Brick/Inception: Après Moi, le Deluge

[osaki_nana_707]

Title: Après Moi, le Deluge (22/24)
Author: osaki_nana_707
Fandom: Brick/Inception fusion
Word count: 3,959
Pairing: later Brendan(Arthur)xEames, mentions of BrendanxEmily and BrendanxLaura
Rating: R
Warnings: currently violence, language, mentions of character death
Summary: Brendan should have known better than to tug on loose threads. He should have known that one loose thread was all it took to make everything unravel, but he’d been tired and just wanted things to be done. He should have known well enough that things were never done.

Special thanks to wadebramwilson for betaing! <3



TWENTY-TWO

When they got into the building, Brendan did a sweep of the area for Johnny's cronies while Eames barricaded the entrance by toppling over an old filing cabinet in front of the door. "That won't hold for long," Eames said, a bit breathless.

"They've probably already sent more guys around to head us off anyway," Brendan said, listening to the scuffles and shouts echoing off of the walls of the warehouse. He couldn't pinpoint where it was all coming from because of the echoes, so all he could hope for was that they weren't nearby. He doubted they were terribly familiar with the warehouse or the location of its side doors, so he just had to hold faith that it bought them a couple of minutes. "Let's just go."

"You're the one who insisted on leading."

Brendan would have rolled his eyes but figured now was not the time. He moved forward down an aisle, creeping silently with his gun extended, keeping low and close to the stacked palettes of abandoned material that lined each side. He also checked the corners before making his way around. He could practically feel Eames itching to make some sort of remark about what a 'good little spy' Brendan was playing, but thankfully he realized it was probably best to stay silent for the time being.

Eames only risked speaking to whisper, "Darling… not for nothing, but this is a warehouse. These little aisles are about to give way to a big open space. Perhaps we should be looking for cover we can take with us."

"Eames, there isn't anything but these palettes, and I don't think the wood will hold up well against bullets. I'm your only moving cover, so deal with it."

Eames clearly didn't like this plan, even though he had to have known that was a part of it from the beginning. Brendan had already told him that he'd be leading the way since he was the one in the bulletproof vest. It didn't mean he didn't understand Eames's apprehension (hell, he was feeling pretty anxious about it himself), but there was nothing to be done but move forward.

"Besides," Brendan added, "maybe it'll work out. The warehouse they had me locked up in had a bunch of makeshift walls put up. They might have done that here too."

"You never seemed like the kind of person who dared to hope for that sort of thing."

"I don't," Brendan said, glancing back at him momentarily. "Nothing in the past has ever worked out smoothly for me so I don't bother hoping the tides could shift. It just seems like they might do it if they're going to be interrogating each person; they'd want to keep everyone separated, especially Cobb and Mal so they won't come up with a plan to thwart them or whatever."

He turned back, brow furrowing as he crept along. "Even if they put them under on the PASIV, if Mal or one of the others puts the idea in Johnny's head to send him digging for his stolen stash somewhere far from here, then that would be the ideal plan. I know that's what I would do. As it stands, if they're separated they can't do that, so most of what our friends are trying to do is defend and stall… which means they probably aren't in the best shape. They've probably been beaten and deprived of food and water and screamed at. It's not an ideal situation either way, but at least if they've separated them and put up walls, it's a more ideal situation for us. That's all."

Eames fell silent, nodding his head. "Yeah. You're probably right."

"You're getting sloppy, Mr. Eames. Come on, keep up with me now. You should have thought of that long before I did."

"I tend to do a little less planning and a little more improvising. Besides, I think you give yourself too little credit when it comes to the details."

"I thought forging was all in the details."

"The people, darling, not the places. That's why I'm shite as an architect… I'm also not a fan of imagining my mates being tortured in any form, and I've spent a good portion of my time concerned about…"

"About what? Getting shot?"

"If you have to ask about what, then perhaps you should think on it more." He smiled.

Brendan knew what he'd meant, but he couldn't quite deal with the implications of that right now. He was still recovering from his lapse of trust in the man on top of this insane rescue mission. His not-relationship with Eames would have to wait for another day.

"Well… in any case," Brendan said a bit awkwardly, "don't let it fuck with your head. I need you thinking clearly, okay?"

"I know."

As they approached the end of the aisle, Brendan could see some of the makeshift walls he'd become familiar with in his time as a hostage. Neither of them pretended it was a good thing, even if it did make their stealth a tiny bit easier, not when there was a possibility that some of the people they'd come to rescue were already damaged beyond saving. Brendan had endured the kind of torture they could put forth, and it had fucked with him. He was also stronger and more defiant than some people. He didn't know if some of the others would be able to bounce back as easily as he did.

He swallowed thickly and whispered, "Keep low, and keep quiet."

