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The room is bright, Court doesn't know if he'll ever get used to it. He guesses that he'll have to, if what his lawyer says is true. He'll have the rest of his life to adjust to the flickering florescent bulbs. It's nothing like home, where if Ryland got his way, there would be nothing but warm lamps lighting the space.
He sighs, the light flickers again. He misses them, the twins. He knows that if he hadn't done what he did then he would've spent the rest of his life missing them anyways, there's nowhere Ryland goes where Colt doesn't eventually follow. He looks down at his hands, they're cuffed to the table. The cold metal is tight around his bruised wrists. He wishes things could have gone differently.
His gaze flickers to the guard standing in the corner, he's about to open his mouth— ask what's taking so long, complain about the cuffs, say something— but the door swings open. It's loud, he can only imagine how heavy it is. An officer, old and hefty, one that liked to push him too hard and hold his arm too tight when he led him to and from his cell, walks in. Court thinks he met him once, before all of this. His dad would occasionally have people from work over to play cards. Court can imagine this man holding the worn deck he taught the twins to play spades with. He can see him sitting in the kitchen, beer in hand as he laughs with their father.
Colt steps in after the man, glaring daggers into his back. He looks taller, it's only been a couple of weeks but Court swears he's grown. Court tries to catch his gaze but Colt keeps his eyes on the officer as he sits in one of the chairs across from him.
Ryland is… he looks worse for wear. He's wearing two ugly bruises under his eyes and he's looking down at his hands like he's afraid to look anywhere else. Court wishes he wasn't locked to the table, he wants so badly to grab them both and hold them tight. He wants to tell them that everything's going to be alright, that it'll all be resolved, even if he knows that's a bold faced lie.
He doesn't know how to navigate this situation, he doesn't know how to be strong for them both right now. By all means he's weak, in this godawful jumpsuit chained to the table like a dog. He can't be what they need anymore.
"Are you okay?" It's Ryland who speaks first, which makes sense. Their world has been turned completely upside down, of course Ryland would be the one with enough guts to be the first to talk now.
Court tries for a smile but it falls flat. The entire right side of Ryland's face is an awful mottled yellow, a lingering sign of what had been done that night. "Your bruises are healing nicely." He can't talk about himself, he can't think about how absolutely fucked he is. "You been doing okay?" He had gotten very little information on the twins since being in here. He just barely badgered his lawyer into telling him that Ryland wasn't on the brink of death.
"Yeah, it wasn't as bad as it could've been, just the bruises and I had a concussion too. I'm fine." Ryland smiles tightly and Court wants the sun to explode. There's something eating at his baby brother and he can't do anything about it anymore. He wants to cry and then burn the world down, instead he just nods before looking over to Colt.
"How about you, kid?" He's been uncharacteristically quiet, it's another thing Court won't have the chance to fix. He's going to have to figure out how to be okay with that.
"Dad nearly killed Ry. It was as bad as it could have been. He broke his nose and nearly fractured his skull. One of his ribs broke and almost pierced a lung, and we're just supposed to do what? Act like everything's going to be okay? Court you're going to prison."
"You don't know that," Ryland cuts in, ever the optimist.
"He's going to prison," Colt says sternly in the direction of his twin, uncaring of how Ryland sinks into himself slightly at the words. "They're going to get you for as much as they can— because they can, because that's who they are. Nothing's okay, Court. This small talk is pointless, I'm losing my brother."
Court doesn't point out that he's losing his brothers too, that he's lost the rest of his life, as much as he wants to. Colt needs this, he understands that. If this is the last thing he can do for him, he'll give him that. "I'm sorry." He finds that he truly is, not for any of his actions—he would have killed their father a million times over if it meant that Ryland got to be safe— but for leaving them, even if it's out of his hands at this point.
Ryland reaches out, placing his hand over Court's briefly before the officer who walked them in barks out, "no physical contact with the prisoner." Ryland pulls his hands back like he's been burned and Court just smiles softly at him, doing his best to comfort him in the space between silence.
Colt sighs, putting his head in his hands. He's so much older than he was two weeks ago. "Sorry, I shouldn't–" he shakes his head, looking away.
You don't realize how easy it is to say that it's okay, how much you tend to brush things off with easy, until things are so far from okay that it feels offensive to mindlessly say it is. Court bites his tongue until it hurts. "You're allowed to be angry about it," he settles on.
Colts eyebrows furrow. "What if I'm angry at you?" He'd have to get in line. Court has spent every night of the past two weeks atop a shitty bed that was more a cot than anything, thinking about ways the night could have gone differently. He was furious with himself— he should've known their dad would've chosen the second they felt safe enough to get comfortable to barge in, he should've been stronger, he should've done something sooner. He should've stood between Ryland and their father's fist and let the man beat him half to death instead.
Court takes a breath. "You can be angry at me all you want, Colt." Colt doesn't say anything else but he nods before looking away.
