Chapter Text
His footsteps felt heavy, heavier than usual after completing a dangerous mission like this; perhaps it was the bullet wounds littering across his arms and chest, or maybe the deep stab wounds in his abdomen. It was nothing he couldn't shake off, yet this time, it seemed to be successfully affecting him in ways he knew would get under Doc's skin. He was never one to be careful, always opting to charge straight on due to his brutal strength and towering figure. Not a single grunt here could ever hold a candle to him, but they persisted. They fought as if they actually had a chance.
And they never did.
He didn't know where he was, more preoccupied with losing his enemies in this unknown part of town more than trying to find a way back to the rendezvous point. He got the data, albeit a bit damaged, and he was still alive to see another day in Nevada, to see the sun setting in front of him. Although his vision was incredibly blurry, the red tint of the goggles he wore did not aid his precarious situation. He couldn't even register himself tumbling to the ground, tripping over seemingly nothing.
His breathing was dense, pain somehow registering despite his high tolerance for it. He had to figure out what direction to go in, to meet up with the arsonist and the funny one Doc keeps around for whatever reason. Originally, they were meant to help him in this mission, but his obvious disdain and harsh words made Doc reconsider, not wanting to lose team members in case any fights broke out between them.
Because they wouldn't survive against him.
As he turned to lie on his back, the orange-red sky greeting him, he thought for a split moment that he wouldn't mind going out like this. Peaceful, quiet, closing his eyes and drifting away. His corpse would be found and retrieved eventually, though surely not without a fight. He wondered what would get to him first: the zeds, cannibals, or maybe the bandits? Doc finding him before anyone else is laughable. It wasn't a viable consideration. He would've laughed if not for how much everything hurt.
Nevada was nothing but a chaotic mess, not a single second of peace on this hellish landscape. There was always something happening, someone dying, never a time to rest unless you were with people you truly trusted to watch over you. He didn't trust the arsonist and funny one, hell, he barely trusted Doc, only following orders as his love for violence fueled him to go on missions to begin with. He was alone, not that that was bad. It helped him be on guard for ongoing threats, and relying on himself proved to be more fruitful in his endeavors rather than leaving things to others.
However, what does it feel like to depend on someone when things become too much, even for a deadly mercenary like him? Would anything really change? He sighed, fingers numb. He wouldn't figure it out for as long as he lived, and he hopes once he's revived by Doc, he forgets about this pointless thought.
He waits for death to come.
"You okay there?" a feminine voice asks softly above him, "Ah, stupid question. You look horrible. I mean, it's a shocker you're alive, really."
It doesn't.
His vision was still swimming, most likely due to the amount of blood he lost, but he could see a figure standing above him, slightly leaning down to peer straight into his eyes, all while donning a huge smile that was so bright it could rival the sun.
"Want me to help you? Fair warning, if I do, then the reward I want is pretty hefty! Like, it's sooooo humongous you might actually die! But like, not from your wounds! From a heart attack, maybe."
He scoffed. He expected as much. No one ever did a good deed without wanting something in return. Thinking anyone would be different, anyone would offer kindness, was foolish. There was nothing kindness received in return, only serving as a way to exploit the person into your own bidding. "So be it then." his tone was harsh, a growl rumbling in his chest. He didn't care what she would ask for, because before she could utter the words out of her mouth, he'd kill her.
"Promise not to bite me? You're one second away from snapping my neck," She kneeled, tilting her head to the side as her grin widened. "I bet if I hurt you accidentally, you'd lunge for me." Testing the waters, one of her hands reached for his left arm, hovering above it tentatively. She waited for him to say something, anticipating a response, but was disappointed when he kept quiet, a glare seen through his goggles.
"I wouldn't hurt you on purpose, y'know," she mumbled quietly. "You just... I want to help." Her eyes narrowed at the bullet wounds, smile disappearing slowly. "Unfortunately, I didn't bring anything to take out those bullets, and even with my long nails, it wouldn't do anything but worsen your pain." Her hand moved to hover over his abdomen. "This, however, I can help with. Please be still."
"I can't move," he said bluntly.
