A/N: Gonna try and take this a different direction than just regurgitating Jacket's story in Hotline Miami, but he's the main influence for this AU's Lincoln. Enjoy!
. . . . .
Flame
That was the first sensation he began to feel.
Heat.
He was surrounded by fire; bullets whizzing overhead, explosions pulverizing the earth, men screaming into the scorching air as the world burned around them.
He laying was on his back, blood flowing freely from the shrapnel wounds littered across the left side of his body. A grenade? No…no it was a mortar…. yeah, that was it. He and Clyde had ducked behind a small dike, trying to get into a more protective position, and then a mortar shell landed right next to them, and then he was on his back, the world moving in slow motion.
He wondered if Clyde was ok, deciding to turn his head to the side and ask him. There he was, meeting Lincoln's gaze.
"Clyde," he asked "You ok man?"
No response.
"C'mon man," He tried to sit up, but he couldn't find the strength. "How close to us did that fuckin shit hit?"
His head felt light, was it always this cold on Kauai at this time of year?
Clyde still didn't respond, a faraway look plastered to his face.
Lincoln stared at him as another explosion blasted a few hundred meters away.
"How are we gonna get out of this Clyde? Lincoln asked, eyes moving to stare deeply into the starry night sky, illuminated by the intense fires around him.
His eyes began to feel heavy.
Maybe he could take a quick nap, and then he and Clyde could get back to base.
He was so damn tired.
"Hey!" a voice shouted, sounding distant in Lincolns mind. "Hey help me with this one! He's bleedin out!"
Lincoln felt a pair of hands grab onto his collar, hoisting him up to a sitting position.
"Fuckin A' man." The soldier addressed Lincoln. "We need a fuckin medic over here!" he shouted. "Don't worry buddy, you're gonna be just fine! MEDIC!" he shouted louder.
"My friend, you need to help my friend." Lincoln mumbled out, eyes growing heavier by the minute.
Wait….
Where was Clyde?
"Where's Clyde?" he asked the soldier holding him. The guy only tightened his grip in response.
"I gotta help Clyde."
"Don't worry bro." He heard another voice say. Good, the Medic had arrived "Im gonna patch you up and you're gonna be alright."
Lincoln felt the steady hands of the field medic begin to patch him up, but why was he still so tired? Why couldn't he feel his left side? He didn't even remember checking into this hospital. How much was this treatment going to cost him? Hell, how was he going to pay for it? Lola needed every cent he could make. Where was Clyde?
"I'm sorry man," he spoke up, eyes fluttering, "I don't have anything to pay you with."
He thought, through his blurred vision, he saw the Medic smile.
"Don't worry dude, it's on the house!"
. . . . .
April 4th, 2028; 05:45 AM
Shooting up, Lincoln Loud immediately wretched into the waste basket next to his bed, body drenched in a cold sweat.
Spitting out the residual bile, he sat back up, slouching against the wooden backboard.
"Fuck" he mumbled aloud, wiping his mouth with the back of his palm.
It'd been over a year and a half.
Why was it always that dream?
Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the watch strapped to his wrist. It was early, too early for the other residents of the home, but he deduced that after that little trip down memory lane, he wasn't going to get much more sleep.
Tossing the bedsheets aside, Lincoln stood up and stretched, rolling his shoulders back as his joints and muscles cracked and rippled with movement. Opening his closet, he pulled out a pair of jeans and a black hoodie, deciding on a more casual, comfortable outfit for the day.
It was as he was pulling the hoodie over his head that he noticed the smell that permeated his room; Something absolutely fucking reeked, and he doubted it was the puke in the trash can.
He walked over and picked up the outfit he'd worn the previous night, taking a slight whiff before recoiling in disgust.
Jesus Christ, he had totally forgotten how foul gore stank the longer it aged.
He knew it couldn't wait; choosing to use the early hour to his advantage, Lincoln quietly opened his door and gently descended downstairs, cautiously gliding down the hall before making his way down the steps to the basement.
