Chapter Text
What Colt hadn’t expected was how sore he’d be after he died.
He’d stumbled into the motel lobby last night bruised, bloody, and still soaked to the bone after pulling himself out of the harbor. A voice in the back of his head said he should probably be more concerned that the woman at the front desk didn’t blink when he put the cash on the desk, but all he could think about was how he needed to sleep.
The room was small and sparse, the bed was lumpy, and the vague smell of stale cigarette smoke hung in the air but Colt couldn’t bring himself to care. He fell onto the bed and was asleep before he could even kick his wet shoes off.
When he woke he was immediately thankful it was still dark outside. His head was splitting, all of the muscles he had overworked in the past few days ached, and his spine throbbed from the unsupportive mattress. At some point while he slept he must have rolled over... and pulled off his gasoline soaked clothes... and gotten under the blanket..
Colt sat up, ignoring the pain that flared to life at the sudden action. He could feel someone else in the room, despite the darkness. How long had they been there? How long had he been asleep? Did someone follow him from the crash? Before he could shove the blankets off there were hands gently pushing him to stay in bed, a quiet voice shushing his protests.
“Calm down.” The voice left no room for arguing, steady and firm. “I’m not here to hurt you, but you need to stop before you end up hurting yourself.” Colt pulled away from the hands, squinting through the dim light at a tired set of blue eyes. The same blue as his own. The world outside faded away, Colt forgot for a moment about all of the drama he’d gotten involved in the past week, all of the panic and pain. All he could see were the eyes of his dead brother next to him, hands hovering as if Colt was a scared animal that could bolt at any moment.
He may have a point there, actually.
“Court?” Colt flinched at the roughness of his own voice and Court started to stand but Colt grabbed his arm before he could get far. Court sat back down immediately, full attention back on his brother.
“Not going anywhere, just getting the water.” Court pointed to the table where a few bottles of water and an assortment of cheap snacks had been dumped, a black duffle bag kicked under the table. Colt loosened his grip and accepted the bottle when it was handed to him. “I know you’ve got a lot of questions. I’ve got some too.” He said, eyeing the cuts and bruises along Colt’s face.
“You’re dead.” Colt gasped after draining the bottle. “We buried you.” His shock was ebbing and anger was quick to take its place. “Stabbed in the yard by another inmate.” Grief flashed quick and sharp in him, remembering the call he had gotten in high school. He’d had to tell Ryland after, and they’d both cried while trying to plan a funeral that only they had attended. Court couldn’t meet his eyes as his voice shook, tears rising embarrassingly fast and he roughly rubbed them away. “Do you have any idea what getting that call felt like?”
“Actually, I do.” Court’s face was stone now. “I got it last night after you blew yourself up on a boat.” Colt deflated, all of the anger leaving him in a rush.
“How did you find me?” He asked wearily. “Because if you could, then the guys that are framing me definitely can too.” He tossed the empty bottle into the trash across the room, wincing at the soreness.
“I’ve been CIA for longer than I’d care to count, kid.” Court sighed, getting up to grab a bottle of painkillers from the duffle. “Finding you wasn’t the hard part. As soon as the police said there wasn’t a body it was pretty clear you’d holed up somewhere.”
“CIA?”
“Took even less time to get the video Ryder was whining about and dump his sorry ass onto the steps of the police station.” Colt stared at his brother in shock, pain meds frozen halfway to his mouth.
“But,” Colt sputtered. “How?”
“Don’t worry about the details.” Court moved up to sit with his back against the headboard next to Colt. “All that matters is that your name is cleared, but everyone still thinks you’re dead.” He closed his eyes and Colt could see the fatigue settle into his features. “Might want to clear that up sooner than later, speaking from personal experience.”
Colt sank back against the headboard, shoulders brushing for the first time since he was a scared eight year old. Court was alive. Court works (worked?) for the CIA. Colt’s name had been cleared. His head could have barely processed all of this without a migraine, but right now it was too much for him. He wished, not for the first time in his life, that all of the brains hadn’t gone to Ry.
Oh shit, Ryland.
Ignoring his screaming muscles and aching spine, Colt jumped up, frantically looking around the room for his phone. His jeans were draped over the back of a chair to dry and he fished his phone from the pocket. His relief that it even functioned anymore died quickly as the phone lit up just long enough to show a red battery symbol before going dark.
“Do you have a charger?” He asked over his shoulder, hands already finding the zipper of Court’s duffle. “I need to call Ryland, let him know I’m okay.”
“Colt wait.” Court’s voice was sharp but Colt ignored it, ripping the bag open before staggering backwards onto his ass. Knives had been shoved haphazardly into the bag along with several changes of clothes, medical supplies, and what looked suspiciously like a gun holster. Court heaved the bag onto the table before helping his brother to his feet. “I told you, I worked with the CIA for a long time. Old habits die hard.” He unzipped a side pocket and held a charger out.
Colt’s eyes went from the bag to the offered charger, then to Court’s face. His brother looked older than the seven years between them, but despite all of the differences he could still see the brother he’d idolized so long ago. Court was bracing himself, Colt had seen this face when he’d get into fights with their father, saw it again looking from the back of a police car. But now..now Court was bracing himself for Colt’s reaction. Colt reached out, tossing the charger on the bed and pulling his big brother in for a long overdue hug.
He heard the huff of surprise from the older man, hands hovering briefly before the hug was returned. Colt could feel tears prickling again and by the time they both pulled away Court’s eyes were just as red. He cleared his throat before turning back to his duffle, pulling out a shirt and tossing it at Colt who was plugging the dead phone in.
“Alright.” Colt said, sitting heavily in one of the rickety chairs. “I’ve got questions.” Court’s mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smirk and sat opposite his brother. “Let’s start with the CIA??” Court sighed, leaning forward onto the table. This was going to be a long night.
By the time the most important questions had been asked, the sun was peaking through the worn curtains and both brothers' eyes were growing heavier with fatigue. Neither of them noticed Colt’s phone, always on silent mode, light up with a missed call.