Let me just apologize right off the bat. I knew I'd have to take some time off from writing this to get finished with school, but I didn't realize that it would take three weeks. And I feel bad, since I'm ending the dry stretch with a somewhat boring chapter, but I've got no choice. Between going back to edit all my old chapters for my Writing class, a presentation and paper on Moby Dick, preparations for graduation and prom, as well as the end of all my classes, I've been really busy. In an attempt to make it up to everyone, though, I added that scene at the end and I drew a ton of fanart (which I'll post on deviantart once my scanner is fixed).

By the way, if anyone wants to see the watered-down (i.e. incest-free) version of this story, you can find it in the Misc. Movies section at n f i c t i o n . c o m (you'll have to delete the spaces). With the exception of Chapters 3 and 4, it's really not that different.

Well, last chapter wins the award for most and worst spelling mistakes in any of the chapters I'd written so far. You'd think I could kill a major character without so many errors, but I guess not. Anyway, they should all be fixed by now, along with some other minor adjustments (for example, Leon no longer recites the 23rd Psalm as he prepares for death).

-----

A Twisted Kind of Brotherhood

A Day in the Land of Monsters

Jackson drummed his fingers on the wheel of the car, listening to the radio with the windows down. Glancing towards his right every now and then, Jackson was growing more and more impatient. He was tempted to turn on the car radio, but he couldn't attract any attention to himself while he was on duty. So he was simply forced to make do with the silence.

The car was parked in the driveway of a rather nice-looking house, one of those places that looked like a life-sized dollhouse from a hundred years ago. There were no signs of life coming from inside, save for a faint, miniscule light wandering through the rooms, and the faint sound of breaking glass.

The car he was sitting in was a nice Jaguar that sadly was not his. Instead, it belonged to one of the managers from Children of Hades, a certain Ryan. Normally, he was somewhat possessive of his prized possession, but Jackson had been allowed to borrow it on the condition that it be returned unharmed. Considering their line of work, that was a tall order, especially considering that Jackson was technically on assignment.

All in all, Jackson was having a good day. He got to borrow a rather expensive car, he was on a well-paying assignment, a girl had hit on him while he'd been picking up his dry-cleaning, and Guiteau had finally given him the various false identification he'd need for his assignments.

It had been a thrill to look over a driver's license, social security card, passport and high school diploma, most of which bore his photo and all of which more the name 'Jackson Rippner'. He'd had to invent a whole identity for himself, which Guiteau had grilled him on repeatedly. His name was Jackson Rippner. His parents were Frank and Selena Rippner. They had died in a fire when he was sixteen. He had been sent to the Children of Heaven youth center, where he now worked as a counselor.

Jackson smiled. When lying, it was best to stay as close to the truth as possible.

When Guiteau had asked him what last name he wanted for the false identification he'd be receiving for assignments, Jackson had immediately thought of his idol from his early years in high school. He'd thought 'Jackson Rippner' would be an interesting alias, not to mention a good conversation starter. Everyone else seemed to either be amused or confused by it. Laurence had said that the only thing dumber would be for Ray to take the last name "O'Sunshine".

Still, he liked it. He liked the effect that it had on people in conversation, the way it added a bit of awkward humor to a conversation. And he enjoyed the double-take people would do upon hearing it said, think that he must be kidding them. And there was the most delightful part of all: the delicious irony when he handed them their fates.

Jackson's meditation was interrupted by a piercing scream coming from the house. Glancing to his right, he saw a young girl, probably no more than twenty, running through out the door and onto the lawn as though the devil were snapping at her heels. She stumbled several times as she sprinted, her stilettos impeding her as she made her way across the grass.

As she opened her mouth to emit another wail, a man appeared from the front doorway. He, too, was running, and just as a high-pitched shriek emerged from the girl's lips, he tackled her to the ground, landing on top of her as her face smashed into the turf.

The girl struggled, but the man held her fast. He pulled a handgun from a holster and pressed it against the side of her face, whispering threats as he pulls her up. She began to shake as she nodded fervently, a cascade of tears running down her face. Seeming satisfied, the man began guide her away from where they were standing.

