Inception/Mysterious Skin - Every Me and Every You (25/30)
Title: Every Me and Every You (25/30)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Inception/Mysterious Skin fusion
Word count: 3,022
Pairing: Neil/Eames
Rating: R
Warnings: language, allusions to rape,child molestation, and prostitution
Summary: Neil McCormick is fraying at the seams. Then he meets Eames, professional dreamer.
Eames needed some time to prepare. He informed Neil of this almost as soon as he'd agreed to it, and Neil for one couldn't complain since there was still a very large part of him that did not want to go through with this. All the same, Eames refused to let Neil go back into his shithole apartment, claiming that he didn't want to give Neil the chance to run again (Neil was pretty sure the real reason was because Eames was worried he'd catch tetanus or something), so Neil was made to pack a bag (the same bag he'd taken to Paris) and taken back to Eames's hotel.
It was a different hotel from Eames's last stay, far less glamorous. He'd apparently picked something out in a hurry. Neil figured Eames didn't expect to find him in New York and just put some money down on a room he could stay in for the night. It was clean enough, the bedspread holding an ugly floral pattern while anonymous watercolors hung on the wall in tacky frames. Neil just couldn't help himself.
"I've turned tricks in this hotel before," he said.
Eames didn't respond to that, only glared at him a little. Neil figured they were both still a little mad at each other (even though he wasn't sure Eames had done anything for Neil to actually be angry over).
Neil sat down on the bed and watched Eames mull about the room, tossing his jacket over a chair, pulling out a moleskine to write a note into. "So," Eames said, voice deceptively casual. "When do you want to leave in the morning?"
Neil blinked. "Leave?" he questioned.
Eames met his eyes and said, still speaking lightly, "Yeah. To Kansas."
Neil's eyes widened. "Why do we have to go there?" he asked defensively.
"Oh, how about because the fact that you disappeared after Wendy was killed has sent all of your loved ones into hissy fits thinking you've been kidnapped or something. You're aware there's a missing person alert out for you, yeah?" When Neil didn't say anything to that, Eames continued. "You've got to apologize to your mother, and you need to go see Wendy and apologize to her too. I may not have known her as long as you did, but I'm certain she would consider you a prat for not attending her funeral. Possibly even call you a cunt, I'd imagine."
Neil's shoulders sunk with guilt. It certainly did sound like her. "So, what, I'm twelve-stepping like an alcoholic now? Apologize to all those people I've hurt in the past? You want me to apologize to Brian while I'm at it?"
"It might help," Eames shrugged, "but you're the only one who can decide that… and no, it's not like AA. When I go into your subconscious, I'm not entirely sure how things will go so-"
"I might come back different or… not at all," Neil clarified, "so you… think this could be my last chance. If Neil McCormick disappears then he should go out on a good note. I think your feelings for me have kind of blinded you to what an asshole I am."
"Oh, trust me," Eames spat, "I know how much of an arse you are. I don't love you less, but I certainly don't like you a lot right now."
Neil looked down into his lap, falling silent. He hadn't expected that statement to hurt so much.
"Hey," Eames said, and suddenly he was standing in front of Neil, leaning over him a little. "Let's get you out of those clothes and into a bath, yeah? You reek of alcohol. It might make you feel better."
Neil wanted to tell Eames that nothing could make him feel better because nothing had since Wendy died. The alcohol and drugs and partying had numbed the pain a little, but it always came back as strong as ever. A shower wasn't going to fix it… but he didn't feel like arguing anymore, so he just lifted his arms and let Eames tug his stained t-shirt off of his body. Eames didn't comment on how Neil could obviously undress himself, instead focusing on undoing his belt and jeans and letting them slide off of his narrow hips, tugging off his shoes when the fabric got to his ankles.
"There we are," Eames said, putting the old clothes over the arm of the chair opposite his blazer. "I'll call in for some delivery too. You're so thin."
