conning | Once Upon A Time In A Multiversal Nightmare Far Far Away.... (Village Wrap-up Post)

Continued from here.

"Maybe you will... life likes to deal shit hands sometimes. Not fair. Not right." But it is what it is. You either had to try to make peace with it or not. He lets out a sigh, tilting his head down thoughtfully.

He looks up at that last bit though, his eyes drawn away from cleaning and dressing Neal's hands. He needs to finish that job. He knows he does. This'd be a nasty place to get an infection... and nothing's pretty about watching someone die like that.

Not that he's been any safer with his own wounds before.

He manages a smile though. "'Course you do. Who wouldn't miss me?"

It's an attempt to deflect, an attempt to joke it off, even if there's nothing especially funny lately. "I'm cool as hell."

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Neal looks over at him with interest from where he's working on his own wall. "Did you build things? As a hobby, or something?"

He can't imagine the marshal doing anything but being a marshal professionally.

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Neal holds him close. "You'll figure it out. You will. Not everything you do is because of him, or in an attempt not to be him, or in trying to be like you thought he was. We..."

He trails off a moment, wondering about his own father. "When I got brought here... I was finally starting to choose. Choose who I was, for my own sake, doing what I wanted. It took that long to figure it out. It takes time, Malcolm. It always takes time. And when you're ready, you'll walk away from Martin Whitly knowing he has no power over who you've chosen to be."

“I thought I walked away from him once,” Malcolm tells him, his voice rough. “Then I ended up back at his door and in deeper than ever.”

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Goddamn, but Negan's instantly drawn to the way Neal kisses like he knows exactly waht the fuck he's doing. No amount of pleasant smells from the kitchen distract his thoughts from trailing somewhere else when teeth tug on his lip in a way that sends a jolt right down south.

It's easy to press in against the other body, to feel the solid weight against his as one hand slides up to tangle into dark hair. Negan's always been tactile - loves touch, he loves enthusiasm. Those wicked fingers sliding down to his ass kick his pulse up a notch as lips part to welcome his tongue in. Feels like his skin's almost buzzing wherever he's touched, a pleased rumble leaving his throat and then--

"Goddamn." He's almost a little breathless when teeth catch against his skin again, words are murmured against his ear. It's a fucking chore to not say 'however will get you into bed faster', but he should have some fucking class.

"Uh-- medium rare," he manages after a moment, licking his lips. "You always a fucking tease like this, Neal?"

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Neal smiles faintly at that. It's true. It's unbelievably true. In some cases true enough to hurt, in others true enough to stir jealousy. But in some...

"Would I sound crazy if I said... I'm glad I got. To come here? To meet all of you?"

"No. We were the best thing that happened to this town. I would have never met any of the people I had met here had I stayed in Purgatory, and I would not have wanted it any other way," Doc says with a small, rueful smile. They didn't choose to come to Mathias, but they are here, and there is little they can do to escape. They might as well make the most of what cards they had been dealt with.

"Other than shelves that refill themselves, of course. I wouldn't mind some of those at home... or the liquor cabinet, in the bar."

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Neal soaks in the attention, the gentle physical affection, though he's still a little fuzzy on who it's coming from. It's someone with the feel of Peter. He registers that much. And Peter is never gentle in his affection toward anyone.

"Oh," he says softly. He's trying to remember what day might have needed saving, and his thoughts drift to Malcolm, to blood on his hands. Neal frowns. "Is Malcolm okay?"

"He's just fine," Doc reassures, letting his touch trail down Neal's forearm and linger for a little while when it seems to keep Neal on the calmer side. Of course, Doc doesn't actually know how Malcolm and Raylan are getting on, but with the confidence and the warmness with which he says it, Neal wouldn't have known otherwise.

"How are you feeling?" Might be a bit of a rhetorical question considering 'not good' would pretty much cover it. "Can I make you some tea or, are you hungry?"

Edited 2021-08-16 00:15 (UTC)

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Edited 2021-08-22 00:10 (UTC)

Neal understands enough to know an insult when he hears one. "I do not talk funny. My accent is perfect."

He sounds more indignant than the statement is worth. Still, he eyes Callisto with concern. "You look as bad as me."

"Do I?" she says, in mock surprise - obviously, exaggeratedly feigned, in a tone that isn't even bothering to try to trick them. "I feel just peachy."

And with that, she plops herself right down on the floor, silently declaring her intention to stick around for a while.

