Opening Authoressial Note: YO! I'm back, with more Uncharted fic! Yeah, I'm still writing it. There's just not enough of it with Flynn out there in the big wide world. IT'S MY MISSION TO CHANGE THAT. I just got UC3, so I'm having a ton of fun with that and writing fic during the periods when I get kicked off the TV.
It's probably a bit obvious that UC3 has given me a lot of Nate/Sully Family Feelings so far. Expect me to follow through on these.
BIT OF A LANGUAGE WARNING, by the way. Nothing really bad, but you know - we're talking Uncharted here. Proceed with according caution.
Disclaimer: NO I DON'T WANT IT NAUGHTY DOG CAN HAVE IT UGH SPIDERS AHHHH *runs screaming*
Flynn woke up to the steady, familiar beeping of a hospital heart monitor. For a moment he was confused; then memories started to flash through his mind's eye.
"FLYNN!" Nate was there, almost halfway over the edge, stretching out a hand to help him. "Flynn, grab my hand! GRAB IT!"
"The treasure," Flynn panted, trying to summon the strength to pass up the bag full of antique gold that was weighing him down, dragging him steadily to his death. "Take – the treasure – I'll come next – "
"Flynn, don't be an idiot!" Nate screamed, his fingers scrabbling at the man's watch in an effort to get a grip, any grip. "Flynn – "
The floor creaked, shuddered, and then abruptly gave way, sending Nate flying over the edge and causing Flynn to almost lose his grip. Nate managed to barely catch the edge of the floor, but his momentum had been too much and he wasn't able to keep his grip.
"Flynn, I'm falling! FLYNN – "
The Brit loved treasure, and he'd been fully intent on escaping the flaming house with the one he had, regardless of whatever got in his way. But when reality struck, he discovered that he was inches away from being dragged into a flaming, collapsing abyss by the weight of the canvas bag in his left hand, with his best friend about to fall in next to him, and he knew he could save them both if he just dropped the damn bag –
So he dropped it.
"Hold on, mate," he shouted, swinging his now-free left hand up to grab the floor and pulling himself up onto it, despite the fact that it continued to make ominous noises. Having acquired leverage, he lunged forward and grabbed Nate by the wrist just as the brunette's grip on the floor slipped and he started to plunge into the flames below.
Nate screamed, and Flynn felt the reason why – the sudden drop-and-stop had dislocated his wrist. Wincing and muttering an inaudible apology, Flynn grabbed the back of Nate's shirt and hauled him up onto the floor.
Spitting profanities in an attempt to lessen the pain, Nate scrambled to his feet, cradling his wrist to his chest. "Come on, Flynn, c'mon! There's the door, we can make it if we – "
He was cut off by the sound of collapsing wood. Before he could glance over his shoulder, Flynn did it for him.
"Dammit! Run, Nate, RUN!" Practically shoving the brunette ahead of him, Flynn bolted for the door. The fire had finally gotten ahold of the floor, and it was rapidly becoming nonexistent at their heels.
Nate tripped at exactly the wrong moment and hurtled forward into the door. The frame already weakened by the extreme heat, it shattered upon contact, sending him flying into the yard beyond. Unfortunately, things were the same for the doorframe, and Flynn was only seconds behind Nate – which meant that he was the one the frame collapsed on.
"FLYNN!" Disregarding the pain in his wrist, Nate ran back to help his friend, shoving pieces of building off the Brit and dragging him out into the yard. "Oh, crap. Flynn, are you still conscious? Can you hear me? Flynn, you're an idiot! Holy heck, there is a splinter the size of Kansas jammed through your shoulder. Flynn? Oh, thank goodness, you're still awake. Get up!"
Flynn made an effort, he really did, but they'd only gotten about three feet away before the old mansion exploded.
Flynn groaned and shut his eyes. "No wonder I'm in a bloody hospital."
Something moved on his bed, rustling the sheets, and he looked over towards the noise. He was surprised to see that it was Nate, his hand and wrist in a blue cast. The young treasure-hunter was half seated in a chair and half collapsed on the part of Flynn's bed that the Brit wasn't occupying. He seemed to be sound asleep, but his lips were pressed tightly together and his brows were furrowed in a frown.
"He's been in pretty bad shape," someone uttered, their voice deep and gruff. Flynn looked over towards the other side of the room, the side with the window, and was less surprised to see Victor Sullivan leaning against the wall while engaging in one of his favorite activities.
"I'm pretty sure hospitals are strictly non-smoking," he stated sardonically. Sullivan smirked.
