andrew just raises an unimpressed eyebrow, and watches as the sweaty, tousled boy presses a hand to his ribs and hisses.
„I left you out of my sight for two hours.“ He intones. „How in the gods names did you manage that?“ Andrew nods to the injury.
Neil looks down, as if seeing the wound for the first time, then he shrugs. „Today is … not my day.“ He chooses to say.
Andrew refrains from rolling his eyes, but it is a close thing.
„That much is obvious idiot. What, did your mom do all the monster killing before, and now you don’t know how it works?“ Maybe bringing up his dead mom isn’t the smartest thing to do, Andrew hasn’t fared too well with that particular topic in the past, after all. But before Andrew can start to worry about a reaction, Neil huffs.
„She could handle herself.“ He replies, and it almost sounds … joking? A dark, unkind sort of humor, that is laced with bitterness. „Normally I can too, but I have been here for too long, and I thought I have reached the limit of attacks for today. Obviously a mistake.“
„And a stupid one at that.“ Andrew agrees, angry at Neil for being so careless. And why is he angry?
„Well, surviving is a lot harder without someone to watch your back.“
Neil’s tone is petulant, but the words spark something in Andrew, a temptation, that flames to life so fast, Andrew is left breathless.
Something in him wants to protect this boy, and even thinking about giving in to that horrendously stupid impulse is the most dangerous thing Andrew has ever done.
He knows better. He does. Those things always end up in disaster, but he can’t help the way Neil draws him in.
For his own sanity, Andrew doesn’t question it when he takes off his backpack and rummages around until he finds the carefully wrapped ambrosia squares. They are part of every basic quest kit, not that Andrew had need for them before now.
„Here. Eat.“ He orders, holding the package out for Neil to take.
The other boy just studies the lavender colored wrapper, that makes it look like candy, and frowns. „What is that?“
„Ambrosia,“ and when Neil doesn’t react, Andrew spells it out slowly. „For your wounds?“
Still confused, Neil shakes his head. „Why would you give me that?“
Andrew blinks. „You are hurt.“ He states the obvious.
„Yeah, but that's like … superficial.“ Neil gestures dismissively. „A couple stitches and I’m good to go. Why would you waste your ambrosia on that?“
Andrew looks back down, to where almost half of Neil’s oversized, and now ripped, shirt is sticky with blood. „Eat.“ He repeats.
Neil shakes his head. „No. I’m fine, really. Save it for when you need it.“
„I don’t need it, you do.“ Andrew insists. „So take it.“
A stubborn little crease appears between Neil’s eyes, when he shakes his head again, refusing to take the ambrosia. For someone sitting in a alley between trash bags, he sure has some nerve.
Still, Andrew knows when he has lost, and arguing won’t get them anywhere. It is actually very counterproductive, with Neil still bleeding like that, so Andrew puts the wrapped squares back and stares Neil down.
„How about I make you a deal?“ Andrew offers.
His heart is racing with what he is doing. It is a set up for disappointment, another invitation for life to teach him a lesson, because apparently he hasn’t learned not to try something like this again.
But Neil is interesting. A million times more then anything camp has to offer. Sure, Andrew could go back for Aaron, but his twin has made his opinion on him more then clear.
The only thing that would achieve is having a constant reminder of his failures. It would be a meaningless existence.
As much as he prides himself with wanting nothing, being without purpose is a horrible feeling. Deep, deep down, he is desperate for more.
„What kind of deal?“ Neil asks carefully, but not yet opposed. Something flutters alive in Andrew. Mostly it feels like damnation, but a part of it boarders on thrilled. At least he won’t be bored anymore if Neil accepts.
„You said it yourself, surviving is easier with someone to watch your back. I can do that. Give your back to me, and I will keep you safe.“
Neil’s mouth opens and closes a couple times in shock, the motion followed by an incredulous noise. „I …. You, … I mean – why?“ he manages.
Andrew shrugs, like his every fiber isn’t vibrating with nerves. Is this what it feels like to jump out of a plane? The rush in his ears? The tingling in his limbs? The somersaults of his stomach and heart?
„Because you are right. Camps suck. You need a helping hand, and I need an excuse not to go back. Works, right?“
„I – I guess?“ Neil doesn’t sound sure, so Andrew waits him out. Maybe it is the exhaustion, or the pain, but it takes him quite a while to scrape together an answer.
„But what would you get out of it?“ he finally asks. „I mean, yes, I’m not stupid enough to think that I will last long alone, but what can I offer in return that makes it a fair deal?“
The question takes Andrew off guard. Normally people are fast to seize any possible benefit. Even Aaron had barely listened to Andrew’s terms back when they had made their deal, greedy for the protection. When that wasn’t relevant anymore, Andrew’s presence had become a bother, and Aaron had been quick to disregard the promise he himself had made that day.
„Entertainment.“ Andrew shrugs, „makes my life more interesting.“ It is a miracle that he still manages to sound unbothered, when Neil is continuously trying to make his lungs collapse.
„That isn’t enough.“ Neil insists, having no idea how wrong he is.
Andrew feels so rarely nowadays. The intrigue Neil inspires in him is more then enough to warrant Andrew’s protection.
„I say it is.“ Andrew tells him, no room for arguments. „The deal ends, when I get bored, or you decide you are better off alone. In either case we split as soon as it is safe. Sound good?“
Neil shakes his head in disbelieve, before resting it against the wall at his back. Peering up at Andrew from underneath criminally long lashes, he huffs. „Okay. You got yourself a deal then.“ He agrees.
Andrew refuses to acknowledge the way his lungs fill with helium at those words, how light and tickly breathing is for a moment, and how the sensation pools down into his gut.
One last deal. He will try it one last time.
With a nod, Andrew holds out a hand. „Lets get you out of here then. I've got a med kit we can use to clean you up, and I need to reschedule my bus ticket.“
The beginnings of a wicked little smile appear on Neil’s face, as if he too can’t believe the enormous stupidity of their promise, but couldn’t care less.
Recklessness looks so damn good on him. „Okay then, lets go.“ He says.
One hand still pressed to his side, Neil grabs Andrew’s with the other and lets himself be heaved up.
In the dark alley, with Neil’s blood smeared between their palms like glue, the sum of their desperation feels ridiculously like hope.
Notes:
Since I started writing it, I have liked it, started hating it, and now I kind of like it again? Let me know how you feel about it :)
Should you be wondering why Andrew is a child of Nemesis to me, just read the 'personality' bit of this, and tell me that doesn't sound like Andrew. I didn't want to take tilda out of the equation though, and I think I remember something in trials of apollo about gods being able to have children with same sex partners?? Let's just go with it, okay? 😂
Chapter 2: A Revelation
Notes:
This is going up so much later then intended, but well, some things in life you cant plan for.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Andrew is smoking on the curb, waiting for Neil to finish up in the gas station. It has become a comfortable routine by now.
Since Neil has the uncanny ability to blend almost into invisibility, he is by far the better pickpocket between them, and he works better when he knows Andrew has his back.
Tonight they will probably pay though, since they are checked into the motel that shares a parking space with the gas station. It would be stupid to steal when they are staying so close, and they are already pushing it with the stolen car they pulled up in. No need to act suspicious.
This place might be some nondescript corner somewhere in North Dakota, but they aren’t surviving by being careless.
It's been about five months since that night in Arizona now, and Andrew is still waiting for the other shoe to drop. A couple weeks ago, during their stop in Missouri, they chose to head towards the Canadian border, and see where to go from there.
So close to their temporary destination, they have decided to take a few days to organize, and since it is already late, the gas station food will have to do for dinner. Andrew hates it less then he would ever admit.
Just then, Neil wanders out of the door, a subway bag dangling from his fingers and a giant, aggressively multicolored slushy in hand. He grins when he sees Andrew, who snips his cigarette butt away, ignoring how his heart skips a beat.
The truth is, that living with Neil is almost too easy. For the first time, Andrew feels like he doesn’t have to scream to be heard, Neil just listens.
In five months, Neil has acquired a better read on Andrew, then anyone else in his life before combined, with Bee the only exception. And even for her it took years to get behind Andrew’s walls.
That doesn’t set the bar very high, but it still makes him pause every time Neil offers to sleep in the bathtub, or on the floor when they have to share a motel room, and he notices how on edge Andrew is. Or when he doesn’t get irritated with any curt answers, or when he joins Andrew in his silence. A comforting, steady presence next to him.
How Neil gives him space, without acting like his needs are an inconvenience or burden … Andrew thinks it is too good to be true sometimes.
„For you.“ Neil says, presenting him the jumbo sized slushy, as soon as he has reached Andrew. „I tried to fit in every flavor they had, so you can try them all.“
Andrew lifts an eyebrow. „I don’t remember asking for one.“
„I know. But those slushy machines usually hold your attention approximately 0,3 seconds longer then most things, so I thought you might be interested.“ He wiggles the colorful cup expectantly.
Andrew wants to be abrasive, but he doesn’t trust the tight feeling in his throat. He would pretty much prefer not to reveal that Neil is giving him something Andrew had wanted so badly at six years old, that he had risked a beating, asking for it.
The fascination with the bright colored, hypnotically swirling sugar water hadn’t receded afterwards, but it wasn’t something he had ever dared to revisit.
Sometimes Andrew hates how easy Neil can read him too.
He still grabs the cup, layered in every possible color and takes a sip. Neil lights up at that, and something in Andrew’s chest squeezes. This boy is an impossibility. He has to be.
„Do you like it?“ Neil asks, as they start their leisurely stroll back to the motel. „One of the flavors was bubblegum, so if that ends up being toxic, I will not take responsibility.“
Wordlessly Andrew tilts the slushy towards Neil, a challenge in the tip of his head. Neil hesitates only a moment before closing his lips around the straw in determination. His cheeks hollow, eyes on Andrew, andwhy the heck did he think that was a good idea?
When Neil pulls back, his bottom lip is tinted slightly darker, and Andrew has to resist the urge to grab Neil’s face and lick the artificial flavor out if his mouth.
He busies his mouth with the straw instead, pointedly not thinking about how Neil’s lips were right where his are now, only moments before.
The grimace Neil pulls is decidedly not adorable either, thank you very much.
„Andrew.“ Neil gasps, trying to get the overly sweet tang of the slushy off his tongue. „By the gods … is that supposed to taste like cherries? Have they ever tried a cherry? Fuck, that’s disgusting.“
Andrew pointedly takes another sip. It is answer enough for Neil, who rolls his eyes with that half-swallowed laugh that captures Andrew every time.
The rest of the way back to the motel, Neil tells Andrew about the guy working at the gas station subway shop, that had tried to send him away, even though they were still open for another fifteen minutes. Another fifteen minutes Andrew!
„Listen, I get that the job sucks, but that doesn’t mean he has to look at me like he wants to dump the entire bucket of tomatoes on my head“ Neil complains when they push into the lobby.
„You've got that effect on people.“ Andrew answers around the straw. „That guy is a coward for not following through. I would have done it.“
„That’s why you aren’t working in customer service, Drew.“ Neil says. „Throwing their stuff around would be really bad for the business. You would get fired in no time.“
At that Andrew only shrugs. It is true after all.
Most of his focus is already on the lobby.
Andrew had seen the bus pull into the parking lot, opening it’s doors to a wave of preppy girls with swishy ponytails and cringy team jackets.
He had held onto the slim chance of them not being downstairs anymore when he and Neil get inside, but of course, no such luck. The entire lobby is filled with … urgh, cheerleaders. Gross.
For Aaron this chattering pile of girls in tight leggings would probably be the start of a wet dream – Well, for Andrew it’s the beginning of a headache.
Neil gives the cluster of girls a cursory sweep with his eyes. He doesn’t seem overly surprised to see them, so he has probably noticed the bus outside too.
Andrew hates that he is watching Neil for a reaction, but he can’t help himself. It isn’t that Andrew expects Neil to ever reciprocate his attraction, but in moments like this, when Neil doesn’t linger on any set of curves on a girl, he has to wonder.
In fact, Neil even crinkles his nose a bit, but does that mean he isn’t into girls? And even if he isn’t, that doesn’t mean he is into guys by default.
