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The small ‘click’ of a door opening across the base alerted Doc that the three men were back from a mission.
He had heard this sound many times beforehand, and he could tell which man had opened the door based on the way they came in. Sanford’s entrance was more collected and quiet, ushering the other two men in after the long hours of fighting they had to endure. Deimos’ was very much uniquely Deimos; very loud and fast-paced, quickly rushing in to “take a shit,” in his own words. He probably didn’t even have to. And Hank’s… Doc didn’t consider to memorize Hank’s.
But the click of the door came slower than normal. It was dragging. It was slow. It was cold and sweaty and hurt and tired.
Doc puffed. It was never a good thing when Hank made an entrance into their base.
He grabbed a small medkit from across the desk where he sat and stood up, shuffling to the other side of his office, where an operating table sat. He hadn’t been able to fully use it for a long time, and it made Doc long to use the skills he had acquired. He just wanted to rip a man apart and put him back together in the most horrific way possible, to make him suffer in the worst ways. It was some twisted form of stress relief, after all.
His eyes wandered around the room but quickly snapped to the door that sat across from him, a small clicking noise echoed across the walls. And slowly, in stepped the low, drown out steps of Hank J Wimbleton, carrying Deimos and Sanford on each of his shoulders, blacked to the ceiling.
“What happened, Wimbleton.”
“Long story,” Hank grumbled through the layers of bloodied and ripped cloth that lined his face, tossing the bodies on his shoulder carelessly into the corner where Doc sat, “Ambushed.”
“Did you complete the mission, at least?” Doc followed up, his eyes peering down at the other two. He could notice the abnormal amount of bullet wounds and stabs that filled up both of their bodies. Sanford even had holes go through them, fresh blood still dripping from the lacidations, bits and pieces of intestine coming out from his stomach. Deimos, on the other hand, was almost completely cut into three pieces, his head and torso barely hanging on by a thread of skin.
“Yeah. Could have been better. Could have gotten more.”
“Good,” Doc smirked, “You know what would happen if you let your entire team die and failed the assignments I give you three.”
Hank grunted, plopping down on the table beside Doc, towering over the other man with his immense size. “So? You gonna leave me to bleed out?”
“Oh, shut up. You look better than the others,” Doc snarked and slid off the table, picking up Deimos’ body. The small pieces of skin that were keeping his body together finally broke, and he ripped into two pieces, blood pouring all over Doc’s lower body.
“Shit,” He grumbled and picked up the other half of Deimos, cautious to not place his hands in any open wounds on his legs. There wasn’t as much of an amount there as there was on his upper body, especially around his chest, but he was still cautious; less damage was better than having scars from where his hand slipped and accidentally ripped off one of his legs. “Get Sanford. Meet me outside.”
With the command, Doc swiftly walked out of the office and began his walk to outside the base they were in. His lips curved into a small frown; he loved the feeling of control he had over the other three men. He loved telling the worthless excuses of human beings what to do, what to say, how to act, and everything else in between. He was just… exhausted. Constantly exhausted. And he hated that. At least, he worked for his power. And that’s what made him smile.
“You ever thought not bein’ as… cold to him?” Sanford said, kicking back his chair against the wall of their shitty budgeted “living room.” It was his and Deimos’ attempts to establish some kind of scenery, and Doc didn’t blame them; the base did look like hot shit. Still did, but it was a bit better. Like hot shit sprayed with $2 cheap perfume that they'd found from a dumpster halfway across town. “Like, maybe he’s just cold ‘cause you are, too.”
“He’s right,” Deimos spoke up, digging his face into the reheated, somehow canned pasta that Doc had thrown at him when he had whined for half an hour straight after he got revived by Doc for because he was “hungry as fucking shit,” and “Doc I don’t think you get how fucking hungry I am my stomach was completly ripped open this isn’t funny please just get me some shit I’m beggin’ you man.” Laughing it off wasn’t really helping, so Doc did what he had to.
“Sanford, get down. Can’t have your stitches popping,” Doc scolded, then immediately backtrack with, “I understand that. He just… Refuses to listen if I do it any other way.”
“Well!” Deimos excitedly shouted, standing up out of his seat from across the room where Doc sat, “We’re gonna give a man some respect!”
“Easier said than done,” Sanford grumbled, standing up as well. His eyes peered over to Doc and gave a soft, compliant smile. “I gotta go take a piss. Be back.”
“Me first, you bitch!”
