Chapter Text
Nathaniel didn’t remember much about his stay at Easthaven.
He remembers six months of drugs being forced down his throat. Six months of Proust. Six months of stale cigarettes after shitty sex.
Proust called them a reward for his ‘good behavior’. Nathaniel called Proust a fag, and relished in the sting of the cigarette burns the doctor left on his thighs as punishment.
And then there was Andrew. Starting goalie for the Palmetto Foxes. This was Kevins’ Andrew.
He remembers a small conversation, insults passed back and forth. He remembers smiling, really smiling, for the first time in years.
They spent almost all of their free time talking. It was the best day Nathaniel had for a long time.
He remembers the phone call with Riko that evening, remembers the threat in Riko's voice, the sharp Japanese filtering through the receiver
‘Do not make the mistake of getting comfortable, Three. I hear Proust has a thing for blondes.’
He calls Andrew ‘Doe’ and settles for observing Andrew from afar after that, watching for any sign that Proust really did have a thing for blondes.
Andrew leaves a few days after Christmas. Nathaniel is outside with Proust, sitting on a bench in the fenced-in garden, knees to his chest, with a Newport burning between his shaking fingers. One of his rewards.
He watches Andrew walk out with his twin Aaron and their cousin Nicholas Hemmick and fucking Kevin Day, and tries not to feel jealous. Tries not to think about how long Riko is going to leave him rotting.
Proust leads him back inside as Andrew peels out of the parking lot, and Nathaniel takes one brief moment to hate them all for leaving him behind.
-
Nathaniel walks out of Easthaven after eight months of drugs and Proust and shitty sex and stale cigarettes, and right into the waiting arms of the Nest.
Easthavens eight months had nothing on the Nests’ eight years. Eight years of knives and Riko and missed meals and more shitty sex and more drugs and practice and-
-and Jean.
Five years of Jean. Five years of hushed French and quick smiles and stitches and too many painkillers and No. No, Nathaniel! Spit it out, Nathaniel, please!
They share Jeans' shitty twin bed his first few nights back. Nathaniel’s new wounds wrapped with whatever Jean had been able to stockpile in his absence. Riko hadn’t been able to touch Nathaniel in months. He didn’t go easy on him.
Jean doesn’t mention it when Nathaniel swallows back one or two extra painkillers every night, just as Nathaniel doesn’t mention it when Jean pulls him close with red rimmed eyes, a whispered French lullaby on his lips.
Life continued.
Days at the Nest were spent on the Court, or in the special room they had for his ‘training’ with Lola.
Nights were spent mostly with Riko, or whoever else Riko had invited along.
And then Kengo got sick.
There were cameras and microphones shoved in Riko's face before anyone from the family could get around to calling him.
Nathaniel couldn’t move much the day after that. He took as many painkillers as Jean would allow, took a few of the heavy stuff when the older man wasn’t looking, and they set off to practice.
Riko got angrier and angrier as the days went by. Nathaniel got bloodier and bloodier, higher and higher.
And then Kengo was dead.
And Nathaniel was going down, down, down.
-
Nathaniel hasn’t had finger prints since he was five. Nathan had forced him to burn them off himself.
They were never in the system to begin with. He was born in the basement in Baltimore. There was no hospital. No nurse to gently clean him and wrap him in warm blankets.
No.
Nathaniel was cut out of Mary Hatford while the Butcher stood grinning a few feet away. Nathan told him once that he had wanted to do it himself. He’d wanted to cut into his wife and dig out his son.
He’d wanted Nathaniel’s first act in his life to be the murder of his mother.
Nathaniel did end up killing his mother. But that wasn’t until years later, when he was eight.
All this to say:
Nathaniel Wesninski is not a person. He does not exist. There is no record of him. No birth certificate, social security number. Nothing to prove he was anything more than a ghost.
He cannot go to a hospital and experience the gentle nurses and warm blankets. Not without the Moriyamas and their money to hide him.
