I am SO sorry this took so long! m(_ _)m

I had this massive case of writer's block.ヾ(  ̄O ̄)ツ

Like...I knew exactly what I wanted to do, but I just couldn't seem to get it from my head onto paper. _φ(..;) ...or computer, in this case.

This chapter gets pretty heavy, though I doubt anyone's complaining. ( ̄ω ̄)

Disclaimer: I don't own shit, motherfuckaaaahhhhzz!


4

Unlikely Salvation

Drip, drip, drip.

The sound of water echoed deep in the mine. That and the low voices speaking in French were the only things to keep Nathan's mind occupied. The gash with its gaping hole in his right leg had overtaken the pain from the bullet wound in his left, the waves of pain alternating between throbbing and stabbing. His entire body ached and the fatigue he had been trying to ignore was gnawing at him, begging to allow him to slip into darkness. A dull ache had begun to form at the base of his skull and it was slowly starting to radiate upwards, causing even the low lighting in the cut off section of the mine to hurt his eyes.

The same two guards who had escorted him to the dead end site were leaning against the chain-linked fence that was blocking off the hazardous sections of the coalmine, speaking in their native tongues as they barely paid any heed to the young man in their presence. Every so often, they would make sure he was still awake. Any time it even appeared that Nathan was nodding off, one of them would come over and kick him to draw him back to coherency. Given what he had been put through since he was taken captive, not being put through any more physical torture was something he was silently thankful for.

He would rather the occasional kick or shout to keep him up.

Recalling what Laveaux had her man do to his leg, and seeing the remorse painted on the guard's face, it was likely that the two guards monitoring him believed their boss had gone too far. He wondered if it was something they were discussing, trying to pick up on key words of what little French he did know, but he soon gave up on that endeavor when his brain kept drifting.

Instead, his mind drifted off to the night prior when Harry Flynn had shown up, asking for his help and the sincerity in his voice and mannerisms. It had him questioning if his old partner was being honest or setting him up, remembering when the man had been the reason he was locked in a Turkish prison for three months. Harry had made several attempts on his life when he was working with Lazarevic, between shooting him and calling for his head when he managed to escape. Yet, when Harry requested his assistance with Laveaux, he seemed different – his overall being came off different, though Nathan could not place why. It was the reason he agreed to help the Englishman in the first place.

But there was still the thought in the back of his mind that regretted agreeing.

Or at least he regretted not leaving anything for Sully to go off of in case something had gone wrong.

He was going to die here, unless he could find a way out.

He visibly shivered when a surge of cold washed over him, his right leg sending a shooting pain throughout the right side of his body. Trying to sit up, he stifled a grunt as he pulled himself to sit with his back against the stone wall. The energy used to move had him panting, his heart pounding hard in his chest. He tried to look at the stab wound in his leg, but the blood that covered his jeans obstructed his view. Gripping the tear, he pulled it, ripping his jeans to fully expose the wound.

He could see the exposed cartilage and muscle, along with the hole piercing through all of it from where the man's penis had penetrated. The tissue around the injury was a dark red, signaling the onset of an infection. The discoloration was even apparent beneath the still fresh and dried blood. It had him question how the bullet wound in his left leg looked, but he could not bring himself to look.

Radio static cut through the air from the open microphones the two guards wore.

"J'ai besoin de tous les hommes disponibles sur le site 9," Laveaux's voice came over the frequency. "I repeat: I need all available men to site 9."

The two guards exchanged looks. They began conversing in French, their eyes on Nathan. From what the fortune hunter could gather, they were discussing who would stay with him. He found himself hoping it was the guard who had penetrated his leg, given the guilt he had seen the man experience during his actions, whereas the other guard had seemed unfazed. Luck appeared to be on his side when the bulkier guard relented and began walking towards the site's exit; however, before he left, he made sure to give another swift kick to Nathan, although the young man was clearly coherent.

He shifted to his side before waving with his good arm, calling out as the man left, "Merci, asshole," he groaned. He dropped his arm to his dislocated shoulder, grasping it as a sharp pain shot through it. He listened as the guard's footsteps faded down the shaft that led to a different site. A grunt escaped from his throat as he moved back to have his back pressed against the wall, collapsing in a rush of pants as his lungs pressed against his injured chest plate and ribs. Once the guard's footsteps were out of hearing range, a moment passed before the other guard, who was roughly Nathan's build, walked to the shaft and peered down. Seeming satisfied with whatever he was looking for, he walked over to Nathan, who tensed subconsciously, attempting to straighten his back, as though to make himself appear less vulnerable.

