(no subject)
Title: Apotheosis.
Setting: Between MGS 2 and 4, probably AU but workable.
Rating: PG-13, for language.
Pairing: Snake/Otacon but not really. It's more bromance.
Notes: I will probably never finish this, but I'm posting what I have now because otherwise I never will.
There are fields of tall grass flying past his face when he opens his eyes, and Otacon thinks he's dreaming for a few seconds before he notices the AC hitting his skin and he realizes that he's in a car.
A familiar voice says: You're awake.
And after a few seconds: How're you feeling?
Otacon rubs at his eyes, stretches as best he can in the cramped space - and although he throws an annoyed glance at Snake in the driver's seat, he can't help but smile.
Now you're just doing that on purpose.
And Dave laughs - the first time he's heard Dave laugh since - a week ago? Two weeks? Can't remember - as Hal searches around for his glasses, finds them, and puts them on. And what he sees, he thinks, might account for Dave's good mood: sun, blue skies, fields of long grass, endless highway stretching toward the horizon.
Where are we?
Somewhere in Pennsylvania. Hungry?
And now that Dave mentions it -
Yes.
Thank Jack, Snake says, then hands him a bag - and Otacon looks inside, blinks, and stares.
Oh - wow.
Apparently the kid's the one that cooks for both of them. And he's pretty damn good at it.
I - wow. I never thought he'd be the type to cook.
Don't ask me. Something about being paranoid about his food.
You know - this is pretty good! We should ask him for lessons when we get back.
If we get back, Snake corrects. We're not home free yet.
Yes - right. If.
That's not enough to ruin the mood, though, and Otacon leans back in the passenger's seat, looking up at the sky and watching the clouds roll slowly past - and out here, mostly alone on the highway, it's like the past few days have never happened. It's another world, one of grass and sky and road and openness and just him and Dave in the car - and it's hard to believe they're on the run from most of the country, hard to believe their lives are in danger. He does know it's true, but it doesn't make it seem any more real -
Hey - Dave?
Yeah.
Have you ever been on a road trip, before?
Not that I remember.
Me neither - I mean I hear about people taking them all the time in books and movies and stuff but - this is the first time I've ever -
You're calling this a road trip?
No - not exactly - but maybe -
Maybe what?
Maybe it's the closest we'll ever get.
Otacon -
And Otacon glances over, but Snake's shaking his head and looking into the driver's side side-mirror, and he can't tell if Dave's smiling or not - but he thinks he is.
Tell me if you get tired, Snake. I feel good enough to drive.
Fine.
------------------
He remembers thinking he's going to go insane.
Damn Nastasha - Hal Emmerich might have been the most knowledgeable person in the world about the Metal Gears, but why the hell, Snake had never asked, did he have to live with him?
And the only reason he'd never asked is because he'd already known the answer: pure efficiency. It'd been easier for them to work together, if they lived together. Easier to travel and maintain fake identities, too.
Knowing that, however, hadn't made him hate the arrangement any less.
The messes had been the first thing. Scraps of paper and pens and pencils everywhere, comic books - wait, no, manga - CDs of everything from music to cartoons to computer games, bags of random candies, little cartoon figurines - okay, all fine by themselves, Dave hadn't cared that Hal had some strange interests - but not okay when those strange interests were over the damn living room floor.
And then there had been the constant talking - like the guy hadn't known when the hell to shut up, like he'd had no idea how to read anybody's body language and tell that they simply did not give a shit. More talking in a day than Snake had been used to hearing in weeks, about - hell, he doesn't even remember - anything Otacon had felt like talking about -
And then there had been all the weird food -
and the strange hours the guy kept, keeping Snake up for days at first before he'd gotten used to ignoring the footsteps in the hallway at night -
and the way Otacon had always complained about him smoking and finally found the courage somewhere to ban him to the balcony and bathrooms -
and the endlessly annoying - annoyingly endless - supply of naïveté and optimism regarding anything and everything and the way Snake had half-wanted him to just shut the hell up because the world just did not work like that, when the hell would he ever learn -
but had also half-envied him for even being able to still think that way, for ever being able to think that way -
and - just - how the hell could anybody be so incredibly irritating -
But then, one day, Otacon had packed up and left.
Otakon! You know, like Otacon. Remember? It's this week! Hal had explained. He hadn't missed one yet, and he hadn't planned to - so I'm going on a trip for a few days or so, Snake! I'll be back soon, don't worry.
And Dave remembers closing the door behind him and thinking he wouldn't particularly mind if Hal never came back.
But he remembers realizing too, that for some reason, that week alone hadn't been the heaven he'd been expecting.
He'd spent the first day obsessively organizing all the messes in the house - moving everything of Otacon's into Otacon's room, arranging everything in order in the kitchen, doing all the laundry, cleaning and sweeping and vacuuming and washing the windows, getting all the trash together and throwing it out - done everything he'd been itching to do ever since Hal had moved in, but known was fruitless with Hal still around to undo all his work - for eight straight hours, then passed out exhausted on the couch.
And the second day, he'd woken up alone in the silent, suddenly military apartment, sterile and clean and neat and devoid of any signs of life - looked around - and wondered why he'd expected it to be any more comfortable.
Why had he?
The third day, he'd killed a spider in the kitchen - and felt guilty about it even though there had been no one there to ask him why he'd done that, why couldn't he just have taken it outside? The poor spider - Dave, really, was that necessary?
Dammit -
And he'd taken the next two spiders outside.
The fourth day, he'd had an idea - and left the TV on all day - even when he hadn't been in the room, just for the background noise - then turned it off when he'd realized the whole reason he'd even had it on in the first place had been because he'd been starting to actually miss the conversation.
Dammit -
And so he'd spent the fifth day obsessively disorganizing all the neatness in the house - moving everything of Otacon's back into the living room, messing up the kitchen the way it had been before, throwing clothes around - clean, but no way around that. Not a perfect job - he'd never been a natural mess-maker - but pretty good, if memory had served correctly.
