Lazarus

why do you always seek absolution?

The sight of the guards blocking his path outside his cell brought Sam a sick sense of relief. It had been a number of months since the last time they had decided to jump him, yet he would take a beating over the stress of waiting for the other shoe to drop, any day.

It hadn't been a shock to discover that prisons don't appreciate breakout attempts, especially ones with a two out of three success rate and a dead guard left in their wake. From the moment Sam had woken up, dazed and disoriented after being shot, he had been subject to a seemingly endless torrent of interrogations: how had they escaped, what was the deal they made with Vargas, what had they been looking for in the old tower? To this day, Sam could hardly recall what answers he had given, lost as he was in a haze of agony, panic, and whatever sorry excuse of painkillers he was on. All he knew was that the outcome was a death sentence, one that would take the rest of his life to serve.

Thirteen years of waking up in the same cell was like hearing the same shitty joke over and over and expecting a different punchline. Thanks to Rafe's impromptu decision making, Sam bore the label of guard-killer, a label that granted the rest of the guards a free pass at him whenever they felt the need to vent their frustration. Sam had learned how to take a punch a long time ago, he could handle the violence of prison life, that wasn't the problem. It was the life that he was missing out on that was the true punishment.

"Come with us," said one of the guards in Spanish, not giving Sam the chance to obey before shoving him out into the corridor. Sam quickly caught himself before he could fall, not bothering to protest even if he did think it was rather unusual they were taking him out of the privacy of his cell. He supposed that years of carrying out the same monotony might lead the guards to start thinking more creatively in order to pass the time. Perhaps he should be scared, but he didn't give a shit. The fire in his belly had long gone out.

It was only when Sam was taken to the Warden's office that he started to think that maybe something else was going on. Despite his apprehension, he schooled his expression to remain blank, not wanting to give his thoughts away.

The Warden was a small man with a twisted face and narrowed, watery eyes that pierced into Sam like a harpoon. It was rare that he was seen in the grounds, unsurprising considering the nature of the prison, but there still had only been one time that Sam had seen anything that could be construed as emotion cross the man's face. It had been the first day after the breakout attempt, Sam struggling to remain conscious, his bullet wounds feeling as if the Devil himself had latched his claws into his side, when the Warden had stood over him, Sam's death certificate in hand, and smiled.

"Good morning, Samuel," the Warden greeted now.

"Is it?" Sam replied, feeling as weary as he sounded. If this was some dragged out ploy to fuck with him, he wished they would just get it over with.

"I brought you here to inform you that you are leaving us."

The Warden shuffled some papers on his desk if his words were of little consequence, so it took a few seconds for them to sink in. "What?"

"Ah, yes. It would seem that everything has a price, after all." The man shook his head as if this was something of a great loss to Sam, a disappointment of some kind. Sam barely noticed, blindsided by the possibility that he had refused to hope for and yet obsessed about for years actually coming true.

"Who?" he asked breathlessly, taking a step forward in his urgency, before a hand came down heavy on his shoulder in warning.

"Someone with the means to pay that price," said the Warden, a strange look in his eye.

For reasons he never really understood, the Warden had gone to the effort of keeping Sam alive only to announce his death, assumedly in order to ensure that no one would come sniffing around while he was made to carry out his sentence. A guard that Sam had befriended some years back had told him that even his apparent death hadn't been enough to stop someone from asking questions - Sam knew it was Nathan, it had to be - but the prison had kept up the ruse, even arranging for his 'ashes' to be sent as proof. For them to choose slow revenge over quick money was something that baffled Sam to this day, so for the Warden to loosen his grip now after all these years told Sam that whoever was getting him out must have handed over a pretty substantial sum.

Fuck, he hardly dared to dream, but could it be? Had Nathan finally found him? Maybe he had found Avery's treasure without him and had used the funds to haggle for Sam's life? My God, Sam didn't want to hope but he did, he did.

The Warden snapped his fingers and the guards dragged Sam out the room and towards the part of the prison he hadn't seen in a long, long time: the exit. The procedure of signing him out passed in a blur both too quick and too slow. Sam missed whatever it was the guards said to him, his mind too preoccupied with this unexpected turn in his luck to translate the Spanish. He pictured his baby brother standing there at the gates, that old man Sullivan no doubt hovering nearby, the pair of them waiting for him to appear.

The insistent hope that Sam would one day see his brother again was both a blessing and a curse, because it was the only thing he wanted and yet the one thing that it seemed he would never get. When the pain of accepting that he would never see Nathan again got too much, Sam would busy himself with thoughts of Avery's treasure, of breaking free and claiming that fortune, but even that was just a means to an end. Finding Avery's gold would see their mother's dream complete, it would prove that they weren't just a couple of bad kids lost to the system; it would set them up for life, it would give them a roof over their head and enough money so that they would never have to go hungry again, and they could finally live. But none of that meant anything without Nathan, and Nathan meant everything.

He was given the clothes he had been wearing when he first arrived to change into. Thirteen years of lifting weights meant that the moth-eaten fabric was too tight but Sam wouldn't have cared if they'd kicked him out butt naked, just so long as he got to leave.

"See ya later, boys," was the only thing he allowed himself to say to the guards as they rolled back the gate, not wanting to do anything that would fuck up this miracle that had been placed so unexpectedly in his trembling, calloused hands.

The sun was nothing new, nor the dusty air. It was Panama for fuck sake, sun and dust was half the experience, but as he stepped out of the prison it was if he had never before felt the warmth of the sun on his skin or breathed in the air so deep. This was freedom and there, a silhouette leaning against a vehicle on the road, was the one who had paid for it.

It was difficult not to break out into a run, the need to throw his arms around his brother and hold him as tight as he could just to prove he was really here was like a scream burning beneath his skin. From that first second Sam had met his newborn brother, Nathan had become his entire world, his anchor, his compass pointing due north. He had sworn an oath to himself and to his mother that he would never let any harm come to his baby brother. For thirteen years he had broken that promise, and that was an abrasion that would never heal - but it was over, it was done. Nathan was here, Sam told himself. Nathan was here.

But then the sun passed behind the clouds and Sam saw that no, Nathan was not here. He saw the man's expression, saw that it was the same smile the Warden have given him when Sam had been bleeding out beneath him, and it was then that he knew. Thirteen years were not enough, his sentence was not yet done. There was no freedom here, only the exchange of one prison for another.

"The not-so-prodigal son rises from the dead," said Rafe, older and rougher now yet still the same. "You left me hanging last time, old friend - no pun intended - but I'm a generous man, I'm all for second chances. Now, let's see if you're worth it."

So, er, I was playing Uncharted and somehow tripped and fell onto the Sam Drake trash train? Not entirely sure how that happened but I'm here now, ready to offer you the most self-indulgent melodrama I have ever written, you're welcome (I'm so sorry).

Chapter title from the song Snake Eyes by Mumford & Sons.

xo