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Colt thought he hated Tom Ryder before going to the set of Metalstorm. He was quickly reassessing where the bar rested.
He thought "oh, why the hell not, it's a stunt gig! I've been wanting to get back in there" but of course, just his luck, shit had to hit the fan. Why did he have to be the one to go looking for Tom, going to his house and then a club and then getting high and seeing unicorns and—
He was tired of it all, and he was the one sitting tied to a chair on a dock beside that prick's fancy yacht. Bloodied and beaten because Tom decided to play tough guy at a party and accidentally killed someone. He felt the cool night breeze brush against his open cuts on his cheek and nose, wondering just how horrible he looked. Jody was going to pitch a fit if he made it out of this.
When. Colt Seavers wouldn't be taken down so easily, no no no. He was the fall guy, sure, but it meant he always had a plan. Currently, he was still working on it. Thankfully, Tom couldn't shut his trap for the life of him so he was actively stalling himself so Colt could come up with a cohesive plan. It proved to be more difficult because his head was slightly fuzzy. Maybe he did have a concussion.
He just hoped that Dan got back to safety. He felt bad for dragging him into it, but Colt couldn't do this by himself. Dan was reliable and had always had his back, and Colt had his. That, and he saw how Dan held himself. He could fight. He put in work. Colt made a mental note to get him that specific beer he likes as a thank you gift.
"You know, if you just stuck to your job instead of trying to hog the spotlight, this wouldn't have happened," Tom ranted with vague gestures. Colt was still reeling from the sight of him in his stupid blue and white striped bathrobe, open to expose his stupid abs. Always performative. It left an even bitter taste in Colt's mouth, right alongside the copper tang of blood. "I mean, Henry wouldn't be on the scene, his accident wouldn't have happened; your accident—"
Colt stilled. Tom gestured again, harsher.
"Freaky little fall 'cause you just pushed my buttons, man!"
He forced his heavy tongue to move.
"Wait a second, what?" Colt said. He tried his hands against the zip-ties again. Didn't budge.
Tom sighed, like he was a petulant child in need of scolding. "What?"
"What'd you say about my accident?"
"Well, you know, you pushed me over the edge. You literally pushed the button. I mean, you didn't. I pushed it."
As the fall guy, Colt wasn't particularly scared of heights. It was a fear that would get you less gigs which meant less money, so he quickly stomped out whatever fear he had of it in favor of a good paying job. The accident… it was a twelve story fall. His heart had leapt at the sight, not out of excitment, but fear. He couldn't place why he was scared of it. He trusted the crew to keep him safe.
Tom pushed the button. He broke Colt, forced him into a shitty year-long journey through isolation and physical therapy. He was the reason why Colt and Jody were kind of awkward but not, why the subconsious distrust and fear still wracked Colt's nerves before a stunt, why Colt's brother…
Why Ryland hated him.
Colt pushed Ryland away same as Jody and Dan, and Ryland didn't quit. He kept showing up at Colt's door with breakfast, kept pestering him about getting up and being productive because "science says it'll release dopamine and make you happier." Colt would bite out things he didn't mean, Ryland would stomach it with a slight frown, and try again the next day. But of course, everyone had a breaking point. It was when Colt screamed at Ryland that he wasn't helping, that he was a burden to him in recovery and that he didn't want to see him again, that Ryland finally snapped.
Colt still remembered the horror in his brother's eyes, the betrayal and tears. He regretted it every day, because after spending their entire lives joined at the hip, Ryland was suddenly gone. Just like Colt wanted. No texts, no phone calls, nothing. Like he wasn't even there to begin with. And as Colt got better, he wanted to reach out so many times but he just… didn't know what to say. How to apologize, how to be better. How to make it up to him.
Gail called him, offering the job. Colt couldn't say no. He sent a text to Ryland on the off chance he would still want to speak to him, telling him he was taking the job in Sydney and that he might be MIA for a few days. It was routine, upon Ryland's request, for Colt to send texts to let him know when he was taking a new job. He hesitated but sent the text anyway, thinking maybe this could be Colt's second chance not just at his job, but with his family.
And Tom was going to kill him. Again.
"That was you," Colt said evenly, though his chest was alight with fury.
The guys surrounding Tom didn't seem phased at all. It only made Colt's blood boil hotter.
"Yeah."
Colt couldn't hold back a smirk. That bastard, talking like it was just a small hiccup. Like he didn't shatter Colt's life.
Now, he was trying to make Colt the fall guy. Permanently.
He wasn't even listening to the shit Tom spewed from his mouth. All he could think about was how he was going to die on the beautiful Sydney harbor because of one man's refusal to appear flawed. He had to be perfect, had to do his own stunts, have his stupid cologne ads all over the place. The perfect celebrity, not a hair on his head incorrect, standing atop the shoulders of the real superstars that made the magic happen.
It came with the job, knowing you weren't going to get as much recognition as the folks on the big screen, but it never bothered Colt. Until asshats like Tom Ryder came along, pretending they're the shit when they're nothing but a pompous prick hiding behind money and yachts and fancy shit.
"Where's the phone, Colt?"
He huffed. He probably shouted some shit about Tom's brain running on glucose and carbs and stuff because the one thing Colt could appreciate about Tom was he was a strict guy on a diet. He stuck to his plan. Except now it was backfiring completely, bad for Colt.
Tom stood a few feet in front of him. "Where's the phone?"
Colt ran his tongue along his teeth. He wished he had a toothbrush. He always hated the taste of blood coating his teeth and yet it seemed to be the only consistent thing in his life as of late.
"I mean, you can keep taking hits all night, but you know what? I can think of a few other people who can't."
Usually, if Tom said something like that, Colt took it with a grain of salt. He, the guy who refuses to do his own stunts, threatening to hurt someone else beyond repair? It wasn't unbelievable, per se, as it was underwhelming coming from a man like Tom. Except now, Colt felt the malicious air around him. He wanted that phone and he would do anything to get his hands on it.
Colt kept his eyes on the small puddles on the dock.
"We can bring Dan up here, maybe Jody. Or uh… you know what, I've got just the thing that'll make you talk," Tom said with a broad smile as he pointed at Colt.
As Colt's gut twisted uncomfortably, he watched Tom nod to one of the guys behind him, and two of them retreated to the yacht. Colt watched them warily, the feeling in his gut intensifying as they disappeared from view. Somehow, deep down, he had a feeling about this. He didn't like it one bit, but it didn't make sense.
"Trust me, man, I didn't want to go this far. But I needed a backup plan and, well, this was perfect. The few times I've actually met him, he's been nice. Makes me sad to do this," Tom said, shaking his head.
Colt tried to even his accelerated breathing. "What did you do?"
"Oh, nothing. Not yet."
Colt's eyes snapped back to the yacht as the two men returned above deck.
His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. His gut was right, and panic gripped him tight, making his breaths stutter and his leg bounce insistently.
The two men were holding Ryland, his little brother who's done nothing wrong, with his silly science pun t-shirts and middle school teacher ID, and dragging him towards them. Colt couldn't breathe properly as he tried to scan his brother in the dim lighting. He wore jeans and a t-shirt with a plain red jacket over it half zipped up. Ryland's hands were zip tied in front of him, his glasses missing and replaced by a black blindfold. They put two layers of duct tape over his mouth, his shouts muffled as the tape dug into his skin. He was wiggling, struggling, trying to kick the men but to no avail.
Tom motioned for the men to stop when they were ten feet away from Colt. Too far. Everything in Colt's body was screaming at him to break the zip-ties, to get to his little brother who didn't look hurt but who was definitely going to have an anxiety attack. He was caught in the crossfire, exactly where he shouldn't be, and Colt needed to fix it. Be the shield he's always been since they were kids.
The men grasped Ryland's shoulders harshly and pushed him to his knees. Colt tried to rush forward only to remember his predicament. The zip-ties burned against his wrists and rubbed his skin raw, but it didn't hurt as bad as the searing panic in his chest as Tom strolled closer to Ryland, who was unsuspecting and blind.
"You should be thanking me, really, for this reunion. I heard you really blew up after the accident and left your brother here to hang dry," Tom said with a tsk, shaking his head.
He rested his arm on Ryland's shoulder, who jolted under the contact. Tom held him in place when he tried to wiggle away. Colt's blood was boiling, every single nerve in his body on fire at danger being so close to Ryland, at him being so far, unable to shield him away.
"Shame. I liked seeing him when he came to visit you on set. Jean-Claude certainly misses him."
Ryland tried to talk again, but Colt couldn't understand his muffled words.
"Oh, sorry. Should probably let you in on why you're here." Tom yanked the blindfold off, tossing it aside.
Ryland blinked a few times to adjust to the lighting. His eyes were wide, fearful, confused, as they immediately met Colt's. His gut churned again. A million different emotions crossed Ryland's eyes: terror, confusion, worry, happiness and relief. They disappeared when Tom made himself known again.
"It was easier than I thought to get him here. All it took was one text from Jody saying you needed him and he was on a plane in hours. Must be nice to have someone that cares about you that much."
Ryland… he really…
A wave of cold shame flooded Colt from head to toe. There he was, doing stunt work without issue, lowkey having the time of his life when his brother had been holed up in the rich fucker's yacht for a day. Kidnapped for his relation to Colt, for his kind heart being extorted for Ryder's gain.
Colt remembered the words he spewed clear as day.
"I don't need you! I've never needed you! You're nothing but a burden to me, have been for years now! I can't do this anymore, can't deal with you being here. Get out and stay away."
And Ryland had stared at him with complete and utter heartbreak. Colt had never seen him so upset before. Ryland's brain always ran a million miles a minute, so many thoughts and words going around that he trained his tongue to keep up with the insane speed. He could talk about microbiology and his students at the speed of light no problem, but in that moment, Colt could see his brain physically stop. Stunned that Colt would say such a thing and (in that moment) mean it.
He didn't mean it. He wanted Ryland there with him as he recovered. He needed him there, talking about the shennanigans his students get into or that diner he frequents on Thursdays. It was comfortable, something normal, something Colt could fall into easily and know he'll be caught.
He remembered how the tears started to fall from his brother's eyes, how he scrambled to pack his backpack with barely concealed sniffles.
"Fine. You wanna do this by yourself? Go right ahead. I'm done dealing with your shit, Colt. Feel better, or don't, I don't care anymore." Ryland slung his backpack over his shoulder, not even bothering to wipe his wet eyes as he glowered at Colt. "Don't call me when you're miserable and hurting and looking for an outlet for all your shit."
Deep down, Colt liked to think they both knew they didn't mean it. Ryland answered, after all. He still cared. After nearly a year, he still cared. He still held enough love in his heart to check on him even if Colt was still being a dick.
