Work Text:
“What’s your name?”
“Robert B. Holdt.”
“Good.” Vincent steps closer to his brother and clips the wire to the inside of his collar. Then, he undoes the top button on Gary’s shirt, maybe just to hide the small shake in his hands. “And don’t forget about the posture thing, alright?”
Gary bats him away. “Okay, okay, I get it. Not my first rodeo, remember?”
“But if you’re not careful, it could be your last.”
“I’ll be careful, Vince. Remember that Barrett chose me and not you? It’s because I know what I’m doing.”
Something small and cold sprouts between his lungs; if he’s being honest with himself, it’s been growing there for the past week. Unease doesn’t feel like the right word.
“I know. Trust me, I know you do. I just need to make sure you'll be alright. For my own sanity.”
“Yeah, well, you’re already going senile anyway, so I think you’ll manage.” Gary pulls his comb out of his pocket and leans over to preen himself in the side-view mirror one last time. “Be honest. Are you gonna miss the goatee when this is over?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Okay, well, rude. I think it looks good on me.”
A smile tugs at his mouth. The chief calls the command and they all take their places, lying in wait for Harvey and Leo. Vincent’s fingertips buzz as he holds one headphone to his ear and strains for the sound of an engine, footsteps, anything. But for half an hour, it’s just silence and breathing. It doesn’t exactly put him at ease.
The meeting time arrives and still, silence. Something like nausea blooms in his gut. A minute passes. What if they know? What if they smelled something rotten and ran off with the diamond days ago? The whole operation would be a complete waste. Another minute.
Rolling tires. The shut-off of an engine. Vincent takes a deep breath.
We’re fine. We’re going to be fine.
A set of doors open. One closes.
“Holdt.” Harvey.
“Darvanda.”
“You got the cash?”
“Yeah. ‘S all there, check it.”
Footsteps. “Looks about right.” Leo.
“Of course it is. You can always trust me.”
“I’m not trusting nobody, my friend.”
“Just sayin’, I’m a trustable guy.”
“I’m sure you are.”
That feeling from earlier returns, cold and caustic. Unease. Dread.
Click-click.
“Here you go. What do you think?”
“Huh. ‘S heavier than I thought.”
“It is.”
Quiet.
“Pleasure doing business with you guys.”
“You, too.”
He meets Barrett’s eyes, who puts his hand on his radio, ready to spring the trap. They just need to be sure Gary has the diamond secured, and then this whole thing will finally—
There’s a sudden sound, so loud he can hear it outside the van. Almost like a bang. Almost like…
No.
Vincent throws open the doors and runs like a shot. His feet pound the asphalt as squad cars flood the block. He barely jumps out of the way in time to avoid the headlights of the car flying through the entrance. Leo Caruso lies unmoving on the ground. Then, farther inside, a car. A body on the hood. Vincent struggles to breathe as he runs inside. Crimson splatters the windshield. Christ, no, please, no. A rivulet of blood snakes down Gary’s face, eyes wide from shock, and it’s hard to look at him, to see what they’ve done to him. God, what have they done to him?
On unsteady feet, Vincent gathers Gary in his arms, lowering him carefully to the ground, pleading desperately, hoping against hope that he’s not already gone, that he might fix this, but there’s a fucking hole in his little brother’s head and he’s not moving. “Gary. Hey. Hey, look at me.” He puts a hand under Gary’s head and shakes him gently. “Please look at me, Gary. Please—we’re getting an ambulance, alright? You just need to hold on. Hold on for a little while longer.” Something squeezes at his throat, something tight and hot and he tries to check his pulse but his hands are shaking too much to be sure.
He can’t breathe. The night is suffocating him.
He pulls Gary closer as if the heat from his body might help his heart beat. “Stay with me, please. I-I need you—I need you to look at me, Gary, can you do that? Please?” Vincent’s voice cracks spectacularly as he brushes his hair away from his face, some of it still damp with blood. He tries to speak again, but a strange, wounded sound slips out in place of words, and his throat burns with the struggle of clamping down on the welling emotion.
And then the trap slips, and a terrible sob escapes him. Like a dam cracking. Pressure builds behind his eyes and under his jaw until there’s simply no stopping it, the bruised wailing that echoes off the concrete. Wracked with grief and clinging to his brother's body and wholly undone. God, damn it.
Gary is dead. And so is every wonderful, lifegiving thing about him. That stupid smile and those steady hands and the way he never shuts up when he should, the unearned confidence and unending teasing and unwavering loyalty. Stolen away in the blink of an eye.
It’s not fair.
Gary is fucking dead.
Vincent screams. Hoarse and raw with the weight that bears down on him, as if the whole world has settled on his shoulders, but it’s all he can do. Here, now, this is all he has left.
Those bastards. He should have known. Of course, they’d do something like this. Couldn’t bear to lose their precious prize, no matter who they hurt. Vincent lets the fury warm his belly, lets it spread through his throat and into his limbs until there is nothing else in his half-rotten body. They couldn’t possibly think they’d get away with this.
Curses and yelps spring from the other side of the warehouse as they detain Leo Caruso, and Vincent keeps his back turned. If he sees the man’s face he might just pull his pistol and shoot him through the skull. But the fury in his fingers itches for recompense.
This. This, he can work with.