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Ryland sniffles miserably, and tries to touch the wound on his knee. Colt clicks his tongue and swats his hand away.
"Stop that," Colt scolds, hiking Ryland higher on his back. "You know it'll only hurt more if you poke it!"
Ryland bites his lip and lowers his head, ashamed. Without a word, he wraps his arms and legs tightly around Colt, who stumbles slightly before steadying himself. He only flicks Ryland's forehead slightly in reprimand before continuing their journey home.
"You should've told me those jerks are picking on you earlier!" Colt exclaims when Ryland still doesn't say anything. "You know I would've beat them up for you much sooner."
That finally coaxes out a reply out of Ryland. "I didn't wanna bother you. I thought I could take care of it myself," Ryland whispers, voice wobbly. "And now you're hurt because of me. 'M sorry."
Colt scoffs. "My nose? Puh-lease, that's nothing. You should see the other guys."
Admittedly, a broken nose is not exactly nothing, but it's fine, it doesn't even hurt that bad. It only seemed bad because it took a while to make the bleeding stop (and to calm Ryland down). Besides, he wasn't lying—the other guys really do have it worse.
"Also," Colt continues, a little cross, "that's stupid. Why do you need to take care of it yourself when you have me?"
Ryland remains silent, pressing his face against Colt's neck, who can now feel the outline of his frown against his skin. That won't do.
"I ask you for help, don't I? With my homework and when I don't understand something in class? Which is basically everyday. So what do I do when I get stuck somewhere?" No response. Colt jostles him lightly. "Hm?"
"You call for me," Ryland mumbles weakly into his neck.
Colt smiles. "Yeah! Which is what you should do, too. Why the hell were you so silent when they pushed you, anyway? You should've screamed for help!"
"Sorry," Ryland murmurs.
"Next time, if someone pushes you, you yell my name as loud as you can, okay? I'll find you, no matter what." Shifting his grip so that he's holding Ryland by one hand, he raises his pinky finger to his brother. "Promise you'll call for me?"
Ryland doesn't hesitate to wrap his pinky around his. "Promise."
When Ryland steps into Colt's apartment, he is welcomed with a loud groan and a derisive, "You again? I thought I told you to stop coming here."
The warm welcome isn't new; Colt has said much worse in the very beginning of his recovery. Usually, the words are just water off a duck's back to him. But not tonight.
Tonight he is still raw about the fact that he probably ruined his whole career by calling a leading expert in his field "a staggering waste of carbon". He is cold and pissed. He wants to scream and punch things and wants to complain about the whole science community to Colt. He wants his twin back, just for tonight.
He's aware that is too much to ask for, though. He just wishes Colt didn't fight his help every step of the way at least.
Ryland walks into the flaming hot mess that is his brother's living room, and places the bag of groceries he brought to the side. He sighs. "Not today, Colt."
Colt looks away from the TV with a frown and—jesus, he looks awful. His eyes were red and puffy, and it seemed like he had gained 10 years after the last time they saw each other (which was, alarmingly, only a week ago). He still hasn't shaved his godawful beard, or gotten a hair cut. And he stinks.
Ryland would be more sympathetic to his brother's plight were he not feeling just as rotten. But he is, so he just stares back at Colt flatly.
"Not today what," Colt deadpans, scratching his beard. Ryland grimaces.
"I dunno," he shrugs, waving vaguely, "just your whole thing. Let's just have a quiet, peaceful dinner, and I'll go home. Sounds good?"
He's made him angry. Ryland can see it in the way his eyes glitter dangerously, and from the nasty smirk that tugs on his lips. "And why's that? Is little Ry sleepy? Did he not take his nappies today?"
Don't yell. Don't yell. Don't—
"Jesus, Colt!" Ryland yells, throwing his hands up in the air. "I lost my job, okay? I lost my job, and my career is over, but I'm still here. I'm not asking for a thank you, but can you please not antagonize me for one night?"
Colt barks out a laugh. Ryland knows that if Colt wasn't in pain right now, he would be all up on his face and shaking him by his shirt. But Ryland can see that he's in pain; he's always in pain these days. And the pain makes Colt mean.
"Oh? So you lost your job and immediately came to see your poor, crippled brother to make yourself feel better about fucking up because hey, there's no way you could've fucked up worse than a guy with the broken back, right?" Another laugh, sharper than the last one. "Do you feel better yet? Has seeing widdle invalid Colt who can't stand for longer than 10 minutes made you feel like less of a failure?"
