The Uncharted Tales

Chapter 2

Part 1: From Small Beginnings

Victor Sullivan

What the hell did you get yourself into this time, Sullivan?

The kid may have agreed to tag along with him back to Sully's rental just on the outskirts of Cartagena, but one week in and he was beginning to realize he had his work cut out for him if he ever wanted Nate to start trusting him.

He'd been in this game for a long time now; knew ticks and warning signs of a troubled past. Nathan Drake wasn't an outwardly vulnerable kid, but Sully would have been blind if he missed the flickering shadow of that scared, famished little runaway hidden behind that carefully guarded look about him.

Nate had carved himself a spot in the armchair and would curl into a tight little ball, hunched over his journal, sketching idly with a steady hand, worrying at his bottom lip, and his eyes narrowed with that very same intensive concentration he displayed when rambling on about Drake. For all appearances, he was too absorbed in his work to notice the world around him, yet his attention would snap back into focus with every move Sully made, whether it be for his cigar or shuffling about the cramped space to prepare them something to eat.

Lately, he started to wonder what kind of teenager he found himself sheltering; brave with an unhealthy dose of paranoia, with an incredible mind for historical knowledge despite the feral-ness about him that could only have been developed from years of being on the streets.

That alone was an enigma. If Nate wasn't scarfing down his latest meal or dodging Sully's thinly-veiled queries – sometimes at the same time – he was an unstoppable motor-mouth. His face flushed from his giddy excitement as he flipped through the pages of his sketchbook, occasionally reaching up to tug at the ring resting at his chest, and, boy, he could talk.

Sir Francis Drake, his voyage through the East Indies, and, at the heart of it all, treasure just waiting to be found. He spewed off dates and historical knowledge like it was second nature, and sixteenth century Latin rolled off his tongue with ease. Sully watched him quietly through it all, marveling at the drastic change from the cagey guard Nate put up around himself to steadily shifting into a child lit up with wonder when he spoke of his ancestor.

Those moments were far and few in between. The rest of the time, he was belligerent as all get out, and it was made blatantly obvious any time Sully suggested it might be in their best interest if they left town, before Marlowe found them.

"She's gonna look high and low for you and that ring, kid," Sully uttered not for the first time.

Nate rolled his eyes, pressing the item of interest between his fingers almost protectively while his other hand clasped his journal to his chest. "Then leave. I'm not going anywhere."

No amount of prodding could budge the teen, and Sully found himself incapable of dropping this impossible partnership, even when there were many, many times at night where he lay awake, questioning if he was out of his goddamned mind for taking a kid into his care. It wasn't as though he knew the first thing about raising one, and then it would hit him all over again that, Holy shit, I've got a kid to look after.

That alone was enough to strike fear deep inside him. Was he planning on going that far with whatever this was? The idea of basically becoming someone's guardian made him want to burst out laughing and pour himself a drink, or five. He was sure, if it were up to Nate, he would be just as averse to the idea as Sully was.

The only thought keeping Sully from seriously reconsidering the shit-show he put himself in was the fear that if he left, would Marlowe's cronies find him? Kid wouldn't last long in her clutches.