"Tom, I swear if you don't let him go—" Colt seethed, imagining what it would feel like to break the man's nose.
"You know the drill, Colt, we've done enough movies like this to know where this is going. Where's the phone?"
Ryland's gaze bore into him. Questioning. Colt swallowed, furrowing his brows, his eyes tracking the hand Tom placed on the back of Ryland's neck.
"You just can't fathom the idea that someone doesn't like you, huh?" Colt said, trying to redirect the attention to him.
Tom let out a breath, his face contorting into a sneer. Colt watched his knuckles turn white where he gripped Ryland. His brother tried shying away only for Tom to pull him back.
"You just have to be Mr. Perfect all the time. Can't be seen doing this or that, can't be known for not doing his own stunts—"
"I do stunts!"
"Then why am I still on the payroll?"
Tom stood, letting go of Ryland much to Colt's relief. He nodded at his henchmen, coming to stand beside Colt as one of the men held Ryland's arm, the other raising his fist.
Colt lurched forward, seeing Ryland's eyes widen a fraction.
Tom pushed him back with force as the punch landed on Ryland's left cheekbone, the sound making a deep thump that Colt felt like a knife to his heart.
"You fucker, I'll kill you—!" he shouted, trying fruitlessly to get out of his chair.
"The phone, Colt! Tell me where it is and your brother doesn't get a nose job!" Tom yelled right in his ear, his fingers digging into Colt's shoulder.
Colt didn't look at him. His gaze remained on Ryland, who looked dazed as he tried to righten himself. Tom was right and Colt hated it. Ryland wasn't built to take the hits like he was. Colt's endurance was high from all his years in the field, but Ryland wasn't like him. His head was stuck in textbooks and peer-reviewed papers, carrying gold stickers to work for his students' papers. Looking at his slightly glossy eyes, his disheveled appearance, Colt knew the image would haunt him for a long time.
It's all your fault.
He's here because of you.
Tom nodded again.
The next punch was to Ryland's gut, his brother's air escaping him in a pained wheeze obscured by the duct tape. The next one on Ryland's right cheek. The next on his stomach, where a slight crunch resonated in the air and drove the imaginary knife deeper into Colt's heart. Colt thrashed in his chair, the only thought on his mind getting his brother out of there (and maybe killing a few people). Each hit Ryland took with muffled grunts and groans filled Colt with anger he'd never felt before. Blinding, burning, igniting his entire body with adrenaline to try and get to Ryland, to protect him from the next punch.
"I don't enjoy doing this, Colt. You just keep getting in the way! I have to get you to listen somehow! I like Ryland!" Tom professed, slinging his arm around Colt's shoulder like they were good buddies. "He's a lot nicer than you. Shame he doesn't know where the phone is. He probably would've caved by now—"
He never wanted to hear his brother's name come out of Tom's mouth ever again, especially with how weak he seemed to think Ryland was. Ryland may be softer than Colt, sure, but the twins were nothing but survivors. They survived their childhood home where their mother left when they were five, leaving them to fend against the alcoholic for themselves. They bandaged each other up, looked out for each other when one was resltless, had each other's back when bullies decided the twins were a good target.
"There is no phone!" Colt blurted, seeing Ryland's shoulders sag a bit, his expression twisted in a grimace. Colt looked Tom dead on, seeing the confusion in his gaze. The breeze swept through, making the longer strands of Colt's hair tickle his forehead. "Okay? That's the twist!"
"No phone," Tom repeated dumbly.
Colt nodded at the redhead guy. Dressler, if he remembered. He didn't care. "He shot it out of my hand. Up there! Go check! You, you too, all of you. I'll wait."
And come up with a plan to get his brother out of this. His brother who was looking at him with barely concealed pain and hurt. But Colt could see it. Under all of that fear, there was undeniable trust. They always had each other's back, a one-hundred percent given at any point in time. Ryland's eyes hardened, fire lighting beneath them as his face started blooming with bruises, blood dripping from his nose down his lips.
Whatever you're planning, I'm in, he was saying.
Colt didn't nod. The trust was there.
Ryland jumped when Tom burst into laughter, the sound infecting the other henchmen around the dock.
"It's crazy, I've been wanting to tell you this whole time," Colt said as the laughter dissipated.
"No, he didn't," Tom denied.
Colt kept the nice guy act up since it kept the men's focus off Ryland. "I was by the doorframe—"
"No!"
"—And he shoots it out of my hands!"
"Oh my God, what a relief—"
"Take the ties off, I'll show you."
The humor left Tom's face as he put his yellow sunglasses back on. That just made him an even bigger certified dickhead. Who the hell wore sunglasses at night? The panic that had dimmed a bit earlier came crawling back full force when Tom returned to stand beside Ryland, waving the two henchmen away. Ryland glared at him with all the fire he could muster.
"You were right about one thing; that was the only thing keeping you alive," Tom said with a sigh, shaking his head.
Ryland's eyes shot back to Colt. Worried. Telling him they were totally talking about this later, which, fair enough. They both had a lot of catching up to do if they actually got out of this.
"I really wish you could see what Jody's gonna do with Metalstorm, it's gonna be awesome. Honestly, it's gonna be a banger." Tom started snapping a few times in quick succession before letting his arm rest around Ryland's shoulders.
The action once again left Colt writhing in his seat, teeth grinding against each other as he failed to shield his brother from a psycho. But Ryland had some fight in him, and he raised his bound hands to shove Tom away. The two henchmen from before started to approach again.
"Fine, kill me, but he didn't do anything to you so let him go!" Colt shouted as the men grasped Ryland's arms in a white-knuckle grip before Ryland could release his clenched fists into Tom's face. "You touch him again and I swear to God—"
He was cut off by something being poured over his head, drenching his body in an instant. It got in his nose, his eyes, burning. He knew the smell like the back of his hand.
Gasoline.
Out of all the ways to kill him, it had to be burning to death. Colt kept his mouth shut, a half-baked plan forming in his head. His heart shattered a bit as he met Ryland's eye again, seeing the men having to use their full strength to keep him at bay. Ryland fought against their grip, every visible muscle tensed and itching to run, to get to Colt. His feet pushed hard against the dock, his well-worn Converse creasing under the pressure and urgency in his movements. His muffled shouts stabbed Colt's heart. And Tom just sighed again. Prick.
"Don't worry, Colt. Ry here will be in good hands," Tom said with a cheshire grin. Just to be an even bigger dick, he ruffled Ryland's hair. Colt could see it in Ryland's eyes—if the duct tape wasn't there, Tom would've been missing a finger or two. Tom just chuckled. "We're gonna have a lot of fun, I can already tell. You look like you like Scrabble. I happen to have an extensive vocabulary, doctor, and I—"
Tom continued talking nonesense as he stepped back into his yacht, and to Colt's horror, the two men dragged Ryland back with them. The twins writhed, their bodies on overdrive trying to escape the danger, to help each other. One thing about them was that their eyes were exactly the same shade. They had the same expressions, same light in them. Looking at his brother's eyes, Colt saw himself reflected in deep pools of desperation and fear. Ryland's muffled screams echoed in Colt's head, igniting the primal instinct to protect that had possessed him since they were born.
Every time Colt thought back about his life on sleepless nights where his back ached, there wasn't a single memory that didn't have his brother in it.
First days of school, first dances, graduation, college, having a few beers at Colt's apartment after Ryland had a rough day of research.
Watching shitty movies on weekends as teens.
Ryland meeting Jody, who adored him and pinched his cheeks whenever she could.
A year felt like a chasm that Colt couldn't cross. Each day that passed, it grew tenfold, and Colt was left trying to gather the materials to attempt to bridge the gap. But he never picked up the tools to build it because… well, he thought Ryland was done with him. After all they'd been through, he figured Ryland was serious in that he was tired of Colt annoying him. Tired of the harsh words, finally calling Colt out on his bullshit to leave him to wallow in his pity party to never return.
Colt knew how to build the bridge, now. He wanted so desperately to build it.
He would. He would get out of this, get Ryland out of it. He would fix it, fix it all.
Another canister of gasoline was poured on him.
"Ryland!" he shouted, seeing his brother disappear into the yacht. "Ry—"
A handful of gasoline entered his mouth.
"Shut up," one of the henchmen said with a wicked laugh.
Colt kept his mouth shut, the gasoline burning, though his eyes never left the doorway his brother disappeared through. He had part of his plan locked down, but it only accounted for himself. Leaving Ryland behind was not an option. He was itching to take those guns and grenades the henchmen were packing to raid the yacht. He didn't care if he hurt those men for good. They deserved it after hurting Ryland.
Colt did, too. Guilty of the same charge, condemned long ago, living his punishment out now.
He watched the redhead guy—Dressler, was it?—flick a lighter open, the small flame flickering as if it were undecided in Colt's fate. Dressler just grinned, smug and delighted, and Colt wanted to skin it off of him.
"This fire gig's real," he said.
Colt Seavers was many things: stuntman, twin brother, boyfriend (maybe, they were still working on it), best friend. But he was also insanely stupid as he was smart, and as cocky as he was a sweetheart deep down. He couldn't resist the urge to be a little shit whenever he could, which right now, was the perfect opportunity in the form of a wink before spewing out the gasoline he'd saved.
The gas blew past the lit flame, hitting Dressler unprepared. He took the distraction for what it was. It pained Colt for every step he took away from the yacht towards a smaller boat at the end of the dock, but he had to. He had to get himself out of the equation so he could draw the guards away and loop back around.
The chair fell off. He hopped in the boat and fired up the engine, steering the boat away just in time to see the henchmen starting to regroup, getting into their own boat. Good. He steered towards the docking bay near the road only to duck his head at the sound of a pop!
They were seriously shooting at him. He stayed low, steering the boat back around. Though, from his positioning and the way his hands were tied, it really strained his shoulders. They were definitely going to hurt tomorrow. Still, he pushed the throttle to speed up as the enemy boat started towards him. He spotted the fire on the dock, a crazy idea lining up in his head, though it wasn't the craziest idea he'd had in the last 24 hours.
Colt swore, for a moment there, that the henchmen on the boat were ducking for cover. For what, Colt didn't know because he wasn't armed, but maybe they were stupid enough to shoot at each other. To each their own, he guessed, but he again used the opportunity of distraction to jump the dock, seeing a larger flame erupt behind him.
He couldn't hold back a grin. Badassery ran in the family.
Focus, Colt. Ry needs you.
He ducked as more shots ricocheted off the boat. Colt scanned the horizon. If he weren't in a fight for his life right now, he would've enjoyed the view more because it was gorgeous. The lights reflecting off the dark water, the way the city looked draped against the night sky. He was always a sucker for a pretty city. Never liked living in them too long, though he liked the walkability. He just liked seeing so many lights, like stars.
