Archive of Our Own ^beta

Neil’s final year of college doesn’t start off too well.

He wakes up on the first morning of classes to a nightmare so bad he finds himself bent over the toilet. Andrews old Foxes sweatshirt is drenched through with sweat, so he pulls it off and throws it into the corner of the bathroom.

Wymack had pulled some string to get Neil a single dorm for his last year, and Neil was extremely grateful for it in moments like these.

(So maybe he had complained to Uncle Stuart about it on the phone. And maybe Palmetto State had gotten a rather large donation over summer break.)

This was his first year without any of his original team with him. He was captain. And he was alone.

His fingers itched to pick up the phone and call Andrew. But it had to be early in the morning , judging by the lack of sunrise outside his window. Andrew needed his sleep.

Instead, Neil pulled himself up from the floor and flushed the toilet. He went through the usual routine of washing his face and brushing his teeth, then threw on his running clothes and left his dorm.

After a quick check to see the time, Neil shut his phone off and shoved it in his pocket. He did a few stretches outside the tower before setting off on his run. Maybe a few extra hours of running would help.

-

It did not help.

Neil was late to practice, only by a few minutes. He half expected to see Kevin waiting in the locker room with a disappointed look on his face.

But Kevin had graduated two years ago, with Matt. They were both on their own pro teams now.

Neil changed out as fast he could and joined his team on the court.

Wymack gave him a questioning look, but Neil just walked past him off. They had work to do.

Practice was a shit show. It seemed everyone was stressed about the first day of classes, and the freshmen were still trying to get used to the team.

When Wymack called it, Neil stomped off the court ahead of everyone else. He shrugged off the coaches hand when he passed him, heading straight for the showers.

He was the first to leave, not saying a word to his team as he left. He told himself he’d give them a fancy pep talk during evening practice.

-

The nightmares continued for the rest of the week. At least, they continued for the next three days. Neil gave up on sleep after that.

It was 4 am on Saturday morning, Neil was sat on his couch (Matts couch. It was Matts couch that he had left for Neil.) The TV was on but nothing was playing. Neil had a cold cup of coffee in his hands, he’d long since given up on drinking it.

It was starting to hit him, how alone he was. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his current team mates, wasn’t that he didn’t trust most of them.

But. They weren’t his Foxes. They hadn’t been there that first year. They didn’t know.

He had Wymack, but the coach was busy with their newer group of fucked up kids. He had his hands full.

Neil was alone. And his team sucked. They were going to fail miserably this year and Ichiru was going to put a bullet between his eyes.

For one second, just one, Neil thought maybe that wouldn’t be so horrible.

His hands were shaking, the coffee in his mug sloshing and spilling over the edges.

He wanted Andrew. He needed Andrew.

His phone. Where had he put it? His pocket? No. When was the last time he’d even turned it on?

Oh god. He needed-

The door to his dorm slammed open and he dropped his mug. He reached for one of the many knives he had hidden in the couch cushions, his shaky hands scrambling for a blade.

Just as he finally had a grip on one, there was a hand on the back of his neck.

Andrew.

Neil relaxed into the touch, turning his face towards the blonde squatting beside the couch.

There was a rage in Andrews eyes that Neil had only seen once or twice before.

“Are you real?” Neil rasped. How long had it been since he’d talked last?

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

No, that was definitely Andrew.

He watched Andrew look him up and down, watched him take in the shaking hands and the dark bags under Neil’s eyes and the way maybe, just maybe, Andrews sweatshirt hung a little looser on Neil’s frame than it had a few months ago.

“I leave you alone for three weeks, Junkie. Three fucking weeks.”

Neil blinked, and then he was being tucked into Andrews neck.

He didn’t even get a single word out before he was fast asleep.

-

Neil woke up the same way he had the past dozen times he’d tried to sleep.

He was hunched over the toilet before his eyes were fully open, though there wasn’t much to come up.

It was part of his routine at this point.

He found himself itching to call Andrew again. Before he could talk himself out of it, there was a comforting weight on the back of his neck.

Oh. It hadn’t been an insomnia-induced fever dream.

In a blink, Andrew was pulling Neil off the floor. He picked him up and gently set him on the edge of the sink before reaching over to the flush the toilet.

