Are you watching Tracker? Can you do a Colter shaw and Russell shaw x little sister reader? Reader is a freshman in college and lives in the dorm. She keeps in touch with Colter. She talks to him and sometimes stays in his trailer during the holidays. Colter is a protective and loving older brother. She doesn't talk to Russell. He's mad at him for abandoning them. Reader is kidnapped one day and Colter tells Russell. They start looking for their sisters together. Reader is injured (shot or stabbed) and they take her to the hospital and reader reconciles with her older brother Russell.
╰┈➤ Finding You
Colter Shaw x sister!reader Russell Shaw x sister!reader Summary: You were kidnapped one day by people who wanted you as leverage to get your brothers. Colter and Russell had to work together and track you down to save you.
Notes: This has been in my drafts for freaking ever. I'm just finished watching Tracker so I decided to actually write this. Also I updated the tag list making it a bit neater and the lists more specific. So if you wanna be tagged in any other fandoms you should check it out. Warnings: kidnapping/stabbing/violence/angst
The November wind rattled the windows of your dorm room at Berkeley as you balanced your phone between your shoulder and ear, highlighting passages in your sociology textbook with methodical precision. The desk lamp cast a warm glow over the scattered papers, empty coffee cup, and the framed photo of you, Colter, and Russell from years ago—back when things were simpler, back when your family was whole.
"You're still coming for Thanksgiving, right?" Colter's voice came through warm and reassuring, a stark contrast to the cold evening outside and the stress of finals looming on the horizon.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," you said, smiling despite the exhaustion weighing down your shoulders from a week of midterms. "Though I'm warning you now, I'm bringing approximately seven loads of laundry and I expect you to have actual food in that trailer of yours. And by actual food, I mean more than protein bars and black coffee."
His laugh was soft and genuine, the sound immediately easing some of the tension in your neck. "The trailer's always open for you, kid. I'll even stock the fridge. How are classes going? You surviving your first semester?"
"Surviving and thriving," you said, setting down your highlighter and leaning back in your desk chair. "Though Professor Darve is trying to kill us with this workload. We have a twenty-page paper due next week on social stratification theory. Twenty pages, Colt. I'm eighteen years old. I shouldn't have to know words like 'stratification.'"
"But you do know them," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "Because you're brilliant. How'd that midterm go? The one you were stressed about last week?"
Your grin widened. "Got my grade back today. Ninety-four percent. Professor Darve told me it was one of the best essays he'd received in years. He actually used the word 'insightful,' which coming from him is basically like winning a Pulitzer."
"Of course it was one of the best." The pride in Colter's voice made your chest warm, filling some of the hollow spaces that college life couldn't quite reach. "Dad would've been so proud of you. You know that, right? First Shaw to go to college, making it look easy."
The mention of your father brought the familiar ache, but also comfort. Colter was the one who kept his memory alive in the best ways—not dwelling on the conspiracy theories or the paranoia that had consumed their dad's final years, but remembering the man who had taught you to track deer through the woods, who had read you stories about explorers and adventurers, who had believed you could do anything.
"It doesn't feel easy," you admitted, picking at the corner of your textbook. "Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning. Everyone here seems so much smarter, so much more prepared. There are kids in my classes who went to elite prep schools and had private tutors. I'm just a girl from nowhere who got lucky with a scholarship."
"You're not lucky. You're smart and hardworking, and you earned every bit of that scholarship," Colter said firmly. "Don't sell yourself short. You belong there just as much as anyone else. More, even, because you actually had to fight for it."
You blinked back the sudden moisture in your eyes, grateful he couldn't see you getting emotional over the phone. "Thanks, Colt. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You'd be fine. You're a Shaw—we're survivors," he said, but his voice had softened. "But you'll never have to find out. I'm always here, okay? Anytime, day or night. You need anything—money, advice, someone to vent to, or just someone to listen—you call me."
"I know." You twisted the phone cord around your finger. "You're the best big brother anyone could ask for."
There was a pause, and you knew what was coming before he even spoke. "Have you talked to Russell lately?"
The warmth in your chest immediately crystallized into ice. "No," you said flatly, your jaw tightening. "Have you?"
