Work Text:
Tick. Tick. Tick.
His eye twitched as he stared at the clock. He wasn’t going to sweat, or flinch, or outwardly react to the noise that seemed to echo around the fucking room. No siree bob. He’d been through SERE’s; he was a SEAL, for Christ sakes. They wanted to torture him; they’d have to do better than that.
“I’m gunna shoot that thing.”
Apparently, his companion didn’t share his opinion, nor his resilience. Then again, the fact they were being held against their will was enough to make anyone cranky. “Shoot it with what?” He asked, waving a hand at them both. “It’s not like we were armed when they dragged us in here.”
There was a pause, then, “Feck.”
He acknowledged the curse with a nod, then shifted further down in his chair. There’d been no indication about how long they’d be left in here, but time meant little to a SEAL held against their will.
“Y’know, you try get any lower, you might as well lie on the floor.”
As it was, his head was barely touching the back rest, his legs sprawled out in front of him. He glared up at his companion. “Your point is what, exactly?”
“I’m just saying.”
“Shuddup.”
“Meh.” They both heaved bored sighs and looked at the clock again. “How much longer, you reckon?”
He grunted irritably. “Fucked if I know. But I'm hungry; if they don’t bring us food soon, I’m gunna stage a revolt. That shit’s against the Geneva Convention, I’m sure of it.”
“Like Jason would care if we starve.”
“Trent would,” he argued. “’sides, even he thinks this is overkill.” And oh, was it ever. The mission they were being ‘punished’ for had been a shambles right from the start. The fact that Jason had stupidly taken Ray, Trent, and Sonny into the building, leaving them on overwatch, then gotten shitty when they’d been forced to collapse their position so they weren’t overrun was not their fault; and yet Jason blamed them anyway.
Everything that had come after... well, he was quite proud of their evasion tactics, if he did say so himself. Jason just needed relax a little. It’s not like either of them had died, or were hurt.
Much.
Trent had spoken up in their defence, telling Jason that given all the factors they’d had to deal with just to make it back to Bravo’s evac point, he should be grateful they’d made it in one piece at all. Jason had said he was, but they deserved to be punished because they’d ignored his instructions three times, and that wasn’t good enough.
When he’d mimicked Bravo 1 with the quietest, haughtiest, yet high-pitched, “they’ve ignored my instructions THRICE, Trent!” and gotten caught for it, well. It was game over, hence why they were now here, trapped in this room with its stupid clock. In all honesty, this punishment was absolute bullshit.
“This is absolute bullshit,” his companion muttered, having apparently read his thoughts. “Why the fuck are we here, again?”
Further proof that this imprisonment was ridiculous – it was kinda hard to learn a lesson when you didn’t know what the issue was in the first place! “Because Jase is a smother hen who needs to take a fucking chill pill.” Hell, the man needed to skull a whole bottle of chill, his panties were so far up his ass. “I mean seriously, I’ve seen speed bumps bigger than the one we took.”
His brother snorted derisively. “Tell me about it.” The clock ticked over, and his brother groaned loudly. “Man, fuck this shit. I ain’t staying here any longer.”
Smiling was not the reaction he should have to that statement. It was not. He grinned. “Thoughts?”
“If Jase wants to get his panties in a twist over something, I say we give him something to really get worked up about.”
“Usual stakes?”
He shrugged. “I reckon we just do this together. Twice the fun, double the pain.”
“Dinner and a movie at the end, then.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Radio silence for the night.”
“Go somewhere different so they can’t track us down.”
“Phone’s will need to be switched off.”
“Pfft.” A hand wafted carelessly near his face. He managed to restrain himself from biting it when it came too close. “Who needs phones, anyway?”
“Touché.” He pushed the chair out from under the desk, the legs squealing loudly against the lino, and he stretched his arms above his head. Several joints popped oh so pleasantly; further evidence he’d been held against his will for too long. He looked at his companion who was still sitting. “You coming or what?”
“Well, we can’t exactly go out the front door – the crew room is like... three doors down, or something.”
