Survival Of The Fittest

Evie screaming had distracted them and they were figuring out what to do. June was gonna split up and maybe go rescue the girl who'd just had something get a bullet. Clearly, Matthew thought as another scream echoed through the house, it hadn't hit her lungs. Or her throat. Or anything that produced noise. Meanwhile, Marshall was gonna, what, shoot him? March him down to the boats at gunpoint, he was sure that the army'd just fucking love that. Maybe he could get them to shoot him. But...

Oh, fuck it. Matthew's hand lowered, scratching at his side a little, pushing a little groan of satisfaction out as if he'd had an itch that need scratched.

Then it shot under his jacket, already grasping that familar, cold plastic tucked into his waistband. Maybe he shoulda waited for June to leave. But fuck it, he was going to gun both of them down, finish Evie off and then run away and go back home. The only goddamn person who deserved to leave this island in a like, fifty metre radius was him.

Up came the gun, pointed squarely at Marshall, his head tilted towards June.

Matthew pulled the trigger with a grin.

He’d opened his mouth to say something to June. He could tell she didn’t want to leave, and understood it well. How often had he left someone alone, only for them to die? But his attention was drawn by movement.

Marshall should have anticipated it. Should have remembered the gun that Matthew wouldn’t put away when he was in the safehouse. Should have remembered that Matthew hadn’t listened the last time Marshall had a gun in his direction, either.

It all rushed into his head the moment that Matthew’s arm came up, gun in hand.

Shutting his eyes on instinct, the words to June instead becoming a wordless scream, Marshall pulled the trigger at the same time as Matthew.

The sound of a singular gunshot briefly smothered everything else, the recoil kicking back in Marshall’s grip, unfamiliar and terrifying. The fingers on his bandaged hand were screaming, phantom pains of DeMarcus shooting him echoing up the arm.

...

But no real pain came.

Tense, afraid, confused. Scrunched in on himself, the revolver trembling in his hand. Marshall cracked open one eye warily.

...Oh.

He opened his other eye, straightening up.

There had only been the one gunshot. All Matthew’s gun had produced was a quiet click.

And then, a rush of air. June sprinting for half a second before making contact with Matthew, slamming his body against the wall of the room.

The scream of her nerves, her slinged arm having absorbed most of the impact.

The scream of her throat into Matthew's ear, pain and hatred at once.

Two bodies falling to the floor.

One gun clattering across the room.

June pressed all her weight onto Matthew's crumpled form, making sure he couldn't get up.

Then, she swiveled her neck, yelled out, "Marshall, check him! Throw out everything he's got!"

He pulled the trigger with a grin.

But nothing came out. No recoil, no bang, fucking nothing!

Even if he had, Marshall had figured it out, and he pulled the trigger of his ancient fucking gun too, and the old rusty piece of shit responded.

It took a little second for the pain to come, to hit Matthew's senses. At first he thought it was June colliding with him that made him lose his balance, but even before they made contact his leg had given out from under him. Then the pain, the terrible fucking pain in his leg, made him so, so aware of what had happened. Bullet to the leg. All this time, he'd avoided anything but hearing damage and a fresh new scar on his face and at the finish line, he'd fucked it. Or more precisely, they'd fucked it.

Matthew screamed, both out of frustration that Marshall wasn't fucking dead or lying on the floor dying, because if his piece of shit gun had actually fired that would have been a hit in the chest, and for the obvious reason of having just taken a fucking bullet in the leg! And big bitch June, who had tackled him to the ground and was now pinning him down with all of her weight, wasn't exactly helping matters. Fuck, he should have taken that knife off of Alex or Valentin or whoever the fuck, because at least he could have killed her now.

"FUCKING PIECE OF - FUCKER!" He still had the shotgun in his bag, and the axe although what good the fucking axe would do here when he had a broken leg or some sort of tendon tear or whatever the fuck didn't seem immediately clear, but the pistol had slipped out of reach of his hand, yet he still goddamn struggled for it.

