I write sometimes:3
🌱 24🇲🇽, she/her, pro-ship, español & english 🌱
🪷Mainly RE, DMC, Silent Hill, Final Fantasy, L4D2, BG3 & DBD 🪷
I ship a lot of things!! 🪱
🌱 Rating: General // [[AO3 link]] --- (also, please check out my smutty Nellis one-shot from six years ago? 🥺👉👈 Attention, AO3 link )
🌱 set in the campaign Swamp Fever! More exactly, the Plantation House!
🕷️ wordcount: 4,456.
‼️Pre-relationship, hurt/comfort? Nick gives Ellis his last painkiller so he won't be in pain anymore after a nasty Tank hit :3 Nick also got pounced by a hunter. Basically, two guys one bed but make it two injured guys one painkiller ‼️‼️ (and Nick decides to give it away to El 💖)
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Traveling with this improvised team formed at the hotel The Vannah had proven to be one of the best decisions Nick had made regarding his survival: not only what seemed to be the end of the world thanks to the zombie apocalypse had hordes of common zombies— although one or two weren’t much of a problem, a horde certainly was for a single person— but it also had those damned abominations that had mutated thanks to the green flu, being much stronger than the common infected— god, the witches and the tanks were a nightmare to deal with. Certainly Nick and his Magnum were no match for them; or even the other abominations such as the hunters, chargers, jockeys, and smokers. One careless moment and… game over. Lights out. Belonging to a small group of survivors increased his chances of surviving this nightmare, which probably was the end of the world by the looks of it. The same could be said of the others, to be honest: Rochelle had never fired a weapon before just like Coach, having dedicated herself to journalism and the man to being a coach at a school; Ellis was a mechanic but knew how to use them, however, he was too reckless and careless, Nick had experience given his criminal record and lifestyle in the gambling world; none of them would have survived long on their own either, especially when, strangely, the mutated zombies seemed to be smarter than the common ones: many times coincidentally attacking together, coordinated, which was still… strange.
However, those were thoughts that Nick wouldn’t admit so easily to the other survivors: being grateful to be part of them… at least not vocally, but he could show it in other ways, watching their backs when a horde surrounded them; or when they found themselves in a safe room or some structure they barricaded themselves in for the night, keeping watch; offering to go into buildings the others weren’t so convinced to enter themselves: ruined stores and houses to scavenge for food, water, and ammo; he also offered his lighter, the one that he always carried to the casinos he used to visit before everything went to shit, to light a fire in an aluminum can filled with alcohol, thus being able to heat and prepare food and coffee to survive another day.
In spite of his initially rude attitude toward the others — Ellis especially — Nick was grateful that they hadn’t left him behind, especially on days like this, where the one who had taken the worst beating while moving through the infested streets was Nick.
“Nicholas, here.” Coach called his name, pulling the man out of his thoughts; without saying anything else, Coach placed a bottle of alcohol and some gauze in front of him, then gave him a couple of pats on one of his shoulders, encouraging him silently.
They had traveled through the swamps and its surroundings until they finally had reached a plantation house, where they had decided to take refuge since the night had already fallen and it was too dangerous to wander through open spaces when they were already exhausted and everything was dark; going out was basically a death sentence with no light other than the moon and their flashlights whose batteries would surely die at any second, having been used ever since they were at the infested Vannah hotel that burned in flames. Nick’s own chest burned, the pain was very present on his skin, his blue button-up shirt had ended up being torn and soaked in blood because they had the misfortune of running into a tank and a hunter.
Having spent all their time together and having no other choice but to watch each other’s backs, the four of them developed better coordination and trust, and it became very handy whenever they came across the biggest and most aggressive zombie they had ever encountered, a tank. The most terrifying abomination there was: enormous, loud, and with a particular thirst for blood that made everyone’s hair stand on end, not only attacking with its massive hands, but also grabbing rocks, tearing up concrete and dirt to throw at them, some other times it picked up cars… It was damn terrifying. The tank they came across this time had decided its target was Ellis, as usual (seriously, how was it that the youngest of them was like a zombie magnet?) to the point of cornering him and punching him hard. The bullets fired by the rest of the group didn’t seem to bother it until Nick, in a moment of desperation believing it was the end for the youngest member, decided to take the sharp axe he had been carrying on his back and then attacked the tank with it: piercing muscle with ease, but it was hard to pull out once Nick had impaled the tank’s back with it with a lot of force— still, it was a relief to see that it had clearly worked, since the tank had left Ellis alone and then proceeded to direct its fury towards Nick, whom it threw and who fell harshly onto the wet ground, only to seconds later hear the growl of a hunter, who wasted no time climbing on top of him and beginning to claw at his torso with long, sharp claws, managing to tear Nick’s blue shirt and scratch his chest. The few seconds the hunter tried to gut him felt eternal until a loud shotgun blast to its head put an end to the fierce attack: the corpse falling to the side while Nick laid motionless: it hurt, it burned, his skin was bleeding, but he was still alive. One moment they were being attacked, and the next Nick was on the ground wounded and both infected were dead.
