Archive of Our Own

Colt is showing a group of children just how long he can hang upside-down from the swingset’s top bar when he first hears something.

The initial shout from another kid isn’t too alarming at first. Colt barely processes it, more focused on keeping the blood rush from making his vision spotty and forcing him to stop early. There’s plenty of other kids around, and Colt doesn’t even know half of them. It’s only when he hears another startled yell, followed by a recognizable cry, wordless but undoubtedly belonging to his brother, that all his attention redirects and locks in on something happening on the other side of the playground.

This strange, automatic feeling in him activates at the sound. He forgets entirely about his goal and acts instinctively, letting go of the bar and dropping to the ground. His hands get a little scuffed, but he doesn’t pay attention to it, already moving in the direction of the sound.

When he scrambles to his feet, sneakers slipping in the mulch, he hears Court yell, “Ryland!” from further away, and knows that he’s not just imagining things. His older brother is a streak of color, moving before Colt even processes him; he’s running towards Ryland’s shout, but Court’s already there, rapidly scaling the side of the playground structure where the sound came from. Colt’s a second behind him, one of several children gathering, though they come only from curiosity while Colt’s heart is trying to escape his chest as he pushes at kids to cut his way through to his brother.

He comes to a halt at the front of the group of children, just for a split second. The tall plastic slide seems like it absolutely towers over Colt’s head. Court’s already at the top of it, though, shoving his way into another group of small children packed in up there, a bunch of small bodies in the fake plastic castle tower, and Colt looks to one side, then the other, searching for the steps upwards. They’re blocked with other kids trying to see what’s going on, and—

Above him, he hears Ryland shouting again, repeating, “Stop, stop it, let me go,” over and over, and it sounds like he’s crying, loud and hysterical, furious and sobbing all at the same time, letting out another scream like punctuation after every few words.

Something feels like it explodes inside of Colt at the sound. His brain just sort of panics and then abruptly shuts off; he’s moving before he can even process what’s happening, flinging himself up the stairs as fast as he can. Kids protest and yell at him, but he doesn’t hear them, doesn’t see them. He just shoves his way through until he bursts through at the top of the tower, in front of the mouth of the tallest slide, panting, just in time to see another kid, a boy with a head of curly dark hair and a mole right under one eye, a couple of years older than them, Drew or Drake or something, shove Ryland’s face down into the grating under their feet.

Courtland’s right there, grabbing the kid by the collar and hauling him back. Colt rushes forward and drops to his knees, reaching for Ryland— his glasses aren’t on, and his head swivels, searching for them— and everything is so confusing, nothing makes sense—

“Go the fuck back down there,” Court snarls in the kid’s face, shoving him towards the stairs. “What are you thinking, you—”

“He’s being a pussy,” the kid spits back at him. As he struggles against Court’s hold, he kicks out, catches their older brother behind the knees. He’s twice the size of the other kids squeezed into the small box up here, and he folds down at the unexpected blow, briefly releasing the kid’s shirt.

The little kid lunges forward. Colt sees Ryland’s eyes widen, and he moves forward, too, trying to duck under and dodge like they’ve been taught. All in one movement, Court crumples forward, Ryland tries to scramble away, Colt lurches towards his twin, and the kid he doesn’t really recognize gets to Ryland first.

The first punch against his face takes everyone by surprise, both Ryland and the kid throwing the hit included. It’s heavy, and hard, and there’s a moment where Ryland staggers backwards, both hands over his face, chest heaving, nose streaming blood, silence ringing in everyone’s ears.

Nobody moves.

Then, Colt and Court move for the kid at the same time. Court gets him by the upper arm, Colt grabs his wrist, and the kid kicks out at Ryland with a crack that lands against his kneecap.

Ryland shrieks out, stumbling backwards.

He hits the corner of the little gap in the plastic playground, the small space where kids can grab onto the top of the twisty pole and jump to the ground below— so, so far below, what seems like miles and miles from up here.

For a moment, he tries to grab onto Colt, and Colt lets go of the other kid, stumbles forward for Ryland’s hand. His fingers close around empty air, and their eyes meet, and Ryland is terrified, and then he is gone, disappearing backwards, there one second and then he’s just— not, anymore.

Colt shouts out his name, yells, “Ryland—” just as he goes over, and pitches forward, hands reaching, scrabbling for him. He’s already falling, too far away; leaning too far over the edge, Colt tries to grab onto him again, their fingertips barely brush as gravity takes over and Ryland is plummeting down, too far, too fast. Colt would have pitched over with him, too, if it weren’t for a sudden hard grasp hooking in the back of his t-shirt, roughly jerking him backwards.

Dangling there, held back by the grip on his collar, Colt is able to see over the side and watch Ryland’s little body, identical to his own, as it falls straight down into the edge of the slide. He collides so hard with it that he flips over himself and drops bonelessly into the mulch chips below, slumped in a motionless heap.

Ryland just lays there, limbs at odd angles, his head thrown back, his glasses gone. His eyes are closed.

All Colt can do is stare, for a second, his chest heaving, panic starting to mount as he processes what’s happening. The small body of his twin lays on the ground, feeling so far away from him, so far beneath. They’re only seven years old.