Yet, instead of bringing his foot down on him as expected, the man crouched down in front of him and unhooked his canteen from his belt. He held it out in front of him, offering it to his injured captive. "Voici. Boire." Nathan eyed him, expression apprehensive before he brought his arm up and took it. He uncorked the cap and brought it to his lips, drinking the fresh water that his body was desperately needing. He barely took a breath before taking a few more drinks and bringing the canteen down, handing it back to the guard.

"Merci," he said, the guard nodding in response.

He watched Nathan as he hooked his canteen back to his belt, the young man's face cringing as he shifted. "Votre épaule," he said, motioning to Nathan's shoulder. "Je peux le réparer." He put his fist into his palm, indicating the socket.

From reflex, Nathan held his shoulder, eyebrows creased in confusion. "My shoulder?" he asked, to which the man nodded and repeated his motion. "Pop it back into place…," he trailed out, wondering if the man could understand him at all. Either way, the guard did not give him an option and leaned forward, setting his hand on Nathan's collarbone and gripping the back of his shoulder with the other.

"Un, deaux, trois!" on three, the man pushed from both sides.

Nathan shouted an obscenity as he felt and heard his shoulder crack as the socket slipped back into place. The guard leaned back as Nathan grabbed his shoulder and held his arm to his chest, releasing a string of cusswords. After a moment of trying to calm himself and relax, he was able to sit back up, his hand still on his now-in-place shoulder. He inhaled and exhaled a few deep breaths, trying to ground himself, before bringing his attention back to the guard, who seemed content with having helped him in some way. As the man glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one was returning, Nathan thanked him in his Americanized French. "Do you speak any English?" he asked, breath shallow.

The guard brought his attention back to him, sitting back on his heels. "Little," he responded, accent thick. "I speak little English." His English was slow, but Nathan found himself feeling more at ease with the knowledge, as though a spark lit back up that he would be able to get out of the situation yet.

"Name. What is your name?"

"Christophe. You are Nathan Drake, oui?"

Another grunt from the pit of his throat as a sharp pain shot through his shoulder and leg. "Y-yeah," he stuttered as he nodded. "Laveaux, why do you help her?" At the mention of her name, the guard – Christophe – visibly tensed and looked behind him, as though she would appear at the mention of her name. "You're scared of her," he muttered, though it was mainly to himself, whereas it was apparent Christophe did not understand him. The images of the guard she shot in the mouth came back into his mind, along with her emotionless eyes and callous laugh. As long as she had enough men to stand with her without question, ruling through terror with the rest came easy.

He saw the man staring at the slice on his leg, expression apologetic.

However, as he was about to speak, the sound of boots coming down the narrow shaft rang out.

Apprehension washed over his face and he looked to Nathan, whispering, "Pardon," before moving forward to grabbing the collar of his shirt. He shoved him hard against the wall, slamming his back and shoulders against the rocks and causing him to release a loud shout as pain rounded throughout his body. Nathan grabbed his forearms, trying to pull him off, but Christophe pulled his right forearm away and pressed it against his neck, cutting off his air. Even with the soreness with his left arm, Nathan began pushing up on the other man's chin with the palm of his hand.

It was only a moment before another's voice echoed around them.

"Oi, Christophe! Aller au site 9! Commandes de Laveaux!" Nathan gasped for breath as Christophe dropped his arm and turned around to look at the speaker. It was the man who had been standing next to Laveaux the last time Nathan had encountered her: Enzo. The man stopped short when he saw Nathan red in the face, sucking in breath after breath as Christophe still had him by the collar of his shirt. A smirk broke across Enzo's face and he chuckled. "Ne tuez pas le gars. Laissez certains pour nous," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Christophe looked back to Nathan and nodded before pushing off from him and standing up. Just before he turned to leave, he gave a harsh kick to Nathan's stomach, making the young man fall to the side and curl his arms around his abdomen. He heard the two men trade off speech in French before the man who had helped him disappeared down the shaft.

After he was gone, Enzo looked down at Nathan, his lips still curled into a smirk. Bringing his foot up, he put it on Nathan's shoulder and made him turn to face him. "Oh, I'm gonna have fun with you."

"I'd rather you didn't," Nathan jested uneasily. The anxiety that had left him came flooding back, his heart beating viciously in his chest as Nathan made eye contact with the burly man above him.

Enzo dropped to a crouch, his arms on his knees as he peered into the other's face. He snickered at seeing the apprehension written across Nathan's features, despite the younger man's attempts to mask it. He reached his hand out and grasped Nathan's chin, moving his head as though he was inspecting him. "You think you're strong. How about we put that to the test?"

