Chapter Text
Neil Josten wakes up with a jolt, gasping for air. His chest is tight, his back sweaty, his breathing labored and uncontrollable. He sits up in bed and clutches at the front of his damp shirt, trying to find his heartbeat, which he feels thundering in his chest. It says you are alive, you are alive, you are alive.
As he tries to get a hold of his breathing, the memory of his father’s voice rings in his ears, something deep and gravelly and so distinctly cold. He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.
He sits in bed like that for a while, trying to breathe, trying to forget how real the dream felt—because it was real once, wasn’t it? And that’s the funny thing, really. He may be dead, but will he ever really be gone? Neil scrubs his eyes, hard, suddenly exhausted.
He reaches over to grab his phone, which sits haphazardly on the edge of his beat-up nightstand. He squints at the screen—2:41 a.m. A pop-up appears with a red light blinking angrily to alert him that his phone is about to die. Neil rolls his eyes and plugs it in, not bothering to open any of the dozens of unread texts that sit in his perpetually neglected notification bar.
He tries to sleep for another half hour or so, but can’t shake the feeling of rough hands gripping his limbs, holding him down, as a cold blade slices through his flesh. Finally giving up on sleep, Neil reluctantly decides to get out of bed and go for a run.
He quickly changes into a hoodie and running shorts, trying not to wake his roommate, Matt, up in the process. Thankfully, Matt lets out an impressively loud snore from his twin bed across their dorm room, which Neil takes as his final cue to make his exit.
Palmetto is punishingly hot in late August, even before the sun rises. Neil is graced with a slight breeze this morning, but it hardly makes up for the suffocatingly humid Southern air that he’s become acquainted with over the last year or so.
Despite the weather, he sets a fast pace in a desperate attempt to shake the memory of his dream. It’s only after a mile or two of losing himself to the rhythmic thumping of feet hitting pavement that he finally starts to feel more grounded.
Your name is Neil Josten. They are dead. You are alive.
It’s something he recites often. It used to be more of an incantation; a prayer—something to temporarily delude himself with. A wish, really.
Now, after everything, it’s just true. It’s an irrefutable truth that he swore would feel something like closure if it ever actually happened. Being someone permanent—someone real—would feel like freedom. Safety. Maybe it would even feel like peace. Instead, being real, being Neil Josten feels strangely…
He doesn’t know. Or he doesn’t want to name it. Either way he shakes his head, as if that will free the thought from his head.
His feet end up carrying him back toward the small college town near campus, and he slows to a walk as he makes his way into a local gas station. He grabs a water bottle from the fridge, which he chugs before reaching the counter, and fills a flimsy styrofoam cup with hot black coffee to-go. The smell of it, its bitter earthiness, is grounding, in a way. And god knows he could use the caffeine.
“Rough night or something?” the man behind the counter asks, eyes raking curiously over Neil’s scarred face.
“Or something,” Neil grumbles, squirming under the man’s curious gaze.
He quickly pays and leaves, feeling the eyes of the stranger following him out. It sets him on edge as familiar paranoia-induced thoughts begin to pour into his head about being followed, being watched.
Sighing at the still-dark sky that welcomes him outside, he shoves those thoughts aside and takes a sip of his coffee, burning the roof of his mouth a little as he debates on where to go next.
There’s no way he’s falling back asleep, and the thought of being back in the dorm kind of makes him want to scream. He supposes he could spend the time in the library doing something productive, but it’s only the first week of the fall semester, and he doesn’t have much to do yet anyway.
It’s not a difficult decision, really. He decides to go where he always ends up going.
Neil bypasses the large sign on the front gate of the skate park that reads “WEEKDAY HOURS: 9 A.M.-9 P.M.” and hops the fence with practiced ease. He sets his coffee down on one of the benches and locates his skateboard, which he routinely keeps stashed away in a nearby bush.
There’s no real reason not to bring his board back to the dorms with him, but he doesn’t particularly want to deal with any questions from Matt and Matt’s girlfriend, Dan. He hears Matt’s voice lightly scold him in his head: That’s part of having friends, Neil! Friends ask each other questions about their interests, believe it or not.
He ultimately ignores imaginary Matt and decides to keep leaving his board at the park. Old habits die hard, or whatever it is they say.
Neil chugs the rest of his now-cold coffee and grimaces slightly at the unpleasant taste before hopping on his skateboard with a running start. He skates around the park, finally feeling able to take breaths that fully fill his lungs. He relishes the feeling of the morning’s breeze on his sweaty skin and the way the wind combs through his messy hair. He takes a couple of deliberate deep breaths, inhaling the familiar, manufactured earthiness of freshly cut grass slick with early morning dew.
He skates until his legs start to ache, and the sun begins to peek up over the horizon. He debates starting to practice a new trick, but ultimately decides to take a break. Kevin will likely drill him later anyway, if he and Jean end up dragging Neil back to the skatepark that afternoon, which is more likely to happen than not.
