Chapter Text
There was nothing that could be done.
The gun was laid out before him on his father’s desk. The moonlight illuminated the metal handle that Neil would soon be holding.
There was nothing to be done, right?
Neil never wanted it to come to this: His hopes and dreams of becoming an actor being torn from his hands like vultures tearing meat from a carcass. Neil knew that it was over the second he spotted his father in the back of the theater. Though, for a split second, he hoped that his father enjoyed his performance. Or at the bare minimum, could tolerate his son being an actor.
My father always said that I was too much of a dreamer.
He'd weighed his options once he sat in the car. It was far too late to run or fight back. He was too much of a coward to do that anyway.
What else could he do in a situation like this? Run off once he got back? To where exactly? He didn’t have a single dime with him. He could go back to Welton, but that would do more harm than good. His father would most likely drag him back, kicking and screaming.
But maybe, just maybe, his father wouldn’t be mad. He just berate him, that’s all. Neil would probably be on his way back to Helton the next day. (Looking back, Neil realized how idiotic that thought was. This was his father after all.)
And by the time he was told that he was being sent to military school, Neil had no fight left in him.
He…
He felt nothing.
And there was nothing to do about this. Apart from listening to his father, of course. But Neil would have rather died than spend the rest of his days being a doctor. In fact, he’d been dreading it since he was a little kid. The deepest, darkest part of him was terrified of his 18th birthday. The day he was an adult, and able to do adult things, like study to become a doctor.
But now that wasn’t going to happen.
He’d never turn 18. The only decent part about what he was doing was that he never had to worry about that ever again.
Neil shifted in the chair he was sitting in. Nothing, he reminded himself Nothing can get me out. He reached out and touched the gun’s handle. Cold. He shivered. It was almost as cold as the office itself. Not in the traditional sense, of course. The office was like his father, organized, seemingly perfect, and with pictures of his “perfect son” framed on his desk. Neil turned away, suddenly feeling as if he was about to vomit.
Stop thinking about it.
“You’re playing the role of the dutiful son,” Keating had said.
How long had he been doing it?
17 years…
Neil’s grip on the desk tightened. 17 years. And the only time he’d truly lived was the past few months.
“And not when I had come to die, discover I had not lived.”
He thought back to the play. How strange it was that not even a few hours before, he was the happiest he’d ever been.
The Dead Poets were there, dressed as if this play was some sort of red carpet event. Ginny joked about that backstage, and that got a laugh out of Neil. It got a small chuckle out of him even now.
And then there was Todd.
He looked as excited as a kid on Christmas day once the brunette walked out on stage. Neil could have sworn that his eyes were full of stars. He stared at the other boy through the curtains in between scenes, though his director had repeatedly told the cast not to do so.
“The audience will be able to see you,” the lady had said.
But Neil ignored it.
He wanted Todd to see him.
His train of thought stopped suddenly as a freezing breeze blew through the room. Goosebumps spread across his bare skin as a chill went down his spine. He remembered where he was. His gaze returned to the gun, only now it was no longer bathed in moonlight. It was almost as dark as the rest of the room.
Pick it up, he told himself. Get it over with.
He slowly moved his hand to the gun, placing it onto the ice cold handle.
Another, strangely familiar breeze whipped through the room.
The memory hit him like a bus. It was the day that he and Todd had been rehearsing lines together. It was sometime in November, and the cold breeze was nipping at their noses until they turned red. It hadn’t snowed just yet, but the thought of it made both boys smile. Snow meant snowball fights, snowmen, and the most beautiful views a person could ever see outside of their windows.
Todd had been so happy. It may have been the happiest Neil had ever seen him. He was wearing that smile that always gave Neil butterflies (which, at the time, he ignored). There was something about being around Todd in general that made his heart flutter. Neil just couldn’t put his finger on it. He’d just assumed that it was because Todd was his friend. People feel that way around their close friends all the time after all…
“God, I love this,” Neil had said.
And then Todd turned to him, eyes bright and hopeful.
“What? Me?”
Neil turned red, immediately replying with, “No, act-acting.” He stuttered, stumbling over every word and syllable. He could see Todd blushing. His face had turned to the most adorable shade of pink Neil had ever seen on a person.
Neil changed the subject, rambling on and on about how acting made him feel and whatnot. He prayed that Todd had forgotten what had just happened.
Luckily, he did.
Neil didn’t
His hand pulled away from the gun for a moment, unsure of what to do next.
He decided to close his eyes in some sort of symbolic surrender, but his mind wasn’t quiet. In fact, it was screaming the same name over and over.
Todd, Todd, Todd.
It blared like a siren in his mind, constantly echoing and burning each time it was said. His hand gripped the desk as if it was a lifeline. And for a moment, the noises stopped.
