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For Ryland and Colt’s twenty-fifth birthday, Courtland gifted them both matching watches. 

Their lives weren’t the easiest and Courtland knew that. He was arrested when he was fifteen for killing their abusive father, who had nearly killed eight year old Ryland. He spent his time in the slammer, getting visits from his little brothers every week up until Fitzroy came into the picture. 

Being offered freedom was a no-brainer. The cost of freedom was the problem. There was a job to do, one that involved picking up a gun again when he promised himself he wouldn’t for his brothers’ sakes. But if he took the opportunity to work in the gray area, he could watch over his brothers. He could ensure their safety and watch them continue to grow after missing out on eight years of their lives. Courtland was told the risks. He understood them completely. The dealbreaker was that Fitzroy promised that Ryland and Colt would be taken care of.

He was selfish in taking the job because it only brought him further away from his brothers. Courtland Gentry was effectively killed and Sierra Six was created from the ashes.

He traveled the world to put bullets in brains and hearts. It wasn’t fulfilling work. He never took pleasure in a kill other than his first. Courtland only did it because he knew at the end of the day he could video chat with the twins, or sometimes even make it home to see them in person. Fitzroy had held his word true and ensured the twins were safe at his compound which was heavily guarded. They even bonded with Fitzroy’s niece, becoming like older brothers to her. 

Though as they got older, the desire to move about and explore took over and Courtland could no longer keep them in the bubble-wrapped life he wanted to shove them into. Ryland went to college and was studying for his PhD in molecular biology. He was always brilliant. And Colt had started as a part-time stuntman. He took great pride in his work despite Courtland’s worries (he was proud of him, of course he was. He just wished his brothers would be safe). 

With both twins out of Fitzroy’s compound, Courtland wanted them to be extra careful. He wanted to know of their whereabouts at all times, as creepy as that sounds, to make sure nobody from his world interrupted their lives because unfortunately, Courtland wasn’t always around to be the one to ensure their safety. 

So when he met the twins at some sports bar near Colt’s apartment, he brought gifts. What kind of brother would he be if he didn’t get them something?

He entered the bar with the gift bag in hand, eyes scanning through the dim lighting. He found Ryland standing up next to a high top table with three chairs. Colt was nowhere to be seen. Courtland approached after eyeing the room over several times. He could never be too careful. Unfortunately, the nature of his work had garnered him a reputation in his world. The Gray Man. It’s kind of a cool name but he hated the implications behind it. 

“Hey, Court,” Ryland greeted happily as he brought his brother into a hug.

“Happy birthday, Ry.” Courtland squeezed his brother tight, pulling away to get a look at him. With Ryland being so busy with his studies and research, he hardly ever saw him. “How have you been?”

“Fighting for my life, I swear. Some people in this field are just so wrong and dumb it makes me wonder how they got their doctorates.”

Ah, there was the snarky academic. Ryland was a bit ruthless about his fellow scholars. 

“Where’s Colt?”

“Grabbing drinks.”

Ryland sat on one of the stools. “Um, how have you been? You don’t look much different.”

If only Ryland knew about the hundreds of scars that littered his skin below his shirt—the thin and thick scars, the ones that still hurt even years later. Courtland knew what he was getting into when he said yes to Fitzroy. Now he was on track to being in pain for every single day for the rest of his life.

“I’m okay. Just the usual, you know?” he managed, trying not to think about the giant scar on his arm and how it tugged at the skin around it.

Ryland nodded, though he didn’t fully understand. He never would, and that Courtland made sure of. 

“Sup, bitches.”

Three pints were placed on the table as Colt made an appearance. He had let his facial hair grow a little bit. He looked… a bit more tan, happier. Something significant happened. Maybe a big break in his job. Colt loved the stunt work, he knew, but sometimes it was a bit much for him. Being thrown off of buildings and run over will do that for you.

“Happy birthday, Colt,” Courtland said as he took a pint. 

“Thanks. What were you talking about?”

“Nothing. How’s everything been?”

Colt huffed, taking a sip of beer. “Eh. I mean, being a stuntman is cool. It’s a lot more tiring than I thought. What about you? You still…?”

Courtland gave a small shrug. That’s all the answer they needed.

“What about Claire? How is she?” Ryland asked. Only then did Courtland notice the deep bags under his eyes.

“Oh, she’s fine. Hasn’t had any problems lately, if that’s what you’re wondering. She’s been healthy and happy.”

Colt nodded. “Good. What you got there?”

Courtland placed the small gift bag on the table, listening to it thunk as it hit the wood. Near the bar, a group of men cheered at the TV. Some big football game or something, Courtland didn’t care. Colt reached for the bag first with curiosity etched in his eyes. Ryland leaned forward with interest, though he kept both hands on his pint of beer. 

“You didn’t have to get us anything,” Ryland said.

“Shut up and take it,” Courtland replied with an eyeroll. 

Colt took out the decorative tissue and pulled out two boxes. One was a deep, velvet red and the other a velvet blue.

“Red one’s for you, Ry.”

His brother put his pint on the table to take the red box, his fingers running over the smooth texture. Ryland glanced at Colt and they opened their boxes at the same time. Colt’s eyes bulged. Ryland stared with his mouth slightly agape. Courtland might’ve splurged a little bit as to what type of watch he got the twins. Sue him, they deserved it. He never really got to spoil them at all because he could never have a job and earn money to spend on them. The only way they were spoiled was when they were kids and Courtland would sleep in their room, letting the twins use him as a pillow because he kept the nightmares away. They were rich in affection as opposed to jewels, as a lot of families are.

And Courtland just wanted an excuse to spend someone else’s money. Fitzroy wouldn’t care. 

Colt took his watch out, inspecting the silver and the royal blue of the watch’s face. “This is…. How much—”

“No, no, no talk about money,” Courtland said as he waved his hand dismissively.

“This is amazing, Court. Thank you,” Ryland said with a smile. He held his watch as if it were precious glass. “I love it. Lemme see yours, Colt.”

“It’s the same as yours but blue.”

“Still.”

As the twins inspected their new (beloved) gifts, Courtland allowed his shoulders to relax with a deep exhale. The twins loved them like he thought they would, which meant they’d wear them pretty much every day. He knew they’d be the perfect gifts because Ryland complained about not having a watch whenever he was in the lab doing work, and the last time he saw Colt, he was talking about splurging on himself for doing a good job at work. It was a win-win for both parties. 

What the twins didn’t know was that Courtland had tampered with the watches a little bit. 

He put a tiny (nearly invisible) camera on the center of the watches where the hands were stuck in place with screws. He fitted an audio recording device in the crown that was always recording. That would probably bite him in the ass later, but he had to go full out if he wanted to ensure his brothers’ lives were safe. There was a GPS tracker on the underside of the watch that was hooked to Courtland’s personal phone. Colt would probably say the watches were straight out of a spy movie and he’d be correct. 

He couldn’t risk losing his brothers. They were all he had left, the only reason he still pulled the trigger. If they were gone… no, he couldn’t think of that. It was the twins’ birthday. It was supposed to be a happy night. When he blinked back to reality, Colt was helping Ryland put the watch on. Another cool thing about the watches was the part of the band that rested against their pulse points would also send that data to Courtland’s phone. He could already feel his phone buzzing in his pocket. 

“Thank you, Court,” Ryland said again as he studied the watch resting on his wrist. 

“I’m glad you guys like them,” he said, tapping his fingers against the pint. He always loved meeting his brothers because they didn’t see him as Sierra Six. He was still Courtland. “Figured you could keep a part of me with you even if I’m not there.”

Colt smiled, putting the tissue and watch boxes back in the bag and brushing it aside to grab his beer. He raised it, the silver watch glistening in the dim light. “Happy birthday to us, and thank you, Court. We love them.”

Court and Ryland knocked their pints against Colt’s.

The rest of the evening was full of smiles, stories of Ryland’s “incompetent” peers and Colt’s many movies he’s done over the past few months. Courtland listened happily. His worry about his brothers was dimmed significantly knowing they were wearing their watches. 

He just hoped they never fulfilled their purpose. 

Ryland is thirty-two years old and he’s moving close to his brother, Colt. 

He managed to snag an apartment ten minutes down the road from Colt after searching for months. Even though Colt travels a lot for his job, his home base was always there for him and Ryland whenever they wanted to hang out. He knew Courtland was happy about the change, too, even if he hadn’t spoken to his brother in a few weeks. He was “busy.” Ryland never asked.

Moving was a nightmare. Ryland had to make sure the moving company had all of his beloved books and his framed doctorate, he had to make sure the apartment was ready and that the landlord could meet him at a good time to give him the key. It was a lot and Ryland was ready to put his mattress on the floor and crash, but he couldn’t. The apartment was full of boxes and unbuilt furniture Colt bought him as a housewarming gift. 

The one thing Ryland didn’t take with him (because it wasn’t his) was the TV at his old place. 

“Why didn’t you just ask if you could take it? You paid them rent for years and I know your landlord liked you. I bet they would’ve given it to you,” Colt said as he cut open a box of kitchen supplies. “Most people bring their own TVs anyway.”

“It was their TV. It would be rude to take it.”

Colt groaned. “Whatever.”

“Make sure the cups go in a higher cabinet.”

The apartment was nice, spacious for a single bedroom. He adored the living area. He had enough space for an L couch and bookshelves for all of his books (that was saying something), and the kitchen was pretty cool. You’d walk into the apartment, walk through a tiny hallway that opened up into the kitchen. The counter was another L shape and the sink faced the living room so he could watch TV while washing dishes. 

“After we’re done here, we’re going to buy you a TV,” Colt said.

“Will your car even have enough room for one?” Ryland countered as he started sorting his books.

“Probably.”

“Are you sure your driving will keep the TV alive?”

“I don’t drive that bad.”

“You somehow popped a tire just by driving down the road.”

Colt tossed his hands in the air. “It’s not my fault people leave nails and other sharp shit on the road! I’m just unlucky!”

“Sure, sure…”

An hour or so later and the boxes were mostly unpacked (but not organized), and Colt was sprawled on his couch staring at the ceiling. Ryland was right there with him. He was thirsty but so tired he didn’t want to stand up. 

“Okay, come on. TV time. Let’s go,” Colt grunted. He hit Ryland’s shoulder when he didn’t move. “Up.”

“Nooooooo.”

“Nope. You’re gonna sit here and then when it’s TV time before bed, you’re gonna be angry you don’t have one. Come on.”

Ryland huffed but allowed Colt to pull him to his feet.

“You know any good pizza places around here?” he said as he rubbed his aching stomach.

“Yup. We’ll get some on the way back.”

Ryland scrambled to grab his key before the door shut. The thing Ryland liked about the location was how close it was to Colt but also how walkable the city was. The grocery store was five minutes away. A cozy corner cafe was six minutes away. Hell, there was even a public park around fifteen minutes away from his apartment that he was excited to visit. Maybe he’d finally come up with a coherent lesson plan for his new job at a new school. 

The twins drove down the street. Ryland had no clue where they were going, but he took in the sights of the city. It looked a little older in architecture. It made Ryland wonder why his apartment was so cheap when the city looked so pretty and full of life. He saw people of all ages walking around. There was a bus whizzing by them heading to its next stop. 

 A few minutes later he and Colt were walking into what seemed to be a family-owned electronics store. Ryland could see TVs, retro gaming consoles behind glass cases, new flatscreens, DVD players, any piece of technology he could think of. It smelled old and dusty like a thrift store.

“Hey guys, welcome in,” a man said from behind the counter. He looked to be in his mid-30s with a long beard that rivaled Gandalf’s. “Lookin’ for anything in particular today?”

“Trying to get my brother a TV,” Colt said, smacking Ryland’s back with a grin. 

“Sweet. What kind of TV? We’ve got old and new.”

“Uh, just a normal TV. I guess modern but not one of those smart TVs,” Ryland requested.

The man walked around the counter, gesturing for them to follow. There weren’t many other people in the store. There was another man, lanky, who stood by the retro gaming console counter negotiating with an employee who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. The man helping them led them to a back wall with a bunch of TVs. 

“I think you’d like something like this, then. Simple, not smart. I’d recommend it if you have a DVD player,” the man said as he pointed to a TV in the middle of the wall. “55 inch screen and it’s brand new. If you’re looking for something a little cheaper, we have lightly used TVs down there.”

It was the perfect size, really. Ryland watched TV a lot at night but not at any other time of day unless he was feeling particularly bad about his academic career falling apart. Those days were full of self-pity, cartons of ice cream and bad reality TV to try and get his mind off of it. 

“I like this one,” Ryland said. He could already picture it atop the TV stand Colt bought that they were yet to put together. It sounded exactly what he was looking for and he did have a DVD player when cable TV wasn’t cutting it. “How much for it?”

“Lookin’ at $160.”

And it was considerably cheaper than other TVs? What a steal in this economy. 

“I’ll take it,” he said with a smile.

The man nodded. “No need to look at any others?”

“Nah. When he sets his mind to something, it’s coming home with him,” Colt said.

“Alright. Well, I’ll go ahead and take this tag here so it’s marked sold and ring you up at the counter.”

As Colt handled the transaction (after much arguing from Ryland), Ryland looked outside. The sky was beginning to darken. What had once been a bright blue sunny day was turning into an overcast and windy late afternoon. He frowned, wondering where it came from. He didn’t remember seeing storms likely in the forecast for today. Or maybe he was still looking at the weather for his old home. He watched an older gentleman pass by the shop window looking deep in thought. It was then that he noticed a figure across the street.

Looked to be male, perhaps early 30s, wearing all black with his hands stuffed in his sweatshirt pockets. He had his hood up to cast shadows over his eyes, though Ryland could tell he was looking right at him. Ryland’s gut churned in warning. Something was amiss with that guy. He made a mental note to stay away even though he was across a busy street. 

That was the thing about having a brother who worked in the dark areas of the world—you were always observant of your surroundings because if you weren’t, you could drop dead without even knowing it. Ryland loved Courtland, of course he did. He just wished that his brother could’ve had a normal shot at a normal life like he’d given the twins. He did kill their father, but he gave the twins opportunities at the expense of his life forever being tied to a ball and chain. Ryland didn’t try to think of it too much. It always made him feel horrible.

“Alright, you’re all set. We’ll come help load it into your car,” the man said.

“You don’t have to,” Colt replied.

“It’s part of the purchase. We insist.”

“If you say so.”

Still, Ryland helped the man carry the TV to Colt’s car, his eyes warily glancing at the odd stranger from before. He seemed to follow their movements with intense focus, like he was trying to see if he recognized them or not.

“Thanks, man,” Colt said, shaking the man’s hand once the TV was loaded into the backseat. “Appreciate it.”

