Chapter Text
Four
"I've got four guys on me. I'm on the upper deck and I'm screwed."
Billy was never scared. He did backflips hundreds of feet in the air with an ear to ear grin plastered on his face. But in that moment, on that ship, he was fucking terrified. He was never proficient in maths at school, but even he could tell that the odds of getting out of this alive weren’t in his favor.
“Who are you?!” “He’s up there, at the top!” Fuck. He made his way down to the deck because it was only a matter of time before the guards reached his location. Billy ran as fast as he could and hid the best he could, ducking behind lawn chairs and anything that could camouflage his neon yellow wetsuit, which he cursed repeatedly. Crouching behind a chair, a flash of movement caught his eye a split second too late.
One guard rushed at him holding a large, threatening-looking wooden baton. His swings were predictable, allowing him to dodge the weapon nimbly, while getting in a few punches of his own. Billy’s success was short-lived, however, as the man grabbed him by his suit and threw him in the nearby pool. Of fucking course there is a pool on a yacht. Rich twats, he reflected. By the grace of God, or Tupac, as he would argue, he made it back onto the deck without being drowned in a pool… on a yacht… in the ocean…
"Four, where are you at?"
One of Billy’s attackers tackled him into a wall and grabbed his hair, slamming his face against the glass. The guard yanked the back of his wetsuit and he somersaulted backwards to absorb the blow. He wasn't fully able to right himself, his feet scrambling beneath him as he tried to regain his balance. A rough kick to the chest left him sprawled on his back. Shit, he wasn't equipped to deal with this – skyscrapers he could handle, but combat with someone nearly twice his size on a contained vessel was a different story, especially when he had already taken some good hits.
"One, please."
Billy’s assailant kicked him over and over again, in the stomach, in the back, anywhere as he wriggled out of range. Shockwaves of electricity reverberated throughout his aching body as ribs cracked under a steel toed boot. Reeling from the white heat in his sides, he found himself being dragged backwards by his ankle, fingernails leaving marks on the deck as he attempted to cling onto the ground that he made. The larger man flipped him onto his back, wrapping his hands tightly around Billy's neck, squeezing until his eyes were about to pop out of his head. He choked and struggled to pry the man’s hands away from his throat with no success.
"Four?"
One must've heard his gasps through the comms, the concern in his voice screeching through Billy’s earpiece. He had to keep fighting. Darkness dotted his vision, his strength beginning to ebb as air was squeezed from his lungs. If One was coming, he just needed to stay alive until he arrived.
Growing up in one of the shittier areas of South London, Billy was no stranger to brawling. His combat style was not particularly conventional, but it got the job done in most scraps. And he knew that the only way he would make it out of this particular scrap, was if he bent the rules, something that he just happened to be quite gifted at, given his previous occupation. With one swift kick to the bullocks, he momentarily disarmed his attacker. Glorious air rushed into his lungs as he gasped, chest heaving with effort and exhaustion.
Before Billy could make his escape, however, the guard had recovered from his cheap shot and was angrier than ever. The man tackled him back to the ground and struck him across the temple, stars entering his vision. Is that the Big Dipper? he mused dazedly.
The larger man’s face distorted in anger as Billy moved away from him and stomped on his left ankle. Blinding white light consumed his vision as fire engulfed his now shattered joint. Someone was screaming, and if they could please knock it off, he would greatly appreciate it. A ragged sob broke from his throat and he slowly realized that he was the one making that god-awful sound. There was no doubt that his team heard him, even if they weren’t listening through their comms. Reflexively, he lunged to grab his foot, but was stopped as his attacker straddled his chest and started in on his face again.
"Help me!"
Billy’s attacker beat him so ferociously that he lost track of his surroundings. Time and space ceased to exist and he was just a raw, exposed nerve. Agony radiated from his pinky toe all the way up to his hair. His stomach twisted in knots, and he didn’t know if it was from the hits he had taken, the obviously broken ribs, or the sinking feeling that he might not make it off this ship. The thumping of his heart pounded in his ears, urging him to do more, to fight harder. And he did – Billy attempted to wriggle out from under the man, but to no avail. It only seemed to fuel the man's vitriol.