“Not if I-”
“No running,” Doc interrupted sternly, his arms folding into one another, “Stitches.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Deimos dismissed, “Still gonna get there first though.”
“Let me-” Sanford looked back at Doc’s eyes piercing into his back and gave a small wink over to Deimos, “-Speedwalk over there.”
“Bet!” Deimos shouted, talking off in a sprint down the hall, Sanford quickly following. Their laughter echoed through the halls and rang into Doc’s ears. Doc leaned back onto the small, wooden table where Sanford was sitting beforehand, not bothering to yell at them to slow down; it was their choice at that point. He had other things to worry about in the meantime.
More specifically, Hank. He could sense that Hank would arise from the anesthesia that he had inflicted on him pre-surgery. His condition was good enough that he was able to stay alive, but worse enough that, if not treated properly, would end up in his death, which would cause Doc even more stress and work to do.
He groaned and lifted himself off the table's edge, and dragged his body towards his office. Did he really want to do this now? No. Did he have to? Of course he did. Doc hated what he did sometimes. It was draining work being a glorified babysitter for 3 of the most dangerous men in Nevada. But, he still had to do his duties, and if they did theirs, he was content.
Eventually, his body reached his office door, it slightly cracked open to allow the air to come through. Doc reached out and slowly opened the door, the light shining through the dimly lit room. He stepped in and flipped the light switch, letting the power kick on. It was quiet. Too quiet. Something was wrong. Doc stepped in and walked over to the operating table, letting off a small grunt of frustration when he saw the fact that Hank had escaped his bonds by physically ripping them off. The metal on the armrests were bent upwards, and the ties were lying on the floor right next to the chair.
“Of course he got out,” Doc mumbled, bending over to pick up the bonds, rubbing the leather with his thumb.
“I know you’re still around,” He called, not bothering to turn around to observe any other parts of the room, “You would never leave.”
There was only silence in response.
“... Hank.”
Still, only silence.
“...Hm. Now did he-”
And then he felt the cold metal of a pipe hit the back of his head. And the world faded slowly, the blackness drowning out the corners of his eyes and slowly overtaking his entire field of vision.
“-k just kinda… yeah. I came into that whole mess.”
“Of course you did-”
“FORD! HE’S UP!”
“Shit, he is!-”
“Hey Doc!” The voice spoke, the muffled nature of it slowly fading away with each word, “You’re uh- gonna be a lil’... pissed.”
“Let the man rest,” The other voice grumbled, slowly shifting Doc up off of wherever he was at. Doc’s eyes quickly darted around the room, his vision slowly starting to come back. He was in his office. They were, at least. The voice had sat him up onto the operating table, and now they were both sitting upright. Doc could slowly see the features of the other man, and recognized him as Sanford.
“Right, right…” The other mysterious voice trailed off. It finally came to Doc that the voice was Deimos. It was too high pitched and shrill to be Sanford’s or Hank’s, but deep enough to still be recognizable.
“F- Fuck…” Doc spoke, his hand reaching up for his head. It was throbbing horribly; he could feel his heartbeat from inside his head. His whole body felt heavy, and he felt like he was going to throw up at any second. “What-”
“Hank’s gone. He got out through the back.”
“Found ya like that too, so… probably was him too,” Deimos shouted from across the room, playing around with the office door, clearly bored and non observant.
“I threw bandages on the wound, too. They were pretty deep. Lotta blood.”
Doc lifted his hand up to feel where the bandages were, and in turn, the wound. The bandages were from the top of his skull to the back of his head, wrapping behind his ears. Doc let out a small smirk behind his mask. He could tell the “we” described by Sanford was mainly just Sanford. They were too much of a perfectionist’s wrapping to be someone like Deimos’ doing.
“That’s… Great,” Doc scoffed, placing his hand back down onto the table, “But I need to go get Hank.”
“You don’t need to do shit,” Sanford spoke, placing a hand on Doc’s shoulder, keeping him in place. “You’re not good right now.”
“Who the hell is going to get Wimbleton, then?” Doc asked, shakily holding himself up onto the table. His head throbbed even harder, and his knees were completely weak, almost unable to support his entire body.
“Us!” Deimos shouted.
“Us,” Sanford reaffirmed.
“No. You can’t. Hank wouldn’t listen to both of you.”
“He could!”
“Not happening.” Doc mumbled, slowly brushing away Sanford’s grip onto his shoulder. “You don’t know how to make him move. You don’t know where he could be, where he actually is.”