“Anytime. And you got a warranty with us if anything happens to it,” the man said as he shook Ryland’s hand. Then, he looked at the darkening sky. “Drive safe, fellas.”

“Thanks.”

The twins got into the car. Ryland slowly buckled up and watched the mysterious man bring a phone to his ear.

“You all good?” Colt asked.

“Yeah, ‘m fine…” 

“So, pizza. Pepperoni?”

“Of course.”

Colt called in the order as he tried to pull out of the parking lot. With the road being so busy, though, they were stuck trying to get out for a few minutes. Colt pulled up to the curb of the pizza place, much to Ryland’s horror because he was still kind of in the middle of the street. He waved off Ryland’s concerns because “people do this all the time” and “you’ll get used to it.” He doubted it but watched his brother run inside, pay, and run back out with two boxes in hand. 

Ryland held the boxes in his lap as they returned to his apartment. The pizza smelled heavenly. Ryland may have been a scientist, but cooking was not a science he mastered. He was working on it, but there was only so much hope in his chest after the last time he tried to cook something simple like mac and cheese. He somehow managed to burn the noodles. Granted, he was distracted with his research paper, but the sound of the pot boiling over should’ve been the first indicator that he wasn’t going to be good at this. 

Colt parked in the parking garage and opened the trunk before Ryland could get to it.

“Colt, I’ve got it. It’s my TV. You carry the pizza.”

“No offense, but you look like the wind could knock you over. You’ve really got to get into the gym.”

“There’s no need for the gym when my job is in education.”

“I bet if you go to the gym you’ll be benching 200 within four months,” Colt said, knowing the challenge would entice Ryland. 

It's not that Ryland wasn’t strong. Biologically, as a male, he had greater upper body strength built into him already but he never really cared to hone it. The only reason why he considered going to the gym was when he was in college and helping carry around lab equipment. Any piece of equipment had some weight to it. He learned that the hard way after huffing and puffing his way across campus with two microscopes against his chest.

“I don’t doubt it, but I don’t want to,” Ryland complained as he balanced the two pizza boxes on one hand. He took the keys from Colt to lock the car, watching his brother carry the TV effortlessly under his arm. “For you, the muscle is good. It’s like extra padding for when you’re being thrown around. For me, it’s like carrying around an AK-47 on a playground. There’s no need.”

“I know someone who would disagree with you.” 

Ryland and Colt reached the elevator. He pressed the call button.

“Well, he’s not here, is he?” he muttered. 

Colt’s playful expression dulled. “We both know that’s not true.” 

His brother made a grand gesture to look at his watch, the matching pair Courtland gifted them nearly ten years ago. They worked like a charm day by day. Ryland never took it off until he had to shower and sleep. He loved the weight of it. It made him remember Courtland’s words vividly: “Figured you could keep a part of me with you even if I’m not there.” The watch had done exactly that. It felt like Courtland was always there through all of Ryland’s ups and downs, a constant weight on his wrist that he absentmindedly ran his fingers over. 

It’s not that they never saw Courtland after their twenty-fifth birthday because their older brother still made great effort to visit them both between jobs. It was that there was never enough time. Courtland would have a few hours before Fitz was calling him up for a new target. He’d always call at the worst times too, like when the spirits were high and Courtland was finally letting his alter ego drop and his heart make an appearance on his sleeve. He’d finally get Courtland to smile and laugh and then the phone would ring, and Courtland was suddenly a number. Six, no longer a brother.

It was infuriating to have a brother he loved so dearly so close yet so far. He was tangible but invisible. He moved as one with the shadows, carrying him further and further away from his family. Ryland hated it. He hated that Courtland was still stuck in that cycle, still holding guns and grenades. He wished every night, when the thoughts of dead fathers and smoking guns became too much, that he had been the one to hold the gun instead of Courtland. Maybe then, they wouldn’t have taken his brother away in cuffs and drifted Courtland away from them. Maybe they would've had mercy on a child protecting himself and his twin.

The elevator dinged, and they got inside with slight difficulty. Ryland pressed the button for the third floor. He sighed, suddenly pissy that he’d ruined the good mood he and Colt have had all day. He just had to ruin it, didn’t he?

As the doors closed, a black SUV came up the slope of the garage. Slow. Suspiciously slow. Ryland’s brows furrowed, watching the vehicle drive past at an agonizing pace. Courtland was only happy with them leaving Fitz’s compound after ensuring the twins understood that they were to always trust their guts. If their bodies screamed for them to run, they were to do exactly that. The elevator started up, and Ryland couldn’t tell what his gut was trying to tell him, though the hairs on his neck tingled, whispering.

Danger. Danger.

He shook his head and filed it away. Maybe he was just hungry.

The elevator chimed again, the doors opening to another long hallway that led to the main building. He helped Colt maneuver into the hall, reaching into his pocket for his keycard. Ryland nodded a greeting at the front desk manager, who gave a curt nod back. He was a big dude who screamed don’t fuck with me and I won’t kill you. Colt liked him. Ryland was a bit on the fence, but was kind nonetheless, offering to save him a slice of pizza. The man didn’t respond.

Ryland swiped his card and opened the door for Colt to go first. He followed close behind as they traversed through another hall, making a right at a crossroads. Colt stopped at the apartment door, letting Ryland put the key in and twist. He pushed the door open and once again let Colt go first. His brother huffed, sweat beating on his brow.

“It’s not too heavy for you, right?” Ryland jabbed.

“Not at all,” Colt hissed as he hobbled into the living area.

Ryland shook his head, kicking his shoes off and letting go of the door after retrieving his key. He entered the kitchen, dropping the pizza boxes off next to the sink. 

“Okay, so, we’ve gotta build the TV stand. I’ve got my tools somewhere over here—”

Colt’s words were drowned out when Ryland’s heart leapt to his throat. He was suddenly hit with a gargantuan wave of fear. Something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong. His pulse raced uncomfortably, his skin breaking out into a cold sweat as he scanned the apartment. The windows were inaccessible to anyone on the outside. Colt was searching for his tools in the living room. What was wrong? He’d heard the door shut behind him—

The door. It didn’t shut behind him. There was a distinct dadumb of the door shutting, reminiscent of Ryland’s old college dorm. These doors were heavy and packed a punch if not closed gently. Ryland didn’t close it gently and yet he didn’t feel the vibration of the door clicking back into place. It wasn’t that big of a deal, right? Maybe one of his shoes got in the way.

Or maybe something else. Someone.

The hairs on his neck rushed upright, the tingling sensation spreading across the back of his neck and shoulders. Ryland whirled around, tongue flopping uselessly in his mouth as he came face to face with a masked figure standing in the entryway, blocking the only safe exit. He didn’t even hear their footsteps. 

“Ry, where did I put the tools?” Colt huffed.

Ryland moved to speak, but the figure lunged. 

He let out a pained grunt as he was pushed back against the counter, his back hitting the faucet. The person was strong, pushing him. Ryland’s muscles strained under the pressure. He could see Colt in his peripheral. 

“What the fuck? Who the fuck are you?! Get off of him!”

Colt rushed to help, but Ryland watched in horror as a second figure emerged from the shadows. One of their arms wrapped around Colt’s stomach and the other around his neck, dragging him backwards. Colt thrashed in the grip, tossing his head back to try and hit his attacker. He met Ryland’s eye, panicked but full of fire. 

Fight back!

Ryland stomped on the figure’s foot, managing to push him back as the man recovered. He reached blindly for the scissors he remembered Colt using to cut a box earlier. Ryland’s brain was like mush. He wasn’t standing in his kitchen, but his childhood home. He was standing between a demon and his twin, screaming for him to stop hurting Colt while fat tears rolled down his cheeks.

He was sharply reminded of his reality as knuckles met his skin, sending his glasses flying across the counter. Pain blossomed in his cheek like a fire as he was knocked back against the counter, the figure reaching for the scissors in his hand. He tightened his grip, throwing any and all thoughts out the window as he pushed back. All those days of biking to work were finally useful to him. Ryland planted his feet as he pushed, following the man as he knocked him into the fridge. Ryland brought the scissors up.

“Courtland!” 

“You fucking brats! I’ll teach you a goddamn lesson!”

The man intercepted him just as the tip of the scissors scratched his sternum. He knocked the scissors from Ryland’s hand, listening to them clatter to the ground. The figure landed another punch to Ryland’s face, right on his nose, then another to his middle. The wind was knocked from him with a pained wheeze. Still, Ryland didn’t falter. He raised his fist in return, but the man fighting him was better. 

The man caught his fist, maneuvering Ryland’s arm to twist behind his back. Ryland gasped for air as his face suddenly met the wall. He struggled in vain, watching as Colt shouted and landed a good punch on his attacker. Ryland started to push himself up, which made his attacker sink his fingers into his scalp and tug. He yelped as the man brought his head back before slamming it back into the wall. He felt blood dripping down his nostrils as the attacker repeated the motion. Ryland’s vision blurred, the corners starting to go black as he struggled to stay upright. 

“Shhhhh, sleep.”

There was a prick in his neck.

“Colt…” he whispered urgently.

The last thing he saw before his vision went black was his brother being tackled to the ground.

“You’ve been busy.”

“You’re the one sending me these missions.”

“Eh. I’ve got another one for you.”

Courtland sat in a safehouse somewhere in the middle of Europe, tending to a deep cut. The target specialized in knives. Specifically ones with ribbed edges. He liked to cut, to carve, to hurt. He liked to cut up women just to hear them scream. The sick fuck even taped some of his kills to relive later. Courtland made the kill slow, just as the man did to his victims.

Though the man didn’t go without a fight. He managed to get a few good cuts in before Courtland snapped his wrists.

He dabbed at the leaking wounds with gauze before reaching for the peroxide. He poured it on the cuts, his body reacting to the sting, but he didn’t make a sound. He held fresh gauze to the cuts and started wrapping.

“You’ve had a lot more for me recently. What gives?” Courtland grumbled.

“Something’s happening. I dunno what, but there’s more people on the market. More people are getting hurt. I’m simply using your reputation to its advantage,” Fitz said. “If these guys know that a Sierra is after them, they’re more likely to quit.”

“More likely to move their operations further underground is what you really mean.”

“It’s why we’ve gotta nip it in the bud.”

Courtland taped the bandages, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. Oh, what he’d give to be sitting in Colt’s apartment, drinking a beer and watching some dumb movie with his brothers. Maybe eating too many carbs and sweets because Ryland had a big sweet tooth that couldn’t be quelled. 

How long has he been away, now? Weeks? Months?

He was happy to hear that Ryland was moving closer to Colt, though. That way he could keep an eye on the both of them without being in two places at once. Last he heard, Colt was gonna come over and help Ryland move all of his stuff into the place. 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. What’s the location?” he huffed. He couldn’t afford the luxury of sitting with his brothers right now, not when Fitz was right. There was something happening that needed to be put to a stop. He had a feeling it was due to this trafficking ring he’s been targeting slowly but surely as of late. He was busy making the world safer for the two people he cared about most.

“France. I’ll send the coordinates. You know the drill.”

Courtland felt his personal phone buzz in his pocket. His heart dropped to his stomach as he quickly fished it out. Flashing across the screen were two red alerts. 

Ryland’s pulse jumped from 65 bpm to 143 bpm.

Colton’s pulse jumped from 68 bpm to 154 bpm.

Courtland’s blood ran cold. Today was move-in day for Ryland, so he’d expected their heartbeats to be elevated from all the moving, but this was… this wasn’t a result of that. Something was happening. He opened his phone and quickly checked the video feed uploaded from Ryland’s watch. The videos were uploaded in minute long clips. He checked the two most recent ones.

In the first clip, he and Colt are in the apartment. Ryland is standing motionlessly as Colt asks where his tools are. Courtland studied his brother’s face. Something was off. Ryland’s eyes were skittish, searching, as his breaths came in short bursts. 

He got his answer when there was a blur on the edge of the screen, and Ryland was suddenly being attacked. Courtland watched through the footage even if it broke his heart to hear his brothers fighting for their lives. He watched Ryland’s attacker pull his head back and slam his face into the wall while Colt fought like a madman.

“Shhh, sleep.”

A voice. Male, low pitch. Probably near his mid-thirties. Ryland’s body slowly went limp.

“Colt…” he heard Ryland whimper.

Courtland quickly checked Colt’s feed, seeing the same thing. A lot of motion blur, a lot of grunts and punches and fighting, before Colt was knocked out with a kick to the head. He checked the timestamps for the videos. 4:42 PM. Questions swirled in Courtland’s head, wondering who the hell attacked them and where they were being taken, because while the watch’s cameras were decent, the positioning they were in didn’t provide much for him to go off of. He watched his brothers be carried to a vehicle, tossed in the back without a care as the criminals sped off.

“Six.”

Courtland was shaking both with slivers of fear and pure, unfiltered rage. He was already planning his return home, calculating how long it would take to get to the States to get his family back. He was packing up feverishly, his phone displaying Colt and Ryland’s GPS signals as the kidnappers moved out of the city.

“Six,” Fitzroy said sharply.

“What?” he bit back as he holstered his pistol.

“What the hell’s the matter with you? Goin’ silent on me isn’t an option.”

“It’s the twins. They’re in trouble. Send someone else to deal with your mission. I’m going home.”

As Courtland finished packing up, he heard Fitz sigh over the phone. The man was fond of the twins as much as he was fond of his niece. They practically grew up in the man’s house while Courtland worked and trained. Fitzroy knew there was no world in which Courtland would ignore his brothers being in danger just as Court knew Fitz felt the same about Claire. 

“How’s Miranda these days?” Fitz asked. 

“Trigger-happy.”

“Perfect.”

Courtland headed out of the safehouse and quickly blended into the bustling streets. 

“I’ll send transportation your way. Six.”

“What?”

Fitz was quiet for a moment, contemplating. “You know anything about the attackers?”

Courtland glared at a man who shoulder-checked him. “No. Masked figures, couldn’t get a good look.”

“What about marks? Tattoos?”

“No.” Courtland frowned. “What’re you getting at, here?”

“I’m just… did you ever think of a possibility where people from our world would see two people who look like the infamous Sierra Six and not jump on the opportunity?”

He swore the phone bent beneath his iron-clad grip. He wanted to throw it, to crush the device beneath his boot because no, Courtland hadn’t thought of that. He thought as long as Colt and Ryland were monitored, they’d be safe, but of course nothing he ever did was good enough to keep his only family alive. He stared at his phone screen, watching Ryland and Colt’s pulses beat steadily. He thought if he kept his brothers encased in bubble wrap, there would be no danger. He was so, so wrong in so many ways and now his brothers were hurt because of his negligence.

