Archive of Our Own

There was nothing Neil detested more than overhead lights in stores. Any single situation could be made infinitely worse with the inclusion of fluorescents. Every store Neil wandered into was tinged with the paranoia that only such brightness could bring. The heavy awareness that his features were unmistakable. It didn’t help that these lights usually gave him a headache. Especially, as it was in the CVS at three in the afternoon, if these lights were flickering. 

Neil walked around the rack one more time, ignoring the twinge in his back and hip, trying to figure out if it was really worth it to buy a thirty dollar cane. He winced, thinking about the fifty dollar bill burning a hole in his back pocket. 

“If I get more than twenty-five dollars back,” Wymack had said sternly, passing over the cash, “I’m benching you.” 

Neil didn’t think the problem was that bad. He’d had leg pain for long enough that he knew how to deal with it. His mother had told him they were growing pains. When he stopped growing, he stopped mentioning it. When the pain spread, he popped a few Tylenol and waited. He stretched in the morning when he woke up, and in the evening when he went to bed. Sometimes his scars pulsed with the rain. It was no big deal. 

Abby, however, did not agree with Neil. Neil remembered her bewildered face when he answered honestly, casually, about the levels of pain he usually experienced. 

“-but that’s normal.” He insisted. “It’s probably just, like, my scars or something.”

Abby’s brow furrowed. 

“I mean, my body’s had a lot of damage. Even before I went on the run.” Neil continued, fully aware that he was digging a deeper hole. “Of course it hurts.”

“Of course.” Abby repeated hollowly. “Well, we need to manage it regardless.”

“I am managing it.” Neil said. “It’s nothing a few painkillers doesn’t fix.” 

Abby blinked. “Neil… how many painkillers would you say you take a day?”

Abby did not like Neil’s answer. 

And so, under threat of being benched, Kevin’s whining, and Andrew’s eyebrow, Neil was cane shopping. 

He sighed. The canes varied, mostly in color than in shape, but Neil didn’t want anything flashy. He reached a hand to tentatively touch one, brushing a finger along the cool handle before snatching his hand back. He huffed through his nose. 

Neil grabbed a simple, black, foldable cane off the circular rack, and hobbled his way to the cashier. He threw it onto the counter, startling the old woman from her magazine. She glanced warily at the cane, before taking in the scars on Neil’s face and wincing. Neil could smell her shock and horror, and wanted the transaction to be over as fast as possible. 

“Is that all for you, honey?” She asked.

Never before, not once in his whole life, had a single person referred to Neil as honey . Not even Nicky had the balls to try. He stared her down, and she shrank in on herself the tiniest bit.

“That’s gonna be 29.99 before tax,” She said. Neil handed over the crumpled, slightly damp, fifty dollar bill. She sorted out the change with a bluster. 

When she passed it over, she dropped the change into his hand and gripped it. Neil felt his hackles raise. 

“God bless you.” She said, seriously. The air between them dripped with the scent of her sickly sweet pity. She subtly traced a finger over his wrist, scenting the skin with her own emotions. Neil ripped his hand from hers, scent glands blaring a warning, and shoved the change into his pocket. He grabbed the cane before she could say or do anything else. Neil flipped her off at the doors. He walked quickly into the parking lot, beelining to where he could see Andrew smoking. He rubbed his wrist on the side of his neck on the way. He wanted to puke. 

Andrew watched him approach, tensing. He glanced down at the cane and then at Neil’s wrist. His nose flared and his eyes darkened. He turned towards the building, but, before he could move inside to rip her apart, Neil intervened. 

“Can we just go?” Neil asked. Andrew ran his eyes over Neil’s face. Andrew nodded and flicked his cigarette away. He trailed the ghost of a fingertip onto Neil’s wrist, a parody of the sympathetic gesture of the woman inside, before he opened the driver’s side door. 

Neil slipped into the leather seat with a bone deep relief, the ache in his back and hip dimming. Andrew peeled out of the parking lot as soon as Neil’s ass hit the seat. Neil traced the cane in his lap. The packaging crinkled under his thumb. Randomly, his ankle twinged. Neil gripped down on the cane and looked out the window. 

Andrew made it back to the Tower in record time. Neil launched himself from the car as soon as the car was parked. He didn’t want to think about what he had just done. 

He waddled his way over to the elevator and jammed his finger into the button. Andrew meandered up behind him, quiet yet demanding attention. Neil glanced over, but Andrew was looking ahead at the elevator doors. 

When they dinged open, Neil wasted no time in pushing the fifth floor button. 

“It’s not that big of a deal.” Andrew said when the doors closed. 

Neil wanted to scoff. Not that big of a deal . Neil’s body was failing him. His future depended on his body; what it could do, what Neil could do with it. Neil had survived his whole life up until that point because his body hadn’t crumbled. 

It was fucking bullshit. He was fucking fine. It wasn’t going to get worse, because Neil wasn’t going to let it. 

“Sure.” Neil dismissed Andrew’s statement. “Whatever.”

Andrew didn’t roll his eyes, but Neil could tell it was a near thing. Neil walked down the hallway, slower than he had a month ago, and Andrew matched his pace. Neil’s mood soured further. As soon as the door to their room was open, Neil beelined for his bed, tossing the cane onto a beanbag on the way. 

He burrowed himself into his mattress, cocooning himself in his blankets. His thighs and feet hurt from standing so long in the store, and his knee had been acting up the entire past week. 

Neil sighed and glared at nothing. He lifted up a pillow and buried his head underneath it. A few moments later, he heard Andrew shuffle in. He paused at the door, but Neil just burrowed himself into his bed further. Andrew huffed quietly, but lifted himself up onto his own bed above Neil. Once he was on his own mattress, Andrew dropped something from above. 

“Clean up after yourself.” Andrew said, and Neil looked up to see the cane he had just bought. “I’m tired of cleaning up your messes.”

 Neil rubbed his face on his pillow in frustration. 

“I don’t want it.” He said petulantly. “I was handling my mess just fine.” 

“Not well enough.” Andrew replied. “Now it’s being handled.”

“If you guys would just let me take pain meds–”

“Neil.” Andrew warned. Neil went silent. He wanted to rage. He wanted to jam his fists into the wall, let the venom on his tongue drip onto the floor. He wanted to tell Andrew that he couldn’t possibly understand how it felt. 