They couldn’t go back to the safe room they had left, so the group made the decision to keep moving forward and pray that the next safe room was close. Even if it wasn’t exactly a safe room or a good shelter to barricade themselves in, the plantation house seemed like a good place to spend the night and so they did, clearing the halls of zombies and deciding they would rest on the second floor, in a corner, where the only way a zombie could sneak in would be through the stairs— but those stairs would be monitored by them. Upon arriving, Nick had taken off his white jacket and kept his torn button-up blue shirt on: he hadn’t been gutted, but he had been wounded, the hunter’s claws had dug into his skin in such a way that he had bled considerably, but he wasn’t in danger. However, it would definitely leave scars on his skin. It hurt a lot, and if Nick was already vocal with his complaints even in minor and trivial situations, this seemed like a good moment to complain loudly and even annoy the others, but the dim faces of everyone made him pause and decide it was better to just heal himself in silence while the others were lost on their own thoughts. It hadn’t exactly been a normal day after all, as normal as it could be in the apocalypse. It was obvious, everyone’s spirits were dropping: New Orleans was still their destination but in every place they passed through, the situation was the same; infected everywhere, abandoned CEDA outposts, and corpses lying around, even from those who weren’t infected. Actual human civilians. Wasn’t it supposed that the closer they got to New Orleans, which seemed to be the safest and more infected-controlled area, there should be less zombies?
“Jesus.” Nick muttered under his breath as he leaned against the wall and slowly let himself sit down, every movement resented by his body. It wasn’t the end of the world and it wasn’t something serious, not when there were worse things out there, growling and waiting for the perfect moment to attack, to kill. But damnf if it hurt.
Without wasting more time, Nick unbuttoned his shirt and took the items Coach had left him: the alcohol and gauze. Closing his eyes momentarily and letting out a sigh, Nick counted to ten to prepare himself to feel a more intense burn: the alcohol making contact with his wounded and inflamed skin in order to disinfect from any disease or virus the hunter might have carried in its claws.
“Nick, want somethin’ to eat?” Ellis approached where the older man was sitting. He carried in his hands a can of beef meat and another of vegetables, both hot and ready to eat. Ellis set them down on the floor, next to Nick’s hips, and from the pockets of his pants, he pulled out a small sealed bottle of water, leaving it there as well. “Where should I put your lighter?”
Nick glanced sideways at the food and in a dry tone answered,
“To what I owe the banquet?”
“Dunno. It's dinner time and just wanted to cheer ya’ up, say thanks for helpin’ when the big guy was on me. Do ya need help with the gauze or sumethin’?”
“I got it. Thanks though, overalls.” Nick nodded and decided to take the plastic spoon inside one of the cans: taking a scoop of vegetables first and eating it, then Nick leaned back against the wall and began to patch himself up. Ellis watched him silently for a couple seconds, thinking absently, until he decided to leave the lighter on the ground, next to the cans of food.
The faster he finished disinfecting and bandaging himself, eating, the better. It had been an exhausting day and sleep sounded like paradise.
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With his wounds being taken care of last night, Nick was lying down on the floor covered with sheets, which they had found in some rooms after clearing the halls of zombies. Bad luck was that they hadn’t found clothes, so Nick had to endure having his expensive shirt torn until they could loot other houses and buildings. They all could use a change of clothes after going through the swamp and killing zombies, specifically the boomers, god, their bile reeked.
The first rays of sun were peeking through and Nick and Coach were the last to wake up, Ellis and Rochelle were murmuring while looking out towards the patio of the plantation house: its maze-like garden and the lake that lay behind the white doors at the end of the garden. The morning carried a fresh and somewhat melancholic breeze, with a loud silence enveloping them. Eerily quiet, like calm before the storm.
Deciding it was time to get up too, Nick made his best attempt to stand without bothering his irritated skin too much. Taking his jacket, which he had used as a pillow along with his own medkit, he put it on immediately and walked towards the other two, who quickly noticed his presence.
“Good morning, Nick. Coffee? It’s still hot.” Rochelle pointed to a pot they had found while exploring the plantation house the day before, which still contained hot coffee, enough for him and Coach.
