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“Ryder’s number one stuntman, Colt Seavers. That was me, I did that. I did that for you.” Colt just vaguely nods, clicking his tongue quietly. This ‘I did so much for you’ act might be worse than the torture. “What are you gonna do for me? Huh?”
“Die I guess?” He asks, overly sarcastic as he looks at Ryder. He pauses for a moment, then looks up at Dressler as if truly needing to double-check. Like their idea for this night might end any other way. “Right? Die? Is that the plan?”
Ryder put his arms up, glaring at Dressler. The man just gives Colt a look he’s very familiar with, a ‘what the fuck is wrong with you’ look. Like he can’t quite decipher what Colt’s deal is. Or maybe it’s Ryder and Colt, the dynamic they have. Colt stopped questioning it years ago.
“It’s nothing personal, Seavers,” Ryder sighs exasperatedly, getting up as he does. Like Colt’s a misbehaving toddler.
“Well I’m taking it personally,” Colt says almost petulantly. What can he say, he’s good at playing the roles he’s given. He doesn’t even bother pointing out that ‘Seavers’ is a stage name, which he knows Ryder knows.
“Yeah I can see that.”
“The torture, the drugging, the taser, I’m taking it personal,” Colt says, nodding to the side once again while he does. Dressler’s looking at Ryder while he rambles something about ‘markets’ and the Dow and how he can’t go ‘down’. Man, Gail wasn’t kidding about the paranoia.
“If you break your back, you know I replace you like this. Boom,” Ryder lands on, emphasizing it with a snap, and that gets Colt’s attention again. Damnit, he was pretty happy to enjoy thinking this was all comical, if awful. Cartoonishly evil. But even the mention makes something in the air shift. Or maybe it’s just him.
“You know, if you’d just stuck to your job instead of trying to hog the spotlight, this wouldn’t have happened,” Colt has to bite his tongue hard enough to draw blood to not say anything to that. His teeth grind, but he lets Ryder rant. “I mean, Henry wouldn’t be on the scene, his accident wouldn’t have happened, your accident- freaky little fall. Cause you just push my buttons, man.”
Wait. Wait.
Rewind. What did he just say? Henry’s ‘accident’ had been murder- manslaughter, sure, but Ryder’s fault. And now with ‘spotlight’, and pushing buttons, was he saying-?
“Wait a second, what?” Colt asks, words taking on an edge. He sees the man with the bigger gun shift uncomfortably at it. Ryder doesn’t catch it, though, sighing deeply in frustration still at- whatever he was ranting about before.
“What?” Ryder asks, mostly out of annoyance at being interrupted, when he catches on. Colt’s brain is racing too fast for him to really care to snark.
“What did you say about my accident?”
“Well, you know, you pushed me over the edge,” Ryder says, and it has that exact cadence he always takes on when he’s saying something out loud he’s only rationalized in his head. “You literally pushed a button. I mean- you didn’t, I mean… I pushed the button.”
Holy fuck. He was being serious. This wasn’t just Ryder drivel. His accident, everything that happened with Jody and Ryland and everyone else in the months afterward, all of it-
“I had to crank it up a notch,” Ryder says, and it’s still that damned tone.
“That was you?”
“Yeah,” Ryder says, shrugging. But it isn’t even sincere. It’s frustration still. Like he can’t believe he has to explain something obvious to him.
Colt can’t even say anything for a moment. He just lets his head dip, like a nod.
He chuckles, and it feels a bit manic.
“Had to teach you a little lesson, didn’t I?” Ryder laughs as well, and Colt looks down as he licks some of the blood away from his lips.
Ryder caused his accident on purpose. And is now doing some insane southern accent about being ‘too big for his boots’ when Colt was just doing his fucking job.
He’s still monologuing. All Colt can think about is the fact that he pushed everyone away, lost trust in himself, blew everything up- over something that wasn’t his fault. Not even accidentally.
