Chapter Text
Ryland’s lungs burned.
Panic clawed at his throat, terror pressing in on him, danger at his heels as he ran.
When he had gotten involved with the Petrova Task Force months before against his better judgement, he had never thought he would end up here.
Running for his life, like a fox from the hounds.
He had kept contact with his siblings well enough, keeping them updated on everything, and they had encouraged him to come home more than once.
He should have listened.
He should have listened—!!
His feet flew across the gravel and onto grass, and he ran faster as the fence came into view.
Salvation, just out of reach.
I don’t want to die—!
He had called Colt just a few hours before. He had called, sobbing, and explained everything.
There had been an explosion.
People were dead.
The crew needed a scientist.
He was the only option.
He didn’t want to die.
Colt had told him to run, to flee, and Ryland wished with everything in his heart that he had just listened.
Instead, he walked back into the kennel, and didn’t see the pearly teeth of the dogs until it was too late.
He had trusted her.
Stupid, stupid, STUPID Ryland.
He had never known when to run.
The fence was within reach, less than a yard from him, but the hounds were faster.
Ryland slammed to the ground, tears on his cheeks, wailing, begging, pleading for mercy, for salvation, screaming for his brothers as he was pinned down and a needle descended.
“You’re murdering me!!”
There was no sympathy in the hands holding him.
The needle bit deep, and with all the breath he had left, Ryland screamed.
The only ears left to hear were those of the hunters.
—————————————————————
On the other side of the world, Colt feverishly packed a backpack of essentials, his hands shaking.
Months ago, he had warned Ryland that the Petrova Task Force sounded sketchy. That all of Project Hail Mary sounded sketchy. He had warned his little brother that he was going to get in trouble working with those people. He had told Ryland to find a way out.
Ryland had said everything was fine.
That he was making friends for the first time in years.
That everyone seemed to like having him around.
Colt had still all but begged Ryland to find an out, and his little brother had shut him down with a single sentence.
“I don’t want my kids to die.”
His kids. All the students that looked up to Ryland, grinned whenever he walked into the classroom, laughing and happy as he taught.
Ryland was doing it all for his kids.
Colt had stared into the middle distance for a long time after that call, remembering another time that Ryland had stepped between danger and innocence.
It had been a long time since Colt thought about their childhood.
He hoped things would be different this time.
That had been almost four months ago.
Ryland had called as often as possible, and Colt had been thrilled whenever he got to talk to his brother. Weeks passed with everything going according to plan.
Colt had known even before picking up the phone half an hour ago that something was wrong. His gut felt tight, churning with anxiety.
Ryland had once called it Twin Telepathy.
That anxiety turned to cold horror as Ryland explained, sobbing through the phone.
There had been an explosion.
People were dead.
The leader of Project Hail Mary wanted to send Ryland to space.
Ryland had been convinced, even through his tears, even in his fear, that the woman would understand why he was refusing to go.
He trusted her.
The moment Ryland hung up, Colt had called Court, terror tying knots around his lungs.
It was a familiar terror, and yet so much worse.
It was the familiar terror of hanging, suspended, waiting for the drop when the cameras rolled. The terror of spinning the wheel and hoping the car’s roll cage protected him. The terror that one day, he wouldn’t get up again after a stunt.
Only this time, the terror wasn’t for himself.
When Court hung up, a plan already in motion to get their brother back, Colt crumpled to the floor in a sobbing heap, and terror that was only partly his own clawed at his throat.
This time, Ryland was falling.
Colt could only pray they would be there to catch him.
—————————————————————
Court had long since learned to hide his fear behind anger.
Years of gunfire and running for his life taught him that sometimes anger was the best front to put up when an enemy had you at gunpoint. Fear implied weakness, and an enemy wouldn’t hesitate to pluck and pull at weaknesses until the soft core of a person was exposed.
Fear was soft flesh and exposed nerves.
Anger was sharp steel and razor glass, cutting anything that got too close.
Court had learned that lesson very, very well, and so he had no idea how one woman all the way across the world had managed to so thoroughly strip him to the bone.
Ryland was in danger.
Court had been strangled once, years before.
A target had managed to get behind him during a fight, and Court had found himself on his back with a wire tight around his throat. He remembered the lancing pain of it, the tightness in his chest, the fog blurring his vision as he slowly started to lose consciousness. He remembered the relief when he managed to kick the man off of him, fresh air shredding at his throat before flooding back into his lungs.
The fear that had choked Court when Colt called, tangling its threads around his neck and pulling until he couldn’t breathe, it felt a lot like that.
It was a fear that Court couldn’t afford to feel.
