Gabe: Gonna need you to hold down the fort for a while

Sitting in Cee’s was a more frequent occurrence than Forrest would like to admit to- cheap, and greasy, and the perfect place to go unnoticed for long enough to breathe. Unfortunately, that seemed to not be the case today, he realized as Gabe walked in. 

Forrest set down his coffee as Gabe sat in front of him, an eyebrow lifting as he looked over the other’s features and a sigh making its way from his chest. 

“Hm. Yes, I suppose we did.” He looked back down to his coffee, “Your brother has made his feelings about the Santoros clear. I can see where your continued loyalties would upset him.” He looked up again as a server dropped a menu in front of Gabe in passing, offering a polite smile briefly. It fell from his features as he looked to Gabe again, “Has Wade seen you yet?”

"Your empathy is comforting," he practically spits, waving a hand in thanks to the passing wait-staff. In truth, Gabe knows his brother had nothing to do with this, and if anyone in the Santoros learned of the part Ian did play... But thinking about it poses too much of a threat to his composure, so he merely sighs his frustration, internally grateful for the change in topic. Unpleasant as it turns out to be, even.

CLOSED STARTER FOR GABRIEL RAMOS. ( @gaberame​ )

How long had it been since Deanna had a couple of days to herself? As much as she loved her husband, it had been too long. Her phone wasn’t blowing up and she didn’t have a shift to go to until tomorrow. Thats why, when she heard knuckles connecting with the door, she froze in her tracks. 

Who could it be? She thought to herself. Santoro? Someone else who was finally coming for her?

As she expected, she did what she usually did when she wasn’t expecting anyone. Deanna slowly made her way across the floor of her living room before pulling aside the blinds. The features were familiar to her, unmistakably Ramos, as a matter of fact. Gabe. It was Gabe. 

Keeping the slow walk as she made her way to the door, she ran her fingers along the door handle, almost hesitant to open it. It had been years since the last time she had seen him. He had stayed with the Santoros. Was it even safe to open the door, unarmed? While she was trusting in their prior relationship now more than ever, part of her knew he wouldn’t do that to Ian. 

So, she opened the door. “Gabe?” She rubbed her eyes, visibly ready to end her day from the way she was dressed. “What’s going on?” That’s when she noticed the injuries. Despite the opposing sides they were on, her heart sunk. “Jesus christ, what hell did you get yourself into now?”

"Come on, come on, come on..." He can feel his strength giving out, the weight of remaining standing becoming too much for his beaten frame. In truth, it had been a great feat to swallow the large amount of pride he'd been bestowed at birth to show up on this particular doorstep, but he knows he'd never make it home in this condition. That, and he's not ready to see the damage they'd surely done to his prized car. Feeling more than a little defeated, he's preparing to give up when he hears the door handle turn, the hesitancy bald-faced in the slow gesture. So she is just as unsure about this as he is. Such a reality turns his stomach, loathe as he is to admit it. Gabe puts on a brave face though, going so far as to attempt a smirk that sends shooting pain through his entire head. "So you didn't order this, and neither did Ian... Great. I'm comforted to know you have a handle on your dogs, at least." A hollow laugh sends him slumping against her doorframe, and he throws her a pleading look. "Lemme in, Deanna, I can't stand up much longer. Ian can't take me, I'm not exactly welcome..." The sentence trails off, bitterness evident, though who it's aimed at would never be mentioned.