"Not in a few months. I just thought—"
"Well, don't think," you cut him off, harsher than you intended. Your hand clenched into a fist on the desk. "I have nothing to say to him, Colt. He made his choice when he disappeared. When Mom needed us, when we needed each other after Dad died, where was he? Off playing soldier or spy or whatever the hell he does now. He abandoned us."
"I know you're angry—"
"I'm not angry," you lied, your voice rising slightly. Your roommate Margret glanced over from her bed where she was studying, concern flickering across her face. You lowered your voice. "Okay, I am angry. He left us, Colter. You were there, dealing with everything, helping me with college applications, making sure I was okay. And where was Russell? He didn't even come to my high school graduation. His own little sister's graduation, and he couldn't be bothered to show up."
"He had reasons—"
"I don't care about his reasons." You stood up, pacing the small space between your desk and bed. "You don't just abandon family. That's not what family does. You taught me that. You've been there for every important moment since Dad died. Russell? He's proven that whatever he's doing is more important than us. More important than me."
Colter's sigh was heavy, weighted with years of being caught between his siblings. "He's still our brother. He's still your brother, whether you want to acknowledge it or not."
"Biologically, sure. But family is more than blood, Colt. It's showing up. It's being there. And he's failed at that spectacularly." You rubbed your eyes, suddenly exhausted. "Can we not talk about him? Please? He doesn't deserve the energy."
"Okay," Colter agreed quietly. "Okay, we won't talk about him. But maybe someday—"
"Maybe someday I'll feel differently," you finished. "But today is not that day. Today I need to focus on this paper and getting through finals and surviving on four hours of sleep."
"You need more sleep than that," Colter said, slipping easily back into protective big brother mode. "Your brain can't function properly without rest. What have I told you about taking care of yourself?"
"That I'm no good to anyone if I'm burnt out," you recited. "But Colt, there aren't enough hours in the day. Between classes, studying, my work-study job at the library, and trying to have something resembling a social life—"
"The social life can wait. Your health can't." His voice took on that stubborn edge you knew so well. "Promise me you'll get at least six hours tonight."
"I promise I'll try." You glanced at the clock on your desk. "Actually, I was about to head down to the common room to get some coffee and maybe take a break. Clear my head before I dive back into this reading."
"Good. Take breaks. And remember what I taught you—stay aware of your surroundings, especially at night. I know college campuses feel safe, but—"
"But statistically they're not always as safe as they seem," you finished, having heard this particular lecture many times. "I know, Colt. I'm careful. I walk with friends when it's dark, I keep my phone charged, I lock my door at night. You've trained me well."
"Just humor your paranoid older brother."
"You're not paranoid. You're cautious. There's a difference." You grabbed your key and phone. "I'm going to head down now. I'll call you tomorrow? Maybe we can talk about what you want me to bring for Thanksgiving. Fair warning, my cooking skills haven't improved."
"You could burn water," Colter teased. "But that's fine. I'll handle the cooking. You just bring yourself and those seven loads of laundry."
"Deal. Love you, big brother."
"Love you too, kid. Be careful out there."
"Always am."
You ended the call, slipping your phone into the pocket of your hoodie—one of Colter's old ones that you'd stolen last summer, worn and soft and smelling like safety. Margret looked up from her laptop as you headed for the door.
"Going to get coffee?" she asked, pulling out her earbuds.
"Yeah, want anything?"
"I'm good, thanks. Don't stay up too late studying. You look exhausted."
"Says the girl who pulled an all-nighter for chemistry," you shot back with a grin.
"Do as I say, not as I do." Margret smiled. "Hey, are you okay? That call seemed kind of intense."
You paused at the door, hand on the handle. "Just family stuff. My brother Russell... it's complicated."
"The one who's never around?"
"That's the one." You shook your head. "But Colter's great. He's basically raised me since our dad died. He's the reason I'm here, honestly. I don't know what I'd do without him."
"He sounds amazing. Very different from Russell, from what you've said."
"Complete opposite," you agreed. "Anyway, I'll be back in twenty. Don't let me stay up past midnight if I try, okay?"
"You got it, roomie."
You stepped out into the hallway, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. The dorm was relatively quiet for a Wednesday night—most people were either in their rooms studying or had gone out to the library or late-night cafes. Your footsteps echoed on the floor as you walked toward the stairwell, mentally cataloging everything you still had to do before you could sleep.
