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Their family had never been whole. Not by a long shot. There were times where Driver could remember, faintly, the outline of Courtland standing up to their father, before being dragged away. Court was the oldest. He was the next after—and it was up to to him to protect the twins. No matter what the wrath of their father saw, no matter what happened to Court, Colt and Ryland's tiny hands in his were always meant to be led away somewhere safe.
As they got older and the system took them in, Driver told himself that it was for the best that they were split up. The twins went somewhere far from them, somewhere good enough for them to grow up with a loving family. A place like that was wasted on him and Court. They'd already been soiled by the world their father shoved them carelessly into. When Shannon took him in, Driver felt like maybe that was the universe looking out for him. A small quid pro quo for always protecting his younger brothers. He'd carved a small piece of his life for himself, knowing that he had a path. It was a path into crime, but one none-the-less that he knew how to navigate with a solid grip and leather racing gloves.
He hadn't seen Courtland since... well since the incident. And while their oldest brother seemed to be far from his reach, he'd seen both Colt and Ryland on TV.
In a funny twist of fate, Colt had also taken up the mantle of stuntman, and Driver thought perhaps there was an unhealthy dose of adrenaline-junkie in their blood that attracted them to the career. It tore him apart when Colt had announced his retirement due to a crippling injury. In that awful year, Driver always lurked around LA, waiting and watching, hoping his brother would call him or even Ryland. He wasn't sure if his brother knew how to find him, but he did hope.
Colt never reached out.
And when he saw the initial case of Colt's murder charge, Driver feared that his younger brother really had followed in oldests' footsteps.
He was practically foaming at the mouth to get to Australia when it was announced that Colt had been framed. The charges dropped. An oddity for sure, but grateful Colt was still a better man than he supposed either himself or Court.
But then there was Ryland—their youngest brother. Driver's memory became more and more foggy as he became older, but the shy touch of Ryland's small fingers against his hand when he was scared always lingered like a phantom. He was such a little thing, Driver remembered, always afraid at a drop of the hat. Which, given their father, there was good reason.
It pleased Driver greatly to see how much of a stubborn ass their youngest had grown into, even calling a colleague a "staggering waste of carbon" on a publicly televised scientific forum.
He'd heard Ryland had been booted out of the science community shortly after that, and had taken up to teaching ever since. In his head, he could always picture it: Ryland in a classroom, with that easy going, boyish smile, helping children with ease through all their lessons. So far it seemed that their youngest brother was the most normal, and he was beyond thankful for that. Childhood had been hard on all of them, and someone as gentle as Ryland did not deserve the worlds that he, Court, and even Colt, had found themselves in.
Normalcy didn't last long, for any of them, it would seem.
News reports started cropping up, talking about some sort of "sun eaters"—the Petrova lines. Driver waited out the news every day, wishing more and more that he'd never estranged himself from his brothers. If he'd known that their world would begin its end in a little over thirty years, he would have made an effort to reach out more…not to lurk so much from the shadows.
And then, one day his heart stopped for just a second.
He was sitting in his dingy trailer, somewhere just twenty miles shy of Cape Canaveral in a small trailer park, watching the latest Oreole's game. The game stopped for breaking news, announcing the brave astronauts willing to be humanity's newest effort against the sun eaters. Project Hail Mary.
But that was not what gave him panic. In that Conference room where the interviews were headed by the lead pilot, engineer, and two heads-of-science, was a gaggle of equally proud scientists and politicians. And among them, was Ryland.
He was positive. It'd been years since he'd last caught a glimpse of Ryland—perhaps it was that fateful debacle in Denmark—but he looked so much like Colt.
Driver had found himself entangled in all sorts of problems his whole life. The mob, lower gangs, the crime life. What he didn't trust was his youngest brother camping with the government in a last-ditch attempt to save their world. People in power did not hesitate if they were backed into a corner.
The meeting room felt stuffy, and the atmosphere stagnant despite the heaters working overtime to circulate comfortable air where the table was.
