Chapter Text
Colton Gentry-Grace is an ordinary fifteen-year-old, with an ordinary life.
Well, as ordinary as you can get when your household consists of your two brothers and your "house" is a cramped two-bedroom apartment in the heart of New York City. It's a special, slightly skewed version of ordinary where Colt wakes up in the morning to the sight of his twin brother passed out at his wobbly desk instead of his perfectly fine bottom bunk, and he steps into the kitchen to find his older brother already up and cooking breakfast despite getting home from work far past their bedtime. Not that they ever properly respect their bedtime, but whatever.
And, yup, that's right; no parents to be seen here, no siree. Now, you could ask him about that, pry a little more into his mysterious past—and trust me, people have tried—but, you know, that's just not the kind of lore he drops on someone in the first five minutes of meeting them. Like, hmm, that's just not what he wants for his character's first appearance. That's the kind of thing that gets dramatically revealed in the third installment of a trilogy, set up by heavy foreshadowing emphasized by unnecessarily long flashbacks in the lead-up to the climax.
So, he'll be talking about his stupid twin brother instead.
Right now, Ryland Grace is sitting next to him; his nose is buried in a textbook, his glasses are askew, and his elbow is digging into Colt's side because they're two growing teenage boys shoved into the cramped seats of their old school bus. Around them are the rest of their classmates and the constant chatter of multiple different conversations, a stark contrast to the rare silence between the twins. No, they're not fighting or anything (another rarity in and of itself, though their fights are never really that serious); they're just engrossed in different things. For Ryland, it's the blocks of text filled lovingly with intellectual word vomit droning on and on about the intricacies of Mendelian genetics. For Colt, it's the change of scenery out the window when the bus very decidedly makes a turn that leads them away from the school.
They're on a field trip, after all. To, uh… Um…
"Hey," Colt nudges Ryland until he gets a noise of acknowledgement. "where are we going again?"
"The new eco-park," His twin replies without looking up from his book. "It's a paid tour, I think."
"Damn, for a school trip? Can the we even afford all that? We literally go to public school."
"I don't know, it's probably part of some government program. Don't look at a horse's mouth, or something like that."
"What?" Colt blinks, briefly confused before he recognizes the idiom for what it is. "It's 'don't look a gift horse in the mouth', dude."
Ryland stops mid-page turn, his eyebrows scrunching up like he's trying to solve a conundrum. "That doesn't even make sense, why would you look in the mouth?"
"What the hell are you talking about? Bro, it's from the Iliad. The Trojan War thing where the Greek guys hid inside a big wooden horse. Of course you'd look in the mouth to find them."
The book in Ryland's hold snaps shut as he meets Colt's gaze for the first time since they started this conversation. There's that little glint of arrogance he always has when he's about to correct someone, visible even through the glare of both of their glasses. Oh yeah, did he mention he has glasses? It certainly doesn't help in differentiating him from his twin, that's for sure.
"Okay, but the point of the saying is that if someone is giving you a horse for free then you shouldn't judge its quality. And you can tell a horse's age by looking at its teeth. You wouldn't need to look far in the mouth for it, it's literally right there."
"Whatever, man." Colt relents and rolls his eyes. His brother can be so stupid, sometimes.
… okay, back up for a minute. Ryland isn't really stupid, of course not. Hell, if you asked anyone around them—whether teachers, peers or those social workers coming to check in on them every two years when they find their dusty files in the midst of reorganizing the district office—then they'd call him the smarter twin. Colt's brothers always say otherwise, say that he's smart too, and he does believe them. Well, mostly because he's seen his twin do some real dumb shit, like insist on climbing to the top bunk so they can hide under the covers together to read comics when they're supposed to be asleep even though he trips on his own two feet like, every other day. Surely that cancels out a little bit of his smartness, right?
Ugh, whatever. There's multiple kinds of intelligence anyway, and it just so happens that Ryland has a penchant for math and science while Colt gravitates toward literature and linguistics. He likes gym too, but it's mostly because he can shake off all his excess energy without being reprimanded for it. Seriously, who thought it was a good idea to make hormonal teenagers sit still for like, eight hours a day?
It's a good thing they're decidedly not doing that right now. The bus comes to a gradual stop as it pulls up to their destination, and they get to stretch their legs as they file out one by one.
Gravel crunches under their shoes as they're ushered away from the parking lot by the adults, and they pass by a shiny new sign that spells out the name of the place. Colt forgets it sometime within the next two minutes.