They stayed ducked behind a wall for several minutes, just listening as Johnny's boys scrambled about the place, searching for the two of them. Brendan knew they needed to move fast and carefully. He also knew that splitting up would cover more ground and make it less likely for them to be caught, but he wasn't entirely sure he wanted Eames alone like that without a bulletproof vest.

He could tell Eames was thinking the same, weighing his options. Brendan knew deep down that keeping Eames close was more to placate his own worries and less for the task at hand, and he'd quite literally just lectured Eames about not letting whatever it was between them screw up his resolve.

Silently they stared at each other, their intentions obvious from that one look, and then they reluctantly split off in different directions. It felt like Brendan was leaving a limb behind, but he tried not to think about it too much.

The room itself felt as though it was built like a maze, and for a second or two Brendan pondered the idea that this might be a dream. He couldn't let himself get caught up in that fear, so he checked his totem quickly (reality), and kept moving. After twenty minutes of creeping about, dodging sight of his pursuers and keeping low and still for long periods of time, he was starting to feel like he was spending far too much hiding and not enough time finding. He finally managed to reach a room that wasn't currently being watched and slipped inside, plastering himself up against the corner by the door immediately.

After taking just a moment to catch his breath, he took in the tiny room and the only person inside of it.

"Brain?" Brendan whispered, moving quickly to his side. Brain was tied up, bloodied, and pale. He was shivering badly, though Brendan wasn't sure why just yet. All he cared about was that he was still alive. "Brain," he said again, touching his face. "Brain, come on."

Brain lifted his head with a sharp intake of breath, and Brendan had a hard time recognizing him without his glasses on. He looked so much younger and more fragile. "Oh," Brain said in relief, "thank God. I had no idea if you were even alive. Oh, fuck, I'm so glad to see you." His voice was as wobbly as he was, the happiness tinged with a sort of hopeless ache. It was somewhat understandable since they were very far from out of the woods.

"Are you okay?" Brendan asked, crouching at Brain's ankles to untie his legs. There was blood spattered all over the floor beneath him, and it seemed like far more than a bloodied nose should have given. It made his stomach twist.

"Fuck… Brendan…" Brain slurred a bit, tilting his head back. "I guess my head's just too cluttered for them to get anything out of it. That PASIV device is so fucking terrifying, God… They couldn't get to me though. Everything's so complicated in there. I can't keep track of it all, so it was stupid for them to think so. I got them pretty good a few times." He smiled weakly.

"Are you okay?" Brendan asked again, concerned that he hadn't received a direct answer.

"When they couldn't… they couldn't get anything from me inside, they started trying from the outside," he said, a whimper appearing in his voice near the end of the sentence. Brendan was about to ask what they had done when he reached for Brain's wrists to untie them and saw for himself.

Two of Brain's fingers were missing. It hadn't even been a day since they'd been captured, and they'd chopped off two digits. That explained the blood.

As horrifying as it was, Brendan was grateful he'd gotten to him before it became any worse. He'd need to get to a hospital though; he'd lost a lot of blood, and he was still bleeding, and there was also the high risk of infection in a place like this.

"Jesus," Brendan whispered. He finished untying Brain, who practically crumpled out of the chair, but Brendan managed to catch him, steadying him as carefully as possible. "Listen, Brain… Brain, stay with me and listen, all right?"

"You got it, boss. I'm here," Brain said, offering a weak smile. It did nothing to settle Brendan's nerves.

"You have to put pressure on this so it stops bleeding or you're not going to make it out of here. Do you understand?"

Brain nodded, watching a bit helplessly as Brendan got him out of the plaid shirt he wore atop his undershirt and used it to tie the wound. "Hold onto it, all right?" he said again, snapping his fingers in Brain's face to keep him focused. "You still with me?"

"Yeah," he said, "I'm… I'm with you. I promise… I bet… I bet this is pretty relieving for you, huh? Proves I'm not a robot."

He knew Brain was just trying to keep a good humor about the whole thing, but it made Brendan's insides feel hollowed out. "Just hang in there. I'm going to get you out of here."

Before Brendan could say anything else, the sounds of shouting and struggling bled through the thin wall. He paled, turning to look back at Brain.

"Please tell me you brought an army and that's them."

"They got Eames," Brendan said.

"Shit," they both whispered simultaneously.

"Did you at least bring anyone else to help besides him?" Brain asked.

"Afraid not."

"Well, this is just great. We're down one man, and I'm missing fucking fingers. There's practically an army out there, Brendan. What the hell are we going to do?"

"You're going to stay here and wait for my signal, and you're going to keep pressure on that wound, okay?"

"I can't let you go out there by yourself, Brendan. It's suicide."