And the sixth day, Hal had come back home, loaded down with even more random little things to leave around and lose all over the place - like a collection of doujinshi he'd proudly showed Dave without a trace of embarrassment - but if he'd noticed anything strange about the apartment, or how his anime and movie DVDs had been separated into two piles, or how all the clothes strewn around his room were suspiciously cleaner, or how Dave had stopped resenting his presence so much - well, he hadn't said anything, at least. And neither had Dave.
But after that, Snake remembers, things had started to change. He'd started to not mind the messes so much - signs of life, he'd told himself, signs of non-military life. He'd gotten used to the hours, used to the restricted smoking and the food - not so hard. At some point, he'd actually even started listening when Otacon talked and found that it hadn't been terribly uninteresting - and had found that it had gotten considerably less uninteresting when he'd started half-reluctantly conversing back.
And he remembers the looks, most of all - the ones he'd never noticed before, when he'd treated Otacon like a necessary pain of life. The looks - that expression on Hal's face that said, this is a friend! I have a friend! He's being nice to me! - mixed happiness, gratitude, incredulousness - every time he'd done something remotely friendly, every time he'd done any little thing for the guy. And he remembers his surprise at himself when he'd realized that, for the past few weeks, he'd been making that expression of Otacon's a goal of his - and trying to one-up it every time.
Why?
Why not?
Maybe he'd lost some of his cynicism, too. Hard to keep that up with Otacon around.
And by the time of the tanker incident, they'd become best friends.
By the time of the Big Shell crisis, they'd become practically family.
And then, that afternoon - four days ago - he'd been standing on the sidewalk, on the way back home from a mission - when suddenly, the windows of their apartment had blown out all over the street - and Otacon had been in there -
Dave remembers thinking he's going to go insane.
------------------
It's during the second day of driving that it all goes to hell.
The first day goes like this: eighteen hours of driving - Snake ten and Otacon eight - then grabbing fast food and collapsing in some cheap hotel in a small town in Illinois, too tired to do anything else. Dave's asleep almost as soon as he lies down, the deep, quiet sleep of exhaustion - expected, he's slept about two hours in the past seventy-two. Wouldn't have been a problem last week, but -
But this week, he's a guy that has to be shaken awake by Otacon in the morning. A guy still hung over with fatigue and blearily wondering why he hasn't snapped immediately to his senses exactly when he'd planned to like usual, like he's been able to for the past few years. A guy whose muscles ache and who can't place why, or why the whole thing seems so unfamiliar.
And then it hits him: the nanomachines. His body's artificial climate control. They're all disabled. And he's never realized how much he's grown to depend on them - on Otacon making sure he stays at peak shape.
And so when Otacon offers to drive first, Snake doesn't say no. When Snake dozes in the passenger's seat, Otacon doesn't wake him. And when Snake's too asleep to remember to warn Otacon to take a certain turn to avoid the tolls he knows are coming up on the turnpike -
Strike three -
and it all goes to hell when Snake opens his eyes as the car slides to a stop beside the toll booth and Otacon fumbles around for change. Behind him, Snake sees the woman in the booth's eyes widen as she glances at Otacon, then Snake, then to the tiny TV mounted on the counter in the booth and back again - and when she freezes up, then begins to carefully reach with one arm beneath the counter -
Shit.
And What - !? is all Otacon has the chance to say before Snake's jerking awake for good, pounding down with both hands on Otacon's leg and forcing him to smash his foot into the accelerator -
Go!
What are you d -
And then the car's leaping forward, crashing through the painted wood of the tollbooth barrier as it splinters across the windshield -
and Otacon's fighting with the wheel for control and yelling at him like he's gone crazy as cars flash by past the windows -
and Snake's just pressing down harder and looking back through the mass of swarming cars behind them, catches sight of the woman in the tollbooth with a phone to her ear -
Snake -
Otacon! She's calling the goddamned cops -
What?
And then Snake doesn't have to hold on any more because Otacon's slamming down on the gas himself, throwing a panicked glance around and ignoring the way the engine of the car whines as they weave through highway traffic at over a hundred miles an hour -
Stop looking back!
But -
a hundred ten -
Keep your damn eyes on the road and take the second exit.
What - the second? But -
They'll be expecting us to either take the first or keep going -
a hundred twenty -
But what if -
Goddammit, Hal - just - turn! Now! Now -
And then the tires are letting loose an agonized screech as Otacon twists the steering wheel and hits the brakes -
and the car's lurching sideways with the momentum, throwing both of them to one side -
and then sending them smashing into the other as the tires crash down onto the highway again -
the screech of metal on metal, sparks flying past the windows where the car slides against the highway exit railing as Otacon loses his grip on the wheel and the car spins out of control -
and Snake's cursing and throwing his arms over his face, expecting the windshield to shatter -
closing his eyes and ducking his head as the airbags deploy and fighting them down as the road and trees and the rest of the world tilts and blurs -
and then the windows are finally rattling and shattering around him and there's a shower of glass down his arms and back and in his hair as the car skids sideways one last time -
and slams to a halt against the railing, hurling him forward against the dashboard, and -
And then everything stops.
Snake lifts his head, lowering his arms, shaking the glass off of himself - reflexively checking his limbs - anything broken? Don't think so - just bruised a bit, from the impact - then -
Otacon!
And Snake hears the patter of more glass on the floor, coughing in midst of the smoke drifting in through the shattered windshield from the busted engine, and then Otacon's voice, shaky but not with pain -
I'm all right - I think -
which cuts off as the distant wail of police sirens rises in the air, and suddenly the crackle of glass stops as Otacon freezes, staring out the broken rear windshield at the highway behind them - until Snake grabs him by the shoulder, gives him a shake.
Out of the car. Out of the car! Now!
