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Ryland walks down the aisle of the bus, doing his best to move quickly without drawing attention to himself.
He nearly lets himself believe he'll make it out the door without incident when suddenly a foot juts into the aisle and he trips, his head colliding painfully with the corner of a seat. He scrambles to grab onto it before he falls the rest of the way to the floor and just hangs there for a second, regaining his bearings. The sound of kids laughing filters in and he forces himself to stand. He makes his way to the front, trying not to fumble as his vision struggles to right itself.
"You alright kid?” The bus driver asks when Ryland finally makes it to the door. “Looked like you hit your head pretty hard back there, gotta be more careful." He's a nice guy, but not a very observant one.
"Yes, sir. I'm fine," Ryland replies. He picks up his pace, mindful of the steps but desperately hoping to avoid the conversation he could feel rushing up behind him.
No luck.
"Ryland, hey. . . Ry would you slow down?" Colt calls, jogging up behind him.
Knowing there was no sense trying to outpace Colt, Ryland slows his feet, secretly thankful for the reprieve as he begins to become aware of the ache building in his head.
"Are you okay?"
Ryland nods, not turning to look at his brother.
"Hey," Colt says, grabbing Ryland's shoulder. His grip is soft but firm, more grounding than stern. "Look at me, please?"
Ryland closes his eyes for a moment. He sighs and slowly turns, responding. "I'm fine, Colt. Just caught me off guard."
"I'm gonna kill that kid," Colt growls under his breath, fire building behind his eyes. "You've already got the start of a bruise, probably a concussion too if I had to guess."
Ryland can't help but roll his eyes as he turns away again, hoping that by some miracle Colt might drop it. "I didn't hit my head that hard. I'm fine." Even as he says it, he knows it's not entirely true. The aforementioned ache has since blossomed into a full blown headache, though Ryland has definitely had worse.
Colt runs a hand through his hair, tugging at it a little. He takes a deep, steadying breath before responding, "I could hear your head hit the seat from halfway down the bus, Ry. Please, be honest with me. I'm just worried.”
Ryland turns again to meet Colt's gaze, reeling as the speed of his movement has his brain struggling to catch up. "I think we should sit for a minute," he says breathlessly, and Colt is instantly there, hands gently guiding him to the ground.
Colt takes a seat in the grass right next to him as Ryland slowly draws his knees up to his chest and rests his head between them.
Colt waits as Ryland just sits like that for a while, taking slow deliberate breaths in an attempt to ease the vertigo.
"Ry?"
"Sorry, just. . . Everything started spinning all of a sudden."
"It's okay, take your time." Colt places a hand on Ryland's back, rubbing slow circles. "Do you need me to get Court?"
"No!" Ryland shouts, quickly following up with a groan as he briefly tenses beneath Colt's touch. "No," he tries again, much quieter this time, "he's got enough to deal with. Just give me a couple minutes."
"Okay."
~~~~~
He's waiting in the kitchen, watching the birds flying over the hillside. Sometimes he wishes he could taste that kind of freedom, the way they glide through the air like it takes no effort at all.
The twins are running late, they should have been home at least ten minutes ago. Courtland is doing his best not to worry when he finally sees them slowly making their way to the house. He walks out to greet them.
“How was. . . school,” he begins, trailing off as he notices the darkening skin of Ryland's temple. It's hard to tell if the bruising is fresh or just minor. He draws his brows together in concern, asking, “Ryland, what happened?”
His younger brother looks down towards his feet as they shuffle on the concrete of the patio.
“He tripped getting off the bus,” Colt answers for him. Ryland shoots his twin a look that Court assumes is meant to shut the other boy up. It never works. “He's a little embarrassed about it. Hit his head pretty good on the way down.”
Courtland nods as he kneels to meet Ryland's eyes, still focused intently on the ground beneath his feet. “Can I take a look at it?”
Ryland seems to consider for a few moments before nodding, still not saying a word.
“Why don't you take a seat on the stoop?” Courtland turns, glances into the kitchen to make sure it's empty, then says, “Colt, go grab the first aid kit, just in case.”
Colt nods and ducks into the house, glancing back at Ryland just before he disappears through the doorway.
“How's your head? You nauseous?” Court asks as he slowly leans forward to gently brush Ryland's hair out of the way to get a better look at the forming bruise.
