Archive of Our Own

Six knows that he does not have a brother—-not since being assigned a number and a moral compass that more closely resembled a cat following a laser pointer. He knows, in no uncertain terms, that this is a bad idea.

Six has not been a brother in an extraordinarily long time, but nothing has ever reminded him of the distinctly shaped ache in his chest like checking the news and finding that his not-brother has killed himself. That is the moment he knows he can’t keep himself away forever.

He has always been watching, of course, as soon as he was able to again. Watching from the sidelines as his brothers stumble their way through the world. Watching them trip and pick themselves back up after breaking into a million pieces. Watching his brothers help pick each other back up.

Maybe that’s the thing that pushes him to the fire escape of Ryland’s apartment, a note already written and folded carefully in his hand as he gently pushes the living room window open. There are no security cameras, Six knows. This is why he hadn’t left a note for Colt—he was staying in San Francisco temporarily with Jody, and their rental home seemed to be nearly as secure as a damn CIA base itself (Six can’t blame him, though—he’s read the police reports surrounding what happened in Sydney).

The apartment is cluttered, but the decorations are colorful and lively and so painfully Ryland that a small part of Six mourns that pictures of him will never be on the wall next to Colt’s; but then he remembers that that’s exactly what he wanted—for Ryland and Colt to stay in each other’s lives. It just so happened that in order for that to happen, Six had to stay out of them.

Ryland is deep asleep in his bedroom. Six wants to peek in so badly to see that he’s alive, to see that Six succeeded; all these years of turbulence and turmoil have succeeded. Ryland is alive and well and asleep in his own apartment, paid for by a job he loves, in a city he adores.

For now, the gentle sound of Ryland’s steady inhale/exhale pattern has to be enough, because Six can not compromise this mission—even if it was self ordained—because he cannot control his emotions. Physically, there is no doubt in his mind; emotions have been all but erased from him. There have been too many losses for this to be sloppily done, and if it goes right, the ever-expanding gap in his chest will begin healing itself bit by bit.

He has not seen enough of Ryland’s adult routines to know exactly where to leave the note, but he does know that if any of his habits have stayed the same from when he was a teenager, it would be his odd propensity to read while eating breakfast whenever he can (which, with his time management, isn’t often). The only reason Six even knows about that habit is because Ryland explained it to him in one of the few letters he sent before Six dropped off the face of the Earth. The realization sends an unfamiliar pang of emotion through his body.

Sure enough, there is a book next to the coffeemaker, left open upside down rather than bookmarked normally. Six can’t make out the title well in the darkness of the kitchen, but he thinks it might be The Odyssey. It’s one of those copies that has a million footnotes on historical accuracy, and Six can tell that Ryland has been taking notes in it too, because there are two ink pens—one partially disassembled, as if he had been trying to fix it—next to the book.

Six slides the note under the book before creeping back to the fire escape, quickly enough so that he cannot second guess himself. 

When Ryland wakes up, he rubs the sleep from his eyes and pads to the kitchen. He doesn’t even bother sliding his glasses on; it’s a Saturday, and he’s too tired to care. The only thought consistent in his mind is coffee, coffee, coffee.

He fumbles for a mug before eventually finding one that says “proud owner of a cat?” with a picture of a box. Starting the coffee maker is second nature, and by the time he’s fully aware of his surroundings, he remembers that he hadn’t put his glasses on so he can’t read his book while he waits.

He throws his head back with a small groan and begrudgingly retrieves his glasses from his bedside table, cleaning them with the hem of his shirt before sliding them up the bridge of his nose.

Ryland picks up the book and leans against the counter just as a slip of paper—thick, too nice of a paper to be from something he owns—slides out from between the pages and falls to the floor.

With a frown, he bends down to pick it up. The paper slips from under his fingertips multiple times, until eventually he gets frustrated enough that he licks his finger and sticks the paper to it to lift it up.

It’s not a paper that he had simply forgotten about, like he initially expected. No, he’s never seen this paper before, though the handwriting has such a specific quality to it that it could pass as his or Colt’s if somebody wasn’t paying close enough attention.