“Five, actually.” A Navy SEAL, everyone – tens of thousands of dollars invested in his training; recruitment forgot to ask if he knew how to count to ten. “A for effort, though.” He twisted at the waist, shook his legs out. “’sides, who said anything about going out the door?” He jammed a thumb over his shoulder, smirking at the bright grin thrown his way. “Shall we?”
“We shall.”
When Jason and Sonny walked in ten minutes later, it was to find a group of Greenies looking very confused, huddled around a far table as they talked amongst themselves. And alone. Very much alone.
Jason took a breath, held it, then let it out slowly. “Where are they?”
As one, the group of twelve pointed at the open window.
Sonny pressed a fist against his lips to keep from laughing, while the other hand grabbed his phone, sending off a heads up to the teams to be on the lookout.
They had some fugitives on the run – this was going to be good.
“The first rule of going on the run is don’t run; walk.”
“If I run in these shoes, they’re going to fall off.”
Clay looked down, and realised that Brock was, in fact, in flip flops. Shorts too. “Huh. No shit – why are you in flip flops?”
“I was hosing down some of Cerb’s training gear this morning when Jase grabbed me; he didn’t give me the chance to change.”
Clay shook his head. Jason really was inconsiderate, sometimes. They passed someone he didn’t recognise, and they both nodded in acknowledgement; the woman returning the gesture. That was the second rule about going on the run. Act like you belonged there. Which, they technically did – but they wanted to remain forgettable to anyone they passed for as long as possible; the better to hide, when Jason came looking.
“Soooo... now that we’re out, what are we actually going to do?” he asked. “Like... should we just jump the fence, call an uber, come back tomorrow?”
“Fuck no,” Brock snorted, shooting him a sly smirk. Clay immediately perked up. Ooooh, they were going to be in so much trouble, when this was over. He couldn’t wait. “I was thinking...”
“Whaaaaat?” He whined when Brock left his sentence hanging. “C’mon Broccoli; you know I hate suspense.”
“No, you love suspense when it’s you doing the suspending,” Brock countered, sniggering when Clay shoved him. “We should hold a Bravo competition – see what random shenanigans we can get away with before we get caught.”
“By Jason?”
“Duh, only by Jason. Let’s be honest, here; no one actually has the willpower to keep us locked up for long, because they know we’ll never shut up until they let us go. Which means that even if we get caught, we just slip away, carry on.”
Clay grinned. “Like a Bravo Olympics?”
Brock nodded back. “Exactly like a Bravo Olympics.”
“Even though the others don’t know they’re competing?”
“Pfft,” Brock said, snagging him by the sleeve and dragging him over to one of the less used buildings on base. “That’s their problem. They’ll work it out eventually.”
“Okay, so... run it by me again?” Ray asked, half asleep and desperate for the coffee he held. Taking a sip while facing down Jason’s wrath didn’t seem like the best idea, right now.
He’d been hoping for a sleep-in that morning, but with RJ unwell all night and Naima needing to get to the hospital to cover a shift, he’d been up earlier than planned. Then Jason had called, telling him he was needed on base immediately, so he’d dropped Jameelah and RJ off at a friend’s house so they could see his eldest off to school, and look after his youngest – and now he was... here. Trying to focus on Jason’s ranting about two missing brothers; because they’d been grounded?
He was so confused.
“And use small words, brother,” he begged, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m struggling to follow what exactly the problem is, and why the hell I’m here at -” he checked his watch, “eight thirty on what was supposed to be a day off.”
“Clay and Brock have gone AWOL.”
“AWOL?” he repeated slowly. “As in... AWOL?”
“Fucks sake, Ray. Saying it twice ain’t going to change the meaning. Yes, they’ve gone AWOL.”
He was still confused. “They’re late for work, and you’re declaring them away without leave?” Ray rolled his eyes, threw caution to the wind, and took a long drag of coffee. Jason’s eye twitched. “You’re shitty because they’re having a late start?”
“Have you listened to a word I’ve said?”
“Honestly? No.”