The stairwell door was heavy, the hinges creaking as you pulled it open. The concrete stairs were dimly lit, the bulb on the second floor flickering. You'd mentioned it to the RA last week, but facilities was apparently backed up with maintenance requests. You made a mental note to mention it again as you started down the stairs, one hand trailing along the metal railing.
You were halfway between the third and second floor when you heard footsteps below you. Heavy footsteps, moving quickly. Two sets, maybe three.
Colter's voice echoed in your head: Stay aware of your surroundings.
You slowed, listening. The footsteps had stopped.
Maybe they'd exited the stairwell. Maybe you were being paranoid. Maybe Colter's warnings had finally gotten to you.
You continued down, reaching the second-floor landing.
The hand came out of nowhere.
One second you were alone, the next a gloved hand was clamped over your mouth, cutting off your scream before it could form. Your phone clattered to the concrete as strong arms wrapped around you from behind, pinning your arms to your sides. You thrashed, trying to remember everything Colter had taught you—stomp on the instep, elbow to the ribs, make yourself deadweight—but a second attacker appeared in front of you, and together they were overwhelming.
"Stop fighting," a rough voice growled in your ear. "Make this easy on yourself."
Like hell you would.
You managed to kick backward, connecting with someone's shin. The grip on you tightened painfully, and then something dark was being pulled over your head—a bag, rough fabric that smelled like oil and dirt. Panic flooded your system as your world went black.
You tried to scream again, but the hand over your mouth pressed harder, cutting off your air. Your lungs burned. Your heart hammered against your ribs.
"Got her?" another voice asked, this one younger, nervous.
"Yeah. Move. We need to get out of here before someone comes."
You were lifted off your feet, carried like you weighed nothing. You could hear a door opening—not the stairwell door, something else. A service entrance, maybe? You struggled again, desperate, but it was useless. Strong arms held you immobile as you were carried outside into the cold November air.
A vehicle door opened. You were shoved inside, landing hard on what felt like a van floor. Zip ties bit into your wrists, then your ankles, cinched tight enough to cut off circulation. The engine started, and the van lurched into motion.
"Who are you?" you managed to gasp out, your voice muffled by the bag. "What do you want?"
"Shut up," someone snapped. Something pressed against your side—hard and unmistakable. A gun. "Don't talk, don't scream, don't try anything. Understand?"
You nodded, fear turning your blood to ice.
"Good girl."
The van drove on, turning left, then right, then left again. You tried to track the movements, tried to count seconds to estimate distance like Colter had taught you, but panic was making it impossible to concentrate. Your mind raced through possibilities. Random kidnapping? Targeted? Was this about your father? About the conspiracy theories and military secrets he'd obsessed over before his death?
Colter, you thought desperately. Colter, please. Please know something's wrong.
But how could he? You'd just talked to him twenty minutes ago. He was probably miles away, tracking down some missing person or following a lead on a reward case. He wouldn't know you were gone until you didn't call tomorrow. Until Margret reported you missing when you didn't come back to the room.
By then, it might be too late.
The van drove for what felt like hours but was probably only thirty or forty minutes. When it finally stopped, you were dragged out, carried again, and then thrown into a room that smelled like mildew and decay. The bag was ripped off your head.
You blinked in the sudden light—a single bare bulb hanging from a water-stained ceiling. The room was small, concrete walls, no windows. An abandoned warehouse or basement, maybe. Your captors were two men in dark clothing and ski masks. Professional. Prepared.
"Why are you doing this?" you asked, proud that your voice only shook a little. "If this is about money, my family doesn't have—"
"It's not about money," the taller one interrupted. He crouched in front of you, dark eyes visible through the mask. "It's about leverage. Your brothers have something we want. Information. And you're going to help us get it."
Your blood ran cold. "My brothers?"
"Colter and Russell Shaw. We know they're looking into the Horizon Initiative. We know they're close to finding something they shouldn't find." He tilted his head. "So here's how this works. We contact them, we tell them what we want, and if they're smart, they'll back off and you'll go home safe. If they're not smart..." He let the threat hang in the air.
"I don't know anything about a Horizon Initiative," you said honestly. "Colter doesn't tell me about his cases. And Russell—I haven't talked to Russell in years."
"That's unfortunate for you." The man stood. "But I'm sure they'll be motivated to comply once they know we have you. Especially Colter. He's the protective type, from what we've gathered."
