Chapter Text
The home button was cracked. He had just bought this burner, too.
“Oy.” Something smacked against the back of his neck--- a protein bar. “Pack the rest of these. We gotta hurry.”
Slade rubbed his scruff with a glare. It hadn’t really hurt, but the pressure was… soothing nonetheless. “I know.”
“I wasn’t able to drag you very far; their cleanup will be about finished by now, so if we don’t wanna be found in the sweep… What are you DOING, mate?”
Slade flipped the phone shut, pressing back against the muted anxiety overwhelming both closed bonds. “Nothing.”
“Can ‘nothing’ wait until later, please?” The beta’s somewhat frazzled-looking head of hair popped up in the open bedroom door, eyes narrowed irritably. “We’re on a bit of a time crunch an’ one of us is not bulletproof.”
“I’m not bulletproof,” Slade muttered unnecessarily, forcing himself to his feet. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours. His ankle would have healed in four, maybe three if he’d been sleeping, but now…
Billy hefted his go-bag over one shoulder, locking the bedroom with a key. Slade felt his stare as he collected his own bag, stuffing it with the last of the scanty food supplies from the fridge. Who knew when they would get to stop moving again.
“Ankle still fucked?” Billy finally asked, sharp and accusing and a strange flavor of concerned.
Slade zipped up the Ikon suit, grunting, and pulled on a ratty jacket. His helmet was long gone by now, but the rest was easily hidden under civvies. A pair of sunglasses completed the somewhat homeless look. “I’ve had worse.”
“Yeahhh, no shit, but we’ll have to do a lot of this thing called running, and even Ikon’s most magical design won’t be able to compensate for that.”
Slade flipped the jacket’s hood up before clipping on the backpack. He was ready to run. Rolling would be difficult if he wanted to hang onto Billy’s supplies, though. “I smell two in the street outside.”
Billy cursed under his breath, yanking the front door open. “There’s an old condemned fire escape in this building that lets out into the parking garage.”
“They’ll be waiting.” Slade broke off the doorknob behind them, tossing it down the dark hallway. Something other than the malicious hunting pheromones and the jagged pain shooting up his injured leg and the constant smell of blood assaulted his senses. He spared half a braincell to cursing his luck. Breaking your nose while your sense of smell was dialed up to eleven was a fucking LOUD point of input to contend with.
“Stairs.” Billy shoved open an unmarked door, booking it down a lighted stairwell. Every footstep echoed. Slade mourned the loss of his specialized helmet, resolving to lift earplugs from the first convenience store they happened to run into. He also didn’t hop the railing an’ plummet several stories to the basement floor like he wanted to. “I win,” he’d shouted up a dozen times before, inevitably reaching their destination before his mission partner had.
That would have been a risky move even with both working ankles. He hadn’t cared about the potential damage. A few hours of rest an’ even the worst of internal injuries had magically knitted themselves back together. Used to be---
“The bedroom door,” he finally muttered as the loudest pinging thought finally made it through to his ability to form speech. “Why did you lock it?”
“A red bloody herring.” Billy slammed open the door marked “EXIT”, barely catching it before it bashed into the wall, and slipped into the shadows in the garage outside. “They’ll spend at least five minutes tryna figure out why we locked up a seemingly important room; that gives us five precious minutes of a head start. Who were you gonna call, by the way?”
Slade hesitated as he scanned the rows of parked cars. “What?”
“Not someone with a helicopter, I hope.”
“My…” His bonds thrummed. He ignored them. “My pups are… I think… they’re worried. They must’ve felt my pain somehow, or… Maybe… during the fight…”
“You rebonded with Rose an’ Joey? No, no no no, please don’t tell me you got Grayson---”
Slade shoved off of a wall for balance as he followed Billy into the open, gagging. The scuffed plastic of traffic cones and the stuffy exhaust from hundreds of cars and the faint thread of angry instincts on the hunt--- too-much-too-much-too-much---
“---ade,” Billy’s voice filtered in from a muffled distance. “What’s goin’ on? You had better not be fucking with me, mate---”
“I’m… fine; it’s fine.” Slade forced himself to keep walking, pushing back against every sense now, every vibration of his own weight on his own two feet, every spike of pain through his skull that threatened to shake loose the iron hold keeping both bonds shut. “There’s one on the second story, two down Row F; turn left.”
