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The stench of sweat and rust and a million other things that Mick can’t exactly pinpoint fill the air as he steps into the back row of tents on the outskirts of the traveling carnival. It doesn’t matter, really, he knows those smells are nothing good.
“Ugh, smells rotten ,” Snart comments as he enters after him. Mick glances back at his partner, but only shrugs before resolutely marching forward. He hears Snart sigh, then the familiar footfalls that tell him the other man is close behind.
They know what they're here to find, and Mick quickens his steps when nothing in the first tent matches. The tents are small, but they are conjoined at their sides, creating a long hallway that seems to go on forever. Mick growls as he makes his way around and through the piles of different props and equipment that block their way. They’re irrelevant.
Something bright flashes outside the tents, red and angry, casting everything in harsh contrasting shadows. Mick's grip on the heat gun tightens. Firestorm is doing their job out on the front along with their captain and Amaya, Mick and Snart need to get going with their task and trust that Haircut is doing his part as well.
They finally enter a tent, larger than any of the ones before, that seems more likely to house their target. Various cages and glass cells that look far too advanced for this era littered the makeshift room. Not all of them are empty, but none of them contained what mattered. Behind him, Snart draws in a sharp breath, and Mick spares a single thought at how he might be more affected if not for the task at hand.
Mick steps further into the room steadily, ignoring the way some of the captives turn their curious but wary eyes on him. Snart trails along a few steps back, muttering hushed promises that they're here to help, that freedom is near. While it's true, Mick doesn't care, not right now.
At last, at the very end of the line, in the corner of the tent, he spots their objective.
Mick rushes forward, stopping just in front of the glass, and feels his blood boil at what he sees before him.
Nate is lying on his side on the floor of the cell, facing the front. His hands are behind him, seemingly bound, and there's a blindfold over his eyes. He doesn't look injured, but he's also not moving.
A hand lands on his shoulder, and Mick abruptly remembers that Snart is still with him. He then registers Snart’s voice.
“Raymond. We found him.”
“Leonard? Oh, thank God. How is he? Is he okay? I can see him through the monitors here but I can't tell if he's--”
Mick growls and places his hand on the comms device in his ear as well. “Cut the power, Haircut.”
There's a sudden pause.
“Right, of course. Sorry, give me a few seconds.”
True to his words, a couple of seconds later the power in all the high tech cells in the tent goes out, and the doors to all of them swing open after a unified hiss to signal their release.
Mick wastes no time stepping into the cell to get to Nate. But soon he freezes when, upon hearing Mick's footsteps, Nate suddenly tenses and begins scooting himself back weakly.
“No,” he croaks, voice hoarse and small and desperate , “no, it's too soon.”
Mick draws in a deep, long breath, closing his eyes as he does. He can do this. He can push the rage back for just a few more minutes. He can burn this place to the ground later.
“Pretty,” he says, “it's me.”
Nate stops. Then tentatively he gulps, “Mick?”
Then the next second he's sitting up, frantically pushing off of the floor and stumbling towards the sound of Mick's voice. “ Mick ?”
He doesn't make it further than to his knees before he's swaying forward, but Mick steps forward and catches him before he hits the floor again. With his hands firmly on the younger man's arms, Mick slowly lowers them until they're both kneeling on the floor.
Nate gasps at the touch, and then feebly he begins to nudge his face against Mick's shoulder. Realizing what he's trying to do, Mick reaches up and pulls the blindfold off for him.
Nate squeezes his eyes shut, probably because of the bright light of cell, then he blinks several times before his eyes finally focus and meet Mick's own.
“… Mick ,” the word comes out as something between a laugh and a sob, then Nate leans his head against Mick's shoulder, and Mick can feel all the tension leaving the other man's body as he melts against him. Without a word, Mick tightens his grip on Nate's arms.
“It's really you,” Nate mutters against him, and while it feels like it's meant to be happy, it just sounds tired. “I waited for you guys, I don't know how long, I thought…I thought--”
“That we died?” Mick is well aware that that isn't where the sentence was heading, but he also knows sometimes it's better to stop that train of thought than to confirm it.
Nate huffs out a laugh. One that's weighed down with exhaustion, but a laugh nonetheless. “Yeah,” he replies, face still buried in Mick's shoulder, “yeah, that's exactly it. Thank God you didn't.”
Mick grunts, and gives Nate a few more seconds to rest.
An obviously faked cough sounds from the door. Mick glances back while Nate raises his head to see Snart standing there. He looks like he's about to say something, but then his eyes soften a bit and he stops himself.
“The other captives have already made their escape,” he says instead, “we should get out of here, too.”
That gets a smile from Nate. “Wow, Captain Crunch, that was almost nice.”
“Don't get used to it,” Snart shoots back, but there's no heat behind his words. Mick allows himself a smirk before getting back to business.
“What's around your wrists?” he asks.
Something that looks like fear suddenly flashes across Nate's face, and Mick presses down the urge to storm into the battlefield outside and burn that P.T. guy to ashes right now .
“It's uh, it's cuffs,” Nate stammers out.
“Why can't you break out of them?”
Nate shakes his head, and Mick hates how defeated he looks. “I can't, I can't steel up, I already did that for too long today and I just…I just can't . I didn't know there’s a limit to me steeling up but there is and I end up so tired and I can't do anything--”
“Breathe,” Mick commands, sensing the other man slipping into hysterics. Nate listens, gulps in a gasping breath, and lets it out in a shuddering sigh before repeating the action a couple more times. When his breathing is normal again, he continues, weaker than before, “so yeah, I can't break out. And also the cuffs shock me whenever I try to steel up. So.”
Mick nods, and he can hear Snart relaying what Nate just said to Haircut on the other end of the comms.
“Okay, I think I got it. There's a device here that's transmitting remote control signals towards your direction. I'm gonna hack it then disable it.”
A few more seconds of tense waiting, and a small, victorious “aha” from the comms later, the cuffs around Nate's wrists beep and then release, falling to the floor with a thud.
Nate immediately pulls his hands in front of him, rubbing the raw skin on his wrists as he leans into Mick again with a small, joyous laugh. “Ray, if you can hear me, thank you so, so much.”
“No problem, buddy.”
Haircut sounds like he's about to cry, and Mick decides not to point out that Nate can't hear him. Snart probably has that covered anyway.
“Can you walk?” he asks instead.
It takes a few seconds for Nate to answer, as of trying to assess himself, but then finally he shakes his head. “No,” he says dejectedly, “I'm too tired, m’sorry.”
Mick hums. Then, without warning, he moves and repositions his arms, and then hoists Nate off the ground in a bridal style carry, even as Nate squeaks in alarm.
The younger man finally settles down when he realizes what's happening, and then places his hands to Mick's chest and rests his head on his shoulder.
As Mick begins walking out, Nate speaks again. “You sure this is okay?”
“You're lighter than Haircut,” Mick grunts as he follows Snart out the way they came in.
Nate glances up at him at that, “Wait, you've carried Ray? When? Should I be jealous?”
“You should shut up,” Mick growls.
“Hmm. Fair.” Nate settles back down in his arms. The silence lasts three seconds. “I'm asking Ray about it later.”
“That's not shutting up,” Mick warns.
This time Nate doesn't respond. Mick glances down, and relaxes just a bit when he realizes that the man has merely fallen asleep.
Mick tightens his hold a bit more. He's gonna take the sleeping beauty back to the Waverider, leave him with Gideon, and then march right back out here to incinerate this entire carnival ground.
That's the least he can do.