Chapter Text
The world snaps back into focus the moment Andrew swings a racquet into Neil’s gut.
It feels like a nightmare at first. The impossible high of his medication takes him all the way up until he doesn’t know what is real and what is his imagination. He can feel a grin stretch over his face, so wide that his muscles strain from the effort. The reverberations from the racquet travel up his arms, and it feels so lifelike that for a moment, Andrew thinks this might be real.
But no. It can’t be. It is a dream. Otherwise Andrew wouldn’t be hitting Neil with a racquet.
“God damn it, Minyard,” Coach says from the door, events unfolding exactly according to Andrew’s memory. Of course they are. Andrew’s memory is perfect, even on these fucking pills. “This is why we can't have nice things."
Andrew considers throwing out an original sentence just to see what would happen, to see if the dream will change direction, but his medicated brain ensures that correct words trip out of his mouth before he can even finish that thought.
"Oh, Coach. If he was nice, he wouldn't be any use to us, would he?"
"He's no use to us if you break him."
"You'd rather I let him go? Put a band-aid on him, and he'll be good as new."
The same exact words, the same exact exchange. This dream shit is pretty accurate.
Neil-who-is-not-Neil groans from his place on the floor. Andrew’s cheeks hurt from the width of his grin as he looks down.
“Better luck next time!” Andrew sing-songs, because this is how this dream should go.
“Fuck,” Neil-who-is-not-Neil hisses, but that’s wrong. One word away from expectations, so Andrew peers down at him, mouth stretched in unnatural amusement. Neil-who-is-not-Neil looks up from a mess of fake-black hair and meets Andrew’s gaze with his fake-brown eyes. Everything about him is fake, but the way he breathes out “Andrew?” feels very, very real.
Andrew drops the racquet to the ground with a clatter, crouching down over Neil-who-is-not-Neil. He grabs his chin and tilts his face upwards until they’re almost nose-to-nose, staring each other down. Neil-who-is-not-Neil’s eyes sweep over Andrew’s own face, confused gaze lingering on Andrew’s stretched lips. Andrew can’t stop smiling, no matter how much he tries.
“It talks like Neil and sounds like Neil, but it doesn’t look like Neil at all,” Andrew concludes, words tripping out of his mouth with no encouragement from his brain.
“Andrew,” Neil-who-is-not-Neil says, sounding desperate. “What is happening?”
This seems too real to be a dream. Andrew can feel the warmth of Neil’s skin under his fingertips, the clench of his jaw as he tries to swallow down his confusion and fear. Andrew’s own brain feels like he’s high, like he’s back on those fucking meds. His dreams are often realistic, but they’ve never felt quite like this.
“This is not a dream, then,” Andrew concludes. “You’re Neil.”
“Andrew,” Neil says, and Andrew’s hand automatically slides from his chin to the back of his neck in response to the desperation in Neil’s voice. Neil shudders at the contact, and every muscle in his body unlocks.
Andrew looks around. He knows exactly where they are; the Millport high school locker room is still pristine and clear in his memory. Everything looks the same, down to sweat stains on the benches, scattered towels on the floor, and Kevin Day sitting on the entertainment center.
Kevin looks at them like he’s seeing ghosts.
“Kevin,” Andrew says, dragging Neil until he’s standing up, hand gripping Andrew’s sleeve like it’s a lifeline. Through the haze of medication, Andrew can barely feel thankful that Neil is not gripping his hand instead. But Neil is Neil, even if he doesn’t look like Neil at all, and so he realizes that Andrew is in no state to appreciate any contact he has not initiated. “Come here.”
Kevin comes.
Neil’s eyes latch onto him immediately, and he sucks in a sharp breath as he notices the number two on Kevin’s cheekbone.
He meets Andrew’s gaze, eying his medicated grin. His face shutters as the gravity of the situation dawns on him.
He doesn’t have time to say anything before the coaches interrupt them. Andrew is surprised they’ve stayed quiet for so long.
