The Heart Is a Fickle Thing
Nathan Drake's excitement and adrenaline came to a screeching halt when the shape first shambled out from behind the pillar at the Cintamani Stone chamber, first only shock flooding in its place. It was the least expected of places to see the face of Harry Flynn again and certainly not in this condition. Harry had given them a bit of a speech, perhaps a planned monologue because he always known they would try to save him or reason to have him allow it. Nathan really wanted it, really wanted Flynn to accept the offer and let Elena get close to him but the grenade brought the reality to a jarring morbid possibility. Drake liked Flynn as a friend, but their relationship had grown complicated as of late. Understatement of the century, Drake reflected, the past four months had been a whirlwind of change.
Stealing the lamp from the Istanbul museum months before was a challenge, but a fun one. Nathan had forgotten how exciting a theft like this could be, often choosing to stick to places where modern security and armed guards were not usually a problem. Chloe had talked him into it, or more or less jumped his bones despite her apparent pairing with Flynn to privately convince him to take off together. There was a nagging little thought on why she would so easily con her supposed fiancée, but Drake knew he would eventually find out sooner or later as he went ahead with her requests. Flynn and he had history, they were close buddies at one point until their paths diverged as they often do in this line of work. The steaming dung pile hit the fan when Flynn yanked the rope up before Drake could make his escape after their discovery in the lamp, stabbing him in the back. For a moment, one terrifying moment, he thought Flynn would shoot him there, but instead set off the museum's alarms with his trained marksmanship. He never expected Flynn to stab him in the back like that. But then again, had Nathan not just done the same sort of thing? Well, yeah, okay, he got me back there. Three months in prison. If I see the inside of another prison cell, it'll be way too soon. But then there was the train…
Harry Flynn had made his appearances a few other times before that near-fatal incident on the train-ride up to Nepal, all the while smirking his smug stupid grin, faithfully at Lazaravic's heels. Drake could see Flynn was nervous about the man, but hey, who wasn't? The guy was full-blown psycho. Drake had hoped to avoid Flynn as long as possible, dodge him when he could due to the possible show-down that might occur. Seeing him, working for the bad guy, gave Nathan a weak pang of grief deep in his chest. Flynn, you were better than this. Why did you do it, buddy? Why did you try to kill me? Nathan never thought he'd do it, not with their history. But as that train bailed headlong into a blizzard, Drake too busy arguing with Chloe to try and convince to her leave that madman she called boss, the gunshot rang out like a thunder blast. The crippling pain was nearly instantaneous, in the abdomen and thankfully not bleeding as heavily as it could have turned out. If not for that moment, Drake would have never believed Flynn would try to murder him, really authentically try. The look of wrath and hate in his green eyes were stunning to him when they were often so warm and friendly towards him. Out of sheer luck, Drake blew the train to pieces and managed to climb the suspended, dangling cars before they plummeted headlong off the side of a stony cliff. As if that were not bad enough, Nathan had to maneuver his way through the flaming, and at times exploding, wreckage and fought off a number of forces that scouted the remains before he fell unconscious a distance out of the gorge. Nathan Drake was nothing if not lucky, by some chance a Tibetan ranger named Tenzin brought him out of the cold and nursed him back to health. Flynn had been rarely spotted since, and Nathan did not mind that. The betrayal stung, very much like the healing wound on his stomach still ached. But not as much as the ache he felt now for his former friend.
Flynn was a mess. Nathan was sure Lazaravic ruled his forces and allies with fear, the brief glimpse into the way he threatened Harry at the monastery, but never thought he'd see the evidence on Flynn himself. The older British man was grievously wounded, a neat hole poked through the leather of his jacket up on his chest where he was most likely shot. Blood had already flowed down and saturated the cloth of his denim jeans as it seeped downwards from where he was propped against a stone pillar. Harry Flynn's often meticulously managed auburn hair was now in disarray, the evidence of a brutal beating scattering his handsome features. Cuts, bruises and scrapes were marring his forehead, nose, cheeks and chin, his lip split open and adding to the amount of blood that already covered him. Judging from the way he collapsed, legs slowly giving away against the pillar and sinking down, it meant his strength was leaving him quick. Jesus, Flynn. What happened to you, pal?
The grenade in Flynn's quivering grasp was what he was focused on now. Any moment, he could let it go and finish the mission he was trying to complete this whole wild goose-chase. He knew Flynn did not want to die. Nathan could hear it in the resignation in his voice when he spoke to Elena about the plucky girl being unable to save and reform a villain. He could see it in that sad, grieving look Flynn had when he glanced in Chloe's direction, giving Nathan a stab of guilt each time for driving the wedge between them mistakenly. In what appeared to be a final act of desperation and defiance, Flynn raised the grenade to the same level of his head. Nathan's heart leapt up in his throat. No, Flynn. Please, don't do it. Come on, buddy, just give it a chance, we can save you. Why was Flynn so determined to die here? Suicide was never his way of doing things, he seemed to speak of it previously with mild distaste.