There is only one person that Ryland knows who calls him Rylie. His initials, too, are C.G—but the note can’t be from Colt, because Colt is mentioned by name in the note, and it would be an awfully nonsensical prank to write a note mentioning himself just to confuse Ryland. And of course, this note wasn’t there yesterday. Or if it was, he didn’t notice it.

Something pokes at the back of his brain and Ryland pointedly avoids acknowledging it as he fixes himself his coffee.

He stares at the note for a second longer before begrudgingly plugging the coordinates into the map on his phone, repeatedly typing the wrong number by accident and having to redo it.

They’re for the Grace Cathedral.

Ryland purses his lips. It could be a coincidence, a play on his surname; or it could mean that whoever has decided to mess with him knows about a set of very specific childhood memories. The ones where he and Colt had gotten off the Greyhound and walked a few blocks to the Grace Church—where they would wait for their older brother to come get them and walk them home—because a few hours spent in a warm Florida church, almost alone, were infinitely safer than spending them at home.

Either way, the fact that Colt is mentioned by name is enough to make Ryland pull out his phone to text him.

Ryland: sent an attachment
Was this you??

Co:
Dude wtf
No
What is that
Who is that from

Ryland:
I found it under my book this morning??
Nobody else has keys to my apartment

Co:
Well that’s fucking weird
R u going to go

Ryland:
I’d rather not be murdered on a random monday morning, no thx

Co:
Correct answer
Let me know if u figure out where it came from

Today at 1:38PM

Ryland:
what if it’s Cory

Co:
It’s not
You know its not

Today at 2:08PM

Co:
Ry you better not fucking go
Dont even think abiot it

Ryland spends the entirety of the day trying to forget all about the note. He has edits to make to papers, schedules to finish wrangling for conferences, emails to send, and approximately a million other things to do.

The note never fully leaves his mind, though, and eventually his stream of thoughts is so consistently interrupted that it makes him question if he’s grown immune to the stimulant component of coffee. Even so, he finds himself on the maps app again, staring at the coordinates from the note. 

For no particular reason, he allows his focus to drift again. His fingers take him to the church in the heart of Tallahassee, the bus stop a few blocks away… and he almost takes the route back to his childhood home through the street view. He doesn’t. But almost. Ryland knows that looking at it would only reopen wounds he doesn’t need reopened, not with so many things to worry about.

Not after just surviving what happened with Colt. No, he doesn’t need a reminder of the brother who didn’t get to live a full life. Because of him.

The thought twists in his gut and festers and maybe that's why he puts his phone on Do Not Disturb and drives through San Francisco at an ungodly hour of the morning on a Monday, in a car that he might have to sell soon in order to help with Colt’s medical debt.

Ryland wishes he were less predictable.  Colt immediately bypasses his Do Not Disturb to send him a screenshot of his own location on Find My and a text that Ryland does not read while driving, but receives the general negative vibe of all the same.

He ignores this and continues driving.

The Grace Cathedral stands as a dark shadow against the sky, a few sparse lights from nearby buildings reflecting on the windows in blurry dots. The Cathedral itself has spotlights dimly lit up on it, casting a yellow glow against sharp shadows. There’s even a light shining from the inside through the large, circular stained glass window, bathing the stairs in a rainbow light. 

It’s a beautiful piece of architecture, truly; if this is more nefarious than a prank, it will at least be a very picturesque place to die. And even if it is just a prank, rarely does Ryland ever get to just sit and enjoy looking at something pretty.

San Francisco is rarely dark and rarely quiet. But nearly all of the city has gone to bed in preparation for the week ahead, so it’s just Ryland out on the street. The streetlights are both eerie and comforting as he steps out of the car and walks towards the Cathedral.

It’s slightly damp outside, rain having come and gone in the few hours of sleep that he had gotten before his alarm woke him up.