"We will proceed on schedule with the replacement science officer," Stratt said rather definitively.
Grace felt his voice die in his throat. There was just absolutely no way. One tiny mistake at the hand of the quarter master, and their entire science team—let alone the two mission-ready officers—were just poof. Evaporated. He pulled the beanie from his head and gave a weary sigh. Even if someone knew the physics, the laws, the molecular makeup of the Astrophage to be able to keep the ships on track, there were fewer who were trained spacemen. The selection pool drastically shrunk further when they had to account that the newest recruit would need to have the specific gene to keep them stabilized in the four-year coma.
Honestly, he wasn't sure whether he should laugh or cry. "Who?" He asked more to himself rather than anyone else in that room with him. "But who could…would go now?"
That question sat in the air for a long while, far longer than what was comfortable. His glasses fell from the bridge of his nose to dangle haphazardly below his chin. He redirected his attention to the other project members in the Conference room, realizing they were all staring at him.
Something in his stomach dropped.
Panic overcame him as the conversation began to devolve further and further. Stratt, Yao, Ilyukhina all proceeded to press that he was the ideal candidate. No, he was not. And how the situation necessitated he carry the torch in the spirit of saving the Earth.
Saving the Earth. Saving the Earth? How could he save the Earth if he couldn't even save himself?
His mind briefly flashed to the picture of Colt in the hospital bed, unresponsive and body broken from his stories-high fall. He recalled the sight of Driver working on a car in a mechanic's shop in the middle of God-knows-where, his face blasted with various black-and-blue bruises; he'd finally found his brother after months of searching, only to realize he didn't actually know if the man cared to see him. And finally, he remembered the missing person's report for a "Courtland Grace" only to be told that no one had never existed under that name.
How could he save the Earth if he couldn't even salvage what was left of his family?
"I get that this is hard for someone like you guys to understand," he bit out, sounding more hurt than bitter. "But some people are just failures."
And Christ on a bike, Stratt just would not take no for an answer. No was a full sentence, statement, and exclamation all on its own.
"You don't have any immediate family, you don't even have a dog—" Stratt began.
"Ah! Bup, bup, bup!" He held his hand out, interrupting her and stopping her mid-sentence. He spotted this knowing look in her eyes and felt something sour bubble up in his chest. "I have a brother. Brothers, plural, actually."
Shared looks of horror began to pull on both Yao's and Ilyukhina's expressions, and even Carl seemed to have a brief spike of…well, something, across his usually deadpan expression.
That's right, drink that in, Grace felt himself preen, if only for a moment. That small moment of hopefulness right before Stratt, in all of her clear-cut, tepid observance, shattered it.
"My understanding is that you and Colt G. Seavers are entirely estranged; and Courtland Grace is no longer with you." Stratt's voice was even and her eyes clear as day. She was not budging on this. "Would it really make a difference if you were here or aboard the Hail Mary?"
If he had not be so honed into the moment, maybe he would've clocked she hadn't mentioned Driver. In some other world, he could've used that to his advantage. But he was not at his best right now.
Grace spluttered, and then turned red, and then paled, and then mentally prepared himself to tell Stratt to shove this whole project right up where the light of the day would never see…
Where the light of day would cease to exist because he was selfish. Because he was not a brave enough man to visit Colt more than once in the hospital; because he was not brave enough to reach out to Driver and ask him where had he been all these years; because he was not brave enough to unearth what had happened to Court.
His next inhale was shaky and wet; his eyes felt hot. He refused to meet the increasingly pitying glances of anyone else in that room.
"So let me get this straight," he rasped, gesturing weakly to everyone in that room. "You are asking me…to give up my life for this. For this project."
"I am." Stratt nodded gently, and doggone, he wanted to lunge across the table and shake her thin shoulders silly. "We all are. And if not for this project and the greater good of humankind, then do it for your brothers who you will leave behind."
