Work Text:
Booker wants to laugh when Joe almost stumbles into a tree in the darkness in front of him, but the exhaustion weighs leaden in his bones and the past mission pulls the corners of his mouth down with sad certainty. He is content with a snort, which doesn't even sound amused, just wounded and painful.
Every one of his steps carries the weight of the innocent lives they could not save today. His hands are covered in the blood of the children who were killed a few hours ago, the sight of tears smeared faces and empty eyes has burned itself into his mind - because they made a mistake.
It was supposed to be a relatively simple mission: free the detained young women, men and children, and kick the human traffickers into Tartarus. But something went wrong. They made a shitty mistake and now the victims - people who had families who prayed for their deliverance - are dead and the world is no better place.
Booker wants to throw the responsibility of saving as many lives as possible on the ground and trample on it at times like these because he doesn't know how the hell to live with the knowledge that he let people die he could have saved.
The cries for help still echo in his ears, as well as the gunfire and the screams. Pale, non-existent fingers cling to his equipment, begging him to take them back to their families, and Booker almost chokes because his throat is suddenly too tight to breathe normally.
"The tree wasn't there two seconds ago," Joe says in an attempt to loosen the depressed mood that has settled over the four immortals like a threatening storm cloud. But his voice sounds dull and flat and when he straightens the scimitar on his back, his gloved hands shake.
Still, Booker steps in immediately to prevent Joe's attempt to come to nothing and although the words feel like broken glass in his mouth, Booker brings them out. “I bet it was just waiting to hop in your path. So that you would literally be a blockhead."
Joe doesn't laugh, but the grateful look he gives him over his shoulder is enough to take the pressure off Booker's throat a little. At least for now. “Exactly. This forest is dangerous.”
“I heard that beeches are supposed to be particularly smart,” Booker says, straightening the straps of his backpack, which dig into his shoulders as if their failure would make his backpack even heavier.
"Then I'll keep an eye on beeches," Joe says and the weak, narrow smile on his face is atypical for him and his broad grin with the radiance of the damn sun, but Booker doesn't blame him and clings to the much smaller version of this smile.
They've been wandering through the forest for two hours after rushing to leave the place on their mission after they screwed up. It's freezing, the wind feels like little blades in Booker's face, and to top it off, it looks like it is going to start to snow soon. Booker has hated snow since his first death in the icy winter of Russia and after the complete failure today he is not exactly eager to deal with snow.
The darkness has long since settled over them, but the full moon gives them enough light. Booker has no idea what time it is, and he doesn't bother to check. What does time mean when there are people whose time ended today because of them? While they are still walking around and alive despite the bullets that hit them?
At the head of their formation, Andy doesn't seem to be deciding to take a break anytime soon. Her steps are determined and harsh, though she's still limping slightly from the force of the grenade that hit her and Joe.
While her lower body was most affected and it was sheer luck that none of her legs were completely torn off, Joe had been hit mostly in the upper body. His jacket is torn, and his sweater is barely there and dark from the blood and remnants of the intestines that had previously oozed from his open abdominal wall. He protested when Nicky handed him his jacket on the grounds that his hoodie was thicker than Joe's barely existing sweater, but he put it on. And that is sorely needed.
Even Booker is already freezing in his intact, well-filled jacket and the thought of just trudging through the forest in a sweater gives goosebumps to his goosebumps. At least the numbness has disappeared from his left arm, which lurked there since one of the criminal bastards rammed a knife into his shoulder.
However, this does not lessen his exhaustion and if he is so tired, it must be worse for Joe and Andy, who suffered the most severe injuries on this mission. Without a word, he watches as Joe stumbles more and more over roots or branches, which are actually easy to see in the moonlight. And even if Andy continues to keep her tight pace, Booker reads in the way her shoulders hunch that she is drained too. There are still a few miles to go to the place, where the hut they are aiming for to gather from today's loft, is. At least if Booker's brain hasn't completely shut down yet.
There is almost nothing to be heard from behind him and if Booker had less faith in his team, his family, he would be of the firm belief that Nicky would not be walking behind him at all. As he always does, he brings up the rear this night too because he prefers to cover their backs. And although Booker doesn't hear anything from Nicky other than the occasional cracking of branches or the sounds of his weapons, he feels a little better knowing that Nicky's watchful eyes are on them.
When Joe stumbles so hard that he has to support himself on a tree trunk within his reach to avoid falling, Nicky glides past Booker more gracefully than he should be able to with all the equipment strapped to him.
One hand curves gently around Joe's neck, the other carefully grips his upper arm and he asks Joe a question so quietly that Booker can't hear him.
"Boss," Booker calls to signal Andy that they have stopped briefly, and the warrior immediately comes to a halt and turns around to them.
