Work Text:
Jean stood in front of the mirror, grateful for the condensation that shielded him from having to face his own reflection. Despite not seeing him, he knew exactly how the man trapped behind the glass looked like. A busted nose and dark bruises around the eyes.
A spitting image of his sixteen-year-old self. The boy that bent to Riko"s will and endured whatever he had to in order to survive. The Jean who hadn"t known Nathaniel yet, but only heard his name whispered between boys frightened of what was to come.
Jean wasn"t worried about meeting Nathaniel. He wasn"t scared either. He had given up those useless emotions and was left only with the reluctant acceptance that this was what his life looked like now. More property than person, something to be owned and claimed and passed around however his King saw fit.
He had assumed Nathaniel would be just like them. Another monster in the den, taking what wasn"t his to take. How wrong he had been. Nathaniel was thrown into his cage and instead of going for Jean"s jugular, he turned around and bared his teeth at everyone else. The Butcher"s son was a monster of a different kind.
For the first time in a while Jean felt something stir in his chest, which had been void of everything that wasn"t the primal need to survive. Always survive.
Nathaniel seemed to lack that. Or at the very least he lacked any sense of common thought because he fought back. And oh, how he fought.
Not only did he bite the hand that fed him, but he tried to tear it into pieces, flesh and bone alike. It was pointless, Jean knew. His brave and so incredibly stupid rebellion would inevitably come to an end. Nathaniel would break and be put in his place, but Jean allowed himself the temporary comfort of knowing that he had another person in his corner.
His partner that not only bled if only he thought it would spare a hair on Jean"s head, but also demanded nothing in return. Jean didn"t trust it at first, he had no reason too, but as time passed and Nathaniel"s spine refused to snap into two, Jean dared to hope.
It was a dangerous game. Keeping hope alive in the darkness of the Nest. But Jean tended to it with broken fingers and softly spoken French. Thus the flame grew. It turned out it was just as stubborn as Nathaniel and it kept burning despite everyone around trying to snuff it out.
The day when Jean realised he could no longer survive without its warmth, he knew he was well and truly doomed.
“If anyone finds out,” Jean whispered anxiously, biting the skin around his nails.
“Tell me, do all Frenchmen fret so much,” Nathaniel asked.
“Are all Brits this stupid,” he snapped back, annoyed that Nathaniel wasn"t taking this as seriously as he should be. “Or did I just get lucky to be stuck with the one that lacks half his brain cells?”
“Moreau.”
“Wesninski?”
“I"m flattered you think I still have half of them.” The smirk on his face was small but impish and Jean pushed at his shoulder, trying to stifle his own smile. He wasn"t exactly successful and Nathaniel caught onto it immediately, eyes shining with mirth.
They stared at each other for a while, before Nathaniel huffed out a small breath and his eyes dropped away from Jean"s eyes to his lips. His bottom one was still swollen from Riko"s backhanded slap. In terms of punishments, it was barely worth a mention, but Nathaniel seemed to be unnaturally fixated on it now.
“You know I"d never put you in danger, right,” he said softly and Jean found it increasingly harder to breathe, the longer Nathaniel kept his gaze on the injury.
“Yes,” Jean managed to get out.
“Nobody will find out,” Nathaniel promised and moved his hand closer to Jean"s, where it was resting on the bed between them. “Not even Kevin.”
Jean closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. “Okay,” he conceded.
“Okay,” Nathaniel echoed.
Their fingers were inches apart and Jean decided that was entirely too much space. He closed the distance and placed his palm over Nathaniel"s scarred knuckles. They twitched at the contact. “You"ll be the death of me, mon cœur.”
“Why do you say that,” Nathaniel asked in French, leaning closer.
“Because I just might perish if you don"t kiss me right now,” Jean admitted as quietly as he could. Nathaniel chuckled in response before he pressed his lips over Jean"s. In the dead of the night, when everything and everyone around them was sleeping, Jean had never felt so awake.