Ryder just decided- what, to kill him? Was that the first murder attempt? Did he even think that far ahead, or did he just want Colt to fuck up a stunt and didn’t realize that that meant him being hurt? He wouldn’t be shocked. The man rarely thought about his decisions that far ahead. That’s what Gail, and Colt himself for a time, were for.
Colt can’t help zoning out while Ryder does his big reveal speech. Murder suicide, yeah he got that much. Did he practice this? Was this his improv? His eyes unfocus, and he really hates the fact that now he can feel how much everything aches. He kind of wishes Dressler would hit him again so there’d be some more adrenaline instead of this deep pit.
He thinks he responds, something about Gail, but he isn’t sure. Finding out that Gail was the mastermind behind all of this is barely a dent, really. He already knew she tricked him here, and was framing him for the murder. What’s a little more?
He wishes there was a phone recording now. Even if he died (which he almost definitely will but screw it he’s going to prolong it as much as possible because he doesn’t want to, not here) then at least Ryder would get fucked over. Maybe not jail, this was Hollywood after all, but he wouldn’t be getting any blockbuster roles for a while.
Colt’s the one rambling about something now. Exposition, plot heavy, don’t kill me, maybe? Reasoning with a (quite possibly literal) madman isn’t always a good idea, but what other option does he have?
“Colt, you’re the fall guy. You know,” Ryder says, and he stutters. Like even he knows how fucked up calling him that is, which is almost hilarious considering that the valet douchebag had no problem calling him that without even knowing his name. “You’re the fall guy.” He says it more firmly, cementing himself in it despite apparently knowing how it stings.
“Where’s the phone?”
Ryder shakes his head when Colt doesn’t respond. He makes eye contact with Dressler, and nods once. Dressler nods back, and sends a message on his phone.
That’s new. A different angle. That’s… concerning. Does Colt need to be concerned?
“I mean, I… You can keep taking hits all night,” Ryder crosses his arms, sounding almost bored with the conversation. “But you know what? I can think of a few other people who can’t.”
Definitely a need to be concerned. Colt’s shoulders hike up higher, jaw working, and he does not like where this is going. He thinks breathing would be hard even without the broken nose.
“We could bring Dan up here,” he meanders, and Colt knows that isn’t his ending point. Isn’t his actual threat. “Maybe Jody, perhaps,” he knew it was coming, but her name in this context still makes his heart rate spike.
But it’s still not his final point. It’s always obvious when an actor has more to say. “Or, you know what,” Ryder snaps his fingers again, pointing. “That brother of yours is in town, isn’t he?”
He gestures behind him vaguely, one of the hired muscle nodding. Colts stomach twists. This is a bluff. This- this has to be a bluff.
“It didn’t have to come to this. I really wish it didn’t have to,” Ryder says, shrugging again with his arms out. He’s serious. He’s-
“Ryder- Tom,” Colt gasps out, fists clenching behind him. It makes the zip ties dig further into his skin. Ryder just looks at him. “C’mon man, you- you don’t have to do this.”
Something in his expression flickers, and where his sunglasses have slipped down his nose Colt can see the slightest bit of hesitation in his eyes.
It doesn’t give him any hope.
“Except I really do. This movie could be my big break here, truly be a masterpiece. And I can’t exactly finish it out if I’m in jail,” he shrugs, and fixes his sunglasses again. It’s full performance again, whatever humanity that slipped in leaving like that. Colt can hear footsteps heading up the dock, three steady and one stumbling.
“You get it.”
Colt already knows what he’s going to see, but he can still feel his heart drop to the floor when the group comes up the stairs to the dock. He goes ramrod straight, half-convinced this is some kind of terrible nightmare. That Ryder wouldn’t truly do this.
He’s proven viscerally wrong when he locks eyes with his brother. It feels like being dunked under cold water.
Ryland doesn’t seem hurt, a bit dazed and beyond terrified- but not hurt. Three men surround him, two holding his arms pinned (and pulling him along) while the third follows along silently.
“Wha- Colt?” Ryland asks, eyes wide as they drag from the blood on Colt’s face, to where his shirt is ripped, to him being tied to the chair. Colt feels exposed, but he’s too terrified to pay attention to the feeling.