The night's cool breeze rippled through him as he led the guards further from the yacht. Maybe he could turn it around somehow, use the shipyard ahead to disguise himself and get them off his tracks.
He managed to hide the boat behind a few larger ones. He kept his head low, finding a sharp edge to use to cut the zip-ties. Finally, with a relieved sigh, his hands were free. He ignored the way the skin was rubbed red and irritated. Hearing the engine of the other boat approach, he ducked down, feeling around his pockets.
He had half a mind to stand up and lecture these dudes on their kidnapping/torture etiquette. There was no way he still had his phone in his jacket pocket. Still, he was immensely grateful for their stupidity, for it allowed him to unlock his phone.
Colt frowned. Staring back at him was something he hadn't seen in a long time.
Missed call from Unknown number.
It could only be one person.
He quickly dialed the number back and raised the phone to his ear, careful to keep an eye out for the henchmen. He was going to call Jody, but as much as he loved her, a call from this person could be life or death.
The phone didn't ring but two times before the person picked up.
"I thought retirement meant I was done for good but with troublemakers like you, I guess I'll never retire."
The voice of the eldest, Courtland, brought great relief to Colt. He exhaled deeply, finding tears already pricking at the corners of his eyes. Colt never mentioned Court, simply because of his job and also because legally, he didn't exist. Yet after Fitz granted him a permanent leave (without dying, surprisingly), Courtland managed to mesh back into normal society pretty okay. Well, he had bad days, but he was trying.
One thing he still had was a lot of guns and a lot of eyes and ears. He knew everything that happened. Sometimes Colt wondered if he knew about things before they were going to happen, if he still kept in touch with some of his CIA buddies just to stay in the know. Courtland claimed it was to keep everyone safe, which was fair because Court made a lot of enemies during his time in the CIA, and Sierras weren't let go without death at the end of the road. Even so, Courtland insisted on living as close to the twins as possible to watch over them.
That was Courtland's self-imposed purpose since the twins were born. He upheld it for their entire lives, even when Colt drove a wedge between himself and Ryland. Courtland didn't visit him at all during recovery, and sometimes Colt wondered why. Other times, he wondered if Court was just keeping tabs on Ryland because yes, what Colt said cut deep even if it wasn't directed at Courtland.
"Colt? Answer me!"
He blinked back to reality, feeling the cool air brush against his dry, flaking blood that coated his skin. He sniffled, wiping under his nose and cringing when tiny flecs of blood littered his finger. He wiped it on his jeans and pushed the phone closer to his ear. Much like how it had been a year since he saw Ryland in person, he hadn't seen Courtland longer than that, though he always knew his brother was looking out for him from the shadows.
"Shit, that was you shooting at them. Should've known. You're never gonna be retired as long as I'm around," Colt managed to say light-heartedly, though it was currently bleeding with the need to see his brother, to get his twin back from that fake blonde bastard.
He heard a small intake of air on the line. Relieved.
"Wouldn't have it any other way."
"Court—" he tried.
"I know."
"He's got Ry, you've gotta help me get him back—"
"Oh, he's fine. I've got him right here. Here, talk to him—"
There was some shuffling, some overlapping conversation that Colt couldn't hear over the happy soaring of his pulse in his ears.
"Colt? Holy shit, are you okay?" Ryland's shaky voice filled the phone.
A few tears fell from Colt's eyes. He quickly wiped them away, craning his neck to check if the boat was gone. He couldn't see it.
"I'm fine. Are you… no, obviously you're not."
"I'm… yeah. Can't say I've had worse."
"I'm so sorry, Ry—"
"No, hey. None of that right now. Court's right, we can talk about everything later. Right now we need to know where you are."
"Uh…" he glanced around. "I'm in a shipyard. Not too far from Ryder's place."
"Okay. He said he's at a—hey!"
There was rustling again. Colt suppressed a chuckle, knowing the brothers were likely fighting for the phone.
Court won, obviously.
"Here's what I need you to do: you're still wanted for murder, so we're gonna enact Ryder's plan."
"Meaning?" Colt said.
"I've got eyes on a bunch of oil crates near the opera house. You remember Miami Vice."
Colt ran his hands over the beloved leather jacket. "Obviously."
"Crash it."
He hummed, slowly rising to take the wheel, starting to steer his way out of the shipyard. "Not bad of an idea."
He could hear some protests from Ryland in the background. Something about how dangerous it all was, but Ryland knew better than to worry so much. Especially after the accident that turned out to not be an accident. Colt's been careful for over a year. Ryland often forgets he'd been a stuntman for close to fifteen years before the accident. He knew how to be safe.
"I've got visual on you. Keep headed straight for two hundred yards then make a left."
"Roger."
Court must've put him on speaker phone or handed him over to Ryland because his twin was back.
"I don't need to tell you to be careful, but—"
"I know."
"Do you?" Ryland said quietly.
A beat of silence. Did he?
"I'm sorry, this is all… it's a lot."
"No, you're right," Colt admitted, and God did it feel good to finally say, even if his eyes flooded with tears. "You're right. I'm uh… I've always been playing the role of the tough guy or taking all the hits. Thinking I'm invincible when I know I'm not. It's just… It's all I know how to do, you know? All I can do right."
"That's not true," Courtland said.
"Yeah, well, why else am I in this boat right now? I got myself in this situation, got you two involved. Hurt."
"Don't—" Ryland tried, but Colt would not let him excuse his behavior.
"And I've been such a dick over the last year to myself and to you guys and it's not fair. You didn't push that button but I might as well have blamed you for it with how I acted. I should've never yelled at you, Ry, and I've regretted those words every day."
Another pause. Colt felt goosebumps rising on his arms from the little droplets of water accumulating on his skin mixed with the cool night air. He heard a sniffle.
"And I would've reached out sooner but I didn't—" he cut himself off to lean away and wipe his eyes "—know how to fix it. Nothing I thought of saying felt good enough, you know?"
"Yeah. I know," Ryland said with an air of finality. Knowing him, he blamed himself for their divide as much as Colt, even if it wasn't his fault. "Can you stop pretending like you're actually gonna die?"
"Gotta make it look real for the audience, Ry."
"Take the left," Courtland instructed.
He did. Colt was at the opera house earlier for shooting, and it was beautiful during the day, but at night it was even better. Especially with how close it was to the water. The rippling reflection was so cool. Even better when he jumped, hearing the same pop sound from earlier. Gunshots.
"Keep going, I've got them in my sights," Courtland said.
Sure enough, Colt looked to see the same men from earlier chasing him, though they ducked as Courtland returned fire.
"Colt, seriously, be careful—" Ryland warned worriedly.
"I've got it. Just watch a master at work."
The oil was close.
"It's a pretty sick way to go, though, huh?" he grinned, managing a chuckle as he heard an offended gasp.
"Dude—!" Ryland exclaimed. "Court, stop laughing! It's not funny—"
"See you in a bit."
Colt dropped his phone in the boat, pushing the throttle all the way. Just as the boat neared the dock, Colt slipped off the vessel and into the water. He felt the vibration of the explosion ripple through the water. He slipped off his jacket, resisting the urge to look up. The heat was intense even under a layer of water. Still, he kept swimming down down down, past the dock.
Man, I really liked that jacket.
He kept going, going, going, until he finally emerged from the water with a heaving sigh further down the harbor. He put his hands on his knees as he caught his breath, watching the fire burn from a distance. The black boat was gone.
Success. Now, he just needed to clear his name. He had a feeling Courtland was feeling a bit trigger happy and eager to help, too. Perfect.
Courtland had lived a very tragic, interesting life. Interesting in the way where people would make documentaries about his secret life ten years down the road. He couldn't say the same for his brothers, who he made sure to have as normal lives as possible.
So excuse Courtland, retired Sierra, for spitting out his drink when he saw his baby brother's face plastered on the news wanted for murder. He stared at the screen in disbelief. Colt. Colton Gentry, a killer? Absolutely not. He watched the video "evidence" and scoffed. Anyone with eyeballs could see it was a deepfake, but apparently, people were more gullible than he thought.
Courtland wasted no time in packing a bag (with some weaponry, of course) and heading out. He reached Sydney in record time, just before nightfall, and got right to work. He was an ex-CIA agent, sure, and he definitely should've put trackers on his brothers long ago, but he didn't. He was at square one.
But he was a stuntman. There was a film shooting nearby with lead actor Tom Ryder. Courtland had heard many rants over the years from Colt, who worked as Ryder's main stunt double, about how insufferable the man was. Doing light research on the ride over, it turned out that Ryder actually owned a little place in Sydney right on the harbor. Even had a yacht. Of course he did.
He figured if anyone were to know anything about the stuntmen, it was the man they worked for. He had to do a bit more digging before he got to Sydney, but a quick call to a close contact got him the address no problem.
It took him until nearly ten at night to find the place because his taxi driver couldn't find a good route. He remembered seeing the man curse in the driver's seat, sending half-assed apologiees to Courtland for the inconvenience. Something about the roads being blocked off from some sort of accident. Whatever, he didn't care. Courtland arrived at the address close to ten, and immediately he could tell something was wrong.
There were mulitple vehicles parked outside, some with their doors still opened like the passengers were in a haste. Growing closer to the entrance, there was glass all over the ground. He looked up, finding support beams where the glass would've been. Someone broke it. Courtland quickly scaled the building, grabbing his pistol from its holser on his thigh as he entered the broken glass doorway.
The place was trashed. Bullet holes everywhere, glass shards, broken props and vases and shit that looked expensive and was probably worth than all the money Courtland ever made in his life. Courtland made quick work of sweeping the place, finding no one home. He tucked his pistol back into the holster in favor of assembling his rifle on the balcony. Scoping out the remaining area under the shadows was his next best bet if he wanted to find Ryder. He had to have been close by.
He checked the deck by the yacht first. His heart leapt to his throat.
Colt was tied to a little chair, his hair a mess and his face bloody and bruised. A few random men in black clothing stood behind him. And in front of his face was Tom Ryder himself. Courtland wished he had one of those gadgets in spy movies where you could listen in on the person talking from a distance. Sadly, he did not have one of them, and was stuck trying to piece the puzzle together from afar, which wasn't adding up at all. Or maybe he was a horrible lip reader.
He saw Tom Ryder nod at two of his guys, and they fled to the yacht. Court frowned, focusing back on Colt, who suddenly looked like he was constipated. A mix of trying desperately to hide his emotions and failing miserably. He looked horrified. Courtland's gut twisted. What had him so worried?
He got his answer when Tom Ryder walked back to greet his men, who had come back from the yacht with—
Ryland.