Neil didn't move from the bed though, still looking down into his lap. His bare ass on the duvet reminded him of how many times he had been brought to places like this and undressed, how he'd been cooed over with little affectionate words like 'beautiful' or desired by hungry men who didn't have time to waste on pet names. He'd fucked people or been sucked off, been annoyingly cuddled or immediately sent away. He'd had arguments over payment, been offered a cup of coffee on the way home. Regardless of how the night went or how the john treated him, it didn't change the situation. He'd been a whore providing a service and was forgotten about as soon as he was out the door… and still even that had been less depraved than getting so drunk or high that he couldn't remember his own name and getting fucked for free by faceless men in a dirty club bathroom stall.
He thought of Zeke momentarily, of the purple-black blotches on his skin, and it made Neil shiver.
Wendy would be ashamed, he thought.
"All right, come on," Eames said gently and helped Neil to stand. "Come on, love."
Neil let Eames lead him into the bathroom, wincing a little when he turned the light on. Eames had this look on his face that Neil couldn't fully identify. It definitely wasn't one most men had when looking at him naked. In fact it was more similar to the face of someone who had found a stray, starving kitten in the rain. Neil wanted to be angry over it, but he didn't have the energy.
Then Eames turned on the shower.
The fear that rocketed up Neil's spine wasn't quite expected, but as soon as the water hit the bottom of the tub he was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was in a bathroom with a man. One of the many memories he'd been trying to build walls around and numb away came back, ripping him open like it was happening now. He could see the man thundering towards him, feel the blunt blow of the butter knife to his skull and the subsequent harder one of the porcelain of the tub, could hear him screaming the word slut again and again and again.
Neil scrambled for the bathroom door and Eames dove after him, grabbing him around the waist and trying to haul him back into the bathroom. Neil held onto the bathroom doorway with more strength than he thought he had, kicking and screaming and begging him not to.
"What is the matter with you?" Eames shouted, seeming more panicked than angry. "Neil, bloody hell-stop squirm-it's a bath!"
"No!" Neil wailed as Eames finally managed to pry him off of the doorway. His arms joined in the struggle for freedom, but Eames had food in his system and probably had slept more often than Neil had lately so the gap between their strength had only widened considerably. "No, no, no, no, no, no," Neil babbled nonsensically as Eames settled him into the tub, sobbing openly, unable to help himself. "Stop… stop…"
Eames turned the shower diverter so that the water poured out of the faucet rather than the showerhead, plugged the drain, and gently started washing Neil's hair while shushing him as kindly as possible. "It's all right," he told him. "It's all right."
Neil slowly calmed down, shivering even though the water was warm and still hiccupping the occasional sob.
It was Eames, he reminded himself. It was Eames, and Eames would never hurt him.
Eames bathed him, scrubbing soap over his ribs and chest, his arms and legs. He had Neil lift himself out of the water so that his ass could be cleaned, and then he proceeded to scoop water out of the tub with his hand and rub it over Neil's skin until the soap was gone. The entire time he talked softly to him about nothing in particular, filling the silence so that Neil had something to focus on rather than his own screaming thoughts.
By the time the bath was done, Neil felt numbed and very far away, standing on the bathmat while Eames dried him with a slightly overly starched towel. "There now," Eames said as he rubbed the towel through Neil's hair. "That's better."
Neil just stared at him for several seconds, gaze distant. He couldn't help but realize that he wasn't on the ground in Brighton Beach and covered in blood. He wasn't freezing from the cold and all alone. He was still in the hotel with Eames, and Eames was giving him a soft and cautious smile and not asking why he'd panicked.
Neil leaned in until he was pressed against Eames. There were damp spots on the man's shirt from the struggle, but neither of them seemed to care at the moment. Eames just wrapped his arms around Neil and held him and Neil just closed his eyes and soaked up his warmth.
Neil opened his eyes to find himself in a dark room. He was on a bed, that he was sure of, and someone was holding him. For a moment Neil pretended it was Wendy, even though it felt nothing like her. It made him feel happy for just that single second, and then that happiness was doused with overwhelming sadness. He exhaled slowly so as not to burst into tears and pressed himself closer to the body.
Eames.
He remembered now.