“I’m not blaming you, Six. That’s not what I’m saying,” Fitz said slowly when Courtland didn’t respond. “I’m simply saying that your genetics are strong.”

“Just get me the damn transport,” he spat and hung up. 

Courtland tore through the crowds, each step he took doing nothing but making him even more angry and wishing he was home when those fuckers attacked. He watched the twins’ GPS locations, their pulses at the bottom of the screen. Strong but muted, quiet as they slept.

Those bastards would wish they fucked with some other people. Courtland’s fingers twitched, itching for the kill he’d get soon enough.

Colt jolted awake to the feeling of ice cold water being poured over his head. As he spluttered, he wondered if he was suddenly back in his seven year old body being held under the water by his douchebag of a father. 

He regained his breath slowly, shaking the water from the strands of hair dangling before his eyes. His head hurt like he’d knocked his head against a cinder block three times over. He blinked a few times to adjust to the throbbing of his head as he took in his surroundings. Definitely not Ryland’s apartment.

The place was dark, decrepit. The room was small, square, with a lamp in the corner providing a yellow glow to half of the room. Colt’s hands were pulled behind his back, his hands bound by what felt like rope. His feet were tied to the chair’s legs. The room was void of windows or furniture aside from the chair he was in. In front of him were two men. One of them tossed a bucket aside without care, crossing his arms as he studied Colt. The other man, taller and bulkier, Colt remembered as the one who attacked him at Ryland’s apartment.

Oh God.

Ryland.

Colt scanned the room again, hoping it was a cruel trick of his brain that Ryland was nowhere to be seen, but for once he was wrong. He was alone. Ryland was alone with people they didn’t know, people who wanted to hurt. Fuck. Colt struggled against the bonds, spouting out small curses as he did so, wishing he could throttle these assholes and go find his brother.

“Who the fuck are you? What do you want? Where the hell’s my brother?” he said through gritted teeth.

For no reason, the taller man swung his fist back and it connected painfully with Colt’s cheek. His head flung to the side with the sheer force of the hit, his vision blurring for a moment as he blinked the involuntary tears away.

“You’re not asking the questions here,” the other man said. He leaned forward, talking as if Colt were some second grader. “We’ve got quite a couple of them, Sierra.”

Colt’s brows furrowed. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“Don’t play innocent. It’s insulting, truly. And it’s pointless. We know who you are. Hiding in plain sight… I never thought I’d see the day a Sierra did something so stupid.”

Sierra? Playing innocent? What the hell was this guy talking about—

Oh.

Oh shit.

It didn’t take him but a few seconds to put two and two together. These idiots thought he was Courtland. Colt definitely looked most similar to the oldest. He liked having stubble and sometimes a goatee as opposed to Ryland, who liked a clean-shaven look. Even still, there were differences between the three brothers that were obvious to Colt but definitely not obvious to people who didn’t know them. 

Okay, so these guys kidnapped him and Ryland from Ryland’s new apartment to… what? Gain information from them? He eyed the two men warily. He didn’t think they’d be susceptible to the idea that no, Colt was not his older brother and neither was Ryland, that they were twins and related to Sierra Six but not the man himself. 

“But that other guy looks just like you. The one that didn’t put up that much of a fight,” the man said absentmindedly. He reached into his pocket, slinging out a blade. A pocket knife, maybe six inches in length. “You said he’s your brother? A twin?”

Colt pressed his lips into a thin line. No information. 

“No information. Not about you two, not about me, got it?”

Courtland was leaving for another work trip. The twins were in their early twenties and yet Courtland still insisted they stay at Fitz’s compound. Colt had been getting restless. He’d done nothing but laze about listening to Ryland mutter equations and shit about biology when all he wanted to do was go out. He wanted to see the night life of the city they lived in because he was finally old enough to go. He wanted to have a cocktail and some shitty fried food just because.

But Courtland wasn’t having it. He refused to let the twins leave because the house would be empty. Fitz was gone on a trip, too, and he’d taken his niece with him, which just left the brothers until Court was called away. The twins knew the drill by now: make sure all doors and windows are locked, the security system is on, and one of them always has their phone on at all times. Colt was also old enough to understand the kind of business Courtland had been dragged into, and he hated Fitz with a burning passion for it.

“No one’s gonna come in here, Court. There’s nothing important here,” Colt huffed as he crossed his arms. 

“You’re important,” Courtland had fumed. “I’m just trying to—”

“Keep us safe, we know,” Ryland said. He was content with staying in, but Colt could see the way he was itching to get out, too. At least for a few hours. They’d been cooped up for days! 

Courtland brought Ryland into a side-hug, ruffling his hair even though Ryland was the same height as him. “If anyone comes here, call me. I don’t care how far away I am, I’ll come get you, okay? If they ask anything—”

“No information. Yeah, we get it,” Colt muttered, looking anywhere but his brother. 

His moody nature didn’t stop Courtland from bringing him into a hug. He felt his brother lightly kiss the top of his head. 

“I’m sorry, Colt.”

“I know.”

No information.

The blade traced along his thigh, not enough pressure to break his jeans and skin. The man wielding the weapon was almost gleeful that he wasn’t cooperating by the way his eyes sparkled at his lack of an answer. 

“All bark and no bite?” the man teased with a wide smile. It reminded Colt of those weirdly uncanny pictures of humans that looked… human but not. “So he is your brother. I thought Sierras didn’t have a family. They’re expendable that way. Whatever. I’ll make this easy for you since you know the drill already: answer my questions and your brother stays in one piece.”

Colt ran his tongue along his teeth, cringing as the taste of copper filled his mouth. He vaguely remembered his fight with the big man. He probably sustained a concussion or something, or maybe he bit his tongue when he was tackled. 

No information. Ryland understands it, too. 

Colt grunted when the blade dug into his thigh, making a deep, long cut. His body broke out in a sweat. The room was too hot, too small. He needed to get out of here and find Ryland. God, if they hurt Ryland like they were hurting him, he was going to kill them.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” the idiot smirked. “So, Sierra, where’s Fitzroy? He’s got a pretty penny out for his head and I intend on cashing it in. It’s just sheer luck I managed to spot you two on the street but I digress. Where’s Fitz?”

“Dunno,” Colt muttered.

Another cut, this time on his arm. It was quick, thin. Colt shivered as the warm blood trickled down his freezing cold arm, mixing with the droplets of water that remained. God, he was freezing.  It didn’t help that he had two wounds leaking steadily. 

“Wrong answer. You know exactly where he is, don’t lie.”

“He’s not a chatty guy.”

“Maybe not to people like me, but to people like you who work for him, you get to know all about his exotic vacays. Where is he?”

He wasn’t lying at all. Truthfully, he hadn’t seen Fitzroy in a few years, and Colt took it as a good sign. It was good for his blood pressure, too. But the man seriously never reached out to Colt or Ryland, never visited them unless Claire begged him to let her see them (which wasn’t often even then). The real Courtland would probably know, but seeing as Colt was a knock-off version of his brother, these assholes weren’t going to get a proper answer. Colt had to come up with a way to stall somehow and make sure they didn’t go after Ry. 

He could stall. Courtland was no doubt on his way already. 

He thought he was being sneaky giving the twins the watches on their twenty-fifth birthday, but Colt was immediately suspicious of the gifts. He was secretly glad Court had found a way to keep in touch (even though it’s one-sided) and keep an eye on them if he couldn’t be there in person with them. Courtland was right that it felt he was always there with them when he was actually hundreds of miles away. It was comforting. 

But Colt knew better. He knew his brother rigged the watches with some sort of spy tech. Colt had gotten really bored on set one day, and since he couldn’t wear his watch when impersonating a character, he turned it over in his hands while waiting for the set to get ready. He’d noticed the odd circular device on the bottom of the watch and how it made a very subtle beeping sound when it wasn’t on his wrist.

Courtland knew they were in trouble and was no doubt on his way. Colt had to stall. It didn’t matter if he got hurt or not. He was built to take the hits, anyway. Ryland wasn’t.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’m not Sierra?” Colt questioned.

The big man swung again. Colt doubled over, the breath knocked from his lungs. Yup, that one packed a mean swing. He definitely broke or cracked one of his ribs. Colt coughed, cringing at the sharp pain in his chest. 

“Nice try. Real cute,” the man with the knife said. “It’s an easy question. Where. Is. Fitz?”

“I dunno, man. Have you tried asking him yourself?”

That earned him a stab in the thigh. Colt groaned, feeling the blade tear through his skin and muscle. The wound burned fiery hot, especially when the man didn’t immediately take the knife out. He leaned into Colt’s space, his hand still clutching the knife’s handle. 

“Don’t think defending him is gonna get you anywhere. We’re all in the same boat, so why not help us beat the bigger man? Fitz is a cancer on our society. We can get rid of him if you would just talk!” the man ended with a shout, speckles of saliva spewing from his mouth.

“I don’t fucking know! What else do you want me to say?!” Colt exclaimed. He shouted when the knife twisted. 

“Fitz likes you for some ridiculous fucking reason! You’re the closest Sierra to him! You know everything about him!”

“He doesn’t give that information out lightly!”

“Okay. Okay,” the man said, taking the knife out of Colt’s thigh. Ignoring Colt’s pained breaths, the man paced, wiping the blood off the knife onto his pants. He nodded at the bigger man and he left the room.

Colt didn’t like that. Where was he going? Was he getting some sort of fucked up torture cart with a bunch of little instruments on it? He’s seen this kind of shit in movies before and he didn’t like it then. He won’t like it now.

“One more shot. Where’s Fitz?”

Colt gathered a decent portion of saliva in his mouth and spat on the man’s shoes. He grinned wide at the man’s furious expression. 

“Motherfucker.”

Though the man punched him in the face, the stomach, even bringing the knife back down in his leg, Colt let out a chuckle through hisses and groans. He just laughed as sweat rolled down his face and his brain shouted at him to stop it, to somehow break the stable bonds holding him back and beat the shit out of the man in front of him. 

The laughs died in his throat when the door opened and Ryland was pushed into the room, falling on the floor right in front of Colt’s feet. His blood boiled when Ryland looked up at him with fearful eyes, his whole left side of his face covered in blood and his nose swollen, possibly broken. 

He wasn’t in the interrogation room. He was in his childhood home, in the kitchen, scurrying off of his chair at the dinner table as his father’s fist slammed into five year old Ryland’s face. He was five years old and barreling into his father, trying to get him to stop because Ryland is screaming and crying and bleeding and he wasn’t stopping—

“Colt,” Ryland gasped, his hands finding Colt’s knees, though he retracted them when he felt the blood on his pant leg. The red staining his palm only made Ryland’s eyes grow wider. Deep, purple bruising surrounded his left eye. “Oh my God, Colt—”

Ryland shouted when the man with the knife gripped him by the scalp and dragged him backwards, Ryland kicking and hitting the man’s arm the entire way. Colt thrashed in his chair.

“Don’t fucking touch him!” he spat.

The man let go of Ryland once he was in the corner of the room. The psycho seemed giddy now that Ryland was in the room, like he’d just bought a brand new video game he was excited to get home and play. 

“There’s that bark back. You gonna bite this time, too, or no? Where is Fitz?”

Colt instead scanned Ryland. It was hard to tell if he was injured anywhere other than his head with the dim lighting, but he could see that his brother was covered in a light layer of filth, much like the state of the floors of this building. Did they not bound him at all? Why weren’t his hands tied? His feet? Did they see him that little of a threat that they didn’t take precautions with him? Ryland just stared back, his eyes reflecting his worry and fear. 

It’s okay, Colt tried to convey, though he doubted he looked the best to be saying something like that reassuringly. He doubted Ryland would believe him if he said it.

The bigger man punched Colt in the stomach again. He hissed through his teeth, the sharp pain in his chest returning. He kept his eyes on his brother, who seemed faraway, lost in his mind. Lost in a familiar memory of a man bigger than their five year old bodies beating them into the ground. 

“I’ll ask you again.” The psycho man with the knife stomped over to Ryland, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him back into the light. He pushed Ry until he was sitting on his knees in front of the door, the knife digging into his throat. “Where’s Fitz?”

Ryland’s eyes were full of panic. The adrenaline was probably flooding his body, making him question fight or flight, but he was frozen. Colt once again tried his bonds. They weren’t budging. The chair creaked with each motion he made. Maybe he could work with that.

“We don’t know, dude! I’m not Sierra!” Colt shouted, his breaths catching in his throat when a drop of blood ran down his brother’s neck. “We don’t know!”

“Colt—” Ryland said, eyes glazed over with terror.

“It’s okay, Ry.”

“Maybe Ry here can answer my question,” the man drawled, leaning down until his face was inches from Ryland’s. “Where’s your good friend, Fitz?”

Colt thrashed in his chair, relief flooding his veins when he felt the back left portion of the chair move in an unnatural way. He stopped when the big man glowered at him. He had an advantage, a potential break. He needed to use it wisely or else it could cost him everything. He watched Ryland’s throat bob as he swallowed, the knife digging further into his skin. Colt was going to kill that fucker. 

“I-I don’t know!” Ryland stuttered as his skin glistened with sweat. 

The psycho dragged the knife down Ryland’s throat and across his collarbones. He made a deep cut right over where Ryland’s heart would be. Colt fumed at having to watch his brother bite back pained gasps, unwilling to give the man the reaction he wanted. Rage bubbled beneath his skin as the man cut Ryland's cheek, then his neck, though he cut deeper on the second one and elicited a whimper from his brother.

“Are you fucking deaf? Did you not hear him? I told you, we don’t know!” Colt yelled.  

“Hey, I’m having a conversation here. It’s rude to interrupt.” The man nodded at the bigger dude again.

The big man obscured Colt’s view of his brother. Oh no, that was not gonna fly.

“Where was I? Right. You know Fitz, too. You have to if you’re that guy’s brother. So where is he?”

Colt heard Ryland hiss, then shout, the sound of a knife breaking skin.

It’s go time.

As the big man’s fist drew back again, Colt tilted the chair back. He effectively dodged the man’s punch and also felt the chair break into pieces like a lego set once it hits the floor. The upper half of the chair fell from his back as he stood, the front two legs of the chair still attached to Colt’s feet, but the seat and back legs lay scattered on the floor. Colt charged the big man head on with a war cry, though his arms were still tied behind his back. He managed to push the big man to the side, knocking him into the lamp. 

Ryland stared at him for a moment, his whole body wracking with shivers. Colt saw a few new cuts on his neck and chest with a wound on his arm bleeding steadily—a matching stab wound to Colt's leg—and his vision turned red. Luckily, his little brother had a bit of badassery of his own deep down inside of him. Colt saw Ryland bite the psycho’s hand—the one with the knife—and took the blade when the man let it go. 