He finds an oak tree to sit under, one with a wide trunk that he can put his back to. With his skateboard tucked under his arm, and the hood of his sweatshirt now pulled over his head, he tips his head back against the treetrunk and looks up at the sky, watching the stars grow progressively dimmer as the sun slowly continues to rise.
───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────
Neil doesn’t realize he had fallen asleep until two familiar voices arguing loudly in French wake him up. He blinks open his eyes wearily, then jerks awake and tries to feel around for a weapon that he doesn’t have. He gives up on that as he quickly remembers where he is and fully processes that an angry Kevin and Jean are suddenly towering above him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Kevin demands in French, like Neil’s a child who’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
Neil rolls his eyes at that and stretches out his limbs lazily, attempting to seem relaxed, like he intended to take a nap in the middle of a park at night.
“We tried calling. Matt picked up and said you left your phone at the dorm,” Jean chimes in, also in French.
Neil looks at Jean, trying to read his expression. His dark hair is messy, and there are prominent shadows under his eyes. He looks more concerned than angry now, and Neil can’t help but feel a little guilty.
Not for annoying Kevin, though.
“It was about to die, so I plugged it in,” Neil shrugs, switching their conversation to English. It’s harder to seem nonchalant in French, Neil thinks. “You guys are always badgering me about charging my phone, so really, you should be thanking me.” He stands up and offers them a sarcastic smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, grabs his skateboard, and tucks it back into its hiding place in the bush.
“How many times do I have to tell you that you shouldn’t leave your board outside?” Kevin scolds.
Neil ignores that and instead asks, “What time is it?” Neil’s first class isn’t until 10:30 a.m., but he’s not really sure how long he fell asleep for.
“It’s almost 9:00 a.m.—You’re going to make me late for class,” Kevin says, glancing worriedly at his watch then promptly glaring at Neil.
“No one asked you to come here, dipshit,” Neil shoots back, more amused by Kevin’s constipated look than he is annoyed by his characteristic petulance. “I’m fine.”
Jean and Kevin both groan at that. Neil watches as something shifts in Kevin’s expression, then, going from annoyed to outright enraged.
“Well, you know what? We wouldn’t have to search for you all the time if you just charged your stupid fucking phone and took it around with you like a normal, functioning person, but apparently, the bare minimum is too much of an ask for you,” Kevin starts, taking a step toward Neil. “You know, I’m sick of you acting like you don’t have people in your life that obviously care about you,” he continues, pointing an accusatory finger in Neil’s face, “You’re a real person now, so start acting like it, Neil.”
Neil tries to find it in him to get angry and to reply with a suitable retort, but his mouth suddenly feels very dry. He waits for a beat, still trying to will himself to say something, but all he can do is watch Kevin fume before he manages to muster up a shrug in response. Kevin groans again at that, still angry but sounding more exasperated now, and looks over to Jean for help.
Jean puts a reassuring hand on Kevin’s shoulder and says, “Just take my car, I’ll walk back with Neil.”
Kevin grumbles something under his breath—Neil thinks he hears “insolent child,” like Kevin’s not only a year older than Neil—while Jean places his car keys in his palm. He stalks off to the parking lot, not bothering to look back, effectively leaving Jean and Neil alone.
Jean turns his attention back on Neil and carefully looks him up and down, likely searching for any injuries Neil might've acquired in the couple of hours Jean and Kevin didn't know where he was. Jean holds out his hand, an implicit ask to search Neil’s arms that are hidden from view by his hoodie.
Neil huffs in annoyance but gives in, rolling up his sleeves and allowing Jean to turn his arms over and scan them. Neil watches Jean as he finishes looking, noticing how his eyebrows are drawn slightly together, creased with worry. Jean gently traces one of Neil’s newer scars, courtesy of his father, with his thumb, causing Neil to jolt slightly, tugging his arm out of Jean’s grip.
“I’m fine, Jean,” Neil says all too quickly and a bit coldly as he self-consciously tugs his sleeves back down over his arms. It’s been months since his father littered his body with these new scars, but Neil can’t help but feel uncomfortably vulnerable when people look at them too closely—even if it is just Jean, who saw the fresh wounds marring his skin before they scarred over.
Jean takes a step back but continues to study Neil, concern still etched into his features. It’s becoming increasingly irritating. He doesn’t need more of a reminder that he’s just as fucked up on the outside as he is on the inside.
“The nightmares still?” Jean asks firmly, which comes out as more of a statement than a question.
“Can we just go? I really need to shower before class,” Neil says in lieu of a response, averting his gaze.
Jean nods, and they walk back to the dorms, making light conversation, which Neil is grateful for. He’s not going to talk about his recurring nightmares with Jean, even if he and Kevin were the ones to piece him back together last semester after everything went down with his father.