As they approached the car, the man nodded at Jackson. "Hey."

Jackson nodded back. "Hey, Laurence."

Pulling one of back doors open with his free hand, Laurence shoved the girl inside and climbed in behind her, continuing to hold the gun near the girl's head. As Laurence shut the door behind him, Jackson turned around to look at the girl in the backseat. "Hello there, Cassandra."

The girl looked at him with wide eyes, but she said nothing. Laurence pulled a spool of twine out of his pocket before handing his gun to Jackson. "Keep this on her while I tie her up."

Jackson nodded, keeping the handgun focused on Cassandra as Laurence proceeded to wrap the twine around her ankles. Casually, Jackson asked, "Where's Ray?"

"He's still back at the house." Tying the twine at her ankles in a knot before moving onto Cassandra's wrists, Laurence added, "He should be back with Diane in a few minutes."

At that name, Cassandra's eyes filled with fear. "Mom?"

Jackson smirked. "The one and only." Still training the gun on Cassandra, Jackson handed a thick belt to Laurence, who accepted it gratefully. He proceeded to wrap it around Cassandra's head, the strap acting as a gag as he buckled it tightly at the base of her skull.

Seconds later, the three of them could hear two pairs of heavy footfall, and a blonde man appeared in their field of vision, carrying another handgun. This time, it was pressed against the neck of a woman who appeared to be in her forties, who would have seemed calm were it not for her fearful shaking. Turning around, Jackson nodded at the blonde man. "Hey, Ray."

He nodded back. "Hey, Jackson." Laurence pushed open the back door, and Ray shoved her inside. As she plopped onto the backseat, she glanced over to see her daughter there.

"Cassie…?" she asked fervently, hysteria creeping into her voice. Cassandra, unable to reply, began to cry quietly as Ray fastened a belt around her mother's head.

Laurence, grinning lewdly, put his arms around both women's shoulders as Ray continued to bind Diane. "Relax, ladies. Let's just enjoy our night out, shall we?"

"Laurence…" Ray said warningly, but Laurence ignored him. Taking his arm away from Diane, he leaned towards Cassandra, who shrunk away from him as best she could.

"There, there, don't be so frightened. Just because some big bad men are here to take you away doesn't mean you should be so depressed."

"Laurence…" Ray repeated firmly, finishing the knots on Diane's wrists. Jackson rolled his eyes. "Laurence, give it a rest. We have to get going."

Still smirking gleefully, Laurence nodded at Jackson. "Give me my gun back. You'll need both hands to drive."

Jackson forked over the gun, Laurence accepting it in the hand not on Cassandra's shoulder. Leaning towards Cassandra, he gave her an odd look before winking at her and giving her a quick kiss past the belt strap. Cassandra, seeming resigned, continued to sob and shake helplessly. Ray, for his part, hit Laurence on the shoulder and hissed, "Knock it off."

Jackson turned to the steering wheel, waiting for Ray to climb into the passenger seat before putting the car in drive.

As the car pulled out of the driveway, Jackson told Ray, "Call Ryan."

He nodded. "Where's your cell?"

"Glove compartment."

Ray popped open the glove compartment easily and yanked out a small phone, which he put on speakerphone and stuck in the drink holder.


After a few rings, Ryan's voice emanated from the phone. "Hello?"

Ray answered, "Hey, Ryan, it's us."

"How goes it on your end?"

"Diane and Cassandra send their best wishes from the back seat," Laurence called out, still wrapping one arm around the young woman.

"Good, good…" Ryan mumbled before asking as nonchalantly as he could, "How's the car?"

Smiling slightly, Ray answered, "Car's fine, Ryan."

Jackson was amused by Ryan's concern for his car. He'd only lent the Jaguar to them reluctantly, and he'd had to elicit several promises that absolutely nothing would happen to his beloved vehicle. If he'd had a choice, he'd have come with them to ensure that nothing went wrong. However, he'd been thwarted by numbers: the car only had five seats, and with two hostages, only three of them could go. So they'd drawn straws, and Ryan had to stay behind.

