Chapter Text
Despite what Sully said about his potential, Nate assumed it was all just talk to get his wallet back. There’s no way Sully actually meant to teach him anything.
He’s already atoned for whatever sin he thought he committed by letting Nate stay on his couch until Sam got out of prison, so why the hell is he getting notes from Victor Sullivan asking him to join him in Peru?
Nate’s intrigued to say the least.
Sam barely acknowledges the note, too preoccupied lining up his next gig. “So long as you’re going, you better take this – and watch your back.”
He holds the revolver out to Nate. Swallowing, Nate stuffs it in his backpack along with the rest of his things.
Sully smirks with satisfaction as Nate catches up to him at the airfield.
“You know as much about the conquistadors as you do about Sir Francis Drake?”
“Know more about them than you,” Nate puffs up.
Chuckling, Sully claps him on the shoulder, “This should be fun then.”
Nate can hardly believe just how much.
Sully entrusts the map to him and within hours of their trek into the jungle, Nate’s uncovered a secret passage with a lock mechanism it only takes him minutes to figure out. If there hadn’t been a cave-in probably decades if not centuries again, it probably would’ve been a decent shortcut rather than a dead end.
“You’ve got to be goddamn kidding me.”
“What’s the problem? We’ll just backtrack the way we –”
“It’s not that, kid. We’ve got competition on our heels.”
“Competition?”
Sure enough, another band of treasure hunters has followed them down the passage, cutting off their exit.
“Keep your head down, Nate.” Sully draws his pistol and peeks out over their cover to fire.
Nate jumps slightly with every one of Sully’s shots. He blindly reaches into his backpack for the revolver, clutching the grip of the gun steadies him – gives him something to focus on other than the blood pounding in his ears.
There’s the telltale click of an empty clip and Sully mutters, “Shit.”
Ducking out from behind their cover, Sully rushes the last man standing. While Nate’s seen Sully go toe-to-toe with Marlowe’s goons, this guy is twice Sully’s size; there’s no way he can take him out on his own.
Loading the chambers of the revolver the way Sam showed him, Nate cocks the gun, “Sully get down!”
“What the –?”
But Sully doesn’t hesitate to move his ass out of the way and Nate pulls the trigger. The bullet sinks into the big guy’s chest, spraying blood everywhere, as he falls face first to the ground.
“Oh crap –”
He blinks and in an instant Sully is tearing the revolver from his hands.
Waving it in front of his face, “That was damn lucky shot. Where the hell did you even get a gun anyway?”
Practically paralyzed, Nate stammers, “S-sam.”
“Should’ve guessed. What the hell was he thinking, giving a kid your age a gun? He’s barely old enough to handle one himself…” Sully’s rant trails off. “You hanging in there, kid?”
The adrenaline from the firefight dissipating, something new crashes down on Nate – nausea.
“I’m gonna be sick.” It’s embarrassing how much his voice cracks.
“Yeah, that’s a common reaction.”
Sully stands back as Nate keels over, his vomit soaks into the muddy ground.
He doesn’t get it. He couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger to save his own skin mere months ago, and now that he’s finally bucked up the courage to do it, he’s retching in the dirt? He tries to swallow the bile back down.
“Don’t do that. Just let it out, kid. You’re holding up better than most grown men.”
“You’re just saying that,” Nate manages between bouts of sickness.
“Oh, I am, am I? Trust me, kid, you see a lot more shit like this in the navy than you do wandering the streets of foreign cities.”
Still trying to prove his point, “Sam didn’t react like this.”
“Only according to him,” Sully grunts. “It’s no easy thing, taking another man’s life. It’s the sort of thing that stays with you. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Nate leans over, waiting to throw up again, but nothing comes; his arms are still shaking pretty badly. “How do you live with it?”
Sully’s finally at a loss for words.