"Colt's stupid," Ryland says, but he sounds angry too. "You're going to be okay." Colt scoffs, still looking away. "You have to be." It's a knife to Court's heart, the desperation in Ryland's voice. He needs Court to be okay for his own sake just as much as Court's.
"Where have you guys been staying?" They didn't have very much family outside of themselves. Their father had been an only child whose parents died before he met their mom. Court hadn't seen anyone from his mom's side of the family since before the twins were born. He can't imagine any of them would've stepped up to take the twins in if they hadn't even bothered to come around after their mom died.
"A foster placement." He's quiet for a moment, scanning Court's face for a reaction so he knows how best to speak next— it's a sort of eggshell walking behavior he'd do with their dad, that hurts more than most of this. "It's okay, our social worker said that we're lucky to have been placed together, and we'll get to stay there until after you get your verdict– for stability in unstable times, that's our social worker keeps saying."
"That's good. You guys are–" safe, he wants to say. They're far safer now than they ever were when Court was taking care of them. He doesn't finish the sentence, it feels like there are daggers in his throat and the words will get caught on them and dislodge the blades enough for them to tear into him. "Are you back at school?"
"Yeah– well," his eyes cut to Colt before returning to Court, which is somehow the most comforting thing that's happened so far. The subtle tattle telling is so familiar it lights a fire in his chest. "They only let us take a long weekend off but they make me see the guidance counselor twice a week, he's really qualified for it at all though."
"Just you?" Court asks and Ryland tilts his head in confusion. "They're only making you see the counselor?"
Ryland sighs. "Colt got suspended." Court sits a little straighter, looking at Colt, who is trying his hardest to make it seem like he's not listening. "It was total bullcrap, these older kids were saying awful things and Colt got into a fight with one of them. The other kid didn't even get in trouble but ever since– you know, people have been treating us like wild animals on the verge of going feral. It's fine, our fosters were really understanding and I'm bringing all of Colt's work home so he doesn't fall behind. It's fine."
"Okay," he says because he can't do anything else. He can't hover at Ryland's side with ready hands waiting for the first tear to drop so he can wipe it away. He can't tuck Colt into his side and try to steer him right.
"Your time's up," the guard standing behind Court calls out. It was another thing he was going to have to get used to, not being in control of his time. Court had spent the majority of his life managing not only himself but the twins too, now he had a say in very little. He can't believe it used to feel like a pain, having to be something near parental to them, it's all he wants now.
"We're going to get through this." He can't tell who Ryland means to reassure by saying it, but it falls flat anyhow. He's too uncertain in his words. "We're Gentrys, we can get through anything." He doesn't say that being Gentrys got them in the situation to begin with, he smiles and nods.
The officer who walked them in stands behind Ryland and pulls him up by his shoulder, ignoring the way he winces at the touch. Only when Colt levels the man with a glare does he remove his hold.
Ryland doesn't look back when he leaves, that's how Court knows. For all he wants to appear hopeful, Ryland knows just as well as either of them how this will go. "You're right, Colt," Court calls after him when he gets halfway to the door.
"To be angry?" He asks, pausing in his tracks. The guard who stood behind Court doesn't seem as eager to get them out of the room, so he doesn't rush Colt out like the other had done to Ryland.
"Sure, maybe. About everything else too. This won't go well for me." Colt clenches his jaw, as if through his rough exterior he was just as hopeful as Ryland is. Court feels bad momentarily, but it feels unkind to be dishonest to both of them.
It feels a bit like a deathbed confession, with Colt hovering by the door. "I'm sorry, we both know how it's going to go, okay? People, they respected dad." It's ash in his mouth but he had heard it over and over from his lawyer. In was nearly unbelievable that the cruel drunk they called a father had people rallying behind him in his death, that people held him in such high regard.
"He would have killed Ryland."
"I know," he says, on the edge of too harshly. He softens himself slightly, this is about Colt. He doesn't matter right now, not anymore. "I know. That's not important, not to them, because Ryland's okay."
"He's not. He can't sleep. Every time he does he wakes up and tells me that he saw it all happen again only this time it was me on the floor under dad, or it was you. He's not okay." Court can't do anything about it anymore. He can't stay up late and sit next to Ryland on the couch after a bad dream. He can't hold his brother's hand until he falls asleep so he knows that he's safe.
"He's alive, that's all they care." He sighs, tries to fidget with his hands but the drag of metal across his wrist stings a bit too much. "I need you to look out for him. I won't be there for you guys anymore and I'm really sorry. I wish things had gone differently but they didn't and there's nothing we can do about it at this point. You have to take care of your brother, he's– you know how he is."
"He's soft." It's the words of their father straight out of Colt's mouth but there's no malice behind them. It's not the same, the way Colt means it. Their father thought Ryland was soft in the way the world would chew him up and spit him back out. They know Ryland could best the world if he wanted to.
"He's soft," Court repeats in agreement. There's impatience written all over the officer's face. "Look after yourself too." Colt nods as the officer nudges him further out the door. "I love you," he says with Colt on the other side of the door.
"I lov–" the heavy door slams shut mid sentence and feels nothing less than fitting.