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Courtland considered himself lucky to a certain degree.
He was lucky that his mom survived the birth of the twins, lucky that she stayed with them until the twins could talk before snapping and leaving. He was lucky he was able to protect his brothers from their father, and that the jury took immense pity on them. He was lucky he was able to keep a decent job and watch his brothers grow up.
He didn't want to imagine what it would've been like if he wasn't lucky.
Still, his little brothers could be a major pain in the ass some days. Like today, for example. Courtland came home to them sitting at the dinner table eating a snack and starting on homework. Nothing out of the ordinary. Courtland greeted them with a tired smile and ruffle of their hair, to which they sent him annoyed glances. But he knew they loved it.
"What do you little shits want for dinner?" he asked as he unloaded his work bag. Papers, papers, and more papers. At least he didn't have to do anything with them other than keep them safe. "Feeling anything in particular?"
"Not really," Colt grumbled, twirling his pencil between his fingers.
"What do you feel like having?" Ryland countered. He was busy pulling his calculator out of his bookbag.
"Dunno," Courtland replied earnestly. "I was just gonna do whatever you guys wanted to do."
"Make whatever you want."
Courtland hung his bag on the hook by the doorway. He wasn't really feeling anything special. They had some meat they needed to use up in the fridge. Maybe a Philly cheesesteak. The twins never turned those down. He pulled the meat out of the fridge and set it in the sink. He checked the time on the stove.
3:45
He had some time before dinner. He should probably get some work done around the house.
Courtland kicked his shoes off by the front door and made a mental checklist. Sweep, mop, dust. Those should probably occupy his time enough before dinner. He collected the necessary supplies and put them on the kitchen counter, ignoring Ryland chastizing his brother for writing on his paper. He started with the vaccum in the kitchen, getting under his brothers' legs and then moving on to the hallway and living room.
After that, he dusted off the ceiling fan, the light above the dining room table, and the lower shelf of the coffee table. Then, he hit the TV stand and the air vents (which definitely needed a good dusting). He took the sanitizing wipes and wiped down counters, tables, any surface that he thought felt icky. Having two teenage brothers who went to school (a germ's paradise) made him feel like the house was never truly clean.
As he made the mop bucket up, Colt sneezed three times in a row. The twins had been in school for a few months now. He was surprised Colt hadn't gotten sick after the first week back. His immune system wasn't the best out of the three Gentry kids. The last time he got sick, he was laid up in bed for three days and going stir crazy after using up a whole box of tissues.
Colt turned slowly, as if he'd felt Courtland's worried gaze. "I'm good," he said, flashing a thumbs up.
Courtland let the worry slide for now. He'd pick up some gatorade or ginger ale later just in case.
Mopping was not Courtland's favorite chore. He hated how he'd do these things over and over and over and it doesn't make a difference. Ryland would still bring in dirt because he forgot to kick his shoes off before starting homework. Courtland himself forgot to take his shoes off today. He hated how repetitive chores were, how he had to do them nearly every day. But that was just Courtland being lazy.
He finished up mopping the hall before carefully heading back towards the kitchen. As he approached the doorway, he could hear Ryland guiding Colt through some algebra problem. Colt was actually very smart with math, specifically geometry. He could do algebra one just fine, but he'd been complaining about algebra two for a few weeks, now. Ryland was the opposite; he liked algebra two more than the first class. It often ended up in the twins switching papers and doing each other's homework, which Courtland didn't stop because it was pointless to try and tell them not to do it when they were going to do it anyway.
He entered the kitchen smiling, seeing exactly what he'd imagined. The twins swapped papers and worked quietly, occasionally taking turns grabbing cheez-its from the bowl in the center of the table. Courtland pushed the mop bucket towards the sink, stepping on his tip-toes after it.
His heart sunk through the floor. His left foot slipped forward, his right coming down to try and stabilize himself. But a sharp pain shot through his ankle and up his leg, and Courtland fell to the ground, hitting his head on the floor. His head bounced off the hardwood, a slight ringing in his ears. He let out a small groan, his hand reaching up to brush the throbbing part of his skull.
