Chapter Text
Neil stared blankly ahead as the referee held his arm into the sky and the crowd erupted in screams. They were definitely not applauding him since he probably just lost all of them a ton of money. He didn’t smile, there was nothing to smile about. He just grimly stared ahead, blood swimming inside his mouth. He must’ve bitten his tongue. Usually, he would wear his mouthguard, especially during a fight, but he had lost it somewhere on the way from Louisiana to South Carolina.
He had to pack up the empty house he was sleeping in, in the middle of the night when he heard footsteps and voices, the next thing he knew he was in a random bathroom dying his hair black. In his backpack an ID with the name Neil Josten. It was the last identity he had left. It had been a while since he had managed to meet up with his mother’s contact to get new ones. So he had to be extra careful this time otherwise he would be screwed. His current plan was it to earn enough money to be able to get a new identity and then fuck off to Europe for a while.
After he had arrived in this random town in South Carolina he had searched for the next best bar which was actually the shittiest one in town to find out if there were any fights that night. And surely enough he had found a poster with a location for the next fight that evening. It looked kind of sketchy but those were exactly the type of places he was looking for. Most of the fights he fought were illegal and in some fucked off basement but everything else was too dangerous.
He needed to stay invisible and anonymous, and in these kinds of places, no one asked any questions or judged him for his dirty fighting style. And most importantly no one would notice when he left. It was ideal and most of the time he could even cash some money for winning. Of course, there was always a risk going there. You never knew what to expect. Anyone could fight there, the referees barely cared about the rules and especially in small towns like this one, the crowd was never neutral. He was almost always hated because he was an outsider and because he was good.
So he didn’t smile while his hand was held high into the air. But there was a feeling of relief and satisfaction that overcame him. He pulled off his boxing gloves to shake the hand of his opponent, but he just stared him down with pure hatred. Taking his outstretched hand back he decides to go back to the locker room. It had been a good fight, but the crowd had been rooting for his opponent the whole time. As he left the boxing ring the screams seemed to be getting even louder but he just blocked them out. He was not doing this to sympathize with anyone or to become famous, it was quite the opposite, he fought to stay alive.
In the back, he collected his price, $100. He counted the money between his fingers before carefully putting it in his duffle bag. The money would last him for a few weeks if he found a place to stay. The locker room was empty since everyone else was out, watching the next round of fights. He took his time unwrapping his hands and putting his boxing gloves back into his duffle bag before pulling out some clean clothes.
He really needed to shower but the place did not have any lockers and he could not really take his bag with him into the shower. So he just dried himself off with his towel and pulled his clothes back on. While pulling his shirt over his head he noticed a pull in his side. Probably one of the hits from the fight, he would get a nasty bruise there. Sighing he bent down to put his shoes back on after changing his dirty socks. He really had to find a place to do laundry soon. He only had one pair of shoes which served as his fighting, running, and everyday shoes. It was a pair of black Converse who looked like they had been to hell and back, which was not even an overstatement.
He had just closed his zipper and wanted to grab his bag when a sudden voice from behind startled him.
“Never seen you here before.” When he turned around there was a blond guy blocking the exit. His heartbeat was speeding up. Could they have found him already? It hadn’t even been 24 hours. Had he missed something? Left a trail? Did someone follow him here?
“Nice observation.” He decided to play along for now. The guy seemed around his age and was even shorter than him. The possibility that such a young guy would work for his father was nearly impossible. But he never knew. He quickly scanned the room for another exit, but there was none. Obviously, they were in the basement of some shitty club. There was only one exit. And the guy was blocking it.
“What’s your name again?” The guy asked with false confusion.
“You just watched the fight, didn’t you? Maybe you should check your ears.” That earned him a little smirk.
“Hmm. I see. It must’ve slipped my mind then.” Neil wet his lips.
“Neil Josten.” He squeezes out.
“Doesn’t sound like a fighter.” He didn’t know how to respond to that so he just shut his mouth. “At least no one I know.”
“As you already noticed, I am not from here.”
“Where are you from then?”
“None of your business.”
“Of course, it is my business if you come here and ruin my night by winning.” Ah. This was the problem. Someone has lost money.
“Oh? Did I lose you a little money? That’s not my fucking problem asshole.” The other guy’s eyebrows shoot in the air and Neil’s hand went to his duffle bag where he can feel his gun sticking into his side. He needed to get out of here.