This got a laugh out of her, a sound he hardly hears unless it's coming from the funny one who laughs at his own jokes back at base. His hand twitches, already knowing the funny one was no doubt complaining to the arsonist about where he was and why he was running late. The last thing he wanted to hear after nearly dying was being yelled at by someone weaker than him, and if he was allowed to, he would've killed him by now.
"You get what I mean," she replied, fingertips brushing over the hem of his shirt. She was hesitating, apprehensive about the action of lifting it. Was she wanting him to give her permission? Why?
"Get it over with."
She hums in response, lifting his shirt until it was all the way up to his chest area.
"Nasty stabs here. What'd you possibly do to get someone this mad at you?" she chuckles, sitting on her knees as she takes out medical supplies from practically nowhere. "You must be used to this cause with how deep these are, you should've been dead."
"I'm aware."
"Good to hear. You're a lucky man!" she says cheekily. "Indulge me, why don't you? Working in silence is efficient, but talking distracts you from your pain!"
The sound of a cap being twisted off was heard. Rubbing alcohol.
"And you're gonna need the distraction! So, how'd you survive this long?" she asks.
His eyes stare up at the sky, recalling every deed he's done just to live another day. The amount of grunts he's killed, the damage he's inflicted, everything was for the purpose of going back to base to eat a shitty meal and sleep on a dirty mattress, awaiting his next mission by Doc. All the days were the same to him, not a single one standing out to get his attention.
And so, he says, "Kill." Straight to the point. He had nearly expected her to stop what she was doing, make up an excuse as to why she could no longer help him, before running away. She didn't, and he considers that maybe she had killed others, too. It was a necessity among this place, greatly ensuring safety and supplies.
"I used context clues to figure that out, but I was expecting more," she says, making eye contact with him for a brief moment. She keeps her eyes on him, drawing to some sort of conclusion as she smiles teasingly. "And I haven't killed anyone, for your information."
He nearly tenses in his spot. How she could've known what he was thinking was simply impossible, but she looked at him like he was easy to read. Still, it didn't stop him from asking, "How?"
"Ever heard of running away?" she replies, tilting the bottle of rubbing alcohol down enough for it to spill its contents on a washing rag she had. "That pretty much saves me the trouble. When I'm not running, I sneak around! Steal stuff! It's funny to watch those poor suckers scramble around trying to find what I stole." She puts the bottle down and presses the rag onto his wounds. It stings like hell, but he doesn't let out a sound. He wouldn't show any more weakness in front of her. "Stealing from the cannibals? It's the worst. They protect their things as if everything is on the line! And like, yeah, okay, it is! Doesn't mean you have to check inventory every 5 seconds! Don't you have, like, meat to cook? Don't piss me off."
She moves the rag around slowly, casting him a glance from time to time to see how he is holding up. When he didn't respond, she continued, "It also doesn't make sense how they find other people so delicious. Like, these are desperate times for sure, but come on! I can't even fathom looking at someone and thinking of eating them. Those guys have no redeeming qualities whatsoever."
"Did they ever?" he asks.
"Excellent question! No. Absolutely not."
She proceeds to list the many annoying features the Cannibals contained, and while he agreed with all of them, her incessant rambling was quite bothersome, yet he couldn't find himself wanting to tell her to shut up. Her voice wasn't really bad to listen to, it was more so calming to hear. Had he not been in excruciating pain, he might've fallen asleep.
One question began to linger into his mind, though, as she ranted about another topic, talking loudly without a care in the world as if she didn't mind anyone overhearing their conversation. The smile on her face, despite worrying about not carrying anything to stitch his stab wounds up, didn't dissipate in the slightest as she directed her sole attention to him. She chatted with him like they knew each other for a long time, like they were... friends.
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Surely anyone, lucid or not, would instantly recognize his attire at a single glance. His reputation was something he upheld to the best of his abilities, using the fear others felt towards him to his advantage.
After all, his existence was a warning to the living.
But she wasn't scared, or even had a hint of fear in her demeanor when talking to him. Was it simply due to him being immobile at the moment? If he garnered enough of his remaining strength, he wouldn't have any trouble lunging for her, fingers wrapping around her neck and squeezing it so tight it'd break. Just because he was accepting her help now didn't mean it'd subdue his thirst for killing. Her death was imminent. There was no escaping him once someone was within his sights.