Sonny snorted a laugh. “Brock and Clay aren’t late for work. They’re on base; but Jase tried to ground them for that shit they pulled last mission. He left them in the training room with the new batch of Greenies; and according to that very confused group of tadpoles, the pair were bitchin’ about a ticking clock, something to do with the Geneva Convention, speed bumps – whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean – Jase's panties being in a twist; and then they left the room.”
Ray took another sip of coffee to fortify himself. “They left the training room – walking right past our crew room, and you didn’t see them?”
“They left via the window,” Sonny corrected, looking far too amused for his own safety.
“Yeah, no.” He grabbed his bag again. “You want to ground them, you deal with this mess. Trent and I told you it wasn’t a good idea; Brock and Clay did what they had too to get back to the evac point. I for one can take comfort in the fact that they made it back alive. Your mess, your problem.”
“Ray -”
“I’ve got a sick kid that’s kept me up half the night; RJ is a bit more important to me than chasing those two morons all over the place.” Ray headed towards the door, draining his cup and tossing it into the bin. It was then he noticed something different about Jason’s cage. It took him a second to place it, but when he did, he huffed a laugh. “Your boys lose in the playoffs?”
Jason whirled, offended. “What?! The Flyers don’t lose in something as easy as the playoffs. Why would you ask that?”
Ray waved a hand at Jason’s cage. “Your flag’s missing, is all.”
“WHAT?!”
Ray winced as Jason stormed over to his cage and started ripping through it in search of his beloved flag. He shared a smirk with Sonny as he left the room; he had an idea of who might have taken it.
Sure enough, as he headed for the carpark, he spotted Jason’s Philidelphia Flyers flag up the flagpole, proudly displayed beneath the American one. It was upside down, and he just knew that was deliberate. Ray dug his phone out of his pocket, took a few photos, including a selfie, before hitting speed dial. “Yo, Jase. I found it.”
“HAS ANYONE SEEN REYNOLDS OR SPENSER?!”
Scott looked up from where he was polishing his rifle. That sounded like a rampaging Jason. He paused his cleaning; to see, or not to see what the fuss and palaver was about. That was the question. He shrugged.
Meh.
The door opened, and Tom walked in. “Yo, boss. What crawled up Hayes’ ass?”
He picked up his brush, and started on the barrel. “Whaddya mean?”
“Bravo 1 is currently rampaging around the hallway. Quinn’s there laughing at him, haven’t seen Perry or Sawyer yet, but Hayes is screeching like the devil incarnate, looking for Brock and Clay.”
Devil incarnate? Scott snorted silently; his rookie certainly had a flair for the dramatics, there was no doubt about that. “Wouldn’t have a clue,” he said instead. There was another bellow from Jason, a bit further away now. “It’s probably nothing.”
Tom gave him a weird look as he made his way to his cage. “Riiiiiight,” the kid said slowly. “’Cause Hayes screeching like a wounded bull is normal, then.”
“Pretty much.”
Tom shook his head, grabbed whatever it was he’d come for, and left again. Scott continued cleaning his gun, enjoying the silence that had fallen but also keeping an ear out for any further interruptions.
When several minutes passed and no one else came in, he smirked. “You’re clear.”
“Thank fuck for that,” Clay groaned, unfurling from the corner of Scott’s cage he’d tucked himself into. “My ass has gone numb.”
“Ugh,” Brock agreed, crawling out from his own hiding spot. “I can’t feel my legs.”
Scott rolled his eyes, but said nothing. As much as he loved Jason, watching his brother get wound up was too good an opportunity to pass on. Especially if he could silently assist with said winding. “What exactly did you two do?” He asked, inspecting the spot he’d just cleaned, frowning when there was still a mark on it. Dammit. He gave it another vigorous rub.
“Eh, better you just see for yourself,” Brock replied, joining him at the table. He went to grab something, and Scott smacked his hand away without bothering to look up. “Ow. Meanie.”
He flipped him off, hiding his grin. “Plausible deniability,” he said instead. “Gotcha.”
“Makes it a surprise for you, too,” Clay added, clapping him on the shoulder. “C’mon Broccoli,” the blond said far too cheerfully for Jason’s own good. “We got more shit to do.”