Throwing the whole pile in the ancient washing machine, he swiftly added a capful of detergent before starting the rinse cycle, heading back upstairs once he heard the relic roar to life.
He checked his watch as he entered the kitchen; 06:05. 'Might as well grab a shower before the rest of the house wakes up', he thought to himself.
It was as he walked back down the hallway that he heard the television blaring. Frowning, he stopped just before the stairs, peeking his head into the living room to see just who was up this early in the morning.
He sighed as he spotted the passed out figure of Rita Loud on the couch, a half-empty bottle merlot clutched in her hand as she mumbled in her sleep.
He moved over towards her, gently lifting the bottle from her hand and placing it on the coffee table. Position one of his arms under her knees and the other behind her shoulders, he gingerly lifted her up, carrying her bridal style as he made his way back to the stairs.
It absolutely pained him to see his mother like this; She had tried, she really did, to keep everything together when his father passed, but when Lola got sick, it was just all too much.
Too much weight for one person to bear.
It started off small enough; a glass of wine after a long day at work or after a visit to the hospital, a shot of whiskey to help her relax on her day off, and a martini with each dinner. As time passed though, and the deeper in debt they went, a glass turned into a bottle, which turned into two, up to the point where the matriarch was consuming several bottles of wine and hard liquor a day.
She had gotten much better once Lincoln and his older sisters began sending money home, eventually returning to a stable rate of consumption.
Still, old habits die hard.
Bumping open her door with his hip, Lincoln moved into his mother's room, gently placing her on the bed and pulling the unkempt blankets up to cover her prone form. Apparently, the movement was enough to jostle her awake.
"Lincoln?" she mumbled through half lidded eyes. "Wha…. where am I?" Lincoln placed his hand on top of her frizzled, blonde hair, gently rubbing her forehead with his thumb. "Shhhh, It's ok Mom, you're in bed. Just rest, ok?"
Rita let a small smile grace her lips before turning into her side, allowing her body to melt into the comfortable mastrees.
"My Lincoln…" She breathed out, sleep overtaking her. "Such a good boy…." A light snoring filled the room, and Lincoln gave her a kiss on the cheek as he quietly walked into the hall and lightly shut the door.
He looked down, letting out a sigh before making his way towards the bathroom.
. . . . .
At 19, Lucy Loud could say with the utmost certainty that she had never met another man quite like her brother.
When their mother lost herself, she and her other siblings thought their world was over; that everything the Loud family had come to represent would be scattered to the wind. Lucy knew her older siblings had discussed splitting guardianship of their younger siblings, but at the expense of leaving their mother, their sole surviving parent, to face the void alone.
Then along came Lincoln with another one of his 'compromises'.
All of her sisters, including herself, were opposed to the idea.
Lincoln was supposed to be an artist, a comic book creator; he was supposed to go to school, earn a degree, not become some disposable asset on the frontlines of some battlefield halfway across the globe.
He wouldn't hear any of their protests, however.
He was gone for four years, five if you count his year of training. They had little to no contact, and whenever they did manage to connect with him, they only spoke about what was happening on their end, never on his.
His paychecks, however, always arrived at the house on time every month.
And…well…
Lucy would be lying if she said Lincoln wasn't the sole reason they had survived this long.
She was always especially fond of her brother, himself being one of the few people she could actually confide in. She considered him her closest sibling, always there to lend a helping hand and a warm smile.
When he returned though, he was thoroughly changed.
Instead of the bright, outgoing, and charismatic young boy she remembered leaving, a hardened, stoic, and cynical man had returned in his place.
And it ate away at her heart.
Her older brother, her rock, the only man who had ever managed to convince her to lower her walls, had raised a series of walls himself, refusing to let anyone see inside, even one of his closest sisters.
Still though, there were times when his exterior shell cracked, allowing Lucy a glimpse of the old Lincoln, the one she held so dear to her heart.
This morning for instance.
Lucy, contrary to the opinion of the rest of her sisters, was an early bird; the goth found she preferred the early morning dawn far more than the late night hours. It was…. soothing… for her, therapeutic even.