He squinted his eyes as she began to wrap bandages around his abdomen as gently as she could, her hands shaking moderately for a reason he didn't know. It wasn't exactly cold here in Nevada, the scorching sun, regardless of it setting, made sure of that. Was the heat getting to her, maybe? Was she scared of something happening? He couldn't sense any malicious intent coming from her, so her backstabbing him was out of the question, unless she was exceptionally good at hiding it. He didn't like this.
"Where'd you learn to do this?" he asks suddenly, feeling the girl's movements stop. She was briefly touching him in that moment, and he couldn't help but think of how cold she was.
"Hm? I..." she pauses, considering what to say before wrapping again. "Most of my time was spent in hospitals. I hate admitting I learned a couple of new things in there, but what do you know? It turned out to be pretty helpful! I was fine by myself, though. The hospital totally messed up my schedule."
A nurse, then? A self-taught nurse? The idea of killing her disappeared almost instantly, realization settling in at her having a useful skill, one that would bring immense value to the base if he brought her back with him. He wouldn't have to worry about Doc chewing his ass off after a mission, only annoying rants about topics he could easily tune out if she took care of him. It'd be a nice change of pace.
Nevertheless, he owed her something once she was done aiding him, apparently something substantial, hefty as she put it. He could easily let Doc take care of what she wanted, but they could avoid it altogether if she died.
"That's... nice..." is all he found himself saying. Whether she noticed how distracted he was upon learning this information or not, she ignored it entirely.
"You impressed? It's no biggie, to be honest. I got a lil bored, and there wasn't much to do. How can I not pay attention to what other people did? It provided free entertainment, and I got smarter in the process," she says in a smug tone. "I would offer to teach you some tricks I learned, but you probably know some stuff already, don't you?"
He could feel her eyes roam his body up and down.
"There's no way you got along this far without knowing basic first aid," she says.
"I know some things," he begins, "But I... we have a doctor who takes care of everyone." Doc's not a real doctor, but he gets the job done all the same.
The girl's eyes shine in amazement. "That's so cool! I bet he really cares for you guys to always patch you up. I'd never rest a day in my life if you came back home with this many injuries!"
"This doesn't happen often."
"I doubt that," she says way too quickly. "You're a big guy, y'know. I could see your figure from a mile away! I'm sure that comes in handy with defending yourself, but it means you're an easier target to shoot." She wraps up the last bandage and gives his abdomen a soft pat. She was done. "I'm no good with guns, but I'd probably land at least one shot out offfff six, probs!"
She stands up from where she was sitting, bending down a little with her hand outstretched towards him. "Let's get you up and at 'em! It's going to get dark soon, so I can take you to my hideout!" she says, smiling. "You can rest there 'til the morning and then be on your merry way."
Regrettably, he couldn't take up on her offer as much as he wanted to. "Can't. I need to be somewhere," he sighs in defeat. "They were expecting me almost an hour ago."
"Oh!" she gasps. "Well, that's awkward. Let's hope they aren't out here looking for you. They'd probably shoot me instantly, huh?"
The arsonist and funny one? No. Him? Yeah, he definitely would.
He grabbed her hand in a tight grip, his warmth contrasting with her coldness, and steadily stood up mostly on his own as the girl's strength wasn't enough to help him. By the time he was standing up straight, she was out of breath, a bewildered look thrown at him.
"What a nice reminder I'm not strong... wow," she grunted. "I don't know how to ask this, but what do you eat? Do you hit the gym? There's no way that—" She motioned towards his whole body. "—is natural. Seriously, I'm dying here."
"I'm simply better than everyone," he replies in a condescending voice. "No one—"
"Yeah, yeah. Okay, whatever!" she huffs. "Do you know where to go? I don't mean to brag, unlike someone—" She side eyes him. "—but I happen to know this place like the back of my hand."
He deadpans. Glancing around the area, he didn't exactly want to admit he had no idea where to go from here, much less if he were on the correct path anyway. Those agents tailing him earlier might've caused him to get lost, but he was probably screwed from the start. The rendezvous point couldn't be too far, so he could definitely find his way there eventually through trial and error since he loathed the idea of using comms with his supposed teammates. Albeit, if he were to get attacked while trying to make his way over there, he would end up in a worse state than before, possibly even die if it's a group of grunts, only due to him being weakened already.