Focusing on their assignment, Jackson asked, "So, what next?"

Adopting a more businesslike tone of voice, Ryan answered, "Meet me at the docks. We'll dump 'em in the harbor, leave the bodies for someone else to find."

Jackson nodded. "Where's Jeff White?"

"Still at the party, where he'll have a solid alibi."

Jackson could hear Diane sobbing from the backseat , having recognized her husband's name and probably having realized who was funding her impromptu kidnapping. Ignoring her, he added, "Well, we'll be there in a few minutes. Traffic's not too bad right now."

As he turned the car onto a residential street, Jackson could see Diane pressing her face against the backseat window, looking wide-eyed out at the passing cars. Ray, peering over his headrest at the occupants of the backseat, warned her, "I wouldn't try that. The windows are tinted; no one's gonna see you."

Ray was interrupted by the sound of cell phone ringing. Pissed off, Laurence waved his gun in the faces of the two women, barking, "Whose is that? Whose phone is ringing?"

Diane made a noise that sounded like a squeak. Laurence immediately turned to her, asking, "Is it yours?"

She nodded fearfully. Laurence looked over at Jackson, who simply shrugged.

Ryan's voice emanated from the cell phone, commanding, "Let her answer it. If she doesn't, someone might call the house and realize neither of them are there. We don't want anyone to notice they're missing just yet."

Laurence sighed in annoyance, still keeping his gun firmly in hand. He reached through Diane's pocket, eventually finding the small device. Undoing the belt around her head, he hissed, "You say anything about what's going on, I shoot. You understand?"

Diane nodded, shaking as the belt slid off her mouth. Laurence flipped the phone open and pressed it to her ear, keeping the gun trained squarely at her forehead.

Her voice frail, she asked, "Hello?"

A vague mumbling came from the other end. Diane eyes darted back and forth between Ray and Laurence several times, eventually resting on Cassandra, who was sobbing quietly in her seat.

"Mm-hmm, I see." She replied. As the mumbling voice returned, Diane closed her eyes and began to take deep, calming breaths. When the voice stopped, she suddenly began to speak very quickly. "Lindahelpthey'vegotCass-…"

Laurence yanked the phone away from her ear and folded it and neatly squeezed the trigger. After a quick blast, a small red circle formed on her forehead, and her head lolled to the side as a trickle of blood ran down her forehead. Past her gag, Cassandra began to screech as tears ran down her face even more rapidly.

Laurence turned his attention back to her, yelling, "Shut up! Just shut up!"

From the driver's seat, Jackson yelled back, "Keep it down! We're almost there."

"She just told someone what was going on! She blew our cover!"

Via the cell phone, Ryan stated calmly, "It doesn't matter. Just hurry to the docks and we'll get rid of them as quick as we can."

Ray murmured an agreement, as did Jackson as he scanned to see if anyone had noticed the blare of gunfire coming from their car. Laurence, however, shook his head and muttered, "Screw this."

He turned around and shot at Cassandra, the bullet glancing off of her and hitting the window, shattering it. Angrier, he shot again, this time hitting her square in the temple and causing a splatter of blood to form on the shattered glass.

"Laurence!" Ray shrieked as Jackson turned the car into an alleyway, where no one would notice the window or the bodies inside the car. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Smirking, Laurence replied, "She wouldn't be quiet."

Through the phone, Jackson could hear Ryan's voice asking, "What was that? What just shattered?"

Calmly putting his gun in its holster, Laurence replied, "Cassandra won't be putting up a fight when we get there, Ryan."

Ray, still freaking out, shrieked, "You just shot her! And you made the window explode!"

"He WHAT?"

Ray shook his head fervently, seeming unable to calm down. "We gotta get rid of the bodies."

"Then get your asses to the docks!"

"We can't! Even with only a few people on the road, they're bound to notice the two dead bodies in the backseat through shattered window."

"Okay, but how?"

Jackson, leaning his forehead against the steering wheel, muttered, "We burn the car."