"Parting gift from Lazaravic… Pity he took the pin," Flynn rasped softly, that trademark little smirk appearing only briefly. Jesus, Elena, move back. Elena, move! Nathan Drake was sure they were all dead, was sure Flynn was going to drop the explosive then, he even saw the older man's fingers twitch as if to do so. But as Drake froze, inches from touching Elena's waist to yank her back to safety, he saw it never happened. The deafening blast never occurred. Harry Flynn himself was paralysed for a moment or two, stuck with indecision before that stubborn, angry spark died in Flynn's eyes. Harry let his arm drop down still clutching the grenade tight enough for his knuckles to whiten. Nathan Drake knew it then, he knew Harry well enough to know. He's given up. Jesus, he's not mad at us anymore. He's forgiven us. "Listen," Harry hissed with a fluid-choked voice, licking his bloodied lips. "Go. Now. He's going to the Tree. Fuckin' get out of here. You gotta stop that prick."
No. I'm not letting him do it. I won't let him. Nathan Drake hid his shock the best he could with Flynn's change of heart, looping his arm around Elena's waist and luring her back to Chloe. Flynn's former fiancée protectively grasped for Elena's wrist, pulling her back safely out of a blast radius if the explosive had detonated. With her safe now, he could think, could act. Nathan was already moving towards his downed former friend before he knew he was truly doing it, racing forward instinctively. No. I can't let him do it. Not Flynn. He's been a real dick, but he doesn't deserve that. "Flynn, wait a min-", Nathan began, ready to try and reason with him but Harry had interjected.
"Just stop, mate…" Flynn panted over him, his lungs were already heaving with the trouble of simply breathing. "I can't keep up. I'm done for. He wanted me to finish you all off. Too bad I was never one for orders, yeah?" There was that small smirk again, a practiced expression Flynn always had at ready, but the emotions behind it made it different. It was pained, bitter, and perhaps sad. Flynn was truly resigned to his fate. He's getting ready to die. He wants to. The grief came strong, unexpectedly so, Nathan's eyes starting to burn and glassy with gathering tears.
"We can't just leave him here," Elena insisted, echoing Nathan's instincts. He had his back to her, but he could hear her straining against the other woman to get closer. Elena's kind heart was yet another characteristic that he loved about her, but no one could pry the words from between his lips even upon threat of death. Nathan just was not ready for that level of commitment, not when Elena and he lived very distinct separate lives. The entire two pages of his current journal in his back pocket attested to that fact, other girls from other cities, former flames and flings.
Nathan was close, he was nearly in front of Flynn now, but he was not moving in yet. Flynn's grip on the grenade was faltering, the wounded man was exhausted with the effort even with his arm slack at his side. Flynn was bleeding out before all of their eyes, his tanned skin now paper-white through the brutal clashing of bright red covering him. Harry was quivering lightly, but his voice was surprisingly stable. "Sure you could, love," he murmured in response to Elena, Flynn's eyelids drooping as if he was drifting to sleep. "Just go. I would've."
No, Flynn, no. Stay awake, stay with us. Stay with me. I can't lose you, not like this. Not like Sam. Nathan could feel a sob lodged in his throat, now crouched in front of his former friend. The thought of Flynn dying like this, a gunshot wound, helpless and unable to treat him to save him, filled him with a deep familiar grief that never really left after all these years. Nathan, years before tangling with the likes of Harry Flynn, had an older brother. Had. Nathan forced the thought down, he could not deal with that now, not when Flynn was still breathing. He was almost kneeling in Flynn's blood, a small patch expanding underneath him at an alarming rate. Harry's eyes had drifted shut, his breathing ragged and strained, the grip on the grenade slowly easing. Move, do something. Now.
"Nate. We need to move. Now," Chloe hissed impatiently at his back, Nathan had to focus to remember she was even there. The looming possibility of another loss in his life was staggering, it shook him to his core.
Thanks, Chloe. We do need to move, but we're taking him with us.
Nathan Drake had to act quickly, but he was not sure he knew any other way. Hastily, both hands shot out to clasp over Harry's, gripping the undetonated grenade firm. Flynn's fingers were like ice, the flesh deeply cold and turning blue that Nathan hoped was only frost-bite. Nate's eyes were glassy now, his vision spliced from the tears obscuring his sight. Oh my God, he's so cold. How is he going to survive this? No. Keep your head in the game, Nate. Drake was sure Harry was out cold, unconscious from blood loss and trauma but those weary green eyes opened and stared at him, taking a second to recognize the person there. That scared Nathan badly. But Flynn had other plans than surrendering meekly yet, he immediately meant to yank the grenade back out of Nathan's hands but Drake refused to allow it. "Fershitsake, Nate, get the fu-"Flynn started, his speech slurring.
