AN: WARNING! As I continued to work on this story, I found there is an awful lot of rape and assault involved. Harry Flynn's character has this horrific fact of becoming a victim to violence or rape (or both) in his past and present.

I examined what was written, my future plans, and character notes, and considered if there was a way to avoid such scenes without changing the story, and found I could not. Flynn was written with the specific unhealthy personality and choices that drive people away as he did in the game, and the basis found its home in multiple issues, including sexual assaults. As is a truth in reality, someone raped once is more likely to be raped again. The places he goes and the people he associates with heighten his risk status. His general attitude, self-blame, and refusal to let anyone else win out over him also play a role. I did a lot of characterization here so hopefully people like it and read. Not enough Flynn stories out there as it is!

Included in the story are same-gender sex scenes both consensual and not. If there is a concern, I will never portray unwanted sex (rape) as a good thing. It IS possible to read this story and skim/avoid disliked subject matter. Fair warning given.

/

Train-Wrecked

Every last reserve of his strength and will was used to lift his body up over the edge of the mountain, collapsing onto his back. His side was killing him, pain radiating upward to his head, making him dizzy and weak. He'd lost a lot of blood, but the bullet had gone straight through his side. If he could get help, or find medical supplies to patch it up, he'd be fine. He'd been shot before. Of course, now he was out in the middle of nowhere, in a freezing cold snowstorm.

Nathan thought about getting up, getting moving. But escaping from the train car had been an arduous task. It required him to use energy he didn't really have left in him. His endurance was extraordinary, but it wasn't limitless. He felt his eyes shutter closed and he didn't fight it. He was going to rest, just for a little while.

/

He rolled his eyes behind the back of the man he loathed. They remained at the small train station deep in the mountains of Tibet, observing Lazarevic's men unloading the train cars. The bastard was yelling at them to get a move on, while at the same time demanding a count of what cars had made it and which of them had been lost due to Drake's interference. He kept himself out of the way.

Chloe was at his side, sulking and wishing to be far from him. He refused to let her out of his sight after what happened. Too many times his partner and girlfriend had been found with Nathan Drake. Lazarevic was a muscle-head, but he wasn't blind. When she'd been found once again with Drake on the train, he'd panicked and shot the man. The moron continuing to pursue her onto the train erased the last of his reservations. He'd rather see his old partner dead than his present one.

Flynn had mixed feelings where Chloe was concerned, well aware she'd been perpetuating a relationship with Drake while continuing to see him. That was three months ago, but her insistence to help the meddling man since his reappearance, informed her feelings for him remained. He cared for her, maybe even loved her. It pained him to understand she did not love him back. But her lack of love for him, didn't erase how he felt. He'd protect her.

"You five, go and search the wreckage. Find the dagger. And if Drake is still alive, kill him. I will send more men when they are available. Now go!"

He watched as five soldiers grabbed their gear and headed off into the gathering snowstorm. It would be smarter to wait out the storm, but Lazarevic was impatient. He wanted the dagger in his hand and for progress to be made as soon as possible. They'd come to some contention over the issue of time management throughout the job. It was how he'd learned he'd gotten himself in too deep.

As the job went on, the threats began to increase. Drake's interference only served to elevate the war criminal's rage and agitation. He wanted the stone now, but Flynn couldn't quite figure things out fast enough. As much as it despised him to say it, he was no Nathan Drake. The man was brilliant when it came to matters of history and puzzle solving. He loved that about him, except not when that skill could get him killed.

He'd stayed away from the younger man as Sullivan had asked him of it years ago. He didn't like the old bag, but he respected his relationship with Nathan enough to heed his request. Heeded until he realized he couldn't pull off the museum job without him. Now after his double-cross, Drake was relentless to finish the job before him and his client, and Chloe must have helped him and Sullivan find the dig site in Borneo.

Now there was no way everyone was getting out of this alive. At this point he could only see saving himself and Chloe. Maybe not even that. It was his fault too. His massive debt to an unfriendly party had forced him into bed with a murderous psychopath.

