Chapter Text
Six had been gentle, once.
Before Claire became his responsibility. Before he killed Sierra Four. Before Fitzroy had commuted his sentence and trained him as Sierra Six. Before his gentleness was trained out of him, because emotion became a liability and there was no place for being gentle when his hands were meant to kill, not cradle.
He had brothers. Two of them. Born from a different mother but created by the same father, with Ryland leaving his mother’s womb three minutes after Colt had fallen into the doctor's hands.
His own mother had been dead for three years when they were born. He had faint memories of standing alone, dressed in black, his father absent from his side. He didn’t remember her smile or her hair or her voice. But now, at the age of eight, there were new memories that would stay with him until the day he died.
Bright fluorescent lights bouncing off of white hospital walls. Blue gowns and green gloves adorning rushing nurses. Sitting on a chair, swinging his legs, wondering why his father dragged him here to the room of a woman he did not know.
Silence, for a moment, and then the cry of a baby. The woman who was not his mother let out cries of her own, pained, and then another voice joined the cacophony.
His father was there. He looked at the twins, and nodded. “Boys. Good.”
And then he left. Court stayed, because his father did not grab him by the arm and drag him from the room. He didn’t know where his father was going. His father did not want him to follow, or he would have said so.
The woman stared after his father. Her eyes were dark in color and in expression, a weight to them that made Court want to sink into the floor.
They turned to him. The weight didn’t leave, but her eyes crinkled at the corners. Softening, just for him.
“You’re his son?” she asked.
Neither of them needed clarification on who he was. He nodded.
“What’s your name?”
“Courtland,” he answered. He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t think she wanted anything more.
Her gaze turned to the twins, cradled gently in her arms. Their tiny bodies were pressed up against the skin of her breasts. The firstborn wailed as though his lungs would give out if he stopped, his mouth wide and arms flailing. The second had his arms tucked against his chest, his cries sounding more like whimpers in comparison.
The crinkle in the corner of the woman’s eyes disappeared as she stared at them. It made Court uncomfortable. He didn’t know why.
“Are you going to name them?” he asked eventually. That was what mothers did, he thought.
Her gaze shifted to him, and then to the babies again. “Courtland,” she murmured. “These are your brothers, Courtland.”
Oh.
They fell back into silence. Even the babies grew quieter, as though the weight of the woman’s eyes were pulling the air from their lungs.
Court swung his legs still. He glanced between the woman and the door. He wondered if his father would come back. He wondered why his father had sex with that woman. Did he love her? Did he forget about mother? Did he move on from her death?
The thought hurt. He missed his mother, even though he had no memories from when she lived. His father did, and he still moved on.
Was she worth remembering? If she wasn’t, what did that say about Court?
His gaze dropped to the floor.
“Do you love father?” he asked. He didn’t look up, unsure of if he could bear the weight of her eyes.
Eventually, she said, “Yes.”
It wasn’t light. It wasn’t joyous. It didn’t sound like any of those women falling for the men in some of the movies he would sneak glances of from the top of the stairs when his father thought he was sleeping. There was a distinct level to it, as though she were being logical. Or lying. Because he was eight, and no one ever thought that an eight-year-old was old enough to understand.
“Does he love you?” Court asked, voice quieter.
Silence was his answer. He finally looked up, and saw her staring into the distance. The weight in her had grown, and he knew he asked the wrong question.
Her gaze dropped to the babies in her arms. It was as though she didn’t quite recognize them, even though she had been the one to carry them in their body and birth them after hours of agonizing labor.
Maybe the babies were answer enough. But whether it was an answer of yes or no, he did not know.
“You don’t have any other siblings?” the woman asked.
“No,” Court replied.
“Being a big brother is a big responsibility,” she said. “A big brother protects his siblings.”
He nodded. “I can do that.”
He didn’t understand what she meant, exactly, by protecting them. He knew that his nightlight kept away bad dreams and scary creatures in the shadows. He would play with the other kids at school and they would fight off dragons and evil knights and wicked sorcerers. But he knew that was different from what she meant, and he didn’t know how to understand.
She didn’t elaborate. Her gaze turned from the babies to him. He didn’t know what she was looking for.
She looked back at the babies.
“This one will be Colton,” she said about the one that was born first, who was turning red as loud cries still fell from his lips. “This one will be Ryland.”
Court. Colt. Courtland. Ryland. His name in theirs, parts of a whole.
His to protect.
They didn’t share the same mother. Only half of the blood running through their veins was the same, but it didn’t matter to Court. Even if they didn’t share the same father, he thinks they would have been his brothers anyways.
“Colton and Ryland,” he repeated seriously.