“Do you want me to more reading?“ Malcolm asks her. “It’s in English.“

"I know. I heard."

She eyes them both, picking idly at the leather of her arm bracer.

"What is it, a fable?"

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Neal doesn't dismiss the idea outright. He doesn't like it, those kinds of restraints, enough that he's made it a lifetime's hobby to escape them. He rubs one wrist, frowning at his lap.

"Do you think it'll help? I've been... Lately, the things I've been seeing--dreaming about, I mean. It just keeps getting worse."

“It could help. If you see them as a tool for you to use for your own security and not as… a prison.”

Malcolm offers him a tight smile.

“I’ve done so much damage in my sleep that - for me - they’re a lifeline.”

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Neal pushes himself a little more upright, wincing slightly, focused on catching her eye. "Parker, no. It's okay. Mathias took it away. You didn't lose it. Mathias stole it."

It doesn't help. He may not blame her, but that's not about to stop her from blaming herself. She shakes her head violently, her ponytail flying.

"I promised!"

He'd trusted her. And she'd failed him.

"I should have seen the fire sooner. I should have found a way to put it out."

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Edited 2021-08-22 00:33 (UTC)

Neal stumbles slightly, but finds his footing, looking toward the lighthouse as though he can see it through the wall.

Fire. Fire.

"I've been dreaming about fire," he whispers, horrified. He moves when Raylan does, though not as fast as he wants to. Probably not as fast as Raylan wants him to, either.

Neal isn't sure at this point if he's hallucinating or not. He's pretty sure he lost consciousness in there somewhere, whether from impact, pain, or adrenaline crash, he has no idea. He can feel the heat of the fire, hear the hunger in it, though it seems to have stopped advancing. He shifts slowly to his feet, blood sticking his shirt to his side a little too thoroughly to be comforting.

"Raylan," he says, groggy, the grogginess quickly evaporating as he turns and sees the eastern half of the town in flames. His first thought is of his people--1306, are they okay? Klaus? The others on Phillips?

His next thought, somewhat more numb than the first, is that he never got to show Parker the house on King Lane that he'd started painting. He didn't get to tell Ellie about it, about the fact that he was finally going to make Rey and all the others a real memorial. Neal wipes his face with the back of his arm, which does absolutely nothing but spread soot and dirt over his cheeks and forehead.

"Raylan," he says again, like he's reminding himself of a task he was in the middle of. He turns away from the fire, and starts making his way very slowly toward the woods where he saw Raylan vanish.

It's a relief to be on a cot in the schoolhouse, piled under blankets. He knows the cold is from blood loss, not weather, but at least he can pretend he's warm this way.

He can't sleep, though. He's terrified to close his eyes. It's been that way for several days, yes, but in the wake of the fire it's so much worse. What if he dreams some other disaster? His people got out okay this time, but what if next time they don't?

He works one hand free from the blankets and pinches the bridge of his nose, blinking several times to fend off the nigh-unbearable need to close his eyes.

Malcolm brings him a cup of tea.

“Here,” he says softly. “You need the warmth and the fluids.”

Neal smiles tiredly at Malcolm, feeling another deep tide of relief at knowing he's present and okay. It feels somehow like every time someone walks out of the room it's going to be the last time he sees them.

He sits up a little more, accepting the tea with real gratitude. "Thanks. Who knew blood loss made you this thirsty."

“Medical science,” Malcolm offers. He sits down next to Neal’s makeshift bed. “Can… can I ask you something?”

He sips the tea, testing the heat of it before taking a deeper drink. It's off-brand Lipton's, but at the moment it tastes like heaven.

"Anything. Always."

“When… when I stabbed you… you were kind of out of it. You… you told me that you loved me. Not. Not the usual way we say it. Is… was that true?” he asks cautiously.

Neal gives him a long, blank look. He feels like his insides have locked up. He feels like he might be sick, or like he might try to yank his stitches out so Malcolm has a crisis to solve and can't wait for the answer to that question.

"I..." When did he say that? Why did he say it? What was he thinking? Was he thinking? Apparently not because he has no memory of that giant mistake whatsoever. "That's."

“That’s the reason you were mad at me for staying with Raylan. That’s the reason you were so mad at Raylan that you hit him in the face.”

It slots everything together. It’s the only answer that makes sense.

Shame washes through him. He can't meet Malcolm's eyes. Thirsty as he is, he can't even seem to bring the cup to his mouth. He wants Malcolm to leave, get this over with and walk out, so he can curl up under the blankets and hope they'll smother him before someone comes along to see how he's feeling.