He must have passed out after the shower because that was literally the last thing he recalled. He was dressed though, so Eames must have put him into clothes and put him to bed. The clothes didn't feel like his own though. They were much too big.
As Neil sat up in bed, he felt the body next to him shift, and a few moments later Eames's voice shattered the silence of the room, still soft and laced with sleep. "All right?" he asked.
"Yeah," Neil said, fighting not to lean back into Eames when the man sat up and put his warm hands on his shoulders, rubbing them gently. "What time is it?"
"Mm…" Eames hummed as he checked the clock on his side of the bed. "About two-thirty. I ordered a pizza earlier. There's still some pieces left if you want some."
Neil scrubbed his hands over his face before crawling out of bed, figuring he might as well eat. He hadn't eaten since the day before yesterday.
Eames turned the lamp on by his bed, flooding the room with a dim, warm light. Neil now saw that he was wearing a baggy gray t-shirt and dark cotton boxer shorts, both of which seemed to be Eames's. Both articles of clothing were well-worn and soft to the touch from many washes.
"No offense, but all of your clothes smelled ghastly," Eames said from the bed. "I'd have washed them for you, but I'm afraid I don't have any detergent."
"Don't worry about it," Neil mumbled, opening the pizza box on the table by the window and grabbing a slice. It was cold by now, but Neil didn't really taste it anyway. "About earlier…" he started to say.
"Forget it," Eames told him. "I just figured you were a bit delirious. You really don't look like you've slept or eaten in days."
"I haven't," Neil said around a mouthful of food, then paused to swallow. "Didn't really feel like it…" He was grateful he didn't have to explain himself. He didn't know what Eames would think if he knew. Besides, that was a secret not even Wendy knew about.
He finished off the slice, gnawing on the slightly rubbery crust until it was completely gone, wiped his hands and mouth on a napkin, and returned to the bed. He actually did feel a little less shitty with some food in his belly, surprisingly enough, but he was beginning to suspect that Eames's presence helped a little bit.
The blankets were pulled up around them and the light was turned off, and Neil was just about to drift off to sleep again when Eames asked him, "Really… why did you leave? Why did you leave me that night?"
He didn't sound angry anymore, didn't even sound like he expected an answer.
Neil hesitated as he tried to decide what the best way to word this would be. He hadn't really thought about it, hadn't really allowed himself to, but here in the darkness of the room it felt like all lies were now pointless. Eames already knew about Brian, knew about Coach. Wendy had had enough faith to believe Eames would stick around with Neil after knowing that information and not even out of pity but because of genuine affection.
"I didn't…" Neil started, stopped, and started again. "I didn't want you to… I…" Eames's hand was rubbing small circles into his back, causing Neil to sigh. "I couldn't keep Wendy safe. I caused her death by keeping her close to me… I figured that… everyone was better off if they were as far from me as possible."
Eames didn't say anything, but he did press a kiss to Neil's forehead. Neil figured it did sound a little stupid now. Eames worked the same job that Neil did after all.
"I don't want to go back to sleep," Neil whispered. "I'll wake up screaming."
"I'll be here to hold off the monsters in the dark," Eames assured him. "We've got to get up in about four hours or so anyway to catch our flight, so try and get some rest. Even if you can only sleep a few more minutes, it will do you some good."
"Eames…" Neil said, voice slurring as he started to sink into the warmth and comfort of the bed. "What if tomorrow everyone… what if they hate me…? What if… this whole… fixing my subconscious thing… doesn't work?"
He didn't hear an answer to any of the questions even if Eames had given one because he was out like a light, draped heavily over Eames.
For the rest of the night, he vaguely recalled being shushed back into sleep again and again, and when he awoke around six that morning, his throat was sore from screaming.
Neil was wearing Eames's clothes because they were clean, even though they practically fell off of his scrawny frame. He felt like a little boy playing dress-up, but he was a bit too caught up in what was happening to care too much. Eames had bought them cups of coffee to sip at while waiting to board their plane, and Neil held his in both hands, watching the other passengers mill about in the waiting area.
There was a little boy sleeping with his head on the shoulder of what Neil assumed was his dad. The boy was wearing a baseball jersey, and his hair was blonde like Brian's.
