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[abrightboy]

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[abrightboy]

"Doesn't Rue work for the ADI? Lives in their housing and everything. They're not human. Eda? Magnificent wings. Not human either. You can still work for ADI. Maybe you'll be better at security and investigations. Think of the spaces you can squeeze into. Think of your heightened sense of smell. You just have to figure out what your new talents are. And that's if you don't change back. You're in pain, aren't you?" Malcolm observes.

[conning]

"You'd still love me? Like a person, not a pet?" It's tiny, even as small as his voice already is right now. That's the thing that scares him more, he realizes. More than being stuck like this, more than almost anything. Having his mind, full and intact, and being treated like an animal.

When Malcolm asks about the pain, he shivers a little. "Yes."

[abrightboy]

"I do talk to my bird, I'll concede that. But she doesn't talk back, Neal. It's like you're asking me if I'd still love you if you lost your legs in a car accident. Do you think I'd abandon you if that happened? Or treat you like a pet?"

[conning]

“That’s different,” he says, though it’s not as certain as he sounded a minute ago. “That’s… a normal kind of loss. A normal kind of needing to adapt.”

He’s almost ashamed to admit that he was thinking about what the Lonely might be able to do when Malcolm joined him on the couch.

He doesn’t notice, not yet, but the fur is starting to come away under Malcolm’s hands and leave bare skin underneath.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm would not be amenable to that idea, but at least Neal knows the things he's saying are his honest reactions and not some kneejerk effort to keep him from making a deal with the Devil.

"It's exactly the same. 'Normal' is a setting on your dryer." A beat. "Do we have a dryer?" He shrugs off the thought. "Anyway. The pain. You experienced that when you changed, so you're probably still changing. Unless this..." He lets weasel hair fall from his fingers in front of Neal's face, "is Weasel Pattern Baldness."

[conning]

He straightens abruptly in Malcolm’s lap, looking from the hair to Malcolm to the hair again. Trying not to hope, trying not to let his spirits lift as quickly as they are.

His eyes, Malcolm will notice, are starting to freckle blue, and look a little disturbingly human in the oversized mustelid face. He looks at his back, the bare skin there that looks the a human kind of pale—is that wishful thinking?—and he yanks at another patch with his teeth.

That patch rips and he lets go with a little yelp. Apparently it’s not all ready to go yet.

But the pain, which has been persistent enough that he started to ignore it, is getting worse. Which is good, that has to be good, right?

He hides his face against Malcolm. “God, please, please, please please please.”

[abrightboy]

"It's okay," Malcolm tells him. "It's the change that you want. You're just changing. Don't try to force it."

What helps growing pains in kids? Heat. He looks at Neal. "Do you want a heating pad? It might help."

[conning]

“Yes please.” A spasm rockets through him and he whimpers, then grabs onto Malcolm with paws that have shorter nails and more dexterity. “No. Don’t leave me.”

[abrightboy]

"Gil and Tim aren't here," Malcolm tells him. "You can come with me, if you can manage it. I think it's in the bathroom in the cupboard."

[conning]

He tries, he really does, but he makes it as far as their bedroom before he gives up and curls into a ball on the bed to make noises he’d be embarrassed by if he was clearheaded enough to notice them. As it is he just hurts, hurts in waves, in stabs and crackles, hurts in tremors and pangs, and his inner landscape moves in a way that makes him want to throw up. He can feel it, feel it all, and it’s enough that he almost doesn’t even notice when Malcolm comes back with the heating pad. The smell of the other man, the warmth of him, makes Neal reach out with one fur-streaked hand.

“Please don’t leave me,” he whispers, tears blurring the world. Is he changing back? Is he changing back or is he dying? It feels like every piece of him is in motion in ways it shouldn’t be. And he’s pretty sure he just swallowed a tooth.

[abrightboy]

"You know I never will."

He turns on the heating pad.

"Where does it hurt the most?"

[conning]

“I don’t know. Everywhere.”

And it goes on and on and on.