"Flynn, shut up," Nathan tried to scold, but it came out as a saddened groan. He was trying so hard to stay calm, to relax and keep optimistic but there was so much blood. He saw the older man react to his voice, struggling to lift his head, an effort that would have not troubled Flynn at all an hour or so before. Red froth was clinging to his lips, the wound bubbling with each inhale. Oh God. It's so bad. Flynn, please, hang in there, stay with us. Don't give up, you have to keep fighting like the dick I know you can be. "Just shut up… Give it to me. C'mon, don't be any more of a prick than you already been." Nathan refused to give up the explosive. Not now, not ever.
Harry Flynn regarded him with eyes that fogged and glazed over, Nathan saw it once and it haunted his nightmares. Oh Jesus, he looks like Sam did. Flynn normally would have told Drake to go have relations with himself with something sandpapery than to give up an act he set his mind in doing. Flynn was stubborn like that, even now as his lungs stubbornly panted for breath, his chest cavity under increasing pressure as he bled internally. Harry, however, was losing his battle. His hand reluctantly parted with the explosive, surrendering it to the younger man without another word of complaint or argument. Those once sharp, clever green eyes staring back at him were dulled with exhaustion, but lucid and aware. "Drake, please…" Harry whispered, a quiet hiss that required effort on the dying thief's part. "Kill him. Kill Zoran."
"Oh, believe me, I don't need to be told twice," Nathan tried to laugh, scrambling for optimism and hope but it sounded forced even to his own ears. Drake wanted to touch Flynn, hold him against himself and comfort him as he clearly needed. But touching him made it real. Feeling Flynn's cold and clammy skin under his touch was real. Easing the explosive into one fist, Nathan forced himself to look at his former friend. In case this is the last time I see him alive. The thought was offensive, deeply so, but it rang true all the same. Flynn was dying. He needed care, quickly, if he was to live through this. Flynn was struggling against drifting off to unconsciousness, his head bobbing as his eyelids sunk and he jerked himself into waking fully again in increasingly faster intervals. "Hang in there, buddy…" He had no idea what else to say. Nathan grimaced, hoping Flynn was as stubborn as he believed, slowly straightening his posture to stand. "Elena, Chloe, I have to go do this. I need to give this toy back to the asshole who lost it. Take him to the elevator. Get him to the entrance, do what you can. We're getting the hell out of here."
Harry Flynn lost his fight to stay awake, his head dipped down and did not bob back up as he surfaced back to waking as before. Nathan felt a weak pang of anxiety, but hearing Flynn's laboured breathing eased it back a bit. He was still alive, that was fine. Nathan had expected Chloe to maybe argue as she had before, like when Jeff the cameraman was first wounded and she opted for leaving him behind. But perhaps, with a guilty little thought, he underestimated her yet again as he watched both women frantically race to Harry's side and sling his limp arms over each of their shoulders to haul him upright. Nathan hesitated just long enough to watch their faltering progress, Harry's booted feet dragging listlessly on the stone floors. Please, Flynn. Please hang on. You need to live through this. Drake turned on his heel and vaulted down the steps towards the Tree, looming over the pyramid as a haunted sentry from civilizations past, grenade still clutched tight. Oh, I'll be giving this back, alright… I'll be shoving it right up his ugly bitch ass.
Nathan Drake had no idea how much time had passed, he was never one to carry a watch on him as someone else usually had one when he asked. Getting to the sacred Tree of Life had actually happened unhindered without Zoran's forces interfering with his progress, they had apparently been waiting for the cue of the grenade explosion that had been given to a horribly wounded Flynn. Nathan clutched the bomb tight to his chest, lungs burning like his eyes as he charged his way through to find Zoran Lazaravic already standing at the sap pooling at the base of the tree, illuminating the atmosphere in an electric blue glow. Drake watched the man drink, saw his scars disappear and the only a flicker of what power the sap could ultimately afford someone that consumed it. He lobbed the bloodied grenade into the pool, wiping out Lazaravic's forces but only irritating the man himself.