“You can’t expect to come to a place like this, looking like this and fighting like this, and expecting to leave unnoticed.” Now he really was screwed. He knew what he looked like. It was bad. His torse was a whole mess of scars ranging from cuts to bullet wounds. He usually tried to cover himself as much as possible, but you couldn’t fight in a sweater. Of course, there have been stares, weird looks, comments, and the occasional uncomfortable question but he usually never stayed anywhere long enough for anyone to really notice or care what he looked like. This was the first time anyone had ever confronted him about it.
“What the fuck is your problem? Just let me go and you’ll never see me again.”
The guy turned his head to the side as if he was thinking about it.
“No, I don’t think so. That would be too easy. Look you technically owe me and my family out there a bunch of money.”
“This is not my fucking problem. You’re a sore loser I get it but it’s time to grow the fuck up and get over it.”
He was really starting to get angry. This had been a mistake. He had to leave but the guy was not moving. He was not sure if he could beat him in a fight. He was shorter yes, but only by a few inches and his arms looked thrice as big as his. The way he was standing at the door also suggested he knew how to fight. Better not to test his luck. And shooting around with a gun in a basement with only one exit was probably not the best idea.
“You’re not getting it are you?”
“What the fuck do you want from me? Just get to the point or let me go.” He demanded.
“I want you to fight for me.” What. The. Fuck.
“No.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me, no. I don’t fight for anyone.”
“Oh you’re one of those.” Neil looked at him confused.
“What?”
“You think you’re too good to join a boxing club. You are good I give you that, but you still have a lot to learn.”
“And you would teach me or what?”
The guy snorted. “No, not me. But someone.”
“I really don’t have time for your bullshit right now I have to go-“
“Where? Where do you have to go?”
“I have to-“
“Why do you only have one pair of shoes?”
“What?-“
“Where are you going after this? Where do you stay?”
“Why should I tell you this, you freak.”
“I don’t actually want to know, probably some homeless shelter the way you look.” Now he was offended. What was wrong with his clothes? He looked down self-consciously. “The point is, I saw you arrive today. With only this duffle. And by the way you are clutching it I would assume it fits everything you own. You have no home, no place where you have to be, so I don’t quite understand the rush. Runaway it would assume.” He thinks out loud.
“You don’t know shit.” Neil spat out.
“I know more than you think.” Then he was grabbing into his back pocket. Neil tightened his grip on his bag, but he only pulled out a piece of paper and held it out to him.
“Call this number if you change your mind.”
“I don’t have a phone.” He was quick to say.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” And then he put the piece of paper on the bench next to the door.
“I don’t even know your name!” he called after the stranger.
“You don’t need it. Just ask for Wymack.” And then he was gone. Neil was alone in the locker room and the screams erupting outside meant that the round had ended. Soon the other fighters would come back to change out.
He stormed out of the locker room without grabbing the piece of paper.
He was halfway up the stairs when he stopped. He shouldn’t do this. He should just leave and burn his boxing gloves. But instead, he turned around and went back to the locker room. The piece of paper was still laying there, untouched. He grabbed it before he could change his mind, put the hood of his zipper up, and got the hell out of there.
He probably should have left the town that same evening but somehow, he couldn’t. Instead, he had found a cheap motel for the night where he stayed. He washed all of his clothes at the local laundromat. He bought a new mouthguard. He hid in his room to “plan” his next move. And he wandered around the small town about a hundred times. There really wasn’t much to do. He passed the bus station multiple times and it seemed to mock him. he felt guilty walking by it every day. Every telephone he saw made his heart jump and clench the number in his pocket even harder.
By the fifth day, he was running out of money. Normally he would just go to another fight to maybe win some money but he had sworn himself that he was never going back to that place. He knew deep inside that he had already made a decision; he was only avoiding it. So on the fifth evening, he pulled out the number, he had stared at it for too long so now he had the number memorized. He used the phone in his motel room and dialed the number. He held his breath while the phone rang. His mother was probably turning in her grave right now.
“Hello?” it sounded like an older man. Neil couldn’t breathe. “Who is this?”
“Neil.” He answered after a second.
“Neil who?”
“Josten.”
“Do I know you?”
“Is this Wymack?”
…
“Yes?”