He falls asleep from exhaustion before the pain fully fades, barely conscious of the fact that—naked and human—he practically climbs onto Malcolm’s lap on the bed before falling asleep again.

He doesn’t stir until morning, except to make tiny protests whenever Malcolm tries to get up.

[abrightboy]

"Neal," he whispers, trying to shift him. "I really have to pee now. I'll leave the door open. Okay?"

[conning]

He didn’t know a person had so much room in them for exhaustion, but he feels it. Neal grumbles, the noise a mix of protest and fear, but he slowly lets go enough that Malcolm can get up and go to the bathroom.

He almost follows the other man to the bathroom, but the prospect of standing right now makes him want to cry from fatigue.

[abrightboy]

"Just rest!" Malcolm calls from the bathroom. "Try to get under the covers, if you can." He's going to be chilly now. "I'm going to come in there and make sure you're bundled up safe, then I'm going to go make you tea and toast. You need your strength!"

[conning]

He is chilly. The mention of the covers brings his attention to it. Neal squirms under the blanket and shivers in relief at the weight and pressure of the blanket, trying to shake the sense wrongness that ripples through him every time he moves. It’s not the wrongness of transformation, there’s no pain in it this time, but he just feels off. Like his physical existence has missed a step and is trying to catch itself before it falls.

Malcolm is going to make him tea and toast, though. His fiancé is going to make him tea and toast after coming to make sure he’s safe. The reality of that makes his eyes blur with tears again, but they aren’t unhappy ones this time. As soon as Malcolm makes it back to him, he reaches out from under the blankets to try and grab his hand. His reach falls a little short, but it’s clear enough what Neal wants.

“I love you so much.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm closes the distance by reaching out with his own hand and grasping Neal's laying it on his chest, but still held tight in his own.

"I love you, too. You didn't think some pointy ears could change that, did you?"

[conning]

He blinks a few times to get the welling tears under control. Then he admits what he never admits, ever, to anyone.

“I was so scared. I didn’t want… I didn’t want to be stuck like that. I would have considered a deal, to not be stuck like that.” He drags Malcolm’s hand up so he can press the other man’s fingers to his face, smell his familiar odor that somehow hasn’t lessened even though the weasely nose is gone. “I was so scared.”

[abrightboy]

Malcolm stares at him for a moment.

"What do you mean, a 'deal'?" he asks.

[conning]

“With something out there.” He’s ashamed to say it, and the shame is clear enough. He’s too tired to hide it.

[abrightboy]

"No," Malcolm tells him. He doesn't let go of his hand, he doesn't pull away, but he's firm. "Never. Never do that. If you turn into one of those... they kill for fun, Neal. They kill innocent people. Do you understand that a killer like that... that's the only thing you can turn into that would mean I can't be with you? So if you ever get tempted by it again, remember you have to choose it or me."

[conning]

He squeezes his eyes shut and starts to cry again, hating the fact that he can’t seem to stop. “Please don’t say that right now. Please don’t leave me.”

[abrightboy]

"I'm not leaving you. Don't leave me."

That's what it would be.

He tucks the blankets carefully around Neal.

"I'm going to go make your tea and toast and then I'll be right back. I can read to you, if you want."

[conning]

“I won’t. I promise I won’t.”

When Malcolm tucks him in he’s too tired to push the blankets off, even if he spends the whole time Malcolm is down in their kitchen listening to every step, clatter of dishware, scrape of the toaster. He’s on high alert for any silences that shouldn’t be there, but then he hears Malcolm climbing the stairs again and starts to relax a little. More when the other man walks into the room.

He doesn’t know why he’s so afraid to have Malcolm out of his line of sight right now. But he is, and he’s too fatigued to pretend. Everything in his body feels wrong. Like it could start moving again at any moment. Malcolm is right. The only simple good thing Neal has.

“Lie with me,” he says, a fragile request in spite of the phrasing.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm sets the toast and tea within Neal's reach on the bedside table, then steps around the bed to crawl onto it next to him.

"Eat something," he urges.