However, the park itself is nice. It's open, spacious, and full of towering trees and colorful plants. There's a couple enclosures scattered about the property, probably home to animal life. If he had to guess, that is. He really doesn't know what goes on in an eco-park. Sounds all nature-y though, so it's probably related to that.
By the looks of it, he's right anyway. They step into the fancy tall building in the middle of the park, which turns out to be the research lab. There's a ton of informational graphics plastered everywhere, most of them talking about taking care of the environment—you know, like throwing trash properly, conserving electricity, planting trees and shit that any basic human being with decency would care to do. The tour guides lead them through the exhibits, and he only half-listens to whatever speech they have prepared. That is, until they walk past a display window showing off a blueberry bush with very much not blue blueberries. And, well, blueberries aren't really that blue in the first place, but these ones are, like, a bright pink!
Genetic modification. That's right, those words went into one of his ears multiple times over the last few minutes. It's a shame they went straight out the other. It's also a shame that he probably forgot to take his meds today, because he simultaneously cannot focus on the situation at hand and deeply craves some kind of stimulation. Ergo: he is very, very bored.
They're given free time to roam, and Colt wastes no time going over to his brother's side. Ryland doesn't even spare him a glance, already used to his twin's presence. They stray a little further from the crowd, thanks to Ryland being more interested in the texts than the displays. In the meanwhile, Colt shifts his body weight from one foot to the other then heaves out a sigh.
"Ugh, this kinda sucks," he remarks with a click of the tongue.
Ryland gives a little hum of acknowledgment. "Yeah, no, I agree."
What?
"You agree?" Colt grabs his twin by the shoulders, shaking him back and forth. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"
"Stop that," the other boy grumbles as he shrugs his hands off without even looking. "Why are you so surprised?"
"You normally love this kinda thing!"
"I mean, they're only talking about basic biology. There isn't any of the fun stuff. Do they think we're dumb or something?"
"No, they think we're ninth graders. Which we are, by the way. Not everyone hyperfixates on college-level molecular biology."
Ryland scrunches his nose and mutters, "that feels vaguely ableist."
"We have the same diagnosis, dude."
"So you think you can't be homophobic if you have gay friends?"
"But I am the gay friend," Colt replies automatically before he can stop himself. "Bi, yes, you don't have to correct me."
His brother giggles at that, and he can't help but smile in turn. They probably look a little silly, laughing in front of some excerpt of how the lab managed to genetically modify mangoes so they didn't have that big seed in the middle. However, Colt can't bring himself to care, especially not when Ryland turns to him with mischief written all over his face. A rare occurence.
"You know… I did find something cool earlier," he admits.
Colt pretends to think about it. "Cool for you, or cool for me?"
"Hm, mostly for me. But I know you're interested. And because you're nosy, you won't say no."
Damn, he knows him too well. "Fuck you."
"Let's get out of here."
"Hey, that's my line!"
They slip away from the rest of the group, going completely unnoticed. His brother drags him through the hallways they already walked past earlier, and it's a blur of colors, concrete, and glass. They end up all the way back at the main entrance, the lobby completely deserted—probably because of the guided tour, to be honest. This ends up being very convenient when Ryland heads straight to a hallway with a sign that says "Restricted Access" blocked by a partition barrier and starts crawling under it.
"Woah, woah, wait," Colt sputters, looking around nervously. Thankfully, there's no cameras. Why the hell are there no cameras? "Don't tell me we're going in there."
The other boy freezes, but doesn't give a response. A verbal one, at least, because the guilt is coming off of him in waves.
"Ryland Grace! You, trespassing?" He gasps, acting like he's a scandalized Victorian woman. "Think of our dearest older brother… what would he say?"
"Well…" Ryland looks over his shoulder and has the audacity to give him a sheepish little smile. "I was under the assumption we weren't telling him."
And, wow, isn't that a treat? Colt was always the rebellious one between them, but now Ryland's the one initiating this little endeavor. That's not to say his twin doesn't get into his fair share of trouble, especially with a tongue as sharp as his, but he's normally not so blatant with it. This must be a really big deal to him. And, consequently, because it's a big deal, he might not be thinking straight. Ryland is prone to being impulsive, but he's also the type to overthink it later and wallow in regret.
So, naturally, Colt has to check in and see if this is something he really wants.