At a quarter past two in the morning, Ryland climbs the stairs—and good God, there are so many stairs—of the Cathedral and stands next to the landscaped area, tucked in the corner of the inner courtyard. From where he’s standing, he can’t see the road, and nobody can see him unless they come up the stairs looking. It’s a good place for a secret midnight meeting, Ryland acquiesces mentally. 

To his surprise, there is a figure waiting for him. In the dim light, he can barely make out his twin’s face.

Colt seethes, “Ryland, I told you not to come.” 

“Why are you here then?!” Ryland throws his hands up, instantly exasperated.

“‘cause,” Colt argues, “I knew you wouldn’t listen to me.”

Colt is sitting on the ground, legs crossed, against the stone curb separating the landscaped area from the rest of the courtyard. Ryland stands in front of him, his arms crossed, with an expression that is trying to hide the glee he feels at his brother being here.

Rolling his eyes, Colt glances down at his watch. “It is,” he clicks his tongue, “2:29.”

“Yup,” Ryland replies, popping the ‘p’. "We are talking about this later, y'know--"

A shadow moves in the corner of the grassy area, roughly ten feet from where Colt and Ryland are waiting.

The figure’s face is half-obscured by the shadow of the building. Ryland gasps, and Colt’s head snaps around to look instantly.

“Court?”

The next moments move in slow motion. The second Ryland recognizes Court, he throws himself at him. Court flinches, and Ryland pauses for a split second before he’s embraced in a tight hug.

Ryland doesn’t overlook the way that Court flinches. The movement, however tiny, is like pouring hot lava over his head. Even now, with his brother’s arms around him despite years of thinking he’d never feel that weight again, the fact that he flinched at Ryland confirms his worst fears—Court, for one reason or another, was not expecting Ryland to hug him.

That tiny, stinging, terrifying voice in the back of Ryland’s head tries to tell him it’s because Court has blamed him for what happened. Ryland tries to shove the thought away.

The warmth envelopes him, but it’s not enough. It’s not the familiar weight of a brother on either side of him, sandwiching him in a hug, shielding him from harm on the outside and expelling any harm occurring on the inside. He turns slightly to try and pull Colt in, and Court immediately pulls away as if he’s been burned.

Ryland stares at him in shock, mouth agape—rogue tears land on his tongue, and oh, he’s crying—and eyes searching in a question despite not knowing what he’s asking. Reassurance, maybe? That him pulling away wasn’t an admittance of Ryland’s sins? That if he pulls away now, it won’t be the last time they see him—the last time they hug him?

Colt tries to get up from his position on the ground,  but a shock of pain races through his spine as he twists around. All those stairs fucked him up bad.  A tiny sound of pain escapes him, and instantly Ryland is at his side, helping him stand up in a way that has become second nature for the two of them.

Court watches. He understands that he has not been here. He finds peace in knowing that Ryland and Colt take care of each other so well. And despite it all, there is an aching ball of jealousy and shame and guilt—mostly guilt—writhing around inside him. It burns him from the inside out; scorching and painful and for just a moment, he lets his guard down, and all the grief inside him slips through the chink in his armor in the form of warm, salty tears.

He remains silent. It’s an out of body experience, almost, watching his brothers cling on to each other; except now they are not twelve, and he is not fifteen, and they have all lost so much but their love is still right where they left it.

Colt clings to Ryland’s side and together they take a step forward, and then Court is sandwiched between them, and the warmth encasing him is so instantaneous and familiar that it’s as if he can feel the pit in his heart closing.

They stay like that for somewhere between five minutes and an hour. The sky is almost just as dark as it was when they arrived there, and for all the world it feels as if time has frozen.

They don’t talk. Ryland has questions burning a hole at the tip of his tongue, and he can tell Colt does, too. But he’s afraid that if he breaks the silence, the illusion will fall, and Court will be gone with the wind.

When the silence is finally broken, it’s the sound of a hitched breath and a muffled sob that does it. Ryland isn’t even sure which of them it came from. He hugs them tighter, and then finally Court wriggles away just enough for them to hear his voice.