But that wasn’t true. Out of anyone, Andrew understood how it felt for a body to betray itself. He understood the ways a body could hurt. He understood how pills could harm. 

That didn’t mean Neil had to like it.

When Neil was thirteen, he jumped out of a moving car. That’s where his longest scar came from; the road rash on the side of his torso. He broke four rips, bruised probably the whole area. He’d been shot, but, somehow, this pain wasn’t anything like that. Every time he breathed every single nerve in his body lit up. 

He wanted to cry, but he remembered exactly what his mother had said when his father had taken an iron to his shoulder. His mom taped his ribs with KT tape, and Neil made the mistake of letting out a whimper. 

“Quiet, Abram,” and Mary tightened her grip on his scalp, “ we don’t get to be in pain.” 

Though he bought the cane earlier in the week, he didn’t actually end up using it until four days later. He shuffled and shambled through his daily life, stiff but not pained, ignoring Abby’s orders almost entirely. 

It was only when Andrew hid his shoes from him that he even opened the packaging.

“You’re stupider than I thought if you think you’re going on a run today,” Andrew said when Neil hobbled out of bed that morning. 

It was routine for Neil to run in the morning. It let him reset from the day before. The total mindwipe was necessary if he wanted to absorb anything from his classes. But Neil struggled so much to get out of bed that particular morning, that he woke Andrew up from the bunk above.

Neil scowled and ignored him, wobbling his way over to their shared dresser to rummage for a pair of shorts. He heard Andrew behind him, but assumed that Andrew had simply decided to start his day earlier than usual. 

Neil didn’t know how he forgot that, at his very core, Andrew was a troublemaking bastard. 

Thirty minutes later and not even a flip-flop to be found. Neil even peeked out of the window, trying to see if Andrew had thrown anything out. Neil considered just running without shoes entirely, but one look at Andrew, guarding the door with his arms crossed like a bouncer, and Neil decided against it. 

“What do you want for them?” Neil sighed as he flopped onto the couch. Neil heard Andrew approach, but only looked up when he heard a crinkle. 

Neil scowled at the cane in Andrew’s hand. 

“I’m fine.” He said. 

“I didn’t ask.” Andrew threw the package onto Neil’s face. It slid onto his lap. 

Neil didn’t move. 

“Unless you want to go barefoot today…” Andrew let his voice trail off in a threat. 

Neil felt his scowl deepen as he sat up. He ripped into the package with viciousness. He linked the three sections of the cane together and stood. 

The handle was awkward against his palm, and he wasn’t sure the best way to settle his weight, but Neil couldn’t deny the pain that usually accompanied standing was lessened.

“Happy?” Neil spat. 

“Immeasurably.” Andrew responded. Andrew trailed into the kitchen, clearly done with the conversation.  

“Andrew?” Neil shouted after him. “My shoes?” 

Neil walked to class a little slower than usual. He was used to getting side-eyed stares on campus, but the cane heightened the scrutiny to a different level.

Neil had been toeing a line. On one side, was playing at normalcy; a fantasy of a life without pain, without the Butcher, without ever having to be scared again. Neil put on long-sleeves and armbands. He smiled for photos. He went to exy practice and signed his checks “Neil Josten.” Nathaniel was far away. Neil could build his life anew. 

On the other side was the truth. Neil’s body in the shower–the bumps under his washcloth and the scar cream Andrew bought for him. Neil woke up in the middle of the night, a dream on the edges of his mind, and couldn’t fall asleep again. The only thing that was real was the spaces underneath the door and the blind spot out the window. He had never been normal. He was never not in pain. 

Neil had one foot on each side. He could dance in between them, picking when he was vulnerable, and who got to see it. Neil had the illusion of control. 

The cane shattered that illusion, somehow even more than the scars. Neil’s body was a story, free for everyone to draw their own conclusions. 

And yet, the cane was necessary. Neil did have to admit, moving was far easier, if slower. The tension in his lower back and joints was far less. His feet didn’t hurt for the first time in a long time. 

We should have done this sooner , a small part of himself chimed. It was the part of himself that wanted comfort and care. It was the part of himself he usually ignored. 

Neil reached the Liberal Arts building far later than usual. He was going to be late to class no matter what, because Andrew remained unhelpful in Neil’s search for his shoes, but his slowed pace certainly didn’t help.
He wasn’t sure how to navigate the stairs with the new addition. He could feel the eyes of people around him, scurrying to and fro various classes, and he didn’t want to test it out in front of them. So, he lifted his cane with one hand and took a step. 

Pain immediately flared in his ankle–enough to make him stumble, but not enough to immobilize him. Neil gritted his teeth to prevent himself from making a face. He gripped the handrail next to him to lean on. 

“Do you need help?” A voice chimed in from above him. 

Neil looked up to see a waspish beta staring down at him. He had a hand out, clearly offering to guide Neil up. Something in Neil’s gut squirmed at the idea of being touched while he was in so much pain by a stranger.

“No.” Neil said. The stranger continued to hold his hand out, blinking at Neil in confusion.  Neil didn’t want the help; he wanted to figure out how to navigate on his own. If the cane was to become a part of his life, Neil knew that he had to learn what his limits were. He wished he had actually listened to Abby sooner, so that he could have learned how to operate with his cane before Andrew forced him to. 

“Thank you.” Neil tacked on, hoping that being polite would encourage him to leave. 

“Oh,” the beta rushed down the few steps that separated them, “it’s really no trouble. I can help you if you need.”

Though his scent was fairly light, Neil could still smell the edges of it. The stranger got a little bit closer and placed a hand on the small of Neil’s back. He pushed gently on Neil, as though, somehow, he could push Neil up the stairs. 

“No.” Neil said again. He took another painful step up, trying to get the stranger’s hand off of him. “Do not touch me.”

“Okay!” The beta said affably, though Neil could smell how his rejection affected him. “Then at least let me carry your cane.” 

He reached for Neil’s cane. Neil felt something in him snap. 

Neil had said no. And no meant no, regardless what it was about. 

Neil’s arm raised without him noticing. His cane came down hard on the beta’s outstretched hand. The beta yelped and yanked his arm back so hard he stumbled backwards. He landed on the ground below them cursing the whole time. 