And then Snake's grabbing their bags and kicking at the car door - busted, no way it's going to open - shit - hears Otacon struggling with the driver's side door behind him -
They have no time for this, no time for this, no time -
and he can almost see the flashing red and blue lights through the trees, streaking past down the highway, as he grabs the top of the car, levering himself outside headfirst through the broken window - sees Otacon notice them too, standing out by the ruined car, and how the hands covering his nose and mouth can't hide the panic in his eyes -
and fucking hell, his terror isn't helping Snake's -
Deep breath. Calm down. Duck. They've got to get away from the car. Away. Where? East. Trees. No. West. No. Back on the highway. They'll be caught for sure. South. Down the exit - the exit must lead to somewhere. But when they find the car they'll know - no. North? Smoke. Pollution. Must be a town. City. Something - fine. That works. That works, that works - and if it doesn't they're fucked but he's not thinking about that -
Otacon! Let's go.
And Otacon turns from the highway to the car, then to Snake, then back to the car again, running his eyes over it, taking in the smoke, glass, crumpled metal - the look on his face is bewildered, dazed -
What? But - how - there's no way we can repair - what are we going to do now?
Snake tells him simply,
Run.
Run?
and Otacon tears his eyes away from the car and looks up at him, frightened, waiting for orders, for directions - looks as helpless as Snake feels - but Snake doesn't have anything more to tell him. No advice, no wisdom, no solutions, no heroics - just this -
Run - and pray.
Snake -
Come on!
------------------
He remembers the apartment, mostly blown to pieces - pieces of furniture and wood from the walls still coated with white paint littered all over the floor. Otacon, he remembers thinking - Otacon - Hal - and he remembers running into the computer room as the police had finally arrived on the street below to investigate the blast, kicking in the half-busted door and staring at the blood on the carpet.
So it'd been true then, he remembers thinking, it'd been true - they'd taken Otacon - maybe dead, but probably alive - not enough blood - which meant -
Shit, shit, shit, and Snake had frozen up for a moment before the drumming footsteps of running police had arrived at the apartment door, and he'd barely managed to haul himself to the roof through the window before they'd barged in with cameras and tape.
Someone must have seen him - or Hal - must have - they'd known exactly where to come to get them, but not exactly where they were - had to move fast and attack before they moved. It'd only been luck that Snake had happened to be out - only luck that he'd had that extra tracker, that he'd been around and able to tag the car with it before it'd taken off. Luck, luck, luck - goddammit - too many mistakes, too sloppy, they should both be dead by now -
And through all that, he remembers the anger that'd burned through everything else, the anger he'd let burn through everything else, because it'd been better than terror, panic, guilt:
I'm going to kill whoever is responsible for this.
But how?
No maps, no tools, no weapons, no technology, no one to lock down security cameras, no one to even tell him where he's going or who he's dealing with - or to help him with information if he needs it - or even to warn everyone else if he dies -
He'd be going in blind, completely helpless besides himself and his guns, worse than Shadow Moses -
That'd be suicide - or maybe worse -
But he has no other options -
And the more time passes, the dangerous it gets -
And Snake remembers stalking the halls of the other hideout, glancing into the empty computer room once in a while to monitor the location of the car, waiting for it to stop, because there's no one there any more to tell him how to follow it before it does - trying to ignore the bright anime posters on the walls that remind him that - Otacon, Otacon, there's no damn time, they might already be - but there's nothing he can do yet, nothing he can - goddammit -
and he's thinking and pacing and thinking and pacing and thinking -
because he can't do anything else, but he has to do something, but he can't, but he has to -
round and round and round and it's driving him insane -
What the hell is he supposed to do?
------------------
What are we going to do...?
It's the fifth or sixth time he's asking, and from the dark, frustrated glare that Snake shoots his way when he looks up, Otacon knows that going on is probably a mistake.
But he asks anyway, because there's nothing else to do besides look around the motel room they've stumbled into off the highway, watch the TV in the room report about the police looking through the remains of the terrorists' car, and wait, wait, wait - to die? to get caught? for the Patriots to be storming their door? - watching the cheap digital clock on the bedside table tick away the minutes - and it's driving him insane -
Any ideas yet?
No.
Are you sure?
I'm sure.
There's - there's got to be something -
And Snake's patience finally snaps:
Hal. We have no car. We have no way to contact anyone that wouldn't give us and them away. No one knows where we are. No one's expecting us. Stepping onto a bus or into an airport is like a death trap. After all this news coverage, so might be stepping outside. Do you understand that?
I do, but -
Look - if I think of any plan better than die trying to walk over the goddamned Rockies, I'll let you know.
and Otacon watches in silence as Snake goes back to staring down at the table - one hand reaching for cigarettes he doesn't have, the other habitually going for the ashtray, then dropping it in disgust when he realizes he's got nothing to smoke anyway - and he can see the tendons moving in his hands as Snake cracks at his knuckles, oblivious, lost in thought - expression dark, hardened with frustration - and he can almost hear what Snake's thinking -
What do we do what do we do what do we do no time no time no time no time what do we do -
round and round and round and round -
and his own mind is blank as he sits there on the corner of one of the beds in front of the TV, expecting soldiers or something to bust through the door any minute now and trying to stem the wave of quiet panic that makes him want to do something - anything -
scream, flail, run, anything, even something stupid like go out there and turn himself in, just to get it over with - because it's hopeless - because this waiting is agony -
but he can't, can't do anything, and he's right back where he started and what can they do, they have no time, what can they -
No. Deep breath. Don't panic. Focus on something else.
Wall. Room. Clock. Snake. TV. Table. Floor. Ceiling. Snake. Clock - it's been ten minutes. TV. Table. Snake. Clock - fifteen, now. How long have they been in here? An hour, two hours, longer than that - long enough for the sun to have gone down meanwhile, long enough for him to have showered and changed while waiting and waiting and waiting because he couldn't stand the silence and the dread edging in any more, and when he'd come back out it'd all still been the same, more waiting and waiting, that's all they've been doing, waiting for -
Waiting for what?
A miracle?