“Sure we do! Who says we can’t?” Deimos questioned, his gaze still unfocused, his movements finicky and bored.
“Me. I do. You have an assignment anyways. On my desk. I’ll be back in a few hours,” Doc affirmed, slowly taking a step forward, letting his shaky legs support his body entirely. To his surprise, he didn’t immediately collapse into the floor, and he began to take a few more steps forward, holding his breath in anticipation of his inevitable fall. Or, at least he thought it was inevitable.
“Doc-” Deimos sighed, slamming the door shut and standing in front of the handle, “You can’t keep doin’ this shit, man! You’re a fucking mess right now! Will you just sit down for once in your goddamn life and take a fucking break?”
“No. Get out of the way, Deimos.”
“No.”
“Deimos, I swear to god, I-”
“I’m sorry man, but you seriously need to just sit down for once!”
Doc bit the bottom of his lip, his hands slowly curling into fists. He had to get his way. He had to get Hank. He had to make everything better again. He just had to
“Doc, I-” Sanford began, but was quickly interrupted.
“Let me through. Last chance.”
“Doc. No.”
Doc’s eyes closed, letting out a deep exhale, trying to keep himself calm. After all, it was only Hank, he could handle himself for a few days. Or… Could he? He was not good at interaction at all. Complete social outcast. The only reason he would talk is if he would be verbally confrontational with other people, or on an assignment. No way would he even be able to even manage having to talk with one person without getting frustrated and killing them. He had to get out there. He had to get there and get Hank at all possible cost.
Quickly, Doc reached up for Deimos’ skull and slammed it against the wall, tossing his body to the side. His body fell on top of Sanford, and both of them fell onto the cold tile.
“DOC-”
“I CAN HANDLE MYSELF.” Doc shouted, not caring to turn and face the other men. He opened the door then slammed it shut, quickly making his way across the base and to the back exit where Hank supposedly left when Doc was out of it. Before he finally exited the base to go find Hank, he took a quick glance over his shoulder to be sure the two men weren’t following him. They were useful, he couldn’t deny that, but right now they were a major annoyance.
Doc bit his lower lip in a mix of anticipation and satisfaction, and opened up the door to the outside world, letting the cool breeze hit him. It would be a good evening if it wasn’t for the fact that one of the worst people in the entirety was out of his grasp.
Doc would never admit to losing.
He never had, he never would. He never blamed himself for losing his position at the AAHW and dissenting, he would never admit that he lost the lives of his team members, he would never admit that his actions indirectly directed the deaths of hundreds, even thousands. But, he did have to admit, he had no absolute fucking clue where Hank was at.
He had checked everywhere; he had driven in every single alleyway in the nearest cities, on every single abandoned campsite for other soldats near the base they shared, even in the bare, middle of nowhere that hadn’t been taken over by any people. And Hank was nowhere to be found.
Doc let out a long, drawn out groan, slamming his head onto the steering wheel of an abandoned car he had found at a base, since the other one he had stolen had run out of gas, and it was the best he had at the moment.
“Where the hell else would this fucking man be at,” Doc grunted, leaning back into the seat, “I’ve looked everywhere.”
His eyes began to draw away from his thoughts, wandering around the base he was currently sitting at, looking at all of the abandoned buildings and tents, and the remains of men that had been shot down there before Doc had arrived. To his surprise, there weren’t really any remains that were left. Just a few bodies, slowly rotting into a pile of mush, the clothing they had on before completely soaked in blood and rotted remains of people. Even most of the clothes were gone, probably carried away by the wind. The only thing that was really left were tactical gear, too heavy to be carried by the wind, and shoes.
Shoes.
Steps.
“Retrace my steps,” Doc spoke, a smile slowly being carved into his face. Why didn’t he think of that before he left? Dumbass.
But, retracing steps would be a tad bit difficult, since he had stayed at the base all day today. He had stayed preparing and waiting for the other three to arrive, since they had been gone for a few days before then. What else then? Did Hank say something when he got back?
And then Doc’s ears rang, his brain finally kicking fully into gear.
“Could have been more,” Doc mumbled, kicking the car back on as fast as he could.
He had found Hank. He was at the last mission’s location. Why else would he go into the rest of Nevada if it wasn’t for brutal violence and endless slaughter for his own satisfaction? It made sense. It clicked into place. It gave Doc satisfaction for solving the mystery, and he was going to get so much satisfaction from it when he finally gets to beat Hank’s ass off when he sees him again.