Courtland's finger curled around the trigger, applying very light pressure. He couldn't see any blood or injury on the youngest, but the sight of his younger brothers in such peril was plucked right out of his nightmares. Ryland had duct tape covering his mouth and his hands zip-tied in front of him. He knew exactly why Ryland was there, now. He silently begged his brothers not to do anything stupid in favor of keeping each other safe, which was like wishing for a stuntman to be careful. They never considered safety when it came to keeping each other alive. It was noble, but it only drew more attention to themselves.
Courtland was forced to watch his little brothers be beaten, have gasoline poured on Colt, all because he couldn't pull the trigger. The men were too close to them. One wrong move and the bullet could lodge in the wrong person, no matter how skilled Courtland was with his rifle. He needed to wait until they were far enough away before acting, as much as it broke his heart to do so.
One thing was for certain; every man on that dock was dead and they didn't know it yet.
Colt's shouts brought him back. He was shouting for his twin. Courtland fixed his sight. They were taking him back into the yacht while Colt got more gasoline poured on him. Hell no.
Act.
Courtland watched Colt spew gas into the man's lighter. He started shooting as Colt ran. It was fun watching the men dance around. He was deliberately missing. He wanted to play with his prey, make them fearful like they did to his brothers. Give them a taste of their own medicine. Then, when they thought they were safe, Courtland would strike.
But first, Ryland.
As much as Courtland hated watching the henchmen drive after Colt in a boat, he needed to get the youngest out first since he was closer. Courtland quickly descended to the dock, thankful for Colt's quick mind coming up with a distraction (even if he didn't know Courtland was there). He easily approached the yacht with his rifle raised, finger over the trigger.
Courtland stepped into the yacht, listening to the faint voices in the next room. He peeked around the corner, forcing every nerve in his body to not pull the trigger right away. He grit his teeth until it sent little jolts of electricity through his jaw. Ryland was sitting on the far end of the room, Tom Ryder cozied up next to him talking about whatever with animated hands. There were three henchmen in black with weapons, four random men and women who seemed to just be high bystanders.
Ryland seemed a little out of it. His cheeks were red, dark bruising beginning to peek through. His chin and neck were coated in blood from his nostrils. He kept blinking like he was trying not to fall asleep. Courtland wondered if those fuckers hit him hard enough to give him a concussion, especially since Ryland never stepped foot into any sort of danger. He'd been beaten up before as a child but it's been so long that it might've packed a bit more of a punch.
Tom Ryder was sitting too close for Courtland's liking. His leg was pressed flush against Ryland's, his arm teetering between being slung around Ryland's shoulder and expressing whatever he was talking about. Courtland's blood boiled seeing Ryder act like he hadn't just let his men hurt Ryland. Like he belonged by Ryland's side, ruffling his hair playfully and smacking his arm like they were old friends catching up.
Courtland ended the party fast.
The first shot went into the closest henchman's chest. The next two found their homes in the other two men in black. The four bystanders had half a brain to notice immense danger and decided to run. Courtland let them. They weren't his main concern. He emerged into the light, barrel of his rifle aimed right at Tom Ryder's heart. Tom Ryder, who was staring at Courtland like he'd seen a ghost. Ryder, who was still too close to Ryland for Court's liking.
Ryland's exhaustion seemed to vanish at the sight of the eldest. His eyes were wide, sparkling. Granted, he hadn't seen Courtland in person in a while. It had been a few months since they last managed to catch coffee together. Ryland had been busy with school and Court with work, and it always sucked not being able to hear the youngest's rants about school in person. Courtland wished it had been under different circumstances that they met again.
"What the—Colt? H-Hey, man, why don't you put down the gun, huh?" Ryder stammered, eyes full of fear.
Good. Courtland didn't waver. Didn't speak. Sierra had crawled out of retirement for one last gig.
"How did you even get a gun? You grow a goatee in the last half hour, too?"
"I'm only gonna say this once. Step away from him and I don't put a bullet in your heart," Courtland said lowly.
"Jesus Christ, man, I know you love your brother and all but this is—"
"I'm not asking and I won't say it again. You're lucky you're not already dead on the floor 'cause I need answers and you've got 'em."
Tom Ryder was nothing if not selfish, so of course he scrambled away from Ryland like he was actively on fire. He raised his hands in surrender. "Listen, man. Colt, my man—"
"I'm not Colt," Courtland said bluntly, moving to shield Ryland from view. That, and because he had a knife on his belt. He felt Ryland reach for it, though with how sluggish his movements were, he must've been fighting to stay coherent. Court's finger pressed further on the trigger, just before it would snap.
Tom Ryder stared in disbelief, trying to crane his neck to look ar Ryland again, but Court didn't let him. "Wait, there's… what? There's three of you?"
"'nd you messed with the wrong family," Ryland's hoarse voice filled the air. Court saw his brother stand by his side, knife in hand by his side, the duct tape falling to the floor.
"It's nothing personal, it's—! It's not! I swear!"
"Bullshit!" Ryland spat.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't give the floors a new paint job," Courtland said.
"Shit, man! I-I'm a great actor! I-I'll give you anything to make up for this… misunderstanding, yeah? What do you want? Money? I've got plenty of that—"
"There's no misunderstanding. You fucked with my brothers, I fuck with you."
"Listen, man, I didn't know, alright? Just—shit! Just let me give you something, anything!"
"We want Colt's name cleared," Ryland demanded. "We want you to go to the news outlets and tell them it was you who killed Henry."
"I—" Ryder cut himself off, eyes wide and crazed. "I can't do that! It'll ruin my career!"
"Is your career more important than your life?" Courtland threatened.
"It's everything I have!"
"That's sad, bro," Ryland said with a slight shake of his head.
Tom Ryder fumed, his face flushing. "You don't know what it's like to have to fight your way to the top! To try and try and get nowhere! I earned this! All of it! I'm not letting it be taken away!"
Courtland glanced at his brother. His blood flaking on his chin, the skin around his left eye starting to form a deep purple. All of this—a stuntman's death, conspiracy and kidnapping and killing—over one man's desperate fingers clinging to fame. Ryland seemed just as angry as Courtland felt.
Anger wasn't an emotion that appeared on Ryland's face that easily anymore. Years of banishment from his microbiology field and gaining his teaching certificate really helped him wind down. He hardly outwardly showed his anger, if he was mad. Courtland knew he kept a journal of sorts. He didn't know how it worked, but that, among other things, seemed to help him control the emotion better.
Now, it looked like that training flew out the window, because Courtland's little brother moved.
A blob, obscured by motion blur, lunged for Tom Ryder and collided with him harshly. Courtland blinked, because what. Ryland was the one to attack first? Not unheard of, but it was strange seeing that side of him return. Still, Courtland let him get a few hits in before stepping in, especially when Tom Ryder raised his arms to try and retaliate.
"You son of a bitch! You're scum of the Earth, you know that? You nearly killed Colt, nearly paralyzed him, just to keep your stupid fucking spotlight! I'll kill you!" Ryland shouted, breaking his already brittle voice further.
Courtland paused, though he kept his arm out to stop his brother from attacking. He slowly turned to Tom Ryder, who was sporting a bloody nose and tearful eyes. Eyes that filled with terror as they locked onto Courtland.
He was pissed.
"You did what?" he sneered.
Tom Ryder chuckled nervously, eyes flickering between the rifle in Court's hands and Ryland.
"He messed with the rig! He's the reason why Colt's 'accident' happened!" Ryland thundered, his hands clenching into fists and shaking. Itching to hurt the man who hurt his brother. Who nearly drove his family apart for good.
Courtland was right there with him, except he was considering a more permanent solution. He didn't know if he liked how easily he fell back into the Sierra mentality, but it was helping him big time right now.
Tom Ryder was the reason Colt fell into a deep depression. He was the reason Colt pushed away everyone he loved, why he thought he didn't deserve to have his family back because of his past behavior. How he lashed out. He's the reason Colt spent months in agony from physical therapy and mental obstacles. Courtland's hands curled around his rifle tighter, his teeth grinding together painfully with how hard he clenched his jaw.
Before he could raise his rifle, Tom Ryder grabbed one of the expensive looking vases from the floor and slammed it into Courtland. Sharp pain littered the left side of his body, the sound of ceramic shattering filling his ears. He cringed, raising his arms a little too late to block the attack.
"No! He's getting away!" he heard Ryland say.
Oh hell no. Not on Courtland's watch.
He pushed his shoulders back and followed Ryland out onto the dock. Courtland scanned the dock, the road, the stairway leading up to Tom Ryder's apartment. No sign of the man. That was the worst part about men like Ryder; they knew how to weasel their way out of difficult situations because they found themselves in them more often than not. Cowards. Assholes.
"Son of a bitch!"
Or that, too, thank you, Ryland.
"I'll kill him! I'll kill that asshole—"
"Ry," Court said.
The youngest paused his pacing, allowing Courtland to assess him. Other than his face, he didn't seem to be injured. Except the skin on his wrists being rubbed raw. The sight filled Courtland with pure, unfiltered rage, but he reeled it back in. His brothers didn't need the angry overprotective brother right now. They needed Courtland. There was a difference between the two, believe it or not.
He clicked the safety on his rifle and slung it over his shoulder. He brought his hands up to gently grasp Ryland's arms, looking him over for the millionth time. Ryland's tense muscles relaxed under the contact, letting him release a huff of air into the chilly night.
"Where else are you hurt?" Courtland asked.
Ryland clenched his jaw, eyes alight with venom and itching for justice.
"Ry."
"Ribs."
"How bad?"
"Might be cracked. Dunno."
"You're lucky the adrenaline is still pumping. It's gonna hurt."
"No shit."
Courtland smacked the back of his head. Gently, of course. It still earned a shout of indignation from Ryland.
"Hey!" he exclaimed. "What was that for?"
"Being a smart ass."
"I've always been that."
Yes, you have, Courtland thought fondly. "We have to find Colt," he said.
Ryland huffed. "How?"
Courtland reached for his phone, once again wishing he'd somehow gotten the twins microchipped or something. Would've saved them a lot of trouble. He pulled up Colt's contact. Ryland peeked, raising a brow at the sight.
"What? Maybe he'll answer."
"He was being tortured, Court. I bet they took his phone."
"Maybe not." Courtland dialed the number, listening to it ring while guiding Ryland towards the apartment. "Let's get you cleaned up."
Ryland didn't have a smart remark. He was too busy biting the inside of his cheek, listening intently to the phone as it continued ringing. Colt wasn't picking up.
As they entered the apartment, Courtland kept his eyes out for Colt's phone as the call continued ringing. No sight of it. No sound.
