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Chapter Text

Prologue

Nathaniel

Three Weeks Ago

He missed Andrew already. It had only been a few hours since the game ended, but Nathaniel could still feel the warmth on his lips from when they’d kissed. It was getting harder to have hope, to believe he had a chance at making it out alive. It was still there, but Riko and the Master were doing their best to bury it underneath the haze of beatings and cuts deep enough that stitching them was more painful than getting the wound itself. But, Andrew. 

There was still hope there, he knew. Nathaniel had needed to see him, to feel his heartbeat, and understand there was still something worth fighting for. He was here for a reason, or several reasons, and if he took one step out of line Andrew and Kevin and Jean and everyone they loved was at risk. Nathaniel sighed, ignoring the look Roone gave him from across Ichirou’s living room. 

The guard was irritated, but Nathaniel knew it had less to do with him and more to do with the fact that Riko kept finding very innovative ways of getting his hands on Nathaniel. He was still sleeping in the East Tower, but the number of times Riko had caught him vulnerable was, in Roone and Haru’s words, worrisome. Nathaniel didn’t know the difference between what was happening now and what had been happening since he was put in the Nest, but something was wrong, he knew. Ichirou had barely been around lately, and when he was in the Tower he had started locking himself in his office. 

Nathaniel wondered, and then shut off those thoughts almost immediately. Whatever was going on with the main branch was none of his business. It was bad enough how much work he was doing, and there would be more time next year to be involved; right now he could focus on staying alive, playing exy, and bringing Riko as far down as he could go. 

“Stop.” Roone said after Nathaniel had changed positions for the tenth time. 

Nathaniel only rolled his eyes. There was a spot on his back that wouldn’t stop aching, but the wound he had there hindered his use of a muscle roller so he was infinitely uncomfortable in the leather seat. Really, Nathaniel wanted to go to bed and wake up when the Spring Champion season began. He was safe when he was in the tower, but now that Winter break had begun there would be more time with the team, more time with Riko. It would be practice after practice with little breaks in between. Nathaniel had no idea how he would balance the work Ichirou was giving him and the torture that Riko would provide, but he knew he would survive; if only because there was no other option. 

***

Winter break in the Nest was both the same and different. The grueling practices, the inhumane schedule, the intensity, it was all familiar. But Riko’s temperament and the Master’s punishments were turned up a notch, burning hotter and hotter each day. It’d been a week since the Fox v Raven game and Nathaniel hadn’t spoken to Andrew or Jean since. 

Ichirou had come into the Tower last night angry, or at least as angry as Nathaniel had ever seen him before. There was a set to his brow, his eyes hard and swimming with something he couldn’t put his finger on. Roone tracked him through the room, down to the liquor cabinet, and back to Ichirou’s favorite tall-backed chair. 

“I need your phone.” Ichirou said, eyes trained on Nathaniel.

Nathaniel dug the plastic out of his pocket and tossed it to Ichirou. He wasn’t sure what the man was going to do with it, but he definitely didn’t expect Ichirou to throw it on the ground and crush it with one stomp of his foot. 

“What the hell?” Nathaniel snapped, reaching for the biggest piece of his screen. 

“What the hell is right,” Ichirou turned narrowed eyes on him. “Have you seen the article yet?” 

“What article?” Nathaniel raised a brow. 

“Good.” Ichirou nodded. “You won’t see it, then. I have a contact at the New York Times. They sent me the story before it could run.”

“What story? You sound crazy.” Nathaniel mumbled, only half joking. 

“It seems as if you’ve gotten a little too much press lately.” Ichirou said. “That stops now.”

Nathaniel scoffed. “What did they write? Did someone finally put the pieces together, that my absences from the camera were not by choice?”

“No. Well, yes, but it wasn’t only about you. Someone has been speaking about the Moriyama family’s connections in a way I can’t permit.”

“I would ask the man you call your brother about that.” 

“He wouldn’t dare.” Ichirou said, his voice hard. 

Nathaniel silently agreed; the thought of Riko being a rat was a good one, but still unrealistic. He was messy, though, and one of those messes could have seeped into the news quite easily. Nathaniel only shrugged in response.

“What does any of this have to do with me?” Nathaniel asked, reaching for the file he had been translating before Ichirou stomped in. 

“Your untimely transfer is being looked into, apparently.” 

“About time,” Roone muttered across the room.

Ichirou shot him a look but Roone only grinned back at him. 

“No press for the foreseeable future, okay? I’m telling Tetsuji to keep the media out of the Nest for the rest of the break.” Ichirou said. 

“It won’t stop people from talking.” Roone replied. 

Ichirou shrugged, finally relaxing back into his chair. “No, but it’ll give me some time to figure out what to do about it.”

“Or you could send me back to the Foxes and end the speculation.” Nathaniel suggested.

“Did you forget about your job here?” Ichirou asked. “I can give you a reminder if you are feeling so bored.”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “I have enough work here.” 

Really, Nathaniel knew Ichirou was holding back from sending him on jobs because of his injuries. He wouldn’t say as much, but he was still grateful. He was trying to stay away from Riko, trying not to mess up in practice, but the abuse was a vicious cycle he had yet to figure out an escape from. He had been mostly joking about going back to Palmetto anyways; the Foxes were safest when Nathaniel was here, even if it was killing him faster than he would like to admit.

“I thought so.” Ichirou said.

Whether or not Riko knew about the article was a toss up. Nathaniel thought he would be smart enough to leave the Moriyama name out of it if the aim was to hurt Nathaniel in some way, but Riko often proved himself to be dumber than he looked. Even so, Nathaniel was curious as to what the article had said about him and his transfer, and if the author also agreed it was time for Nathaniel to go home.

**

As time passed it became increasingly clear that something else was happening. Ichirou wasn’t lying to him, but he was definitely omitting part of the truth. If Nathaniel was healthy he would be angrier, but as it was he could only hold the smallest piece of resentment in the back of his head. Instead, his world was split between worrying about himself and trying to figure out what Riko’s mood swings meant. 

Nathaniel wanted to say he didn’t have any idea of what was going on, but he couldn’t lie to himself about this. He knew it had to be more than an article. But even thinking about what else the Moriyamas could be upset about was troubling; any trouble for them meant trouble Nathaniel would have to deal with, and he was barely hanging on as it was without being in contact with the Foxes.

 Nathaniel was trying not to think about it. If he was really being honest, he was trying not to think about much at all. Not Jean and how he was adjusting to life outside the Nest. Not Kevin and what his training schedule was looking like over the break. Above all, he was not thinking about Andrew, and if he was okay. He wasn’t thinking about what the goalie was doing, or if he was worrying about Nathaniel with all the radio silence, or if he was doing perfectly fine without the constant phone calls. He wasn’t thinking about Andrew’s hands cradling his face in the Foxes locker room, or about the fact that it might have been the last time he felt someone touch him without wanting to hurt him for a long, long time. No, he wasn’t thinking about any of that. 

Instead, he focused on exy. Hitting the ball into the net, passing the ball to Riko, making sure he looked good, but not too good. Just good enough to keep the Master from punishing him anymore than he was already doing by leaving Riko unchecked. Nathaniel thanked the ERC in his head, though; making a Winter banquet was the perfect reason to keep Riko away from Nathaniel next week. As of now, his face was just beginning to heal from the last beating he’d been given. The yellow and green bruises would be gone soon enough, and as long as no one pissed Riko off badly enough Nathaniel would be safe with the added protection of Roone and Haru. 

Nathaniel could tell the lockdown was getting to the other Ravens, too. Without any electronics his teammates were beginning to go stir-crazy, which is how he found himself crammed into the conference room watching game tape when he could have been in the East Tower completing work for Ichirou. He blamed the pain he was in for the decision. To be fair, he did want to review game tape. For as much as he’d improved since the beginning of the year they were still facing formidable teams during the Spring championship. There was no doubt that the Ravens would win, but Nathaniel wanted them to win with as many points as possible. 

The rest of the team was trading glances between the screen and Nathaniel’s place at the back of the table. Johnson and Reacher weren’t here though, so it was tolerable, especially considering the fact that Riko was also notably absent. Across the room Noah and Cara sat together, shooting glances at Nathaniel when they thought he wasn’t looking. He wanted to reach out to them, but he was quick to shut that down; he had enough people he was protecting, and right now he couldn’t afford to bring anyone else into his life right now. He ignored them, and instead thought about how Haru and Roone had been called to help Ichirou outside of the Nest. He was, once again, pretending not to be curious about what was so important. Nathaniel was only going to do what he was needed for from now on, and clearly he wasn’t needed now. No Riko, no bodyguards, it was all very quiet here. 

For a while that was good. Nathaniel hadn’t known a peaceful quiet in years, really. He wasn’t quite there yet, not like he had been in the silence of California, or even further back in the German countryside, but it was still something good. He didn’t have enough good here, even when he was tucked safely away in the Tower with Ichirou. His tattoo nearly burned at the thought of putting Ichirou and good in the same category. 