Laurence and Ray gave him a look. Even through a cell phone, Jackson could tell Ryan was not pleased by this. Yet he would've known that it was the only option left; his car was covered in the women's blood, and their fingerprints were all over the vehicle and the bodies. If anyone had heard any of the gunshots coming from the car, they may have spotted the license plate and called the police. Even if they took the car and left the bodies, the police might match the car to the license plate and have them arrested.

When Ryan didn't object, choosing instead to sigh mournfully, Jackson pulled out a lighter. "Anyone got some gasoline?"

-----

Several days later, they all found themselves back at headquarters, tired and irritated from their foray with the White women. They all sat around in Guiteau's office, casually lighting cigarettes and blowing puffs of smoke across the room. Smoking was a hobby looked down upon by others for how quickly it snuffed out a person's life. In a profession where murder meant money and the average employee never saw their fortieth birthday, they saw no reason not to indulge.

As they sat together in a tense silence, everyone tried to act nonchalant, even as Ryan and Laurence shot dark looks at each other and Jackson and Ray tried not to look too involved.

Guiteau, as he entered the room cheerfully, seemed not to notice any tension. "Welcome back. How was Georgia?"

Ryan, assuming the tone of a babysitter reporting to his charges' parent, replied, "It went alright." He shot a quick look at Laurence. "For the most part."

Guiteau seemed not to notice as Laurence rolled his eyes. Instead, he merrily asked, "Do you have the case file?"

Ryan nodded, forking over a manila envelope that contained the write-up of the Whites' case. Guiteau accepted it gratefully before asking, "Ryan, would you mind stepping out for a minute or so? I would like to speak to these three in private."

Ryan, seeming to restrain his curiosity, merely nodded before standing and exiting, not missing a chance to shoot Laurence one more nasty look. Laurence, for his part, ignored him.

After Ryan had closed the door behind him, Guiteau turned to the three younger men and smiled calmly. "I would like to discuss with you an upcoming assignment. I think that all of you will be interested in it."

Laurence exhaled a puff of smoke. "What kind of assignment?"

Quirking an eyebrow at the impatient rookie before him, Guiteau replied, "In good time, Laurence."

Extinguishing his cigarette into an ashtray, Guiteau continued. "My supervisor recently called in to tell me that several branches of our network are being asked to bring in employees to help with an assignment in Iran. Our branch has been asked to bring in three teams of four." Smiling a little, he asked, "How would you three like to be in one of those groups?"

The three stared at him for a few seconds, their minds poring over this and realizing what a big deal it was. They were mere rookies, only employed for about a year. Hell, they'd only recently gotten their IDs and working papers for assignments. Yet Guiteau was offering them the opportunity to work on a foreign case, a chance generally given to senior officers in their network.

As the other two sat in stunned silence, Jackson asked, "Who'll be the fourth person?"

Still smiling, Guiteau answered, "We'll need one of the managers in charge of your group, so I asked Mr. Salvador to join."

Jackson arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Sal?" This intrigued Jackson. He'd seen Sal around headquarters before, of course, but had never had the chance to work with him. It would be interesting to reunite with the man who'd been responsible for his recruitment.

Ray, a slight frown on his face, asked, "What exactly will we need to do in Iran?"

Scratching his beard, Guiteau replied, "My supervisor has yet to inform me as to the exact details of the assignment. This mission won't be for several months, after all; I am merely making preliminary arrangements. But I assure you, once I receive more information, I will let all of you know what is to happen."

Checking his watch, Guiteau added, "I have an appointment in about twenty minutes. If you three don't mind, we'll end this discussion now."

The three younger men stood up preparing to leave, until Guiteau called, "Just one minute."

Turning to the snake-like member of the group, Guiteau added, "Laurence, I'd like you to stay behind."

Laurence frowned. "Why?"

Pointing to the open manila folder that he had received earlier, Guiteau asked, "Is it not true that you shot a hostage against your manager's orders?"

Jackson could see Laurence roll his eyes, and he couldn't help but laugh inwardly at the sight as he left the room.

As Laurence stayed behind to be reprimanded by Guiteau, Jackson and Ray strolled down the building's corridors on the way to their respective rooms.