Instead he is stretched across the back seat of Jean's car, holding himself together as they speed down the highway, away from Evermore.
They hadn’t had time to grab much. Jean had shoved as many bandages and tape he could into his pockets. Nathaniel hadn’t even grabbed a shirt. He’d been forced into a pair of sweatpants, shoved his baggy of pills in the pocket, and they were off.
It was hard to get the medical tape to stick to his wet skin, but the blood did well enough to keep gauze stuck to his wounds. He does what he can to the biggest cuts, and decides the rest will have to wait. Anything below his waist is unreachable to him anyway.
He looks up from his bloody torso to find Jean's eyes in the rear view mirror.
There are no tears on Jean's face. He’d stopped crying for Nathaniel years ago. Instead, there’s a fierce determination in his eyes and a hard set to his lips.
“Where are we going?” Nathaniel choked out. There was blood in his mouth, and the cuts along his face and neck made it uncomfortable to speak.
Nathaniel didn’t like talking very much anyway. Talking usually got him or Jean in trouble.
“Kevin.” Jean started, his eyes flickering between Nathaniel and the road. “We’re going to Kevin.”
Jean snarls Kevin’s name like it’s synonymous with Satan. And maybe to Jean, it is.
Nathaniel had (mostly) gotten over Kevin’s so-called ‘betrayal’. He understood why Kevin left, why he broke his promises and left Nathaniel and Jean to take the heat.
He understood, really, he did. But a part of him still hated the man for it.
Jean, however, hadn’t even considered forgiving Kevin. Probably never would. He had been abandoned by one family, he couldn’t forget being abandoned by a second.
Nathaniel groaned, letting his head roll until it smacked against the car window. “He’s gonna yell at me.” He grumbled, trying (and failing) to keep his words from slurring.
Jean rolled his eyes. “Where else would you have me go, stupid? Kevin has that nurse woman-“
“Abby. Her name is Abby, Jean.”
“Abby, yes, whatever. Their team nurse will put you back together-“
“‘m not Humpty Dumpty, Jean”
“And then. And then we’ll figure out a plan. If the Foxes will not have us, I know someone in California who might.”
Nathaniel blinked, reality finally setting in.
“Jean. Jean, we can't actually leave Edgar Allen. They’ll kill us.”
Without warning, Jean yanked the car onto the side of the road and slammed on the breaks, and Nathaniel was suddenly tossed to the floor of the car. He was still trying to claw his way back up into the seat when the back door opened, and Jean had his hands under Nathaniel armpits and was dragging him out of the car.
Nathaniel stood barefoot on the side of the road, dressed only in the blood soaked sweatpants. The gravel under his feet hurt, but he’d endured worse. This was nothing compared to the blood oozing wounds scattered across his body. He looked around at the empty highway and realized that it had already been hours since they’d left. The sun was nearly rising, the night already behind them. Nathaniel started to shiver.
“Look at me.” Jean snapped at him, and when Nathaniel didn’t comply he grabbed him by the chin and forced their eyes to meet, ignoring the small whimper Nathaniel let out. “We have already left Edgar Allen, Nathaniel. We are not going back. No. Listen to me.” Jean took a breath, and loosened his grip on Nathaniel’s face. “We are the best backliners in the NCAA. You can play any position on a team, the Master made sure of that. We are worth something, Nathaniel. We will prove that. We will talk to Ichirou, we will make whatever deal we need to. Because I need this. I need to be free.
You are 17, Nathaniel. You have spent your entire life as property of someone else. Kevin and I promised you that we would help you, and take care of you. We promised to be your brothers and just because that imbecile forgot his promises doesn’t mean that I will too. So you are going to sit your ass in that car, take whatever drugs I know you have on you, and let me take us to fucking Palmetto. Understood?”
Jean did not wait for a response. He dropped his hand from Nathaniel’s face and stalked back to the driver's side. When he decided Nathaniel had stood there looking stupid a little too long, he got back out and helped him back into the car.