“You better have a good explanation for this, Minyard,” Wymack snaps, his sharp eyes noting Neil’s death grip on Andrew’s sleeve and Kevin looming over them both like a very lost, very overgrown child. “What fresh hell is happening with you two?” This is clearly aimed at Andrew and Kevin. So he does not know Neil at all.
“Neil,” Hernandez, hovering just behind Wymack, says, “Jesus. Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Neil answers, automatic, the lie slipping from his lips with ease. “Just a little startled, coach.”
“Yeah, Minyard has that effect,” Wymack agrees, even as his gaze settles on them with unbearable weight. Wymack has always seen more than most people suspected, and even drugged up, Andrew doesn’t miss the suspicion on his face. “I see the three of you are best pals by now. Are you ready to listen to our offer now, kid? I already spent money on three airplane tickets, so the least you could do is hear us out.”
Neil visibly gathers himself together. His grip on Andrew’s sleeve doesn’t loosen, and he steps even closer to Kevin’s side as Kevin hunches into himself, but his face smoothes out into something unaffected and neutral. “You know what, I think I should. You went through all that effort; you deserve to be heard out.” Nobody who actually knows Neil would believe it, but Wymack doesn’t remember, and Neil has been playing at being quiet and meek while he lived in Millport. Only Andrew and Kevin know better. Neil looks at Hernandez with a firm gaze and says, “Coach, do you mind giving me some time with them? I want to talk to them alone.”
“Neil—” Hernandez hesitates but folds under the steady expectation Neil aims at him. His time as a captain of a team as strong-willed as the Foxes has honed his natural stubbornness into something approaching cool determination. Very few people are able to disobey Neil Josten when he looks at them with a firm expectation of being listened to and obeyed.
“Call me if you need me,” Hernandez sighs. “I’ll be right outside.”
Neil watches him leave with sharp eyes, but as soon as the door closes, he swings his gaze to Andrew.
“Andrew, what happened?”
“No idea!” Andrew chirps, too amused by far. He can feel unnatural laughter bubbling in his chest, and it takes all of his limited concentration to push it down. “Do you think there’s a hidden camera here somewhere? I bet it would be a hit if they caught us like this.”
Neil’s fingers on his sleeve spasm when he realizes he will get nothing more coherent from Andrew’s drugged-up mind. He turns to Kevin. “What’s the last thing you remember?” Kevin huddles further down, as if he wants to disappear into the space between them, hiding. Neil frowns. “Kevin, snap out of it! What’s the last thing you remember?”
“We—” His eyes flick to Andrew, note the grin on his face, and then flick away as if it’s too much for him. “We were in our apartment, back in Atlanta. We were getting ready to go to Palmetto tomorrow.”
“For my graduation.”
“Yes,” Kevin says. “I don’t know— what’s happening?” He takes a short, aborted breath, looking as if he’s on the verge of a panic attack.
“Okay, I see that something important is happening here and you three chucklefucks are trying to deal with it,” Wymack interrupts, arms crossed in front of his chest. The confusion on his face turns into worry at the obvious agitation between the three of them. “I have no idea how you know each other, but you better tell me what’s going on before you make an even bigger mess of it.”
Neil’s other hand grabs onto Kevin’s forearm — his left one — in a protective gesture. Kevin folds into it with a subdued keen even as he refuses to meet Wymack’s eyes. Neil exchanges a look with Andrew and opens his mouth to speak, but Andrew’s drugged-up mind is faster and more chaotic.
“Either all three of us went cuckoo overnight, or we have time traveled." Wymack looks at them, dumbfounded when neither Neil nor Kevin denies it. “Oh, Coach. I think this is a bit outside of your pay grade.”
And then he laughs, unable to suppress it anymore as Wymack watches them in confused horror.
…
Eventually, Neil manages to shuffle the whole group out of the locker room, brushing off Hernandez with another slew of casual lies as he leads them towards an almost empty diner and herds them into a secluded booth where no one will be able to overhear them.