"So," Neil said, unable to take his eyes off the boy. "Do you think it's fucked up?"
"What is?" Eames asked. The man was a bit haggard this morning himself, probably from trying to calm Neil's night terrors.
"Me. And Coach."
"Oh… well, ah," Eames said, squirming in his seat a bit. "Honestly, I'm not really sure what to say about it. She told me how important he was to you."
"She thought I was misguided in my affections," Neil said, pulling a knee up to his chest. "She never said it out loud, but I know she did…"
"Do you think she was right?" Eames asked. "I mean… you were just a boy."
"I know," Neil said, avoiding answering the question right away, "but… he treated me like his prize. I was special, more important than the others. Even if there were other boys, I was always there. He called me his… angel… and I wanted to make him so proud."
Eames didn't try to devalue Neil's childhood emotions, nor did he respond to the information with confusion or disgust. He merely sat there nodding his head a little, one hand brushing against the back of Neil's neck, listening.
"No one had… ever made me feel that way before," Neil told him. "Like… I was really valuable. I thought that… for him to hold me on such a high pedestal that he must have loved me, but… then I met Brian, and… now I'm not so sure. I don't know what to think… That summer seems tainted now, and I know that sounds fucked up. Brian's memory hangs over it like a dark cloud… and for some reason I can't stop connecting that summer with the other night."
Eames perked up a little, raising an eyebrow. "What other night?" he asked.
Neil's mouth went dry, and he stared at Eames, not sure what to say.
Thankfully, at that moment they announced that they were boarding the plane, and Neil managed to mumble, "It's nothing, forget about it," before they got on board.
Eames spent the flight doodling something in his moleskine (it looked like a maze, and Neil wondered if Eames was constructing one for Neil's subconscious), and Neil looked out the window and thought about what he was going to say when they touched down in his hometown.
He honestly didn't know if anyone would speak to him at this point… but he did know that maybe now he owed some of these people the truth.
There was a possibility that this was Neil McCormick's last day anyway, so he figured there wasn't any reason not to.
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Inception/Mysterious Skin fusion
Word count: 3,022
Pairing: Neil/Eames
Rating: R
Warnings: language, allusions to rape,child molestation, and prostitution
Summary: Neil McCormick is fraying at the seams. Then he meets Eames, professional dreamer.
Eames needed some time to prepare. He informed Neil of this almost as soon as he'd agreed to it, and Neil for one couldn't complain since there was still a very large part of him that did not want to go through with this. All the same, Eames refused to let Neil go back into his shithole apartment, claiming that he didn't want to give Neil the chance to run again (Neil was pretty sure the real reason was because Eames was worried he'd catch tetanus or something), so Neil was made to pack a bag (the same bag he'd taken to Paris) and taken back to Eames's hotel.
It was a different hotel from Eames's last stay, far less glamorous. He'd apparently picked something out in a hurry. Neil figured Eames didn't expect to find him in New York and just put some money down on a room he could stay in for the night. It was clean enough, the bedspread holding an ugly floral pattern while anonymous watercolors hung on the wall in tacky frames. Neil just couldn't help himself.
"I've turned tricks in this hotel before," he said.
Eames didn't respond to that, only glared at him a little. Neil figured they were both still a little mad at each other (even though he wasn't sure Eames had done anything for Neil to actually be angry over).
Neil sat down on the bed and watched Eames mull about the room, tossing his jacket over a chair, pulling out a moleskine to write a note into. "So," Eames said, voice deceptively casual. "When do you want to leave in the morning?"
Neil blinked. "Leave?" he questioned.
Eames met his eyes and said, still speaking lightly, "Yeah. To Kansas."
Neil's eyes widened. "Why do we have to go there?" he asked defensively.
"Oh, how about because the fact that you disappeared after Wendy was killed has sent all of your loved ones into hissy fits thinking you've been kidnapped or something. You're aware there's a missing person alert out for you, yeah?" When Neil didn't say anything to that, Eames continued. "You've got to apologize to your mother, and you need to go see Wendy and apologize to her too. I may not have known her as long as you did, but I'm certain she would consider you a prat for not attending her funeral. Possibly even call you a cunt, I'd imagine."