They left you there, hands and feet still zip-tied, sitting on the cold concrete floor with your back against the wall. The door shut with a heavy clang, and you heard a lock click into place.
You were alone.
And you had never felt more terrified in your life.
▸
Forty-Eight Hours Later
Colter's phone buzzed with an unknown number at 3:47 AM. He was already awake, parked outside a motel in Nevada, reviewing case files on his laptop. He'd learned years ago that sleep was a luxury in his line of work.
He answered without hesitation. "Shaw."
"Mr. Shaw." The voice was distorted, run through a modulator. "We have something that belongs to you."
Colter sat up straighter, every sense immediately on alert. "Who is this?"
"That's not important. What's important is that we have your sister. The baby of the family. What's her name again? Oh, right—" The voice said your name, and Colter's blood turned to ice.
"If you've hurt her—"
"She's alive. For now. Whether she stays that way depends entirely on you and your brother." There was a pause, the sound of muffled voices in the background. "You and Russell have been looking into things you shouldn't. The Horizon Initiative. Whatever you think you've found, whatever you think you know—you need to stop. Erase everything. Walk away."
"Put her on the phone," Colter demanded, his hand gripping the phone so tight his knuckles went white. "I want proof of life."
Silence. Then a different voice, younger, scared: "Colter?"
Your voice. Definitely your voice.
"I'm here," Colter said, forcing calm into his tone even as panic clawed at his chest. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm okay, they haven't—" A sharp sound, like someone had hit you, and your voice cut off.
"You have your proof," the distorted voice returned. "Now here's what's going to happen. You have seventy-two hours to delete everything you have on Horizon, and you need to convince your brother to do the same. After seventy-two hours, if we're not satisfied, your sister dies. If you go to the police, she dies. If you try to find her, she dies. If either of you continues investigating, she dies. Are we clear?"
"Crystal," Colter said, his mind already racing through scenarios, tracking protocols, rescue strategies. "But I need more than seventy-two hours. Russell and I—we don't exactly keep in regular contact. Finding him will take time."
"That's your problem, not ours. Seventy-two hours, Shaw. The clock starts now."
The line went dead.
Colter sat frozen for exactly five seconds, letting the information process. Then he was moving, starting the truck, pulling up contacts on his phone. He had calls to make. Resources to activate.
And he had to find Russell.
He'd sworn he would never ask his older brother for help again, not after the last time they'd spoken had ended in a shouting match about duty and family and all the ways Russell had failed at both. But that was before. Before someone had taken you. Before everything changed.
Colter had contacts everywhere—people who owed him favors, information brokers, hackers, former military personnel who could track down ghosts. Within thirty minutes, he had a location: Russell was in Virginia, apparently working some kind of freelance security consultation job.
Colter made the call.
Russell answered on the fourth ring, voice thick with sleep. "Yeah?"
"They have her," Colter said without preamble. "They have our sister."
Silence. Then Russell's voice came back, sharp and alert: "What? Who? When?"
"Forty-eight hours ago, we think. She went missing from her dorm at Berkeley. I got a call an hour ago—proof of life. They want us to stop investigating the Horizon Initiative or they'll kill her."
"The Horizon Initiative." Russell's voice had gone flat, and Colter could practically hear the gears turning in his brother's mind. "Jesus. Colter, you have no idea what you've stepped into—"
"I don't care what I've stepped into. I care about getting her back alive." Colter's jaw clenched. "I need your help. I know we haven't exactly been on good terms, and I know she's not talking to you, but—"
"Where are you?"
"Nevada. But I'm heading to Berkeley now, see if I can pick up any trails from where she was taken."
"I'll meet you there. I can be on a plane in two hours." Russell paused. "Colter, the people behind Horizon—they're not playing games. They're connected, well-funded, and they have no problem eliminating threats. If they have her..."
"Then we get her back," Colter said firmly. "That's not negotiable. She's our sister, Russell. Our baby sister. Whatever else has happened between us, whatever issues we have—this comes first."
"Agreed." Russell's voice had taken on that cold, focused quality that Colter remembered from their childhood, when Russell would hunt with their father and come back with that same lethal intensity. "Send me everything you have. Every detail, every lead, every piece of information about Horizon. I've got resources too. Between us, we'll find her."