It wasn"t entirely a new thing, but Jean hadn"t yet gotten around to believing that there was someone who had seen how broken, how used he was and still decided he was worthy of being kissed like he was precious. And it was during one of these kisses, when Nathaniel smiled against his lips, that Jean realised it wasn"t hope he couldn"t survive without.
It was Nathaniel.
Nathaniel, whose hands didn"t touch unless Jean wanted them to. Nathaniel, who seemed to be made out of razors and knives, with a smile that could freeze souls, but laughed quietly and knew how to move so his sharp edges never pierced Jean"s skin.
The little moments of kindness shared between the two of them in secret almost made Jean forget that they were trapped underground, living a nightmare. However, Riko made sure to remind them all, when he moved on from destroying his toys for the sheer fun of it to damaging one Kevin Day.
Seeing the bone peering from the wounds on Kevin"s left hand and hearing his wailing sobs seared itself into Jean"s brain. Nobody was safe. Not even the Son of Exy was untouchable. He stood there like a statue, on the verge of a panic attack, until Nathaniel came running into the room.
The sound of his name was the first thing out of Nathaniel"s mouth and Jean automatically turned to look at him. “Are you with me,” he asked and Jean nodded even though he wasn"t entirely sure whether he was lying or not.
Only then did Nathaniel drop to his knees and check on Kevin, who was inconsolable in his pain and grief. “Get me some towels and gauze,” he commanded and when Jean still didn"t move, he added. “Now, Jean.”
As if possessed, Jean hurried into their bathroom and grabbed the medical equipment they had secretly acquired over the years. He placed them on the floor, next to Nathaniel, who was carefully examining Kevin"s broken hand.
“There– there"s no way I"ll ever play again,” Kevin sobbed, repeating the sentence like a mantra. Nathaniel was deaf to it all, focusing instead on the mess of tissue in front of him. He doused a towel in antiseptic, then wrapped it around Kevin"s hand, effectively cutting off his babbling, which soon turned into ear-splitting screams.
Jean had to fight the instinct of covering his ears and forced himself to sit next to Kevin. Despite the complexity of his own feelings for the man, he tried to murmur comforting words in French to him just like he would to Nathaniel whenever Riko got to have his way with him.
Whether it worked was up for debate, but Kevin did manage to hold onto his consciousness while Nathaniel worked his ruthless magic. Once he was done securing the towel in place with some gauze, Kevin was half-delirious, no longer forming coherent sentences.
“Alright, that"s it, Day,” Nathaniel said, already getting to his feet. “Now just give me a moment. I"ll be right back.”
Kevin made a sound of protest.
“Hey, It"s okay,” Nathaniel soothed, which was a technique he rarely used with people other than Jean. “Moreau will stay with you. He"s great company, when he"s not being a prickly asshole,” he added, catching Jean"s eye. The banter didn"t really land the way it usually did and there was something in his expression that Jean couldn"t quite decipher. It scared him.
“Where are you going,” he asked, opting for French even though it made no difference, seeing as Kevin also understood the language.
“Getting a car.”
“Nat…”
“Remember the plan?”
Jean shuddered and looked around. Even now he was afraid that someone would hear them talking about it. The plan. To escape, to claw their way to freedom, or whatever the equivalent of that was for people like him.
“We can"t,” Jean said quietly. “They"ll kill us.”
Nathaniel smiled, but it wasn"t the one he pressed into Jean"s skin before leaving a kiss in its stead. It was the smile his father carved into Nathaniel"s face with a cleaver. The Butcher"s smile.
Kevin made a wounded noise seeing it and for once Jean was inclined to agree with him. He didn"t like where this was going. Before he could do anything about it, Nathaniel slipped out of the room. When he came back, there was a keyring looped around his finger.
“Let"s get him up,” Nathaniel said and together they hauled Kevin to his feet. He swayed on the spot like a newborn deer taking its first steps.
