((This is about to be the most lame angst fic I've written in a long time. ____ And after writing such a good violent one, too. Damn. xD
Anywho, read at your own risk.
Disclaimer: All Left 4 Dead 2 content belongs to Valve, and I don't claim any ownership to the characters, story, or anything this fic entails. I don't intend to profit by any tangible means, other than comments on my own writing.))
Ellis had been so good at keeping the mood up. He habitually screamed and cheered and pumped his fist in the air like a kid who had just scored a goal playing soccer or something. He got excited when he took out special infected or just hordes of regular infected, and he kept everyone distracted with his stories about the goings-on in Savannah. And most-commonly, his buddy, Keith.
It wasn't until something bad happened that the mood soured. Perhaps it was because the minute it happened, Ellis stopped laughing. He stopped cheering, he stopped screaming victoriously when shooting infected, and worst yet, the Keith stories and tales about all the crazy redneck things he'd done came to a complete halt. And when they stopped, Rochelle gave up her optimism, too.
Coach wasn't doing well. Nick supported the man, but it was like walking with the guy's full weight, considering the way he stumbled and nearly fell to his knees every time. His ankle was a mangled mess of very clearly broken bones and blood had seeped out and painted his pant leg with a dark, gruesome stain. He couldn't talk without groaning in pain, and the way he was clutching at the left side of his ribs didn't promise much other than internal bleeding.
He'd had a bad run-in with a tank, and distracted by the infected, the other survivors had only managed to plow their way through just in time to distract the thing and take it out themselves.
It was a miracle he'd gotten this far.
Regardless, the other survivors pressed on, and for once, it was Nick doing the talking.
"We're gonna get you patched up, dammit." He grunted as he supported the oldest of the group, who merely coughed in response, then groaned from the pain.
"I think he broke somethin'…" Coach's face was pale, almost grey with the dark skin, and cold sweat had gathered at his forehead in tiny beads. He was in pain. The memory of the tank beating him to shit didn't do any good, either.
"Here." Shifting a bit, Nick offered his pain pills to the older man, and Coach accepted them eagerly, lifting his hand from his side only to swallow some of them, then passed them back.
"We're about to go through them like crazy, boy." Coach promised with a chuckle, followed by another groan. Everyone winced.
They all knew how much they relied on Coach—even Nick. Hell, he might have been a self-absorbed ass, but Coach had his back, regardless, and he needed that reassurance. He was the oldest, like a father figure for the group, and he was awesome to boot. He had intuition like no other and knew his way around a gun. His firm attitude had convinced them all to step out of each new safe house—to move on to potential safety and keep their chins up. Hell, even Ellis needed a little support every now and then.
And now it was as if that had been completely lost. The air hung solemnly around them and the sound of the wind in the trees could be heard, along with the distant hissing and growling of infected. There was a small trace of a jockey's laughter, but it was much too far for any of them to do anything about it, not that they wanted to. They were in one hell of a bad situation right now.
"Hang in there, Coach." Nick finally added, nodding to the red, barred door ahead of them. "We're not even half a mile from a safe house."
"Y'all are makin' a mistake, luggin' me around…" Coach spoke through a series of pained grunts. Everyone winced again.
"Don't say anything, Coach." Rochelle interrupted, swallowing hard. It looked as if the woman might be on the verge of tears. "Please?"
Coach nodded and, rather reluctantly, waited as Ellis and Rochelle fought off the horde while Nick made to drag the older man into the safe house. Somehow, amidst the chaos and screeching of infected, they managed to make it. And soon, Ellis had the door shut behind them. Nick lowered coach against a wall and they all panted, catching their breath.
Coach's were shorter and taken quickly to avoid the pain of whatever was jabbing into his side when he breathed in.
"Shit, I gotta look at him." Rochelle spoke calmly, and the other two survivors nodded. "Go see if you can find a first-aid kit." They nodded again and obeyed.
Yeah, even Nick obeyed. Even he knew this wasn't the time to be bitching around.