It’s monotone, but straining at the edges, as if he’s afraid that being caught with tears in his eyes will be a death sentence. “There are a lot of things I can’t explain right now,” he whispers. “But I’ll do my best. I’ll have to go again soon—”

“No—” breaks its way out of each of the twins’ throats simultaneously.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Court’s voice cracks. “But I’ll be back. I’ll contact you when I can. This won’t be the last time you see me, I promise.”

More tears roll down the three of their faces, and it’s like looking in a funhouse mirror. They’re all just warped versions of each other, making their way through life in whatever way they can, clinging onto the others for support.

Court pulls them in again, but stops just short of a full hug to prevent his voice from being muffled. His next words are tiny, so quiet that the twins have to strain in order to hear him. “When you lost contact with me,” he pauses. His voice strains. “No, I don’t…” He hesitates. “You two cannot, under any circumstances, repeat what I’m about to say to you to anybody else. And please stay calm.”

Ryland’s stomach flips uncomfortably. Being asked to stay calm is only something people do when they’re about to tell you something so emotionally devastating, it will make the room spin around you. Colt meets his eyes and they share a look of fear and trepidation laced with encouragement.

Court continues. “The reason you lost contact with me is because I was recruited—”

“What?” Colt hisses. “At fifteen?!”

Court gives him an unreadable look, as if deciding what he wants to share next. “...Yes. At fifteen,” he murmurs before continuing.

Ryland meets Colt’s eyes again, the same look of fear but with so much more concern etched into his features.

“I was recruited into a CIA program. I can’t tell you more. But obviously it’s—it’s secretive. Everything is covert. I exchanged my sentence for service, and at the time I thought it would be worth it.” His voice grows ever so slightly smaller. Or maybe Ryland is imagining it; wishing that his brother spoke about what happened to him in a tone that suggested anything other than sheer apathy.

Ryland questions, “and now?”

Court closes his eyes. “And now… I don’t know. Part of the deal was that you two would be protected, and even if it meant staying away… I just want you to be safe, and happy, and alive. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Are we not safe now? Is—if that’s why you left—” Colt’s voice cracks, despite the volume rising. There are so many questions, each replacing the last, swirling around Ryland’s brain. The CIA? What do you mean the CIA!? Are you safe? Are you hurt? Are you—

“Colt, I—After what happened in Sydney—”

Colt gasps. “You knew about that?!”

The look Court gives them is so broken that it shuts Colt up instantly. “This is the earliest I could meet with you guys. I didn’t—it—fuck, this is so much harder than I thought it would be.

He’s never seen his brother so broken. It shatters something in Ryland to see Court so visibly dejected, so drained of the light in his eyes.

“I’m not even technically supposed to be here. I pulled some strings and called in a few favors and I just—I couldn’t keep myself away. Because of what happened in Sydney. And what happened before. I couldn’t keep waiting for something bad to happen again. Staying away wasn’t keeping you as safe as I needed you to be,” he murmurs. “So I came back. And—and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Ryland doesn’t know what he’s referring to exactly when he says “and what happened before.” It could be Colt’s "accident." It could be the day and some change that Colt spent in the hospital ten months after his accident. It could be a number of things, truly. But Court doesn’t specify.

A beat of silence passes, and Ryland tightens his grip around his brothers and pulls them in for another bone-crushing hug. “Cory,” his voice breaks around the name. He hasn’t gotten to say it in years.  Instantly there are more tears running down his face. “I don’t care where you’ve been. Just come back to us.”

Colt stays silent for a moment, and Ryland thinks he’s mad, but when he looks up he can see Colt’s lip quivering and his eyes shining.

Court leans down and kisses them each on the head. By now, he’s only slightly taller than the two of them, so he doesn’t have to lean far. It’s a far cry from how he used to tower over them, and it serves as another reminder for how much time he’s missed.

“I have this for you. Call it only during emergencies.” He hands them each a tiny slip of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. A year or two ago, he might have explained in depth what constitutes an emergency—but now he knows they’ll understand. “Do not share it with anybody else. Understood?”