Maybe -
And Otacon's sitting, twisting his hands in his lap, feeling like the walls are closing in around him and it's hard to breathe for some reason, like the silence is taking up all the air, and he'd get up and walk around except he knows Snake would snap at him to stop and Snake doesn't need the distraction right now, not when Otacon can tell that he's flipping through ideas like cards, examining, weighing, discarding, examining, weighing, discarding, picking them all up again -
but they can't all be useless, can they - even if they're stranded out here, even if they've got no one looking for them - there's got to be something - and it's hopeless, they're both going to die - no, no they're not! They - they can't just die out here, not like this, not like - isn't there anything? There has to be - he just doesn't know what, and -
oh God, can't somebody just tell him what to do -
And he doesn't realize what he's doing until Snake raises a hand to his forehead in frustration and tells him bluntly,
Stop looking at me like that.
What - like what?
and when he looks up, Otacon catches sight of his reflection in the mirror past Snake's shoulder - frightened, stressed, his glasses cracked and resting unevenly across his nose - and the expression on his face is all too clear. Clear - and pleading - and pathetic.
Like that.
But -
I'm telling you that I don't have any goddamn ideas either -
I know. I'm sorry -
Then what the hell is it you want from me?
Nothing, I just -
What.
Snake -
Wrong, Snake says then, and it's bitter, the way he shoves his chair back from the table and begins to stalk the walls of the room.
What - wrong - what do you mean -
This isn't a mission. We're not going anywhere. We've got nothing on our side. Snake would have hi-tech suits and weapons. Snake would have a Codec and nanomachines. Snake would have allies and outside support. In fact, Snake's become pretty damned dependent on them, the pathetic bastard -
What are you talking about -
I mean that Snake would find a way out of this somehow, something that doesn't involve killing half the city and leaving in a trail of blood. Isn't that right? Snake would have found a way to get you away from them in the first place without leaving every single person dead. All you've got is David, and David is turning out to be pretty goddamned worthless, isn't he -
And Otacon's eyes widen as Snake turns to face him -
You mean - the people that - the apartment - you killed them all -
I had no choice, damn it! I'm a soldier. That's what I do -
All of them -
Thirty four. Shot, stabbed, strangled, and left to burn when the place went down. Without all the other gear, I couldn't sneak in - even if I could have, I couldn't have gotten you out - no one could have helped me - I couldn't think of any other way - letting any of them go would have jeopardized everything! And - god damn it, Hal -
Snake's voice dies into a strained, frustrated growl low in his throat as the muscles work in his jaw, and he turns to the wall, not continuing until Otacon steels himself and asks quietly, solemnly -
And what?
And I liked it, Snake hisses, turning around - I liked it, goddammit! I liked killing them for what they did to you - and if I could, I'd do it again - and again and again and again -
and Snake finally looks up and meets his eyes, and Otacon suddenly understands that maybe the person Snake's angry at isn't him. This kind of coldness - the thing he'd been afraid of seeing -
That's reserved for one person only. The person that's demanding:
Do you still want my damn ideas now? The ideas that kill more people, do you still want my ideas to save you? And
No,
Otacon whispers in reply, even quieter than before, and Snake crumples more than leans back against the wall, eyes closed, head tilted back in defeat -
and when he speaks again after a moment, his voice is tired, hollow, edged with fading anger and bitter humor.
How did you think I did it?
I - Otacon shakes his head - I didn't. Think about it.
No. You wouldn't.
Snake...
And Snake smiles that familiar dark, humorless smile, the one that really isn't a smile at all - the same one that Otacon's come to associate with loss, with cynicism, with regret and Meryl and distant, jaded grief - as he raises a hand to cover his face.
Even you, even now -
Me?
Damn it -
What is it?
Hal -
Come on, Snake -
I wish I were the hero you think I am.
You - what?
And then Otacon freezes, staring up at Dave against the wall - and then he's staring straight across as he gets to his feet, his face twisting in anger -
not at the accusation -
not at the words -
those don't matter -
but at the pain in Dave's voice -
the stupid, stupid, stupid pain that makes Otacon want to laugh and strangle him at the same time - and then he's angry, angry like he doesn't remember ever being before - fists clenched, tone low and dangerous, hissing through his teeth and only getting louder as he goes -
You think I don't know - what this is - where we are - who you are?
Hal, I didn't mean -
A hero? You're not a hero! You're just some - pathetic guy, running from the police -
I know that -
a murderer, a killer - a criminal, a terrorist -
I know that -
You've got nothing to your name - you don't even have a name! Not even an identity - you think that's glamorous, Dave? You think that's legendary?
No, I don't! That's what I've been trying to say -
You just killed thirty four people -
And Snake's face works at that before he shuts it down and wordlessly pushes himself off the wall and heads for the door -
and he almost makes it, when Otacon calls after him with the one thing that he knows for sure will hit home, hard -
Hero. Don't kid yourself. Everyone you even talk to - everyone you work with - everyone you befriend - you're no hero. Look at everyone you've known. Hero? You're a walking death sentence.
And Snake turns, ready to explode in rage -
You bastard -
but his words cut short and his rage fades into stunned silence when he sees Otacon standing there - display of anger over, shoulders hunched and eyes on the floor - and Otacon finishes quietly,
But I don't care.
And he takes a deep breath -
You think all that - all that hero stuff is the only reason I value you? You think if you weren't Solid Snake, I wouldn't? Well - guess what, Dave. You said it yourself. Right now, you're not. You're not anybody's hero.
and he looks up -
But I'm still here.
and lifts his chin in defiance -
And I'm not leaving -
and stares Snake down.
Not until the end.
Otacon -
The way Snake's voice breaks over his name hurts, but in a good way this time.
Don't you get it, Dave?
Get what? Snake manages, and then Otacon's replying -
That it doesn't matter - what you've done - what you might do - what you are or might become - everything. Don't you get it, Dave? Even if you're going to hell -
Hal...?
and Otacon almost smiles as Snake stares, although his eyes are sad behind the still-cracked lenses of his glasses.
I just want to go with you.