“Where are we even going?” Jean wanted to know, but Nathaniel was stingy with the details. Or more likely he was just as paranoid about being overheard as Jean.
They climbed the stairs leading out of the Nest in silence. Once at the door, Nathaniel picked it with ease. The cool night air was a shock to Jean"s face, but it worked to clear his mind a bit. He supposed this was the point at which he forever turned his back on the Ravens, the Nest and all of the horrors that haunted it.
Jean thought it would feel better. But instead of joy at finally tasting freedom, there was only dread churning in his stomach.
“That one,” Nathaniel pointed out a car. Jean rearranged his hold on Kevin, shouldering most of his weight as they stalked towards it, careful not to slip on the icy parking lot.
They wasted no time. Nathaniel helped Kevin sit in the back, then waited for Jean to get into the passenger seat before he threw himself behind the wheel. As soon as the car started, he peeled out of the parking lot and onto the road.
“Tell me where we"re going now?” Jean said, looking sideways to Nathaniel, who was breaking about five laws per mile.
“The southern winter banquet is being held just two hours away,” he answered as if that was supposed to mean something to Jean. Nathaniel checked how fast he was going. “We"ll be there in one.”
“That"s not part of the plan,” Jean pointed out. Now that he was relatively safe in a car, away from Riko"s and his posse, his anxiety was making a glorious comeback.
“Neither is the whole backseat situation.”
True. In fact, nothing was going according to the plan and Jean was trying really hard to keep breathing.
He fidgeted with his fingers and tried to inhale deeply.
In.
Moreau.
Out.
Jean.
In.
Jean Valjean.
Jean snapped out of the memory and was rudely confronted with the very thing he had been trying to avoid. His own pathetic face in the mirror staring back at him with panicked eyes.
“Welcome back to planet Earth,” a gruff voice said from Jean"s left and he turned his head to see Andrew leaning against the bathroom entrance, seemingly unbothered. “Where did you go,” he wanted to know.
“The Nest,” Jean reluctantly replied.
“Bad place to be,” Andrew said, tone neutral, although he straightened himself up as if getting ready to fight the demons of Jean"s past.
“Tell me about it,” Jean retorted without humour and touched the bridge of his nose. A sting of pain made him hiss through his teeth. Abby said it wasn"t broken, but it sure felt like it. Then again, everything about him felt broken most of the time.
“Hm, no. Don"t feel like it,” Andrew replied and Jean rolled his eyes. “And don"t touch your nose. It might fall off.”
“Wouldn"t that be tragic,” Jean deadpanned and Andrew answered in the exact same manner.
“Yes.”
Despite himself, Jean smiled. “Knew you liked my face.”
“Fishing for compliments is low even for you,” Andrew said, causing Jean"s smile to grow even more. Teasing Andrew and seeing him try to pretend not to care was one of his favourite pastime activities. Right after kissing him.
“You didn"t deny it though.”
Andrew"s facial expression remained unchanged, but his gaze sharpened. He always got so worked up whenever Jean or Nathaniel called him out.
“I like it more when it"s not beaten to a pulp,” Andrew said and Jean zeroed in on the tinge of bitterness in his voice.
“It"s not your fault,” Jean made it clear immediately before Andrew got too in his head about it. Last night"s game was rough. The opposing team had come at them hard, playing dirty and testing the limits of both Jean"s sanity and the judge"s patience. All of their bottled-up rage awarded them two red cards, one for Jean"s nose and the other one for Matt"s ankle, which he sprained on the account of one of those jerks intentionally tripping him.
“I could"ve smashed his teeth in,” Andrew said and Jean sighed. He was well aware. Andrew could no doubt do at least twice amount the damage, and he didn"t even want to know what Nathaniel would have done, if Kevin hadn"t held him back in time.
“And then you"d get red carded. Not a very smart move,” Jean chastised.
Andrew crossed his arms in front of his chest before he spoke. “Would"ve been worth it.”