"I've got a bulletproof vest. Eames doesn't have anything. I have to help him, Brain."

Brain's brow furrowed, but at least his show of concern was a sign that he still had some signs of life in him. "You don't have bulletproof everything. They'll pump you full of lead, and then we're all dead. You promised me you wouldn't die. I put all of my bets on you, Brendan-"

"Brain," Brendan said, interrupting him. "I'm going to be okay. I can't take you out there with me because you're hurt, and you'll tie up one of my eyes if I'm trying to protect you. When I give you the all clear, you run, and you try to find everyone else, okay?" He removed one of his own pistols and set it down in front of Brain, making sure he could sit up against the wall beforehand. "If you need it, you fire, but right now just keep pressure on that wound. I'm going to try and be fast so hang in there."

"This is really dumb."

"I know, but it's the only option we've got."

Brain let his head gently thud against the wall. "Go."

Brendan checked to make sure Brain had pressure on the wound one more time and then got to his feet. "I'll whistle," he said and slipped out the door.

He didn't hesitate to draw his gun, though he did hesitate to fire when he saw two men holding Eames down while another was beating him senseless, demanding to know where Brendan was. Brendan shouted out so they'd turn to look at him, and then he emptied the clip into the three cronies. Before he could even get to Eames and see if he was all right, he was swarmed by at least five other men. Eames was being attacked just as quickly, but Brendan had given him the second he needed to get his hands on his weapons. Brendan smacked a man with the butt of his gun while Eames buried the blade of a knife into one man's stomach and then into another's, not paying any mind to the blood seeping from his own wounds.

There were too many of them to fight off; they were outnumbered, but Brendan would be damned if he didn't try. He was well aware that if Johnny's men had wanted them dead, they'd already have been pumped full of holes, but he didn't like that he didn't know why they were being kept alive. Eames didn't seem nearly so disturbed by it.

It didn't take long before the two of them were overwhelmed, arms pinned behind their backs as they were forced to their knees.

Brendan turned to look at Eames as best as he could, feeling blood seeping from a wound just above his eyebrow and sliding down his temple, and he asked, "Why are we still alive?"

"Obvious, isn't it?" Eames grunted. "They know one of us knows where the stash of stolen somnacin is."

"We know it's not you, of course," another voice interrupted.

Brendan looked up, a bit stunned. He would have expected Russell's voice, but…

"Charlie?" he said.

Charlie had just exited one of the makeshift rooms, wiping blood off of his knuckles with a handkerchief. "That would be me," he said. "Red looks good on you by the way, Brendan. You should bleed more often."

Brendan would have retorted, but he was honestly flabbergasted. He didn't understand why Charlie of all people was talking like this. Charlie had helped him out from nearly the beginning. It didn't make any sense.

Charlie tucked the handkerchief away in the breast pocket of his shirt, looking casual and unaffected by the surprise on Brendan's face. "I guess you're probably wondering why Johnny isn't here to lead the welcoming party. Sorry about that, but he's dealing with a bit more of a pressing matter right now… mainly the bullet in his skull, but you know." He shrugged, nonchalant.

"Johnny's dead?" Eames asked and spit out a mouthful of blood.

"Good riddance, right?" Charlie said. "I mean, let's be real, he had far too much of a temper to run things properly. I think everyone here now realizes that. He wasn't the smart guy he liked to think he was, and frankly I was a bit tired of him taking all the credit. No, see, now that I have everything under control, I decided it was time to give myself a promotion… Just in case you were curious."

"You did this," Brendan said slowly. "You did all of this. You sold us out, you captured our friends, you killed Laura… It was all you…"

"I'm honestly a bit stunned you didn't figure it out," Charlie said, waving a hand to order the men holding them down to tie them up. Ropes were produced almost instantly from the other men who had guns trained on them. Brendan glared at him, mouth curved into a hard frown.

"Really?" Charlie scoffed. "You want me to tell you the tale? Come on, can't you put it together? You're a bright kid. You figured out Laura's scheme when you were running with the Pin. Honestly, how complicated can this be for you?"

Brendan said nothing.

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Do you want to know why you're still alive?"

Still, Brendan said nothing.

"Your defiance is meaningless," Charlie said, "but you can thank Mr. Eames for the fact that we haven't pumped you full of bullets."

"You're using him against me," Eames said softly.

"Lucky, isn't it? Probably would have killed him a few minutes ago if it weren't for your obvious fondness. You used to be so good at keeping it together, Eames. That Antony fellow had you tied around his finger though, and Brendan reminds you of him just a little too much. No one is blind enough to miss that. It's all in the little details, isn't it? Isn't that what you tell everyone about forging? That was what all of your little friends from Her Majesty's said when they wouldn't give away your location to Johnny. It's amazing what kind of loyalty people can have for a glorified con man."