Neil's shoulders sunk with guilt. It certainly did sound like her. "So, what, I'm twelve-stepping like an alcoholic now? Apologize to all those people I've hurt in the past? You want me to apologize to Brian while I'm at it?"
"It might help," Eames shrugged, "but you're the only one who can decide that… and no, it's not like AA. When I go into your subconscious, I'm not entirely sure how things will go so-"
"I might come back different or… not at all," Neil clarified, "so you… think this could be my last chance. If Neil McCormick disappears then he should go out on a good note. I think your feelings for me have kind of blinded you to what an asshole I am."
"Oh, trust me," Eames spat, "I know how much of an arse you are. I don't love you less, but I certainly don't like you a lot right now."
Neil looked down into his lap, falling silent. He hadn't expected that statement to hurt so much.
"Hey," Eames said, and suddenly he was standing in front of Neil, leaning over him a little. "Let's get you out of those clothes and into a bath, yeah? You reek of alcohol. It might make you feel better."
Neil wanted to tell Eames that nothing could make him feel better because nothing had since Wendy died. The alcohol and drugs and partying had numbed the pain a little, but it always came back as strong as ever. A shower wasn't going to fix it… but he didn't feel like arguing anymore, so he just lifted his arms and let Eames tug his stained t-shirt off of his body. Eames didn't comment on how Neil could obviously undress himself, instead focusing on undoing his belt and jeans and letting them slide off of his narrow hips, tugging off his shoes when the fabric got to his ankles.
"There we are," Eames said, putting the old clothes over the arm of the chair opposite his blazer. "I'll call in for some delivery too. You're so thin."
Neil didn't move from the bed though, still looking down into his lap. His bare ass on the duvet reminded him of how many times he had been brought to places like this and undressed, how he'd been cooed over with little affectionate words like 'beautiful' or desired by hungry men who didn't have time to waste on pet names. He'd fucked people or been sucked off, been annoyingly cuddled or immediately sent away. He'd had arguments over payment, been offered a cup of coffee on the way home. Regardless of how the night went or how the john treated him, it didn't change the situation. He'd been a whore providing a service and was forgotten about as soon as he was out the door… and still even that had been less depraved than getting so drunk or high that he couldn't remember his own name and getting fucked for free by faceless men in a dirty club bathroom stall.
He thought of Zeke momentarily, of the purple-black blotches on his skin, and it made Neil shiver.
Wendy would be ashamed, he thought.
"All right, come on," Eames said gently and helped Neil to stand. "Come on, love."
Neil let Eames lead him into the bathroom, wincing a little when he turned the light on. Eames had this look on his face that Neil couldn't fully identify. It definitely wasn't one most men had when looking at him naked. In fact it was more similar to the face of someone who had found a stray, starving kitten in the rain. Neil wanted to be angry over it, but he didn't have the energy.
Then Eames turned on the shower.
The fear that rocketed up Neil's spine wasn't quite expected, but as soon as the water hit the bottom of the tub he was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was in a bathroom with a man. One of the many memories he'd been trying to build walls around and numb away came back, ripping him open like it was happening now. He could see the man thundering towards him, feel the blunt blow of the butter knife to his skull and the subsequent harder one of the porcelain of the tub, could hear him screaming the word slut again and again and again.
Neil scrambled for the bathroom door and Eames dove after him, grabbing him around the waist and trying to haul him back into the bathroom. Neil held onto the bathroom doorway with more strength than he thought he had, kicking and screaming and begging him not to.
"What is the matter with you?" Eames shouted, seeming more panicked than angry. "Neil, bloody hell-stop squirm-it's a bath!"
