villagelogs | 026 》sweet troubled man are you giving or taking?

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026 》sweet troubled man are you giving or taking?

characters: Malcolm, Neal, Negan, Raylan, Doc
location: 1306 Phillips Dr
date/time: day 26 morning
content: the reset Playstation button was pressed
warnings: tbd

After the strangeness of the past two nights they were likely fully expecting to awaken in the same strange, different, not-so-new anymore places they found themselves in in the past two days.

Instead everything seems to have reset, again. The three permanent residents and two guests are back in 1306, exactly where they had been two nights ago. Malcolm was in his own room, Neal was in Doc's and Negan in Raylan's master bedroom. The two displaced cowboys are downstairs sharing one too-small couch, a night of drinking culminating in fighting over couch space and who gets to be the bigger spoon.

The fire in the fireplace had gone out and their Winter 2020 Collection of bespoke lanterns have vanished, but nothing else seems to be awry.

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"He said he didn't have full control of himself. That something happened to him, but he didn't say whether it was here or before." He runs a fingertip around the rim of his coffee cup. "I told him that you all wanted to talk to him. He didn't seem surprised."

"Mm." He sat back fully again, face unreadable beyond it's obvious focus on something and took another drink of his coffee. "He's used to this then. We'll talk to him. With you there, if you like." Raylan wasn't the one wronged or assaulted; Neal was. He deserved his own voice.

Hazel eyes took him in sidelong. "How do you feel about it all? Now that you seem to have healed. Now that you've talked to the guy whodunit."

"Maybe." He's not sure if he wants to be there or not. He touches the bandage on his neck. It's becoming a nervous tic. "I'm fine."

He's going to leave it at that. He wants to leave it at that, but his traitor tongue keeps going. "He doesn't deserve to be punished for something he can't help."

"Mmhmm and I'm the Pope," he refuted easily but with no real intent to chase after any admissions. This was not Couch Time with Raylan™. Whether Neal was well or not was not what he'd been asking.

"That'll be up to the people he attacked. If he'd killed either one of you, it'd be a different story but that's not what happened. Just because we're out in the middle of nowhere doesn't mean I'm gonna let people turn into a mob. But if he lost control once, he might lose it again. That's somethin' that concerns everyone that's here."

Neal can't argue. He doesn't want to think about what would have happened to him if Raylan hadn't found him in the storm. He would have ended up like Rey, a corpse to be stumbled across when the weather improved.

"Then we need to figure out how to keep him fed." Neal shivers. He's still exhausted, and he doesn't know any more how much of that is from the blood loss still and how much is because of what happened at the Gull. "We have food sources. He doesn't."

At the shiver, Raylan shifted to tug a throw blanket he'd used earlier to warm up out from under his back and drape it over Neal's lap. Blankets were nice - a knitted weight that calmed the soul. He didn't know if Neal was shivering because of the cold or because of the trauma, but it felt like today would be a day for blankets. He'd stoke the fire in a minute.

"Then we will. Be it by lot, volunteerism with oversight, rotation of willin' necks. I know that bein' what I am, people are gonna assume that I always go as hard as the law might allow but.. there aren't those laws here. Not really. We're runnin' under some different rules."

Edited (Fixing tense) 2021-01-08 02:50 (UTC)

Between the blanket and what Raylan says, Neal feels himself start to relax. He doesn't have to figure this out alone. He doesn't have to be the Peter in this scenario. He's reminded again of what Malcolm said of his cowboys when they first met--that they would help, no strings attached. Neal isn't sure he believes it, the part about no strings, but he's getting more comfortable with the idea of his strings being attached to the people in this house, at least for now.

It helps that Doc and Raylan remind him so strongly of Peter. He has that same sensation of being drawn into someone else's orbit, an asteroid made into a moon.

"You're not wrong about that." Neal settles back against the couch, taking a longer drink of coffee. "It would be nice if we good figure out what they were. I noticed the lanterns disappeared."

If anyone was alone around Raylan and Doc, it was by deliberate and dedicated choice. Their expectations were ones that seemed to be long gone in the general public. Respect, decency, and a little bit of kindness to go with the hints of old school honor that they carried around was all it took. Most people could manage it. Less than they hoped and that was saying something.

They wanted nothing from Neal. Expected nothing from him. He could leave right now if he wanted with no repercussions, though they'd all be a little sad to see him go. It had only been a night, but Neal felt a bit like he might be able to belong here, if he wanted to.

"It feels like as soon as we figure somethin' out, it all changes, or somethin' gets introduced that pokes holes in the theriories already presented." Raylan glanced towards the door that led to the garage, the last place they'd been keeping the lanterns. "Yeah, I saw that too. I'm thinkin' the lanterns were a distraction. Maybe accompanying the shadow across the gap. There's a chance the town mighta changed with it. Somethin' always seems too, when things like this happen."

