Chapter Text
The rain outside pattered down hard against the windows. It was rare for it to rain so hard in LA. The lack of rain was honestly one of the upsides for Holland. He liked the warm summer days, even if they brinked on unbearable. Or how it felt like it never dropped below 70 even in the middle of winter. He never liked the rain, but his wife had loved it, and that just made him hate it more. It made him miserable to begin with, the feeling of wet clothes pressed against his skin causing him to shiver, and how the water would drip from his hair and into his eyes. Now it was a painful reminder.
Tonight it was kind of nice. The reminder was not nearly as painful as it used to be. Instead, it was like she was saying hi, from wherever she was. She was checking in as a rhythmic tap that soothed his tipsy mind. If he thought hard enough, maybe he could imagine her fingers running through his hair and the gentle thump of her heartbeat beneath his ear.
Instead, he was stretched out across the couch by himself. Holly had gone to bed hours ago, and the TV was playing some game show that Holland didn’t really understand. His face was half smothered by one of the throw pillows and his eyelids weighed heavy. He was still in his day clothes, too unbothered to try and get up and change into something more comfortable. Sleep, beautiful, blissful sleep was on the cusp of consuming him. It was just in his reach, his breath slowing as the TV and rainfall became white noise.
A sharp knock on the front door startled Holland, sending him rolling off the couch and landing on the hardwood floor with a dull thud. He groaned, clutching his side where there would in no doubt be a bruise by the morning.
Who the hell was knocking at this hour? With it pouring down rain no less.
It couldn’t be Healy. The man would just let himself in, he didn’t bother with the pleasantries of knocking. He had a key anyway, unless he lost it. That didn’t seem likely. Holland was more of the one to lose things and never find them until he completely forgot about them. Only then would the thing he lost make a reappearance. Another loud knock that felt like it was rattling in Holland’s head dragged him out of his short stupor.
On unsteady legs, he hauled himself up with the help of the couch which proved to actually be unhelpful. He stumbled when his hand sunk into the plushness of the cushions. He smacked his elbow against the coffee table hard, and he resisted the urge to scream out in pain. Holly was still asleep after all, and whoever was at the door did not need to hear his less than manly scream. Holland cursed under his breath instead as a third knock—this one being much more urgent—sounded through the house.
“I’m coming!” He shouted, already having forgotten that his daughter was asleep in the other room. Holland was lucky she was a heavy sleeper. He finally found his footing and marched to the front door. If it was Healy, he was going to be pissed. If it was anyone else, he was going to be even more pissed. He swung it open, ready to beat the living shit out of whoever decided to interrupt his peaceful evening, even if it was Healy. “What in the ever loving—”
Holland’s words caught in his throat. He was fully expecting his partner. Instead he stared at a set of three children standing on his front porch. They were soaked to the bone, shivering and huddled close to each other at a poor attempt to seek warmth.
“Oh.” Was the only thing to escape his mouth, his muddled mind not coming up with anything more useful. He was caught off guard and was rudely awakened, you can’t blame him for not saying something more intelligent. Even though if they had caught him on guard he still wouldn’t have something of substance to say. The talking was usually Healy’s job. Well, the critical and logical talking. Holland was the charm.
He shook his head, reminding himself of where he was. This wasn’t good. Three hurt children on his doorstep really wasn’t good. Were these some of Holly’s friends? The oldest looked too old to know Holly, and the youngest looked too young. And why the hell would they go to him of all people? He has proved many times he is not a responsible adult.
“Holland March?” The oldest asked. His arms were around the younger two’s shoulders, tucking them in closer to his sides. Holland could only assume they were brothers. The younger two looked exactly alike. One of them turned his face into his brother’s jacket, like he was trying to hide away from Holland. The other one was a bit more brave, glaring up above his glasses at the man.
They must be Holly’s friends, how else would they know who he was? “I- uh, yeah.” Holland answered dumbly, standing a bit straighter and trying to fight off any lingering alcohol in his system. These kids were obviously in some kind of danger, if their demeanor and the bruises were any hint.
“I’m Courtland,” The kid paused, staring at Holland for a moment with an intensity he had never seen in any teenager's eyes. Even Holly’s determined glare couldn’t beat this kid. “Maggie’s son.”
Holland could have been shot in the heart with his gun and it would have had the same effect as those words.
“And this is Ryland and Colt.” Courtland continued, nodding his head to the two beside him. Neither moved at the acknowledgment of their names. No tiny waves or whispered greetings. They were unnervingly silent and still.
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.
Holland wanted to panic so bad. He already was. His heart rate was probably through the roof and sweat began to form at his temples even though it was cold. There was a familiar tremor in his hands, making them twitch and clench. Desperately his body was begging for a cigarette or a drink. Anything to stop that tightness in his chest because how on earth did his dead sister’s children end up on his doorstep beaten and bloodied? And for that matter, how did they find Holland?