Attaboy, Ry.

Colt took advantage of the big man’s stumble, jumping and kicking the man’s chest with both of his legs as he fell to the ground. The man grunted at Colt’s full body weight smacking into his chest, but he recovered faster than Colt would’ve liked. As Colt tried to dodge the man’s attacks, he tried to look for his brother but to no avail. The big dude was, unfortunately, the center of his attention because he was actively trying not to die. Couldn’t help Ryland if he was dead.

Colt stopped in the middle of the room, hearing Ryland scuffling behind him with the psycho. The big man rolled his shoulders back.

“You guys suck at your job,” Colt taunted. “Didn’t even think to tie up my brother! He’s a menace and a nerd!”

The big guy didn’t take very well to being insulted at his job. He almost reminded Colt of a bull with the way he huffed and twisted his expression into a scowl. The man charged, and Colt adopted a stance as if he were going to intercept only to step out of the way at the last second. The big man couldn’t stop, and Colt stuck out his foot as the man stumbled nearer. The man tripped over Colt’s foot and knocked his head through the rotten wood on the back wall. Colt would’ve laughed at the sight of the big man’s unconscious body—his head stuck in the wall and the rest of him slumped like a ragdoll—if not for Ryland’s shouts.

Colt whirled around to see that Ryland had landed a few good punches but was now on the ground, pushing against the psycho’s arms as he tried to drive the knife into Ryland’s chest. 

“I get my answers one way or another! You’re not special! You’re a fucking nobody! Nobody!” the man screamed. Each word he spoke seemed to give him a surge of strength. The knife pushed into Ryland’s chest just a little bit, maybe an inch or so, but it was enough to fuel Colt with newfound adrenaline.

“Fuck you!” Colt pronounced as he charged. 

He knocked his shoulder into the man, watching in satisfaction as he fell into the wall, the knife tumbling from his hands again. Talk about butterfingers. Ryland scrambled for the weapon and backed away, standing on his shaky legs and quickly turning to cut Colt’s bonds all while his new cuts bled into his shirt.

“Holy shit holy shit holy shit—” Ryland stammered, voice cracking. Colt took account of the new stab wound on his brother's chest. It wasn't deep, thank goodness, but the sight of Ryland covered in blood made something ugly and primal awaken in him.

Colt felt the rope fall from his wrists as the psycho staggered to his feet. He lunged, his hand grabbing the man’s face and knocking his head into the wall over and over like he saw the man do to Ryland in the apartment. Once the man dropped like a fly, eyes rolled into the back of his head, Colt kicked him. He kicked, stomped, kicked the man some more, the anger curling in deep satisfaction in his gut. 

The man wasn’t some random psycho, but their father. Colt was bigger now. He could fight back. He stomped and shouted, feeling bones break under his assault.

“Colt!” 

“Colt!”

He whirled around. Five year old Ryland stared back at him, covered in his own blood, his wide eyes full of unshed tears. Colt blinked and Ryland was thirty-two again, though he still retained his wide, glassy eyes. 

“Stop it,” Ryland whispered, the knife trembling in his hand by his side. Colt studied him, finding traces of fear in his gaze. Was he scared of Colt? Fuck, fuck all of this. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Y-yeah. Yeah.”

He gripped Ryland’s arm and entered the hallway first. He checked both ways, finding the hall empty and decrepit, same as the room. He made sure Ryland was behind him as he started down the right side of the hall. The floorboards creaked with every step. The dim overhead lights flickered insistently. 

Colt limped, his body suddenly remembering the two holes in his thigh. Still, he pushed forward, feeling Ryland’s hand sprawled on his upper back for support. Together, they crept down the hallway slower than Colt would’ve liked, but at least they were escaping. 

“You think Court knows?” Ryland faltered. 

He glanced down at Ryland’s wrist, seeing the silver watch with the red face.

“Of course he does.”

“How do you know?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out by now, Ry,” Colt grinned, flashing his watch. 

Ryland shook his head with a scoff. “I should’ve known.”

“You seriously never checked?”

“I’ve been busy, sue me.”

Colt quieted down when he came to the top of a set of raggedy stairs. He gripped Ryland’s arm tighter, sending him a look. Ryland nodded, eyes full of terror but determination, and he followed Colt down the stairs with a white-knuckle grip on the knife. They came into a living room that looked like it was straight out of the seventies. It was old, the wallpaper peeling off the walls and exposing the wood beneath. The couch that was once big and fluffy was flat and… honestly disgusting. Moist-looking. Ew. 

Colt scanned the open area, finding no one else in sight. He led them to a door down another hallway, inside of a kitchen that had flies buzzing about insistently. He tried the door, finding it unlocked. Colt pulled it open, cringing as it creaked loudly.

A cold gust of wind swept the twins, making Colt shiver as he was still damp from the rude awakening he got earlier. He blinked.

Outside was what could only be described as an apocalyptic type of scenario. They seemed to be in a neighborhood where the sky was overcast and dark, thunder rolling in the background ominously. The houses he could see were very old, very much condemned, unused for years with roofs that were caved in and cracked foundations and rotting wood. Where the fuck did these assholes take them?

“Let’s go,” Ryland said.

Colt staggered down the back stairs, suddenly dizzy. Ryland steadied him with his hands on his shoulders.

“Colt. Shit, we need to bandage your leg.”

“No time. Gotta go,” Colt slurred.

“O-okay. Okay, we’ll find somewhere to hole up.”

The twins looked up as a thump was heard. 

“Gotta go,” Colt whispered urgently.

Ryland slung his arm across Colt’s back, half carrying him down the street. Colt felt good knowing they were out of the men’s clutches for now, but as he and Ryland traversed the wasteland, he wondered how long he could hold out before he dragged his brother down with him.

Ryland was exhausted.

His head was pounding painfully behind his eyes, the kind of stinging that happens when he stares at his computer screen for too long. The cuts aggravated with every move and he was cold, not as cold as Colt but still, the warm blood leaking from his body lowered his temperature by a degree or two. His muscles screamed at him to stop but he couldn’t.

Colt was shivering with every other step, and Ryland feared it wasn’t just because he was still soaking wet. It was the elements. Thunder could be heard rolling in the distance, and as he took deep breaths to calm himself, he could smell ozone. It was going to rain soon. 

Ryland carried Colt with slight difficulty into one of the run down houses far away from the one they were held captive in. He’d nearly stepped on shards of glass in the entryway, which would’ve produced a bigger problem since he didn’t have shoes on. Beside him, Colt’s eyes fluttered. He needed to stop the bleeding fast. 

Colt moaned. “So cold.”

“I know, I know. We’re gonna fix you up, Colt, just hang in there,” Ryland muttered as he scanned the house. 

He passed through a doorway into a living room. Torn wallpaper with past water stains on them, dust and debris littered the floor from a hole in the ceiling. There was a couch just as old and gross looking as the one they passed in the other house, but it would have to do for now. Ryland glanced back at the open doorway. The couch was in perfect line of sight of the front door and back window. He used one leg to push the couch further into the living room, near the fireplace. Once it was better hidden, he helped lower Colt onto the sofa, ignoring the creaking of the furniture. 

“Ohh, gross,” Colt huffed as he lay down. 

“Suck it up.” Ryland glanced around again. He spotted the kitchen that opened into the living room. The house still had pillows and blankets around as if the people who once lived here left in a hurry. Maybe there were still dish towels or something he could use. A first aid kit, maybe. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

“Ry—”

He brushed aside the urge to stay by Colt’s side as he failed to catch Ryland’s wrist. He couldn’t let Colt die. He refused to let that happen. And he had a feeling Colt would be mad that he didn’t die in a fiery blaze of glory doing some sort of epic stunt.

Ryland was quick in his search. He frantically opened drawers, finding rusting silverware and old sippy cups covered in dust. He found plates in the upper cabinets along with a few canned goods. His stomach growled. Right, he and Colt didn’t get the chance to eat their beloved pizza. He took a can of peas and continued looking. He found a couple of dish towels in another drawer, which he tossed over his shoulder.

If I were a first-aid kit, where would I be?

Ryland usually put his kit in the bathroom, but the people that once lived here may not have shared the same sentiment. Maybe under the sink?

He scrambled to his knees in front of the sink and opened the cabinet. He grabbed bottles and tossed them away, muttering to himself as he searched.

“Hydrogen peroxide all-purpose cleaner… pine sol… bleach… come on, where is it? Come on!”

He huffed when the cabinet came up empty, though he took the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and vinegar that he found. Worst comes to worst, he could use them in some sort of biological warfare. 

Ryland tossed the bottles towards the couch where Colt was panting and shivering. He needed to move faster. He searched the hallways, coming across bedrooms trapped in time before finally reaching a bathroom at the end of the hall. He reached for the mirror. If the house was as old as he thought it was, it had a cabinet in the mirror. The hatch popped much to his relief. He opened it to see old pill bottles and—yes! A roll of bandages. When he grabbed them, a small cloud of dust kicked up. They were old but they would have to do. He sagged in relief when he saw a tiny bottle of rubbing alcohol.

Ryland entered one of the bedrooms to grab a blanket, shaking the dust away before returning to the living room. He tossed the blanket on the back of the couch and kneeled beside his brother. He wasn’t looking so good. His pant leg was stained red the same as his face. His nose was swollen, his bottom lip split and bruises forming below his eyes and on his cheeks. He looked like a walking punching bag. He was sweating, or maybe it was just the water still stuck to his skin. 

Ryland deposited his findings in front of him, reaching around the couch to grab his chemical weapons to keep them close by. Then he took the knife he stole and cut a chunk out of Colt’s pant leg to get better access to his wounds. He winced as he pinched the blood-soaked fabric in his fingers, tossing it aside. The wounds were deep. He didn’t understand how Colt was walking on such a leg. 

“Okay… you’re gonna be okay, Colt, I’ve got you.”

He took one of the thinner dish towels and wiped away a big chunk of blood. Colt inhaled through clenched teeth, writhing away from his touch.

“Hey, come on. I need to sanitize your leg,” Ryland said.

“Fuck,” Colt swore, resting one of his arms over his eyes. “Fuck, hurts…”

“What’s that thing you always say? ‘I’ve had worse?’” 

“Shut up.”

The tension in the room dissipated slightly as Colt managed a small grin. But he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Ryland managed to clean enough to see the stab wounds, though they still leaked. He took the small bottle of rubbing alcohol, popping the cap as he leaned over the wounds. 

“This is gonna hurt,” he warned.

There was a loud pop outside. Ryland jumped, ducking his head on instinct. Colt gripped his shoulder tight, eyes blown wide. Ryland shushed his brother when another pained wheeze escaped him. He moved away from Colt much to his brother’s frustration and peeked his head out to see the front door.

Outside, the wind picked up, though it seemed to rattle the house, too. Goosebumps rose on Ryland’s skin, especially when he saw the two kidnappers strolling down the middle of the street. The smaller guy held a gun in his hand, now.

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” the man yelled, raising the weapon and firing another shot. “I just wanna talk!”

“Shit,” Ryland uttered as he watched them pass by. He swallowed down his heartbeat and crouch walked back to his brother. 

“Wha was tha…?” Colt breathed.

“Bad guys. We’re fine, they didn’t see us.”

“Shit.”

Ryland looked down at the rubbing alcohol in his hand with a heavy heart. “I have to disinfect those.”

Colt’s eyes hardened as he nodded. “Okay.”

Ryland released the breath he held. He let Colt clutch his arm in a death grip as he raised the rubbing alcohol. The liquid doused Colt’s wounds, and immediately the man writhed and hissed, his fingers scratching Ryland’s skin.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, shhhhh.”

Colt’s expression was twisted in agony. “God fucking dammit,” he whispered.

“It’s over. Good job.”

Ryland took a clean dish rag and dabbed at the blood that continued to leak. He shook his head. Between the stab wounds and the cuts littering Colt’s leg and arms, he worried for Colt’s ability to stay awake. He’s lost a lot of blood and Ryland had no idea how far away Courtland was. There was no way for him to contact his brother. 

The watch. It was one-sided as Colt said, but maybe Courtland was listening. 

Colt relaxed back into the couch as Ryland lifted his leg to wrap the bandages tightly around the stab wounds. He cut off one of the cuffs on Colt’s jeans and used it to wrap around the bandages to keep them stable. He knotted the denim and leaned back with a huff. He looked down at his hands.

Red. Old and new.

“Ry.”

He met his brother’s eye, finding nothing but pools of courage and appreciation. Colt patted his arm. 

“You’re the one that did good. Who knew the mad scientist would make a return.”

Mad scientist was Colt’s way of telling him that he was too far in his head and acting like an idiot, especially during his college days where finals and research papers consumed his life. He’d be holed up in the library or the lab for hours at a time, forgetting to eat and take care of himself. It got to the point where Colt would sometimes visit him just to drag him out to eat. The mad scientist Colt spoke of now was one who returned punches instead of running. 

He had to return them, though. If he didn’t, he and Colt could’ve died. 

Still, Ryland snickered. 

“Not that mad,” he said. 

“Just take the compliment.”

“Fine.”

Colt’s eyes landed on his neck. “Need to fix those.”

Ryland assessed his own injuries. Not as bad as Colt. “I’m fine,” he muttered, “just a few papercuts.”

“Ry.”

“You need it more than me.”

“Don’t do that. You’re hurt.”

“So are you.”

Ryland heard a shuffle and slapped his hand over Colt’s mouth before he could argue any more. Colt quieted down, eyes fluttering around the room. Ryland kept his head low as he listened. The wind howled outside, rustling the trees and sending icy chills their way. The house creaked, a few speckles of debris falling from the hole in the ceiling. His pulse raced in his chest. He couldn’t tell if it was his brain playing tricks on him or if they were found out.

The kidnappers surely knew they couldn’t get too far with their injuries. They didn’t get too far from the main house before stopping. They had come to the conclusion and started searching the houses by now. Ryland’s limbs shook as the urge to run overtook him. There were a few things wrong with his idea of running: he had no clue where the kidnappers were right now and Colt was in no condition to move. His brother trembled on the couch, breaths coming in short bursts. Ryland couldn't carry Colt and with how cold it was outside, Ryland feared his brother could become hypothermic.

They were sitting ducks. 

Unless…

Ryland wasn’t like his brothers. He shied away from conflict. He ran whenever someone got in his face (except the one time he called his superior a waste of carbon; his brothers were so proud). He kept his head low and stuck to his cool teacher personality because he crafted it to protect himself from the harsh reality he’d created for himself in his beloved academic field. He was scared of heights. He’d never felt the weight of a gun in his hand.