“Or not.” Jean shook his head. It still surprised him how similar Andrew and Nathaniel were in some aspects. Their instinct was always to go on the offence, and while Jean was warmed by their fierce protectiveness of him, he also didn"t want violence being carried out in his name. “Coach would probably sign you up for a marathon.”
“I"d just send Neil to do it instead of me,” Andrew retorted but he seemed to sense that Jean wasn"t entirely comfortable with this conversation.
“Speaking of Nat,” Jean prompted, feeling weird not knowing where his partner was at all times. In the Nest they had been practically sewn together from shoulder to heel and navigating their codependency had been a challenge these past two years. Andrew had helped greatly, showing them that they both existed as individuals outside of their bond as number three and four.
“He"s sleeping,” Andrew answered as if he could read Jean"s mind.
“Okay. Good.” Jean paused, deciding whether he wanted to bring this up with Andrew or not.
“Spit it out,” Andrew said and Jean was once again reminded that he was an open book to the man. The same man that had initially been so suspicious of the broken birds that came knocking on the door of his hotel room.
“Do you remember,” Jean started, then cleared his throat. He was already getting too emotional. “Do you remember when we crashed that winter banquet with a passed-out Kevin in tow?”
Andrew tapped his temple. “Kinda don"t have a choice. What about it?”
“Do you ever regret taking us in?” Jean asked, bringing his hand up to his mouth, the urge to bite his nails as he waited for the answer too strong.
They brought so many hardships down onto the Foxes by choosing to hide amidst them. People have lost their lives, been threatened with things Jean didn"t even want to think about, all for it to end with the Butcher kidnapping his own son, bringing two crime families to the brink of war.
Nathaniel was the one who negotiated peace between the Hatfords and Moriyamas, the result of which was Riko with a bullet in his brain and something else, which his partner never addressed, but Jean knew when Nathaniel was keeping secrets.
“Regret is pointless,” Andrew answered and Jean closed his eyes, trying to keep the onslaught of tears at bay. “You know that already. So what is this really about,” Andrew pushed and Jean was both glad and terrified that he could see right through him.
“I"m scared,” Jean confessed, covering his face with a trembling hand. “I don"t think it"s over yet.”
“I think you"re paranoid,” Andrew said, ruthlessly honest.
“Nathaniel was the one who shot Riko,” Jean blurted out, no longer able to keep his mouth shut about the thing that had been eating him from the inside out. “It wasn"t Ichirou like he claims.”
Andrew surprised him by having no reaction to his words at all. “I know.”
“How?” Jean looked at him, all of his walls down. He was used to being a mess, to be the one to break down first, leaving it to Nathaniel and Andrew to try and put the pieces of him back together each time.
Andrew stared him down. “The same way you do,” he said pointedly.
“Then you know there"s something else. Something he"s keeping to himself. I don"t know what it is but it"s there.”
“You"re spiraling.” Andrew stepped into the bathroom, coming to a stop in front of him. His face was impassive, but his hand reached for Jean. “Yes or no?”
“Merde, tell me something I don"t know,” Jean said heatedly. Pointing out the obvious always annoyed him. “Yes,” he remembered to answer, but Andrew didn"t touch him yet.
“Yes?” He repeated, probably wanting to make sure Jean actually comprehended what he was asking.
Jean collected himself, then said more calmly, “Yes, Andrew.”
Andrew"s fingers circled around his wrist, pulling him down slightly. Jean went willingly, Andrew"s skin on his a rare treat that he savoured each time that it was granted. His heart stuttered when Andrew kissed his pulse point while maintaining eye contact.
Jean gasped, knowing damn well Andrew was distracting him, but he liked it too much not to give into it. For a long time, Jean struggled to trust anyone other than Nathaniel with his body, but Andrew had earned it. He respected every boundary set by Jean, no matter how irrational, with laser-focused precision and zero questions asked.
“Waist and above,” Andrew said, before his mouth was on Jean"s and everything else washed away.