Scott held his hand out. Brock slapped a fifty into it, Clay following suit a second later. “Have fun boys,” he told the pair, pocketing his bribery money and holding back his laughter as he heard one of them unlock the window. “Good luck, Jase,” he added, once it clicked shut behind them.
Said laughter escaped half an hour later when he went to Bravo’s crew room to pilfer their bottle of milk. Stapled on nearly every surface of the room were coloured printouts of Brock and Clay, pulling various poses that indicated to the viewer they’d had all the time in the world to stage them. Milk in hand, he wandered around to have a look. There was a photo of them pulling the old “WE WANT YOU!” pose; a Marilyn Monroe; a Navy Sailor; The Thinker on an overturned crate; the Karate Kid, standing on the edge of what looked to be a rooftop; Climbing the Flagpole; and Western Cowboy, complete with them shooting each other, and each of them dead or dying in five... six, actually, when he spotted the other one, different poses. He applauded their efforts, ranking their acting as a high six out of ten.
The door opened, and he waved the milk in greeting, not bothering to turn around. “Sup.”
“Hey, man,” Trent greeted, frowning as he joined him. The medic took one look at the picture Scott was currently in front of, and dropped his head back. “Oh God.”
“You only just get here?”
“Yep.”
That explained a lot. “Jase is on the warpath.”
“Yeah, Sonny messaged me a couple of hours ago, told me what happened. I heard Jase about two corridors down; came in the long way so I didn’t have to deal with him.”
“Fair call.”
“What have they done so far?”
“Jail break, raised Jason’s ice hockey flag upside down, and now this.”
“And it’s only...” Trent looked at his watch. “Ten thirty. Oh boy.”
“The day is young,” he agreed. “Thanks for the milk.”
“There anymore in the fridge?”
Had he thought to look for another bottle? Not in the slightest. “Uh, yeah, sure.” He was pretty certain there wasn’t one, but who knows – maybe he was wrong. “Laters,” he said as he left the room. Bravo’s lack of milk wasn’t his problem. He had a coffee to make.
Trent watched Scott go as he made his way over to the fridge. He opened it, and cursed the man under his breath. Unsurprisingly, there was no milk. He closed it again with a sigh. “Fuck my life,” he muttered irritably.
“Has anyone seen my coffee cup?!” Blackburn bellowed from the depths of his office. “And whose computer is this?!”
“Where the fuck is my computer?!” Lisa screeched a second later from the depths of her office. “And why is Blackburn’s coffee cup in my office?!”
Jacob stumbled to a stop, looked between the two closed doors that each had a note with ‘Brock was here’ and ‘Clay was here’ stuck at waist height where they’d be easily missed by people with their heads in their folders, and silently turned back the way he’d come.
If the Terror Twins had targeted their LC and Intel Officer’s belongings, it meant no one was safe, and he had no intentions of getting involved.
All he’d wanted to do was get into his cage, drop his bag, and grab his keys so he could go home and crash for the next twelve hours for some much needed, uninterrupted sleep.
Instead, Kit found himself blinking owlishly at the wall that was missing their hog’s head with its cowboy hat that usually hung pride of place opposite the door to their cage room. “I... what?”
“Get outta the way, would you?”
He shuffled in before Roy could shove him through, turning to his teammate and silently pointing at the now bare wall. “What?” Roy grunted, looking at him then at the wall - blinking twice in quick succession before exclaiming, horrified; “Where the fuck is Boss Hogg?!”
“WHERE THE FUCK IS SPENSER AND REYNOLDS!”
“Who the fuck was that?!” Roy asked, perplexed. Ryder, his Belgian Malanois woofed once, ears swivelling as he listened to what sounded like Jason Hayes screaming down the building from somewhere nearby. “That Hayes?”
“What the hell is all that noise about – and who the fuck stole Boss Hogg?!” Tim exclaimed as he came into the room, gaping openly as he too stared at the now barren wall.