“We can't take a break. The fucking bastards who are still alive could be on our heels and I want to get to the fucking hut before the snow sets so that it can cover our tracks,” she says impatiently, but in her old eyes the hopelessness is visible that Booker currently prefers to drown with vodka.
"Andy, you have to rest," Nicky says quietly, without letting go of Joe, who no longer leans on the trunk, but practically clings to Nicky, even if he tries to look as if it doesn't cause him any problems to keep his footing. "Major injuries take their toll and it is not advisable to ignore your body's signals."
The fact that he speaks so steadfastly and confidently is in stark contrast to the blood that covers most of his face like a grotesque mask. Head wounds have a habit of bleeding like a stabbed pig, and although Nicky's cut was relatively small and healed quickly, the residue is all too obvious.
“It's not wise to take a break while these fuckers might be after us. We pretty much ruined their day because they lost their hostages through us and if they want revenge, I don't feel like dying in this motherfucking forest.”
The effect of her words does not go unnoticed: a muscle in Nicky's jaw twitches, Joe lowers his head as if he wants to hide and Booker can't suppress a jerk of his hands. The truth of Andy's words is like salt in a wound that cannot heal. And it shows Booker how much damage they have done today instead of helping.
The innocent are dead and those who deserve to die may hunt them down because they lost their wares to the immortals.
If Booker's stomach wasn't empty, he might throw up. Purely on principle.
Nicky doesn't look satisfied, but he doesn't argue, and Booker believes this is just because of Andy's demeanor, which is so crooked as if she could feel all her millennia to the core.
They start moving again and Booker is tempted to hold his backpack in front of him to protect himself from the razor-sharp wind that makes his eyes water. After a few meters, Joe sways slightly in front of him, but before Booker can move to help him, Nicky is already at Joe's side.
“Tesoro, you are tired. Give your body a break,” Booker hears him say.
Joe makes an indefinable hand gesture that was originally supposed to be a wave aside sign. "I'm fine," he mumbles, blinking like an owl. Booker, who knows what a deep sleeper Joe is, grimaces sympathetically. “I can go on in five minutes. Just five mnts...” The last sentence is so mumbled that Booker can only understand the content from the context.
Five minutes later, Nicky carries Joe piggyback, his own backpack on the front of his chest. Joe's faint protests are silent now, his head resting on Nicky's right shoulder and his curls brushing Nicky's cheek regularly in the rhythm of his steps.
How Nicky doesn't even falter despite his sword, the two backpacks, the sniper rifle and Joe with his scimitar, is a mystery to Booker, but it is very likely that Joe is the reason. And this tender consideration from Nicky for the love of his life on his back causes a bittersweet pain in Booker's chest.
He breathes on, however, and is relieved that the memories of his wife and babies are not surfacing in addition to today's shit and that the pain goes away as soon as it comes.
Booker really doesn't begrudge Joe and Nicky their relationship, despite the occasional touch of envy, for the two never behave cruelly, never rub their love under anyone's nose, and embrace everyone in their aura of joy. Booker is one of those people lucky enough to experience love from them. In the form of the jokes and hugs from Joe, the derisive comments and headbutts from Andy and the barely visible smiles and blankets that Nicky carefully puts over him when Booker has drunk himself into a coma again.
He is not alone in the sinking ship that the world seems to be from time to time. But sometimes it feels like that.
Because Nicky now carries Joe on his back, he has taken his position in their formation and even if Booker is not often at the tail, he has nothing to complain about. Having no one behind you has the advantage of being able to think about it without having to pay attention to how you appear to the outside world.
It's not the first time Nicky has carried Joe because he's too tired, and Booker has seen it the other way around, albeit not very often. Nicky doesn't retire until he's made sure they're safe and everyone is fine, but when he was injured so badly that he couldn't walk alone and they had to leave, Booker got the chance to watch Joe carrying Nicky.
The familiarity with which the two deal with each other always tells of the length of their relationship without needing words and it is equally fascinating and frightening: fascinating because they are the only people in this world who have been together for centuries and have reached a depth in their connection that no one will ever reach and scary because Booker doesn't want to find out what happens when one of them ultimately dies and leaves the other behind.
Nicky's lowered voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he is happy about it, preferring to concentrate on something other than his head and what is in it. "Andy, please wait.”
Her leader walks two more meters before she complies with Nicky's request and turns her head to them with a raised eyebrow in question. "What is it?"
Instead of answering her, Nicky turns to Booker and the request in his bright eyes is so clear that, for once, he doesn't have to put it into words for Booker. "If that goes wrong, you'll pick up my remains," Booker grumbles so quietly that Andy can't hear him as he walks past Nicky.
Andy takes note of his approach in silence, but then rolls her eyes when he stops next to her and takes his backpack from his back to put it on his chest like Nicky. "Fuck off, Book. I don't need to be carried.”