With Shambhala fracturing and splintering with each earth-shattering explosion, a chain reaction to the flammable tree sap that grown there, Drake could hardly remember how the battle unfolded, the adrenaline had made the memory hazy to recall even though it happened minutes ago. It happened just so fast. One moment, he was sure Zoran had enough and was done, the next the beast of a man had him by the throat and physically threw him across the battle-zone with a strength so unfathomable it hurt to think about. Nathan used the sap to his advantage when bullets or brute force simply bounced off the crazed warlord. Then, Zoran collapsed, Nathan was ready with a gun in his face, wrath beckoning the decision against his typical character. But he could not do it. Nathan Drake was not like this man, a monster that murdered needlessly. Not when there were others in need of revenge. Drake fled when the Guardians sprung on the intruder that invaded their holy site, bludgeoning him to a painful death that echoed throughout the gigantic undergrowth that moved with strange intelligence when agitated with fire or explosions. Legs pumping but ready to collapse, Nathan sprinted up countless stairs, to the Cintamani chamber where he left his companions now empty of their presence, but Flynn's blood still bore the truth of what happened there. A deep pang of grief drove him to run faster, the bloodstains spurring him with renewed speed.
Oh, crap. This whole place is raining down on my head. Shit, I hope they all got out. Flynn, you better be breathing when I get back. Just be alive, that's all I ask of you, jerk-off. Nathan supposed every corner and twist and straight sprint without Flynn's body being left behind was a good sign, but the traces of blood from his hemorrhaging led him along hot on their trail, feeling a little flutter of panic with each crimson smear. How much blood can a man lose? How much can he lose and still be okay? Jesus, this is so bad.
Then he was out of the pyramid, out onto the bridge as it shifted and caved underfoot. There were two distinguishable shapes up ahead, struggling with a much larger one. Drake's heart leapt up in his throat when a few more reckless but lucky jumps brought him closer to recognize them and fully absorb the situation.
Chloe was being throttled by an enraged Guardian, both massive hands around her neck and squeezing as she kicked and thrashed to free herself. Elena was a few feet away, firing off rapid-fire rounds into the hulking creature's back to release her, crouched near a large rock. Crap! Come on, Nate, move your ass. Wait, where's Flynn? Nathan debated yelling out their names, to draw their attention and maybe divert the Guardian's rage, but his voice froze on his lips when his eyes fell on a bloodied heap of what Nathan thought was just clothing at first. Flynn. My God, what are you doing? The British elder thief was almost unrecognizable, he was just covered in blood, his blood. But no matter how hopeless his condition was, Flynn was shoving himself upright abruptly with clumsy arms, conscious and alive. Harry's protective streak over Chloe never seemed to waver, even now in unimaginable odds. As the Guardian dropped his former fiancée to lunge at Elena, Nathan could only watch in horror as the pillar he was on toppled forward, leaving him parallel to their platform but unable to make the jump. Harry, no! Drake witnessed Flynn's bloody upper limbs fling around the Guardian's gargantuan leg, nearly wrapping his body around it to forbid the creature to pounce on the blonde woman vastly unmatched against such brute strength. "Harry, what are you doing?!" Chloe's voice was barely heard over the bone-shaking chasms opening up around them, swallowing the entire ancient city. Flynn, oh Jesus, what are you doing? The Guardian was shaking his leg aggressively, attempting to wiggle off the persistent pest but reaching his limit in patience before smashing the other foot directly down onto Harry's upturned face. Drake felt a scream in his throat as he watched Flynn go slack, unresponsive from the sheer bludgeoning. Oh my God, if he's not dead now, it'll be a miracle.
"NO!" Chloe screamed, her hands at her own weapon and firing wildly now that she had a chance to focus and breathe, the near-strangling must have shaken her badly.
There was an ear-splitting crack as the platform they were on shifted and careened into Nathan's pillar, sending both the Guardian and Chloe reeling down the incline but allowing Drake the opportunity to leap onto their level. The landing was less than ideal, the stones he grasped onto gave away and sent him scrambling down another twenty feet for a heart-stopping second to a more stable shelf of rock. Fingers cramping, Nathan grit his teeth as he shimmied across, summoning will power to muscle his way up the vertical rock-face, Chloe just above him and getting traction again. The Guardian had not been as lucky as them, the heavier weight breaking away another slab of stone underneath it to send it plummeting down with the rest of the city's remains. Drake could glimpse Elena at the top, hefting a dead weight backwards away from the edge. Flynn. Please be alive. Come on, jackass, you been through worse than this. Nathan was not sure that was true, but it was comforting to say to himself all the same.