"Your call has been forwarded—"
"Shit," Courtland muttered to himself. He faced Ryland sitting on the kitchen island, his eyes downcast and dim all of a sudden. Thinking the worst. Courtland put the phone in Ryland's hand, offering a small smile his brother didn't reciprocate. "Having bloodstained clothes on can't be comfy."
"Don't want to wear anything of that prick's. I'm not gonna be part of his brand," Ryland said.
"Clothes are clothes."
"Not when they're Tom Ryder's. A simple t-shirt probably cost, like, two-hundred dollars."
"So you're worried about ruining monetary value." Courtland grabbed paper towels, wet them under the faucet, gently rang them out and returned to his brother.
Ryland huffed indignantly. "I'd be all for stealing from him, especially after what he's done, but not clothes. Maybe… the TV."
Courtland dabbed at the blood on Ryland's chin with a small smile. "First you get banned from academia, now you turn to a life of crime. What happened to the little brother that sticks with the books?"
"Oh, shut up. Remember that time in second grade I stole that kid's pencil pouch? He didn't even know it was me."
"Yeah, but you were a model citizen and put it right back where you found it."
Ryland hissed when Courtland pressed the paper towels close to his nose. Courtland brought his other hand up to keep his brother's head in place, ignoring his annoyed glare.
"After you yelled at me."
Courtland chuckled. He remembered that a bit too well. He didn't like yelling at his brothers, but it was the only way to get them to listen most times. And seeing Ryland hold up the pencil pouch at home like a trophy, with a bright smile full of pride, he'd nearly lost his mind. He was terrified he'd end up getting a call from the school talking about the theft. Of course, he was being a bit dramatic for an eleven year old, but he didn't know how the legal system or shit like that worked, sue him.
"Still. You're a good kid, Ry."
Ryland's eyes didn't leave him. Still in disbelief he was there. It came with being a Sierra, though it never got easier to see that look. He'd been home for a little over two years, and each time he didn't speak to the twins in over a week, they had that same look of surprise when he actually answered their facetime calls. Like they didn't expect him to be able to come to the phone.
Part of him still hated Fitz for it all. But it was times like these, when his family was in trouble, that he was glad he had the skills and training to be able to help.
"Not a kid anymore," Ryland muttered, suppressing a grimace when Courtland moved on to dab away the grime from his cheeks. "I'm, like, thirty. Thirty-two."
"Still an annoying little shit."
Ryland punched his arm, but the comment brought a smile to his face. That was Courtland's job at the end of the day. To make his family happy. Safe.
He still had a job to do.
The phone rang in Ryland's hand.
Ryland's gaze snapped to the phone, then back to Courtland. He nodded instently. Ryland quickly answered.
"I thought retirement meant I was done for good but with troublemakers like you, I guess I'll never retire," Courtland said, earning a disappointed look from Ryland.
The line was quiet. Courtland abandoned the bloody paper towels to grab his brother's wrist, raising the phone so they could both hear. A jolt of panic struck Courtland. He couldn't hear anything. Not the sloshing of water, or the wind, or anything. Not even a single breath.
Images of Colt lying dead somewhere entered his mind, telling him he wasn't fast enough to save his brother.
He shook his head. Ryland's eyes were wide, worried, fearing the worst.
"Colt? Answer me!" Courtland demanded, though his voice came out a bit weaker than intended.
A beat of silence. For a moment, Courtland started to fear the worst, too.
Then—
"Shit, that was you shooting at them. Should've known. You're never gonna be retired as long as I'm around," Colt's voice filled the kitchen. Courtland could tell he was smirking.
Both brothers' shoulders slumped with relief. Courtland sucked in a breath to ease his burning lungs.
"Wouldn't have it any other way," he said. God, he loved his brothers, even if they were little shits.
"Court—" Colt tried to speak. Courtland already knew what he was gonna say.
Where's Ryland?
"I know."
"He's got Ry, you've gotta help me get him back—"
Courtland watched Ryland's eyes fill with unshed tears, his bottom lip wobbling as he listened to his twin worry. Courtland rubbed circles into his shoulder, knowing it wasn't easy for either of them. It certainly wasn't how Court pictured them reuniting.
There were times where Courtland went back and forth with being angry at Colt. For driving his loved ones away, for thinking he can recover by himself. Physically, maybe, with lots of physical therapy and pain meds, but mentally? Colt thrived on interaction. He needed it like he needed air. To see him not want it anymore, to lock himself away and drive a wedge between himself and Ryland, was one of the toughest things Courtland had to witness.
Because he knew deep down that Colt didn't mean it. He loved his family too much to let them go.
"Oh, he's fine. I've got him right here," Courtland said quickly to try and ease his distressed brother. "Here, talk to him—"
Ryland shuffled uncomfortably, wiping at his eyes. "I can't—"
"Yes, you can."
"But he—" Ryland tried, cutting himself off with a sniffle "—and I—"
"Forget that right now. Colt needs to hear you and you need to talk to him. He's hurt and he needs this just as much as you do."
Ryland looked at him apprehensively. Courtland saw it in his eyes, though. That need. The intense worry taking over. Ryland sniffled again, wiping his tearstained cheeks with vigor and raising the phone.
"Colt? Holy shit, are you okay?" he said shakily.
Colt hesitated over the phone.
"I'm fine. Are you… no, obviously you're not."
"I'm… yeah. Can't say I've had worse," Ryland tried to joke with a small chuckle.
Courtland almost felt like he shouldn't have been standing there, seeing the reunion over the phone. But it didn't matter. This was his family, too. They both needed him as much as they needed each other.
"I'm so sorry, Ry—" Colt said, his voice wobbly.
"No, hey. None of that right now. Court's right, we can talk about everything later. Right now we need to know where you are."
"Uh… I'm in a shipyard. Not too far from Ryder's place."
"Okay," Ryland nodded, looking up at Courtland, who had started to busy himself with his rifle again. "He said he's at a—hey!"
Courtland snatched the phone back, heading to the balcony with his brother right behind him. "Here's what I need you to do: you're still wanted for murder, so we're gonna enact Ryder's plan."
"Meaning?"
Courtland set the phone down on the railing, using his scope to scan the waters. Ryland came up on his left, holding the phone as the wind rustled past. He saw a bunch of other ships, ripples in the reflection of the water. Then, a small dock with red and white metal barrels.
"I've got eyes on a bunch of oil crates near the opera house. You remember Miami Vice," he said.
"Obviously," Colt snickered.
"Crash it."
Ryland's head whipped to look at him. "What?"
He heard Colt hum.
"Not that bad of an idea."
"No, Court, are you kidding? This is so dangerous! So much shit could go wrong!"
"Your brother's done this before, he'll be fine."
"But—"
"He'll be okay, Ry," Courtland said, pulling away from the scope to look him in the eye. Always worried. "You've gotta trust him."
"I do. Of course I do. I just…" Ryland trailed off, gazing in the direction of the oil crates. "I just got him back."
I can't lose him again.
"I know." Courtland patted his arm. "He'll be okay. He won't leave you hanging again."
"How do you know?"
"Just feel it."
The tightness in his chest eased seeing Ryland smile knowingly. He turned back to the scope, scanning the waters. He had to adjust the zoom a few times near the shipyard, but he found Colt. He looked horrible. Courtland wished he'd ran after Tom Ryder. He was itching to kill that guy.
One thing at a time. Colt needed to be proven innocent, and to do that, he needed Ryder. Unfortunately.
"I've got visual on you. Keep headed straight for two hundred yards then make a left."
"Roger."
He watched as Colt steered the boat. The water rippling behind him. He heard Ryland take a deep breath.
"I don't need to tell you to be careful, but—"
"I know," Colt replied.
"Do you?"
There was a pause. The rumble of the boat's engine grew nearer, echoing off the buildings. Ryland sighed quietly. Courtland saw Colt close his eyes, a grimace tugging at his lips.
"I'm sorry, this is all… it's a lot."
"No, you're right," Colt admitted. Courtland frowned at his tone. Open, honest. Vulnerable. Especially with the sight of Colt's hand wiping his eyes. "You're right. I'm uh… I've always been playing the role of the tough guy or taking all the hits. Thinking I'm invincible when I know I'm not. It's just… It's all I know how to do, you know? All I can do right."
"That's not true," Courtland insisted.
"Yeah, well, why else am I in this boat right now? I got myself in this situation, got you two involved. Hurt."
"Don't—" Ryland said, but Colt wasn't done yet.
"And I've been such a dick over the last year to myself and to you guys and it's not fair. You didn't push that button but I might as well have blamed you for it with how I acted. I should've never yelled at you, Ry, and I've regretted those words every day."
Courtland's chest constricted again at the admission. He knew his brother was being hard on himself. He wanted to say it was for good reason, but he didn't know anymore. There was so much that went into what happened: Ryder's meddling, the way Colt responds to trauma, the hovering (Ryland did it a bit too much. Maybe it was why Colt lashed out, but Ryland just worries), the bitterness, the frustration. It wasn't anyone's fault but Tom Ryder's—that fucker's deluded mind.
"And I would've reached out sooner, but I didn't—" Colt leaned away to wipe his eyes "—know how to fix it. Nothing I thought of saying felt good enough, you know?"
"Yeah, I know," Ryland agreed, and Courtland could hear the blame in his tone. Not at Colt, but himself. These kids. "Can you stop pretending like you're actually gonna die?"
"Gotta make it look real for the audience, Ry."
"Take the left," Courtland said.
He watched Colt steer, headed right for the oil. Then, loud pops filled the air. Courtland watched Colt duck, a spark hit the metal frame of the boat. He quickly turned his scope to see a black boat following his brother. He counted three men. Shooting. As much as Courtland wanted to end their existence right there, he needed them alive if he was going to find Tom Ryder. They knew him, where he'd be. His personal lap dogs.
"Keep going, I've got them in my sights," Courtland said, returning fire, satisfaction curling in his gut as the men ducked, looking for an invisible attacker.
"Colt, seriously, be careful—" Ryland started.
"I've got it. Just watch a master at work." A moment of silence. "It's a pretty sick way to go, huh?"
"Dude!" Ryland exclaimed, chastizing. He whirled on Courtland, who couldn't hold back a snicker at his brother's antics. "Court, stop laughing! It's not funny—"
"See you in a bit," Colt muttered.
There was a clatter on the line, and Courtland turned his sights from the men just in time to watch the boat collide with the oil. He could feel the heat from the explosion from his vantage point. Even though he trusted Colt and his abilities, he still held his breath, scanning the water for any sign of his brother. Beside him, Ryland let the phone hang limp by his side, his other hand reaching up to run through his hair. An anxious tic he'd never fully let go of.
"Do you see him? Please tell me you see him—"
"Hang on, Ry."
"God dammit, Court, I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna kill Tom Ryder."
"Me first."