Andrew could spend hours going over those questions without coming to a satisfying conclusion. On a particularly long car ride, with Neil sleeping against the passenger window, he has done just that, and there is no need for a repeat.
Eager to get away from so much noise and motion, Andrew and Neil make a direct beeline to the elevators. A especially loud giggle comes from the group, and when Andrew looks over, wary, three of the girls are staring at them.
They aren’t even being subtle about it. One girl with a full head of bouncy black curls, and claw like nails especially. She is dressed in the same tacky colors as the rest, and her jacket reads Marissa in almost unreadable cursive. But most importantly, she is looking at Neil like she wants to eat him.
Neil, of course, doesn’t notice. For someone so vigilant he is surprisingly oblivious to the looks he gets, even while dressed like a homeless person.
Andrew isn’t. He catches the cheerleaders eye and glares, hard enough it would send every person with two brain cells running. This girl seems not to fall into that category however – what a surprise.
More annoyed then he should be, Andrew steps into the elevator after Neil, when it finally arrives. He is just about to put the ogling girls out of his mind, when a high voice pipes up.
„Hey! hold the door please.“
Marissa and her entourage – a blond girl with Chelsea on her eyesore of a jacket, and one with dark skin and braids, labeled Trish – are hurrying over, painful looking smiles on their faces.
Neil looks up surprised, while Andrew makes eyecontact and presses the button for the doors to close. They do, thankfully, but an inch before they connect, a manicured Hand wedges between, and Marissa’s fake smile shows up again.
„Puh, that was close.“ She laughs. „You must have hit the wrong button.“
„Must have.“ Andrew drawls.
They both know he didn’t.
Despite the frosty atmosphere in the elevator, the three cheerleaders squeeze in, and Marissa sidles up way too close to Neil immediately.
Not in the mood to be cornered in this tiny metal box, Andrew places himself at Neil’s back, turning his own to the cold metal wall at the side, so he can keep an eye on those leeches. His arms itch with the desire to pull his knifes, and get Marissa away from Neil’s personal space, but he grits his teeth against the impulse.
Finally the doors close for real and the elevator starts moving.
Andrew’s relief is short lived however, because apparently cheerleaders never ever shut the fuck up.
„You're really cute, you know.“ Marissa tells Neil, and a muscle in Andrew’s cheek twitches, so he takes another drink from his slushy. Neil is sixteen for gods sake, and those girls look like they are from a college, not a highschool.
„Okay?“ Neil says, side eying Marissa condescending enough for Andrew’s heart to swirl with glee. Let her embarrass herself.
„Yeah.“ Apparently this bitch really is stupid, if she still isn’t getting the hint. At least Andrew is suffering in silence with his attraction. Way more dignified.
„You really are, so do me a favor and don’t move now. I bet you taste really well too.“ Something flashes behind Marissa’s head, and that is when Andrew realizes that Trish and Chelsea don’t have human hands anymore, but claws.
In a reflex driven reaction, Andrew throws his cup at Trish, covering the likely fake cheerleader in rainbow liquid, and kicks the blond bitch in the throat, just before her too sharp teeth reach Neil.
The motion lifts the lingering mist off the girls, revealing flaming hair, red eyes, and mismatching legs of metal and fur.
Empousai. Fuck.
Now the itch under his skin makes sense. That were his knives, warning him. He should have known.
Chelsea has a moment to look shocked at Andrew’s quick counter, before Neil drives his bone-made sword through her chest, exploding her.
Andrew still has no idea where Neil got that weapon from, only that he hates drawing it. That alone is indication enough for how serious the situation is. The doors ding open, and neither Andrew, nor Neil hesitate to bring distance between themselves, and the two pissed Empousai.
In Andrew’s ear, Wymack is droning on and on about different monsters. For once, both his memory, and the old camp instructor, are useful, providing him with the facts he needs.
Empousai are vampire-like creatures, part of their abilities are seduction and Charm speak, but neither work when the target isn’t attracted to them. Well, Andrew got that box checked and apparently, so does Neil.
Apart from the shapeshifting they used to get close to them in the first place, the most dangerous thing about them is probably how they can manipulate the mist in their favor.
Andrew looks over at Neil, about to order him to stay back, but the diamond-like quality of his eyes tells him not to bother.
Neil might hate drawing his sword, but when he does, he is nothing short of a nightmare. Andrew knows that quite personally, since the idiot is making him train an a schedule. A schedule! On the run! Who the fuck has time for that?
With screams that are somewhere between a donkey's cry and grating metal, Trish and Marissa follow them into the hallway of the motel, flickering fire streaking after their heads.
Marissa immediately goes after Neil, who jumps back in order to give Andrew room to brace for the incoming attack from Trish in the narrow hallway. Idiot.
Still, Andrew's knives find their way into his palms, and he counters the first slashes of the Empousa’s claws with his armbands. Nemesis had been nice enough to make them impenetrable.
The faster he is done with this bitch, the faster he can concentrate on helping Neil.
That is easier said then done, though. Chelsea had only been that easy to take out because she had thought they were stunned, giving Neil and Andrew the advantage of surprising her.
Trish surely isn’t playing. She is taller then Andrew, and strong, her uneven legs make her slow, but she covers that weakness well with ferociousness alone.
A few months ago, maybe Andrew would have gotten a thrill out of facing such a powerful opponent. One, whose hair is so blindingly hot, it is hard to follow her movements, one whose brutal grin shows off glinting fangs and who carves into the surrounding walls with ease, every time she misses him.
Now, with Neil’s life on the line, Andrew couldn’t care less. Now, the only thing required for him to feel is Neil being close.
That is what he is fighting to keep.
„For such a tiny thing, you are quite durable.“ Trish hisses, using her metal leg as a sort of wreaking ball, that could shatter Andrew’s ribs and pop his organs like water balloons.
He ducks away just in time, but loses track of her claws for a second. They are there suddenly, too fast to dodge. The swipe grazes Andrew’s face barely, but the pain is a shock.
Blood is running into Andrew’s right eye, and down his temple. He tries blinking it away, to get a clear view, and focus, but Trish uses his distraction to go for his wrists and pin him to the wall. Andrew has only his armbands to thank for not being speared by those claws.
They don’t keep Trish from pressing her entire, heavy Empousa body along his own, trapping and immobilizing him.
He should struggle, bash his head against hers, try to get out of her grip, but Andrew is frozen.
Memories of the exact same kind paralyze him, keep him in place. His brain knows that he can’t just stop, but his body … oh, his body was taught that fighting changes nothing.
Andrew hates the fear creeping up his spine, paralyzing his limbs, his lungs. But staying still is the only response he can manage.
Just don’t move.
Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move.
It hurts less. Just wait ‘till it is over. It’s gonna be over soon. Just be quiet, they will stop.
It will stop, it will stop, it will ... it will stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop …
Andrew isn’t realizing the words made it out of his mouth until he feels hot breath on the side of his face and almost throws up.
„Where would be the fun in that? I didn’t even get a taste yet.“ Trish whispers sadistically, her hands tighten, and the strong, restricting press of her body increases.
She tilts her head, grinning, and Andrew’s throat closes up. Sounds, that used to be vowels, that used to be actions pile up and get stuck in his windpipe, making breathing impossible.
From the direction Neil is fighting in, erupts a scream. It could be the Empousa, but it could also be Neil, and Andrew can do nothing, nothing, nothing …
„No.“ It is choked, emotional and weak. So, so weak, but it is all Andrew is capable of. One word that never changed anything.
„He. Said. Stop.“ Neil’s voice filters through Andrew’s panic, and while he can make out the anger in it, the meaning of his words are incomprehensible to Andrew.
Neil should run. Andrew is failing to protect him, he should use the time Trish is wasting on him, and flee.
Why isn’t he running?
Out of nowhere, Trish suddenly makes a garbled noise, like gurgling blood with a slit throat. Andrew forces himself to focus, but there is nothing wrong with her that he can see.
With wide eyes, and pained gasps, she starts sinking slowly, less trapping Andrew in her grip, and more trying to keep herself upright.
It doesn’t matter. Her hands are still on him, he still can’t make the memories leave him alone …
„Let him go!“ The order has a weird ring to it, like the words are sucked inwards instead of carrying the way sound normally does.
Andrew doesn’t know how, but Trish flings herself off him like he burned her, landing on the floor to start screaming in pain.
His own knees collapse too, limbs numb and aching on his descent. After freezing like this, his brain is taking more time to process what’s happening, so Andrew can only watch.
Stunned, he stares at Trish, as she writhers on the ground. There is no other word for it. The noises tearing out of the Empousa's throat resemble a tortured animal, begging for release. She thrashes and cries, her entire body contorting in agony, but from what, Andrew doesn’t know.
The electric lights in the hallway flicker suddenly, and Andrew’s eyes snap up to where Neil is standing over the winding Empousa.
His breath catches in surprise.
The other boy has an aura of something inherently malevolent surrounding him. Andrew couldn’t describe it if he tried, but it is visible, licking at him like purple flames.
Where they touch him, Neil’s skin is that of a waxy, mutilated corpse.
Wounds, old enough to look dead, crawl over every visible bit of skin. They are layered over his cheeks, and neck, and reach down to missing fingernails and burned knuckles.
They are blurred under that purple aura, but Andrew starts dry heaving on the spot.
Despair like he has never felt before comes over him. It aches. It makes curling up somewhere to hide seem like the most sensible option
The air around them gets thicker, Trish's cries are ringing in Andrew's head, and his mouth is filling with the sour taste of sulfur and tar. So much, that Andrew has to gag,
„Neil?“ Andrew rasps, too quiet to be heard over Trish's frantic wails.
Neil predictably doesn’t react. He stays focused on the Empousa, his bone sword hanging limply at his side. Eerily, his face is split into a soulless smile, so huge, it is tearing at the wounds on Neil's damaged cheeks.
Almost as bad are the eyes.
Neil’s usually stunning blue eyes have turned into clouded maelstroms of nothingness. A ever growing abyss is opening in them, revealing a vacuum that threatens to consume everything.
Gone is the ocean sparkling in sunlight, and gone is the expense of summer sky, Andrew would have so readily drowned in.
Left is only a bottomless pit, that can never be satisfied.
Trish screams again, sobs, half mad with pain, and it is earthshattering and inhuman and wrong.
Then, right under Andrew's disbelieving gaze, she starts dissolving. Her eyes roll back, she bucks, and screams, and screams and screams, but the golden dust flakes away, like it is being rubbed off her bones with sandpaper. Once in the air, it swirls towards Neil.
It isn’t pity for the Empousa, that makes Andrew act, he just knows that whatever Neil is doing is freaky as all hell, and he has to stop it.
He might not be the most stable yet, but it will have to do. He can’t let Neil hurt himself. A knife in hand, Andrew wipes the blood out of his eye, and, panting, he pulls himself forward and sinks it into the dying monsters stomach.
She bursts under the blade, causing Andrew to loses his balance, so he ends up sprawled over the ugly rug of the motel, wheezing.
Despite that, he doesn’t stay down for long.
Without the Empousa to focus on, Neil wavers. The purple flames flicker out, leaving Neil a shaking mess.
Underneath, the wounds are gone, but Neil is so pale, Andrew would have thought sunlight is something he had never experienced. Neil’s fight for breath is audible, and, unsteady as he is himself, Andrew isn’t fast enough to catch Neil when he falls.
He is there right after though. Neil is curled into himself against the wall, pained noises muffled against his knees, and his entire body coiled and trembling.
The image tears something in Andrew. This is his fault. He wasn’t strong enough, and Neil payed the price. Stupid fucking idiot. Why didn’t he just run?
„Neil.“ Calling his name doesn’t have any effect, and that makes Andrew panic. Neil looks so small. So vulnerable. He is terrified down to his bones and clutching at his own hair with ragged breaths.
Andrew itches with the absurd want to pull Neil into his lap, cradle him against his chest, and bury his face in his hair. He wants to hold Neil close and soothe him and make promises he will never be able to fulfill, if only it would help.
Yes. Want.
Andrew wants to be the reason Neil never looks this afraid again.
