The kid had with him for nearly six weeks, and he was still a mystery.
He never spoke of his family. He refused to answer questions about his past. He fixated on maps and history books while scribbling in notebooks without breaking his concentration for even a second. On hard days, he stayed up to watch the sun set and woke to see it rise. He turned away at Sully's desperate attempts to break down the barriers he'd put up, balled his fists up in rage when he up and vanished in the dead of the night with no warning and Sully couldn't help but worry.
He was an endless corridor of locked doors, a child who carried more secrets than he had years on his life. Sometimes he fell asleep on the couch surrounded by artifacts that no 15-year-old should've been ready to lay his life down for. Sometimes he tossed and turned all night, unaware that Sully did the same.
On their first job together, Nathan - or Nate - was completely unrecognizable from the boy he'd met on the streets of Columbia just days before. The simple museum bust involved the kid expressing his extensive knowledge on topics that were far too advanced, some of which even Sully wasn't properly educated on. Words like "treasure" and "manuscript" and "epigraphy" rolled off his tongue like the concept of history mixed with thievery was simply second nature to him. Sully watched in transfixion as the teenager jotted notes down, his head jerking to a stop and hand absentmindedly being brought to his mouth whenever he had a revelation.
He was a mystery, an enigma in every sense. He hated when the bedroom windows were locked, yet he propped chairs up against his door when he slept (traits that started veering dangerously close to being symptoms of past abuse). Threats and scoldings and even bullets went over his head without so much as a flinch from the boy, but he reacted like a deer in headlights when Sully accidentally called him "son."
It was two weeks before he found out Nate had a brother; purely by chance, the result of Nate accidentally letting slip something about a partner in prison and Sullivan filling in most of the details. It resulted in a small fight, one that Nate walked away from, and the older man tried to calm himself; Nate had left the house in the night countless times before, and he never failed to return safely. But there was still a deep, constantly present part of him that feared for the boy's safety. He drank a bit too much that night, earning him a throbbing headache the next morning after getting a scant 4 hours of sleep, maybe.
Nate showed up around 7 pm, as he always did. They didn't talk about it. They never did.
On the third week, it became obvious that some of the tension Nate felt upon meeting Sully had begun to fade. Sully had already collected more of the kid's backstory than he did in the first two weeks alone: Nate had an older brother named Sam, imprisoned for at least 7 more months; his last name was Drake, though the exact ancestry was still unknown; he knew Latin, Spanish, Portuguese, Arabic, and a small bit of French; and all questions regarding his parents were strictly forbidden.
They spent an entire morning pouring over old charts and diagrams, ate Chinese takeout for dinner (Sully couldn't afford anything better, but neither of them were complaining), and were about to turn in to bed yet again when Nate's gasp caught Sully's attention.
Nate was crouched by the bedside table in the guest bedroom, tugging out a detailed wooden box that sat beneath piles of old papers and coughed when it exhaled an enormous puff of dust. Sully yawned as he leaned against the doorway.
"We've watched the exact same movie a thousand times, and this entire time, you've had a chessboard?"
Sully's lips turned upwards into a small grin. "Oh, yeah. Forgot I owned that. Y'know, I'm surprised it took you this long to search the guest room."
"That'd be a bit of an invasion of privacy, wouldn't it?" Nate opened the box and rummaged through it, possibly checking to ensure all the pieces were still there. "Plus, I wouldn't want to find something questionable that I could use as blackmail later. Ignorance is bliss."
"Alright, I choose not to take offense to that." Sully shifted from his position and joined Nate, who was kneeling on the floor. "Damn, I barely remember buying that." Probably a bad sign.
"We should play."
Sully grimaced. "I don't know, kid. It's late."
He snorted. "It's 9:30. How old are you again?"
"We have to be up early tomorrow."
"Yeah, and then it's a 3 hour drive to a robbery we might die during. It's now or never."
"A little morbid, kiddo."
