Chapter Text
Andrew opens the front door silently, checking behind him to make sure his foster parents haven't woken up. None of the other kids care whether or not he leaves, but Reggie and Sarah would probably go insane if they knew he escaped. They don’t care about him, but they really care about rules. Andrew really doesn't.
He closes the door behind him as quietly as he can before running to the beach. One of the only things that Andrew can stand about this new home is the beach. The air is salty and refreshing, and the cool night air calms him down. He sits heavily in the sand, staring at the waves. He thinks he wants to be a swimmer when he grows up, or a scuba diver, and he could stay in the ocean all day and nobody would get him, or force him into itchy clothes, or take away his food, or lock him in his room. Nobody would try to make him talk or anything, it would just be him and the clear blue of the water.
He startles when he hears someone behind him. The beach is usually empty at this hour, part of the appeal of sneaking out. It’s a grown-up, wearing just a towel around his waist. There’s enough light from the full moon to see his face and chest. Andrew winces a little bit at the scars marring the skin of his face and torso. He doesn’t say anything to Andrew, just sits more than arm-distance away from him and stares into the waves. Andrew isn’t nearly as interested in the waves as he used to be, focused on this weird stranger.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, just enough for Andrew to drop his guard, before the man speaks.
“Your name is Andrew and your middle name is Joseph. You’re five years old, you love chocolate and cats, and right now, you want to be a scuba diver.” Andrew recoils from the man, suddenly terrified. The man doesn't make a move in any direction.
“How do you know that? Who are you?” Andrew asks, shocked out of his silence for the first time in months.
“My name is Neil and I’m a time traveler. I know all of that, because in the future, you and I are-” Neil cuts himself off at that, as if he doesn't know the words to say. “We’re close,” Neil ends up saying. Andrew sits and stares, not willing to say anything else to the stranger. He doesn’t know how Neil knows all of that stuff, but time travel isn't real.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” Neil asks. Andrew pauses, but then shakes his head. He doesn’t want to lie. “That’s okay. It’s good to be skeptical. I can prove it though,” Neil says, before picking up the end of the towel he’s wearing. “I can time-travel, but my clothes can’t. In about three minutes I’m gonna disappear in front of you, and I’m gonna leave behind this towel. If that happens, will you believe me?” Neil asks. Andrew pauses, stares him down. Neil meets his gaze. Finally Andrew nods.
“Okay. After I disappear, the next time you’re gonna see me is in two months. August 27th. Can you remember that?” Neil asks. Andrew makes a face. “Right, you have your brilliant memory. Okay, so. On August 27th, can you do me a favor and bring me some adult clothes? I don’t care what they are, anything works,” Neil says. Andrew scrunches up his face, before nodding again. Neil smiles at him, really widely.
Andrew hasn’t seen a lot of people smile, and he doesn’t really smile either, but for some reason, Neil’s smile makes him quirk his lips up at the corners. His face has forgotten how to move like that, but it still feels kinda nice. Neil smiles bigger somehow and winks before disappearing. Andrew jumps. He looks around, to make sure Neil didn't just run away really fast, but it’s only Andrew alone on the beach.
He looks where Neil was sitting and sees the towel on the sand.
August 27th, Andrew thinks, before getting up and walking back to the house.
*
When Nathaniel is seven, he finds himself in the living room of an apartment. He doesn’t know how he got there, or where the apartment is. He’s alone, as far as he can tell, and he’s not wearing any clothes. He grabs a blanket from the couch, wraps himself up in it, and runs into a corner. He crouches down as far as he can and waits, hiding from whoever lives here, just like he hides from his father.
A door opens on the other side of the apartment, and footfalls follow. They get closer and closer until Nathaniel can see the man making them. He has his father’s eyes and hair and his face is covered in scars. Nathaniel curls up closer into the blanket and closes his eyes, pressing against the nearest wall.
“Hello, Nathaniel,” the man says, crouching down to Nathaniel’s eye level. His voice is not angry, but soothing and soft and his eyes are kind, not brutal or mean like the Butcher’s. Nathaniel finds himself wanting to trust him. “You look a little bit lost,” the man continues, voice still calm. He offers Nathaniel a huge t-shirt and waits for Nathaniel to put it on. He reaches out a hand, and when Nathaniel takes it cautiously, leads him to a kitchen.
The strange man picks Nathaniel up easily, and sits him on a stool. A cat jumps onto the counter and sits in front of Nathaniel, surprising him into a little jump. Nathaniel looks up at the man, and startles a little bit to see him smiling widely.
“King obviously likes you. You should pet him behind the ears, he loves that,” the man says, and Nathaniel takes his advice, stroking the soft fur behind his ears, gingerly at first but with more enthusiasm when the cat arches into the touch.
The man puts an unopened Coke in front of Nathaniel, before sitting across from him.
“Nathaniel, I need you to listen to me carefully. Can you do that?” He asks. Nathaniel nods. “I know you’re very confused right now, and you really want to drink the Coke in front of you, but you’re afraid it’s a test and you’ll fail. I know you aren’t used to pets, because your father doesn't like animals. I know this because I’m a time traveler.” Nathaniel’s eyes widen with every word the man says.
“Here’s the really weird part, Nathaniel. So are you.” The man says, and Nathaniel’s mouth falls open a little bit. The man opens the Coke for him, and slides it closer to him.
“Who are you?” Nathaniel asks, voice barely above a whisper.
“When I was your age, my name was Nathaniel Abram Wesninski,” the man says, and Nathaniel would have choked on his drink if he had taken a sip of it yet, “but you can just call me Neil.”
*
On August 27th, Andrew grabs his new foster father’s basketball shorts and t-shirt before sitting and waiting in his room. He doesn’t wait long. A naked man falls onto the floor, appearing from nowhere. Andrew still can’t quite believe it, but everything Neil has said so far is true, and Andrew is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Neil pulls himself into a sitting position on the floor, before he looks up at where Andrew has perched on the bed and smiles. Again with the smile.
“Did you bring clothes?” Neil asks. Andrew tosses the clothes at his head, and then turns his head away so Neil can shimmy into them in privacy. When he finishes getting dressed, Neil sits back down on the floor. Andrew doesn’t really know why he wouldn’t sit on the bed next to him, but he feels a little bit more comfortable anyway. No matter how excited he got about Neil coming back, he doesn't know him at all.
“Do you believe me now? About the time traveling?” Neil asks, and Andrew has to nod, because he does, and because Andrew doesn't want to disappoint him. Neil grins. “You don’t really talk much do you?” Neil asks. Andrew freezes up. He doesn’t know how to explain why he doesn't like talking, or why the words don’t like to form right in his mouth, but he doesn’t want Neil to think he’s a freak, the way all the other kids say he is.
Neil must have noticed the tension in Andrew’s slight frame, because he backtracks quickly. “You don’t have to talk, if you don't want to. We’ve been communicating pretty easily without you speaking, we can do that for as long as you need. Nobody should make you do anything you don't want to do.” Andrew nods again.
They sit in silence for a little longer, both unsure how to start a conversation. Andrew looks at Neil and Neil looks back at Andrew. Andrew starts wondering how they can be friends in the future if they can’t even talk to each other. He’s filled with an inexplicable sadness that crashes over him like a wave. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t ever make a connection with anyone he knows.