A nervous laugh escaped his throat. "Can't we just– SHIT!" he yelled out as the man released his grip and dug his fingers into the gaping wound on his right leg. From reflex, he was able to twist his body and elbow Enzo in the jaw, making him stop and jerk to the side. Nathan grabbed at his leg, fresh blood beginning to trail back out onto the ground.

Unwanted wheezes came from his throat in his attempt to force himself to not focus on the pain; but it was short lived when Enzo grabbed his ankle and dragged him away from the wall. He tried to dig into the soil, but the man pulled him along the ground with little effort. After dragging him to the fence, Enzo let go, leaving Nathan to scramble against the chain-linked fencing, not wanting to have his back turned to the man. The man knelt down in front of him, his leg between Nathan's, and put his hand underneath the ripped fabric of the smaller man's jeans. The wound stung when the salt of skin touched it.

"I see you've made it easier for me," Enzo commented as he began tearing the fabric to the seam as he ran his hand towards Nathan's inner thigh.

Nathan went to grab his wrist, but Enzo caught him at the wrist and pressed his arm against the fence, leaning in as he tore Nathan's jeans up the seam towards his groin. Nathan could only push against his shoulder with his free arm, but it did nothing to dissuade him as the inseam of his pants was split apart. Taking his hand back, Enzo took out a bowie knife; Nathan felt his heart skip at the sight. However, instead of slicing him, Enzo used the blade to cut the leg of the fortune hunter's briefs before putting the knife back and ripping the shorts, exposing him.

"Stop!" Nathan got out, pushing against the larger man as Enzo lifted his leg, making blood trickle down towards his groin.

A yell came from him when Enzo pushed his index and middle finger into the wound, flashes of light shooting across his vision.

"Unless you want me to fuck this, too, stop fighting." Nathan heaved as he felt the other's fingers press in deeper, tears of pain forming on the edges of his ducts. Even with the white flashing across his eyes, he managed to nod, his breath shallow. Enzo removed his fingers and Nathan dropped his arm while sharp pains coursed through his lower body and side. The moment the young man was not pushing against him, Enzo shoved Nathan's knees to his chest and rammed into him, burying the whole of his length into the treasure hunter and receiving an unsuspecting shout.

Nathan's initial reaction was to fight, but Enzo's grip on his thigh kept him grounded, not wanting to go through the same thing as before.

The blood that had dripped to his bottom gave some form of lubricant as Enzo pushed into him with hard thrusts, the size of his cock splitting his cavity. Enzo pushed Nathan's knees further, causing the Nathan to yell as it gave the larger man more leverage to get inside him, the entirety of his length pressing against his prostate. Despite the pain, despite the situation, the consistent stimulation given to his prostate made him hard.

He clamped his eyes shut, trying to will it away as pain began mounting in his lower abdomen.

"Merde," Enzo grunted as he began slowing his thrusts and looking down, watching himself come in and out of Nathan's tight sphincter. "So fucking tight," he muttered as he pushed completely inside, garnering a shout from the man beneath him. After a few more slow paces, Enzo resumed slamming into him, each time getting a pained shout or pant as a response.

It was not long before his drives became so fast and hard that Nathan thought he was going to break and his stomach would explode. After a throated groan, Enzo came, releasing his seed deep inside the young man. He pushed in and out a few more times, making sure he buried his semen into Nathan's anal cavity before he took himself out, a small amount trailing out. When he finally released Nathan's legs, Nathan collapsed, his breath rigid as the pressure in his stomach failed to fade, even though the action had ceased.

He could feel the liquid seeping out of him and the thought made him nauseous, but he willed it away.

"Hope you're not tired," Enzo said mockingly as he grabbed Nathan's semi-erection. "I'm far from done."


"So you're trynna get me to believe that you'd be willing to risk your ass going back?" Victor Sullivan said in a disbelieving, sarcastic tone. "You and your buddy Lazarevic already tried to kill him once, so why the hell should I believe a goddamn thing out of your mouth?"

"Nearly dying tends to change a man, Sullivan," Harry said, his hand grabbing his shoulder form where Sully had previously held him.

When Harry and Sully had, quite literally, run into each other, Harry had no idea how to go about explaining the situation and Sully had no intention of hearing him out. When Harry told him that it involved Nathan, the usual playful demeanor the older man carried vanished and he grabbed Harry by his shoulder and pushed him against the wall of a building, the same shoulder that had the still-healing bullet wound. The two of them retired to an alleyway between two restaurants where Sully demanded information: why was Harry Flynn involved with Alessa Laveaux and how did Nathan get tangled into it.