The climb to the top was relatively simple, the rock seemed more reluctant to cave at the moment so both Chloe and Nathan were able to haul themselves up onto level ground at the top. Again, the amount of blood staining the ground and Flynn himself staggered Drake to the core. He went to his knees at Elena's side, kneeling in fresh blood but uncaring at the moment. Harry was crumpled on his side and partially unfolded from Elena's efforts to drag him from harm's way instead of falling from the face of the planet. Flynn's breathing was ragged and harsh, a wet rasp deep in his throat that rattled in his chest. The older British man's face was hardly recognizable, from his former handsome rugged self. The Guardian's kick caught his forehead and left eye, opening a massive gash that exposed shiny white bone of his skull on his forehead, sheeting fresh crimson down his features. His battered eye-socket was swelling dramatically already, it was no doubt going to be one hell of a shiner when it blackened. His jaw hung slack, a disturbing detail that Nathan could not stand, purposely gathering Flynn up into his arms. He looped one under both Flynn's dead-weight legs, the other scooping under his shoulders and lifting him with some struggle. Shit, you're heavy. Always giving me trouble about my weight, you smug asshole. Chloe stared at Drake questioningly, biting her lip. "He'll be okay, Chloe," Nathan panted softly, still tired from the showdown with Zoran Lazaravic and the escape. "He'll be okay, we just need to get out of here. C'mon! Elena, call Sully! We need a way out!" He did not let his weariness stop him from carrying the grievously wounded man to the elevator, all the way up the stairs to the secret entrance at the monastery. Every time his calves quivered with the effort or his knees were about to unhinge, Flynn's wet hacking that substituted for breathing was what gave him a reason to fight on. Jesus, if he's not braindead, he's got a head harder than mine. That kick nearly took his face off.
Nathan Drake did not stop running until he reached the snowy drifts of the monastery, he could not allow himself to stop knowing this man's life was in his hands. The withered tree that loomed over the secret entrance greeted them with its gnarled shadow cast over them, Drake's feet not stopping until they settled on the stone platform cleared of snow, sinking down to his knees with an exhausted grunt at last. I did it. We did it. We made it out. I can't believe we've been that lucky. Is Flynn that lucky? Still panting heavily for his breath, a hot stitch piercing into his side, Nathan forced himself to look down at Harry Flynn to a sight that brought new grief and pity.
Harry Flynn was unconscious, his body completely slack in his hold, not even so much as shivering in the freezing cold despite Flynn's hatred of chill. His leather jacket was sticky with drying and fresh blood, his jeans stained in a track down his front. His previously tanned skin with its warm glow was now almost comparable to the white snow around him, leeched of colour. His lips were turning blue. Harry's chest continued to rise and fall, but not as feverish or stressed as before. It was laboured but quietening, the effort was straining what little strength he had left in his broken body.
Elena, bless her heart, took charge with contacting Victor Sullivan that stood at the ready for their evacuation, the walkie-talkie she snagged from Zoran Lazaravic's crew attuned to Sully's frequency. The GPS gave them their location and Nathan could feel a faint ripple of relief under the overwhelming anxiety to hear Sully's gruff voice answer back, already honed in on their position and minutes away. Much to Sullivan's military instincts, he had asked a trained trauma surgeon to join him on his flight. Thank God. Oh, thank God, Sully, you beautiful bastard. We just might make it out of this, Flynn. Hang on, please. You can't leave me, not like this. Not like Sam.
Chloe was hovering over him, anxious about her former lover, almost pacing a track in the snow. Elena finished the call and joined her at Nathan's shoulder. "Shit," Chloe was gasping to herself, to no one in particular other than to just get the words out. "Shit. Shit. Harry, you better not die here."
Elena, however, was of more a level-head in situations where Nathan felt he was a bit overworked. "Nate," she hissed, her voice low. "Keep pressure on the wound, he's losing too much blood. We have to keep him stable."
Yes. Yes, you're right. Thanks, Elena. Nathan's numb hand clapped over Harry's chest, directly over the sopping injury and bearing down firm. He expected Flynn to complain, to flinch, to writhe, to even react at all, but the man might have been already dead. No. No, he's not going anywhere. Stay here, asshole. Come on, you owe me that much. "Flynn? Flynn?! Hey, Flynn, I'm going to need you to open your eyes, okay?" Nathan barked down at the dying thief, giving the man a harsh shake. Flynn did not even flutter his eyelids, still limp in his embrace. Nathan was fighting a scream, his voice raising with panic. "Flynn, please! Harry, you gotta wake up! Flynn! Stay awake, okay? Wake up!" Jesus, no, it's happening all over again. This place is not Panama. It's so different from Panama, but it feels like the same right now.