Nathaniel knew the man was doing what he could to keep him safe, but he also wasn’t dumb enough to think there was any motive beyond ensuring he could be used in one way or another. He didn’t completely understand it, but being a Wesninski was enough to make a Moriyama blink, even just for a second. He was a good asset, and once Ichirou took over for Kengo he would be an even better one. That’s all this protection, this clearance into the inner circle, was. 

After two days had gone by without seeing Riko or his bodyguards Nathaniel began to worry. He wasn’t stupid, though he acknowledged it would be a lot easier if he was. Something bigger was going on, and he was almost positive it had something to do with Kengo. Ichirou hadn’t said as much, but when he’d seen the Little Lord the past week he’d been disheveled and unmade, so unlike the Ichirou he’d come to know. He almost didn’t want any of them to come back from wherever they’d gone. There was a sinking feeling in Nathaniel’s gut, one that told him things were about to get very, very bad. 

He didn’t realize how bad until morning practice ended the next day. Haru and Roone had been in the stands at one point, but Riko was still gone. By the time Nathaniel came off the court, thankfully without any new bruises from the Master, both of his bodyguards deemed it safe enough for him to travel through the locker room alone. Nathaniel tried to remember the fact that the peace never lasted long in the Nest when Riko barged through the door, slamming it so hard he was surprised it didn’t dent the wall. 

Nathaniel spared him half a glance and paused before he could look away. Riko looked horrible, as if someone had taken whatever soul was left in him and held it hostage before they gave it back. Riko looked empty. It took Nathaniel half a second to realize what could have Riko, the King of Exy, number one of the Raven Court, Evermore’s darling, looking like a shell of a person. Riko used the time to turn on Nathaniel, spinning his heel until his hand was wrapped around Nathaniel’s throat. 

The cool metal of his locker knocked into him as his body hit it with full force, Nathaniel’s gear already stripped and tossed to the side. He hadn’t been ready for the way his lungs immediately stopped working, but Riko’s eyes told him the sight of Nathaniel’s gasping mouth was only making this better for him. Riko’s hand tightened, crushing his windpipe between thumb and forefinger. 

“Everybody out!” Riko called into the locker room. 

The rest of the Ravens flocked to the exit, wasting no time in the face of their King. It was curious, though, how Reacher and Johnson stayed behind. Oh, it was not going to be a good night. Nathaniel’s skin was already itching with the thought of dried blood, his brain close to shutting off at the notion of pain. 

Riko’s eyes bore into his own and all Nathaniel could see was his reflection staring back at him, gaunt. Nathaniel was a ghost of a man, and for the first time since he’d been put in the Nest he realized that he and Riko were two sides of the same coin. Both of them had been born into brutality, bred to be a weapon, made to be useful. Somewhere along the way Nathaniel had turned a different way, though. He wouldn’t credit it to Andrew, but he did wonder if meeting him in California had changed the course of his life, if only for the short amount he had left. 

“When your mother died what did you do?” Riko asked quietly.

Nathaniel tilted his head, choking out a single, “What?”

Riko took a shuddering breath, his hand clenching painfully around the soft skin of Nathaniel’s neck. “How do I deal with this?”

It was a moment Nathaniel could repeat over and over again and would still not understand the sympathy coursing through his body. Here was a man who had tortured him, who took great joy in hurting his family and the people Nathaniel expressed the slightest bit of care in. Nathaniel looked into the eyes of a man who had taken Jean from him, who had put Reacher and Johnson in his bed, and he could feel a connection that only came from the death of someone who was supposed to love you and didn’t. Riko didn’t need to say it.

Kengo was dead. 

“Riko,” Nathaniel risked his limb and put a hand on the one wrapped around his throat. Riko let up, allowing air to course through Nathaniel’s lungs. “You can only mourn. There isn’t anything to do.”

Riko’s face twisted into something painful. “How do I make it stop?” 

Nathaniel watched as tears filled his eyes and thought of a way to answer, to get out of this situation. When Mary died Nathaniel had done everything she’d taught him to; he’d burned her body and hid the evidence. He’d moved to another place and tried to get as far away from her as he could. He mourned in the evenings, once Andrew was gone, once he was alone. Nathaniel thought of the way Mary had protected him, even though her protection hurt. He remembered how many times she’d saved his life, how she’d taken him from his father, and how she fought so hard only for him to end up exactly what she ran from. He was a disappointment to her, and it made the grief sharper, as if his very existence was an insult to her fight. 

Even still, Nathaniel mourned. There was a tidal wave of grief that lasted days and weeks and months, and now, years later, there was only an ache where that avalanche had once been; a reminder of what he used to have and would never find again. 

“You can’t, Riko.” Nathaniel whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Riko shook his head, unaccepting, and in the same quiet voice replied, “You will be.”

***

They were standing so close together the moment was almost intimate. Nathaniel thought, for just a moment, he would survive this. He would quit exy and work with Ichirou and be everything he swore he never would be, but he would be alive. Later, he would remember that moment and curse himself for being so oblivious. 

Riko stepped back, letting Nathaniel crumple to the floor, and from there it was a blur. Suddenly there were hands on him, stripping what little clothing he’d still been dressed in and bending him over the bench in the center of the lockers. Nathaniel could feel hands all over his body, a pair spread his ass apart while another guided his face up and pried his mouth open. There was too much happening, too many people on him, he couldn’t think or breathe or scream because Reacher was in his mouth and Johnson was behind him, not paying any mind to the prep Nathaniel would need before shoving himself inside.

Nathaniel closed his eyes, trying to turn off his brain and go somewhere that wasn’t here, anywhere else, but Riko was in front of him then. Fingers pried his eyelids open until Nathaniel finally blinked the blurriness of his watering eyes away. Riko was crouched in front of him like he’d been so many times before, paying no mind to the way Reacher was thrusting next to him or the noises both men were making as Nathaniel tried not to pass out. 

“Keep your eyes open, Nathaniel.” Riko said. “You do not get to go somewhere else and leave me here, understand?”

Nathaniel couldn’t speak even if he wanted to, but the noise he made was enough affirmation that Riko sat back, his ass hitting the tiled floor. The way Riko watched him nearly unsettled Nathaniel more than the physical sensations he was feeling. It was like he wanted to possess him, almost. Nathaniel couldn’t think too hard about it, especially when he heard the locker room door open and close, footsteps following the path to Nathaniel with confidence. 

Riko glanced up a moment later and waved with a move of his fingers. “Join in, Fedorov. Johnson already warmed him up for you.”

Nathaniel barely registered Johnson pulling out of him, the sound of a high-five and clink of a belt falling to the floor. His hands were pulled back from where they were stabilizing the rest of his body and made to be restrained at the small of his back. Fedorov kicked his legs further apart, crushing the front of Nathaniel’s body into the slim wooden bench. He tried not to think about anything, tried to blank his mind out and stare at a place far off in the room as one Fedorov followed Riko’s directions. He was rougher than Johnson, and the graduated Raven slid a hand into Nathaniel’s hair as he thrust inside, shoving his head further down on Johnson. 

He wasn’t sure how long it lasted, only that at some point Fedorov switched places with Johnson and Johnson switched places to let Reacher finish all while Riko sat and watched the cycle with unblinking eyes. Nathaniel couldn’t feel any part of his body by the time the three boys were getting dressed, looking to Riko for further direction. Nathaniel was spitting on the ground, alarmed to see how much liquid was beginning to pool from his mouth. 

“Take the back way to the basement, you know where the ties are.” Riko said to Johnson. 

“Like this?” Johnson asked. 

Nathaniel realized they were talking about him, how he was naked and covered in the other men’s sweat and semen. He tried to reach for his shirt, discarded a foot away, but even the stretch of his arms brought a sting of pain, and really, Nathaniel was too tired to think about moving. They could have left him there, laying nude across the bench, his dignity gone, his pride in the gutter, and he wouldn’t have even complained.

“Does it matter?” Riko asked, as if this was a completely normal question.

Johnson didn’t think so if the way he lifted Nathaniel up by his armpits was any kind of answer. Riko surveyed the front of his body with disgust. 

“You will regret getting that tattoo by the time they find you,” Riko said. 

Nathaniel thought of Ichirou and the inner circle he’d been inducted into, and for the very first time wished the Little Lord had left him to die when he’d found Nathaniel in the basement weeks ago. He’d heard where Riko was putting him and wished, more than anything, that they would kill him before Riko got downstairs. 

Nathaniel’s feet dragged across tile and carpet as he was taken down an unfamiliar route to a room he knew all too well. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he would be rescued anytime soon. If Haru and Roone had left him alone this long there was no telling how bad the situation was. Nathaniel had been waiting for the other shoe to drop, and while he knew Kengo’s death would happen eventually he still had underestimated the effects of his demise. 

