A/N: I was so sad when Deception was cancelled, so I decided to write for it a little bit! I have a lot of plans for this story, but I'm not too sure whether or not people will read so I'm just posting it to see whether or not there's anyone that would like to read on. I hope you like it, and I hope there aren't too many typos in it- it's difficult to catch them all with my length. Thank you and I hope to hear from you in a review! :)
(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)
When you're a magician, you have to be in control. This isn't a question, or a preference, or an option. You have to be. It's a fact. Standing on the stage, with all eyes on you, you have to know everything. There is no room for error; you can't leave any detail unnoticed, no box unchecked. Every single movement, every spoken word, is careful, and thought-out, serving a purpose. Nothing is accidental, because you were not allowed to have accidents. If something started to go wrong – if you lost this all-important aspect of control – then it was up to you to fix it before to it was too late. To change on the dime and make it so that your slip-up wasn't perceived by the those who are watching.
Magicians are meant not only to do the impossible, but to make this impossible appear easy.
You have to know every possible outcome, and every minute detail of your trick.
You have to know what to do when something goes wrong, so you can make sure it does not, before it gets to be too late.
You have to be perfect.
You have to, you have to, you have to.
Jonathan had been trying. The entire time, he'd been trying, because that was the only reason he'd been brought here in the first place. This wasn't exactly a magic trick, but, thanks to the relentless teachings over the years, the endless repetitions snapped at every hesitation or mistake, these rules kept running through his mind. They still applied. Their plan was falling through— quickly unraveling like a performance gone wrong. In response, like any magician would, he tried anything he could to save it before it could come crumbling down.
They hadn't been able to stop the heist before things had descended into chaos, and they had lost track of Henri. So he'd refused to leave unless he had the diamond in his hands— unless he knew there was no possible way that they'd failed, at least in that aspect. When he'd sprinted to the vault just in time to see Henri lifting the diamond from its safe, Mike and the other officers strewn like corpses around him, he'd delivered a hefty punch the very second the thief began to turn, to knock him to the floor. The thief had started to try and push himself back up to his feet, as if to attack and further complicate things, but Jonathan had refused to let it get any farther— he'd kicked him in the face, as hard as he could manage, and he'd knocked him out cold.
He'd gotten the diamond back— he'd thought he'd saved the mistake before it could become permanent. But he'd been wrong, upon turning around. Complication after complication ensued, much too quickly to counteract. The mystery woman – the woman that had ruined his life, that was the mastermind behind all of this, that had stolen his brother – had been there. Problem. She'd been aiming a gun at his head. Error. She'd taken his earpiece, severing his contact with Kay. Oversight. She'd flipped the tables— asked him to join her. Unexpected. She'd demanded the diamond, with that gun level to his neck. Unplanned. She'd started the timer of two minutes, leaving him stranded with the task of dragging everyone out of the vault before it could lock and begin to suck away all the oxygen in the room. Miscalculation.
None of this, they'd planned for.
But Jonathan Black was a professional. A damn good one. So he did whatever he could to regain control.
He'd cut off his tracker and slipped it into the bag that held the diamond, knowing that Kay would immediately give chase. She'd gone after Henri, but he was here in the vault; she would change gears fast. She would think he'd made a run for it – they hadn't known each other for long but she truly was so supportive of him that way – and she would run after the woman. Though she didn't trust him a single inch, he'd done this trusting her to fix that half of their situation. To stop the woman before she could get far, and to find out where Cameron was. And from there, he'd just done the only thing he could do: he'd moved as fast as humanly possible to try and pull every person out of that vault before it was too late.
There wasn't a trick for that. There wasn't a clever way through that problem. He just had to do it.
So he'd tried. He'd made a dive for Mike first, knowing how much he meant to Dina. In the moment, distracted completely by the task at hand and the seconds ticking down, the thought hadn't come drenched in resentment, or bitterness, it had just come. He'd grabbed him underneath the shoulders and grimaced against the effort it took to drag him along. Thankfully, he'd been nearest to the door. Once he'd finished dragging him far enough away, Jonathan had whirled around and stumbled back for the next FBI agent. He'd ignored the burning in his arms, and the fatigue setting into his muscles, both of which only escalated with every person he lugged out. He'd continued to race, despite his gasping and wincing. He'd pushed himself as hard as he could, to make that time window.
But he hadn't. Alarm and frantic disappointment had gripped him when the vault started to close. When he'd rushed to stop it but was too late. When the mistake had started to cement, as it sealed shut. Still, he'd tried. As if the cement was still wet and there was still a way to change it. He'd tugged at the door, he'd put in any keycode he could think of, seeing Henri beginning to panic on the other side. He'd tried to keep his mind clear, his head steady, as he called out to him.
That was another rule. As a magician, you could never panic. Lose yourself. The second you did, it was all over. No matter what happened, even if you had no control whatsoever, you had to act as if you did. You had to keep thinking, keep working.
The others had rushed in. He'd tried to explain. "The vault sucked the air out, I couldn't save him!" He wasn't one of them, but he was still a person. Their original plan had excluded casualties— had ensured everyone's safety, guilty or not.