Ilyukhina ducked her head down, something complex and pained crossing her face. Yao sucked in a sharp breath and stared intensely at the tabletop.
Grace stared at the LED display of his phone for a long time, despite that his countdown probably had less than half an hour left on the clock. He couldn't do this. He couldn't leave behind everything. Not when he had so much left to do…so much left that he needed to do.
His phone laid innocently in front of him, the saved number for Shannon's Auto Shop pulled up. He could've called Colt—he'd seen on the news that his brother's murder charges had been falsified and that he was a free man, now diving head-long into a darling cinema career along with Jody (sweet gal, he recollected, his brain reaching for the time before he and Colt stopped talking). But what would he ask Colt? After abandoning him when he'd needed Grace the most… what could he ask? And Driver didn't owe him anything, either. Grace had been such a coward; he hadn't even been able to say "Oh my god, bro, I finally found you after 20 years. Why does your face look like a bratwurst had an unfortunate merengue with a meat mallet?"
The phone dialed.
And dialed.
And dialed.
Until the other line finally picked up. As soon as Grace heard the receiver open, he eagerly rushed before he could chicken out, "Hey! I'm looking for Driv—"
"We're sorry. The number you're looking for is no longer available. Goodbye."
The automatic tone of the invalid number recording hit him like a truck. His eyes blurred, and his fingers frantically swept across the screen to try and find Colt's number. He rang his twin so fast, all previous inhibitions thrown to the wind. His body shook. Since when had he been cold? Or maybe he was feverish. He couldn't actually tell.
"Hey, this is Colt—!"
Grace felt insane. "Colt!"
"—and Jody~" came a sing song follow-up. And all at once, the reality slammed into Grace, winding him and leaving a small aching wheeze to rise up out of his chest.
"We're likely on set right now—"
"—or hitting up the karaoke bar." A distinctly Colt laugh. "But we'll, I mean, I'll get back to you if I remember to."
Grace's mouth was dry. He couldn't be bothered to hang up. He let the call reach the end of the voicemail. He redialed Colt. It took him to the same VM message. He tried again, and again, and again, and again until his phonescreen was entirely outgoing messages to Colt.
His fists tightened in his lap. "I have brothers," he told himself. "I have brothers. And they would care…they would. I swear they would care if I was shot up to space and told to die."
He didn't believe the words as they left his mouth. Maybe it was more of a prayer than a reassurance. His own Hail Mary.
It didn't matter. He was going to tell Stratt to find another scientist, he was done.
Carl knocked hesitantly on Stratt's door, his face clouded.
Stratt looked up from her desk, a dazed sort of expression clouding her usual calm exterior. "Hm?"
"We…have a rather awkward problem," he began.
She tilted her head to the side, acknowledging him to continue.
"The CIA are calling," he murmured. "They heard of the explosion—"
"How? We were to keep the incident contained and close-pocket," she demanded.
He gave her a look that seemed to ask if she was serious.
"Right," she sighed, before sinking further into her chair. "Continue."
"They're putting a halt on all proceedings until their representative gets here."
Stratt folded her hands neatly, one over the other. She knew that Ryland Grace did not have the clearance nor the connections to discover what had happened to his oldest brother Courtland Grace, now legally Courtland Gentry. The CIA had framed him an unnamed person, a ghost, someone that no family could trace. And as far as Colt Seavers and Ryland Grace knew, their brother was someone who had been lost to the legal system and was removed as a person of interest after murdering their father.
But Stratt had enough of both clearance and connections to know just how she could maneuver Grace.
"I suppose it's time to use my universal immunity," Stratt huffed gently; she knew Ryland Grace really would be missed, not just among the members of the project. "How long until their representative arrives?"
"Three hours," Carl said before adding, "At least that's what I've been told. They may try to interfere faster."
"Expedite our launch time. Tell Yao and Ilyukhina to gear up and get ready. We will be launching in an hour. Have mission control begin this ship's orbital preparations." Stratt stared at the window, able to see the conference room where Grace still sat at the table, hunched over with his head in his hands. If the representative was who she presumed, then she would unfortunately not be able to allow the brothers to have any sort of reunion. Tearful or otherwise.