When Lazarevic forced a gun into his mouth in Nepal, practically down his throat, he'd given up on getting out of the situation unscathed. Soon after the incident, they'd found Chloe with Drake and some reporters. He'd hesitated, but known he couldn't save Nate. If he kept him alive he'd continue to pursue and Lazarevic would order her to be executed along with them. But his hesitation allowed them to escape and Drake pursued as anticipated. That's why he'd shot him and finally been done with him on the train. Drake's need to be the bloody hero would have gotten them all killed, so he killed him first.

"Harry."

"Oh so now you're talking to me? You're terrible at this silent treatment business, love."

"Harry, be careful."

The worry in her tone got his attention. He glanced over and then past her, to where Zoran was stomping toward them both. Oh shit. He breathed deep and subconsciously positioned himself between Chloe and the irritated monster bearing down on them. His fingers twitched above the holstered magnum before he let the arm fall limp at his side. There were too many soldiers about, who would not hesitate to riddle him with bullets, should he take any action against their leader.

The son of a bitch didn't hesitate. He swung a blow into his stomach. Flynn didn't even have time to raise his arms up in defense while he was doubled over, before an arm dropped down on his back. This was the first time Lazarevic hurt him in the open. He fell to his knees as Chloe cried out in his defense.

"Wait! Stop it!"

There came a moment of silence while he kept his eyes frozen on the snowy ground. Chloe had never witnessed any of the other times he'd been physically assaulted, only the PG rated stuff. She'd no clue the handful of occasions he'd been beaten by soldiers until he couldn't move in Borneo, because the girl with the map couldn't lead them where they wanted. A map he'd claimed she was talented at reading to pretend she was useful to Lazarevic, but it was his own failings at reading the maps and searching the ships which slowed their progress. He hadn't wanted her to know out of shame, and they'd avoided leaving marks on his face to keep up appearances.

Zoran's silence was provided simply to accentuate the word to follow.

"Why?"

A second blow to his back planted him flat on his stomach. There were eyes watching him. He risked a glance upward to find one of the mercenaries standing in the near distance, watching his maltreatment. It stood out, because he was the only soldier to do so. Maybe he liked to watch. Wonderful.

"If you don't stop you'll never get what you want," Chloe insisted. "We won't help you anymore."

"Help?" the cruel man inquired.

The back of his head was smacked by a gloved hand, hard, and then the same hand slid lower to grasp the back of his neck. He was yanked upright on his knees, fingers clenching painfully on his neck. A gun prodded him against his cheek so he could see it in his peripheral vision. Sadistic fuck.

"What help you've given me has been threatened at every turn. I hired you, Flynn, to get the job done, and done right. Now the dagger has been lost, thanks to Drake's meddling, because you couldn't kill him and some civilian. I should have taken care of them myself."

"You didn't hire me to kill anyone, Zoran. And I've gotten you this far, haven't I?"

"Hm... Interesting use of 'I'. Tell me, what has your whore done for me lately?"

The implication was there. He wasn't merely claiming she'd done little to help on the job, but also what he might have her do for him. Like hell he'd let him put his dirty paws on her.

He shoved the gun out of his face and stood on his feet, facing Zoran head on. "You leave her alone or you'll never get another thing from me, you cocky bastard."

"Would you really be such a fool?" Lazarevic asked, lips turning up in a slight sneer as he took a step away.

"All I know is, you hurt her and I'm done. You hired me for a job, and I'm gonna do it, then I expect to get paid. Then, we're gonna leave this place, me and Chloe, and never see your ugly mug again."

The scarred man appraised him, refraining from speaking, brow furrowed a bit in his solemn scrutiny. Beyond him, the observant hired gun continued to stare. He wore a scarf covering most of his face, but even still, his expression appeared unreadable. Flynn brought his focus back to Lazarevic, looking him in the eye.

Another long moment passed before words finally filled the gap.