Suddenly, Neil starts talking again, “Sorry, I was supposed to tell you something, I just got distracted. You’re so like my Andrew, and so completely different. It’s amazing.” Andrew twitches at that, surprised that Neil knows the future version of himself well enough to call him his. Surprised that Neil thinks Andrew is amazing. Nobody has ever called him amazing. The wave of sadness breaks, leaving Andrew warm and light.
“I have a list of dates for when I visit you. If I tell them to you, can you write them down or remember them?” Neil asks. Andrew jumps off the bed and moves to the desk at the side of the room. There’s one chair, but it’s built for people much bigger than him. Andrew heaves himself onto it with effort. He can’t wait until he grows up and gets super tall. He grabs a pencil and some paper, and gestures for Neil to stand near him.
Neil is tall enough to loom over him, but Andrew isn’t scared the way he usually is with grownups around him. There’s something about Neil that makes Andrew feel safe.
There aren’t that many dates on the list, and there are more of them when he’s younger. There are entire years where Neil doesn’t visit, but Andrew doesn't really care at all. The dates last until Andrew is seventeen, which means Andrew gets to have someone who stays. For the first time in months, Andrew smiles.
*
The Butcher is excited about Nathaniel’s ability. The possibilities are endless for Nathan, a messenger throughout time that he can control. He gets to send information about the present to his past self, and receive information from the future. It is the ultimate advantage over all rivals, manipulation of time itself. The only obstacle between Nathan’s complete dominion of the world around him is, of course, Nathaniel: Nathaniel, the disappointment that he is, has no control over his condition.
Nathan is an optimistic and determined person. Nathan believes his wayward son can be taught. In his experience, fear is an excellent motivator.
Nathaniel does his best to hide from his father’s angry fists and Lola’s vicious nails, but there is only so much he can do. He is barely eight years old, a frightened boy cowering from a fully grown man, a man who inspires fear from everyone he meets. He hides, and when he doesn’t hide, he submits to his father’s rage.
He doesn’t notice his mother, silently watching the beatings, wincing after every blow. He doesn’t notice his mother coiling tighter and tighter, like tension in a spring. He doesn’t see the rage in his mother’s eyes outstripping her fear. Mary Hatford knows how to conceal herself and her emotions, knows how to blend into backgrounds. She cultivates contacts, creates networks, hides funds, creates plans of escape, and bides her time. Mary is patient, resourceful, dangerous, and, most importantly, willing to do anything for her son.
*
Neil visits Andrew every single date on the list, without fail. The longest gap between visits is only two months so far, but those months are agony. The days seem to drag on into infinity when Neil isn’t there and Andrew has no idea how he’s going to deal with the year long gaps in the future. Neil is the bright spot in Andrew’s life, the constant in a life characterized by variables. For two years, Neil is Andrew’s best friend, closest confidante. He’s the only person Andrew feels comfortable talking to, the only person Andrew wants to talk to.
Neil doesn’t age the way Andrew does. Sometimes he’ll talk to Andrew and then a week later, he’ll be years younger and not remember a thing about the earlier conversation. His appearance changes, and sometimes he doesn't know how to talk to Andrew the way he usually does. Despite the variations, Neil’s incredibly earnest smile stays constant, as if he actually cares about Andrew.
Something about that smile makes Andrew circle dates in stolen calendars and daydream about Neil kidnapping Andrew and driving them to live somewhere far away, where Andrew never has to talk to anyone else, and gets to see Neil’s smile every day.
The Brown house changes things. Andrew’s bedroom isn’t a safe haven anymore, it’s a minefield. Everything reminds him of Stan and his hands and his sickly sweet words. He’s living in a nightmare, and for the first time, he doesn't feel comfortable with Neil near him.
He gets the clothes for Neil, the way he always does, and Neil sits on the floor of the room. Seeing Neil in Stan’s clothes does nothing to keep Andrew off edge, and an adult male in Andrew’s bedroom is enough to have Andrew scratching at the skin around his fingernails, even if it is Neil. Andrew gets angry with himself in little time, upset that Stan managed to ruin something else, upset that he’s letting Stan ruin something else.
Usually, Neil sits next to Andrew on his bed, and they talk, and they never touch. (Recently, Andrew has contemplated leaning on Neil’s arm, just to see how Neil would react, but that feels like an impossibility now.) Neil has started teaching Andrew German, just so they have a thing to do. Andrew got the idea after hearing Neil accidentally speak it. He wanted to be able to have a secret with Neil, something they could share that nobody else knew. German worked. After Andrew asked Neil to teach him, Neil had smiled wider than he ever had before. It had been an amazing day.
Neil isn’t smiling right now, just shooting Andrew concerned looks from the floor. Andrew doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn't say anything.
“Wanna get out of here?” Neil asks. Andrew narrows his eyes at him.
“Where could we go?” Andrew retorts. There was a reason they only ever met in Andrew’s room. There were other kids or invasive parents everywhere. Neil had almost been caught enough times that they have taken precautions to stay in one place and stay quiet.
Neil shakes off Andrew’s derision easily, going to Andrew’s window and opening it before craning his head to look upwards. He pulls his head back into the room and tilts his head, staring at Andrew like he’s solving a math problem in his head. Andrew is too confused to be discomfited by the appraisal.
“The roof,” Neil says, answering Andrew’s question. Andrew’s eyes widen. “Don’t worry, the wall isn’t hard to scale, and the distance from the ground is barely anything,” Neil continues. He extends his hand to Andrew, but Andrew just stares at it. Neil quirks a questioning look at him.
“I’m scared of heights,” Andrew mumbles, ashamed of himself for his shortcoming. He looks at the blue of his bedspread, clenching his hand in the fabric before letting go. The bed isn't as safe as it used to be.
“Hey, look at me?” Neil asks, voice soft and warm. Andrew looks up into Neil’s smiling face. “It’s okay if you’re scared. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. Just know, I’m not going to let you fall, I promise,” Neil vows. He seems sincere, and Andrew desperately wants to believe him. So he does.
His hand is tiny in Neil’s, but Neil’s grip is gentle as he maneuvers both of them out of the window onto the roof. Neil was right, the trip isn’t difficult. As soon as both of them are seated on a flat section of the tiled roof, Neil lets go of Andrew’s hand before Andrew has to ask him to. Andrew closes his eyes and breathes in fresh air, overwhelmed with gratitude. The roof is a relief from his terror even as it terrifies him. He has an escape from his room, a hiding place for when Stan comes knocking. He has somewhere that isn’t tainted.
He turns to Neil, but Neil’s eyes are closed too. In a moment, he turns and looks at Andrew, as if he has a radar built in for the weight of Andrew’s eyes.
“Are you okay?” Neil asks, and seems to actually care about the answer. Andrew realizes that if he said no, Neil would move both of them until Andrew could say yes. It's a startling realization.
“Yeah. I like it up here,” Andrew says, because even though he’s scared out of his mind, this roof is his new favorite place.
“I like it up here too. I love roofs,” Neil responds, and Andrew decides to find a route to the roof in every home he gets put into from here on out. “Okay, where were we? Have we gotten to basic conjugation?” Neil asks. Andrew rolls his eyes.