He looked down at Colt, heart beating insistently against his ribcage. The bleeding on his smaller cuts had stopped, though the sight of that much blood made Ryland nauseous. He was bleeding, he was hurt, but he was alive. Ryland gave him more time by fixing his leg. 

He hoped it’d be enough for Courtland to arrive and take over.

Ryland wasn’t brave, but he was stupid. If he was presented with a choice between him and Colt, he’d choose his brother every time. 

He took the knife from the floor and stuck it in one of the belt loops on his jeans. He took the hydrogen peroxide and vinegar, quickly taking off their caps. 

“What’re you doing?” Colt asked, voice low but alarmed. “Ry, what’re you doing?”

He didn’t answer. He blinked back horrified tears, wishing not for the first time that their lives had been different, that they had been part of the statistics of happy families instead of broken ones. Maybe then, they wouldn’t be in this situation. Ryland sniffled as he met Colt’s eye. 

“No. No, whatever you’re thinking, stop it—”

“They won’t find you.” Ryland pulled the blanket from the back of the couch to cover Colt. “It’ll be okay.”

Fat tears rolled from Colt’s eyes.

“No, Ry, please, don’t. Please don’t—”

“It’s okay,” he blubbered as his own tears finally fell. He tucked the blanket tight around his brother. “Court’s gonna find you and you’ll be okay.”

“Not without you.”

“You’ve taken care of me and fought my battles long enough. I’ve gotta grow a pair eventually.”

“You can do that when you insult your peers, not when dealing with psychos! Don’t do this, Ry, they’ll kill you,” Colt pleaded, his hand in a death grip on Ryland’s wrist. “I’m older, I’m supposed to fight your battles for you. That’s how this works.”

Ryland shook his head, managing a wobbly smile. “It’s my turn to take care of you.”

He flipped his hand over to squeeze Colt’s like a lifeline. He wiped his eyes and let go of his brother, taking the chemical bottles and standing up. 

“No, Ry, stop. Please, Ry, stop! Stay here!”

It took every ounce of willpower to walk away from his brother, who continued to beg him to stop, to stay. It crushed his heart to listen to Colt’s pleas. It killed him to ignore the desperation behind his words, but he had to do this. Colt and Court had protected him for his entire life. It was time he took matters into his own hands. 

Ryland exited out the broken sliding glass door in the dining room. His teeth chattered at the sudden cold whipping through his body. He couldn’t stop now. He had to draw the kidnappers away from Colt, which meant he needed to find them first. 

He snuck around the side of the house, hiding behind an old trash can. He clutched the chemical bottles tight as he observed the street. He jumped as the sound of metal crashing to the ground rang out in the silent neighborhood. He watched as the kidnappers emerged from a house across the street. The man with the gun looked furious, his grip on the weapon tight. Okay, now what?

Ryland crouch walked around to the house next to Colt’s, finding an identical metal trash can. He picked it up and flung it into the street, listening to it crash as he retreated into the backyard. He hopped the small fence separating the backyard from another house and watched through the small cracks in the wood as the kidnappers slowly started to search the house. Ryland moved further down the fence line, his toe hitting a rock. He took the rock and looked back at the house. The kidnappers were ransacking the place. 

Ryland threw the rock, breaking a window on the house to the right of the kidnappers. He heard one of them shout.

“Fucking pricks! Come out, now!” the smaller man shouted as he led the bigger man to the broken window. 

He continued this song and dance, slowly leading them away from Colt house by house. He threw rocks from behind the fence. He whistled over the wind, making the kidnappers whirl around to find nobody standing where he once was. Ryland was quick, evasive, something Colt definitely couldn’t be in his current state. 

His plan fell down the drain when the man with the gun finally had enough taunting. He raised the gun to the fence Ryland hid behind.

Uh oh, he thought right as he ducked out of the way of a shot. 

“There! C’mere motherfucker!”

Ryland’s cover was blown. He raised his arm to protect his head as he heard another shot ring out. He felt a chunk of brick be blown apart under the bullet’s force right near his elbow. Ryland bolted to the front of the second set of houses, running across the street as the kidnappers pursued him. 

His nerves were on fire. His lungs burned with each breath and his limbs shook from a mix of the cold and terror, but still, he kept running. He’d drawn them far enough away from Colt. He’d done what he’d set out to do. Whatever happened next… God, he just hoped Court got to Colt in time. 

He felt fingers brush the back of his shirt. He cursed, quickly pouring the hydrogen peroxide into the vinegar bottle, hearing a hiss. As the hand closed around his shirt, he whirled around and splashed the peracetic acid into the big man’s eyes. The big man howled in pain, his hands immediately going to cover his eyes. Ryland was honestly surprised that it worked considering how old these chemicals had to be. 

The other man caught up with a huff. Ryland used the big man as a human shield when the man raised the gun. He took a few steps forward so the man was in range.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” the man spat at the bigger one. 

“Fuck! Burns!” the big man wailed.

“What?”

Ryland didn’t give the man a chance to speak again before launching at him, managing to push the gun to the side and pour the rest of the chemicals on the man’s face. The man screamed, though his grip on the gun didn’t falter. He stumbled backwards, his hands covering his burning eyes.

“Goddammit! What the fuck did you just do? What did you do?” he shouted, motioning the gun in Ryland’s general direction. 

Ryland was damn near hyperventilating as he took the knife from his jeans. 

End it.

You have to. 

You can’t let them hurt Colt or Court.

Stop it.

Don’t kill them, you’re not a killer!

Run!

Ryland shakily raised the knife and plunged it in the bigger man’s shoulder. He shouted in pain, though Ryland didn’t account for his recovery. Ryland yelped when the man reached out and snagged his wrist in an iron-clad grip. 

“C’mere!” he yelled.

Ryland was tugged closer, the man using his other arm to hold him in place. Ryland thrashed about in the man’s grip but he didn’t falter. If anything, his strength doubled, a byproduct of his anger and pain. He squeezed Ryland until he thought he was going to pop. 

“I’ve got him!”

“Fuck! You’re…” the other man chuckled darkly as he blinked. The area surrounding his eyes were irritated and red, involuntary tears in the man’s eyes. Still, he shoved the barrel of the gun against Ryland’s temple. “What the fuck are you, huh? A goddamn scientist? Chemical warfare your specialty?”

Ryland flinched away, but the man caught his jaw with his other hand, forcing him to look at the damage he’d done. He would’ve felt bad if the man wasn’t a piece of shit. The man’s fingers dug into his skin.

“Where’s your brother now, huh? He leave you behind?” 

Ryland didn’t answer. The man didn’t like that. He raised the pistol and slammed the butt of it into Ryland’s temple. He swore he saw stars in the sky as he groaned, his face being forced to look at the man again. The space behind his eyes throbbed. 

“Where is Sierra Six?” the man spat. 

“Mmm, fuck you,” Ryland managed. The words felt weird on his tongue after not using it for a while. Being a teacher changed your vocabulary for the better, in his opinion. Colt liked to make fun of him for it halfheartedly.

The man took the knife from the big man’s shoulder, ignoring the big man’s protests and bringing the knife to Ryland’s face. Too close to his eye.

“Where’s your brother?”

The wind rippled through the street. Thunder rumbled closer. The smell of ozone was strong, almost overtaking the scent of chemical burns. Ryland’s vision blurred.

Colt. Court.

The knife rose. 

Ryland closed his eyes. He’d done his part.

The second Courtland set foot in the States, he was running.

He’d watched the GPS signals stop in some suburb in the middle of fucking nowhere, and Fitzroy had made sure he was given another car to rush to the scene. The drive would be a little over an hour which he thought was too much. His brothers had been in the kidnappers’ hands for a little over ten hours. He spent most of the time in the sky in a small personal plane, tapping his fingers against his knees impatiently, wishing for time to speed up.

As he drove like a madman down the back roads of some random state, he watched in cosmic panic as the twins’ pulses spiked again. Courtland nearly crashed trying to access the feed the cameras were sending back.

It was almost the exact same as the previous videos Courtland watched—too much motion blur to tell what was happening but it was enough of an indicator to tell him that the boys were fighting with all of their strength. He was twenty minutes out from their location when the GPS trackers moved.

Courtland looked in the passenger seat. He’d brought the whole damn artillery. He only spotted two attackers in the videos but he couldn’t be sure that it was just a duo. His pistol still rested on his hip comfortably. He had brought his trusty rifle with him because even though this time he was wishing to get his hands dirty. He couldn’t wait until his hands twisted and snapped bones with deadly precision. 

He gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Slap!

“It’s your fucking fault! It’s all your fault!”

Courtland leaned over the bathtub, watching the water ripple with the sudden vibrations of his knees hitting the ground. He breathed in heavily. In and out. He blinked away the tears because crying got him nothing but new bruises and a broken nose. 

Father was drunk again, as always, except he seemed particularly agitated today. Courtland had kept him away from the twins after they got home from school, telling them to hole up in their room and do their homework. He’d bring them a mediocre dinner later—undercooked mac and cheese—because Courtland was too inexperienced to cook anything else at the time. Still, the twins ate happily as Ryland told Courtland about his new project in his science class. The twins asked him if he got to eat any and he said yes, though they wouldn’t hear the way his stomach screamed at him later. 

Sacrifice. That was one of the things their father was adamant about. Something that made them men instead of boys. Courtland was fifteen and he was a man clinging onto his boy shoes. His father hated it. He hated that Courtland refused to fight back unless he got the twins involved in his stupor. He hated that Courtland never shouted anything back, never challenged him, never stepped up to the plate of manhood to take a swing. 

“I sacrificed her for men, not crybabies!”

Their mom. Never did their father speak of their mother in a good light. It was always calling her a rude name, a cuss word, or screaming how she fucked everything up by instilling her heart in each of the boys.

Her heart was the greatest gift she could’ve given Court, because it was her heart within him that he found the courage to step up and be there for his brothers when no one else would. 

A thick, meaty hand clutched the back of his neck. He knew all too well what was next.

His senses dulled. Maybe it was his brain trying to protect him from the horrors of his father’s rampage. It didn’t protect him for long, just until his lungs started begging for fresh air. Courtland forced his body to stay still. 

A tiny hand grabbed his arm.

Courtland was pulled out of the water with a gasp, coughing out the water that fell from his nostrils down his throat. He rubbed his eyes and suddenly found himself face to face with little Colt. 

“Court!” he was saying desperately, eyes glazed over with tears.

What? Why was Colt here? He was supposed to be in his room with Ryland. He was supposed to be safe. How could you not make sure they were safe?

“Colt,” he rasped, coughing again. 

“You fucking brats!” 

The shout came from down the hall, followed by a cry. Ryland. 

Every bone in Courtland’s body was on fire. He was out of the bathroom in an instant, Colt right on his trail as he rushed to his father’s bedroom door. He never went into the man’s room because there was no need. Any and all trace of their mother had been burned, save for an old apron Courtland snuck from the kitchen and kept under his bed. The room was a reminder of the prison Courtland was terrified to break out of, of the oppressor bearing down on the boys’ necks. 

Seeing his father slam his fist into Ryland’s cheek broke something in Courtland.

It was horrible to say he’d seen the sight before, a grown man hitting an eight year old, but something in that specific moment was different. It could’ve been Ryland’s cry, the way his nose gushed blood on his silly science t-shirt Courtland had received as a gift from a neighbor who was going through her son’s old stuff before he died. It could’ve been the way the moonlight shone through the blinds on the window, creating the illusion of jail bars on his brother’s faces. It could’ve been the way Colt clung to his hand, crying for his brother, or the way their father reeled his fist back for another go. 

Courtland didn’t remember running to the nightstand where his father kept his pistol. He shouldn’t have known where it was, shouldn’t have known it was never unloaded. Little did his father know that on the nights he spent drinking his life away at a bar, Courtland looked for measures to ensure his and his brothers’ safety. He easily found the gun—it wasn’t like the man was trying to hide it—he didn’t really care about gun safety around kids. He didn’t know that Courtland taught himself and got comfortable with the weight of the weapon in his hands. He was ready and able to pull the trigger.

Colt stood behind him, clinging to his pant leg, reaching for his twin.

His father’s hand moved slowly as it soared for Ryland’s face again.

Courtland released a breath, hands steady as he raised the weapon. The cold of the trigger bit his skin but he didn’t care. His thumb clicked the safety off, like a pin being pulled on a grenade, loud and echoing in his mind full of static.

I have to protect them.

“You have to look out for them, Courtland. You have to.”

His mother’s words rang through his head as he pulled the trigger. 

In the small space, it was deafening. Father’s hand went limp as the rest of his body immediately slumped to the floor. The wall was painted red, a mix of their father’s blood and brains. Courtland quickly clicked the safety back on and tossed the gun away, crouching in front of Colt, who was inconsolable. He had a bruise forming on his cheek but he didn’t seem injured otherwise.

“Ry,” he muttered to himself as he stepped over his father’s body to get to his brother. 

Ryland had squeezed his eyes shut, planting his hands over his ears as tears leaked from his eyes. His face was flushed as sobs wracked his little body, the blood oozing from his nose continuing to run, though some speckles looked too new to be his. His left eye was already turning purple. Courtland couldn’t tell if his nose or something was broken, but he didn’t like the amount of discoloration he was seeing. He grabbed one of Ryland’s hands, and he flinched.

Ryland flinched. 

Courtland swallowed. “It’s okay, Ry, it’s me. It’s me, it’s Court.”

Ryland opened his eyes finally to see his brother. Ryland flung himself into Courtland’s open arms, clinging to him as he sobbed. Colt came to his other side, hugging the both of them. Courtland put his hand on the base of their skulls before he realized he was crying. He’d done it. He kept them safe and killed the monster. 

He killed…

Fuck.

“Come on,” he whispered shakily, carrying Ryland and holding Colt’s hand as he led them downstairs. 

He opened the front door, stepping barefoot onto the overgrown concrete pathway that led to the street. He choked on sobs as he set Ryland down carefully on the curb, making sure Colt was sitting right beside him. He pointed at the sky, at the bright blue moon above and the stars surrounding it.

“Look, look. See the moon? Everything’s okay,” he managed, swallowing thickly. 

“The moon, Ry,” Colt said, holding his brother’s hand. 

Ryland looked at the bright ball in the sky, the blue reflecting in his tearful eyes. 

With the twins distracted, Courtland stepped out of view, biting on his closed fist as he took stuttering breaths. He protected his brothers, but what would the cops think? They were somewhat close with a few of their neighbors who knew of the monster their father transformed into, but none of them dared lift a finger to help lest they make the boys’ home lives even worse. There was evidence on all of their faces, but Courtland didn’t know what to do. He could go to prison and all of this would’ve been for nothing.