Court yanks Colt backwards, jostling him, shattering him out of his stupor. The feeling that this is all just a bad dream starts to end as Colt understands this is real, and then Court’s above his head, looking down to the ground, too, and when Colt looks up and sees his face, sees the horror there, sees the shock, he knows Court’s thinking the same thing he is— that this doesn’t make sense, that they should’ve gone over right after him—

“What did you do?” Colt demands, whirling on the kid who attacked his brother, who shoved him over the side. He jerks out of Court’s hold, throws the kid against the plastic wall behind them. There’s a flicker of true shock and fear on the kid’s face that makes Colt feel sick and dizzy. All he wants is to get his hands around his throat, and he grabs onto him, rips at his hair, scratches at his face. “What did you—”

From below, Ryland finally screams, this blood-curdling sound that cuts right into Colt’s belly, the sort of noise he’s heard from him before but hoped he never would again, and Court grabs Colt by the shoulder, hauling him along with him right back down the steps. Colt screams, too, kicking out and fighting the movement, trying to get back to the kid who pushed him, his hands itching for him, but Court just drags him along, thudding down the metal playground stairs until he’s dropping him on his feet on the ground.

Ryland is still screaming, and Colt redirects, focusing in the direction of the sound. Court is already running for him, skidding to his knees right beside him; his hands hover over him, wanting to touch and yet not, and Colt whirls, seeing a gathered curve of children watching without doing anything.

“Papa!” Colt shrieks. “Dad— Holly— Help, Ryland is—”

Holly’s there a second later, grabbing onto Colt’s shoulders, swirling him in her direction. He sees the pale face of his sister and only that, for a second, before he hiccups and starts sobbing. His stomach hurts, he wants to throw up, and Holly’s yelling—

“What happened, Colt?” she keeps asking, trying to gain his attention, but he’s— he’s just— he can’t. He’s trying to focus but he can’t, and when he looks up at Holly, he sees her face crumple before she’s tugging him in and scooping him up. Colt clings to his older sister, face buried in her throat as he cries; her hands around him hold him close and tight, keeping him against her as she shouts, “Jack! Dad—”

“What the fuck?” Colt hears his Dad yell as he’s running over to them. He watches him over Holly’s shoulder, sees him nearly trip over himself on his way to them. “What happened? What—”

All the blood drains from his Dad’s face. His skin goes grey as he half-turns, hand reaching backwards, cigarette falling from his mouth.

“Jack—” he chokes out before he yells, “Ryland—” and he’s throwing himself forward, past Holly and Colt into the mulch where Court is hovering over Ryland.

Above their heads, the kid who pushed Ryland has started shouting, too, over and over. His voice layers just underneath Ryland’s screaming, repeated, “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t— He was acting like a baby— I didn’t mean to hurt—”

Colt fights against Holly’s hold, tries to get away from her to go after the kid again, but she won’t let him go. Her arms hold him as if hugging him, but they’re stronger than that, more restrictive, refusing to let him go. Pointing backwards, Colt screams again, shouts, “He pushed Ryland! He made him fall—”

“C’mon, come here,” Holly demands, grabbing him by the hand instead and hauling him in Ryland’s direction. There’s a circle of kids watching now, a couple of parents hovering, but nobody has gotten close to Ryland except their parents and Court. Ryland’s screams aren’t subsiding; they scrape along Colt’s bones, fray his nerves, and he squirms, fighting out from Holly’s hold to sprint for his brother.

“It’s okay!” Colt exclaims before he’s even there. He has to push underneath Court to get to him, and he stops the second he does.

His knees ache with the pointy ends of the mulch bits digging into them, bare and scuffed as they are. Ryland’s laying on the ground right in front of him, blood pouring from his nose and his mouth, his breath rasping and wet, his arm so clearly broken in spots where Colt can see the bone through his skin—

Colt gags. Ryland’s eyes fly up to his at the same moment that Holly grabs him again and tries to yank him back, but Colt shakes his head and jerks free of her. Despite the panic and nausea, he grabs onto Ryland’s hair and pushes their faces together, smushed into one another on the ground. Ryland sobs right into him, gasping for air in these hysterical breaths that sound like suction in a bathtub drain.

“You’re okay, it’s okay,” Colt promises him. “I’m gonna kill that kid for you, okay, Ry?”

Ryland coughs when he tries to talk. Blood bubbles out from his mouth, and he says, “Don’t—” before he’s cut off by their Papa turning him away, big and careful hands hoisting him upwards to cradle him against his chest.

“What the fuck happened?” Holland is demanding over their heads, twisting as Jackson’s already moving, shoving his way towards their car through the watching crowd, Ryland in his arms. “Who did this? Huh?”

Colt points, says, “Dad—” and Holland swivels, catches sight of him. He drops down to one knee in front of him and tugs him in; one of his hands wipes over Colt’s face, and he scrunches up, yanks away, just to see his dad withdraw a palm of blood that belongs to his twin, not to him.

“What happened, baby, what’d you see?” Holland asks him, drawing Colt’s eyes up onto his own. “Are you okay, you’re okay?”

Court scrambles past them, running off after their Papa. Colt starts to look, but Holland forces him to keep his eyes on him, keeps him focused. It’s difficult to remember what he even asked of him— but, when he can, he swallows thickly and tells him, “That kid pushed him, that— he pushed Ryland off the top—”

“Which kid, Colt?” he asks, and Colt turns, scans the crowd. He has to do it more than once before he realizes the kid is on the ground now, leaning against his dad, staring at them with wide eyes. Colt’s hand lifts, he points, and Holland’s already ducking to scoop him up, tearing across the small circle towards them. “What the fuck’s your name?”

“I didn’t mean to,” the kid shouts upwards. “Ryland’s just always such a baby! I didn’t think he’d actually fall! He—”

The way Holland looks downwards at the kid makes him fall abruptly silent. Colt clings tighter to his Dad, hiding his face in his throat; he feels Holland’s hold on him tighten, keeping him close on his hip.

