Ah, more tomatoes? Darn, they're my least favorite fruit! Or ... vegetable. Whatever, you know what I mean! If you're reading this, I revised again. And I am deeply sorry. (But I don't regret it. Not really.) Don't worry, though, all I've added is a bit of description, and maybe a little scene description clarification to help you visualize. Hope you like!
For those of you that didn't read the first version, that's alright! I hope you read this one and find it nice. And the plot thickens! R&R!
And now, without further adieu, Chapter 2!
"Bryce!" Neal called into the darkness surrounding him, despite the New York lights shining as bright as ever in the relative distance. The ex-conman figured it was the sheer tense feeling in the air that darkened the surrounding areas, not the lack of light.
"Neal!" Bryce shouted back, running up to a figure in the night, standing below a single lamppost with an ominous flickering light. An identical smile creased identical faces, and both squeezed a little too hard in their sentimental embrace, until Bryce leaned back to hold Neal at arms length, looking his little brother over.
"For a moment there, I thought you were going to bail on me," Neal said, and Bryce huffed a laugh.
"I was thinking the same about you. Dearly hoping I wasn't right."
He paused for a moment, glancing up in annoyance at the street light flickering above them. "That's ridiculously irritating," Bryce muttered, and Neal laughed.
"I thought it was theatrically suspenseful," he said rather defensively, staring up at the light with a wide smile.
The sides of Neal's eyes crinkled, and Bryce finally saw the genuine happiness in his smile and the light dancing in his brother's eyes. He remembered back when he had seen the same look on his face – the day he met Kate. He smiled bitterly as he reminisced of a better time and place, now in the past.
"So? You bring it?" Neal said, breaking Bryce out of his stupor. He smiled, holding up a suitcase that currently held various weapons, differing in size, shape, and target. A slip of a paper stuck out of the top, and Neal took it out, crumpling it in his hand as he lifted the suitcase from his brother's hands. Holding up his own, much lighter, suitcase, Neal passed it over, and scanned the piece of paper.
"A ghost hunt … corpse buried somewhere in North City Cemetery … a hunter?" He exclaimed, looking up with a somewhat impressed face, as the other was scanning Neal's paper as well. Their eyes locked, and Neal suddenly felt very small, disbelief covering his emotions and creasing his face. "It wasn't … Wes?" was all he said, his shoulders hunching as he saw his brother's downcast expression.
It's not like a good hunter friend's death was uncommon – in fact, it happened every other month. They had stopped wondering if they were going to have any long term friends after almost everyone they had come in contact with suddenly dropped dead. Deaths just weren't that rare. However, a hunter dying and then coming back as a spirit? Kind of makes hunting all of your life redundant if you become a supernatural creature when you die.
Before, Neal had wondered why Bryce wouldn't have already salted, oiled, and burned the ghost's corpse, but now he understood. He hadn't really known Wesley that well – just a man who managed to help out on a hunt. To be honest, Neal didn't like him one bit. But he new that Bryce had liked him – a lot, considering how much Bryce had leaned from the guy. And now he was dead. Neal knew Bryce wouldn't be able to do it. He'd probably try to delay getting rid of him – could probably state the case that he hadn't gone vengeful. Then Neal would add "yet," to that argument, and it would get way too heated, leaving another broken bridge between the siblings, eventually tearing both apart until they made it up months later. Mentally giving his brother a pat on the back, he settled for a soft hand on his shoulder. It might not be the best idea, but it had to be done, and Neal would always take a chance to take some weight off of his brother's shoulders.
Bryce, however thought it a spectacularly good idea to give his brother this case – he was too emotionally involved, and his brother needed to de-stress. It was bad enough that his love was dead – but up in flames, leaving no body to even burn? That was cruel. Therefore, Bryce hoped it would be quite liberating for Neal to burn something in place of Kate, because, if anything, he needed closure.
Switching topics to follow up to safer waters, Bryce looked down at Neal's case sheet and remarked, "Dude, stolen engagement ring? That's gotta suck for the engagement."
Neal actually snickered, settling into his trademark smirk and replying with a condescending glance into his brother's eyes, "That's what I said. You're lagging a bit there, brother."
"Oh, shut up," Bryce quipped, pretending to look back down at the sheet as he glanced up at Neal's face, which looked a considerable amount of shades lighter at the normal banter.
