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Colt was used to getting into situations. His whole job was getting into situations, when broken down.
But usually the situations he got into were a little bit of fun and adrenaline rush, at the very least. A controlled chaos for his stunt work; getting set on fire, thrown into rocks or being pushed out of a driving car while trusting the team to have his back, to have taken all necessary safety measures. Maybe a slightly less controlled and more reckless kind of chaos if he felt himself getting antsy in his free-time, felt himself getting that itch to do something, restless energy coursing through him and searching for an outlet.
There was nothing fun about the situation Colt currently found himself in.
He could almost hear Rylands scoff, had his younger brother been privy to that thought. He’d most certainly say something like “There’s never anything fun about the things you do!”, worrywart that he was.
Though he had to give it to his not actually currently present twin – this situation, at least, certainly was something to be worried about.
Because Colt was, at the moment, tied to a chair, face bloody and body certainly at the very least bruised from the beatings he’d taken throughout the day.
And in front of him stood none other than Tom Ryder, along with his team of loyal henchmen.
Of fucking course. What else could this day have led to.
Maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through his veins, or maybe he’d taken one too many hits to the head, but part of Colt couldn’t really comprehend what was happening at the moment. Something wasn’t computing. It was like a numbness. A buzzing, spreading in his hands and arms and lips and ears, almost like an extra layer separating him from the current happenings. As if things were happening in slow-motion, as if the signals from and to his brain needed to ward through a thick sludge first before reaching him. He could feel a shaky exhale leaving him, uncomfortable with how aware of it he was, how it left his mouth feeling cold and wet and seemed to echo in his ears, heavy and distorted.
Then, Ryder spoke, and Colt felt his world zeroing back in.
“Listen, I’m gonna need the phone. Where is it?”
The words were almost bored-sounding, spoken in such a leisurely way that Colt thought he might start hysterically giggling, for a moment, just from the absurdity of it all. Instead, he gathered the blood that had collected in his mouth and spit it out. A bad aftertaste remained.
Ryder continued.
“It’s a matter of urgency. I need to know.”
Ryder was wearing a fucking bathrobe, of all things, which hung open and showcased his chest and abs. He was also wearing orange-tinted sunglasses, the asshole, as if it wasn’t currently the middle of the night.
Colt could suddenly understand why Jody and Ryland had kept making fun of him that one time. It’d been during the project that ultimately ended up destroying him in a way that he still hadn’t fully come back from (that he maybe never would, but he couldn’t think about that, couldn’t afford to spiral, not right now), but before the accident, his fall, had happened. The crew had decided to party a bit that night, to go out together and have fun, and Colt had made sure to invite Ryland along.
Ryland had been well known by the whole crew at that point. Call it co-dependency, but no matter the gig, if possible Colt always made sure to have Ryland visit him on set. He enjoyed using the various props that could always be found on a set to prank and startle his scaredy cat of a brother. He enjoyed having him there to talk to in his breaks. He enjoyed listening to Ryland complain about scientific inaccuracies in the movies he was shooting. He enjoyed the obvious awe he could see when Ryland watched him do his stunts, even now that they’re older never quite having stopped being the younger brother that reveres his cool, invincible older brother. Enjoyed his soft worry and steady support that didn’t come with any mockery when a stunt did leave him shakier than usual – unnoticed by the crew, most of the time, but never by Ryland, who’d never been fooled by any of Colts facades, even in moments when Colt had thought he’d wanted him to be.
The crew had wanted to party. Jody had wanted to party, which meant Colt had definitely wanted to party as well. Which meant Ryland had had no choice but to join, because Colt was always ready to drag him out to a social gathering of any kind. Someone had to drag him away from his work and research and make sure he still had a social life, after all.
And maybe Colt had wanted to make sure he’d look cool and attractive in front of Jody. Maybe meaning certainly. Meaning definitely. And he’d remembered Toms insistence on sunglasses being a must when going out, that they made one look mysterious and laid-back, that it was part of having an aura.
This hadn’t led to Jody swooning at him from afar, but rather to Jody and Ryland taking one look at him stumbling his way to the table (fashionably late, as opposed to Ryland who’d been unfashionably on time for the meet up), sunglasses unfortunately not helping his coordination in the already dark bar, and immediately bursting into cracking laughter.
He was pretty sure they’d had tears in their eyes from all the laughing.