So, he got angry.
His fist ached from where he had driven it through the wall, knuckles bloodied and bruised.
How many times would his baby brother put himself in danger?!
Court had once thought, after he first went to prison, that he and Ryland were similar. They both put themselves between their loved ones and danger. They both stood up for the innocent, no matter what.
Court was beginning to realize that he and his little brother could not be more different.
Court was sharp, honed to a razor edge by years of violence and pain and rage-numbed fear. He was a killer. An attack dog sent to do the bidding of its master even if it got him hurt or worse.
Ryland was soft, his sharp edges smoothed out by years of tumbling through the river of life, rubbing against those sharper than him until his edges were smooth and beautiful. Ryland was a teacher down to his bones, and he was something that Court didn’t think he could ever truly be.
Ryland was brave.
He didn’t hide his fear behind rage or apathy.
He spoke his mind, he faced his fears even if it took some pushing to get him there, and he stood up to those above him—albeit sometimes foolishly.
Court stayed silent. He backed down. He ignored or hid from his fears all while pretending to be fearless.
So, it was little surprise that Ryland was in danger again.
“I don’t want my kids to die.”
That’s what Ryland said, months before.
He found a reason to be step out into the teeth of the world, a reason to face his fears, and he put himself in the crosshairs to keep innocents safe.
Court hadn’t been at all surprised.
He still wasn’t, as he shoved a few things into a bag and readied himself to go rescue the youngest of their family. Court would never be surprised when Ryland did something to protect another.
That was just who Ryland was.
He was the soft one, gentle and kind.
And, as it always had, it fell to Court to turn his sharp exterior to the world and protect his baby brother when danger descended on him.
—————————————————————
Casey had long believed himself to be a poison to everyone around him.
At some point, inevitably, they would find themselves on the receiving end of his stinger, and he would be left alone again.
His brothers were different.
Ryland was soft and gentle, caring and always there when someone needed him. He didn’t hide his emotions like so many people Casey had known, and to Casey it just made him seem strong, unafraid to show his soft underbelly to the world.
Brave.
Colt was a thrill seeker, throwing himself willingly into dangerous situations and coming out of them grinning, and yet he was also unfailingly loving toward those he considered his family. Casey had decided months ago that Colt was the most determined person he had ever met, and hearing stories about his back injuries only convinced him of that fact.
Stubborn.
Court was sharp and hard on the outside, hiding behind walls so thick and perfectly built that the world thought they were seeing who he really was. He rarely let those walls down, but Casey had seen the fear behind them from the first moment they were reunited. Maybe it was the fact that they were twins, but he had always been able to read Court like an open book.
Scared.
Court was scared now.
Casey could see it in his eyes, in the way he kept glancing around them warily as they rushed through the airport toward their LA-bound flight. Court was terrified, and he hid it behind a facade of anger so well that everyone around them readily leapt out of the way.
Quietly, Casey wondered if they would have moved even quicker, had they seen the rage wrapping itself around his lungs like the many legs of the creature he always claimed to be. He wondered if they would have screamed, pointing in horror at the dripping stinger of the monster passing them.
Casey had known for a long time that he was dangerous. Sharp. Venomous. Ruthless. Cold.
Angry.
Only with his brothers had that begun to change, and now one of them was in danger and that anger was back tenfold what it had once been.
As they found their seats on the plane, Casey sitting beside the window, he stared out silently and lost time.
Nothing felt real.
Nothing except the anger, burning hot and violent through his veins. A many-legged monster let loose and tearing him apart.
By the time he and Court reached LA and met up with Colt at the airport for their next flight to Shanghai, Casey was being eaten alive.
He let Colt have the window seat during the second flight, Court on his other side, and Casey lost more time as he stared blankly at the seat in front of him. He had no idea how much time vanished between blinks, but suddenly Colt was pressed up against his side.
Colt was saying something, but Casey couldn’t understand what.
The only thing he was aware of was the toxic rage running through his blood, curling around his lungs and squeezing, and the warm pressure of Colt pressing against him.
After what felt like a short eternity, but was probably only a few seconds, Court leaned against Casey’s other side and pressed close, one arm wrapping tight around Casey’s ribs.
Court’s hand was shaking.
For a few long minutes, Casey hovered in a sort of limbo; he was aware of his brothers, but felt unsure if their touches were even real.
Court buried his face into Casey’s shoulder suddenly, his fingers curling tightly into the material of Casey’s shirt as he trembled, and that more than anything shook him out of the fog.
Court was crying.
It took Casey another moment to realize Colt was too.
“—sey. Casey, we’re here, we’re here, you’re okay, breathe. Please, breathe—”
Oh.