The girl obviously couldn't fight. She hasn't killed anyone; she was a nurse, and she could barely lift him up. She was of no use to him aside from her medical abilities and....
"I don't know," he admits begrudgingly. "I know how it looks, but not the direction I have to go in."
Her grin doesn't falter. "Describe it to me."
He does just that, relaying all the information about where he needed to meet up with his team members. It didn't take long for her to perk up and figure out where he was headed.
"That place? Nobody ever goes there, well, like, aside from me, so you guys picked a good spot!" She gestures for him to put his arm around her shoulder. "I'll take you there, free of charge! Usually, there's some weird grunts on the way but lucky for you, I happen to be a master of sneaking around."
That's what he hoped for. He could avoid fighting altogether and find the rendezvous point.
"Lead the way," he says instead of thanking her.
Shifting his weight onto her, he could feel her legs wobbling while she moves forward, taking him to a dusty, dark alley. A horrible stench filled their nostrils instantaneously, a stench he was all too familiar with whenever he stumbled upon a corpse, but neither of them acknowledged it. They continued on since it was a normal occurrence today.
"A spray can would be good for here, huh?" she attempts to joke. "Like, those strawberry scented ones? I didn't think grunts cared about anything smelling good, but my last journey to loot an abandoned convenient store had me surprised. The aisle was empty." She steps on something squishy. "Deodorant, too. But, rest assured the cannibals smell like crap so they didn't steal any of those."
She leans close to him and sniffs. He would've jerked back if he could.
"Blood. Figures," she states. "You're literally covered in it. I don't know why I expected something different."
"Expecting me to smell like flowers?"
"That's the dream. When's the last time you've seen a working shower?"
A day ago, when he showered.
"Yesterday," he exhales.
"Dude, I feel like you'd hit the top of the nozzle accidentally. You have quite an ego already, but," she looked askance at him. "You're ridiculously tall. Save some height for the rest of us."
"I'm 6'2."
"Yeah, I see that."
"This is the part where you tell me your height."
"I refuse. Figure it out, since you're, what did you say earlier? You're better than everyone?"
"I am."
"You need to be humbled more often."
”You smell okay.”
”Compliments will get you nowhere with me.”
He couldn't tell how many corners they turned and how she could differentiate one alley from another; her inexplicable understanding of this area was nothing short of impressive. The meet-up place was just ahead of them.
He hears her giggle maliciously next to him, dread settling in his stomach fleetingly. That's right.
"You still owe me, remember?" she states, taking him to the entrance of the building. "I bet you're sooooo curious to know what it is."
He was. Depending on what she said, he'll quickly determine whether she dies or not. There was no denying that her being a nurse might've made him reconsider for a bit, but the weight of her favor could easily work against her. It was a shame, unfortunately. Her presence was tolerable. The least he could do was give her a quick death.
"What do you want?" he scowls out.
He waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Finally, she says, "I want to know your name!"
He blanks. That's.... it? His name?
He gawks at her, expecting her to say she was joking and then state what she truly wanted, yet all she was doing was looking at him with that stupid smile on her face. This couldn't be right. She patched him up, used some of her supplies (not a lot, but he digressed) to help him, and what she wanted in return was... something simple.
What was she playing at? What was her goal? He refused to believe this was reality. His thoughts drifted back to her possibly not knowing him once more, and amongst his thinking, his guard was up. Perhaps she didn't recognize his attire, but there wasn't a chance in hell she wouldn't know his name. Everyone feared it, scared to utter it like he was a curse that'd appear within seconds to slaughter them. Every inch of Nevada was covered in his WANTED posters; the A.A.H.W. apparently made daily announcements across various sites to bring him dead or alive. They had to have been here, too.
He was just a monster who didn't deserve a single second of peace in his life, and if he couldn't have that, he would make sure others didn't either.
Hank J. Wimbleton brought destruction wherever he went.
"My name...." he starts off slowly, the hand he left limp on his side raising ever so slightly to his belt. A spare knife. She wouldn't know what happened. "...is Hank. Hank Wimbleton."