"I cannot tell, if this is bravery," The gun tapped lightly against his cheek. "Or stupidity."

He ignored the fear he felt to have a gun so close. It was pretty easy. He spent most of his time putting on a facade, always acting laid-back and flirty. In his line of work, he learned early on how important it was to never show weakness, never trust fully, and put on that he was always relaxed. Mostly, he was relaxed, but that had never been the case around the war criminal. The monster made his skin crawl and there was no way out once in his sights.

"Eh, pretty much the same, ain't it mate?"

Lazarevic rescinded the weapon, eyeing Chloe, and then returned his attention to him. He met his gaze, resolved not to cow to him.

"It appears you have something to bargain with, for now."

Flynn narrowed his eyes. He didn't like how that sounded. It sounded far too much like an admittance of what he'd already feared for quite some time. Once the job was done, Lazarevic would kill them both. Would he? Was there nothing that could be done?

Why could he pull the trigger on a former friend, but not a cold-blooded murderer? It probably helped when his former friend had tried to screw him over by running off with his girlfriend as soon as the museum job was finished. Yeah, and maybe he should be just as angry with his own girlfriend, who continued to hang around him while holding a torch for the aforementioned recently dead former friend. But he wasn't a murderer unless it had to be done. Well, okay, he was since killing Drake, but it had happened in the heat of the moment. And for some reason while he felt frustration whenever pondering on Chloe's motivations, he didn't feel anything resembling hate for her. He still loved her, which was completely idiotic.

The man walked away in the direction of the lead car. Flynn just watched him go, somehow more afraid than before their encounter that time was running out. Maybe if he could figure things out fast enough, their employer would be grateful enough to do as they'd agreed. Pay them and let them go. Flynn even knew what truly stood within the center of Shambhala, and wanted no part of it. He liked treasure, plain and simple. He wasn't interested in a mystical elixir that granted power. Let the war criminal have his prize and then get far away from him. That was his plan. Survival.

He's spent his whole life merely surviving. His life of crime let him have periods where he was alone or with a significant girl, enjoying the quiet and peace. He even loved the thrill of a job, finding new ways to get in and out of places, getting his hands on a unique treasure. However, most of the people in this business were not good people, and Flynn had met his share of bad ones. The bad people came attached to bad experiences, and he'd grown to shake it off or lose his mind. Enough exposure had made him pessimistic and bitter, but damn well bet on him enjoying anything he could manage.

"Don't ever do that again," Chloe whispered harshly.

He glanced sideways at her. "Do what?"

"I don't want you to protect me, Harry."

"Right, cause you're doing so well on your own. Just what is your plan, Chloe? Were you going to run off with Drake, steal the treasure for yourself and head into the sunset together? Sorry sweetheart, it's not done like that."

He was ranting, he knew he was ranting, but he was on a roll now and couldn't seem to stop.

"Besides, last I saw, Drake was bleeding out while rocketing over the side of a cliff in an exploding hunk of metal. And even before then, he was with some blonde. Face it, darling, he's just not that into you."

The hurt in her eyes shut him up.

"I left him and those reporters in that place knowing Lazarevic would probably kill them," she confessed. "I can admit I've done things I'm not proud of too. Because it's always been me, looking out for me first. Just like you."

He scoffed. "What? Do you want a cookie? Hooray, we're both assholes."

Her eyes shut and she lowered her head, turning away from him. "You can be such a jerk, Harry Flynn."

He kept a cool exterior, though inside he was churning a fire of emotions. "And you played me. Guess now Drake and I have that in common. We've both been played."

Chloe surprised him by coming to stand in front of him. She usually pulled away in these instances. She was a girl who looked after herself before anything, and kept emotions in check.

"Harry, I don't need anyone's death on my conscience. Drake made his choice, and I'm pissed as hell you killed him. You didn't have to do that. I know you did it for me."

He smiled. "Actually, I just shot him. The fiery train car sweeping over the side of a cliff did the killing. Heh heh."