“My husband and I are going to come find you and discuss this,” Holland informs the other kid’s father in a voice Colt has only heard him use a few times, with the people who come to their house and always get kicked out before they can come in, the real version of the dangerous voice he’ll use when he reads scary stories sometimes. It sounds just like Court’s variant, too. And a little bit Papa’s and Holly’s. “You’re fucking lucky there’s people here, I’m not above knocking out a kid that fucking br—”

“You shut—”

“No,” Holland interrupts the kid’s father, getting right into his face. “You shut up before I fucking ki—”

“Holland!” Papa hollers from across the playground, and Holland stumbles back a step, as if physically yanked by the sound.

“Colt, baby, you know this kid?” Holland asks him, still visibly roiling. “You know his name?”

“I know them, Dad,” Holly says before Colt can answer. He knows the kid’s face, but he can’t remember his name right now, just that he’s older and staring at them and he’s scared and angry and this kid pushed Ryland and Colt saw the inside of Ryland’s arm and—

“Colt, it’s okay,” Holland tells him, securing his grip on him more firmly. It’s only then that Colt even realizes he’d been starting to fight out of his hold. “C’mon, we’re going with Jack—”

Everything moves so fast. His Dad just tucks him against his chest and starts running; the world blurs when Colt peeks his face out, but Holland pushes him right back in, doesn’t let him see what’s going on. It’s not until he’s in the car that he gets his bearings again, and even that is complete chaos.

“Court, get in the—” Holland starts to order, opening the back door to push Colt into his seat. Holly’s already there on the other side, opening the seatbelt and tugging Colt into place; in the front passenger seat, Ryland is struggling in their Papa’s lap, still screaming, writhing in place against him.

“I can drive,” Court bites out. He’s claimed the front seat, gotten the keys in the ignition, starting the car. “Get—”

“Get in the back seat with your brother and sister, Courtland, I swear to God,” Holland snaps back. Court twists around, glaring directly at him, but neither of them back down. Ryland just keeps screaming, screaming, screaming, before Holland says, “I’m not letting any of you get hurt, alright? Get in the back and hold onto Colt.”

Court’s eyes flick down to meet Colt’s. He clearly hesitates for a minute, looking from him to Ryland and back again, at war with himself. Colt’s watched him do this countless times, trying to decide the best way forward that involves the least amount of pain for his siblings; he eventually gives up, pushes out of the seat and crams his way into the back instead, him and Holly sandwiching Colt between themselves.

“Is Ryland gonna be okay?” Colt asks as Holly clicks his seatbelt into place and Dad drops into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut behind himself. “Ryland? Are you—”

“It’s okay, Colt, just— Let us handle this and it’ll be fine,” Jack answers over his shoulder.

Colt doesn’t believe him. He twists to look up to Holly, the panic gnawing through his veins washing over and over him in these cold waves that make his head and stomach and chest all hurt at the same time, and it feels like his whole body won’t stop shaking.

“I saw his bones,” he tells Holly, and she puts her arm around him, tugging him into her side.

“We’re gonna go to the doctor and everything will be fine,” Holly promises him. “Remember when you had that bad cough and the hospital helped?”

“But I saw—” Colt starts to protest. Holly shushes him; Court’s hand finds his back, rubs between his shoulder-blades.

“Holly,” Court says, addressing their older sister rather than him. “Who was that kid?”

“His brother’s in my class,” Holly replies. “He’s a fucking asshole, too. I can look them up, if…”

There’s a long beat of quiet between them that isn’t quiet. The car is filled with the sounds of tires shrieking, Papa and Dad talking rapid-fire back-and-forth in the front seat, and Ryland still hysterical-sobbing, but Colt still recognizes the difference. He glances upwards, sees his older siblings looking at one another with expressions like they’re talking without words, all eyebrows and small twitches and meaningful glances.

He almost asks what they’re doing, but he’s stopped before he’s able to, the car sliding at a hard angle. Court and Holly both grip Colt’s shoulders to keep him in place as they whip around a corner; in the front seat, Ryland truly screams at the motion.

“It’s okay, breathe with me,” Jackson says downwards to Ryland. His words can barely be heard over how hard Ryland is crying. “Look at me, kid, I’ve got you. We’re almost there, they’re going to fix it—”

Ryland’s crying ramps up, sucking in and out too fast as he begins hyperventilating. There’s a stunned moment before he chokes and gags and retches, and Jackson just barely manages to hoist him upwards before he’s vomiting down their Papa’s back, over the car seat, onto the floor.

“Shit,” Jackson curses. “His head, Holl—”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Holland replies, his voice tense.

“Go faster,” Court snaps from the back as his hands leave Colt, leaning forward to frame Ryland’s face and force his attention up on him. His voice is considerably softer, the voice Colt knows only comes out when their brother is genuinely worried about them, and says, “Hey, you’re going to be just fine. I’m right here.”

Ryland blinks at Court before he hiccups, then sneezes. Even when blood mists over Court’s face, he doesn’t flinch, just leaning up into Ryland’s eyes and repeatedly stroking his hair back, the same motions he’s always done when either twin struggles to sleep.

“It hurts really bad,” Ryland chokes out, still crying, gasps hitching his breaths between each word, stumbling out in a mush. “It hurts really bad, it really, really hurts—”

“I know,” Court says. “But they’re—”

“I got scared of the slide,” Ryland starts to try explaining. “It was too high and I got scared and they wouldn’t let me down—”

“It’s okay—”

“I’m so sorry,” Ryland sobs, blood spilling out, staining his teeth, his lips, his chin, his throat, soaking down into the collar of his shirt, making a massacre of the blue-and-yellow-striped fabric. It’s so much worse than the screaming. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Jackson tells him. He’s got a hand planted steadily on his back, trying to keep him upright without moving him too much. “And that’s not going to happen again, I promise you. You’re okay, it’s all going to be okay. We’re—”

“—here, we’re here,” Holland cuts him off, finishes instead for him as they park practically sideways across multiple parking spots in the lot outside of the hospital. The car hasn’t even begun to cool when Holland flings himself out of it, trips against the front hood, and yanks Jackson’s door open to help him and Ryland out. “Holly—”

“I’ll park the car,” she tells him.