“Hurts a little, not bad,” Ryland says, voice soft. “I was a little dizzy right after, but I think I'm okay now.”
Courtland bites his lip as he considers his brother's symptoms. A minor headache is to be expected, it's mainly the dizziness that concerns him. He knows Ryland has a tendency to downplay things as well, but for the time being Court decides to take him at his word. “Promise to tell me if you get dizzy again, or if the pain gets any worse?”
Ryland presses two fingers to his heart, their version of a pinky swear. Just then Colt reappears with the first aid kit in hand, along with a small bottle of water that he places in Ryland's lap.
Courtland meets Colt's eyes over Ryland's head. Colt shakes his head minutely, Court gives him a curt nod in response before turning his attention back to Ryland. “When we go inside we'll get you an ice pack. It should help keep the swelling to a minimum. Your hair will cover it well enough, just try not to draw attention.”
Ryland nods, taking a sip of the water Colt had handed him. He looks past his brother toward the hillside, watching as the stalks of long grass sway gently in the breeze.
“I'll get dinner started, how bout you boys go wash up and then set the table.”
~~~~~
“Come ‘ere, boy,” his father calls as Ryland gets up from the table, about to take his dishes to the kitchen sink. He can feel every muscle spring to attention as he turns slowly towards the man, his body tense, fighting every move, screaming at him to run but he doesn't. He walks over to the head of the table, gaze staring straight ahead but not focusing on anything.
From the corner of his eye he can see Courtland straighten up in his seat as Ryland stops in front of their father, not looking down but not quite meeting his eyes, either.
A rough, calloused hand reaches forward, pushing Ryland's hair aside with more force than was necessary. He gestures to the bruise, asking, “what happened here?”
Ryland opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn't know what to say. Too many thoughts flitting through his head. He tries to catch the right one, but he doesn't know which it is. They all fight to get out, lodging themselves in his throat. For a moment he feels like he's going to choke on them, his breath hitching.
“He tripped,” Colt says for him, and suddenly Ryland can breathe again.
Their father's hand slams down on the table, and Ryland flinches before he can catch himself. The motion causes his head to bump into his father's hand and he has to bite back a whimper as pain ripples through the tender skin. “Use your own words, boy!” His father shouts at him. Ryland bites his cheek hard enough to draw blood, but at least he manages not to flinch a second time.
“I tr-tripped,” he stutters out.
“You tripped,” his father repeats, unimpressed. “Why?”
Ryland doesn't really understand the question. He doesn't know what his father is searching for, what he wants to hear.
He realizes he's taken too long to respond when he feels the coarse, dry skin of his father's boney hand grab his cheeks, digging into the flesh a little as he forcefully jerks Ryland's head to meet his gaze. “Don't make me ask again.”
“It–someone's foot–in the aisle. It was an accident.” Ryland spits out in a panic.
His father grumbles as he lets go of Ryland's face. Slumping back into his chair he says, “Maybe that'll teach you to be more observant. People wouldn't be trying to trip you if you weren't so soft.”
Ryland can't see Colt from where he's standing, but he can feel the change in the air behind him. He turns his head slowly, just enough to see where Colt is still sitting, his hands on the table, weight shifted forward just slightly.
Before Colt can make a move, Courtland gently places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Colt shifts his weight back into his chair. He keeps his hands on the table.
“You got something to say, boy?” Father asks as he straightens his spine, locking eyes with Colt.
Ryland makes eye contact with his twin, eyes shining as he silently begs Colt to back down.
“No, sir.” Colt responds, bowing his head slightly as he finally lowers his hands.
Their father stands, slowly circling his chair. “You sure about that?” He asks, a hint of challenge.
Courtland stands next, his movements slow and measured. He holds their father's gaze as he addresses the twins, saying, “boys, I believe there's washing that needs doing. Best get to it.”
Ryland and Colt beeline out of the dining room as their father rounds on Courtland.
“Mind your place boy,” they hear him growl. The rest of the words are lost to them as they enter the kitchen, too far away now to make them out clearly.
Ryland doesn't stop moving until he makes it to the sink. He holds on to the metal edge with two trembling hands as the conversation in the other room becomes a shouting match.
Too loud, too fast, the words jumble together. He can't make it out. He doesn't know what they're saying. He needs to know, it's his fault, he needs to fix it.
