North || Nathan Drake

12

It was unbearably sunny as they loaded up the cargo plane. Men in dark uniforms loading huge crates strapped together, bags of tools and boxes of supplies. It was more of a military operation than a treasure hunting exhibition and Dante knew that his father was just blowing money on this. He was sulking, the bruises on his cheek having bloomed with colour overnight, eyes hidden by mirrored sunglasses as he watched the whole thing. There was no point in running. Too many people and his father stood at his side. Santiago Moncada was looking much more put together than Dante was. The younger man in a pair of black cargos and a white tshirt, some of the only clothes he still had left in his old bedroom. They still fit (cause he hasn't grown since he was seventeen) which was a plus. His camera in it's bag attached to his belt and a backpack of clothes on his back.  

"Careful with that!" Moncada snapped as a group of men began rolling the red Ferrari that was his pride and joy, up the ramp and into the plane. "I don't want her getting scratched". 

"Nice car", Chloe commented as she strolled up with her backpack. She was dressed in a worn jumpsuit in a green grey colour. It was almost reminiscent of a flight suit. 

"Bitch", Dante smiled at her, all teeth. 

"North. Lovely bruise there. The green and yellows really bring out your eyes". She smiled sharply back.  

"Jo is a lovely stylist", he shrugged. 

"Dante", Moncada warned. He fell quiet at his father's side, not wanting a matching bruise on his other cheek. His father wouldn't Jo slapping him around again. The older mn turned his gaze back to his car. "My father gave me this car when I turned eighteen. It's been my good luck charm ever since. I hoped to do something similar with my boy. But Dante ran away before his birthday". 

"You're not still bitter about that, are you?" Dante huffed as he pushed his curls off his forehead. "I recall Abuelo kicking me out". 

"The past is the past", Moncada shrugged. 

Chloe pulled the round tube off her shoulder and held it out by the strap. "The map", she offered. Moncada took it from her and pulled down his glasses. 

"You know, its natural to feel some conflict. You made a difficult decision but the right one". 

"No she didn't", Dante's mumble was only half under his breath. 

"I don't really do regret". Chloe's stare was unwavering. 

"Neither do I". 

"Figures", Dante swore. He wasn't sure what to feel about his father now that he knew that the man had murdered Abuelo. Sleeping on it had not helped and he was as wary now as he had ever been around his family member. There was once a time when he could have trusted the man, looked up to him. It was long gone and that felt bitter in his stomach. 

Moncada sighed as he grabbed Dante by the back of the neck. The young man grunted as he was forced forwards and into the plane, stumbling as the fingers pressed in bruises and boots scraping on the metal ramp. "If there is one thing I do regret", Moncada remarked as he finally let Dante. "Is that you inherited your mother's mouth and eagerness to test my nerves". 

"Learnt from the best". 

"God rest her soul but I am glad that she is no longer around to ruin us". Moncada tidied Dante's curls, touch softer and caring now compared to the grip he'd just had on him. "Sit down. We're taking off in twenty". Then the man was striding away, disappearing towards the front of the plane where the meeting room was placed. Dante ran a hand over his face tiredly, wondering how he was going to get out of this one. 

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

Hours into the flight and approaching the islands of the Philippines found Dante in the meeting room with his father, Jo, Chloe and a few of the black clothed men. The whole thing was metal with grey walls, control panels along each wall half into the room and a matching table in the centre of the room up a couple of steps. Dante leaned against it, not wanting to be there and tired from the feeling of flying. It was only when Moncada unrolled the map did he pay attention. It was a beautiful piece of history. The lines and drawings still defined and the colours visible after the hundreds of years. 

"Maravilloso", Moncada breathed as he gazed over it. "Now who is ready to make a little history?" He turned to Chloe and Jo eagerly. Both women smiling back politely. Dante didn't trust the coldness in Jo's eyes.

"I overlaid the map with modern satellite imagery", Chloe voiced as a image of the map appeared on the tvscreen set into the wall in front of them. "We'll drop our supplies from the air, land in Kiamba Philippines, where we will be met by our local forces". The screen changed to show the mentioned places and Dante frowned. He doubted that it would be so simple. 

Chloe turned the map over to reveal more illustrations on the back. The Philippines drawn in an old hand. "We should find our pot at the end of the rainbow here, in Cala de Oro". She pointed to the Red Cross. X marks the spot. 

"Gentlemen get ready", Moncada ordered. "Let's go!"Out in the cargo bay, the rap began to lower as in the control room, buttons were pressed. Their supplies being gotten ready to be airdropped. Dante watched as Jo leaned against the wall. Moncada seeming to be in happy spirits as he took off his jacket. He plucked a bottle of rum from the table and poured some into a glass, swirling it around as he handed the bottle to Chloe. "To the victor, the spoils", he grinned as he sat down. "Dante", he called. "Come sit next to me". 

Dante slouched over, taking a seat on the step lower than his father, turning his body like a child awaiting to hear a story. It made a fond smile spread over the man's face and Moncada clapped him on the shoulder warmly. Dante was reminded of all those nights as a child listening to his father tell tales of treasure and fortune. Those had been happier and simpler times. 

"Five hundred years ago my family was betrayed", Moncada began, hand still on Dante's shoulder as the familiar tale took form. He had heard this a hundred times. "Yes, a small band of explorers found the world's biggest fortune. And you know what? They hid it. For centuries people searched for it, all in vain". He took a swig of his drink. "It was left to me to recover my family's gold. Nobody thought I could do it". The grip on Dante's shoulder tightened. "And certainly not my father. Even my own son doubted me. Now, today is the day that I restore the Moncada's fortune and I bring honour back to my house! And I earn my place"- 

Jo stepped forwards. Dante was so distracted by his nostalgia and the grip his father had on his shoulder that he didn't notice the movement until it was too late. There was a sharp swish of a knife being unsheathed then it was dragging across Santiago Moncada's throat. The man grunted and let go of Dante's shoulder as blood sprayed out. It was warm on his face, dripping down his neck and splattering his tshirt as Moncada fell back across the floor. 

"Daddy was right. You don't have what it takes", Jo remarked, her curved blade still hanging in her hand as she stood over the man drowning in his own blood. 

For a second, Dante was just staring. The blood coating his face, hair, tshirt sticky. The white cotton stained red as it dripped off his chin. "Padre", his gasped, jolting as he heard his father choke on the red liquid filling his lungs and spreading across the black floor. "Dad". Dante pushed himself forwards, kneeling at the man's side as tears filled his eyes. "Padre!" 

"Dante", the word was a wheeze as his father's dark eyes stared at him, hands reaching out. Dante gripped on in his, shock and horror making his breathing rattle in his chest. "I'm sorry". 

"I would say that the house of Moncada dies with you. But I still have North left". Jo's voice echoed as Dante glanced up at her. He had never hated anyone more than he hated her in this moment. She smiled and it was like watching the snake from the bible. "Crying over dear old daddy? And here I thought you didn't get along", she cooed. 

"Fuck you", he spat. He glanced back down just in time to hear one last exhaled and feel the hand in his hold go limp. "No!" He sobbed, hands moving up to hold his father's cheeks. "Padre! Dad! Look at me! Please! I forgive you for Abuelo. I promise, just look at me!" But his father's gaze was dull and lifeless. 

unedited