Billy was transported to his childhood, back to bullies beating on him for lunch money he never had, before he learned that there was strength in not being the burliest boy in the school yard. He felt just as helpless then as he did now; with his speed and agility gone, he was nothing more than a crawling, limping target. Billy struggled and flailed as his attacker hauled him up (he would be staying right there, thank you very much).
"Give me a hint, buddy."
The guard slammed Billy’s face into the metal pole of the swimming pool ladder. His nose caught the pole at the perfect angle and snapped, warm, coppery liquid gushing onto his lips. His brow split as it made contact with the pole, blood running into his eye and nearly blinding him. Billy tried to haul himself up by the pool ladder in the hopes of crawling away, but his assailant was quicker – he took advantage of his straight arm grasping the pole and brought his foot down with all his might. The bone snapped clear in half, echoing over the comms.
Billy howled at the top of his lungs, consumed by the fresh agony of yet another broken bone. He cradled his arm tightly to his chest as he curled in on himself: another lesson he had learned from his primary school bullies. Just stay alive! he screamed at himself, as if it were only that simple. Guilt ate away at him. What if he had clogged the comms, what if they were putting the mission on hold to get to him, what if they had already left him and were now being forced to listen as he was slowly beaten to death? What if, what if, what if …
"It's a big ship. Say something, pal."
Billy threw no more punches, he no longer attempted to squirm out of the man's grasp as he sat on his chest yet again. The guard attacked him with such animal intensity, both fists slamming into his face again and again. The edges of his vision darkened, his grasp on reality fading with each hit. He managed to mumble a response.
"He's gonna kill me."
Try as he might, Billy knew that he could not stop his assailant. Memories of Six’s ‘funeral’ pulled him away for just a moment. He thought about how they wouldn't even have a body to dump over the side of the boat, how he wouldn't get to say goodbye to them, or them to him. Javi and Amelia would cry, Blaine and One would be at each other's throats. Camille would be fine. They all would, eventually. How long would One wait to replace me? he wondered. He wanted to say he didn't care, that they could replace him tomorrow. But he didn't want to go, not yet. He was too fucking scared.
Billy was wrenched into the present as the guard grabbed his hair and slammed the back of his head violently into the deck. It was then that he noticed the grotesque amount of blood on the man's knuckles, and he became all too aware of the tears streaming down his face and a mixture of snot and blood running from his nose. Funny, that… he didn’t even remember crying. Billy’s vision narrowed even further as his grasp on consciousness loosened. He was so tired and his body hurt so very badly. Maybe if he just closed his eyes, he wouldn't be in so much pain. He whispered his final plea.
"Look, Bond, you gotta get here fast."
Billy did not know that One was on the opposite end of the ship, gun in hand, searching for his youngest teammate. He did not know that One's heart resided firmly in his throat. He did not know that One was narrowly choking back vomit listening to the savage beating. And he did not know that One was trying his very hardest to swallow his guilt at being responsible for Four’s agony, for his death.
"I'm coming, kid. Just hold on till I get there."
Now that message reached Billy. One is coming, One is not leaving me, One will fix all of this. Billy smiled ever so slightly, but it was quickly wiped from his mess of a face. Maybe his smile made the man angry, maybe Billy had put up too much of a fight, maybe the man had burnt his toast that morning. He really hadn't the faintest idea. The man slammed his fist into his face over and over again, the last hit so forceful, his cheekbone splintered and a cry broke free from his damaged throat.
The man stood, towering over Billy, who made no move to rise. He lay on the deck gasping, blood sputtering from his erratically opening and closing mouth as he tried and failed to draw air into his lungs. Before he could even attempt to roll out of the way, the guard's foot came down on his body, kicking him like the football he would kick about his mum’s shitty council estate as a kid. The kicks that rained down on him quickly became stomps.
Billy tried to curl in on himself, he really did, but to no avail. A purposefully aimed stomp connected with his sternum and he let out an ungodly gasp as the air was forced from his lungs. His attacker noted his response, bringing his foot down again. He felt the bones and the cartilage give under such intense pressure. One last precise blow resulted in blinding agony and a resounding SNAP as his sternum was crushed, severing his last ties to consciousness. As the crack of his bone echoed in his bloodied ears, his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell boneless onto the deck, oblivious to the man who continued beating his lifeless form.