Who: Neil & Louis What: Louis talks some sense into hungover!Neil. Where: Neil's suite. When: Recently~ Warnings/Rating: None.
Neil had forgotten that Louis intended to come over five minutes after the end of their conversation. Five minutes, that was all it had taken for him to polish off yet another whiskey bottle, which he lined up on the countertop along with the other empty bottles, everything from wine to vodka to his liquor of choice. He passed out on the couch, unable to make it up the stairs to his bedroom, with another bottle clutched between his fingers and limbs sprawled out every which way.
It was a horrible coping method. He knew that, but he just didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to think about what he’d done, about how much of a fucking idiot he was, or about how he couldn’t make things better and had only made things worse for Sam. A very small, sober part of him realized that he should’ve just told Chloe no from the start. Honestly, he couldn’t even scrounge up a reason as to why he’d said yes in the first place. It was like it was a mistake someone else had made, someone not him, and he struggled to wrap his head around the fact that he’d thought, even for one second, that taking off for England with his ex was something he should consider, never mind agree to. But maybe, in the end, it was for the best. Sam was better off without him. He made a concentrated effort to forget that she’d said she loved him, because she shouldn’t. Better she hate him like everyone else. Yeah, he’d seen her public post, like a trainwreck he couldn’t look away from, and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to use his damn journal again without a flood of hate coming his way. Nothing he didn’t deserve, though. They should hate him. Besides, he hated himself more than any of those faceless strangers ever could. Bring it on, Neil slurred, trying to outdo the burn of self loathing in his chest with as much booze as he could force down his throat.
And, even if it was temporary, alcohol drowned out the voices in his head, turning everything fuzzy and numb and blank, which was the closest thing to peace he was going to be allowed to find. The pain, too, was dulled, from the bruises on his chest and back to the throbbing in his arm, where bloodied bandages had been sloppily applied because of the claw marks Liam’s Lizard had left behind. By the time he blacked out, there were more broken bottles than there were whole ones, shards of glass littering the kitchen floor and strewn about on the carpet, sharp and shining beneath the lights.
He was dead to the world for hours, blissfully unaware of what was happening in the real world. When consciousness finally did return to him, it was a slow, groggy process, and Neil fought it for as long as he could, but he was too tired and sore to accomplish much of anything. The first thing he really became aware of was a hellish throbbing behind his eyes, which made him actually fear that, somehow, his head might explode. He opened his eyes and saw colors, blurred and bright, so he squeezed them shut again and waited a few seconds before trying again. Bit by bit his vision returned to him, but his headache persisted in full force, and his mouth was bone dry, and every part of him ached when he tried to move. “Fuck,” he groaned, struggling and failing to sit up, falling back against the couch instead. He forgot about Louis, thinking himself alone, and his only thought was continuing his drinking binge. He didn’t want to be just then. He just wanted the sweet blackness of nothing.
Attempt two resulted in him rolling off the couch and hitting the floor with a thud. Neil cursed again, voice hoarse, and used the coffee table to help him get up to his knees as he searched for the booze that had to be somewhere nearby.
Louis appeared in the doorway of the kitchen as Neil began to curse. The door had been open when he came to the apartment late the night before, and he had been greeted by Neil's unconscious form, already passed out on the couch. Louis had regarded his brother for a moment, then, with a sigh, he’d covered him with a blanket, and made a bed for himself to sleep in.
He hadn't had any trouble sleeping since returning from the door. On the contrary, falling into bed had become a small respite, a relief. Powered by the nervous energy of rage and fear for Sam and Neil both, plus the shame and general melancholy that had dogged him for months, he'd been a dervish of activity since returning. There was no time to dwell or think on himself when Sam seemed so near to the edge and Neil was in no state to help her. There was no time to indulge in bitterness, or to rail. He hadn't spoken to Anton in weeks, Iris had retained all the cold aloof of the door in addition to her apparent unwillingness to entangle with her relatives from the months since Christmas, and he was feeling more and more like he was coming apart at the seams with no one to turn to.
Things had been bad, and then it they’d gotten worse, and then, as of the night before, they had become a nightmare. Sam being committed made Louis feel as if nothing he did had made a lick of difference. Perhaps he was incapable of doing right by her - only embarrassing her with his worry, then failing her completely. And Neil. What would he even do with his brother, when he woke? When Sam told him that Neil had agreed to go to England with Chloe, Louis had felt more inclined to knock him out than dry him out. When Louis had called the doctor, however, they’d told him of Sam’s concern that Neil was in danger of doing harm to himself, and that, at least, had roused his worry for his brother to counter his anger.