Silence, the atmosphere suffocating both of them as the girl came to stop, feet shifting under the weight of Hank's body. She gazed right back into his eyes, through those thick goggles of his, her fingers tightening their grip on the arm he had around her shoulders and his waist. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it, then closed it again.
The mortification of helping Nevada's most wanted had yet to appear on her face, and he was waiting for that moment to arrive to strike her down.
"Cat got your tongue?" he questions playfully.
His clammy hand wraps around the hilt of the knife, already pinpointing where exactly to stab her. He was anticipating the usual reaction to his presence: a terrified face, a shrill shriek, pleading to be spared from him. It excited him. She wasn’t meant for this hellish landscape.
He moved to stab her, eviscerate her, end her pathetic yet kind existence until she shut her eyes and laughed loudly. The tip of the blade was near the center of her throat, and she didn't know. Confused, Hank's tense posture relaxed to some degree, watching her closely.
"Wimbleton? Seriously, what kind of last name is that?" She glanced at him. "That's an easy way to get made fun of. I bet people call you Hank Simpleton sometimes, huh? Man, that's gotta stink."
His free arm fell back to his side, knife feeling heavy.
"Regardless, I like your name. It's pretty unique. It's nice to meet you, Hank," she says. "I'm [Name]. No last name. Don't forget it." She moves. "Now let's get you in here."
Hank drops the knife to the ground, walking towards the entrance with her. She had to be an anomaly of some kind. He couldn't fathom her thought process or how she continued to surprise him at every opportunity. She deserved to be elsewhere, protected, living happily, unlike him.
As soon as she opened the door, they were both met with a grating voice, "Look who decided to finally show up! Hank, where the hell have you been?!" The funny one stepped out of the truck, about to give Hank the scolding of his life (it wouldn't compare to Doc's) until the funny one saw [Name]. Immediately, his behavior changed. "Oh, uh, hi."
Hank gritted his teeth in annoyance. Predictable prick.
"Hiya!" [Name] responds, cheerful as ever. "You must be Hank's buddy!"
The arsonist also steps out of the car.
"Buddies!" the girl quickly corrects herself.
"Yeah.... you can say that," the funny one mumbles. "Sorry, who are you? And why are you..." Helping him goes unsaid.
"Hank was about to die, so I saved him!" [Name] says casually. "He was really happy to receive my help! Right?"
"Hardly," Hank says.
"No need to be a hardass! Anyways, I'm [Name]! Who are you guys?"
"Deimos," the funny one says.
"Sanford," the arsonist says.
Ah, that's right. Hank can never remember their names. He'll commit them to memory.
Maybe.
"Nice to meet you! I came to drop off Hank. He's suuuuuper injured, so get him help ASAP." She stood there expecting them to take Hank off her hands, but no one made any movements to get him. Smiling dumbly, her eyes shift from Deimos to Sanford in a way to communicate it's their turn to help. Sanford coughed awkwardly, Deimos currently finding the wall more intriguing to analyze.
Hank chuckled in amusement. Glad to see they knew their place. "Let's get you to the car then," [Name] says dejectedly.
Struggling to walk once again, she limps past Deimos and misses the way Hank glares daggers at the man, making Deimos grimace and look away from the scene unfolding in front of him. As soon as Hank was seated in the backseat, the girl stretched her limbs, and a resounding crack from her back was heard. "Next time we meet, I'll be stronger! Don't tell anyone, but you're my favorite patient now!" she giggles. "Deimos, Sanford, you guys be safe on the drive back home!"
The two nod at her.
"And Hank, don't get shot as much. Those are gonna scar," she sighs. "It makes for a cool story, though!"
Giving him one last examination, she nods and begins to leave, nearing the entrance when Hank calls for her, startling everyone. "Wait," He hated being watched by those two pests, but he didn't know if he'd see again after this, and her medical knowledge was something you see once in a blue moon. Anyone can rip someone apart, but very few have a clue about how to put someone back together. "You should come back to base. Doc could use your help." He could, too.
"Pardon?" Sanford asks in shock. Hank whipped his head to glance at the man, glowering at him.
"She's a nurse," Hank forces himself to reply.
"Ah, um," she says, flustered. "Up for... interpretation?"
"Holy shit! Hank's right," Deimos ignored Hank's stare. "You can join our team. There aren't many people around the base, so we have plenty of space for you. Clean water, food, beds, and me!"
