#donneil

[dopecausewesaid]

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Go to DOPECAUSEWESAID.com for that new 🔥 by Baltimore's own Don Neil. The track is entitled M.O.T.Y. (Man of the Year) and it's 💰 #dopecausewesaid #dopemusic #donneil #manoftheyear #rap #hiphop #baltimore #maryland #music

[dopecausewesaid]

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Go to DOPECAUSEWESAID.com to stream/download our latest Song of the Week entitled 'DN (The End)' by Baltimore's own Don Neil and also check out our DOPE Plug feature on this emcee on the rise. #dcws #dopemusic #donneil #eyer #dn #rap #hiphop #baltimore #maryland

[seeneilyrun-blog]

john doe | donneil headcanon

"We did all we could. Sir, your friend..he died a hero."

Neil ran a hand over the uncared for stubble across his jaw, his mouth,t he bridge of his nose, his overworked eyes, and the slightly longer stubble of his efficient military cut. Too efficient. Like Paul's death. Too heartless. Like the military's reaction would surely be. Too appropriate. Like nothing in particular. 

"Thank you. For, uh, trying," frowned the blonde, trying to flash a smile and failing at the doctor, who returned the attempted gesture easily, if a little sadly. There were several seconds of silence after the shorter man left, the absence of any people feeling icy and very much not what Neil was looking for. These were those types of times when Adrian was probably supposed to show up and hold his hand and let him cry over Paul because Paul deserved crying over. As it was, he just stood there in his stupid uniform that suddenly didn't seem so noble, until a voice dragged him all too quickly out of his quickly imploding mind. 

"All right there, blondie?" 

Neil blinked, glancing to his left and then his right, and then down a tiny bit to see an unshaven looking man in a wheelchair. His right eye was swollen, arm in a cast, bruises covering his face. The man's own mother probably wouldn't recognize him. Bar fight, surely. The soldier tried not to look irritated. "Blondie?" he repeated, the name feeling mildly distasteful in his mouth. He was not a blondie. He was a soldier. An important, decorated soldier who had done nothing but be a soldier his whole life. Couldn't this idiot see that? Of course none of this showed on his face. Neil's face portrayed a small, professional smile. 

"I take it he died? Or she maybe, you don't seem to shaken up about it," said the other man in what might have been a purr, giving Neil the odd feeling that he was being hit on. By a bloody man in a wheelchair. 

Allowing himself a tiny nod, Neil blinked back the urge to pound the man into the ICU, where he probably should be now. Maybe he should flag down a doctor..the blonde's eyes shifted, hand twitching at his side. "Oh, don't spoil my fun. Did he die?" Neil flinched at the man's morbid curiosity, responding only with a 'yes' in the most appropriate tone he could muster, although he wasn't sure what exactly appropriate was. 

To his pure surprise, the wheelchair-bound man's face softened, even through the bruises and the blood and the overgrown hair. "Tough luck, blondie. Hug it out?"

"I will most certainly not hug it out. Aren't you supposed to be somewhere? You seem like you belong in the ICU."

"I do not belong in the ICU," frowned the man, his response lightning fast, tone offended, causing Neil to put his hands up lightly in an unobtrusive gesture. Necessary coldness aside, the blonde couldn't help but wonder; why the curiosity? Managing to restrain the question from spilling in an all-wrong fashion out of his mouth, Neil just nodded in an unconvinced of-course-you-do way. 

"I have some advice for you," grinned the man, all white teeth and scabbed lips. It had to hurt to flash the gesture, and Neil wondered again if maybe the morphine had been a little too high. He didn't respond, not wanting to encourage the man, just raising an eyebrow as if to say go-on-I-don't-have-all-day. "Save the mourning for the morning, sunshine." added the half-dead looking man, his grin widening -- if that was even possible. Neil didn't even really get to respond before a frazzled looking nurse appeared. "I'm so sorry, sir," she said, flashing an apologetic smile at Neil, who returned a more confused version of the gesture as the woman turned to the wheelchair man. "You need to go back to your room," 

The man grumbled something that sounded like an attempt at flirting, but another nurse swooped in to push him away. "Who was that?" said Neil curiously, earning another smile, this one seemingly entirely too flirtatious for his own comfort, from the nurse. "John Doe. He just woke up from a bar fight a few minutes ago, we're about to find out."

"My name is not John! It's Don!" came an extremely offended sounding voice as the wheelchair was pushed down the hallway back to where 'Don' was supposed to be. Save the mourning until the morning. Neil considered this. Advice from a crazy drunk who obviously had his own set of issues. Sounded like a life motto to him.