Chapter Text
He was dead. Sanford didn’t know how long he’d stared at his body, nor how long it had been since his form ran cold. The words he last said were a buzz in his mind, he didn’t have the heart to hear them. The cold Nevadan air felt ever colder, holding his corpse. The body of his partner in crime, his fellow assailant. His friend. The torn ground of battle was desolate and silent, the sounds of the fight he was sure Hank was having fell on deaf ears and crumbled into the sands that ever flowed through this dead hellscape.
With a tightening of his jaw, and the lowering of his brow, Sanford stood with a purpose. He started to walk towards their getaway car, briskly, the other's body still clutched tightly to him, as if he was hugging life back into him. Fading lies and false hopes won’t get you anywhere in a lost world like this, though. He knew that. Gently laying him in the front and pulling the seat belt over his body, as if he were only passed out, Sanford then hopped into the car and began to speed away. He swerved around wreckage, hands clutched tight around the knife-knicked wheel, tighter and tighter as tears finally started to well up in his skull.
But he couldn’t give up just yet. He refused to let the tears slide down his cheeks as his face stayed stern, calculating, though not a single thought was in his head. Not one, besides him. He needed to get him home. 2bDamned needed to see him. He needed to fix him.
“You fucking dumbass..” Sanford muttered under his breath, his gaze breaking to glance at the blood stained body beside him. His body was damaged quite hard but it was nothing he hadn’t seen before. It just felt different seeing them stricken across a close partner. Without much of a care, he swerved into the damaged parking lot of the facility they had taken over, scooping his body up and quickly running towards the building.
He kicked the door open, and the protests of the older man were immediately heard, along with some hard steps coming from the stairs that led down to the lower levels. “Hank you better stop kicking that goddamn door in or I’m gonna-” 2bDamned’s harsh voice stopped dead seeing it was Sanford. “Oh, Sanford.” and that’s when his gaze focused on the body he was holding. His eyes flicked back to Sanford, who just gave a solemn nod. No more words were exchanged as 2bDamned took the body away from him, with some subtle protests he’d admit. And with that, he went back down.
Now, he was alone. He had been alone before this but now it actually cut. He didn’t have the husk of his friend to give life too. But, he trusted the older man. He was like a father to him. He knew he’d do everything possible.
Deflated, and tired, Sanford took a hard sit down on his bedroll, suspended into the air with ropes to keep off the commonly bloodied floor. His eyes looked at his friend's bed.
He couldn’t help but start remembering all the days where he had to get up early and shake him awake. How much he’d whine and groan and leave to go have a morning smoke. Sanford always hated those things. Cancer sticks. There was enough death in this world, he didn’t need any help if he wanted to die. The thought made his gut twist, his stone gaze shifting to a sneer. He proved his point well enough. He’ll tell him he won when he wakes up.
For hours he waited, though this was how it normally was. It always took so long. He remembered when Hank took days to fully come back around. It was a tense few days. As much as he says the other was his friend, Hank was too. He just saw Hank as more of his own unit. But, him? They were always together. They fought together, drank together, trained together. They laughed together. Sanford couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. An honest laugh, a pure one. Though anything pure these days was for fairytales and memories. Of simpler days.
Simpler days where he didn’t have to worry about his friends dying in his arms.
God, it’s so quiet. So, so quiet. He’d wait here for hours before, why was it such a drag now? He wondered this as he lowered himself to lay down, a groan leaving his lips as he felt his bones resting, sighing. He just stared at the ceiling, blank and restless. A nap would do him well, clear his head. Though sleep was always a gamble. It was either a waking nightmare or no dream at all. That’s how it always was. Always. He hated it.
He let himself go weak, for just this moment, eyelids drooping as he drifted off to a somber, restless sleep.
Distant curses and steps swam in the empty void that he had been suspended in, for as long as he could tell he didn’t know. His breath was slow, even, calm. And that’s when something harsh grabbed him, and shook him, albeit somewhat gently. It was enough to startle him. Sanford took a deep breath as he sat up, knife pressed up against the person's chest. “Easy there, don’t bite the hand that feeds you..” 2bDamned’s voice filled his head, and he calmed down, sighing. “Don’t do that..” he muttered. His body felt hot and sticky, and he had a tremble in him.
Sanford rose up, stretching and rolling his shoulders. “How is he?” he asked. 2bDamned tensed a little, and Sanford noticed. His eyes narrowed, turning to him fully. “How. Is. He?” he reiterated.