He’s actually here. Ryder wasn’t bluffing.
“What, not going to say hi to your brother?” Ryder asks him, striding between them. “Colt’s got himself in quite the pickle you know. And now he’s gotten you involved,” Ryder says to Ryland instead when he doesn’t respond, the latter sliding his eyes over to him for a second before going back to Colt.
“Stop it,” Colt says in a low tone. But he can’t exactly deny that, can he?
Dressler decides to hit him again in response. Now he does that? Adrenaline plenty taken care of, thanks. Colt lets out a short grunt as his head flips to the side, but it’s drowned out by Ryland’s shout.
“Well, I think that sums up what’s going on pretty well,” Ryder claps his hands together. Colt tries to blink the stars out of his vision, shaking his head a bit to clear it.
“No it- what’s going on?” Ryland sounds close to tears, and Colt winces.
“How about you tell me already, Seavers?” Ryder ignores Ryland’s plea, instead crouching down next to Colt again. “Or the next one being hit won’t be you.”
“Hey, hey, come on man,” Colt says, his voice pitching up in distress. “Your- your problem is with me, alright? Not him. He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“How chivalrous,” Ryder mocks, and Colt just barely bites back the retort that that’s a pretty big word for him to use. “But if you really cared, you’d just tell me where you put the phone.”
“Phone? What phone?” Ryland asks, shivering even in the heat of the night. Fear, not cold.
“Well-”
“Nothing,” Colt bites out, interrupting Ryder’s explanation. If Ryland knows what’s going on, then he’s in even more danger than he is currently. That makes him a witness, someone else who knows it wasn’t Colt who killed someone.
Someone else Ryder needs to get rid of.
Ryder looks at him with an eyebrow raised, but doesn’t continue. He doesn’t exactly want more people he needs to deal with either.
“What?” Ryland asks, looking desperately confused (and just desperate in general. Colt’s chest pangs). Colt silently pleads with him to let it go.
“I want my phone back. Colty-boy here knows where it is, but won’t say where,” Ryder picks at his nails.
“So you’re, what, torturing him? For a phone?” Ryland asks, high and strained, something like a crazed laugh on the edges of it. “Because that’s really what this looks like.”
“Not just him, if he doesn’t give it up soon.”
“What are you- oh,” Ryland catches onto what he’s saying, always fast on the upkeep. Colt hasn’t seen much of his brother in the past year, but he still knows his expressions like the back of his hand.
He can see it the moment the situation clicks into place, the terror not for Colt, but for himself finally kicking in. At exactly how badly Colt has messed up and now dragged him into it.
“Yeah. Oops. He never was the bright one though, was he?”
Colt has half a mind to tell him to shut up, but for once he manages to keep it quiet. Who knew all it would take to stop him running his mouth would be to put his brother's life on the line?
Go figure.
“What’s going to happen?” Ryland asks. His expression is an attempt at neutral, but Colt can see where his lip trembles.
“That depends on him,” Ryder waves in Colt’s general direction. “And I guess on how much you matter to him.”
Low blow. Low, low blow.
Colt feels bile on his tongue. Whether that’s due to the bruised organs or because of Ryder’s words, he can’t be fully sure.
Ryland’s eyes seem to sharpen, flicking between the two of them.
“If he isn’t giving it to you, then it’s for a reason,” he says decisively, and Colt can’t be sure if he would have the same conviction in this situation. If it was Ryland telling him to trust him implicitly he’d do it, but it’s him and he definitely wouldn’t trust himself that much.
“Spicy,” Ryder wiggles his fingers, and Colt can’t even begin to parse what’s going through his brain. What act this is. “I like you, Ryland. You seem like a good guy.”
Ryland raises an eyebrow at him, and just for the sake of it, moves his arms a bit. The man to his left jerks his arms back behind him in response, wrists held together. Ryland winces, but his point is proven.