From this distance, Matthew could see what had gone wrong perfectly.

He'd left the goddamn safety on.

Motherfucker.

“Right!” Marshall moved forward, picking up Matthew’s pistol and, in one quick – and ill-thought – movement, he tossed it out the window Matthew had been sniping through. “Right, I got him!”

Checking Matthew was difficult, both reaching around June enough to be able to pat him down, and the fact that Matthew was thrashing about and being noisy about the situation. Marshall found no more weapons on him.

His hands came away with blood when he patted down the leg, oozing from a fresh bullet wound. Marshall couldn’t help but stop for a moment, looking at his hand as he took in the sight. He searched for guilt, and found nothing.

“He’s clean!”

Marshall moved away, and headed towards Matthew’s bag instead. He opened it, then hissed through his teeth as he found the shotgun and axe.

“How many weapons does he need?” He took the first-aid kit, then opened the door and tossed the bag out of it. He tossed the rifle out there too, shut the door, and rounded on June.

“June, you shouldn’t have done that! I appreciate it, but that was dangerous! He could have hurt you! I could have shot you! How’s your arm? Is it okay?!”

There was still screaming coming from outside, though it had been blocked out by the much closer screaming and shouting of Matthew. Now they had two injured to deal with. Three, if June had crushed her arm in the tackle. The boats could leave at any moment. There wasn't time.

All the while, June's body wouldn't stop shaking.

Was it nerves? Fear, from almost dying for the third? fourth? time? Or, worry, about the girl screaming in pain, if they'd get to her in time? Anxiety about the boat leaving without them? Or, adrenaline wearing out, her muscles struggling to keep Matthew's muscular frame under her? But, no, she felt fine, she felt just fine. Matthew, however, he was struggling, froth and fury, futile, powerless to release the weight pinning him to the ground. Him, squirming, trying and trying to get his little vengeance but rendered impotent, ineffectual, this big, hulking villain of a man just an insect gripped between two fingers.

It wasn't until she spat out the first loud, sharp, scraping peals of laughter from her throat, that she realized it was joy.

That, in summary, her feelings were I won, you lost.

Marshall was speaking to her, she realized. She looked at him, eyes crazed, and then realized he was showing concern for her, that this was all still very serious, all still very much not over. She came back to herself, the fractures in her radius and ulna pounding, reminding her that they still existed, that she was still here on this island.

"I- I'm fine. I'm fine!"

The girl. She wouldn't stop screaming. This wasn't over yet.

She pushed herself off Matthew with her hand, gun still gripped tightly within. She stumbled away, staggering backwards and making distance. It was only when she was across the room, back alongside Marshall, that she got a clear view of the pool of blood forming beneath Matthew's leg. It was only then she understood he wouldn't be walking out of here, not on his own two feet. Weaponless, one leg down. Neutralized.

That was good enough for her.

She said quickly to Marshall, "Take care of him." And then, she sprinted down the stairs, towards Matthew's victim.

((June Madison continues in Arrow))

"BITCH!" Matthew yelled back at June as she ran down to go pick up Evie or whatever, but there wasn't much heart in it. Most of that rage was gone now, leaving him like a nearly-deflated balloon, one of those ones that'd been around for far too long and you could crush it underfoot with only a tiny pop. Because shit, what was he supposed to do with that rage now? Bite Marshall's leg? Hope that he could, what, bait the army into shooting him, and that was impossible because sure as shit the army wasn't gonna kill one of the people they came here to save?

As much as he hated to admit it, he'd fucking lost. All because of a goddamn safety. God fucking damnit.

Seething, he shifted himself into a sitting position, clamping a hand down on his leg to stop himself bleeding as much - it wasn't bad, but even still. Didn't matter because Marshall was going to kill him anyway, but it was just sorta instinct. Shoulda just went to the goddamn evac. Maybe if he'd wanted, he coulda went all Rizzolo on people later, but this was easier and quicker at the time, and now he was gonna just die here in this dingy little shithole of a town.