The rest of the night had been spent with Ryland and Jody teaming up against him, making jabs at him, and Colt grumbling, pretending to be annoyed or overtly hurt.
It’d been one of the best nights of his life. Seeing Jody, who’d already started to become so important to him, and Ryland, the only family he had, get along so well. Being able to just sit there, and be together with them.
He wanted more days and nights and whatever he could have like that one. But for that, he needed to make it out of this first.
Staring at the douche in sunglasses standing in front of him, Colt nodded, clearing his throat, tone flat. “Right. The phone. The one that proves that you killed Henry, not me. That Phone. Yeah, I’m gonna hold on to that. Seems like it’s the only thing keeping me alive right now.”
Ryder let out a sigh, as if all of this was a terrible inconvenience for him, and drew a hand over his face before sitting down next to Colt.
The henchmen remained standing, circled around them. Ryder turned to face Colt, something frustrated in his expression.
“What went wrong?”
Once again, Colt had to stop himself from scoffing or straight up laughing at the audacity of the man next to him. His agitation was building, and it took much restraint to keep his legs still, to not whip them up and down with the newfound energy building inside of him, fueled by the frustration, betrayal and unfairness of it all, as well as the devastating wish to make it out of there, to get more time with Jody and Ryland and Dan, with his people. To not have it be forever cut short here.
Still, he couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice when he replied “What went wrong? Well as I look at it, you know you’re – you’re torturing me right outside your superyacht like a Bond villain, dipshit! What went wrong? What went right?!”
The last part came out as a yell, Colt struggling in his chair and turning to look at Ryder, to try and make eye contact, look through the idiotic sunglasses and catch any glimpse of regret, or empathy. Of a soul.
Instead, Ryder sighed, the exhale exaggerated and disappointed, accompanied by a shake of his head. “You changed.”
Colt felt his shoulders drop, any last hope of maybe being able to get through to Ryder vanishing.
He turned his gaze away, not able to keep looking at this man he’d once almost considered a friend, something in his throat constricting.
Ryder continued, doubling down, and Colt swallowed down the nausea climbing up his throat.
“You changed,” Ryder said, and it almost sounded like he believed it, “We were tight, you and I. Entered into the sacred bond of actor and stuntman, man.”
Colt couldn’t help but mutter “Oh god”, wishing his hands were free not just so that he’d be able to escape but also so that he’d be able to bury his face in them in frustration. God. He suddenly felt ten times more admiration for whatever his brother must go through in parent-teacher-conferences, when talking to stubborn parents, or when talking to some of the entitled scholars in his research field.
Colt had yet to meet an academic that didn’t seem to look down on him and his brother in some kind of way. He didn’t really care what they thought of him, had his own opinion on most of the privileged snobs. They ran in different circles, had different priorities. That was fine. What he couldn’t take was them looking down on Ryland. As if he wasn’t smarter than the lot of them combined. As if his upbringing, his lack of esteemed background, was a detriment to him. As if the fact that he taught middle schoolers when he wasn’t working on his research was a sign of wasted potential, instead of the inherent kindness and endless patience Ryland carried. Ryland had never made Colt feel stupid, or less than, even though he definitely wasn’t as book-smart as his twin. He’d never grown frustrated when Colt hadn’t gotten something, instead searching for other ways to make him understand. Had never shamed him for the way his attention would sometimes shift, or for the restlessness that always seemed to accompany him.
Ryland was born to be a teacher, and every time Colt saw him in action, be it with his kids or Colt himself, he was further convinced of this fact. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he also could’ve used a teacher like Ryland, that it might’ve made some things easier.
Ryder, uncaring of Colts wandering thoughts and split attention, was still holding his monologue, bemoaning the break of their “sacred bond”, and Colt forced himself to tune back in.
“How many movies have we done? How many? Too many to count, that’s right. Cause I put you in the contract, didn’t I? Ryder’s number one stuntman, Colt Seavers. That was me, I did that. For you.”
Colt nodded along, fighting hard not to roll his eyes. He didn’t want to aggravate the concussion he probably had any more than necessary. He was sensible like that.
“What are you gonna do for me, huh?”
Colt didn’t even have it in him to scoff, instead just turning back to look into Ryders eyes, expression flat. “Die, I guess? Right? Is that the plan?”
Ryder stood up. “It’s nothing personal”
“Yeah, well, I am taking it personal. The torture, the drugging, the taser…”
“It’s not, you know? It’s just business. I mean, Tom Ryder’s a global brand.”