"Russell—" Colter hesitated. "She doesn't want to see you. She's still angry about you leaving. About everything."
"I know." Russell's voice was quiet now, almost vulnerable. "But she doesn't have to forgive me. She just has to survive. We'll deal with the rest later."
"Okay." Colter started the truck, already plotting the fastest route to California. "I'm sending you the files now. Meet me at Berkeley, Hayes Hall. That's where her dorm is."
"I'll be there."
▸
Sixty Hours After Abduction
You'd lost track of time in the windowless room. They brought you water and food occasionally—granola bars, bottled water, nothing that required utensils they could use as weapons. Your wrists and ankles were raw from the zip ties. Your body ached from sitting on concrete. But mostly, you were terrified.
You'd heard your captors talking when they thought you were asleep. Snatches of conversation that made your blood run cold: "...Shaw brothers are still investigating..." "...we might need to send a stronger message..." "...the girl is a liability..."
The door opened suddenly, flooding the room with light from the hallway. The tall one entered, the one who seemed to be in charge. He carried something that made your heart stop: a knife.
"Time to send another message to your brothers," he said, advancing toward you. "They're not cooperating fast enough. Still digging, still asking questions. They need proper motivation."
"No, wait—" You scrambled backward, but there was nowhere to go, just concrete wall pressing against your back. "Please, they'll stop, just give them more time—"
He grabbed your arm, and you struggled, but he was stronger. The knife flashed in the dim light.
You screamed.
▸
Colter and Russell stood in your empty dorm room, the tension between them thick enough to cut. They'd spent the last sixty hours working in parallel, sharing information but barely speaking beyond necessity. Too much history, too much pain, too much blame to address when their sister's life hung in the balance.
Margret, your roommate, sat on her bed, looking shell-shocked. "She just went to get coffee," she kept repeating. "She was supposed to be back in twenty minutes."
"The phone," Colter said, examining the evidence bag the campus police had provided. Your phone had been found in the stairwell, screen cracked. "No defensive wounds in the stairwell, no blood. They were professional. Probably two or three people, based on the positioning."
Russell was studying his laptop, running through security footage he'd obtained through less-than-legal means. "Got them. Two men, entering the building through the service entrance at 9:43 PM. Faces covered. They knew where the cameras were—avoided most of them."
"Can you track the van?"
"Working on it." Russell's fingers flew over the keyboard. "License plates were fake, but there are only so many routes out of Berkeley. I'm cross-referencing traffic cameras, looking for the vehicle."
Colter's phone buzzed. Unknown number. He answered immediately, putting it on speaker. "Shaw."
"Your sister's time is running out," the distorted voice said. "You're both still looking. Still digging. That's disappointing."
"We need more time," Colter said. "The data is scattered across multiple—"
A sound interrupted him. A scream. Your scream, raw and agonized.
Both brothers went rigid.
"Stop!" you were crying in the background. "Please, stop—"
"Next time, it won't just be a cut," the voice said calmly. "Next time, we go deeper. Twelve hours, gentlemen. That's all you have left. After that, your sister comes home in pieces."
The line went dead.
Russell and Colter looked at each other, and something unspoken passed between them—a shared determination, a brotherly understanding that transcended their years of distance.
"Screw their timeline," Russell said. "We find her now."
"Agreed." Colter pulled up a map on his phone. "You said you recognized some of the terminology they used in that first call—the way they referenced Horizon. What does that tell us?"
"Military background, probably private sector now. The Horizon Initiative was a black ops program, shut down officially five years ago. But some of the operatives went private, formed their own security companies. There are three in the Bay Area that I know of—all with ties to the original program."
"Locations?"
Russell rattled off addresses. "But they won't be keeping her at an official site. Too risky. They'll have a safe house, somewhere off the grid."
"Then we find the safe house." Colter was already moving, grabbing his gear. "We have twelve hours. We work every contact, every lead, every piece of information until we find her."
They split up, working their respective networks. Colter called Bobby who immediately started digging into property records and financial transactions. Russell reached out to former military contacts, people who still had connections in the black ops world.
Eight hours later, they had a location: an abandoned industrial complex on the outskirts of Oakland, owned by a shell corporation that traced back to Horizon operatives.
They met outside the complex at dawn, both armed, both ready.