2bDamned sighed in a deflated tone, as if he were ashamed. “Sanford, I’m sorry to say this, but we don’t have enough to bring him back. I could try with what I have but, chances are he’ll be in agony..” he explained, solemnly. Sanford stood there in a befuddled silence, staring at the man. His shocked and tight lipped frown was quaking as he felt a chuckle rising in his chest, till it came out in a long laugh. A painful, fake laugh, that made Sanford wheeze and lean against the wall, coughing. “This is the worst time to start joking around y’know! You’re almost as bad as Hank with that!!” he said between choked snickers, though he couldn’t ignore the pain on his face.
“Sanford..” 2bDamned had not an ounce of amusement on his face. “You know I’m not one for jokes.” he brought a hand up to rest on his shoulder but Sanford shrugged it away, shoving past him to head down the stairs, fast, some part of him still thinking this to be a sick joke. That he’ll be standing there at the bottom just to laugh at the panic on his face.
But that didn’t happen.
Instead all he saw was the machines that allowed them to cheat, scattered papers, a frantic scene. And a body, laid calmly on a cot. He looked a lot like a friend. A friend he knew. He felt the color drain from his face, walking over and collapsing into the chair beside it, his eyes never left it. It was the very same body he’d brought here, just stripped and full of tubes and needles and wires. They’re all useless. They’re hurting him. Shaky hands came up to start pulling them all out. Not a single movement came from the cadaver that wasn’t from his doing. No lively movements.
Sanford could hear the steps, but he didn’t turn his head to face him. He just stared, silently. As did the other living soul that still remained. “...I’ll give you some time..” he said, before returning back up. Sanford didn’t say a word. He just stared, blankly at the body. Waiting for something.
Anything.
A sound. A whisper. A movement. Just something. Please God. Let there be anything.
The minutes ticked by slowly, Sanfords eyes felt dry by the time he eventually blinked, sucking in a breath. “You know…” his voice sounded so loud, cutting through the silence. “This is the quietest you’ve been in such a long time..” he choked out, his voice a whisper as he felt those tears coming again. He leaned against the cot, arms on the white bedsheets, long stained an off pink with the blood last spilled.
He tried to keep his breathing even, tried to close his eyes and think of something else but it all just came crashing down. His breath caught and he felt that pain in his heart, spreading outward. He let his head fall onto his arms, and that’s when his shattering poker face broke into a flood of human agony, his sobs loud and grating, screaming into his arms as his eyes poured out the sadness he’d been keeping in. Nails dug into skin as he shook hard, his breath ragged and labored as he didn’t even try to hold himself together anymore.
He was dead. Now and forever. He was gone. Every second now he was slipping farther and farther away from him. The thought made him want to puke. There was nothing he could do but sit there and break down. For the first time in a long time, his chest hurt so badly. It stung and ripped and bled for his fallen brother. And every thought in his head just made it sting more. Sting harder. He cried, screaming, a bellow of pain and rage leaving his lips. His voice hurt. He hadn’t been this loud in so long. He hadn’t felt emotion like this in so long.
His best friend was dead and he wasn’t even strong for him. He felt guilty. He felt wrong. He could have stopped this. He could’ve taken that knife. He could’ve taken it. He knew he could’ve. Maybe if it was him instead, then he wouldn’t be dead. He’d be here. He’d be here to call him stupid. To crack jokes. To make puns. He felt alone. So alone. He missed the smell of tobacco and gunpowder.
He looked at the body, a fear he’d never felt before rising in his stomach. He stood up fast, backing away. That wasn’t his friend. That was a corpse. He took another few steps, knocking things over, staring wide eyed at the body. A body. It wasn’t him, it never was. He wouldn’t lay there like that. He would never. He made a break for the stairs, scaling up them and out the door, he needed a walk. He needed to clear his head. The words 2bDamned shouted at him was nothing more than a passing breeze whistling in his ears.
He kept walking. Walking and walking and walking. He could feel the sweat running down his body, cold, it made him shiver. He felt tired. He WAS tired. He forgot just how draining it was to cry. To feel genuine loss. He’d become so numb to death but this one was such a slap in the face. A backhand to his soul. He knew the world was cruel but that was his friend. You couldn’t just kill him like that. He thought he was unstoppable, that THEY were unstoppable.
He was wrong, he supposed.