“I’m coming in with you,” Court replies, already moving to get out.

“No, stay with Colt and Holly,” Jackson tells him.

“I am not—”

“We’ll see you in five minutes,” Holland promises, pushing at Jackson’s back, shoving him towards the entryway into the too-tall hospital towering over their heads. “Just park the car and come right back, please.”

Court wavers for a split second, torn, before he tells Ryland, “I’m right behind you, okay?”

Ryland gulps and nods. His eyes meet Colt’s, right then, but the door slams shut before either of them can say anything, and then Dad and Papa are sprinting for the hospital doors, Ryland held in a cradle in Papa’s arms, and the three other siblings are left behind.

The silence rings.

Holly is the one who moves first, pushing her door open. “I’ll find us a spot, c’mon.”

She climbs into the driver’s seat and gets the car moving. Not another word is spoken. Colt glances up at his older brother, finds Court staring straight ahead; one hand is curled into a white-knuckled fist against his thigh, while the other hovers on Colt’s knee, just barely touching him.

“Court?” Colt asks, and his brother jerks, as if Colt grabbed him and yanked him out of his own head. “Ryland’s gonna be okay, right?”

It’s something of an unspoken rule, Colt thinks. That’s the way families kind of work. Ryland is the youngest, so they all look after him. It’s all their jobs, not just their parents’ responsibility, but— Colt thinks he and Court and Holly have a duty to Ryland, too. At least, in his brain, they’re supposed to look out for him, and today—

Today, he just feels like they failed. He feels like he failed.

And because he failed— because he failed, and he wasn’t there when Ryland needed him, he was unprotected, and unsupported, and he got hurt, and now his bones are poking out and there’s blood coming out of his face and both of their fathers are panicking and everything inside Colt feels wrong and uneasy and spinning.

Court’s eyes flick over Colt’s face. He’s still covered in Ryland’s blood, and Colt reaches up without thinking, sweeping his hands over Court’s face, getting his hands all wet with the same blood. His stomach turns again.

“C’mere,” Court mumbles. The side pocket of the car has napkins stuffed in from previous take-out bags; he pulls them out to wipe Colt’s hands and face down as best as he can without water or soap, until the worst of the blood is off of him. While he works, he tells him, “It’s not that bad. It looks bad, but— They’ll fix him up. He’ll be fine.”

Colt’s stomach still hurts. “I’m scared.”

For a long moment, Court doesn’t answer. The only sounds are the small noises the car makes as Holly parks it far more neatly in an actual parking space within the hospital’s garage.

Then, scrubbing at a stubborn spot on Colt’s forehead, Court tells him, “That’s alright. It’s going to be over soon.”

Even though he’s too big for it, and might have protested normally, Colt lets Court scoop him up and carry him into the hospital. Holly leads the way ahead of them, blasting into the emergency room with her head on a swivel. When their parents and Ryland aren’t in there, she’s already up at the counter, putting in their little brother’s name, asking to be brought wherever he is.

The nurse takes one look at the three of them and tells them she’ll put in a note, but they’ll have to wait. Court’s visibly about to start yelling when Colt—

He just can’t keep it together anymore, and he starts crying.

Court’s attention shifts at the same time Holly’s does. Colt would feel bad for taking their focus at all when it should be all on Ryland right now, but he just can’t help it. The tears come, and they don’t stop coming, and he clings to Courtland as they fall, trying to catch his breath.

“It’s going to be alright,” Court promises him as Holly leads them to three chairs together against the wall. Court takes one with Colt still in his lap, Holly claiming the one beside him, leaving the last for whenever Colt is ready to sit by himself, but he’s not ready, not yet.

He just keeps seeing, in his mind’s eye, the moment where Ryland went over the edge, and he looked right at Colt, and their hands just barely touched, and Colt still couldn’t save him. All he did was let him fall.

Colt doesn’t know how long he has to wait.

It feels like time drags, picking up here and there when small things happen. The hospital is too boring and too exciting at the same time. There’s too many people, but Colt doesn’t know any of them, and all the magazines hold no interest for him, and the boxy television set in the corner is playing daytime television. The whole place is like a weird limbo, in between what happened and where they’re going; it feels like both five minutes and five days before Dad comes out and tells them they have to go home, it’s getting to be too late, he might not even be home until tomorrow.

“No, I’m not going!” Colt shouts up at him. Neither Court nor Holly seem to have it in them to argue with him; he takes that as their agreement, insists, “We don’t want to leave without seeing him! Let me see my brother—”

“Colt—” Holland starts to say before Colt just jumps up and starts sprinting. “Colt!”

Colt is already dodging around a group of nurses to take off down the closest hallway. He has no idea where he’s going, and he can already hear footsteps pounding behind him, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t want to stop, can’t stop, not until he’s back with Ryland. He’s waited long enough, he thinks.

Each door he peeks in as he stumbles along, as fast as he can, doesn’t have Ryland inside. Not the first, not the second, the third, the fourth—

An arm hooks around his belly, and he screams, kicking out, fighting against the hold. He’s still lifted off his feet, which only makes him struggle harder, punching his small hands down in furious fists against the forearm like a steel bar around his middle.