Neil had refused to talk to the FBI agents until Kevin and Jean arrived at the hospital in Baltimore, where they were keeping Neil in the ICU. Kevin and Jean stayed with him throughout the entirety of the days-long investigation that followed, only really leaving him alone to shower and use the bathroom.
Having sat in during the FBI’s comprehensive questioning sessions, Neil didn’t have to re-explain what had happened, and Jean and Kevin didn’t ask. Letting Neil fall asleep on Jean’s shoulder and waking up to find Kevin gently changing his bandages, Jean and Kevin took care of Neil quietly but with a reverence he had never experienced before.
His friendships with Matt, Dan, Allison, and Renee were different; they could be loud and overbearing at times, often asking too many questions or offering support that Neil would never willingly take them up on.
Neil sighs loudly, thinking again about what Kevin said. Maybe he did need to start acting more like a real person. Having friends is alien to Neil—it’s almost as strange as having a real, legal name and a real home to return to at the end of every day.
Jean looks over at him then and gives him a questioning look.
“Kevin,” Neil explains, sighing again. Jean nods in agreement, smiling a little.
“Not to side with His Royal Highness, but I think Kev might be on to something,” Jean adds, lightly elbowing Neil in the side.
Neil huffs, not quite a laugh. “Maybe,” he says, pausing momentarily to contemplate his next words. “I’m sorry,” he admits honestly, meeting Jean’s gaze.
Jean gives him a look that says I know. I forgive you.
───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────
It’s the first day of Neil’s Tuesday/Thursday classes, and he’s walking into Statistics for the Life Sciences a bit late. He opens the door to the lecture hall as quietly as he can manage, already drawing the attention of a few wandering eyes.
As the professor continues on about the syllabus, Neil spots a familiar mop of light blonde hair. He grins mischievously to himself and plops down in the seat right next to Aaron Minyard.
Aaron doesn’t bother looking up from his laptop, seemingly enthralled with whatever it is he’s typing away about, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. Neil leans over to peek at his laptop, finally getting Aaron’s attention.
“Are you seriously already taking notes?” Neil whispers loudly, one eyebrow raised.
Aaron’s face contorts into a mixture of confusion and annoyance as he realizes who has sat next to him. He scowls at Neil, shaking his head dismissively.
“No. You’re not sitting here. Find somewhere else,” Aaron replies, shoving the notebook Neil just took out from his bag off his desk. The notebook makes a loud smack! as it hits the linoleum, earning Neil and Aaron an accusatory look from the professor.
“Now, is that any way to treat your future lab partner?” Neil says, picking up his notebook. If there is something (almost) as entertaining as annoying Kevin Day, it’s annoying Aaron Minyard.
Aaron’s jaw clenches as he turns his attention back to his laptop. He starts typing something, then lets out a frustrated huff and points a finger at Neil. “You’re not my fucking lab partner.”
───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────
“I’m your fucking lab partner,” Neil announces in Aaron’s direction, waving his copy of the lab partner assignment sheet around. On Thursdays, the class meets in a standard biology laboratory, where Aaron is already sitting at a table by himself, glaring at his computer.
“Why are you even taking this class? You’re not even a STEM major,” Aaron grumbles to his laptop. “It’s literally Statistics for the Life Sciences.”
“Elective,” Neil responds, shrugging. “Also, I switched my major to Math.”
“Math?” Aaron says incredulously, scrunching his nose in disgust. “There is something seriously wrong with you.”
Neil shrugs again. “I like math.”
“Of course you do.” Aaron looks up and studies Neil’s face for a moment too long, his eyes lingering on the new scars scattered across his features. He looks like he wants to say something, and it starts to make Neil nervous. He frowns.
“If you’re going to ask, just ask,” Neil says with more heat than intended.
Aaron turns back to his laptop, looking slightly embarrassed to have been caught staring. He resumes typing, which causes Neil to furrow his eyebrows in confusion. He waits for a beat before he asks, “...Well?”
Aaron glances up at Neil briefly before starting to type again. “If you wanted to tell me, you would just tell me,” he says, like it’s common sense.
Neil frowns again, feeling frozen in place. He’s used to people demanding answers from him—used to being made to feel like he owes everyone an explanation.
Aaron spares him an unimpressed glance and says, “Are you ever going to sit down, or are you just going to keep standing there like an idiot?”
Neil sits down awkwardly, feeling odd and slightly nauseous. He hears Kevin’s annoying voice in his head repeat his words from earlier: “I’m sick of you acting like you don’t have people in your life who obviously care about you.”
He exhales sharply, taking out his notebook as he decides to, once again, ignore Kevin’s dumb, irrelevant comment.
Aaron raises an eyebrow in Neil’s direction, to which Neil shakes his head in dismissal.