"Harry."

He hummed to himself before saying, "You're putting too much stock in yourself, love."

She moved close and placed her hands on either side of his face. Chloe knew how he liked that right before a deep kiss. This wasn't quite the romantic moment she seemed to think it was. Maybe he was missing something? He often did.

"Ever since we started working for Lazarevic, you've been watching my back. He doesn't need me, just you, but you keep convincing him to have me along. I know I'd be dead already if not for you. But I've seen how he treats you. I can see now it's probably worse than I knew. I won't have those things on my conscience, and if you, if you got killed-"

"Don't. I don't need this."

"Harry-"

He interrupted her because he didn't want to hear a lie. "Chloe, no. Just no. Don't make this more than it is."

She drew away. "What's that supposed to mean?"

There she went again with a hurt expression. Was he misreading her? Shit he had no idea. How shocking... Forget avoidance. If she wanted to finally come clean with him then fine.

"There's never really been a you and me, has there? You've been into Drake since you met him, haven't you?

"Drake and I met before that day. About three years ago during a job. I'm sorry I misled you. I'm sorry I started something with him when we had something going on already. There's just always been something about him and well... Look, I'm sorry to care about him the way I do, but I do."

She grew visibly saddened before adding, "Or cared now..."

"Well that's brilliant."

Flynn knew the guy was dead but damn, it never felt good to have a girl you loved cheat on you with a former business partner, a former friend. He'd burned that friendship bridge three months ago, and it had felt glorious when he'd done it. Guy was already stabbing him in the back before he'd ever even got a chance to in that museum. It's why he took the map for himself and left his so-called partner to meet justice. Should have figured it'd be over a girl and involving Nathan Drake, utter player and thrill junkie. Drake was the one who'd taught him all about backstabbing in the first place, on the first job they pulled together.

"I care about you as well, Harry. Please, stop trying to appease that psychopath. He's never going to be satisfied. We should run. Get out while we can."

"While..we... Are you kidding? It's far too late for that. And I need the money. I need to get it so I can live in the calm for a while. Beaches and drinks, you and me. We can still have that if we see this through."

She shook her head slowly, her shoulders falling slightly. "Yeah, maybe."

He shook his own head and shoved away all those imposing emotions. She probably hated him. He refused to dwell on how that made him feel.

"Well I'm going to try to reason with him. In a few days we'll be at the top of the mountain we need, and he's not likely to be patient while we figure out whatever ridiculous riddle will be awaiting us. And, and I need to make sure our deal's still in place."

The sugar-coated version of saying he had to try and make sure they didn't get bullets to their brains when the job was done. He didn't bother to look at her while he rifled through his bag for a jacket. He didn't want to see what way she was looking at him now.

Time to go and try to make things suck less.

/

His eyes opened. Snow fell down upon his face. He rolled himself onto an elbow and then to his feet. He had to keep moving. There had to be somewhere to go to deal with his injury.

Nathan put a hand to his injured side and noted the bleeding had slowed considerably. The cold weather seemed to be good for that at least. Man, it was freezing out here. He started walking. Half the time he kept hunching over, too cold to want to move, but too wary to stop. The hole in his side didn't hurt as much as it had minutes earlier, as much as it should. It was cause for concern.

He pushed and climbed his way through the scattered wreckage of his decision to pull a trigger. Along his path he managed to pick up a gun from a soldier, long past the ability to ever make use of the weapon. Nearly got his ass shot by a guard who suddenly stumbled upon him, but he finally put the burning fires behind him to where the area opened out wider.

Metal crates and ruined train cars lay here too, but the snow had begun to coat them quickly.

"Okay. Now we're getting somewhere."

Nathan scanned his immediate surroundings, or at least what he could see through the howling wind. He spotted tracks beginning to be concealed by the continuous snowfall and ducked behind a convenient crate. Shoving his back to the irritably cold metal, he risked a peek around the corner.

