Work Text:
Holland jolted awake because of three things: the sound of a car crashing into his, the sound of a dog barking, and the sound of someone knocking loudly on his front door at - what time is it, where the hell is his watch - Jesus Christ, five in the morning?
"Uncle Colt!"
"My favourite niece! Now where's my least favourite brother? Pass out in the tub again?"
Oh great, the Hollywood hotshot. What the fuck was he doing here?
The barking continues and god, his head hurts. Why is Colt in his neighborhood, never mind his house, and since when does he have a dog? He would've thought Ryland would be more the pet type.
"Jean Claude, aller chercher."
A command in French and the clicking of claws on wooden flooring was the only warning he got before the fucking thing reaches over the tub and grabs him by his cast, his goddamn injured arm that still really hurts but the dog doesn't care, pulling him out and making him land on the floor.
"Swear to god, Colt, I'm about to shoot you in the back," Holland curses as he gets onto his feet, the dog finally leaving him alone. "What the hell are you even doing here?"
"Turn on the TV, gotta show you something."
"…you drove all the way here at five in the fucking morning to put on my TV? Weird way to promote your film-"
"Holland, I'm not fucking playing around, put on the fucking news!"
It's Holly who finds the remote and does it. "Whoa…is that Uncle Grace?"
Somehow, that became the name that stuck more when it came to Ryland, who changed it from Seavers to honour their mom, following Holland who took his wife's name.
And that is Ryland on the TV, the same face all three of them have but it's undeniably their little brother (albeit by like five minutes and Colt's the oldest by three) and what the hell is he doing on TV?
"That is, sweetheart, but still doesn't answer my question. Colt, you wanna elaborate?"
"Jesus Christ, you are a shit detective…he got kidnapped by the government, they're talking about sending him into space on a fucking suicide mission! Look, this thing is meant to leave in a few hours so where's your guy?"
His what? "My what?"
"Your guy, Jackson Healy? He told me to meet him here and I thought he was kidding, and he better not be fucking with me or I swear-"
The door opens and there he is, man of the hour. "Hey, Holland, you got company? Guy can't park for…"
Healy walks in, takes one look at Colt, then Holland, then at the TV. "Oh god…there's three of you?"