"Court! Holy shit, dude," Colt's muffled voice filled his ears.
"Are you okay?" Ryland asked worriedly.
Courtland blinked, seeing his brothers kneeling beside him, equal concern in their eyes and frowns tugging down their lips.
"I think he hit his head." Colt grabbed Courtland's wrist. "Don't touch it, hang on. We've gotta get you some ice."
"Get him up."
His world spun as two sets of hands helped him sit up. The space behind his eyes ached, his ankle flaring with white-hot pain as he tried to move it. He couldn't hold back a hiss.
"Is it your head? Do you have a concussion? How do we tell?" Ryland rambled.
"I dunno," Court grumbled. He grit his teeth, experimentally moving his right leg and immediately regretting it. "Think I fucked my ankle."
Colt, who was closest to his right leg, was quick to grab Court's calf and lift his leg into his lap. He gently turned Court's leg to inspect his ankle, brows furrowed. "Shit, it's swelling. You might've twisted it real bad."
"Doesn't feel like it."
Ryland reached for his cell phone, holding Court's hand and letting him squeeze as hard as he wanted to counteract the pain surging through him. "What's it feel like? Shooting, stabbing pain or throbbing?"
"It was sharp at first but now it's just… like my ankle needs to pop but won't. Throbbing pain."
"Don't move it," Colt said.
"No shit."
"You might've sprained it," Ryland said.
Courtland stared at him, seeing the youngest brother typing. "Are you seriously Googling this right now?"
"I'm sorry I'm not a medical professional!"
"Just—ow! Colt!"
"Sorry." Colt removed his hand from Court's ankle, leaving the offending injury throbbing painfully.
"Just help me up to the couch. Please."
The twins worked together to help him stand on a wobbly leg.
"Careful, floor's still wet," Court warned.
The twins took up either side of him, grabbing his arms and slinging them over their shoulders. They staggered into the living room where the twins helped lower him onto the middle cushion of the couch. Courtland grabbed his right thigh and hoisted his leg up to rest on the coffee table. He took deep breaths, ignoring how the twins kept glancing at each other with uncertainty.
Colt moved to the kitchen again while Ryland sat beside Court on the couch. "Advil?"
"Yeah."
"What happened? We just saw you on the floor."
"Stupid fucking wet floors. Foot slipped, landed the right foot wrong, and now probably have a sprain." Courtland sighed deeply, resting his nead on the back of the couch and staring at the stupid popcorn ceiling he hated. "Just what I needed. The fuck am I gonna say to Fitz? I slipped while mopping?"
"Hey, things happen. You remember Colt's friend Dan? His sister slipped in the shower and broke her foot from hitting it on the faucet on the way down."
"Damn, really? That sucks."
"Yeah. So your situation's not that bad," Ryland said with a cheeky grin.
Courtland managed a huff, his own grin forming. "No one's gonna believe me, though. I'll tell them you hit me with a baseball bat."
"On accident, I hope."
"Nah."
"Okay, but at least tell them you were in the way."
Colt returned with a bottle of Advil, a glass of water, and a frozen bag of peas. He cringed at the sight of Court's ankle, which was about the size of a softball by now with darkening bruising. "Jesus Christ, dude, it looks horrible."
"Thanks, Colt." He accepted the Advil and water while Colt put the bag of peas on his ankle. The cold felt like heaven, combating the intense thrumming coming from his stretched ligament.
"You feeling alright?"
"Never better."
"Court."
"I'm good, Colt. Really. Stop looking at me like that."
Colt's brows pinched together. "Fine."
Courtland sighed again. The air was tense, slightly awkward as the twins kept staring at him. His injured ankle. Worriedly tracking his movements as he downed three Advil.
