Chapter Text
“We’re here. Get out.”
Neil’s eyes searched the neat, official-looking building they’d pulled up to.
The abrupt shadows at the down-turned corners of his mouth accused, this isn’t an Exite.
“It isn’t Exite,” Wymack granted him, “because you have all you could need from Exite.”
“I don’t need anything from here, either.”
Not patient or gentle, but simply, bluntly exasperated, “Neil. You’ve been rubbing at your jaw for the past five months. When was the last time you went to a dentist?”
The shadows at the corners of his mouth deepened.
Wymack’s eyebrows climbed to meet his receding hairline. They had a ways to go, but as always, Neil managed to inspire greatness.
“High school?” Wymack proposed. That was only four years ago. Not good, but not awful.
Neil remained silent.
Wymack shifted in his driver’s seat to face him properly. Voice a bit strained, “Middle school?”
“Coach,” Neil said, “I don’t need to see the dentist. My teeth are fine. I brush twice a day, as directed.”
“– Jesus, Neil, no wonder your jaw’s been giving you trouble.” Even if he wouldn’t admit it, the rubbing and wincing were dead give-aways. Wymack might not have raised a child, but he could tell when his players were in pain, and Neil, amazing compartimentalization skills or not, was in pain. “There’s more to dentistry than keeping your teeth clean.”
“You’re a dentist, Coach?” Neil threw back, voice so even it was experience alone that told Wymack he was being sassed.
“Don’t give me lip,” he said, his own tone hardening in what Dan affectionately called his grumpy dad voice. Once upon a time, it might have scared Neil into listening to him; as it was, it only made him hunker further down into his seat. It was progress, but not necessarily helpful for Wymack’s current attempts at cleaning up the mess Neil’s history left him in. “I’ve already scheduled your appointment, and the school’s agreed to help cover the bill. They’re expecting you, and you’re not disappearing on them.”
Neil didn’t look at him, but his frown slipped into an outright scowl.
(The school had agreed to no such thing. Wymack’s bank account, which typically supported a family of one, had.)
“Neil Josten,” Wymack growled. “Move it. Now.”
“Yes, Coach,” Neil muttered, and opened the door with more force than necessary.
In the lobby while they waited for a room to free up, Wymack caught him texting Andrew. Really, that was fine. He’d already scheduled Andrew’s appointment for the next week – that kid ate far too many sweets to have any hope of escaping cavities.
He really needed to watch his mouth.
“Neil? Would you like some water?”
“Nope,” he said.
“Are you sure? You’ve been staring at Dan’s mug for five minutes now.”
Had he?
Oh.
He had to watch his mouth. He had to play it cool.
“Nope,” he repeated.
Nailed it.
Neiled it.
“Why is he laughing?” Matt asked Renee.
“He’s really out of it.”
“He’s right here,” Neil said, about himself. This also struck him as funny, though his face was beginning to throb from stretching up. Right. That was why he needed to watch his mouth: it now lacked four teeth, and was swelled something awful, and also contained a traitorous tongue that would undoubtedly run away on him if he didn’t pay attention.
(Too bad paying attention was very, very difficult. He could manage maybe one thing; he decided, in a fit of brilliance, to mind his tongue.)
A camera clicked. Neil turned his head to see Nicky and his phone five feet from the couch he laid on.
“Hey!” He said. It struck him as garbled, like he was talking with a mouthful of cotton.
“Neil, buddy,” Nicky said, and pulled out of his range to do something with the picture, “I’m sorry, but this is gold.”
“You better be sending that to the rest of us, Hemmick,” Allison said.
“Oh, it’s going on instagram, don’t you worry.”
Neil frowned.
“Why don’t I have an instagram?”
“You do,” Nicky answered, distracted with his typing. “We made you one last month.”
“But it’s not mine,” Neil emphasized.
Nicky turned the phone around and showed him a box for typing. It was, kindly, clear. “You want to caption it yourself?”
Yes, he did.
So he did, and then he handed it back, nice and kind. See, he was watching his mouth.
Half the Foxes gathered around Nicky to read what he’d wrote, which made him feel a bit nervous. But then Matt breathed, “Holy shit,” and Dan smiled with, “Reads like poetry,” and he felt pretty self-satisfied about whatever it was he’d managed. Something about Nicky being an asshole for taking advantage of the incapacitated, he thought. Maybe. The keys had been uncooperative, and his fingers were clumsy.
Good thing his family was around, he mused, or he’d have to mind his back as well as his mouth, and he definitely didn’t have the capacity for both right then.
“Aw, Neil,” Dan cooed. “That’s really sweet. And a little sad. But mostly sweet. We’ll always be here for you.”
Aw, fuck.
He really needed to watch his mouth.
“I really need to watch my mouth,” he told himself.
“You never do,” Kevin told him. He sounded fond. Maybe.
Nicky grinned at Kevin and Kevin scowled back, so Neil thought he was right on the fond front.
Since they were being fond, he told Kevin, “You’re such an ass. And you’re wrong about a quarter turn helping a back-handed pass. The half turn adds much more power.”
“Oh, shit,” Matt crowed, “it’s gonna get real.”
Kevin told him he was wrong, but really, Kevin was wrong, so Neil waved a clumsy hand around the couch’s side in search of who else he was fond of. He was fond of all of them, honestly, he’d already established that, but – ah. There. He grasped a black pant leg and gave it a tug.
“I’m Aaron,” the Minyard told him.
“Oh,” Neil said, disappointed.
“Andrew!” Nicky called, at last finished with his phone. “Neil wants you!”
“Don’t tell him that,” Neil hissed, or tried to. It might have been more of an embarrassed yelp, his mouth not closing enough for a hiss. “Nicky, seriously, some things you don’t have to say.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
To be fair, Andrew swiftly appeared in the doorway after that. He had a cup of ice water.
“Thanks,” Neil chirped, much happier after he had something to cool down his burning throat. Andrew had to help him sit up to drink it, but there weren’t any complaints to be made about that.
Matt muttered in defense of Renee, “Okay, you just said you weren’t thirsty.”
Since he was watching his mouth, he didn’t reply. He leaned heavier on Andrew’s arm, gaze roving the gathered Foxes, and felt pretty damn content.
(He was still mad at Wymack for dragging him to the dentist, but while he felt like this, he supposed he could forgive him.)
“Neil Josten,” Dan sighed at him. “You are impossible.”
Around a mouthful of water and amid a cry from Allison to not dribble all over their couch, he chirped, “Yep.”