“I know, I know. But really I do. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have to. Please believe that,” Ryder says, and even Colt can’t tell the difference between when he’s acting and when he’s sincere. Maybe he can’t either. “Maybe if I can’t convince him, you can, huh? Does he listen to you more than he does me?”
“He doesn’t exactly listen to anyone he doesn’t want to,” Ryland mutters, and Colt can’t tell if that’s defending him or insulting him. Maybe a little bit of both. He’d definitely deserve the insult. Ryder snorts, and turns out towards the water.
“You haven’t given me much reason to want to listen to you here,” Colt says, and side-eyes Dressler when he steps up next to him. “Ryland’s a teacher, he can probably tell you all about how corporeal punishment isn’t exactly recommended anymore.”
Ryland flinches. Colt knows it’s his own words that caused it, no duh, but he can’t quite tell what part of it did it.
“How about you shut up again for a bit?” Dressler grumbles, and decks him. Seriously, his nose is already broken, can’t he mix it up at all?
He’s about to say as much, when he’s hit the other direction. That actually hurts more due to his jaw being less numb. Crap. Well hey, be careful what you wish for.
“Hey!” He thinks he hears Ryland call, but now Dressler’s standing right in front of him, blocking his view.
Colt gets a kick to his side, which would actually be kind of impressive- he wouldn’t peg Dressler as the flexible type- if he couldn’t feel the way his rib splinters under the heavy boot.
He can’t quite choke back a pained whine, the blood draining down the back of his throat making it a bit garbled. He’s really sick of the taste of iron.
“Tom! Seriously-” Yeah that’s definitely Ryland yelling. Trying to reason with Ryder, it sounds like. Good luck bro, hope you manage better than I did.
Colt thinks it may actually be one of the others behind him that hits him then, but for all he knows that’s Dressler again and he’s just seeing double.
What he does know is there’s a sharp crack against his back where something hits it. Is that wood, or something metal even-? Whether the sound is the chair cracking, or him, he can’t tell. The short scream following it is definitely him though. White hot pain sears up his spine, and he thinks he might actually be losing it a bit.
“Stop!” Ryland yelps, and Colt tries to suck in a breath. Focus. He can’t pass out, no matter how much he very much wants to (and might not even have a choice), because he won’t know what’s going on. “It- you’re going to kill him!”
“Not yet we’re not,” Dressler grunts. He shakes out his hand. Colt pants where he’s almost entirely doubled over, and thinks about saying ‘Aw, is your hand hurting from beating me up? Shame.’ Only thinks it though, because if he speaks he’s pretty sure he’ll throw-up.
“Yeah, exactly, so maybe take it easy on the back? We don’t know what’s going on with that,” Ryder says, sounding off-put. Maybe he’s just mad that someone else is taking advantage of the injury he caused.
He thinks Ryland is still somewhere in there, underneath the other voices over his head, but-
“Unless you’re going to hit him yourself, stop bitching,” someone says, Colt's lost track again. Shit. How out of it is he?
Out of it enough he barely feels the next hit to the jaw.
“Stop it- stop it!” Ryland screams, cutting through the haze, thrashing against where he’s being restrained. “Stop!”
Colt can still barely hear him over the ringing in his ears, the sound fizzing in and out like badly tuned radio. Dressler hits him in the stomach, making sound pop out again, but hey- at least it’s a break from the face. And the back.
“Only way this stops is if he tells me where the phone is, man,” Ryder says, faux casual. But even through darkening vision Colt can tell he’s carefully not looking in Colt’s direction.
He always was too squeamish about these kinds of things.
“Please,” Ryland begs, and Colt takes in a shuddering breath. It burns. “Just- you don’t need to do this.”
Colt can’t help hearing the similarity in it, how that’s exactly what he said earlier. Dressler grips his hair, forcing his head up from where it fell. That hurts too. Everything does. He makes eye contact (or as much as he can) with Ryland.
“Colt,” Ryland sobs, voice cracking even if it’s quieter now, no longer a shout. Colt thinks that might hurt more than being hit.
“Hear that?” Ryder asks, and he pats Colt’s cheek lightly. If he had the energy he’d duck away, Dressler holding him be damned, but he just… doesn’t. “Your brother wants you to as well. Tell me where that phone is.”