"So, what do you think?" Ray asked thoughtfully. Jackson turned his head with a confused expression on his face. "Think about what?"

"What Guiteau said. Y'know, about going to Iran."

Jackson shrugged. "Should be interesting. It'll be nice to do something outside the states for once."

Giving Jackson a slightly apprehensive look, Ray replied, "Yeah, but this is Iran. First off, we don't even speak the damn language. Second, they do some serious shit over there, not just dinky little accidents. And third, Guiteau won't even tell us what the hell we're going to be doing. That either means he thinks we'll chicken out, or that they won't even tell him what's going on."

Rolling his eyes, Jackson countered, "First of all, it doesn't matter that we can't speak Iranian…"

"Farsi."

"Whatever. It doesn't matter that we can't speak the language, because there'll be translators from both sides. Secondly, we've done serious shit before, and why would Guiteau send us in if he didn't think we could handle it? And thirdly, give Guiteau a little more credit than that."

Sighing, Ray answered, "I dunno. I got a bad feeling about this."

"You have bad feelings about all sorts of things. Relax, alright? We'll be fine."

Turning the handle to his room's door, Ray shook his head a little. "Hope you're right, man."

-----

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Laurence muttered, "Ray needs to get his head out of his ass," after Jackson had related to him their comrade's fears. The two of them sat in Laurence's car as Laurence drove them towards downtown Miami, having gotten bored at CoH headquarters and deciding to go to a local brothel. After little persuasion, Jackson had agreed to go along for the ride.

Nodding his head, Jackson added, "He worries too much about this stuff. He's too nervous, especially considering what his job is."

Still annoyed, Laurence added, "Yeah, but he never screws up, which is why he stays." Swerving through the street's lanes as he sped past everyone else on the road, he continued, "He just doesn't get it. This is our chance to get off of dinky assignments like the Whites and move on to bigger assignments. I mean, I'm bored to tears doing all these little jobs. Aren't you?"

Jackson shrugged. "I suppose." Lighting a cigarette, he asked, "Speaking of the Whites, how'd Guiteau react to your insubordinance charge?"

Rolling his eyes, Laurence replied, "Confiscated my guns until further notice. I'm probably not getting them back until the Iran assignment."

Trying not to grin, Jackson heckled, "Serves you right."

"Phht. Like I need guns to get a job done."

Taking a drag off of his Marlboro, Jackson chuckled, "Oh joy. Laurence coming to work with a crossbow."

Smiling slightly (probably at the thought of the crossbow), Laurence hit him on the shoulder. "Shut up."

-----

It was early Saturday morning when Jackson could hear Jonathan trudging towards the door to the apartment. As the key turned in the lock, Jackson looked up from his copy of Paradise Lost and watched with anticipation as the door swung open.

When Jonathan entered the room, he had a scowl on his face, and Jackson could immediately tell that he was irritated. As he saw his brother shut the door carefully behind him, Jackson could tell that Jonathan wasn't thrilled to be back home, and had probably been hoping Jackson was asleep.

As Jonathan carried his suitcase into the apartment, Jackson put on an emotionless expression and stated in an even voice, "Welcome back, Scarecrow."

As Jonathan dropped his suitcase to the ground, Jackson asked cordially, "How was your trip?"

Barely looking up at him, Jonathan replied, "It was fine." Removing his coat he asked, "Did anyone call or leave a message? Anything I should know about?"

Jackson paused for a second before cautiously answering, "Somebody called your cell phone the night you left."

"Where's my phone?"

Nodding towards the kitchen counter, Jackson replied, "On top of the newspaper."

Jonathan treaded over to the phone, and, sure enough, there was his cell phone sitting on top of the obituaries. Picking up his phone and pushing away the paper, Jonathan pressed a series of buttons before holding the phone to his ear. Jackson watched patiently as Jonathan listened to faint chatter coming from the device. After about twenty seconds, Jonathan sighed and removed the phone from his ear.

Quietly and politely, Jackson asked, "Who was it?"