“Colt, calm down,” Holland shouts over his shrieks. “He’s with the doctors right now—”

“I’m not going!” Colt howls with such intensity that it feels like his throat scrapes raw from the effort. “I’m not going, I’m not going, let me go—”

“Look at me—”

“No!”

“Colt, look at me, c’mon, kid, just— Please,” Holland begs. Folding down to his knees, he turns Colt around in his arms, still clutching him to his chest. Colt can’t stop the racing of his heart, the tears spilling down his face. He can’t even really see his Dad, squinting at him through a blurry film. “Hey, hey, just breathe. Give me a hug, alright, come here. Come here.”

“I want to see Ry,” Colt cries, unable to regulate his volume, his emotions, himself. “Why can’t I see him? I want him to come home—”

“Look, okay, listen to me,” Holland tries to say, but Colt just shakes his head, tries to fight backwards again. “Colt— Colt, he’s okay. They just came and talked to me, okay, he’s alright, he just needs some more time—”

“I want to see him!” Colt shouts in his face. “Let me see him, let me see him—”

Dad doesn’t get it, he doesn’t get that Colt needs to see Ryland to know he’s really going to be okay, to apologize directly to him for not being there in time, to be with him while he gets better because that’s what they do. Ryland can’t be somewhere without Colt. They don’t go places without each other. And Colt— saw his bones—

Colt dissolves against Holland in a sobbing mess, right there in the middle of the hospital hallway. Shuffling backward, Holland sits down hard on the floor, pulling Colt all the way into his lap, holding him while he cries, pushing his hand into his mouth, barely able to breathe. The tears just consume him until it’s all he is, and it takes a long while for them to even start to go away.

“Listen to me,” Holland says, somewhere near Colt’s ear, when he needs to catch his breath and isn’t screaming quite so loudly. “Look, Jack and— Your Papa and I are going to stay right here with Ry. It’s going to be a few more hours before he can come home—”

“No—”

“But we’ll wake you up when we get there,” Holland keeps going. Colt shakes his head vigorously against him. “He’s okay. He’s a little banged up, but he’s okay, I promise. Hey, would I lie to you?”

Colt’s face scrunches up again as he fights not to keep crying and fails miserably. “I don’t want to leave. I have to stay with him.”

Holland hesitates, then asks, “You can’t see him right now, but—”

“No, Dad—”

“But,” Holland keeps saying, “If I let you see Papa in Ryland’s waiting room, will you go home with Holly and Court? And get ready for him to come home?”

It doesn’t seem like much of an agreement, but it’s seeming like the only option Colt is going to be given. He considers it for a moment before he nods, still crying, wrapping his arms around Holland’s neck, holding onto him as he stands again.

“He’s going to be totally alright, I swear,” Holland tells him while he’s heading back towards the waiting room. “They just want to keep an eye on his head a little longer and finish up with his arm. It’s just annoying how long it takes, right?”

Colt sniffles and nods against his shoulder. His hands open against Holland’s shoulders, looking for something to hang onto; one ends up fisting in his hair while the other clings to his collar.

“Y’know, you broke your leg when you were, like, a year old,” Holland continues on to tell him.

“Really?” Colt asks.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Holland replies. “I’m glad you don’t remember it. Scared the shit out of— Oh, sorry. But it did, it scared the shit out of me, you tried to stand up in the bathtub and slipped right over. You screamed so loud, I think my eardrums burst. Then Ryland bit me when I tried to pick you up.”

“Really?” Colt repeats, leaning back a little to look up into his Dad’s face.

“You two have always been something else,” Dad says. “Hey, look— Found him,” he calls when they’re reunited with Court and Holly. “Looks like we’re taking a walk to visit Jack for a second.”

Colt clings to Holland, listening as he updates Court and Holly on the same things he was just told himself. The hospital is all strangers and stressed-out people and too much noise. The lights are giving Colt a headache, and he’s swiftly deciding that he hates it here. And if he hates it here, he knows Ryland is probably miserable, wherever he is.

“His glasses!” Colt exclaims, jolting in Holland’s arms. “Dad— I forgot Ry’s glasses at the park when they fell off, they—”

“Hey, he’s got a backup pair at home, it’s okay,” Holland reminds him.

“But I forgot!” Colt shouts. “His eyes are going to hurt! I shouldn’t have forgotten them there, I was being stupid—”

“You weren’t being stupid, you’re seven,” Court cuts him off. “It was scary. It’s not the end of the world, he’s got another pair. I promise.”

Colt sniffles again, fighting back yet another wave of tears as he glances from his brother to his sister. Holly gives him a thumbs-up that breaks through a little, catches his crying in his throat around a half-laugh, and he drops his head back onto Holland’s shoulder, covering his eyes with one hand.

“I should’ve been there with him,” Colt grumbles against his Dad’s chest. “Maybe they wouldn’t have picked on him.”

“It’s not your fault,” Holly leans in to insist. “You can’t be glued to each other all day, every day. You’d just get annoying. Like Dad and Papa are.”

“Is now the time?” Holland asks. “To be rude? Is it really the time, Holly, hmm?”

“If not now, when?” Holly asks in reply.

“If you fell, would you say it’s Ry’s fault for not being there?” Court asks, and it takes Colt a moment to realize he’s the one being addressed.

“He didn’t fall, he got pushed,” Colt protests.

“If you got pushed, then,” Court amends. “It’s Ryland’s fault, right?”

“No, shut up,” Colt argues with him, turning away and into Holland’s chest again. He can’t help but lean into his brother’s hand when he feels it rest against the back of his head, though.

“It’s not your fault,” Court promises him.