A hot flood of relief came readily when Harry Flynn's eyelashes twitched, his right eye slowly easing open reluctantly while the other was too swollen to budge. It was not an automatic reflex, a spasm of the brain. Flynn was in there, Nathan could see the lucidity reflected in that one green eye. "Oh God, Flynn, hey. Hey now. Buddy, stay with me," Drake almost groaned, cradling the dying man to his chest. He's so cold. Flynn, don't you die here, I'll never forgive you for that. Fruitlessly, Nathan was rubbing the man's arms and legs, trying to use friction to bring warmth back into his body. The more blood he was losing, the more his body was failing. Drake could not bear to look up at his female companions, but he knew they were both standing over him, Flynn's sign of life, however weak, was certainly more than they imagined at this point. Everyone was holding their breath. Initially, Nathan was unsure if Harry was going to respond at all, a blank stare etched on his face, but a slow and authentic grin curled at the English man's battered lips. Flynn's usually straight white teeth were stained red, bubbles of blood clinging to his lips from each cough and splutter. Listening to him struggle to breathe past drowning in his own blood, feeling him shudder and twitch with effort, Nathan Drake could feel his heart breaking. It was hard to smile back, but Flynn smirking away at him was something he never thought he would see again. "Just hang in there, ass-wipe," Nathan murmured gently, as soothingly as he could manage. He used the term purposely, the same one he used back in the ruins of the monastery when Flynn's betrayal was still raw. "You owe me big time. But that's no good if you die here, alright? Stay awake. Stay here with us. Don't go anywhere." Stay with me, Flynn. Please. Don't leave me.
Harry gave him one of those heartbreaking smiles again, but Nathan could already tell he was struggling to stay awake. "Wouldn't dream of it, mate…" Flynn rasped out, the fact he was able to speak at all a shock to Drake. But as he was done saying it, Flynn's head bobbed down briefly, his weight sinking down into his lap a little more.
No. No, this is not happening. Nathan wanted to shake Harry by the shoulders, command him not to go, to keep his eyes open and stay. Instead, tenderly, he gathered the man up closer, giving his marred cheek a tap. The touch alone was enough to drag Flynn back, at least briefly. "Hey, come on. Stay here. Help is on the way, you just have to hang on. Sully will be here any minute. The cavalry is coming. There's going to be a doctor onboard. You'll be okay." The words were spilling out like puke, he could not help it. Nathan wondered if it was more for his own benefit than for Flynn's. Looking down at the dying British man, there was a pang of anger when he stared at the gouge along Flynn's forehead where the Guardian kicked him. There was bound to be head trauma, he could see blood leaking off Harry's earlobes, trickling from the inside of his ears. "Goddammit, Flynn, how could you be so stupid? You couldn't fight anything in your condition. That Guardian almost had to scrape you off his boot. If I hadn't gotten there, you'd be toe-jam."
The weakened man in his hold chuckled, a phlegmy sound from blood clotting in his throat. It was the desired reaction, Flynn was smiling again, an expression that seemed so foreign now despite it often his neutral face. It was hard to believe the man had a sense of humor left at all. If Lazaravic wasn't already dead, I'd kill him. Look at what he did to you, Flynn. Nathan did not want to cry, he wanted to stay calm. But it was getting so damn hard to fight off the burning in his eyes.
Flynn's lips moved for a moment, like he was about to say something back and Nathan reflexively hunched closer into his lips to catch the sound over the howling wind. The words never came, it emerged as a spluttering cough that never seemed to stop. Flynn's entire body began to contract in his embrace with each spasm for air, lungs drowning and under pressure, runny globs of blood spraying with each cough and sometimes even as a fine red mist. Nathan cringed as he felt it spritz his skin, memories of his elder brother mortally wounded replaying in his mind once more as it did countless instances since it occurred years before. Flynn was writhing now, his paled hands flying up to his chest and throat and palming helplessly, as if to manually clear the obstruction from his breathing. He could see Flynn's fear, his only visible eye large and glassy and pleading. No, no, come on, get a breath in there. Please, Flynn, just relax and breathe. "Easy," Nathan whispered in attempt to sound soothing, placing one hand over Flynn's at his chest. He wanted to rock the man gently, wanted to take the hurt and pain away. Come on, what would Sully say? What do I have to do? I have to keep him awake, get him talking. "Take it easy. Stay here with us. I know you been through shit, but you can hang in a while longer. Flynn, come on, talk to me. Tell me, where is your favourite beach?"
The mention of a beach brought a weak grin back to Flynn's torn, bloodied lips, able to finally wrench in a deep breath of oxygen and relax. Much to Nathan's despair, the British man was not shaking anymore, the cold was no longer chilling him the way it should. Harry was getting more sluggish, the awareness in his visible eye fading along with the life in him. His clenched arm slowly released from its spot at his throat, going slack at his side as it seemed to weigh more than he was capable of lifting. "Cancun… The tequilas'h cheap…" Flynn slurred foggily, his eyelids drooping back closed. The ragged breathing was now a soft rattle in his chest.