“Don’t you dare blame him,” Ryland growls at him. “You’re the one acting- acting insane over some phone!”
Ryder puts a hand to his chest dramatically. The most bullshit I’m hurt gesture ever, and Colt can’t even tell if he might actually mean it. Colts’ insulted him plenty, but his opinion doesn’t matter to Ryder. Ryland’s might.
Maybe that’s why Colt is still the one being hit, despite the threats. What comes first, chicken or the egg- does he respect Ryland more, or Colt far less?
“Insanity and genius are twins, isn’t that a saying?” Ryder asks sagely, adjusting his bathrobe. It still covers nothing. Why even wear it? Also, how can you be an actor and still misquote things that badly?
“Dipshit,” Colt mutters again, forcing himself to straighten again despite the way it makes his side shriek at him. Ryder just rolls his eyes.
“Always the tough guy act with you.”
Ryland’s glasses have slipped down his face, not to the level he messes them up himself, but enough that Colt doubts he can see very well. He always forgets- is it distance or up close? He kind of hopes it’s distance, so Ryland can’t see him anymore.
Ryder snaps his fingers. “Fine. Be that way. But remember, this is your fault.”
Colt tenses, pain radiating like a fever as he does. “Wait-”
It’s like Colt sees it happen in slow motion. The man to the left (who’s name he doesn’t know, he only knows Dressler’s and that’s it, he was never told anyone else’s-) raises his arm, Ryland flinches, and then-
Ryland yelps when the hit lands, jolting backwards, further into the men’s hands, more tears falling from shock. He doubles over, the punch landing square in his stomach.
Colt isn’t sure what he screams out, maybe his name or something along the lines of ‘stop’ or ‘don’t’, but the exact words are lost to the pure panic washing over him.
He jerks forward, as if that can do anything. The zip ties dig deep into his wrists. He thinks one might be bleeding.
It doesn’t matter in the slightest when all he can hear is the shallow gasps Ryland is making where he’s being held. More like held up, the men seem to be the only things keeping him from collapsing.
“Ouch. So that really does hurt, huh?” Ryder says, and Colt thinks he might actually have some curiousity in his voice. Regret even, if he’s being generous, which he absolutely won’t be. “Couldn’t tell from how you act about it.”
“Fuck you,” Colt spits out, but it sounds too wet to be intimidating. He had tears in his eyes already, it’s impossible to take a hit to the nose without crying, just pure reflex- but now they sting with the actual need to.
Ryland doesn’t stand up again. Colt’s stomach twists even more violently. Abdomen hits hurt, and the kind of hurt that reaches deep. He doesn’t remember what it felt like the first time it happened to him, too long ago now, but- crap, Ryland’s hurt.
He can’t let him be hurt. That’s his brother, he’s supposed to protect him not- not be the reason he’s hurt.
“If you just tell me-”
“There’s no phone, Ryder,” Colt cuts him off again, feeling a suspicious numb feeling spreading. “That’s the twist. He shot it out of my hand inside.”
Ryder stops entirely. Looks at Colt properly, for the first time in an hour, and seems genuinely surprised. Colt stares back, even if all he can be aware of is Ryland in his periphery. He’s straightened a bit now, but still heavily favouring the side he was hit.
“What?”
“He shot it. I was holding it up, he shot through the stairs, it’s fried,” Colt explains, and he feels like it would almost be humorous to him in another situation.
Ryder seems to agree, pausing to process before letting out a disbelieving bark of laughter. There’s no amusement in it, though.
“You did what?” Ryder asks Dressler, who’s looking for all the world like he regrets taking this job. “Of course you did. Of fucking course you did.”
“Colt?” Ryland wheezes out, small and questioning. Colt doesn’t look at him, jaw clenched.
“Well, thank you for clearing that up,” Ryder says, still with that air of laughter. “You were right though, that was the only thing keeping you alive.”
I know.
“Let him go.”