"The shadow? The gap?" There's so much he still doesn't know about what people have already been through. "Something brought the lanterns here? Well. Something obviously brought them, but I didn't know that there was a precursor."

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Right. Well, I don't know if you got to see it, being on the other side when you showed up but.. Land has a big ol' gap in it. 12 foot across, 'bout 60 foot deep and I dunno how long it is, we ain't allowed to see that part."

"The lanterns came first but with 'em came us gettin' to that gap. Across that gap is a house, with a figure in it's windows, sometimes on it's porch. Somethin' I plan on checkin' out as soon as I can - if it's still there at all. If so.. I still think there's somethin' important on the other side.. Fog does more than kill us.." His jaw flexed as he started chewing on the part of his liver again. "Keeps us penned into an area like pigs or cattle. So there's no tellin' if it'll reclaim ground or not."

"...Great." This place just keeps getting weirder. And worse. Both, at the same time. Neal fusses with the blanket one-handed until he can pull it up over a shoulder. "I thought maybe the lanterns were to track us, somehow. Mark where we were the night they took us."

"They might still be. I really got no idea about any of this, Neal, despite my efforts. It's all best guesses right now. They're gone anyway, whatever will come of them will come of them but we did what we were told. I hate it but maybe we'll get thrown a bone. Last two days have not been that bone, that's for sure." It had been a different form of lowkey anxiety that Raylan felt was built to taunt and haunt them.

He chewed on the inside of his lip, fighting down an impulse he was sure wouldn't be received well. No, surely it would be weird or inappropriate for Raylan to clarify Neal's open pass to staying if he wanted to.

"We were worried about ya, considerin' how we all left."

For all that Neal is an emotional creature, for all that he willingly shows his emotions when it benefits him, he's not a whole lot better at this than Raylan. Emotions are a resource to be tapped for manipulation. They're not something to share when it matters.

Still. Still.

He manages to meet Raylan's brown eyes with his very blue ones. "I was worried about all of you too." He clears his throat, looking away after a moment. "Malcolm seemed to think you wouldn't mind if I stayed."

That was a start. Maybe their concerns hadn't been placed in ungrateful hands. Sad to say that had already happened here in Mathis and Raylan was fractionally reluctant to let it happen again. Hard line to walk, considering his impulse to also help everyone he came across, if they'd let him.

"We wouldn't," he answered after what seemed like the appropriate amount of moments, looking back into his cup for a second. He didn't want to jump on anything to eagerly and give anything away. But a lot of gut feelings were being followed in this strange new place and they'd largely served him well so far. "You can stay for as long as you want. Hell, take the bed you woke up in, if you want."

Nevermind that it was Raylan's and nevermind what he'd do with himself. That was his problem to solve. Having a place to lay his head was less important than keeping another unnerved and unsure soul a little less lost in the township.

"Least we can be is in a place with people we're at least half comfortable with, right?"

"Yeah." Comfortable. Is that what he is? That doesn't feel like the right word at all. If anything, he's as uncomfortable around Malcolm, Raylan, and Doc as he's ever been around anyone. He just has no good reason for it. He wants to like them. He does like them. He's just...

What?

He's waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the con to become clear. He's fine making friends fast, when he knows those friends would betray him at the drop of a hat. It's easy to know what to expect with people like that.

Malcolm, Raylan, and Doc aren't people like that. They're much more Peter's kind of people. But they're also in a category of their own. A category that doesn't bat an eye at past crimes, or think everyone around him should be warned what he's capable of. Honesty hasn't bitten him on the ass here, yet. He's waiting for it. Waiting for the misstep that oversets good opinion. He's waiting for the moment they pivot from welcoming him to accusing him of stealing the first thing that goes missing.

He wants to be comfortable around them. He wants them to keep lying to him, for as long as it lasts. He just knows it's going to hurt more than usual when the pretense drops.

"Thanks. For." He smiles faintly. "Finding me out there. For worrying."

Raylan waved off the thanks, generally bad at taking them. "Just being decent human beings. Seems to be less and less of those in the world and places like here, we gotta stick together.. I buried five people a few days back.. I ain't lookin' to bury anymore."

As unapparent as it was, the funerals were still bothering Raylan and it'd been long enough now that new people were coming in on top of them. He didn't know how to take that either. Raylan emptied his cup and sighed. He felt like he could use a shot of moonshine already, though it was terrifyingly early. He would resist it, for now.

"I can guess a little as to what you must be thinkin' all this.. open door, hi how you doin' down home bullshit. People are suspicious of people who are too friendly. Too outside their boxes. But for what it's worth, I can promise that the only thing we got in our bathtubs is moonshine. No kidneys." Which was to say, they didn't want anything from Neal for being here. Nothing in exchange for their worries or efforts. It was all freely given.