"We go in quiet," Russell said, checking his weapon with practiced efficiency. "Extract her first, deal with the kidnappers second. Agreed?"
"Agreed." Colter looked at his older brother. "After this—after we get her out—we need to talk. Really talk. About everything."
"I know." Russell's jaw tightened. "But first, let's bring our sister home."
They moved into the complex like shadows, using the skills their father had taught them years ago—tracking, stealth, reading environments. The building was mostly abandoned, but there were fresh tire tracks, disturbed dust patterns. Someone was here.
Russell signaled: two guards, main entrance. Colter nodded: take them quietly.
They moved in perfect synchronization, years of brotherhood overriding years of separation. The guards went down without raising an alarm.
They found you in a basement room, and Colter's heart nearly stopped at the sight.
You were slumped against the wall, zip ties still binding your wrists and ankles. Your clothes were torn and dirty. But it was the blood that made Russell swear under his breath—fresh blood soaking through your shirt on the right side, a crude bandage that wasn't doing nearly enough.
"Hey," Colter said softly, rushing to your side and cupping your face. "Hey, kiddo. Open your eyes. We're here."
Your eyes fluttered open, glazed with pain and shock. When you focused on Colter, tears immediately spilled down your cheeks. "Colt?"
"I've got you. You're safe now." He was already cutting through the zip ties with his knife, gentle despite the urgency. "Can you walk?"
"I—I don't know. They stabbed me. I tried to fight when they—" Your gaze shifted, landing on Russell standing in the doorway, and your expression hardened even through the pain. "What is he doing here?"
"Helping save your life," Russell said quietly. "We need to move. Can you stand?"
You tried, but the moment weight settled on your legs, you gasped in pain and would have collapsed if Colter hadn't caught you.
"I've got you," he murmured. "Russell, clear us a path."
"Already on it." Russell moved ahead, weapon raised, checking corners and doorways.
They made it halfway to the exit before the shooting started.
The kidnappers had realized something was wrong. Bullets sprayed the hallway, and Russell returned fire while Colter shielded you with his body, dragging you toward cover behind a concrete pillar.
"Stay down," Colter ordered, then joined Russell in the firefight.
You'd seen your brothers handle themselves in tough situations before—Colter had told you stories about tracking dangerous fugitives. But you'd never seen them like this: moving in perfect coordination, covering each other, taking down threats with lethal precision. They moved like they'd been fighting together their whole lives, even though you knew they'd barely spoken in years.
When the shooting stopped, Russell reappeared, breathing hard but uninjured. "We need to go. Now. There might be more."
Colter lifted you carefully, cradling you against his chest like you weighed nothing. "Hold on, okay? We're getting you to a hospital."
"Don't want... hospital," you mumbled, shock making your thoughts fuzzy. "Want... home."
"Hospital first," Colter said firmly. "Then home. I promise."
The drive to the nearest hospital was a blur. You kept fading in and out, aware of Colter's hands pressing against your side, trying to slow the bleeding. Russell drove like a man possessed, running red lights, taking corners at dangerous speeds.
"Stay with me," Colter kept saying. "Stay awake. Talk to me. Tell me about your classes. Tell me about that paper you were writing."
"Colt..." Your voice was weak. "I'm tired."
"I know. But you can't sleep yet. Come on, kiddo. Stay with me."
Russell's voice from the front seat: "Two minutes. Hospital's two minutes away."
"She's losing too much blood."
"She's going to make it. She's a Shaw. We're too stubborn to die."
The hospital was chaos—doctors and nurses rushing toward you the moment Russell screeched to a halt outside the ER entrance. Colter carried you inside, refusing to let go until medical staff physically pried you away.
"Stab wound to the right lower abdomen," a doctor was saying. "Possible internal bleeding. We need to get her to surgery. Who are you?"
"Her brothers," Colter and Russell said in unison.
"Wait outside. We'll update you as soon as we can."
The waiting room was sterile and cold, filled with uncomfortable plastic chairs and outdated magazines no one was reading. Colter sat with his head in his hands, still wearing his blood-stained shirt. Russell paced, unable to sit still, that military restlessness making it impossible to settle.
"She'll be okay," Russell said after an hour of silence. "She's strong."
"She shouldn't have been involved in this at all," Colter replied, his voice raw. "This is our mess. Our father's conspiracy theories, our investigations. She should have been safe at college, worried about papers and boys and normal college kid stuff."