~~~~~~
It’s been some time since D***** had died. Sanford still felt wrong. Training solo felt wrong. Learning combat on his own felt wrong. He’d been slipping up more. His mind was a buzz as he sat there, letting Hank patch him up. He was rough but, he couldn’t blame the guy. Man didn’t have a soft bone in his body. He just laid there dead, feeling the gauze soak up the warm blood that dripped from his wounds.
And that’s when he heard it. “I’m sorry”. He felt an anger in his chest, standing up strong, making Hank back up. “You’re sorry?” he reiterated. “About what?” he asked. Hank was confused. “About D-” he was cut off. “Don’t say his name..” Sanford muttered through clenched teeth. Hank started to become defensive. “What the fuck? He was MY friend too asshole, you’re not the only one that gets to be sad-”
“YES I AM.” Sanford yelled. He was seeing red. “YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO DIE AND NOT WAKE UP. YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO HOLD HIS BODY. HE WAS MY FRIEND. MINE. YOU CHEAT DEATH EVERY FUCKING DAY. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO BE SAD. TO GET ANGRY. TO FEEL CHEATED. SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH, BEFORE I RIP THAT JAW OFF MYSELF.” Sanford couldn’t stop the words that came from his mouth, nor did he have it in him to stop himself from punching Hank square in the chest.
It did nothing to the man of course, but he kept punching. Landing hits, screaming as he did, and all Hank did was stand there. It made him angrier, punching harder, gritting his teeth as he kept going. His hits got weaker and weaker as he felt his anger leave him, body starting to shake as he left one last punch, barely even a tap, collapsing onto the dirty ground. He started to sob again, weeping quietly as he sat there, crushed. He couldn’t feel the searing heat of the wound he’d just reopened, nor did he notice Hank walking away, awkwardly, to go grab somebody more emotionally available than he was.
2bDamned stood in front of him, an unamused but yet sympathetic look on his face. “Alright, get up..big boys don’t cry on the ground.” he held out a hand for Sanford to take but he pushed it away, staggering to his feet on his own. He sat back down, sniffling still though he was trying to rope himself together again. He said nothing as 2bDamned ripped off the rest of the bandages and began to sew him back up. “You know, I’ve lost a lot of good ones like him in my days. And although it hurts to see them go, you have to pick yourself up at some point. A crying man is a dead man out here. And I know you aren’t a dead man, right?” 2bDamned nudged him. Sanford could only nod.
“Alright. Now lay back, this is gonna hurt..” he brought out that usual sickening paste that healed them up quickly, and Sanford grimaced, but laid back. 2bDamned slathered it on, and Sanford stomached the stinging he felt on his skin. “I don’t break this out unless it’s needed. Hank’s got a big fight to get too and you have to cover the back end of the headquarters, got it? There’s some guys coming and you’ll need to get them out of here before they find anything..” he explained. The bubbling paste was making quick work of the knife wound he’d gotten fighting a grunt. Before that would’ve never happened to him. Never in one thousand years. What happened to him?
He’ll have to think about that later, though. Once it all fizzled away Sanford got up and went to grab all that he needed. Shoving some clips and some truck keys into his pocket, grabbing a nice sized automatic and a few knives. “I’ll be back before you know it..” he muttered, stopping before he turned to leave. He grabbed...his...pack of cigarettes, stashing them away with a lighter before finally going. He didn’t care about the look he got.
Sanford drove on desolate roads for miles, slowing for just a moment to light a cigarette. That comforting smell of tobacco hit his nose as he inhaled deeply, the smoke hugging his lungs in a sickening embrace as he drove with one hand. He coughed hard as he kept driving, but sucked down another inhale of the burning fumes as he drove. It calmed his nerves. It made him feel better. He cold see their cars coming close, and flicked the butt of the smoke out the window as he reached back and grabbed his gun.
Rolling the window down further he began to open fire, aiming for their tires. They of course began to shoot back, and Sanford swerved to get them to miss more, still shooting at their hubcaps. He hit a good few, some of the grunt-filled tanker trucks swerving and breaking through the rusted and rotting railings of the highway they were on, plummeting to the sands below. For the few that remained he gripped the wheel tight, trying to make a risky move as he yanked the wheel to the left, swerving hard and smashing up against one of the trucks, right up against it as he started shooting. Grunts and agents smashed through the windows and attacked him, ripping at him though he just kept firing, kicking them all back. He could see the sandy hills just underneath them and started to ram right into the trucks. His truck was stronger than theirs.