“You stupid omega bitch ,” he spat, still clutching his arm, “I was just trying to help! What the fuck is your problem?!” 

The commotion gathered a crowd around them. Neil wasn’t sure how it looked—a scarred, cane carrying omega and a spitting mad beta—but he didn’t care. He leaned on his cane and glared at the beta. 

“I said no.” Neil said. He turned to resume his path up the stairs. 

“Yeah, whatever you ugly freak,” the beta continued cursing at his back. “I’ll bet no one wants to fuck you, anyways.” 

Neil finally made it into the building, exhausted. He contemplated just skipping class, but one look at the crowd outside, and he decided Biology 208 was the lesser of two evils. He rode the elevator up a floor and sat in the seat right next to the door. Neil didn’t absorb a single thing from the lecture. 

When the lecture ended, Neil was eager to get to his next class as soon as possible. He wanted to wash his hands of the whole, absurd morning. Neil waited for everyone else to leave, so that he could walk out with his cane in peace. 

An alpha, who’d he’d never met, paused in front of his desk. A line of disgruntled students parted around her, trailing out the door. 

“I am so, so sorry.” She said. Her eyes were big and her scent was cloyingly comforting. The last time Neil smelled a scent like that it came from a mother, talking to her baby. 

Neil’s first thought was that this girl had somehow come across his Wikipedia page, but then he remembered the FBI took it down. 

“Uh,” Neil said, stunned, “what?” 

“It’s just that,” the girl sounded close to tears, “I can’t believe anyone would do this!” 

She didn’t specify what “this” was. Neil supposed she didn’t have to. 

“I mean,” she sniffed dramatically, “who could hurt an omega?” 

Neil stood abruptly. He didn’t acknowledge her as he left. 

He made the executive decision to spend the rest of the day in his dorm. 

Neil didn’t remember the impact of the iron on his shoulder. All he could recall was a deep, screaming pain. It was the most intense pain of his life–though Neil wasn’t sure if that was because he’d never hurt that much, or if that’s how he remembered it as a child. 

His memory stuck to the aftermath much better. He remembered a nanny, a beloved member of staff that went “missing” after Neil’s fifth birthday, gently attending to him. She was stern, and ignored his screams of pain, though her eyes were shiny. 

Neil’s mother was in the room. She sat in a chair across from him. The room was soundproofed, chosen because of how hard Neil was crying. She rolled her eyes. 

“Stop it Abram,” she reprimanded, “you’re too old for such dramatics.”

Neil was four. 

He lost the ability to cry after that. 

Neil returned and buried himself into his bed.

Neil’s mattress was a battleground of various pillows and blankets. The collection was largely unintentional, and generally not of Neil’s will. As soon as he moved into Andrew’s dorm, Andrew, independent of Neil, decided that Neil’s Wal-Mart sheets were not enough for him to live. Every now and then, Andrew would present Neil with something new. Neil never turned away the gifts, and meticulously added them to his growing pile. Occasionally, Neil would find a pillow and something in him would nag until he placed it into the shopping cart. Though, he preferred the gifts Andrew gave him. 

Neil would never mention it out loud, but he loved his little setup. Something in his hindbrain was soothed by being buried underneath so many soft things. He surrounded himself in blankets like a baby bird, hugged the pillows to his chest when he thought no one was looking. 

He was beyond grateful when he sank back into bed. He rummaged and twisted until he folded himself inside, something in him settling. He felt the tension loosen from his shoulders as he sank into a happy place in his mind. He fuzzed out, eyes closed, and let himself drift thoughtlessly through the fog. He wasn’t in pain—or, the pain was far less. He didn’t notice anything other than how good it felt to be surrounded. 

Neil lost time in his haze. He was jolted–gently–when Andrew slammed the front door shut. He poked his head out of his burrow to watch the door. Predictably, Andrew appeared seconds later. 

He was carrying a shopping bag, his backpack hung over his shoulder, and the closest thing Andrew could get to a frown on his face. Andrew walked over to the desk by the window and sat heavily onto the rolling chair in front of it. He tossed his backpack onto the ground and kicked it, hard, underneath the desk. Neil sat up. 

Andrew tossed the grocery bag to Neil. 

“I heard you’ve had an eventful day.” Andrew said as Neil tore into the bag. Inside was a new fuzzy blanket patterned with little dancing foxes, and a boxed heating pad. Neil looked to Andrew and tilted his head. 

“There are rumors of a rabid omega hitting someone with a cane.” Andrew continued, “you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Neil rolled his eyes. “That guy had it coming.” 

Andrew’s attention became sharp. “Oh?”

“I said no.” Neil turned to consider where his new blanket would go. “I had to make him listen.”

He decided on weaving it next to his favorite pillow when he noticed the drop in the room. Andrew’s scent was loud and pissed. He turned back to Andrew to see him glaring at the floor, his fists clenched. 

“Did he touch you?”

“I’m okay.” Neil told him. “It was just some asshole.”

“Not what I asked.”

“Yes,” Neil admitted, “but not the way you’re thinking.”

Andrew stood, more agitated than Neil had seen him in a while. “I don’t care.”

“Andrew, I can take care of myself. It’s been handled.”

Neil didn’t try to comfort Andrew with his scent, but he did let out a little bit of his confidence. 

“Our deal is over. It’s not your job to protect me.” Neil reminded him. That, if anything, seemed to do the trick. Andrew sat back down, still angry, but not vengeful. 

“I know.” Andrew’s fists came unclenched. “I’m walking you to class tomorrow.”

Neil huffed, but didn’t argue. 

“What’s this?” Neil asked, holding up the heating pad in a blatant attempt to change the subject. 

“It’s a heating pad.” Andrew shifted so that he was sitting on the desk. He opened the window and leaned out, lighting a cigarette. 

“Yeah,” Neil said, “but, why?”

“They help with pain.” Andrew said, taking a drag. “It’s for your nest.”

“I don’t have a nest.” Neil said. 

Andrew paused and looked at Neil incredulously. Neil frowned. Neil may have been an omega, but, he knew, he didn’t often experience omega instincts. There was a few months of insecurity at the beginning of their nothing that Andrew had to smooth over. 

“I don’t.” Neil insisted. 

“Neil,” Andrew sounded like he couldn’t believe he had to ask, “what do you think you’re sitting in right now?”