The entrance Johnson dragged him through was somehow colder than he remembered the basement ever being. Nathaniel couldn’t make out much of his surroundings through the blurriness of his vision, which maybe was for the better. It just meant he nearly jolted out of his skin when he felt cold metal wrap around his wrists, attaching him to the wall, his back pressed against unforgiving concrete. He was definitely in a different part of the basement, because Riko usually liked to have him tied in the center, surrounded by nothing but open air and fear. 

He wasn’t scared, now. If anything he was hoping they would go too far before Riko came back. Nathaniel was rarely afraid to die. What kept him pushing was the fight for Andrew, for Kevin and Jean, the former fight for his mother. If he died tonight he was hopeful Ichirou would keep his promise of safety for the Foxes regardless of Nathaniel’s presence. He’d killed for the Lord, bled for him, swore himself to a family his mother had died to save him from. Ichirou owed him this. 

The hours passed in silence, nothing besides Nathaniel’s own heavy breathing to accompany him. Johnson had left at some point and Riko had yet to join the party. It was another game Riko liked to play. Making Nathaniel wait was an exercise in Nathaniel’s own sanity. He was too used to it for Riko to spark any real fear in him, though. If anything Nathaniel wanted him to get on with it. On the other hand, the longer Riko took the more likely Haru and Roone were going to find him before it was too late. What state Nathaniel would be in was a different story.

**

Riko didn’t come that day. Or the next. Or the next. Nathaniel was beginning to lose it, if he was being completely honest. It wasn’t the lack of food or water, either, though in the back of his mind he could recognize the part that played in how he was feeling now. What he really felt was the anxiety of not knowing if his people were safe. If Riko had somehow gotten to them yet, if Nathaniel was stuck here not just for Riko’s sick entertainment but to make sure he was out of the way while Andrew and Kevin and Jean were suffering far, far away. 

The panic kept him from falling asleep for more than a few minutes at a time. Each time his head lulled to the side, suspended with nothing to lean on but wide, open air, Nathaniel jolted awake. All at once he was reminded of what Mary had been running from, the fate she had viciously kept her son from reaching until the very last minute of her life. How disappointed would she be in him today? He was at his weakest, and yet all he could think of was making the end go quicker. 

This was not the son Mary had raised, Nathaniel was sure of that much. There was once a point where Nathaniel would kick and scream, raise hell to avoid the chains he was in now. He’d kill before he let someone tie him up and render him useless. He couldn’t even recognize who this was, because it sure as hell wasn’t Abram. 

On the fourth day in the basement, at least Nathaniel thought it was the fourth day, he tilted his head towards the slight creak of a door opening. Riko’s face appeared in front of his with startling clarity. He looked tired, with deep purple bags hanging under his eyes, but there was something bright in his eyes, something dangerous that Nathaniel wanted no part of. Riko slammed something on the ground, and it took Nathaniel and embarassignly long time to move his eyes to the floor and recognize it was a plate of food. 

“Eat.” Riko said, lips tilted into a smile that could have been mistaken for a snarl. 

Nathaniel flinched before he could control his body when Riko came closer, unlocking the cuffs holding his arms up. Nathaniel had lost any real feeling in them days ago, but pins and needles ran through his limbs as they fell to a more natural position, reminding him that he was still, unfortunately, alive. The food Riko had brought was nothing more than a couple of pieces of bread and an apple; it didn’t matter much to Nathaniel. After days without food or water he would have eaten straight off the floor. He also wasn’t very surprised at the sharp, sweet taste of Riko’s preferred drugs staining his tongue. Riko really shouldn’t have; Nathaniel was in no shape to fight back. 

“I’ve got to say I’ve missed you on the court, Nate,” Riko said as Nathaniel shoved stale bread into his mouth like a ravenous animal. “It isn’t the same out there without you. You understand why you’re here though, don’t you?”

Nathaniel didn’t understand so he didn’t even try and speak. 

Riko only sighed. “I don’t know what my brother sees in you, why he’s taken such a special liking to you. I can guess he promised you something in exchange for your services. What was it, Nathaniel? Money? Protection? I’m guessing the latter, if what you did to Jean is any hint.” 

Riko sat down in front of him, folding his knees so he could rest his chin on them. In this position Riko almost looked like a child, like he was folding inward on everything bad anyone had ever done to him. There could be redemption, if Riko was anyone else, if he was the first son instead of the second. Unfortunately for the both of them Riko was too far gone and had no motivation to find his way back to sanity. 

“You know something, Nathaniel?” Riko got closer, tilting Nathaniel’s gaunt face up to meet Riko’s manic eyes. His next words were barely a whisper, but Nathaniel heard them as if they were shouted across the court. “Ichirou can’t stop what I already have planned for your Foxes.” 

Nathaniel, full of bread and drugs, could do nothing but tilt his head at Riko. He wished he could make sense of it, but there was cotton in his head, on his tongue. Nathaniel didn’t have words for the situation, and his mouth wouldn’t work no matter how hard he tried to move it. Riko stared at him as if Nathaniel was a bug under his shoe and he was just waiting for the right moment to crush him. 

**

The days passed in flashes. There were moments that Nathaniel knew he was sober, if only because he hadn’t eaten or drank anything since the last time Riko had visited him. Those days were worse; at least when Riko was here Nathaniel was drugged enough to drift somewhere else. It was a give and take, like everything was in the Nest. Johnson and Reacher had come down again at some point, and he was sure there were cuts from Riko that were infected by now. If he was being honest with himself, Nathaniel didn’t know how much time he had left. 

Though he didn’t know exactly how long he’d been in the basement he did know it was long enough that Haru and Roone most likely thought he was dead. It was the only explanation he could come up with, or at least the only one he wanted to believe. The other thought jumping around in Nathaniel’s head was that his bodyguards, under order of Ichirou, had stopped looking for him because he had proved himself unworthy to be searched for. Nathaniel could understand. He was supposed to be part of the inner circle, a survivor, a fighter, and right now Nathaniel was curled in a heap on the floor, scrawny and unable to move without his vision blurring. He was fading fast and there was no one to blame in this situation besides himself. 

In the moments after Riko left him, when he was freshly bruised and cut, when the drugs were still working miracles for both his pain level and his mental sanity, Nathaniel allowed himself a few seconds to think about what was outside of here. He ached, deep in his bones he ached, for Andrew. Nathaniel hadn’t forgotten about Riko’s threat at the beginning of this hell, but he still couldn’t figure out what it meant. He hoped, though his hope was steadily dwindling, that Andrew fought as hard as he could against whatever impending doom that was heading his way. 

He thought about Jean and how his partner had been thrust into a new place without any idea of what was coming next. He would figure it out, Nathaniel knew, but the learning curve would be steep. Jean was used to taking the hit lying down, and getting ready for the next one. Without Nathaniel protecting him, without Nathaniel needing to protect him, what was Jean doing each day? What was he learning about himself? Nathaniel wished he would be there to see it.

As it was, Riko was stepping through the dark hallway again, this time without food in his hands. Nathaniel was hungry again, as he had been for what felt like weeks now, but he was also grateful for the chance to be sober, even if it meant he heard and felt everything more clearly than he wanted to. Something was different today, or maybe Nathaniel had finally gotten all of the drugs out of his system. Riko seemed of clearer mind today. His eyes weren’t bouncing around the room maniacally, and he was alone, without the other Ravens backing him at every step. 

“It’s time for a change of scenery, don’t you think?” Riko asked. 

Nathaniel didn’t respond. Or, he couldn’t respond. His mouth was so dry lately. He had been cuffed to one of the poles for the past few days, but Riko had left one hand free to eat whenever his meals were brought in. Still, his right wrist was nearly torn to shreds, and each day he bled a little more despite trying his best not to move more than an inch at any given moment. Riko uncuffed him now, slipping one side of the chain into his pocket and reaching for Nathaniel with his other hand. He shouldn’t have been surprised at the way Riko manhandled him, not after all this time, but his body still screamed in protest as he was dragged by his mangled wrist down a hall opposite where Riko had entered from. 

Nathaniel, if he made it out of here, would think about the way Riko treated him now, as if he was nothing more than a wild animal needing to be taken to the slaughter. He would remember how his body couldn’t keep up with the movements and only bounced along the floor like a fish out of water. The room opened up into something more familiar. There in the corner was where Haru had once set him while he untied Jean weeks ago on the night everything had seemingly changed for him. At the time he’d thought it was his luck, the tables turning for the better. Now he realized it only landed him in a deeper hole than he’d been in before. The only difference was that he’d somehow managed to get the main branch involved with everything he’d once promised to keep safe.

The pole he’d become so intimately familiar with over the years stared back at him. When had Riko put him here? Nathaniel was losing chunks of time if Riko had managed to cuff him into his preferred position without Nathaniel even noticing. That was a bad sign, he knew. Once he stopped remembering things it was only a matter of time before he really went insane. Honestly, he was surprised it hadn’t happened already. Maybe the drugs were delaying the process. Or maybe he just didn’t have much of a mind to lose. Maybe his father and his mother had already taken his sanity and he’d just been surviving on the fear of dying. 