This time, Colt did scoff, shaking his head. “You’re fucking crazy.”
Ryder just stilled, looking at him coldly. “Colt. Where’s the phone?”
A laugh bubbled up, hysteria finally making its way, and Colt couldn’t help but wonder if this was what happened to movie stars who took their diet and workout routine one step too far. “Tom you – you need carbs! Your brain runs on glucose! You need them for simple cognitive functions! Go take five minutes and eat some bread!”
Ryder didn’t budge. “Where’s the phone?”, he repeated, and sighed when Colt kept silent as an answer. He pinched the bridge of his nose for a second, before once again staring at Colt. His voice suddenly having a new undertone, one that Colt couldn’t immediately place but that seemed to make the back of his neck tingle, that made the hair on his arms stand up. Something dangerous, something more quiet in its darkness than what he’d shown so far.
“You know, Colt, you’re the fall guy. I mean, we both know you can keep taking hits all night, but not everyone can. I can think of a few people who can’t. We could bring Dan up here, maybe. Jody, perhaps. Maybe even…”
Ryder stayed silent, for a moment, eyes intense as he looked at the tied up stuntman, and Colt felt the absence of the name like a punch, immediately knowing who the actor was hinting at.
“You wouldn’t”, he said, voice almost breathless with the sudden onset of panic he felt, “you – you can’t! He’s not even here, I didn’t even invite him to the set this time!”
And it was true, because for all that Ryland had encouraged him to get himself out there again, especially with Jody being the director, he’d known it wasn’t easy for him to do so. That part of him hadn’t wanted Colt to go back and try again, not after the accident. He hadn’t wanted to make this harder for Ryland by actually having to witness his return to stunt work, and had as such opted for not taking him to set, this time, even if it was hard for himself and had left him feeling wrong-footed on set for another reason. Had opted for just texting, calling and face-timing, because distance didn’t stop Ryland from worrying. The opposite, it made it even easier for him to do. And while it was hard for Colt as well, he’d actually been glad about his decision when things started to get messier, glad to know that Ryland was safe, far away from whatever dangerous mess Colt had somehow gotten involved in.
But Ryder just sighed again, shaking his head, the motion slow, almost gentle in its mock-sincerity. “I didn’t want to do this, okay? But you didn’t leave me a choice. This is your fault, for never being satisfied with what you get. For always needing to make a big scene wherever you go.”
Colt felt like a bucket of ice had been thrown on him, heart simultaneously slowing and beating so hard it hurt, a sinking sensation in his limbs. “No”, he hitched out, breathing ragged, “don’t- don’t tell me you brought him into this. Please. Don’t”
But Tom only looked at him for another second, before turning to his henchmen, clapping his hands together. “Bring him on deck”.
This wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real.
Colt had the sudden, childish urge to close his eyes, to look away. To hope that if he didn’t see it, it wouldn’t be happening. That if he just closed his eyes long enough, the next time he’d open them he’d be somewhere else, maybe at home, in bed with a still sleeping Jody while he could already hear Ryland making breakfast in the kitchen downstairs, up early as always. That all of this would prove to be nothing but a bad dream.
Instead, he watched two of the henchmen head below deck. Colt couldn’t look away. He was dimly aware of Ryder watching him, but his only focus was the place the henchmen had disappeared to. He couldn’t hear anything safe for his own panting raggedy breaths and the way his heart beat against his chest.
Colt wasn’t sure how much time had passed. It could’ve been minutes or hours, seconds or years. But the henchmen emerged again, dragging along none other than Ryland.
Ryland. His twin. His younger brother.
Ryland.
Colts eyes found Rylands. They were wide and fearful. Terrified.
Static filled Colts head like cotton, a sharp and sting-like sound reverberating through his ears. Then, something in Colt cracked, as if a switch had been flipped.
“Get your fucking hands off of him!”, he yelled, struggling against his bonds with a renewed fervor, barely noticing that one of the henchmen had started to hold him down by his shoulders, as if they’d anticipated this reaction, “He’s got nothing to do with this! Let him go, Tom, or I swear to god-“
His voice was loud and frayed, cracking at the edges under the brunt of his anger, but Ryder only tsked, ever so calm. As if they were having a silly little dispute. As if Colt was a child, behaving unruly. As if he wasn’t currently threatening one of the people most important to Colt.
