Chapter Text
It was hot for April in LA. Ryland Grace shrugged off his suit coat as he jogged out of the airport. His Grover Cleveland staff badge still hung from a lanyard around his neck. He had no luggage, just his wallet and phone in his pockets. He held his coat in one hand and a water bottle in the other. The water was still a bit cold; hopefully, it would be cold enough to do the trick.
A shuttle bus passed him on his way to the pickup lot. He paid it no mind. Even if the shuttle had been blissfully uncrowded, he couldn't have made himself stand still for up to 15 minutes, waiting for it to stop at his terminal. At times like this, you had to keep moving. That's what Mom had said when Grandma Seavers was dying. That's what Colt had said when Dad was dying. Mom had died so suddenly, but at her funeral someone probably-
Wait. Hold on. Why was he thinking about everyone dying?
Stop it, Ryland. He shook his head furiously. You don't know that Colt's dying, so stop it.
He did just fall 80 feet, onto concrete. Most people don't survive a fall like that...
Yeah, well, it's a good thing that Colt's not 'most people,' then.
He reached the LAX-it lot, a byzantine expanse of pickup lanes and green awnings. Thank goodness this wasn't his first time here, or the mere sight of it would have sent him into a dizzying panic. He opted for a yellow cab over an Uber or Lyft. It was more expensive, sure, but less time wasted. He wouldn't have to fumble with his phone and make a reservation. He could keep moving.
He threw himself in the backseat. "Where to, my friend?" asked the cabbie. Ryland had prepped the text to speech app on his phone. He hit a button, and:
"Cedars Sinai Emergency Room, please," said a measured, pleasant voice.
The driver frowned. "It's not for you, no? Marina del Rey is closer. Other hospital."
Ryland drew a blank. The words reached his ears just fine, but they weren't clicking in his brain.
"Who... needs... a hospital?" the cabbie asked, slowly and very loudly. Ryland barely refrained from covering his ears. "Not you. Right?"
He nodded. Then shook his head. Shoot. What was the right gesture to convey, No, I am not the person who needs emergency medical care?
To make matters worse, Ryland's phone started buzzing, as it caught up on everything he'd missed while in literal airplane mode. Vital texts from Jody and Dan were mixed in with stupid fudging push notifications. His text-to-speech app was soon buried beneath pop-up windows.
"M-"
Ryland stopped and cleared his throat. This was the first he'd spoken in about three hours and 400 miles. It took tremendous effort. His lips felt like they were made of lead. His Broca's area seemed to be disconnected from his mouth. And he knew exactly when the line had been cut. It was in the middle of third period this morning, moments after Principal Nguyen had called him to her office.
Dr. Grace, she said, I'm afraid there's been an accident...
"M-my b-brother," he stammered.
"Your brother's at Cedars Sinai? At the ER?" asked the cabbie. Ryland nodded, relieved. "Ohh. I am so sorry, my friend. You relax. I take you to him."
You relax. Ha. Yeah right. But Ryland at least had to try. They had a 45-minute drive ahead of them, which was sure to feature the signature hospitality of LA's motorists (i.e., lots of honking and swerving.) And as his darn phone kept buzzing at odd intervals, Ryland had to fight not to throw it against the car door.
He opened a little plastic case on his lanyard, took out a pair of earplugs and put them in. He inhaled as deep as he could manage. Then he closed his eyes, ducked his head forward, put the water bottle against the bridge of his nose, and held his breath. He exhaled very slowly, trying to pretend that he was face-down in a body of water.
Maybe, if he could trick his nervous system into thinking he was actually drowning, it would stop this flood of awful feelings and racing thoughts.
He felt his heartbeat slow down some, his breathing start to steady. He sat up and wiped moisture from his face. It wasn't just condensation from the water bottle- he was crying again.
He'd cried in the Uber from school to the airport, and several times on his flight down here. This was something like his fourth or fifth crying jag of the day. Ryland didn't mind. Crying meant catharsis. His body was getting some of the bad feelings out, even while his brain was still struggling to process them. And he always felt a bit better afterwards. There was something cozy and self-contained about the aftermath of a good cry. Like a warm blanket on a cold night. Or a summer day when the morning fog hung around awhile, providing a reprieve from the hot, bright sun.
He reviewed the texts from Dan and Jody. Colt was out of emergency surgery and stable. Jody was with him in the ICU. He'd woken up briefly, and asked for Ryland. When Jody assured him that his brother was on the way, Colt gave her the thumbs up, then went back to sleep. Dan was waiting in the ER lobby, to bring Ryland to Colt's room when he arrived.
He texted them both his ETA, then wiped his face on his shirtsleeve. The cabbie passed him a box of Kleenex.
Dan Tucker and Jody Moreno. Colt's best work friend and his girlfriend, respectively. Ryland knew Dan a little, from his visits to LA over the years. He was a stocky young stunt coordinator with a mile-wide geeky streak. Ryland had always liked him. When Colt first introduced them, Dan looked back and forth between the Grace twins, then quoted The Phantom Menace: "This is getting out of hand. Now there are two of them!"