“Oh, you brought everyone,” Jackson says, and Colt twists out, finding his Papa rising from a chair in a smaller version of the waiting room they’d only just left behind. Immediately, he reaches out for him; Jackson opens his arms, takes Colt from Holland, and lets him settle on his hip, clinging to him like he’d just been clinging to his Dad, attached as if he’s a small barnacle. “Your Dad told you you’re going home to get some sleep, didn’t he?”

“I don’t want to go,” Colt insists to him. Maybe he’ll let him stay— but, Colt knows, it’s a long shot. His Dads agree with each other more often than they don’t. “I want to stay here with Ryland.”

Jackson looks over Colt’s head for a moment before refocusing on him. “When we were waiting with the doctors, I actually asked Ryland what he wanted to do when he gets to go home.”

“Really?” Colt asks, perking up a little in his arms. “What’s he want?”

“He said he wanted to build a fort and watch movies together,” Jackson tells him. Colt’s mind is already whirring.

“Did he say which ones?” Holly asks. “Should I stop at the video store?”

“He asked for scary movies,” Holland informs her.

“Of course he did.” Holly pulls a notebook from her bag, asks, “Anything specific?”

“I can pick them!” Colt protests.

“You’ll have to go with Court and Holly to set it up for him,” Jackson reminds Colt, making him halt for a moment, considering this. “But hey, if you set it up, we can let you sleep in it until Ry’s home, how’s that?”

It’s not a good deal, not any better than being allowed to come down here was. The only really good deal would be getting to see Ryland, be told he’s totally okay, actually, and that they can all just go home like today was just a normal day, nothing bad going on at all, and that everything’s all fine again. It’s— increasingly seeming like that’s not going to be happening, though.

“I don’t want to,” Colt replies, just so his disagreement with the situation is made known.

“I know you don’t, big guy,” Jackson says. “This really sucks, doesn’t it?” Colt nods his head, hides in Jackson’s chest this time. “Yeah, it does. Almost over, though.”

“Is he really alright?” Court asks, no small amount of worry thick in his tone. “The way he went down—”

“He’s alright,” Jackson assures him. “Couple of busted ribs, broken arm, hurt his knee. They think he knocked his head a little so they’re keeping an eye out for that just for a little while. Once his arm’s all set, they’ll let us see him, and we can take him home in a few hours, but it’ll be late, and you should eat something and sleep. Take the car, we’ll get a cab home. Okay?”

Colt looks up to see Court almost visibly fighting against his words without speaking a single of his own. He gets how he feels right now, because he feels the same way: useless.

“Court,” Jackson says, and a shuddering exhale escapes Colt’s older brother. “It’s okay. Everything’s under control now.”

A darkness washes over Court that Colt’s seen before. It’s never been directed at him, and his brother tries to hide it when it shows up, but— Colt has that fill him up inside, too. He feels that same way sometimes, too.

“That kid—” Court starts to say, but Jackson readjusts his hold on Colt, holds him up with one arm so he can clap a hand onto Court’s shoulder and grip him tight.

“We’ll deal with that later,” Jackson tells him. That’s the same thing, too, an echo of what’s inside of Court laced through his father’s voice. The same feeling he saw in Court’s and Holly’s faces in the car, the same one he heard in his Dad’s voice when he ran to them, the same twisted-up hurt that needs to be expressed and to come out and to hurt those that put that hurt inside him in the first place. “Just focus on Ryland right now.”

“I’m going to kill that kid,” Holly spits. “He’s a fucking idiot. Ryland could have—”

“Holly,” Jackson cuts her off. She glares up at him, but when he just says, “I know,” she deflates, face red as she turns away with a huff. “You two, take your brother home. Buy yourself something to eat for dinner, get some tapes. We’ll be there in a few hours, and we’ll handle everything else later. I’m just focusing on getting everyone home safe right now, alright?”

Though it clearly doesn’t make Court or Holly any happier to agree with this than Colt feels, they all do. Jackson pushes a kiss to Colt’s cheek before he sets him on his feet, sneakers squeaking on the tile floor.

“You can get ice cream, too,” Jackson tells him. “What flavor do you—”

“Fudge ripple,” Holland interrupts.

Papa glances up at him, then starts over. “What flavor do you think Ryland will want, Colt?”

“Oh, excuse me, I’m just paying for it—”

“I’m paying for it—”

“He’s gonna want salted caramel,” Colt answers. “That’s his new favorite.”

“We can do that,” Holly says, extending her hand to Colt. He doesn’t hesitate before reaching up and slipping his fingers into hers. “What’s your favorite?”

Colt considers, then answers, “Fudge.”

“Yes,” Dad exclaims, drawing a laugh out of Colt. When Jackson rolls his eyes, he asks, “What? Close enough.” He crouches, tells Colt, “Good job, kid,” and opens his arms for a hug before they leave. Colt still hangs onto Holly’s hand, hugs his Dad with one arm, and lets him mess up his hair before he stands. “I’ll see you at home. Build a really good fort, okay? Make sure Papa and I can fit, too.”

“I’m not sleeping on the floor,” Jackson warns them.

“Build the couch into it,” Holland amends, and Jackson just sighs. Colt knows they’ll all end up on the floor by morning, anyway, cushioned by all the pillows, even though Dad and Papa will both complain about it when they get up tomorrow. “Okay, go get some rest. We’ll see you soon.”

“See you,” Holly echoes. “You sure you guys are good?”

“Yeah, it’s gonna be fine,” Jackson repeats as he tugs her in and kisses the top of her head. “Love you kids.”