Jesus, they looked so much older than they were supposed to. If he remembered correctly, which was unlikely, and if he could do the math in his head, which was also unlikely, Courtland would only be sixteen at the most. Yet he looked like he was pushing twenty with being a couple inches taller than Holland, dark circles under his eyes, and patchy stubble along his chin and jaw.
It was worrying, to say the least. The fist sized bruise on his cheek that was barely illuminated by Holland’s porch light didn’t make the man feel any better either.
The twins—they were twins, right? They had to be. If he thought long and hard about it he remembered being there in the hospital room holding two bundles instead of one—didn’t look any better than their older brother. Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell who was who. The one with glasses had a busted nose and lip. The other still had his face buried in Courtland’s side, but Holland had to guess he didn’t come here unscathed.
Holland must have been silent for too long, too lost in his own head to respond to their introduction, as Courtland cleared his throat. “Can…can we come inside?” He asked. His voice held a certain authority for someone so young, even if the question came out hesitant. Cortland wasn’t asking to be polite. He was asking because he had no other choice.
It took all of Holland’s strength to look away from the boys’ injuries, gazing back to Courtland. Holland mutely nodded, not trusting his voice, and stepped aside to let them in. Courtland gave him a nod of appreciation and ushered Ryland and Colt inside to finally escape the rain. Holland stared out into the dark cul-de-sac, watching the rain hit the pavement and rush along the curb and into the storm drain.
He wished he could smell the rain. His wife always told him that was the best part. Maybe it would comfort him like it did for her. For probably the millionth time since she died, he wished she was there. She would know what to do. It was like it automatically came to her, an instinct to care and protect that Holland did not have. Holland didn’t really have any kind of instinct, it was surprising he hadn’t killed himself yet. He had Holly and Healy to thank for that.
Holland stared for a moment longer before shutting the door.
Typically, Holland would be annoyed that these boys were tracking in water and ruining his nice hardwood floors. Only God knew how many times he got on Healy’s ass about it, but at that moment his only concern was what happened to them and why they were here. He knew he shouldn’t pry immediately, that would only make them more closed off and unlikely to tell him anything. Holland had to make them comfortable first and he hated how he was using his PI tactics on them. They were children, not suspects, but Holland didn’t know how else to approach this situation.
He cleared his throat awkwardly, and all three turned to him. He finally got a good look at the other twin’s face. The kid had a nasty cut going through his brow and a bruise was forming near his eye. The sight made Holland’s gut twist and he had to swallow the urge to run to the bathroom and throw up the small amount of dinner and alcohol he had. “Let me, uh, let me get you some towels. I’ll be right back.” He hurried down the hall to the linen closet, ignoring how his socks caused him to slip and stumble.
With shaky hands, Holland grabbed what was probably too many towels for three kids. His racing thoughts were preventing him from thinking rationally. The only thing running through his head being how the hell did these kids end up here. He had a few explanations that his mind kept falling back to, but the mere thought of them had bile rising up his throat. He was praying—which he had not done in a long, long time—that it wasn’t what he thought. But unfortunately all signs pointed to it. He shook his head, as if shaking it hard enough would have those thoughts spilling out of his ear and onto the floor. The first thing he needed to do was talk to the kids. They were the only ones that had answers, and maybe he was just thinking the worst.
No, the worst had definitely happened because why else would these three show up to their estranged uncle’s house with no warning. They were bruised and beaten for crying out loud.
When he returned, he found the three of them standing in the same spot. Cortland had a firm grip on Ryland and Colt as if he was afraid they would be ripped from his hands at any moment. They didn’t seem to mind, leaning heavily into their older brother. The puddle on the floor that they tracked in had got bigger, and Holland just hoped he wouldn’t slip in it in front of them and make a horrible impression as their uncle. Well, he probably didn’t have a great standing with them to begin with considering he wasn’t in their lives.
With slow, and trackable movements, he handed the towels to Courtland. A tiny, whispered thank you came from one of the twins and Holland was really going to need to know who was who. It would make this just a little easier, and it wasn’t fair to refer to them as one instead of their own separate beings. Once the towels were out of Holland’s hands, he excused himself to the kitchen. He could still see the three of them, but it would give them some sense of privacy.
Holland watched as Courtland set the towels and the big backpack he had strapped to his back down and kneeled in front of Ryland and Colt. They shared a hushed conversation, one that Holland regrettably wished he could hear. It could help him figure out what had happened without having to scare them off, but eavesdropping would be rude. The twins nodded to whatever their brother said, the one with the glasses butting in to say something or maybe ask a question.
Courtland shook his head, grabbing one of the towels and using it to dry the other’s hair before wrapping it around his shoulders tightly. Holland heard the boy giggle, the other twin joining when Courtland did the same with him. Only when the twins were taken care of did Courtland deal with himself. There was a barely there smile on the oldest’s lips as he dried himself off, watching his little brothers laugh to themselves.
That tiny smile made Holland’s heart ache and he had to look away, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he tried to keep the tears at bay. It was the same one his sister always wore when she looked at her children. It was something so full of love despite being so small. He remembered a time where she would give him that same smile after placing a bandaid over his scraped knee or when he got a good test score.