Malcolm makes no move to leave.

“Why didn’t you tell me that? When did things change?”

"I did," he says quietly. "I tried. But you thought I meant... the first way, and I didn't want..."

He didn't want to upset things. He didn't want to make things complicated. So much for that. "I don't know when it changed. I didn't... really realize it until the fight with Raylan."

I tried.

“You… you did,” he realizes. “Try. And you made that pie. Waiting for me after Raylan confessed.” He frowns faintly. “Why couldn’t I see it? Does… does Raylan know?”

Neal nods miserably, still staring at the tea, the idea of which now makes him faintly queasy. "He's--"

He almost, almost glances up at Malcolm's face, but he aborts the action half-way through. "When we were fighting, he... I didn't know, not really. But he pointed it out. He realized it was why I was so mad."

“He’s better at assessing people than he’s given credit for, though I think he likes it that way. Being underestimated.”

Malcolm reaches out and strokes his fingertips through Neal’s hair.

“Are you still mad at me?”

He closes his eyes at the touch, whispering, "No," instead of shaking his head.

"I can't stay mad a you," he says, even quieter. "I just. Want you to be happy."

“Is that why you felt like coming home with me made you some sort of consolation prize? I don’t want to make you do something that makes you feel like you don’t matter. You matter. I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to think that you’re some sort of… second fiddle. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. That’s everything. That means everything to me.”

"I shouldn't have said that." His voice is still very, very quiet. "I didn't mean it, not really. I know you'd never..."

He squeezes his eyes shut tighter against tears. For a second he feels dizzy with sleeplessness, but that isn't what's important right now. "I still want to go with you. I don't want you to think... I wouldn't be happy if I did. I would."

Malcolm watches his face for a moment, then crawls closer and carefully wraps his arms around Neal's shoulders, hugging him tightly, burying his face in the artist's hair.

He hangs on to the tea with one hand, his other going up to cling to Malcolm's arm. Not to pull it away. Just to hang on. He leans in against the embrace, eyes still shut tight.

"I love you," he says quietly. "I would love you even if I didn't feel..."

How can he even put it?

"I just love you," he says, more quietly.

"I love you, too," Malcolm murmurs back. "Maybe things would have been different if..." If Neal had snagged his heart in the kitchen that day? Hard to say. Malcolm had a crush on Raylan already but he also thought it would never come to anything. "If things were different."

Neal almost makes a joke about how everyone else seemed to know about his crush before Malcolm, but he doesn't. It doesn't feel like it would hit the right note. And it hurts a little too much.

He turns his face to press against Malcolm's chest. "When--"

Neal stops. He doesn't want to screw things up, not more than he already has.

Malcolm presses a kiss into his hair.

"When what?"

Neal bites his lip for a moment. "When we get out of here. When we get back to your New York. You think we might have a shot at..."

He shakes his head. "I don't care if we don't, I don't. I want to go with you either way."

Malcolm looks at him for a moment, then shifts and gives him a gentle kiss on his mouth.

"If we leave here and you come back to my New York with me, I think I would be a very lucky man if you'd have me."

Neal leans forward as Malcolm starts to lean back, catching his mouth before he's out of reach. It's not passionate, but it is tender.

"When. When we leave. When we get to your New York."

"When we get to my New York. Together." He squeezes Neal's forearm as he sits back. "Drink your tea. You need to get there alive."

Once Upon A Time In A Multiversal Nightmare Far Far Away.... (Village Wrap-up Post)

065-071 » assign to oblivion / part iii

Day 65

Negan - Smashing The House @ Night

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Day 66

Day 67

Neal + Raylan - Beach/King Lane House

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Day 68

Day 69

Malcolm - Afternoon - Like Father Like Nope

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Day 70

Negan - Evening Sexy Mistakes

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Doc - Morning/Midday

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Day 71

072-078 » pages of possible futures

Day 72

Day 73

Doc + Neal Stabbies Aftermath

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Day 74

Callisto + Malcolm are Mean about Neal's Greek

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Dumas + Bad Dreams w/ Malcolm

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Day 75

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Day 78

Parker Apologizes For Things Outside of Her Control

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Fire In A Crowded Theater w/ Raylan

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Raylan + Malcolm Left Their Kid at Dead Walmart

Malcolm - Wait I Said What Now

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