The explanation Sully received did little to ease his qualms.

"Look, you can believe me or not, but the fact is that Drake is down there right at this moment, and I can't very well get to him on my own."

"Goddamn it," Sully cursed, his mind already attempting to form a rescue mission. He did not want Nathan involved just at the mere thought of Laveaux being involved. Knowing it was indeed that sadistic witch of woman, and that she had his partner, Sully's mind was teetering on the edge of reason.

An image of Nathan with a shovel dug into his abdomen ran through his head.

He had to calm down.

He would get nowhere if he allowed emotions to rule his judgement. It would be a surefire way to get Nathan killed.

"Why in the damn hell would you agree to work for that woman in the first place?" Sully asked, though he was more or less talking to himself.

Despite this, Harry answered. "She pays well." Sully frowned. "Trust me, mate. If I knew half of what she did, I wouldn't have agreed to help her."

"Yeah. You've got great taste in judgement," the older man rolled his eyes.

"Had taste in Nate. But back on topic, Sullivan." Sully furrowed his eyes at the comment, but quickly dismissed it. "I can get us to the mine, but it's not like we can just waltz in the front door."

Sully crossed his arms. "Then we go in the back way. I'm working with a guy that says he knows the layout. He can get us in and out, hopefully without being spotted."

Harry nodded and followed after the older man as he began walking out of the alley.

They did not receive many looks as they came out, only a few people glancing at seeing two grown men leaving a secluded area. They weaved their way through the crowded sidewalk as Harry made sure to stay a half-step behind Nathan's mentor. The street they were on was familiar to him, though where Sully was headed, he could not fathom to guess. Either way, the people that did pay attention to them looked at them like the outsiders they clearly were. It was a small town – one Harry Flynn had heard of, but never felt the need to travel to until recent events.

A small pub was what they came up to.

Inside was dimly lit, with booths that lined the walls on both sides and a small, private room to each side of the door. Posters for local venues were scattered on the inside wall of the entrance. As they walked into the main dining room, the bartender behind the counter greeted them, his hands busy polishing a glass as few people sat at the bar. Sully waved to him while Harry nodded. They walked passed the bar and the tables on the floor, moving to a small enclosure towards the back. It was blocked off by a dark green curtain. Sully ducked inside, Harry behind him with little hesitation.

There was only one booth in the room, the mahogany wood lined with dark green cushions. A glass on a coaster still had ice in it, signaling that someone had stepped out only a few moments prior. Sully took a seat, not even having to motion before Harry did the same.

"So this friend of yours," Harry started as he leaned back in the booth. "Does the bugger have a name?"

Sully chuckled as he took out his pack from his pants pocket, taking out a cigar. He lit it before responding. "Jón." Harry stared at him, waiting for the rest of the name. The other man released a string of smoke. "Jón Bonnet."

Harry furrowed his brow, the name striking a familiar chord. He tried to place the name, knowing he had heard it before. As he searched his memory banks, he could feel Sully's eyes on him, curiosity covering his own features. Suddenly, Harry's eyes lit up and he jerked his head towards the other. "Wait a minute—"

Just as he was about to recall why the name sounded so familiar, the curtain shifted, drawing both of their attentions.

"What took so long?" Jón asked as his eyes landed on Sully. His eyes went to Harry and both men's expressions changed, appearing to recognize each other.

Harry immediately got to his feet, his entire demeanor become hostile.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he demanded, his jaw clenched.

"I could ask you the same damn thing," Jón retorted, is voice equally stern.

Sully's eyes bounced between them. Not bothering to stand up, he leaned forward on the table, staring up at them. "Either one of you two wanna fill me in here?"

Jón's eyes became dark as he scoffed, Harry's shoulders squaring up.

"Jón Bonnet?" Harry asked, though it ended in more of a statement, as he made a quick glance to Sully. Harry and Jón locked eyes, silently challenging each other. Without breaking their gaze, and in a threatening tone, Harry came out with; "This son-of-a-bitch is Laveaux's right hand man."


So this chapter maaaaaay be a bit shorter than my other chapters. I had to decide where to cut it off and this just seemed like the best place.

At least that means I already know what's going on for chapter five, so some good news! (^0^)

Anywho~
Do tell me how y'all are liking it so far (if anyone's out there). ::waves hand in front of non-disclosed camera::