He draped his arms across Andrew"s ridiculously strong shoulders and returned the kiss fiercely. It was different from kissing Nathaniel, who never quite managed to separate himself from the Wesninski name and thus thought that if he wasn"t careful enough, he would crush Jean with hands that were only ever trained to kill.
Jean enjoyed his gentleness, even if it stemmed from fear, but he also wished that Nathaniel would get it through his obscenely thick skull that he was no danger to Jean and that he would never become what he so feared.
Andrew, on the other hand, kissed him like Jean was unbreakable. He was secure in himself to an admirable extent and Jean was brought to his knees by each one of his intense kisses, buckling under the weight of such passion coming from a man who insisted he felt nothing.
“Mon Dieu,” Jean sighed when Andrew pressed a hand to his stomach and kissed his neck. His entire body was on fire and there was not enough water in the world to keep him from burning.
Andrew tangled his fingers in Jean"s hair. “Dieu n"existe pas,” he whispered behind his ear in clumsy French with a terrible American accent, but Jean nearly melted at the sound of it.
“You"ve been practising,” Jean said, not able to keep the wonder out of his voice. When Andrew pulled back, his face was the same as ever but he was a bit red around the neck.
“You two dumbasses keep switching to French. It"s annoying as fuck.”
“Je suis désolé,” Jean apologised. “I don"t even think we notice it anymore. Now that we don"t get in trouble for using it,” he explained and a small frown appeared between Andrew"s brows.
“Riko didn"t like feeling left out,” Andrew guessed and Jean nodded, feeling the cold creeping in.
“Something like that,” Jean mumbled, removing his arms away from Andrew and wrapping them around his middle. He didn"t want to be touching him while bad memories threatened to break the boxes that Jean had stuffed them in.
They had been especially loud lately, rattling around his head. And ever since that striker took a swing at him it was like he sent Jean right back in time to when getting punched and pushed around was just a normal part of his day. When pain was the only thing he had to show for himself.
“You"re slipping away from me again,” Andrew said, digging something out of his pocket. Jean"s vision was too unfocused to figure out what it was, but the sudden smell of cigarette smoke was a pretty solid clue.
“Nat will kill you,” Jean said weakly and watched as Andrew took a drag.
“He can try,” Andrew replied nonchalantly and passed the cigarette to him. Jean took it, transfixed by the burning cherry that was almost the same colour as Nathaniel"s unruly hair. He thought of him, sleeping soundly after running himself ragged on court, giving everything to the game that almost killed him on multiple occasions.
Jean stuck the cigarette between his lips, thinking about everything Exy had cost him too. Not that he ever wished to play this stupid cursed stick ball, he just had no other choice. Well, except for ending it all, but evidently death didn"t want him, so he had to keep surviving.
Except it wasn"t just about survival anymore. The Foxes, he came to understand, were all survivors trying to learn how to finally start living. And now it was Jean"s turn to figure it out.
Andrew had already declared that he wasn"t anybody"s answer, not Nathaniel"s, not Jean"s. Both of them accepted that easily. Knowing exactly how it felt like, they didn"t really wish bearing the responsibility of another man"s life upon anyone, least of all Andrew, who was binded by deals left and right.
Jean had barely registered that he had finished the cigarette, before he was lighting a new one.
It was a bad habit, he was aware, one that he undoubtedly picked up from Andrew. Nathaniel wouldn"t stop bitching about him becoming a French stereotype and his therapist kept insisting that it was just a different form of self-harm and not the coping mechanism Jean believed it to be. Either way, it was a lot less gruesome than what he used to do to himself and that was a win in and of itself, if you asked him.
So Jean continued smoking until his nerves gradually settled to the point where his heart no longer tried to jump up his throat for him to choke on it. Neither did his mind keep assaulting him with images of his past.
Andrew stayed, silently sharing cigarettes with him. Only when Jean started dozing off, back against the bathtub, did Andrew put away the nearly empty pack and said, “You know damn well I"m not carrying your freakishly tall ass, so if you want to sleep in a bed, get up.”