Louis had to remind himself repeatedly of the mitigating circumstances. Neil was an idiot, but he'd been drunk when Chloe asked him to go to England, undoubtedly. Yes, he’d let himself be threatened, like a child, with the appearance of their parents. But Neil had always been more concerned with their approval from Louis, who took from an early age the lesson that nothing he did would fully measure up to their exacting expectations. It didn't excuse his behavior, but the fact of the matter was that Neil was in a bad situation. They all were. He forced himself to look at the situation rationally, and see that everyone - with the exception of Chloe - was a victim in some way. The difference with Neil was that on his recovery rode Sam's. He would dry out and make his transgression right, or things would only worsen for her, and that was a fact.
Despite all appearances, Louis cared about his brother. And the fact of the matter was that, while Neil's behavior was responsible for putting Sam where she was now, his alter was at the root of that. And that Louis could latch onto. That much he could understand.
By the time Louis appeared in the kitchen doorway that morning, and brought a glass of water over to Neil where he kneeled on the floor, all the alcohol in the apartment was gone. The bottles had been emptied and taken out to the dumpster before he let himself sleep. There wasn't a drop left in the apartment.
"Drink this," Louis said. He sounded tired. All he really wanted was for things to be alright again. Between himself and Neil, between Neil and Sam. They'd started to get something together that resembled an actual family of people who cared about one another. Now it was all splintering and falling away. He'd come to America to find his biological family, to see what they could offer him that disinterested parents had never felt the need to. And for a brief moment, it had existed - family, people bound together by more than just blood. That moment, though, had been very, very brief. And despite his best wishes, he doubted he would ever really see it again. Now, all he could hope for was to see them all sober, and alive.
Despite no longer being drunk, Neil’s first thought when he was Louis was that he was hallucinating. Maybe it was some sort of personification of his guilt, come to haunt him, and he blinked a few times before the realization that Louis was actually there and not just some figment of his imagination sank in. Then he remembered, belatedly, about their conversation over the forums and that, subsequently, he was going to come over. He couldn’t remember why he’d even agreed, though. He didn’t want anyone seeing him like this, least of all Louis, and as he looked up at his brother he felt a wave of shame and self-loathing wash over him. Pathetic, that’s what he was, and nothing but a burden to everyone around him. He placed a hand over his eyes as though that might somehow make either himself or Louis disappear, but he was still there, and his head still pounded, and he still wished the floor would open up and swallow him down forever.
He knew. Of course he knew. Sam would’ve told him everything, Neil was sure of that, and he cursed himself for not locking the door or having dragged his sorry ass somewhere no one would find him. “Go away.” His voice was hoarse, painfully so, but his goal was to be enough of an asshole that Louis would just give up and leave. He’d already given up on himself; no need for his brother to waste his time. “Just leave me alone, Louis. Go live your life. I’m not worth it. Just fucking go,” he insisted, turning away and waving a hand in Louis’ vague direction as though that might somehow get rid of him.
Louis lingered by the arm of the couch, watching Neil help himself up. He thought to offer him a hand, but Neil seemed keen on reclaiming some of his dignity in the act, so he left him to it. "No," he said, simply. He slipped his hands into his pockets. "I didn't come here to watch you throw yourself a pity parade. We're drying you out, and then we're having a conversation." If Louis had retained anything from his time beyond the door, it was some of the steel that he'd had there. The confidence hadn't really made the transition, but there was something about his posture that lacked the willingness to bend in self-doubt that had once been so constant with him. He had made a decision, and he felt enough conviction in that decision to carry it through, whatever Neil said. He sighed, aware that it was a bit harsh to critique him when he hadn't even made it off the phone yet. "I'm sorry," he said. "Look, I'm brewing coffee. Do you have aspirin, somewhere?"
"A pity parade?" Neil's attention snapped back to Louis quickly enough to make his head spin, and a sudden wave of nausea washed over him as he glared up at his brother. For a moment, he was silent, swallowing multiple times until he felt capable of speech without vomiting everywhere. "I don't feel sorry for myself, Louis, and I sure as hell don’t want your pity,” he snapped. This wasn’t about gaining sympathy or playing the role of the poor, misunderstood victim. No, that would likely be Norman’s spiel when and if he ever got back through the door; it wasn’t happening here. He had no idea Sam had been committed, vaguely recollecting that she’d said something about a nurse during their conversation hours before, but he’d been too drunk to remember the particulars. In short, he had no idea where she currently was. But Louis, he was certain, would have ensured she was alright before coming over here. Sam was the priority, the one who needed help and people who cared about her. Not him. The prospect of drying out was equally as unappealing as that of a conversation, though he wanted to avoid the latter just a little bit more. “I don’t want to talk,” he said flatly, managing to get fully to his feet with an unsteady sway. Damn. If Louis was here, that meant his booze would be gone. He didn’t want coffee, and he didn’t want aspirin, but being cruel required energy he just didn’t have at the moment. Allowing Louis to stay, at least for now, required much less effort. It didn’t mean he had to cooperate, though.