“Mornin’, man.” Ellis turned fully and smiled as always.
“Good morning.” He greeted back without energy. Usually the con-artist didn’t answer them, limiting himself to just nodding or sarcastically pointing out that there weren’t good days anymore since the world had gone to hell, but he simply didn’t feel in the spirits to give them his usual answers.
None of them felt in high spirits, really; after traveling so much and continuing to find the same answer wherever they went— everything being lost, burning and death in every corner, there weren't good days, just… survival.
As he served himself coffee, with Coach waking minutes later and Rochelle reloading her weapon and examining the surroundings, Nick found a small opportunity to speak alone with the youngest member of the group.
“How do you feel, overalls?”
“Me? Nick, bro, I'm good but ya took a nasty beatin’, hunter claws an’ shit.”
Examining the younger man, Nick noticed that Ellis looked perfectly normal, as normal as one could look given the circumstances. His relaxed posture, a soft and bright smile that seemed reserved only when they spoke to each other, along with a few scrapes on his tanned skin. However, many years traveling through the country and visiting every casino he came across, hitting lots of cards and pool tables, had taught Nick better. Every few seconds Ellis’ breathing seemed to… stutter? and he tried to keep himself still, his face was betraying him too, his eyelids particularly were twitching every now and then. It was something Nick was familiar with, the signs of pain and the behaviour of someone trying to hide it, and it was no surprise— before Nick intervened, the tank had landed a heavy punch on Ellis after all.
Nick noticed.
Nick always noticed when someone got hurt and tried to cover it up, be it Coach, Rochelle or Ellis. Especially Ellis, who tried his hardest to cover, to mask it, to the point of being reckless about his own safety.
They often had to run to escape from a horde and the mutated zombies: staying behind was practically a death sentence when they needed to have eyes everywhere and be able to make quick escapes in case they were getting cornered in a really bad spot. One staying behind could be the downfall of everyone else. They had to run to not get surrounded and killed.
Nick had survived worse than the few scratches he had now in his chest, given his criminal record and fights: having survived being left almost beaten to death in an alleyway outside a bar after picking a fight, but Ellis clearly didn't.
Letting out a sigh, Nick placed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes, slightly tilting his head forward— Ellis was a bit shorter than Nick, not a big difference, but it was just enough to be faintly noticeable.
“We’ll stay here for a day and then continue, check if the radio outside works. Let Coach and Rochelle do today’s scavenging. Get some rest, kid.”
“But Nick—”
“Rest. We both need it.” Bringing the coffee to his lips, the older man took a sip and headed towards Coach with the intention of convincing him that they should stay one more day in the plantation house to recover. The bigger man was their leader after all, and oftentimes he had the final word, but he wasn’t unreasonable, surely he would agree with Nick.
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Ellis wasn’t a stranger to getting hurt. When he hung out with Keith they often ended up doing crazy things to entertain themselves, especially if beers were involved: hell, Keith even had ended up with third degree burns on his body. Other times he would even get hurt superficially at his workshop: changing a vehicle’s tire while distracted was an easy way for the tire to fall on his foot, leading him to shout all kinds of curses when the weight slammed into his toes. It wasn’t unusual for him to smash and crush his fingers with heavy objects when he was distracted, and ever since the zombie apocalypse began, it wasn’t unusual that the ugly bastards seemed to have something for him: a charger running straight at him only to grab him in its massive arm and slam him to the ground; a jockey climbing onto his back, its grotesque fingers clawing at his head, trying to tear it open while its feet clung tightly to his torso as it laughed eerily, among the other zombie abominations.
It was very easy to take hits and get scrapes, to bleed, in a world like this. That was far preferable to dying. Ellis had no problem moving forward; it was just a hit; yes, a bruise had formed on the side of his torso, but it was nothing, right? Breathing hurt a little, but he wouldn’t be a burden to the rest— Ellis refused to be a burden, that’s why he had downplayed his pain from the start, even to himself. The tank had gotten him good, a solid punch to his side had left him breathless for a few seconds, seconds where Ellis genuinely thought there was no more oxygen circulating in his blood and his lungs were emptied, probably one of his ribs was broken as well, because it did feel like it. That giant mass of muscle’s strength was not a joke.
Coach had agreed to stay one more day and let them rest, arguing that Nick’s wounds and Ellis’ pain, though both weren’t fatal, they both needed a bit more recovery before continuing their path towards New Orleans. They couldn’t afford to remain immobile for too long, but neither did they want to expose an injured Ellis and Nick. The main priority was Nick (since the others hadn’t noticed anything more serious in Ellis, he was very good at hiding his pain), as his wounds bled slightly every time he moved: the pain made him pause in some of his movements, and that was a disadvantage when risking their lives out there.