"Come on, motherfucker. Go get this done with so you can go get your goddamn medal for being a murderous son of a bitch." Matthew spat out, breathing heavily as he glared up at Marshall. Would never have expected that he'd be the one to take him down, he figured it'd be Katelyn if anyone. But she was dead, and hey, hopefully he'd get to watch her and Kai burning together in Hell soon enough.

June had been laughing. She was shaking. But she’d come back to him. Said she was fine. Marshall wanted to believe that, but he didn’t think anyone was ‘fine’ at this point. But if he couldn’t trust June to be truthful about it, he couldn’t trust anyone.

So he nodded, and didn’t stop her from running after the victim. One covered. That just left Matthew to take care of.

‘Take care of him’ could mean a lot of different things.

Marshall didn’t immediately respond to Matthew, dragging out the time as he considered it. His thumb tapping the revolver as he thought about all the things he could do. All the places he could shoot Matthew. There really wasn’t time for this… but he dragged it out anyway. At least it was only him and Matthew that would suffer the consequences for it.

“Do you think I’d receive a medal for it?” he finally said. “Do you think I’d even tell anyone? That’d it be something to be proud of?”

Marshall nodded his head at the corner of the room, where a camera lens shone back at them.

“The cameras are off. Aside from June and whoever you shot, no-one’s visible on the radar. We’re too far from the beach for the army to hear us and come looking. If I murdered you, no-one would ever know about it. And the world would think that I walked out of this game innocent. If I killed you now, it wouldn’t be for a medal or for self-defence. It’d be because I wanted to.”

He raised the gun and he pointed it squarely at Matthew’s face. There was none of the maniac expression that had been so common when he’d been happy before the game – no wide eyes and big grin. Just a small, tight smile.

“And I do. I really do want to shoot you again.”

He waited. He let Matthew sweat, and hoped that Matthew would lunge and give him the excuse. He enjoyed the moment of holding Matthew’s life in his hands... even as he was afraid of how good it felt.

"I didn't mean a medal for shooting me, dumbass, I meant whatever medal you get for surviving this whole thing. A Purple Heart or the JEM Survivor Medal or whatever the fuck they give you to make up for the fact they were too goddamn late. A few hours, a few goddamn hours, and..." Matthew interjected, letting out an exasperated growl. He was sure that June and Marshall had guessed why he was alone, because there was only one reason he wouldn't be sticking with Shawn. But if they hadn't, well, he wasn't gonna give them the satisfaction of knowing.

Maybe they'd get a medal for going home, maybe they'd get nothing but a pat on the back and a bill for therapy. That one seemed a hell of a lot more likely to him, especially if you add on whatever the hell it cost for some army medic to stitch you up... man, they were gonna have a hell of a time, huh? Two people with fresh holes in them plus whatever the fuck happened to their hands, plus whoever else might be hurt. At least they'd be kept busy.

Remaining quiet as he thought, barely paying attention to what Marshall was saying, something about cameras and the beach and medals. Well, until the gun was stuck in his face.

His eyes flickered up, staring down the barrel and up at his possible killer's little, strained smile. He should feel scared, but he was just kinda detached from the whole thing. Maybe it was the shock, maybe it was... he didn't know how to put it into words. Did this fuck expect him to beg for his life? Drop to his knees and beg little lacrosse boy to not shoot him? Try to take him on with nothing but a gunshot wound and a new scar on his face?

"Make up your goddamn mind, then." Leaning back against the wall, glancing down at the empty cases scattered to his side, he couldn't help but smirk.

"Mocking someone you're probably gonna kill, drawing it out... stop fucking around. If you wanna shoot me, go ahead and pull the fucking trigger and tell yourself you're the hero for shooting someone who can't fight back. You know who I goddamn shot? Evie. I shot her because she's killed what, five or six people? And I did it for the same goddamn reason you will: because I wanted to. Because I didn't think she deserved to walk outta here alive after everything she's done. Maybe you think I'm a hypocrite, but if you execute me and go slap a bandaid on her leg, you're the goddamn hypocrite."