Nathaniel didn’t have that fear anymore. 

“Count them out for me, Nate.” Riko said from somewhere behind him. 

Even if he’d been here before, Nathaniel was still stunned at the pain of the whip across his back. In that moment it felt like every ache he’d had since ending up in the basement was magnified; he could feel the gash on his leg, opened and infected and hot to the touch; the cuts on his chest were swollen and angry; he didn’t even want to think about the rest of him, about what Johnson and Reacher had done, about how much pain was radiating from places that should never be painful. 

Nathaniel couldn’t count even if he wanted to. His mouth opened, but nothing more than a hoarse wheeze came out of it. He’d lost his voice at some point; had he been screaming? Nathaniel couldn’t remember, thankfully. Each time he didn’t count Riko would start again, and whatever number Riko had wanted to dish out had to have been doubled by the time Riko said his goodbyes, not bothering to untie Nathaniel from the pole in the center of the room. 

***

He’d kept it together all this time, but Riko still hadn’t come back even days, or what felt like days, later. The fear of fading away had drifted and he was just left with the overwhelming feeling of emptiness. His father had once told him how he would die. Nathan was a cruel man, there was no getting around that, but he was honest with Nathaniel. Nathan would explain how, eventually, Nathaniel would run out of uses. He would never be the heir to Nathan’s spot, and the Hatfords would never accept a Wesninski in their empire. Nathan said he would kill him, when the time came. He promised to make it quick, a Butcher’s death. 

Now, Nathaniel wondered if this was the time. He didn’t think Riko would ever be able to replicate his father, if only because Nathaniel would never be afraid of Riko the way he was of Nathan. Even so, Nathaniel knew it was time. Ichirou hadn’t found him because he knew in this new world, where Ichirou was now the Lord, Nathaniel was nothing but a poor imitation of the Butcher. Nathaniel had fulfilled his promises as best he could and now there was nothing left for him to but sit and wait.

Sunrise, Abram, death. 

Mary had told him three truths to live by and Nathaniel had followed as well as he was able to. He pictured the sun one last time, fresh in the morning, the light reflecting off the plexiglass of a court somewhere. California? Was he there, now? Nathaniel turned. Andrew. 

Hello, Drew. I didn’t think I would see you again. 

Andrew turned to him, pressed a finger to the divot in his chin and tilted his head to the light.

Oh, yes. I like this, Abram thought. 

Sunrise, Abram, death. 

Nathaniel hummed a quiet song, something of an apology, and let the darkness take him.

Chapter Text

Andrew

Present Day

Andrew was a patient man. It didn’t look that way from the outside, not with his temper or his inability to wait for his cousins or the Foxes, but he knew he was a patient man. He’d fought for years to escape his childhood, he’d thoughtfully planned out his mother’s death, and he had waited years to find Abram again. Andrew was a patient man, but the bus ride to Palmetto was proving to be a very real challenge to Andrew’s crumbling psyche. 

Abby eventually left them alone but only after Andrew had let her check Abram for anything they would need to take him to the hospital for. Honestly, it was hard to tell what was even bleeding and what was just dirty. Nathaniel looked as if he’d been left down in that room for days, maybe even weeks, before Andrew found him. His entire body was caked with a full layer of dirt, and there was dried blood on various parts of him. Riko was a monster, Andrew knew, but this was another level of cruelty. 

He’d forgotten what people were capable of. In his time with the Foxes he’d learned to have the upper hand. The entire team was somewhat scared of him, especially now that he was sober and silent, unpredictable in even the most normal of situations. It gave Andrew a sense of control he hadn’t had since, well, ever. Abram threw all of it out of balance. 

There was life before Abram, where Andrew had been unknowingly searching for someone or something to understand him, and then life after, when he’d retreated back into that comfortable shell of nothing. Now, Andrew was clueless about what Abram’s presence meant. He knew before anything happened between them, before Andrew could even ask what Abram wanted, that he’d have to figure out the deals Abram made with Ichirou. It was a murky web of mafia business and Abram was deeply entangled in it. Andrew didn’t like that, almost as much as he didn’t like the state he’d finally gotten Abram away from the Nest in.

They’d been on the bus for hours, long, long, hours before the familiar setting of Palmetto finally slotted into place. There was the diner the team ate at after home games sometimes, and the light pole Kevin had once puked at for a full thirty minutes after Eden's one night. Andrew followed the path to the stadium, which Wymack neatly bypassed in favor of Abby’s more residential neighborhood. Andrew liked it here. The road was shadowed by towering trees and gardens in every front yard. It was similar to the neighborhood Cass used to live in, but Andrew tried not to think about that too much. Abby’s always felt safe, and that was a marked difference to California. 

Andrew was already moving by the time the bus stopped, maneuvering Abram into a position Andrew could pick him up from. He knew the bus was getting louder, that the Foxes were speaking and questioning and wondering and Andrew didn’t have time for any of it. Wymack parked the bus as close to the curb as he could manage, taking up half the street, and stepped out from the driver's seat. 

“What do you need?” Wymack asked as he approached Andrew’s seat. 

Andrew needed Abram to not be actively bleeding or dying or damaged, but it didn’t look like that was happening anytime soon.

 “Abby and Kevin,” Andrew said, and then he thought a little longer. “Nicky, too. Keep the rest of them away.”

“Jean is still in there.” Wymack said, something akin to a warning in his voice. 

Andrew nodded. There wasn’t much he could do about Jean. He knew Jean’s bond with Abram was deep, and he knew Abram would kill or die for the Frenchman, but how Jean would react to Abram’s current state was anyone's guess. All Andrew knew was that he needed to get Abram inside and cleaned up before he woke up. 

He moved then, squatting slightly and scooping Abram into his arms as he’d done hours earlier. It should have been foreign, the way Abram’s body slotted against his own. It wasn’t. It felt like coming home, finally. Andrew wished deep down in his chest that it was under different circumstances. The hand the two of them were dealt was not a winning one, but Andrew was determined to at least make sure they made it out of the game alive.

Abby barreled ahead of them, jogging across her front lawn to unlock her door and immediately heading to the guest room with the kit she kept in the closet just next door. Abby stripped the bed of its white sheets and laid down a ratty looking orange one he knew she used for jobs just like this. He could smell the fresh detergent wafting over him, reminiscent of Summer days spent in this house: calm and quiet and safe. Looking down at Abram, Andrew didn’t know if those would ever be words he could attribute to his life again. Andrew laid Abram’s limp body down on the bed and immediately took a post by his head. 

“Okay, we need to assess any infections first. I would like to check if he has a concussion but it may have to wait until he wakes on his own. I don’t think he’ll be able to handle his pain level if he’s conscious right now.”

Abby spoke as she took out her supplies: gauze, sterilized medical instruments, stitching thread, anything she thought Abram would need. Andrew could only stroke the hair falling into Abram’s face; he didn’t want to undress Abram, not without his consent, not when he knew what was underneath the clothes. Andrew knew it needed to happen but he felt sick regardless. Once Abby was ready she snapped on a pair of gloves and motioned for Andrew to help with the hoodie he’d put Abram in back at the stadium. 

“Oh,” Abby said once she got a real look at Abram’s bare abdomen. 

Andrew wasn’t sure what that reaction was for specifically because the entirety of Abram’s front was nearly shredded. He knew Abram was muscular; he was a Division 1 athlete at arguably the best school in the country for Exy, he worked out religiously, and yet he looked as if he weighed a hundred pounds. Riko had taken it too far this time. Abram was very clearly starving, and would have probably died from it if Andrew hadn’t found him in time. Or maybe he would have died from one of the slices across his chest, that was also a very real possibility. 

Abby wasted no time in thinking about it the way Andrew was. Her hands moved deftly over his wounds, wiping his chest down with a steadily dwindling package of wet-wipes and stitching his skin back together. There was a tattoo down by his hip that Andrew recognized a little too well despite the mangling Riko had done to it. There were things Andrew hadn’t even noticed the last time he’d seen Abram without a shirt: the branded number 3 across his chest, the deep scars of all shapes and sizes, the puckered bullet holes. Andrew knew he would remember all of it later when he closed his eyes to sleep, the complete brutality Abram had suffered from.

“Okay, let's take a break,” Abby said, her voice trembling the slightest bit. “I’m going to grab an IV bag. He’s very dehydrated. Hopefully he’ll wake up soon so there shouldn’t be a need for a catheter.”

Abby took her gloves off and tossed them in the trash can already full of bloody gauze and wipes. Andrew watched her go and didn’t breathe again until the door was shut. She just needed a minute to gather herself and then there was more of Abram she needed to look at, more wounds to heal. 

Andrew was a strong man, he knew. He had endured more than most had and would continue to endure day after day if it meant he would be alive to protect the ones who mattered most. Andrew was a strong man, but seeing Abram like this and knowing Andrew was just sitting in Palmetto, doing nothing to help? Andrew was beginning to fray at that thought. Luckily for him Abby chose that moment to step back inside, grabbing another pair of gloves and readying herself for another round of stitches. 