Waking up at around five o clock, she got up, showered, dressed, and silently made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Flipping on the coffee brewer, she walked into the living room, ignoring her mother's slumped form as she perused the bookshelf for one of her favorite poetry books.
Making her choice, she pulled the novel from the shelf, turning to make her way into the dining room and sitting at the head of the table.
Some forty minutes passed before she heard light footsteps down the stairs, making their way through the hall and heading down to the basement.
She kept her attention on her book, chalking it up to Lana or Lynn getting some early morning laundry done.
Then, however, she heard the individual come back up the stairs, move back down the hallway, and stop.
Her curiosity getting the best of her, she decided to look up, scanning the living room through the dining room doorway.
And that's when she saw Lincoln.
Her older brother looked like hell; haggard, exhausted, bags forming under his weary eyes. She quietly watched as he casually picked up their indisposed mother, and carried her upstairs to her bed.
Her heart ached at the sight.
Lincoln deserved so much better than this.
He deserved a life, not this existence as a caretaker.
Placing her book down, she pushed her chair back as she stood up, moving in to the kitchen and opening the fridge.
The least she could do for her brother was show him she cared.
. . . . .
Stepping out of the steamy bathroom, Lincoln tied the towel to his waist, quietly stepping into his room and shutting the door.
Removing the towel and drying the remainder of his body off, he threw the damp cloth into his wastebasket, adorning his previous outfit of a hoodie and jeans before stepping back into the hall and heading downstairs.
Halfway down the steps, he began to smell the scent of cooking meat. Bacon, possibly? He frowned; he hadn't heard anybody wake up since he had.
Reaching the landing and cautiously entering the kitchen, he was met with the sight of Lucy, stirring a collection of pans with a wooden spatula.
"There's fresh coffee in the pot" she spoke aloud, attention still turned to the cooking food on the stove. Lincoln, a little surprised, walked over to the machine, grabbing a mug from the cabinet before pouring himself a cup. "Thanks."
Lucy nodded, arranging a combination of eggs, bacon, sausage and toast on two plates, before turning off the oven.
"What's all this?" Lincoln queried, sipping the black liquid while leaning against the sink, eyeing Lucy from beyond the rim of his cup.
She turned around. "Breakfast." She replied, before whisking the two plates out of the kitchen and placing them on the dining room table.
Lincoln continued to stand there, dumbfounded. Lucy sat down out a table and began to eat, finally moving her head to regard her brother. "Before it gets cold, Linc." She spoke before turning back to her meal.
Lincoln, shocked now, slowly walked to the table and sat down, eyes fixated on his sister.
"Who are you and what have you done with Lucy?" he half-joked, placing his coffee next to his plate.
"Can't a sister do something nice for her brother?" she threw back with a small smile. Lincoln, to Lucy's shock, returned with something she hadn't seen in a long, long time.
He smiled.
A real, genuine, Lincoln Loud smile.
And it made her heart explode.
"I guess." He said as he tossed her a wink, making Lucy blush slightly, before digging into his eggs.
Lucy switched between eating and tossing glances at her brother, nervous as she watched him wolf down his breakfast.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asked innocently, fully aware of him coming into the house at three in the morning, sleeping for two hours, then waking up at five to continue his day.
He paused while sipping his coffee, instantly alert. Had she seen him come in last night? Did she know?
No, no there was no way she knew about last night.
Taking another gulp, he slowly lowered his cup, eyes cast down, boring into the table.
"Yeah, something like that." He answered, declining to elaborate.
Silence fell over the two.
Lucy looked away nervously, deciding it was now or never. "Lincoln…please talk to me."
His gaze instantly moved to Lucy, the young women's eyes intently studying the far wall.
"Look I...I know I can never fully understand what you experienced but…." She continued trying to formulate the correct words to convey her feelings of…. distress over his distance from her. "But…. look I just want you to know that I'm here for you, and regardless of what you say, cutting yourself off from us isn't going to make things better." Her eyes shifted to meet his, taking the opportunity to move the dark bangs shielding her eyes aside.