He caught the eye of his neighbor standing on her landing in her pajamas. The neighbor who gave Courtland old clothes for the twins to wear. She gaped at him for a moment before her eyes found the twins crying on the curb. She shouted something into her house before running to Courtland. She searched his face, his body, knowing of the horrors they survived daily. 

“What…?” she muttered imploringly. 

Courtland shook his head, a sob tearing its way out of his throat. “They’re safe now.”

That’s all she needed to hear. She gently grabbed his arms and rubbed soothing circles into them as sirens blared, red and blue lights entering the block. Someone called the cops. 

“I-I’m going to jail—” he cried.

“No! No, you were just defending yourself,” the woman said.

“Colt… Ry…” 

Courtland ignored her, stumbling over to the twins as the weight of grief began to tug him to the ground. He practically crawled to his brothers. Ryland saw him coming and met him halfway even though the concrete might’ve scraped his knees. Ryland once again threw his arms around Courtland’s neck and clung, Colt right beside him. 

“What’s going to happen?” Colt cried. “Court?”

“I-I don’t know.” He pulled back to press kisses to their foreheads as the cop cars pulled up to the curb. “I love you guys so so much.”

“Court?” Ryland finally said through a hiccup. 

A cop quickly got out of the car, his hand on his weapon holster. Another cop went to speak with the woman standing a few feet behind them. 

Courtland stared at the first cop who gazed right back. The cop said something into his radio before entering the house. A moment later, two firefighters approached the children. Colt and Ryland didn’t let go of him.

“Please, look at them. Th-they’re hurt bad,” Courtland pleaded as he tried to pry Ryland’s hands off of him.

“NO!” the boy shouted. 

“Ry—”

“No!”

“It’s okay,” Courtland said softly, trying to school his expression. It wasn’t working. Nothing about this was okay. This might be the last time he sees his brothers and he was doing a shit job of comforting them. He rubbed Ryland and Colt’s backs. “The firefighters just wanna help.”

“Let them see you, too! We’re not going anywhere without you!” Colt exclaimed stubbornly. 

“We should check you guys out in the ambulance,” one of the firefighters said, catching Courtland’s eyes. Knowing.

Courtland put a supporting arm under Ryland, who refused to get out of his koala-esque grip he had on him. He took Colt’s hand again as he walked with the firefighters to the ambulance. He set Ryland down on the stretcher at the firefighter’s instructions and helped Colt sit beside his brother.

“You kids live in that house?” one of the firefighters asked.

“Yes, sir,” Courtland responded. 

“What happened, son?”

He watched as the paramedics started looking over Colt and Ry with extra care. He watched a woman gently dab away at the blood on Ryland’s face. Seeing their injuries in proper lighting only made him feel worse. His heart broke seeing black and blue bruising, swollen cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. 

“I—” he hiccuped. “Our father beat us. The twins.”

A cop approached with his lips pressed in a thin line. He pulled the wide-eyed firefighter to the side to talk to him. Courtland kept his eyes on his brothers, who seemed keen on keeping their gazes locked onto him. He nodded supportively, flashing a wobbly smile and thumbs up. The kids started to struggle with the paramedics to try and get to him.

The cop came back. “How old are you kids?”

“I-I’m fifteen, the twins are eight.”

“You fire that gun up there?” 

Courtland’s breath caught in his throat. This was it. 

“I-I was just protecting them,” he pleaded, looking back at the frustrated twins. He watched the cop’s gaze twist into something somber, sad. Courtland’s heart raced, his body filling with adrenaline. Fight or flight. “H-he was beating the shit out of them! What else was I supposed to do?!”

“It’s alright, kid,” the firefighter tried.

“I was just protecting them!”

The cop raised his hand to try and soothe the frantic teen. “I understand, kid, but we have to take all precautions.”

“Wha…? What do you—?”

The words died in his throat as the cop pulled out his cuffs and stepped behind Courtland. The metal stung against his skin like poison.

“A-am I being arrested right now?”

“You’re being detained for questioning.”

Even the firefighter looked heartbroken. Courtland wouldn’t have cared too much about being brought to the station for questioning if it weren’t for the fact that the cop was traumatizing his brothers by dragging him away in cuffs. His head whipped to look at the twins as they started screaming bloody murder.

“Court!” Ryland called.

“Court! Where are you going? Court!” Colt shouted.

The paramedics and firefighters had a hard time handling the two boys in their fight to get to him. Courtland, despite all odds, managed a chuckle, because boy had he been there before. Wrangling the boys away from the cookie aisle at the grocery store was always a brutal task.

“Court!”

“Court!”

“It’s okay,” he whispered as he was put in the back of the cop car. He sobbed as the twins left his vision, the cop steering him further and further away from his bleeding hearts. 

He just kept repeating it to himself: they’re safe, they’re safe. 

Courtland arrived just as the twins’ pulses spiked again. They’d been stagnant for a couple of minutes, now, much to his relief.

He quickly realized this search would’ve been a whole lot harder if he didn’t tweak the twins’ watches. Each house, while different in some aspects, looked nearly identical. The streets were empty and he half expected a tumbleweed to fly through with how harsh the wind was. Courtland held his rifle steady as he jogged towards the GPS signal. 

Despite running on no sleep, he stayed alert. His eyes swept the neighborhood feverishly. He raised his rifle sometimes when the trees swayed, looking a little too much like a shadow moving along the walls of the homes. Thunder roared close by. He had to make this quick.

Courtland paused when he heard a pop. Gunshot. He checked his phone. Pulses were elevated for both twins, except now he noticed Ryland’s location moving while Colt stayed put. Courtland threw all caution to the wind. Fuck it if he gets killed, he needed to find Colt.

He followed the GPS to a rundown house with the door wide open. He rushed inside, shoving the phone in his back pocket as he searched the halls and bedrooms. Empty, empty, empty, fuck! Where…

A sniffle. Courtland followed the sound into the living room. Pushed up by the fireplace was a couch. Colt was trying to push himself to his feet, though his arms shook tremendously with the effort. He was sweating profusely, his cheeks wet with tears and his eyes puffy. He was covered in blood that made Courtland’s heart drop to his feet.

“Ry… Gotta… Ry,” he muttered to himself like a mantra.

Courtland tossed his rifle over his shoulder and slowly approached Colt, gently taking his arm. The man jumped, rushing to pull away and nearly tripping, but Courtland caught him. Colt’s eyes widened as they took him in.

“Court, you’re… you’re really here,” Colt said breathlessly. 

Only then did Courtland see the giant chunk taken out of his jeans, the white bandages wrapped around his thigh that were slightly red. The rest of his pant leg had been stained heavily enough for Courtland to deduce the wounds were deep. He’s probably lost a lot of blood. 

“Yeah, I’m here,” he replied as he studied his brother. Cuts here and there, quite a couple of bruises going from purple to a deep blue. “Where’s Ry?”

At that, Colt’s bottom lip wobbled as tears flooded his eyes.

“Stupid fucking idiot—he ran away to distract them! They were getting close to us and he just—” Colt hiccupped, trying and failing to get a full breath “—he ran and I heard a shot. Is he…?”

Courtland checked his phone. Ryland’s pulse was skyrocketing, but he was still moving. He couldn’t help both twins at the same time. He needed to get Colt to the car but he needed to go after Ryland. He put his hands on Colt’s shoulders to steady him.

“Do you think you can walk?” Courtland asked seriously.

“Not really but I can try.”

“There’s a car I left about ten houses down that way. It’s in the middle of the street, can’t miss it. I left the keys in it. Get to the car. I’ll meet you back there with Ry.”

Colt grit his teeth, looking down at his injured leg. Courtland could read him like a book. He wanted to go with Court but knew he’d end up being a burden with his bum leg. Courtland admired the stubbornness, but now wasn’t the time for it. 

Colt nodded, meeting Courtland’s eye with a fire of determination in them. “Get him back.”

Courtland handed Colt his pistol. “Just in case.”

They shared another nod before Colt was staggering towards the exit and Courtland was looking at Ryland’s location again. He’d made a good distance and was continuing to move. Courtland took off after him, weaving in between houses and looking around feverishly for any sign of his brother. He saw a portion of a fence splintered and broken, a part of a brick wall broken by the bullet lodged deep in the brick. 

He heard screams pierce the air. They didn’t sound like Ryland.

He followed the sound, seeing he was coming up on Ryland’s signal. He pushed himself further despite his lungs begging for air and his muscles trembling. He gripped his rifle tighter, raising the scope to his eyes as he peeked out at the street from behind a house. He scanned from right to left. Leaves and other light debris fluttered across the street with the wind as the sky grew darker. 

There.

Near the middle of the street were two people dressed in all black and Ryland. His brother was being held in place by the bigger of the two kidnappers. The other kidnapper had a knife in his hand and a pistol in the other. Courtland noted the two bottles of… were those chemicals? Ryland was also covered in blood. His hands, his face, his clothes. His face had some dark bruising peeking out from the flaking blood and sweat mix. His shirt was torn in a few places. 

The one kidnapper talked to Ryland, but he couldn’t hear. Courtland watched Ryland stay silent, his finger on the trigger. 

The kidnapper raised the knife.

Courtland took the shot.

The man’s hand dropped the knife, a bullet hole now in the center of his hand. Courtland took a measured breath as the bigger kidnapper held Ryland tighter as he squirmed. The other kidnapper, the one with the hole in his hand, cackled loud enough for him to hear. 

“There’s Sierra! Where have you been?” the man shouted maniacally. “I got your brother and everything and now you’re showing up? What was all that you told me earlier? You’re not Sierra? Clearly you are! Show yourself, asshole!”

Ryland was flailing his legs and wiggling his upper body wildly, but the big man didn’t budge. Courtland was glad he was putting up a fight but also wished he’d stop so he could get a clear shot on the guy. The big guy was looking around frantically, a stark contrast to his coworker. 

“No? Okay, then! Your fault!” 

Courtland was quick to set his sights back on the man, who already had his pistol raised directly at Ryland. Courtland shot, though he swore he saw a few flashes before he did. The kidnapper crumpled to the ground. Nobody could survive a bullet to the heart. He set his sights back on the big man to find he’d dropped Ryland carelessly on the ground. The man tried to run, but Courtland ended his existence with a well-timed shot. 

Ryland wasn’t moving.

Courtland put the safety back on and tossed the rifle over his shoulder, running into the street. He’d never run so fast in his life. He reached Ryland in a few seconds (not fast enough) and fell to his knees. He grabbed his brother’s shoulder and turned him onto his back. 

“Ry?”

Ryland had two new holes in his shirt that were steadily staining red. His brother didn’t respond. He lay motionless on the ground, the blood seeping from his cold body. He always ran cold but not this cold. Courtland raised the t-shirt to find a sight he only saw in his nightmares. Two bullets lodged in his brother’s torso, steadily taking the life from his body. 

“No. No no no no, Ry? Hey!”

Courtland patted Ryland’s cheek. He didn’t move.

“Ry! Fuck!”

He checked his phone. Ryland’s pulse was slowing. He looked at the GPS, memorizing the quickest path to Colt’s stagnant location. Courtland carefully maneuvered one arm under Ryland’s knees and the other under his back and lifted. He left the bodies of those fucks to rot in the middle of nowhere, the only thing on his mind being his brother bleeding out in his arms. Pressure. He needed to put pressure on the wounds, but he couldn’t, not when he literally had his hands full. 

“You’re gonna be okay, Ry. It’s okay. You’ll be okay,” he whispered over the howling wind. 

Ryland’s body convulsed as a cough escaped his lips. He watched, semi relieved, as Ryland’s eyes opened a sliver. 

“I’m here, Ry, it’s okay. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Cour…?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m here, bud. I’ve got Colt, too, we’re gonna go see him.”

Ryland’s eyes lit in alarm. “Colt.”

“He’s okay. You did a good job patching him up, Ry,” Courtland said, each step chipping away at his heart. He wasn’t moving fast enough. The blood was seeping through Ryland’s shirt at a steady pace. 

“Save… him?”

“You saved him, yeah.”

Ryland let out a deep breath before wincing, squirming in his grip and aggravating the new wounds. He mewled.

“Stop, don’t move. You’ll only make them worse.”

Courtland didn’t comment on how his running was likely making the wounds worse, because in his urgency, he was jostling Ryland more than he thought he was. Moving when you had wounds such as these was a big no no, the difference between life and death. He was doing his brother a disservice in his rush but he… he was covered in blood. He needed a hospital now. 

He made it back onto the street with his car. 

“Cour—” Ryland coughed again.

“Don’t talk. It’s okay.”

Courtland ran to the black car, seeing Colt get out of the passenger seat to open up the back door. 

“Oh my fuck—” Colt cursed as Courtland gently laid Ryland on the backseat. Colt got in with his twin, sitting on the ground beside his head. “Ry! Fuck!”

Courtland quickly got in the driver’s seat. “Put pressure on his stomach!”

Colt was quick to obey, his hands making a sickening squelch against Ryland’s wounds. 

“Colt,” Ryland whimpered as he reached for his brother’s shoulder. “Col’.”

“I’m here, Ry, I’ve got you,” Colt said, voice shaking. Courtland watched in the rearview mirror as more blood seeped between Colt’s fingers. He stepped on the gas. “M-me and Court, we’ve got you. We’d never leave you like that, you know?”

Courtland hurriedly looked on his phone for the nearest hospital. Twenty minutes. Courtland could make it ten. Ryland was going to live. There was no alternative.

He heard Colt kept whispering reassurances. Courtland was positively seething. When he got the twins to the hospital, he was going to do a bit of searching. Whoever those two fuckers worked with, they were going down for good. He’d dig their graves himself. Nobody, nobody, fucked with the twins. Not on his watch. Nobody would know that Sierra Six had two little brothers. 

Five minutes into the drive and Ryland coughed again, though this time blood splattered over his lips. 

“Oh my God, Court!” Colt shouted.

“Just keep putting pressure on him!”

“My hands—”

Courtland risked a look back. Colt’s hands were so slick with Ryland’s blood that they struggled to stay put with all the jostling of his hurried driving. Ryland let out a low moan, his head lolling to the side.

“Hey, hey! No no no, no sleeping, Ry. It’s wakey wakey time. Gotta stay awake,” Colt blabbered. “Ry! Ry, no no no, eyes open! You hear me? Ry, please—”

Courtland stomped the pedal until it hit the floor. He could see the hospital coming into view at light speeds. He crossed traffic, uncaring of the people who honked at him and flicked him off. He swerved into the unloading area where the ambulances usually go. 