Swearing under his breath he took his spare pistol out, the one his friend used to carry, shooting at the people still in the truck before unloading into the windows, shooting the drivers and watching them swerve out. The tail end of the thicker truck whipped back and hit him square in the drivers side.
The trucks exploded and caused his to flip, hitting face down onto the roof and sliding, taking Sanford with it. He had flipped himself over into the back, using the seats as a cushion though the door had caved in and cut him deep across his midriff and chest. He was already bleeding pretty hard. He wheezed, eyes shutting tight and hands coming up to try attempting to push himself together. His eyes rolled in pain, wheezing out. He grunted through gritted teeth as he kicked at the door, breaking it off with each solid kick, before the black sky was there to greet him. He brought himself up and out, falling down the side and wrapping his arms around himself, looking around. He was far out, too far out. He couldn’t walk back at this distance, he’d die before he got there.
He turned around and started to go towards the burning wreckage of the enemy trucks. Maybe he could salvage something, anything. He dragged his feet as he walked, looking down on occasion, his hands and arms were so red and hot. He was leaving a trail. He chuckled breathily to himself, and kept walking. He could see something, something in the distance. His tired eyes widened at the sight of the figure, waving at him, ushering him to come closer. It was him. “Deimos!!” he yelled, taking a running start towards him, letting go of his hold on himself as he started to run. The sight of him didn’t seem to get closer, but he kept going.
It felt like he was fading before his eyes, feet falling faster as he kept running, panicked. Deimos turned around, starting to walk away, and Sanford cried out. “No!! Don’t go!!” he was reaching the end of the highway. Turn around you idiot. But he was there. Sanford tried to reach out and grab him but he felt the ground underneath him stop holding him, and his eyes glanced down at the sands far below him, he was falling. He tried to scream for his brother in arms but he couldn’t make it out, he was losing consciousness. His world was swimming in a black haze, a dull ringing in his ears. He was unconscious by the time he hit the sand.
He could feel the sand in his wounds, groaning weakly as he cracked his eyes open. A thin layer of sand speckled his body, soaking up the blood that still dribbled from his wounds in thin, weak spurts. His limbs were so heavy, it was so hard to breathe. He sucked in harsh breaths, forcing the air into his lungs, wheezing. His head was spinning. He tried to get up but was met with horrible pain, yelling weakly as he stopped attempting, shutting his eyes tight.
He was so fucking tired. He just wanted to sleep. God, sleep sounded so good. He didn’t have it in him to open his eyes again. His breathing was so shallow.
“Hey...hey get up man..” he felt a hand on his shoulder. And Sanford bristled. “I can’t..” he muttered. It was true. He couldn’t get up.
“Not with that attitude! Come on, I can’t go forward alone you know..” the voice pressed again, nudging him. “It hurts too much..” Sanford admitted weakly.
“You? Giving up? I thought I’d never see the day. Come on man. We got things to do, people to shoot!” the voice laughed, he could feel fingers poking his cheeks. “I want to get up..” he could feel the need to cry but he didn’t have enough water in him to do so.
“Somebody’s lazy today huh? Are you restin easy down there?” he could feel a kick in his side, and Sanford choked a sob. “Please..stop..” he whispered, defeated and pitiful.
“2bDamned’s gonna have a field day once he finds out you’re sleeping on the job like this..” the voice was getting louder. Sanford tried to get up, and managed to sit up, screaming at the ache in his body but it was short lived as his elbows buckled and he fell back again, hissing in pain.
“You almost had it! Where’s my strong friend at?” Sanford felt something in him snap as he cried out in pain and anger. “Stop!! Please!!” he yelled. “You’re dead..please…” he whispered, sucking in a breath, exasperated, god he was exhausted. He was dead. Deimos was dead. And he had been for a long, long time now. He stared at the empty, black sky, trying to move but all his squirming did was open his wounds up more. He cried weakly as he realized he was trapped there. The sands were rolling on him, slowly, deathly slowly. He sobbed, tearless, he was too dehydrated to cry.
“Take me too..” he whispered. “Please..” he was begging. “I can’t..” he closed his eyes. “I can't, I can’t..” he gasped.
“I..” his voice was wavering. His eyes were getting so heavy, just like his arms and his legs. He couldn’t move his head anymore.
“I….I...I won’t…” he mumbled, he could see a figure above him, his vision too cloudy and murky for him to really see its shape. But it was a familiar figure, a friendly one, holding out a hand, waiting for him to take it.
“Come on, get up..” Deimos said, and Sanford closed his eyes...