"Please stop ignoring us." She asked pleadingly.
Lincoln, to say the least, was absolutely floored.
Had he been ignoring his family? Sure he had been quiet about his time abroad, and sure he sometimes chose not to elaborate on certain topics to spare them the horrific details, but had he really been cutting them out of his personal life entirely?
He couldn't say.
But he could say for certain that he'd been neglecting his sisters for far too long.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his head. 'Guess it's time.' He thought to himself.
"Lucy..." He began. "I'm so sorry."
A surprised looked crossed the goth's face.
"I never meant to ignore you guys. Hell, I didn't even know you all felt that way…I didn't know you felt that way." He began rubbing his chin, fingers tracing the scar lines running along the underside of his neck.
A faraway look entered his eyes, gazing off at far wall. "To be honest Luce, this past year has been a fucking blur; It feels like I've just been drifting along since I got home." Lucy's expression softened as Lincoln continued, still absent-mindedly tracing his healed wounds.
"It's not something I can easily talk about…..I've seen and done a lot.. a lot… of bad shit darlin… and I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the closest people I have in my life knowing what a monster their brother is."
Lucy's empathy quickly turned into anger, a frown marring her otherwise flawless face.
"Lincoln, you were in a war. You had your orders and they had there's. None of us, least of all me, would judge you for what you had to do.
To her surprise, Lincoln let out a laugh. "Yeah," he said, "That's all I was doing, right? Just following orders?"
His hands stopped tracing, eyes refocusing on Lucy, staring deeply into her iris's.
"That's what I keep telling myself."
A shiver ran through her core.
Swallowing, she reached out, taking the his worn and calloused hand and cradling them in her soft palms.
"It was you or them." She spoke, to which Lincoln only nodded, shutting his eyes before opening them and gazing into the black liquid half-filling his mug.
"Just give me a few hours, ok?" He began softly. "Then I'll tell you, and only you." He finished, giving her a stern look. "I couldn't handle telling the whole family at once."
Lucy only nodded, elated and relieved that her only brother chose to confide in her rather than anyone else.
He offered her a small smile. "Thanks for the breakfast, Luce" he spoke as he stood up, grabbing both their plates. "It means a lot, really." He placed a small kiss on the top of her head and walked into the kitchen, leaving Lucy flustered and reddened in her chair.
Shaking off her embarrassment she grabbed his mug and followed him, placing it next to the sink as he washed the dishes and utensils that filled it.
"Don't worry, I'll clean up. Probably start on breakfast for the rest of em." He offered as he washed their plates, then moving to the stove to start cooking for the rest of their siblings. "You've got work today, yeah?" He asked looking back at her, to which Lucy nodded. " Cool, we'll talk this evening then if that's alright?" She nodded in confirmation once again, smiling slightly. Lincoln, satisfied, turned back to the stove to begin cooking, only to feel a pair of petite arms wrap around his waist, and a soft, quick kiss against his cheek.
"Thank you." Lucy whispered into his shirt.
Lincoln simply smiled, turning around to give his little sister a proper embrace.
"Thanks for calling me out on my bullshit Luce, I really needed that."
. . . . .
Breakfast with the rest of the family went fairly smooth, especially after the heart-to-heart with Lucy earlier that morning. After their meal, Lily and Lana went off spend their day in the garage, the two undertaking a project to create an engine that ran completely on water, while Lisa returned to her lab, leaving Lynn to help Lincoln clean up the kitchen.
"I'm telling you Linc, you'd love these guys," Lynn spoke to her brother as she put dried dishware away. "They all served in Hawaii like you, and they told me they worked with your unit at one point!" she exclaimed, Lincoln content to just listen to her ramblings. "You should come down to the bar with em sometime, you'd get a real kick of them."
A small chuckle escaped Lincoln's lips as he washed dishes. "Oh sure Lynn, that's exactly what I'd want to on a Friday night; get shit-faced with my sister and a bunch of strangers at a seedy bar downtown. What a treat that would be."