Her gaze drifted back to him. The corners of her eyes crinkled again, even though her gaze was still heavy. Court smiled as wide as he could. “My brothers,” he said with finality.
“Your brothers,” she said with a nod.
“Does that make you my new mother?” he asked.
The doors to the room opened, and doctors entered again. They brought new tools with them and they took the babies from the woman’s arms, promising to return soon. They had a few more tests to run, to ensure that the twins were born without any complications.
They bustled out of the room, and Court watched them go with a frown. He was supposed to protect them, so… should he follow?
A nurse crouched beside him. “Do you want to watch your new brothers?”
He nodded eagerly. She guided him from the room, and as they went, he glanced back at the woman in the bed.
Her head was turned to the side, towards the window. She didn’t look to the doors as they shut behind Court, as he walked out after the babies. After his brothers. She didn’t turn, she didn’t try to watch, she just… lay there, her gaze distant, alone in a quiet room.
“Will she be okay?” he asked the nurse.
She held his hand as they walked, leading him in a way that was so different from his father. Instead of a tight grip that left bruises on his shoulder, her hand was warm in his, a light pressure and gentle tugs leading him down the endless hospital hallways.
Gentle. That’s what she was. He thought about his father, and gentle was not a word that came to mind.
Her smile was just as soft and gentle as her hand. “She will be. She’s just tired. Birthing twins can be exhausting.”
Court smiled back and nodded. It was a truth, but he didn’t know if the weight in her eyes was from giving birth to his new brothers. There was something sharper than exhaustion that lurked within, something that he didn’t know how to name.
The nurse pulled a stool to the window so Court could watch his brothers. He stayed there until his eyes grew heavy and he struggled to stay awake. He tried. He really did. He had to protect his brothers.
The nurse guided him to a nearby room. “You can rest here. I’ll wake you when you can see your brothers again.”
He tried to protest, but her gentle hands guided him onto the bed. She arranged the pillows behind his head and tucked the blanket around his shoulders. Before she left, she placed a hand on his head. “You’ll be a good brother, I can tell.”
He wondered if his mother had ever done the same for him.
The nurse was so gentle. Like a mother ought to be, he thought. As he drifted off to sleep, he knew that he wanted to be as gentle as she was.
In the morning, the babies were cleared to be brought home. His father was there, and the woman in the quiet, empty room was gone. His father grumbled under his breath, saying words that Court’s teachers would give time-outs for.
“Colton and Ryland,” Court informed his father as his father picked up the twins.
“I have the damn birth certificates," his father grumbled. “Couldn’t even let me have a say in their own names. Even gave them her last name instead, the bitch.”
Court frowned. “Their last names aren’t the same as mine?”
His father rolled his eyes. “Grace, not Gentry.”
“Oh. Okay.”
His father grumbled about it the entire way home. He stormed into the house, leaving Colton and Ryland in the backseat of the car.
Court waited, but his father didn’t come back out. The summer air was warm, and even with the car doors opened, the air was starting to heat up. It was hot for Court, so it had to be hot for the babies too.
A big brother protects his siblings, the woman had told him.
The heat wasn’t good for his brothers, he decided. He didn’t know if he could carry both of them at once, but he didn’t want to leave either of them alone.
He remembered how the woman had held the twins to her chest. He was smaller than her, but he still had two arms like she did, so he might be able to copy her. Both babies were wrapped in a blanket, so any flailing limbs were tucked away. They cried, but Court was becoming used to it.
He picked up Ryland first. The smaller of the two. His youngest brother. He tucked Ryland in his left arm, resting his head on his shoulder and supporting his bum with his elbow. Ryland’s legs were tucked between his arm and his check, holding him in place.
He scooped up Colton and did the same. It was harder with only one arm available, but he managed. He had to.
He carried them inside. His father was in the kitchen, dishes clattering and the refrigerator door slamming shut. The babies were still crying. His father didn’t like noise, but Court hoped it would be okay this one time. He went up the stairs, avoiding the spots that creaked, and carried them into his room.
He didn’t place them down. Instead, he tried to rock them like he had seen the girls doing with their dolls during recess. Shushing noises fell from his lips without a second thought, and slowly, his brothers started to quiet.
Colton Grace and Ryland Grace. His new baby brothers. It didn’t matter to him that they had Grace for a last name instead of Gentry. They were still his brothers all the same.
He would protect them, like their mother had asked him too. And in the quiet of his room, as his father crashed in the kitchen downstairs, he made another promise of his own.
He would be gentle for them. Gentle like the nurse, gentle in the way his father never was. Gentle, because he was their big brother.