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ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴇɴ: sᴇᴄʀᴇᴛs

❝ sᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇs ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴇɴɪɢᴍᴀs ɴᴇᴇᴅ sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴠᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ. ❞

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                            BRENDON RETURNED from his impromptu road trip a mere five minutes before the break of dawn. The journey had lasted longer than he'd anticipated, but he couldn't deny the miraculous effect it had on him – he felt at ease for the first time in months.

He entered the facility and rode the elevator down to the cell, making his way toward the problem he'd left behind. Roman was seated on a steel chair in front of the door to the cell, maintaining a firm gaze at its occupant.

Even though Brendon had mastered the art of sneaking up on people – right down to the skill of making sure that no matter what shoes he was wearing, his footsteps were almost completely silent – Roman's instincts were that good that he was able to detect the presence of his fellow agent, and he turned to extend a greeting.

"You can catch some sleep," Brendon said to him, cocking his head in the direction of the elevator, "I'll take over."

The Samoan shook his head and scrunched up his face. "Nah, it's all good. We rotated shifts and I just took over from Ambrose a couple minutes ago. 'Sides, I don't think leaving you alone with him is the smartest idea."

Brendon shoved both hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Hey, whose side are you on, here?"

Roman chuckled softly. "Kinda hard to pick," he shrugged, "None of us even know the full story."

"Well you're not missing much, I can tell you that," Brendon mumbled, turning his body and cementing his gaze on his brother, whose head was hanging down as he slept.

Roman observed Brendon for a little while, internally debating whether or not he should instigate a makeshift therapy session. It hadn't boded too well for him in the past, that much was true, but he couldn't help but feel like Brendon was in dire need of someone to talk to. So, at the risk of getting punched square in the jaw, he opened his mouth to speak.

"Look, I know that pep talks are Rollins' thing," he started, making Brendon shift his attention from the assassin to the Hound, "but when it comes to being a good listener and giving sound advice, I'd like to think that I've pretty much got that in the bag. Ambrose is good for if you're looking for someone to get you drunk. And possibly arrested."

Brendon wheezed at Roman's last comment and – realising that he was now unlikely to get himself out of the forthcoming conversation – moved towards the wall so that he could rest his back against it.

"What I'm saying is," Roman continued, outstretching both hands, "if you wanna talk about your brother, or your family, or anything from your past, I'm always here. Full confidentiality – I wouldn't tell a soul. And I know you have this whole enigmatic, emotionless thing going for you, but sometimes... sometimes even enigmas need someone to vent to."

"And you're willing to be my guy?" Brendon asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Roman nodded. "If you trust me enough to let me be, yeah. It's just that I can tell how much having him here is affecting you – even if you weren't expecting it to, or didn't want it to. And I'd hate for you to self-implode over this."

Brendon let the words sink in, staring at Roman's combat boots as his mind worked and he tried to make a decision over whether or not he should open up to his colleague. He knew that if he did, it would absolutely stay between the two of them; Roman was an incredibly private person, so he understood Brendon's need for secrecy to be held.

He also knew that speaking about it to someone would make him feel better. Hence, he said screw it and accepted the offer for a psychotherapy session.

Brendon explained everything to Roman. Everything from how his father left their mother while she was pregnant with him, to their childhood, to Mason running away and getting involved with Hydra, to eleven months ago when the Director informed him of his brother's work as The Phantom Warrior, to when he faked his death so that he could look for him and get the answers he'd been wanting his entire life, and everything in between.

When he was finished talking, he drew in a deep breath and started cracking his knuckles, while Roman arched his brows and let out a low whistle.

"Man," the Hound grumbled, "talk 'bout tragic backstories."

Brendon scoffed. "Tell me about it."

Roman's facial expression morphed into a frown as a realisation just then dawned on him. "Wait, you said Mason's alias is 'The Phantom Warrior'?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that the name of the guy who killed (Y/N)'s-"

"Yes."

"So your brother was-"

"A major part of all of the events that unfolded over the last year and a half?" Brendon spoke with a straight face and an emotionless tone, pushing himself up from the wall to stand upright. "Yes."

"Shit," Roman muttered, shaking his head and running a hand through his long, slick hair.

"That's a nice way of putting it," Brendon remarked, glancing once more at Mason, who was still asleep.