"I'm just that charming I guess," Eames replied, and he was smiling but his eyes were burning with anger. It was one of those rare moments where he was transparent, Brendan couldn't help but think.

Charlie slipped his hands into his pockets and said, "So. What I need from you is where you've stashed the goods. You've been setting back production a hell of a lot, and I really don't want to go through the trouble to keep making it if people are just going to keep stealing it out from under me. It's a really expensive process, after all."

"You're making the somnacin?" Brendan found himself questioning before he could stop himself. "I thought Johnny was the only one who knew the recipe."

"Johnny can't even tie his shoes without help. He's braggadocios though, so I can understand why everyone was led to believe that. No, the one who came up with all of that was me, but Johnny did have the recipe too. I figured it was better not to advertise it, considering how Eames and Mal and their little brigade were determined on bringing down the whole operation. I've always been more of a behind-the-scenes kind of guy, but I thought it was time for me to take center stage. After all, this whole operation of yours is about through. You can make it easier on yourself if you just tell us where all of the somnacin is, but I'm not above sending you under on the PASIV. We'll kill your friend if you don't say."

Brendan swallowed as Charlie nodded at the men to his right and guns were pointed towards him. It was all starting to make sense. Charlie had seemed terribly inadequate at forging and at pickpocketing, two things he was supposed to be known for, and that had all been because he was a chemist, not a forger, not a pickpocket. It was likely that none of what had been broadcast about Charlie Figaro was even true. The only reason he'd helped Brendan escape was because he was supposed to gain their trust. It had been part of the plan all along, though he was sure Wells hadn't expected to be blown away as soon as the final act had been set into motion. Brendan couldn't believe he'd been so stupid.

"So," Charlie said. "Where is it? Start talking, Eames."

"There's nothing to tell you," Eames said, staring him down without an ounce of fear. Brendan wondered if he was acting cool or if he really just was that unafraid. Eames was still a little above Brendan's learning curve, so he couldn't pick out any tells.

A muscle in Charlie's jaw jumped, and it was honestly the first time he'd looked genuinely angry since Brendan had met him. When he glared like that, it was hard to believe he'd ever been so disarming. "Tell me where it all is. You've stolen a fortune, and I want it back. Do you know how costly that shit is to make?"

"I'm telling you, there's nothing to tell," Eames replied again. "Do you think I was planning on selling and getting a jump on your profits?"

"Why else would a guy like you steal it?" Charlie shouted, pulling out his pistol and smacking it rather harshly across Eames's face, splitting open the skin over his left cheekbone. "You're a fucking con. That's what you do."

"That somnacin killed the man I loved, and you think I was planning on making a quick buck?" Eames asked, and his anger was starting to simmer.

"Your little boyfriend killed himself," Charlie said, rolling his eyes. "Besides, you don't have much reputation as the justice seeking type. We both know that, so don't play stupid. Where. Is. It?"

"Considering you spent a hell of a lot of time building up a disarming reputation, I would think you'd know better than to base your assumptions off of them," Eames said, and he was baring his teeth, raring for a fight. "There's nothing to tell you, you piece of shite, because I destroyed everything I took, just like I'm going to continue to do until you're put to a stop!"

"No you're not," Charlie said coolly and blasted a bullet into Eames's chest.

Everything seemed to fall into slow motion for several seconds as Brendan watched helplessly. His jaw had gone slack but no sound came out except for a ragged breath. He'd seen people get shot before-hell, he'd watched Tug shoot Dode dead right there in the tunnel… but as horrifying as that had been, it didn't feel anything like this. Dode had been someone Brendan had known, sure, and not someone he'd particularly liked, but Eames was…

He turned his head, watching the faces of the men who had surrounded him blur. He couldn't keep looking at Eames with blood seeping out of his chest, not when he'd already seen Brain bloodied too. Everyone was dying, and it was all his fault.

He couldn't save Emily, and he couldn't save Eames.

No.

Emily couldn't have been saved , but Eames was still alive. Now was not the time for giving up. Now was the time for action. He had a knife in the back of his jeans that he could use to cut the ropes, but he needed their eyes off of him. Eames was clearly out of commission, but he had one small hope. He only prayed that Brain could read his situation.

Brendan whistled as loudly as he could.

On cue, a gun went off, but Brendan couldn't see from where. Apparently Brain had moved long before he'd given the signal.

Charlie had a moment to blink before he dropped to his knees and fell forward, face planting with the pavement with blood leaking out of the hole in the back of his skull.

Up on one of the raised walkways, Brain had toppled backwards from the force of the blast from his pistol. Brendan couldn't hear him from where he was, but he knew that he'd said, "Holy shit."

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