He knows Colt doesn't mean that. Colt never means the things he says when he's in pain. He knows this, and yet, something dark rises in him at those words. Bitter, acrid. Venomous. He knows if he opens his mouth, he'll say something he'll regret for the rest of his life.
He wants to say it anyway.
"You know," he begins. He doesn't yell, no; his voice is low, but he has no doubt every single word will hit its mark. "I try, I try every goddamned day, but you are so fucking hard to love."
Silence. Then very, very quietly, Colt says, "Get out. And don't ever come back."
He doesn't have to say it twice. Ryland leaves, and slams the door on his way out.
Strangely enough, the first thought he gets after he discovers that the astrophage is mainly made of water is: I need to tell this to Colt.
Or maybe it isn't strange at all. After all, when he was first writing his paper, Colt was the one who acted as his sound-board despite knowing next to nothing about molecular biology. He's the one who first laughed when Ryland, while rambling, called the scientists who refused to consider that extraterrestrial life could survive without hydrogen and water "a waste of space". He's the one who, with a cheeky grin, added, "A waste of carbon, you mean. Uh. It is carbon, right?" He's the one who made him laugh and sleep and eat on time whenever he got too absorbed in his work. But that all went to shit after the accident.
When Ryland sits outside the laboratory wallowing in self-pity, he has the strongest urge to call Colt right away and… and tell him what? That's he's sorry?
I'm sorry, he wants to say. I'm a coward. That's why I haven't called. Do you hate me? Why haven't you called? Are you still in pain? I don't have a mirror in my house anymore. Do you shave without looking at the mirror, too? I was wrong about everything. I miss you. Did you know loving you was the easiest thing I've ever done?
His phone burns a hole in his pocket. He doesn't pick it up.
They play truth or dare after everyone has shredded their throats in karaoke at Ilyukhina's insistence. When the bottle spins to a stop facing him, Ryland sighs.
Ilyukhina, on the other hand, is overjoyed. She cheers and throws her arm around his shoulder.
"Doctor Grace!" She yells in his ear. Ryland winces. "Truth or dare?"
Predictably, Ryland says, "Truth."
Everyone in the room boos. Ilyukhina blows a raspberry; some of her spit lands on Ryland's face, who wipes it off without complaint.
"Booringgg," Ilyukhina declares. Still, she presents him with a question.
"Okay so. Let's assume the world is ending tomorrow, as opposed to in a few years. What is the last thing you'd want to do before you die?"
Call my brother.
Ryland smiles. "Eat a whole bunch of skittles, probably."
“Don't make this harder, please."
It dawns on him, then. There's no way he can get out of this. They're gonna send him out to die.
You don't have any immediate family. You don't even have a dog.
"Wait!" He yells, wild with panic. He presses himself to the corner of the room, looking at Stratt desperately. "You're wrong! I do have a family! I have a brother! Colt Seavers, that's his name. He-he worked as a stunt artist. It has to be on my records, just check!"
"I know. I heard you two had a big falling out years ago," Stratt's voice is devastatingly gentle, her eyes pitying. "You had a brother. Do you still?"
The guards close in. He is going to be sent to die and he never told his brother he was sorry.
"Just let me talk to him once, alright?!" He pushes a chair away from his path and climbs on the counter. He is shaking. "One last time. Just let me call him!"
The guards don't hear his pleas; they reach out to pull him down. Ryland jumps down and sets off running. Before he dashes out of the room, he thinks he hears Stratt say, "I'm sorry."
He runs. He runs and he runs, because that's what Ryland Grace does best. Once again, his best proves not to be enough, because it doesn't take long for the guards to reach him and push him to the ground.
"No!" He cries, thrashes. The hands don't let up. Someone's knee is digging on his back and he's going to die, he's going to die and his brother is going to think he hates him. He's going to die.
"Just one call, please!" He begs. The sky is beautiful, and he is going to die. "I can't do it, Carl."
He knows the needle is coming even before he sees it. He thrashes harder. "Don't do it! Don't—"
He doesn't even get to finish the sentence before the needle plunges into his skin.
"—who you are. You're gonna do great."
Promise you'll call for me?
Consciousness slips out of his grasp like sand. With his last breath, he screams, "Colt!"
No one finds him.