Of course, Doc was very much underprepared for the journey, and he would be gone for days on end, making Sanford and Deimos worry their ass off over where he would be at. Hell, they’re probably out on their own, looking for him and Hank. Unlike him, though, Deimos and Sanford didn’t have the insight Doc did on the situation. They would probably just loop around to the same 3 places, going in constant circles, then giving up after 30 minutes to accept their newfound freedom.
But, who cared about them, anyways? Doc had his eyes on the prize. He had his eyes on Hank.
And he was going to get him.
If this was the location that the three were assigned too, it was completely torn to bits.
Blood and bodies covered every single inch of ground and wall, smeared guts and bullet shells were absolutely everywhere. The bodies looked so… torn apart, too. Like someone had willingly gone out of their day to go back and make sure that one single innocent person was dead with an extra three shots into their skull and stomach, ripping their limbs off one by one. It was horrific. And Doc knew it was Hank as soon as he saw it.
Doc let out a satisfied sigh and stopped the car in front of the large, brick building the three men were previously assigned to raid. He got out of the stolen vehicle, beginning to step over blood and bodies and instestents. He didn’t care what he was stepping on or over. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen this kind of stuff people would loathe to never see again after they had before. It was just part of the job. One of the worst parts, he would admit, but he was a glorified doctor, so it’s mandatory to see some gross stuff here and there.
Doc stepped over onto the entrance to the building and slowly slipped inside, his feet immediately beginning to crunch on top of bone and bullet shells. He cringed at the noise, but shook it off and began to slowly creep around the building, looking for Hank. Doc wasn’t worried about getting assaulted by another person, because it was clear Hank had shot everyone in the mile radius around the base. It was not out of the ordinary for Hank to do that, either. To clear out as many people as he can for his own form of sick, twisted pleasure. He had done it before. It made sense to Doc why he came back.
Eventually, to his dismay, he had gone through the entire building and still had no sign of Hank. Doc couldn’t afford to make this slip up. If Hank was truly gone from here and had moved on from this location, Doc would surely never get him back. If he was killed, which he surely would be, his body would be captured and stored away by anybody that got ahold of it. But, Doc had one last location in mind that Hank would actually be at; the roof.
Eventually, Doc found a way onto the roof. In one of the rooms, there was a pull down ladder just barely in his reach, and a small trap door that opened on the roof. Or, at least, Doc hoped it would lead there. He jumped up and grabbed the ladder, yanking it down from the ceiling. He set the ladder down on the ground and slowly climbed up it, trying his best to sturdy himself with every step. When he reached the top, Doc flipped up the door slowly, being sure the rust that head spotted on the ground floor wouldn’t make any sudden noises. After the trial and error, Doc was on the roof.
And he could feel the piercing eyes of Hank J. Wimbleton in his back.
“You’re back early.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Wimbleton?” Doc turned. He saw Hank sitting on the ledge of the building, his legs swung over the side of the roof, his head turned to meet Doc’s body. “Admiring your work you- twisted fuck?”
“I needed to talk.”
“Then why the hell did you feel the need to give me this shit?” Doc lifted his hand to point at his bandages, his voice cold and stern.
“You wouldn’t listen.”
“To you?”
“Yea.”
“Selfish fuck. What do you need, Wimbleton.”
“You’ve been different lately,” Hank started, his metal jaw clicking up and down making the most obnoxious noise since he didn’t have his usual face coverings that he had during missions on. At least, it was obnoxious to Doc.
“Different?” Doc questioned, slowly creeping over to Hank, his footsteps slow and quiet, “You mean?”
“You’ve been distant. More than you usually are.”
“How so?”
“You used to actually care. I’ve heard the shit you’ve said about me. I’m not dumb.”
Doc slightly flinched, puffing up his upper lip in slight embarrassment. “I don’t care.”
“You do. I know you do. I’ve known you since forever. I know how you are. You’re cold but at least you care. Cared.”
“What the hell do you mean I “cared”? I-”
“Remember you from before all this shit happened?”
“I do,” Doc admitted, finally stopping to stand right next to the man, his eyes going down at Hank, “I don’t like that me.”
“Because you were open with everyone. You actually took the time to be sure everyone was ok. Now you just want them to be alive to do your bidding.”