No. No, no, no. No! I won't let him die, not now. A loud motorized roar echoed through the mountains, Sullivan's plane distinguishable even now by ear. He did not need to look up to know it was cresting over the mountain-peak, right in sightline. That did not change the fact Flynn was dying in front of him. The older man suddenly went slack, a final rattle exhaling from his traumatized lungs before ceasing. "Flynn? Flynn?! C'mon… Harry, please hang on, Sully's right over there." His pleas went unanswered. Flynn did not move, did not even breathe. He was dead. No, no, no. This isn't happening. It happened before, but I have him with me this time. I can save him, goddammit.
Chloe uttered a single sob, a sound that made Flynn's lack of life reality to Nathan Drake as he sprang into action and lay the bloodied man out on the ground on his back. CPR. Have to do CPR. Have to get him on-board, he'll be okay then. Drake tilted Harry's chin upwards before starting his chest compressions, lacing his fingers on the man's sternum and pumping his weight on the man's chest. He had to ignore the bubbles that fizzled out of the bullet-wound each time. Flynn's eyes were thankfully closed, the thought of him staring with a dead stare up at him would have been too much. Drake normally would have shied away at the thought of locking lips with Flynn. But now, he did not even falter as he breathed his lung capacity down into the man's mouth, pinching his nose shut. He had to block out the taste of blood on his lips, leaving a copper tang on his tongue. Come on, live! Breathe, you dumb bastard, don't you dare leave me here.
"Nathan," Elena began, about to touch his shoulder, but he flinched away under her touch. Her tone was all wrong, it sounded resigned. She given up on him. She written him off for dead. He felt an unpredictable throb of resentment, not ceasing his efforts, not at all costs. It would take Zoran Lazaravic himself resurrecting from the dead and prying him away to get him to stop now. Between breaths of air into the man's lungs and pumping his chest desperately, Nathan risked glaring up at her.
"Don't you dare stop me. Please, Sully's right over there, we can save him!" The shrillness in his voice he could not stuff down no matter how hard he tried. He could see hurt in her brown doe eyes, flinching back as if he physically swat at her. "Elena, please. We're so close!" Nathan took most of the effort of CPR, the women's attempts were too half-hearted for his opinion despite his crippling exhaustion. They both think he's good as dead. No, I won't let him die. No, I'll drag him back to life if I have to, he's not leaving me like this.
Nathan almost did not notice the doctor crouching at his side, not even aware Sullivan's plane was dozens of feet away. All he could focus was how cold Flynn felt.
Much to everyone's surprise, Harry Flynn managed to pull through with Nathan Drake's efforts to keep him alive and breathing. Now on Sullivan's plane and in the back cot area designated for medical use and transport for this particular patient, Nathan could only helplessly hover over his unconscious friend as the doctor went about her trauma work.
Drake insisted on carrying Flynn aboard himself, getting him on the cot fast and doing what he knew best: back off and let professionals work. The doctor had brought a nurse, Tibetan villagers specially trained in trauma cases due to their seclusion and needing professionals on site in town. They cut away Flynn's jacket and shirt, now saturated with blood and beyond salvaging, tossing it aside to the floor as an obstructive afterthought. Flynn's skin was so pale against the bright crimson soaking his body, the doctor immediately working upon the gunshot wound with tweezers and other steel medical tools clustered nearby. Chloe could not watch anymore, her arms wrapped around herself as she strode to the front of the plane, away from the blood and grief and sorrow. Elena accompanied, worried for the other woman's well-being at seeing her partner brutalized like this. Flynn began to breathe unaided again once given an adrenaline shot, his chest rattling up and down as before. But Harry Flynn was different somehow, more so than Drake last remembered. It was hard to see under all the blood, but he was sure some of those ribs were broken. There was pang of guilt, realizing how painful that must have been with his compressions on the fractures. Blood bags were sitting at ready, O negative, an IV pressing into Flynn's upper arm to get his levels back up. They were working on the chest tube to evacuate the pressure in his chest and help him breathe when Drake's heart leapt into his throat to see Harry Flynn begin to move. It was subtle at first, swollen brow furrowing before his fingers on his right arm twitched.
"Oh God. Flynn? Hey, buddy, can you hear me?" Nathan asked softly, sweeping a matted, sticky lock of hair from Harry's forehead. The British thief did not respond, did not even acknowledge the words. He might as well have not heard it at all, those twitching fingers now moving his entire hand with a clutching grasp. Maybe that was a response of its own, an effort to get his attention. Oh good, thank God. I thought he was done. He nearly was. Please hang in there, Harry. You can do this.