"No!" Neil wailed as Eames finally managed to pry him off of the doorway. His arms joined in the struggle for freedom, but Eames had food in his system and probably had slept more often than Neil had lately so the gap between their strength had only widened considerably. "No, no, no, no, no, no," Neil babbled nonsensically as Eames settled him into the tub, sobbing openly, unable to help himself. "Stop… stop…"
Eames turned the shower diverter so that the water poured out of the faucet rather than the showerhead, plugged the drain, and gently started washing Neil's hair while shushing him as kindly as possible. "It's all right," he told him. "It's all right."
Neil slowly calmed down, shivering even though the water was warm and still hiccupping the occasional sob.
It was Eames, he reminded himself. It was Eames, and Eames would never hurt him.
Eames bathed him, scrubbing soap over his ribs and chest, his arms and legs. He had Neil lift himself out of the water so that his ass could be cleaned, and then he proceeded to scoop water out of the tub with his hand and rub it over Neil's skin until the soap was gone. The entire time he talked softly to him about nothing in particular, filling the silence so that Neil had something to focus on rather than his own screaming thoughts.
By the time the bath was done, Neil felt numbed and very far away, standing on the bathmat while Eames dried him with a slightly overly starched towel. "There now," Eames said as he rubbed the towel through Neil's hair. "That's better."
Neil just stared at him for several seconds, gaze distant. He couldn't help but realize that he wasn't on the ground in Brighton Beach and covered in blood. He wasn't freezing from the cold and all alone. He was still in the hotel with Eames, and Eames was giving him a soft and cautious smile and not asking why he'd panicked.
Neil leaned in until he was pressed against Eames. There were damp spots on the man's shirt from the struggle, but neither of them seemed to care at the moment. Eames just wrapped his arms around Neil and held him and Neil just closed his eyes and soaked up his warmth.
Neil opened his eyes to find himself in a dark room. He was on a bed, that he was sure of, and someone was holding him. For a moment Neil pretended it was Wendy, even though it felt nothing like her. It made him feel happy for just that single second, and then that happiness was doused with overwhelming sadness. He exhaled slowly so as not to burst into tears and pressed himself closer to the body.
Eames.
He remembered now.
He must have passed out after the shower because that was literally the last thing he recalled. He was dressed though, so Eames must have put him into clothes and put him to bed. The clothes didn't feel like his own though. They were much too big.
As Neil sat up in bed, he felt the body next to him shift, and a few moments later Eames's voice shattered the silence of the room, still soft and laced with sleep. "All right?" he asked.
"Yeah," Neil said, fighting not to lean back into Eames when the man sat up and put his warm hands on his shoulders, rubbing them gently. "What time is it?"
"Mm…" Eames hummed as he checked the clock on his side of the bed. "About two-thirty. I ordered a pizza earlier. There's still some pieces left if you want some."
Neil scrubbed his hands over his face before crawling out of bed, figuring he might as well eat. He hadn't eaten since the day before yesterday.
Eames turned the lamp on by his bed, flooding the room with a dim, warm light. Neil now saw that he was wearing a baggy gray t-shirt and dark cotton boxer shorts, both of which seemed to be Eames's. Both articles of clothing were well-worn and soft to the touch from many washes.
"No offense, but all of your clothes smelled ghastly," Eames said from the bed. "I'd have washed them for you, but I'm afraid I don't have any detergent."
"Don't worry about it," Neil mumbled, opening the pizza box on the table by the window and grabbing a slice. It was cold by now, but Neil didn't really taste it anyway. "About earlier…" he started to say.
"Forget it," Eames told him. "I just figured you were a bit delirious. You really don't look like you've slept or eaten in days."
"I haven't," Neil said around a mouthful of food, then paused to swallow. "Didn't really feel like it…" He was grateful he didn't have to explain himself. He didn't know what Eames would think if he knew. Besides, that was a secret not even Wendy knew about.
He finished off the slice, gnawing on the slightly rubbery crust until it was completely gone, wiped his hands and mouth on a napkin, and returned to the bed. He actually did feel a little less shitty with some food in his belly, surprisingly enough, but he was beginning to suspect that Eames's presence helped a little bit.
The blankets were pulled up around them and the light was turned off, and Neil was just about to drift off to sleep again when Eames asked him, "Really… why did you leave? Why did you leave me that night?"