Walking alongside Ellis, the older man noticed how uncertain the mechanic suddenly was. It was really fucking awkward, dealing with a situation like this one without Ellis' insistent banter about Keith and, well, whatever else the little hillbilly did in his spare time. Nick hadn't realized how much he'd relied on it. And now, without it, he had nothing to snap back about—no cocky responses to be made. Of course, he could say one, but without any necessary means, it just seemed…awkward.
"What's on your mind, kid?" Nick questioned, not that he didn't already know.
Ellis bit his lip, then glanced up at the older man, forcing a smile. "Am I makin' it that obvious?"
"I haven't heard a Keith story in at least an hour." Nick answered with a shrug. "That's obvious enough, since you're such a regular damned chatterbox."
They entered another room, and immediately started toward the shelves on the opposite end, next to a knocked-over snack machine. Ammo was visible, hopefully right along with a few first-aid kits.
"It's just…" The boy crossed his arms and crammed them tight around his chest, as if he were trying to hold something in. "Coach don't look too good an' all…"
Nick sighed. He'd prepared himself for something along the lines of those words, but that didn't make them any easier to handle, because whether or not he wanted to admit it, they all needed Coach. Even Nick.
"We'll figure something out." Comforting people wasn't his thing, and it shined through with the way the older man kept his gaze straight forward and his teeth grazed his bottom lip. He wasn't sure what else to say and Ellis' eyes were fixed on him and it was kind of unnerving. "Please, for the love of god, stop staring at me."
"Okay." Ellis obeyed quickly. He paused, and for a brief second, Nick noticed that optimistic spark as it returned—of course, hazed by concern—and he craned his head to grin at the con-man. "You did real good out there, Nick."
Nick cocked an eyebrow. "Hmm?"
"Supportin' Coach so we could get 'im to safety. I didn't see you let go, not even one time." For a split second, the southerner was positively beaming, as if he'd finally seen another side of the older man.
Well, he hadn't. Nick reminded himself of that as he answered, seizing the only first-aid kit and turning to lead them back to the main room. "I helped him because we need him, not because I give a shit."
"Okay." Ellis shrugged, then dropped the subject as they returned and Nick passed the small first-aid kit to Rochelle.
"Oh, thank god." The woman heaved a sigh of relief. By now, Coach's shirt was off completely, and he rather painfully held an arm in the air to expose the injured area of his side. It wasn't like they could do much other than wrap it up to prevent further injury, and the ankle was no different. Eventually, they all just gathered around Coach and gave him all the pain pills they had, then wrapped the injuries as well as they could.
This…was going to slow them down. Nick contemplated taking Coach up on his earlier offer to leave him, but something held him back.
Not uncertainty. Not concern.
………………………………………………
The next morning was no better. Rochelle and Ellis had both spent the night tossing and turning and not acquiring any actual sleep. They took turns checking up on Coach, who insisted(rather painfully) that he was fine and just wanted 'some goddamned sleep,' but that didn't stop them from being concerned.
Coach looked worse. They tried to eat. Ellis and Nick snacked on potato chips from the snack machine near where they'd found the first-aid kit and ammo, and offered Rochelle and Coach some. Rochelle declined, claiming she wasn't hungry at the moment, but promised to eat later. Coach attempted the chips, but vomited less than half an hour after eating them, then made a joke about having to rely on pain pills for his sustenance until he was better.
Nobody laughed.
They needed to keep moving, and at this point, it was as if Nick and Coach were the only ones who realized this. Ellis and Rochelle pleaded to stay for one more day so Coach could get better, and the oldest of the group argued right back that he was either going today or they were leaving him. There was no telling how long the survivors had before the evac units gave up completely on finding any more, after all.
But somehow, they managed to win. Coach withdrew into a state of groaning and clutching his now-bandaged side, so Nick was the only one left to fight back, and with a determined southern kid and an angry woman(The con-man still didn't quite get how to handle women) in his face, he finally, reluctantly agreed. "Fine, but we're hauling ass tomorrow, you two hear?"
Rochelle and Ellis nodded, but they all knew they couldn't leave Coach, and that was going to slow them down, even with a day of recovery.