He watched Ryder's lap dogs investigate the scene, leaving a moment later. Courtland zoomed in on the nearest docks, waiting. Watchign the disturbed water lap at the concrete. He already heard sirens. Soon enough, the scene would be full of cops and firefighters, wondering what the hell happened, and they needed to be gone by then.
Courtland's heart twisted as he kept looking, coming up empty.
"Court—"
"He's alive, Ry. Don't do that."
"But what if he… you know he's like that. Not like that, not suicidal… I don't think… at least, not anymore, but he could've lied! It's totally something he'd do—" Ryland rambled, starting to pace the length of the balcony with uneven breaths.
Courtland spotted movement to his far left. He zoomed in, ignoring Ryland's word-vomit. It was the water, still dealing with the disturbing force from the explosion. His shoulders slumped, beginning to question the possibility that Ryland was correct.
Movement. Real movement. A person emerged from the water, crawling on all fours up the concrete ramp before standing tall. Dirtied white shirt and vest, but that mop of dirty blonde hair was unmistakable. Courtland exhaled deeply, clicking the safety of his rifle back on and tossing it over his shoulder. He interrupted Ryland's pacing, grabing his arm and jogging towards the staircase.
"—and he could be—Court!"
"He's alive."
Ryland shut up and followed close behind as Courtland headed in the direction he last saw Colt. He just hoped his brother had half a brain to stay in place, to let them come to him. The two ran through the streets, hearts racing, whoping that their brother would be there.
Any other time, Courtland would've liked to admire the city. The incandescent lights, the cool air that carried a bit of saltiness to it, the high-rise buildings. He remembered passing by a lot of businesses and restaurants—maybe a few cafe's with outdoor seating, like Paris—and he wondered if Colt got to walk around after wrapping up a day of filming. If not, he would gladly take his brothers out for a day of fun. They deserved it, after all of this. And Fitz gave Courtland enough money to last three lifetimes. Colt loved shopping. Ryland, not so much, but he liked browsing.
They would get their calm days. Their days full of laughs and smiles and high spirits.
Ryland didn't wiggle out of Courtland's grasp. He let the eldest drag him through the streets, wincing every once in a while. Court made a mental note to get his ribs checked out by a professional. By Court's experience, he should've been a professional by now, but not really. He could stitch himself up, make sure it would scar nicely, but he couldn't deal with broken bones other than a nose.
The brothers continued down the street, though they slowed considerably to glance at dark alleyways for any signs of Colt. Ryland got jumpscared by a rat crawling out from behind a dumpster. Courtland didn't tease him for it, not when it sent a jolt of panic through him, too. Wondering if it was Colt crawling on the ground because he got injured and didn't tell them.
As they approached a stoplight and turned the corner, Courltand's hand was quick to draw his pistol at the frantic figure before them.
He quickly put it back, for the man staggering towards them was a soaking wet, dirty, exhausted version of Colt. Their brother. And as soon as he spotted them, especially Ryland, his shoulders sagged with relief.
"Thank fuck. I'm so tired right now. Can we get some burgers or something? Hungry, too," Colt said with a hand rubbing his belly for exaggeration.
Courtland was instantly reminded of what Colt said over the phone about not being invincible. It's all he knows how to do, he said. It was true. Here he was, after being tortured and jumping off a boat that flew into a fiery explosion, joking with them. Trying to make them (Ryland) feel better about the whole thing. Deflecting his own exhaustion and terror in favor of keeping the peace and quiet that coated the late night street.
"That can be arranged," Courtland said after a moment, assessing. Worrying.
Ryland stepped around Courtland and, in three strides, had brought his twin into a tight embrace. Colt released a high-pitched squeak, like a dog's toy, as Ryland squeezed the air out of him. Courtland stayed in place even if he wanted to do the same because it wasn't his moment to take. The twins needed this.
Colt slowly wrapped his arms around Ryland after a second, slowly swaying them side to side. His eyes fluttered shut, his features relaxing—truly relaxing—for the first time that night at the sight of his brother alive. As they pulled away, Courtland could see the emotions flashing in Colt's eyes like a flickering lightbulb. So many at once to where he couldn't speak them all at once like he probably wanted to.
Luckily, Ryland was always the faster talker.
"You look horrible," he said, his hands cupping Colt's face and turning it to inspect the damage. "They really did a number on you."
"You, too." Colt let his brother worry, sending Court a small smile. "We should really get out of here. You know a spot close by?"
"No, but I can make it happen," Courtland promised. He'd get all the burgers Colt wanted, all the blankets he needed to stop shivering. It was times like these where Courtland wished he had the ability to teleport. To be by his family all the time instead of being at work, or doing mundane chores. He couldn't change the past but he could help nurture the future.
Ryland slung his arm over Colt's shoulders as they trailed silently behind Courtland. There was so much for them to talk about, so much to fix.
One thing's for certain, though: Tom Ryder was a dead man walking.
Courtland managed to find them a four star hotel near the center of the city for a one night stay. He'd denied Colt's suggestion of just finding a taxi to take them to the set of Metalstorm, claiming he knew nothing of Tom Ryder's wherabouts and until he found him, they were staying far away from set.
Whatever. Colt didn't care. All he wanted was a fresh pair of clothes and a good night's rest. Maybe some ibuprophen and a gallon of water. And some toothpaste. He could still taste the gasoline on his teeth.
The one thing keeping him from collapsing was his twin, who was adamant about staying glued to his side. Ryland didn't let go of him once throughout the entire walk, the elevator ride, and the final push to stagger down the hallway to their room. It was nice having him back in arms reach, especially after the last sight of him was… less than ideal.
Being used for leverage for Colt to talk. Being beaten just for being related to Colt.
Ryland should hate him, should be the one slamming his knuckles into his cheek. But he wasn't. That's not the kind of brother he is. He had a heart big enough for all three Gentry brothers, even if his temper sometimes overrided it. It showed through his hug earlier, without saying a word about the obvious that they were all thinking. Still caring and worrying for him even after all he put Ryland through.
Courtland got the twins into the large hotel room. Colt wondered how much he had to pay for it out of pocket because it was nice. Two king size beds, two bathrooms, a nice flatscreen TV, and snacks and water bottles near the TV stand? It was seriously bordering on luxury and it made Colt question why the place was only four stars.
The eldest deposited his bag on the bed closest to the door. Colt didn't know if he liked hearing the telltale rattling of magazines and metal. But it was nice to know that Court brought backup.
"I'm gonna go find some proper food. Don't leave this room, got it?"
"You can retire again, we're good," Colt joked, patting Court's arm as he passed to sit on the edge of the bed. "Find a spare change of clothes, too, while you're at it."
"I'm not your maid."
"And I'm still wanted, soooo…" he shrugged with a smug grin.
Courtland rolled his eyes and ruffled Colt's hair just because he could. Colt tried to ignore the questioning look the oldest sent Ryland, but he was nervous watching him leave. Ryland followed behind to lock the door just in case. When he returned to the main area, he started towards one of the bathrooms with purpose.
"Ryland," Colt called.
"What?"
"Come on."
"What?" his twin asked again.
"You don't have to keep pretending."
He heard water running. Was Ryland fiddling with the shower? Colt was about to stand up to check on his brother when Ryland leaned in the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest with a frown tugging his lips.
"What am I pretending to do?" he said.
"Care. About me."
"Colt—"
"No."
"I do care."
"Yeah, because I did something stupid that was all Court's idea."
"No, I care about you, not the stunt. Though it was sick as hell." Ryland managed a small smirk.
Colt snickered. "Says the one who was telling me to be careful."
"Just 'cause it was cool doesn't mean something can't go wrong." Ryland moved further into the room. Colt noted the white towel in his hand, heavy and damp. He stopped a few feet in front of him. "You gonna make me do it?"
"I can clean up when Court gets back with clothes. You don't have to do anything—"
"Dude, look at yourself. You're exhausted. Can't lie about that when you said it yourself."
A beat of silence as Colt looked away, finding his brother's open, caring eyes too much to look at. All he could think about were his last words he said before they drifted apart. There were so many times over the last year that Colt thought he'd fucked up his family for good. That it wouldn't have been Court killing their dad and becoming Sierra Six that drove the family apart, but the fact that Colt couldn't handle people seeing him so vulnerable and miserable would send his brothers and Jody scrambling to get away.
It was his fault he lost so much time with the people he loved most. He didn't deserve Ryland's forgiveness or kindness, not when he put so much hurt on his brother's shoulders.
He jolted when the towel pressed against his forehead and swiped to the right. Looking up, he found Ryland leaning over with a determined look in his eyes. One that told Colt he would not be swayed so easily, daring him to stop him. Colt tried to move away, but Ryland's other hand came up to grab his chin, keeping him in place as he worked.
"Remember when I got sick in seventh grade?" Ryland broke the tense silence.
He did. Colt furrowed his brows at the memory. "Yeah."
"God, I was so sick. Throwing up every fifteen minutes, not keeping any fluids down. And when I thought I got better and went back to school and threw up on Stacy's desk. She was so mad at me."
"She barely knew you."
"Yeah, but imagine if some random kid throws up on your desk. You'd be mad, too."
"Maybe, but you were clearly sick."
The towel was one of those cheaper, scratchy hotel towels, but Ryland worked with such gentle motions that it almost felt like Colt's towel back home. He was picky with things like that—he liked soft things. Cotton t-shirts, nice pajama pants, blankets. Towels, most importantly. And boxers. Very important, too.
He found himself relaxing again the more his brother worked, his body feeling like it was on lockdown. Like they were made of lead and tethered to the mattress, which was slowly beckoning him to fall back, but Ryland's hands kept him in place.
"Why you bringin' this up now?" Colt asked sluggishly. As much as he liked the trip down memory lane, he didn't see any purpose in bringing it up.
"You tried to make me chicken noodle soup from scratch since we didn't have any canned goods."
He remembered that a little too well. He couldn't stand coming home from school, missing out on a whole day with his twin brother, and seeing him looking so miserable in his bed. He had been tossing and turning all day, his sheets rumpled and blankets half kicked off half clinging to his sweaty skin. There was a bucket that they put beside his bed in case he threw up that was about halfway full. Courtland had left a small cooler full of ice and electrolyte-rich drinks by the bed that Ryland could drink, but it seemed that they all just came back up.
Ryland had told him he was hungry but too tired and too nauseous to get up. And since Courtland wouldn't be due to come home for another three hours or so (and since Colt didn't feel like cleaning up puke if Ryland got up), he took matters into his own hands. He sent his brother a reassuring smile and told him to leave it to him. He would cook the best soup he'd ever had, he promised.
In reality, it went differently.
"I nearly started a fire," Colt said, a small smirk pulling his lips up.
"It's the effort that counts."