Ryder snapped his fingers, and the loyally trained henchmen forced Ryland down on a chair, in front of Cole so that he was facing his twin. Rylands hands were bound in front of him, rope and duct tape keeping his wrists tightly pressed together. A bruise was marring the left side of his face, high on his cheekbone, and there was a bit of dried blood under his nose. They didn’t bother tying him to the chair, instead having one of the henchmen stand behind him, tightly keeping him pressed down by his shoulders.
Colt could see Ryland trembling under the touch. It made him pull against his own bonds again, snap at the henchman holding him down, instinct acting against the knowledge that it was futile.
Rylands voice was quiet, yet it still cut through the noise, straight to Colt.
“I – I’m okay, Colt. I’m fine, okay?”
Rylands voice was almost steady, but Colt knew him well enough to detect its tremble, to detect the underlying fear. Ryland was trying to be brave, to reassure him, even though he was the reason he was in danger in the first place, and it made Colt want to sob.
Instead, Colt took as much of a breath as he could manage at the moment, and tried to steady his own voice, making sure to keep eye contact with Ryland. “No, Ry, you’re not. But you will be. I’ll get us out of here, okay?”
He saw Ryland exhale, shaky, before forming a very sorry excuse of a smile and nodding at him. It was such a bad deception of an expression that it almost made Colt huff out a laugh – his brother had always been good at most things, certainly better than him at plenty, but he’d never managed to get even close to Colts talent of putting on a mask and performing.
Ryder chose that moment to clear his throat, pulling the twins’ attention back to him, and Colt tensed when the actor settled down next to Ryland.
“What a nice reunion! I did always say Ryland here could jump in as a body double if I’d ever need to write down equations or some shit, didn’t I?” Ryder said, giving two light, condescending taps to Rylands cheek, who flinched from the touch.
The move made Colt growl, almost, a defensive noise escaping from deep within. He didn’t want Ryders hands anywhere near his brother. “Don’t touch him”, he hissed, again trying to pull away from his restraints.
Ryder ignored him. He took a firm hold of Rylands face, instead, fingers squeezing into his jaw and slowly turning his head from side to side, inspecting him. Colt tracked the movement, saw how Ryland tried to keep his gaze focused on him but ultimately ended up closing his eyes, a continuous tremble running through his form.
“You know,” the actor said, still gazing at Ryland with an intensity that made Colts blood boil, “He kinda looks like you, Colt. I mean, I know you’re twins, not like you ever let anyone forget about that, but damn. There really is a similarity. Which means that he sometimes also kinda looks like me, doesn’t it?”
Colt snorted wetly, though there was no humor in the sound. “He looks nothing like you, you asshole.”
Ryder didn’t pay any mind to the interjection. “You’re both way stupider than me, though. Isn’t he supposed to be the smart one?” he said, momentarily looking at Colt before turning back to Ryland, tightening the grip on his face. “Aren’t you?” he repeated, shaking Rylands face a bit.
Ryland, though his trembling hadn’t stopped, just glared at the actor without answering, and Colt felt a small surge of pride. Because yes, Ry may be a scaredy cat but he was not a pushover, and he’d never taken kindly to someone insinuating Colt was less smart, even if it was the truth.
It made Tom chuckle, for some reason, and the actor released his grip on Rylands face, giving him another light pat to the cheek before standing up and facing both of the brothers. One henchman each remained standing behind Ryland and Colt, securing them; the rest was gathered behind Ryder, forming a half circle around them.
“You both are definitely the same kind of stubborn. It’s cute. Or it would be, if it wasn’t so fucking annoying.” He turned towards Colt, nodding his head in Rylands direction. “Do you know how hard it was to get a hold of him? Dude didn’t return any of my calls. Blocked my number after telling me to fuck off because of how I treated you. Can you believe that? Blocking Superstar Tom Ryders number, for you?”
Ryder let out a scoff, and moved so that he stood behind Ryland, the henchman who’d previously been holding him down swiftly moving away, but remaining close.
The actor ruffled through Rylands hair, the action forceful and mocking, before leaning forward, hands clasping his shoulders, grip tight.
Colt could see Ryland tense with the unwanted contact, posture stiff. He was dimly aware that he was pulling against his own restraints with such force that the skin of his wrists had begun to break, blood dripping down. He didn’t let it show on his face, instead trying to portray calmness, to be a grounding presence for his brother.
