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Finding someone you haven't seen in over 25 years is certainly no easy undertaking. Especially so if you yourself stopped existing 19 years ago; at least on paper. Maybe if there was a powerful, governmental bureau – like the CIA – backing you up it would be an easier task, but alas, you've been successfully avoiding them for quite a while now, so no luck there either.
That meant it took a while to say the least. A whole lot longer than it usually took Six to find someone, especially since he now also had a teenager to look after, to make sure she would be able to live a somewhat normal life. Or, as normal as it could get after whatever the fuck happened last year. It had been difficult. Still was. But taking care of Claire had stirred something deep inside Six's heart, something he had buried a long time ago in fear it might someday be used against him. He had been efficient. Cold. Deadly. Until he met Claire.
And they had used her to get to him. As long as he was in her life she would be in danger. But Six knew he was also the only one that could keep her safe. So that made that decision a whole lot easier.
When he finally sat in his car on the other side of the street opposite a nondescript car shop in San Francisco he again had to ask himself whether or not he should endanger the life of someone important to him by simply existing in their life. By being associated with him. The only person that knew he existed had sacrificed himself in order to save Claire.
Six could– no, should, just watch from afar, make sure he was doing all right and then disappear again without leaving a trace. And even that was cutting it awfully close. Someone could be watching him right now, notice their undeniable likeness and draw the necessary conclusions. You wouldn’t exactly need to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that the man whose abusive father had been killed by an older brother who conveniently stopped existing around the same time Sierra Six started existing; and who had the same steel blue eyes as Sierra Six, the same mole under his left eye as Sierra Six, might in fact be related to Sierra Six.
He hadn't even changed his last name. That couldn't have been easy growing up. Still, Six didn't regret what he did.
Half an hour later; it was already after 6pm; two men left the repair shop together. One of them was Six's brother. The other one he didn't know. They seemed close, walking nearly shoulder to shoulder, occasionally bumping together. His brother's companion seemed to talk the entire way towards the car they entered together. Six wasn't a car guy, but even he knew it was a nice car. An older model, sure, but it was undoubtedly loved. Taken care of.
He should leave.
Instead he had followed his brother's car to an apartment complex about 20 minutes from the shop, had always kept his distance so that he wouldn't be spotted.
When they arrived, Six stopped about 300 feet behind them. He hadn't been noticed. He watched as the pair said their goodbyes; not a kiss, not even a hug, not in a relationship? He watched as his brother signed something to the other; Six wasn't close enough to interpret it; but his companion just shook his head and walked off towards the building.
When they were little, it had always been Court who did the talking. Who willingly took the brunt of their father's anger, oftentimes had to physically shield his brother. He barely talked back then, and only to Court, and it seemed that time didn't heal all wounds if that display was anything to go by. Still, he seemed to be doing fine; had a stable job and at least one friend, so Six really shouldn't involve himself further. He would make sure his brother got home safe and then be on his way himself. He'd ask Claire if she needed something from the store. Then he would debate whether or not to tell her about what he did today.
She would ask to meet him.
She would be disappointed when Six said no.
She would call him a coward, because she was weirdly perceptive for a 16 year old.
Six's brother, however, did not drive home. He had watched the building until a light went on on the third floor, then left his car and locked it. Walked down the sidewalk without looking back and disappeared into an alley further down the road.
Six was outside his car within the second.
He told himself he needed to make sure his brother wasn't involved in anything. While this didn't look like a bad neighborhood per se, he wouldn't want Claire alone here either.
If you caught his drift.
When he was nearly at the alley however, Six heard angry shouting, more obscenities than not– “What the hell do you want, you freak?! Fuck–” an ugly crunch followed by a muffled shout in pain, a heavy thud and Six couldn't remember ever rounding a corner that fast; his brother's name left his lips before he could even register the scene in front of him.
The alley was dimly lit, only partially illuminated by the lamppost at Six's back. He locked eyes with someone that on the surface looked like his brother; the same nose, the same mole; but his gaze was different from before; efficient. Cold. Deadly.
His left, leather clad hand was curled tightly around the neck of another man who seemed to struggle weakly, his cough wet and blood trickling down the corners of his mouth.
The right hand held a hammer; its head bloody, the claw pushed harshly into the soft underside of the man's jaw, just about next to his throat.
Six knew without the shadow of a doubt that if he appeared even a few seconds later he'd be looking at his brother standing over a dead body.
There wasn't an ounce of fear, of doubt, of regret in his brother's eyes. No recognition either. They hadn't seen each other in a long time after all. He did lower the hammer though, and his grip around the man's throat slacked just enough for him to be able to tear himself free. He slumped against the wall for a moment to catch his breath, coughing up more blood in the process and then scrambled away further down the alley, shooting a single, disturbed glance at Six before he was finally gone for good.