She called to one of the guards out in the hallway. "Please bring Dr. Grace here. His three hours are up."
Driver's phone rang, and a completely redacted phone number popped onto the screen. That was new. It wasn't out of the ordinary for him to still run an odd job here or there for some merc that needed a getaway car. But calls never went to his cell, an old Nokia he'd managed to bum out of the garbage. Business calls always went to his landline.
He picked up. "Who gave you this number?"
"Not that hard to find, pal," An exasperated voice snapped before clearing his throat. In the background, Driver could hear faint panicked whispering. His brow shot up and he stood up rapidly. He'd recognize Colt's voice.
"If you've done any—" he began to growl out before he was shushed.
"It's me, Courtland," The voice bit back. "Have you checked the news?"
Driver's gaze widened and he didn't know where to start. The news was not normally how he imagined this conversation starting. Still, he flipped the TV on and was immediately met with the big bold letters, HUMANITY'S HAIL MARY – VIRGIN VOYAGE TODAY overlayed on the newsroom and reporters. Something dropped in Driver's stomach and the fear only worsened when three pictures of the crew appeared on screen as well.
The news reporter yapped excitedly. "We're all very proud of the Mary's stellar crew, Yao Li-Jie, Olesya Ilyukhina, and Ryland Grace as they make their journey starward."
Driver nearly dropped the phone.
"Look, we are out of time," Court continued on.
Colt cursed loudly in the background.
"I pulled every string that I have to get them to slow down the launch, but if we don't do something, they will spit Grace out into the universe, and we will never see him again. The CIA works fast, but the project leader and multi-government figurehead Eva Stratt has a lot more sway and can work faster."
Driver's hand twitched, and suddenly he was just a boy, holding Ryland close as they rode out a manic episode of their father's.
"Ri, buddy, you there?" Court's voice broke through the visage.
"Yeah," Driver croaked out, his voice feeling like it hadn't been used in decades.
"Colt and I are booking it as fast as we fucking can—"
"We are fucking flying!" Colt shouted far more audibly than he had previously.
"And we know everything is going down now because Ryland left over 78 calls on Colt's phone in the past hour," Court added. "I was already getting Colt when he missed the last of Ryland's calls. He tried calling back, but he got jack shit."
"What do you need from me?"
"You're the closest to the base." Court said, matter of fact.
"Save this number." Driver hung up the call. He raced from the house, not bothering to close the front door behind him, and hurried into his car faster than he had on any gig.
The tires pealed across the asphalt as he nearly spun out of trailer park's lot. He didn't care if he passed the police, traffic, whatever. He was going to gun it, gas floored, and tear apart the whole space base with his own two hands if he had to.
In record speed, he made it to Canaveral in fifteen minutes. His car broke past the gate barricades. Somewhere behind him, guns whizzed off.
Good. A distraction was good.
He set a book that he kept in the passenger seat onto the gas pedal and removed his foot. The car stuttered for just a second, before continuing it's trajectory into the closest building. Opening his door, he jumped from the vehicle, grunting as he rolled painfully across the concrete. It was worth it; he took off running. He hopped over the barbed wire fence and made his rushed approach into the facility.
It worked because panicked shrieks and cries swarmed towards where his car had crashed into the building.
Once inside, he looked for anything he could use to his advantage, and thanked whatever small blessings that he stumbled across a custodial cart. He found a hammer inside a shoddy, old toolbox, and immediately his muscle-memory came to life. The hefty weight soothed some of the nerves rising to his throat. Overhead, metallic sirens blared, probably signaling that an intruder (him) was on the premises.
He picked up his pace.
It didn't even process when he came across the first guard and slammed the butt of the hammer into the man's nose. The unknown person's skull caved inward so fast, Driver didn't even see it. Just one moment there was a guard, the next only a corpse and a streak of red across Driver's scorpion jacket.