"Fine. It's now or in two weeks, when we get back." Nate closed the board, standing up to face the older man while pushing it under his arm. "Please?"
Sully stammered, and Nate narrowed his eyes.
"Oh my god….what middle-aged man doesn't know how to play chess?"
Sully turned and left the room, raising his arms defensively on his way to the kitchen. "I just never found the time to learn, that's all." Not a complete lie, just leaving out the obvious tragic backstory: the distant parents and the fact that Sully's only true current friends, attractive waitresses and shady contacts, were most likely not interested in playing board games with him.
The chess board landed on the table Sully was seated at, and Nate slid it to the middle before taking a seat across from him. "And yet you own a chessboard? Did you buy it when you were drunk?"
A small laugh escaped Sully's lips right before he took a drag from the cigar he just lit. He folded his arms as he tapped the ashes into a tray on the counter. "It's entirely possible."
"Come on. I'll teach you."
Sully sighed, then shook his head in defeat. "Fine, kid. One game."
Nate grinned eagerly and unpacked the board, and Sully marveled as he did so, smiling at the kid who was so full of secrets casually arranging chess pieces in excitement. Within minutes everything was set, and Nate began directing Sully on what to do.
"Okay, so the queen can move any number of squares either horizontally, vertically, or diagonally."
"And the king can do the same, right?"
"Yes, but only one square. And the bishop goes diagonally."
Sullivan couldn't decide if the kid was more himself than he'd ever been or if he was a stranger; the puzzled looks he gave the chess board were undeniably similar to the ones he gave the history books, when he balanced two of them in his arms with a pencil in his mouth and his notebook tucked into his back pocket for when he finally connected the dots. When Nate finally figured out the perfect move that would ensure his victory, it was so similar. Similar to the look on his face when adrenaline turned his face red and his hair was a mess from dodging one too many bullets (and one bullet was already too many).
For a moment, Sully was sickened. And disturbed.
But he saw other sides of Nate that night. The childlike excitement when he stole any of Sully's pieces (this excitement resurfaced a lot; Sully, to be quite frank, sucked at chess). The way his eyes narrowed and his lips upturned slightly when he spotted a move his opponent would never see coming. His quiet guidance, his patience and his empathy. All of it.
It was as if Sully was seeing what the kid could've been, had he gotten the chance to be a kid in the first place. And it both hurt and frightened him in so many ways, the fact that the displayal of Nate's innocence came as such a surprise to him, because that must have meant it was nearly gone. He was acting like a kid, like the child that he was, and yet it was so foreign.
But Sully allowed himself to be comforted, too. It was his chance to be a child, and he deserved it. Deserved every minute of it.
After about 20 minutes, Sully leaned against the back of his chair as Nate cheered in victory. It wasn't a close game - it wasn't even in the vicinity of being one. In the stages of such an early friendship, Sully was planning on letting the boy win anyway - but he didn't exactly have to try.
"Who taught you how to play chess, anyways?" Sully helped Nate clear the table, tucking everything back into it's designated spot. For a moment, Sully feared he had veered into forbidden territory, but Nate answered quickly and with the same energy he'd brandished the whole night.
"Sam. And he doesn't want to admit it, but I'm way better than him."
They both laughed.

Five weeks along, things went wrong.
It was possibly the very last thing either of them expected to be dangerous; however, a semi-casual exchange of a stolen museum artifact in a crowded, semi-shady pub quickly turned violent. Sully sat himself with a collection of equally shady men while Nate occupied himself with a book at a table as far away from theirs as possible. Sully assumed there was nothing to worry about. After all, he knew two out of the four men pretty well, and he was good friends with the current waitress, whom he'd asked to keep an eye on Nate. However, he still wanted to be safe, and he'd purposely seated Nate at the table closest to the emergency exit.
Just in case.
Sully anxiously drummed his fingers against the table as Emilio glanced over the gold and silver medallion, stolen from a small museum several days before. He exchanged a few words with Hector and the other two men seated with him in a language Sully did not recognize. The fourth man threw his cigarette to the side. The third one nodded. Emilio turned to face Sully.