With Coach and Rochelle exploring once more the plantation house’s halls and garden for supplies, not going far, Nick and Ellis were left together keeping each other company on the second floor.
Nick laid down on a dark corner with his eyes closed, trying not to move much, simply resting and taking advantage of the rare day of rest they had managed to allow themselves. Ellis was sitting on the floor in another corner, looking out at the garden and at Nick every now and then, lost in his thoughts.
It was rare to see Nick in such a vulnerable state as now. The man always looked tall, self-confident and strong, always making sarcastic and ironic remarks in a dry tone. Despite having met during the apocalypse and his initially condescending tone, Ellis admired the older man. Nick was just too cool, pretty badass when kicking zombie ass. Especially when he began to see Ellis as a competent teammate, it was great when Nick joined in — rarely, yes, but it happened — his jokes, like when they had gone through Whispering Oaks searching for rescue.
It was pretty cool when Nick gave him tips on how to clean his hunting rifle and even that one time when he had agreed to lend him his magnum for a while, when Ellis had run out of ammo for his pistol.
It was… unusual to see Nick in a different light, vulnerable, like now: lying down with bandages (courtesy of Rochelle, to keep the gauze in place) wrapped around his chest, his breathing calm but his brows furrowed from the pain. Ellis hated seeing his companions in pain equally, but seeing Nick like this just… It was wrong.
Very wrong.
“Nick?” The mechanic called softly, standing up from where he had been sitting and wincing as he registered his own pain in the torso area. He hadn’t lifted his shirt again since yesterday to assess the damage, but the younger man could already imagine the purple bruise on his skin. The broken rib indeed was very likely, because it hurt like hell moving around.
“Mnm?”
Ellis didn’t know what to say, but he knew what he wanted to do. Reassure Nick, break the silence, and make the atmosphere not feel so heavy: two of them injured, two outside scavenging for food, water, and ammo, anything of use they could find really, in an abandoned house that was basically a dead-end; either go back to the streets they had already crossed or somehow get across the lake.
He felt a little awkward, they weren't in the best position, he was very well aware of it even if he tended to downplay this whole mess of a new world to cheer the others up from their grim reality, but he had to do something. Right now. For Nick. For him. For anything or anyone, really. Ellis felt antsy.
“Uhm. Have I told you ‘bout that one time my buddy Keith thought he got an’ extremely rare and nasty disease? Oh, man—”
“Ellis? Shut up.” Nick said without moving nor saying anything else.
“Okay.”
The atmosphere filled with silence again, but it didn’t stay that way for long.
Ellis looked down at his fingers, internally giving himself courage to not to leave it like that. Nick was a good companion and someone Ellis genuinely liked, the older man was actually someone likable if you gained his trust.
“How much does it hurt?” Nick asked after a bit of silence.
For some reason, Ellis didn’t feel like playing around with the truth this time. Coach and Rochelle weren’t there, and they were usually the ones who showed more concern about the group’s wounds, fussing up a bit even. Nick was a lot calmer in that aspect — “hurts? well, it will hurt more if we stay here and become zombie food, let’s go” was his usual response. Coach and Rochelle usually cursed or flipped him off for that, but they knew he wasn’t wrong. Nick was right, but it was a painful truth.
Nick had ended up more wounded than him (Ellis convinced everyone of that, he himself was fine, really) but the con-artist had claimed that worrying about him was stupid (besides, they had already traveled with Nick in worse conditions, like when he sprained his ankle by slipping off the roller coaster rails in Whispering Oaks, when the horde was on their asses). But this time he had asked for one more day to rest, arguing that both of them needed it. (Had Nick been the only one injured, would he have wanted to continue like he did with his previous sprain?)
It was… abnormal. Just like the question he had just asked Ellis: the younger man answered anyway, no point in playing around with the truth when it was just them alone at the moment:
“It hurts.”
“I see. Come here.”
Surprised, Ellis walked slowly towards Nick, crouching as much as he could beside him. Careful not to move too quickly or too abruptly.
The older man opened his eyes slowly and reached his hand toward his makeshift pillow: his first aid kit wrapped in his jacket.
Nick had been saving his last prescription painkiller, reserved exclusively for himself for a truly miserable day, since finding medicine in the middle of the apocalypse—especially painkillers and antibiotics—was like finding a needle in a haystack. Everything was destroyed and looted, medicines expired and ran out because every day was a battle, a living hell. He had carried them since before the world went to hell, bought on the black market. Before, Nick would take them occasionally—not always—just to pass the time, relax his body after a drink or two and wanting to drift away momentarily, but given how circumstances had changed, now they were reserved for the worst days of the zombie apocalypse, when the pain was unimaginable.