Once more, the survivors took shifts. One would stay with Coach while the other two went out to find anything they could use—more first-aid, adrenaline for tomorrow, guns or ammo, anything. Ellis sat with him first, while Rochelle and Nick went out.
Rochelle didn't seem to mind the company, but Nick was silent, obviously not pleased by the fact that they were just walking around like sitting ducks in a pond swimming with infected. Or that they weren't hauling ass out of here.
"You know we're only doing this for Coach." Rochelle spoke through the silence after the two had managed to control a horde. A spitter fell before them, goo leaking from her gaping mouth and crawling toward them. They stepped back.
"I know." Nick growled, picking off a stray infected among several trees.
Rochelle rolled her eyes. "When're you gonna stop with the tough guy act?"
The con-man cocked his shotgun, ready for any oncoming infected. They'd located another first-aid kit and a bottle of pain pills, so hopefully, they could start back. Rochelle seemed keen on it, too, especially when the ground rumbled beneath them.
"No time for this shit, honey!" Nick suddenly demanded, then tugged her backward by the forearm, sprinting in the direction of the safe house. The two fired behind them at the approaching tank. They could hear the bullets landing, but the thing refused to fall.
And like that, they were running. Sprinting. The last thing they needed was another situation like Coach's, and the two of them kept that in mind, forcing their legs to take another step. But the tank was gaining on them, and fast.
Rochelle threw a Molotov, which slowed the tank down, and with a little more shooting, the massive creature finally collapsed, making a resounding "THUD" on the ground as it landed. Panting, they turned around to start toward the safe house, which was right in front of them.
"Close." Rochelle muttered, then pushed the door open and she and Nick stepped inside.
Ellis was oblivious to both of them, chattering right along with Coach, who strangely enough, seemed to be enjoying the conversation. The mechanic passed him some pills from the little pile they'd made on the floor, and the other man accepted them eagerly. It wasn't until Coach waved in the direction of the entrance that Ellis snapped out of it and realized the other two had returned.
"Find anythin'?" He questioned, getting to his feet.
Nick was on the verge of a snarky remark when Rochelle elbowed him and approached the other two with the first-aid kit and pills in hand. "These should work for a bit." She then promptly plopped down next to Coach.
Nick groaned. "Aw, come on!"
"Our turn." Ellis passed him and the safe room door opened.
"Can't he just go by—"
"No." Rochelle shot him a glare. "Get movin' and cover the boy's ass. You know how he can get."
………………………………..
"Man!" Ellis cheered, pumping a fist into the air just as he and Nick had managed to take out a small horde. "We are kickin' ass!"
As if his words had posed a challenge to the infected, they came pouring in promptly after Ellis had made his declaration.
"DON'T EGG THEM ON, DUMBASS!" Nick roared as he knocked back a female infected with the butt of his shotgun, then blasted her in the face and made to do the same to others.
"Sorry." Ellis quickly apologized.
By the time they'd cleared the swarm, Nick had completely exhausted his supply of shotgun ammo and had to rely on pistols and Ellis was panting, clinging to a bleeding spot on his right forearm. It wasn't too massive, and the mechanic was mostly panting out of exhaustion, but it was still an injury.
"That," Nick seized the moment to scold the boy, "is why we don't taunt them."
Ellis merely nodded, and they pressed on. With a couple pain pills in his system, he felt fine and they kept moving, eyes scanning restlessly for something—anything that could keep Coach with them.
Their search moved clean on into afternoon, and before they knew it, evening had arrived and darkness was starting to settle around them. Conveniently enough, they managed to stumble upon two adrenaline shots and some more pain pills, and the two men simultaneously decided it was time to fall back.
Problem was, they had ventured quite the distance, and night was falling fast.
"Shit, I knew we should've stopped at the rest stop." Nick grumbled, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"I can look away if you gotta pee, Nick." Ellis suggested, promptly flinching when the older man recoiled and groaned aloud.
"I don't have to pee!" He cried out. "I meant we should've turned around sooner!"
"Ohhh…" Ellis nodded and paused briefly. "But it wasn't so bad, on account of we found these shots and pills."