That was Colt.
Casey blinked slowly, feeling some of the anger drain away as he slowly came back to himself.
He had no idea how long he had been gone, lost in his own mind, but it had been long enough that Court had started crying.
Court never cried.
Casey made a tiny, barely audible humming noise, and both Colt and Court pressed themselves somehow closer to Casey. Colt had an arm flung over Casey now, too.
“We’re here,” Court mumbled into Casey’s shoulder, his voice strangled by terror and tears. “We’re here, Casey, come back.”
Casey took a slow, steady, deep breath.
He was real.
They were real.
Real warmth seeping through his shirt.
Real touch against his skin.
Real plane seats under them.
Real human beings pressed up on either side of him, their tears hot against his skin.
Real, real, real.
“…I’m here,” he whispered, and he slowly dragged his arms up and over his brothers, holding them tight against him.
They clung to one another for the rest of the flight.
—————————————————————
The plan was simple enough, but there were a million different things that could go wrong.
During the final stretch of their trip—a flight from Shanghai to Kazakhstan—Court had finished figuring out exactly where they were going, and had started figuring out how to get in.
Casey and Court would be going in since they had combat experience, and Colt would act as their getaway driver.
Or, he would have the car in the right place at the right time.
Casey would take over the actual driving art of things when he and Court got to the car.
The compound itself was relatively small, but it sat on a massive tract of open grassland, which made getting in harder, and getting out even worse. Fences surrounded it, with only one main gate and barbed wire all along the top of the fence to deter intruders.
That was easy enough to deal with, once they actually got up to the fence itself.
Then, once they were over the fence, they had to cross an open stretch of heavily guarded grass before reaching the main building of the compound. There were a few sources of cover on the way, but not nearly enough to provide full coverage.
Once past the grass, the main building was a maze of corridors, but Court was betting they were marked; most science buildings had marked halls, and he couldn’t afford to be wrong.
Oh, and another thing.
Court hadn’t been able to bring any weapons with him on the trip. He didn’t have the necessary carriers for taking guns on a plane.
They would be going in completely unarmed, hoping to catch a few guard unaware. That was the hardest part of getting in, and finding Ryland would still be the easy part, objectively speaking.
Getting out?
That was where things could go wrong fast.
If backup was called as they infiltrated, Court already knew getting out would be impossible.
If there were more guards than expected in the building as they made their way in, one or more of the brothers could get injured and make getting out take longer.
If Colt couldn’t get into place in time, they would be up a creek without a paddle.
There were other things that could go wrong, but Court had decided not to list al of them.
They didn’t need more stress.
If the escape went off without a hitch—which it would; it had to—they would run back to the fence and out to the road about a fourth of a mile from the compound, where Colt would be waiting with the car.
Things could go wrong there too.
So many things.
Court had never had an extraction go smoothly during his work with the CIA or as a freelancer, and he doubted it would go smoothly now.
Still, a man could hope.
By 0530, two hours after their flight had landed in Kazakhstan, they had what they needed and were well on their way to their positions.
By 0600, Court and Casey made sure Colt was ready for them when they got back, and the two eldest set out.
The sun was just starting to come up, which meant the spotlights were off, and they had gotten lucky.
There was a thin layer of mist covering the ground.
They reached the fence quickly, and Court scrambled up without breaking his stride. Casey leapt up only slightly slower, and the two tossed their jackets over the barbed wire at the top before jumping to the ground on the other side.
Without pausing, they ducked low and ran toward an electrical box between them and the main building.
There was no way into the box—they didn’t have the proper tools—but if there had been, Court thought he probably would have cut something.
Oh well.
No time for what-could-have-beens.
Scanning their surroundings, Casey pointed out two guards high above, facing away from them.
Court nodded and pointed out to more guarding the doors almost straight ahead. They appeared distracted.
Nodding once, Court led the way down a short incline and onto a short gravel drive before breaking into a sprint, Casey right behind him.
The guards at the door looked up from their phones a split second too late, and Court silently thanked whoever had let them keep such devices while on duty. The two men had no chance to fight back against their near-silent assailants.
Court drove his heel up under the chin of one guard, and saw Casey slam the other into the wall out of the corner of his eye. The two went down hard, one choking and wheezing, the other unconscious, and the twins quickly stripped them both of their radios and weapons.
Court grabbed the authorization card off of his guard’s belt and pressed it quickly to the pad next to the door.
There was an affirmative beep, and the two moved as one, bursting through the door and charging down the hall.
At the first turn, Court spun, already bringing his stolen pistol to bear, and double-tapped the trigger as two guards came around another corner further down the hall.