"We didn't know they'd target her."
"We should have." Colter looked up, and Russell was struck by the anguish in his younger brother's eyes. "I should have. I knew we were poking at dangerous things. I should have made sure she was protected."
"This isn't your fault."
"Feels like it is." Colter slumped back in his chair. "You know she doesn't talk to you, right? She's furious at you. Has been for years."
"I know."
"She was fourteen when you left. Fourteen, Russell. Dad had just died, Mom was barely functioning, and you disappeared into whatever black ops program recruited you. She needed us. She needed her big brothers. And you weren't there."
Russell stopped pacing, standing with his back to Colter. "I know," he said quietly. "I had my reasons, but that doesn't make it right. I thought—I thought I was protecting you both by staying away. By keeping that life separate."
"We didn't need protecting from you. We needed you. Period." Colter's voice cracked. "Do you have any idea how many times she asked about you? How many times I had to explain that you weren't coming to her soccer games or birthday parties or graduation? How many times I had to watch her face fall when she realized you'd chosen whatever mission or operation over us?"
"I never wanted—" Russell turned around, and Colter was surprised to see moisture in his older brother's eyes. "I never wanted to hurt her. Either of you. The work I was doing—I couldn't risk bringing that darkness home. I couldn't risk getting you involved in things that could get you killed."
"And how did that work out?" Colter gestured angrily. "She still got taken. She's still in surgery with a stab wound because of things we're investigating. Your distance didn't protect her, Russell. It just made her feel abandoned."
Russell sank into a chair, suddenly looking older than his years. "I know. God, I know. And I don't know how to fix it. I don't know if she'll ever forgive me."
"I don't know either," Colter admitted. "But if you want any chance at a relationship with her, you're going to have to show up. Consistently. Not just for the dramatic rescues, but for the boring stuff too. For the phone calls and the visits and the being there even when it's inconvenient."
"I can do that." Russell looked at his brother. "If she'll let me."
They sat in silence for another two hours before a doctor finally emerged, still in surgical scrubs.
"She's stable," the doctor announced, and both brothers sagged with relief. "The blade missed any major organs, but she lost a significant amount of blood. We've repaired the damage and she's receiving transfusions. She's going to be very sore and weak for a while, but with proper rest and care, she should make a full recovery."
"Can we see her?" Colter asked immediately.
"She's in recovery now. Give us another hour to get her settled in a room, and then you can visit. Fair warning—she's going to be groggy from the anesthesia."
"We'll wait."
When they were finally allowed into your room, you were awake but clearly disoriented, blinking slowly at the ceiling. Your skin was pale against the white hospital sheets, and there were IVs in both arms.
"Hey," Colter said softly, approaching the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Like someone stabbed me," you murmured, managing a weak smile. "Oh wait. Someone did."
Colter laughed, the sound slightly strangled with relief. "There's my girl. Your sense of humor survived intact."
You turned your head, saw Russell standing awkwardly by the door, and your expression shuttered. "Why is he still here?"
"Because I wanted to make sure you were okay," Russell said, stepping closer despite the coldness in your eyes. "I know you don't want to see me. I know you're angry. But I couldn't leave without knowing you were going to be alright."
"Well, now you know. The doctors said I'll live. You can go." Your words were harsh, but your voice wavered.
"I don't want to go." Russell pulled a chair to the other side of your bed, sitting down despite your obvious displeasure. "I know I have no right to be here. I know I failed you. I missed your graduation, your birthdays, all the important moments. I chose my work over my family, and there's no excuse for that."
"You're right. There isn't." Tears were building in your eyes, and you tried to blink them away. "Do you know what it's like, having a brother who doesn't care enough to show up? Who can't even send a text on Christmas?"
"I cared. I always cared." Russell's voice was thick. "I just—I didn't know how to balance it all. The work I was doing, the things I was involved in, I thought keeping my distance was the right thing. I thought it would keep you safe."
"I didn't need to be safe from you, Russell. I needed my brother." The tears were falling now, and you couldn't stop them. The pain medication was lowering your defenses, bringing all your buried feelings to the surface. "When Dad died, I was so scared. And Colter was there, he held everything together, but I kept waiting for you. I kept thinking you'd come home, that you'd help us get through it. But you didn't."