Jean smiled at him sleepily, dizzy from all the nicotine in his system, then clambered to his feet. Together they left the foggy bathroom, then Jean followed Andrew to their dorm bedroom. The door was cracked, letting in a little light from their living space. Slowly not to make too much noise, Andrew pushed it all the way open, revealing Nathaniel, half buried underneath the blankets.
He was wearing Andrew"s t-shirt, his hand under the pillow even though there was no weapon hiding there anymore. Jean"s heart was so full of love for him and yet it broke each time he saw him like this, not fully relaxed even while sleeping.
While Jean stood there, Andrew changed into his sweats. Lately he often opted for a tank top instead of the usual long sleeved shirt and Jean, trying to be respectful, eyed him just a little. Andrew"s lips quirked when he caught him in the act.
“Go to sleep before your eyes fall out,” Andrew said quietly and Jean huffed indignantly.
“Stop flattering yourself, I wasn"t even looking at you,” Jean denied in a whispered tone.
“Leave lying to Neil. You suck at it,” Andrew said, then took off his armbands and placed them on his desk. The scars on his forearms matched Jean"s thighs.
“Wish you"d stick to compliments instead of insults, mon cœur,” Jean said, opening the dresser for his own change of clothes. The bottoms were gifted to him for Christmas by Nicky and could be considered a fashion crime, but they were soft and comfortable, which was why they hadn"t landed in the trash just yet.
“Don"t you only call Neil that,” Andrew piped up when Jean took off his shirt and threw it in the hamper. He looked at the man and saw his hands were clenched into fists. Usually he did that when he tried to hide the fact his fingers were shaking.
Jean smiled softly. “Because I didn"t know you would understand what I mean with it,” he explained, then stepped closer to him. He hovered his hand above Andrew"s arm. “But you are,” Jean said fondly. “You have been all this time.”
Andrew just stared at him, clearly at a loss of words, which almost never happened. Luckily, he was saved from having to respond by Nathaniel, who grumbled from his pile.
“Here"s an idea. How about you two stop chattering and come join me?” When none of them moved, he groaned and said, “We can discuss the entirety of the French language tomorrow if you are so inclined.”
Jean snorted quietly and Andrew seemed to will his tongue into working once again. “I just spent hours with him in the bathroom. I think it"s time you stepped up.”
Laughing, Nathaniel shuffled to one side of the bed. It was the easiest thing in the world to slide in next to him. Jean had done it countless times and at this point it was second nature for Nathaniel to nest his head under Jean"s chin and bury his nose into his chest.
“You smell like cigarettes,” he mumbled, already falling back asleep.
“Bad day,” Jean admitted and wrapped his arms tighter around Nathaniel. He was so warm.
“That means tomorrow will be a better one.”
“When did you become an optimist,” Jean asked, surprised. He would write it up to Nathaniel"s exhaustion.
“For someone who wanted us to stop chattering, you can"t seem to shut up for the life of you either,” Andrew pointed out from across the room.
“Hmm, you"re right,” Nathaniel agreed easily, too easily for someone who loved to run his mouth almost as much as he loved running. “Bonne nuit tout le monde,” he said with a smirk on his face that only Jean was privy to seeing. Seconds later his face smoothed out and he was fast asleep.
“Fucking idiots,” were the last words Jean heard Andrew say before sleep took him as well.
Despite the painful bruises on his face and all of the shitty memories lurking around in his mind, he slept through the night without any nightmares. What eventually woke him up was the sunlight streaming through the window. Slowly, Jean became aware of the world around him.
Andrew was snoring softly on the other side of the room and there was a familiar weight on top of him. For a while Jean just lay there, content to bask in the warmth of both the sun and Nathaniel. Then as he opened his bleary eyes to the sight of the man drooling on his naked chest, he couldn"t help but think that maybe his partner had been right.
Today could very well be a better day. A good day even. After all, they deserved to have a few of those once in a while.