M4DN3SS R3DACT3D (a sh!t madness combat story)

[[11.5]]

Smoky exhale, cigarette sitting loosely between two fingers.

Sanford always swore he'd never smoke. He needed to be as physically fit as possible (and so did Deimos, but he didn't seem to be as concerned with that), and he always thought it was a bit gross. It couldn't have tasted good, didn't look cool (at least to Sanford; lord knows how some people feel about that kind of thing), and Sanford didn't really feel like developing some sort of addiction. He'd been doing so well for so long- especially with a crazy smoker around like Dei. He'd lost count of how many times he'd yelled at Deimos for smoking during missions, or caught him after he promised he'd quit. Sanford often considered letting the barrel of his gun replace the cigarette he always had in his mouth just to get him to listen, but in the end that wouldn't get him to quit; he'd just do it away from Sanford.

How was Sanford so sure of that? Because it happened. And Hank was the one to catch him that time, and it wasn't all that great for any of them.

It drove Sanford insane, but now, the absence of the familiar smell was making him crazier.

Everything reminded him of that idiot. The busted truck he used to recklessly drive around, every gun that Sanford knew he liked. Something as simple as a flame, Deimos always tried to explain how he burned them from his own hands, but the ultimate answer was- he could just do it, he had powers, Sanford didn't. Sanford used to think it was kind of stupid, or he was faking it somehow, but it grew on him.

Sanford let the cigarette hang out of his mouth, holding the jacket on his lap closer to his body. He wished the body heat of his friend was still warming it up. He liked it a lot better than the blood that welled up around his hands when he'd found Deimos dead, face distorted by bullet holes, in what looked like a bloodbath of agents.

He swallowed hard, feeling his throat start to close up at the thought of it. God. Why couldn't he have a single minute to not think of that man? He had work to do. Places to be, a tired, less-than-patient mercenary that was sick of living and dying, wanted to get his job done and go. And he kind of needed Sanford to get his shit together for that.

But Hank hadn't known Deimos the way he did.

The person in question, who had been standing at the back door beside Sanford for a few minutes now, awkwardly cleared their throat.

Sanford turned and looked up, black lenses meeting the bright red lenses on the taller man facing him. He couldn't read his emotions through everything covering his face, but he wished he could.

At first Sanford was worried that he might be hurt- the mercenary was very good at hiding that, after all. But he appeared to be totally fine, wasn't shaken up or moving weird- maybe he was a bit tired, but that was nothing new for Hank.

"Am I.. interrupting you or something?" Hank spoke after a moment of awkward eye contact, rough voice quiet. Instantly being hit with the strong smell of smoke made his stomach turn, and he wished Sanford wasn't so spaced out so he wouldn't have to stay there for long.

Sanford raised his eyebrows. Hank usually didn't think to ask that. He sounded more confused than anything, but why was he so concerned now?

"No.. no, 'course not." Sanford readjusted himself, shifting to face Hank. "What's up? Somethin' happen?"

Sanford hadn't seen or heard anyone else around- so they definitely weren't under attack. What else would Hank want to see him for?

"Nope. We're good. But there's someone out front that wants to see you."

For a moment, Sanford just stared at Hank in confusion. No one else around would have any reason to see Sanford, or even know who he is.

Unless...

Sanford shot down the hopeful idea. There was no way.

2BDamed, maybe?

No.. He would've-

"Hey." Hank waved their hand in front of Sanford's face. Sanford flinched back. "Snap out of it and go, dumbass. They're waiting."

Sanford abandoned his things at the back door and walked to the front. Before he'd even got there, the person in question spoke;

"'Ford?!"

Sanford paused- he'd grown used to no longer hearing the familiar nickname. His eyes met the surprised and overjoyed expression of his long-missing friend, and his eyes already began filling with tears before he could even say a word to him.

"...Dei?"

-------------------------------

"They killed you, San. Right in front of me. Just- walked in and shot ya right there." Deimos motioned to the spot on Sanford's body, and the man in question looked down and raised his eyebrows in response, "But then you came back.. and I went in, right... I tried talkin' to ya but you were... different."

"'Different'?"

"Yeah, yeah. Like... What's that stuff? Darkness? All over you. Totally covered your face. And you were acting weird. You were just.. staring at first.. then you tried to attack me.. I dunno, I was like, blacking out. Then you backed up for some reason. And then you started hitting the wall.. N'next thing I knew you were dead. Again."

Silence.

Sanford's sympathetic expression, though Deimos couldn't see it. Which was good, because everything Deimos had said to him since coming back made him want to cry.

"Y'know, I think you were still in there." Deimos looked up, meeting a look of confusion. "It didn't really look like you.. wanted to hurt me. You tried, but you didn't."

Once again, Sanford had nothing to say. The pit in his stomach dropped further as if Deimos had just told him he didn't want to work with him anymore.

...Shit. What if he does?

Sanford forced himself to keep a neutral expression, which was quite hard when the person you were looking at had just been assumed dead after you walked in on their destroyed body, and they suddenly returned telling you about every horrifying thing they faced in the afterlife.

"I know it wasn't really you, but.. it was still fucking terrifying. And I don't ever wanna see you like that for real."

Deimos didn't say a lot of things he really meant, but this was one of them. He hoped the unusually serious tone in his voice covered up how desperate he really felt. It felt too real. Even now, seeing the real him, that wasn't erratic and /totally/ aggressive, he had a hard time facing him.

Because what was he going to do if he looked up, and saw that thing there instead of Sanford again? What if it was real?

"Y'won't, Dei. Never."

Deimos had sworn he never heard the man speak this soft or be this understanding. Sure, Dei usually got the best of it- he was his work partner after all. But even then he'd never been.. a gentle person.

And Deimos, as the one he always had to mess around with outside of work, knew that too well physically and emotionally.

"Y'promise, 'Ford?"

The taller man got down eye-level with Deimos, took off his sunglasses, looked him right in the eyes.

"I promise."