Kit went to answer, but paused when he saw a pink post-it note on his cage. He wandered over and picked up the square, and snorted a laugh. “Oh for fucks sake,” he muttered, before turning to his brothers; the rest of whom were slowly trickling into the room. “‘I owe you; one Boss Hogg,’” he read aloud. “Signed, Brock Reynolds.”
“Well that explains a lot,” Troy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, unless you want to get drawn into whatever this is that Bravo have going on; I suggest you grab your gear and get the hell outta here.”
Sonny swung by the cafeteria to grab some fruit, and stumbled to a stop when he saw Boss Hogg hanging pride of place at the head of the hangar. “What the hell?” he muttered, wandering closer. That trophy, as far as he knew, hadn’t left Delta’s cage room since it had been put there by an unknown Delta SEAL five years ago; said SEAL was unknown, because no one on the team at the time had known, or admitted to, placing it there.
It had kind of just... arrived, and never left.
The fact that it was there meant that Brock and Clay had clearly found a way past Delta’s security lock, and decided to help themselves. Sonny giggled to himself, snapped a picture for evidence, then went to get his food. He was sure someone would come looking for it soon enough.
“So far so good,” Brock mused, swinging his feet idly as he dug around his container of egg fried rice. “It’s lunchtime now, and Jase has yet to catch us. I think we’re doing quite well.”
“We are,” Clay agreed, stabbing a piece of honey lemon chicken and biting into it, moaning happily. “Damn this is good.”
“Better than the mess,” he agreed, attention quickly snagged when a nearby door opened. “Hey, look. It’s Trent!”
“So it is.” Clay pulled out his phone, and dialled their brother. “Hey T, what’re you doing?”
“Where the hell are you?” Trent asked, sounding exasperated. “I swear Jason’s hair is turning greyer by the minute.”
“Just hanging out,” Clay replied, frowning when he realised what the medic was holding. “Oi! Did you get a Starbucks without asking if we wanted one?!”
“That’s a bit rude,” Brock added. They watched Trent stiffen and look around slowly. “Look up,” he instructed helpfully. Trent did, still turning, then -
“Oh for fucks sake.” Rather than scolding, it sounded like the medic was holding back a laugh. They both waved at him, and he waved back. “Do I even want to know how you did that?”
“Ninja skills,” Clay replied, sounding as smug as Brock felt. “Badass ninja skills.”
“Uh huh. Right.” The medic looked at the door he’d come out of. “Pretty certain I hear Jason coming, so I suggest you two make tracks if you want to stay hidden.”
“Roger rubber ducky,” Clay said, saluting him with his chopsticks before shuffling backwards. “See ya later.”
“Take a video of his reaction for us, yeah?” Brock added. It’d be nice if they could see Jason’s reaction, for once. It was kinda hard to see when you were running away.
“You got it.” The line went dead, and Brock grinned at Clay. “When Trent isn’t the one panicking, he’s a good partner in crime. Remember that, young Padawan.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t lose his shit over us being up here,” Clay admitted. “He usually has an issue with us doing this kinda shit in places like this.”
“Eh, Trent and I have hung out up here loads of times,” he told the blond, taking another bite of his food. “He knows we’re all good up here.”
“WHAT THE FUCK?!”
“Shit,” he sniggered, hoofing it to the ladder, egg fried rice clutched protectively to his chest. “Dad’s outside.”
“Gogogo!” Clay agreed, takeout bag in hand; there were wontons with his name on them, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave evidence at the scene of the crime. “We need to move.”
Four stories below, on the other side of the building, Jason was glaring up at the ‘we love Jason Hayes’ sign, along with a picture of his face, that was stuck on the building; each letter printed on its own sheet of A3 paper, bold as day for all to see. He had no idea how they were attached to the bricks, but he was going to make those two assholes take them down the moment he got his hands on them. “I’m going to kill them.”
Trent shrugged, and took a sip of his over-priced, over-sized coffee. “You gotta admit, they’re doing well with all this.”
Jason's lips twitched. He quickly schooled his face into his “I’m so fucking angry with them, I could spit” expression before it gave away the fact that he was having far more fun with this whole debacle than he should be.
