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Sometimes it was hard to be Neil Josten.
Although Nathaniel had been left six feet under in Baltimore, it didn't stop him from haunting Neil's existence. He was a persistent poltergeist who appeared when he least expected it, clouding his vision in crimson splashes. There was no way to remove Nathaniel's memories and instincts, his father’s rage and monstrous grin.
That was how he had ended up pinning a man down, with a knife pressed against his jugular and a sickening smile upon his lips. He was much bigger than him, but Nathaniel was used to that. He wouldn’t be undermined. He wouldn’t be afraid of a man who looked five seconds away from pissing himself.
Nathaniel had tried so hard to remain Neil Josten that evening. Eden’s Twilight was normally a place where he could let himself go a little and trust Andrew to have his back if he decided to take a couple of shots. Abstinence was no longer necessary, even if he hardly liked to drink at all.
Something that night had been off from the beginning. Whether it was the reminisce of anxiety from Jack’s earlier outburst or Neil’s swelling irritation with Kevin Day, he didn’t know. He was on edge from the moment they stepped inside, eying exits to Andrew’s annoyance.
A familiar hand on the back of his neck was the only thing that kept him from walking out. He clung to Andrew’s side and revelled in his warmth, his protection and silent reassurance. Neither had been having a good week, but they stuck together all the same.
Until someone put his hands where they didn’t belong.
The moment Andrew flinched something in Neil flipped. He didn’t care that Andrew could take care of himself or how many people were around them. Nathaniel was out, bearing his claws. And for once, Neil didn’t care if he looked like his father or not.
He had watched Andrew wake with a start for the last week, dig his fingers into his scarred wrists, smoke through a packet of cigarettes in the early hours of the morning. He had slept on the sofa to give Andrew space, only to be woken by a tugging hand to drag him back to bed. He had seen Andrew at his very lowest the last seven days, silenced and dissociated.
And when the eyebags on Andrew’s eyes had finally begun to lessen, some fucker put his hands on him. Nathaniel wouldn’t allow it.
He’d stolen a knife from Andrew’s armband in a flash, bent the man’s arm back so far that he heard it crunch and pop out of its socket. The screams around him meant nothing against the sweet sound of the man’s body smashing into the bar. Glasses toppled over and shattered.
“What the fuck!” the pig squealed.
Nathaniel pressed the knife to his neck and leaned in close, close enough to smell his sweat and pungent body odour.
“That’s my line, pig,” he whispered, grinning even wider when he felt the man convulse. “I’m in my right mind to chop off your dirty hands. Start with the fingers, one by one, each tendon and bone. I’ll take my time, before moving on to the wrist and sawing through the bone. And when I’m done, I’ll make you eat them so you’ll never touch someone unconsented again. Would you like that?”
The man shuddered, sweat rolling down his face and dripping onto the bar. His mouth was agape with fear and the small ounce of bravo he’d carried was gone.
“When I let go, you’re going to turn around, get in your car and never, ever set foot in here again. Go to the police and I’ll make sure they never find your body. Do you understand?” he asked, sickeningly sweet. “Nod for yes.”
With slight hesitation, the pig nodded. He was obviously conscious of the knife held to his throat, his eyes practically bulging out of their sockets.
“If I ever see you again, I promise that I will make good on my threat,” Nathaniel growled before letting the man go and shoving him away.
He had never seen a sleazy old man run so fast.
In a practised movement, Nathaniel concealed the knife in his armbands and turned back towards the bar where Roland was gaping at him. He grabbed a shot of god-knows-what off their tray and downed it in one swift motion, letting the harsh burn bring Neil back to reality.
“I don’t need you to protect me, Neil,” Andrew snapped. “I can do it myself.”
“Don’t,” Neil whispered through gritted teeth. His hand shook as it hovered over Andrew’s. “I’m meant to be the liar out of the two of us, remember? You are in no state to protect yourself right now. Let it go. You watch my back; I watch yours. That’s the deal.”
Nathaniel Wesninski was buried in Baltimore with his father, but his remanence remained. And if someone threatened his foxes, Neil Josten wasn’t afraid to let him loose again.