Dina had understood this. "With the security systems down, they can't open the door," she'd said, her expression nervous.
"I can't just let him die!" Henri had begun to gasp and choke. A hand had flown up to claw at his chest, like it was burning. Jonathan fought to keep calm despite this and think. There was always another way to take— another way out. Cameron always used to say that, as optimistic as he was. Jonathan had always been slightly irritated at the rosy outlook, not unlike many of the things his brother would chirp, but right then he'd found himself wishing he'd been onto something. That a means of rescue would pop up, out of the blue. Some miracle.
Gunter's expression had been hard and icy as he'd just glared at the man across the threshold. "That bastard Henri deserves to die," he'd growled, and Jonathan had only started to try harder. The principal was the same— the focus was the same— save everything you can, because it was your job to make sure things went according to the plan you'd laid out. Jonathan had laid out this plan, he had been the director. Villain or not, he had to—
"It's not Henri!" Kay had yelled, rushing into the room without warning.
"What?" Gunter and Jonathan had asked this at the same time. Jonathan had looked back to her briefly upon her entrance, seeing the look that was on her face. The shock, the fear, the sorrow. His stomach had already started to drop when he'd turned back to the glass. His mind had already started to rush this way and that, with the prospect of another thing gone wrong, another thing to try and solve, or act against. He'd turned to see Henri bracing himself with both hands against the door, leaning like it was taking effort just to stand upright. He'd been staring right at him with a cringe, just waiting for him to turn back around.
A horrible, twisted kind of understanding had started to freeze itself over Jonathan's face.
Henri had straightened and reached up, to confirm what he'd already started to dread.
Cameron had pulled off the disguise.
It wasn't Henri standing on the other side of the glass…it was his brother.
Mistake. They'd made a mistake. He had made a mistake.
A mistake, a mistake, this was a mistake, a mistake, mistake mistake mistakemistakemistakemis—
Immediately, white-hot panic and fear swamped Jonathan, hitting hard like a punch the gut. His ears started to ring, his heart started to pound. Beside him, Dina immediately began to scream, terror choking her voice like weeds. "No!" she screeched, staring at Cameron with horror-flooded eyes. "No!"
But Jonathan hardly heard. The rest of it practically tuned out. Turned to fuzz and set to background noise. His blood was beginning to burn underneath his skin as he slammed himself against the door, already screaming. "Cam! Cameron!" he screeched. There was no more rational, methodical thought of fixing anything. It was just fear. The situation was out of his hands, wildly so. He was desperate now— he was scared. All he could do was slam on the door that wouldn't even begin to budge. He knew it wouldn't budge, he knew it couldn't be opened, but he also knew that his brother…he'd been looking for him this entire time, and here he was, less than a foot away, but separated by a thick barrier, and inside— inside, the room didn't have—
Cameron fell. He'd tried to stand, but his eyes had slowly lost their focus. His balance had trickled away, and he had gone from swaying to collapsing. His legs buckled underneath him, his eyes slid closed, he fell away from the door. Jonathan gasped, struggling to get even closer to the door so that he could still see him— see him hit the ground, see him fall completely still. He slammed against the vault again, panic around his throat like a chokehold. His voice was strangled when he screamed desperately. "Cameron!" It grated against his throat like nails on a chalkboard. Cameron didn't react. Jonathan's eyes were burning, his chest was constricting— his lungs were quickly being rendered useless, just like his brother's were.
"Cam!" he begged. Still, nothing. His panic only burned hotter, as did his eyes. "Cam!" His hands were hurting, he was ramming them so hard against the glass, begging for it to give. But he hardly noticed the pain. He was just staring down at his brother, limp on the ground now, and hitting harder. He needed to wake him up, he needed to get him to open his eyes!
Jordan was hovering anxiously over the panel next to the door. His voice was just as strained as everyone else's when he announced pointlessly what they all already knew. "We're locked out of the system!" Jonathan turned, rushing over to see it for himself— to make sure there was nothing they could do— nothing they could change. Without even realizing it, as he leaned over to see the screen and search it desperately, his hand went to grab tight hold of Jordan's shoulder. He didn't think of it. It might have been nothing. Or it might have been the most subconscious effort of comfort. To reach over and grab onto someone he'd gotten out of hard spots with, before. Who had helped come through, then.
If anyone could find a way out of this, it was their team, working together. And yet…
Gunter ran over as well. The ice in his demeanor had melted entirely. He was usually a stoic person, hardly showing too much emotion, unless it was anger. Now, his fear was written like a book, plain for anyone to see. Still, he was going a better job of keeping his head on straight than Jonathan was. "There's four hydraulic dials on the other side of the door!" he snapped, his voice tense. "We have to turn them off, and then turn the override wheel."
That was pointless, too. There was no 'we.' Not on the other side of the door. Even though Jonathan desperately wished that there was a 'we', there was only Cameron. And he was unconscious, already being deprived of oxygen. He flew back, absolutely terrified as he stared at his brother. He banged on the door, completely useless where he stood. "Cam!" he begged, screaming as loud as his throat would allow, to try and get him to even have the tiniest flicker of awareness. "Cam!"
"Everybody back," Kay interrupted.