Abram’s legs weren’t as bad as his chest, but there was a deep gash that Abby said was badly infected. As soon as Abram woke up he would be taking antibiotics since Abby didn’t have them available in an IV. With Abram hooked up to fluids hung on a coat rack, Abby got to work wiping up the dirt on his legs and cleaning out the wound running from his left knee all the way up to his thigh. Andrew didn’t even want to know how much that was hurting him, day after day after day. Under the dirt were layers of bruises, purple and yellow splotching across his thighs in the shapes of hands and fingerprints. Now that Andre recognized them he realized they were all over his hips, too. 

“Andrew where-” Abby called but Andrew was in motion before he could hear the rest of what she said. 

Jean told him weeks ago what the Ravens had done to Abram, but hearing it from his partner and seeing the evidence of it were two different things. Andrew shoved into the bathroom, barely making it in time to lift the lid on the toilet and vomit the contents of his stomach into the bowl. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe, but he could only see those hands on Abram. Suddenly it wasn’t Abram he was looking at but himself as a child, pulling his sleeves over his wrists and tucking his shirt into his pants so his teachers wouldn’t see a stray mark from Drake. He watched himself hide away from Abram back in California, keeping his distance until he knew he could trust the mysterious boy and, somehow, knowing that Andrew wasn’t the only one dying inside. Now, he would give anything to be the one in that bed, to be the one with the bruises if it meant Abram didn’t experience what Andrew had.

“Breathe, Andrew.” A voice said from somewhere distant. “He’s safe now, so breathe.” 

Andrew tried to follow the directions, if only because he knew that he was no use to Abram if he couldn’t even handle the sight of him shirtless. The voice slowly came into focus and Andrew was surprisingly not surprised to see Jean leaning against the sink a few feet away, watching with careful gray eyes. Andrew hit the flush and stood, forcing Jean out of his way so he could wash his hands and splash water on his face.

He wasn’t this guy anymore. Andrew didn’t freak out, didn’t panic, and definitely didn’t need another Raven coaching him on how to get out of his head. Andrew was supposed to be taking care of Abram and by extension of the promise he’d made, Jean, too. 

“Don’t.” Andrew said, glancing up to meet Jean’s eyes in the mirror.

Jean only shrugged, the pity he’d expected to see nowhere to be found. “Fall apart later.”

Andrew sneered, barreling past him down the hall and entering the spare room again. He hadn’t realized Jean was still behind him until a hand slammed the door open when he tried to close it. Andrew glared back, uncaring of how far he had to look up at the backliner to do so. 

“Moreau, this is not the time.” 

Jean only glared back. “He’s my brother. Who do you think stitched him up this whole time?” 

And, well, Andrew couldn’t think of a reply fast enough for that. Behind him Abby was already waving Jean inside. 

“We need to look at his back and I could use an extra pair of hands, Andrew.” Abby was saying, tossing more wipes into the trash bag at her side. 

Andrew only walked forward into the room, leaving Jean to shut the door with a quiet snap. Abram was at least looking a little cleaner, but Andrew couldn’t bring himself to even take that win.

Abby stood. “Okay, Andrew why don’t you help me turn him over and Jean go to the other side and check if we should be looking at his back for any wounds, okay?” 

Andrew stood next to Abby and gripped one of Abram’s bony shoulders, following her count to lightly lay him on his side without twisting up the tube connected to his IV. Jean blew out a long breath and glanced up the second Abram’s back was in view. 

“It’ll be easiest if we have him face down and stitch from both sides,” Jean was saying with a tilt of his head. “Fucking Riko. Sick fuck.”

Abby nodded. “Okay, let’s do it. Andrew, watch his head, make sure it’s tilted to the side so his nose and mouth aren’t covered.” 

Andrew placed careful hands on his jaw, turning it lightly to follow Abby’s directions. For a moment, he didn’t know what he was looking at when Abram’s back came into view. And then he remembered what he’d seen in that basement in the Nest, the way it had taken him a moment then, too, to place exactly what kinds of wounds these were. Somehow a few of the lashings were still bleeding, or maybe they’d stopped and started again at some point between the bus and now. And even though he’d seen it hours ago he hadn’t really taken the time to look. Abby was frozen, too. Andrew couldn’t even count the lines clearly; many of them overlapped each other and there was no strategy to the placement. Abram’s back was already so full of scar tissue that it should have been impossible for there to be flesh to mark, and yet Andrew was seeing it with his own eyes.  

Jean, however, didn’t seem to be having the same problem. He’d already put his own gloves on and was now reaching over to grab a sterile needle and thread. Sensing eyes on him, Jean glanced up. 

“You can only put him back together and hope for it to heal. That is all we can do.” Jean said, meeting Abby’s tearful eyes. 

Abby nodded, picking up her own thread and following Jean’s lead. Andrew dragged a chair from the corner of the room up to where Abram’s head was resting and tried not to watch. He didn’t succeed, but he could at least say he tried. As they threaded stitch after stitch through Abram’s skin, Andrew sat with his hands folded in his lap and followed Jean’s advice to breathe. Then, he began to plan. 

**

It was hours before Abram was deemed put together enough for him to be tucked into bed. By the time Abby left she had a full trash bag and splotchy eyes to take with her. Andrew watched her life with little fanfare, only keeping an eye out to make sure she closed the door behind her. Andrew dragged his chair closer to the bed and resisted the urge to touch Abram more than he’d already done tonight. He wanted to hold his hand, to offer some modicum of comfort, but he wouldn’t act like Abram was going to be okay with anyone touching him anytime soon. Andrew knew how recovery went, even if he’d never quite been through this. 

Jean sat on his own chair on the other side of the bed, arms crossed over his chest as he rolled his neck, cracking tired joints. Andrew didn’t know what time it was exactly but daylight was beginning to creep through the blinds behind Jean. Abram still showed no sign of waking. Maybe it was better this way; he would be in enough pain later. 

“We need Kevin,” Jean said after about an hour of silence. 

Andrew was doing a good job of staring at Abram but quickly glanced up when the backliner spoke. “Do we?” 

“Yes,” Jean said simply, uncrossing his arms to rub a tired hand across his face. “Getting Nathaniel out is only good for us, you understand?”

“No.” Andrew said simply, because he didn’t. “Riko would’ve killed him.”

“And now Ichirou might do it anyway,” Jean snapped back. “I don’t know what his deal with the main branch is and if it covers him if he leaves. He is still property regardless of him being here.”

“Don’t call him that,” Andrew sneered. “He’s the only reason you’re alive.”

“And the Moriyamas will kill both of us for that if we do not explain this to the Lord.” Jean snapped back just as harshly. 

Andrew wanted to scream at him and shove him as far away from Abram as he could get. But, he had a point even if Andrew didn’t want to admit it. There were things he couldn’t understand about the main branch, the details of the deals Abram had forced upon himself. 

“Go get him.” Andrew waved a hand to the door and Jean was up and out of the room within the same second. 

He’d thought Kevin would be asleep but he looked more alert than Jean and Andrew combined when he stepped inside, leaning against the door as he stared empty eyes at Abram. There were years of Abram’s life Andrew didn’t know about, years Kevin had spent with him, that Jean had stood by him. For one of the first times since Abram had come back into his life he felt completely out of his depth. Kevin sighed, hanging his head as he took the seat Abby had left open in her absence, sidling up to Andrew. 

“How do we get in contact with Ichirou?” Andrew asked after a moment of tense silence. 

Kevin winced. “Usually Ichirou is the one getting in contact with his clients.” 

“Waiting will only make this worse.” Jean replied. 

“What do you know of his deal with Ichirou?” Andrew asked Kevin. He’d already had this conversation with Jean and it was of very little help. 

“Nothing more than you I’m sure,” Kevin said. “But it’s freaking me out a little that no one has come for him yet.”

“He’s supposed to have bodyguards,” Andrew said. “What the fuck happened?”

Jean scrunched his eyebrows. “Kengo’s funeral was a couple weeks ago, remember? I doubt Riko would have been able to go and with the title switching to Ichirou he would need all the backup he could get.” 

“Nathaniel didn’t contact you at all after the game?” Kevin asked, already knowing the answer to that. 

“No.” Andrew replied. 

“We’re missing something but whatever it is most likely involves the main branch.” Jean sighed. “Waiting will get us killed but Abram is the only one with a way to contact them. Fucking figures.”

Despite the fact that Jean was right, Andrew was silently thankful they couldn’t contact Ichirou. He was still thinking about what he would actually say to the new leader. Andrew had no standing here, he knew. Abram was operating on a credit he couldn’t understand, and there was a level of trust between him and the rest of the inner circle that Andrew wasn’t caught up on. Abram had hidden so much from him in an effort to protect him, but what was he supposed to do now that he was taken out of the game? If Abram couldn’t work for Ichirou anymore what did that mean? Was Jean right? Andrew wasn’t letting another person touch Abram, not for as long as he lived, so the real question was in how far Ichirou would go to get what he thought was his. 