Dressler steps forward, as though to hit him again, but Ryder puts a hand up. Stopping him.
“You, go check it’s actually shot,” he points at someone behind Colt, and he hears footsteps pattering away. “I guess that’s that, then. More difficult than it needed to be, but now for the final part.”
He holds up a gas can. An empty one, because Colt knows for a fact that he’s not strong enough to lift a full one one-handed (those abs are purely for show).
“Think it has enough drama for you, stuntman? How you’d want to go?”
“What- what?” Ryland gasps. Colt squeezes his eyes shut. It hurts, but it lets him pretend to be somewhere else for a moment.
“Colt’s always been a bit of a loose cannon, hasn’t he? And after his accident and everything, maybe he just… lost it,” Ryder says theatrically, dropping the can, ever the performer. Colt lets his chin hit his chest, breathing shallowly.
“You’re- you’re going to say he killed himself,” Ryland asks, but it isn’t really a question. Just a statement of what’s happening. Murder suicide, and Ryder gets off scott-free. Minus two stuntmen, but what does that matter to him- they’re just the stunt guys.
“Bingo!” Ryder touches the tip of his nose, and Colt wonders for the first time if he’s drunk. Or high. “It’ll make for a great story, won’t it?”
It isn’t even that unbelievable of one, is it? He cut everyone off. Friends, his only family- whatever Jody is to him. Was to him. No one’s seen him in months, and when they had heard from him he hadn’t exactly been acting like the most stable person on earth.
And according to all media, he’d killed someone. Though Ryland didn’t seem to be aware of that particular tidbit yet.
“You can’t be serious,” Ryland is half laughing in disbelief, and it sounds like it aches. “No one will believe that, Colt wouldn’t- he wouldn’t do that.”
Ryder laughs, like he knows something Ryland doesn’t. Maybe he does.
“Although I guess we’ll have to figure out something to do with you now too, huh?” Ryder muses, and at that Colt’s head shoots up. No. No, no, no. No. “Since you know about that part and all.”
“No one will believe him,” Colt says, and it sounds rougher than he was expecting (although maybe he should’ve expected it).
“Excuse me?” Ryder asks.
“There isn’t any proof. A witness testimony from someone- someone grieving isn’t going to be admissible,” Colt’s voice catches, even as he tries to keep it steady. Ryland starts shaking his head.
“No, no, hold on,” he tries, but he can’t offer up an argument. Especially as Dressler and another start uncapping the other gas cans. “Wait, wait!”
“Throwing your own brother under the crazy bus. Cold as ice, Seavers,” Ryder says, but in what is quite possibly the only kind thing the man has ever done for him- he accepts it.
He gestures for the men to take Ryland away, not just out of the blast radius but away entirely. Colt wonders if someone told Ryder about Jody’s playful schism and this was some kind of sick joke, or if he just liked the idea of Colt in flames.
“Colt!”
Colt doesn’t close his eyes as Ryland is pulled away, not again, but he doesn’t look either.
“No! Don’t- you can’t do this!” Ryland yells, jerking harshly against the hands dragging him away. Colt wants to tell him to stop, to not put himself in any more danger, but it’s like the words are stuck in his throat.
His right leg bounces harder, a nervous habit he thought he outgrew coming back with a vengeance. The gasoline is soaking his clothes, his hair, everything around him smelling acidic.
More shouting Colt can’t quite parse. Then-
Maybe it’s adrenaline, or just underestimation at play, but Ryland manages to wrench his arm free and try to push forward, one of the men stumbling as he’s shoved back.
He’d feel proud, maybe, in any other circumstance. Colt hears more than sees when the gun comes down on Rylands temple, a harsh crack.
He gasps, ragged, as Ryland goes limp, dazed.
“Ryland!” Colt finds the words, terror freezing his insides. He can see Ryland’s not unconscious, but head hits-
He gets gasoline in his mouth for his troubles, choking on it. It burns down his throat, harsher than anything, but it gives him an idea.
A crazy, stupid idea. But an idea nonetheless.
He doesn’t spit all of it out.