“We’ve gotten to full sentence practice,” Andrew says in German. Neil’s eyebrows shoot up, before he smiles.
“Okay, oh brilliant one, tell me about your day,” Neil says in the same language, and Andrew starts to detail the mundanity of his life, and excludes Stan entirely. Stan has no place on this roof, in this language, with this person. They chat in German until the sun goes down. Neil's scars look different in the pinks of the setting sun, not as visible against his skin.
When Neil disappears, Andrew makes his way off the roof on his own, swallowing his own fear. His room is even more oppressive, compared to the freedom of before. It seems like a brutal reminder that no matter how incredible Neil’s visits are, Andrew has to survive his life alone.
*
Control is a skill that Nathaniel has yet to master. Months of experimentation have determined two ways of keeping him in his own time: beatings and Exy. The first was proven after weeks and weeks of demonstration. No matter how much every cell in Neil’s body begs for escape, he can’t as long as there are fists and knives and heavy boots keeping him in one place. He has scars to prove it.
The Exy was a fluke. His father’s business partners wanted an Exy player, and Nathaniel was forced into a little league team, the Baltimore Buzzards. His mother stood on the sidelines, waiting to swoop in if he jumped, ready to force all the children and parents to forget anything strange they witnessed. But Nathaniel didn't. He learned, and he played and he stayed in his own skin for the practices, and the games. His mother’s face showed something like cautious wonder, and his father’s face showed horrific delight.
Exy feels like a miracle, like pure joy resonating through his entire body. Being beaten is an anchor, no doubt, but it feels like his bones are lead, like if he tried to jump, his body would weigh him down. Exy feels like a drug, like electricity running through his body, every single one of his atoms dedicated to staying in the present, to staying in the game. Nathaniel feels like an addict, like his entire being has narrowed down to this sport.
When he gets to Castle Evermore, he learns that he’s not the only one who feels this way. Riko and Kevin are even more obsessed with the game than Nathaniel is, and way more focused on victory. They draw numbers on each other’s faces, as if they are each other’s anchors. They are twin stars in orbit, and everything else revolves around them as they circle each other. It makes sense to Nathaniel: Exy is his gravity too.
Nathaniel plays, runs scrimmage after scrimmage with the both of them, pushing every single one of his muscles past the point of physical exertion. Riko and Kevin play in beautiful synchrony, and Nathaniel wants this more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. He wants to be part of a team, he wants to play the sport every day for the rest of his life, he wants and wants and wants.
His father murders a man in front of him and the Wonder Twins. It’s a bucket of cold water, a slap in the face from reality. He’s not allowed to want anything, he isn’t allowed to have anything. All he is is his father’s son, and no matter how much he wants this game to be his life, he was born to be a tool. Nathaniel is resigned to his fate, the weight of his father’s heel on his back pushing him down.
That is, of course, until his mother steals him from the Castle and runs for the hills.
Nathaniel wasn’t expecting that at all.
*
As Andrew ages, things change. Neil is static, a constant presence, and his age stays firmly in a range between late teens and late twenties. Andrew starts thinking he could catch up to him. The dates on the list fly by, and by the time Andrew turns ten he starts to feel the clock ticking. He doesn’t want to think about a life without Neil and his visits, when Neil is the only thing he really lives for. He can survive easily, something in him programmed to continue existing, even on the bleakest of days, but Neil is light in his life, something to look forward to on days when nothing really seems worth it.
Stan may have been the first to put his hands on Andrew, but he certainly isn't the last. Andrew feels thoroughly soiled, grime sticking to skin, residue of sweaty, overexcited hands that doesn't get washed off in the shower. Andrew feels bruised and broken and dirty. Neil looks at him like he’s whole.
Andrew finds himself staring at calf muscles and biceps of men in movies and TV shows, wondering what would happen if one of the boys in his school kissed him or held his hand. He wonders if his wonderings are because of Stan and the rest. He wonders if they’re because of Neil. He wonders what would happen if he told Neil he might be gay. He wonders and wonders and wonders.
His daydreams aren’t of Neil kidnapping him and raising him by the beach anymore. Now they’re of meeting a Neil his age, and taking him to the roof, and holding his hand. In his daydreams, Neil smiles at him the way the real Neil smiles at him, and he talks to Andrew every day, instead of for an hour every few months. In his daydreams, Neil stays.
*
Jacob has been on the run for two years now. The first flight to Europe was hell. His mother fully embraced one of his two anchors, giving him a piece of leather to bite down on and beating his thighs in thirty-minute intervals. She kept him in his seat and in his time, but when the plane landed he couldn't move his legs. His mother picked him up, holding him like he was a toddler, and whispered apologies in his ear. Jacob had wrapped his arms around her, and clung as tight as he could.
That was then, when his name was Richard and they had been living with Uncle Stuart, but he’s Jacob now, and he and his mother have reached an equilibrium. Jacob does what she says, tries and fails to control his ability, and she keeps them both alive. He submits to beatings when he needs to stay in the present, and tries to force his jumps when she needs him to escape asap. The second part is a work in progress.
Jacob’s jumps take him to strange places. He visits roofs in states he’s never been to, falls on carpeted floors in apartments he can’t recognize. He sees his father as a child before snapping away almost instantly; he visits a dark dungeon-like place and listens to strangely familiar screams of pain until he jumps back to the present. His mother is always waiting for him, ready to whisk him somewhere else, new passports in her hand.
She teaches him German and French and trains him on the nuances between regional accents. She drills him on bank account numbers, on phone numbers of allies, on different codes to use if they get separated. She takes him to a firing range and makes him shoot until his arms are numb and he hits the center of the target. She trains him to survive.
His father remains a spectre over his shoulder, ever approaching. His mother makes it difficult to be taken back. He counts the bruises all over his body in the bathroom mirror and listens to his mother speaking in rapid French as she paces and packs in the motel room. Her voice is strident and harsh, and he winces.
At least he isn’t alone.
*
Andrew scrapes his knees climbing up to the roof. As the years pass, the visits are spread out more, and the last time Andrew saw Neil was four months ago, the average. Andrew placed the clothes up on the roof yesterday in anticipation, and Neil is fully dressed when Andrew gets up.
Neil looks much younger than he usually does; he doesn't even have the scar on his face. Andrew would catalog other differences, but he’s way too excited to see Neil again. Not that anyone could see. Andrew is an expert at playing it cool.
“Andrew?” Neil asks. Andrew raises an eyebrow at him, before sitting down next to him and pulling out a cigarette. He picked up the habit six months ago, expecting Neil to yell at him about it. Neil had just asked for one. It was a little disappointing.
“No, I’m Andrew’s evil twin Roger, obviously,” Andrew deadpans, and hands Neil a cigarette of his own. Neil waits for Andrew to light it before letting it burn in front of him. “I still can’t get over you wasting cigarettes like this. You are impossibly weird,” Andrew says, staring at the travesty in front of him. Neil huffs out a laugh, a small one that’s barely a puff of air.
“That’s a fair comment,” Neil says, smiling at Andrew. It’s not the usual smile. This one is smaller, like he’s on an inside joke with himself. Andrew suddenly feels studied, like a bug under a microscope. It’s not his favorite feeling. “How old are you right now? Thirteen?” Neil asks.