"I'm sorry." Russell's own eyes were wet now. "I'm so sorry. You deserved better. You deserved a brother who showed up."
"Why didn't you?" Your voice broke. "Why weren't we enough?"
"You were. You are. You're everything." Russell reached out hesitantly, and when you didn't pull away, he took your hand. "I was messed up. Dealing with things from work that I couldn't process, couldn't talk about. I thought I was doing the right thing by staying away, but I was just being a coward. I was running from the hard stuff because I didn't know how to handle it."
"You should have tried." But your fingers were curling around his, holding on despite your anger.
"I know. And I want to do better. I want to be the brother you deserve, if you'll give me a chance." Russell's voice was earnest, vulnerable in a way Colter had never heard before. "I can't change the past. I can't give you back those years. But I'm here now, and I promise—I swear—I'm not going anywhere. Not anymore."
You studied his face, looking for any sign of insincerity. "You promise?"
"I promise. Birthdays, holidays, random Tuesday afternoons—whatever you need, whenever you need it, I'll be there." Russell squeezed your hand gently. "I know trust is earned, not given. So I'm prepared to spend however long it takes proving to you that I mean it."
You were quiet for a long moment, tears still streaming down your face. Then: "You missed a lot of important stuff."
"I know."
"My first day of college. My first A on a college paper. The time I got food poisoning from dining hall sushi and spent a whole night in the bathroom."
"Dining hall sushi?" Russell's lips quirked despite the heaviness of the moment. "That's just asking for trouble."
"Colter said the same thing." You glanced at your younger older brother, who'd been silently watching the exchange. "He came to visit that weekend, brought me soup and crackers and made fun of me for two straight days."
"That's what big brothers are for," Colter said with a soft smile.
"Both of you are supposed to do that," you said, looking back at Russell. "The visiting and the soup and the making fun of me when I do stupid things. That's the deal."
"Then that's what I'll do," Russell said. "If you'll let me."
You were quiet again, exhausted from the surgery and the emotional conversation. "I'm still mad at you."
"You have every right to be."
"But..." You took a shaky breath. "But you came for me. When I was taken, you came. Both of you."
"Always," Colter and Russell said simultaneously, then glanced at each other in surprise.
"We're brothers," Colter continued. "And you're our sister. That doesn't change, no matter what else happens. When it matters—when you need us—we're there."
"I always needed you," you whispered. "Not just in emergencies. In the regular stuff too."
"I know," Russell said. "And I'm going to do better. Starting now. Starting with staying right here until you're ready to leave this hospital, and then making sure you have everything you need while you recover."
"I'm staying too," Colter added. "Between the two of us, you're going to get very tired of your big brothers hovering."
Despite everything—the pain, the exhaustion, the emotional turmoil—you smiled. "I don't think I could ever get tired of that."
Russell raised your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "I'm so sorry. For everything. I'm going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you."
"You can start by telling me about your work," you said. "Colter gets to tell me about tracking down fugitives and solving impossible cases. What do you do? And don't say it's classified."
Russell laughed, the sound rusty but genuine. "Some of it is classified. But I can tell you the unclassified parts. And I can tell you about the stupid mistakes I made as a kid that Colter doesn't know about."
"Hey," Colter protested. "I want to hear those too."
"See, now you're both ganging up on me," Russell said, but he was smiling. "This is going to be a problem."
"That's what you get for coming back," you said. Your eyes were drifting closed, the medication and exhaustion catching up with you. "Don't leave before I wake up, okay?"
"I won't," Russell promised. "I'm here. I'm staying."
"Both of us," Colter added. "We're not going anywhere."
You fell asleep holding Russell's hand, and Colter watched as his older brother sat there, tears silently tracking down his face as he held his little sister for the first time in years.
"Thank you," Russell said quietly. "For taking care of her all this time. For being the brother I should have been."
"You're here now," Colter replied. "That's what matters. And maybe—maybe we can figure out how to be brothers again too. All three of us."
"I'd like that."
They sat in silence, watching you sleep, two brothers who'd been fractured and separate now united by the sleeping girl between them. There would be more conversations, more healing that needed to happen. Trust would take time to rebuild, and the wounds of the past wouldn't disappear overnight.
But this was a start.
And for the Shaw siblings, broken and battered but still standing, still together—a start was more than enough.