He doesn’t know if he would have been able to let these thoughts in if he wasn’t feeling so vulnerable himself right now, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters with Neil in this state.
„Neil.“ Andrew repeats his name urgently, grabbing the back of his neck. „You need to breathe.“ It isn’t the first panic attack Andrew witnessed in the last months, and somehow his touch has become grounding for Neil.
Really, it is a shot in the dark, but Andrew is getting sick from that twisting in his stomach. If Neil doesn’t snap out of it soon, he might start having his own melt down, and then where would they be?
The shudder that wreaks through Neil has Andrew almost rip his hand away, but Neil is quicker. His hand shoots up, lighting quick, and clamps down on Andrew’s, holding him in place with a broken noise.
Sure his touch is wanted, Andrew immediately squeezes harder, to make his presence known.
Neil’s breathing speeds up for a moment, muscles coiling even more, but he is holding onto Andrew’s hand like it is his lifeline.
„Neil.“ Andrew prompts again, not managing to suppress all of the worrisome cocktail of emotions this encounter has shaken in him.
This time Neil lifts his head enough to peer up at Andrew through eyes that are back to blue. They are still unseeing, and tainted with fear, but the sight of them like this crumbles the rock that was pressing on Andrew’s lungs until now.
He almost sobs in relief, the wind knocked out of him completely by the desire to cup Neil's face in his hands and cover his eyelids with kisses. He isn’t sure he has ever found them more beautiful.
He isn’t sure he has ever found Neil more beautiful.
„Neil, we gotta get out of here, okay? Someone is going to call the police because of those screams for sure.“
Andrew is pretty sure that Neil didn’t understand him, but he still tries croaking an answer.
„Stand up, come on.“ Andrew tries to urge him to his feet, but the shift of his hand has Neil panicking.
„Stay.“ It’s a shell of a word, fear the only thing forcing it into existence, and it cuts right through Andrew.
„I will.“ He whispers, hoarse from everything that has transpired tonight. „I promised, didn’t I? But we need to leave now. Do you trust me?“
This time Neil blinks fast. He nods, and Andrew mirrors it automatically.
„Good. Good, can I help you up? Put an arm around your waist? Yes or no?“
„Yes.“ Neil whispers, still tethering the edge of being unresponsive.
„Okay then, keep your hands to yourself.” While Andrew doesn’t have a problem with touching Neil, he doesn’t think he could stand someone else’s hands on him tonight
Luckily, Neil listens. His familiar scent of drugstore shampoo and the cheap laundry detergent they share keeps Andrew tethered enough to make it work.
He knows intimately, that this isn’t over. For now, Andrew has managed to pull Neil out of whatever pit he fell into when he attacked Trish, but it won’t last. He has to get Neil to safety before he crashes again.
*
Somehow they make it out of the motel without being stopped. The employees are too swamped with worried guests and calls to care.
After dumping Neil into the passenger seat with all their stuff, it takes Andrew's unsteady hands too long to jumpstart their stolen car, but Neil had been a good teacher and his memory doesn’t allow mistakes.
As soon as the motor starts, Andrew is booking it. Out of the parking lot, over several smaller streets, right to the interstate.
It is unlikely that the incident in the motel will warrant much of a search, since they only left a bit of damage to the walls behind, and no bodies. Still, crossing state lines is the smart thing to do.
So, Andrew steers them towards Minnesota, heart finally calming with the vast expense of dark road stretching before him. Their hijacked car isn’t anything special, but sitting behind a wheel is freedom, it is control, and Andrew lets the quiet thrum of the motor settle him
One look over at Neil prevents him from completely letting go of the tension in his muscles. As expected, whatever happened back at the motel is still wracking havoc in Neil’s mind.
He has his feet on the seat, and his arms around his shins in a death grip, making himself as small as possible. A slight tremble has a hold of his limbs, but to Andrew’s surprise, Neil isn’t hiding his face again. No, his head is pillowed on his knees, and his glazed over blue eyes are settled on Andrew, like he would drown without him there.
Gritting his teeth against the heat taking over his airways and chest, Andrew turns his focus back to the front. Seeing Neil like this is painful, even more so, since Andrew can’t help him.
He doesn’t know what to do with the twinge of betrayal either, and that is almost worse.
They still have their truth game going on – that is how Andrew knows that Neil has in fact been to a camp in Virginia, although briefly, before his mother decided they were better off alone and ran.
It is how Neil found out Aaron and Nicky exist, and that Andrew used to be a foster child.
It is a good system, a fair exchange that Andrew has been learning to trust. Now he is left wondering.
While Neil hadn’t outright lied, he had definitely been keeping things from Andrew. But why? Why would Neil hide a power like this a from him?
Had Neil even known he could do that? He must have.
There hadn’t been an ounce of surprise mixed into his fear. More of the opposite, really.
The terror Neil had reacted with speaks of a deep familiarly with his power. Like he has a million and one reasons to hate it, and is all too aware of the damage it can do.
But what did Neil do, exactly?
Andrew has no idea. He has never heard of a demigod that was able to kill without so much as a touch.
Andrew’s own gift might not seem overly useful in a fight at first, especially compared to Aaron's ability to inflict good, as well as bad karma on a person, according to actions he has witnessed, but it has it's advantages.
Memorizing an opponents fighting style is easy for him. His perfect recall makes it impossible to hide even the smallest of mistakes, so sniffing out weaknesses doesn’t take much of an effort.
Another nice thing about it is being able to navigate the confusing mythology, a demigods life is based on, with ease.
There isn’t a god, minor or not, that Andrew doesn’t know of. He can rattle off every recorded ability of the half-bloods that have passed through Wymack’s camp since it has been founded, and yet … when it comes to Neil, Andrew draws a blank.
Normally, Andrew enjoys piecing things together. He finds searching for clues engaging, and turning over puzzling situations in his mind, until he can make them fit, is as close to fun as he can get, but with this – Andrew doesn’t have the patience.
It had been naive to think that Neil doesn’t have any special abilities, just because he hasn’t shown them. If Andrew wants to keep his promise, it seems like Neil has to answer some questions.
*
With only a few hours separating them from sunrise, Andrew parks the car in the garage of someone who didn’t properly lock their summer house. You would think people who can afford a lake house on one of Minnesota’s billion lakes would also invest in decent security, but no. Picking the lock is Childs play.
There is barely any gas left in the tank of their car, when Andrew turns it off after hours of driving. Well, they are about done with it anyway, he can abandon it on some backroad later. For now it is just important not to alarm any neighbors with an unfamiliar car in the driveway.
Andrew chances a look over at Neil. He has been avoiding it, too uncomfortable with all the feelings Neil stirs in him. A couple times, Neil had flinched during the drive, probably whenever he had been close to dozing off. The motion had been hard enough for Andrew’s will to break more then once and make sure he is still okay.
Okay being relative.
Now, Neil’s shaking seems to have subsided, and the tension locked into his muscles is all drained out. Left is a hollow expression. Haunted, sunken eyes blink mindlessly every few seconds and Neil’s limbs aren’t more then deadweight.
Andrew’s chest aches again. Neil’s mental turmoil is a pain for him to witness.
At a loss for what to do, Andrew puts his hand at the back of Neil’s neck again. For some stupid reason he is almost surprised at how warm Neil’s skin is under his palms. Ho looks freezing.
It takes a moment for Neil to react, but Andrew is more patient then he ever recalls being before. He simply waits until Neil can pull himself out of the trenches of his mind, offering the pressure he puts into his touch as an anchor.
Finally, after some dragged out minutes spent in silence and darkness, Neil’s pulls his eyes up to Andrew.
His pupils are blown, and exhaustion has stripped them of their typical wariness. Thanks to the glow of a streetlamp falling through the open garage gate, Andrew is able to make out every shade of the naked vulnerability in Neil’s eyes.
„You are safe for now,“ Andrew promises, his thumb rubbing soothing little circles into the skin below Neil’s ear. The motion sends a shudder through Neil, his next few breaths come out in stutters, but he nods.
One of Neil’s hands finds Andrew’s at his nape, where he slots his fingers between Andrew’s and squeezes. He swallows hard. „Thank you.“
Andrew isn’t good with being gentle, not by a long shot, but the raspy quality of Neil’s voice makes him hell-bent on trying. For now Andrew keeps his focus on providing something steady for Neil to lean on, and inexplicably, it seems to be enough.
Screwing his eyes closed, Neil presses Andrew’s hand into his skin like he wants to imprint the feeling of it into his skin, then he lets go, and Andrew takes his hand back.
„Okay?“ Andrew asks.
Neil, huddled into his oversized sweater, nods. „Okay.“ He whispers.
They get out of the car, Andrew grabbing their bags, and closing the garage before he and Neil make their way inside.
The place is huge, two stories with a basement that opens up to a park sized backyard, that borders directly onto the water and has it’s own little pier. Some of the furniture is under protective covers, but a signed schedule by the front door reveals a cleaning service that drops by every month.
Great, the home owners likely won’t even notice the dent in their water and energy bills.
Andrew doesn’t take much time to explore though, he leads Neil into the basement, where the light won’t be as visible from the outside and sits him down in the lounge there.
A quick sweep of the floor reveals two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a home bar. From the couch Neil has sunken into, they have a direct view of the enormous plasma TV mounted on the wall, and a Piano in the back corner.
In true Neil fashion, Andrew keeps their bags close nonetheless, throwing the sandwiches they never got to eat on the cushion, before falling down himself.
Andrew is godsdamn tired. The wound above his eye has started pulsing uncomfortably, and his joints ache from the long drive. Even more so, Andrew is close to a emotional burn out, with Neil not far behind.
Despite all that, Andrew knows that rest is out of the question for a while longer.
„Andrew ...“ Neil sounds small, and overwhelmed, but before he can start talking, Andrew shoves the subway bag towards him.
„Food first.“ He decides. Whatever energy reserves they are running on right now, Andrew doesn’t know, but they aren’t going to last without fuel.
So they eat. There is a melancholy in the air between them, that keeps them silent. Neil fading in and out of reality, and Andrew brooding. Never has a sandwich tasted more stale.
They have barely put away their garbage, when Andrew breaks out with the question that’s been searing through his brain.
„I’m going to ask you very upfront Neil, do you know who your godly parent is?“
Neil is nestled close enough for them to almost touch, so Andrew has a front row seat to everything Neil displays on his face.
The defeated laugh Neil answers with doesn’t hold any mirth. His head thumps back and Neil presses the hard part of his palms into his eyes, defeated. When he looks back at Andrew, they are hopeless.
„I have never not known.“ He answers. „I've never had that privilege.“
Ignoring the pull that tells Andrew to reach out and comfort Neil somehow, he raises his throbbing eyebrow in question. Neil just shakes his head.
„Who is it?“
„I can’t say his name.“ Neil whispers shakily. Then he nods to Andrew’s hand, determination shining through his fear. „But … May I?“
Silently, Andrew offers Neil his hand, letting the other boy pull it into his lap.
„I – “ Neil falters. He presses his lips together, before shaking his head. „Just … wait until I’m done explaining, okay?“
Andrew nods, and with a deep inhale, Neil starts tracing letters into the palm of his hand. After each one he looks up to see Andrew’s reaction. Andrew doesn’t look back though, trying to make sense of the name Neil is telling him.
He frowns, playing the letters back, over and over again, but the order stays the same.
‚T-A-R-T-A-R-U-S‘
Except, that is impossible.
Tartarus. The primordial god of the abyss, Jail master of the deepest darkest pit of the underworld, where souls are sent to be tortured for eternity and monsters are reborn.
„Is this a joke?“ Andrew asks, but Neil’s expression alone tells him that it isn’t.
„I wish it was, Andrew. You don’t know how much.“
„but how?“ Andrew insists. „He – Neil. He is premordial. That means he is older then the titans, older then Olympus. Can you even call him a god?“
„No.“ Neil shakes his head, paling at the idea. „Neither gods, nor titans can compete with my fathers power. Calling him a god would be like calling the Nemean lion a cat. Technically it is true, but it is so, so wrong at the same time.“
After finding out about his own heritage, Andrew had really thought nothing could surprise him anymore. He spent hours learning the rules of this new world, and getting strong enough to survive in it. And here sits Neil. Turning everything upside down again.