Neil didn't move as a chill ran down his spine from what had just occurred. Just do it, he reminded himself as he reached for the gun once again. Though, he stopped himself right before his fingers could touch the handle.
“To be or not to be. That is the question,” he’d laughed, pointing a stick at Todd. “Yes! For the first time in my life, I feel completely alive!”
And for the first time, Neil wished that he felt empty again.
He was hesitating.
Do it. Do it. Do it. There’s nothing you can do about that now.
He didn’t move. He simply stared at the gun. Looking death in the eyes, if you will.
I’m going to die, he realized.
A pain swelled up in his chest. God, did he want to be held. He longed for his worries to dissolve as he fell into someone's arms. He wanted to be held as if the person holding him would make all of this pain go away. Maybe someone, anyone, would come and wrap their arms around him and assure him that everything was going to be okay. Neil gripped the desk harder when the thought of Todd doing so entered his mind.
He wanted Todd to hold him.
Neil blushed. Todd was his roommate, nothing more.
He was just a guy.
Just a guy?
No, of course not. Todd was the one whose presence could make Neil smile. The one he practiced lines with. The one who stunned Neil whenever he read poetry.
Todd wasn’t just a guy. He…
Neil pulled away frantically from the desk for a moment, hands once again shaking. Just a friend. He thought and then continued repeating in his head. Just a friend. Just a friend. Get it over with. Tears formed in his eyes as he once again reached for the gun. He pulled back again and wiped his stinging eyes with the back of his hand.
Neil decided to weigh his options, again. He couldn’t run. Couldn’t go back. Couldn’t stay. Then the thought of talking to his parents came into his head. He barely even wanted to consider it. They wouldn’t listen. They hadn’t listened before. Why would they now? Neil knew that to them, he was a broken record on repeat. He was just noise to them. An extremely irritating, incoherent rambling of things they didn’t want to hear…
He reached for the gun again, still trying to tune out the name in his head.
And this time, he grabbed it.
His hands trembled as he attempted to lift it. He’d held a gun before with no problem, but this time, it felt heavier than a brick. The gun kissed his forehead. His hand gripped the handle, but he didn’t dare pull the trigger.
Neil knew that he’d have to shoot it eventually. There was no other choice…
I’ll never see the sun again. I won’t get to go in the snow. I won’t be home for Christmas. I won’t hear Todd’s poem. I won’t be an actor. I won’t be able to sit on the radiator and watch Todd write. I’ll never run lines with him by the dock, spinning until we’re too dizzy to stand. I’ll never get to open another Dead Poet Society meeting, or watch Charlie play the saxophone. I won’t be able to see Meek’s and Pitt’s radio. I can’t study with Cameron again. I’ll never know whether or not Knox and Chris get together. I will never hear Keating tell us about life and how we should make the most of it again. I won’t make jokes with Ginny backstage. This was my first show. Huh. My last show. I was really good. I think Todd thinks so too…
He sucked in a breath and exhaled. It felt so good to breathe. To allow air to fill your lungs and allow yourself to live. He placed his thumb on the trigger, preparing to shoot. And right as the world went black, he pressed down…
I don’t want to die.
The sound burned his ears. The sound of the shot echoed throughout the room. And before Neil could fully process what was going on, he was on the ground. He could feel his blood flowing through his veins and throughout his body.
He opened his eyes, though his vision blurred as he turned his head towards his arm. He watched as blood flowed from the bullet hole that was not too far from his elbow.
No, no, no…
He missed…
He reached out to touch his forehead with his other hand. Not a single mark was on his head. He was barely able to comprehend the fact that the bullet had somehow, against all odds, missed such an easy shot.
The pain was absolutely unbearable.
Neil’s eyes filled with tears. He bit his lip hard enough for it to bleed. He could taste the iron in his mouth. He’d never experienced something so painful in his life. Nothing physical or mental could compare to this.
He could feel his arm go limp as he struggled to sit up. It was as if his arm had a heartbeat, each thump sending a sharp pain throughout his body.
Stop, please stop.
This wasn’t meant to happen. His breath hitched as he reached out his other arm in an attempt to cover his wound. He flinched once the hole was touched.
I’m dying. Dear god, I’m dying.
“Oh my god,” he mumbled, each word taking every ounce of energy he had to say. “Oh my god. My god… God? I- I don’t want to die. Oh god. M-mom…”
He leaned his head back against the floor, praying silently that somebody, anybody would find him.
He let out a quiet sigh of relief once he heard footsteps.
And before he knew it, he could hear his mother wailing.
His mother rushed to his side almost immediately, doing her best to lift the boy into her arms. His father stood over the two of them.
And the last thing he saw before drifting out of consciousness was his father’s sickened expression.