Ryder continued. “But Gail had an idea. You remember Gail? She’s smart. Sneaked Jody’s phone when it was her turn for karaoke and sent off a text to him. Told him you were in trouble, and that you needed his help. He came running immediately. All we had left to do was grab him.”
Colt had to close his eyes for a moment, because of course Ryland did. He hadn’t been able to call him the last few days, with this whole mess, so he must’ve been worried already anyways. And he’d had no reason to distrust a text coming from Jody. They’d been close, Ryland and Jody, or had started to become it, at the very least, before the fall happened and Colt had shut down.
He should’ve just invited Ryland with him to the set, like always. Or should’ve at least told him that something weird was going on. That something dangerous was closing in. Maybe then Ryland would’ve questioned the text, would’ve been more cautious. Maybe then Ryland would be safe right now, instead of sitting across from him, tied up and bruised and bloody and scared.
Or maybe his brothers involvement had been inevitable. Because they’d both always been reckless about each other, always ready to throw themselves into the fire if it meant the other would be fine. Which meant that Ryland would’ve followed that text even if he’d known that something was up. Which meant that Colt had already doomed his brother from the very start, when he’d taken this job. It was his fault. His fault that Ryland was hurt, that he was in danger, that-
Ryders voice broke through Colts downward spiral. “It was cute. He’s like… a puppy, or something. He always kind of was, the way he followed you around on set. A loyal pup. Always liked that about him.”
The actor sighed heavily. “I really didn’t want to have to do this. But you left me no choice. I swear it’s not personal. I mean hell, you were my best stuntman!”
Colt snapped.
“You kidnapped my brother!”, he exploded, voice tight and raw and loud, “I don’t fucking care what you do to me, but that makes it personal, you asshole, fuck you!”
The outburst earned him a stinging slap from the henchman closest to him, and he had to spit out a new wad of blood. It made Ryland flinch – Ryland, who’d always been there with band-aids and bandages when they’d been small and Colt had climbed on trees only to fall off of them, when he’d run too fast and ended up tripping. Ryland, who, whenever he was there, still wanted to assess him after his stunts, wanted to make sure that he really was fine and not stupidly hiding anything, who still put band-aids on his scratches and made bad jokes while doing that, as if Colt was as prone to bursting into tears as he’d been as a boy. Ryland, who used to cry himself when he applied the band-aids and bandages because he hated it so much when Colt got hurt, who still worried about him, even now that Colt had made a career out of getting hurt.
He shouldn’t have to witness this. He shouldn’t be here, at all – he should be safe and far away, preparing something for his students while complaining to Colt about mundane things that didn’t matter at all.
Ryder was undeterred by the interruption. “I told you. Tom Ryder’s a global brand. I mean, I literally move markets. If I go down, the freaking Dow goes down. If you break your back, I replace you like this. Boom.” He snapped his fingers at the last part, and while it probably shouldn’t have, it still managed to tear at something tender within Colt, something that made him glance away from the actor for a second before refocusing.
It also made Ryland straighten, eyes narrowing and jaw tightening. Anger – true anger – was an emotion only rarely worn by Ryland, but Colt had no trouble recognizing it. Strangely enough, it managed to ground him again, the sight of Ryland angry for him, the protective glint in his eyes. It made it easier to listen to Toms words without letting them sting. Or at least not as much.
Ryders voice was grating in its evenness, its casualness. “You know Colt, if you’d just stuck to your job instead of trying to hog the spotlight, this wouldn’t have happened. I mean, Henry wouldn’t have been on the scene, his accident wouldn’t have happened, your accident… freaky little fall, ‘cause you just push my buttons, man.”
Ice running through his veins, Colt started to mumble out a numb “Wait a second-“, but was cut off by his brothers voice.
“What?”
Rylands voice was firm, edged like sharpened glass. A brewing storm, waiting to happen.
Tom didn’t pick up on it. He sighed, apparently inconvenienced again, and drawled out “What?”
Ryland didn’t raise his voice, not yet, but there was something intense in his quietness, something that didn’t need loudness to make itself known. “What did you say about his accident?”
Colt thought he saw one of the henchmen shift, and he would’ve laughed at the fact that his brother – caring, sweet, awkward Ryland – had apparently managed to intimidate such a bulk of a man, if he wasn’t still reeling himself at what Tom was saying. What he was confessing.