For what felt like hours, his state of existence was guards, guns, hammer, blood, move forward.
It felt like an impossible trek, perhaps a Sisyphus-tier trial, but as he rounded the corner, he came up to an open room full of screens. At the moment there were only a two people. A small petite woman with stringy, faded red hair, and a body clothed with gentle wool; and a tall, Black man with a rather grim expression.
The woman regarded him with a look of surprise. "You are neither Mr. Seavers, nor Mr. Gentry."
The man stepped between her and Driver.
Driver choked up his grip on the hammer, his head swimming as the alarms continued to scream. Why was she expecting his brothers? His gaze flickered to behind the two. Several screens were of the bay and the landscape surrounding the space ship. Others were of the crowd gathered around car shaped hole in the building with the screen name "Cafeteria". Another still were of two astronauts petering around one unconscious shaped person in a bunk before disappearing somewhere off screen.
"The resemblance is uncanny, however," the woman continued, a faint smile on her face as she peeked around the guard's arms. "Dr. Grace never ceases to surprise me. Who knew he would still somehow find a way to present me with an anomaly."
Driver's brow furrowed, What was the best way to kill her?
"Your brothers, then, should be almost here soon, yes?" she inquired with what sounded like a bemused tone. "Then they should get a spectacular view."
There was a rumbling, distant at first, before it grew, flattening the sound barrier and waving it back and forth like a shockwave.
"I'm sorry, for what we did, but please understand it was the only way." The woman said, not sounding very sorry at all. "I will cover up the rather…uncivilized trail you left in the hallway. You're free to go. It's probably for the best you meet the others outside. I'm sure you will want to say goodbye, in whatever way you can. Just know, as Ryland Grace crosses every Petrova line from here to Tau Ceti, he will be lauded as a hero."
It took a beat for that to worm its way through Driver's mind. He didn't understand why he couldn't just drive the hammer head straight through her temple, shutting her up effectively, before he realized what that rumbling was. What that rumbling meant. He realized how Ryland would be crossing—
He was never going to actually say goodbye.
The two introduced themselves as Eva Stratt and Carl. He didn't care. As they stepped outside and onto the tarmac, Driver saw Colt bolting down the asphalt, trying to catch up with the rocket already far above in the atmosphere. Courtland was off to the side, where the grass met the landing way. He looked winded, his eyes blown wide and his mouth slightly agape.
"Good, the other two are here as well." Stratt's tone was flat and she was probably none to happy to see the other Graces.
Courtland approached, ignoring as Colt began shouting after the rocket.
All these years after never finding him, and the first expression on his brother's face was something pained and haunted. Driver winced.
"You were told to fucking halt operations."
"The state of the world is at risk," Stratt replied evenly. "I'm afraid the CIA, nor any one singular entity, has any say in the matter."
Colt approached, his body swaying dangerously, his visage warped with something that looked pinched and like he wanted to puke. "You blasted him off into space! Our brother!"
By this point, Carl stepped between the brothers and Stratt, his face stern. Driver moved to stop Colt, if only because there were witnesses around. He really should have killed these two when he had the chance.
"We were under the impression that all three of you were no-contact with Dr. Grace," Stratt continued. "Think of this as no different from your every day life."
"But those were choices you, sick fuck!" Colt nearly threw himself over Driver's arm holding him back. "Now, if we want to make amends, apologize, anything, we will never get the chance, right?"
"I fail to see how that is a shortcoming on my part. Sounds more like something you should have worked out earlier." Stratt crossed her arms and looked down at her feet. "Look, Dr. Grace was good. Very good. This will only work with him. If I must be the villain and prevent you three from ever making peace with your family so that the rest of the world can even hope to have a life in the future, then I will happily take up the challenge."
"How did he go?" Courtland asked, seething. "He was afraid of his own shadow, let alone a vacuum light years away from Earth. So how did you connive him to go?"