"It's getting dark." Nick proclaimed. "Zombies are everywhere. We should've turned back earlier."
The mechanic merely shrugged. "No use dwellin' on it now. Let's just get back. I'm startin' to worry about Coach again."
The zombies must've known Coach—and hated him something fierce—because, upon the mention of his name, they were flooding in again, hissing and screeching straight toward the two survivors.
The two men backed into each other, shoulderblades pressed firmly together, covering themselves from both ends as they fought down yet another horde of infected. As a boomer exploded in the distance and infected swarmed for it, Nick silently wondered just how much more of the population they had to destroy to have a little peace around here, but he didn't get to muse on it long. Infected poured out of every corner, sprinting wildly out of every open door, down from goddamned trees, off of cars and god-knows-what else. Ammo was running low and both men knew their situation wasn't a good one, but they somehow managed to take out the swarm, panting.
At least, until Ellis had to interrupt their beautiful moment of near-peace.
"Here comes the finale!" Ellis declared aloud, switching to his pistols and blasting down special infected after special infected, which had suddenly appeared out of seemingly nowhere. A hunter leapt at them and the mechanic took it out in mid-leap, then shot down an oncoming spitter before she could start throwing loogies their way.
Behind him, Nick fought off a charger, pistols not doing much to stop the attack. He screamed aloud as the thing came barreling toward them, massive shoulder hunched to send them flying, but it fell inches before them and Nick heaved a sigh.
"Shit. That was too close!"
"Naw, it wasn't!" Ellis disagreed with a panic in his voice, nudging his partner to the infected coming toward them from his side. Two jockeys, a hunter, and a boomer could be seen in the distance. These guys were giving them one hell of welcoming party, that was for sure.
"What the hell is this shit!?" With those words, Nick was running, hand wrapping around Ellis' forearm and ignoring the way the blood from the wound seeped through and around his fingers. They had to run. They had to get back to the safe house. It was getting dark and visibility was fading fast. There was no telling how bad these guys got at night.
Ellis fired several shots behind him with his pistol, taking out the boomer and starting on one of the jockeys, both of which were cackling insanely and bounding toward them.
The next thing Nick knew, his face was in the ground. Everything went black afterward. He could faintly hear Ellis' cries of pain, mingled in with the snarling of a hunter and the various other infected, but they all eventually faded into the back of his mind, and he was just floating there in complete emptiness.
When he came to, there were no infected and no one was screaming. His eyes opened to blackness and he sucked in a breath of air quickly to make sure he was still alive. It sounded more like a gasp for air, and almost immediately afterward, a voice echoed through the darkness.
"I think I just heard him." Nick would recognize Rochelle's voice anywhere after all they'd been through together, and he found himself relieved that she was there.
What about Ellis?
Nick tried to ignore the way his stomach sunk at the thought.
A lantern flashed in his face and Nick groaned aloud at the headache the sudden burst of light spawned.
"Augh, what the hell?" The con-man rolled onto his side as if he were still trying to sleep, and Rochelle promptly rolled him back over, leaning close and examining his forehead.
"Looks like you're gonna be okay." She proclaimed, then stood up. "You're lucky Ellis managed to get you out of that mess."
It was then that Nick realized how deafeningly quiet the room was outside of their conversation, completely devoid of Keith stories or, hell, any sort of chatter the boy had in him. His eyes went wide and he made to sit upright, but just as he'd done so, a vast wave of nausea hit him and he turned, heaving onto the ground next to him.
Great.
"Must be the shock from the impact." Rochelle said in mild amusement. "Ellis said that jockey took you down pretty hard—threw his full weight right at the back of your head."
"Ellis." Nick repeated, swallowing hard. The uneasiness in the pit of his stomach was uncomfortable, and he had a feeling that knowing of the boy's survival might help. "Where is the kid? He alright?"