“Close, I’m twelve. Going to be thirteen in a few weeks though,” Andrew answers.
“Look at me, I forgot your present,” Neil says in a wry tone. Andrew’s lips turn up at the corners against his will.
“You can make it up to me in the future. We’re close in the future where you come from, right?” Andrew asks, blatantly fishing for information. Neil levels a look at him.
“I can’t tell you, it’s against-”
“Against the rules, I know, I know,” Andrew interrupts, rolling his eyes. The rules boil down to do not reveal the future to anyone from the past. He’s been more inquisitive about his future as of late, and Neil has shut down every single one of his attempts. If he had a dime for every time he’s heard ‘against the rules’ in Neil’s voice, he would be a millionaire. “Let me tell you something, Neil: your rules suck, and so do you.” Neil laughs at that, bright and loud, like he can’t help himself. The smile on his face after that is the one Andrew is used to, and it makes something warm unfurl in his chest. He wants to kiss that smile off of Neil’s lips, taste that laugh.
Andrew refocuses on his cigarette. “Hey, why are we speaking in English? Usually you’re on my ass about proper syntax and stupid German vocabulary nuances by now. What gives?” Andrew asks, trying to derail his train of thought. Neil’s brows furrow at that, before smoothing.
“If you wanted to get schooled in German, all you had to do was ask,” Neil retorts, in the aforementioned language. Andrew narrows his eyes.
“I speak it better than you do now,” Andrew shoots back.
“Whatever,” Neil says dismissively. Andrew steels himself and shoves Neil in the shoulder with his own arm. He stares challengingly up at Neil, and is gratified by a smaller nudge in return. Andrew laughs a tiny bit, before tentatively leaning on Neil’s shoulder. Neil tenses for a second, before relaxing into the touch. Andrew breathes out a quiet sigh of relief.
“When do I meet you, Neil?” Andrew asks in German. Neil inhales to respond, before Andrew cuts him off with a “Don’t answer that.” Neil leans a little more on Andrew in silent apology.
Conversation picks up again, but it’s softer as they both watch the sun fall in the sky. Andrew can hear the smile in Neil’s voice, and knows he has an echoing one.
*
The first time Alex picks up an Exy racket in the states, he gets beaten so hard he can barely walk. It’s a stupid mistake, scrimmaging like that with his mother in the area, but he can't resist the call.
His mother had left him in the middle of the park, while she went to secure lodging. He was sitting on a bench, minding his own business, when a group of kids his age approached him, asking him if he wants to be a backliner for their game, they were one guy down, and he looked bored. Alex knew it was a mistake, knew he was good enough to attract attention, knew his mother would kill him if she saw.
He saw the extra racket in the main speaker’s hand. He couldn't say no.
The game was like a hit of a drug, informal as it was. He didn’t realize how much he had missed the game, the rush of adrenaline in his veins. The group was well-practiced, but after a couple of plays, Alex found himself falling back into old rhythms. His gait quickened, his mind started working overtime to predict moves. It felt like a high, like a perfectly choreographed dance, he was in control and out of control and it felt like a dream.
Until his mother saw him.
Now he lies on the floor of the shitty motel room, curled around his aching ribs. He doesn't think any of his bones are broken, but it’s close. His mother pulls his hair sharply, dragging him into a seated position. One of his eyes is swollen shut, but he can still see her furious gaze clearly.
“I told you to stop playing, to stay away from this sport. Do you want to get found by your father? After all that I did to get us both out, and you try to throw it away, for what? Exy in the park?” his mother rants. She throws him to the floor again. Alex thinks about crawling away, but he knows that would only enrage her more.
“You are never going to play that sport again, do you hear me? There are too many risks. Too many eyes watching. Do you understand me?” She demands. Alex nods. “I said, do you understand me?” She asks again, punctuating her words with a kick.
“Yes, yes, I understand, I understand, I promise,” Alex blabbers through his pain.
“Good.” She stalks into the bathroom angrily. Alex picks himself up through his pain and sits on the bed. He doesn't know how much time passes before his mother walks back in, a first aid kit in her hands.
“We can’t be caught by anyone, and his eyes are everywhere,” she explains in a calmer voice, dressing the cut by his eye. Neil nods, and she smiles tersely. “Good boy.” She dresses all of his wounds, and then releases him to get ready for bed.
Later, underneath his blankets, entire body screaming in pain, Alex can’t quite muster up any regret. He replays the feeling of the racket in his hands over and over until he falls into fitful sleep.
*
Living with Cass is a dream and a nightmare combined. Cass is beautiful and loving, and she genuinely wants what is best for Andrew. She is everything Andrew has ever wanted, and Andrew would do anything to keep her. She wants to keep him too. She says it all the time, Andrew Joseph Spear, like a mantra, like if she says it enough it will be true.
Drake is Andrew’s hell, the obstacle he has to overcome or endure to stay with Cass. If the days with Cass are everything he’s ever wanted, the horrible nights with Drake are everything that he is afraid of. Drake is worse than Stan, worse than anyone, his cloying touch like a disease. Andrew feels parts of himself dying with every single touch, and there is nothing he can do to stop it.
He daydreams about Neil coming and killing Drake. He daydreams of Cass kicking Drake out of the house. He wants to kill Drake, he wants to die, he wants to leave this house and never come back, he wants to stay in this house for the rest of his life. He wants to keep Cass.
He can’t take his emotions out on anyone around him, and he can’t continue with everything he feels locked inside of him, so he takes his feelings out on his skin. Sharp lines decorate the pale skin of his forearms, as the frustration and rage and self-loathing all drip out of him with his blood. He is in control, he can survive this, he can keep this.
This is the longest time he’s gone without talking to Neil. He wonders if Neil would smile at the husk of a person he’s become, empty and broken. He wonders if Neil would be able to look at him, oozing blood and misery. He wonders and wonders and wonders.
Drake’s touch is an ever present reminder of what he can’t have. Andrew thinks Neil would be able to look past the filth he feels covered in. Andrew thinks Neil would turn and run.
*
Chris gets visited by a future version of himself when his mother is on a grocery run. They’re squatting in a house on the outskirts of town, a neighborhood where nobody asks that many questions. Chris has been cleaning the guns for about thirty minutes when his future self falls into the room.
If any of the guns had been assembled, Chris would have shot him. As it stands, Chris just stares as an almost carbon copy of his father with more scars stands in his room, wincing as he collects himself. Chris recognizes some of the scars from his own body. There are truly grotesque ones that he can only anticipate.
“Hey,” his future self starts. “Can I have some clothes?” Chris rolls his eyes. The only clothes that come close to fitting his future self - who would like to be called Neil - are his mother’s looser fitting dresses. She usually doesn't wear them, but she packs them just to fit in with other moms. Neil doesn't seem to care about what he’s wearing, just seems content wearing clothes at all.
“I remember this. You’re about fourteen right now aren’t you?” Neil asks, and Chris nods at him. “That seems like so long ago, now,” Neil says in a wondering voice.
“How old are you?” Chris asks. Neil narrows his eyes at him. Chris isn’t really expecting an answer, but this version of himself is way way older than him. He could be anything between early twenties to early thirties, although his eyes make him seem far older. He looks like he’s seen things, things worse than anything Chris has seen yet.
