Note: I know that I'm technically only supposed to be updating this book on Mondays but fuck the system, amirite?

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ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇʟᴇᴠᴇɴ: ᴛᴡᴏ ᴅɪsᴘʟᴀʏs ᴏғ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ

❝ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴜɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴋɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ. ❞

✧ ✧ ✧

"YOU RUN EXTENSIVE BACKGROUND CHECKS ON ALL OF YOUR AGENTS. YOU KNEW ABOUT THIS."

"It was more suspicion than cemented knowledge, Agent," The Director's hologram answered with a tilt of the head and a raised eyebrow, "Your father was a genius. Covered his tracks exceptionally well. There's virtually no record of your family history. For all I know, you probably don't even exist."

Brendon, who was pacing up and down the conference room, waved a dismissive hand. "But you knew."

Fury straightened his posture and raised his head so that his eyes looked down on his currently disarrayed agent. "I assumed. And I made the choice to take you in because I saw great potential. One of the best decisions I've ever made."

Brendon only offered a nod in response, his mind still spinning as he tried to fully come to terms with the new information regarding his genealogy. Fury, noticing that Brendon was unusually anxious, decided to put his mind at ease.

"Brendon," he started with a firm tone; the use of his first name and not 'Urie' or 'Agent' made Brendon turn every ounce of his attention to his boss, "the very best of you, the parts that everyone admires and most people fear – that has nothing to do with no mutant gene. That's one hundred percent you. Don't let this mess with your head. Things will only change if you allow them to – you're the one who has full control over your life; don't hand that control over to the gene. 'Cause if you do, then your father wins, and you're better than that. You're better than him, and you're better than your brother. Don't, for even a second, stop believing in yourself. 'Cause I sure as hell never will."

Inhaling deeply and rubbing his hands over his tired face, Brendon nodded his head to show that he understood. In that moment, The Director had said exactly what he needed to hear, and he had never been more thankful for the man.

"Thank you, sir," he breathed shakily.

"Don't mention it, son," Fury spoke softly, before once again firming his tone, "Now, get rid of that sentimentality – it's unbelievably uncomfortable for me to see you so sensitive. Bring me my ominous agent back."

"He never left, sir," Brendon informed, and just like that, he switched back to his usual, ice-sculpture state, "So what should I do with the prisoner?"

Fury scoffed and shook his head lightly. "Don't ask me. This ain't even an official, S.H.I.E.L.D-sanctioned mission, Agent."

"Right," Brendon cleared his throat.

"Although, off the record," Fury cocked one brow and smirked somewhat, "While I'd appreciate having The Phantom Warrior under S.H.I.E.L.D surveillance, locked away where he can't hurt anyone... I do understand the abnormal circumstances. So," he looked at Brendon and gave a curt nod, "you do whatever it is you need to do, Agent."

~

"So he literally gave his blessing for you to murder the guy?" Dean scoffed, face showing his blatant disbelief.

"Pretty much," Brendon replied with a bored voice as he rummaged through the cabinets in the kitchenette in search of the last of the protein bars.

"Are you gonna do it?" Dean pressed, leaning forward from his seat on the countertop; he was far too invested in the situation.

"No."

"Can I do it?"

"No," Brendon groaned, sighing happily when he found the snack and working his fingers along the packaging to open it. "No one is killing anyone today."

"Aw, but I'd do such a good job," Dean all but whined, angrily knocking his dangling leg against the door of the counter.

Brendon took a bite from the bar, chewed and swallowed it before answering. "I know you would. And believe me, I hate him. I want to kill him, and I probably will. But not yet."

All three of The Hounds temporarily halted their respective movements – swinging their legs, chugging down a beer, tossing a baseball against the wall – and turned to exchange worried glances between them. The day that they had dreaded for the past four years had devastatingly arrived.

"You've gone fucking soft!"

Brendon's jaw immediately stopped working to chew the protein bar, and his head snapped in the direction of Rollins to deliver an inexplicably evil glare.

"I have not," he hissed venomously, "gone fucking soft."