"What!?" Jonathan whirled around, the very thought of stepping away making him stiffen. But she was taking a few steps back herself, and he stumbled away as he saw her get out her gun. She looked frightened and concerned. Worried, and already desperate enough to pull out this stop. He remembered her words from before, sharpened with just the tiniest bit of irritation.
'For the record, my relationship with Cameron is strictly professional.'
The look she wore now hinted otherwise.
"That won't work!" Gunter snapped.
But her retort was already prepared. "It's worth a try!" she snapped. "Get down!"
They all flinched away as she started to fire. Bullet after bullet hitting the glass and doing…nothing. When Jonathan straightened, his heart in his throat with some stupid hope that at least something had happened as a result, the vault didn't even have a scratch on it. It was built to withstand anything, and it was doing its job. It was keeping what was inside, inside. And it was keeping what was out, out. He didn't even waste a second to wallow in the failure before he was flying back for the door— back to his brother. He immediately gasped, his expression tightening in apprehension as he saw Cameron was awake again. The bullets had done one thing: they'd gotten him to open his eyes.
Jonathan hit the door, struggling to keep his voice from breaking as he kept screaming. "Come on Cam!" he begged, not even able to blink as he watched his brother slowly come back to his senses. Too slowly— he was moving too slowly, he didn't have the time, he needed to move now! The others all rushed forward as well once they realized, all fighting and struggling to see him. It was a mess of screaming, of begging and pleading. One shout melted into another, so much so that Jonathan could hardly make out what everyone was saying. He knew that Gunter was putting as much force as he could behind his slams against the door. That Dina's hand was holding fast to his shoulder, another subconscious thing that neither of them were recognizing. "Cameron! Cameron! Cameron!" All he could do was scream his name, as if that would do anything.
Cameron was slowly twisting on the ground, the simplest movement looking like it took an extreme amount of effort. The look on his face was disoriented and confused. Like he was seeing everything through a haze. Usually he was the opposite— he was quick, and sharp, and focused. That was why Dad had chosen him to be the star. Now, on the floor of the vault, he was anything but. But he was trying. Jonathan's heart tore as he kept screaming. Cameron was trying— like they had both been taught. To right a mistake before it could cement. To take his own advice of old and find a way out.
"That's it, come on!" Jonathan screamed as Cameron started to push himself up. "Cam! Cameron!" He couldn't find the strength to get back up. He was resorting to crawling, now. "Come on!" He was groggy from falling unconscious. He couldn't breathe, Jonathan had— before he'd known who he really was, he'd— he'd kicked— He hit the door harder. "Come on!" he screeched, almost angrily. He was losing control. He was going to lose his brother. He took in a deeper breath and tried to slow down. But his thoughts were everywhere, and fractured. 'Explain, I need to— I punched him, I kicked him, I— explain the dia— why didn't I drag him out why— he's going to die, he's dying, he's dying right in front of me, he— explain!'
"Cam! Cam!" Cameron picked his head up just a little bit, and Jonathan prayed that that was a sign he was listening. "Turn the dials, then turn the wheel," Jonathan instructed, making a conscious effort to make his voice steadier. Cameron's bleary eyes landed on the door. Agonizingly slow, he was putting the pieces together. "That it, c'mon, Cam," he rushed, struggling to make it sound easy. Like the simplicity of the explanation would lend itself to the actual situation. "Cam! Turn the dial, then turn the wheel," he repeated.
Cameron ducked his head down low, grimacing deeply in pain. Everyone kept pushing, kept pleading. Knowing they could do nothing else. They watched as he started to drag himself towards the door, despite the fact that he was slowly suffocating. "Come on, Cam!" Jonathan screamed, practically flush against the door now, straining to try and be even closer. He was so close to his brother, yet he couldn't do anything for him. "Get up, Cam, get up!" he begged. His hands were stinging, but he kept ignoring it. He was there— he was there, and this was the best way he could show it. Like when they were kids— Cameron was always the first one to be shoved into some kind of trap, with the blind instruction to figure his way out. He'd hated it; he'd always panicked and cried. And Jonathan had always stayed faithfully there, letting him know he wasn't about to leave by making noise. He was making as much noise as he possibly could, now. Screaming, slamming, even kicking.
He was there. He was there for him. Cameron just had to get out.
"You can do it, Cameron, you can do it!" Jonathan kept yelling. Begging it to be the case. "Get up!"
He watched as Cameron got to the door. As he slowly reached up to try and drag himself onto his knees. He could barely even do that. The pressure in the room was dropping like a weight. He didn't have air. Jonathan tried to move so he could see his chest and see whether or not it was moving. Whether or not he was still able to breathe. It wasn't. His voice broke when he screamed next. "Cam!" It splintered into pieces, like glass shattering against the ground.
Fumbling, and moving like every effort took five times as much concentration, Cameron grabbed the first dial and gradually turned it. Jonathan's heart stopped as he heard it click into place. He was still yelling, pleading with Cam. He heard Dina scream out behind him. "Listen to Jonathan's voice!" she begged Cameron, and Jonathan's chest ripped in even more pain. "Come on!"