He should've talked himself out of it. Every nerve in him was sending hair-triggers to his brain to leave, yet his arm was already moving to put the car in park. Two blocks away felt a safe enough distance to keep his identity under wraps, and it would just be a quick in and out, simply to ensure his brother's well-being. They hadn't spoken, after all, and Gabe just felt the urge to check in. He should've left when he had the chance. They appeared at his door, breaking out the window before he even had a thought to change his mind. Dragged bodily from the vehicle, his feet never even touched ground, allowing him no chance to gain any sort of bearings. Just like that, they were on him, the beat down relatively silent, even as they whispered their profanities of exacting revenge for their esteemed leader. An eye for an ear, he heard one laugh just before a foot connected with his face, and if the eye wasn't gone, he could almost barter them both for the sake of a settled score. They were relentless; no sooner was one blow landed before the next was making it's mark as well, and the idle voice in the back of his mind that took over when his own thoughts were beyond reason wondered at how badly he must already look. Then, more ironically, how proud he was that his brother had such devoted followers... Ears ringing, he now lies motionless, the fact that he's alone not quite registering. Happily, he could bleed out right here, right now, but even as he thinks it, he feels some feral nerve in him twitching to life. Survival kicks in, and it can only be that primitive driving force that drags him the two blocks to the only person who could possibly help him now. He has no recollection of the arduous journey; only that he's arrived, and he must act efficiently, if not too quickly. He uses the side of the house to drag himself up, the searing pain that shoots through both sides threatening every bit of his weak resolve. Every rib - if not every bone - had to be broken, or at least, that's what the blinding, white hot sting would have him believe. Collecting what bit of himself he can, he contemplates the next move, breathing deeply and grimacing from the strain. His best chance at avoiding everyone but the one he needs is through the back, and while the distance seems miles, it stands to reason that it's his best bet. The trail of blood behind him goes unnoticed, but not the sound of laughter emanating from the open windows. It sends a pang through him that somehow cuts deeper than anything physical he might be experiencing and Gabe falters, realizing his niece and nephew shouldn't see him like this, nor should he be bringing this to their doorstep. His resolve completely shattered, he slides down the wall of the house, whimpering pathetically as the ground rises up to meet him. Little choice now, and he laughs bitterly, head already swimming in agony. Phone extracted, it's a miracle if he dials the right number, and all he can say, over and over again, is the same pleading mantra. "Please help me... I'm out back... Please help me..." 

CLOSED FOR GABRIEL RAMOS. ( @gaberame​ )

Adelaide Santoro never thought the world would end before she had fully lived. Regardless, here she was, frantically trying to get in touch with her accomplice in all of this shit. If she was going to go down, so was he. What must have been her millionth phone call was once again met with the same defining dial tone before finishing off with his voicemail. “Ramos, you better pick up your fucking phone before I hunt you down. And you know that won’t end well for y-” The sounds of her boots connecting with the floor came to a screeching halt as she noticed a figure with their back facing her. Pulling her piece from it’s holster in her leather jacket, she hung up the phone before putting it back in her pocket. 

“Turn around!” She called out, watching the other figure like a hawk. It could have been anyone. Perhaps, they might not have come alone. 

It took a couple moments, but she realized it who it was. Gabe, thank god. “Jesus christ, answer your phone next time, will ya? I must have left a dozen messages.” Returning her gun to it’s holster, she ran her fingers through her hair. “You know there’s a very high chance we might not get out of this alive, right? At least, not without a shit ton of blood on our hands.”

The nod is barely present; Ian is barely prepared as Gabe comes charging. Not even watching an incoming blow compares to the fact that Javi is out of sight. He has to trust this to be thrown if something were to happen— and he does. The air leaves his lungs with an audible huff that coats an unintelligible profanity. Pain blooms throughout his chest, no doubt fueling the coughs that come next. It’s an odd thing, the way his arms wrap around him. From the outside looking in, this surely looks like a dogged fight for the upper and. The reality of it is, this is as close to friendly as they’re going to be able to get. “They took his fucking eye—” he’s clearly distraught. It can be heard in his voice, that hushed tone that comes before the anxiety. There are too many variables at play, and lives on the line. “Gabe, please,” starts the pleading. But for what? To get a free fucking pass? To beg for help in getting Markus out of this fucking mess? The reality of it is, asking anything is asking for too much. Gabe’s life is on that very same line as the rest. “Take it.” His own arms tighten around Gabe, a trembling embrace that passes too quickly. A fucking ear. What’s an ear, compared to his brother’s life? Ian withdraws, hands coming to push at him with all his strength. “Hit me.”