Without thinking, Sully reached across the table and pulled the precious item toward him. "There. There it is. Now, we agreed on 16 grand, correct?"
Another exchange of glances. Emilio shook his head.
"You're quite bold for a man of your age, Victor," he spoke with a heavy Spanish accent. Sully furrowed his brow.
"Come again?"
"This artifact is hardly worth 8 grand. Your plan was to sell it for more than it's worth, was it not?"
"I…" Sully snuck a glance behind him, seeing Nate still captured in whatever book he was reading. As casually as possible, he made eye contact with the waitress - a young woman named Sonia - who nervously washed dishes while eyeing him. It was Hector clicking his tongue that brought him back to reality, turning his attention back to the men in front of him.
"I've done my research," he spoke softly, his voice sounding braver than he felt. "The medallion is worth 16 thousand, easily."
"Not according to our sources," Hector spoke, taking a swig of stale whiskey. Sully's heart started pounding quickly, and he stood up, which caught the eye of the men sitting opposite him. He dropped the medallion on the table with a resounding clang, attracting the attention of a few of the pub's visitors.
"Listen, just take the medallion or don't. I'm not changing my offer."
"Well, then we seem to have a bit of a disagreement."
And when Emilio said that, Sully could swear he saw one of other men's hand twitch towards the inside of his jacket, the place where most people would think to keep a gun. He tasted something metallic in his mouth, and a million alarm bells began ringing in his head.
"Care to reconsider, Victor?"
"What's going on?"
Sully grimaced and closed his eyes as he heard Nate's voice. When he opened them, he saw that the kid had completely abandoned the book at the table and was now standing by his side. From the looks of it, he was trying to choose between feigning ignorance and outright intimidating the four men. Sully turned to look at him, and Nate's expression changed, possibly because he hardly ever saw the older man scared - and if he was, something was wrong. Really, truly wrong.
Yes, deals had turned sour in the past, but there was something different about that one.
Sully had never been one to plan ahead; he joined the Navy because it looked interesting, picked up smoking because he was bored, never settled on a concrete home for more than a few years and allowed himself get between life and death whenever the job demanded it. He didn't care, because it didn't matter. Death was simply something he always put in the back of his mind, maybe even going as far as to accept it as a possible consequence. It didn't matter.
But now…
Was it the fact that he could see an end in sight? The sudden awareness of several different outcomes, none of which were even remotely bearable or okay?
Was it the fact that he was no longer living for himself?
For a moment, nobody moved.
Nate took a step back.
One of the men pulled something out of his jacket.
"Nate, run."
The words had barely left his mouth before the first set of gunshots erupted: first from the man, then from Hector, and then they all blurred together as Sully scrambled to find cover. Patrons screamed and flew threw the doors of the pub, tipping over tables and chairs in their wake. He managed to throw himself behind the bar, eyes darting over it to look for the kid. He wasn't in sight, which was strangely calming. It meant he was most likely in cover. Sonia most likely ran, as well. Good.
Sully tried to breathe through the rising adrenaline long enough to recognize any injuries worth worrying about. He found none, so he desperately attempted to search for possible weapons as gunshots continued destroying furniture and obliterated glasses above his head.
He settled on a broken beer bottle, which was laughable when compared to four guns but still carried the possibility of saving his or Nate's life when one of them needed it. He began to crawl around the edge of the bar, getting further towards a cluster of booths. More patrons screamed, and Sully tried to ignore them. Better yet, he ignored what might happen to them because of him (it was how he slept at night).
At last he saw the kid; crouched behind the booth, one arm reaching out for a sharp glass blade that was just out of reach amidst the gunfire. Sully took a chance, sprinting across a particularly dangerous area without looking up and reaching Nate within seconds.
"Kid? Okay, listen, we're outnumbered and we have no guns," he spoke quickly as soon as he reached him. "Our best bet is through the exit over there. Okay?"
No response.