"Dude," Dean chuckled giddily, readily nodding his head in a show of support of his friend's bold exclamation, "You've gone soft."

Brendon squinted his eyes and ran his tongue over his teeth. "Yeah?" he asked softly. "How about we head downstairs to the sparring room and then we'll see just how soft I've gone?"

"Hey, it's nothing to be embarrassed about," Rollins soothed, stepping forward as he arched his brows and held his hands up in defence, "Happens to the best of us at times."

With his patience wearing thin, Brendon drew in a deep breath, looked up to the ceiling and skewed his mouth to the side. Once he was able to get his temper under control, he looked at each agent in turn.

"Please... do not come for me like that again. Else the only murders I'll be committing will be yours."

~

Mason was unequivocally dumbstruck, watching with the utmost attentiveness as Brendon loosened the restraints around the assassin's limbs as The Hounds stood in battle formation behind their colleague, ready and willing to attack should the need to do so arise.

"What's this?" he questioned with a frown, hesitant to make any movements for fear that he'd misinterpreted the situation.

"Alright, listen to me and listen well," Brendon sighed, raking his fingers through his hair, "What I'm about to do goes against all of my better instincts and to be quite honest, I have no idea why the hell I'm about to do something so stupid."

Mason perked up noticeably, chancing an upward curve of his lips. "You're letting me go?"

Another sigh from the brooding agent.

"Much to the dismay of the three gentlemen standing behind me," Brendon gently cocked his head in the direction of The Hounds, "yes. But not without conditions..."

Brendon stalked forward, radiating intimidation, and forcing his brother to lean back into the uncomfortable chair as he rested his hands on his shoulders.

"You run. You hide. You disappear. You don't go back to working for Hydra and if you do, I will hunt you down and I will kill you," Brendon threatened, his heavy stare looming over the older Urie. Mason could tell that his brother was as serious has he'd ever been and he dared not challenge him.

"And," Brendon continued, "you do not – under any circumstances – ever try and insert yourself back into my life, in any way at all. If you do, I'll kill you even worse. Nothing has changed between us, Mason. You helped me, yeah, but I still feel nothing for you. And I will never forgive you."

Nodding slowly, Mason relayed that he understood. He had something to ask, though, and even though he knew that he was in an incredibly volatile situation at present and his upcoming inquiry could cause it to take a turn for the worst, his arrogance took over and he couldn't stop himself from speaking.

"Then why are you letting me go?"

"Because I know you're bound to fuck up at some point, and I take great pleasure in knowing that you're out there sleeping with one eye open, knowing that when you do," Brendon stood up straight and took a few steps backwards, giving the tiniest of smirks, "your little brother will show up to kick your ass even worse than our father did. Get rid of him."

Brendon tossed a glance at The Hounds, and the three agents obediently started for the assassin.

"You can deny me all you want, Bren," Mason called after his brother, who was already halfway out of the door, "but you'll always be my little brother."

✧ ✧ ✧

The next day.

"Still think that you made the biggest mistake of your life," Ambrose drawled, spinning around on an office chair.

"Still didn't ask for your opinion," Brendon replied, not lifting his gaze from his laptop, most likely engaged in some form of electronic correspondence with Dallon.

Roman and Seth entered the room then, with Seth taking a seat across from Dean and Roman walking over to the mini-fridge to grab a couple bottles of beer and distribute them to the rest of the guys.

"Alright, boss," Seth clicked his tongue and took the beer that Roman held out to him, "We dumped your dickhead of a brother in the furthest, most remote corner of the planet. What happens now?"

Brendon pursed his lips and exhaled through his nose, scanning the screen to read over the last message he'd received from Dallon before averting his attention to The Hounds.

"I have no fucking idea."

The room went silent after Brendon's admission, with each agent being just as bewildered as the next. They'd spent the better part of a year on this mission, and now that it was over, the complications of it all finally sank in.

"Okay, I'm gonna go out on a limb here," Ambrose broke the silence after a few minutes, throwing his arms out as a haughty look swept over his face. "How about we – just hear me out, here – how about we do the unthinkable..." he trailed off for dramatic effect, biting his lip and holding up one finger before delivering the punch line, "And go back to HQ."