Nathaniel tried not to think about Jean's words as they merged back into the highway. He avoided Jean's eyes through the rear view mirror as he pulled the little baggie from his pocket and swallowed a few pills dry.
Freedom was not something Nathaniel Wesninski would ever be allowed. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea.
But Jean deserved a life, and Nathaniel wasn’t going to rest until he was sure it would be a long and happy one.
-
Nathaniel was still groggy from his pills when Jean parked the car outside of the athletes dorms, but the pain was starting to ease back in. He could feel it with every slight movement.
“Are we calling him, or should we start throwing pebbles at windows and hope one is his?” Nathaniel grunted. He opened the car door, hoping the cool air would ease the fever he could feel creeping in. It did not.
Jean didn’t reply, but he did pull out his phone. Nathaniel took that as the answer it was.
He lay down on his back, letting his head hang off the edge of the seat and out the car door. The position pulled on his wounds, and the aches were starting to become more pronounced, but Nathaniel couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Kengo is dead.” Jean spat into the phone. “I am in the parking lot.” And that was that.
“That was cruel, Jean.” Nathaniel slurred. He could feel the blood, what little his ruined body had left, start to seep through his sweatpants. That wasn’t good. “He probably thinks ‘m dead.”
“Good.” Was all Jean said, and then he was sliding out of the car.
Nathaniel was starting to lose his grip on things. Blood loss and drugs may not have been the best idea, but he wouldn’t have made it the whole car ride without them.
He moved to sit up, biting his lip to keep a scream from escaping his lips.
That was very not good.
He swung his legs out of the car, ignoring Jean at his side as he forced his lungs to take in air. He just needed to make it a little bit longer. Kevin would call his father, who would bring the nurse. They’d patch him up and-
The doors to the building opened and slammed shut, and then Kevin was rushing towards them.
Jean stepped in front of Nathaniel before the striker could get within arms reach. He was big enough that Nathaniel had to lean around him to get a look at Kevin.
Kevin had stopped in his tracks three feet away, shivering in his own pajamas.
He looked Jean up and down with a frown.
“Jean,” Kevin sounded like he’d had the air punched out of him. “Why- How are you here? Did the Master allow this?”
Jean ignored his questions, grounding out a simple “We need your nurse.”
Kevin floundered for a second, trying to find his words. “Jean, Nathaniel. I-“
“The nurse, Kevin. As fast as she can get here. If I have to say it again, we will leave and I will find someone else to put him back together.”
It was a lie, Nathaniel knew. If Kevin did turn them away, Jean and Nathaniel would have nowhere to go. Jean would pocket what he could from a pharmacy, but they both knew Nathaniel was in bad shape. There was only so much they could do themselves.
He remembered Jean's California contact the man had mentioned, but there was no way Nathaniel was making it across the country in his current condition.
Kevin opened his mouth, undoubtedly to argue, but a different voice spoke up.
“Wymack and Abby are on their way. I called when Kevin started crying.”
He had known Andrew would come with Kevin, the two were practically attached at the hip. He felt something creep across his skin. Jealousy, maybe? He wasn’t sure who he was jealous of. It was probably just the fever.
Nathaniel did not look at Andrew. He wouldn’t.
Instead he grabbed onto the back of Jeans jacket, pulling at it to get the man’s attention.
Jeans turned his head to look at him, taking in the sheen of sweat across Nathaniel’s forehead, the glisten of blood that had started oozing with more urgency, the shivers wracking through his body. He slid his jacket off and wrapped it around Nathaniel's shoulders, pulling it tight around his body.
“Shit.” Jean murmured in quiet French. “Hold on, okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to pack a real bag for us. Can you take any more pills?”
Nathaniel shook his head, immediately regretting it when his vision swam.
“Not unless you want a repeat of last year.” Nathaniel muttered. “I’m sorry. It- It’s fine Jean. You got us here. Thank you.” He wasn’t sure how lucid his words were at this point, but he hoped Jean understood.