"Cam!" His brother's name was nothing more than a heartbroken cry. He watched in despair as Cameron kept trying with the dials, his movements getting slower and slower. He was winding down. He couldn't do this for much longer, and he wasn't even close to being done! "Cameron, get up!" he begged. "You can do this, Cam, don't give up now! You can do this! Turn the dials, turn the wheel!" He risked a glance at the PSI, his heart plummeting and his adrenaline racing at the number that was looking back at him. It was almost empty. He whirled back around, shaking his head fast. "Faster, Cameron, you have to go faster!" he screeched. "Come on! You can do it!"
One by one, he fumbled with the dials until all the valves were released. Jonathan stiffened, and hope started to leak into his voice as he saw Cameron trying to tug himself desperately for the wheel. "That's it! Cameron, turn the wheel!" he encouraged, the others shrieking praise and support mindlessly. Even Kay was yelling; she'd lost her composure ages ago. "Come on!" Jonathan yelled, watching as Cameron tried to worm his hands around the spokes and get a good enough grip. He didn't recognize the look on his face— he was losing it, Jonathan could see. He was loosening, he was going weak, his body was starting to shut down. Against himself, Cameron was losing consciousness again, even as he tried to work the only means of exit.
"Cam! Cam!" Jonathan wailed. His brother was pulling, but he couldn't find the strength. He was barely able to get up off of his knees. "Cameron, turn the wheel, come on!" He started to still more, he started to move less. Jonathan looked wildly back at the PSI, and he froze in absolute horror as the needle finally slammed down to hit zero. He looked back, his expression falling as he realized Cameron wasn't able to twist the wheel like he needed. He was still holding to it, but that was the limit of what he was able to do. Cold dread was like ice in the pit of his stomach, and Jonathan shook his head. "…No," he rasped, denial immediately being the first thing he landed on.
Cameron squeezed his eyes shut in another flinch. He tried. Like he had been taught to, just as Jonathan had, he tried. He tugged. But the wheel hardly gave. Only a tiny millimeter. Still, Jonathan refused to admit defeat— refused to let Cameron think defeat, because as soon as he did, it was all over. "That's it!" he encouraged weakly, like he always used to encourage his brother when he was forced into doing the tricks he didn't want to. "Come on. Cam." His voice was going desperate. Desolate. "Cameron!" The wheel inched just a little further.
But it wasn't enough.
Cameron's face slowly began to relax. That fuzziness started to crawl back. Jonathan's heart was stopping, his lungs were failing, his entire body was shaking. "Cam!" he screeched, his voice starting to grow hoarse from how much he was misusing it. But Cameron didn't react at all, this time. Jonathan watched in terror and shock as his brother went slack. As his head ducked forward into his elbow, and he went entirely limp.
No. No, no, no, no, this wasn't— it—
Jonathan's eyes were blurred over with tears. The only reason they didn't fall yet was because he wasn't blinking, in his panic. "Cameron!" he wailed. He could hit the glass— he could wake him up again, like before— there was still time, there was still— he could still get out, this wasn't— he couldn't be dead, he— they were supposed to— "Cameron!" His brother was unmoving, only holding onto the wheel still because of the way he had wormed his arms between the metal branchings. "Cameron, wake up!" This beg came out splintered as well, practically tearing up from his chest. He felt Dina hold tightly to his arm. Whether the clutch was for his sake, or for hers, didn't matter at all. Not right then. "Wake up, Cameron!" he kept screaming. But the seconds dragged by, and Cameron didn't rouse at all.
He couldn't breathe. Cameron couldn't breathe, but now Jonathan couldn't either. He could only yell and cry, panic beginning to cloud him entirely as his blows got more desperate, more senseless. He was throwing his entire body against the steel now, not really hearing or understanding the words he was screaming. He just felt the burning pain they created in his throat, how it stung almost as much as his eyes did. He could have been yelling gibberish, he could have been making complete sense. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Cameron wasn't moving. That he'd suffocated in there, and that no matter what Jonathan did, he wouldn't move.
"Cameron!" Dina wailed, tears rushing down her face now. It was all in her voice: the years of friendship and comradery. Of nights spent celebrating after shows, of afternoons working through a new trick, of holidays spent together every year, simply because they were a family, and that was what families did. This was all in her voice, rendering it absolutely heartbroken. Jordan was yelling something that sounded like a string of apologies, though Jonathan was too far gone to try and figure out what he was apologizing for. Gunter, unlike everyone else, had fallen silent. His expression was completely blank, his mouth hanging open like he wanted to yell too, but just couldn't manage it anymore. Instead, he was shell-shocked. Staring with a certain kind of absence that made it seem like he wasn't actually seeing anything.
"We still have time, there's still time!" Kay pressed, her voice cracking in panic. She looked at her watch, her head shaking fast. "We have— five minutes, if we can get him out in five minutes—"
"There's no way to get him out!" Jordan cried. "Everything's shut down! The only way out is from the other side!"
"There has to be another way!" Dina snapped, echoing what Cameron used to say constantly.
"There's not!" Jordan shouted. "That wheel is all he has— Cameron, Cameron, just turn the wheel! You were so close, Cameron! Wake up!"