Andy's hard shell is easy to see through with centuries of practice and Booker sees her exhaustion as clearly as if it was broad daylight and the lines of tiredness had been circled with a marker on Andy's face. It's no wonder Nicky spotted the signs long before Booker. When it comes to their family, he never misses anything.
“I know you don't need to be carried. You don't have to tell me,” Booker replies casually, but makes no move to put his backpack back on its proper spot. "But we both know who wins when Nicky has a say in this matter, and what we need least at the moment is a discussion with that stubborn man." They both know what Booker is doing, but Andy doesn't address it and Booker pretends not to notice that she got it. "So, it would only be beneficial if we could avoid these problems by letting me carry you, even if you don't need help, right?"
As Booker follows her gaze backwards, Nicky's focus is not on them, but on the sleeping Joe, whom he carefully pushes higher on his back to get a better grip on his legs. But it is no secret that Nicky was still following their exchange closely.
With a low growl, Andy lets out a sharp gush of air through her nose, which rises into the sky in clouds of steam. “For fuck's sake, fine. But if you drop me, I'll break your nose.”
Booker coughs a strange kind of a dead laugh. "Got it." It's not the first time he's carried Andy either, during missions there is no time to make out who is carrying whom with which injury and when she climbs onto his back, he finds her warmth a little comforting.
He and Nicky continue their way together and the night is only filled with the sounds of their breathing and steps, as well as Andy's instructions when they have to change direction or go off course. After about fifteen minutes, Andy stops saying anything and Booker feels her cheek against his neck. He carefully tightens his grip on her legs, although he has to juggle a little with his own equipment, but Andy just mumbles something incomprehensible on the back of his neck - a threat perhaps - but does not return to the land of the waking.
Andy, her equipment and Booker's things are not exactly light, but in his life, he has had to carry much heavier things and so the extra load does not cause him any particular problems. Now nobody gives them directions any more, but each of them has memorized the route in case of an emergency, although none of them expected to have to implement this plan at all.
How quickly one can be wrong.
They walk side by side in silence, but take turns looking at their valuable cargo at regular intervals to make sure Andy and Joe are still sleeping and not threatening to slide down.
So far, Booker has not disturbed the silence, but now it is beginning to dig into his guts and the silence is filled with the crying of the children they disappointed today and the pleading of the young adults from whom they took the chance of a new life.
"What-" He finally blurts out abruptly, staring at the fallen tree trunk that he is carefully crossing so as not to have to look at Nicky. “What's the point behind all of this? We haven't done anything better today. Innocent people have died because of us and we haven't even managed to neutralize all of these fucking human traffickers. And if we can't even save people, what are we doing it for?"
Fucking shit, saying it out loud doesn't lessen the pressure on his heart in the slightest and he snorts disparagingly in anger at himself and his team and the assholes of the world while his eyes burn with unshed tears.
When there is no answer, he manages to look at Nicky. He chews thoughtfully on his lower lip, sweat runs down his face despite the coldness and Booker just doesn't push him because he knows that Nicky naturally takes his time with his answers. Only today, Booker would prefer to dispel the oppressive silence as quickly as possible.
“To make a difference,” Nicky finally says, and this answer sounds so clichéd like a line from a movie that Booker wants to laugh derogatorily but can't because the dead keep him from doing it. "Just because a cloud has moved in front of the sun doesn't mean the sun is no longer there, Booker."
“Well, the people, the children from today, will never see the sun again, so it had no use for anyone. The only difference we made today was taking loved ones from over ten families who could have been saved if we hadn't made a mistake.”
“It is human nature to make mistakes, they are inevitable. The only thing that changes is how we deal with them.”
Booker presses his jaw so tight that his teeth grind because it all hurts so much - knowing that they are to blame for innocent deaths when they should have been their salvation and their deeds are but a drop in the ocean. “How can we deal with it? How should we live with that? With the innocent we killed with our actions? We disappointed them.”
And the certainty that they will disappoint even more in the future is devastating.
"You can look at it that way," Nicky says quietly. "Or see what we give to the people we fight for."
“You mean death and suffering? That we took away the chance of salvation they clung to?”
"Hope," Nicky replies gently, and in that moment, Booker realizes that it's not sweat clearing paths through the dried blood and dirt on Nicky's face. It's tears.
"Hope?" Booker presses out hoarsely, fighting the urge to just lie down and drown in all the sadness that too often crashes over them like a wave.
“Even if innocent souls have died today because we made a mistake, we gave them the hope of being saved. Instead of fear in their hearts, they died with hope, and were able to find some peace in a situation of fear and pain.” Nicky pauses to duck under a low-hanging branch, his sword scraping the ground. “In all those we save and whom we help, we light a spark of hope that something can change in the bad conditions of this world. And good deeds often inspire other people, who in turn motivate others to make a difference and act.”