Jean squatted down so he was at eye level with Nathaniel. “Do you want to be sedated while you get cleaned up, or do you want me to keep you awake?”
The words were a whisper, Jean attempting to give Nathaniel a sliver of privacy.
Nathaniel looked over Jean's shoulder, glancing once at Kevin and once at Andrew.
The goalie was a few feet behind Kevin, and he was already looking at him, eyes blank. No, not blank. There was something there, but Nathaniel didn’t have the mental capacity to figure it out right now.
He dragged his gaze back to Jean, blinking back the haze settling over his eyes. “I need- I need to be as aware as I can be. I’m sorry.”
He knew this would make things harder, but he didn’t really know Abby or Wymack or Andrew. He didn’t trust them and he didn’t want to leave his body in their hands any more than he already had to.
Jean stared at him for a second before nodding. Jean would always understand. “Okay, then let’s get you up. We need to get you moving.”
Nathaniel pressed his lips into a hard line and let Jean stand him up. He leaned against the man’s side, one of Jean's arms around his shoulder, and tried to take steady breaths.
He heard a deep inhale, and assumed Kevin finally got a good look at his condition. The jacket Jean loaned him was big enough to cover a good bit of his battered body, but blood had seeped through his sweatpants, leaving them sticky against his skin. And he knew his face had seen better days. He tried to subtly turn further into Jean's side, but he figured by the tensing of Jean's body that he was pretty obvious about it.
“What did you mean ‘a repeat of last year’?” Kevin questioned. He didn’t dare take another step towards them, but his eyes tracked their every move. “What pills?”
Nathaniel tried to tuck himself even further into Jean's side, though there wasn’t much closer he could get. He was already smearing blood all over the other man’s clothes.
“It’s none of your business, Day. I have it handled.” Jean snapped.
Kevin scoffed. “None of my business? He’s like my little brother-“
Jean tightened his hold on Nathaniel, ignoring his wince. “He stopped being your brother a long time ago, you son of a bitch. He is my brother. And I say I have it handled.” He spat in harsh French.
The words had Kevin reeling, and Andrew taking a few steps forward. Nathaniel wasn’t sure if Andrew could understand French, but apparently the violent tone in Jean's voice was enough to get the man moving.
The four of them stood in tense silence for a few moments until Wymacks truck rumbled into the lot. There was the sound of two car doors opening and slamming and then there was a woman standing in front of them, a big red case in her hands.
She looked Nathaniel up and down, not bothering to hide her expression of horror.
“Does someone want to explain what the fuck is going on here?” Wymack demanded, his eyes on Kevin.
After a moment of stunned silence, Andrew spoke up for Kevin. “Seems pretty obvious to me, Coach. Two little birdies flew the Nest.”
Wymacks gaze snapped towards Jean and Nathaniel, but Jean spoke before the coach could. “I can explain later. We don’t have time for this right now. We need help. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
There were a series of glances between Wymack, Abby, and Andrew, and then they were moving.
Nathaniel floated as they led him inside and into the elevator. He heard Jean rambling off a list of injuries to the nurse and tried to toss in his own theories, but he wasn’t sure if his words came out the way he wanted them to.
He remembered trying to bite Abby’s hand when she pulled the baggie of pills from his pocket, likely to identify what it was he took and what it wouldn’t cross well with.
And then he was being stretched out on a towel covered floor, his head in Jeans lap.
Jean talked and talked while Abby forced Nathaniel’s body back together, making Nathaniel respond to keep him awake. When the time came to flip him so Abby could get a look at his back, the topic of sedation was brought up again.
Abby brought out a syringe and Nathaniel finally let tears slide down his cheeks. They weren’t going to take his refusal for this part.
“Nathaniel,” Jean murmured. “I’ll be right here the whole time. I won’t leave you. No one will touch you besides me and Abby. We have you. We have to do this.”
Nathaniel squeezed his eyes shut and burrowed his face into Jean's thigh. He felt a prick in his elbow and the world slipped away.