Andrew hates him.
If he were someone else, he would probably scream.
He isn’t though, so he forces the apathy back in place and says „Neil, I need more information then that.“
That is how Andrew learns about Mary Hatford, spoiled daughter of one of the biggest crime syndicates in Europe. Also, a seeing mortal that, driven by curiosity and pride, got mixed up in something way past her comprehension.
Tartarus, while generally impassive towards the proceedings of the world, is apparently also a sadistic little fucker. After eons of watching other entities meddle with the universe through their half-blood children, he decided to want that for himself. A champion, so to speak, to play with the fate of mortals.
Basically powerless outside of is realm, he manifested only a minimal part of his being to the surface of the earth, where he surrounded himself with people he claimed as his ‚priests‘.
In a furious bid to be a part of the world she was seeing, Mary joined this group, and when Tartarus called, she jumped into the pit with four others. Four half-bloods, loyal to the god of the abyss.
How someone can be so dumb … Andrew is astounded.
Not used to having a physical body, but very much liking the destruction he can bring with it, Tartarus kept that fraction of himself corporal by their side once they arrived.
He was playing with them, obviously, amused by the lesser creatures he had collected. His active effort to keep them alive was the only reason they didn’t die on impact, but Mary and her companions didn’t see it like that.
They were ignorant and too pumped up about their place by the side of one of the most powerful beings to ever exist.
„My father made his realm their playground.“ Neil explains. „He indulged their illusions of grandeur, let them hunt monsters for fun and torture the souls of the damned. They knew, as long as he was backing them, they were invincible.“
Neil tells Andrew how they, in ridiculous hubris, nicknamed the ancient god of the abyss 'Nate', and how he managed to be just charming enough to pull Mary in and get her pregnant.
That’s when the real nightmare started.
Disgusted by the weakness of a half-human child, Tartarus made it his priests sole purpose to make Neil, or ‚Junior', as they had taken to call him, into something useful.
With every uneventful day, he pulled away further from the group, getting bored. The blame for that fell on Neil.
Four cruel, adult demigods that turned the full weight of their anger and frustration on a child that didn’t ask for any of this.
Andrew, upon hearing that, is beyond angry at Mary. How self absorbed and careless can a person be, to bring a child into a situation this fucked up?
Motherhood might have put a spark of sense into her, but that doesn’t matter to him, when Mary couldn’t stop the others from turning their weapons on her toddler, or from throwing him into a pit with various monsters and laugh as he fought for his life.
„I knew about the real thing, long before I knew that there were stories.“ Neil tells Andrew, guiding one of his hands under his shirt.
The skin Andrew can feel under his palm is covered with so much scar tissue, he has trouble discerning where one scar ends and another begins. He looks up into the blue of Neil’s eyes, and sees the years of pain that are carved into his skin, plain as day.
The wrongness of it all puts a heavy weight into Andrew’s gut.
„When they occasionally took it too far, they healed me with water from the river Phlegethon. It isn’t as pleasant as Ambrosia, but they didn't have to worry about breaking me.“ Neil stops himself then, shaking his head.
Andrew’s anger burns like the flames that were forced down Neil’s throat to keep him going. He knows pain, by the gods, he does. But not even he can imagine growing up as the plaything of hells assistant manegers.
„Having a half-blood child doesn’t fulfill it’s purpose when it is sitting in a trench under the earth though.“ Neil says, keeping the contact between them intact. Andrew is glad he does.
„So, when I was ten, my father sent all of us back up. He had found a camp that would take me in, you already know the majority of that part. Evermore is run by the Moriyama family. As far as I know they are descendants of Zeus, and absolutely batshit insane. I was barely even there, but it is a miracle the gods haven’t intervened yet.“ He shakes his head.
„Anyway. Up here, my mom knew she had a fighting chance. She slit some throats to get us out, and took off running.“
The most sensible thing the woman has done in her life, if you ask Andrew. By some miracle he manages to keep that opinion to himself, though. His mouth is simply refusing to add to the pain those confessions cause Neil.
„Running is expensive.“ Andrew remarks.
It is something he has been wondering about. With the money the camp provides for quests, they would have been stranded months ago, but somehow Neil always whips some cash out.
He hasn’t had the chance to ask it in their truth game.
„She had taken millions from her family when she left them, so she had the funds.“ Neil answers „she kept the money hidden for her time in the pit and retrieved it when she came back.“
Andrew watches Neil swallow. By now they are pressed together from thigh to shoulder. With the hand still under Neil’s cloths, Andrew nudges the other boy a bit closer, sliding his hand over more welts in delicate skin, to the small of Neil’s back.
Neil looks, for a lack of better word, haunted. Coming clean with his story is a taxing ordeal, and it's wearing him thin. Andrew wishes he could take on the burden of it as easily as he can support Neil’s weight.
It is one of the few instances in Andrew’s life, where the touch of another person isn’t too much.
He even craves more of it, like pulling Neil’s legs over his lap, or smoothing his thumb over the circles under his eyes, or pressing him to his chest.
All he can think is, that Neil is his to protect. His to hold, in which ever way Neil lets him.
There is still more he needs to know. „What was your fathers reaction?“ he asks.
„He doesn’t particularly care about killing me. At least, he wouldn’t bother to leave his realm for it, when he knows time will take care of it for him.“ Neil shrugs.
Apparently every monster that passes through the domain of Neil’s father has the order to speed things up a bit, though. The first years Neil and Mary even had to dodge scouts from Camp Evermore, but that had stopped over time.
Shortly before Mary died, she and Neil had managed to kill Lola Melcom, the last of Tartarus' priests, a fight that led to the injuries that left Mary open to the cyclops soon after.
Not a huge loss in Andrew’s book, at least she took down her former buddy before kicking the bucket.
„So, what you did with the Empousa is something you inherited from you father?“ Andrew asks, and here Neil clamps up again. He looks about ready to throw up, but he nods.
„I hate doing it.“ He whispers. „It’s like I can feel the abyss stretching under the earth. It’s everywhere, my fathers presence. Like a pulse. Like … breathing. When I access that power it’s like … there is a connection between us.“ Neil shudders. „I hate that it makes me stronger, when compared to him, I’m nothing. I always will be.“
Andrew has no idea what to say to that. No empty platitude would be worth something, so he only nods, letting Neil say what he needs to say.
Somehow, it works. Neil takes a couple measured breaths, and when Andrew cups the back of his neck again, he takes the gesture gratefully.
„I just tried to get her away from you at first.“ Neil confesses. „You … you were saying stop, and she didn’t listen. She was hurting you.“ A spark of righteous anger reignites in Neil’s eyes, despite everything, and he makes an aborted motion towardds the side of Andrews face, as if holding back from checking on the scratches by his eye.
Andrew can’t help the way it makes his stomach clench. No one ever gave a fuck. No one ever bothered to interfere, or to check his wounds. Most people didn't even notice then. The knowledge that Neil does twists it’s way deep into Andrew’s chest, burrowing right into his heart and coating it with warmth.
Every day Neil makes him feel a little brighter, a little fuller, a little more seen.
He doesn’t know how long he will be able to keep that glow hidden anymore.
„I can … I can make others feel my pain. Not only pain I’m currently in, but any pain I have ever experienced, and that's … a lot.“ The shivers start again. Andrew can feel Neil quivering under his hands, and it puts him in a chokehold.
Trish’s screams still echo in his ears. They are branded there forever, and now all he can think of is how they used to be Neil’s. He remembers the wounds Trish felt like she was suffering, so clearly visible on Neil’s skin, paired with a sick grin, and black holes as eyes.
Not only did Neil have to bear excruciating torture, but his defense consists of subjecting his opponents to that exact pain, dragging up all the trauma again and again.
„Normally I fare well with the sensation of broken bones, or … or burns,“ Neil continues. „But she wouldn’t let go. So I -" he is interrupted by a shudder.
„As far as I know, my father is the only deity in existence that can absorb and hold another beings essence. That’s what makes his realm such a perfect holding cell. Just his presence weakens power of any sort.“
Head spinning, Andrew leans back to look at Neil fully, his Hand slipping out from under his shirt. „Are you telling me your father can … kill gods?“ he asks.
Neil nods stiffly. „I have seen him do it with Titans. I don’t know when, or if they come back.“
„Could you?“
Andrew is afraid of that answer. A threat so potent to Olympus sounds impossible. Gods are immortal, they don’t die. That’s their whole fucking deal. Logically, they would have killed Neil long ago if he is that dangerous.
„I don’t know.“ Neil admits. „The first time I went through with it was when my mom died, but I couldn’t hold them for long. I started barfing up monster dust a few days later.“
„But could you do that with a god?“
Neil shrugs helplessly, and Andrew hurts for pressuring him, but he has to know.
„I … think I could disintegrate and capture a god for a while.“ He admits quietly. „Which is probably what the Moriyamas were supposed to train me to do.“
Andrew is barely resisting from shaking his head. „Wouldn’t they have made an effort to eliminate you by now?“
Neil pulls his shoulders up, uncomfortable. „As far as I can tell Olympus and I have a ‘you-leave-me-alone-I-leave-you-alone‘ kinda agreement for now. I think they also know I’m a temporary threat, and want to save themselves the hassle.“
A weight sort of lifts off Andrew’s chest. He would try to keep Neil safe no matter what, but not having to worry about an attack from the assholes bossing around in the sky is a relief.
They suck for not helping, but he would rather have it that way, then being caught up in their power games.
„Okay.“ Andrew says.
Neil’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. „Okay?“ he chokes, incredulous.
„Yeah. We made a deal. I promised to protect you, and I keep my word.“
„Surely who my father is changes things.“ Neil says, dubious.
„It does not.“ Andrew informs him. „Not to me, anyways.“
„But – Andrew …“ He sounds close to pleading, so Andrew covers his mouth, determined.
„I say our deal doesn’t change,“ He repeats, staring furiously into Neil’s eyes. „Except you want it to end?“ Neil shakes his head, and Andrew presses his palm a bit more against his lips, to emphasize his point.
„Then it doesn’t. Our promise never had anything to do with your father, and it never will, understand?“ Neil’s eyes are huge, and vulnerable, but he nods, so Andrew takes his hand away.
„Good.“ He says. „Then let me get one more thing straight: I don’t need you to protect me. No more pushing boundaries. From now on you stand down and let me deal with the threats, am I clear?“
Neil’s brows furrow, a flare of irritation in his eyes, he says „No.“
„I never asked for your misplaced concern, so keep it.“ Andrew grits, annoyed at Neil’s refusal, but that just makes the other boy more mad.
„No, fuck you.“ Neil says, anger breathing the feistiness back into his bones. „I don’t care if you never asked for my concern, you have it. Deal with that however you want, but it isn’t going away, just because you say so.“
„Neil.“ Andrew warns. He is getting lightheaded, just hearing this shit.
But Neil shakes his head adamantly. „If it means losing you, I don’t care what I have to do. I’m not letting that happen.“
Heat rises in Andrew’s chest, crackling like a firework. Words fail him, his hands reach for Neil without knowing what they will do, and that is how Neil’s head ends up on Andrew’s shoulder.
He stiffens immediately, the idea that he just crossed a boundary with Neil has electroshocks racing though his body.
Instead, Neil goes boneless in his embrace. Hot air ghosts over the skin of Andrew’s neck when he sighs, followed by goosebumps as Neil nuzzles into him.
Hesitant, and barely swallowing around his parched throat, Andrew slides his fingers into Neil’s hair. The other boy lets out a unsteady breath in response, his hands fisting into Andrew’s sweatshirt to pull him closer without actually grabbing him.
„This is a two way street Andrew, you don’t get to give without receiving.“ Neil whispers.
„You are a pipedream.“ Andrew hisses back, trying to convince hinself that Neil is real, even while holding on to him.
My pipedream.
Neil huffs, amused, but to tired to reply anymore.
Andrew is thankful for it. Because while he would rather die then admit it – in that moment, Andrew is afraid of Neil.