------------------
that's all there is so far. CRIT THE FUCK OUT OF ME pls i enjoy the pain
Setting: Between MGS 2 and 4, probably AU but workable.
Rating: PG-13, for language.
Pairing: Snake/Otacon but not really. It's more bromance.
Notes: I will probably never finish this, but I'm posting what I have now because otherwise I never will.
There are fields of tall grass flying past his face when he opens his eyes, and Otacon thinks he's dreaming for a few seconds before he notices the AC hitting his skin and he realizes that he's in a car.
A familiar voice says: You're awake.
And after a few seconds: How're you feeling?
Otacon rubs at his eyes, stretches as best he can in the cramped space - and although he throws an annoyed glance at Snake in the driver's seat, he can't help but smile.
Now you're just doing that on purpose.
And Dave laughs - the first time he's heard Dave laugh since - a week ago? Two weeks? Can't remember - as Hal searches around for his glasses, finds them, and puts them on. And what he sees, he thinks, might account for Dave's good mood: sun, blue skies, fields of long grass, endless highway stretching toward the horizon.
Where are we?
Somewhere in Pennsylvania. Hungry?
And now that Dave mentions it -
Yes.
Thank Jack, Snake says, then hands him a bag - and Otacon looks inside, blinks, and stares.
Oh - wow.
Apparently the kid's the one that cooks for both of them. And he's pretty damn good at it.
I - wow. I never thought he'd be the type to cook.
Don't ask me. Something about being paranoid about his food.
You know - this is pretty good! We should ask him for lessons when we get back.
If we get back, Snake corrects. We're not home free yet.
Yes - right. If.
That's not enough to ruin the mood, though, and Otacon leans back in the passenger's seat, looking up at the sky and watching the clouds roll slowly past - and out here, mostly alone on the highway, it's like the past few days have never happened. It's another world, one of grass and sky and road and openness and just him and Dave in the car - and it's hard to believe they're on the run from most of the country, hard to believe their lives are in danger. He does know it's true, but it doesn't make it seem any more real -
Hey - Dave?
Yeah.
Have you ever been on a road trip, before?
Not that I remember.
Me neither - I mean I hear about people taking them all the time in books and movies and stuff but - this is the first time I've ever -
You're calling this a road trip?
No - not exactly - but maybe -
Maybe what?
Maybe it's the closest we'll ever get.
Otacon -
And Otacon glances over, but Snake's shaking his head and looking into the driver's side side-mirror, and he can't tell if Dave's smiling or not - but he thinks he is.
Tell me if you get tired, Snake. I feel good enough to drive.
Fine.
------------------
He remembers thinking he's going to go insane.
Damn Nastasha - Hal Emmerich might have been the most knowledgeable person in the world about the Metal Gears, but why the hell, Snake had never asked, did he have to live with him?
And the only reason he'd never asked is because he'd already known the answer: pure efficiency. It'd been easier for them to work together, if they lived together. Easier to travel and maintain fake identities, too.
Knowing that, however, hadn't made him hate the arrangement any less.
The messes had been the first thing. Scraps of paper and pens and pencils everywhere, comic books - wait, no, manga - CDs of everything from music to cartoons to computer games, bags of random candies, little cartoon figurines - okay, all fine by themselves, Dave hadn't cared that Hal had some strange interests - but not okay when those strange interests were over the damn living room floor.
And then there had been the constant talking - like the guy hadn't known when the hell to shut up, like he'd had no idea how to read anybody's body language and tell that they simply did not give a shit. More talking in a day than Snake had been used to hearing in weeks, about - hell, he doesn't even remember - anything Otacon had felt like talking about -
And then there had been all the weird food -
and the strange hours the guy kept, keeping Snake up for days at first before he'd gotten used to ignoring the footsteps in the hallway at night -
and the way Otacon had always complained about him smoking and finally found the courage somewhere to ban him to the balcony and bathrooms -
and the endlessly annoying - annoyingly endless - supply of naïveté and optimism regarding anything and everything and the way Snake had half-wanted him to just shut the hell up because the world just did not work like that, when the hell would he ever learn -
but had also half-envied him for even being able to still think that way, for ever being able to think that way -
and - just - how the hell could anybody be so incredibly irritating -
But then, one day, Otacon had packed up and left.
Otakon! You know, like Otacon. Remember? It's this week! Hal had explained. He hadn't missed one yet, and he hadn't planned to - so I'm going on a trip for a few days or so, Snake! I'll be back soon, don't worry.
And Dave remembers closing the door behind him and thinking he wouldn't particularly mind if Hal never came back.
But he remembers realizing too, that for some reason, that week alone hadn't been the heaven he'd been expecting.
He'd spent the first day obsessively organizing all the messes in the house - moving everything of Otacon's into Otacon's room, arranging everything in order in the kitchen, doing all the laundry, cleaning and sweeping and vacuuming and washing the windows, getting all the trash together and throwing it out - done everything he'd been itching to do ever since Hal had moved in, but known was fruitless with Hal still around to undo all his work - for eight straight hours, then passed out exhausted on the couch.
And the second day, he'd woken up alone in the silent, suddenly military apartment, sterile and clean and neat and devoid of any signs of life - looked around - and wondered why he'd expected it to be any more comfortable.
Why had he?
The third day, he'd killed a spider in the kitchen - and felt guilty about it even though there had been no one there to ask him why he'd done that, why couldn't he just have taken it outside? The poor spider - Dave, really, was that necessary?
Dammit -
And he'd taken the next two spiders outside.
The fourth day, he'd had an idea - and left the TV on all day - even when he hadn't been in the room, just for the background noise - then turned it off when he'd realized the whole reason he'd even had it on in the first place had been because he'd been starting to actually miss the conversation.
Dammit -
And so he'd spent the fifth day obsessively disorganizing all the neatness in the house - moving everything of Otacon's back into the living room, messing up the kitchen the way it had been before, throwing clothes around - clean, but no way around that. Not a perfect job - he'd never been a natural mess-maker - but pretty good, if memory had served correctly.