This only gets worse, from here on. Yet nothing could harden Gabe's heart toward his brother's upset, and that bizarre embrace only tightens around Ian that much more. Would that he could-- But he can't, and they both know it. His plea only procures a rueful smile, an expression he would never see, and for that at least, Gabe can be grateful. He always hated showing his little brother weakness. But it continues to prove all the more difficult. His visage crumples as he's pushed away, a show of momentary vulnerability that he's quick to smooth out. There is no other way, he has to remind himself, and the more room he allots for doubt, the more his resolve will wither away, and no part of him wants to see this through. No one in the world has ever accused Gabe of having an aversion to instilling bodily harm, and he's indulged himself a few whims on more than one occasion, but this - Ian - isn't in his repertoire. Hence, why it was Manny... It had to be him, because it couldn't be Ian. Thus, it has to be his ear, because it can't be his life. With a curt, albeit barely noticeable nod, Gabe lands a hard fist into Ian's face, and sets to work, grasping on a hope that the sudden stinging pain of the punch will cover the shock of what comes next. A switchblade emerges, always within reach, and clicks open, the sound echoing oddly in the sudden stillness of the shared scene. Everything else around them seems to fall into a hushed silence, and the only thing Gabe can hear as he all but cradles Ian's head in his hands is the sound of blood pumping in his ears. Hands working of their own accord, he watches as one grasps the lobe and the other guides the blade through flesh as if it were butter.

Like a good husband, Ian is right there. Not once has he left Javier’s side, enjoying a night while also endlessly on edge. Been too quiet for too long, and that never bodes well. It’s why there’s a lack of fucking surprise when his partner in crime is revealed, though his anger radiates easily, communicated in the way he tightens his grip on Javi’s hand. One step forward, and he’s halted in his tracks by a command that echoes for all to heed. Markus would have to wait. There’s no questioning the logic, or their mission. They do this for the people they love, and he’d be damned if he neglected that now. Problem is, it’s more than just Javier in this room he has to worry about. Shows in the way he’s searching out Gabe in the crowd, drawn together like magnets.

“Gabe, what the fuck—” he’s hissing out, letting go of Javier’s hand with a backwards glance that begs him to wait. Big brother is just a few paces away, and Ian is working to close that distance despite the chaos that has erupted around them. “Gabe!”

@gaberame​

Ian is quick to turn around when the door opens, empty hands in plain sight and eyes trained on his brother’s face. He’s searching for the first sign of aggression, though it might be argued that it is in his hand. “I’m sorry, Gabe,” comes the muttered response. A touch of shame coats the apology. He’s not even sure that he’s heard, an undeserved invitation laid at his feet that is accepted without hesitation.

It’s habit that brings him to pull his gun out of it’s hiding place, setting it down on the counter before stepping away. “Um… so… I told you I’d fix it.” Doing my best, he wants to continue, though sure that his weak bubble would be burst in under two seconds. Instead, he takes a seat, leaning back into the chair and bowing his head. Another mumbled um sounds with a breath, heart thrumming heavy in his chest; silence stretches on. Ian knows that the minute he speaks, the very second he admits to what he’s done, any hope of keeping himself together will diminish— but he has to. If not to Javier, then to one person who would truly understand. Doesn’t change the fact that this is even more intense than facing their father would have been. Gabe’s always been the authority, never even had to try. “They were safe, Gabe.” He’d stall after getting the most important piece of the puzzle out into the open. “Sent them to Disney with Matteo. None the wiser.” Nodding, Ian rubs at the back of his neck. “But uh.. I tried to find you, you know? That night? Really fucking tried.” He leans forward where he sits, head cradles in his arms as he sucks in a deep breath over the count of three, holding it for two before continuing. Sit up. Face the music. “I fucked up.”