"So, are you ready? We've gotta do this right the first time, or they'll be onto us. Got it?" Neal said, suddenly serious. Bryce replied with a serious nod, and a rough imitation of Neal's previous smirk.
"Clear as mud. Now let's get this sinking weight off your ankle."
The FBI was odd.
That was Bryce's first thought as he stepped through the elevator the next morning, walking through the glass doors and sitting down at his twin's desk. God, his brother was such a neat freak.
Files and folders were spread in a scattered yet orderly manner all over the desk, stacked on top of each other or laying side-by-side, while various writing utensils were strewn all around, inside cups and drawers that held more random knick-knacks. Bryce felt a twinge of betrayal at the blatant lack of his photograph on the desk – Bryce had one on his desk in his office. Or, well, he did, before the Fulcrum demons came through for a visit. But, then again, having a picture of what others would only see as yourself would come off as considerably narcissistic. Feeling the resentment float away to be replaced by curiosity, Bryce peeked into the drawers, filled with a rubber band ball, a felt-tip pen, and other things presumably things valuable only to Neal.
Scratch that, valuable to anybody, Bryce corrected himself, quickly pushing closed the drawer containing an antique English millefiori inkwell and stopper. Once you steal one thing, there's no going back. Kind of like hunting, then. Proud of you for not falling completely out of the business, little bro.
Cutting that thought off, Bryce glanced up and saw Burke looking down at him. He had never really liked Peter; he was FBI, and Bryce was CIA. There was bound to be some kind of resentment between the two. A little of that had healed as he saw how much Peter and Neal took care of each other, but the residual bitterness stuck. He broke eye contact.
Neal's having trouble, right? Bryce thought. We'll give him trouble, then. With an internal smirk, Bryce shoved his hands under the desk and did his best impression of his brother under stress. Seeing Neal in this position at months at a time when he was going to try to tell the family about going into the crime life when they were younger made it foolishly easy to recreate.
Closing his eyes and concentrating, Bryce turned his mind toward the case they were working on at the time, unable to keep his mind off of the case by his side. He hauled the suitcase up onto the desk, and pulled out a packet from one of the outside pockets.
Instead of skimming the words this time, he read carefully, absorbing each detail and every sentence to figure out what exactly they were dealing with. He was just reading an emphasis of dealing with Peter when something else caught his eye.
Reaching into the suitcase, he brought out a bag labeled '6' and layered with yellow dust. Eyes widening, he quickly skipped to page 6 of the packet and pieced the sentences together. Sulfur at a crime scene?
Definitely not good.
Neal sighed. He walked right into the motel he had only months before, and grimaced as the man at the desk yelled, "Hey, Snake Eyes! You're back!" Giving a strained smile and wave, he continued to the staircase, just managing to hold his breath until the top.
He didn't know what someone had done on those stairs, but whatever it was left a stench that probably wouldn't go away for years. Deciding not to dwell on the possibilities, Neal opened his brother's suitcase and pulled out a pair of keys, smirking to himself as he recognized the keychain on it – a laser pen, that could probably cut through thousands of types of metals.
Once a spy, always a spy, I guess. Neal thought, turning the key in the room's lock. Some things never change.
Jumping as he heard a clatter in the bathroom, he automatically dived into his fighting stance, feet shoulder width apart and hands spread, ready to grab any sort of item to attack someone with. He relaxed with an exasperated sigh as Jo Harvelle trotted out of the bathroom with something akin to disgust on her face.
"God, do you usually stay in places this disgusting?" she remarked, wiping something brown and flaky on her jeans, and proceeding to stare at it in repulsion. Neal smirked.
"Not usually. The FBI can be very generous to ex-convicts," he said, finding a great deal of satisfaction when she whipped around and did a double take, inspecting him closely and saying, "Neal! What are you doing here?"
"Thanks, Jo," he replied with a heavy dose of sarcasm, and she immediately added, "You know that's not what I meant. I mean, where's Bryce?"
Neal, with his smirk still intact, said, "He's … occupied. Where's your mother?" He looked around, and his eyes landed on the light under the door in the bathroom, where a voice echoed through the room with a lilt of underlying threats.