If Rylands tone made Tom hesitate, he didn’t let it show – all those acting awards weren’t for nothing, after all.
“Well, you know, he pushed me over the edge. Colt literally pushed a button. I mean, he didn’t. I pushed the button. I had to crank it up a notch.”
“That was you?” Colt breathed out, wishing desperately that he wasn’t still surprised by the casual cruelty of the man before him, that he’d been ready for the gut punch of a confirmation. But he hadn’t been.
Ryder nodded, making a half-aborted gesture at Colt. “Yeah. Had to teach you a little lesson, didn’t I? Got-“
“You fucking monster!”, Ryland snarled, and in any other situation Colt would’ve been surprised by the curse, “How dare you, you – you dipshit!”, definitely got that one from Colt, “you’re such a fucking hypocrite, when I get my hands on you-“
Ryland was struggling now – he’d started to stand up, as if he’d wanted to make true on his not yet spoken threat, and had promptly been pushed down again by the henchman that had been monitoring him. He wasn’t letting up, though; something wild and ferocious in the way he fought against the henchman’s hold, throwing himself from side to side, away from and against the man, biting into his arm when he got the chance, the man giving a short yell when Ryland actually managed to draw blood, all in a bid to get to the man who’d hurt Colt.
Ryland was a sweet man. Calm and patient, if you weren’t a dickhead. Cautious, often times. He didn’t like confrontation – had never liked it, not even when they were children, didn’t revel in pushing against strict boundaries and being annoying like Colt sometimes did. But rarely was he a pushover, and certainly never when it was about Colt.
So yes, although rare, this wasn’t the first time Colt had seen such uncharacteristic fury from his brother, broiling and scorching in its strive to protect him.
He’d witnessed flickers of it whenever someone seemed to dismiss Colt as stupid and a troublemaker, as someone who didn’t have any worthwhile thoughts to share. Ryland had always been quick to jump to his defense, even when Colt himself didn’t particularly care. Pointing out the thought process that had to go into some of Colts trickier stunts. Making pointed observations about the commenter that sometimes turned so bitchy that Colt had to turn away and hide his giggle or flat out laugh. Writing a whole article disproving someone’s thesis and life work because they’d sneered at Colt.
He’d seen its full brunt before, on a set. Colt had still been rather new to the business, back then, barely a handful of projects under his belt. It had been a low budget project, a director with a big vision and even bigger dreams, and Colt had made sure to put his all into his stunts, because he understood something about dreaming above your station. The rest of the crew was a more mixed bag, though. Some only doing the bare minimum. Some less. One of those had been the stunt coordinator. He’d been careless, a textbook example of why cheaping out on crew wasn’t always the best course of action. Ryland had immediately disliked him when he hadn’t even greeted Colt like a person, but instead treated him like a prop. Had sniped and muttered to Colt about the guys entitlement, about how he wasn’t taking Colts safety – or the safety of anyone else, for that matter – seriously. It’d come to a head when, during a scene with a prop gun, Colt had actually been hit and promptly passed out. The damage hadn’t been harrowing, luckily, though he did have to deal with bruised ribs for a while. He’d only been passed out for a few seconds, a minute at most, but he’d come to to the visual of multiple crew members trying and failing to hold a feral Ryland back from jumping on the coordinator, eyes ablaze with rage, voice cracking under its weight as he’d yelled out threats.
He’d experienced it himself, once. Only once. When he’d still been at the beginning of recovering from his fall (not an accident, a targeted attack-), and had done his best to waste away in his home. He’d finally managed to drive Jody away by that point, and hadn’t taken any of Rylands calls in days. Hadn’t opened the door for him. Hadn’t done anything, truly. And then Ryland had burst into his room, having used the emergency key Colt had already forgotten about. He’d tried to get him to eat. To take a walk together, Colt in his wheelchair. To watch a show together. To do his exercises. Anything. And Colt had denied him, had instead mumbled that it didn’t matter if he did his exercises because he’d never be Colt Seavers, number one stuntman, again, and that it was better to just let things end as they were now before it got embarrassing.
Ryland had given him the lecture of a lifetime. It had been the first and only time he’d ever raised his voice at Colt, and it’d boomed with anger and worry and fear. His yells, telling Colt that he was selfish and a twat and that if he wanted to get better he’d need to work on it, that he couldn’t just lie there and give up because that’d really make him a loser, had been accompanied by tears and heavy, gut-wrenching sobs. He’d ended his tirade by saying that he needed Colt, that if he couldn’t do it for himself then he’d have to do it for Ryland. And Colt, shocked silent at the outburst, had gathered Ryland in his arms and cried with him.