The doctor had used a scalpel to create another incision into the chest cavity, between the ribs, working quickly but hands never so much as shaking. Drake felt queasy just watching, but he could not leave yet, not when Flynn was starting to show signs of life. He wanted to hold him, cradle him and lure him back to living. The weakened, lethargic movements were increasing in Flynn's arm, actually sliding down across the bedding to grab at the doctor's blade. His efforts were met with the doctor yelling out orders at Nathan, Tibetan still lost on him, but he only had to guess what that meant. I got to stop him from grabbing it. It hurts, but he doesn't know where he is. Flynn, hang on. Come on, man. Nathan gently encircled Harry's quivering wrist as it reached for the source of pain, guiding it back to his side and keeping it pinned to the mattress. "Hey, hey buddy. Relax, alright? You're safe now, okay?"
Harry Flynn was not responsive to his voice, the one useable eye still closed but his arm still snaked around in his grasp, struggling to be freed. Those split, chapped lips were shaping into words, trying to speak but lacking a voice. What he was trying to say, Nathan Drake had no way of knowing past the droning hum of Victor Sullivan's plane engines. Even the rattling breathing he laboured with was hard to make out. The doctor was still complaining by the tone, Harry's writhing was making it difficult for her to keep a steady hand.
Nathan tightened his grip, shouting down at the near-lifeless patient. "Flynn, cut it out! Hey, settle down!" He felt the older man shudder at the sound, perhaps the first sign of real awareness. Harry's chest was hitching, the agony obvious with each flick of the doctor's scalpel. Sympathy gnawed at Drake's insides, he wanted to comfort his former friend but right now he was too unstable. "You're safe, we're on Sully's plane," Nathan barked, voice lowering when Harry went still at his request. "I know it hurts right now, pal. The doctor is putting a chest tube in. We need to get you breathing right." Of course it friggin' hurts. He's been beaten up to hell, shot, kicked in the face, and now we're cutting a hole in his side. All the while on no pain meds.
Drake assumed Flynn was much too weak to even attempt to open his eyes, but he was stunned to see the working one flick open and fix on him immediately, recognition strong in his reaction. The British thief was beginning to smirk, barely, but the expression was terribly strained, nearly hovering and vibrating like a plucked string of a violin at a twitch of the scalpel. Nathan wanted to keep eye-contact with his friend, really did, but it was physically painful to do so when only one eye was able to look back and in such clear distress. It hurt to see his battered, mutilated face and the sheen of bone through the deep gouge on his forehead. It was easier to watch the doctor's confident hands at work, but only barely. The amount of blood, the smell of it, the crusty, sticky feeling of it coating his hands, was nauseating. He could see Flynn was rolling his head around in the pillow, leaving brush-strokes of red on the white pillow case from his bloodied hair. He was taking in his surroundings, panting gently, licking his lips and trying to speak. Jesus Flynn, just relax, please. Don't panic, you're okay now. Flynn kept trying to meet his gaze, his arm jerking and twitching in his grasp, fingers articulating.
The doctor readied the tube, the incision prepped and needing the suction to clear his cavity. Oh damn, this is gonna suck. Why don't they just knock him out already? Anxiety simmered in Drake's belly, both hands now settling on Flynn's arm and upper shoulder to keep him in place. They had already secured a restraint around his hips, a belt to keep him from rolling from the cot. "Flynn? You okay? She's going to try and put in the tube now. I won't lie, it's going to hurt like hell." Nathan felt Harry grow still briefly as if to listen intently, that single green eye on him again. "I got you, alright pal?" That's the truth, buddy. You should have killed me on the train, because you're stuck with me now.
There was no waiting for Flynn's approval, or even the doctor's discretion. The tube was already prying between his ribs, Nathan had to look away then to stop from gagging. He honestly did not know what he expected, maybe a yelp at the most, but Flynn's hips snapped up against the tension of the belt, back arching with a hair-raising, crackling howl of pure agony. Drake could have never imagined a sound like that ever coming from a person, let alone Harry fucking Flynn. The younger man had to bear down with his weight, to keep the patient from throwing himself off the bed or cause more damage to himself. The single scream was all Harry could manage, legs only fruitlessly writhing against the sheets, an inhale caught in his chest and seizing. He gasped once or twice, midsection heaving, before he went slack.
"Oh Jesus, no. Flynn? Flynn?! Come on, don't die here, you're doing so well," Drake began to yell out, but the nurse had begun to shout at him and usher him from the cabin in the back. For one insane minute, he considered shoving past her back into the room to the cot where his former friend lay. But in his panic, he heard a soft hiss of air, causing him to freeze and peer past her shoulder.
Harry Flynn was breathing, on his own. Slack and unconscious, soaked from head to toe in his own blood, but breathing. Oh thank God. Flynn, you lucky bastard. You have no idea how close you were to being buried in some ancient, abandoned monastery.