"Hey, for real," he says gently as his brother stands up and dusts himself off, now on the other side of the barrier. "We might get in trouble, you know."
"And when has that ever stopped you?"
"Oh, it doesn't. But what about you?"
When Ryland doesn't reply immediately, Colt takes the opportunity to slide under the barrier himself. He grabs his brother by the wrist and leads him around the corner, away from the view of the lobby just in case someone sees them. He's about to let go when he feels a tug on his sleeve, and he looks up to meet Ryland's gaze. Bright blue eyes stare into his and it's like looking right into a mirror, especially with the rare confident expression on his twin's face.
Court mentioned it, once—that when it comes down to being brave, it's almost impossible to tell them apart.
"It's not like I'll do this again," Ryland whispers, "I just don't wanna miss an opportunity to see some real science up close."
"Real science," Colt parrots, incredulously. "You're crazy."
That earns him a laugh, and the other boy jogs over to the first door he sees and trying the doorknob. It's unlocked. Fantastic. "And yet you're still breaking the rules with me."
"Yeah," he huffs as he follows his twin into the room, "not because I'm crazy, but because I don't respect authority."
At first glance, it's not that different from the rest of the lab. There's infographics and display windows inlaid in the concrete, which is also the exact same shade of painted white. However, there's a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision that he follows eagerly. His eyes land, and they widen.
Live animals!
Next to him, Ryland lets slip a little gasp and immediately runs up to the closest enclosure. It has a single monarch butterfly, looking completely normal apart from the fact that it has six wings. Colt walks over to the next one, and he's greeted with the sight of a massive horned beetle, almost as long as his forearm. He's not an expert on bugs or anything, but he's pretty sure they're not supposed to be that big.
They spend the next couple minutes looking around, and for once Colt is interested enough to read in the texts. Right now, he's stood in front of a big spider display, the space partitioned for each individual spider. The writeup on them intrigues him; apparently, they're genetically modified spiders that combine the best traits of different spider species. Almost like super spiders, in a sense!
He admires each and every one of them in the enclosure, noting that they all look slightly different. They come in all shapes and colors, and it kind of makes him wonder if that affects their abilities in any way. His favorite so far is this big red one that has stubby little legs, and he finds himself going back to it every couple seconds. It takes him three repeats to notice something important—the partition next to it is empty.
Hm. That's weird. Maybe it's just hiding? Or maybe it's just really tiny? Whatever, it's not Colt's problem.
What is his problem, however, is the fact that they've probably spent a good ten minutes in here already according to his internal clock. They were supposed to have, like, fifteen minutes of free roam. Now, of course he could be wrong, but he doesn't really want to risk it in case they get caught red-handed when they step out into the lobby. Colt turns around to call out to his brother, but his words die in his throat.
Oh. There's a spider crawling up Ryland's back.
It's unlike any spider he's ever seen before, both in real life and in textbooks. The body itself is small, but its legs are long and almost pointed in appearance. The light catches on it, and it reflects a gorgeous blue hue almost reminiscent of a precious stone.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out that this is probably the missing spider, so Colt resolves to put it back in its enclosure without harming it. Not that he was planning to do so in the first place—god, he can't even kill a cockroach! He just feels bad for those little buggers, so he always tries to just gently coax them out the window or through the door. This time isn't any different, of course.
He crosses the room in quick strides and holds one hand out, hovering just under the spider so he can catch it when it inevitably falls. Sure enough, Ryland shifts and its valiant grip on the fabric of his sweater goes slack. Thankfully, Colt catches it perfectly, and he has to stifle a giggle when it runs all over the expanse of his palm frantically. Damn, that tickles.
He moves back over across the room, hoping there isn't a second spider enclosure here somewhere that it escaped from. Or a third. That would be terrible, to be honest. He slides open the little glass sliding door to its habitat (poor design choice, really, no wonder the spider escaped), and he makes his hand into a little platform. Go little spider! Be free! Uh… wait, this is the opposite of freedom. Colt is literally leading it to what is probably eternal imprisonment. Hm.
Suddenly, he feels a sharp pain on the tip of his finger and he hisses, drawing his hand back. It bit him!
Luckily, the spider is already well into its habitat. Colt closes the sliding door quickly so he can inspect the injury. Thankfully, it's not much. There's just a single drop of blood pooling on top of the puncture, and he quickly dots it away when he hears footsteps approaching. It's more out of instinct than anything, even though he knows he can trust his brothers with his life.