"Nate? You with me?"
And that's when he saw him, truly saw him: pale, shaking, both hands now bloodied and clutched against his left thigh.
Shit.
Sully crouched by his side, touching his shoulder lightly. "Nate? Answer me, kid. How bad is it?"
Nate looked down weakly, pulling his fingers away from his leg in the best reply that he could.
The bullet wound wasn't very deep, but it wasn't exactly a graze, either. Sully quickly scanned him for injuries; aside from that, he was sporting a very ugly head wound, possibly from some sort of fall caused by the crowd. A sort of dizzying feeling swept through him, but Sully blinked and steadied himself. He crawled over to the kid's side and tried applying pressure to the wound using a nearby cloth, which barely did a thing to help the bleeding and earned a gasp of pain from Nate. A surge of fear took hold of him, a dozen terrible thoughts running through his head at once. His eyes peered over the edge of the booth; Hector and one other were stalking the other end of the pub, while Emilio and his friend were only coming closer, pointing guns at remaining civilians who were still rooted to the spot.
(And maybe it was wrong for him to be relieved, but a distraction was a distraction.)
Sully placed his hands on Nate's shoulders, desperately trying to get through to him.
"Nate, listen to me. I know it hurts, but we need to run. Okay? Can you do that?"
Again, no answer; Nate winced and closed his eyes, pulling his knees closer to him. Okay. Probably a no. He glanced around, searching for anything, anything that could aid their escape. Sully grabbed a thin cloth that had fallen to the floor and tore off part of it, using it as a makeshift bandage. It wasn't pretty, by any means, but it would have to be enough.
Then, there was just the matter of -
"I can run."
Sully looked towards him. "What?"
"I can run. I'll be fine." He didn't look fine. Blood was now soaked into most of the jean fabric, and the kid looked paler than ever. Sully swallowed thickly.
"Are you sure? I can...Hell, I can carry you, I can -"
"Sully, I'll be fine. Okay?" Nate exhaled shakily and glanced around the pub. "Emergency exit, right?"
Sully nodded. "Yeah. They're distracted now. Are you ready?"
A nod.
It wasn't easy, but they managed to escape, be it skill or sheer luck. The parking lot was almost entirely deserted, and by the time their exit vehicle was in sight, the sound of gunshots could no longer be heard. However, the battle was far from over, and Sully practically carried Nate to the car, who started slowing down as soon as the immediate threat had disappeared.
It was a wonder how Sully kept driving when he was so blinded with fear; he kept talking to Nate, who faded in and out of consciousness during the drive back. Fuck, he knew a hospital was a better option. He knew that. But with a hospital came dozens of other risks, some of which might've landed Nate or Sully or both of them in prison. Immediately. Sully ran through the list of medical equipment his home possibly carried.
First Aid Kit? Check.
Bandages? Check.
Antiseptic?
...Maybe?
"Hey? Nate, you still with me?" The kid merely groaned in response. Sully reached over to grab his shoulder, speaking with confidence he did not feel. "You're going to be okay, just stay awake. Okay?"
When they arrived home, Sully half-carried Nate into the house, dropping him on the couch as gently as possible.
"Hurts." Nate's voice was quiet, weak. Sully grimaced. Collected clothes and rags to stop the bleeding with. Unwrapped the previous bandage, which was completely soaked through with blood.
"Yes, I know. Just...stay with me, son, okay?"
And there it was again - that dreaded word, one of the few that was truly forbidden, the one Nate had scolded him for on day one. He hadn't called him that in weeks, stuck to kid and kiddo even though the other word was probably more accurate. But Nate didn't say anything, and Sully hurriedly collected the First Aid Kit in the kitchen with shaking hands.
When he came back, Nate had completely passed out. Panic permeated throughout Sully's chest, his brain blinded by every protective instinct that had suddenly flared to life.
This anxiety didn't cease until the bleeding finally stopped.
It didn't cease until the stitches were finished, and Nate's unnatural paleness began to fade.