"Don't even think about it, son," Ellen Harvelle said with her own smirk as she stepped out of the bathroom, a similar look of disgust on her face as was just on her daughter's a minute ago. It hardened and then softened as she took a look at Neal. He smiled and gave her a tight hug, turning and doing the same for Jo after a moment.
"So, how's this brother of yours 'occupied'? He's not …" she trailed off, the repulsed look overcoming her features once more.
Neal huffed a laugh at that, briefly reflecting that that might've been his first genuine laugh since Kate … "No, he's not occupied like that, thank God. He's over at the FBI office, working another case."
One of Ellen's eyebrows rose while Jo just looked unimpressed, the tone of her next words betraying her true reaction. "You switched places with him, didn't you?"
Neal gave another smirk, and Ellen cuffed him on the back of the head this time. He whined in protest, rubbing the sore spot but cutting off as she spoke. "You idiot! What happens if you get caught?"
Neal straightened up at the question, and he responded, "It'll be okay. We won't get caught. Bryce is too good for that." He moved over to the fridge, grabbing an ice cold beer and setting the suitcase down on the coffee table. "And, besides, if we do get caught, the CIA will take care of it. They always do when it comes to Bryce."
"Yeah," Jo conceded. "He may be an annoying son of a bitch, but he does the job right." Neal leaned against the couch, pointing an accusing finger at Jo.
"Hey now, watch yourself. That's my mother you're talking about," he said, and the women chuckled, inviting themselves to the open fridge and two already opened beers. Neal laughed. He guessed they had already been inside today if not yesterday sometime.
Neal took a look around the motel room in the few moments of silence that passed. The wallpaper was peeling off of the moldy wall beneath, the bed was messily made, and – was that blood? – there was some odd red substance staining one of the couches.
And then his gaze wandered over to the Harvelle's. The two women in Bryce and Neal's life that had always stayed by their side. They had met back when their father had been taken away, Jo's father apparently having something to do with them being transferred into WitSec. He blinked as he was thrown back into the memory, smiling wistfully as he gazed into space, the bottom of the beer bottle acting as it in reality.
"By, I don't wanna go," A younger Neal whined, pulling on his older brother's shirt sleeve. The young Bryce looked down at Neal, his eyes crinkling at the nickname. Neal hadn't been able to say Bryce, so all he said was a choppy abbreviation. Not that Bryce minded it, however.
"I know, I know," Bryce said, kneeling down to face his brother and meet his eyes. "But look, we've got to go. Do you understand? Ellen and Mom can take care of us, okay?" He paused, biting his lip. "Do you trust me?"
Neal's eyes shined with unshed tears, and a little bit of Bryce broke inside, guilt flooding him as Neal slowly nodded his head. Taking his little brother's hand, Bryce stood, looking up at Ellen and nodding.
She nodded back, wiping the tear streaks from her cheeks as she led them to the car's backseat – right into their grieving mother's lap. They were just kids. Only kids.
Snapping back into reality from the old memory, Neal stumbled, mentally backtracking and trying to process what Ellen had just said. He shook his head free of the cobwebs and the unbidden memories, smiling as he said, "Sorry. Just caught up in an old memory. Yeah, I've got a small ghost problem a few towns over. Think you can handle the demon research without me?"
Ellen chuckled, leading them all over to the old windows laptop sitting on the dining table and whirring irritatingly. Neal missed the laptop he used back at June's apartment.
"I think we'll manage just fine, boy. Now go ahead – get a head start. The sooner you finish that job, the sooner we can get around to solving this demon problem. Together."
Neal smiled, nodding his head. "Got it. See you all later, then."
Jo laughed, calling back to him as he strode toward the door, "You taking the Taurus?"
"What?" Neal replied, giving a sarcastic smile as he added in a mock-Bryce tone, "I would never take a government supplied car and use it for my own purposes."
They all huffed a laugh as Jo gave her own, "Yeah right," and then, "Be careful."
"Ha! Careful's my middle name!" Neal said, turning back and spreading his arms wide.
"Yeah, and mine's String Cheese," Ellen muttered, eliciting one last bought of laughter before Neal walked out, his laugh becoming more bitter with each step.
He hoped they would survive this.
"You find something?" Burke asked, coming up to Neal's desk and leaning over the front to peer at the packet Bryce held in his hands. He moved his hands away quickly, stuffing everything back into his suitcase while hastily pasting a frustrated look on his face.
