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Summary
“Nathan.” Sam kneels down in front of him. “Hey, look at me.”
Nathan obeys. Sam’s bloodied hand —Nathan’s blood, on him, jesus— holds awkwardly out in front of himself. He darts from that to Sam’s face, which is contorted into a fully blossoming worry now.
“I— uh— I think I might’ve hit my head on the way down,” Nathan says.
“You think?” Sam laughs a little, the anxiety thick in his voice.
———
“Pleasure doing business with you?” Nate calls to their backs.
Omar glances over his shoulder. “With you Drakes? Absolutely not.”
The three of them turn around the bend, their shadows slowly shrinking against the street lights before dissipating. Sam waits a couple moments to ensure they’re not coming back before holstering the gun. He releases a long breath and relaxes his shoulders, only just realizing how tense he was.
Or: In November of 2015, Scotland, Nathan Drake takes a heavy hit to the head during the escape from St. Dismas Cathedral. In July of 1988, Cuenca, Ecuador, Samuel Drake and his little brother walk right into a trap.