Jean and Kevin chatted quietly, arguing back and forth on ways to reach the Lord that didn’t involve a slow and painful death for all three of them. Andrew just sat and watched Abram, thinking how much simpler it would have been if he’d never left California. 

**

Abby took Abram’s IV out a few hours later, claiming she didn’t want to risk putting in a catheter. The fluids helped his skin color go from a gray to a pale version of the tan Abram was usually sporting, but he still looked tired. Like a ghost of himself. Andrew hovered a hand over his chest, watching as it rose and fell steadily, and decided he could spare a few minutes to go downstairs. 

He took a break in the bathroom, steadily ignoring his reflection, and made his way to the coffeepot in Abby’s kitchen. He was nearly surprised to see Nicky standing at the stove, flipping a perfect pancake onto a plate. Andrew’s stomach growled; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. 

“Hungry?” Nicky asked, glancing over to Andrew. 

Andrew only nodded. He was out of words. Nicky plated him his own stack and nudged a tall can of whipped cream next to the syrup Andrew had begun to lather his food in. Andrew murmured a quiet thank you and sat on a stool to eat. He worked his way through his stack and didn’t protest when Nicky added two more to his syrupy plate. Andrew couldn’t do anything about Ichirou right now, and it was beginning to look like that was a problem to be solved later. What he could do was make sure Abram had a reason to stay here, and the means to do so. 

“I need you to do me a favor,” Andrew said, shoving the words out of his mouth. 

He hated owing people a debt, it was why he made his deals as a transaction. But Andrew wasn’t leaving until Abram was awake, at the very least. Besides, Nicky had kept his mouth shut about Abram so far. The trust was building between them, and Andrew needed an ally right now. 

“Yeah, whatever you need.” Nicky said, visibly trying to dim his excitement down to a level Andrew could handle. 

“Go to the store and get some clothes for him,” Andrew said, digging into his pocket for his wallet. “Pants, shirts, socks, underwear. Basics. No black. Get some food, too. Fruit.”

Nicky looked at him with something too similar to pity for Andrew to meet his eyes. “Anything else?” 

Andrew blinked for a moment. “Get him a phone. They should have the one I have.” 

Nicky took Andrew’s credit card, tucking it into his front pocket. Andrew would make sure Abram had no reason to argue about being in Palmetto, at least not one that they couldn’t work to solve, because there wasn’t a world in which he would let Abram go back to the place and the people that had nearly killed him.

With Nicky out of the room Andrew was alone for the first time in what felt like forever. There was so much to do, and yet they couldn’t make a real plan until Abram was awake. Andrew knew the striker would argue about being here, that he would make things worse before allowing Andrew to make things better, but it would be worth it. He just needed to wake up. 

***

Days passed and the most movement Andrew saw from Abram was the twitch of his muscles as he slept. Abby checked in each day, reassuring Andrew that Abram was, in fact, sleeping. After what he’d been through Abby was sure he would be asleep for a while longer before his body was ready to wake up. She’d ended up hooking him to another bag of fluids and IV antibiotics to treat the infection, which meant putting a catheter in. That, surely, was going to be an uncomfortable realization when Abram woke up. It made Andrew sick. All of it, really, made Andrew sick. 

Jean, Andrew, and Kevin were on a constant rotation throughout the day, making sure Abram was never left alone for any real period of time. The cycle came to an end when Wymack poked his head into Abram’s room mid-afternoon on the fifth day after they’d gotten Abram back. 

“Andrew.” Wymack said, an edge to his voice present that he typically reserved for the court. “Come out here for a minute.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow at Jean who was curled up in a chair on the other side of the bed. Jean waved him off with barely a glance at the coach, scooting up as far as his chair would allow him to before it tapped the edge of the bedframe. Wymack led Andrew downstairs, quietly walking until they were both standing on Abby’s back porch. It wasn’t until Wymack was handing him a stack of papers that Andrew realized why his coach’s face looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. 

“What is this?” Andrew asked dumbly, knowing exactly what the giant VOID stamp on the Edgar Allan contract meant. 

“I figured I would ask you,” Wymack said, lowering his voice. “I know he’s involved in something bigger than Exy.”

Something more than what Kevin was involved in, Wymack was really saying. He wasn’t wrong. There were about one million consequences to harboring Abram here, and none of them were positive. What was more important here was the realization that a voided contract would only be put into motion by the main branch. Ichirou knew exactly where Abram was. Andrew thought for a few silent minutes and by the end of them still didn’t have a rational explanation for any of it. Abram was injured but he was still the fastest striker in the NCAA. Class I exy focused on a key few players, and with a number tattooed on his face and the stats to back up his position Abram was a headline each time he played. 

There was a bigger picture here but Andrew couldn’t see it. He was positive the deal Abram made with Ichirou didn’t include freedom, and it definitely didn’t include being away from Evermore. Logically, there was no reason why Ichirou wasn’t barging in here with his bodyguards taking aim at anyone who dared get in his way. Abram was branded by the second son and owned by the first, but Abby’s house remained unharmed, the only sign of knowledge resting in Andrew’s hands. 

“So we sign him.” Andrew finally said, tucking the contract into his back pocket. 

Wymack looked at him like he was the biggest idiot on the planet. “We can’t just sign him, Minyard. I know the risk of keeping him here, but bringing him onto a team and announcing a transfer just in time for Spring championships? That’s asking for a target to be put on us.”
“So you’ll just send him back?” Andrew asked steadily. “Do you see what they did to him?” 

Wymack rubbed a hand over his face. “No, of course not, but this isn’t a decision just up to me. We have to talk to the team. Take a vote.”

‘ “They don’t know him,” Andrew scoffed. “You think they’ll accept a Raven? Especially one with this many strings attached to him?”
“I think you have a better chance of it if you explain why he’s so important to you.” 

Andrew shot him a glare. “Coach.”

“Andrew.” Wymack’s eyes were full of something like pity. “It’s going to be obvious. It’s already obvious.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Andrew said. “And the team is a bunch of morons if they don’t think he would be an addition to the line.” 

“It has nothing to do with exy, and you know that.” Wymack replied. “Remember when Kevin came and the Ravens caused so much trouble that we had extra security for a month? And with Jean he can’t even go to the stadium without the press nearly shoving him against a wall to get their questions answered. If we have three out of four members of the Perfect Court here it’s opening us to a shit ton of attention, and not the kind we want.”
Andrew shrugged. “The media is not my problem. Abram isn’t going anywhere, and if he’s not on the bus when we go to away games then neither am I.”

“You aren’t quitting the team, Andrew.” Wymack said, exasperation leaking into his voice. “I’m just saying that we have to discuss this with the rest of the team if they’re going to deal with the consequences.” 

“Fine.” Andrew bit out. “But if they don’t want to sign him he’s still staying here, and you’ll have to find a new goalie for half of the championships.” 

Wymack nearly twitched. “I’ll tell them to come here and talk it out since I’m sure you won’t go to the court.”

“You’re smarter than you look, coach.” Andrew replied sarcastically.

Wymack grumbled something that sounded vaguely like a curse and retreated inside, his phone pressed to his ear. Andrew wasn’t an idiot; he knew getting Abram out of the Nest was only the beginning of a very long journey to real freedom. Still, explaining this to the Foxes wasn’t something he wanted to do in the slightest. There wasn’t a way to even tell them who Abram was without implicating himself. Andrew was a selfish man, but he wasn’t a liar. Abram wasn’t his friend, and if coach could see it, and was so sure the others could too, then there wasn’t too much he could do about that. 

Andrew dug his pack out of his pocket and shook out a cigarette. He had resisted the urge to smoke through the entire box and only managed to do so by sitting in Abram’s room all day and night, but if he was about to bare more of his soul to the Foxes than they’d even believe he had, well, he deserved a moment of peace. The sliding of the back door alerted Andrew to someone coming outside, and he was only half surprised to see Kevin leaning next to him, arms braced on the deck fence. 

“He’s still asleep. I checked in with Jean before I came out here.” Kevin said softly. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do if he doesn’t wake up.”

“Don’t,” Andrew said harshly. “Abby said this is normal after what he went through. He’ll wake up.” 

Kevin laughed, sounding anything but happy. “Since when are you the optimistic one?”

“I told him I wouldn’t give up on him,” Andrew said. 

He shouldn’t have even reminded himself of the conversation they’d had before the Fox v Raven match. The last conversation they’d had before Andrew found him in a pool of his own blood in Evermore. Would they ever get back to that? The quiet comfort they’d found in each other, the safety and peace and contentment? Andrew almost didn’t want to admit he still felt that way even with Abram asleep upstairs. Just the reminder that he was here was enough for Andrew, at least for right now. 

“Coach told me about the contract,” Kevin said when it was clear Andrew wasn’t going to elaborate any further. 

Andrew pulled the papers out of his back pocket and handed it to Kevin, lighting another cigarette as the striker flipped through the packet, reading quietly and mumbling under his breath. 