"Other than something suspiciously close to Sulfur, no," Bryce replied, leaning back in his chair, and enjoying it more than he would care to admit when it swiveled smoothly.
"Sulfur?" Burke said, and Bryce resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Did he stutter?
"Yes," he said out loud. "Check with Diana, it's definitely Sulfur."
Burke closed his eyes, giving a small smile as he said, "You know what, I don't actually want to know how you know that." He straightened, catching sight of Diana and asking her as she approached, "Sulfur?"
Surprise covered her face for a moment, before she said, "How would he know?" Bryce chuckled, saying, "Peter here said he didn't want to know. But, if you're willing to listen … see, it all started when I was only – "
"Okay, hotshot, I regret asking already. Happy?" Bryce gave his best impression of his brother's trademark smirk.
"Very, thanks for asking. You find out anything else?" Bryce leapt up from where he had been spinning around in his chair, and leaned around Diana's shoulder to see the contents of the folder she was holding open. She shied away from him, closing the folder and saying, "Patience, Neal. You'll get yours soon enough."
Bryce rolled his eyes, gesturing for her to hurry up. She scoffed, obviously taking her time in opening the folder and finding her place to start. Bryce paced, bobbing up and down and tapping his foot impatiently.
Finally, she found her spot. "So, a bunch of Sulfur was found at the crime scene, couple of footprints belonging to a common brand of boot, size 10, so average male foot size. It could be anyone." She looked up, blinking in the lingering pause before saying, "But, I did get this." She pulled out a sheet of paper with odd red writing on it, and passed it to Bryce. He took a look at it and internally cursed. A lot.
He resisted the urge to crumple the paper up, and instead narrowed his face into a disgusted sneer. The others looked at him curiously, and he said tightly, "I know who it was."
Burke quickly stole the paper from his hands, and Bryce was glad he could finally clench his fists without contaminating evidence. Meanwhile, Burke's brow just lowered in confusion. "I don't understand. Who is it?"
Bryce shook his head, waving his hand and saying nothing. Burke looked down at the note and began to read out loud.
"'If you've gotten this, it means that you know who I am. Congratulations. I'm really glad you were able to figure it out. Though, I guess the Sulfur was a bit of a giveaway. Good thing you fell for it.
"'So, judging by what has to be a nasty expression on your face right now, I'll assume you know what has to happen. If it's any consolation, I'm sorry. Yes, we're dragging you back into this, but your expertise is needed. See you soon, Mr. Larkin.'"
Burke raised his eyebrows, and said, "Mr. Larkin? You know him?" Bryce huffed a dry laugh. "Yeah, we're pretty close. But that's not who wrote this."
Diana heaved an exasperated sigh, saying, "Then who did?"
Bryce's face grew grim, and he sighed as well, though his was lighter and more tired. "This is a letter addressed to a Mr. Larkin, not a letter from Mr. Larkin." He paused, closing his eyes and applying pressure to his temples to ward off the incoming headache.
"It's from the CIA."
Fulcrum, to be more specific.
Neal was going to kill Bryce the next time he saw him.
Cursing his bad luck, and then cursing his brother's antics instead, he walked over to the sidewalk and began his long trek to headquarters, seething and boiling.
Bryce had taken the Taurus.
Bryce had better be hiding, right about now.
Bryce was dead – will be beyond that, once Neal gets his hands on him.
He leapt over another metal fence, ignoring the appalled looks passerby shot him. He glared at absolutely nothing, stomping off in the general direction of twelve blocks away, where the Taurus was currently waiting.
He was only about halfway there when he caught sight of a familiar face glancing around warily and hurrying down the sidewalk. Running so that he was only a few paces behind him, Neal yelled, "Agent Crowley! What are you doing out here?" The agent stopped, and Neal caught all the way up to him. They began walking together, but Neal didn't miss the halfway dirty looks he was sent by the agent.
"Shouldn't you be doing paperwork or something, Mr. Caffrey?" Agent Crowley asked after a moment, his tone making Neal wonder if it was possible to sound annoyed and pleased to see someone at the same time. He responded with a polite, "Probably."
