Chapter Text
“I’m fine,” Strelok said between clenched teeth. He fumbled with the laces of his boots to tighten them up, and hissed in pain at the slight compression around his ankle.
“No, you’re not.” Scar’s insistence of contradicting his opinion only irritated Strelok further.
“I said I’m fine!” Strelok’s patience was reaching its limit. If he heard anything resembling an I told you so, he was going to flip out.
Scar kept his mouth shut, but Strelok could feel the mercenary’s gaze on him, no doubt dripping with a mix of amusement and disapproval. Ignoring him, Strelok grit his teeth and tried to stand up. Unfortunately, Scar was right. Strelok’s swollen and abused ankle didn’t cope well with the pressure of supporting his meagre weight, and the stalker fell down again. Trying to prevent further injury, he flailed wildly, trying to grab something that would help him keep upright. The only thing at hand’s reach was the rusted ladder steps. It was the same ladder he’d fallen from. And, as the treacherous step that fell of its place while Strelok climbed it, the one he just grabbed also came loose and tumbled down. Strelok suddenly found himself getting reacquainted with the floor, his poor backside slamming against the hard concrete. Something that sounded suspiciously like a barely contained chuckle came from Scar. Strelok failed to see what was so funny.
“You know, I sort of wondered why you got injured so often. Then I realised you’re a reckless moron,” Scar said, squatting next to him. He unlaced the stalker’s boot and peeled the sock down. The area was swollen and reddened. “It will be a miracle if your ankle isn’t broken, no joint should ever be bent like yours was. And all for what, the possibility of finding a stash up there?”
“I’m sure I’ll be right as rain in a day,” Strelok insisted, ignoring most of Scar’s points and focusing on his twisted ankle. He’d broken bones before and this felt different. Nothing that a night’s rest and the right artifact couldn’t fix.
“And you plan to spend that day sitting here?”
Much as it irked him, Scar did have a point. They were in the middle of the so called Wild Territory. The mercenary gangs weren’t interested in them, at least for now, and man that was a big change from the last time Strelok was here. However, there were still bandits and roving packs of mutants to take into account. This place had become a hunting ground for bloodsuckers, snorks and even controllers and the odd pseudogiant.
“C'mon, we’re going back to the bar. Maybe one of Duty’s sawbones will fix you.” Scar decided for both of them.
After a lively discussion, which involved threats to knee the mercenary in the stomach, Scar dropped his plan to carry Strelok over his shoulder. He wasn’t a sack of flour, thank you very much. He was much happier in this current position than dangling over Scar’s shoulder. Strelok was enjoying the piggyback ride, he felt taller than ever and leaning on Scar’s back was nice. However, the mercenary didn’t seem to be having much fun.
“Fuck, for such a skinny guy you weigh a ton,” Scar grumbled, unhappy with his new human backpack. “I bet you’d be much lighter without that damned suit.”
Well, he was right, SEVA suits were heavy. But instead of saying so, Strelok preferred to needle him. “Is that an admission you’re getting old, or an attempt to get me out of my clothes?”
Scar’s ensuing laughing fit was rudely interrupted by a Controller coming for them from the other corner of the train yard. The mutant extended its arm forward, and Scar ducked inside an anomaly infested garage to break the line of sight with it. When it came to Controllers, out of sight meant out of reach for they mind scrambling psychic attack.
“Lemme get a weapon and I’ll kill that son of a bitch.” Strelok was already trying to reach the backpack before he finished speaking.
“If you fire a weapon next to my ear I swear I’ll toss you into one of these anomalies,” Scar threatened him. Damn, he hadn’t thought about that. Scar’s grumpiness was justified in this case.
“Hold on tight, on the count of three I’ll run to the sniper gallery.” Scar outlined his plan. It could work. Behind that building there always was a Duty patrol or two, guarding the access point to the bar area. Sometimes they even took positions inside the sniper gallery and actually sniped some mutants or bandits.
“Wait!” Strelok needed a moment to put the backpack in its place, not without grabbing a grenade first. “Okay, on the count of three I’ll throw a little surprise to our friend and then you run.”
For once their plan went off without a hitch. Perhaps because it was difficult to mess up a plan so simple as throw grenade and run. Now Strelok clung to Scar as the mercenary ran as fast as he could with all the extra weight he carried. No sooner they had reached the other side of sniper gallery, Scar had to stop to catch his breath.
“Urgh… you’re strangling… me,” Scar managed to say with some difficulty.
Noticing that during their race to safety he had tightened his arms around Scar’s neck, Strelok loosened up the pressure until it was more like a hug and less like a choke hold. The mercenary happily confirmed him this was much better.
Once Scar could breathe properly again, they resumed their way to the bar. However, at Strelok’s insistence they first stopped the Duty patrol to let them know of the hopefully injured Controller , roaming on the train yard, so it wouldn’t sneak on any of them unaware.
Afterwards they continued their way to the bar, ignoring the surprised stares of stalkers unused to seeing a mercenary carrying around a stalker piggyback style.