It's not that Court never got hurt. He'd get cuts or bruises here or there, maybe a few accidental burns from cooking. It wasn't unusual. He just never got severely injured. "Severely" is subjective, but to the Gentry family, it meant broken bones. It meant cigarretes being put out on your forearms, or knives slicing your skin to where you'd need stitches. It meant blood staining the bathroom sink, for muffled whimpers and cries as they patched each other up in the dead of night.
He hadn't had a broken bone since his father was still alive. Neither had the twins. The last time a bone was broken or a severe injury happened to the brothers was the night their father died, when Courtland decided enough was enough. It was Colt who held his broken arm that night, Ryland who hugged his twin and sported a bloody nose, and Courtland who held fresh and faint scars, holding the steaming gun.
He could see it in their eyes. The worry, the fear that thumping footsteps would sound from down the hall, shouting "what the hell's going on?"
"It's okay, guys," Court said quietly. "It's not a big deal. I'm fine."
"Don't look fine," Ryland said.
"I'll be fine. It's nothing too bad."
Colt frowned. Court could see him biting the inside of his cheek.
"Think you guys can handle dinner tonight? I set everything out," Court said.
"Yeah, yeah. We've got it," Colt said. "When I say 'we', I really mean Ry."
"Hey."
"C'mon. I'm hungry."
Colt dragged his grumbling twin into the kitchen. Courtland chuckled, allowing his body to relax further into the couch. It took another five minutes for the Advil to finally kick in and dull the aching pain. He listened to the twins bicker at each other, the sound of pots and pans clinking as they searched the cabinets. A sizzling pan, a heavenly smell of cooked meat and provalone cheeze wafting into the living room.
This was certainly not how he expected tonight to go; his brothers taking over his job and eagerly abandoning their homework all while Courtland was laid up on the couch sporting a possible sprained ankle and a headache. The one day that work went somewhat fine, his home life just had to kick him in the ass. The twins helped him keep up with the house and cook and all of that—he wasn't calling them lazy or anything—but today was Tuesday, the day the twins usually got most of their homework done so they could help more the rest of the week.
And the one day Court was supposed to take care of things, it kicked him back. What did he do wrong today for his day to swivel on its head like that?
"Court. Food."
He blinked. Oh, he must've been resting his eyes. The TV was on, the overhead lights off and warm glow of the lamp in the corner cascading over the ceiling and floor. Colt was already sitting on his left, eating and watching TV. Ryland sat on his right, another plate in his and, offering to Court. The cheesesteak was still steaming, with a side of green beans and fries on the far side of the plate. Just how Court liked it.
"Thanks," he said, taking the plate.
"You're welcome."
"Aw what the fuck? It's literally so obvious! How can they not see it?" Colt gestured at the TV. He was watching some detective show.
"Language," Court said, stabbing his green beans.
"Whatever. Like, the motive is clear as day. I could've solved this in two days and these people can't even do it in a week!"
"Okay, how would you do it then, genius?" Ryland jabbed.
"For one, the chain of evidence is fucked—"
"Colt."
"I've heard worse, Court. And second, they skim over evidence in the files! That's a big no no!"
Courtland rolled his eyes, but his chest was light and warm sitting on the couch with his family, arguing over some silly drama TV. That, and the food was good enough to get his mind off of the events of the late afternoon.
Courtland grew up as the shield for the twins, the one that took the hits and protected them. He was used to getting hurt. Hell, all of them were. He wasn't used to letting them take care of him because he was the oldest; that was his job. He was supposed to be the strong one, the one who didn't falter in the face of adversity. He adapted.
And then he mopped the floor. Fuck the mop.
But Court couldn't deny how nice it felt to finally drop the shield, to allow his brothers to take care of him for once. He felt guilty, sure, but he knew his brothers didn't do it out of obligation. They loved him as much as he loved them. That was clear as day, and it just made the food and his chest all the more warm.
"Like are you kidding me! He's monologuing!" Colt exclaimed.
Courtland laughed, especially when Colt spilled his green beans on the floor. At least his ankle stopped throbbing.