Neil sat pliantly as Andrew took a warm, wet rag and wiped off his face, and opened his mouth when Andrew held up the toothbrush.

He couldn’t meet Andrews eyes, afraid of what he’d see there. He felt… ashamed. Guilty. He should have called after the first nightmare, before it got this bad. He should have told Wymack, or Abby.

He should have done literally anything besides sit there in self pity.

It took Neil a minute to realize that there was no longer a toothbrush in his mouth. And he’d apparently already spit and rinsed.  He was still on the sink, Andrew was still in front of him.

“Rabbit?” Andrew murmured. “How long has this been going on?”

Neil shrugged. “A week? Started when classes did.”

Andrew gently took Neil’s chin in his hand and forced him to meet his eyes. There was… There was worry behind Andrews eyes. Another wave of guilt hit Neil in the gut.

“Neil. Classes started two weeks ago. You had your first game last night. Wymack called after and told me I needed to come home.” There was no anger in Andrews tone. Neil almost wished there was.

He tried to tug his head out of Andrews grip, but the blonde wouldn’t let him go.

“Did we win?” Was all Neil could muster up.

Andrew searched his eyes. “Fucking Junkie. Yes, Neil. You won. That’s not the point.”

Neil let out a breath of relief.

This, finally, seemed to anger Andrew. The grip on his chin tightened just a little.

“Abram. Are you hearing me? I haven’t heard from you in two weeks. None of the Foxes have. Where is your phone.”

Neil shrugged again. “Dead, probably. Turned it off first day.”

“Dammit, Neil. Do I need to move back here? Do I need to take a gap year? You promised it would be okay.”

That had Neil reacting. “No, no you can’t do that. You have a contract. I will be okay it’s just been a rough week- a rough couple of weeks.” He finally shook his head out of Andrews grip. “Look I’m sorry, okay? I’ll charge my phone, I’ll keep it on.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the contract, Neil. I’m the best goalie in the league, they’ll wait for me.” Andrews voice was starting to raise. “Y’know Kevin, Jean, and Matt all called me after the game too. Jean was crying. He said you looked like you did when you played in the Nest. Matt wanted to know if he needed to come down here himself. Kevin  said it was the best game he’d ever seen you play and wanted to know what was wrong.”

Neil shook his head and went to hop off the sink, but Andrew put a hand on his hip and held him there. “I don’t need the fucking guilt trip okay? I already feel bad enough making you come down here. I’ll work on it. I’ll get it together. If we won the game, I don’t see what issue here is.”

“Fuck, Neil. You fucking scared me, okay?” Neil’s eyes shot to Andrews, and he almost recoiled at the startling amount of emotion there. “Do you even hear yourself? Have you seen what you look like? I’m not even going to ask when the last time you ate was, considering you don’t even know what day it is. Walking into this dorm this morning was like walking into that fucking hotel room in Baltimore. You promised me you’d be okay this year.”

Neil flinched at the mention of Baltimore, and his words came out in a yell. “Why the fuck did you believe me? Why did any of you believe me? I’m a liar, Andrew. It’s all I’ve ever been. I don’t know what about my behavior in the past four years made any of you think I’d be okay here after everyone fucking left me.” He realized, belatedly, that he was crying. He cursed under his breath and wiped the hot tears away. They kept coming.

Andrew was quiet for a minute before he spoke up. His voice was even and low this time. “You need to see someone.”

“No.”

“Neil!”

“I said no!”

The hand was off his hip in one second, and Andrew was taking a step back.

And then Andrew was turning and walking away.

Neil slid off the sink, barely landing on his feet. “Where are you going?” He called after the goalie.

“Away from you. I can’t do this with you right now.” Andrew yelled back. The door slammed behind him.

Neil turned to face the mirror and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He really did look like shit.

The tears were still pouring down his face, no matter how hard Neil tried to reign them in. He stared into the mirror, watching the tears fall down his face and drop into the sink.

He raised his right hand, watching its path in the mirror as it formed a fist. The he drew it back and slammed it into the mirror. Again. And Again. Until he heard something in his hand crunch. And again after that.

He had the decency to find his phone and plug it in before he left.