“Into the bloody street? We’re sitting ducks without a roof---”
“Now.”
Billy pivoted without a second’s hesitation, eyes down, and sped quickly across the street just outside. The echoing emptiness of the parking garage folded away behind them, opening up a world of honking-blaring-calling-stabbing-laughing-bright-loud-crowded. Slade shook his head violently, hurrying to keep up. Billy was fuckin’ fast for such a short geezer. “Right.”
Billy turned right, slowing down to blend better with the night life. “How’re those patches holding up? I can’t smell you.”
Slade scratched absently at his collarbone, itching the patch through two layers of clothing an’ armor. He couldn’t smell himself either, and it raised every hair on the backs of his arms. He was so used to using his scent as an asset, a weapon, not trying to hide it under military-grade scent blockers that would probably fail within half an hour of their application.
A growling bark four blocks away made him jump, skip a step. Easy. One wildfire at a time. “Fine. Go left down this alley; they’re moving faster.”
“I guess they know we left the building.” Billy turned left, limp ponytail bouncing lightly against the back of his neck. The handle of his backpack was torn. What if Slade needed to haul him to safety?
Just throw him over your shoulder, idiot, some part of him snapped.
Why are we thinking about this right now? the rest of him asked hysterically, far too slow for an inside thought. He should have been processing at nine times speed. What the actual HELL--- Why wasn’t that dog shutting up?! “Right--- straight.”
Billy stopped short. “Which is it, right or straight?”
Slade shoved him into an alcove off the side of the alleyway, pressing them against a door that smelled like peeling paint. A flashlight beam swept past from the roofs above, hesitating on a full dumpster before disappearing.
“Left,” Slade whispered hoarsely. “THEN straight. “We need to double back; they’ve made our trail.”
“We don’t have a trail.” Billy shoved him out of his personal space, hopping back onto uneven cobblestones. “Left, then straight. Across the road?”
Slade wrestled with the suddenly violent urge to tuck Billy under his chin, to shield him, to hide him away where no one could ever hurt--- “Yes.”
Billy cursed again as they continued walking. “We’ll join that group of pedestrians, cross at the walk. What’s with you? Too feral or too fuckin’ bombed?”
Slade lifted his lip in a silent snarl. “I’m not high, I told you.”
“Yeah, well, first time for everything.” The sarcastic asshole stopped near the back of the pack, glancing around to scan the rooftops. The bright traffic lights stabbed into the back of Slade’s socket, making his eye water. Everything was sharp, stretched, like trying to see through a blur of rain---
“CAPTAIN!!!”
“---on’t--- without me--- oh!!!”
“STOP---”
“Fuckin’ HELL, Colonel---” Something yanked on his belt loop, tugging him back--- “It’s a massacre out there!!!”
The whistling shells were too loud, too loud, too loud--- Whose blood was in his mouth? “He can’t just---!!!”
“He can do whatever he damn well wants to!!!” Wintergreen screamed in his face, barely audible over the shower of dirt, exploding fireballs on every side--- “He’s distracting them so we can retreat!!!”
“Oy, are you mad?” Someone tugged on his wrist. “They’re covering Fifth, Wilson, even I can see ‘em; why are we turning?”
He threw his arms up, covering his face. Dirt pelted his sweaty skin, carving grooves into his cheeks. The saltwater stung. “FUCK---”
“Slade.” Slight pressure on his shoulders, further now--- They were pinned, they would never get out--- “Slade. Where are you right now?”