And the sixth day, Hal had come back home, loaded down with even more random little things to leave around and lose all over the place - like a collection of doujinshi he'd proudly showed Dave without a trace of embarrassment - but if he'd noticed anything strange about the apartment, or how his anime and movie DVDs had been separated into two piles, or how all the clothes strewn around his room were suspiciously cleaner, or how Dave had stopped resenting his presence so much - well, he hadn't said anything, at least. And neither had Dave.
But after that, Snake remembers, things had started to change. He'd started to not mind the messes so much - signs of life, he'd told himself, signs of non-military life. He'd gotten used to the hours, used to the restricted smoking and the food - not so hard. At some point, he'd actually even started listening when Otacon talked and found that it hadn't been terribly uninteresting - and had found that it had gotten considerably less uninteresting when he'd started half-reluctantly conversing back.
And he remembers the looks, most of all - the ones he'd never noticed before, when he'd treated Otacon like a necessary pain of life. The looks - that expression on Hal's face that said, this is a friend! I have a friend! He's being nice to me! - mixed happiness, gratitude, incredulousness - every time he'd done something remotely friendly, every time he'd done any little thing for the guy. And he remembers his surprise at himself when he'd realized that, for the past few weeks, he'd been making that expression of Otacon's a goal of his - and trying to one-up it every time.
Why?
Why not?
Maybe he'd lost some of his cynicism, too. Hard to keep that up with Otacon around.
And by the time of the tanker incident, they'd become best friends.
By the time of the Big Shell crisis, they'd become practically family.
And then, that afternoon - four days ago - he'd been standing on the sidewalk, on the way back home from a mission - when suddenly, the windows of their apartment had blown out all over the street - and Otacon had been in there -
Dave remembers thinking he's going to go insane.
------------------
It's during the second day of driving that it all goes to hell.
The first day goes like this: eighteen hours of driving - Snake ten and Otacon eight - then grabbing fast food and collapsing in some cheap hotel in a small town in Illinois, too tired to do anything else. Dave's asleep almost as soon as he lies down, the deep, quiet sleep of exhaustion - expected, he's slept about two hours in the past seventy-two. Wouldn't have been a problem last week, but -
But this week, he's a guy that has to be shaken awake by Otacon in the morning. A guy still hung over with fatigue and blearily wondering why he hasn't snapped immediately to his senses exactly when he'd planned to like usual, like he's been able to for the past few years. A guy whose muscles ache and who can't place why, or why the whole thing seems so unfamiliar.
And then it hits him: the nanomachines. His body's artificial climate control. They're all disabled. And he's never realized how much he's grown to depend on them - on Otacon making sure he stays at peak shape.
And so when Otacon offers to drive first, Snake doesn't say no. When Snake dozes in the passenger's seat, Otacon doesn't wake him. And when Snake's too asleep to remember to warn Otacon to take a certain turn to avoid the tolls he knows are coming up on the turnpike -
Strike three -
and it all goes to hell when Snake opens his eyes as the car slides to a stop beside the toll booth and Otacon fumbles around for change. Behind him, Snake sees the woman in the booth's eyes widen as she glances at Otacon, then Snake, then to the tiny TV mounted on the counter in the booth and back again - and when she freezes up, then begins to carefully reach with one arm beneath the counter -
Shit.
And What - !? is all Otacon has the chance to say before Snake's jerking awake for good, pounding down with both hands on Otacon's leg and forcing him to smash his foot into the accelerator -
Go!
What are you d -
And then the car's leaping forward, crashing through the painted wood of the tollbooth barrier as it splinters across the windshield -
and Otacon's fighting with the wheel for control and yelling at him like he's gone crazy as cars flash by past the windows -
and Snake's just pressing down harder and looking back through the mass of swarming cars behind them, catches sight of the woman in the tollbooth with a phone to her ear -
Snake -
Otacon! She's calling the goddamned cops -
What?
And then Snake doesn't have to hold on any more because Otacon's slamming down on the gas himself, throwing a panicked glance around and ignoring the way the engine of the car whines as they weave through highway traffic at over a hundred miles an hour -
Stop looking back!
But -
a hundred ten -
Keep your damn eyes on the road and take the second exit.
What - the second? But -
They'll be expecting us to either take the first or keep going -
a hundred twenty -
But what if -
Goddammit, Hal - just - turn! Now! Now -
And then the tires are letting loose an agonized screech as Otacon twists the steering wheel and hits the brakes -
and the car's lurching sideways with the momentum, throwing both of them to one side -
and then sending them smashing into the other as the tires crash down onto the highway again -
the screech of metal on metal, sparks flying past the windows where the car slides against the highway exit railing as Otacon loses his grip on the wheel and the car spins out of control -
and Snake's cursing and throwing his arms over his face, expecting the windshield to shatter -
closing his eyes and ducking his head as the airbags deploy and fighting them down as the road and trees and the rest of the world tilts and blurs -
and then the windows are finally rattling and shattering around him and there's a shower of glass down his arms and back and in his hair as the car skids sideways one last time -
and slams to a halt against the railing, hurling him forward against the dashboard, and -
And then everything stops.
Snake lifts his head, lowering his arms, shaking the glass off of himself - reflexively checking his limbs - anything broken? Don't think so - just bruised a bit, from the impact - then -
Otacon!
And Snake hears the patter of more glass on the floor, coughing in midst of the smoke drifting in through the shattered windshield from the busted engine, and then Otacon's voice, shaky but not with pain -
I'm all right - I think -
which cuts off as the distant wail of police sirens rises in the air, and suddenly the crackle of glass stops as Otacon freezes, staring out the broken rear windshield at the highway behind them - until Snake grabs him by the shoulder, gives him a shake.
Out of the car. Out of the car! Now!