“It's hard to be so predictive when you have children's blood on your hands,” Booker says with the taste of bile in his mouth.
Nicky inclines his head in agreement. “We will always carry the weight of those we could not save today, there is no doubt about that. But it is important not to forget our mistakes and to remember those we could not save in order to do better in the future. To do good.”
When trying to do something supposedly good feels like that, Booker can do without it, but he doesn't say that. Each of them knows this feeling and after each failure it becomes increasingly difficult to endure. “But how can you continue after something like that? How can you go on when the sacrifices of the constant struggle for good are chasing you at every turn? Are haunting you in your sleep and lay like an invisible weight on your shoulders?”
Nicky takes a deep breath and slowly exhales with his eyes closed before looking at Booker and the deep pain in his eyes mirrors Booker's inside. “You get up again. No matter what pulls you down and depresses you and no matter how long it takes, you get up again.”
When, to their chagrin, the snowfall sets in while they still have a long way to go and Booker's legs are burning with the strain and every muscle in his body is screaming for a break and recovery, Nicky increases his pace and, to his irritation, integrates himself in front of Booker.
The confusion doesn't last long, however, because when the merciless wind blows the stinging snowflakes in his face, he realizes that Nicky is going in front of him to shield him a little from the snow storm, because he knows that Booker has his difficulties with snow and cold and associated memories.
The urge to cry becomes overwhelming.
With a strained grunt, Booker crosses a small stream and cannot suppress a deep sigh when he makes out the outline of the hut that was their destination in front of them. Amazingly, Joe and Andy remained unresponsive the entire time, which really just shows how much they needed a break. And Booker, too, is convinced that he will soon collapse if he doesn't find something to lie down on.
The emotional and physical exertion of the last few hours takes its toll and Nicky's breathing is heavy and loud as he pries open the door of the hut and steps inside, a gun at the ready, while still balancing Joe safely on his back.
Only after his all-clear does Booker enter the hut after him. A small bed that looks as if it could collapse at any time stands in a corner, the rest of the room that the hut consists of is empty except for an equally fragile-looking chair and a tiny table.
Without having to consult, they carefully lay Joe and Andy on the bed and while Booker first strips Andy and then Joe off their jackets – the time to change their bloody clothes is later when they are definitely more awake - Nicky rummages around in their backpacks and pulls out several blankets, some of which they carefully drape over Joe and Andy.
They don't pay any attention to the chimney because they can't dare to lead any pursuers on their trail when the blizzard has stopped. Booker prays that the blankets and their body heat will last for the night.
"I'm so sick of it," Andy whispers husky without opening her eyes as Booker stretches and lifts the blanket over her. He brushes a strand of dark hair from her forehead and says: "I know."
Nicky nods slightly to him from his position, where he is crouching on the ground next to Joe. The shadows on his face suddenly show how old Nicky really is.
Booker wakes up to quiet, sobbed words and blinks disoriented, realizing that he somehow managed to doze off on the chair that miraculously holds his body weight. All of his limbs are vehemently protesting this position, but he is too exhausted to change it.
"I could have saved them,” it sounds in a choked, low voice from the only bed and Booker spots Joe's curls, which move with every word. "If I had only been a little faster, I could have saved the children."
"Shh, habibi , don't burden yourself with falsehoods." Nicky's folded figure on the floor next to the bed, as close as possible to Joe, looks just as comfortable as Booker's position on the chair. “Your heart is so big, and you feel so much passion for everyone in this world, but you couldn't have done anything today. None of us is to blame for what happened, even if it is not easy to accept it.”
"It hurts so much, Nicolo," Joe whispers, crying, and Booker closes his eyes resolutely to give them as much privacy as possible in this hut." It still hurts so much when we fail."
Now it's Nicky who says, “I know.” There is a barely audible kissing sound. “Try to sleep, my heart. I'm here."
Somehow, Booker's brain must have shut down after all, because the next thing he notices is the crackling of packaging and he stretches, moaning under the protesting creak of the chair, wondering how the hell he is able to move his head when his neck feels like it has been abused.
"Morning, Book,” Joe greets him from the bed, where he, Andy and Nicky are sitting close together and have the edible contents of their backpacks spread out in front of them. Joe definitely looks better than yesterday and is even chewing invigoratingly on a granola bar.
"Sorry, we didn't want to wake you," Nicky says with a small smile that doesn't remove the crease between his eyebrows because there are only cereal and protein bars and a few bags of trail mix that Andy has already snatched . Booker isn't exactly eager for such a loveless, poor breakfast either, but they don't have much to choose from.
"That only applies to the two of them." Andy waves a chocolate bar. “Get your ass over here, Book. We leave after breakfast.”
And Booker gets up.