“You know I can’t tell you shit like this. It’s against the rules,” Neil says, but his voice is teasing, fond.
“But I keep jumping, don’t I? Even when I get super old?” Chris asks. Neil mock-glowers at him for the ‘super old’ comment, but then purses his lips thoughtfully.
“Well, clearly I haven’t stopped jumping yet, but. Look, you have things that keep you in your body, in your time right?” Neil asks. Chris makes an assenting noise. “What do you call them?”
“Anchors.”
“Okay good, that works. I’m good with metaphors, I can pull this off. Imagine everyone in the world is a boat. They’re all docked in various ports, tied and anchored. They’re where they belong, and they have things keeping them there.” Chris nods to show he’s listening, but he really has no idea where Neil is going with this.
“You and I aren’t in a port. We’re out on the sea, which means we move a lot, especially when there are stormy waters. What we need to do is get to place of safety, and collect things that keep us in one place. Those are our anchors, and they can be anything, from experiences, to people, to places. Does that make sense?” Neil asks. Chris thinks he understands, but silently despairs. He is never going to be safe, not with the father he has, not with the history he has. Neil smiles sadly at him as if he knows exactly what he’s thinking. He probably does.
“I think you let the metaphor run away with you,” Chris says, just to be an asshole.
“One of these days, you’re going to be standing in my position, and I challenge you to do better,” Neil retorts, and Chris can’t help laugh a little. His time travel is just a fact of life for him, until he actually thinks about it and realizes it’s the weirdest thing in the entire world. “Now, do you have any food, because I’m starving, and I was about to eat lunch when I jumped here,” Neil segues.
“Not yet, but Mom is on a grocery run and she should be back any minute-” His mother appears right on schedule, pushing the door open with her hip. Her mouth opens partially, and she drops the bags of food on the floor when she sees Neil.
Neil looks at her like he’s seeing a ghost. His jaw drops, and a harsh noise comes from his chest seeing her. His mother looks bewildered and defensive, understandably hostile when confronted by a younger, more scarred version of Nathan.
“Mom,” Neil breathes out, and his mother gasps. Neil looks like he wants to say something else or reach out, but before anything can happen, he disappears. Chris’s mother looks somewhere between terrified and gutted.
There is silence in the house for the time it takes Chris and his mother to clean up the mess on the floor and eat dinner.
That night, Chris dreams of drowning, anchor chains looped around his chest, dragging him into the dark murky depths of the ocean.
*
Cass begins to worry about Andrew’s behavior. Andrew doesn't know how to explain why he's getting into fights and shirking off his studies, why he can't have conversations with her anymore.
He comes home with black eyes and bruises, the other guys looking worse every time. Cass sits him down at the dinner table and cleans up his face and knuckles with barely restrained tears. He can't understand how she sees the bruises on his skin but can't see how his entire mind is an open wound, how his chest feels like an anvil is sitting on top of it. He feels like he's drowning, but the only person who can save him is purposefully looking the other way.
He's becoming numb to her smiles. He's becoming numb to his own pain. He's becoming numb to everything.
He starts cutting into himself deeper and deeper, anything to feel something. One day he goes too far. His last thought before blacking out as the blood rushes down his forearms is one of bone-deep relief.
---
Andrew wakes up. He wasn't exactly planning to. His wrists are bandaged, not professionally, but enough to get the job done. His body aches and he feels weak.
“Thank God, you’re awake,” a voice from the corner sounds. Andrew tries to whip his head to the noise, but the most he can muster is a sluggish head roll. Neil is sitting shirtless on his desk chair. Andrew curses internally. In all he was dealing with, he completely forgot today was on the list of Neil's visits, the first one in eight months.
Neil’s hands are covered in dried blood. The look in his eyes is hollow, but his hands are trembling. With rage or with fear, Andrew doesn't know. Neil stands abruptly, agitated. He's wearing a pair of Andrew’s basketball shorts, probably taken from one of Andrew’s drawers. The shorts are hideously small on him. Andrew swallows hard at the sight, or he tries to. His throat is too dry. Neil grabs a water bottle from the desk and moves to his side.
“Can I?” Neil asks, making a gesture towards Andrew's neck. When Andrew nods, he wraps his hand around the back of Andrew's neck and pushes him into a somewhat sitting position before tipping the water into his mouth. Andrew drinks greedily, some of the water spilling down his throat and wetting his bed sheets. Neil's hand is impossibly gentle.
“I can’t fucking believe you,” Neil mutters angrily when Andrew finishes and lays back. “What the hell were you thinking?” He asks, walking back to put the water bottle back on the desk. Andrew rankles.
“It's none of your business,” he croaks. Neil whips around.
“When I jump into your room and see you passed out on your bed, covered in blood and alone in the house, it becomes my business. If I had been just a few minutes late, you could have died,” Neil hisses angrily. Andrew doesn't know how to deal with the depth of emotion in his words.
“God, Andrew, you could have died,” he finishes in a broken voice, collapsing into the chair he had been sitting on earlier. “I should have called the hospital, but I know you wouldn't have wanted me to. Even now I still want to.” Andrew breathes out a sigh of relief.
“Thank you,” Andrew says softly.
“Don't thank me, just explain. What the fuck were you thinking?”
Andrew stubbornly stays silent, staring at him defiantly. Neil deflates in the chair. He moves to run his hand through his hair, but he catches sight of the blood on his hands. Andrew watches him freeze and swallow harshly, before dropping his hand out of his sight.
They sit in crushing silence for a minute. Andrew wants Neil to say something stupid in German, wants to go back to when he could lean on Neil's shoulder and they could watch the sunset together, but that day, less than a year ago, feels light years away.
“What makes her so special?” Neil asks. Andrew makes a questioning face. “What about Cass is so phenomenal that you would put yourself through hell to keep her?” Andrew stares at the ceiling.
“Cass is,” the mother Andrew never had, the woman that actually wants to keep him, everything he dreamed about, his family, here when Neil isn't, “worth it,” Andrew says, unable to explain himself. Neil is already shaking his head.
“Nobody is worth this. Nobody is worth Drake; nobody is worth hurting yourself,” Neil says, in a furious voice. Andrew flinches at Drake’s name. He wants to ask how Neil knows about him, but all of the possible answers are terrifying. He wonders if Neil knows Drake, if they were ever friends. The thought makes his stomach roil.
“It’s only a few months before he graduates. I just have to hold on ‘til May,” Andrew tries to explain.
“This is not holding on, Andrew, this is hitting rock bottom,” Neil says, and the truth of it rings like a bell in Andrew’s ears. “Find a reason to leave and stay away, this almost killed you,” Neil begs of him. Andrew can’t say yes. Neil’s face falls.
“I’m sorry,” Andrew breathes, but Neil shakes his head.
“Don’t apologize.” Neil’s voice is weary.
They sit in silence until Neil disappears, both of them desperately wanting to reach out, neither of them able to.
Two weeks later, Andrew learns he has a twin. His name is Aaron Minyard, and he wants to get to know Andrew.
Three weeks later Drake decides he wants to stay a little bit longer past graduation. He wants to get to know Aaron. Andrew finds his reason.