Not because he is the son of a, from the ground up evil deity. Not because Neil could break a persons spirit with thoughts alone, or because he could dismantle the modern world.
Andrew is afraid because Neil doesn’t need any of that to completely break him.
Notes:
I want to add, that the house here is inspired by the lake house of my favorite people in all of America, who should invest in some decent security for real -.-
I will admit this chapter is a bit messy, but it was good practise in terms of info-dumping. I hate doing it, but it was kind of necessary here, so if you have any tips, or constructive critisism, or just want to tell me how I did, please dont hesitate to comment :)
Chapter 3: Brothers
Notes:
Hello, and welcome to 💫 the angst chapter 💫
Im mostly kidding, because I neither enjoy writing angst, nor am I good at it, but this chapter details the fallout between Aaron and Andrew. There are vague references to Andrews childhood, a lot of negative self talk, and some talk about Tildas death, so just be aware of this please.
Also, I know Im like ... SUPER late, but this was supposed to be part of the next chapter before I gave up on trying to make it fit, and split it. That only means there will be one more chapter full of fluff, yay.Just as a disclaimer, Aaron gets off pretty bad, so I want to make it clear that I dont actually hate him. It had to happen for the plot.
enjoy xx
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Aaron slams the door to their cabin open with a bang that has Andrew barely refrain from rolling his eyes. He already knows what this is about, before Aaron even opens his mouth.
„Why the fuck did you put Amy in the infirmary?“ he shouts.
Andrew doesn’t give his twin the satisfaction of looking up from cleaning his knives. The stygian Iron already ate the blood, but the motion is calming and the armchair he is sprawled on is comfortable.
„ANDREW!“ Aaron fumes at being ignored, making a point out of getting into his space and cornering him against the plush leather.
„She didn’t do anything to you! You can’t just go out there and hurt people because you feel like it! Do you seriously not get that, or are you just too psychotic to give a fuck?!“
Aaron’s fist hits the back of the armchair in frustration, when Andrew just rubs his satin cloth over the Handle of correction – a truly stupid name for a knife, but that's how it came.
Despite the oppressing heat of another body this close, Andrew stubbornly doesn’t flinch. He won’t, simply because Aaron wants him to.
„So you haven’t been fucking her in the woods.“ It isn’t really a question, when Andrew already knows the answer. It is Aaron’s own fault if he is stupid enough to think he won’t find out.
That gets Aaron out of his space, and when Andrew finally drags his eyes up, he finds a satisfying flush of both anger and embarrassment on his twins face. Tamping down the satisfaction, Andrew catalogs Aaron’s hard breathing and balled fists with a cold stare.
Aaron is quick to rally himself, stubborn anger overpowering both shock and guilt, and Andrew just knows that this will get ugly. „You are crazy Andrew.“
Perfect. Andrew has a lot to tell his brother. He is used to hearing Aaron go at him, if in snide remarks, meant to hurt, or full-on cursing him out.
Normally Andrew just lets him get it out of his system, unbothered by his yelling. But Aaron has gotten too cocky lately. Amy had been the fourth girl he snuck around with behind Andrew's back. The fourth.
The others had been easy enough to scare off, but Amy is one of Nicky's half siblings – Which, gross, by the way. The brainless Aphrodite girl had probably thought the forbidden part about the whole thing was romantic. Well, that’s what she gets for being stupid.
Andrew is too tired of Aaron walking all over their deal to hold back anymore. He won’t this time. Not fucking this time.
„What I do with who is none of your business.“ Aaron spits, „Just because your life is miserable doesn’t mean you have any fucking right to ruin mine! You've got to stop with this psycho shit.“
Andrew sheaths his knife to keep himself from doing something stupid, the well kept, ever-present anger rising to meet Aaron’s head on.
There isn’t a lot that is more dangerous then a child of Nemesis reacting to an injustice. The problem is, that he and Aaron are standing on opposite sides of this one.
„Not my business?“ Andrew repeats darkly. „Correct me if I'm wrong, brother, but I remember a deal between us that makes your little friend exactly that.“
„Oh, so you going berserk on someone is my fault now?“
Andrew waves a dismissive hand at Aaron. He should know better then this by now. „If you can’t keep a promise, that’s your problem. I will keep mine.“
„Oh, like how you kept it with mom?“
Andrew freezes.
Hatred twists deep inside of him at the mention of Tilda, and it floods him fast. Of course it is about her. Everything with Aaron always is. He couldn’t give less of a shit about that girl he is whining about.
In a rare show of emotion, Andrew shoots off the armchair, getting into Aaron’s face.
„Yes.“ He hisses. „I warned her too, and see what happened.“
The sound Aaron makes is illegible, somewhere between a snarl and a growl, blind with rage and grief. It is the first time Andrew admitted outright to having a hand in Tilda's death, even if a part of Aaron had always known.
The punch he throws is expected, and easy for Andrew to catch. The full body tackle after not so much.
Andrew is steady enough to only be knocked back a step, but the panic that comes with the touch of another person makes it feel like more.
Heat races across his skin, nausea blocking his throat as he forces himself not to recoil. He can’t give Aaron this look behind his walls right now, no matter how overwhelming the crawling sensation of dread is.
Aaron, while ceasing his swinging for now, isn’t finished with his outburst.
„You are such a pretentious asshole!“ He pants, red splotches covering his face. „Ever since you came into my life, you destroyed everything! Why? Are you that bitter that she gave you away? That nobody wants you?“
Cass wanted me. The reply is there instantly, but Andrew doesn’t say it. He doesn’t say it, because the ugly voice in his head whispers Drake did too. It makes him dizzy, because it is true in all the wrong ways.
„You basically begged me to come into your life.“ Andrew sneers instead, focusing on the rush of his temper over the ice creeping up the base of his spine. „You begged me to protect you. Don’t come crying to me now, because you don’t like how I did it.“
„YOU KILLED HER!“ Aaron’s voice rips and breaks at his scream. Angry, frustrated tears make it past his red eyes, and in that moment Andrew despises him so much it feels like a sudden fever is crowding his senses.
How can he cry for his abuser? A woman he feared and cowered from? The woman that ruined their lives?
Before Andrew can reply anything though, resentful or cold or horrible, Aaron chokes up something that has him falter.
„You should have died in that crash.“ Aaron croaks. „I- I don’t care why you thought you had to do it, but I wish … I wish it would have been mom who made it out. Not you.“
It looks like the words rip something in Aaron too, angry tears still running down his cheeks while he works to keep his trembling under control.
And Andrew – Andrew hadn’t thought he could still hurt like this. Rejection is what he is built on, but there is nothing that can make him numb to the wounds Aaron is opening in him.
He wasn’t good enough. He had given up Cass for Aaron, had killed for Aaron, had dedicated his entire life to protecting him, but nothing he does is ever good enough. No matter how much he tries, he is never enough.
He'd known Aaron was holding a grudge over Tilda, – one that he might not move past, but he had thought the desire to have a brother would overpower it eventually. For the first time Andrew had hoped that there was someone to have his back. That surely his twin would understand him, would listen to him, forgive him.
It had been such a stupid thing to hope for. Who would have could have known how crippling the foolish daydreams of a lonely child could be?
„I wasn’t the only one who thought Tilda deserved what she got.“
It is idiotic what he is doing. Self destructive and cruel. But Aaron just started an avalanche of emotions Andrew had thought dead, and he has no idea how to stop it. He doesn’t know, and all he can hear are the screams of his seven year old self.
They are like a rush in his ears, and they echo right down to his bones. A desperate plea for someone, anyone to see him, to help him.
Just one person.
It hadn’t been Cass, but it was supposed to be Aaron. Who else would care?
But Aaron isn’t that person Andrew wished for. He isn’t, and he won’t ever be. He doesn’t want to be, because Andrew fucked it up, like he always fucks up everything.
All he knows to do now is take a sledgehammer to the rubble of their relationship and make Aaron feel just as lonely and abandoned.
„What are you talking about?“ Aaron grouses. „What else did you do?“
„I never asked for anything from the gods, you know that.“ Andrew states. „Not once. But before I got into the car that day, this happened.“
Pulling out the old, scratched up key to Tilda’s Honda civic, Andrew tastes bile. He has been holding on to those for way too long.
He would never hit Aaron, but pressing those keys into his chest, with barely restrained shaking in his hands, leaves an oddly similar feeling of grime on him.
He knows Aaron won’t forgive him for this, but while Tilda was never Andrew’s mother, they both are undeniably children of Nemesis. This is what they are good at. Retaliating every blow with a harder one, until there is nothing left but a charred wasteland.
It is one of many reasons why Andrew despises his heritage.
He can make out the exact moment Aaron finds the pearlescent broken wheel stamped into the plastic.
The same wheel that hangs over the entrance of their cabin. The same wheel that appeared in the air when they were claimed, gifting Andrew his knives and armbands, and Aaron his dagger.
„No, “ Aaron’s face contorts into a mask of pain with the realization, a wounded noise escaping his mouth. „She gave you her blessing?“ he asks, looking at Andrew in a desperate plea for comfort. As if he has any to give.
„Yes.“ He states, and there is the taste of copper on his tongue, and gasoline burning in his nostrils, head just as dizzy as it was after the crash.
Instead of Tilda sprawled over the pavement, Andrew watches the confession burn it’s way into Aaron consciousness.
That is what he wanted, right? Hurt Aaron. Take something from him the way he is taking from Andrew.
The difference is that Andrew is already used to having nothing. To being nothing.
In the end, it is just another reminder of how useless revenge is. Now they are both hurting. Both lost and alone. Andrew’s hatred for the world, and for Tilda is a living thing in his head and heart, that he feels in every limb, every inch of his body. Even dead, all that woman does is destroy them.
Most of all, he hates himself though.
Aaron shakes his head, before letting out a bitter laugh. He doesn’t bother wiping the tears off his face, just clutching the key in his hand. „Of course.“ He huffs, scraped raw, and bordering on manic. „Of course she would help you with this. You are both the same kind of fucked up. Congratulations.“
„Aaron.“ Andrew warns, because no matter what, insulting a god is never a good idea.
Aaron’s eyes snap to him, alive with a sort of blind, hurt rage, that defies logic. It feels more like a blow then any physical thing could have.
„No. No, I bet you are proud of it too, right?“ Aaron spits, taking a threatening step forward. „That’s why you kept it. Like … like a trophy, or … or a Spoil of war.“
Aaron is shaking with anger. He doesn’t know where to direct the grieve and betrayal of Andrew’s truth. How can he fault a goddess?
He can’t, so he turns on Andrew instead.
Andrew knows that is what’s happening. – He knows Aaron’s vile words aren’t meant for only him, and that he just can’t deal with their mothers betrayal. Not only did Nemesis allow Andrew take Tilda away, – a woman she loved enough at some point to gift two children to – but she helped him. Protected him from the crash.
„I didn’t care about her enough for something that petty. She was nothing to me.“ Andrew says evenly, a complete opposite of how he feels.
Something in his very core is yelling at him to stop. To find a way to fix what he did and hold on to Aaron. But he can’t. Giving his twin another piece of him today would be his death. Andrew survived by keeping his distance.
Cass almost killed him, he hadn’t let Aaron in half as much, thinking it would be safe, but now Andrew is certain Aaron could finish the job nonetheless, if he really wanted to. Not that Aaron knows that.
He can’t know.
„SHE WASN’T NOTHING TO ME!“ Aaron’s scream is so loud, half the camp probably hears. Still clutching the key, he goes toe to toe with Andrew. „She was my mom. I know you never had one, because you are a soulless piece of trash without feelings, and you don’t know what love is. But I loved her. She could have become better, but you took that from her. From us.“
Harsh breath is hitting Andrew’s face, and he doesn’t dare move as he holds Aaron’s eyes, in fear of the memories the hot, stuttery gusts of air could trigger. He doesn’t see anything through the fog of his heartbreak.
Aaron is used to being able to lash out blindly, because Andrew never shows it when he hits him. Just because he keeps them hidden doesn’t mean the wounds don’t exist though. If only Aaron would know how good he is at making him bleed.
