Hi everyone! So, I have a new obsession in my life in the form of the expendables. My friend persuaded me to watch it after I had spent years persuading myself I would hate it and boom- I have a new favourite that's given me a massive boost in my writing and has momentarily cured me of my writer's block! So far I have 16 chapters written for this story, and have about another 20 or so to go. This is set immediately after Expendables 2 (as in the night they return from their job in Albania). I hope you enjoy and please leave nice reviews! If the review is really nice, I might even send you a sneak preview of the next chapter ;)

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If there was one thing Barney Ross would never admit to anyone including himself, it was that deep down in his 'black heart' as Lee Christmas so regularly voiced, he cared. He cared about the lives of his teammates, he cared that people saw him as a leader, and he cared most when someone close to him died.

Billy the kid's death had impacted all of them, but the others never saw the sorrow that sat on their boss's shoulders, never realised the pain he held so close to his heart as he let yet another member of him team down. The only person who understood the weight of his grief was currently inking up his latest twenty-something year old conquest, but the artist's deep hazel eyes never strayed from the mercenary, concern causing the corners of his mouth to pull into a deep frown. It wasn't uncommon for Barney to turn up unannounced, but it was unusual for him to turn up unannounced and sit quietly in a corner. Taking a moment to pull on his pipe, Tool blew out the smoke and watched nonchalantly as the tendrils curled and danced around him, the site almost magical. He patted the woman in front of him on the shoulder, motioning silently for her to leave and she responded with a sultry smile, sliding off the chair and moving out of the room with a butt wiggle that would normally have Tool drooling after her, but his attention was too focused on the other occupant in the room to really take notice. Standing, he cracked his back before sidling over and sitting down on the chair next to Barney.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked.

A shake of Barney's dark head. No words needed to be said. Tool understood that. Sometimes, you just needed to figure it out alone without necessarily being alone, which is why instead of leaving the other man to his thoughts as he usually would, he simply begin humming to himself as he turned his attention to a few half-finished sketches of his latest design ideas. They stayed that way through the night until finally, as the sun's rays began to peek in through the shutters, Barney sighed and pushed off the stool he'd been sat in. He paused only to pat his old friend on the shoulder in thanks, receiving a simple nod in reply. The room filled with the roar of Barney's bike and Tool could only watch, his eyes finally betraying his worry as he stared at the fading silhouette of his friend.

Tool knew the signs and could read people more than anyone gave him credit for. He could see how much the leader of the expendables was holding back and he knew that it wouldn't be too much longer before the guy snapped and either went on a murderous rampage, or simply gave up his life for some peace. He knew the mercenary just needed to vent, but that was a mission in itself that no doubt would be a one way trip for the sucker who tried to break through the shell of Barney Ross.

Tool let out a deep sigh, swinging himself off his chair. He was getting too old for this shit.

…

Barney returned to a dark and empty house thirty minutes after leaving Tool's. Something in him relaxed as he took in the sight of the old farmhouse he'd paid a bomb for, and as he pulled his bike into the garage, he finally let his shoulders slump, exhaustion finally slamming in to him. He didn't bother with the lights; he simply walked to his room and collapsed on his bed, sighing into his pillow as he sank into a deep, yet fitful, sleep. He woke to his phone beeping in his pocket. Groaning, he shifted to pull it out of his pocket, glaring at the unknown number flashing on the screen.

"How the hell did you get my number Church?" he growled, instinct telling him the bald man was the only one stupid enough to call him so soon after a job.

"Good morning to you too sunshine."

Barney glanced at his clock, his face darkening to see he'd had barely three hours sleep.

"Cut the niceties. Tell me what you want so I can get some sleep."

"You're so touchy when you wake up! I have a job for you"

Barney's face turned from pissed, to tired in an instant, transforming him from a blood thirsty mercenary to an exhausted, run down man who just wanted some sleep.

"No. I just got back from my last job last night. Both myself and my team need to recover."

The silence that followed made him want to hang up and throw the phone out of the window, but something stirred deep within him, forcing him to keep the device pressed against his ear. Finally, Church spoke again, his voice sounding tired, the earlier cheerfulness vanished.

"I need the best for this one Ross. One of my employees has disappeared from her home, and the people who have her are ruthless. I need someone to find them and get her back to American soil."

Barney sat up straighter, but his mind still told him not to take the job and at that moment, he was in agreement with his mind, even if there was another part, the tiny part that cared, that didn't like the idea of a defenceless woman being held captive. Shoving that part of his mind down, he finally replied.

"As I said, we just got back. Find someone else."

Not giving Church the chance to respond, he simply ended the call then lay back down. Sleep claimed him within thirty seconds. When he woke again, it was to the sounds of someone shuffling around downstairs. Silently, he slid out of bed, drawing his gun out from under his mattress. With ease, he padded down the hallway and peered over the railing, able to make out the shape of a male moving through his kitchen. Taking aim, he began to squeeze the trigger.