Neil, Andrew and Kevin cram into a single seat. It would have been easier for one of them to sit beside Wymack, but Neil refuses to release Andrew’s sleeve, and Kevin sticks to them like a particularly stubborn burr. They squeeze inside with Neil in the middle and practically in Kevin’s lap as he tries to give Andrew as much space as possible without leaving his side. Andrew is pathetically grateful for their presence even as the thought of actually touching anyone makes his skin itch with the need to claw it off.
“Alright,” Wymack sighs after the waitress leaves, their orders placed in front of them. He’s gripping his coffee cup like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. “Spit it out. I know you didn’t just say you’ve time traveled. I would expect that kind of thing from Andrew, not you, Kevin.”
Kevin whines under the weight of imagined disappointment. “I don’t know! One moment I was with Andrew in Atlanta, and the next Andrew was hitting Neil with a racquet. This is impossible! This shouldn’t happen.”
“Unless this is a collective hallucination, I have no better explanation,” Neil says.
The only reason Andrew is sure this is not a hallucination is Neil’s fingers tugging at his sleeve, the warmth of his body beside Andrew. They’re too real to be hallucinations. Not even his meds could make him imagine that. Neil is not a pipedream. They’ve already established that, long ago.
Except that hasn’t happened yet, has it? It won’t for several more months.
“Well, you lot are not high, I can tell you that,” Wymack says. “Kevin had no time to take any drugs, and Andrew is only as insane as usual. I have no idea about you, kid.”
“I don’t do drugs,” Neil scoffs. “And this is real. Coach, do you really think we could fake all of this?”
Wymack eyes Andrew’s grin and says, “No.” All of them know that this soon after his latest dose, Andrew could no more fake everything that has happened than keep his mouth shut. His brain is currently too fucked up to keep an act going.
“We need to figure out what we’re going to do,” Neil says.
“I want to go back,” Kevin whimpers, covering the number on his cheek with his hand.
Andrew can’t blame him. Even deep in the haze of medication, the thought of going through the next year again hangs heavy in his chest. He tries not to think about Thanksgiving, but his memory in combination with the pills provides him with a movie in technicolor, every sensation amplified until it becomes impossible to concentrate. The hands on his skin, the blood on his face, the sound of the door being kicked in, all of it plays on loop even as he tries to follow the conversation happening around him.
“We don’t know what brought us here,” Neil points out reasonably, the only anchor in the madness of the situation. “We don’t know the way back. We don’t know if we can go back. We will have to adapt to the circumstances.”
“Easy for you to say,” Kevin grumbles. “I can’t— Riko is still out there.”
“Easy for me to say?!” Neil gapes, grabbing Kevin’s chin and forcing him to meet Neil’s eyes. “Look at my face, Kevin.” His smooth, unscarred face. Neil’s father is also still alive. “Look at Andrew. Do you think this will be easy for me?”
Kevin is the first one to look away.
“Okay, I need you to calm down,” Wymack says, in that steady way of his. “Obviously, some shit is going on, but if you idiots continue to argue between yourselves—”
He’s interrupted by a shrill ringing of a cell phone. It takes Andrew several moments and everyone else at the table turning to stare at him to realize it’s his phone.
For a moment, he contemplates not answering, but as soon as he sees Aaron’s name on the screen, he accepts the call.
“What.”
“Andrew,” Aaron’s voice, tinny over the line and out of breath for some reason, rings out in his ear. “Andrew, what the hell is happening? I’m back in Palmetto, and Nicky’s here too; he tried to call Erik, but nobody is answering. What the fuck is going on? Where are you?”
“In Millport. Are you safe?”
“Yeah, we’re in our dorm. We locked it as soon as we figured out something's wrong,” Aaron says. He must be pacing around the dorm; Andrew can hear him moving. “You said— you’re in Millport. Why?”
“Take a fucking guess.”
A pause. “Is Josten there?”
In lieu of an answer, Andrew drops his phone to the tabletop and switches on the speaker.
Neil leans forward. “Aaron?”
“Josten,” Aaron says, habitual disdain missing. “What kind of mess did you start this time?”
Wymack raises his eyebrows at Aaron’s words, but Neil only scoffs. “This is not my fault. Do you even know what happened?”