They each nod, but Court continues looking at them expectantly until they echo  “understood.” The force of the inevitable ‘goodbye’ builds in the air until it’s almost palpable.

“I’ll let you guys know when I can see you in person again. It… It will be a while. I’ll contact you the same way I contacted Ry. I’m so proud of both of you,” he makes eye contact with each of them, and Ryland is crying again—or maybe he never stopped, and he’s been crying this entire time.

“And I love you both so much. You two are everything to me.”

The tears blurring his vision are infuriating Ryland, because all he wants is a clear memory of his big brother alive and here and—and Court pulls them in for another tight hug before stepping away from them.

He looks at them, eyes searching their faces in a way that mirrored Ryland’s actions earlier that night, and nods. One nod, simple, as if deciding something with finality, before stepping back into the shadows and disappearing again.

Ryland falls to his knees in the grass and lets out a heartwrenching sob.

Colt joins him, sitting in the grass next to him with his legs crossed, as his twin eventually ends up on all fours coughing tears into the grass. Tears stream silently down his face, too, and all he can do is hold Ryland’s hand so tight that it cuts off circulation to their fingers.

They don’t speak. They don’t have to.

There’s always been some connection between them. Flickers of emotions that one of them has experienced that is cast upon the other twin. 

Now?

Now, every single feeling either of them are experiencing is multiplied tenfold. Neither Ryland nor Colt knows where they begin or end. It’s comforting and terrifying and it’s exactly what Ryland needs at that moment; to know he’s not alone in his despair. To know that there is exactly one other person on the planet who knows exactly what he’s feeling, and he’s right there, holding Ryland’s hand.

Eventually, so much time passes that Jody tracks them down. Colt specifically told her not to come, but his deadline for getting home safe had passed thirty minutes ago with no warning, so it’s only fair that she got to show up. If Colt complained, she’d poke him.

When she finds them, Ryland is sprawled out on his back in the grassy area. Colt is sitting next to him with his legs straight out. Both of their faces are blotchy and red from crying.

“Are you hurt?” She asks. If she's panicked, she's concealing it well, Ryland thinks. 

Colt shakes his head no. She looks to Ryland, and he shakes his head no as well. A modicum of tension leaves her face. 

“Okay. Ryland, do you want to come back to the house with us?”

She asks without any prompting from Colt, and Colt is so full of appreciation for her at that moment that he’s about ready to start crying again.

Ryland nods silently, standing up. He helps Colt up and they walk hand-in-hand with Colt in the middle to Jody’s car. Every few minutes, Jody throws a worried glance at Colt in the passenger seat or in the rearview mirror at Ryland.

Nobody says a word.

When they get to the rental home, Jody kisses Colt on the head and tells him that she’ll bring them to get their cars in the morning, before retreating to their bedroom.

Colt and Ryland sink into the couch. He tries not to let it remind him of what happened in May of last year. Different couch, different home, different situation. Same person. Ryland is always there when he needs him.

“He’s alive.” Colt states.

“Yeah. He is. He—” a laugh bubbles from Ryland’s throat. “He’s alive.”

Colt laughs with him, and he thinks that he must sound insane. They’ve just found out their brother is alive after God knows how long of thinking the opposite, and they’re laughing.

He’s not sure when the tears begin again, but he can taste them between laughs. He can tell from the gasping breaths that Ryland is laughing and crying, too, and what a sight they are.

The exhaustion hits them both. It has been an emotionally taxing day for the both of them, and the second Colt yawns, Ryland gives him a look that is borderline offended. A second later, Ryland yawns even bigger.

It triggers another round of laughter and intermittent tears until they’re so out of breath from all of it that they have no choice but to go to sleep. The couch is soft and comfortable and all is okay in the world.

Just before Colt fully drifts off, he hears Ryland mutter something.

“I was right, by the way. It was Cory.”

Colt snorts softly. “Yeah. It was.”

They fall asleep curled into each other, basking in the warmth of being whole again.