He’d been under a lot of stress lately, and his reaction to Clay and Brock’s evasion tactics had been a bit much, he could admit that now. He’d intended to make it up to them by shouting them dinner at their favourite restaurants once things had settled down – he couldn’t exactly take their groundings back, because what kind of boss would he be if he didn’t follow through on semi-deserved punishments? – but their penchant for mischief meant they’d taken matters into their own hands before he could do so. Given he’d been asked (read: ordered) to train the latest batch of Greenies as their usual instructor was recovering from appendicitis, the poor sod, he had to show the new recruits that Bravo 1 was no pushover, and using Brock and Clay as examples had been the perfect opportunity.
That may have backfired on him, given he was now hunting down two of his own team who’d chosen to skip out on their punishment, in full view of the tadpoles, and were wreaking havoc as they went in retaliation.
“They’re going to be so grounded, they’ll never see the light of day again.”
Trent clapped him on the shoulder, the video he’d discreetly taken already on its way to his brothers as requested. “Yeaaaaaah. Good luck with that.”
They’d done so well all day, what with avoiding Jason while causing mayhem that Brock was certain it was their constant successes that lulled them into a false sense of security. At four thirty, he and Clay wandered over to their cars, whistling merrily, pleased with their efforts and planning where they were going to go for dinner when someone cleared their throat behind them.
“Going somewhere?”
Brock mentally swore up a blue streak as he turned around. “Sup Jase,” he greeted casually. “Where’ve you been all day? I haven’t been able to find you anywhere.”
“Yeah we tried looking for you, but you just seemed to be all over the place,” Clay added, with the perfect poker face. Brock thought he might cry with pride; his little brother was all grown up, bless him. “We thought we’d never catch up to you.”
Jason’s poker face wasn’t as good, his lips trembling as he fought to keep his expression in check. He stormed up to them and poked them both in the chest. “You two are so full of shit,” he snapped, but the scolding tone was lessened by the amusement in his eyes. “And you two are still fucking grounded.”
“Oh come on,” Clay whined, stomping his foot for dramatic effect. “Why?!”
“Jase, we told you; we had no choice on that mission but to do what we did!” He added, rolling his eyes. Honestly, did he want them surviving missions or not?! If he didn’t, he just had to tell them!
“Oh you’re not grounded because of that anymore,” Bravo 1 told them, setting his hands on his hips. “I was going to apologise and take it back after I’d had my session with the Greenies; but now you’re grounded because of all the shit that you two pulled today.”
“Feck,” Clay muttered. He looked at Jason hopefully. “Do we have to be?”
“Oh yes,” Jason replied, smirking as he poked them both in the chest again. “Zero eight hundred tomorrow morning, you two. I want your asses on those seats in that classroom, or so help me you’re on gear cleaning duty for six months.” Without waiting for an answer, Jason turned on his heel and walked off.
“It was nice knowing you, Broccoli,” Clay sighed once Jason was out of earshot.
“Yeah, you too,” he replied. He looked at Clay. “Dinner?”
Clay nodded. “Might as well, given it’s our last night as free men.”
At seven fifty-nine the next morning, Jason walked into the training room and counted twelve tadpoles at the front of the room, and two Bravo morons in time out at the back. Excellent. At least he wouldn’t be running all over the base again looking for them.
As he made his way to the front, he didn’t acknowledge his teammates; not because he was pissed, because he wasn’t anymore - but he didn’t want them to know that he’d seen the board Harrington had placed outside of the Ops Room, with a list of the pranks Brock and Clay had pulled, proudly declaring the inaugural DEVGRU Olympics would be taking place in the near future after a successful trial run.
There was no date given, likely so no one could prepare for it, and there were six challenges in total. Jason had spent far too long standing in front of the board that morning, psyching himself up for the chaos that was going to occur all thanks to the two idiots on his team.
The door opened again, and Ray entered, saluting those gathered with his coffee. His brother was far more chipper than he had been the day before. Jason was instantly suspicious.