Four weeks later, Andrew ends up beating a boy half to death and pleads guilty to an aggravated assault charge. The courts decide a juvenile detention facility is the best place for him and Andrew agrees. As the bars of the cell close in front of him in his new home, Andrew grits his teeth, and wonders what Neil would say.
I got out, Neil. I bet this isn’t what you wanted.
*
Neil’s words go through Connor’s head all the time. He had said that if Connor finds enough anchors, he can stop time-traveling, he can stay in one place. It’s all Connor can think about sometimes. He would never tell his mother, but he hates running, he hates never being safe. He wants to be in one place, in one time. He’s only sixteen, but he’s gone through more than anyone he’s ever met.
He did tell his mother about the entire anchor metaphor, hoping she would support anything that stopped his jumps, if only as a tactical advantage. She didn’t exactly go for it.
“Connor, you can never be anchored to a place, and you can never be anchored to a person. What happens if your father finds you? Do you think he’ll let that person live? Your attachment could get you killed or worse. Your jumping can be utilized if anything, getting you out of situations if we can ever control when you jump or when you don’t,” and that’s had been the extent of the discussion, as she segued into possible triggers they could make him jump with.
(Connor’s fear is the only trigger they’ve found thus far, but it’s effective. It isn’t stronger than an anchor, so he can't jump if he’s afraid and being beaten, but if he’s scared enough, the alarm bells ring. First his skin gets cold, his hair stands on end, and then he gets a peculiar feeling in the pit of his stomach. As soon as he gets the feeling, he better sprint somewhere private, because he’s about to jump to some godforsaken time that is not his own.)
For all his mother’s lectures, Connor still daydreams about a life where he doesn’t jump, and can go out in public without being afraid of disappearing and reappearing later, completely naked. He starts looking at the girls at his school, wondering if they could be his anchor. He isn’t as attracted to them as he is to the idea of what they could be. He doesn’t think to look at any of the guys, doesn’t question why he wouldn’t.
He meets a girl named Marianne in Minnesota. She likes him, and she interests him, and she holds his hand for two days in school. When his mother finds out, she thrashes him so hard he almost passes out. He doesn’t make eye contact with Marianne for the rest of the month that they stay in the city, and he tries not to wince when all of her friends call him a dick behind his back.
He doesn’t give up, too stubborn for his own good, and when he meets Courtney in the next city, he doesn't back away when she corners him in the library and kisses him. Her lipstick is tacky and tastes weird, and he doesn't know where to put his hands, but she smiles at him. His mother sees the red wax on his lips after, and he has to call in sick from school for two days.
When he gets back to school, it only takes three days before his mother gets antsy. The reason for her nerves gets revealed when two days later, Courtney and her family are found dead in their homes. An attempted robbery, it seems, but nothing was stolen. Cause of death were stab wounds, after all members of the family were tied to chairs. If the family hadn’t been so innocuous, the police officers would have thought it looked like torture for information. Jeffrey (his name is Jeffrey now) doesn't say anything in the car as they high-tail it out of town, and neither does his mother, but they both know exactly what happened.
Jeffery never should have wasted any time thinking about anchors. He got complacent, and he dropped his guard and he got innocent people killed.
The next town he’s in, a girl named Danica smiles at him. Jeffrey never smiles back, no matter how inviting the smile is.
*
Neil only visits once during Andrew’s years at Juvie. It’s nearing the end of the second year, he’s just turned fifteen, and Andrew has been planning for this day for months. It’s the second to last day on the list, and no matter how shitty Andrew’s life has been recently, he's not willing to waste precious time.
It takes five guards that are willing to turn a blind eye, a discontinued maintenance stairway, four shifts of laundry duty he isn’t supposed to be on, and a pack of cigarettes, but Andrew makes it up onto the roof with forty-five minutes of free time and an orange jumpsuit around Neil’s size.
When he makes it up, he only has to wait a few minutes before Neil appears, disoriented and completely naked. Andrew chucks the jumpsuit at Neil’s head before sitting down heavily and staring at the horizon. He lights a cigarette and waits for Neil to sit next to him. Neil’s cigarette is pre-lit and waiting to be wasted.
“This is a different kind of roof than I’m used to,” Neil comments dryly.
“A lot changes in two years,” Andrew deadpans back at him. Neil winces a little, focusing on the smoke curling off his cigarette.
“I didn’t realize how long it had been,” Neil offers in something akin to an apology. Andrew doesn’t really care to hear it.
“Did you know I have a twin? Another exciting development since our last meeting,” Andrew says, voice a strict monotone. Juvie isn’t kind to outbursts of emotion. Neil obviously knows about Aaron, but Andrew continues anyways.
“His name is Aaron, and he desperately wants to get to know me. It’s a little bit pathetic in my opinion. He was very sad when I told him to fuck off the first time he reached out.” Andrew has seen him a few more times, the thick protective glass of the visitation center not the only boundary between them. The only common denominator they seem to share is their appearance. Andrew has never wanted a sibling, never wanted anyone to suffer through his hellish experiences, and Aaron has always craved someone that made him feel less alone. Both of them walk away from visitations disappointed.
“You told him to fuck off to protect him,” Neil says, and Andrew seethes with rage and something he desperately wants to deny. He forgets this every time he sees Neil, forgets how well Neil knows him. No matter what pretenses and defenses Andrew builds around himself, Neil sees right through them with those blue blue eyes.
“I can’t protect him forever,” Andrew says, dropping the facade of carelessness he has learned to adopt. “I have a year left in my sentence, and then Cass takes me back into her loving arms.” Andrew’s bitterness is tangible in the air around them. There is a pause while the atmosphere darkens. Whatever Neil is about to say, it is obviously not going to be fodder for a motivational poster.
“Find a way out,” Neil says. “Figure out your exit strategy, and commit to it. You and me, we’re survivors. We know better than to get trapped without a back door.”
“What have you survived, Neil?” Andrew asks. It’s meant to be cutting, but it comes out curious. Andrew has always wondered about Neil’s scars.
“That’s against the rules,” Neil says, looking into Andrew’s eyes. Andrew wants to put his hand on Neil’s scarred cheek, wants to trace the various lines that mar his torso, with his fingers, with his tongue. He wants and wants and wants.
Andrew looks away, back at the horizon. He can feel Neil’s gaze on the side of his face, and it burns.
“I’ve joined the Exy team,” Andrew says, supposedly as a non-sequitur. “The warden decided it would be an excellent way to ‘channel my more aggressive tendencies’. It feels like a load of horseshit, but it’s something to combat the boredom.” Neil breaks into an involuntary smile, the same stupid one that got Andrew into this mess in the first place.
“Oh?” Neil asks, trying and failing for nonchalance. Andrew cuts his eyes to him. Neil has mentioned Exy before, in the carefully careless way that makes it obvious how important Exy is to him. He never asked Andrew about it, but Andrew used to wonder if that’s how they would meet. Either way, Andrew has the potential to go far as a goalkeeper, if he can actually give enough of a shit.
“You aren’t subtle,” he says, and Neil laughs a little. Andrew would have smiled or at least tried to have smiled back at him some years ago, but that was before, back when he had anything in him to smile with. For now he will content himself with the ache in his chest looking at the blue of Neil’s eyes.