And then Snake's grabbing their bags and kicking at the car door - busted, no way it's going to open - shit - hears Otacon struggling with the driver's side door behind him -
They have no time for this, no time for this, no time -
and he can almost see the flashing red and blue lights through the trees, streaking past down the highway, as he grabs the top of the car, levering himself outside headfirst through the broken window - sees Otacon notice them too, standing out by the ruined car, and how the hands covering his nose and mouth can't hide the panic in his eyes -
and fucking hell, his terror isn't helping Snake's -
Deep breath. Calm down. Duck. They've got to get away from the car. Away. Where? East. Trees. No. West. No. Back on the highway. They'll be caught for sure. South. Down the exit - the exit must lead to somewhere. But when they find the car they'll know - no. North? Smoke. Pollution. Must be a town. City. Something - fine. That works. That works, that works - and if it doesn't they're fucked but he's not thinking about that -
Otacon! Let's go.
And Otacon turns from the highway to the car, then to Snake, then back to the car again, running his eyes over it, taking in the smoke, glass, crumpled metal - the look on his face is bewildered, dazed -
What? But - how - there's no way we can repair - what are we going to do now?
Snake tells him simply,
Run.
Run?
and Otacon tears his eyes away from the car and looks up at him, frightened, waiting for orders, for directions - looks as helpless as Snake feels - but Snake doesn't have anything more to tell him. No advice, no wisdom, no solutions, no heroics - just this -
Run - and pray.
Snake -
Come on!
------------------
He remembers the apartment, mostly blown to pieces - pieces of furniture and wood from the walls still coated with white paint littered all over the floor. Otacon, he remembers thinking - Otacon - Hal - and he remembers running into the computer room as the police had finally arrived on the street below to investigate the blast, kicking in the half-busted door and staring at the blood on the carpet.
So it'd been true then, he remembers thinking, it'd been true - they'd taken Otacon - maybe dead, but probably alive - not enough blood - which meant -
Shit, shit, shit, and Snake had frozen up for a moment before the drumming footsteps of running police had arrived at the apartment door, and he'd barely managed to haul himself to the roof through the window before they'd barged in with cameras and tape.
Someone must have seen him - or Hal - must have - they'd known exactly where to come to get them, but not exactly where they were - had to move fast and attack before they moved. It'd only been luck that Snake had happened to be out - only luck that he'd had that extra tracker, that he'd been around and able to tag the car with it before it'd taken off. Luck, luck, luck - goddammit - too many mistakes, too sloppy, they should both be dead by now -
And through all that, he remembers the anger that'd burned through everything else, the anger he'd let burn through everything else, because it'd been better than terror, panic, guilt:
I'm going to kill whoever is responsible for this.
But how?
No maps, no tools, no weapons, no technology, no one to lock down security cameras, no one to even tell him where he's going or who he's dealing with - or to help him with information if he needs it - or even to warn everyone else if he dies -
He'd be going in blind, completely helpless besides himself and his guns, worse than Shadow Moses -
That'd be suicide - or maybe worse -
But he has no other options -
And the more time passes, the dangerous it gets -
And Snake remembers stalking the halls of the other hideout, glancing into the empty computer room once in a while to monitor the location of the car, waiting for it to stop, because there's no one there any more to tell him how to follow it before it does - trying to ignore the bright anime posters on the walls that remind him that - Otacon, Otacon, there's no damn time, they might already be - but there's nothing he can do yet, nothing he can - goddammit -
and he's thinking and pacing and thinking and pacing and thinking -
because he can't do anything else, but he has to do something, but he can't, but he has to -
round and round and round and it's driving him insane -
What the hell is he supposed to do?
------------------
What are we going to do...?
It's the fifth or sixth time he's asking, and from the dark, frustrated glare that Snake shoots his way when he looks up, Otacon knows that going on is probably a mistake.
But he asks anyway, because there's nothing else to do besides look around the motel room they've stumbled into off the highway, watch the TV in the room report about the police looking through the remains of the terrorists' car, and wait, wait, wait - to die? to get caught? for the Patriots to be storming their door? - watching the cheap digital clock on the bedside table tick away the minutes - and it's driving him insane -
Any ideas yet?
No.
Are you sure?
I'm sure.
There's - there's got to be something -
And Snake's patience finally snaps:
Hal. We have no car. We have no way to contact anyone that wouldn't give us and them away. No one knows where we are. No one's expecting us. Stepping onto a bus or into an airport is like a death trap. After all this news coverage, so might be stepping outside. Do you understand that?
I do, but -
Look - if I think of any plan better than die trying to walk over the goddamned Rockies, I'll let you know.
and Otacon watches in silence as Snake goes back to staring down at the table - one hand reaching for cigarettes he doesn't have, the other habitually going for the ashtray, then dropping it in disgust when he realizes he's got nothing to smoke anyway - and he can see the tendons moving in his hands as Snake cracks at his knuckles, oblivious, lost in thought - expression dark, hardened with frustration - and he can almost hear what Snake's thinking -
What do we do what do we do what do we do no time no time no time no time what do we do -
round and round and round and round -
and his own mind is blank as he sits there on the corner of one of the beds in front of the TV, expecting soldiers or something to bust through the door any minute now and trying to stem the wave of quiet panic that makes him want to do something - anything -
scream, flail, run, anything, even something stupid like go out there and turn himself in, just to get it over with - because it's hopeless - because this waiting is agony -
but he can't, can't do anything, and he's right back where he started and what can they do, they have no time, what can they -
No. Deep breath. Don't panic. Focus on something else.
Wall. Room. Clock. Snake. TV. Table. Floor. Ceiling. Snake. Clock - it's been ten minutes. TV. Table. Snake. Clock - fifteen, now. How long have they been in here? An hour, two hours, longer than that - long enough for the sun to have gone down meanwhile, long enough for him to have showered and changed while waiting and waiting and waiting because he couldn't stand the silence and the dread edging in any more, and when he'd come back out it'd all still been the same, more waiting and waiting, that's all they've been doing, waiting for -
Waiting for what?
A miracle?