Ryland didn't really know Jody. He knew about her, from the way Colt raved about her. She was a camera operator, and was working on a scifi movie script of her own. Colt said that helping Jody come up with story ideas was "the most fun I've ever had with my clothes on and my feet on the ground." He also said- repeatedly- that this was "the realest relationship I've ever had." It was certainly the longest; they'd been dating for almost a year now.
But Ryland had only met Jody once before, at Colt's birthday dinner five months ago. She was bubbly, blonde, British. She'd tried to engage Ryland in conversation about Doctor Who, but he couldn't keep up amidst the din of the restaurant. Eventually she smiled, shrugged, and moved on to talking with the other guests.
They'd get to talk one-on-one at this second meeting. Too bad it was under the worst possible circumstances. (Almost. Maybe. Not yet.)
Despite everything else he should be worried about right now, Ryland was nervous about seeing Jody again. He had no idea what he was walking into. People were often unpredictable in times of crisis. Jody might be a sobbing wreck, or stoic and detached. She might start arguments with the doctors, just to feel in control of things. She might argue with Ryland for the same reason...
Come to think of it, Ryland couldn't predict how Dan was handling all of this, either...
He pressed the lukewarm water bottle to his head again, letting out one of those shaky sighs that comes after crying. Okay. Back up. It's a lot of 'what-ifs.' What do I actually know?
He knew that Dan and Jody were good people. They had to be, if Colt liked them so much. So if they did act out today, in their worry and upset, Ryland could assume it wasn't personal. And they would extend the same grace to him, if he was abrasive or weird.
He knew they were both huggers. Jody had hugged him at the birthday dinner. (It hadn't gone too badly, but she did seem to get the message that Ryland preferred his space.) Dan generally stuck to giving Ryland fist bumps, but he'd always greeted Colt with one of those "bro hugs." The kind that was more like a chest-bump, with playful growls and slaps on the back.
Medical emergencies often brought out people's "tend and befriend" instincts. So even if they would normally give him space, Ryland could reasonably expect one or both of his brother's local loved ones to hug him upon arriving at the hospital. He didn't hate the idea, actually. But he was glad he thought of it ahead of time. Now he would be mentally prepared.
He watched the GPS screen on the taxi console. He texted Dan and Jody again when he was 5 minutes out. The taxi driver slowed as he followed the signs into the hospital complex. As soon as Ryland saw EMERGENCY in lights over a door, he thrust his credit card forward. He pumped his leg in irritation as the driver pulled up carefully, then handed over his chip reader. Ryland gave him a 25% tip. It seemed the least he could do, after being all weird and weepy on the poor guy.
He ran into the ER. The lights were bright and flickering. The place smelled like a panoply of cleaning and sanitation products, from iodine to Purell to floor wax. But at least it wasn't loud or crowded.
Dan looked up from his waiting room chair as soon as Ryland came through the sliding doors. The two men ran to each other, colliding in a tight, rocking hug.
Colt was sleeping when they arrived in the ICU. Jody hugged Ryland too. This hug was longer, softer. She wept into his button-down work shirt. After a moment of wondering what to do, he settled on rubbing her back.
They were only supposed to have two guests in the room at a time. Dan and Jody stepped out to discuss logistics for the evening. Ryland took Jody's chair at Colt's bedside. He held his brother's hand.
Part of him had expected to find Colt in traction, in a big plaster body cast, like you'd see in cartoons. But Colt wore a regular hospital gown, with a back brace beneath, and surgical bandages on his chest and right side. He was bruised all over, purply-red and a little bloated, but still recognizable. There were those eyebrows that were the exact same shape as Ryland's, only better groomed. There was that old scar from when he hit his chin hard on the bottom of the swimming pool when they were seven.
He had an air cast on his right elbow, and another on his left ankle. His hand in Ryland's own was completely unblemished. Someone had placed a hospital slipper on his uninjured foot. Ryland had a curious urge to take it off and run a finger along the underside of Colt's foot- just to see if he could feel it. But he might jolt awake and hurt himself.
While his limbs were amazingly unscathed, the medical equipment in, on, and around Colt told a different story. He had a pulse oximeter on one ear, ECG sensors over his heart, and a tube in each arm. Screens by his bedside tracked his heart rate and rhythm, and his blood pressure. He was also on a ventilator.
The ventilator clicked and whooshed in a quiet, steady rhythm. It didn't really bother Ryland on a sensory level. But given the context, it put him in mind of a death rattle. He moved his glasses down, wiped away more tears, and leaned over Colt to take a closer look. He didn't see any breathing tubes; the ventilator ended in a simple mask strapped over Colt's nose and mouth.
Okay. Good. Colt was breathing on his own; the machine was just giving him a little extra oomph. Okay. This was okay. He would be okay.
It was then, with his twin brother hovering awkwardly over him, that Colt opened his eyes.
"Ry," he rasped, barely audible beneath the mask. "Hey."
"Hey," Ryland echoed.
Tears dropped from Ryland's face and fell onto Colt's. Ryland brushed Colt's hair back from his forehead, like Mom used to do. Colt reached up and caught Ryland's hand in his own, rubbing his thumb along Ryland's knuckles.
"You're here," said Colt.
Ryland nodded. "I'm here."