“Go, Colt! Go!” Courtland exclaimed as he unbuckled his seatbelt, moving to try and climb in the backseat.

Colt was inconsolable. Ryland’s blood stained his hands and forearms, his shirt, his pants. The entire backseat seemed to be covered with the stuff. Ryland was pale, way too pale for Courtland’s liking. His mouth was parted and Courtland could barely tell he was breathing with how shallow the breaths came in and out. 

“Court, he’s—Ryland, get up!” Colt shouted desperately as sobs wracked his body. He pressed harder on Ryland’s wound to provoke a reaction. Ryland coughed, spewing more blood from his lips. 

Courtland cursed. He couldn’t be seen with his brothers. He had no way of knowing if those dickheads have more associates nearby or if there was someone from his world lurking around. He couldn’t risk it, but Colt wasn’t co-operating. 

He lightly pushed Colt’s shoulder. “Go get help! I’ve got him!”

“No—”

“He’s bleeding out, Colt! Go!”

Colt sniveled as he reached for the doorhandle, his eyes unmoving from his brother until he exited the vehicle, his hoarse voice shouting for help. Courtland focused on his brother. He held the last remnants of warmth in his hands, pressing further on his wounds. He huffed with relief as Ryland let out a small groan, his eyes fluttering open.

“Court…” he rasped. The image of Ryland and Colt covered in blood and bruises would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life—a harsh reminder of his failure. Ryland haphazardly placed his hand over Courtland’s. “‘M sorry.”

Courtland didn’t realize he was crying until a tear fell on Ryland’s cheek, mixing with his blood. “What’re you sorry for? There’s nothing to be sorry for. You did nothing wrong.”

“F’r… being weak… always have you protec’n me.”

Courtland managed a snicker, though more tears continued to fall. “You’re not weak, Ry. Far from it. And what kind of older brother am I if I don’t protect you? I’ll always be here whenever you need me.”

Ryland managed a smile, his teeth stained red and glistening in the light. Courtland watched his brother’s arm slowly reach up until his hand cupped his cheek. The blood—Ryland’s blood—smeared across his face wherever his brother touched: his cheek, his jaw, his nose. Like Ryland was mapping out his face because he couldn’t see. Courtland’s breaths stuttered as he watched Ryland’s smile broaden.

“I know,” he whispered. “Love you.”

The car door opened right as Ryland’s hand fell back to his body, his smile fading. Courtland’s mind was full of static as the nurses and doctors pulled Ryland from the backseat and onto a stretcher. Courtland didn’t care anymore. He nearly broke a nurse’s wrist trying to take Ryland back because he didn’t know these people—how could he know they’d do everything in their power to save him?

He knew he was being ridiculous because it was his idea to go to the hospital where his brothers could receive proper care. The thought of being separated from them again for any extended period of time was enough to feel like his heart had been carved out with a knife. Courtland walked with them as far as they’d allow him to. He was forced to stand at the doors leading further into the hospital, a nurse sternly telling him to stay here, forced to watch Ryland be rolled out of sight. The last he saw of his brother, the doctors put an oxygen mask over his mouth and started yelling all sorts of medical lingo he didn’t fully understand.

Colt.

He whirled around to find Colt sitting in a chair, still crying, but answering questions a nurse had for him. He met Courtland’s eye as he was escorted to a stretcher. The silence was deafening between them even if the waiting room was suddenly broken into whispers of the new arrivals. Colt reached for his wrist, his watch, and took it off. As the stretcher passed him, Colt placed the watch in his hand with a nod. 

Courtland watched his brother be rolled down the same hall as Ryland. He moved on autopilot, going back to the front of the hospital to move the car so ambulances could get through. Once he was back inside, sitting in a very uncomfortable chair for the long haul, he turned Colt’s watch over in his hands. His bloodstained hands. God, the smell was overwhelming. It was the only thing he could smell, even over the overly-sterile scent that accompanied hospitals.

The silver was coated in Ryland’s blood, enough to make it seem that the watch was supposed to be red. He couldn’t see the face, the hour and minute hand. He flipped it to see the GPS tracker on the bottom was ruined.

He had given the watches to the brothers to keep them safe. That was always the goal—monitor and make sure there was no trouble. They’d done a good job of it for the nearly ten years the twins had them. Courtland never thought he’d see the day where they actually fulfilled their purposes.

Though, now that he stared at Colt’s watch, remembering the look he gave him before being whisked away, he considered the device. One thought he’d been having throughout his journey back home and his race to his brothers was the effectiveness of the watches. They were good for long distance monitoring, for an alert system when Ryland and Colt couldn’t physically call him. But it wasn’t the same as him being there in person.

He considered the fact that if he’d been there with Colt and Ry when they were attacked, then the outcome would’ve been different. They wouldn’t have been taken for simply looking like Courtland, wouldn’t have been beaten and stabbed and shot. Ryland wouldn’t be fighting for his life in the operating room and Colt wouldn’t be fighting infection with his other wounds. 

If he had just been there, things would’ve been different. There would’ve been no room for failure to occur. 

Courtland clutched the watch in his hand. He had a call to make. 

Colt had never been so scared in his life when Ryland left him alone. 

They were actively on the run from psycho kidnappers and Ryland thought it was a good idea to distract them? The idea infuriated Colt despite how good it was. He’d never felt so weak, his body wracking with shivers and his limbs failing to obey his brain’s commands to stop Ryland. His arms and legs felt like they were strapped to a bed, unable to move. He was forced to watch Ryland put on a brave face and run headfirst into danger to save Colt’s ass.

And now he could be—

No. He would’ve felt it. Ryland was alive. Had to be. Colt would accept no other option. 

He sat in his hospital room, looking at the window on his right. There was a great distance between his bed and the window. The nurse had told him that Ryland would be brought into the room once he was finished in the operating room. 

Eight hours. Ryland had been fighting to stay alive for eight hours. 

In that time, Colt could think of nothing but the way the nurses scrubbed his hands clean. He watched Ryland’s blood fall into the metal pan on his lap, the liquid a lighter red with suds mixed in. The soap they used didn’t really smell like anything and Colt was glad. He didn’t think his nose could take any more overwhelming scents after the metallic scent of blood clogged his nostrils for what felt like hours. 

Colt couldn’t stop thinking about Ryland running away. He couldn’t help but wonder if he could’ve done something to stop him, to make him use his giant brain for once. He wondered if he had just played along with the kidnappers, maybe given them a few fake answers to chew on, then maybe he wouldn’t have been stabbed. Maybe he wouldn’t have lost so much blood and could’ve had more strength to save Ryland. 

He was a horrible brother. 

Colt couldn’t save Ryland at the apartment, couldn’t save him from being cut, being yanked by the hair by that one motherfucker. He couldn’t stop Ryland from running, couldn’t push him out of the way and take the hit. 

“For you, the muscle is good. It’s like extra padding for when you’re being thrown around. For me, it’s like carrying around an AK-47 on a playground. There’s no need.”

He snickered at the memory. It happened less than two days ago but it felt like a lifetime away, now. But it got him thinking, and no matter what bullshit Ryland spewed at him once he was out of surgery, Colt was forcing him to go to the gym. He needed to pump some of those ramen calories away (and he wasn’t letting his brother eat ramen anymore, no matter how much he complained). 

Courtland hadn’t stepped foot in his hospital room.

Colt had a feeling as to why, but it didn’t sting any less. He just wished he could look his brother in the eye and tell him that none of this is his fault. It happened because of an amalgamation of things, because of dominoes that have been falling for years before they were taken. Colt thought he blamed Court, but no. Court did everything right in trying to keep them safe, but it wasn’t enough.

It was on hour nine when Ryland was rolled into the room. Colt immediately sat up, eyes raking over his brother. He had an oxygen mask over his face. The doctors and nurses had taken liberty to clean the blood from his face and nose, leaving behind extensive bruising and a nasty black eye. They had changed him into a gown. They’d pulled the blankets on the bed up under his armpits, though his arms had to rest flat on the bed to not jostle the fluids they’d attached to him. 

“Colton, was it?” the doctor asked as she followed Ryland further into the room.

Colt swallowed, watching his brother be parked just a few feet from the window. Everything bone in his body was itching to get closer, to see for himself that his chest was rising and falling. He hadn’t realized he was moving before the doctor’s hand came to rest above his chest, her brow raised in warning. 

“Y-yeah. Just Colt’s fine,” he grumbled, sitting back on his bed. He watched the nurses hook Ryland up to monitors. His heartbeat filled the room. Strong and steady.

“Your brother's injuries are extensive. He’s got the obvious two gunshot wounds, a couple of lacerations on his neck and arms, tons of bruising, dehydration and what looked to be a small inch deep stab wound on his chest. And you have just about everything he does except replace the bullets with stab wounds on your thigh. And you also have a cracked rib.”

Of course Ryland got it the worst instead of him. That always seemed to be what happened in life. Colt would try to shield his brother only to be thrown out of the line of sight, out of reach of his now exposed brother. It happened when their father was killed and it happened again when Ryland was shot. 

“Ryland is a fighter. It was touch and go for a second, there, but he pulled through. We had to take this off of him to get the IV in and such. Figured I’d return it to you, myself,” the doctor said. She reached into her coat pocket to retrieve a familiar silver watch encased in a ziplock baggie. He took it with a grateful nod. “We’ve notified the police and they’ll be by to question you within the next few days.”

“Police? You notified police?” he said.

“It’s mandatory for gunshot wounds.”

Colt’s gut churned. Courtland. He had no idea where Courtland was and he wasn’t going to be able to get out of his room easily to check. He sighed, leaning further into the pillows. 

“Is there anyone we can call for you?” the doctor asked. 

“No. It’s just us.”

The woman nodded. “Ryland’s body is still flushing the anesthesia from his body. A nurse will be by every hour to check on you two. If Ryland wakes up, please hit the call button right here.”

“Will do. Thank you.”

“Of course. Get some rest, Colt. You need it. Your brother will be here when you wake up.”

Colt watched the doctor and nurse exit the room, closing the door behind them. Immediately, he started scooting his bed towards Ryland’s. It wasn’t difficult—the beds were on wheels. Colt scooted until he was within a few feet of his brother. He quickly hopped from his bed to sit on the edge of Ryland’s. 

He looked rough up close. The bruises were black, blue, purple, yellow, all the shades. The nurses must’ve washed his hair. It was back to its fluffy state. His arms were littered with bruising. Some looked to be from the IV needles. Doctors always had a hard time finding a vein for him for some reason and always ended up having to poke Ryland more than necessary. 

Colt took his hand and squeezed gently as if he’d break Ryland further if he applied too much pressure. He took a deep breath, listening to the heart monitor beep evenly. He glanced at the window still letting in the evening sun’s glow. 

“Can’t have you being blinded when you wake up.” He reached to pull the curtain around the bed to cover the window. It didn’t do much to block the light, but it would have to work. He hissed at the motion. “Shit, forgot about my rib.”

Ryland didn’t make a witty comment. He didn’t squeeze Colt’s hand. He lay limp. If it weren’t for his chest rising and falling, Colt would’ve thought he was a corpse. He was still slightly pale but quickly regained his color back the longer Colt observed. It was uncanny seeing his brother being enveloped in the hospital’s itchy bedsheets and gowns. Ryland was clumsy, sure, but he never got injured like Colt. Colt had spent many hours in hospitals for broken arms, fractures, all sorts of stuff. It came with his job but some were from his asshole of a father. 

Ryland had been in the hospital before, when Court killed their father, just for a checkup and some screenings since he had it the worst out of the three kids. Colt remembered how Ryland clung to his arm, silent tears streaming down his cheeks as he asked where Court was. Colt never knew what to say because he didn’t know and he didn’t want to lie. 

Seeing him so still as opposed to sticking his nose in a book or ranting to Colt about his “stupid” peers was heartbreaking. 

“I know you probably can’t hear me, but I… I’m sorry, Ry. I’m really sorry. I should’ve been there, should’ve done something. God, it felt just like that night again.”

Ryland kept breathing, sleeping. 

“I know it doesn’t seem like everything’s gonna be fine, but it is. You’ll be back up on your feet in no time and I don’t care what you say, you’re coming to the gym with me once you’re better,” Colt said firmly. 

No response. The monitor kept beeping. Colt pressed his thumb against the pulse point on his wrist, letting out a breath once he felt something there. Technology was reliable, sure, but Colt had a need to feel for himself that everything was okay. 

“I dunno where Court is, but if I were to guess, he’s trying to clean up after us again. He’s probably hunting. Is it bad that after all these years, I still can’t decide if I’m okay with it or not? His job… It's the reason we’re here in the first place. We could’ve had a normal life if his boss didn’t come knockin’ on his cell.”

Colt counted Ryland’s breaths. “Sorry. Should probably shut up and let you rest.”

He reluctantly let go of his brother’s hand and went back to his bed. Three feet of distance felt like a canyon. Still, he lied down and stared at the ceiling, watching as it started growing dark outside. 

“I think something’s changing,” he muttered into the silence. “With Court, I mean. I think… I think we’re gonna get him back for real this time. I hope so.”

Colt brought his blankets up to his shoulders. God, he was exhausted. He stayed up the entire nine hours Ryland was away in surgery and it was coming back to bite him in the ass. He struggled to keep his eyes open, a small part of his brain that sounded suspiciously like Court telling him he needed to barricade the door or something. Secure the room. 

He shoved those thoughts away. He let sleep overtake him slowly, listening to Ryland’s monitor beep echo in his mind as he drifted.

Colt woke up in an unfamiliar place.

He opened his eyes expecting to see ceiling tiles and sunshine coming through the blinds, but he was wide awake at seeing a dark wooden ceiling instead. That, and he couldn’t hear Ryland’s heart monitor.

Colt bolted upright, ignoring the stinging pain in his chest when it jostled his ribs. He frantically scanned the unfamiliar room. The first word that came to his head was fancy, because the floors were squeaky clean and a beautiful dark wood like the ceiling. There was a bookshelf built into the wall opposite of him and the full size bed he lay on. To his right was a wall of windows with beautiful arches, with the middle window being stained glass casting dark shadows on the floor with the moonlight outside. On the floor was a red and yellow rug, something you’d see in a mansion. 

Questions ran through his brain at a hundred miles an hour. Where was he? Why in a fancy place? Did someone swoop in and take them again once Court was gone? Where’s Ryland?

Colt ignored the white-hot pain that shot up his leg as he got to his feet. He stumbled, falling against the right wall. He got a good look outside. A forest. He seemed to be on the second floor of the building and below his room he could see a stone stairway outside with men standing on the landing. Men in fancy suits. 

“Fuck.”