Of course Andrew had known that he was unlovable, that isn’t news to him. Why else would someone beat, starve or rape a child?
But he had thought that, maybe, just maybe … if he loved Aaron enough … if he would just try hard enough … that his brother would … accept him? Stay with him?
Andrew doesn’t even know, but hearing his darkest thoughts confirmed by his twin leaves a gaping hollow in his chest, and it hurts, hurts, hurts.
Oh, how delusional he had been.
„She only had herself to blame for what happened, Aaron. She wouldn’t have changed. You are lying to yourself if you believe that.“ Andrew sneers quiet, but viciously.
„You don’t know that!“ Aaron grouses.
But Andrew does. It is always ‘just behave’, always ‘I will stop if you are good’, and ‘I don’t want to do this’, and ‘you leave me no choice’, and ‘please’ and ‘please’ and ‘please’ and ...
Andrew throws down a mental wall, trying to hide behind it from the storm unleashed.
He stays quiet.
Aaron’s eyes flicker over his face, searching, challenging, but Andrew gives him nothing. It makes his twins rapid breathing increase, his teeth grind, and then he huffs.
„Fuck. You.“ He whispers, then again, tears in his eyes and voice. „Fuck you. As far as I’m concerned, my family died two years ago.“
To Andrew the words are acid dripping out of Aaron’s mouth, and all he can do is stand there and watch as they fray the skin off his bones, eat their way through his chest and lungs and burn themselves into his memory forever.
He wants to beg Aaron to stay, to let him try, but he can’t make himself move as Aaron keeps talking, paralyzed by a pain that would kill, would it come from a physical wound.
„Our deal is over. I don’t want to be part of your life, and I don’t want you in mine, are we clear? The only person I want you to keep away from me isyou.“
Then, with one last, hard look, Aaron turns around and walks away before Andrew can respond.
Normally, he would not give even a flying fuck about Aaron’s angry declaration, a deal is a deal after all.
But Andrew broke it himself this time. He caused Aaron harm, he violated the very reason they made this deal.
He has no right to hold on to Aaron.
Notes:
Soooo, this was actually the first thing I have ever written for this Au, and Im not a 100 percent convinced that it makes a ton of sense to be put here, but it is out now, so what can I do.
You can tell me what you think in the comments, if you want to :)
Chapter 4: A old friend, and the start of something new
Notes:
Last chapter, finally! I hope the andreil content in this makes up for the last chapter, even if there is still a smidge of angst in here. Its really just a sprinkle though.
Very related to that, I want to warn about one
very vague sentence that references selfharm, just so it doesn't suprise you 😅(Edit: Already had to go back for a typo I found too late, that was bugging me, whoops)
Chapter Text
Fresh, cool air hits Andrew’s face when he pushes through the glass doors of the gym. The temperatures are mild for the end of September in Ontario, something Andrew feels a bit of satisfaction over.
A thud sounds behind him, and he turns just in time to see Neil squeeze through the closing doors. It works semi-well.
„Wow. Chivalry really is dead.“ he complains, as he stumbles into step next to Andrew. „I could have died between that door, you know.“
Readjusting a strap of his backpack, Andrew huffs. „You wouldn’t know what to do with Chivalry if it bit you in the ass.“ He points out.
Pretending to be offended for half a second, Neil gasps, before his expression melts into something playful, and he bumps his shoulder into Andrew’s.
The last weeks have been almost peaceful. All in all, they had walked out of the disaster with the Empousai, with a shock, and a new scar for Andrew.
He could have healed the two scratches through his eyebrow with some Ambrosia, but that would have been a waste. Neil sees that a bit different, because apparently he can stitch himself up with dental floss in a bathroom, but Andrew can’t – some kind of double standard he has there.
Apart from that, Andrew maybe, possibly likes the scars. They are reminder of that day that brought him so much closer to Neil. And they don’t look too bad either.
After sorting themselves for a couple of days in Minnesota, they had set out to catch the last drags of Summer in Canada, and finding accommodation for the winter.
That had worked a lot better than expected, since there are lots of farms up here, that are always looking for helping hands. They scored a job at a small ranch, that can’t afford the adventurous European tourists and their work and travel trips.
For a little less pay, they had offered Andrew and Neil a small, cozy room, food, and even turned a blind eye on their lack of legal documents.
That is how they ended up in this small town, with a cheap gym that they can train in better then backroads or empty buildings. Andrew is still working on the French they speak here, but that only means Neil is reading out sentences it for him to memorize. It really isn’t anything to complain about.
Canada is quieter in the sense of monster attacks too. Apart from dodging a herd of wild Pegasi, there haven’t been any unpleasant run ins since North Dakota, but Andrew is not a fan of the anticipation that brings.
They are demigods, bad things finding them is in their nature.
As if that thought alone jinxed it, something silver whirrs an inch by Andrew’s face, followed by a dull thud, when it hits a tree.
Andrew is in front of Neil in an instant, knives in hands. The pathway to the farm they are working on leads through the woods, tall trees and their dense foliage make viewing their surrounding difficult, and Andrew curses them for the lack or foresight.
Upon spotting the silver arrow lodged into the tree, it takes Andrew barely a moment to make out the location of the shooter.
His lips twitch up involuntarily.
„That was a lousy shot.“ He announces, spinning his knives and stashing them back in his armbands.
Rustling can be heard in the branches of the oaks, before a silver dressed teenage girl drops down right in front of them. Andrew crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow, while Renee rightens herself with the lazy graze of a cat.
„Considering how your face wasn’t actually my target, I would consider it adequate.“ She says, a contemplating tilt to her head.
Andrew hums vaguely. He must have made Renee really mad for her to actually shoot at him.
„Where is the rest of your encourage lieutenant?“ Andrew asks.
The area is surprisingly quiet, even for Artemis' hunters.
„I’m on a solo mission, actually.“ Renee replies lightheartedly. „You see, my best friend went missing.“
„Tragic.“ Andrew drawls, and Renee hums sharply in response, her eyes hard.
„It is. He is proclaimed dead, but I didn’t believe he was stupid enough to end up as monster chow.“
What is Andrew supposed to say to that? Renee is so obviously trying not to let it show, but she is hurt and quite pissed off.
To be honest, he hadn’t thought anyone would care enough to look for him, but Renee has always been stubborn when it comes to the ones she cares about. Andrew has still no idea what he did to count to those people, but he should have known better.
Before Andrew can come up with an answer, Neil grabs onto his shirt and almost tugs him off his feet.
One look at him has Andrew falter. Neil’s eyes are wide and forcefully focused, there is tension running through him like a lifewire, and when Andrew goes to pull him closer by the neck, he is stiff as a board
„Andrew.“ Neil’s fingers twist into his shirt, but his wary eyes never leave Renee. „You know her?“
It is a weird reaction, both the shift to French, and the bone deep mistrust Neil radiates. Still, Andrew complies.
„I’ve told you about Renee, remember?“ Andrew replies in clumsy French. „She is with the hunters.“
Andrew purposefully ignores the curious tilt of Renee’s head, as she analyzes their interaction. The way he lets Neil cling to him says too much for his liking, but he can’t bring himself to care.
„You didn’t tell me she is … her skin ... her hair – that is how Enyo marks her children.“
Andrew’s eyes snap back to Renee, who has recognized her mothers name, her gaze dark.
Neil is right, when Renee got claimed, the tips of her bone white hair became a bright, vivid red, giving it the effect of fresh blood dripping off the ends. All of Enyo's children are born albino, – a hauntingly pale canvas, that comes to life when painted with the gore of a batllefield. Those are very specific features though, so how did Neil … a pit settles in Andrew’s stomach.
„Names.“ he demands.
Who else with this traits did Neil know? Who made him so afraid of them?
Neil laughs without humor. „Lola and Romero.“
Two of his fathers priests. Andrew feels like murder, whenever he rhinks about those bastards. And while Andrew understands Neil's apprahension, at the assosoation alone, he feels a bit protective over Renee.
For the longest time she had thought that being the daughter of the goddess of destruction and bloodlust is enough to make her a bad person. In serving Artemis, Renee found her purpose, her way to a better self, and that differentiates her from the people that tormented Neil his entire childhood.
„Renee isn’t her siblings.“ He says in English, so Renee, who is politely letting things play out, can understand what has Neil's reaction as well.
„Nobody is going to hurt you like that again, understand?“ Andrew takes Neil’s chin and pulls until they face each other. „I promised, didn’t I?“
His gaze bores into the endless sky of Neil’s, as if he could force his words to stick with willpower alone.
Neil nods either way. „I trust you.“ He almost whispers. For just a second Neil lets his forehead rest against Andrew’s, who sweeps a thumb over his jaw in response.
They have gotten more used to casual touch ever since North Dakota, and it came as a suprise for both of them how easy a consetual brush of skin can be. In fact, Andrew is craving the contact with Neil, his considerate touches more addicting than any drug.
With Renee only a step away, it isn’t as comfortable though.
„Okay?“ Andrew asks, pulling away.
„Okay.“ Neil confirms.
Then to the unpleasant part. With a suppressed sigh, Andrew turns to Renee. Her expression has turned into something disgustingly mushy. Andrew doesn’t like it, but not enough for him to completely take his hands off the boy by his side.
„This is Neil.“ He introduces. „Neil, Renee.“
„It is nice to meet you Neil.“ Renee says, genuine. She is smart enough not to approach him for a handshake or something else stupid.
„Yeah, you too.“ Neil sounds a bit tense, but he is trying. A couple months back he would have run the second Renee dropped from the tree. „I’m – sorry … for my reaction. I didn’t mean to offend you.“
„No harm done.“ Renee assures him. „We don’t control our trauma. For what it is worth, I wasn’t aware that my mother has children other then me.“
„Had“ Neil corrects coldly, to which Renee smiles, sweet as sugar, deadly as a blade.
„Doesn’t sound like a loss to me.“ She says.
Neil's own lips curve in something sharp, and approving. Just like that, they have an understanding.
*
Since Andrew refuses to let Neil out of his sight for long, Renee accompanies them to the farm. Neil is still a bit shaken, which brings out the skittishness in him. He quickly excuses himself to the room they share, while Andrew takes Renee for a walk around the premise.
„You know, I had so much that I wanted to tell you, but your disappearance makes a lot more sense now.“ Renee hums, soaking in the view of the wild Canadian country side. „That doesn’t mean I’m not angry, for the record. You had me worried.“
Andrew huffs dismissively, but that only ends up in Renee stopping right there at the edge of a meadow.
„I’m serious Andrew. I only heard about your disappearance when Wymack called me for your funeral. It was last month.“
So Renee found them in about eight weeks top. Not a good quota, considering the heights Neil’s paranoia can take.
„They waited a while.“ Andrew observes, putting the thought away for now. After all, it is normally a matter of weeks until a missing demigod is declared dead.
„Well, you are strong. Nobody wanted to believe you were taken out that easily. And then there is Betsy’s prophecy ...“
Renee trails off, and Andrew almost huffs a laugh.
He hadn’t thought of the prophecy Bee insisted on giving him when she caught him sneaking away. Andrew can still hear the echo of her voice, and he almost has to smile at the irony.
‘You shall go west, and follow the trail,
hold onto a promise to no avail.
Alone you stray to where beasts will roam,
but don’t be afraid, your way leads home.’
It makes sense for them to hold out hope with a prediction like that.
„Well, I can’t imagine my funeral was a well visited event.“ Andrew drawls, shaking out a cigarette. He doesn’t care, really, but Renee tsks disapprovingly.
„It actually was.“
Taking the first drag, Andrew looks up at her in bored disbelieve, but Renee just shakes her head.
„Nicky is taking it pretty hard.“ She says. „He restarted his speech three times, before he had to admit that he couldn’t handle it. Wymack and Betsy had to take over.“ When Andrew doesn’t reply anything, she adds: „They served hot chocolate.“
„Fascinating.“ Andrew sighs, just to placate her. He tries not to focus on how she hadn’t mentioned Aaron. The fact that Nicky took over the eulogy is enough information.
It shouldn’t still fucking hurt, but it does. It fucking does.