It didn't cease until he was sure the breaths he heard from his young charge were steady and strong.
(He might have held the kid's hand a few times, but he quite honestly didn't remember).
Though both heard and remembered hearing the word son that night, neither would ever bring it up again.
Some things were simply best left unspoken.

As he almost always did, Sully noticed when Nate got up in the middle of the night.
He rubbed a hand over an unshaven face and turned over in bed. On the other side of the apartment, the sound of the sliding glass door opening and closing echoed through the thin plaster walls. He didn't sleep when Nate got out of bed - he never did - and there was no telling when the kid would return back to the safety of his room. So, instead, Sully swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his jacket.
It had been seven days since the fight, seven days since Nate was shot and Sully felt like a part of his heart had been torn straight out, though it had only actually been present for six weeks. Nate was conscious the day after the incident, walking the day after that. He still wasn't allowed to leave the house (a rule he protested against fiercely), but other than that, he had healed quickly. It did nothing to clear the mounting anxiety that Sully was feeling, but it dulled it enough to the point where he could breathe.
He met the kid on the back porch, leaning against the door frame and watching as he gazed up at the sky in wonder. The smallest pajamas Sullivan had to offer still hung loosely on his thin frame, and damn, if he didn't look even thinner after the incident the week prior.
"You shouldn't be up," Sully said. Staying true to the person he'd been since he met him, Nate seemed to despise rules, particularly the ones that made him feel like he was on a leash: for example, rules that dictated where he could be at what times. Sully was usually flexible, because he didn't want him to feel trapped. However, he needed sleep, now more than ever.
Nate's head turned ever so slightly towards him, and he lifted his shoulders in a shrug. The bandage on his head was already showing signs of distress - probably the result of constant tampering with.
"Couldn't sleep," Nate said simply. "You get it."
"You should be in your room."
(And it was your room, not the guest room ).
Nate sighed, and Sully joined him by the railing. The night was chilly, but in a refreshing way rather than of an uncomfortable one. The city in front of them was brightly lit, and though it definitely wasn't the prettiest city he'd ever seen, the peace and familiarity of the sight calmed him.
"I wanted to see the stars."
Sully nodded, feeling the boy's words with a deep sense of understanding. He rested his arms on the railing and looked up at the sky.
The stars were startlingly pretty.
"Ever make a constellation?"
Nate snorted. It felt extremely good to hear even the smallest laugh out of him. "I thought that was only in the movies."
"Of course not. I was in the Navy, y'know."
"You were? I didn't know that."
"Yeah. See," Sully leaned over the railing a bit more, pointing at an angle so that Nate could see, "That right there is Perseus. It represents the Greek hero."
Nate followed his gaze, staring at the alignment of the stars in fascination.
"See it? It's a bit lighter than the others, not as easy to identify. Here, Cassiopeia is right next to it." Again, he pointed. "In fact, you can use the Big Dipper to find it."
"I think I read a book about that once," Nate said, eyes glancing upwards as he searched his memory. "She was...a queen in Greek mythology, right? Queen of Aethiopia?"
"I'm not as caught up in Greek mythology as you are, but yeah, I think so. Most of the stars are named after Greek heroes." Sully paused for a moment, searching for another constellation that was further off. "And that one is the Shield."
"The Shield?"
"Yeah, it's that little diamond shape to the left. It was originally named Scutum Sobiescianum by Johannes Hevelius, but it was shortened to Scutum."
"Scutum Sobiescianum? That's…" Nate paused for a moment. "The Shield...of Sobieski?"
Sullivan smiled. "Very good."
They stayed like that until daybreak, going over every star and constellation that was important. It was as if the final wall had been broken down, all things tense and confusing between the two of them suddenly ceasing to matter.
Maybe chess and constellations were silly things to create friendships over. Maybe neither of them would speak of that moment again, and maybe when daylight came they'd both return to their normal routines without a second thought.
But they appreciated the moment nonetheless.
Maybe that was all that really mattered.