“The halls are marked,” Casey hissed to him as they kept running, and they both fought twin waves of hope.
Maybe things would go as planned.
They swiped the guns from the second pair of guards and kept going.
For the next three or four minutes, there was no sign of opposition.
Court knew it wouldn’t last.
“They’ve been called to guard wherever Ryland is,” he panted a they kept running, adrenaline and sheer desperation the only things keeping them going. “When we find more of them, we’ll know we’re close. I think this facility is on a skeleton crew right now.”
Casey nodded silently.
Two hallways later, they turned a corner and ran right into a gunfight.
Court didn’t spare any time talking or trying to direct Casey. He knew his brother could take care of himself.
Instead, he ducked his head and took aim at the closest guards.
The first bullet was a clean headshot.
The second tore through the throat of a guard who was halfway in motion, and the man went down choking.
The third punched through muscle and ribs to lodge itself in the heart of a guard who had been lunging at them.
The fourth time Court pulled the trigger, nothing happened but a dull, empty click.
Casey was shooting off to the right, his aim steady and true even as he kept moving forward.
Court barely spared him a glance before spinning his gun so that he was holding the barrel and pistol whipping a guard who had been foolish enough to try charging him. The man went down in a heap, jaw crooked.
Casey’s last bullet struck true, and the last guard in the hallway collapsed under a headshot.
The twins pulled out their second set of guns and grabbed a few extras from the bodies in their wake before moving on.
The entire fight—if it could even be called that—lasted less than a minute.
Court’s earlier assumption that the facility was working with a skeleton crew was proven correct in the next five minutes.
They met roughly a dozen more guards scattered through the hallways, and their placement was an unintentional trail of breadcrumbs that led directly to a closed off containment bay.
The twins, blood-spattered and panting, shoved through the double doors of the bay and found themselves facing a mere two people.
Then, Court drew in a sharp breath when he realized there was a third lying perfectly still on a medical gurney against one wall.
Ryland.
“Get him, Ace,” Court barked, keeping his eyes on the other two in the room.
One, a heavyset Black man, pressed himself against the far wall and raised his hands, eyes wide. He looked shocked to see someone with Ryland’s face pointing a gun at him, and Court remembered Ryland mentioning a Black man during one of his calls.
Carl.
Not a threat, Court decided. Carl wouldn’t endanger Ryland if he could help it.
The other person, on the other hand, quickly became the center of Court’s focus.
“Eva Stratt,” he snarled, voice so full of venom that Casey flinched slightly across the room, and Carl drew back even further.
“Courtland Gentry,” she replied calmly. “Sierra Six. The Gray Man. You are a man of many names.”
Court bared his teeth in a vicious facsimile of a smile and held her gaze with his own, two apex predators locked in a battle of wills.
Neither blinked.
Casey lifted Ryland’s limp body over his shoulders carefully in a fireman’s carry.
“Time to go, Court,” he called urgently, already heading for the door. “I need cover.”
“Put him down,” Stratt ordered calmly.
Court scoffed.
“Not in a million years,” he snarled, backing away slowly as he followed Casey.
“This is the only way to save everyone,” Stratt stated calmly. Certain. Unshaken. “Put him down.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” Court snapped, eyes flashing.
“And you do?” She questioned, head tilting slightly. “The fate of the world rests on this project, and it needs a scientist.”
“So you decided that sending our brother to his death was the right thing to do?” Casey’s voice cut in, quiet and deadly.
“He is the leading authority in his field,” Stratt stated, still calm. “He is the best for the job.”
“Were you even going to tell us?” Court growled, stepping forward again. “Or were you just going to launch him into space and tell the entire world that he wanted to do it?”
“He will be a hero,” she replied, as if that made it better. In the corner, Carl looked almost sick.
“Does it look like we care if he would be a hero?” Court snapped, truly losing his patience. ”You’re trying to kill our brother and tell the world that it wasn’t wrong.”
“I never said it wasn’t a wrong thing to do,” she said, holding his unblinking gaze. “But it is still the right choice to make.”
Court bared his teeth in a snarl, keeping his gun trained on her.
“Put him down,” Stratt ordered again, holding her head a little higher as though to intimidate.
“You’re not the one in charge here,” Court snapped at her, lungs tight as rage turned his vision crimson at the edges.
“I assure you, I am,” she replied, and there was finally anger in her voice. She took a small step toward where Casey was waiting for Court to follow him. “You won’t pull that trigger.”
She stepped forward again, somehow confident that she knew enough about Court to call his next actions.
“I killed my own father to protect him,” Court snarled back. “Try me.”