“This is–” Neil looked around his mattress. He looked at the pile of pillows and blankets. It was only then that he noticed how circular the pattern was. “It’s–”

Neil realized that, possibly, his daydreams of having Andrew on his mattress, rolling around to embed his scent into the blankets, with Neil wrapping him up like a mummy to make him a permanent installation, may not have been without an omega influence. He thought about how calm he was, how his mattress felt like a safe-point and a hiding place. He felt himself scowl. 

“It’s not.” He said, even though both of them knew he was blatantly lying. Neil crossed his arms before he realized how stupid that made him look. Andrew ground his cigarette into the ashtray Kevin kept trying to throw away. 

“Yes or no?” He asked. Neil ignored him for a second before giving in. 

“Yes.” 

Andrew stood over Neil and leaned in, giving him a peck. Neil chased him up, but Andrew didn’t indulge him further. 

“Up,” he said, “let’s get your not-nest set up.”

Neil reluctantly got up, his lower back immediately screaming in protest. Andrew reached a hand to start pulling the pile apart when Neil stopped him. 

“Let me.” 

Andrew stood back and let him work. He opened up the packaging and wrapped the power chord behind the desk to plug it in. He flattened the pad onto the floor, trying and failing to smooth out the creases left from the box. 

Once Neil cleared enough space, Andrew gently laid it down into his nest. Andrew stood back again to allow Neil to re-establish his nest to his liking. Neil flopped back over into bed, the movement from setting up his nest summoning all the pain he’d just gotten rid of. 

“This is how you turn it up or down.” Andrew held up a remote connected to the heating pad through a wire. “Don’t turn it up too high. It can burn you.”

Andrew clicked the pad on and set the remote down. “Unplug it when you’re not using it.”

He stood up and made for the door. 

“Where are you going?” Neil asked. 

“Food.” Andrew responded. “It’s past dinner.”

Neil was surprised by the amount of time he’d truly lost. The sun was still up, but, Neil noted, much lower than he thought. 

“What about practice?” They should be headed out in about a half hour. That wasn’t enough time to eat a full meal safely before heavy exercise. Neil started getting out of bed, but Andrew pointed a finger at him.

“Stay. We’re not going.”

“What?!” Neil screeched. “Why?”

“Rest day. Abby’s orders.”

Neil glared at Andrew. “There’s nothing wrong.”

“Abby doesn’t agree.”

“I haven’t even seen her today!” Neil insisted, “she doesn’t even know–”

The pieces clicked together. 

“Andrew!” Neil was fully aware he sounded whiney, but he couldn’t help it. 

“This wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t such a junkie.” Andrew pointed out. He turned to the door and started to leave, apparently done with the entire debacle. 

“It wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for the fucking cane .” Neil spat, sick of it all. Andrew paused on his way out of the door, turning to face Neil.

“The cane is not the problem.” Andrew stepped closer. “You’re in pain.”

Neil rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks Einstein. I really didn’t notice under all the scars .”

“Neil.” With one word, Andrew reminded Neil who he was talking to. Andrew, whose body knew phantom sensations of a past that couldn’t be buried. Andrew who’d broken his knuckles countless times protecting his family and still felt those twinges when he picked up a pencil. Andrew who understood. All at once, Neil deflated. 

“I just hate it.” He admitted. “I’m not weak.”

Andrew stepped close enough to force Neil’s head to tilt in order to see his face. 

“You just used that ‘fucking cane’ to beat someone.” Andrew said. He trailed a finger under Neil’s chin, leaving a hair’s width between their skin. “That’s not weak.”

Andrew’s scent rolled off his wrist. Neil could smell every nuance of emotion when he was this close to Andrew’s scent glands. The fiery crackle of campfire carried Andrew’s pride, conviction, and strength in an addictive concoction. Neil bridged the gap between them, rubbing that scent into his cheek. He wanted to carry those precious emotions with him everywhere he went. Maybe if he’d had Andrew’s smoke, his day wouldn’t have been so shitty. 

“You’re not weak. You couldn’t be weak. Not for this.” Andrew said. He indulged Neil by rubbing small circles into Neil’s cheek. Neil felt his brain expand outwards, melting into goo out of his ears. “Pain does not make you weak. Your parents are dead. Nathaniel is dead. You are allowed to hurt.”

The way Andrew said it felt like it was repeated, like he himself didn’t quite believe it, but was trying to. Neil imagined Bee guiding Andrew through affirmations, soothing him when he could physically feel the ghost of a bottle on the back of his head. 

Neil never thought less of Andrew for his pain, physical or otherwise. Neil never thought himself weak for his nightmares or for his scars. 

He found the root of his discomfort a question Neil didn’t have an answer for. 

How was the cane any different from his scars? How was the cane not surviving?

With one last swipe extending from Neil’s cheek down to his neck, Andrew pulled away. Neil hunkered down into his nest, watching him move silently out of the room. 

He thought about his father, his mother, and himself. The throbbing in his hip dimmed enough for clear thoughts to pour in. He turned onto his side and sighed. 

The heating pad grew gradually warmer. It seeped through the layers of blankets until Neil could feel its gentle heat. With nothing to do, and nothing he wanted to do, Neil grumpily burrowed himself back into his nest. The heating pad was comfortable. Neil found himself slipping into a comfortable haze far quicker than usual. 

He rubbed his face into his pillow. He reached underneath it to grasp the most prized addition to his nest–a muscle-tank Andrew hadn’t washed. He had snatched it from their laundry basket, and he knew Andrew had yet to notice its absence. He wrapped it around a pillow, and rolled onto his other side, clutching it close. He smiled goofily, but only because he was alone.
(In hindsight, Neil did feel a little stupid about assuming he didn’t nest.)

Neil didn’t remember falling asleep. 

Painkillers were a luxury. Neil had to make them last on the run. He rationed them ruthlessly.

Being in pain was a luxury. Neil wasn’t able to ration that. He was ruthless regardless. 

  Neil woke up to voices around him. 

“-is unacceptable. I can’t believe he would-” Kevin’s voice, at his normal booming volume, embedded itself into Neil’s ears. 

“Do not wake him up.” Andrew interrupted, far less loudly. 

Neil yawned and bit the bullet, sitting up. 