Roman wasn't finished with the conversation, however, and so continued with his pressing questions – he was too intrigued now to even worry about a potential punch coming his way.

"I'm sorry, uce, but I gotta ask..." he started, looking for any signs of non-compliance from Brendon; when he didn't get any – only an expectant look from the brooding agent – he continued, "This guy practically ruined (Y/N)'s life. Yours too. And considering that she clearly means-"

Brendon tensed slightly, and Roman halted his speech immediately, trying to find the words to rephrase his sentence and avoid the situation from escalating to an unpleasant one. When he found them, he proceeded.

"-she's obviously significant part of your life, and you swore to protect her and all that. So, if you're not interested in having Mason as your brother and if you know all the pain he's caused, why did you blow up that jet and come on this mission to find him?"

The other agent sighed tiredly and rubbed both hands over his face, shutting his eyes for a moment before answering.

"It's a very complicated reason. And a personal one. But the gist of it is that I need answers," Brendon spoke, pivoting his head to look through the glass at his brother, who was showing signs of waking up.

Mason slowly raised his head, blinking away the traces of sleep and squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light. When he was fully awake, he focused his gaze on the glass in front of him. Even though it was a one-way window, he seemed to know exactly where to look and somehow, he locked eye contact with his brother.

"And he's the only one who can give them to me."

~

There was a clang of porcelain against metal as a plate with a sandwich on it and a mug of coffee was all but tossed onto the side table in the cell, next to the prisoner. Mason's eyebrows arched as he looked down at the food, somewhat surprised that he was being done such a kindness.

Not too long after, his hands were freed from the restraints holding them in place, and he hurriedly rubbed the skin around the area where he'd been bound to alleviate the irritation there.

"Eat," a hard, cold voice demanded, its owner taking up residency of a steel chair that he'd brought into the room with him.

Tossing a fleeting glance at his brother, Mason made haste of reaching for the sandwich, only then realising how utterly famished he was; he hadn't eaten in days. He took a giant bite out of the meal he held in his hand and started chewing; he could sense Brendon's eyes on him, so he turned to look at him.

"It's rude to watch people eat," he remarked through a mouthful of food.

"It's also rude to murder innocent people and leave their daughter an orphan," Brendon countered, venom in his tone despite it being calm, "so I guess we're both assholes, huh?"

Mason stopped chewing, twitched his eyes and swallowed before addressing his brother. He tilted his head slightly. "Why do I get the suspicion that there's an underlying context to your last comment that I'm unaware of?"

Brendon didn't reply, leaving the assassin to attempt to piece together his own version of an explanation. Mason studied Brendon for a little bit as his thoughts ran rampant, then when it clicked, he let out a short, smug laugh.

"Oh, my god," he scoffed, leaning back in his seat, "Brendon, did you find yourself a girl?"

The teasing tone of his brother's question pissed Brendon off, and he had to fight hard not to swing his fist again. Instead, he summoned his anger into his words.

"Watch yourself," he warned.

The threat was clear and unwavering, and capable of summoning fear into even the mightiest of men. But Mason's brotherly instincts were clouding his mentality.

"Is she cute?" he asked.

"Mason-"

The assassin held up his hands in defence, and made an innocent face. "Hey, I'm just askin' normal questions, here. I imagine she's totally-"

The rest of Mason's sentence disappeared under the smash that resounded throughout the room – a result of Brendon swiping the coffee mug off of the table, clear across the room and into the pristine wall, painting it with a nasty brown colour.

"You don't get to fucking ask questions about her. You don't get to talk about her," Brendon hissed through gritted teeth, eyes wild, "You ruined her life; took what mattered most to her. Just like you did to me."

Mason's smug and taunting demeanour faltered, then, and his body language and facial expression turned solemn.

"Brendon, like I've said before, I had good reason to run away and start over," Mason reminded, looking at his brother with downcast eyes, "And if you'll let me, I'd very much like to try and explain everything to you."

"I'm not interested in your excuses," Brendon spat, seating himself back down and pointing an accusatory finger at his brother, "I told you that I brought you here for one reason and one reason only."

"And you haven't told me what that is, yet," Mason sighed, closing his eyes for a couple seconds.

"I need you to explain something to me."

"What, exactly?"