“I’m…” His mouth was so dry. Billy wasn’t supposed to look this old. “I’m supposed to lead them out. Why did the captain leave? He could have lead them out.”
“Fuck--- Nanking, is that it? Please oh please tell me you remember that joke---”
“It’s such a bad joke.”
“There you are, mucker. Focus on me, ey? I remember that day; it was an absolute massacre---”
“Why did he…” Slade’s boot caught; he stumbled. They were running… Why were they supposed to be running? They weren’t FAST enough---
“The cap’n ran to pull their fire.”
“I got his… his blood in my mouth…”
“No, that was Collins’ blood; listen to me. You lead the men back through the trenches; then what happened?”
“We… we won’t make it.” Slade blinked hard, but all he could see was dirt walls, all he could smell was stuffy air, coming rain, and then the downpour was flooding the trenches… The dirt was too dry to absorb the water; their routes transformed into rivers, slowing them down… “Someone’s… drowning, I think…”
“What did we do when we got back to base, mate?”
Slade pressed his hand over his racing heartbeat. There was a letter. He was supposed to run the letter.
“That’s right Slade, we ran---”
“The trench is caved in.”
“We turned left… LEFT…”
Bullets peppered the ground around his feet. Now or then, now-or-then, noworthen? “You can’t keep up.”
“Bullshit; I kept up just fine. D’you remember the dead horse? Up an’ over---”
He vaulted a brick wall. Where had the brick wall…? He still had blood in his mouth. “I’m trying.”
“You’re doing fine, mate; turn right--- What happened next?”
“Faster.” His legs burned. “We need to go faster. They’re not going to wait, they…”
“You need to deliver that bloody piece of paper. There it is, that’s it--- don’t worry about me; keep running--- keep run---”
His heartbeat was so damn loud. It was raining, flooding, and it tasted like his tears. He spotted a truck pulling out, and then he remembered, he thought; he could hitch a ride if he ran fast enough. Dive--- roll--- SLAM. A box dug into his back, creaking, and he gasped for air as the road flowed away behind them. Dizzy, he leaned into it, pulled by the gravity of telescoping vision until someone yanked him back.
“Oy.” Billy tapped on the rear window of the cab with his pistol. “You, keep driving.”
Slade gasped sharply, pulling air past the band around his lungs. “What… just happened?”
“A memory.” Billy collapsed next to him, hunkering down as he also heaved for breath. “Get lower ya bloody dumbarse.”
Slade sprawled flat, looking up at the winking stars. Tops of buildings rushed past, but the reeling dizziness began to subside. “Where are we?”
“Physically? Still escaping Berlin.”
“What are we…”
“I’ll need at least three dinners before answering that fuckin’ question.”
Slade groaned distantly, throwing an arm over his face. His ankle was making itself known. Adrenaline tended to block out that sort of thing. “What are we doing in here? Who’s… driving?”
“Dunno; some poor sod about to wet his pants. We just need to get outside the city limits. Our tail almost caught sight of us while we were running.”
“Nanking---”
“Christ, that could have been a better plan. We need to get to a safehouse, someplace with resources---”
“I thought we---”
“Maybe the one that borders the airport, but d’you think they’ll be watching? I just restocked, too; I just know there’s a hot cup o’ noodles calling my name---”
“Wintergreen---”
“Yeah, yeah, Wilson; I remember.” The beta sighed, raspy. “I was there. I walked you through it.”
“How…” A laugh pressed against Slade’s throat. It wasn’t funny. “How d’you remember?”
“How do you?”
“Just… the details. How…”
“I’ve spent decades recording your sorry life, you undead bastard. Telling a story.” Billy’s knuckles rapped tiredly against Slade’s ribs. “That one didn’ need to be in writing. Friday the sixteenth, June, nineteen eighty-eight. I remember.”
Slade pressed his hand over his thundering heartbeat. There was no letter now. Instead, he felt the burner in his breast pocket.
He WOULD call home. Just… not yet.