“Too late.” He said with a stretch. “What time is it?”

Neil heard a thwack and then Kevin’s groan. Andrew appeared in his line of sight without Neil having to turn his head. 

“Late.” Andrew said. “You can go back to sleep.”

Neil could already feel the energy from his ill-advised nap zapping up his spine. He knew that he wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon. 

“I’m okay.” Neil said through rubbing his eyes. “I’ve slept enough. What did I miss?”

“You cannot allow your pain to get this bad in the future.” Kevin continued his rant to a different audience, seemingly without pause, “what if, the next time, you’re taken off the lineup? What then Neil?”

“Then I die.” Neil said, shrugging. He’d meant it as a joke, but under the dual disapproving gazes of Andrew and Kevin, he guessed Kevin was asking rhetorically. 

Kevin huffed, like Neil’s entire being was a nuisance. He tossed something onto Neil’s bed. Neil caught it without thinking.

Neil looked at what Kevin had thrown at him. It was a box of tea, with turmeric and ginger, called simply “pain relief formula.” 

“We don’t have a kettle.” Neil said, for lack of anything else. 

“We have a microwave.” Kevin dismissed him out of hand. “I’ve already started researching sports massage licensed therapists that have a speciality in chronic pain. For the first half of night practice we’re going to start with yoga.”

“You don’t have to do it with me—” Neil tried to protest, but Kevin was on a roll. 

“I’ve noticed that my hips need to be more flexible. I’m not—” Kevin demonstratively twisted sideways— “as limber as I want to be. I’ve asked Abbey what sort of PT we can get you set on, and she said she’s already made some inquiries. Wymack told me it was about time we got our own physical therapist, now that we’re champions. And–”

“Kevin.” Neil interrupted him. “That’s too much. I don’t need all this–this fancy shit. Just give me some painkillers and I’ll be fine .”

Kevin glared at him and opened his mouth again, but before he could unleash another lecture, Neil interrupted him. 

“I’ve always been fine. This was just a bad day.” Neil waved his hands. “It’s too much .”

This brought Kevin to a halt. His eyes flicked between Neil’s, looking for something. Eventually, his ramrod-straight spine relaxed a little. 

“Your game is mine.” Kevin said. “You gave it to me. That means I call the shots. And I’ve decided you’re making Court.”

Kevin did not give off a particularly strong smell on the best of days. His emotions were scentable, but mild in comparison to the rest of him. Watching his body language was usually a better way to figure out how Kevin felt—not that he made it particularly hard to tell how he felt at any given moment. 

But the air then was permeated by Kevin’s confidence. Neil inhaled deeply, high on Kevin’s assuredness in his future. Neil had survived worse. He could survive again. 

Kevin absently rubbed his hand, a habit he never lost and never noticed. Neil realized that Kevin had done this all before. Kevin had the braces, the KT tape, and the painkillers. He had been removed from the court altogether. But Kevin returned, stronger because he knew his limits, and because he worked with his injury and not against it. 

Kevin still believed he could thrive . Neil’s pain was not an obstacle; it didn’t even seem to be an afterthought for Kevin. Managing it was just like everything else Kevin did as an athlete, and everything he made Neil do to perform at his best. It was like managing his own body. 

“That was gay.” Andrew said, ruining the moment. 

Kevin’s face reddened and he spluttered. “I’m not- it’s-”

“Go microwave some water, Casanova.” Andrew pointed to the door. “Let’s see how well your tea works.”

Kevin stomped to the door, turning to point at them and say, “I am not gay.”

He stomped his way to the kitchen, taking his muttering with him. Neil hid his smile in his palm. 

“It won’t get that bad again.” Andrew said, suddenly. Neil glanced up at him and realized, suddenly, how tense Andrew was. Neil flared his nostrils and got a noseful of negativity. 

Neil thought about Andrew’s stance–his words. It wasn’t a promise and it wasn’t a threat. Andrew couldn’t prevent his pain anymore than Neil could. They could manage it, mitigate it, calm it down, but neither of them could truly control Neil’s body. Andrew couldn’t control whether Neil got harassed. He couldn’t when it was because of Neil’s scars, and he couldn’t because of Neil’s new cane. 

Neil turned Andrew’s words over, looking at as many angles as possible. He decided he didn’t need to understand, not fully, not really. Neil folded down the corner of his blanket and scooted over. 

“Yes or no?” Neil patted the open space, in case it wasn’t clear. Andrew sank into the spot without hesitation. He glanced down at Neil’s pillow, which still donned his unwashed shirt, and met Neil’s gaze with a curated and blank face. 

“Not a nest?” He asked, monotone and judgmental.  

“It’s not.” Neil lied. Andrew’s mouth twitched. 

“Kevin.” He shouted. “Make that two mugs.”

Kevin’s cursing was loud enough to reach the hallway. 

The tea worked pretty well, though Andrew’s nose scrunched whenever he took a sip. 

Wymack did end up hiring a physical therapist, a close and trusted colleague from Abby’s last position who was looking to relocate. She was an omega named Dr. Johnson, though she insisted they all call her Deb. Wymack presented the decision as good for the team, but by that point the Foxes would have had to have been pretty dim not to have noticed Neil’s cane. 

The first meeting he had with Deb was, to put it mildly, a shitshow. Neil had no idea how much she was briefed on any of the Foxes, but her cheeriness hinted at a level of naivety regarding their particular batch. Neil was sure that there was a reason she worked with their team in particular, the way Wymack and Abby had their own reasons, but there still seemed to be a slight disconnect. 

The problem with physical therapists was that the court couldn’t mandate them. 

That cheeriness proved to be as dangerous as Neil suspected when Deb startled him with a hand on his knee. She hadn’t asked, and she hadn’t telegraphed her movement. Neil jumped slightly, as he had been staring at the far wall refusing to engage in her small talk. Neil was desperately pretending that he was the sort of person that didn’t need a physical therapist. He must have given off a scent or a sound of pain, because Andrew, who insisted on coming, was on her in an instant. 

There was no struggle; Andrew was too quick and Deb too unsuspecting. Andrew pushed her against the floor, hard. His chest heaved up and down as he growled in the back of his throat. He pressed his knife so hard against her throat that Neil was surprised it didn’t cut. 

“You do not touch him.” Andrew said. 