Glancing at the agent's unimpressed expression, Neal said, "So where are you headed?" Crowley gave an impatient sigh, but said, "back to headquarters." He looked over at Neal with a fake curious and hopeful expression, continuing in a patronizing way, "You wouldn't happen to know the way, would you?"
Well.
"Why, I think I might in fact know the way, my friend. I'm going in the same direction. I've got to give an idiot a piece of my mind," Neal seethed, turning a glare to the concrete sidewalk. Crowley looked up at that, and Neal couldn't help but smirk at the twinkle in his eye once he looked up. Neal leaned in closer. "Know any good ways to get back at a person who made you walk over ten blocks?"
Crowley smiled, shrugged, and thought for a moment before he said, "Steal their shoes. All of them." Neal looked over, surprised. "Hm. Socks too?" Crowley looked thoughtful for a moment, and then asked, "How much do your brother's feet stink?" Way to be subtle.
Neal choked on the laugh on midway up his throat. He whirled around to completely face Crowley, coming to an abrupt halt, and catching up to him when the agent kept going. "Brother?" he said weakly, and Crowley shot him a look that clearly said, "Do I look like an idiot to you?" Neal swallowed, turning to jog backwards and face the agent.
"You can't tell anyone, got it?" he said shakily, stepping in front of Crowley to halt him in his tracks. The agent just rolled his eyes, saying, "Well of course not. Do you think I want to get fired for a simple swap of staff?" Neal considered this, tilting his head as he saw his point, "But, if you did figure it out … how?"
Crowley sighed again, giving Neal an incredulous expression. "Seriously? In case you haven't noticed, your eye color is strikingly different to your brother's." Oh.
Neal growled in frustration, looking at Crowley with something akin to suspicion. "Christo," he muttered under his breath, a gradual intake of breath the only consolation that he hadn't seen anything. Neal wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.
If Crowley could figure it out that soon, who knows how long it will take Peter? Unless … yes, that might work. He walked forward with a purpose, turning the couple of more blocks until they reached the building, and nodding to Crowley as they parted ways, the agent heading into the building while Neal stayed behind to put a note on the sign where the Taurus was parked.
He opened the car door with nothing more than a flick of his wrist and two sticks of metal, and sat comfortably in the front seat, embracing the purr of the engine as he turned it on and pulled down the window, flooring the gas pedal to curve into a distinct lack of traffic this late in the day. He laughed at the wind in his face as he drove off, imagining the scandalized expression on his brother's face.
Ah, review response time!
Quinis: Aw, thanks! I've read a bunch of your works, and coming from you, that means a lot!
Fiona12690: Still trying to write; getting back in the groove now! Expect another chapter soon!
Guest: I'll try! ;)
Inkling No. 3: Er, uh, heh, WOW. I ... don't really know what to say to this, other than ... thank you? I feel like that's not enough. Thank you eternally for spending the time to write that, thanks for posing all of the questions I have trouble keeping straight yet know I have to answer - it gets really crowded in my mind when I try to write this. It's such a big plot! As to your questions of who can be in here, I've got a list. Cas, Crowley, Chuck, Sarah, Shaw, Casey, Morgan, Mozzie, Elizabeth, Lillith, (maybe) Keller, and (definitely) Lucifer. Oh, and Azazel will have a major role, too. So, I'm glad you enjoyed it so far, and thanks once again!
Procrastination Is My Game: First off, love the name. Second, I hope you'll read more soon. Working on the fourth chapter now, so the suspense should be building!
EvE79: Heh, heh. *rubs back of neck nervously* Yeah, sorry about that. Coming right up, promise!
LaLaLAnd: I know! The, to be blunt, appalling lack of fics out there is astonishing. Well-written, I can't promise on my part, but I'll try.
Anah: Ah, unexpected is what I aim for. Great that you love Ellen and Jo, they'll be back soon, and hopefully I can keep my hands away from killing them off for now.
Mythologirly: Hm. That's a lot of 'please'es. Sure I'll update, why not? Just gimme a few hours to write, revise, re-revise, write more, then re-re-revise, and I'll post it. Hopefully soon. Maybe. Rereading that now, it doesn't seem very reassuring, does it? Ah, well, it's coming already, so don't worry.
Please Review - it's incredibly heart-warming to read everything you guys have to say. See you next time!
~IsomorphicTARDIS
Revised Jan 2.