He didn't sound angry anymore, didn't even sound like he expected an answer.
Neil hesitated as he tried to decide what the best way to word this would be. He hadn't really thought about it, hadn't really allowed himself to, but here in the darkness of the room it felt like all lies were now pointless. Eames already knew about Brian, knew about Coach. Wendy had had enough faith to believe Eames would stick around with Neil after knowing that information and not even out of pity but because of genuine affection.
"I didn't…" Neil started, stopped, and started again. "I didn't want you to… I…" Eames's hand was rubbing small circles into his back, causing Neil to sigh. "I couldn't keep Wendy safe. I caused her death by keeping her close to me… I figured that… everyone was better off if they were as far from me as possible."
Eames didn't say anything, but he did press a kiss to Neil's forehead. Neil figured it did sound a little stupid now. Eames worked the same job that Neil did after all.
"I don't want to go back to sleep," Neil whispered. "I'll wake up screaming."
"I'll be here to hold off the monsters in the dark," Eames assured him. "We've got to get up in about four hours or so anyway to catch our flight, so try and get some rest. Even if you can only sleep a few more minutes, it will do you some good."
"Eames…" Neil said, voice slurring as he started to sink into the warmth and comfort of the bed. "What if tomorrow everyone… what if they hate me…? What if… this whole… fixing my subconscious thing… doesn't work?"
He didn't hear an answer to any of the questions even if Eames had given one because he was out like a light, draped heavily over Eames.
For the rest of the night, he vaguely recalled being shushed back into sleep again and again, and when he awoke around six that morning, his throat was sore from screaming.
Neil was wearing Eames's clothes because they were clean, even though they practically fell off of his scrawny frame. He felt like a little boy playing dress-up, but he was a bit too caught up in what was happening to care too much. Eames had bought them cups of coffee to sip at while waiting to board their plane, and Neil held his in both hands, watching the other passengers mill about in the waiting area.
There was a little boy sleeping with his head on the shoulder of what Neil assumed was his dad. The boy was wearing a baseball jersey, and his hair was blonde like Brian's.
"So," Neil said, unable to take his eyes off the boy. "Do you think it's fucked up?"
"What is?" Eames asked. The man was a bit haggard this morning himself, probably from trying to calm Neil's night terrors.
"Me. And Coach."
"Oh… well, ah," Eames said, squirming in his seat a bit. "Honestly, I'm not really sure what to say about it. She told me how important he was to you."
"She thought I was misguided in my affections," Neil said, pulling a knee up to his chest. "She never said it out loud, but I know she did…"
"Do you think she was right?" Eames asked. "I mean… you were just a boy."
"I know," Neil said, avoiding answering the question right away, "but… he treated me like his prize. I was special, more important than the others. Even if there were other boys, I was always there. He called me his… angel… and I wanted to make him so proud."
Eames didn't try to devalue Neil's childhood emotions, nor did he respond to the information with confusion or disgust. He merely sat there nodding his head a little, one hand brushing against the back of Neil's neck, listening.
"No one had… ever made me feel that way before," Neil told him. "Like… I was really valuable. I thought that… for him to hold me on such a high pedestal that he must have loved me, but… then I met Brian, and… now I'm not so sure. I don't know what to think… That summer seems tainted now, and I know that sounds fucked up. Brian's memory hangs over it like a dark cloud… and for some reason I can't stop connecting that summer with the other night."
Eames perked up a little, raising an eyebrow. "What other night?" he asked.
Neil's mouth went dry, and he stared at Eames, not sure what to say.
Thankfully, at that moment they announced that they were boarding the plane, and Neil managed to mumble, "It's nothing, forget about it," before they got on board.
Eames spent the flight doodling something in his moleskine (it looked like a maze, and Neil wondered if Eames was constructing one for Neil's subconscious), and Neil looked out the window and thought about what he was going to say when they touched down in his hometown.
He honestly didn't know if anyone would speak to him at this point… but he did know that maybe now he owed some of these people the truth.
There was a possibility that this was Neil McCormick's last day anyway, so he figured there wasn't any reason not to.