There was a soldier in black gear, the owner of the footsteps, four feet away. Hardly three yards from the man was a second soldier. The other one of Lazarevic's men wore a white camouflage outfit, concealing him well in their current environment if it weren't for the black assault rifle in his hands.

He sighed, annoyed he could never catch a break when these things happened to him. "Right. Time to take these guys out and try to make this all suck a little less."

/

It was a mistake. It was a bloody mistake to go see Lazarevic after acting so brazen minutes earlier. He stepped inside the lead train car but never even laid eyes on the war criminal before a pair of soldiers took hold of him. Flynn tried to tug himself free, looking at the soldiers on either side of him in confusion and annoyance.

"What are you doing? Let go of me."

"No, I don't think they will."

His eyes searched and settled on Zoran, walking in from the other connected car, two mercenary soldiers flanking him.

"What's going on?"

Not going to appear afraid. Nope, not afraid. Not at all afraid. He was a total liar.

"I've sent two more teams to search the wreckage. Do you want to know why?"

"Uh... To throw a spanner in the works?"

Lazarevic moved up until he was in his face. "You think you are clever. You think I don't know what lies within Shambhala."

He swallowed but chose to shrug and feign complete puzzlement. Unfortunately, the other man seemed pleased about this. Now why would he be pleased?

"Drake is alive. Once again, you've failed to kill him."

Flynn didn't have to feign the surprise on his face. "Really? Damn, Drake must have nine lives."

"It would seem that way, yes." Zoran concurred. "One of my men radioed they were under attack, by Drake."

He tried to tug himself out of the soldiers' hold again, but they stood firm. It led him to decide it would be a good idea to mouth off some more.

"Is age making you hard of hearing? I told you I'm not a hitman. It was never my job to kill the guy so you can't blame me for his survival."

Lazarevic remained calm, which was worrisome. "You brought him into the search for the Cintamani Stone with the job to recover the map. You."

His eyes flitted about as he worked how to refute such a blatant truth. Lazarevic wasn't waiting.

"Remove his jacket. And his shirt."

Flynn watched the man turn away from him, and as soon as Zoran did, he fought to free himself. He knew what was coming. He'd gotten beaten up plenty of times in his past, assaulted more times than he could count. For him that danger had come with his lifestyle choice of international thievery, as well as having good looks and a British accent. Flynn seemed to attract more predators than usual. He'd just gotten that unlucky.

Lazarevic did not have interest in him sexually, gratefully, but he certainly enjoyed finding excuses to intimidate and punish him. It began with mere words, then physical beatings a month into exploring the swampy jungle of Borneo and the washed ashore ships. When Chloe had to leave to acquire some sort of outside advisement, nearly three months into coming up empty in that horribly soggy and hot place, Zoran got a taste for drawing the skin from his back.

He'd refused to scream or cry whenever his soldiers beat him, but he couldn't keep the raw pain he felt inside with the lashings. It hurt too damn much. His employer liked to hear the sounds he made when the whip struck exposed flesh. Twice it was done to him before Chloe finally came back to their camp, and Zoran kept to the verbal threats. Then in Nepal he got angry when Chloe disappeared, and gave him a couple lashes and a gun down his throat for his inability to answer where she'd gone.

Guy didn't think much of women. He didn't think much of anyone who wasn't a soldier. Lazarevic thought the majority of people to be weak and compassionate.

"No! Don't!"

He struggled as the soldiers unzipped his jacket, pulling it from his shoulders. He let it happen so he could also pull himself out of their reach. Spinning around, he drew his gun and pointed it at Lazarevic's cocky face.

Trained instinct had the four soldiers go for their guns. Zoran lifted a hand and ordered them to refrain.

"Your punishment is inevitable. You will not shoot me, because you are too weak to accept death. These men will cut you down should you shoot."

"I don't want to die, mate," Flynn told him straight. "But it doesn't mean I'm going to let you do what you want to me. Killing you might be what's best for everyone."