Earlier, Nick had considered taking it with his coffee to get rid of the burning pain in his chest, numb it out, but ultimately decided it wasn’t worth it; better to save it for a more serious situation that might happen to him. But… Nick had noticed Ellis was in real pain too. Usually he masked it well, to the point it was very hard to notice—at least for the others—but this time it seemed the younger man was struggling.
It was much more noticeable than usual, which only meant that Ellis was truly in a lot of pain.
The small pill rested between his fingers, Nick analyzed it for a few seconds: if he gave it to Ellis, he would lose it forever. Medicine was incredibly hard to find, especially the stronger ones like this, the kind that could save you from the pain of a brutal beating, offering a comforting relief from broken bones and near-fatal wounds. It allowed a moment to breathe freely in the midst of the worst. It was a jewel, water in the desert.
Nick had a very high tolerance for pain, but zombies were merciless, especially the mutated bastards—he had even taken one after the disaster that had been that damned amusement park, especially when they had barely managed to escape certain death. It was a bloodbath that day, for the zombies and their own bodies, all bruised up and scraped. Nick’s back was killing him that day after a charger had mercilessly pounded him repeatedly on the ground. But… Ellis was hurt, badly, if his mask of “everything’s fine” was starting to fall apart.
The pained expressions on the mechanic’s face were a terrible sight, very unnatural, when the young man was always smiling and laughing. His handsome face shouldn’t be wearing that pained expression, he should be… smiling, like always.
“Nick?”
“Take this. Should help with the pain.”
Ellis deserved to have his last painkiller.
“Arent’cha in pain too? Why don’t you take it?” Ellis looked at the small pill resting on the other man’s fingers, then at his face, analyzing his expression.
He was… serious? Why would he offer the pill if Nick was clearly hurt? Why wouldn’t he take it himself? Wouldn’t it be better—
“Listen,” Nick began in a low voice and took one of the younger man’s hands between his, placing the medicine gently in his palm. “Just take it, Ellis.” and then… gave him encouraging pats on the shoulder?
Nick, who had been openly selfish with his resources back at the hotel when they first met? He had certainly changed during the journey; it wasn’t the first time he offered help to the team, but… to offer this, when he was in the same situation?
“I–” Ellis was left speechless, but Nick ended the conversation: with his hands he closed Ellis’ palm, making him accept the medicine, then resumed his rest; lying down now on his side, facing the wall and turning his back to Ellis, making it very clear that their conversation ended there.
An expression of pure gratitude and affection took over Ellis’ face, his chest felt… warm. He was speechless and didn’t know how to move. What to say. What to do. He wanted to hug the older man and talk his ear off, thanking him over and over. He wanted to return the favor too, he wanted to make Nick feel better; he already did before because he was a teammate and someone he had come to admire, but now he especially wanted to do it because…
A portrait of the funniest person I know (and Nere)
Minthara never got the chance to end Nere herself when she joined my Durge, but she sure seized the opportunity to get a magnificent portrait done with him.
Hard Rain easily is my third favorite campaign (just after #1 dead center & #2 dark carnival), the theme for the campaign is AMAZING and i really love their little banter at the start lkdjfld I really like how Nick sounds kinda pissed (?)
It's also funny how Ellis tells him "pretty much everybody" when Nick asks who made him gun-monitor... when Nick already told them in Dead Center that he's not legally allowed to own a weapon (not that it matters now anyway, i just really liked that tiny detail; him saying that and the group campaigns later just deciding he's the one who should hold the gun bag lmao)
since i'm a Nellis shipper, i'm choosing to believe /HC/ Nick was a bit mad because they only have pistols and meelees and he has to protect his zombie-magnet bf, it only intensifies as the campaign goes and they realize there's lots of witches at the sugar mill and the ocassional tank hanging out there as well... i agree with Nicky being mad *nods* who wouldn't when there's, especially, jockeys, hunters and chargers waiting for the perfect opportunity to jump your partner 🏳️🌈?
Also Nick trying to rage bait Ellis through the campaigns so they can talk is so obvious it makes him look stupid, I just know he's so secretly in love with this southern goofball ghjlfghkjfg
A collection of my favourite Durgetash clips, including all the classics and also some rarer ones. These two evil bastards are so obsessed with each other.
baratheonpilled
stormborns
jacobvanloon
yousharknotpass
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