Colt grabbed a lamp from the bedside table, testing the weight in his hands. It was decent enough. He held the lamp like a baseball bat and started towards the bedroom door. He cracked it open. Directly across from his door was another door with a golden handle. Colt peeked both ways, finding a long hallway void of any life. There were paintings and vases and—okay, seriously, where the fuck was he? This screamed money, the kind he didn’t think he’d ever see in his life. 

He saw at least four more doors in the hall, but he figured he’d try his luck with the closest one. He hobbled across the four foot wide hallway and clutched the door handle. He pushed it down and peeked his head inside. 

The room was similar to his own. Same setup with the bookshelf and everything, except this room had a ledge to sit on by the window covered in pillows and blankets. There was similar decorum from the gray bedsheets to the red rug on the floor. 

Colt flung the door open once he caught sight of his brother. There was a bunch of medical equipment by his bed including a heart monitor that continued to beep evenly. Ryland lay in the middle of the bed surrounded by pillows and comfort. He was still wearing his hospital gown, the same as Colt. 

Colt shut the door behind him, sticking a chair he found by the door under the handle just in case. He still had no clue where they were, where Courtland was, or even what day it was for that matter. He could’ve slept for a week and he wouldn’t be any wiser (he definitely needed it, though, if he did sleep for a week). He didn’t see any other chairs in the room, so he carefully (very very carefully) sat directly beside his brother on the bed. He made sure he didn’t jostle any wires or needles as he climbed in. He sat against the headboard, the lamp in his lap as he sighed, feeling the comforting weight of Ryland’s body beside him. 

“I’ve got you, Ry.”

Colt wrapped his arm around Ryland’s shoulders, his hand absentmindedly brushing through his hair. At that, Ryland moved, shaking his head slightly with furrowed brows. 

“It’s just me,” Colt muttered. “You’re fine.”

But Ryland didn’t hear him. He shook his head more, his breaths coming in unevenly. The heart monitor beeped faster. Colt sat up in a panic, checking to make sure he didn’t accidentally move any of the needles or equipment keeping his brother alive. He didn’t. So why was Ryland moving about in a panic?

“Hey, hey, Ry, chill out. You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Colt tried, grasping his brother’s shoulders.

Ryland responded with quiet whimpers and half-hearted slaps to Colt’s arms. 

“You’re… you’re having a nightmare, Ry. It’s me. It’s Colt—your super awesome stuntman brother.”

Okay, that didn’t work. Colt cursed under his breath, mentally apologizing to Ry before gripping his shoulders tight and shaking him. 

“Wake up, Ry. Come on! Get up!”

Ryland awoke with a gasp, tears glazing his eyes and sweat beading at his brow. His eyes were wide, confused, horrified as they glanced around feverishly. Colt gently squeezed his shoulders, meeting Ryland’s gaze. His brother relaxed considerably. 

“Colt?” he rasped. 

“Yeah. It’s just me.”

“I thought…” 

“I know.”

Ryland’s hand went to brush his hair before quickly pulling away with a shudder. Oh. The action was supposedly small, miniscule, but to Colt it broke his heart even further. Ryland used to complain about his brothers’ obsession with messing up his hair, but he loved it deep down. Colt would see his small smiles and grins whenever Colt ruffled his hair. It was something he’s loved since he was a kid—a comfort that was re-tooled into something malicious and harmful. 

“Where are we?” Ryland questioned slowly as he gathered his surroundings. “Not a hospital.”

“I don’t know,” Colt admitted. “I didn’t take a look around.”

“How am I… how am I alive? I barely remember…”

“We were at a hospital. Of course the second I finally fall asleep, some fuck shit happens. I have no idea how we got here.”

Ryland stared at the needle in his hand, feeding him fluids. “Do you think it was Court?”

“I dunno what to think.”

Colt tensed when he heard frantic thumps coming down the hall. Ryland grabbed his arm, wincing as he tried to sit up. Colt gently pushed him back against the pillows.

“Stay here. Don’t even think about getting up.”

“Colt—”

“I mean it, Ry. Don’t you dare.”

Colt grabbed the lamp he’d discarded on the bed, raising it high as the door handle jostled. He glanced around. The room was identical to the one across the hall including a door beside the bookshelf. Colt was in such a rush to get out of his room that he didn’t even check it out. He didn’t have time to look and certainly didn’t have the time (or strength) to carry his brother to a potential hiding spot. 

But, there was that small part of his brain that was screaming at him again, telling him that he was being stupid and irrational in his adrenaline rush. Why else would Colt have woken up in an unlocked room, not chained up, and able to reach his brother who was hooked up to monitors and fluids? What kind of kidnappers cared for their injured captives? 

He heard Ryland yelp in surprise as the wood around the handle splintered. Colt tightened his grip around the lamp as the door pushed open. He rushed forward with the lamp raised.

Only to have Courtland easily block the attack with wide eyes. Courtland took the lamp with heaving breaths, his gaze panicked.

“What the fuck?” Colt exclaimed.

“What?” Courtland said, putting the lamp on the small table by the door. 

“The fuck you mean what, what the hell, man? How come I fall asleep at the hospital and wake up in a strange house?”

Courtland huffed, walking further into the room to check on the heart monitor and Ryland. “Okay, probably not my best decision, I’m sorry.”

“Where are we?” Ryland asked.

“Minnesota, a safe house.” 

Colt went around the bed to sit on Ryland’s left, pressing their sides and legs together. He stomped down the instinct to ruffle his twin’s hair. No more. “Looks like a damn mansion. How’d you get us here without us waking up?”

“Fitz moves quickly.”

Of course it’s thanks to the man who brought their brother into the CIA that they were states away from their home, holed up in a fancy safe house. Colt was grateful for the hospitality, sure, but he was also frustrated beyond belief with the man. 

“How are you feeling?” Courtland asked the youngest of the three. “I came as soon as the monitor changed.”

Ryland shrugged. “Am I full of drugs right now? They’re working. Don’t really feel anything but slight discomfort.”

“Good. And yes, you are on drugs.”

Colt snickered. “Last time you were on drugs—”

“No, don’t say it,” Ryland whined.

“You tripped over your own feet and slammed your head into the doorway. You weren’t even phased.”

“They were really good brownies.”

Courtland managed a smile before it turned serious. Ever the CIA agent. “I’ve been researching the people that did this, but I need to know. Why did they take you?”

“They thought I looked like you,” Colt said. “They wanted info on Fitz, where he was. Not that I knew.”

Courtland’s face soured considerably, like he’d been expecting that answer. He closed his eyes and sighed, resting his hand on Ryland’s shin. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d be fine as long as you had the watches, but clearly not. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe.”

“It’s not your fault those people did what they did. Yeah, we got hurt, but we don’t blame you,” Ryland said simply. 

“I blame Fitz,” Colt announced, earning a nod from his twin.

“We could toss around I’m sorry and it's not your fault for hours and it wouldn’t make a difference. Don’t blame yourself, Court. I’m honestly surprised it didn’t happen sooner with how popular you are in the CIA.”

“It’s not your fault all of this happened. Ry’s right, don’t blame yourself.”

Ryland grabbed Courtland’s sleeve, tugging. “Come on, get that look off your face. Get in here and stop thinking about it. You can go hunting later.”

“I already went,” Courtland replied as he kicked off his shoes and mirrored Colt’s position on Ryland’s other side. 

“Of course you did,” Colt grumbled. He rested his head on Ryland’s shoulder, exhaustion suddenly coating his body again. “If I fall asleep again, am I gonna wake up in Canada?”

Court and Ry chuckled, though Ry cut it short with a grimace and a hand over his bandaged stomach. 

“No. We’re here to stay. Get some sleep, Colt. You, too, Ry.”

“You’ll be here when we get up?” Ryland asked. 

Colt watched Court nod, eyes sure. Truthful, more than they have been in a while. Courtland’s hand went to the back of Ryland’s head, his fingers sprawled in the blonde locks. 

“I’ll be here. You okay, Ry? What’s wrong?”

Colt wordlessly took Court’s hand out of Ryland’s hair, shaking his head. Courtland’s eyes flashed with understanding, a layer of deep fury underneath that he managed to mask for Ryland’s sake. Instead, Court rubbed Ryland’s shoulder to ease the tension from the muscle. 

“Does this mean you’re done with work?” Ryland asked once they’d settled down for a couple of minutes. 

Courtland sighed, glancing between the twins who stared back, waiting patiently for an answer. “I’m… trying. It’s a hard system to get out of, but I want to be. I don’t want to pick up a gun anymore. I want to go home.”

Colt and Ryland shared a smile. 

“Good,” Colt nodded. “We’ll have to find you an apartment, too.”

“Oh, about that. I’ve got a new apartment for you, Ry. No way you’re going back to that one. It was a shithole,” Courtland said absentmindedly.

“Wha—how did you just get me a new apartment? It took me forever to find that one! And what about my stuff?”

“I have my ways.”

Colt’s limbs were slowly becoming heavier and heavier like lead. He leaned further into Ryland’s side and tossed his arm over his brother’s chest, his hand reaching to grasp Court’s arm. Having both of his brothers back was a feeling he’d been missing for a while. The knowledge that Court was trying his best to get away from CIA work made his heart feel full like he was six years old again, following Court through the house and playing tag when their father was gone. 

Colt shoved his face into Ryland’s shoulder, sighing. “Can we sleep now? Talk later.”

“Yeah, sleep. I’ll go find you guys some food—”

“Nope, you’re sleeping, too,” Colt said, tugging Courtland back. 

“You look like shit, no offense,” Ryland added with a smile.

Courtland huffed.  “Fine. Bossy.”

“Usually that’s you.”

“Go to bed.”

Ryland shuffled a little bit, grimacing as he did so. Colt made sure his arm wasn’t over his healing gunshot wounds, curling closer to Ry. Courtland flipped to rest on his side, his arm under Ryland’s head and his hand ruffling Colt’s hair. Colt couldn’t remember the last time the three of them had done this. Maybe when they were eight, hiding in Courtland’s room as their father raged in the kitchen, throwing cups and dishes that made the twins jump with every crashing noise. Usually Court would be in the middle, though. But he wasn’t complaining either way. 

“Court,” Colt muttered.

“Hm.”

“Thank you.”

Courtland brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Always.”

Ryland was already snoring, mouth wide open and a small line of drool starting to form on the corner of his mouth. Colt rolled his eyes and got comfortable, holding Court’s sleeve tight as if his brother was going to disappear in the night. 

The monsters had retreated to their lairs, leaving the siblings to piece themselves back together bit by bit. It would be a slow, tedious, and long process, but Colt would bear it as long as he had his family by his side. 

“I’m assuming you’ve gotten everything taken care of?”

“Of course.”

“How are the twins?”

Courtland retracted his knife from the man’s throat, cleaning the blade on a rag. “Recovering.”

“How about the new apartments?”

“They extend their gratitude. Colt loves the view.”

He heard Fitz hum over the phone. It had been a week since the twins were taken and Courtland had helped them move into their new apartments. Yes, Colt got a new one, too, because Courtland wasn’t taking any chances. They were quite literally only across the hall from each other and they loved it. Courtland didn’t tell them he occupied the suite down the hall from them. He wanted it to be a surprise, especially because his negotiations with Fitz were going pretty well. 

Courtland would be free from work soon. Very soon. Fitz was a generous man, especially to his favorite Sierra and his siblings he considered his nephews. 

“Good. What have you found out?” the man asked.

Courtland sighed. He’d tracked the men who kidnapped his brothers back to a small operation that worked under the same gray area he did. Three bodies lay motionless across the abandoned building, each with varying wounds. Courtland took one out with a well-timed shot to the heart. The other two… he wasn’t too kind. Someone had to pay for what happened to the twins, and since he couldn’t fuck up the guys who did the kidnapping, he could fuck up their associates. Courtland generally didn’t like killing people, but when he caught these men, he remembered holding his dying little brother. He remembered trying to console Colt, who was delirious with blood loss and desperate to save his twin.

He spread his palms flat with a wince. He might’ve broken something. His knuckles were bruised and bloody beyond belief. 

“There’s at least two more targets they were associated with. I have locations but no names.”

“You’ll make it work.”

“No shit.”

“And nobody else is aware of the twins’ existence?” 

“Nobody outside of this ring. The information is too valuable for them to toss around without a hefty price. People would be willing to pay, but they haven’t made a move yet.”

Fitz hummed again. “Good work, Six. Now, I’ve got some news about your proposal.”

He’d made the call to Fitz to talk about retirement the moment Colt was taken further into the hospital for treatment. He’d talked on the roof of the hospital, telling Fitz he didn’t give a fuck what he thought, he wanted out and he wanted out sooner than later. Fitz was dismantling the Sierra program anyway. Usually, that meant termination even though the Sierras were trained too well on blending in and living on the run. But Courtland’s situation was different. He had family to return to and Fitz had been working to ensure Colt and Ryland remained under the radar. Hence why Courtland worked together with him to dismantle the ring for what would hopefully be the last time.

“Throughout my years, I’ve collected an absurd amount of money. I’m leaving you with enough to last you and the twins for the rest of your lives. It’s already in separate bank accounts for the three of you. I know we have a professional relationship, but you’ve… you’ve done good work, Six. Much like I’m taking my niece to see the wonders of the world, you deserve to spend the time you’ve lost to work with your brothers.”

He was… saying yes. Courtland had a feeling he would because he loves the twins too much to not want them to be happy, but still. Separating himself from the gray part of the world would be impossible. He’s made a name of himself and there was no erasing that, but he could finally go home. He could finally wake up and hang out with the twins like he’s wanted to do for years. He didn’t have to travel anymore unless he wanted to. And he knew Fitz’s money was ridiculous, so the amount in those bank accounts would probably be unfathomable. 

Courtland was speechless. A hard thing to do to a Sierra.

“Enjoy the time you have with them. You’ve more than earned it. Truthfully, you should’ve had it from the start, but some things don’t work out the way we expect them to. Find those last two bogeys and then go home. You know where to find me if you need anything.”

“I’m…”

“Give the twins hugs for me.”

Fitz hung up, leaving Courtland to sit in the rundown building with the bodies he’d mutilated out of pure hatred and fury. 

He could go home. 

He would go home.

Courtland didn’t have to be Sierra Six anymore. 

He didn’t have to detach himself from emotion. He could feel openly again. 

He could live with the family he loves so much. He could see their accomplishments in person instead of through pictures. 

Courtland’s shoulders relaxed. For once, the cosmic weight of his job and his worry for the twins dissipated, leaving a man who wished desperately that he could’ve had more time with the twins sooner. 

Better late than never. 

Courtland smiled. One more job and he was done. Sounds good.