He was sick of being made the victim. He was especially sick of it being done to him by this man before him. Flynn had suicidal thoughts in the past. Once when he was 27, he'd taken a whole lot of pills and downed them with alcohol. But he'd done it with his girlfriend asleep beside him and she'd woken before he'd completely stopped breathing. Because as much as he wanted to stop hurting from the memories, to embrace death, he didn't want to die alone.

"This will happen if you pull the trigger. I die. Then you will die. And then my soldiers are going to kill your girlfriend. They will not kill her quickly."

Lazarevic said it as a promise. Flynn didn't doubt his promises. Here in this train he would die alone, because monsters didn't count as company. And then Chloe would suffer and die alone. He couldn't let it happen.

"Put your gun away."

He put his gun away. If there was one good thing that could come of this, Chloe would get out unscathed. She wouldn't even have Drake's death on her conscience with him being alive and killing more of Lazarevic's soldiers as he stood in a cold train, despising a war lord.

After he surrendered, the rest happened quick.

A soldier roughly pulled his off-white shirt over his head and then he and the other turned him around to put him on his knees. They were harsher than they needed to be. Probably as tired as their employer was in continuing this search for a fabled lost city. Blaming someone made it easier he supposed.

They kept hold of his arms and one of them put a hand on the back of his head, shoving it forward. It put him in his usual position for the lashings, bent over for maximum exposure of the skin. The latest cuts were in the newer processes of healing. Scars of the ones a few months old beneath those. Knowing his luck, some of the deeper lines would never fully heal.

He flinched when cold fingers traced along one of the fresher cuts. Admiring his own handiwork. Fucking sadist.

Flynn only realized he'd spoken the last words out loud when Lazarevic chuckled at them.

"A man learns how strong he is only through adversity. The lessons I provide you serve to remind how weak the flesh may be, but how great the will can be."

"All sounds crazy to me," he muttered.

Breath fell upon his ear as he felt Zoran's presence drape over his back. "Proof you have yet to learn the lesson."

The man drew away. There were footsteps moving farther from him. They returned a moment later. Nothing spoken. No warnings until he heard something move through the air and the whip struck him in the center of his back. It hit his spine and there was a burning, white hot agony. He screamed.

He tried to brace himself, he always tried to brace himself. It never helped but he did it every time anyway. How long would he have to suffer at the hand of another? What had he ever done to deserve so much suffering? It seemed to be his price to pay for having no one who cared about him.

Another line was drawn onto his back, blood swelled up immediately, but it felt like fire. A choked shout escaped his throat and he would have buckled, but the soldiers held him firm. He focused on self-reflection, a task he abhorred, during these sessions with the monster.

Flynn was a thief and an asshole. He often quipped on the physical traits he observed from others and mocked people. He talked too much, thought himself a pretty fine specimen, and loved his treasure. The wealth kept him out of people's debt, yet as valuable as it was, he always ended up needing more. Because he did love the thrill of the jobs at the same time, and there were expenses to be paid for each. And if the job went south, it put a thief in the hole some. Like he was now.

Pain exploded against his back and another scream erupted from him. Tears leaked from his eyes. He whimpered and weakly tried to remove himself from the soldiers' hold. It was a pathetic attempt and they barely had to readjust their hold to keep him in place.

Flynn fought inward instead. He tried to get back to his self-reflecting. He let people take advantage of him. He didn't really let them, but he must be doing something to have been assaulted on so many different occasions. Something must be wrong with him.

He backstabbed his own partner on a job. It was a betrayal he could count having done on one hand. As if to add insult to injury to his latest betrayal, he shot the same man. He'd been trying to kill him, clear as day. Kill him or let Chloe be killed. Those were his options in his mind. Now he was hated by Drake, extra hated by Victor Sullivan, and likely Chloe as well. He was going to be left alone again. Again...

"Aaaagh!"

The shout bellowed from his lips following the fourth strike. Less than a second later, a gunshot rang out and he was released by the mercenaries. A thud followed the shot.