He sighed, staring up at Marshall.

"I haven't got all fucking day. C'mon."

“You think I don’t know who Evie killed? I cared about Dani, and Lara. Chloe was my best friend and I saw Evie kill her.”

Of course it was Evie. Murphy’s Law said that, if Marshall saved anyone, it had to be the other person who’d killed so many of his friends. Still… the game was over, and Marshall hadn’t heard any bullets before Matthew fired. Evie was a topic for another day… if she survived.

“But you’ve killed at least six, haven’t you? Why do you get to keep killing? Why is it right when you do it?” Marshall stepped closer, his voice raising. “What did California ever do to deserve it?! She fixed you up while you were loudly bragging about killing her friend! And you shot her! You threatened her with a drill and handcuffs! Why doesn’t that count as helpless?!”

His calm was fraying in the face of Matthew’s unyielding smugness.

“I do think you’re a hypocrite! You’re a delusional psychopath! You’re the worst! The worst! I hate you!”

His grip tightened on the gun… and then he lowered it, still swearing under his breath.

“I… hate you, I hate--” As he continued muttering, he switched the safety on before opening the door and throwing the revolver through it. “--you. Just… no. No.”

He picked up the first-aid kit that he’d put down nearby before throwing the rest of Matthew’s bag into another room. He approached Matthew, and slammed it down on the floor before opening it. Staring at Matthew with eyes that were shiny with furious tears.

“You… don’t get to die thinking that you’re right. So stick your leg out! I’m patching you up and hauling you in!”

"You're telling me if you had a finger on the trigger and Evie in your sights, you wouldn't do the same goddamn thing then? Sure, maybe Cali was a mistake, I'll admit that. Figured she was defending Katelyn and well..." Yeah, that one was kinda hard to defend, wasn't it? Not like he needed to defend himself to this little fuck. "I mean, nobody was coming. Whole thing blew up, we all got hyped, then nothing happened. Am I supposed to just sit on my ass and hope that the army miraculously does something then? Because it wasn't like I just woke up and started shooting, you know? People tried to kill me and I defended myself and Shawn."

Maybe, deep down he could admit he was frustrated that Shawn hadn't made it home and wanted to equalise. They'd banded together from the second they met, tearing their way through the competition. Maybe they could have made it all of the way. Although, he... well, with what Shawn did, maybe he woulda been stabbed in the back eventually.

Alright maybe try to not think about stabbings when it comes to Shawn because eugh all of that was coming back to mind and yeah that was gross as shit.

"Hauling me in? You've watched too many of those goddamn cop shows." The wording was enough to elicit an amused snort from Matthew. He could just picture the words coming from... alright, he didn't know any of the protagonists of cop shows but he could picture like, a big beefy chief with a brushy moustache and a hair-trigger temper yelling this at the villain of the day before he got brought in to end the episode. Not that he was the villain, of course, but he could see it in that kinda way if it was a show. Made for a good distraction, anyway.

Sticking his leg out with a hiss and a groan, he shrugged. Man, he almost wished he'd just been domed rather than having to listen to Marshall start crying and pissing himself.

At Matthew’s complaint that he sounded like a cop, Marshall’s response was just, “Shut up.”

How was it his fault that he didn’t know what to say in this situation? It wasn’t one he’d exactly studied for in advance.

The best he could say was that Matthew hadn’t tried to kick him while putting his leg out. One bullet had been enough to ensure his cooperation for now. Marshall rolled up the pant leg and got to work. This wasn’t going to be a good job, but it’d be enough to get across town.

“And no. I wouldn’t! The game is over! Even before the game was over, I would have tried to talk her down first! Would have done the same for anyone. If I didn’t shoot you in the back, why would I do the same to anyone else?!”