"Bad concussion, in a coma for three days, and you can still smart off. Good to know you're alright." The older man shrugged. "Nate'll be happy, anyway. Like I said, he's been in a state. Convinced the whole thing was his fault. Says he almost got you killed."
Flynn snorted. "If I'm here, then what he did was save my life, provided I'm remembering everything correctly. So I guess we're even."
"Uh-huh." To someone who knew Sully well enough to call him that, this seemingly noncommittal sound would have been a dead giveaway to his true thoughts. Flynn was not one of those people. Thus, it was not immediately clear to him that Victor Sullivan was pissed off.
It became clear very rapidly in the next five minutes.
"He told me the whole story. Sure, it was guilt-ridden, laid all the blame on him, but from what I heard, I'm pretty sure I've got a fairly clear picture of what went down."
Flynn forced a laugh, gaining the uncomfortable feeling that he was treading on very thin ice. What he wasn't aware of was that the ice had already broken, and he just hadn't figured it out yet. "Well, it wasn't any big haul or anything like that. Just some Egyptian gold that some archaeologist nabbed from the tombs way back in the day. He didn't even hide it very well, it was a snap to figure – "
"You see, this cocky British bastard showed up with some wild, exciting story, like he always does." Sully talked over Flynn like he wasn't even there. "And even though the kid knew better, wasn't interested, he fell for it anyway, like he always does. The British bastard plays this card, you understand. The 'I'm your friend and let's do it as friends for old times' sake' card. Kid falls for it every single time. He's really smart, you understand, but he's a complete moron when it comes to people. Too trusting. You think he'd know better in our line of business, but nah. Everyone's got a good side, if you ask him.
"So it went completely over his head that you were letting him take all the risks." The change from third to first-person did not escape Flynn. "Always letting him go first, test the waters, check for danger. But of course, when it came to actually getting the treasure, you got to be the one to grab it, you got to go first. That's why you missed the trap, the trap that Nate warned you about, tried to point out to you. That's how the mansion ended up on fire. That's how Nate almost died trying to save you, because you were a greedy asshole and wouldn't cut your losses and leave the damn treasure behind."
"I – " Flynn started, but the older man shook his head and took a step toward the hospital bed.
"NO. There's one thing you've got to know in this business, Harry Flynn, and you've got to know it if you know nothing else. People come first. Life comes first. If you've got to choose between a hunk of valuable metal or yourself, or your friends – you always choose the latter. Always. That's what sets people like me and Nate apart from other thieves - like you, for instance. We know when to cut our losses. We know how, and why, and it's because life matters. There will always be another treasure. There will always be another legend."
Gray eyes pinned him to the bed like knives, keeping the British man still and silent. "But there will never be another Nathan Drake. And if you ever forget that again, so help me, I will find you and I will cut out your heart and make you watch it stop beating."
The hospital room was silent, except for the beeping of the heart monitor, which was significantly faster. Victor Sullivan's words had been delivered in a calm, emphatic manner, but their threat hung heavy in the air.
Flynn swallowed hard and met Sully's gaze. His characteristic smirk had fallen from his lips, and his demeanour was entirely serious.
"Yes, sir," was all he said.
It was enough.
Sully crossed the room and nudged the sleeping Nate. "Hey, kid, c'mon. Wake up. Let's get you back to your room."
"Hunh." Nate lifted his head from the blanket, blinking sleepily. "Ow," he mumbled.
"Yeah, exactly. It's time for more pain meds. You've been sleeping on that arm all wrong, kid. Better watch that or they'll have to string it up."
"Ugh, no." Nate shoved back from the bed, stood up, and almost fell over, but Sully was there to catch him. Murmuring a grateful thanks, Nate looked back over his shoulder. "Get better, Flynn."
The Brit offered him a smile, quirking up the corner of his mouth. "Aye-aye."
"I'll be back to check," Nate slurred, and then the two of them were gone and Flynn's hospital room was empty and quiet once more.
Flynn sagged back against his pillows and let out a deep breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Damn. Remind me never to bring him home late from prom."
A3: Thank you very much for reading! I hope you'll leave a review to let me know what you thought; I always like hearing from my readers. I really enjoyed writing this; it's probably a little obvious that I wrote it in the aftermath of the castle-on-fire scene in UC3, but I had a lot of feelings about that scene, ahaha. And my mantra throughout the game so far has been "I MISS FLYNN," so... I feel that he would provide a welcome counter-attack to Marlowe's snarky bitchiness, provided he was on our team.
...Ugh. I REALLY MISS FLYNN. Time to go write more fanfiction to alleviate these feelings. :P