Chapter Text
Nathaniel Wesninski's muscles tore as he scrubbed the wooden floorboards, eyes flickering out of vision as his consciousness threatened to collapse. He rounded his body on another splotch of semi-dried blood. Jean's or his, he idly thought as his fatigued arm dragged a mop bucket towards his body. He usually mopped the raven's court on his days of failure, but today Nathaniel's mouth spoke too many words too excessively and Riko deemed him worthy of scrubbing duty.
His partner, Jean Moreau, number 4, was situated at the other end of the court - busy scouring the floor and glaring into his cloth. You see, it didn't matter that Jean hadn't used a loose mouth, whatever Nathaniel suffered his partner would too in solidarity. Nathaniel didn't know why Jean didn't detest him, resent his selfishness for speaking his mind and the little effort he put in considering the repercussions. At first he did.
Jean hated him at one point. After his rights were sold to Tetsuji Moriyama at age fourteen Jean had met Nathaniel, Kevin Day and Riko Moriyama at the Edgar Allan stadium; the meeting where Riko triumphantly introduced Jean to Nathaniel as his promised partner. Nathaniel begrudgingly accepted the fate when Jean had not. He grimaced in Nathaniel's face, "I don't need a chihuahua following me around", and did all he could to maintain a cool distance between them. It didn't last long, not when Riko did all he could to torment Jean's first few months in the nest. Riko enjoyed the anguished sounds Jean made when his exy racquet battered Jean's body in bruises, when Riko jumped on his body, kicked his nose in, yanked his dark hair. Nathaniel and Kevin could hear his pain; Kevin perfecting a poker face at each heightened scream. At the end of it, Nathaniel would help a resisting Jean move to the showers, clean his body of sweat, dirt and blood and tackle him into their bedroom - all the while Jean muttered French profanities under his breath. Jean would glare Nathaniel to sleep and wake the next day to cuss him out in broken English, albeit words weren't necessary when his cold expression told Nathaniel all he needed to hear: Fuck you. Nathaniel would shrug, toss him rolls of tape and bandages and go on with his day and ignore the uncontrolled fury Jean Moreau sent his way via viscous glares and snide remarks.
What Nathaniel couldn't ignore were his sounds at night when Jean presumed Nathaniel was sleeping. The muffled whimpers, the choked cries, the restless movements. Nathaniel covered his head, squeezed his eyes shut and ignored, ignored, ignored until he disobeyed himself and sat up, moving across the room. He sat at Jean's side and rubbed his shoulder, earning him a warranted flinch and startled hiss. Nathaniel didn't say a word, only stroking Jean's shoulder until the boy was coaxed into sleep. Jean woke the next day to Nathaniel wrapping bandage around his newest forearm slash. His body had no energy to argue so he laid still and let the other boy continue his work. Jean thought he was skilful as his partner carefully finished taping the wraps down and gently tested their stability. After a few minutes of silence Nathaniel suggested they eat so the two went to eat breakfast together, Jean spending more time staring Nathaniel down than consuming food.
It had taken Jean a few months but his hostility for Nathaniel eased. Nathaniel showed him the proper way to wrap and stitch yourself back together, the easiest methods to relieve pain, how best to avoid Riko (and additionally Kevin, who they both mutually disliked). Jean hated the dark halls, the crookedness of Riko's grins, Kevin Day's glossed eyes, Nathaniel's giggles as Riko bashed his face in - but he couldn't deny the flutter he felt when Nathaniel's fingers brushed his arm, the way he (with immense struggle) carried Jean's wrecked body to the shower room, the clean towel Nathaniel would set out for him after he was done showering. Jean didn't want to like anything about this place. The same place that stole his liberties, stole his world and shoved him into a hell of endless suffering. Jean felt like a dead man every day of his life, pale skin and grey eyes deprived of any warmth or light. Nathaniel Wesninski rudely interrupted his meaningless existence and grabbed a strong hold of his fractured heart. Jean felt it more consciously then, how loud his pulse was around his partner. His partner. His.