"Cameron!" Dina cried, whirling back to him. "Cameron, get up! Please, Cameron!"
Jonathan was deaf to them. He couldn't listen, he couldn't even think— at least, he couldn't think clearly. It was nothing but a blur of pure fear, panic like hands clenching hard around his trachea. He just did whatever he could. He was a mess of screaming, of hitting, of kicking out. The seconds were dragging on— soon, they would layer into minutes. You couldn't go without air for that long, not even Cameron could. If he didn't wake up— if he didn't turn the wheel just a little bit more, to do the final stretch… "Cam!" Jonathan backed up just a little bit, knocking into Kay but completely oblivious to her stagger backwards. He just threw his foot out as hard as he could, kicking the lower half of the door hard enough to cause the shock of the impact to lance up his bones.
He did this again and again, ignoring the pain, the exhaustion. If he kicked here hard enough, maybe he could dislodge him, he could make Cameron fall, and the wheel would be turned the rest of the way. It was all he had. It was all he could do. He kept kicking, and every hard thud that ensued reminded him of the thud his shoe had made as he'd kicked Cameron to the ground. He'd punched him, and he'd— Cameron had tried to get up. Had he started to turn to him because he was going to say what was going on? Who he actually was? Had he been trying to recover and explain himself, before Jonathan kicked him? Before he knocked him unconscious?
This was his fault. This was all his fault. He'd been too preoccupied with the plan; he hadn't noticed anything else. He hadn't even thought of the possibility that Cameron would be here, but it made sense— it made so much sense, why hadn't he anticipated it? Why else would the mystery woman kidnap Cameron if not to force him into helping her? He'd been staring at him in the auction room— had he been trying to warn him, then? And Jonathan had been too slow— he'd left him for last in the vault on conscious choice, so he was the reason he was in there. He'd made so many mistakes— he'd lost the control he was supposed to keep ahold of.
He'd killed him.
Jonathan had killed his brother.
"Cameron!" He was sobbing now. Keening. The minutes were passing. Running their course. Gunter's shock had ebbed, and now there was nothing but grief on his face. Grief and acceptance that they had already failed. Jordan had gone over to the panel, to look for an alternative means of rescue, but he had long since just hung his head. His shoulders were curled forward, like he was in pain, and attempting to shield himself from further injury. Kay's eyes were flickering from Jonathan to the vault. The expression on her face was too many at once to discern. Dina just cried in silence. She kept her hand on Jonathan's arm, holding to his elbow as if that could possibly do anything.
It didn't.
Every minute, he got worse.
Every minute, he screamed louder— more franticly.
Every minute he shook more.
Every minute the tears in his eyes built even faster, until it was impossible to keep them from running down his cheeks.
"Do you think it'll always be like this?" Cameron asked softly.
Jonathan looked up from the book he was reading. His brother was standing at the window, staring out at the new city. They'd never been to this one before. Jonathan couldn't remember its name, at the moment. They all kind of blended together. "Like what?" he asked, his eyes flickering back down to the page he was on. "We're only here for three days." But he knew it probably wasn't what he was getting at. And, knowing it wasn't what he was getting at either, but wanting to mess with him a little bit, he added coyly: "And not to burst your bubble even more, but Dad'll be back with food in like seven minutes, so that's gonna change too."
"No," he protested. Jonathan looked up again at the way his voice sounded. This time he closed his book. Cameron was still looking outside. "I mean…is it always going to be…us going from place to place…never staying anywhere or…being able to talk to anyone, because they might find out about us? Always…practicing and never being able to do anything else?" Jonathan frowned. "I mean— it's fun. I like…the shows, and…they make Dad happy. It's just…" He was silent for what felt like forever, before he just repeated softer: "Do you think it'll always be like this?"
He set his book down. He drew his knees up to his chest, and a frown came over his face. "Well…I don't know," he managed eventually. Cameron looked back at him. He didn't seem satisfied at all. Jonathan sighed and tilted his head to the side a little bit. "Do you think that would be a bad thing?"
"Yes," Cameron blurted out at once. He stopped short, looking almost surprised with himself. Quickly, he tried to double back and correct the mistake. "No," he amended. Jonathan's eyebrows drew together. His brother sighed. "I don't know. In some ways…no, but…in some ways, I…"
"You're getting better at the tricks, Cam," he tried. Jonathan knew how much pressure Cameron put on himself— how much pressure he had to put on himself, because their dad forced it there. He knew how much his brother didn't want to be 'the star.' He didn't even have to tell him it was a problem; Jonathan knew his brother like the back of his hand. They both knew each other like that. So the reassurance came at once, half out of sheer habit. "Dad just said that you're perfect at the new one. You're not doing a single thing wrong." He shot him an encouraging grin. "I'm really prou—"
"I want to change your half more than I want to change mine," he blurted out again.
Jonathan stopped short. He blinked a few times. "My half?"
His brother looked apologetic. Remorseful. "Do you ever…do you ever get sad that you're not allowed to…be in any of it?"
He tried to smile. It came out a little too pinched. "I…I am in it," he tried. "I'm right there with you, all the time. I told you that."