Deb stayed perfectly still. Her scent betrayed nothing as it receded. She wasn’t suspecting, but it also seemed that she wasn’t surprised. 

“Andrew.” Neil said. “Andrew, stop.”

Andrew ignored him. His focus was entirely on Deb, as though she would be able to break out from underneath two-hundred pounds of muscular, territorial alpha. 

“Andrew, I protect myself.” Neil shifted off the table, suppressing a wince at the pressure on his knee. 

“I protect what’s mine.” Impossibly, Andrew pressed down the knife harder. He smelled so angry. Neil hated it. 

Deb, proving herself to either be incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, spoke. “Andrew, calm down.”

Andrew did not. 

“How will I do my job if I can’t touch him?” Her tone was non-judgmental and soft in a way that reminded Neil of Renee. She wasn’t confronting him or convincing him. Deb was genuinely asking Andrew how they could proceed. 

“You won’t.” Andrew said through gritted teeth. 

“That’s not for you to decide.” Deb said. Neil cursed internally. Stupid it was. Andrew’s scent spiked violently, making Neil nauseous. 

“Oh really?” Andrew’s voice began to betray just how truly pissed he was. Neil stepped forward and crouched down. He blocked Andrew’s view of Deb with his hands, forcing Andrew’s gaze up. 

“Andrew, it’s my choice.” Neil said once Andrew met his gaze. “I’m her patient, and I decide whether I participate in her treatment.”

“Because doctors are so infallible.” Andrew mocked. “When does that choice get taken away from you?”

“I’m not going to hurt him.” Deb said. Andrew scoffed. “I promise.”

“You don’t know the meaning of a ‘promise.’”

Deb’s ironclad control on her scent shifted, only for a moment. It was quick enough that Neil wasn’t able to catch it completely, but it almost smelt like anger. 

“I understand you’ve all been through a lot.” Deb said, controlled in a way that spoke of a storm underneath. “But you cannot pretend to know me.”

“Oh?” Andrew asked. His tone was still hostile, but the pressure on the knife lessened. “Do you have a tragic backstory too?”

“Yes.” Deb said, simply. “And I do not owe you it. I do not have to open myself up to you in order to prove I can do what I was hired for. Wymack trusts me. Abby trusts me. They know the risks. They know the cost of trust broken. Does their trust mean nothing to you?”

Andrew faltered. 

“My patient right now is not you. It is Neil, who is an adult and represents himself. I’m sure he’s happy to have someone so protective in his corner, but you are not my concern. Neil’s wellbeing is.”

Deb turned her attention to Neil, who was so shocked by her that he’d already been staring. 

“Neil,” she said, making eye contact as best she could lying on the floor, “I’m sorry. I should have asked your consent before touching you. Do you need to end the session now?”

“No.” Neil said, surprised. 

“Can we continue our session?”

“Yes.” 

“What can I do to ensure you feel safe with me?” 

Neil blinked. “Uh… just–let me know. When you’re going to touch me.”

Deb nodded, seriously. “Okay. For some of my patients, I create detailed schedules that include precisely what each session will include up to a week in advance. Would you like me to do that for you?”

“Yes.” Neil didn’t have to think twice. Being prepared was more than a lifestyle choice for people like Neil. 

“Today was meant to be an initial consultation. I usually get a sense of where the problem areas are, and how best to work those out. In future, I will be more diligent and prepared.”

Neil just nodded. Deb released a breath through her nose. 

“Now,” she said in that same steady voice, “I’d like to get up so that I may continue.”

Andrew didn’t get off of her at first. He deflated in stages, though when he stood he was still tense. He stepped away from Deb, who stayed completely still until Andrew stepped back to lean on the wall. 

She sat up, watching Andrew carefully, before Deb stood up. She gestured for Neil to sit back down. 

“Unfortunately,” Now that she was no longer trapped, emotion bled back into Deb’s scent and voice. Her cheer came back as though it never left. “I must ask. Neil, are you comfortable with Andrew staying for the rest of your session?” 

Andrew growled from the corner, but was level-headed enough to stop when Neil shot him a glare. 

“Yes.” Neil said. “I want him here.”

Deb simply nodded. She didn’t seem uncomfortable with Neil’s decision in the slightest. True to her word, she asked before touching him. She explained what she was doing while she did it. Deb even included Andrew in the session, by asking if Neil wanted to have a copy of their scheduled appointments for Andrew. (Though, she ignored Andrew when he responded before Neil.)

“Okay,” she said at the end of their appointment, “I can confidently say that, as of now, you don’t have any underlying conditions causing your pain. As we get to know each other more, it is possible that changes. However, as of now, I think it’s best if we treat the symptoms without focusing on the cause.” 

She paused for Neil to answer, and nodded her head when he didn’t. 

“If you don’t have any questions for me, you’re free to go. Oh, wait!” Neil started to get up when Deb clapped. Neil paused to watch her as she whirled around, rummaging in a cabinet overflowing with miscellaneous medical supplies. “Where did I—Oh, I know—”

“Aha!” She turned to reveal what she was holding. 

It was a plush fox. It sagged underneath the weight of itself, bulging at the bottom. Its button eyes didn’t match each other in color, size, or shape. Neil was immediately enamoured with it. 

“A previous colleague of mine made this!” Deb explained, gesturing with the stuffed animal. Neil resisted the urge to snatch it from her grasp. “She sells them online. They’re scent specific. She’s got all sorts, but this one is meant to soothe pain.”

She flipped the fox around to reveal a small zipper on the back of its neck. “This is where you change out the scent patches for when this one wears out. I like to have a few of these on hand for my omega patients, just in case they might want one for their nest. Of course, alphas and betas like them too, but I find they tend to be more effective on omegas with strong nesting instincts.”

Deb held it out to him. “Would you like this?”

Neil tried to be casual when he grabbed the fox, but, based on Deb’s knowing smile, he wasn’t at all successful. He clutched the fox to his chest and breathed deeply. The scent of lavender with an undercurrent of eucalyptus crept up to his nose. 

“I like them too.” She said, conspiratorially. “They work wonders for me. I have a little raccoon in my own nest.” 

“Thank you.” Neil said awkwardly. He nodded at her and walked out the door. Andrew waited for Neil to be out of the room before he followed. 