He ended up sitting back on the couch, head in his hands. “Bathroom, underneath the sink,” he said, voice muffled. His drunken hours were slowly beginning to trickle back in bits and pieces, and while he would much, much rather wash them all away again, if that wasn’t an option then something for his killer headache might not be so bad.
Neil's reaction confirmed Louis' suspicion that he might not be the best person for this job. But he was going to try, all the same. Instead of responding to Neil's defensive retort, he went to the bathroom and fetched the aspirin, tapping out two and setting them on the edge of the coffee table in front of him.
Louis leaned against the arm of the couch, watching Neil for a moment. He wanted to tell him that he most certainly was moping and feeling sorry for himself, but that wasn't likely to help the situation. Just this once, he held his tongue on that point.
"You need to sober up because you're going to kill yourself if things keep going like this," Louis said. He'd had his eyes down on the coffee table, and he lifted them at that point, slate gray and staring at Neil. It wasn't all that demanding. If anything, he merely sounded tired to be looking ahead to all the trials they had yet to go through, after everything had already happened. "And because Sam needs you." He folded his arms. "She was committed last night. They called me after they tried you and couldn't raise you."
Neil didn’t move while Louis went to get the aspirin, as though he could make everything go away simply by staying very, very still. All he wanted was a drink, even just one, though it was unlikely that he’d be willing to stop there. Just thinking about it made his throat feel tight and parched, and he groaned as his fingers dug into his hair in frustration. Already his mind was skittering all over the place, searching for options, a reprieve; maybe he could just take refuge in a bar once Louis was gone or restock on booze and lock the door the next time around. Part of himself was disgusted with his own train of thought, but he couldn’t keep hold of a reason to sober up and stay that way. There was Sam, but every time he thought of her he thought of what he’d done, of how she’d sounded on the phone, and it only made his self-loathing stronger. Things between them were never going to be the same, and even if she managed to recover all he’d do was drag her down again. No, better if he stayed away from her, and she forgot about him eventually. She had other people, better people, to help her; the public post she’d made proved that.
He reached for the aspirin without saying anything, swallowing them down with the water Louis had left on the table, and then downing the rest of the glass in an attempt to parch his thirst. Of course he knew what would happen if he kept up with the drinking, but it was hard to care. “Sam doesn’t need me,” he scoffed, looking up with a frown, but he froze when Louis said Sam had been committed. Last night. It must have been after they’d talked, which only solidified his belief that he was a bad influence on her. None of this would have happened without him. “Is she--” He swallowed heavily. “What did they say?”
“She’s a mess,” Louis said, bluntly. “They didn’t seem concerned that she'd hurt herself, but she broke down, enough that they wanted to keep her and observe her to be sure she didn't worsen." This was going to be the difficult part of the conversation, and honestly, Louis didn't know if he would be able to manage it. He had to try, though. "Sam does need you," he said, watching Neil. "In fact, I'm starting to think that, without you, she might not get better at all." Unfortunately for Sam, since Louis had no idea yet if Neil was even capable of dragging himself out of this.
"I know what you think. I know all you want to do right now is to go somewhere no one can find you and drink yourself to death. But you need to keep in mind that if you do that, you'll be leaving her behind. You'll be abandoning her, when she needs you most. You've wronged her, there's no denying that, both purposefully and without your own consent. If you want to make that right, now is the time. You might never get another chance." Louis didn’t seem disappointed, or accusatory. No, he was much too worn for that. Slate eyes followed Neil’s. "I'm not going to be able to do it. I have to admit that. I've tried, and I've failed. She doesn't trust me. But she loves you. You can pull her out of this tailspin, or you can feel badly for yourself, tell yourself she deserves better, and watch her burn."
Well, at least Louis wasn’t holding back. As much as Neil wanted to hide from the truth, to drown it in bottle after bottle, he didn’t want to be shielded from the pain and destruction he’d caused. Of course it was no coincidence that Sam had broken down after she’d spoken to him. That, combined with what had gone on through the Marvel door, had him expecting Louis to warn him away from her, not the exact opposite. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he winced. “I make her worse. You know that. I know that. Hell, by this point everyone knows that.” Sam would see it too, in time. Once she started getting better, because he believed (hoped?) she would, she’d see that she was better off without him in her life. Oh, he wasn’t stupid enough to think that his absence would magically fix all her problems, but at least he wouldn’t be around to make them worse or add new ones to the mix. And, honestly, Neil had very little faith in himself as being someone Sam should or could rely on. If her recovery was dependant on him, then she was screwed. He wasn’t some noble hero who could fix himself up and be strong enough to support her, however much Louis wanted him to be. If he tried and failed, again, wasn’t that worse than not trying at all?