“Someone gave me your number after the fight on Friday.”
“Oh, your Neil?” He just said so didn’t he?
“Yes.”
“Ahh, yeah Andrew said you would call.” So, Andrew was his name.
“How did he-“
“Doesn’t matter. You wanna come around so we can see you in action?”
“What now?” It was 11pm.
“Yeah, you got other plans.”
“…no.”
After scribbling down the address he hung up and sat in silence for a second. He could still leave. He didn’t have to go. But somehow, he still packed up his stuff and asked the receptionist for a map.
After he had memorized the street names, he jogged down the few blocks. The address had led him to what looked like a storage unit. It took him a while to actually find the entrance but when he found it the door was closed. So he pushed until it slowly crept open.
The hall was actually huge. It was one big space with a boxing ring in the middle and training material around it. He wanted to stare at it and take it all in but his eyes stopped when he noticed the people.
“Neil? Is that you?” it was the voice he recognized from the phone earlier. He looked around the room searching for the person it belonged to. His eyes finally found a man probably in his late forties. He was tall, with brought shoulders and a grim look on his face. Neil immediately felt uneasy but he tightened his grip on his duffle bag and walked towards him.
“Andrew told me you would eventually show up.” was his greeting. Neil kept his mouth shut. But when he looked to the side he could see Andrew lying on a bench, cigarette dangling from his mouth.
The sight made his fingers tingle with desire. He had started smoking shortly after his mother had died at 14. In the beginning, he hadn’t really smoked the cigarettes, he just smelled the nicotine, but it didn’t take long for him to start actually smoking. He didn’t always have enough money to buy cigarettes and he couldn’t remember the last time he actually smoked one.
“I’m David Wymack we talked on the phone.” The man, Wymack, said after a second. He extended his hand for a handshake but Neil had instinctively positioned himself far enough away from him that the older man couldn’t reach him that easily. After Neil didn’t accept the handshake, he dropped his hand again. But he did not seem offended at all.
“So you’re Neil Josten right?”
“Yes sir.”
“Don’t call me sir. Wymack is fine, but most of the kids just call me Coach.” Neil just nodded.
“Andrew said you could fight.” It wasn’t a question so he just shrugged. He didn’t really know what he was doing here anyway.
“Hm, real chatterbox you are. Okay so I need to see you fight first,” Neil knew this was coming so he wasn’t surprised, “I trust Andrew’s judgment but sometimes he has other motivations.” He said with raised eyebrows while he looked over to Andrew who had listened to their whole conversation and flipped him off. Neil didn’t know what that was supposed to mean so he just ignored it.
“Anyways Andrew will show you where you can change out and I will find someone your size you can fight against, sound good?”
“Yes, si- Coach.” With that Wymack turned around, and Neil stood there awkwardly. He watched Andrew smoke his cigarette and stub it out once he was done.
“Follow me rabbit.”
“Rabbit?” Andrew motioned to his legs.
“You’re a runner. You have this look in your eyes, like you’re trying to flee every minute. Like a rabbit.” Neil unconsciously lowered his gaze, he felt uneasy when he was with Andrew. Like he somehow saw right through him. It made him nervous.
The locker room was pretty basic but cleaner than you would expect in places like these. Neil started to unpack his duffle bag but was waiting for Andrew to step out while he changed.
“Are you going to leave or watch me change like a creep?”
“It’s not like I haven’t seen everything before, but sure I’ll turn around if it makes you feel better princess.”
“Or you could just leave the room like a normal person?”
“Someones gotta make sure you don’t run away.”
“I am already here aren’t I?” Andrew shrugged dramatically but turned around.
Neil pulled on his beat-up boxing shorts as fast as he could, he left on the shirt for now. Then he wrapped his hands, pulled out his boxing gloves, and put on his new mouthguard. He grabbed his duffle bag and walked towards the door where Andrew was still standing with his back towards him. “Let’s go.” He said.
Andrew turned around and looked him up and down. “You really only have this pair of shoes, do you?”
“Piss off.”
“And are you planning on fighting with that shirt?”
“Leave me alone.” They had made their way back to the training hall. Wymack was standing next to a blonde guy with a buzzcut. His chest was covered in tattoos, he looked a bit taller than Neil but just as skinny. He was bouncing off his heels, he seemed full of too much energy. Neil swallowed.