Did he want to bother sanitizing the wound? It felt like more than Matthew deserved, but it’d be the worst of both worlds if Matthew died of infection on the way back home. Marshall didn’t warn him before getting to work at disinfecting the wound, letting the sting take him by surprise.

“And your excuses are just making you sound more delusional. You thought the wounded girl was defending someone who was dead? You were sick of waiting for the army within hours of the explosion? You were defending yourself and Shawn? You know, I can’t help but notice he’s not here any more.”

He started to wrap the leg, quick and clumsy.

“Did he leave you because you were psychotic? Or did you ‘defend him’ by starting another pointless firefight and getting him killed?”

"If you'd tried to talk Evie down, I think you woulda fucking died! I mean, she gunned down a lotta people, I don't think she was in much of a talking mood! Don't think Dani could do much to herrrrr, fuck fuck fucking fuck, you coulda given me a FUCKING warning! Fucking..." Matthew hissed at the sudden pain on his leg - well, more pain - from Marshall pouring disinfectant all over it. God, it was like talking to Lucio again, except... shit, they were both dead, huh? Lotta people were dead. Good people and bad. He wasn't gonna cry over Josh or Katelyn, but... look at Dani. She hadn't done anything, and yet her killer was going to get out of this while she rotted.

It was unfair.

"Well shit, if I, if I hear explosions and then nothing happens, maybe I start to think that the explosions weren't the good 'oh hell yeah the Army's winning' style and more 'oh shit the Army's losing', you know? I figured they'd be out to helicopter us out in a few hours, but no, nothing! They... look, I fucking said, I didn't think Katelyn was dead. I hope she's burning in hell, though. She fucking, fucking nearly killed me twice and I wanted revenge. Ren was in the way, they pulled a goddamn gun on me and then Kai started snapping necks too. I figured everyone with her was as much a psycho as she was."

When Shawn was brought up, Matthew was quiet. All that was left was the sound of Marshall wrapping up the wound he made.

Then he spoke again, the fire in his words fading.

"You seen those spike traps in the forest? I dunno, uh, they're like Viet Cong style shit, a little hole covered with leaves and shit. We found Karin in one, and she... her leg was so goddamn broken, killing her was the best goddamn option. She was either going to freeze to death or take a bullet and go out quick and... not peaceful, but anyway. That wasn't murder, I don't regret that one." His stomach lurched even thinking about that leg. "Shawn fell in one too. Face first. I don't know how he fucking lived. But he was alive, and... and I wasn't gonna just leave him like that. An hour later, the flare goes up. If they'd just... if they'd just fucking come sooner he'd still be alive. And if he dies, if he and Corbin die, people who didn't fucking do anything, then why the hell do people like Salem and Evie just get to go home? What the fuck did they do to deserve anything other than a bullet?!" Matthew blinked away angry tears, glaring at Marshall with a newfound fire.

"So that's why I'm here. Because I wanted to make sure Evie and her buddies got what they fucking deserved."

“It’s not your decision to make! You are not the authority on what these people deserve!”

He’d name-dropped Dani, like it wouldn’t hurt. Making excuses… bringing up Kai again. Kai stung so much. Had started to hurt even more since the flare appeared in the sky. Just hours after. He understood Matthew’s pain about Shawn… so close and yet so far. But it just made him angrier, because he knew it was no excuse.

“Fine. Shawn and Karin, I understand that! But you don’t know what happened with every single death. You don’t know how many had their own ‘spike pit.’

“Like Kai. You’re judging Kai on one line in an announcement, and his friendship with Katelyn. He’s not blameless… but Derek was a mistake! And it wasn’t everything he did! You didn’t see him do everything he could to stop Katelyn… including killing her when nothing else worked, all to protect who was left! You didn’t see him save me and Jess from freezing to death! He didn’t even know us! And after you killed California…”

Marshall’s voice, loud and furious, tailed off. His grip had gotten too tight on the bandages, and got tighter still for a moment before loosening. He shut his eyes for a moment, and jerked his head towards the window. The smoke from the plane still billowed into the sky, clearly visible even from the other side of the island.