Neil asks Andrew questions about the position he plays, and how he feels about the sport and Andrew stares at the curve of Neil’s lips. It’s the best day Andrew’s had in what feels like years.
*
Jonathan drives. The steering wheel is slick with sweat under his hands, but his white-knuckled grip does not falter. He borders on speeding, knowing that the cops are the last thing he needs right now, but wanting to get away as fast as possible. His mother’s chest heaves with wet gasps as she struggles to bring air into her lungs. Her breathing has gotten worse as the hours have gone by, but she refuses to let him stop and treat her wounds. Her hands are clutched protectively around her torso.
It had been a normal Saturday in Seattle. Jonathan had been finishing up some homework, and his mother had been securing a safe transfer of money from one of her numerous accounts, not too much, just enough to live on for the next couple of months. Without warning, Jonathan had jumped, landing on a black sands beach, somewhere on the west coast. The beach was deserted, and he had sat on the sand, watching the tides come in.
He hadn’t waited long before he heard a car approach, further down the stretch of shore. The car seemed familiar, but at that distance, he couldn't really be sure. He stared at the silhouette of a boy tumbling out of the driver’s seat, visibly distraught before the boy grabbed something out of the trunk, and collected items from the backseat of the car. Jonathan couldn't really see anything for a few minutes after that, until the entire car went up in flames. The boy was far enough back from the inferno that he didn't flinch. Jonathan didn’t either, just watched the strange shadows the fire cast on the sand. Something familiar and insidious slid up Jonathan’s spine, like he was stepping on his own grave.
The boy holding vigil on the beach had turned suddenly and made eye contact with Jonathan. His features were shadowed, and the distance made it impossible to make anything out, but Jonathan could have sworn the stranger recognized him.
He had jumped back into the motel room immediately after that, only to find his mother sitting in a chair waiting for him, gun in hand and stomach stained red with blood. The floor was littered with dead bodies. She had shoved clothes at him and herded him out of the room into an already packed up car. She had pushed him into the driver’s seat, pointed him south and told him to drive, and now, hours later, he hasn’t stopped.
So he drives, down into California. His mother’s bleeding is sluggish and consistent, but she keeps pointing him south. He sees her pass out a couple times from the corner of his eye, but she always regains consciousness, if not as lucid as she was before her eyes shut last. Oregon is behind them, and now there is no question that her injuries are severe, maybe even fatal. He tries to make a turn towards a hospital, but she tells him to take a right towards the beach.
He has learned by now to be unquestioningly obedient.
Jonathan drives until his tires start to sink into the soft sand, about six or seven feet from the tide. His mother grasps his arm, what must be the last of her energy dedicated to gripping his bicep hard enough to bruise.
“Abram. Promise me you won’t forget what I’ve taught you.” Her voice is ragged and sharp and Abram wants cover his ears and pretend like his mother isn’t talking to him from her deathbed. “Don’t ever look back, don’t slow down, don’t allow yourself to be anchored anywhere for too long. Stay safe.” She sucks in a harsh breath, and Abram’s chest hurts just hearing it.
“I love you, Abram. Never doubt that,” she says to him, one last command, before her breath stutters, falters, and stops. Abram stares at her, waiting for her to breath in again. He tries to unbuckle her seatbelt, but the fabric is welded to her torso with blood. Abram gags, almost throws up.
He stumbles out of the car, half-delirious with shock and pain and fear and rage and grief. He suddenly recognizes the beach, the same black sand beach he was sitting on earlier in the day. Something cold and miserable runs through his veins.
He knows what he has to do. He’s already seen it.
He goes to the trunk, opening it to retrieve a gallon of gasoline, and fetches a lighter from one of the pockets of his backpack. He gets everything essential out of the car, before dousing it in gasoline. His mother is in the car. She used to be essential. Now she’s a corpse. Abram’s chest feels hollow.
The car goes up in flames easily. Abram stares at the car, and he doesn't cry. He doesn’t know if that’s bad or not. The heat and light from the fire becomes unbearable all at once, and Abram turns to stare at the figure sitting on the beach, his past self. He wishes he could go back into time to when his mother was still alive. It feels like years since he was Jonathan in Seattle, since he sat on the beach and watched the waves.
Jonathan disappears, and Abram finally gives into his bodily demands, puking his guts up on the sand. He can’t understand why he isn’t jumping, but the weight on his bones, like wet cement feels like an explanation.
His newest anchor has been discovered: bone-deep grief. His mother’s absence is an anchor in it’s own right, the space she should occupy wrapping itself around his skeleton.
He buries his mother’s bones under the spot his past self had been sitting on. He sits and stares at the waves until he can muster up the strength to walk to a main road. He hitchhikes his way to San Francisco, over the course of a few days. His body works on muscle memory, survival patterns ingrained in his psyche by his mother.
He throws a dart at a map in a seedy bar and hits Arizona. He contemplates his choices and shrugs. It’s not like he has anywhere better to go.
*
Today is the last visit from Neil. It marks the end of an era of sorts, the death of a constant. The future used to be marked by guarantees; no matter what, Neil would be on a roof on specific dates, and Andrew would see him. Now, there are only uncertainties.
So much has happened since that meeting on the top of the juvenile detention center. Andrew has gone from having no family in the world to living with his cousin and twin. Andrew hasn’t spoken to Cass in a year. Andrew has killed his ‘mother’.
He steals Nicky’s clothes to give to Neil, and walks past Aaron on his way to the roof. Aaron studiously ignores his presence, and Andrew does his best to not to care at all. It’s surprisingly effective.
The roof is cold, and the heights never really stopped making Andrew feel dizzy, but there is a certain comfort in the familiarity. When Neil is gone, Andrew will still have the roof. It will have to do.
Andrew sets the clothes down, and walks further away, standing on the flat tile of the roof and lighting a cigarette. He hears rather than sees Neil appear and waits for the rustling of clothes before turning and looking at him. Neil looks like he’s in his mid-twenties, confident and youthful and mind-shatteringly attractive, even in Nicky’s rainbow pride shirt. Andrew wants him deep in his bones, wants to crawl into his skin, wants to hold him down and kiss him and keep him. He always forgets how deep in his gut the attraction pulls. Years have passed, and Neil is still the object of all of Andrew’s daydreams.
Neil looks down at his shirt and smiles to himself.
“I take it you’ve met Nicky?” Neil asks, and of course Neil knows Nicky.
“Lots of things have happened since we last spoke,” Andrew replies, and his voice is carefully devoid of any bitterness.
“How long has it been?” Neil asks like he’s afraid of the answer.
“Two years,” Andrew says bluntly. Neil winces, but doesn't try to apologize.
“Guess you better catch me up then,” Neil says, as if he doesn’t already know everything in Andrew’s life, as if hasn’t known all along. Andrew decides to play along.
“I got out of Juvie. I have been adopted by a cousin you apparently know. He’s the most annoying person I have ever met and I’m starting to wonder if killing him would be worth it,” Andrew lists, tapping the air with his cigarette with every additional point.
“He cares about you, and he’s trying his best,” Neil interjects. “Cut him some slack.” Andrew quirks an eyebrow at him.
“You’re very invested in my idiot cousin, Neil. Why is that?” Andrew asks.