As if she had been reading his thoughts, the next words out of Renee’s mouth are: „Aaron was the one pushing against the funeral the most. From what I can tell he is trying to Iris message you every night, but it isn’t connecting.“
The gentle probing is a signature Renee move, and Andrew is annoyed by it, but the thing with the Iris messages is easier to focus on, then the Aaron part.
Andrew flashes the coin sized mirror he is wearing around his neck. „It’s not rocket science.“ He says. „Iris messages work with light reflection, the mirror blocks it.“
„So, like an amulet?“ Renee asks. Andrew gestures a vague agreement with his cigarette. Neil had explained it better, but it boils down to the same concept.
„Maybe you should think about putting it off for a bit, and see if –“
„Don’t.“ Renee closes her mouth.
She knows about the twins fall out, even if she can’t fathom what it did to Andrew.
No, he and Aaron are through. Neil is the first ever decision Andrew made only for himself, and once Aaron realizes why Andrew really isn’t coming back, whatever drags of guilt and grief he is feeling will vanish.
It will be just like before, and Andrew can’t take that anymore .
„You won’t tell them I’m alive.“ Andrew says. It isn’t a question, or a request, because he won’t make this into an argument.
If it were anyone other then Renee, maybe he would worry about them slipping up, but he knows she will keep quiet if he asks her to. No matter how much she might disapprove of his decision.
And she does disapprove. Heavily. Andrew can see it in the half hidden twist of her mouth.
„I don’t want to lie to them.“ She says.
„Then don’t.“ Andrew answers simply „Tell them what you want, but leave out that you found me. Omitting the truth is easy.“
Renee sighs, sadly. „They are in pain Andrew, I don’t like watching them go through mourning you, when I know you are alive out here.“
„What good would it do if you told them that?“ Andrew bites. „I won’t go back. Might as well let them think I’m dead. Just wait, they'll get over it.“
Renee looks at him, disappointed. „We never fully get over losing the ones we love, Andrew.“ She says.
Taking another drag from his cigarette, Andrew scoffs. Love. As if. Andrew’s 'death' barely even affects their life. They will notice that sooner or later and let it go.
„I don’t think you give them enough credit.“ Renee says.
„And I think you give them too much.“ Andrew counters, flicking ash in her direction.
Unfazed, Renee lets her hand wander over the tips of the high grass they are standing in. „If I agree, I just want you to know that you can always come back, no matter what.“
Of course she will agree. Renee’s ability to respect and understand boundaries is one of the reasons Andrew gives her the time of day.
„Whatever.“ Andrew says, and Renee nods with a small smile.
„Okay then, how about that: You promise to call me once a month, and your secret is safe with me.“
Ah, yes, Renee has always been smart. She knows that she can easily offer her silence as part of an agreement, without earning Andrew’s ire.
That doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it.
„Once a month, really?“
Renee just shrugs. „It unsettles me that you are not protected by a camp line.“
„Isn’t that a bit hypocritical of you, miss lieutenant?“ Andrew inquires, inhaling the last lungful of smoke, before snubbing out his cigarette. „I’m a big boy. I can handle it.“
„We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I wound believe that.“ Renee tells him honestly. „I know you are strong enough to make it out here, but I can still be concerned.“
„Wasted time.“
„I disagree.“
Andrew holds back a sigh. „Fine. One call per month.“ He agrees, and Renee grins.
They start walking again, along the tree line, and past the pasture with the farm horses. The silence between them is comfortable and familiar, reminiscent of their walks along the shore of the lake in camp.
It’s good to know that some things don’t change.
*
Upon Renee’s request, Andrew shows her the animals that he and Neil are hired to take care off.
„So, where did you meet Neil?“ Renee asks, while petting one of the ponies. „He is quite an interesting person.“
„Arizona.“ Andrew replies, and, feeling so vulnerable it gets defensive, he adds. „He is nothing.“
It is a piss poor attempt at denial and Renee sees right through it, of course.
„Don’t do that.“ She reprimands gently, „You found something you want to keep, and if you wouldn’t care about him, you would have come back to camp by now. I’m not judging, Andrew, I’m just curious.“
When Andrew doesn’t answer, Renee sweeps a red tipped stand of hair behind her ear, and turns back to the pony.
„I’m glad you found someone who looks at you like that.“ She adds, a tad to casual to be innocent. „I don’t think I have ever seen you so … contend around someone else.“
„You are ridiculous.“ Andrew says, even as his heart is making his chest into a pinball machine, because – Renee noticed it too! The way Neil looks at him sometimes. So maybe he isn’t imagining things, maybe he isn’t letting his crazy daydreams get the better of him.
Maybe, maybe, maybe …
Renee accepts his unwillingness to talk about it after that, and changes the topic. They talk monsters and weapons, and when the farms dogs show up, they surround Renee like she is their patron goddess herself.
It isn’t the worst, but when Renee squeezes his shoulders as a goodbye and he looks into her eyes, the same rust brown color of dried blood, there is an ache in his chest.
Andrew is used to Renee leaving. The most prominent memories he has of her are goodbyes or hellos. But watching the light glint off her bow before she disappears into the woods kicks loose a uncomfortable wave of foreboding.
All his life he watched people turn away from him. Tilda, countless Foster parents and siblings, Cass and Richard, Luther and Maria, Aaron.
The thought of watching Neil disappear like that leaves him with dizzying nausea. Andrew doesn’t think he can face Neil with the mental image of being abandoned in his mind, so he lets his feet take him in the opposite direction of the farm.
*
Hours after Renee left, Andrew is dragging his feet back to the small studio apartment over the garage. His memory has been going through a ‘best of’ collection of painful moments for too long, but he can’t get his brain to quiet down.
The gritty, clammy feeling in both his stomach and head is something he knows well, but no matter how many hours he sits with it, how many late night cigarettes he smokes, or how high up he climbs, he doesn’t get used to it.
We can’t rush a healing mind, Bee had said once, over a cup of hot cocoa.
Andrew would settle for just shutting it off for once.
Wouldn’t that be nice? Some fucking quiet in his head?
If he could, Andrew would stay outside longer, but his cigarette box is empty, his feet are sore, and he … well, he wants Neil.
He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know what Neil is even supposed to do. There isn’t any logic behind it, but this sad little broken thing in him is insisting on it.
Insisting not to be alone for once.
Despite that, Andrew makes it up the stairs slowly, and then hesitates. He knows it is stupid, but a nagging little voice, that sounds suspiciously like his twin, is telling him that Neil is gone.
It is a toxic, intrusive thought, he knows that. But when has something Andrew wanted ever stuck around? It’s like every time he dares to reach out a hand, all good things are ripped away from him.
And Neil is good. Neil is good for him, good to him. It’s foreign to think like that, but Andrew knows deep in his core that it is true.
It's why he thinks he made it all up sometimes, and why his stomach twists with anxiety when he opens the door.
Neil is there though, sitting on the queen sized bed, that Andrew insisted he take.
When he hears Andrew kick off his shoes, Neil’s head snaps up immediately, but his face stays carefully closed off. The lead Andrew just walked off his lungs returns instantly, and he just sort of freezes.
He didn’t expect a lot from Neil – nothing, he expected nothing. But normally when Neil looks at him, he allows himself to be readable, and Andrew is proud of that. He worked for Neil’s trust. Payed for it in truths, and has given his own trust in exchange.
It stings that it is gone, and the raging thing in his chest screaming Neil’s name shrinks back, burned one too many times.
Maybe that foreboding feeling didn’t come out of nowhere. Maybe Neil does want them to separate. Maybe, now that he has seen so much of Andrew's broken parts, he decided that Andrew isn’t worth it.
He wouldn’t be the first to come to that conclusion, but it would be a special kind of rebuff, thanks to all the soft spots Andrew revealed.
The only show of nerves on Neil is how he is playing with some lose threads of the comforter, and after looking at each other for bit, he clears his throat and says „I made dinner,“ nodding towards their kitchen corner he adds „It’s Spaghetti.“
Andrew doesn’t care.
He really, really doesn’t care, because something about Neil is off. He is unreachable – body language withdrawn and tense, eyes refusing to focus back on Andrew, hopping around the room like a rabbit instead.
This is how it ends, Andrew thinks. He has been in this position often enough to know.
„I … um, I already ate, so you can finish it all if you want. Is Renee staying?“
Moving is an out of body experience. Andrew would have thought he would break – and maybe he does, but apathy crowds in, and stuffs every little crevice with cotton.
He can’t feel those cracks yet.
Numb, Andrew finishes himself a plate, and he thinks he replied something about Renee leaving, but he neither tastes the food, nor does he focus on it.
Neil stays where he is, while Andrew finishes, not looking at him, gaze glued to his hands. It makes swallowing a challenge.
Half stuck in the past, half mending future wounds, Andrew finishes his food. Neil doesn’t speak again, doesn’t look at him, doesn’t move at all.
So Andrew goes to brush his teeth, he changes into sleep clothes, and when he comes back, Neil automatically meets his eyes. He opens his mouth, rooting Andrew to the spot.
„No.“
Andrew doesn’t know what made him speak, but he can’t take this. He doesn’t want to hear this right now. Dragging it out isn’t going to make it any better in the long run, but just for one night Andrew wants to hold on to the illusion.
Neil makes it easy, pressing his lips together with a nod.
Torn between relief and doubt, Andrew turns off the light, and pads over to the couch. Neil insisted on loading it up with pillows and blankets, to make it as comfortable as possible. It was the only thing that made him shut up about taking the couch himself.
„Goodnight Andrew.“ Neil whispers from the bed blankets rustling with a shift of his body.
Andrew hums in response.
In the dark, he can only make out the vague shape of Neil, and he is keenly aware of the distance between them. He shouldn’t be. They are just across the room from each other, Neil is right there, but damn, if it doesn’t feel like more.
*
Insomnia isn’t foreign to Andrew, in fact he sometimes thinks that Hypnos has a personal vendetta against him, withholding both sleep, and peaceful dreams from him.
He definitely isn’t asleep now, hours after he laid down, his eyes so used to the darkness he can discern the old timey pattern of the tapestry on the other side of the room.
Aaron's voice, and face, and anger are still so vivid in his mind, that his arms itch in sympathy of how he ultimately handled the last rejection he had to face. If Neil ends their deal, is he going back? He can’t even imagine what that would be like.
He can’t imagine being separated from Neil either.
It’s so ridiculous. They only met a few months ago, but that doesn’t change how strongly Andrew resents the thought of waking up without him there. Of missing those blue eyes, that always see too much, when they look at him, or the ever-growing smiles that cause him a sensation of freefall.
Neil has made a impact on Andrew’s life like no one ever before, and even if Neil feels differently about it, Andrew won’t ever be able to see a sunset and not think of Neil. Wherever he goes, he knows he won’t ever stop to wonder which trails Neil would choose to run in the area. There are so many things Andrew has linked to Neil in his mind, like thrift shops, or little marketplace fruit stands, or a cup of black coffee with a plate of eggs, ordered in every diner they have stopped on the way.
Andrew is convinced not even the river Lethe would be able to wash those connections to Neil away.
Andrew doesn’t regret, and while letting go of Neil will hurt, he knows he wouldn’t do it any different. Those months of something truly good were worth any time spent longing for them.
It’s worth having felt.
If only Bee could see him now, she would be so proud. It's a pretty big thing for Andrew to admit.
Just then, the blankets on the bed shift, and Andrew snaps his eyes closed, heartrate speeding up. Neil never moves in his sleep, he is so eerily still, Andrew feels like a new mom sometimes, wanting to check if he is still breathing. There is more shuffling, the creak of a spring, the sounds of a body moving. Maybe Neil will get up to use the bathroom? Instead, he whispers „Drew?“
Andrew’s muscles lock in magma hot panic. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t move, barely even sucks in air. Gods, this is stupid.
Neil rustles the bedding around a bit more. „I know you are awake.“ He adds, so after a moment spent feeling like he is in freefall, Andrew gives up on the pretense and opens his eyes.
Big mistake. Big, big mistake.
Neil is sitting on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, hair a mussed, soft looking chaos on top of his head, and his oversized grey sleepshirt sliding off one of his shoulders.