He can't catch his breath as he sinks to the ground, turning so his back leans up against the cabinet. The voices fade into the background as he tries to remember how to breathe. It's too loud, everything is too loud–his breathing, the way his heart pounds in his ears. Above it all, he hears the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. He starts to rock back and forth, still trembling hands wrapping around his middle, trying to hold himself together.
Suddenly, there's warmth. He looks down at Colt's hands on his shoulders, looks up into his brother's eyes as he leans into Ryland's personal space. His eyes well, blurring Colt's face, but Ryland can still make out Colt's smile. Something soft and gentle, just for him.
Colt reaches out and places Ryland's headphones over his ears. “Don't think about it. You're safe, I've got you. Dry for me, okay?” He asks, holding out a dish towel.
Ryland nods, listening as the sound of ocean waves begins playing through the headphone speakers. He closes his eyes and breathes, in like the waves, out with the tide. After a minute, he feels steady enough to stand. He takes the towel from Colt, and together they clean the dishes and pretend they're the only people in the world.
~~~~~
Colt stands in the doorway of their room, blocking Ryland's exit. "We need to talk about it, Ry," he said for the second time that morning.
"Just let it go Colt." Ryland begs, sitting back down on his bed. "Please."
"The hell I will!" Colt yells.
Ryland flinches at the volume and intensity of Colt's words, still not meeting his eyes.
Colt feels immediate guilt for having raised his voice. "Last time this kid started with you, you asked me to let it go, you remember?" Colt asks him, quieter this time, softer. He waits for Ryland to nod before continuing, "I listened, because you were scared. You didn't want me to get involved and make it worse. In case you haven't noticed, this is worse." Colt tries to keep his tone calm and even as he gestures to Ryland's bruise.
"It was an accident,” Ryland reiterates, voice barely audible, hesitant in a way that makes Colt think his twin is trying to convince both of them.
Fighting back a groan, Colt responds for what feels like the millionth time, "I know you don't believe that.” He has to find a new line of reasoning, they can't keep going around in endless circles. "Even if you do, that doesn't matter.” He pauses, making sure Ryland is listening before continuing, “any decent person would have apologized, or at the very least made sure you were okay, especially if they hadn't intended to hurt you."
Ryland picks at the skin around his nails, and Colt knows he'd rather be doing anything else than having this conversation. He lets the silence stretch out, making itself comfortable. He doesn't want to push, but he feels like he's missing something important.
"Ryland, please " Colt kneels down in front of his twin, reaching a hand out slowly, giving Ryland plenty of time to move away. When he doesn't, Colt pushes his chin up softly, guiding Ryland's gaze up to meet his. "I don't understand what it is you're so afraid of. Help me."
Tears well in Ryland's eyes and before Colt can react his twin is rushing forward to meet him in a tight embrace, his hands fisting into Colt's shirt as he whispers, “I'm scared you'll end up like Court. I don't need you to protect me, I just need you to be safe.”
Colt feels his brother's words like a shot straight to his heart. He knew it weighed heavily on Ryland, the way Courtland put himself in the line of fire again and again, taking the lashings their father dished out to spare the two of them. Last night's bout certainly hadn't helped.
He thinks about the vacant look in Ryland's eyes as Colt had led him up to bed. He drifted on autopilot, trusting Colt to get him where he needed to go, to keep him safe. Colt always wondered where Ryland's mind went when he got like that. He hoped it was somewhere pleasant, somewhere far away.
Courtland came in to check on them eventually. He'd had a fresh bandage wrapped around his bicep, the edges of it just peeking out beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. Ryland had cried and apologized and Courtland had done his best to assure them both that he was fine.
“I won't,” Colt finally responds, just as quietly.
Ryland looks at him then. He smiles, a small and wobbly thing, but Colt can see the fear still clinging on in way he holds his shoulders just a little tighter, the way his smile doesn't quite touch his eyes.
“How about this,” Colt begins, “I won't start shit. But if he so much as looks at you funny, I'm sure as hell going to finish it. He's already proven he's willing to hurt you. I'm not letting him have another chance. Fair?”
Ryland still didn't seem particularly thrilled about the idea, but Colt knew it was a fair compromise.
“Promise me you won't take it too far,” Ryland says.
“I promise.”