Brendon ran his tongue all along the inside of his mouth and ran a hand through his hair, taking a moment. When he finally gathered himself, he took a deep breath and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

"I don't even know how to phrase all of this, but I... you and I... we're not normal. I know we're not," Brendon managed to get out.

His words managed to pique Mason's interest, and he straightened up, raising one eyebrow in a silent request for his brother to elaborate.

"We're stronger. Faster. Smarter. Superior to the average person. It's more than good genetics. It's something..." Brendon sighed and threw his hands up to visualise his puzzlement, "something else. I know for a fact we're not fucking superheroes, so... what the hell are we?"

Mason smirked lightly and jabbed a finger in the agent's direction. "You left 'insanely good-looking' off of your list."

Brendon's jaw tightened. "Mason."

The assassin sniggered under his breath and straightened himself up before wrinkling his face and holding his hands out to the side.

"So," he started, inhaling deeply and then looking at Brendon, "you're wrong. It is good genetics. Or bad genetics, depending on who you ask. Basically what I'm trying to say is... we have a mutant gene. We're mutants, Brendon."

"Bullshit," was Brendon's immediate response.

Narrowing his eyes and shaking his head in irritation, Mason scoffed. "Why would I lie?"

"If we were mutants, our abilities would be impossible to miss. We'd be a million times more potent than we are," Brendon argued with a slight frown.

Mason nodded. "You're not wrong there, little brother. We do have the mutant gene, handed down to us by daddy dearest, but it's not the normal mutant gene, per se."

Brendon's forehead creased to signal his confusion, and Mason furthered his explanation.

"Alright, so, we need to backtrack a little bit. When dad was born, he inherited the gene from his father. But you see, this particular gene is different to the rest of the mutant one. It enabled the carrier with the ability to trigger the gene at will; essentially, they could chose when and where to summon their abilities. Whereas with regular mutants, they don't have that choice. So, dad had that gene and he was what they refer to in the mutant world as an Anomaly. Anomalies are incredibly rare. Only ten in a billion."

"And you expect me to believe that we were three under one roof?" Brendon scoffed, clear disbelief on his face.

"God no," Mason snorted, shaking his head, "No, I only said that dad was one." Brendon frowned, and Mason shifted in his seat. "Okay, I'm gonna explain everything in proper detail, which – ironically – is precisely the story I was trying to tell you earlier, about why I ran. You see, if you'd have let me speak yesterday, we could've saved a lot of time."

Now growing agitated, Brendon huffed impatiently. "Just get on with it."

"As you wish," Mason smirked and winked at Brendon, who rolled his eyes, "Like I said, dad was an Anomaly – a mutant, and an incredibly smart one at that. He spent his teenage years attempting to make some kind of scientific breakthrough, and when the second World War rolled around and he'd learned about the scientific miracle that was Captain Steve Rogers and his transformation into a super-soldier... that was when he came up with the idea for – in his words – 'his only great invention'... A mutant serum."

"But that's impossible," Brendon shook his head, not yet buying into his brother's story, "Mutants can't be created. They have to inherit the gene."

"Yeah, but dad found a way to bypass the law of inheritance. Think about it," Mason once again held out his hands and leaned forward as much as he could, "if regular genes such as the ones for eye colour can be extracted or manipulated and used in in vitro fertilization, who's to say that the same can't be done with the mutant gene?"

"So you're saying that dad found a way to harvest the mutant gene and what? Create the better version of the super-soldier serum?"

Mason nodded in confirmation. "That's exactly what I'm saying. And he almost had the technique mastered, too. He spent hours experimenting on himself, using the gene to develop this- this," Mason struggled to get the words out, as if speaking it left a bitter taste in his mouth, "potion, essentially, that would greatly increase the potency of his abilities. But, much to his fucking dismay, by the time he had gotten it right, he was too old to benefit from it. He injected himself with the serum, but its effects were minimal. He realised then that no such abomination of nature came without some kind of condition, and in this case, the recipient of the serum had to be considerably younger than a middle-aged man. And..." he hung his head down and scoffed before looking up at Brendon with a lopsided grin, "I'll give you three guesses as to who his next test subject was."

Brendon felt his chest constrict and he was certain that his heart skipped a beat. Swallowing the massive lump that had formed in his throat, he croaked out an answer.

"You?"

"Ding, ding, ding!" Mason waved one finger in the air before pointing it at his brother. "We have a winner."