He looks younger like this. With the darkness blurring out his sharp edges, Neil is a picture of warmth and comfort – one, that would perfectly it against Andrew’s chest.
Their eyes meet over the space between bed and couch, and Andrew’s heart just about leaps at the mirth in them.
„What?“ he asks plainly, not giving anything away.
There. Still got it.
Neil’s eyes leave his, and a pit sinks into Andrew’s stomach. That’s not what he wanted. Why does he always end up hurting people, when he is scared of getting hurt himself?
Better than the other way around.
But is it? Didn’t Andrew hurt himself just as much as Aaron? Isn’t he hurting himself by pushing Neil away right now?
Gritting his teeth against the vulnerability, Andrew calls Neil’s name.
He doesn’t say anything more, just holds eye contact to let Neil know that yes, he is interested in what he has to say. There is no reason to hide.
Neil soaks it up, the calm between them, the connection, and Andrew hurts with the possibility of losing this.
„What?“ Andrew asks again, more gentle, less abrupt. Neil doesn’t need the kids gloves, but by the gods, Andrew is going to do right by Neil, if it is the last thing he does.
Neil takes a shuddering breath, huddling down more into his blankets, but he keeps his eyes on Andrew.
„I just …“ he sighs, dragging a hand over his face. „Are you going back to camp?“
Stunned, Andrew stares at him.
It's hard to tell in the dark, but Neil almost looks unsure.
„What?“ Andrew croaks, sitting up now too.
„Look, I know what you said about your family, but it is obvious they miss you.“ Neil spills, hastily getting out what Andrew had denied him to say earlier.
„You have a brother, a cousin, a best friend. There are people out there, looking for you, and they want you back, Andrew.“
Neil’s huge blue eyes are so earnest, so worried, it takes the air clean out of Andrew’s lungs. Swallowing hard, Neil adds „I don’t want to be in the way of that.“
Neil being in the way of anything concerning Andrew is so entirely ridiculous, his brain skips any logical thought process, and he just acts.
With more confidence then he knew he possesses, Andrew shakes off his blankets and strides over to the bed. He climbs in front of Neil, half in his lap, half looming over him, and takes his face in his hands.
„Do you want me to leave?“
The question feels heavier then it should be, but with Neil’s pillow-warmed skin under his palms, his face turned up to Andrew like he is the sun … how could it be anything else?
Neil is keeping his hands in his lap, teeth digging into his plush lower lip.
„Of course not.“ He answers. It comes out warmer then intended, but Neil meets Andrew head on nonetheless.
Unending fondness washes over Andrew. Fondness for this stubborn, miraculous boy. He slips one of his hands into the hair at Neil’s nape, and pulls him closer, the other brushing over the side of Neil’s jaw. They still aren’t touching anywhere else, but Andrew feels choked nonetheless.
„Then I won’t leave.“ Andrew says. „Get that through your thick skull.“
Neil, for some reason, looks less then happy, moving his hands to grab at the sleeves of Andrew’s shirt.
His shirt, not him. Thrills race up Andrew’s spine at the difference.
„I don’t want you to leave, but I do want you to be happy. The camp can offer you things I can’t.“
Andrew almost scoffs. He half wishes he could look Neil in the eyes and tell him that he is offering him more then Andrew ever dared to dream of.
Understanding.
Enough to open up. To allow trust and respect and companionship.
Yes, living on the run isn’t ideal, but there is nothing Andrew would want over the things Neil offers. Especially not a boring camp schedule, when he has Neil right here, setting things aflame in Andrew, lighting up his every cell, making everything brighter.
„If I would be interested in those things, I would be there, not here.“ Andrew says, hard.
„But …“
„Stop. Fucking. Arguing.“ Andrew demands, and, in a bout of frustration, stupidity, and want, leans in and kisses Neil.
He presses their lips together harshly, and with a hunger that has no business being this transparent. Still, the kiss is warm enough to get lost in.
And Andrew does. He loses himself in the heat of Neil’s mouth, in his smell, and taste and movement.
The second Andrew fully realizes what he is doing, he is horrified.
He leans back, but Neil follows, and Andrew is too weak to deny him one more brush of lips. He hates himself for it.
„Tell me no.“ Andrew whispers hoarsely. His eyes are closed, and he is shaking. He can’t look at Neil right now. He can’t look and see the betrayal, or the disgust.
He ruined it again. He fucked it up by taking something he had no right to even want.
Kissing someone back is not consent. It isn’t a yes. Andrew just needs to hear Neil’s no, then he can let go of him.
„No.“ Neil whispers, and Andrew’s hands fly off him.
Neil however catches them, and pulls them to his chest. „Look at me Andrew.“
Not even with his heart falling seven days into the underworld can Andrew refuse that request.
He opens his eyes just in time to see Neil ghost a kiss over his knuckles. Something plummets in his chest.
Neil is nothing short of stunning. He knew that, of course, but the kiss left him with color high on his cheeks, a slightly swollen mouth, and wild, blown eyes, that are completely earnest.
Andrew wants to devour him. He wants to hold him, and never let go.
„No, I’m not telling you no.“ Neil clarifies. „I don’t think I ever will."
Andrew, suddenly angry, glares. „Stop. Just because I offered to protect you doesn’t mean you owe me anything. Don’t say shit like that.“
Neil, still holding Andrew’s hands frowns. „You think I’m saying yes because I feel like I have to?“
„You haven’t said yes yet.“ Andrew points out, trying bit to show his despair. „’Not no’ isn’t a yes.“
Neil opens his mouth as if to protest, but the distinction catches, and instead he squeezes Andrew’s hands and nuzzles his face into them.
„You are right.“ He says, eyes flicking back up. „I am saying yes though. Yes, Andrew. Yes.“
„You don’t know what you are doing“ Andrew shakes his head. Why is he arguing with Neil? Why is he trying to convince Neil to not let anything happen between them?
Because you are scared you are like them. Because you are scared he will let you be.
Before those thoughts can trigger another panic attack, Neil’s glare distracts him.
„Don’t you dare do that, Andrew.“ Neil says. „Don’t you dare tell me how I feel, and don’t you dare act like my ‘yes’ means nothing.“
Phrased like that, all of Andrew’s arguments lose their footing. He is reeling, trying to compute the sheer possibility that Neil could want this too, – when Neil leans in, stopping just shy of his lips and whispers „Kiss me, Andrew.“
Any resolve, and any doubt Andrew had flies out the window in that moment.
He basically pounces on Neil, tackling him into the bed with a bruising kiss. Neil squeaks, a bit surprised, but his arms wind around Andrew’s neck, and he kisses back with abandon.
Andrew feels like he is flying, like all fear of heights lose their meaning, as long as Neil is there to catch him, always by his side.
There is embarrassingly little finesse in the kisses Andrew claims Neil’s mouth with. It is more important to be close, to be holding and touching Neil, then to be technical about it.
While Neil keeps his hands and arms away in the safe zone above Andrew’s shoulders, unquestioned, Andrew’s own are allowed to explore Neil’s body. They slip under his back, pulling their chests together, they skim over Neil’s side, and hike up his leg.
He wants to feel Neil everywhere at once, live off the air shared between them, and never, ever let go.
Neil gasps, and Andrew uses the opportunity to deepen their kiss, just to be almost overwhelmed with the sensation. The warm slide of their tongues is everything, Neil’s hands in his hair tighten, and every little move he makes is driving Andrew insane.
When they have to come up for air, it is only a second of Andrew taking in the rosy color of Neil’s cheeks, his wide grin, and the erratic panting of his chest.
If he were another kind of person, Andrew would be grinning too. He would confess something sweet, and true, and laugh. He isn’t though, and Neil knows that. Even better, Neil understands everything Andrew could never say out loud, and it means a million times more like that.
The kiss after that is less frantic. It’s deeper right from the start, and so toe curlingly intense, Andrew wants more. More of the minty aftertaste on Neil’s tongue, more of his little sounds, and closeness.
More of Neil.
Tugging at the hem of his shirt, Andrew gasps out „yes or no“ into the minimal space between their mouths. Neil, the absolute menace ducks his head and presses his lips, sweet and hot and perfect, right over Andrew’s hammering pulse.
„Yes.“ He breathes, and Andrew doesn’t know if it is because of the rasp in Neil’s voice, or the trail of open mouthed kisses against the side of his neck, that follows the word, but he shudders.
It is a involuntary reaction, but he isn’t surprised. Neil is so good at getting under his skin. So fucking good.
Brushing past Neil’s delight, Andrew mumbles out a quiet „Idiot.“ Before he gets Neil’s shirt off in one quick motion and finds his mouth again.
Neil doesn’t object in the slightest, and arches into him so Andrew can reach more of his newly revealed skin.
Andrew purposefully slows himself now. He takes his time while exploring the nooks, crannies and ridges of Neil’s scarred torso, his soft and rough, and wonderful skin. He has seen them by now, and gods – Neil is so strong. So resilient, so full of fight. Andrew was never permitted to touch him like this, and he is going to cherish every second he is granted.
Neil doesn’t seem to hate that plan, if the adorable little humms that are escaping him, are any indication.
They only separate when their lungs can’t take it anymore, and then Neil goes back to kissing the skin of Andrew’s neck.
At this point, all Andrew can do is hold on tight, press his forehead into Neil’s shoulder, and keep telling himself that this is real.
The boy curled tightly against him, peppering kisses over his throat – who has his hands in his hair and his heart under Andrew’s – that is reality.
*
There are more kisses, until they get too tired to move, but even then nothing could get them to loosen their hold on each other.
The digital clock on the bedside table probably reads something close to five in the morning by now, but Andrew doesn’t want to close his eyes.
That would mean not seeing Neil, and even just separating in sleep doesn’t seem bearable. What if he sleeps, and all of this is gone?
The tired, but happy glow in Neil’s eyes, the soft quality of his mouth, the utter fullness of his own chest.
They haven’t really spoken in hours. Words are just unnecessary when there is nothing they can’t communicate in looks and touches.
Right now, Andrew’s eyes follow his hand, fully entranced, as it skims over Neil’s arm, down to his fingers.
A quick glance up reveals a silent smile in the crease of Neil’s eyes. Their fingers catch, slide together and apart. Andrew’s fingertips trace Neil’s palm, and then back up to his shoulder.
He draws a circle there, over a scar on his shoulder blade, and it feels like dipping into Elysium. If Andrew were to describe his paradise, this would be it.
The only sky he needs is the one of Neil’s eyes, the only air, the one Neil kisses into his lungs, and the only landscape he ever needs to see, the soft valleys of Neil’s skin.
How ironic is it, that Andrew found heaven in a boy born from hell?
He doesn’t know how much of his thoughts show on his face, but Neil hides half a smile in his pillow, bumping their knees together. One of his thumbs brushes over Andrew’s jaw, and when their eyes meet again, his fingers start playing with the short hair behind Andrew’s ear.
The simple motion has goosebumps racing down his spine, and happy tingles spread in all his limbs. Andrew wants to kiss Neil so bad, and the second he remembers that he can, the world changes how it’s spinning just to accommodate for this unreal little fact.
With a belly full of helium, Andrew leans in, and he doesn’t even have to ask, because Neil meets him half way.
Already Neil’s soft mouth is familiar, and safe. The best thing Andrew has ever come into contact with.
He has half a mind to panic, but then Neil’s face reappears in his field of vision, and he can’t.
He is afraid of a million and one things about this, but Andrew has never been the most sensible when he is feeling.
Right here, under Neil’s starshine gaze and careful fingers, he feels like he is enough, for the first time ever. Like he can let Neil look into the depths of his soul, and allow him to make a home there.
Their home, with each other.
Brushing a kiss over Neil’s forehead, Andrew thinksYou are my person. The only one Andrew could ever need. It’s strangely peaceful thought.
Neil nudges closer then, burrowing his face into Andrew’s upper arm. The simple gesture starts an avalanche of emotions. An overwhelming sense of protectiveness rises in Andrew’s chest, it chokes him, burning hot in his throat.
Is this what belonging feels like? It has to be.
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