He’d made an effort, after that. He’d still had had bad days. Plenty of them. But Ryland had been there through it all, even when Colt hadn’t thought he wanted him to be.
His accident and recovery had been the worst time of both of their lives. And Tom Ryder had caused it. Intentionally.
Ryland may have been driven by protective fury, but he was no match for the trained henchman; still bleeding from the bite and swearing, the man seemed to have gotten over his initial shock, wrangling Ryland back to the chair with an iron grip and a slap to the face so hard that his head snapped to the right, glasses almost slipping down his nose.
Ryland seemed momentarily dazed after the hit, his breathing heavy, and Colt stared at the man responsible for ‘handling’ his brother, committing his face to memory. He rarely forgot a fist, and certainly never one that dared to be raised against his brother. The man just signed his own death warrant.
Ryder laughed, because of course he did. He’d silently observed the small spectacle, and now that Ryland was once again properly restrained within the grasp of the henchman he went back to him. Once more grabbing him by the face, fingers digging into Rylands cheeks with a pressure that made the nearest skin turn white, and forcing him to look straight ahead, at Colt.
Ryland had a split lip now, no doubt from the hit a few moments ago, and the blood was starting to coat Ryders hand.
“Maybe your brother needs a lesson too”, Ryder murmured, letting go of Rylands face only to sharply pull on the hair at the back of his head, drawing out a pained gasp and making him strain his neck, “I told you. Maybe you can take punches the whole night, but he definitely can’t.”
With that Ryder nodded to the henchman, who immediately raised his hand, ready to strike again, and Colts throat hurt with how quickly the words “There’s no phone!” ripped from his throat.
Ryder made a gesture, and the henchman stilled. A choked-off whimper escaped Ryland, as if against his will.
The actor slowly let go of Rylands hair, eyes intense and focused on Colt. “Say that again?”
“There is no phone”, Colt admitted in a rush, panic threading through the words, “Okay? That’s the twist. No phone. Your guy shot it out of my hand. Now – now let him go. Don’t touch him.”
Ryder laughed, wiping a hand over his face. “Oh my god, what a relief”, he said.
Colt nodded, making a poor attempt at a grin, saying “Yeah it- it was crazy. Now take off the ties, yeah?”
“You were right about one thing. The phone was the only thing keeping you alive. Both of you.”
Ryders tone was matter of fact. There was no regret, no hesitation, and Colt slumped with the realization that the actor would’ve never let either of them go, no matter what happened. That he’d pulled Ryland into this, without any intention of sparing him. From the moment Ryland had been chosen as a pawn, Tom had planned to get rid of him as well.
It set the fury that had been thrumming under Colts skin since they’d brought his brother on board ablaze again, infecting his limbs, right leg starting to whip up and down. Dimly aware that Tom had continued to talk.
“I really wish you could see what Jody’s gonna do with Metalstorm. It’s gonna be awesome. Honestly, it’s going to be a banger”, he said, his parting words as he got off the ship, leaving his henchmen to deal with Colt and his brother.
Colt saw them getting gasoline, grinning as if they were having fun doing this. He saw the tears that had begun tracking down Rylands face. He saw the way Ryland looked at him, as if even in this situation, the one that Colt had pulled him into, his mere presence was still enough to soothe him, to give him reassurance. As if he still trusted Colt to keep him safe.
A sudden certainty settled, underneath the furious adrenaline running through his veins, deep in his bones. Colt knew what to do.
He met Rylands eyes, and took a deep breath. Furrowed his brows just so. Because for all that they both loved talking, they’d always understood each other best in what was unsaid. Their own language, consisting of stolen moments and silent signals. And right now, Colt was asking Ryland to trust him.
He saw an understanding glint enter Rylands eyes, his brother giving him an almost imperceptible nod, shoulders tightening ever so subtly in preparation for whatever Colt had planned. Full trust, even now.
Satisfied with what he saw, Colt readied himself to yell for help and swallow a load of gasoline.
He’d get Ryland out of here and to safety, would fuck up the guys that had dared to lay a hand on his brother and then he’d save Jody’s movie and prove his innocence.
He was Colt Seavers after all.