“I don’t like her.” Andrew said once they got to the car. 

Neil took another deep breath from his fox. He looked deep into his misshapen eyes. He wanted thousands of these little guys for his nest. He wanted to be buried in an intoxicating mixture of lavender, eucalyptus, and Andrew. How good would it feel, to sleep free from pain, comforted by his world of cushions and blankets?

“You’re gonna have to suck it up.” Neil said, surprised at himself, “because I think I do.”

Neil’s relationship to the cane improved, though he still struggled with it. He liked the memory of swatting that overeager beta, liked the security having a blunt-force weapon on him at all times, but he didn’t like the assumptions it brought. He didn’t want to admit he needed the cane, so he’d been pretending the cane was a choice. 

Though Nathaniel was dead, Neil still carried his scars. The line between Neil and Nathaniel blurred. Neil didn’t feel like the cane was Nathaniel’s anymore, even if he didn’t feel like it was his.

He couldn’t find an answer to his question. What was it about the cane that unnerved him? Why was the cane a symbol of weakness and not freedom? Why was he so reluctant?

He didn’t know. 

He went through the motions of his life on stumbling legs. Learning to move with the cane was no easy feat. He was never sure when he needed to rest his weight on the cane. He felt awkward as he stumbled to and from classes, wobbling on the sidewalks and up the stairs. Deb taught him how to move, but Neil still felt bow-legged in public. 

The whispers followed him. Neil had been hoping that his experiences were outliers. 

They weren’t. 

It seemed unfathomable to people that someone like Neil could exist. An athlete, a cane user, and an omega with scars; these were all integers in an equation that others seemed unable to comprehend. When people didn’t apologize to him, they assumed he was lying. When they didn’t think he was lying, they were convinced he could be fixed. Neil had gotten “cure” recommendations, unprompted, from half a dozen students ranging from yoga, to a spiritual retreat, to someone’s pyramid scheme smoothies. On one notable occasion, some random alpha told him to stop taking suppressants, as the suppressants were “ruining” his “perfect omega form.” (All Neil had to do was raise his cane. The alpha didn’t stay long to chat.)

Neil had never been so exhausted. He’d never had so much attention from his peers, and the adjustment of using his cane, and the effort of getting out of bed culminated in a bone deep exhaustion. 

The four corners of his bed became the four corners of the universe. He sank into the heating pad every afternoon and wished that he never had to get back up. He felt unmoored, his nest an island on uncertain seas. On some days, curled in the center of his nest around his little fox, it felt like it was the last thing that existed that was safe. 

Neil found an unlikely ally in Deb, who, after that first disastrous session, proved herself to be the perfect blend of friendly, professional, and blunt. She was unwilling to take any bullshit from anyone, but also seemed unwilling to let anyone bullshit themselves. 

She laughed at his stories and shared some of her own. She made it clear that she was there for Neil, not the other way around, which Neil found lacking in most other medical professionals. Neil found himself, reluctantly, trusting Deb. 

“I feel like there’s something that’s interrupting your progress.” Deb said. Neil paused at the door. It was one of the rare days that Andrew wasn’t able to come with, only possible with Deb’s unwavering dedication to ensuring that Neil’s wishes were honored with the utmost respect. Neil closed the door. 

“Like what?” They had just gotten to a stage where Neil was engaging in conversation with her. He stepped further into her office to sit on one of the plush chairs against the wall. Some days, they met in the Foxes’ private gym, but the room that they gave Deb in the stadium was big enough for much of the stretches and walking exercises Deb had him do. 

Deb stood and walked to the window. She turned on the frog shaped humidifier on the windowsill, and drew the curtains back to let the sunlight in. 

“You just don’t seem… dedicated.” Deb always chose her words carefully. 

Neil snorted. “You’re a physical therapist, remember?”

Deb huffed a laugh of her own. She moved to sit behind her desk. “True. But mental health is important in physical health. In order for me to do my job, you have to be willing to heal.”

“Yeah,” Neil rolled his eyes, “because I totally want to be in pain all the time. Trust me, I want the pain gone.”

“And what if it doesn’t?”

“What? Go away?” 

“Yes.” Deb said matter-of-factly. “You’ve mentioned you’ve had pain from a fairly early age. Your body has sustained a substantial amount of damage. It stands to reason it won’t go away.”

Mary’s words echoed in Neil’s brain. We don’t get to be in pain.  

“Then why the fuck am I here?” Neil scowled. “What’s the point if it doesn’t go away?”

Deb paused to think before she spoke. Neil wished he could relate. 

“Firstly, as you’ve already pointed out, I am not a mental health professional. I recommend you go to Betsy. That said, I do have some advice.” Deb said. Neil prepared himself to completely ignore what she had to say. “That type of black and white thinking is what’s the most detrimental to healing.”

Neil crossed his arms and slouched. He opened his mouth to tell her to stay in her lane, but Deb continued before he could. 

“I’ve been in this business for a while, and I’ve seen my fair share of trauma victims. Car crashes, abuse, natural disasters. Once, I even had someone recovering from a shark attack. So many people, all different walks of life. Do you know what they all had in common?”

“Rotten luck?” Neil guessed. 

“No,” Deb laughed a little, “well, yes. But all of them came to me hoping I could ‘fix’ them. These were people who never expected to become disabled, and they expected, even subconsciously, that one day they would no longer be disabled. They expected that I would give them back abled bodies. 

“And here’s the kicker–that’s not something I can do. That’s not something I want to do, even if I could. I’m a physical therapist, not a wizard. All I can do is help my patients do the best they can. I prevent muscle atrophy and ease pain. But I can’t turn the clock. I can’t give you a version of yourself that doesn’t exist anymore. I know, personally, how heartbreaking that can be, but it’s true.”

Deb waited a moment for Neil to absorb this before she laid down the final blow. “The way I see it, you have a choice. You can either pine for a body you’ll likely never have, or you can meet your body where it is.”

And there it was–the answer to his question. 

All his life, Neil was in some sort of pain. His body, his mind, his soul ached with every shuddering breath. But he’d never been allowed that pain. His mother would beat him black and blue if she saw him with a cane. 

Neil didn’t want to accept what his body was. He didn’t want to accept the weight of his past. The cane meant that he was admitting that he’d been hurt, possibly permanently, his entire childhood. 