When he didn't feel a towel brushing his skin for a few seconds, he finally opened his eyes. Ryland was still there, leaning back now, nervously tossing the towel between his hands.
"But you took care of me. You tried to, anyway. You made me feel better when I was sick as a dog. You made me laugh." Ryland sighed, looking at his feet. "I know it's not… it might not matter to you, but it matters to me. And when I tried to return the favor, it just… why, Colt?"
He bit his tongue. He knew why. Ryland knew why, or at least he thought his brother knew why. He just talked about it over the phone. Colt's anger and frustration with his position—not knowing if he'd be able to do stunt work again, his estimated recovery time, his loved ones rallying behind him but hovering too much, thinking he couldn't take care of himself—had overtaken him. In a moment where Colt wasn't regulating his tongue (not that he did that much, already), he lashed out at the one person he didn't want to push away despite his worrying.
He didn't want Ryland seeing him so… broken. Defeated. He'd been there for some of the worst breakdowns Colt had ever had, and he'd tried his best to help pick up the pieces. And Colt slapped them out of his hands and told him to leave. Trying to save his brother from months of his inevitable attitude, his anger. And in the end, he got what he wanted, but at what cost? It was stupid in hindsight because that's what family does.
That's why he brought up the soup. Family takes care of one another.
"You know why," he said quietly.
"Not really."
"Because I…"
Ryland tilted his head. Sad. Disappointed. "Is it really that hard to say?"
"I was… with the way we grew up, is it really that surprising? Me, hiding away? Not wanting you to see the pain and anger and hurt?"
"That's what I'm here for, though."
"I know that. Still doesn't mean it's yours to carry."
"Carry—" Ryland scoffed. "I'm not carrying anything! That's the whole point about helping, Colt. If I… stayed a bit longer, maybe none of this would've happened. We could've had this talk earlier, made each other realize that we're both idiots and that neither of our emotions are burdens."
"Where'd you learn that one from, therapy?"
"Yes, actually."
Oh. Shit. Guilt shot through him like a bolt of lightning. No doubt he was in therapy because of what Colt said. That, and maybe their childhood and all the baggage that came with it. Still.
Colt shook his head, wondering how long Courtland had been gone for and when he'd be back.
"Look, I've been doing a lot of thinking. Unpacking."
"Therapy," Colt said bluntly.
"Yes, and I've come to the conclusion that I forgive you. I did a long time ago and I just… never really knew how to put it into words. Didn't know if you wanted to hear it or not. Regardless, I should've reached out and told you and I'm sorry I didn't," Ryland said quickly. His shoulders fell with the confession.
Colt stared at him. "You're apologizing? For that?"
"Yeah."
"I'm the one who's sorry. I… what I said was horrible and I never meant it—"
"I know."
"—but I felt like the biggest sack of shit for saying it and never… never reaching out when I did. Partly because I knew you'd answer and I felt like I didn't deserve it, not after what I said," Colt admitted. "But you're right. It's been a year. We've both been idiots and I just wish I had a better way with words to express how truly sorry I am, Ry. For being a shitbag brother."
"You were injured—" Ryland tried.
"Doesn't give me an excuse to call you a burden when you're not. Never were." Colt swallowed thickly, looking down at his feet as he felt the stinging in his eyes, the warning of tears incoming. Even now when he was supposed to be vulnerable, he still found it hard to look his brother in the eyes. Always that ego, that idea of being invincible coming back around. "You were—are—my brother. You're not a burden. I did need you. I just… I was so torn between not wanting you to be there to see me in such a low spot and wanting you there to cling to someone who was somewhat mentally stable."
Ryland chuckled lightly, folding the towel into a neat square. "Dunno if I was mentally stable there with your accident and all."
"Still. I… hope you know that I appreciated it. Everything you did before I—" Colt gestured, unable to say the words.
"I know," Ryland said simply. "I think the horse has been beaten to death. Maybe we can… start over? Before the accident?"
"It won't change that it happened."
"Yeah."
Colt bit the inside of his cheek, seeing the bright hope reflecting in his twin's eyes. "How about this: we just keep going same as usual. It happened. We both know that. We addressed the elephant. It can walk away, now, yeah?"
Ryland nodded, his eyes relieved. Slightly glassy. "I'd like that. And a burger."
"Right? God, what's taking him so long? I'm tired and need fifteen hours."
"We still need to plan how we're going to clear your name," Ryland pointed out. He moved back into the bathroom, perhaps to throw the towel covered in grime and blood away. "Ryder's still alive, so we still have a shot at gaining a confession. But we need to plan this carefully."
"Can't do it alone," Colt muttered to himself, scratching his ear. A bright idea popped into his head. He chuckled to himself as Ryland came back into the room.
"Uh oh. You've got a plan."
"Maybe."
"I'm excited." Ryland moved to turn the TV on for some background noise. Some stupid reality TV show.
Colt watched him, seeing the shadows reflecting the damage Ryder's men did to him. He thought about the conversation they just had. Family takes care of each other. Ryland did his part. Now, it was Colt's turn, even if he saw evidence of Courtland's care in the way the blood was gone from Ryland's chin and nostrils.
"Hey," he said, waiting until Ryland looked at him to speak again. "They got you good in the stomach."
A question, request, and plea all in one. Ryland's eyes studied him for a moment, like he was one of the cells under the microscope Ryland loved to dissect so much. It certainly felt like it. Not a scrutinizing gaze but one of slight exasperation. Hypocrite.
"I—"
"Don't say 'I'm fine' when you're clearly not. Didn't we just talk about this? The horse is dead, we're here to take care of each other. I'm not the most stubborn Gentry kid when you're around."
Ryland snickered before wincing. Colt scanned him again, finding he favored his right side a bit too much.
"Come on, lemme see."
"You're not a doctor."
"Neither are you."
Ryland sent him a look.
"Not a medical doctor," Colt countered. He pointed at his brother. "Shirt. Off."
"Colt—"
"Now."
Ryland groaned, like they were suddenly middle schoolers again and it was Ryland’s turn to take care of the dishes for the night. At least he was complying. He slowly reached to unzip his jacket and shrug it off, his fingers grasping the hem of his shirt and tugging it over his head. He'd need new clothes, too. His bloody nose had stained the front of his shirt.
Colt snickered when his brother hissed. He gave him a look, as if saying see? Ryland glared.
"Shut up."
"I didn't say anything."
"You wanted to."
Colt stood up to inspect the damage. It had been a few hours since the attack, and the bruising was evident. Black and blue, some still red but turning dark. They littered his torso like fucked up polka dots. Colt experimentally prodded just below his ribcage where the bruising was especially bad. Ryland tried to move away.
"Was it like a stinging pain? How bad was it?"
"Uhh yeah, stings. Real bad."
Colt gently poked his sternum. Ryland flinched backwards.
"Yeah, that hurts," he huffed, expression twisted into a grimace.
"Might have a broken rib, maybe two. Hard to tell, but you'll definitely just have to take it easy."
"Thanks, Captain Obvious."
Colt smacked the side of his head, earning another glare. The more he looked at the bruises, the more he hated himself for everything. It wasn't like it was the first time seeing Ryland hurt, but it never got easier seeing each other covered in red and black and blue.
"Stop that," Ryland said, reaching to tug his shirt back on. He frowned at the bloodstained. "Where the hell is he—?"
On cue, there was a knock at the door. Colt rushed to it before his brother, peeking through the peephole. Courtland stared back at him, a few plastic bags hanging from his arms. Colt quickly unlocked the door and ushered his brother inside, locking it behind him. Instantly, he was hit with a greasy smell.
"Thanks to the overnight hotel crew, you have clothes," Courtland announced, depositing the bags on the bed. "And I have food."
"Thank God, I'm starving," Ryland grumbled as he accepted the packaged food.
Colt immediately dug through the bags to see that the overnight crew provided them with plain black shirts and shorts. He brought his shirt over his head with a grimace and tossed the offending piece of clothing aside. He took the new clothes and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. Even with the water running and splashing on the tile, he could hear his brothers talking through the wall. Nothing coherent, just muffled voices vibrating through the wall.
He stood there for a while. At least, to him it felt like a while. It could've been five, maybe ten minutes and he wouldn't have known. He just watched the water slowly inch down the drain, taking away the stench of gasoline and dried blood with it.
It couldn't take away the pain.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the moment those bastards came out on deck without Ryland thrashing about in their grip. He saw the terror, the confusion, the concern filling his brother's eyes even though they haven't been on good terms as of late.
And he was powerless to stop Ryder from hurting his brother.
In all actuality, the twins didn't know who was older. Courtland knew, but no matter how many times the twins begged him to say, he never did. He'd get this look in his eye, all knowing, and try and change the subject before the twins could start their begging again. Since they didn't know, Colt took it upon himself to act as the older one even if it was by just a few minutes.
He was always the stronger one (physically, though Ryland had been in the gym for a few years, now), was always able to take a hit better than his nerdy twin. He assumed role of primary protector aside from Courtland because, as the supposed older twin, it was the right thing to do. It was engraved in his soul, always looking out for Ryland.
He couldn't help Ryland. He let him get hurt. And that hurt a lot more than the stupid words he said a year ago, somehow.
Colt shook his head and finished scrubbing the grime off his body. He changed quickly and walked back into the main room just as his stomach started growling. Court and Ryland were sitting on opposite corners of one of the beds, sobering as Colt returned. Ryland grabbed his new clothes and headed to the bathroom.
"Didn't take all the hot water, did you?" He said in passing.
"Hotels have endless hot water, dude."
The door shut with a click! Colt rolled his eyes, taking the to-go container Courtland had offered.
"Thanks," he said as he plopped on the other mattress. He opened the container. He sighed in relief. A beautiful burger and fries. Just what he needed. "God damn I love cows."
"Just the dead ones?" Court snickered.
"Depends. The last cow I met farted right in front of me and it stank."
Courtland snickered, his eyes slowly moving to the closed bathroom door. "So I hear you two talked it out."
Colt chewed slowly on his burger. "Yeah. Everything's fine and dandy so you can quit worrying so much."
"I'm—"
"Always gonna worry, I know."
Courtland pursed his lips. He moved to pick up the bloodied clothes Colt left on the floor and stuffed them in the empty bag the new clothes came from. Colt watched him, the way his shoulders were relaxed. He would've thought Court would yell at him. Give him a piece of his mind for all that happened over the last year, but he didn't.
Guess there wasn't much use in yelling when the twins nearly died earlier. They knew what happened, why and how it happened. There was no need for Courltland to rub salt in the wound.
Still, Colt kind of wished Court would yell. Tell him how much of a shit brother he'd been, how he'd caused the family so much hurt and distance for no reason other than the fact that he couldn't handle being vulnerable in front of someone anymore. Not even his brothers.