-

Neil walked all the way to the court barefoot. He was still in Andrews sweatshirt and whatever pants he had pulled on after the game they apparently had the night before. His face was still dripping with tears, his hand throbbing and leaving a trail of blood drops behind him.

It was mid afternoon by this point. He knew everyone would be at the court. Wymack was probably giving excuses to the team for him as they went over the game play by play.

He typed in his codes with his shaking left hand and walked into the stadium on silent feet. The only noise was the steady drip, drip of his blood as he walked.

He made his way to the lounge, where everyone was settled in the couches and chairs. (It was wrong. It was all wrong. That couch was the Monsters couch. The other one for the upperclassmen. Someone was sitting in Allison’s chair.)

There were a few gasps as everyone noticed him. Jake, Josh, whatever his fucking name was even laughed.

“Looks like Cap finally lost it.” He snarked. Neil didn’t have the energy to punch him. He doubted he’d be a good shot with his left hand anyway.

Wymack whirled around then. He sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Jesus fuck, kid. Where the hell is Andrew?”

Neil shrugged. “Said he wasn’t dealing with this- with me right now. Left. Probably went home. Is Abby here?”

There was another laugh from Johnny. “Trouble in fag paradise, huh?”

His vice-captain, Shay, socked him for that. Neil got no satisfaction out of it.

He looked at Wymack expectantly.

The coach stared him down, a seething look suddenly on his face. He turned back to the foxes and ground out. “All of you. Out. We’ll finish up tomorrow.”

None of them hesitated to scramble out of their seats and out of the room, avoiding looking at Neil as they moved around him.

Once the room was empty, the doors slamming shut behind the last of them, Wymack closed the distance between them and gripped Neil’s left shoulder.

“What the fuck are you doin, kid?”

Neil stared blankly at him. “Trying to find Abby. I broke my hand. I need to know how long I’ll be out.” He held up his bleeding hand as proof.

Wymack, who had seen many a fucked up kid in his day, wisely kept his mouth shut.

His phone rang then. He flipped it open and pressed accept without checking the name.

“Yeah. He’s here. I’ve got him.” He looked Neil up and down. “Bring Betsy. I don’t care if he said no, Minyard. Bring the shrink.” He shut the phone and slid it back into his pocket.

“Alright, kid. Let’s go visit Abby.” Wymack kept the grip on Neil’s shoulder and led him to Abby’s office. They stopped by Wymacks first so he could grab the biggest bottle of whiskey he had. He handed it to Neil once he was back in the hallway.

Abby’s door was open, so Neil walked right in and climbed onto the paper covered bed.

He used his left hand to unscrew the lid from the whiskey, letting it drop to the floor, and took the biggest gulp he could manage. This was going to hurt.

He heard Abby’s gasp as she got a look at his hand, which he was still holding up.

Wymack pulled her into the hallway to talk for a minute, so Neil took the opportunity to start undressing from the waist up. He took another drink from the bottle before setting it between his legs and getting to work.

The pain was… something else, as he pulled his broken hand through the sleeve of the hoodie. He frowned down at it for a second. He’d gotten blood on the sleeve.

Once Abby and Wymack returned from their secret conversation, Neil held up the sweatshirt. “Can we get the blood out of this? It’s my favorite.”

The words felt oddly familiar, and for a second Neil was 19 and holding a blood soaked uniform, begging for peroxide so he could clean the dammed thing before the game.

Neil blinked and he was back in Abby’s office. Andrew was in front him now, holding the sweatshirt. He stared at Neil with a truly blank gaze. “You are so fucking stupid, Neil.” He hopped up onto the bed behind Neil, readjusting and pulling him back until Neil’s back was flush with Andrews chest.

In the door, with a small frown on her annoying face, was Betsy. She didn’t say anything, just stepped inside and sat in one of the plastic chairs next to the bed.

Neil picked up the bottle and took another swig.

Wymack stood leaning against the door while Abby snapped on gloves and set to poking and prodding at Neil’s hand.

“Would you like to explain to the group what your problems been for the past two weeks?” Wymack snapped.

“Nightmares.” Was all Neil offered up. He picked up the bottle again, but Andrew reached around him and pushed it back down.

“Talk, Junkie.” He hissed.

Neil frowned and snatch the bottle back up, gulping it down before Andrew could stop him again.