Accepting the cane meant accepting he was hurting. It meant that he had to face the only type of pain he couldn’t just repress. It meant that Neil had to come to terms with the fact that he was broken. 

Deb watched Neil’s revelation with the calmness Neil had come to depend on. “I think we should reschedule. I understand I can’t force you, but I am writing an official referral to Betsy for this.”

Neil stood up and left without saying goodbye. 

He ran to Fox tower. The wind was picking up, whipping through the trees with a vengeance. Neil welcomed the resistance against his body. 

He slammed the door to the dorm open, ignoring Kevin’s startled yelp, and beelined to his room. He stopped in front of his nest and glared at the fox plush. He grabbed it and raised it above his head. He wanted to throw it across the room, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he collapsed, exhausted and angry and achy, into his bed. He buried his face into his pillow and screamed. 

“Neil?” Kevin’s heavy footsteps stomped into the room. “What the fuck was that? Aren’t you supposed to be at PT?”

“Not now, Kevin!” Neil growled. 

“What are we paying her for if not—”

Neil grabbed the closest pillow and threw it at him. “I said not now !”

Kevin let the pillow hit him, square in the chest, and stared. Neil laid on one elbow and stared back. The only sound in the room was Neil’s panting. 

Something close to understanding flashed across Kevin’s features. Kevin came closer and sat on Neil’s bed. Neil bristled at the presence of Kevin in his nest, but Kevin didn’t give him the chance to tell him off. 

“You know,” Kevin said, conversationally, “I still can’t write with my left hand.”

Neil felt his anger recede, slightly, as confusion took its place. “What?”

“I trained so hard to be able to play with my left hand again. I’m great right handed, but it just doesn’t feel the same. But, no matter how hard I try, it just hurts too much to use my left hand to write. I think it has something to do with the way I hold a pencil. I don’t know. My handwriting sucks, though.”

Kevin rubbed at his scar. 

“And I can’t use chopsticks at all anymore. I can’t eat sushi ever again.”

Neil blinked. “Why can’t you–”

“Well, I’m not going to use a fork, Neil . That’s not the point here. The point is that there are some things that I just can’t do anymore.”

Understanding dawned on Neil. 

“This isn’t the same. It’s my whole fucking body. Everywhere I’ve got a scar, which is, y’know, everywhere.” Neil bit out. 

“I know it’s not the same!” Kevin said defensively. “It’s just–I’m just–”

Kevin let out a deep exhale through his nostrils. “I’m just saying I know it sucks, but it’s not forever. But eventually, it’s normal.”

“I don’t want it to be normal.”

Kevin shrugged. “I think it already is. And you’re still doing okay.”

Neil opened his mouth to bite something about Kevin finding ‘okay’ at the other end of a bottle, but stopped himself. 

Kevin was, miraculously, right.

Neil was okay. He was as physically safe as he could be. He was playing the sport he loved for the rest of his life. He had his friends and Andrew. Neil, for the first time in his life, was something close to happy. 

And, throughout it all, Neil was also in pain. Neil was in pain on the run and he survived. He was in pain last year and he survived. He was in pain then, and he was thriving . The pain was the soundtrack of his life, playing in the background of it all. 

Neil looked around at his nest. Andrew had been giving him gifts with a vengeance. (He seemed to be trying to one-up Deb, whose fox remained a favorite of Neil’s.) The rest of the Foxes had noticed and silently followed suit. He had so many little rice bags, stuffed animals, blankets, and pillows that his bed was starting to overflow. He had two heating pads, which Neil had thought was excessive until Andrew outdid himself by installing a minifridge next to Neil’s bed. 

All around him was proof that he wasn’t broken because he was in pain. Rather, it was proof that he was full of joy. He’d never had anything like it before. Somehow, without Neil noticing, his nest had become a site of freedom. It was permission to rest more deeply than Neil had ever before, to recover from a day of pain and embrace comfort. 

Mary would have hit him for the cane. She would have hated his nest even more. 

Neil looked at the cane on the floor. He thought about how easier moving was with it; how he could heave himself up with only a twinge in his hips, or walk with his feet no longer aching. He was not broken because of the cane. He was free. 

The cane was proof that he was allowed to hurt. He was allowed to rest. He was allowed to make things easier for himself. No one could take that away from him. His past was long buried, and his cane was his future. The cane could be his new normal, just like his nest, if only he let it. 

He looked back up to Kevin, who was watching the wall with flushed cheeks. Neil grabbed his fox plush and squeezed it, breathing in the soothing scent to relieve his aching ankles. 

“Thank you.” Neil said, just above a murmur. Kevin nodded, once, scratched his chin, and left the room. 

Once Kevin left, Andrew entered. The change was so quick that Neil suspected Andrew had been waiting outside the door. He buried his grin into the fox. 

“Care to share with the class?” Andrew took Kevin’s spot. He unsubtly rubbed his wrist on the sheets around him, washing out Kevin’s beta scent. 

“Kevin was giving me some advice.” 

“Practice is in an hour.” 

“It was about the cane, actually.” 

Andrew shifted slightly. “Do I need to have a conversation with him?”

“No. It was actually–” Neil hated to admit it “-really helpful.”

Andrew paused. “I guess hell froze over.”

“What a shame.” Neil agreed. 

Andrew rummaged in his pocket for his cigarettes and stood, walking to the window. He’d left something where he was sitting. Neil picked it up, figuring it had just fallen out of Andrew’s pocket, before he noticed what it was. 

“Andrew?” Neil asked. He turned his head to find Andrew was already looking at him. “What’s this?”

“It’s a sticker.” Andrew said. Neil rolled his eyes. He could see that. He was familiar with the orange pawprint design. They were produced and sold in bulk at the campus store. 

“Why?”

“For you.” Andrew glanced away to light his cigarette. He took a drag before he continued. “Use it for the cane. Or don’t. Stick it on your headboard. I don’t care.”

Neil looked back down to the cane. 

He knew what Andrew was doing by phrasing it that way; as though he incidentally got a sticker Neil could use on anything. As though Andrew didn’t have a goal in mind. 

Neil traced the pawprint. 

In for a penny , he thought to himself. He peeled the back of the sticker off and stuck it on right underneath the handle facing outwards. 

After all, Neil was a proud Fox.