Six's brother didn't seem moved at all, certainly not concerned with whether or not he would be reported to the police. Six didn't like the implications of that.
He took a careful step forward. No reaction.
“What happened to the scared kid that constantly hid behind his brother's back?"
Six received no answer. He still just looked.
A minute went by.
Then he ever so slightly squinted his eyes at Six. Tilted his head by an inch. Probably the only sign of recognition he would receive.
The hammer was pushed into the back of his jeans, he lifted the blood splattered jacket to conceal it. Moreso out of convenience or habit, as there was really no way to hide what had just happened.
‘He died the moment you left.’
He signed, movements slow and precise in a way that might have looked polite to an outsider, but Six knew by the way not a single muscle had even twitched in his brother's face that it was not done out of consideration for whether or not he understood ASL.
It was impersonal.
Which was fair.
Six knew his brother had bounced from one foster home to the next, never staying long enough to acclimate for one reason or another. That was part of the reason he had been so hard to track down. The kid never built any lasting connections. And then he completely dropped off the face of the earth when he was 16. Nobody in the system even seemed to care for what had happened to him.
One less problem to worry about.
Six met a woman and her kid in Los Angeles that seemed to recognize him, if her hastily guarded expression of shock and relief was anything to go by. She didn't know where he went, didn't even know who he was talking about; the second part a lie, delivered not convincingly at all, even if Six wasn't who he had been. Nevertheless, he excused himself and left them alone. He could feel the boy staring at him all the way back to his car.
He wondered what kind of impact his brother had left on their lives. He wondered if he had spoken for them.
There had been a time in his life when he would have pressed the woman for answers she may or may not have; it wasn’t even that long ago that he had been that person. But he knew she was innocent, clearly had suffered enough already if the way she absentmindedly touched the ring around her neck was any indication.
“You were in Los Angeles.”
Six noticed a minute change in posture, fists clenching slightly, the leather of his gloves creaking softly. A warning.
“They are fine. She still thinks about you.” A ghost of a smile on Six’s lips. “You must mean a lot to them.”
‘I hurt her.’ Something in his eyes had changed when he thought about who he had left behind. It looked like pain. Like regret. Like love.
Six had seen the same look in his own eyes many times after he had met Claire for the first time. They weren’t all that different, even for the long time they were apart. Was it because they had the same past? Because they both shared their father’s blood? Six could look past the violence and the bloodshed. It would have been hypocritical of him if he couldn’t. He wanted to change. For Claire.
He needed to know if his brother could too.
“Are you going to hurt him, too?” He vaguely nodded towards the direction they came from.
The smell of blood in the alley was overwhelming. Six eyed the spot where tonight a man was nearly killed.
His brother’s eyes widened slightly. He understood, of course. Shook his head a decisive no.
“This can’t happen again.” He avoided Six’s eye. Looked past his shoulder to the street, undoubtedly thinking about a certain apartment on floor 3.
‘I need to protect him.’
Six understood. He did. Even now his phone felt heavy in his pocket, practically waiting for the call that told him Claire was in danger because of him. He had wanted to punch and rip and shoot and hurt whoever was responsible when they had taken her and Fitz hostage. But he could never forget that look in her eyes when she truly realized what he was capable of. That she was scared of that part of him.
And his brother knew that look. That look of terror that threatened to overpower any feeling of safety and love and warmth that might have been. The woman in LA had that look in her eyes when Six had asked about him.
It had been 18 long years, even longer if he counted his time in prison. Six wanted to feel like a human again, wanted to be more than just a tool to maim and hurt and it was hard work. Real hard work. It seemed like his brother too had tried, back in LA. Tried and failed. Hurt and got hurt in return.
Now he had found someone he found worthy of trying again for. Threatened to fail again, because violence seemed like it was hard-wired into their DNA.
“I want to help you. Get to know you again.” Want you to be part of my family again. He didn’t say out loud.
For a long while they just stared at each other. Six tried to look as open and honest as he could. Which… wasn’t easy. He knew what he looked like. He tried not to frown when he noticed that once his brother lowered his guard, he looked tired. Like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks. Maybe months. Or longer. Tried to quell an anger that was directed at no one. Six may have tuned out the little voice inside him that screamed to protect for a long while, but it had never truly left. Claire was living proof for that.
“Court…” The voice was raspy, small, barely audible from disuse, and his brother looked surprised himself to have said anything at all.
‘I want to try.’ He once more signed. A small smile on his lips.
Something warm fluttered in Court’s chest. He felt slightly more human already.