Aaron hesitates. His science and rational-thought brain probably has a hard time dealing with this. Aaron has never had any imagination. Andrew decides to help him out.
“It’s regular Back to the Future shit here,” Andrew cackles. “We’re only missing a DeLorean.”
After a suspiciously long pause, Aaron says. “Andrew, why do you sound like that?” When Andrew doesn’t answer, he turns to other sources of information. “Josten. Why does he sound like that?”
“How stupid can you be?” Neil wonders. “He’s on his meds, Aaron. And we’ve clearly time travelled.”
Aaron chokes audibly. “That’s not possible.”
“You’re telling me,” Wymack murmurs. “I almost wish all of you had taken enough drugs to come up with a prank like this.”
“Well, it’s happening whether you think it’s possible or not,” Neil snaps. “We need to figure out what we’re going to do. We need information. You mentioned Nicky remembers?”
“Yeah— uh, yeah, he remembers. But I think the others might too? There was a commotion in the hallway. Allison was crying.”
“Allison?!” Wymack asks in disbelief.
Andrew taps his fingers against the phone. “Guess the bitch got her mutt back.”
Neil’s eyes widen in realization. “Seth is alive,” he breathes.
“Wait a minute,” Wymack snaps, for the first time sounding angry about the situation. “What happened to Seth?” When no one answers him immediately, he aims a fierce scowl in their direction. “I’d normally let you little fucks do whatever you think you have to do, but if there is a threat to my team, I need to know.”
“You signed up for that threat, Coach, don’t chicken out now!” Andrew laughs.
“Enough with the riddles, Minyard. Explain.”
“Riko,” Kevin whispers. “Riko killed him. And he’s alive now. He’s going to do it again.”
“He won’t,” Neil says. “We won’t let him. Riko is not as dangerous as he thinks he is, and we know all of his tricks now.”
“We?” Aaron scoffs. “This is your shit, Josten, yours and Day’s. Don’t lump in the rest of us with you.”
“You’re not stupid enough to think you’re not involved.”
“If you would just do the smart thing and leave us all the fuck alone—”
“Aaron,” Andrew says.
Wymack raises his eyebrows.
A moment of silence from the other end of the phone. “Fuck you, Andrew,” Aaron bites out. “If this is true— if we’re really back, you know what’s coming. You know what Riko’s going to do.”
Drake. Thanksgiving. There has never been proof, but everyone on the team knows Riko was the one pulling the strings to make it happen.
Instead of addressing the elephant in the room, Andrew says, “Neil stays.”
Neil meets Andrew’s gaze. Andrew can see the exact moment the words register, his face turning mulish. “You heard him. I’m staying. Kevin’s not going anywhere either. We will just have to make sure that Riko has no cards to play against us until we can get rid of him.”
Wymack leans forward and stops Aaron from answering. “Okay, arguing amongst each other will not help. What do you need to do?”
There is not much of a plan to be had, not here in a small diner in Millport, thousands of miles away from the rest of the team. They agree on some basics before Andrew, Kevin and Wymack have to head for their flight. Neil can’t come with them to Palmetto, since he still has to graduate to be qualified for the team. But he signs the contract with an easy flourish, looking at the name Neil Josten with steady satisfaction that has been visible every time he used it in the last four years. Aaron is tasked with corralling Nicky and the upperclassmen until the three of them return, and Neil promises to buy a phone so that they can stay in contact until he graduates.
It’s not much. It’s not even a plan, really. But it is a manageable goal and enough to tide them over until they talk with the rest of the team and figure out what the hell is going on.
When they exit the diner, Andrew lingers by the door. Wymack glances at him with an unreadable look before turning away and ushering Kevin towards their rental car, leaving Andrew alone with Neil.
“Cigarette?” Andrew asks.
“I thought you quit,” Neil says, already reaching into his pocket to fish out a crumpled pack and a lighter. He lights two cigarettes, passing one to Andrew, careful not to let their fingers touch. The second one he brings to his lips, lighting the cherry bright red with an indrawn breath, and then cups it in front of his face, breathing in the smoke.