Jean had something of his own, warm hands that would clench his trembles, soft blue eyes that were only for him and him alone, fingers that danced along his skin. Jean spoke to Nathaniel, he told him things he shouldn't, his life in Marseille and the boy he used to be - what to him felt like a lifetime ago. Nathaniel nodded and listened but kept quiet about his own childhood. Not that it mattered to Jean, Nathaniel's curious eyes and listening ears were enough for him.
Nathaniel muttered a French curse and stood on wobbly legs, making the lengthy walk down to his partner. Jean raised a brow at him and quizzed in French, "You're done already?" Nathaniel shrugged and held his head in his folded back hands.
"I scrubbed all I could see. It's been an hour, let's go wash up."
Jean scowled at him. "You know what happens when you half-ass the clean-up, how much skin do you want Riko to take?" Jean hissed the end of his sentence, hateful eyes staring up at Nathaniel. They both knew the hate was regarded elsewhere. Yet, Nathaniel wore a playful grin and lightly kicked Jean's side.
"Hey, he can fry my dick next, he hasn't ventured there yet."
"That's not funny."
Nathaniel winked. "Was I trying to be funny?"
Jean huffed and stood up, squeezing a commingle of blood and dirty water into his mop bucket. With a quick scan of the court he assessed that Nathaniel had done a decent job, but despite that Jean grabbed his bucket and did his laps around the court, scrubbing out any imperfections his partner missed. Nathaniel followed in irritated French that Jean ignored until they finally emptied their buckets down the storage sinks and left for the showers.
Jean and Nathaniel preferred it this way. When they cleaned the court they had the showers to themselves, no chance of sharing proximity with the dirty men Jean begrudgingly accepted as his teammates. They would shower together. They weren't ashamed of their battered bodies, they had both seen and picked up the broken pieces of each other. Nathaniel's flayed, scarred, burnt back was as familiar to Jean as his own face. After they finished and changed they threw their uniforms into the wash-up buckets and made their way to the dining halls.
Nathaniel yawned and tiredly tore chicken off his drumstick, eyes tracking up at Jean. Jean returned his blue gaze with an eyebrow raise.
"What?"
"You got the worst raven partner and yet we shower and share meals together. You should beat me, you know. Not tolerate my bitchiness."
Jean's eyes drifted across the empty room, the other ravens already finished with their dinners and off to study or complete coursework. "You are my partner", Jean replied, and the two continued eating in silence, the sound of the wall-mounted TV filtering through their ears. Once Jean finished, he got up to wash his plate, only to be interrupted by the abrupt stomps of familiar shoes. Jean quickly swerved in time to see Riko approaching Nathaniel. Jean's fingers clenched as he hovered behind Nathaniel's smaller body, that was still busy consuming his green beans.
Riko slid a hand on the table and sensually levelled down to Nathaniel's ear.
"You left shit on my boards", Riko said with a smirk. Nathaniel turned and blinked up at him.
"Jean and I scrubbed them clean for an hour, there's no way-" Riko pulled at Nathaniel's thin back hairs, making Nathaniel's breath hitch. Riko toyed with his ear, teeth grazing across his earlobe. "You know the rules and you chose to ignore them, ignore me."
"It was my fault, Riko" Jean's voice picked up in the tight air. "I rushed my partner, I'm sorry."
Nathaniel's glare was violent as he rounded on Jean. He yanked the hem of his shirt and said in a cold voice, "Shut your fucking mouth, I half-assed the court. Let's go, Riko."
As Nathaniel stood Riko pushed him back down, smirking teeth up at Jean. "You are the reason the court's a mess, Moreau?" Jean obediently nodded, earning a growl from his partner.
"Fuck you, Jean cleaned for the two of us, I-" Before Nathaniel could utter another word, Riko grabbed the base of his head and smashed Nathaniel's face into his plate. Over, and over, and over again. The plate pounded flesh and bone and teeth endlessly until blood splattered across the counter from Nathaniel's nose. Riko bashed his head a few more times then dropped him, knowing well Nathaniel's face had to be kept presentable for interviews. Bruises could be covered, a broken nose could not. Nathaniel laid limp in his green beans, consciousness finally escaping him.
Jean had watched the abrupt violence in silent horror then quickly followed Riko as he escorted the two of them to his bedroom, where a night of tortured screams, knives and fire awaited them.