“That’s not-”
“That’s exactly what it fucking is,” Hank said, his voice slightly cracking at the end from the stress he was putting on his tone, “That’s what it is.”
“Hank. I know you want things as they were before,” Doc began, letting his legs slip down in front of him, sitting right next to Hank, “But that’s not going to happen.”
“I know. I don’t want that you anymore. I just want you to care.”
“Why do you want me to “care” so much?”
“Because I love you. That’s what I wanted to say.”
Doc snorted and began to chuckle, a smile wide across his face behind his mask. Hank didn’t laugh.
Doc got the hint and stopped. “You’re serious?”
Hank nodded. “I have since all this shit started. I’ve tried to ask. You never cared.”
“You’re bad at communicating, then,” Doc scoffed, looking out into the distance of the desert desert. The sun was beginning to rise, and its red shininess reflected back into Doc’s glasses, making his vision blurrier. Even though they were mainly there just cosmetically, actually having useful glasses would be nice.
“I know.”
“I am too, I guess.”
“I know.”
Doc let out a long sigh and looked back up at Hank. His eyes were staring directly back down at Doc, probably staring back at the wound he left on his head.
“How’d you get that?”
“You.”
Hank paused. Doc could tell he blinked a few times under his shiny, red goggles. “What?”
“You hit me like that. Do you not… remember?”
“I never did.”
Doc tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowing. “Are you sure?”
“Yes I’m sure,” Hank affirmed, staring back into the distance, his eyes fixed upon the rising sun. “It wasn’t me. Was the crowbar.”
“Oh, you bitch,” Doc laughed, jabbing Hank in the side with his elbow. Which, in turn, caused Hank to join in on Doc’s laughter. He hadn’t actually heard Hank laugh in a very long time. The last time he had, Doc hadn’t even joined the AAHW or started his journey to wherever the hell he is now.
“You know,” Doc began after their laughter eventually died down, his eyes still fixed onto Hank, “I think I do too.”
Hank turned. Doc could see the slight drop of his metal lower jaw at his words. How could Doc blame him? He was just as shocked as Hank was.
“I mean, I depend on you a lot more than I think,” Doc followed up with, slowly letting his hands walk over to Hank’s. He placed his hand on top of Hank’s and slipped his fingers between the other mans, gently squeezing his hand. “It’s weird. I want to hate you so bad, but I just can’t.”
“I get that.”
“You do too?” Doc asked, lifting his legs up to curl into a ball, resting his head onto the too of his knees.
“I do. That’s why I love you.”
“Guess I don’t have to beat your ass for knocking me out straight, don’t I?”
Hank let out a small, raspy chuckle. “Guess not. Wanna head back home?”
“Oh, fuck I do. I’m still gonna beat your ass for running off like that, though.”
“I know.”
“FORD! IT’S THEM!” Deimos screamed at the top of his lungs, shouting to Sanford from across the base. They were both sitting at each entrance, gazing out the small windows that actually let people from inside see what was going on outside. Sanford was at the front, Deimos was at the back. “THEY’RE BACK!”
“I’M COMIN’!” Sanford shouted back. The footsteps that came from his sprint echoed throughout the bunker, eventually reaching the other man, eagerly standing by the back entrance.
“Well, open it, man!”
“Ight, ight!” Deimos said, deflecting the blame that he had just left somebody outside. He didn’t know if it was Hank or Doc or both, or some other random guy that stumbled upon the base and wanted to come in or explore, or some guy that definitely knows that they are in there and wants to come in and “sort some shit out,” or whatever. Deimos didn’t really give a shit, anyways, and quickly opened the door for whoever was on the other side.
“Hey.”
“Hank! Motherfucker’s alive!” Deimos yelled, a wave of relief washing over him.
“Move.”
“Bet,” Sanford said defensively, backing up out of the way.
“Is that-”
“Yeah,” Hank said. Deimos finally noticed the obvious face that Doc was being carried by Hank, his legs wrapped around his waist and his arms wrapped around his neck. Doc’s head was rested on Hank’s shoulder, his breathing slow and calm.
“Is he sleepin’?” Sanford asked, a small smile creeping over his face.
“Yeah. Now shut up. I got shit to do,” Hank grumbled, walking into the bunker and out of Deimos’ sight.
Sanford's mouth was still smiling as the two men dwindled down the hallway, his eyes drawing back over to Deimos. “Are they-”
“Man,” Deimos said, “Don’t even question it.”