"Yeah, well. In the worlds I walk, decency has a price tag." It's said with amused irony, at least. "Of course the three of you come from the other side of the legal tracks. You're supposed to be the good guys."

"Everythin's got a price tag, even for the good guys." Relationships that suffered, friends that were lost, the feeling of being responsible for the next bombed church or murdered family because they messed up somewhere. Missed something. The actual very real cost of running an agency.

"It's just that a base level of decency is normally afforded to everyone on our side unless they prove they don't deserve it. There's always a few. Ones that don't deserve to have their badge. Once that'll still put a price tag on doin' the right thing." But he was sure Neal didn't differentiate too much between those types of tainted and untainted badges. "But I'm sure you know as well as I do, it's all about leverage. Gettin' our guy in the end."

He looked over. "Feds you work with decent folks? You uh.. mentioned a Peter.. The other night." Ya know, the night he was drug in half dead from the snow.

"Did I?" He's not surprised, though he does wonder what he said. He can't recall mentioning Peter at all. That's... uncomfortable. "Peter Burke, my supervisory agent." Neal smiles down at his coffee. "My partner. His team's the best there is."

As far as he's concerned, the Manhattan White Collar Unit could hang the stars.

"When I brought you in from the.. snow." Yes, the snow. Not the gory vampire bite he was avoiding reliving because he didn't want to commit processing power to it right now. He'd rather focus on the way that Neal smiled into his cup.

"You been workin' with him for the whole.. what'd you say, year and a half?" It was a drawing prompt, opening the door a little wider to see how much of a free talker Neal was. Like any other law enforcement officer, he liked leaving room for people to pull their own length of rope.

“Yeah. I’ve known him for longer, though.” Neal blinks, surprised as he does the math. “Eight years now, if you count when he was chasing me.”

Which Neal does, clearly. He’s known Peter Burke for almost as long as he’s been Neal Caffrey. Well, more than half that time at least. Long enough. “Diana Barrigan is his right hand. Terrifying. Could probably put us both through a plate glass window at the same time.”

He’s still smiling as he says it. “Peter has a reputation because he’s smart, solid, patient—Diana’s going to get one because she’s the kind of person who can’t help herself. Jones, Clinton Jones, he’s been with Peter longer. He’s hard to read sometimes. Very by the book. He’ll be the one they offer Peter’s job if Hughes ever retires and they make Peter ASAC.”

Neal stops, brows knitting. When did he start thinking about this? Office politics, succession, reputation. Legacy. He runs his thumb around the rim of his mug. “Anyone on our floor would take a bullet for Peter. He’s that kind of person.”

That made Raylan laugh and if he'd bothered to have his hat on, he would have adjusted it to help hide the bit of laughter, features warmly curled in interest as he listened, eyes taking in Neal sidelong as he spoke.

Whatever else might be the case, Raylan could tell that Neal was telling the truth. More than that, it was an earnest telling, not draped up in the drama or the sheer stupid acting smart that he was dealing with on the day to day back home. A refreshing taste, Neal talked about his team the way that Malcolm talked about tbe NYPD.

"If the guy that caught you," he started, one lazy finger turning at out Neal, "Is also the one that tapped you in as a CI, that ain't nothin'. If you're that comfortable after a year and a half, shit, you're basically part of the team, right? 'On Our floor' suggests you see quite a lotta the inside of it. Not the kinda CI I'm used to, anyway, but to each office its own way of workin'." It wasn't a disparaging statement; people were unique and any team was a gear set. Not all gear sets looked alike.

"I have a desk." He grins. "When I'm not working the field with them, I'm suffering inside over mortgage fraud cases and bad coffee. It's my job."

He shakes his head. "Which is a three-word sentence I never thought I would say."

Raylan chuckled again. "Yeah. But workin' that long, considerin' your situation, you sound pretty settled in. Y'all goin' after someone specific or just.. perusing the white collar crime market?"

"Whatever comes our way. We've done everything from catching bond forgery to helping stop a contract killer going after people who had parts of a collection of Imperial Jade statues. I would say 'never a dull moment,' but. Mortgage fraud. Also the surveillance van is boring."

Never forget the purgatory that is the surveillance van. "I do have to wonder what would change if the commutation still happens. Will they keep me on? What would my position even be?" He raises an eyebrow. "Do I get to keep my desk?"

Neal makes a tiny, amused noise. "Will I even want to stay? For a long time, years, I was in a new city every week." Softly he adds, "Always came back to New York, though."

Neal draws in a deep breath and sits up. "What about you? What's your team like?"

Edited 2021-01-13 01:08 (UTC)

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