Lincoln laughed as she punched his arm, water splashing up out of the sink. "Don't be a smart ass, dude!" She smiled. "I'm serious! I really feel like you'd enjoy it." She turned back to continue putting dishes away. "I mean, I think it'd be fun; it'd give us chance to hang out, ya know? Make up for lost time?"
Ah.
So that was why she was so adamant about it.
She was reaching out to him.
'Did she and Lucy coordinate this?' he thought suspiciously.
But…. did it really matter if they did?
Sighing, Lincoln turned to her. "I may tag along next time you go out, but no promises, okay?" Lynn nodded vigorously, practically bouncing with excitement. "Fuck yeah dude! We're gonna tear shit up!"
"We're gonna tear shit up!" Clyde yelled to Lincoln over the roar of the helicopter.
Lincoln had to catch himself from stumbling, that single string of words surging forth a buried memory from deep within his mind.
Fuck.
Why did this shit keep happening?
Lynn looked over to her brother, noticing the color drain from his face.
'You ok bro?" She asked worryingly, noticing the instant shift in her brother's demeanor.
Lincoln shook his head, "Yeah, Of course." He replied hastily regaining his composure and finishing the last pan in the sink. "Think I'm gonna go for a drive, I'll see you later, ok?" He turned around, quickly moving to the front door. "Alright!" He heard Lynn call behind him, aware that when her younger brother had to go, he had to go. "Would you mind checking the answering machine before you leave though? It's been beeping all morning."
Lincoln stopped dead.
Wait.
What?
BEEP BEEP
Shaken from his stupor, he moved towards the machine, staring at the blinking number "1" on the screen.
That was impossible
He'd been up all morning.
There was no way he missed the phone ringing.
Or did he?
Was he just so distracted with his family moving around to hear it?
Why didn't anyone else pick it up?
"Hey Lynn," he called back down the hall, 'did you ever hear this thing ring?"
"No, I must have missed it, why?" He heard her call back.
Ok, so he wasn't crazy.
"No reason." He returned, slowly moving his hand forward and gently pressing play.
You Have One New Message.
"Hello," a women's voice sounded, "it's 'Linda'... I need a babysitter right away. Got a few kids that need to be disciplined here. I'm at East 7th Street. Make sure you have a long talk with them by the end of this week, I really need someone to get through to these rascals. And like last time... please be discrete!"
End of Messages.
Another job?
This early?
"God dammit…" Lincoln muttered under his breathe. Tomorrow, he'd do it tomorrow.
He'd take today to rest, talk to Lucy, then suit up and head out tomorrow night.
If only he hadn't left his bat at the me-
"Hey Lincoln!" Lynn called from the living room over the sound of the television. When did she move in there? "Come check this out!"
Walking away from the answering machine and turning in to the living room, Lincoln caught the tail end of a news report that stopped him cold.
"…. masked vigilante caught on camera fleeing the scene after murdering Senator Richards, who was discovered to have ties to the Russian Mob earlier yesterday. Another five victims were found alongside Richards, all connected directly to the mob itself. So far, no leads have come forth in regards to the identity of the assailant…"
"Wild huh?" Lynn asked him, bringing out of his stupor. "Some guy in a chicken mask whacked a bunch of Russians and that corrupt senator last night at one of the metro stations in the city." She looked at Lincoln, smiling. "Bout time someone did something about those thugs, eh? Especially since the police won't touch 'em."
"Yeah." Lincoln replied, eyes fixed on the television as Lynn turned away.
"Least someone's doing something." He finished as he continued to stare at the snapshot of himself from the night before on the television; ominous, imposing, and bloody as he stood over the dead body of the senator.
He turned away and moved towards the front door, fishing his car keys out of his pocket and slipping on his shoes.
He needed some fresh air.
. . . . .
A/N: Exposition, Exposition, Exposition; its arduous to write, but necessary to the advancement of the plot nonetheless. Promise it'll pick up in the next chapter, Lincolns got a job to complete after all. Let me know how I can improve! Any feedback is appreciated!