“Morning,” Ray greeted, joining him at the podium as Jason set up his computer. He was going to make sure it was educational for all involved. “Did you see -”
“Yes,” he bit out, not looking Ray in the eye.
“Have they -”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” Well, he did, actually. But he wasn’t going to admit that. Not right now. “I’m not going to ask them. I don’t have the willpower for that discussion this morning.”
Ray snorted a laugh, barely avoiding choking on his coffee, but it was a near thing. Jason rolled his eyes and turned his attention to his students. “Alright. Let’s get started.”
Ray managed to squash the desire to facepalm when, after a few minutes of introductions – where Brock and Clay weren’t acknowledged beyond a “they’re in timeout, ignore them” - Jason’s first topic of choice was apparently what not to do when on a mission and cut off from your team, using a drone feed from their last mission as his first example.
He’d positioned himself near the back, close to Brock and Clay, but not so close that they could talk to him without drawing Jason’s attention, and ire.
“Alright ladies,” Bravo 1 announced, playing the video. “We have a car; we have a cliff.” The car went hurtling over the side, jumping a small chasm to the other side. The chase vehicles ground to a stop, unwilling to follow. “Now; who can tell me what’s wrong with this video?”
After all the Greenies looked at each other, one tentatively raised his hand. “Did... did he not clear it correctly, sir?”
The expression on Jason’s face told them all it was the wrong question to ask. Ray pressed a fist to his mouth to smother his laughter. “No, you banana! What’s wrong is he jumped the fucking cliff in the first place!”
“I thought I nailed that jump quite well, actually,” Brock muttered, arms folded across his chest, clearly pouting.
“I would've given you a ten outta ten,” Clay grumbled back, frowning at Jason. “I didn't even bump my head when we landed.”
“Right?! I mean, I didn’t even damage the car!” Brock added, throwing his hands in the air.
“Unless you count the bullet holes in the rear.”
“The bullet holes were not my fault!”
Ray couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped, immediately drawing Jason’s attention.
“Shut up you two!” Jason ordered his two now petulant brothers. All twelve Greenies turned around and looked at them in surprise. Yes, Ray thought. You are in the presence of Bravo’s daredevils and their smother hen leader. Fear for your life or your sanity whenever any of them are about, because they’ll drive you mental. “You’re in time out for this stunt, as well as all that shit yesterday. You don’t get to comment!”
Brock and Clay folded their arms across their chests in unison, glowering fiercely at their leader. “I'm going to find a bigger cliff to jump a car off of, next time we’re on a mission,” Brock boldly declared, Clay nodding emphatically. “Just so you know.”
Ray roared with laughter as the Eyebrows of Doom finally made an appearance. Those two would never be allowed out by themselves again.
DEVGRU Olympics challenge board is as follows:
- STEAL JASON’S PHILIDELPHIA FLYERS FLAG AND DISPLAY IT ON THE FLAGPOLE
- REPLACE A FRAMED PHOTO WITH A DEVGRU POSE*
- INFILTRATE THE OFFICE OF TWO LIEUTENANT COMMANDERS (OR HIGHER RANK)** AND SWAP A NOTABLE ITEM WITH THAT OF SOMEONE ELSE'S.
- STRING A BANNER ON A BUILDING NO LOWER THAN THREE STORIES WITH TEAM NAME AND PROFILE PHOTOS OF EACH MEMBER.
- RELOCATE ANOTHER TEAM’S CAR TO THE OTHER END OF WHERE THEY PARKED.
- COMPLETE THE K9 COURSE IN UNDER THREE MINUTES WEARING FLIP FLOPS***
Rules:
All must be done without being caught by a member of another team or anyone in command.
Each team will carry their practise guns; team specific paint will be provided
*only “WE WANT YOU!”; Marilyn Monroe; Navy Sailor; The Thinker; the rooftop Karate Kid; Climbing the Flagpole; and Western Cowboy are accepted poses
** Cannot be your own team.
*** video evidence required.
Continuous team challenge: Claim Boss Hogg as your own; yearly victor is whichever team has it in their possession by 1700 April 1 st