He hadn’t thought about Maggie in a long time, because he was an asshole who didn’t know how to cope with anything thrown his way. It was easier to ignore it, tell himself that it was her fault for not reaching out and that there was nothing he could have done. But then his wife died, and the guilt of that consumed him whole and there was no longer room to think of his dead sister.
It was almost like she was saying fuck you from the grave and throwing the biggest reminder of her existence at him. She was yelling at him to face her and now that existence was in his living room, dripping water all over his floors and Holland wasn’t entirely sure what to do.
Maggie would have known what to do, of course she would’ve these are her children. He wouldn’t even be in this situation if she was here. His wife would have known what to do, with her innate ability to comfort and befriend just about anyone. But he didn’t have either of them to tell him what to do, how to approach or fix this. How do you approach your nephews that you haven’t seen in almost a decade and that you may or may not have forgotten existed?
Holland was pulled out of his thoughts by a presence to his left. He jumped out of his skin, yelping a pitchy “Jesus!” only to realize it was Courtland. The kid had snuck up on him like a ghost, and it had Holland wondering how he had been so quiet. It was probably because Holland had been lost in his own thoughts thinking too much about all the dead people in his life. He just failed to hear him.
“Oh,” He coughed. “What’s up, kid?” Courtland cringed at the nickname, and Holland filed that in his mind only for it to be forgotten by the morning.
“I’m sorry for…intruding on you like this.” Courtland glanced back at his brothers, who were still in the living room. They were now leaning against the couch, pressed up against each other and watching the game show Holland had left on. They both looked ready to fall asleep. “We just didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
That alone confirmed Holland’s worst fear. The man swallowed harshly, attempting to get his shit together so he could be a semblance of some responsible adult for the kid. Unfortunately, Holland had never been good at that. He couldn’t even be that for his own daughter.
“Don’t apologize,” Holland shook his head, directing his line of sight to the kitchen counter. He couldn’t look Courtland in the eye. It was too familiar. “I’m—” He paused, mulling over the words that were about to leave his mouth. Was he glad they were there? As horrible as that sounded, it was a genuine question he found himself asking. They were a reminder of someone who he wanted to forget, that he purposely forgot in order to make the guilt and grief not so heavy on his shoulder. Now the world was demanding him to look at his failures. As if he didn't do that enough.
Children, who were in no doubt abused after his sister’s death, stuck with a father who wanted nothing to do with them. Holland could have done something. Fought a little harder to protect them. That’s what Maggie would have wanted.
But he had been so angry with her. So angry that she thought taking her own life was the solution. It had just made everything worse, and she selfishly left three boys behind with a horrible man. And now Holland was dealing with the consequences of her actions.
A part of him, the one that was the most rational and very rarely made an appearance, yelled at him for being an idiot. It was never Maggie’s fault. She just didn’t know how else to escape. But, Courtland, Ryland, and Colt somehow figured it out. They did what their mother couldn’t. She left what little determination she had with her sons and prayed it would get them out.
Holland didn’t know how on earth they found him, but they were there for a reason. It was his responsibility to help them.
“I’m glad you came here.” Holland finished, gazing up at Courtland with a closed lipped smile. Courtland’s eyebrows shot up, like he had never been told in his life someone was glad to be in his presence. Honestly, he probably hadn’t, unless it came from Ryland or Colt.
Holland rapped his knuckles against the counter, unsure of what else to say. It didn’t seem like Courtland had much else to say either. Holland took notice that the kid’s clothes were still soaked, the towels not having done much.
“Do you have a change of clothes? You should probably change, don’t want you boys getting sick.” Courtland gazed down at himself then nodded. “The, uh, bathroom is down the hall, to your right. There’s a first aid kit under the sink, too” Holland added.
“Thank you.” Courtland whispered, returning to his brothers. He scooped his backpack back up on the way over to them, digging through it to find the extra clothes they had packed.
A weary sigh escaped Holland as he dragged his fingers through his hair. He glanced at the clock to see that it was nearing one in the morning. As much as he wanted to ask Courtland every question he had, it was late for all of them. Any conversation they could have would be more productive in the morning when they were rested and Holland wasn’t slightly drunk.
Oh God, he was going to have to explain everything to Holly, too. All he could hope for was that she woke up after Holland and didn’t stumble into the living room to find three strange boys sprawled out across the couch. Honestly, Holly had probably seen weirder things and would brush it off as one of her dad’s antics.
Holland shuffled into the living room, standing there until he gained the attention of his nephews. “Well, I’m gonna head to bed.” He tried to smile, but it was closer to a grimace. The twins shared a look between them and one of them whispered something into the other’s ear. “There’s some blankets in that basket next to the couch. Just…make yourselves comfortable.” None of them said anything, just kind of stared blankly, and he nodded to himself before hurrying off to his bedroom.
He wasn’t getting any sleep tonight.