A derisive snort follows his opening statement, but Gabe doesn't say anything else to the contrary; Ian knows better. And in his roundabout way, he would get there, too. The kids were safe, he says, and excuse after excuse follows, setting the elder Ramos' teeth hard against each other to prevent the absolute vitriol that threatens his composure in this moment. He won't point out that, while Ian may have tried to find him, he then purposefully cast him to the wayside in the weeks that followed. Again. I fucked up. This time, laughter follows the vastly understated assessment of his actions. The sound is muted, airy, and it sets Gabe's gaze around the kitchen with something akin to disbelief etched into his face. There is no joy in the sound, make no mistake, no mirth to be found in this predicament they've once more found themselves in. It's in these moments that Gabe wonders if his brothers ever realized they are two sides of the same coin. Heads or tails, top or bottom, backs always pressed together. It could've been their saving grace, but it turned them against one another. And it's this very line of thinking that precedes what Gabe does next. With a telling sigh, he takes the chair next to him, angled so he could see his face even though he won't meet his gaze just yet. He wears no expression, a carefully pressed mask covering any blemish that might give him away, but he's fervently searching for the words that will give him the answers he needs. Twice, he tries to look at Ian, but his voice falters, and he glances away again.

Indiana had been trying their best not to let their new position interfere too much with their day-to-day life. Go to work, text Tony a dozen times throughout the day, go to the beach- the weather never turned properly cold here and part of what kept Indiana on the island was that he could be there at any time of the year. 

They had dropped to sit on the sand and soak up a few minutes of sun after working out when their attention is caught by a familiar face- a name they weren’t sure Gabe would know calling out to them. He’s quick to pull himself to his feet, taking a step back, eyes catching on the man’s hands as they raised. 

They shifted their weight, shoes slipping in the sand beneath them, arms crossing across their chest, “What could you possibly have to say to me about Ian?” They asked, distrust evident in their tone, an eyebrow raising.

Gabe's mouth twitches at the corner, a tell-tale sign of the sneer he is quick to compose before temper gets the best of him. Of the multitude of people that had grown to distrust him in some form, this being is the very last on his list of concerns. Family had turned their backs on him long before their brood had followed, and he is nearly numb to the shock of it. Nearly.

She has him right where she wants him, already on his second drink. A few more and Trinity will see what the other girls meant when they talked about the man that got too touchy when he’d had far too many drinks. Trinity is one hundred percent enthused with the man, making sure to make it clear that she was listening to his all of his woes and then some. She’d make it better blah blah blah. Her client is then snatched away from her, pleasers clicking against the floor as she took a second to realize what was happening. Ocean eyes on the new girl now sitting on the man’s lap and his voice telling her to move on. Lips part, ready to scream at him for ruining a great potential client, the amount of money the man had. Thinking about it for much longer would truly make her cause a scene but she needed not to do that, save it for later when it would really count. 

Trinity puts on a smile and saunters over to the next client, doing her spiel all over again. It sucked to start over, bring on the charm and guess just how much money the poor idiot had in his pocket. The entire night, she thought about what she’d do whenever she got a chance to talk to Gabe, imagining what she’d say to him. Better yet, she thought about pressing her pleaser heel right on his neck and the delicious noises he’d make. 

MUTT HATED SETTING FOOT IN DRIFTWOOD, EVEN AFTER HOURS. It wasn’t anything personal. But ever since Lizzie had been in his life, the place had completely lost its magic for him; more so now he was a married man. He might not have been maintaining his loyalty to the Santoro gang, but he’d sure as hell be loyal to his wife until the day he bit the dust.

Of course, Gabe didn’t know. He had no idea that Mutt had signed himself over to the ex-cons as their rat. Gabe had no idea about any of Mutt’s personal life, and things would hopefully stay that way.

Text to: Gabe Ramos

Tell the owner to save a bottle for me. I’m on my way. Be there in 5.

It only took him a minute to roll off of his shitty motel bed and push on his shoes, and a few more minutes on top of that to get into his shitty pickup and drive the short journey to the club. Mutt knew which back door to go through, and spotted Gabe pretty easily, in the only illuminated segment of the room; the bar.