He didn’t want to hear any of this. He didn’t want to, because he knew, deep down, that Louis was right, and he was terrified of letting Sam down again. If he failed, she’d suffer for it. For someone who had avoided responsibility for as long as he could remember, it was a daunting task to undertake. Neil looked away, searching for some way to escape Louis’ words, but he was trapped. His body felt too heavy to move, and his head still ached, and there was nowhere for him to run anyway. Unless he remained drunk for the rest of his life, he could never escape the truth. “What if I can’t?” He looked up, his expression pained. “You’re telling me I can make things right, that I can help her. But what if you’re wrong? What if I can’t, Louis? It’s like you said, I’ve wronged her. That’s putting it lightly. She might not even be able to handle being near me. What if I can’t fix any of this?”
"It doesn't matter what you've done," Louis said, because there was absolutely no denying that Neil had made Sam worse. To even attempt to would have been ridiculous. "Because she needs your help." And if that was the only thing that would shake him out of this stupor and make him help himself, then he would say it as many times as he had to. The hope was to help them both with the same stroke, though it went against all Louis' instincts, telling him to find help for Neil and keep him away from Sam from now on. He was finally beginning to see that it wasn't his decision to make. If Sam wanted him, if she needed him, at least to make sure she didn't slide back again, and if it could drag Neil from a morass of self-pity and self-destruction, then he would say whatever he needed to.
"If you can't, you can't," Louis said. "But at least you will have made the attempt. I don't mean to salt the wound, Neil, but it can't get much worse. What do you have to lose? More importantly, what do you have to gain? If you care for her, you'll see that it is your responsibility now to take any opportunity to help her, even if you fail. You owe her at least that much.”
That was where Louis was wrong. It mattered, of course it mattered. With Neil it had been mistake after mistake, like a falling row of dominoes he couldn’t stop, and things had spiraled out of control through the Marvel door. In the past, he hadn’t cared. He would simply pack up and move on, leaving his mistakes behind him, cutting any strings that might keep them connected, but here it was different. He couldn’t just leave, not without massive amounts of guilt dragging him down and keeping him there. But staying, that wasn’t any easier. Staying meant responsibility he didn’t think he could handle. It meant an uphill battle that he was sure to fail, and if he could turn all of that off, he would have. If he could have turned back the clock so he and Sam had never met, he’d have done that too; it was supremely selfish, maybe, and cowardly, but that was simply who he was. “I’m the last person in the world anyone should need,” he muttered, more to himself than to Louis. Vegas had shown him a side of himself he didn’t much like, but also one he couldn’t escape from.
“You’re right about one thing,” he said. “I have nothing else to lose.” Neil had already managed to destroy any semblance of decency in his life. From here he either worked his way back up, or drank himself into an early grave. His real problem was in the lack of faith he had in himself. Quite honestly, he believed he would fail, and he didn’t understand how Louis could think this was a worthwhile endeavor when all the evidence pointed to him screwing up yet again. But fine. He’d try, for Sam’s sake. If nothing else, maybe he could get her to the point where she’d be okay without him, and then he could resume his downward spiral until he hit the ground yet again. He was beyond hope, but Sam wasn’t, and that was his only motivation. Trying to help was the bare minimum of what he owed her, but he was never going to be able to fully make up for his mistakes. And if he failed, well, surely it wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. “I don’t know if I can do it,” he admitted, staring down at his feet. “But I’ll try. For Sam.”
Louis resisted the urge to sigh with relief. Something needed to go right at last. Whether Neil succeeded or failed, at least he was willing to put forth the effort long enough to get dry. Hopefully, once Sam was closer to being back on her feet, enough time would have passed that perhaps he would no longer be interested in drinking himself into a stupor again. The co-dependency of it all was hardly healthy, but if it got them both well again, then they could work on everything else from there. "Good," he said. "I'm glad to hear that." He slid his hands into his pockets, and stood up from the arm of the couch. "I'm going to stay for a few days," he said, and it was clear that much was non-negotiable. "Long enough to see you back on your feet."
Neil held out a small hope that Louis would be satisfied and just leave, but he wasn’t surprised when he decided to stay instead. Had their roles been reversed, he wouldn’t have trusted himself either. Arguing would get him nowhere, and it felt like agreeing to try had sapped what remained of his energy. He was just too damn tired. “Yeah, sure,” he agreed. “Make yourself at home.” There was really nothing else left to say. He wanted to think, to get a grip on what lay ahead, but the pounding in his head ensured that would have to wait until later. Instead he simply leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes, the closest to peace he suspected he’d be able to achieve in a long, long time.