As expected, Ryland grabs him by the shoulder and turns him around. His eyebrows are furrowed in worry. "What happened?"
"Nothing." It's… probably not a big deal. It's just a bite. He doesn't want to bother Ryland, so he'll just disinfect it later and put a band-aid on it. Changing the topic, Colt hastily blurts, "we should get going, man."
Thankfully, this gets his brother to drop it. "Oh, you're right!"With that, Ryland slips out of the room and Colt follows. They peek out into the hallway, and are relieved to see that no one is there. They retrace their steps back to their classmates, and seamlessly re-integrate into the crowd when the tour guides call them over.
Now, is it just him, or is the lab a little warmer than it was before?
—
Colt blinks awake, and he feels like absolute shit.
He tries to look up at the popcorn ceiling, but his vision focuses and unfocuses so much that it makes him feel even worse. Like, nauseous and all that. Urk. Not a good feeling. He twists and turns, trying to get into a comfortable sleeping position but he never quites find it. There's a damp towel on his forehead that slips off with all his movement, and he just could not bring himself to care even as it soaks through his pillow.
Colt doesn't get sick often. If anything, Ryland's more prone to illness than he is. But, well, when he does get sick, it's hell on Earth. He's out of commission for two days minimum. And throughout that entire time, he feels like he's dying. Even though in reality, his body temperature is only, like, slightly warmer than it should be.
Distantly, he registers that the towel is now floating and plopping itself back on its rightful spot. Wait, that's not quite correct; there's a hand attached to the towel. And an arm attached to the hand. And the arm is attached to… someone. Of course he can't see much, he doesn't have his glasses on.
Thankfully, he doesn't have to play a really skewed guessing game. A deep, familiar voice coos at him, "hey, buddy."
"Court?" he asks and it comes out so hoarse it's just short of sandpaper. Wow, his throat is dry.
"Yeah," His older brother hums as fingertips skirt over his face, brushing the sweaty bangs from to the side."how are you feeling?"
"Like shit."
That earns him a laugh. "Don't make a habit of swearing. But… I'll let you have that one."
The bedframe thuds against the wall softly when Court climbs the ladder to the top bunk, and Colt feels the mattress dip next to him when his brother sits down. For a couple minutes, they just… coexist. His older brother offers not words of affection nor much physical contact; still, Colt knows he and Ryland are unequivocably loved. There is a quiet care in his actions—in the way there's always a warm breakfast waiting for them at the start of the day, in the way he works well into the night just to be able to provide for them, in the way he is always there for them despite how busy he can get, and in the way he figures out exactly what they need.
Like right now. Court catches the slightest bob of his throat when he swallows painfully, and he immediately asks, "water?"
Colt doesn't think he's nodded faster in his life. And, before he knows it, Court is slipping to the kitchen and back in record time. He sits up slowly, and holds the glass with two hands as he brings it to his lips. He takes one sip, then two, the empties it all in one go. His brother takes the glass from his trembling hold, setting it on Ryland's desk for the time being.
"What happened?" Colt manages to ask, now that he's a bit more awake and that his throat feels a bit better. "Please don't tell me I've been out of it for like, three days."
Court glances at the clock and Colt follows his gaze. It's like ten in the morning, well past the time they were supposed to be at school. Oh well. His brother replies, "it hasn't even been a day, don't worry. You conked out super early last night, then Ry woke me up today saying that you felt really warm."
"Ry," he repeats. "Is Ry at school?"
The older man nods. "I told him I'd take care of you."
"Thanks, Court."
"Anytime, bud."
In an impressive display of delayed cognition, Colt only just now realizes the other implications of the time. Not only is it way past first period, but it's also way past the time most people clock in to work. He tugs on his brother's sleeve to get his attention.
"What about your work?"
"Don't worry about it."
"Court, come on," he pouts, mind already scrambling to come up with a way to convince him to go.
It's kind of rough when the entire household of three depends on a 23-year-old's meager income at whatever workplace will take a highschool dropout. Yup, that's right; their mother cut off all contact shortly after the twins were born, and they were all left to live with their father. And as if that wasn't enough, said father passed away in a freak accident.
Right now, they're just kind of… scraping on by. It helps that Colt and Ryland's education is free, otherwise this kind of home set-up would've been impossible to pull off. Court really did fight tooth and nail for all of them to stay together, even if going off into different foster homes might have been better in the long run. Colt didn't care about that then, and he doesn't care about it now either. He would have traded the whole world for his brothers.
