#ravenvsfox

No, the worst part is how quiet Neil is when he says, “Don’t yell at me.”

Andrew swallows and stares. He doesn’t know what to say, might fracture things more if he speaks, so he waits. The flicker of his anger didn’t set Neil’s kerosine on fire - this time. He’s not willing to risk it again. Silence is better. 

Neil drags in a slow breath. It shakes. Andrew curls a fist and feels like killing all of the people who have ever made Neil afraid. 

He realizes that he might be on that list. Should be on that list.

“Andrew,” Neil says, and his voice is steady but fuck, it’s still so quiet. It makes Andrew’s outburst seem even louder. “Andrew, look at me.”

He does. Neil’s flush his gone, his eyes turned soft and limpid. His mouth is a broken bird. And Andrew did this. Andrew reduced Neil from something fierce to something hollow. It’s so easy to forget that Neil is haunted by his past just as much as - probably more than - Andrew, so easy to let that abrasive personality and that razor sharp tongue become the only thing Andrew focuses on. That’s why they’re in this situation. 

Andrew forgot that Neil knows all too well how to break.

With Andrew’s attention, Neil tries again. “Let’s go for a drive.”

Some deeply-buried memory of his drug-infused self wants to refuse out of sheer pettiness, wants to tell Neil no just to see what happens. 

He walks to the dresser and grabs the keys without looking at Neil.

They drive for hours. Or, rather, Andrew drives. Neil is a silent passenger, taking up space and saying nothing. They share the cigarette pack until it’s gone, and then, off the edge of the interstate, they stop for more.

Andrew drives them to the middle of nowhere, the end of the world. He slams on the brakes and parks the car, feeling like if he drives any further he’ll stop existing. They’re in the middle of South Carolina, doesn’t matter where. One more mile, one more rotation of tires, and the world might give out and send Andrew into free fall.

Neil gets out before Andrew, before the engine is even shut off, and meets him at the hood of the car. Andrew sits down next to him, staring out over the expanse of grass and trees and nothing and thinking that perhaps this is where he should stay. Nothing belongs nowhere.

But then, if Neil is nothing, he would have to stay too.

“I can’t get rid of you,” Andrew growls, and it’s an accusation and a plea all rolled up into one tight uncomfortable feeling in his chest.

Neil looks halfway to amused before he seems to remember that this is meant to be a serious conversation. He pulls his cigarette up to his face, stares at it in contemplation before taking a drag. He screws up his face when the smoke hits his lungs, but apparently that was what he needed, because he starts talking. “I don’t expect you to tell me everything, but I need you to stop treating me like I’m not… like we’re not….”

Talking has always been one of Neil’s strengths. That it’s failing him now snags and hold’s Andrew’s attention.

“I don’t like fighting with you. And I can take a lot, Andrew, but… not this.” Neil tapers out. The hours of driving spooked the anger and resentment out of both of them.

“That’s not a promise I can make,” Andrew says, staring at the horizon and flicking ash from his cigarette, “but I’ll try.” It’s not much to offer. It’s a roll of tape trying to mend a shattered bone. It’s nothing, useless.

But Neil takes it in both hands and cups it like it’s something special. He smiles at Andrew. The turn of his mouth is tentative and holds the graveyard of hurt that Andrew’s shouting dredged up from his past. Neil looks like Baltimore, looks ready to bury himself among the piles of skeletons and rotting corpses.

So Andrew touches his cheek, takes his hand, counts Neil’s scars and stares off at the darkness encroaching on the horizon.