Sounding somewhat irritated, Jonathan answered, "Leon. He left a message about his car."

"You going to call him back?"

Not seeming to notice, or care about, Jackson's uncharacteristic curiosity, Jonathan shook his head. "It was nothing. I'll talk to him on Monday."

Biting his lip, Jackson asked, "You sure?"

Annoyed, Jonathan snapped, "Yes, I'm sure." Sighing in frustration, he said, "I'm going to get some sleep." And without another word, he stalked into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Jackson sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. This wasn't good. Any other time, Jackson would have been irritated by his brother's reception. He'd have made some wise-ass comments and pointed out that when he'd left, it had been him who'd said he'd wished his brother had died, not Jackson. At any other time, Jackson would have accused him of being the biggest fucking hypocrite on the face of the planet, and would have probably stalked off to wander Gotham uninterrupted.

However, this wasn't any other time, and Jackson had a dilemma.

Quietly walking to the kitchen counter, Jackson picked up the newspaper that he'd purposely placed beneath the cell phone, and which Jonathan had carelessly discarded. Looking at the obituaries, Jackson easily found the small photo of Leon, his face smiling up at Jackson cheerfully. Underneath was a small blurb describing his life and who he was survived by. At the bottom of the blurb, there was a note stating: "Funeral services will be held at noon on Sunday…" which went on to list the address for the funeral and for the reception.

Folding the paper up, Jackson tried to figure out some way to alert Jonathan without being obvious about what he was doing. But he knew that the only thing he could do was leave the obituaries out in the open, and even that was a little suspicious. Jackson sighed, knowing that Jonathan could easily ignore the paper until Sunday had come and passed. But what else could he do?

Leaning on the counter, Jackson could feel his frustration mount, but he knew there was little he could do to alter the situation. He had only wanted to get rid of Leon, not hurt Jonathan in the process. And he knew that Jonathan would be crushed if he missed the funeral. But there didn't seem to be a way to inform him while remaining inconspicuous. Which really left him with two options: stay quiet, or basically tell Jonathan that he was responsible for Leon's death.

Jackson shook his head. As much as he might wish to soften the blow a bit for Jonathan, there was no way in hell that he'd tell Jonathan what he did. He wasn't exactly in the mood for being murdered himself.

On a whim, Jackson pulled out his wallet and flipped it open, revealing a picture of a much younger Lisa Reisert. He still had it, even months after he'd decided to keep it for the Keefe assignment. At first, it was simply practical: she would need proof that her father was in danger, and if he had her father's wallet and a photo of her, then she'd believe him. But he'd continued to keep it even after they'd tried to kill each other. Some small part of him simply didn't want to throw it away.

Jackson sighed. The Keefe assignment. His most memorable job, for the simple reason that it had been fucked up so badly. So many things had gone wrong, and so many mistakes had been made, especially by him. And in the end, he'd had to go on the run, with a scar on his throat and two bullet wounds in his abdomen. And here he was, stuck in Gotham for however long his brother was willing to tolerate him.

Looking back at the photo, Jackson remembered Lisa's face as the blood had poured out of him, his back aching sharply as he lay on top of the shattered glass of the door. He'd only been a few feet away from his colleague's dead body, and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd be joining him in his march to hell. But he'd lived. He'd lived to watch Lisa smile a little as they'd loaded him into the ambulance, sirens blaring as they handcuffed him to a stretcher.

He probably should have hated her more for what she'd done to him. If it had been any other hostage, he'd have gone back and done anything he could to destroy everything they loved before killing them in a cruel, agonizing fashion. But Lisa was different. True, he'd tried to kill her, but his rage had subsided somewhat.

It was because of what she'd told him. The scar, the parking lot, the rape. Any other woman who might have said the same thing would have been met with cold indifference, or a mocking attitude towards her pain. But when Lisa had told him, the memories had come rushing back to him. Suddenly, Lisa was no longer a simple hostage; she was a familiar face from two years ago, and Jackson had felt sick when he realized why Lisa was different than every other hostage.

The thing that made Lisa different was that Jackson knew the man who had raped her.