"Mmhmm." Rochelle nodded. "He took a beating, himself, but it wasn't nothin' we couldn't patch up with a first-aid kit, just like with you." She chuckled and motioned to the bandage that had been wrapped around Nick's head. He must've gashed it or something for them to have had to do so. "Coach made us use it. You shoulda seen the boy, arguing that he'd be alright and –"
Nick was at his feet, ignoring the dizziness that hit him when he stood, and made his way back into the main room, where he could hear Coach snoring lightly.
Several feet from the oldest of the group, there were three worn-looking blankets on the ground, and Ellis was poised atop one of them, back against the wall behind him. Another lantern, which was sitting next to him, glowed brightly, casting haunting shadows on the boy and the wall behind him. The way they danced behind him actually reminded Nick more of Ellis than the boy the shadows were cast of.
Ellis looked pitiful, at least compared to his usual, giddy self. From the distance, Nick could see the bruises and scrapes all over his body, and both forearms were bandaged, the right tainted a deep red from seeping blood. Beneath his shirt, the con-man could see that the mechanic's stomach had been wrapped. His eyes were sagged and tired and Nick's stomach dropped at the sight. The boy still hadn't slept?
Why the hell did he care, anyway?
"Geez, kid." Nick stated plainly as he approached, taking a seat next to the mechanic. "You look like—"
Ellis was beaming all of a sudden, and Nick could see that his left cheek was slightly more swollen than the right.
"What?" The question sounded more like a statement coming from the con-man, but Ellis didn't seem to mind.
"Yer alright." The boy stated plainly.
"Yeah." Nick sighed, scratching the back of his neck and immediately regretting it when his hand clunked awkwardly into the back of his skull and a sharp pain made itself known. "I don't think I should be the one to worry about, though." He motioned to Coach(Rochelle was now sitting beside him, watching over him like a hawk), then back to Ellis. "Besides, you're worse off than I am. Hunter get a hold on you?"
"Yeah." Ellis answered with a sigh, leaning back against the wall. "But that ain't the point." He suddenly looked determined. "I mean, yer a right damn asshole sometimes, Nick, but I dunno if we'd make it without you and Coach."
Nick wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted. Instead, he deflected like he had earlier. After all, Ellis still wasn't telling stories as much, so the situation as essentially the same. Comfort still wasn't his thing, though. "Stop talking like Coach is dead, Overalls."
Ellis' gaze shifted downward almost immediately. "He ain't lookin' too good."
Nick's gaze soon followed.
"Hey, Nick?"
The older man lifted his head, eyeing the boy in curiosity.
"Mind if I hug you?"
Nick's jaw dropped. "You're asking?"
"Well, yer injured an' all…" Ellis bit his lip, and for a split second—or maybe it was just the way the lantern's light flickered on his face—he thought the mechanic might have been blushing.
"I'm not half as bad as…Ugh, fine." Nick rolled his eyes, then found himself pulled forward into a bone-crushing hug. Injured or not, Ellis had some strength to him. He was more lean than lanky, and the con-man wondered why that thought even came to mind.
Ellis was buried in his chest, now, strong arms wrapped tightly around Nick's frame, and the older man could see the boy's hat slipping off. He did the favor of removing it before it fell and placed it lightly next to Ellis' blanket.
And he hugged back. Reluctantly, at first. One hand lifted and wrapped around Ellis' back, and the next thing he knew, he was clinging to the kid for dear life.
Human contact. It'd been something Nick had missed greatly. The most they experienced was when helping each other to their feet or supporting one another. They'd never stopped to actually enjoy what could be the last actual, human touch they'd feel before being plowed under by infected hands, clawing at their flesh and tearing their way to victory.
Nick enjoyed it more than he'd admit aloud.
But as usual, Ellis had to ruin the moment.
"Somethin' smells like puke."
Rochelle snickered from her spot next to Coach.
"I barfed when I woke up." Nick answered with a shrug.
"Oh." Ellis finally pulled away, then nestled himself comfortably—or as comfortably as he could, considering his injuries—on the blanket. Nick followed suit, but Rochelle insisted on staying near Coach.
She wouldn't sleep that night. Nick almost felt bad that he would, and he was sure Ellis would be apologizing up a storm tomorrow when he woke up.