Carl's lips down-turned and he looked away.
Driver thought that was all the damning evidence needed.
"Please don't do Dr. Grace a disservice like misjudging his character." Stratt held up her hand to stop them from any other outburst. "Your brother went as he would any other situation. Bright and brilliantly…like the stars on their way to perish."
The only thing stopping Driver from pushing past the security detail was the wet look in her eyes and the thin press of her lips. He'd seen that many, many times in his life. Regret.
As the Earth began to cool drastically in the next two decades, crops failed, governments collapsed, and communities huddled together to preserve precious resources and sanity. The brothers were no different. Courtland managed to purchase a rather large plot of land for them to all live on. Court, Claire, Colt and Jody and their family, and then Driver.
The first few years felt like a tentative peace, some olive branch only brought about by the failings of their family.
Driver found it hard most days that he had just been a few minutes too late arriving to the space base. Courtland seemed to share the sentiment. But Colt, he brought up Grace any chance he got, often telling them about stories from their childhood once they were separated.
At night it was a common game for the three of them to sit outside, admist that day's precipitation of snow or ice, bundled up in layers upon layers of parkas or blankets. They'd watch the sky for any sign of the Hail Mary. Often times, if Driver squinted just hard enough, he could delude himself into seeing the faint silhouette. He knew it wasn't actually there. But in his heart he hoped.
It wasn't until another decade had passed, that Colt's and Jody's oldest and Claire, barged into small home, starstruck looks on their face.
"You need to come over to the main house," Claire huffed, her eyes bright. "Uncle Colt is already there, but this is like a now-now thing."
"Did you run here?" Driver's brow lifted and he looked at her with a growing worried expression.
"She was careful, Uncle Ri!" Colt's oldest child exclaimed. "But you got to hurry. This is worth it."
He didn't argue with them, and while he forced them to take a far easier pace—if not for Claire, then for himself—they made their way to Courtland's house. When they stepped inside, everyone was gathered in the parlor where Court's still working TV was.
"Thank God you're here!" Colt exclaimed. "I was practically buzzing out of my seat!"
Driver looked from him to Courtland.
Court also had that same dazed looked. "You're gonna want to sit for this."
He looked from his brothers to Jody, who nodded slowly, and scootched himself to the floor. Once everyone settled down, Court unpaused the broadcast.
Driver's breath clogged his throat as the big words "HAIL MARY'S SAVING GRACE—BROADCASTS FROM HAIL MARY VOYAGE." on the screen. He leaned forward as the news report sited off how the Project Hail Mary quarters had actually had these recordings for the past few years as they worked on the cure for the sun.
"These snippets have now been declassified and clear to share with the public," the news reporter smiled. "Ship scientist, Dr. Ryland Grace sends us his regards along with a newfound friend."
The brothers watched with slowly growing aw as flashes of Grace played across the scene. Some he looked tired and gaunt. Other times he seemed energetic and excited. Then there was the alien.
Rocky, as their brother ever so creatively dubbed.
"Rocky and Grace save stars!" the little creature chirped alongside its vocal translator, Grace laughing and giving the rock creature's little prismatic dome what could only be described as a noogie.
But then there was the final recording. Colt got up and walked away.
Courtland sat back and replayed it, his eyes closing with a grimace.
"I only have enough astrophage to either come home or save Rocky. I can't do both," Grace said, his eyes steeled with a kind of determination Driver had never seen in his brother before. "If you're receiving these recordings, it means I've passed along everything I know about how to eradicate the astrophage breeding on Venus on the probes. Hopefully these will find the Earth in time. I know you guys will be able to do this. You're smart. You'll figure it out."
Driver sat back, his heart hammering in his chest. Their family had never been whole. Not by a long shot. But even now he remembered the times where he held his little brother's hand, a haven away from their godawful father. Now, his brother had crossed the universe—millions upon millions of miles away from his grasp—to protect someone else. A faint and awful smile slipped onto his face.
He couldn't be prouder.