“We get married in the future,” Neil says in a complete deadpan. Andrew’s insides shake with some combination of jealousy and fury. Neil’s mouth twitches, his only tell, and the fury completely takes over.
“Well, I wish you luck in that endeavor, he’s obsessed with his boyfriend in Germany,” Andrew continues. Nicky had lived in Germany before coming home to deal with the aftermath of Tilda’s death. He was definitely not expecting Andrew to speak German fluently, and had tried to bond with him about it. Andrew blames Neil for that entire debacle. “Luther and Maria are very pleased about that, by the way. In other news, Aaron is finally sober, and I killed his mother.”
Andrew was expecting a response to that, some kind of reaction. He had spent months wondering what Neil would have said if he had been there, if Neil would have thought it was justified, if Neil would have been horrified by Andrew’s actions. In the actual moment, he hadn’t cared at all. Tilda had hurt Aaron despite Andrew’s warnings, and she deserved what she got. Even if Neil vowed to never speak to him again, even if Aaron did, he had no regrets. He would do it again in a heartbeat. He wonders if that’s what it means to love his brother.
Either way, Andrew was not expecting Neil to shrug agreeably, with no other reaction.
“Did you not hear me?” Andrew asks, somewhat incredulously. “I murdered Tilda Minyard. I killed her in a car wreck, and then I used the life insurance to buy myself a car.”
“I know,” Neil says, “It was a brilliant move, all things considered. Beautiful irony.” Andrew can't believe it.
“Is this what you expected from me when you met my five year-old self? What was it like watching a child grow up into a murderer? Into a monster?” Andrew pushes, trying to get something out of Neil, absolution or remonstration, any kind of closure. Neil just looks at Andrew, piercing gaze casually destroying all of his defences.
“What do you want me to say, Andrew? Do you want me to spout some bullshit about every life mattering, and murder always being wrong? I don’t care that you murdered Tilda, and I wouldn’t care if you murdered someone else. I never claimed to be moral. You warned her, and she didn’t listen, so you took care of her. Fuck what Aaron thinks, you did what you had to do. You aren’t a monster,” Neil says vehemently. Andrew feels raw, like his soul is laid bare in front of the whole world. Neil has always known the exact words to say, and Andrew hates it and craves it in equal measure. Neil is still talking.
“I knew exactly who you were when I talked to you on that beach. I knew what you were going to do, what you were going to endure, who you were going to grow up to be. I didn’t get into this blind. I didn’t have to talk to you that day, I could have hung out on your roofs alone and been fine.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Andrew asks, the answer something Andrew is not prepared to confront.
“Because it’s you, Andrew.” Andrew can’t control his sharp inhale at the words, elegant in their simplicity. “It’s always you, every version of you. You could have grown up to be serial killer, and I would still be on this roof, because it would still be you,” Neil’s voice is earnest and pointed and devastating.
Andrew hears it for the confession it is. For all that Neil spouts off about the rules, it is suddenly very obvious what he is to Andrew in the future. He feels sick with desire, dizzy with fear. He steps closer to Neil, close enough to feel the heat coming from Neil’s skin and throws the cigarette to the floor, crushing it under his heel. Neil looks at his approach, and makes no move to step away. The heat in his gaze almost reminds him of Drake, but it is tempered with something infinitely cautious and tender, like Andrew is something to be treasured, rather than something to be taken.
“This is the last visit on the list,” Andrew says, staring up into Neil’s face. Neil angles his face downwards, enough that they are face to face. Andrew can count every single one of Neil’s eyelashes, can feel the soft puffs of Neil’s breath on his lips.
“I know,” Neil says, and his lips almost brush Andrew’s. Something about missed chances rings in Andrew’s head, and words fly of out Andrew’s mouth unbidden.
“Can I kiss you?” Andrew’s heart almost crawls into his throat to shove the question back into his traitorous mouth. He feels lightheaded with fear and doubt. Andrew isn’t used to wanting to act on his own desires, and everyone is a possible threat, but Neil has always made Andrew feel safe. Neil is no more a threat to Andrew than he is to himself. At the end of the day, no matter what happens to Andrew, no matter how many times he is hurt, he trusts Neil.
“Yes,” Neil replies, as if there had never been a question, and it’s all it takes before Andrew pushes forwards and oh.
Andrew hadn’t ever dreamed of getting this close, of actually kissing Neil, but if he had, the dreams would be nothing compared to reality. Neil’s lips are warm and soft and Andrew can feel himself drowning in them. He brings up his hands to Neil’s hair and twines the auburn strands around his fingers. Andrew’s fumbles with Roland are nothing compared to how easily Neil navigates Andrew’s mouth, teeth biting with just the right amount of pressure, the rhythm of the kiss as steady as a heartbeat. Andrew drops his hands to Neil’s shoulders to keep him in place, before he realizes Neil’s hands are clasped together behind his back. Neil hasn’t touched him at all, aside from what Andrew deliberately asked for.
Andrew doesn’t realize he has pulled away until he hears Neil asking what’s wrong. Neil has withdrawn from him, but he’s standing close enough to catch Andrew if he falls. Andrew looks at Neil’s eyes, at the concerned look on his face and a part of him that he thought died a long time ago finally breaks.
Neil is everything Andrew ever dreamed of and everything Andrew thought he could never get. He can time-travel and he changes his appearance and his age, and he shows up and he stays. For some reason he wants to be with Andrew, wants to kiss him on rooftops and respect his boundaries. He wants Andrew, the way that Andrew wants him and he always knows the right words to say, always knows exactly what Andrew is dealing with. He is, very literally, too good to be true. Andrew’s brain roils with new and sickening understanding. Neil is the most normal part of Andrew’s life. Neil is an impossibility. Neil is the realest thing Andrew has ever known.
Neil isn’t real. Neil can’t be real.
“I hate you,” Andrew whispers, voice torn from his throat. It’s the truth. He hates his own creation, the refuge of a lonely child that he has only just now outgrown. He hates that he could delude himself for so long. He hates this construct, this perfect person, someone safe who parrots everything Andrew needs to hear back to him, the self-delusion inherent in his beautiful smile.
“I know,” Neil whispers back, mouth quirked in the saddest smile Andrew has ever seen. He disappears, and Andrew is left alone on a rooftop. Andrew swallows hard and tries to come to terms with the idea that he has always, always, always been alone on the rooftop and is only just now realizing it.
*
Neil Josten is created in Millport, Arizona, a small town, not worthy of any consideration. He finds an empty house in a neighborhood where nobody asks any questions. He enrolls in a high school, forging all the paperwork required, withdraws enough money to survive on, and makes sure not to do anything that will draw attention to himself.
Except for the Exy, that is.
Without his mother, he has no cover or protection for his ill-timed jumps. He has to stay in his own time as much as physically possible, and while his mother’s memory keeps him in place, he needs to take precautionary measures. Exy is an acceptable option to anchor him in one place. (He tries to convince himself it’s not just because he missed the feeling of a racquet in his hands, the adrenaline that pumps in his veins with every step on Millport’s shitty court, but he has never really been one for self-delusion.)
So Neil squats in the house, sleeps nights in the locker room, lives his life quietly, and tries not to feel like he’s waiting for something far bigger than him to find him.
A storm front develops on the horizon. Neil closes his eyes and goes to sleep.