Work Text:
Neil should have known this would happen… things had been going far too well for far too long. He had survived his first year at Palmetto, and was currently halfway through his second. He let down his guard. He was stupid. So, so stupid for thinking that he was in the clear; for thinking that he was safe from what remained of his father’s men, from what remained of Riko’s men.
Now, tied up in the basement cellar of some godforsaken shack in the middle of nowhere with no phone, no idea where he was, a bloody lip and nose, and, judging by the pounding in his head, a concussion as well, he wishes he hadn’t been so carefree. Hadn’t been so stupid.
Run. Don’t stay in one place too long. Stay hidden. Stay low. His mom’s voice echoes in his mind, the ghost of what he should have done the second he started to get close to the foxes. He wasn’t safe for them. He wasn’t safe for anyone.
Neil curses himself for jumping when the cellar door opens. He looks up to see one of his father’s old colleagues – Darren? Alex? Bartholomew, maybe? – headed down the stairs towards Neil. In the man’s hand glints a knife, which he points threateningly at Neil as he approaches. The man crowds Neil into the wall, causing his arm to twist uncomfortably in his chains, and lets out a manic grin at the flash of discomfort that must have shown on Neil’s face.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Nathaniel Wesninski,” the man lets out a cruel laugh before lightly dragging the blade of the knife down Neil’s sternum, pressing just enough so that a shallow cut begins to bleed from just below his collar bone all the way down to his navel. Neil starts breathing heavily. No. Stop. You cannot panic here. Do not show weakness. Do not scream.
A moment later, Neil’s body betrays him with a loud scream as the man digs the knife into his lower abdomen. Neil can tell he didn’t hit an artery–thankfully–but the wound still causes Neil’s vision to go black around the corners.
“Please,” he whispers, breaking his own personal rule made after Baltimore– his rule to not ever beg for mercy again. “Just let me go.”
“Don’t worry little Nathaniel. You and I are going to have a lot of fun.” Neil manages to catch a glimpse of the man’s cold grin before the hilt of the knife presses against his abdomen once again, and he begins to flit in and out of consciousness.
–
The next thing that Neil is aware of is the sound of an explosion and the smell of smoke and fire filling his nose. He blinks open his eyes, still fighting to remain conscious, and finds the basement cellar filled with smoke, the left side covered in flames.
Neil panics, and looks down at his wrist. The chain is still attached, meaning that Neil won’t be able to make it to the cellar door, let alone out of the range of the fire.
No. Neil begins to panic, sitting up and clawing desperately at the chains. In hindsight, he knows this isn’t a good idea. You’re inhaling too much smoke. Breathe slower. Get lower. Crawl. Find a way out.
He yanks helplessly at the chain as his vision begins to go black. He vaguely thinks that there’s a bright light coming from the direction of the cellar door, but it can’t be. The man left me here to die. He’s not coming back.
His vision is beginning to fade in and out of blackness once again, and he feels himself collapse to the ground in a heap.
“Neil!” He hears someone that sounds suspiciously like Dan yell, and he thinks he hears more screaming, but his hearing has begun to fade and he can’t quite be sure.
“Neil.” Another familiar voice drags Neil back into semi-consciousness. Andrew. “Abram.” He feels Andrew try to help Neil sit up, but he must change his mind, because a second later finds Andrew’s hand on Neil’s face and a desperate fist clinging to his bloody t-shirt. “Goddammit. Stay awake, Abram.”
Neil tries to respond. Tries to say anything, but his vision is swimming again. He manages to whisper, “Andrew,” before he slumps back down to the floor.
“No. Stay awake dammit!” Andrew growls, dragging Neil up by his t-shirt so that he can slump against Andrew’s shoulder while Andrew holds him up.
“’M awake.” Neil managers to slur.
“Stay that way.”
Time passes. Neil doesn’t know how long. It feels like minutes, hours, days that he stays slumped on Andrew’s shoulder while fighting for consciousness.
“Are you still awake?” Andrew asks, tensing up as he feels Neil’s body begin to grow heavy, signaling that Neil was either unconscious, or close to it.
“Mmmm.” Comes Neil’s slurred response.
“Stay awake. The ambulance is here.”
Neil nods, but feels himself drifting off as he is loaded onto the stretcher.
–
Neil’s brain is foggy, his throat hurts, his stomach hurts, his head hurts. He hears a beeping sound to this left and fights the urge to throw whatever the cause of the annoying sound is out the window.
Instead, he gradually opens his eyes, glaring against the stark white light of what he now realizes is a hospital room.
It takes a few minutes, but once he is able to keep his eyes open with minimal effort, he turns to his right. Neil is not at all shocked, yet he is pleased, to find Andrew seated on a chair near his hospital bed, his gaze steady and gauging.
“Hi.” Neil says, giving Andrew a weak smile.
“You’re an idiot.” Andrew growls, but his words lose some of their hostility when he grabs the back of Neil’s neck and pulls them both forward so that their foreheads are resting against one another.
“What happened?” Neil whispers.
“You got kidnapped. He’s dead.”
“I know I got kidnapped, asshole. And I’m glad the fucker’s dead, but I meant what injuries do I have.”
Andrew’s gaze flicks up to meet Neil’s, their foreheads still pressed against each other and Andrew’s hand still on the back of Neil’s neck.
“Two broken ribs, severe smoke inhalation, four abdominal stab wounds that just missed vital areas, an infected cut down your chest, broken nose, and a black eye,” Andrew finishes with a growl, his grip on the back of Neil’s neck tightening slightly.
“I’m ok.” Neil whispers, looking into Andrew’s steady and apathetic, yet somehow worried, gaze.
“You’re never ok,” is Andrew’s response. Then, a beat later, “Yes or no?”
“Always yes.” Neil whispers.
Andrew uses his grip on the back of Neil’s neck to pull him in to a soft, scorching kiss. It lasts for a couple of moments before Andrew pulls back.
“You’re at two hundred and fifteen percent, Abram.”