The whiskey was a familiar warmth in his stomach. It reminded him of his mom. Of half-asses stitches and long nights fighting off infection.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s just fucking nightmares. It happens sometimes. I’ll get over it.”

“‘Just nightmares’ doesn’t make you lose a week of time, Neil.” Andrew murmured.

Neil wasn’t lying. He was having nightmares and it was fucking with his head. There was nothing else to it.

“Neil,” Abby’s soft voice spoke up. “I need to reset these. There’s a couple different breaks.”

Neil gave her a nod and felt Andrews arms slip around his waist to hold him in place. He took a few more swigs from the bottle before setting it down and gripping one of the hands on his waist.

He clenched his eyes shut and listened for Abby’s countdown.

One reset.

A second.

Then a third.

The tears were back in earnest by the time Abby was done, Neil hiccuping as the sobs wracked his body.

“Everyone l-left me.” Neil sobbed out before he could stop himself. Wymack froze by the door. “T-The team was- is my f-family. The only r-real one I have. And everyone l-left. I can’t- I thought I was r-ready to be alone again.” He let the words pour out him as fast as his tears were as Abby cleaned up his bloody mess of a hand. “Then it h-hit me that I can’t be alone again! I c-can’t! And it felt so s-selfish and stupid and my mom raised me b-better than that.”

Mary Hatford had raised her son to need no one and nothing. Not even her. Admitting now that he needed these people around him felt like the ultimate betrayal to her. She’d beat him back and blue for this.

Suddenly, the whiskey felt less like a comforting reminder and more like a nauseating flash back.

Everyone was staring at him, he knew. They were thinking how stupid he was for all this. He was Neil Josten. He was Nathaniel fucking Wesninski. He should not be breaking down over a few friends family moving on with their lives.

He took one last drink from the bottle before setting it down for the last time and slouching down in Andrews hold.

Andrews voice was tense in his ear. “So you decided your best option was… what? Cut everyone off before they could cut you off? Destroy your hand and ruin your career so Ichiru can come down here and put a bullet in your brain?”

Neil flinched, but didn’t deny anything.

He felt the weight of the words settle off the room, felt Abby’s hand stutter as they laced up a brace on his hand.

Wymack strode forward and picked up the bottle from Neil’s lap, taking a few drinks for himself. Neil couldn’t look at him.

For the second time that day, Neil found fingers gripping his chin and forcing him to look into someone’s eyes.

Wymack didn’t look angry. He just looked tired. “You’re benched for eight weeks. Longer if Betsy says. I expect you to be in her office every other day, or you can expect to find your contract in the shredder.”

He let go and left the room, taking the bottle with him. If they all heard a loud crash a few minutes later, no one mentioned it.

-

Later that night, alone in Neil’s dorm, Andrew and Neil had a talk. Well. Andrew talked. Neil was drunk enough, and overwhelmed enough, to go nonverbal.

Andrew was sprawled on his back on the bed, hands carding through Neil’s hair, who was laying on his stomach half on top of the blonde.

“I talked to my coaches. Explained I had a family emergency. They’re letting me take a year. Promised my contract would be waiting for me when things were handled.”

Neil simply sighed. He didn’t want to argue about this right now. And deep down, under the years of guilt, he knew it was probably best for both of them.

“You need to tell me if this happens again, Abram. I tell you when I’m having bad days, I need to know when you’re having yours.”

Neil hummed, and let his eyes slip shut. It’s a blissfully dreamless night.

-

Neil doesn’t say a single word for the first week of therapy. He sips his tea and listens to Andrew list of everything he thinks is wrong with Neil for an hour every other day.

Neil starts chiming in with little details. Then full sentences. Eventually, he starts the conversations himself.

He shows up to the court after his first week of therapy to watch practice, and finds Andrew standing next to Wymack with a polo that reads ‘Ass. Coach’ across the back.

His hand… pretty much heals. He’s back on the court for practices after six weeks, back in games after eight. There’s plenty of physical therapy to be done, but he’s playing.

He practices with both his left and right hand, with tips from Kevin along the way.

He gets calls from different Foxes every day, which he thinks Andrew had something to do with.

Neil’s first two weeks of his senior year don’t go too well, but he thinks the rest of it might go okay.