“He died sending that smoke signal into the sky. Even though he had no friends left to be saved. But you didn’t see any of that… all that exists is your own idea based off what the terrorists wanted you to see.” Marshall snorted, sharp and bitter. “They must have loved you.”

His eyes were leaking now. He was normally not ashamed of crying… but this time, he wiped it away. Because he could see that Matthew’s eyes were watery too from when he’d talked about Shawn, and Marshall didn’t want to share anything in common with him.

“Evie’s the same, you’re the same, if Katelyn was still here I’d say the same about her. What they deserve is to deal with their crimes in the real world.”

They would see Marshall, time and time again, shouting at the top of mountains until people arrived to kill whoever he’d gathered. They would see Marshall screaming at Jacob until he walked into the lake and drowned.

What would his father think? He wouldn’t watch the broadcast, but he would hear about it. He would know the sort of boy he’ raised. And Jacob’s family? Chloe’s? He’d met Chloe’s mother before, night of homecoming. Would she forgive him for not protecting her? For saving her killer?

“The parents of those who died… school, all of Salem, the whole world’s going to know what we did here. And you...”

Marshall finished slapping the bandages on. He stared at Matthew for a long moment. No smile this time, sadistic or otherwise.

Whether the world forgave Marshall didn’t matter. Footage or not… he would make it his mission to make sure everyone remembered the sort of person Matthew was.

He patted the bandages. “Well, we’ll see if you thank me for this.” He got up, then crouched and turned his back on Matthew despite his better judgement. “Climb on.”

"I'm judging Kai based on him sitting on his ass for what, how many? Ten, eleven times? Yeah, maybe he eventually got up and put the bitch down, but you don't give credit to someone for putting their dog down after the tenth time it mauls down, you know? And murdering in tandem with Katelyn, but yeah, that's kinda what I'm basing things on, you know? It's kinda hard to snap someone's neck as a 'mistake'. You know how much pressure that shit takes, how much strength? It's like stabbing someone fifty times and going 'whoopsy officer my hand slipped'."

Maybe Kai had died redeeming himself, sending that smoke into the sky - what the hell even was that? Did he start a forest fire or some shit? Smokey the Bear'd be crying his heart out. Or, mmm... no, it looked too black, like a gasoline fire. Huh. Maybe the Army'd let them know. Either way, it didn't change a thing to Matthew. Kai had sat by as Katelyn killed, time and time again. Marshall accused him of being the blind one, but Matthew had seen what Katelyn could do, the charred bodies of Dick and his buddy. What she would have intended to do to him if she wasn't such a crappy shot. Maybe he's the one who should open his goddamn eyes.

"And we know they won't. Salem and Evie, Julia, Katelyn if she'd made it out. Nobody here would have been given anything other than a medal and a pat on the back for making it out of here. The only goddamn justice any of their victims will get is a bullet. Although, I dunno, maybe one of us will get killed for it like how that one dude in the airport who shot the guy who killed his son or something." There were maybe two deaths you could blame Matthew for, truly. Valentin was... well, that hadn't been a good idea. California, well... enough had been said about her.

Jack was self-defence. Karin was euthanasia. Ren pulled a gun on him and got shot in turn. Letitia was him defending Shawn. And Shawn... was mercy. What the fuck happened to the person at the church, anyway? It wasn't Evie, so who the fuck was it? Who had he shot - shit, had he even shot anyone? Did they just fall over in shock and get yanked in?

Train of thought interrupted, Matthew snorted when Marshall presented his back to him.

"No offense dude, but... you're like half a foot shorter than me, maybe a bit more. I don't think this is gonna work." But, outside of a cane - and even then with his leg screeching through his nerves at him any time he tried to get up he doubted that would work - the only way Matthew was gonna get out of here was in front of him. So, trying not to aggravate his leg, he carefully clambered onto Marshall's back.

Huh. Dude was stronger than he thought. Add like, seven or eight inches and he could be a decent linebacker.