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Kevin said absentmindedly. 

Andrew scoffed. “I know.”

“No, Andrew, his contract. Look at this clause,” Kevin shoved the contract into Andrew’s face, flipped to one of the last pages. 

In case of extensive injury, Nathaniel Abram Wesninski will be cut from the Ravens and relinquished to the team of his choice. Priority will go to Palmetto State University.

Andrew read and reread the sentence and then glanced up at Kevin. “Did your contract have a clause like that?”

“For the injury part, yeah, but it didn’t explicitly say I could pick a new team, only that I would be off the team.” 

“There’s no possible way Tetsuji put this in his original contract.” Andrew said. “What fucking game are they playing?”
Kevin shook his head. “I don’t know, but it’s clear that Ichirou wants him here.”

“Or he just doesn’t want him to run while he figures out where to put him,” Andrew shot back. 

He didn’t trust Ichirou in the slightest, and the very idea that he had any good intentions toward Abram was laughable at best and concerning at worst. The bigger picture, Andrew thought again, was too blurry for him to make out. Ichirou wanted Abram in one place, that much was clear, but why he chose Palmetto instead of the gilded cage of the East Tower was a question Andrew had no good answers to. 

“He might not even be able to play for championships,” Kevin started. “It’s not a good investment for the team-”

“Kevin don’t start with this shit,” Andrew interrupted.

“Would you let me finish?” Kevin shot back, irritated. “He’s not a good investment for the team, but he needs to be here. I have your back. And Nathaniel’s.”

Andrew glanced at him and for the first time noticed how tired Kevin looked. In the haze of finding Abram and trying to keep him alive he’d forgotten that Kevin considered the smaller striker not just a friend, but a brother. There was a bond between the three of them: Kevin, Jean, and Abram. Andrew was an outsider to it, the connection of brothers forged in blood. Andrew’s brother was something like a stranger to him, and with the bomb he was about to drop he was sure it was only going to get worse between them. 

“I know,” Andrew said, because it was all he could say. 

There were two sides of this world and the three Ravens had seen the evil, some of the worst of what it had to offer, and Andrew had to somehow explain why the Foxes should chance letting some of that evil onto their team. It wasn’t Abram’s fault in the slightest, but he knew the team wouldn’t all see it that way, especially once the media got wind of Abram’s location. He was silently grateful to Kevin, if only because he didn’t know what other ally he would have. 

“You’ll have to rearrange the dorms once he’s awake.” Kevin said. “I’ll switch in with Matt.” 

“No,” Andrew said, thinking. “Coach will need another room anyways, the numbers are uneven and we can’t fit five in a room. You, me, Jean and Abram will take a new one and Nicky and Aaron can keep ours.”

“Aaron’s not going to like that.” Kevin said, as if Andrew didn’t know his brother at all.

“He’ll survive.” Andrew replied. “I’m going to talk to him before the others.”

“And say what?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” Andrew lied. He knew exactly how this conversation would go, but Kevin didn’t need to concern himself with the details. 

Kevin sighed, but it was more tired than annoyed. “You’re handling all of this a lot better than I thought you would.”

Andrew nearly smiled at that. “He’s alive, Kevin. The rest of it doesn’t matter as long as he’s here.”

Kevin turned to look at him fully, one finger extended as close as he could get to Andrew without actually touching. “Who are you and what have you done with Andrew?”

Andrew swatted his hand away, ignoring the grin that Kevin shot at him. “I said don’t start with me.”

“It’s so weird,” Kevin said, still smiling. “Abram gets here and it’s like you’re a normal person.”

Andrew titled his head. “What makes you think I’m not a normal person regularly?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the knives and the violence and the fact that you rescued your boyfriend from Evermore, the literal depths of hell, but your biggest concern is telling your team, who already knows that Nathaniel isn’t just your friend.” 

“Kevin?” Andrew said, eyes narrowed. “Shut the fuck up.”

Kevin only laughed, and Andrew was glad to hear the sound, even if it made him want to use those knives for the violence Kevin just mentioned. 

“And he’s not my boyfriend,” Andrew continued. “And you won’t start saying that shit around the upperclassmen.”

“I didn’t think you would stay in the closet once he was here,” Kevin said bluntly. “It’s unfortunate for your career, don’t get me wrong, but it’s pretty much pointless to pretend otherwise, at least in front of the team.”

And maybe Kevin was right, about it being pointless. The team would find out eventually, and he would be basically admitting to it when he talked to Aaron, but it wasn’t just about being gay. Andrew spent years making sure his sexuality wasn’t a result of Drake, or the others, and he’d mostly come to the conclusion that he would be like this either way. It still wasn't any of the team’s business. Besides all that he meant what he’d said: Abram wasn’t his boyfriend. They were friends, of a sort. There was more there, dangling in the breath between their kisses, hanging from hands that touched places Andrew hadn’t let anyone touch, consensually, ever. 

But they didn’t deal in labels, only in absolute truths. Andrew didn’t even know if there were words to describe what he and Abram were, but boyfriend sure as hell didn’t encompass their relationship. 

“Kevin.”

“Shutting up.” Kevin mimed zipping his lips but the grin was still plastered on his face. 

Andrew didn’t know how long they stood out there, Kevin breathing steadily into the silence while Andrew smoked, but it was the first clear-headed moment he’d had since Abram arrived in Palmetto. It didn’t last. The backdoor opened, revealing Wymack and the slight sound of chatter from inside the house. Andrew sighed, stubbing out his cigarette and motioning Kevin inside. 

“I need a minute with my brother first,” Andrew said when he stepped inside. 

Wymack nodded, walking back to the living room. The upperclassmen were scattered around the living room, hands cupped around sodas from Abby’s fridge as they talked amongst themselves. Andrew found Aaron sitting on the couch next to Nicky. What a strange little family they were. Two boys who were identical but nothing alike in the grand scheme of things. And then Nicky, standing on both sides of their barely forged truth, trying to keep them all together despite the twins pulling them apart. Andrew hated to repeat history, but he knew his brother would not react well to what he was going to say to him. 

“Aaron.” Andrew said, nodding to the back door. 

His brother looked at him suspiciously but stood and followed him outside nonetheless. He didn’t go as far as the deck, instead choosing to just stand near the door. The semi-relaxed mood his conversation with Kevin had put him in disappeared the second Aaron looked at him with nothing but distrust. He’d never truly understand why Aaron hated him. He could see the resentment each time they locked eyes, but Andrew had very little regrets at this point in his life and killing their mother didn’t even make the list. 

“Are you gonna tell me what the fuck is going on now?” Aaron began with easily detectable hostility. 

Andrew gave him a flat look and decided to just go for it. “I’m ending our deal.” 

The flurry of emotion on crossing Aaron’s face was curious, if only because Andrew hadn’t seen his own features move in the way Aaron’s were in many, many years. 

“No you’re not.” Aaron shook his head. “You were the one who made me do this.” 

Andrew tried his best not to recoil at that sentiment. “I didn’t make you do anything. You knew the terms when we decided this, both times.”

“Don’t act like I ever had a choice.” Aaron scoffed. “It was either I followed your rules or I didn’t have a brother.”

“You could have chosen the latter,” Andrew said drily. 

He wouldn’t put up with Aaron’s pity party. Aaron had gone searching for him, all those years ago, had put the picture of a double feature into Drake’s head. Aaron was the reason he left California, and the only person he’d put his life on the line for before Abram came into the picture. 

“Are you so fucking psycho that you’ll betray me like this?” Aaron asked. 

Andrew raised an eyebrow, really considering if Aaron was being genuine in that question. “You shouldn’t give a shit about this considering you’ve been breaking the terms of our agreement for months.”

“What?” Aaron said, the fight seemingly leaking out of him.

“I’m not an idiot, though you seem to be,” Andrew shot back. “You and the cheerleader are not as much of a secret as you think. The entire team knows.”

“I swear to god Andrew if you even go near her-”

Andrew cut him off with a humorless laugh, a sound that reminded him of his medication. “I want nothing to do with her. Our deal is done, so you’re finally free from my shackles.”

Aaron didn’t miss the toneless sarcasm. “I only accepted the deal for you. So you wouldn’t be so fucking alone.”

“Don’t go making things up now. You did it for yourself, because you were too weak to stand up to a woman who liked you vulnerable.” Andrew said and, since he was already here and saying way too much, continued. “You’ll never forgive me for what I did to your mother, and you’ll never get over the fact that you would be nothing without my help, will you?” 

“You killed her, Andrew.” Aaron said, as if that meant anything to Andrew, who would kill and bleed for his family. For Aaron, even still. 

Andrew merely sighed. “You will not get any of my sympathy. You never took me at my word, not then and not now, and I’m done pretending that I need you to do that. Be with your cheerleader, I won’t interfere, that’s all I came out here to tell you.” 