Sanford groans. "Are you trying to scare her off? Be serious."
"I am!" Deimos barks back.
"Right. What he meant to say was you'd be a viable member. It will really take a lot out of Doc's workload when it comes to..." Everyone knew what Sanford was going to say. Hank. The two were meticulous in coming back without a scratch, but that guy? The same couldn't be said. "You wouldn't have to worry about protection either. We have that covered." Cause of Hank.
The smile [Name] had adorned throughout her entire time talking to them was replaced with a vacant gaze, her face void. Her fists clenched tightly by her sides, Hank noticed the way her shoulders shook as if she were withholding an emotion deep inside her. Then, her stance lightened.
Head lifting, she grins like she normally does. It's off.
"I appreciate it. I really do, but I'd rather stay here." Her hand gestures to the open door; the outside is pitch black. Cold. Vicious. "I... like this place a lot. I can't leave it." She lets out a shaky breath. "When..." Her lips turn into a straight line. "If I see you all again, maybe I'll reconsider."
"Aw, what!" Deimos complains. "Why not go with us now and then if you want to leave, we'll bring you back!" He stepped closer to her, Sanford and Hank seeing how pleased he was at her being shorter than him. "I'm not trying to downplay your survival expertise in the slightest. I mean, you're alive, so it makes sense you understand what to do out there. It's just, like, you're tiny—" So is Deimos, Sanford and Hank thought unanimously. "—And someone could see that and target you, but, ah—" Deimos was stuttering now. "Maybe you found a way around that already, but it might not be enough, and—" This was painful to listen to. "—you can get hurt! Oh, that's right, you're a nurse, so you'd have no problem fixing yourself—"
Deimos turned around in shame. "I'm an idiot, man," he murmurs.
Hank agreed wholeheartedly.
"Deimos means no harm. We're just worried about you. You helped Hank, so clearly you're friendly," Sanford confirms, because if the girl were a threat, she wouldn't be here. "There aren't many people willing to help someone, especially this guy," He jabs a thumb towards Hank. "Don't force yourself to decide, but if I'm being honest with you, I don't think we'll make a stop here for a long time."
Deimos shakes his head. "But we're willing to visit every once in a while if you'd like!" he declares.
Who invited this dude?
[Name] laughs anyway, "You guys are a riot! I'd... I'd kill to be in your group." Her expression is delicate, like one wrong word would have her sobbing in front of them. "But I meant what I said. I like this place. When I die, I want it to be here."
She waves a hand goodbye, smiling at them one more time. "I hope to see you guys again someday!" She leaves.
It's quiet in the building, nobody saying anything until Deimos breaks the silence. "Ugh, it really would've been nice to have someone else to talk to."
Sanford scoffs, "We're not enough for you?"
"Hell no!" Deimos yells promptly. "Well, except for you. Hank is no conversationalist, and neither is Doc! I'm dying here for more social interaction, plus, she's nice and pretty!"
"Ugh. Save your complaining for the road."
"Oh, I will! We have a two-hour trip ahead of us and—"
As the truck starts and they begin their trip back to base, Hank could feel his eyes getting heavy while reflecting on [Name]'s words. When she dies? She survived long enough to live until now. What could bring her life to an end? Was she being hunted down by somebody? But if she were, she would've taken her chance to flee by coming with them. Something didn't feel right. He hated how powerless and clueless he felt, and there was nothing that could be done. This was a one-stop expedition for Doc.
Hank wouldn't see this place for a while.
He thumbs the device in his hands, the device containing data Doc needed. The man stressed its importance to him, engraved it into his mind so he wouldn't leave without it. This data, whatever it contained, was clearly something Doc needed to progress the project he was working on.
He never thanked [Name] for helping him.
Hank worked hard to get this; the bullet and stab wounds proved it. His efforts amounted to this little device. He didn't come back empty-handed. Doc would be satisfied with the results, Hank would eat whatever was left in the kitchen, and he would rest easy after a tough mission and wait for his next one in a different location.
He would never see [Name] after this.
But if he survived once, then undoubtedly....
His grip hardens on the device.
He can survive again.
.....
.....
.....
He breaks the device.