"You know that's not what I meant." Reluctantly, Jonathan shut up. He just waited for Cameron to keep going. "I mean…it's my name. Not yours. But you do just as much as I do. We're a team. Why can't people know that? Why can't your name be up there too?"
"You know why."
"Yeah, but that's not a good enough reason sometimes."
"But most of the time?"
Cameron weakened. After a moment, he pressed, as if he was almost scared of the answer: "Are you ever angry? At me?"
"Of course not," he said immediately.
"But Dad?" Cameron reasoned.
This answer came much slower. "It's not…important, Cam—"
"It is to me."
He closed his eyes. He counted to ten, taking in a slow breath. Then he stood, drafting a smile on his face as he pushed himself up. He walked over to Cameron and put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Look. It really doesn't matter. Okay? I promise. And you want to know why it doesn't matter?" Cameron just stared at him with a heavy expression. One filled with apprehension and anxiety. The kind of expression he could only wear around Jonathan when they were alone, unless he wanted to get yelled at by their father. Jonathan's expression was soothing; the way it always was. "Because you're right…we are a team. So when people say how great you are, they mean me too. They just don't know it. I'm okay with that."
Jonathan leaned a little closer, a silent request for his brother to listen. To really listen and understand what he meant. "And maybe things won't always be this way. Maybe they'll change. But you know something won't change?" Cameron was silent. Jonathan just smiled wider. "We'll always be a team," he declared. "You and me. That'll never change. And that's all we need." Cameron began to crack into a smile.
Relief made Jonathan's grin soften. "I don't need anyone to know my name," he announced. "Because you do. And you're all that's important. If you know my name…then I'll always be happy."
"Cam!" Jonathan screeched. He hit the door, kicked it hard. Still nothing. There was still nothing. It was too late. He'd gone without air for too long. Kay had said they had five minutes, and those had to be up by now. And it was his fault, it was all his fault, and the last thing he'd done to his brother was punch him and kick him and abandon him in that room. He kept fighting, kept trying, kept screaming, but it was too late. Too late, too late, too late, too—
Jonathan threw himself one last time as hard as he could against the steel before his knees finally buckled. With one final scream, he sank down to the floor, his head ducking low to his chest as he started to break down. Dina rushed to crouch beside him, to put her arms around him, but it was no use. He just cried, his sobs senseless and violent. Wracking his body on the way out to make it sound like he was practically gagging. And he might have been. Because he certainly felt like he was going to be sick.
"Cameron!" he howled. He was gasping, hyperventilating, and hating himself because he could breathe, and his brother hadn't been able to.
Dina struggled to calm him down. The others were just staring, shell-shocked. "Jonathan, please," she begged, choking back on her own sobs. She rubbed his arms, to try and center him. "Jonathan, Jonathan, look at me," she begged. But he couldn't. "Jonathan, Jonathan, shhh, it's— it'll be—"
Without thinking, he shoved her off. The violent push away was his first gut impulse. Dina fell backwards, her streaming eyes rounding out in shock. If he was in his right mind, he would feel bad about it. But he wasn't. He shoved her away and, in the process, he slammed back into the door, this time on accident. He hit it hard; the back of his head making a heavy thud against it. He barely had time to recognize the pain, though, before there was another thud. Another thud on the other side of the door, that he only heard because he was so close.
For half a second, he was too shocked to move. His teary eyes flew huge, and his heart stuttered in his chest. But he heard Kay scream, and that was enough to snap him into motion. He flew to his feet, scrambling as he whirled for the window. Cameron had finally fallen. His arms had managed to stay looped inside the wheel, so when he fell, it moved its last few inches. "Back up, back up!" Jonathan croaked, flying for the door and opening it as fast as he could.
He tore it open and flew down. Cameron was on his side, and his eyes were closed. He was still unconscious. He was pale— there was a chilling blue tint around his lips. He wasn't breathing. Jonathan hit the ground hard, pain lancing up his knees. "Cameron!" he gasped, terror clenching hard around his heart. "Cameron, come on, come on!" Nothing. Jonathan pressed his ear down against his chest, listening for a heartbeat— for an inhale. He came up shaking his head hard. The others were pouring in after him, to cluster around Cameron tightly. "Nope— no, Cameron, no," Jonathan grumbled hard.
He got on his knees and put his hands together, leaning over his brother and beginning to deliver hard compressions to his chest. Cameron was putty underneath his hands. His eyes didn't even flicker at the pressure. His head only shifted just the tiniest bit, side to side with every push. Jonathan just shook his head faster and pushed harder. Kay was crouching at his other side, putting her fingers down against Cameron's neck to feel for a pulse. She had the rationale that Jonathan didn't. Despite everything, the only giveaway to her emotion was a tiny wavering hiding in the syllables of her voice. Mostly she was tense, direct, straight. Like she was with everything else.
"He went without oxygen for almost four minutes," she said, glancing at her watch again. "There's still a chance to get him back, but he's right on the brink. Keep doing those compressions. Dina! Call an ambulance, now!" Dina was already complying, her eyes wide as she whipped her phone out. She staggered away and began to dial, lifting it up to her ear as she never looked away from Cameron. Jonathan could hear her yelling out the information when the line was picked up, but he was more focused on his brother.