Needless to say, it's kind of really important for Court to keep his job. And there's no way he can do that if he stays around all day watching Colt sleep his sickness off. He doesn't exactly know the nature of his work, but most jobs tend to require your regular attendance at the workplace.
Thankfully, Colt doesn't have to do much convincing, because Court simply gives him a resigned sigh. "Fine. I'll be here for a couple more hours. After that, I'll leave."
"Good."
"Will you be okay?"
"Yeah," he breathes out, and it's honest. Just having his brother next to him for a bit is enough.
They sit in silence after that. Colt doesn't know when his hand slips from his brother's sleeve, doesn't know when his eyes flutter shut, doesn't know when he drifts off to sleep. All he knows is that he feels the gentle press of lips on the crown of his head, and it's enough to ward off all the evil in the world.
—
Colt blinks awake, and… Jesus, he feels so much better. It's like he was never sick at all.
He sits up, noting a pleasant lightness in his limbs that wasn't there before. Hm, it's almost like he feels even better now, like it came and went and took all the bad stuff with it. He doesn't dwell on it for too long, instead grappling at his face. God, he can't believe he fell alseep while he had his glasses on. This is the nth time he's done it, and he has to check the frames to see if they're damaged or whatever, and—
His glasses aren't on his face.
Glancing at the top of the dresser, he finds exactly where they are. Yup, his glasses are still there, laying perfectly still and in the same position as the night before. But… his vision is perfect. At least, the exact same perfect he remembers from when he was a kid, before he and Ryland both got prescription glasses for their deteriorating eyesight. In fact, it seems even better than before, because he can look out into the street through their window and still be able to count the individual fries on a diner guest's plate.
Huh. Weird.
In the interest of food, he decides to ignore it for now. He swings his legs over the edge of his bunk and slowly makes the climb down. Something about the movement feels better than before. Smoother, more natural. He doesn't think about that too much, though, because he's been on the top bunk for pretty much his entire life. Ryland would tell him something about growing some good muscle memory in all that time, about how it's basically second nature to him to go down the steps one by one, use his hands to grip onto the sides, and then pull—
He gets about two steps in before he gets pulled back by some unseen force. No, that's not quite right. The anchor point of the movement is his hands, which are still stuck on the ladder. They're… adhering to the surface. He's sticking to it.
That's… not normal.
Frustrated, he tries to pry his hands off. Big mistake—probably the biggest mistake he's made in a long time. The bed makes a horrible noise as it drags on the floor, and the crackling of creaking wood joins it to form some fucked-up melody telling him he fucked up. He cusses loudly as he immediately stops what he's doing, not particularly keen on destroying his bed. And Ryland's bed too, by extension.
Um, what the fuck?
Colt is a bit more built than the average fifteen-year-old, yes, but it's nowhere near enough to be able to do this. He could barely even move the bedframe just a few weeks ago when he dropped something behind it, but now he can just swing it around effortlessly!?
He flexes his fingers, wondering if he can get them to unstick. Or, at least, if he can figure out what's wrong with them. He tenses and relaxes until he can peel his hands off from the ladder, heaving a sigh of relief once it's clear that he won't have to spend the rest of his life attached to some furniture.
One of the first things Colt does is turns his wrists over—only to find two holes right in the middle of them, ones that weren't there before. He can feel something there. It's not a blockage exactly, but there is something that's stuck and wants to get out. He shakes his arm and wills the release and then…
An unknown substance shoots out, and it splatters on the ceiling. It drips down, stringy and thin like threads. All of this is very, very peculiar. And also very familiar, in fact…!
'Spiders stick to walls using a combination of microscopic hairs, natural electrostatic attraction, and tiny mechanical claws.' Ryland skims over the pages of his biology textbook, muttering the passages out loud. 'Huh, crazy.'
No.
'They can carry up to several times their own body weight! The human equivalent would be, like, being able to carry around 10 tons easily.'
There's no way.
'Then, of course, they can make webs! They have a special fluid that hardens when exposed to air, then becomes very durable and tensile silk!"
Colt thinks back to the day of the school, the genetic modifications, the super spiders. He thinks about the spider that escaped. He thinks about the spider that bit him. And he thinks about these newfound… abilities he has.
Well, shit. Colton Gentry-Grace might not be so ordinary anymore.