“You celebrating something with this after party? Or did you just wanna chug some liquor for no good reason? Either way - I’m here for it.”

Gabe will never admit to the tension that he's holding in his shoulders, a consistent ache throughout the night that sets his teeth on edge, but as they release when Mutt's response comes in, he realizes he's relieved. Any modicum of ease is a godsend at this point, and he raises his glass to the man in a silent salute. There's no telling how far gone Gabe will be by the time he arrives, but he's off to a good start, in any case.

He’s been avoiding this. It’s been a little over a fucking month, and Ian has basically ignored every call and text that might just result in him getting reamed for what he has done. Last time they saw one another, he’d been sure they were on the right path. Things were looking up for the two brothers, pride be damned. An understanding was had, promises made, and as far as this particular idiot is concerned— upheld. Opinions may vary.

Like it or not, the awareness of the mess he’s gotten himself into is high. It’s something he’s come to terms with, despite years of hopeful peace. Just him, the kids, Javier… and now, this. He walks in silence around the side of the house, dark eyes surveying and ears perked for anything out of place. The back door looks cold to him. Not quite unwelcoming but definitely fucking harrowing. Maybe it’s not the fucking door, but what is behind. One heavy sigh, and he raises a fist. Three knocks, and Ian’s eyes shift upward. “God, he’s going to fucking kill me..” It’s the last thing he’d mutter under his breath as he turns his back to the door, staring out into the night as he waits.

@gaberame​

Three knocks. As soon as the knuckles make contact, Gabe's head is jerking up and around, causing a painful stitch in his neck that he's actively ignoring. Glancing at the clock, he registers the time and blinks slowly. Is this it then? Death in the middle of the night - in his own home, no less - seems oddly...fitting, though he could never say why. More alarming, perhaps, is the fact that it raises no alarm at all; on the contrary, he'd welcome the fight and even the end, if it meant feeling something. Finally rubbing the pain from his neck, he rises slowly from his accidental nap at the kitchen table. His free hand clasps the near empty bottle that had been keeping him company, and he downs the rest, feeling the rush of endorphins as he prepares for whatever's coming. Another glance around has him assessing the best kitchenware to use as weapons, and he settles on the butcher's knife resting in it's block. The metallic schling as he pulls it loose echoes around the dismally quiet house, so loud there's no way the offending party at the door couldn't hear. Gabe can't be bothered; preparedness would just make the fight more interesting.

Classy acrylic nails traced shapes around her customer’s chest, listening to what they had to say. That’s what she did best aside from taking off her clothes and dancing for them. Sometimes it was the same old story and other times it was complete bullshit to try and get her to their hotel room and have some fun. Seldom did that work and she hadn’t tested her boundaries when it came to that. Would gabe be upset if she offered such services? ocean eyes back on her customer, lips curled into a soft smile, nodding along. “We all go through such crazy shit but I promise that I can make it all better…”

A decade in the business has given Gabe an eagle eye, and that gaze only narrows as he sees Trinity carry on with her latest prey. Normally, he'd sit back and let all the girls work their magic to their liking, taking it as far as they pleased, but he knows this fucker. Get a few drinks in the guy and he'll get a little too insistent and have to be bodily removed, a task that Gabe always relishes. Still, most of the girls aren't those he's willing to risk for what equates to a small amount of revenue in the grand scheme of things, so he moves to intervene. Luckily, the new-hire just happens to flaunt by and, having risen the suspicion of potential tip-pinching at the bar, he wastes no time or guilt in executing his plan. A cock of his head bids her to follow him, and with a practiced quickness, he trades one girl for the other, leaving no room for the guy to even attempt a protest. To Trinity, he merely gifts meaningful glare, daring her to argue. "Next," he insists quietly, nodding her off in the opposite direction. She'll surely make time to come for his throat later, but for now, he only offers a hint of a grin as her next client is already digging his heels in. At the height of the night, there's hardly time or volume for conversation anyway.