"He used you as a test subject?" Brendon repeated, still taken aback at the revelation. He knew that his dad was a total douche, but this was beyond any douchiness he could ever imagine. Using his own son as a lab rat? That was pure evil.

Mason's face hardened and he grinded his teeth as he recalled the memories from back then. "He fucking tortured me. Do you know how hard I begged, how much I cried for him not to do it? But do you think he cared? No, he didn't care. He never cared about me, about you, about mom... all that mattered to him was his fucking vision." The assassin let his head fall back and he laughed bitterly. "You know what he did? He made me train like a fucking cutthroat. Said it was 'the only way to make sure that the serum was working'. I was seven, can you imagine that? Mind you, I passed every challenge he came up with, but that's not the point. I was a baby."

Brendon stayed silent as he listened, and remained silent for minutes after; the heaviness in the air was so strong that no speaking was required from either brother. Then, Brendon asked a question.

"And mom?" he lifted his gaze to meet his brother's. "She just... let him do that?"

Mason smiled sadly. "She tried to stop him, but it was no use. He'd just berate her; yell about how she was getting in the way of his vision, and how he would be the one to change the world or some shit like that. It was a failed effort. But then she found out she was pregnant with you, and it was like there was this fire that had ignited in her – she said she couldn't have two sons fall victim to such a tyrant, so she kicked him out. He didn't wanna leave, obviously, but then I twisted his arm until it broke, and I said that if he didn't, I would kill him. He was gone by morning."

Brendon's lipped twitched upwards ever so slightly. "Wow," he mocked.

"Hey, you ain't the only badass Urie out there," Mason chuckled.

"So you're the reason I never had a dad, hm?" Brendon spoke with a straight face, but somehow, Mason knew that he was (for the most part, at least) joking.

"If you wanna look at it like that, sure," Mason shrugged, cocking his head to the side, "I saw it as saving your life – since, ya know, dad had the serum in his blood and passed the gene on to you when he, well, made you. But whatever."

Brendon rolled his eyes and wheezed, standing up from the chair. "Please. I woulda kicked both of your asses. And that isn't even a joke."

Mason looked at his little brother – really looked at him – and saw the incredible man that he'd become and he couldn't supress the proud smile that spread across his face, albeit a small one. "I'll bet," he muttered.

"So," Brendon spoke, bringing the subject back to their father, "where'd he go after mom kicked him out?"

"Hell, if I know. I wasn't too interested in keeping tabs on him, as you can imagine," Mason grunted, "Although I do know where he ended up. Dead. Killed by The Winter Soldier in 1991."

Brendon's eyes widened infinitesimally as he pieced together the information. "1991. That's the year you left."

"I was too scared to run before; afraid he'd find me. So when I heard that he was dead... Fuck, I'd never felt such relief." Mason seemingly stared into the distance, eyes clouded over with dreaminess as if he were reliving that glorious moment over and over again.

His reminiscing was short lived, however, since his brother's icy voice tore it to shreds mere moments later.

"Why did Hydra have him assassinated? Why was he considered a threat?" he interrogated.

Mason blew a raspberry and shrugged. "Beats me. I assume it's something to do with the serum, but I dunno. Could be something else entirely. I tried to find out, but they don't take too kindly to their assassins – sorry, their weapons – asking questions. Makes them panicky. So eventually, I stopped asking and I stopped looking. I don't care why they had him killed, to be totally honest. I'm just glad that they did."

There was a tense silence that enveloped the room thereafter, one that allowed both brothers, but Brendon in particular, to fully digest the conversation that had just transpired.

The agent felt significantly less heavier; the uncertainty over his familial matters had always been a nagging, lingering thought at the back of his mind, and he was ever thankful that he had now managed to get rid of it. While the newly discovered information did pose a challenge, it was one that he welcomed dearly. Mutant gene or not, he was still – and always would be – one of the most badass motherfuckers on the planet.

Mason, on the other hand, was not feeling so confident.

He realised that Brendon had gotten what he'd wanted – an explanation – and now, Mason was of no use to him. The assassin had no idea what to expect next and so was understandably anxious.

"Brendon?" he knitted his brow. "I've given you what you wanted from me."

"Yeah," Brendon said emotionlessly, with a slight nod, "you have."

"So... where do we go from here?"

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Thank you for reading x

Note: So, what are our thoughts on the new revelation?