The Lunatic suddenly leapt up out of his seat, gasping loudly and mockingly covering his mouth as if he'd just said something unmentionable. Seth rolled his eyes at his friend's teasing and hurriedly shoved him back into his seat.

Brendon readily shook his head to show his distaste over the suggestion. While it was the usual protocol to return to S.H.I.E.L.D HQ after every mission, the unconventional way this mission had come to be left Brendon with a great deal of problems surrounding his return home.

"No," he said, "I'm not ready to go back yet."

Each of his colleagues nodded in understanding, and Roman offered a solution to their current 'in limbo' predicament.

"I'll make a call to The Director," he spoke, already moving to the next room, "see if there's any operations we can consult on."

Brendon nodded to show that he was on board before looking at the laptop screen, sighing and slamming it shut.

✧ ✧ ✧

Three months later. Moscow, Russia.

"...I mean, I think that he's just nervous, ya know? And with good reason, too," Seth scoffed, sitting in the passenger seat of the SUV, with Roman in the driver's.

Unseen by both of the men, their fellow Hound had just rounded the corner into the alley they were parked at the end of, waving his hands and shouting in an attempt to get their attention, as a group of angry henchmen chased after him.

"START THE CAR!" he yelled, waving his hands wildly, "REIGNS! ROLLINS!"

Seth and Roman were far too engrossed in their conversation to hear the muffled shouts of their friend from outside.

"I don't know, uce," Roman thinned his lips and shook his head, casually leaning his arm against the inside of the car door, "I think the sooner he gets back, the better."

"START THE CAR! START THE FUCKING CAR!"

"Yeah, but can you imagine the shit that's gonna go down when he does?" Rollins arched his brows and leaned forward a bit, "Like-"

"START THE MOTHERFUCKING CAR!" Ambrose screamed as he threw himself forward, the top half of his body crashing through the backseat window, startling the other two and finally kick-starting their reactions.

Roman started the car immediately and tramped on the accelerator just as the henchmen opened fire. Fortunately, Seth had pointed his Glock out of the window and got some fatal shots in, himself, allowing them to get away.

Dean groaned in pain as he manoeuvred the rest of his body into the backseat and shifted himself up amidst the shards of glass.

"Nice to know I can always count on you assholes to act quickly," he said sarcastically, groaning some more as he picked pieces of glass out of his reddened skin.

"Hey, you're alive, aren't you?" Seth quipped, briefly glancing back to make sure that his friend was, in fact, okay.

Dean snorted. "Barely."

There was a resounding thud that echoed through the car – a sound effect to accompany the sudden dent on the roof of the vehicle. Seth and Dean immediately drew their weapons, aiming them at the windows and the roof, ready to attack.

Then, the other backseat window was smashed, as Brendon swung from the roof and into the car feet-first. 

Sighing in relief upon seeing that it was only the fourth agent, Rollins and Ambrose lowered their guns.

"You're a bit too late for that to be awesome, dude," Dean scoffed, holstering his weapon, before pointing to himself and nodding, "I did it first."

"I did it better."

Dean's smug smile turned into a frown and Brendon shot him a wink before leaning forward and patting Roman on the shoulder.

"You might wanna floor it, Reigns. I wasn't exactly a polite guest."

Roman shook his head and mumbled under his breath. "The fact that we're all still alive amazes me."

Brendon was about to respond with a snarky remark, but the ringing of his cell cut him off. Checking the caller ID, he breathed out tiredly before answering.

"I know I'm miraculous, sir, but another mission already?"

"Brendon, this isn't about a mission."

The Director's voice had an underlying tone of worry to it, and that coupled with – once again – the use of his first name, brought Brendon to full attentiveness.

"What's wrong?" he asked firmly.

The response brought Brendon's entire world to a standstill.

ᴇɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ

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Thank you for reading x

Note: Mm any theories as to what The Director said? 🙃