Andrew had grown in many ways since Abram suddenly appeared, but his relationship with his brother was one that was never going to be anything remotely close to functional. He looked at Kevin, at his staunch defense of a man he hadn’t even spoken to in months, and wondered what the fuck he needed to do to have Aaron speak of him like that. Andrew would never understand, and Aaron would never understand Andrew, so what was the point in trying anymore? 

“It’s because of Nathaniel, right?” Aaron said just as Andrew slid the back door open a crack. “You’re cutting our deal because you know he violates it too.” 

Andrew turned back. “You wish it was that simple.” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t really take you to be a fucking faggot but I guess we don’t know each other like I thought.” Aaron said. 

The words hit him like a truck, but it was the reflection of Nicky in the glass, his mouth hanging open just the slightest bit that really made him cross the two steps and shove Aaron against the brick wall. 

“Andrew!” Nicky’s voice rang out, still playing peacemaker even when he’d just heard the filth that came out of Aaron’s mouth. 

“Say that again and I’ll forget a lot more than our deal.” Andrew threatened. “You think you know anything? You wish you had a brain big enough to understand what I’m doing with him.”

“Fuck you.” Aaron spit.

Andrew grinned something crazy, releasing him and shoving him in the direction of the door as Aaron rubbed the spot Andrew had been holding him by on his collarbone. His brother, the drama queen. He wouldn’t even bruise with the way Andrew was holding him, but Aaron had let his defenses down long ago, too wrapped in the cocoon of Andrew’s protection to think about putting up that barrier between himself and the outside world.

He wanted another cigarette, but this was only the beginning of a much longer conversation with a lot nosier people than Aaron. With his brother gone the air was much lighter, the tension dissipating with every passing second. Andrew glanced up at Nicky, who was hovering unsurely by the little steps Wymack had built for Abby’s deck. 

“He shouldn’t have said that,” Nicky said into the silence. 

Andrew shrugged. “No.”

Because Nicky was right. It was a shitty thing to say and had an even shittier connotation when he said it in regards to Abram. It didn’t really bother Andrew all that much if he was being honest. He’d gone through worse, had heard worse, and would probably continue to experience it if he was ever going to be out in the real world. It only pissed him off because Nicky had heard. Nicky, who had dropped two bags of clothes for Abram inside where Andrew could see them if he craned his neck from this position. Nicky, who’d taken them in when he was barely an adult and provided for them while Andrew made his life hell and Aaron made sure everyone knew how fucked their lives were. Andrew was not a sentimental man, but he would be damned if he sat here and listened to that shit without putting Aaron in his place at the very least.

“You ready?” Nicky asked when it was clear Andrew wasn’t going to say anything else. 

Andrew wasn’t, not in the slightest, but he nodded anyway. Inside, Andrew surveyed the living room and wondered what the fuck he’d gotten himself into. Matt, Dan, Allison, and Seth took up the long couch Abby had pressed against one wall while Jean and Renee took up the loveseat. Aaron, who had his arms crossed over his chest like a petulant child, was in the lone recliner. Andrew joined Kevin and Wymack at the front of the room, feeling for the first time as if he had no idea who these people were. For once, the team was quiet, waiting and staring and Andrew couldn’t take it.

Wymack took the lead before Andrew could ask him to. “I know you all have a lot of questions, but before you start asking there’s something we have to discuss as a team. Some of you may know Nathaniel, number three for the Ravens. You also know he came back with us after Andrew found him, um, incapacitated at the banquet.” 

Andrew thought that was a very polite way of phrasing the way he’d found Abram stripped, starving, and half-dead. 

“And you know we don’t turn away people who need our help, even if it means we might get shit for it later,” Wymack continued. “Right now we’re at a bit of a crossroads. Evermore sent over his contract today, completely voided. Andrew thinks we should sign him for the Spring championships.”

“What the fuck?” Aaron said into the shocked silence that followed. 

“In any other circumstance I would just make the call and we would deal with it as we go, but you know nothing is ever that simple with the Ravens.” Wymack said over the small chatter that erupted with Aaron’s exclamation. “You know what happened when Kevin and Jean transferred and this will probably have the same, if not worse, consequences.”

“Send him back,” Seth said with harsh eyes. “I’m not getting raided again because of their rabid fans.”

“What, did you have to flush your stash? I’m sure you had no idea where to get more drugs from,” Jean shot back without hesitation. 

“It’s more than just their fans,” Wymack broke up the argument before it could start. “Nathaniel is, uh, involved, I guess is the best word, with some of the higher-ups in the Moriyama family. We don’t know the exact details of their deal, but we’re not just dealing with graffiti and stink bombs now.”

“You’re not making a very good case, coach.” Dan sighed. 

Wymack only shrugged. “I’m just telling you what I know is true. Other than that, we aren’t sending him back to the Nest. He either stays here on the team or he stays here off the team.”

“We would benefit from him,” Kevin began. “He’s unstoppable on the court, he knows Riko inside and out, he can sub for backliner if we need him to. I’m not seeing what the discussion is about.”

“Not everything is about exy,” Allison said pointedly. “Some of us want to live to see graduation.”

“What do you think Nathaniel is trying to do?” Jean replied in the same tone. 

Seth shook his head. “When did we become a halfway house for broken Ravens? I say hell no. We don’t need him and we don’t want him.” 

“If we don’t sign him I’m not playing.” Andrew said, interrupting the argument Kevin was beginning with Seth.

“Andrew.” Renee said, something akin to Natalie lurking in the question behind her eyes. 

“You,” Wymack said, pointing at Andrew, “have a contract for another three years.”

Andrew shook his head. “Don’t care.”

Wymack knew he wasn’t joking when he said it outside so Andrew had no idea why he looked so surprised. “I don’t even know if the board will approve signing him.”

“Then you better come up with a really convincing story.”

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Aaron said. “You want to sign him in the middle of the season because he can’t handle a few ouchies?”

“He hasn’t woken up in five fucking days,” Jean seethed. 

Kevin glared at Aaron from across the room. “You don’t know what it’s like there. None of you do, and you especially don’t know what it was like for Nathaniel.”

“And that means we should sign him to our team?” Matt questioned, almost hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure if that was the question he should be asking. 

“It means we need to keep him away from the Ravens, keep him playing for long enough to make it to the pros.” Kevin nodded. “He needs us. Me and Jean and Andrew. He needs a team. You all should understand needing a team more than anyone.”

“Can he even play anymore?” Dan asked with a raised brow.

Jean grinned viciously. “The only thing that would stop Nathaniel from playing is death itself.”

“Because that’s totally normal,” Seth muttered, earning an elbow from Allison. 

Dan spoke, ever the dutiful captain. “We can handle him, coach, if you think this is the right move.”

Wymack ran a hand through his hair. “It’s pretty much the only move.”

“Well, we’re Foxes for a reason, right?” Renee said.

“Come what may,” Matt waved a hand, like he was toasting to a crowd instead of signing a virtual death sentence.

Andrew would have cared more if it wasn’t Abram on the other end of that deal, silently waiting for something to kill him as long as Andrew was safe. 

“It’ll take a few days to put together, and you’re all due to be heading home for winter break soon, but once you’re back in January things will be a little different. I’m going to have to get another room so the boys are gonna have to do some rearranging.”

“I’ll move,” Aaron immediately offered.

Jean grinned. “Good riddance.”

“Move Nathaniel in with me, Jean, and Andrew,” Kevin said.

Andrew shook his head. “Jean, Nathaniel, Matt, and Nicky. I’ll stay with Kevin.”

Kevin shot him a look. “But-”

“ I’m not making Nicky room with two homophobes.” Andrew said in poor French.

“ Put Jean with me then, ” Kevin replied in the same language. “ You need to stay with him.”

Andrew raised a brow at Jean. “ Good?”

“ As long as your couch is comfortable enough to crash on,” Jean replied, almost too fast for Andrew to keep up. 

“Put him with Matt, Nicky, and me,” Andrew said to Wymack back in English. “Kevin and Jean can room with Seth and Aaron.”

“I’ll make some calls.” Wymack said. “In the meantime, no discussing this with the media or anyone outside of this room. Like I said, we have more than the Ravens to worry about with Nathaniel.”

“Have a good break to you too!” Dan called as Wymack stepped out of the room, phone already pressed to his ear.

In the living room, now sans Wymack, it was quieter, a thin layer of tension and distrust lingering in the air. There wasn’t anything Andrew even wanted to say. He thought Wymack would make him explain more, maybe have him talk about why Abram couldn’t go back to the Nest, divulge the secrets he’d been keeping for months. Maybe he should have known better. The Foxes were a team of misfits from the worst walks of life. They loved a project, and Abram was in desperate need of fixing. 

Kevin turned, about to speak, when Abby came flying down the stairs. Andrew was standing within the second, ready to hear the worst, already reaching for his armbands to fight whatever invisible threat was waiting for them. Abby only smiled, a small, secret little thing that reminded him of Abram. She turned to Andrew, not even paying attention to the rest of the team.

“He’s awake.”