Lowering the tip of the gun ever-so-slightly, the Gray Man pulled the trigger.
It was by no means a kill-shot, but her left leg buckled instantly, knee a mess of blood and shattered bone. She wouldn’t bleed out—Carl would see to that, the Gray Man knew—but it would keep her from trying to follow them or go for a radio.
And it would serve as a reminder of what happened when the Gray Man’s family was put in danger.
Wheeling, Court ran back to join Casey, and they sprinted back toward the exit.
The fact that the compound was running on low personnel made their escape so much easier, but they still had to be careful.
They raced back to the fence with little trouble, and Court hauled himself up to straddle the jackets they had left over the barbed wire. Casey climbed up a few feet, Ryland on his back, and Court carefully tugged Ryland up into his arms once Casey was close enough for him to do so.
Casey scrambled, all but flinging himself over the fence once Ryland was safe in Court’s arms, and then he reached back up for the youngest. Court lowered Ryland down carefully, hating how still his baby brother was, and Casey took him carefully.
Court leapt down, dragging the jackets with him, and they ran.
About two thirds of the way back to the road, where they could see Colt already waiting for them in the Camry they had rented, there was a sharp cracking sound from behind them.
Casey yelped, startled, and Court stumbled slightly as something impacted heavily with his lower back.
The guards on the roof.
“ZIG ZAG!” Court roared to Casey, and they both changed directions just as another sharp crack rang out.
A puff of earth lifted less than a foot from where Court had just moved, and then they reached the car.
“Go, go, go,” Court urged, tumbling into the back of the car as Casey scrambled to the other side of the car with Ryland still over his back. Colt was waiting in the back and grabbed his twin as Casey quickly passed him off.
Casey leapt into the open driver’s side, threw the car out of park, and slammed the pedal down.
The car leapt forward, engine revving with a roar, tires shrieking on the asphalt, and they were gone.
Colt clung to Ryland, holding his brother’s deadweight against his chest and sobbing quietly into his shoulder. Court reached over to gently adjust Ryland’s limbs.
“We got him,” he managed to get out between his gasps for breath after the run. “We got him back, Colt.”
Colt looked up at him through tears, smiling brokenly, and Court ruffled his hair gently.
“You did great,” he rasped out. “You were exactly where you needed to be, Colt. Good job.”
Colt gave him another watery smile and held Ryland a bit closer.
Court let out a heavy breath and leaned back against the seat, his shirt stuck uncomfortably to his back with sweat.
Casey glanced at them in the rearview mirror for a moment, his gaze sharp, before he sniffed slightly and glanced over his shoulder at Court.
“Court, are you injured?” He asked sharply, voice urgent.
“What?” Court looked up at him in exhausted confusion.
“Are. You. Hurt? I know we have blood on us, but it shouldn’t smell this strong.”
Quickly, Court leaned forward to do a quick once-over of himself, and Colt cried out in shocked horror.
“Court, your back—!”
Court remembered the heavy impact in his lower back at about the same moment he realized it wasn’t sweat sticking his shirt to his skin. A moment later, as though realizing it was there summoned the pain, a white-hot spike of blinding fire tore up his back and into his ribs, stalling his diaphragm and blurring his vision.
Court made a punched-out noise of sheer agony, arching his back wildly as his eyes rolled back from the pain.
Colt cried out again, reaching out one hand to try steadying him, and Court slumped as the wave of pain dissipated slightly, a growl leaving his throat.
“I’m…slightly…shot,” he manage to gasp out after a few moments. “Might…might’ve hit somethin’ important. Bullet’s…bullet’s still in there.”
Casey cursed sharply and glanced back again.
“Colt, get Ryland into the passenger’s seat,” he ordered after a moment. “Courtland, don’t move. You don’t want to dislodge the bullet.”
Colt rushed to carefully maneuver Ryland into the passenger’s seat and buckle him in.
“Okay, now Colt,” Casey directed, glancing at them in the rearview mirror, “carefully help Court onto his stomach on the seats and put pressure on the entry wound. Don’t let him bend forward.”
Court barely held back a howl of pain as he was moved, somehow managing to instead turn it into a guttural growl. Colt managed to sit down in front of the seats beside him, then leaned his full weight onto the steadily bleeding wound.
Court’s vision whited out, a roaring starting up in his ears at the sheer agony of it.
Mercifully, he passed out.
Casey set his jaw at the sudden silence from his twin, and focused on getting them to a hospital.
Colt focused on keeping Court from bleeding out.
By 0700, Ryland was safe and Court’s life was the one in danger.
They weren’t out of the woods yet.