“Love you,” Holland repeats, and the kids tell them the same before Holly’s leading them back down the hall, through the front lobby, and out of the hospital again. Colt can’t stop looking backwards over his shoulder, even after they can’t see Dad or Papa anymore, wishing he could just wait until Ryland was ready to come home, too. Going home without him makes his skin itch; he just feels wrong.

“Do you think he’s really okay?” Colt asks. He doesn’t miss the look his older brother and sister exchange above his head.

“Yeah,” Holly answers, a beat too late.

Colt looks back over his shoulder again, but Ryland is nowhere to be seen.

Part of Colt had really been hoping that if he drew out his night long enough, Ryland would come home before he fell asleep. He tried to make everything take as long as it possibly could: dawdling at the grocery store, spending far too long considering different video tapes to rent, picking at his microwave dinner. When he’s taking his time building the fort in their living room, he knows his brother and sister are onto him, but they’re being more patient with him than he’s expecting, so he just keeps pushing it out further.

Every pillow keeps getting readjusted. Colt keeps directing Court and Holly to hang and re-hang and re-re-hang every corner of every hanging blanket. The structure becomes increasingly elaborate, and Colt is getting increasingly frustrated, and he knows he’s tired, but he doesn’t want to go to sleep before Ryland gets home.

Court builds the fort around the television and stacks their tapes right underneath the set. When Colt climbs into the fort, poking at the nest of pillows and blankets and stuffed animals that he has constructed inside until it’s perfect, Holly follows after him, curling up beside where he’s fidgeting.

“Ready for bed?” she asks, her arms around her knees.

“No,” he answers without looking at her, rearranging Ryland’s pillow again. It’ll have to be special-comfortable; he’s probably still going to be in pain.

“Okay,” she says, and leans back against the sofa behind her, draped in one of their Papa’s old quilts. “Want something on the TV?”

Colt pauses, then says, “Not one of the movies yet.”

“Nah,” Holly replies. “Court, move, let me put something on.”

Colt still keeps working on the fort, though his attention gets more and more distracted by the Unsolved Mysteries episode Holly is playing. Court drops into the fort between them, stretching out, and though Colt keeps trying to fight sleep, that battle ends without his say-so.

Before he knows it, he’s blinking awake, cradled in a bunch of the pillows inside their fort, a blanket draped over him, and he doesn’t even remember having fallen asleep.

“What?” he asks groggily. Everything is dark around him, interrupted occasionally by a flickering blue light; he squints into it, lifting his head.

“Shh,” his Dad whispers from above him. “We’re just getting home, it’s okay.”

Colt hums, letting his head fall back down into the pillow, ready to fall back asleep for a moment before he remembers. Jerking up with a jolt, he nearly tears down one of the walls of the blanket fort.

“Ryland?” he demands, just as he catches sight of his brother standing beside their Papa in the darkness, holding his hand in one of his own. The arm he broke is in a cast that goes all the way from his wrist up to his shoulder, and it looks like it’s attached to his chest; a big, bright-white bandage is wrapped around his head, his hair a mess around it. While he’s standing there, he shifts a little, wincing; he’s holding himself stiffly, uncomfortable.

They must have been home for a little while already, because Ryland’s already in his pajamas, his back-up glasses on his face. His sleep shorts reveal a huge pack of gauze wrapped tight around his knee, too, and there’s— There’s another bandage spread across his nose, his eyes both black-and-blue, but he still offers Colt a wobbly smile when he sees him.

“Sorry, Colt,” Ryland tells him.

Colt just lunges for him. His Dad’s hand on his shoulder keeps him from completely knocking Ryland over, but they still manage to hug each other, clinging on tight.

“I’m gonna kill that kid, Ry, I swear,” Colt promises him. “I was so scared, you got so hurt—”

“It was so scary,” Ryland exclaims. “I didn’t want to be up that high, I shouldn’t have gone up there—”

“It’s not your fault—”

“He was already so mean and he started yelling at me—”

“You could’ve yelled for me—”

“Is that Ryland?” Court asks from inside the fort, coming spilling out a second later. “Oh, God— Ry, you okay?”

Ryland nods just as Court’s stumbling over to them, wrapping both of them up against him. Their Papa reaches down, says, “Hey, just go easy,” but Ryland keeps on hugging them back. When Holly joins them, he’s swallowed by the three of them, crushing him between them.

“You really freaked me out,” Holly tells him. She withdraws enough that the rest of them shuffle back a little, too. “Don’t do that again, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Ryland says. He rubs at one eye under his glasses with the back of his wrist before he yawns, and Colt reaches out to hug him again, half-dragging him towards the blanket fort.

“Look what I built,” Colt tells him, showing it off to him, opening up the little blanket-door he made in the tent. “And Court and Holly let me pick out any movies I wanted to pick, and we got you ice cream. I picked salted caramel for you.”

“That’s my favorite,” Ryland exclaims with delight. “You’re the best. I love you guys.”

“They gave him some painkillers, go easy on him,” Jackson explains to them. “Ry, hey, want to get comfy in there?”

“Yeah,” Ryland agrees, letting Colt guide him forward, hobbling when his wrapped-up knee bears any weight. “What movies did you pick?”

“I got five,” Colt tells him. “Dawn of the Dead, The Exorcist, Frankenstein, The Evil Dead, and… uhh… What was the last one?”

“Little Shop of Horrors,” Court answers.

“You know, your brothers are seven years old,” Jackson reminds them.

“We got Frankenstein,” Holly insists. “Besides, these movies aren’t that scary. They’re not stupid kids, they’ll be fine.”

“We already saw most of them anyway,” Colt replies.

“Okay, sorry, hold up, when?” Holland asks.