"C'mon, Cameron," he gasped. "28…29…30—"
He began to draw away, and immediately, Kay acted before he could, to hunch down and give him two breaths. She put her mouth over his and forced air down his trachea. And they went like that, keeping out of sheer desperation and fear. Jonathan gave thirty compressions, begging his brother between each push to just breathe and open his eyes again. Every time Kay blew air into him, Jonathan watched tensely, his heart not daring to beat as he waited to see whether or not this time it would work. But every time, disappointment punched him in the gut when it was unsuccessful. Cameron's lips stayed blue, his eyes stayed shut, his chest stayed frozen.
He pushed until he couldn't push anymore. Until his arms were gel, unable to deliver as hard of compressions. They'd already been exhausted from hitting the door; he was already running on empty. When it became clear that his efforts were weakening, Gunter nudged him away, gently so he wouldn't react as harshly as he'd had with Dina. Jonathan fell to the side heavily, catching himself against the floor. He looked at Cameron in despair, quickly moving to scramble up nearer to his head. "Come on, Cam!" His voice was completely ruined by now. It was more of a rasp.
Cameron was unresponsive, still. Gunter's compressions were harder than Jonathan's had been. So much so that, if anyone cared enough to think that far, there would have been a concern that he was going to break a rib. But if breaking a rib was what it took to drag Cameron back, it was just going to have to be the payment. As Kay blew air into Cameron's mouth again, Jonathan curled down, pressing his forehead against his brother's shoulder. Without the distraction of counting through his compressions, Jonathan was crying again, harder. Because now there was nothing left to do but face the fact that efforts were futile. That Cameron was gone.
His brother was gone.
At first, there was nothing but sorrow. Drowning, horrible sorrow that seemed to drag him down hundreds of feet— below water, or something just as suffocating. He could only sob and cry and beg Cam not to do this. Not to leave him— not to punish him this way. Jonathan had lost everything. He'd lost his pride, his freedom, his reputation…he couldn't bear losing his brother, too. He was all he had left. Now the world was deciding even that was too good for him. And maybe it was right, but Cameron didn't deserve to be the one to suffer.
At first, there was just pain. Hurt.
And then it mutated.
Slowly but surely, it did. With every shudder of Cameron's body, with every choked gasp Kay sucked in only to release into his brother's mouth, the emotion burning through his skin changed. It burned hotter, it hit harder. His breathing grew more labored, his eyes opened, but began to narrow. The hand that had found its way to hold tight to Cameron's arm curled in more, his fingers digging harder into his brother's skin. His jaw locked backwards as he slowly pulled away from him. His vision was ruined with tears; Cameron was nothing more than a blur of color. An unmoving blur. A dead one.
She'd done this.
She'd done everything.
She'd framed him and put him in jail. He'd stomached that. She'd taken his brother and held him captive. That had been harder to swallow, but he had, because he'd known that he would be able to get him back and get him back safe. She'd purposefully made it so that Cameron had the smallest of chances of the bodies in the vault to be pulled out. She'd refused to tell Jonathan when he asked where Cameron was, so he'd had no idea. She'd ensured the vault would shut on him. She'd made Jonathan responsible for this mistake, that was now much too cemented to be reversed.
She'd killed his brother.
This, he couldn't handle.
His grief mutated into searing rage and anger. He sat back from Cameron and scooted slowly away from his body, hardly even feeling the movement, he was growing so numb to everything else. He backed away from the rest of the group, eventually hitting against the frame of the vault door with a dull thud. His eyes stared unblinking on his brother. His hands curled into fists so tight, that his fingernails bit into the palms of his hands. The remorse melted off of his face, leaving only dead eyes and a harsh scowl.
He didn't see his brother lying there on the floor of the vault, anymore.
All he saw was red.
Kay sat back, feeling desperately for a pulse, and closing her eyes tightly when she still picked up nothing. She checked her watch again as Gunter continued to ram his hands down hard against Cameron's sternum. It had been over five minutes. After six minutes, brain damage usually set in. They'd started CPR before this mark, so his chances of staving it off for an extra minute or two were at least higher than if he hadn't gotten the door open. But still, he had gone without oxygen for too long. It didn't stop her from giving him breaths whenever thirty compressions were delivered, but the longer time stretched on, the tighter her chest grew.
This wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to have saved Cameron before something like this happened to him. They were supposed to get him out of danger before it could present itself even more. They had failed in that effort, and now they were even failing to save him afterwards. There were still things she wasn't sure about. She didn't understand why he'd been here with the woman, or why he hadn't just run to them directly once he'd seen them in the auction room. She didn't know why he was in the vault in the first place. But those things didn't matter right now.
Right now, with every blow of air, with every attempt to get his heart beating again, all she was worried about was keeping him here. 'Excuse me. I prematurely 'Ta-Da'd.' She leaned down and blew more air into his mouth, closing her eyes so tightly it came across as more of a flinch. 'Cameron Black. FBI…Observer.' She pulled away and as Gunter started the cycle all over again, she reached out to slap at his face and yell, at the end of her rope and just not sure what else to do. "Cameron!" she yelled, her voice clenched. "Cameron!"