Maybe -
And Otacon's sitting, twisting his hands in his lap, feeling like the walls are closing in around him and it's hard to breathe for some reason, like the silence is taking up all the air, and he'd get up and walk around except he knows Snake would snap at him to stop and Snake doesn't need the distraction right now, not when Otacon can tell that he's flipping through ideas like cards, examining, weighing, discarding, examining, weighing, discarding, picking them all up again -
but they can't all be useless, can they - even if they're stranded out here, even if they've got no one looking for them - there's got to be something - and it's hopeless, they're both going to die - no, no they're not! They - they can't just die out here, not like this, not like - isn't there anything? There has to be - he just doesn't know what, and -
oh God, can't somebody just tell him what to do -
And he doesn't realize what he's doing until Snake raises a hand to his forehead in frustration and tells him bluntly,
Stop looking at me like that.
What - like what?
and when he looks up, Otacon catches sight of his reflection in the mirror past Snake's shoulder - frightened, stressed, his glasses cracked and resting unevenly across his nose - and the expression on his face is all too clear. Clear - and pleading - and pathetic.
Like that.
But -
I'm telling you that I don't have any goddamn ideas either -
I know. I'm sorry -
Then what the hell is it you want from me?
Nothing, I just -
What.
Snake -
Wrong, Snake says then, and it's bitter, the way he shoves his chair back from the table and begins to stalk the walls of the room.
What - wrong - what do you mean -
This isn't a mission. We're not going anywhere. We've got nothing on our side. Snake would have hi-tech suits and weapons. Snake would have a Codec and nanomachines. Snake would have allies and outside support. In fact, Snake's become pretty damned dependent on them, the pathetic bastard -
What are you talking about -
I mean that Snake would find a way out of this somehow, something that doesn't involve killing half the city and leaving in a trail of blood. Isn't that right? Snake would have found a way to get you away from them in the first place without leaving every single person dead. All you've got is David, and David is turning out to be pretty goddamned worthless, isn't he -
And Otacon's eyes widen as Snake turns to face him -
You mean - the people that - the apartment - you killed them all -
I had no choice, damn it! I'm a soldier. That's what I do -
All of them -
Thirty four. Shot, stabbed, strangled, and left to burn when the place went down. Without all the other gear, I couldn't sneak in - even if I could have, I couldn't have gotten you out - no one could have helped me - I couldn't think of any other way - letting any of them go would have jeopardized everything! And - god damn it, Hal -
Snake's voice dies into a strained, frustrated growl low in his throat as the muscles work in his jaw, and he turns to the wall, not continuing until Otacon steels himself and asks quietly, solemnly -
And what?
And I liked it, Snake hisses, turning around - I liked it, goddammit! I liked killing them for what they did to you - and if I could, I'd do it again - and again and again and again -
and Snake finally looks up and meets his eyes, and Otacon suddenly understands that maybe the person Snake's angry at isn't him. This kind of coldness - the thing he'd been afraid of seeing -
That's reserved for one person only. The person that's demanding:
Do you still want my damn ideas now? The ideas that kill more people, do you still want my ideas to save you? And
No,
Otacon whispers in reply, even quieter than before, and Snake crumples more than leans back against the wall, eyes closed, head tilted back in defeat -
and when he speaks again after a moment, his voice is tired, hollow, edged with fading anger and bitter humor.
How did you think I did it?
I - Otacon shakes his head - I didn't. Think about it.
No. You wouldn't.
Snake...
And Snake smiles that familiar dark, humorless smile, the one that really isn't a smile at all - the same one that Otacon's come to associate with loss, with cynicism, with regret and Meryl and distant, jaded grief - as he raises a hand to cover his face.
Even you, even now -
Me?
Damn it -
What is it?
Hal -
Come on, Snake -
I wish I were the hero you think I am.
You - what?
And then Otacon freezes, staring up at Dave against the wall - and then he's staring straight across as he gets to his feet, his face twisting in anger -
not at the accusation -
not at the words -
those don't matter -
but at the pain in Dave's voice -
the stupid, stupid, stupid pain that makes Otacon want to laugh and strangle him at the same time - and then he's angry, angry like he doesn't remember ever being before - fists clenched, tone low and dangerous, hissing through his teeth and only getting louder as he goes -
You think I don't know - what this is - where we are - who you are?
Hal, I didn't mean -
A hero? You're not a hero! You're just some - pathetic guy, running from the police -
I know that -
a murderer, a killer - a criminal, a terrorist -
I know that -
You've got nothing to your name - you don't even have a name! Not even an identity - you think that's glamorous, Dave? You think that's legendary?
No, I don't! That's what I've been trying to say -
You just killed thirty four people -
And Snake's face works at that before he shuts it down and wordlessly pushes himself off the wall and heads for the door -
and he almost makes it, when Otacon calls after him with the one thing that he knows for sure will hit home, hard -
Hero. Don't kid yourself. Everyone you even talk to - everyone you work with - everyone you befriend - you're no hero. Look at everyone you've known. Hero? You're a walking death sentence.
And Snake turns, ready to explode in rage -
You bastard -
but his words cut short and his rage fades into stunned silence when he sees Otacon standing there - display of anger over, shoulders hunched and eyes on the floor - and Otacon finishes quietly,
But I don't care.
And he takes a deep breath -
You think all that - all that hero stuff is the only reason I value you? You think if you weren't Solid Snake, I wouldn't? Well - guess what, Dave. You said it yourself. Right now, you're not. You're not anybody's hero.
and he looks up -
But I'm still here.
and lifts his chin in defiance -
And I'm not leaving -
and stares Snake down.
Not until the end.
Otacon -
The way Snake's voice breaks over his name hurts, but in a good way this time.
Don't you get it, Dave?
Get what? Snake manages, and then Otacon's replying -
That it doesn't matter - what you've done - what you might do - what you are or might become - everything. Don't you get it, Dave? Even if you're going to hell -
Hal...?
and Otacon almost smiles as Snake stares, although his eyes are sad behind the still-cracked lenses of his glasses.
I just want to go with you.
------------------
that's all there is so far. CRIT THE FUCK OUT OF ME pls i enjoy the pain