“Can we watch Dawn of the Dead first?” Ryland’s question is caught in another yawn as Colt leads him down into the pillows. Their Papa crouches down and fits himself in with them, guiding Ryland’s path, propping up another cushion behind him to keep him upright and yet another under his wrapped knee. He’s still moving all stiffly; Colt peers at him, wondering what bandages might be under his pajama shirt.

“Whatever you want, kid,” Jackson replies.

“Can I have ice cream, too?” Ryland asks. “Even though it’s late?”

Jackson gives him a playfully scolding look that just makes Ryland grin up at him, and Colt’s so glad his brother’s back with him and not screaming anymore that he can’t help smiling, too.

“Just this once,” Papa says before retreating. The blankets above him catch on his head, draping over him like scarves. “You want caramel?”

“Yes, please!” Ryland exclaims.

“And you’re comfortable? Does anything hurt?” Papa asks. Ryland just shakes his head. “You sure?”

“It’s a lot better now,” Ryland tells him, “I promise.”

Jackson eyes him again, but ultimately retreats. It’s just Colt and Ryland, for a moment; Court sets up the movie, Holly’s helping their parents with the ice cream, and Colt shuffles closer to Ryland, reaching out to hold onto his good hand.

Ryland looks at him through the thick lenses of his backup glasses. They make his eyes seem huge, especially this close-up, and they’re still his same eyes, even if the skin around them is all broken and bruised right now.

“I’m really sorry I didn’t catch you,” Colt apologizes. He can’t help but say it, even though it’s still making his insides hurt to think about. “I should’ve been there faster and caught you—”

“It’s okay,” Ryland stops him. “I’m sorry I fell. I tried not to, I just didn’t catch it.” His voice gets a little smaller; he glances over Colt’s shoulder towards the entrance to the blanket fort, then at Court. When he looks back to him, he admits, “It was really scary. I woke up and I felt like I couldn’t breathe and my head hurt so much. And then I could see my arm and—” He stops, gags, and shakes his head. “It was so scary, Colt.”

“I’m sorry,” Colt repeats, and Ryland shakes his head, and they’re folding into each other again, sideways-hugging inside their blanket fort.

“Ice cream time,” Dad calls as he squashes himself down to fit into the fort. He’s got a bowl in each hand; one goes to Ryland, and the other to Colt. “How are we feeling, boys?”

“Better,” Ryland answers. Colt nods his agreement, already shoving ice cream into his mouth. Balancing the bowl in his lap, Ryland tries to scoop one-handed; as soon as he starts struggling, Colt puts his own spoon down and leans over to take Ryland’s. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” Colt tells him. “I like mine meltier, anyway.”

Ryland hesitates, then lets Colt give him a spoonful. He smiles, even though his face is red, a little embarrassed.

“Incoming,” Holly says, squishing her way in. “Dad, here’s yours.”

“Yes, thank you,” Holland cheers as he claims his bowl. Court follows her, and Jackson after him, climbing up onto the sofa, the roof of the fort lifting with his head. They settle in in the darkness, the movie flickering to life on the screen, all of them ensconced in their little blanket fort. Ryland is packed in between them, at the center of their family within the pillows and cushions and draped quilts, being fed his ice cream while he pretends not to be scared by the movie playing.

Ryland gets comfortable, mostly-dozing, and long after their ice cream is gone, his head is on Colt’s shoulder. He keeps yawning, but he’s still clinging to wakefulness, shifting every few minutes.

Still, everyone else drops off first.

One by one, they all fall asleep. It’s been a long day— so long that it’s the next day, even, and Colt’s exhausted, but he’s one of the last two people awake.

They barely made it through Dawn of the Dead, everyone’s so tired. Colt glances at Ryland in the darkness to see if he’s still up when the movie comes to an end, and is surprised to find that he is, even if nobody else is. Papa is knocked sideways on the sofa, fast asleep, while Dad is sprawled in the pillows, Court’s head on his chest, the two of them just as gone. Holly’s curled up on her side, one hand halfway between herself and Ryland, and she’d been the last one before the twins were the only ones.

“Do you want to watch something else?” Colt asks him.

Ryland shakes his head. “I’m sleepy. We can watch more tomorrow. Maybe they’ll let us keep the fort up for another night.”

“Okay,” Colt whispers back to him. “Do you have to sleep sitting up like that?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Ryland tells him. “They put a bunch of wraps around my ribs. They still hurt.”

“Oh. Okay,” Colt says, shifting to sit up a little higher. “I’ll sleep sitting up, too.”

“You don’t have to,” Ryland replies.

Colt remembers how he’d felt when he heard Ryland first scream, and when he saw him fall, and when he couldn’t get to him in the hospital.

“I don’t mind,” Colt assures him. “It’s kinda fun.”

Ryland laughs under his breath as he curls up closer to him. Colt reaches out and takes his glasses off, setting them aside on the edge of the coffee table halfway inside the fort.

“Will you sign my cast tomorrow?” Ryland asks him.

“Yeah,” Colt replies. “First thing.”

Ryland nods, yawning again. The screen throws long shadows across the group of them, and when Ryland’s body grows heavy, Colt knows he’s finally let himself fall asleep. From Colt’s side of things, though— he’s too glad to have him home, brain moving too fast to really get all the way back to sleep just yet, heart beating even faster.

Just to remind himself that Ryland’s really okay, he reaches down and holds his hand again. Ryland’s fingers twitch in his, and Colt lets his head rest against his twin’s, the static screen ahead hypnotizing him into sleep while he feels Ryland’s pulse thrum steadily under his hold, and he doesn’t let go. It’ll be a long time before he thinks he’ll be willing to let go again.