But he and Ryland hashed it out. They were good. Court and Colt? Not so much. Colt could feel something simmering beneath the eldest's shoulders. He waited for the other shoe to drop.
It never did.
"Court—"
"I'm not gonna yell. There's no point in that."
Colt watched him stand up straight, shoulders pushed back. Perfect posture. He didn't look at Colt. He stared out the window, gazing at the city of Sydney under the cover of night. Colt's tongue felt like lead all of a sudden. He wanted to shout, to provoke. To let Courtland release all of the anger and frustration he kept under the surface, because Colt could see it every time Court looked at him.
The anger. Questioning why Colt thought it was necessary to take an axe to their family.
Courtland sighed. "I'm angry."
"Yeah."
"I understand now like I understood then. You don't need to explain anything. I know, but did it have to be this way? You pushing us away?"
"I don't know," Colt answered honestly. "I wanted… to talk. To reach out and apologize. Just never knew how 'cause I knew I fucked up big time."
"Colt, you weren't always the hotshot stuntman." Courtland finally turned around, his eyes droopy and sad. "You took the hits, sure, and you were always strong. But you were my little brother before you were in Hollywood. I think you forget that a lot, that you're a brother."
"I can't forget—"
"That was phrased badly. I mean I think you forget that you have people you can rely on. That you don't have to do everything yourself. You and Ry are bad in that aspect. You think the world is pushing down on you when it's really your own head. It makes you believe things that aren't true, makes you lash out, do things you wouldn't do otherwise. I know it's hard to get out of that mentality, but that's why I'm here."
Courtland tossed the plastic bag somewhere in the room, moving to sit beside Colt on the mattress. Even if he wanted to interject Court's speech, he didn't know what he'd say.
"You aren't invincible. You get hurt every day; it's literally your job. You know this and yet you think that if you walk through the world with the confidence of an invincible man that everything will be alright. In reality, you're just making it harder on yourself by shutting us out. Family is here to stay, Colt. When have we ever let you down?"
Colt couldn't remember a time where Ry or Court let him down. They were always there to catch him when he fell, to help give advice for a sticky situation. To help him escape from psycho actors. They always supported him, called him out when he was being a dick, made sure he was set up for success. And how did he repay them but slamming the door in their faces. Because the Colt from a year ago would have a fit realizing he was wrong, that he actually needed is brothers now more than ever.
Court gave him a look that said exactly. "I've been frustrated with you for a while but I didn't want to kick you while you were already down for the count. I kept tabs on you but I just… I wanted to knock some sense into you. But I know you and I know that you've already beat yourself up enough about all of this, so as much as I want to, I'm not going to. But if you do that shit again—"
"You'll kill me. Message clear," Colt said.
"Good. Eat and rest up. I've got an actor to kill."
"Oh, actually, I've got a better idea."
"Really?"
"It'll be super satisfying and Jody will get her dream shot for the movie."
Courtland didn't seem too impressed by the pitch. "Go on."
He explained his plan in great detail, which should've been alarming with how he was nearly killed just a few hours ago. He shouldn't have been coming up with revenge plans while running away from guys with guns, but it paid off. Ryland eventually joined a few minutes later, where Colt incorporated him into the plan.
By the time the brothers settled in for bed (all on one mattress because the year they spent apart suddenly became too much, like a canyon's distance they desperately needed to close), they had a cohesive plan ready to enact the next day. Colt stayed awake longer than he should've imagining the horror on Tom Ryder's face. He couldn't wait.
The plan went beautifully.
Jumpscaring Jody in her trailer was not intended, but she gave him a kiss so he guessed it was worth the punches he got from her.
She was starstruck by the sight of Colt's brothers. She'd met Ryland before a few times and was fond of him, but she'd never met Court. She shook his hand firmly, almost sizing him up, questioning why Colt and Ryland looked like hell. He could tell Court instantly liked her.
Getting Jody on board was easy after that, especially with the states Ryland and Colt were in. Bruised and beaten. She had given them ice packs from the trailer's cooler just in case it still hurt.
And when Gail came around, it was a matter of holding Courtland back from storming up to her and bashing her skull in. Somehow, the twins managed to keep him at bay.
Colt snuck off to get new space cowboy garb and to hide, and from there, it was perfect. He hijacked the car, reveled in the way Tom Ryder screamed and shouted, did the car jump and actually made it to the other side, and walked away from the ruined buggy. He ran down the sand to find Jody and Ryland fighting off a guy in all black. Ryland landed a good punch and the guy went down. The helicopter part didn't really go as planned, with Colt using the camera crane to jump onto it. He heard bullets ricocheting off the body of the helicopter.
He made sure to put a bit more force into his punches, a sickening satisfaction curling in his gut at the sound of Ryder's nose snapping. He hit Gail a few times, too, just because he knew Ryland would've wanted a piece of the action and since he wasn't up there, he gave her a piece of his mind. Mostly Ryder, though. As payback for Ryland's injuries.
Court shot the fuel tank just as Colt jumped out, confession box tucked under his arm. He landed on the giant inflatable, watching the helicopter spin out of control and land somewhere farther down the dunes. Colt quickly got up, itching to check and see if the chopper blew up or not when he was stopped by Jody, the woman pulling him in for a searing kiss.
He couldn't complain.
And Ryland approached a moment later looking a little dazed, his nose bleeding again. Jody explained how he'd gotten hit upside the head by Gail and her gun, and Colt's fists itched to fly again. But he'd let Courtland take care of it. He was the trained CIA agent, after all. He knew how to cover his tracks, make something look like an accident.
Besides, Colt had a brother to take care of again. Someone who needed him as much as he needed them.
He slung his arm around Jody's shoulder, doing the same to Ryland when he was within reach. He walked Jody back to the camera crew, promising to meet up with her later (and making sure to add a wink to the end of that statement), before walking back in the direction of the fallen chopper.
"Shouldn't we wait for him to come to us?" Ryland said.
"Why?"
"Just seems a bit dangerous, you know? Couldn't the chopper explode at any second?"
"You've seen too many movies. It'll be fine."
"Says the guy who deals with explosions on the daily. I don't want shrapnel peircing my chest!"
"You'll be fine, stop being dramatic."
Ryland glared at him but stopped complaining, locking back in as they approached the downed chopper. Courtland was standing with his rifle pointed right between Gail's eyes. Gail, who was on her knees sporting a bloody forehead and soot-stained clothes. Ryder was nowhere to be seen, which sent alarm bells in Colt's head as he scanned the scenery for any sign of him. Empty.
"—had to happen! This is a Gail Myers production and I will not—!"
"Save the horseshit, lady," Courtland spat. He eyed the twins as they approached, his brows furrowing deeper as his eyes landed on the blood below Ryland's nose. Colt saw his grip tighten on the rifle.
"All good on our front, Court," Colt said, holding up the black box.
Gail glared daggers at them. She probably would've lunged if not for Court's gun aimed between her eyes. "Why couldn't you just die, Seavers?!"
"Not really my thing."
"And you. I thought you were supposed to be the pathetic one!" she shouted at Ryland.
Ryland raised a brow. "Just because I prioritize academics doesn't mean I can't pack a punch. I grew up with these two and, what, you thought I wasn't gonna fight back? You ever hear to not judge a book by it's cover?"
"Goddamnit, I hate you! I hate you all!"
"Can I shoot her yet?" Court asked, bored.
"Sure," Colt said.
Gail's eyes widened comedically. "Wait! Wait wait wait—!"
Courtland's eyes flickered above Gail's hair. He sighed. "Dammit."
Colt followed his gaze. Red and blue flashing lights were approaching. Colt sighed, too. Great. He motioned for Court to get out of there before the cops arrived. Court nodded and moved to leave, but not before he raised the butt of his gun and hit Gail's bleeding forehead with it. Ryland cringed, and Colt just pulled him further into his side.
"Let's go," Courtland said firmly, taking up the space behind the twins as they walked. Always protecting.
As Colt led them back towards the trailers, he couldn't hold back his curiosity.
"Court?"
"Hm?"
"What happened to Ryder? You wouldn't have let him escape again."
To his surprise, Courtland burst into chuckles. He slowly turned around, seeing his older brother smiling. Happy. Amused. Colt shared a look with Ryland, who looked equally confused and slightly concerned. Whether the concern was towards Court or Ryder, he didn't know. Well, maybe not Ryder.
"He—" Court tried, the chuckles turning into full-blown laughter. He doubled over, pushing his rifle back over his shoulder when it fell. "He fucking—ha!—he's such a dumbass!"
"Uh, yeah we get that," Ryland said slowly. "But what happened to him?"
Courtland wheezed, gasping for air as the laughter overtook him. Colt was starting to feel slightly concerned, too, because he hadn't heard his brother laugh this hard in a while. Did he enact the most horrid pain and torture on Ryder and laugh about it, or did he make his death quick? Or did he even kill him at all?
"He fucking—" Court stammered, tears in his glowing eyes "—saw me comin' and… and just ran into the minefield—"
Another wave of laughter possessed Courtland. Colt didn't need any more context to put the picture together. He started laughing, too, which caused Ryland to chuckle. The three brothers laughed in the sand, wondering how the hell someone could be so stupid—especially an actor who knew there was an active minefield on set—as to not read the danger signs. He was dead either way, but man, what an idiot.
As Courtland caught his breath, bouts of laughter still escaping him, he continued, "talking about his career and shit like it was gonna save him. Oh my God. I need to come visit you on set more often. This was fun, and you have an amazing crew."
"I'll extend the compliment," Colt said as he took a few deep breaths to subside the laughter.
"Can we go home, now?" Ryland said. He held up the ziplock bag of ice Jody had given him, which was now just a sweaty bag of water. "Need a new ice pack."
"I've still got a movie to film, but you guys go, get out of here. I'll meet you back—"
"No, we're staying," Courtland said. He took up Ryland's other side, wrapping his arm around his back. "We'll hole up in the same hotel for a few days. How much longer you guys gonna film?"
"Uh… I dunno, a week, maybe two? We'll need a new main actor now that Ryder's in pieces, so that might extend it." Colt studied his brothers, saw the way the gears turned in their heads. "No, you guys go home. Get rest, get back to school. I'll be fine."
Ryland tilted his head, eyes sharp. "We're staying."
"I didn't get to enjoy the city last time I was here. Maybe we'll get some dinner or something. I'll text you," Courtland said, pulling Ryland along as they started walking away.
Colt stood there, frozen to his spot at the soft persistence of his brothers. Not like he would protest, anyway, not after last night's events. Not when he wanted them within arms reach.
Not when everything was right again, and on track to being back to normal.
He just smiled, already planning where they were going to dinner that night.