'Well, I couldn't have done it without my beautiful assistant.'
'Don't ever say that again.'
'Yeah, nah, sounded weird coming out.'
She didn't realize her eyes were watering until a small tear traced hot down the side of her face. She went rigid at once, her hand flying up to wipe it away. But before she could, there was a sudden burst of yelling, to slice her thoughts into nothing. She whirled around and rocketed up to her feet when she saw the team of paramedics rushing in. Seeing them, she could hardly fathom the relief that snatched her breath away. Dina was running to meet them and explaining everything. They were carrying with them the equipment they would need; they were laden with it. And they were already shouting at everyone to move.
She turned and stumbled back further into the vault. Dina rushed to stand with her, and Jordan backed out to side-step into the hall. Gunter stayed put where he was, refusing to give up for even a second on the compressions he was giving in time with a regular heartbeat. He had to be grabbed and encouraged off by a paramedic. But even then, as he slowly backed up to be with the two girls, his expression was empty. He stared at Cameron, before he looked down at his hands, like he was wondering what he was supposed to do with them now.
The paramedic team snapped into action at once. They assessed him quickly, moving his head so that it was tilted back, and his airway was ensured to stay open. Two of the paramedics started to work on getting him breathing again. A bag valve mask was brought out, and they were fast in setting the ventilator up to his mouth. One medical professional held it tightly in place while the other began to start rhythmically squeezing, to get the air pumped through the mask, down his throat, and into his lungs. Another team member opened his shirt and began to set him up to a defibrillator, connecting the electrodes to his chest and side.
Kay had to close her eyes when they delivered the shock. The very instant Cameron's body began to jerk and twitch viscerally in reaction to the surge, she found she couldn't stomach it. She'd seen plenty of things in her time as an FBI agent…dead bodies, victims who may have been better off dead…but this, she couldn't face. For the life of her, she couldn't watch this. Her friend. Someone who had at first only been a nuisance, but an unfortunately needed one. Someone who, for some stupid reason or another, she had softened towards. Someone she'd actually grown to like.
So she couldn't watch. Not this time.
The defibrillator went through its first shock. Nothing occurred as a result of it, and in the break of waiting to see if it would take effect, the paramedics went back to compressions and oxygen. They were doing everything they could. The defibrillator charged up again, humming until it was ready, and they pulled away when it delivered yet another wave of electricity. Again, Cameron only spasmed and fell still afterwards. Dina was watching through her fingers, her lips trembling. From out in the hall, Jordan had long since turned away, hunching against the wall like he was propping up a million pounds of weight. Still, Gunter just stared in shock and denial.
They went again. And again. And again. More oxygen, more compressions, more anything.
It was getting to be too late. Too dire. Too impossible.
But Cameron Black kind of did impossible.
It was so quiet, that at first, none of the others actually heard it. But the paramedics did, and they immediately drew away to make sure.
It was a tiny gasp, weak and grating against his throat on the way down. It was barely anything— hardly enough air to even begin to satisfy. But Cameron sucked in the breath on his own. It was weak, and it was shallow, but it was there. At the paramedics' reaction, Kay's head snapped back around, and Dina's hands went down to cover her mouth, instead of her eyes. Sure enough, Cameron's chest was stirring with the faintest trace of life again. Kay could hear him rasping from where she stood. It didn't sound good. But it was a sound. And she found a shocked and ecstatic laugh bubbling out of her as she too slapped a hand over her mouth. A fresh wave of tears burned her eyes, though she still tried her best not to let them fall.
"We got him, we got him," one of the paramedics blustered tensely. "Get him on the stretcher, we need to get him to the hospital, now." And they leapt back into motion to do exactly that. One stayed to keep the ventilator on him, still pumping in air at the normal rhythm. The others worked around her, and transitioned Cameron to the gurney, strapping him in place so he wouldn't fall. They started to rush away, when one of them lingered and doubled back for those who had played the part of the terrified audience. "Only one of you can come in the ambulance," they rushed. "But the decision has to be quick, who's it going to be?"
Kay opened her mouth, but Dina beat her to it. "Jonathan should go," she sniffed, still crying. She wiped at her eyes, shaking her head as she looked towards the door. "Jonathan, you need to be with Ca—" She broke off before she could finish. Her eyes widened, and the sorrowful emotion that had been clogging her expression suddenly melted away in a flash. Like water evaporating on the spot. Her body locked in shock, instead, and Kay whirled around to follow her floored gaze. At first, she was just confused— she didn't see anything at all.
Until she realized that that was precisely the problem.
She whirled around, looking at every inch of the vault. And then she rushed out the door, into the hall to check there as well. To look after the paramedic team, just on the off-chance Jonathan had just torn after his brother in the first place. But no matter where she looked, it didn't matter. The realization was like a slap in the face, and it made her stomach fall away from her completely. She had been so focused on Cameron – everyone had been so focused on Cameron – that nobody had even noticed. Not even Jordan.
She whirled around to the others, almost too stricken to even speak. Not that she even really needed to— everyone was well aware. But it came out anyway, in nothing but a gasp. "Jonathan is gone."