Andrew forces his eyes away. “Not right now.”
“You will have to go through that again,” Neil says. “I’m not looking forward to it. You were impossible when you had the cravings.”
“You won’t be here to see it. I won’t have any access to nicotine during rehab.”
Neil’s face shutters. His fingers tighten around the cigarette hard enough to almost crush it. “Rehab?”
Andrew pretends not to notice his reaction. “I need to get off of these fucking pills.”
“Of course,” Neil says. “Fuck. Fuck. This is such a shitshow.” Leaning against the grimy wall of the diner, Neil drops his head forward until his eyes are shaded by his bangs, only the red light of the cherry showing the lines of his face. “You should talk to Dobson. She’s always hated the pills, and if you have Wymack backing you up, you have a real chance of going to rehab pretty soon.”
Andrew nods in agreement.
“Does it have to be Easthaven?” Neil asks.
“It says so in the court settlement,” Andrew answers, voice flat.
Neil’s lips curl in contempt. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down. “Riko most likely won’t do anything. You haven’t really pissed him off yet. He's not going to get himself in trouble by paying people off so soon in the game.”
Proust’s name hangs heavy in the air between them.
Andrew shrugs. “I need to get off these meds.” Even if he has to go to Easthaven again. Even if he has to risk Proust. He’s useless on the fucking pills, easily distracted and with slower reflexes, his thoughts scattered like butterflies. He can’t protect anyone like this.
“I just wish you didn’t have to go to that fucking place.”
Andrew shrugs. If wishes were horses… “We’re all beggars here.”
Neil looks at him strangely but doesn’t comment.
“Look at the bright side,” he says. “If you go to the rehab soon, at least you won’t be missing any games.” The Foxes’ season is already over; they’ve gotten farther than ever before, but one lost game has cost them the season. Andrew didn’t care the first time, and he doesn’t care now, but he guesses it will be easier to talk Wymack into getting him into rehab if it won’t make him miss any games.
“Another good reason to delay it until the fall season starts,” Andrew says instead of acknowledging Neil’s point.
Neil scoffs. “You won’t do that.” He’s right, but Andrew won’t be admitting it. The Ravens are coming down south in the fall. He has to be sober by then. “I’ll buy a phone today and call you as soon as I have it set up.”
“With your luck, you’ll catch me while I’m in the plane.” Andrew drops his cigarette and crushes it beneath his shoe. He looks over the parking lot at their car. Wymack and Kevin are already waiting inside.
“Doesn’t matter,” Neil says vehemently. “I’ll still call.”
“I’ll be sure to memorize your number just to know when the disaster is incoming.”
Neil’s lips twitch into a faint smile. Not the wide, psychotic Butcher’s grin, or the fake one he uses to lie to people he doesn’t know. Instead, it’s a small curve of his lips, subtle and genuine. Andrew wishes his eyes were blue again. The expression looks wrong without blue eyes.
“You do that,” Neil agrees. He glances at Wymack and Kevin. The smile disappears from his face. “You have to go.”
Andrew says nothing.
“You’ll miss the plane if you stay here.”
“What a tragedy.”
“Well, Wymack did pay a lot for those tickets.” Face softening, Neil says, “I will call as soon as I have a phone on me.”
Four years ago, Andrew would have said that he doesn’t care. Now, he only nods, even though he can’t bring himself to move.
Neil sighs and offers him his hand, palm up. Andrew stares at it for several long moments even as Neil waits with limitless patience. Eventually, slowly, Andrew places his own hand over Neil’s, squeezing softly. It feels different than it used to, fewer calluses, no scars — but the way Neil’s fingers fold gently over his own is exactly the same. Andrew breathes out, and his shoulders drop.
“I’ll call,” Neil assures him once again.
“You better,” Andrew says, squeezing once again before decisively dropping Neil’s hand and turning his back on him. “You’re such a trouble magnet that without a call I will have to assume you’ve gotten yourself kidnapped by the mafia.”
Neil’s quiet laughter follows him as he strides off. Not looking back is harder than expected.