The Value of O Negative (part 1 of 2)
Nothing finale inspired here. This is a missing scene for "The Night Moves," prompted by--well, shall we say some dissatisfaction among certain members of my flist. Actually, I suppose it's two missing scenes, since there will be another part that I envision taking place after a commercial break.
Disclaimer: Copyright rules hold, so yes, the characters still belong to Josh & company. The mistakes, however, are mine, since this was written in haste and given only a cursory edit.
The Value of O Negative
Ryan stared straight ahead. His gaze was stoic, fixed sightlessly on nothing at all. Ten seconds passed . . . twenty . . . thirty . . . and still he couldn’t make himself turn.
He couldn’t bear to watch Seth disappear.
Forty seconds . . . fifty . . . and the world settled into silence. There were no more footsteps.
Ryan was alone.
He and Seth were both alone in the fractured night.
“United we’re unstoppable,” his memory taunted. “Divided . . .”
With a shiver, he hunched forward on the curb. Instantly, his body curled into itself. His head started to droop and his lashes fluttered closed.
No. No, that was no good. Clenching his jaw, he forced his eyes open.
They had been making lists. That was how they had kept going.
He should do that now, Ryan thought.
A list.
A list of what, though? Not anything they’d already done. Not Newpsie appetizers. Not zombie movies. Not Sandy’s favorite show tunes.
What else had Seth suggested?
Cereals . . .
Right.
Ryan could list cereals, all those neat boxes aligned in the Cohen cupboard. Like their own private supermarket.
There were so many choices. He always had so many choices with the Cohens. So many options, even with the little things.
And always with everything that mattered.
Ryan’s eyes clouded. It took him a moment to blink them clear.
Cap’n Crunch, he whispered into the lonely darkness.
Apple Jacks.
Cheerios.
Cocoa Puffs.
Raisin Bran.
Chex.
Cap’n Crunch . . .
Wait. Had he said that already?
“Dude,” he heard Seth’s voice reprove. It sounded sad, dim and desolate. “No cheating. Now try again.”
Ryan shivered convulsively. Ducking his head, he licked his dry lips. When he looked up again, the sky had been erased. It was just . . . empty, a smudged, weary black.
Or maybe it wasn’t. Somehow he couldn’t be sure. Time, sound, his surroundings: they had all become blurs. Nothing seemed clear except the pain.
But that was real. The pain was alive, insistent and angry.
“Ignore it,” Seth urged, from far, far away. “Come on, man. You’re Kid Chino. You know what you have to do.”
Ryan took an uneven breath. Pressing his hand tighter against his side, he swallowed and started again. His mouth moved soundlessly, shaping the elusive words.
Wheaties, the . . . what? Right. The Breakfast of Champions.
Total.
Lucky Charms.
Life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seth was running. That was all he knew. Gravel spit out from under his pounding feet, his palms slipped on the sweat-slick handle of the shopping cart, his eyes strained forward, trying to penetrate the dark and the distance, and he ran. Robotically. One foot landing in front of the other, lifting and landing, lifting and landing, over and over and over again.
He never saw the car that passed him, didn’t notice when it shifted into reverse and began to back up slowly.
It took him a moment even to hear the voices calling his name.
“Seth? Seth! What are you doing out here?”
He kept moving, his heels striking the ground with clumsy urgency.
“Hello? Seth? What is this, a junk food emergency? Did you and Summer run out of snacks already?”
As though some internal control switch snapped off, Seth skidded to an abrupt stop. The shopping cart bounced backward, slamming him in the chest. In one motion, he shoved it aside, wrenched the back door open and tumbled onto the seat next to Kaitlin.
“Turn around!” he ordered. “Ryan--”
“What are you talking about?” Frank demanded. Automatically, he yanked the wheel right and hit the gas. The car squealed spitefully, throwing its occupants against their seats as it spun around. “What about Ryan?”
“He’s . . . hurt,” Seth panted. Vaguely, he became aware of a searing stitch in his own side. He hadn’t felt it at all until he sat down. “Have to . . . get him to a hospital.”
Frank shot a glance backwards. Seth couldn’t quite decipher his expression, but something about its sharp edge made him flinch. “What the hell do you mean, he’s hurt? How? I talked to Sandy. He told me Ryan was fine.”
“Yeah,” Seth explained curtly. “’Cause that’s what Ryan said. It’s kind of a code. Ryan-speak for ‘don’t want to worry anybody even though I’m bleeding and in pain and I’ve got a huge hunk of glass stuck in my back.’ Can’t this damn car go any faster?”
Frank gunned the engine.
“Oh my God,” Julie whispered. “Where is he, Seth?”
“Taylor’s taking care of him, right? At the house?” Kaitlin prompted. “God, Seth, what were you doing out here running around with a shopping cart?”
“Ryan didn’t tell Taylor--Turn left here--” Seth stuck his head out the window, scanning the road ahead. He continued absently, his words muffled by the rush of air. “I was driving him to the hospital, but we blew a tire. And then in the aftershock--the car fell off the jack.”
He broke off, shuddering. Helpless to stop himself, he lived that moment again. There he was, standing safe and useless at the side of the road. He could hear the crash, feel its impact, see Ryan’s face contort as the shard stabbed deeper into his body, sense his lifeblood pulsing out with each labored breath . . .
When Seth had left him, his skin had been so white. Not even white. Just . . . drained of any color. Nothing like living flesh at all.
Remembering how Ryan had looked at that moment, small, silent, and broken, Seth shuddered again.
Someone touched his arm and he glanced up, startled. Kaitlin was looking at him, her lips trembling, her eyes brimming with compassion and tears. With hazy gratitude, he felt her clasp his hand and squeeze.
Seth held on tight.
“For a while,” he recalled tonelessly, “for a while, we walked, but then Ryan just . . . he couldn’t anymore. I had to leave him to get help. I had to find some way to get him--There! Wait! That’s him up ahead!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was freezing. An icy current, knife-sharp and cruel, raged through his veins. Ryan struggled against it, but the cold sapped all his strength. He couldn’t fight it anymore. He was too numb, and so, so very tired.
If he could just close his eyes, just for one moment.
The darkness beckoned. It promised comfort and heat and blessed relief from the rabid, biting pain. Only something warned him away. Seth’s voice, insisting, “We’ve got to keep you alert. Make another list, dude. Come on, you can do it. A list of, of . . .”
Ryan wrapped his arms around his body and took a shallow, shaky breath.
A list of things that would warm him.
Like . . .
Dappled sunshine streaming through the poolhouse blinds.
Coffee with Seth at the kitchen counter.
Sandy’s hand fondly clasping his shoulder.
Kirsten’s tender smile.
Taylor’s buoyant laughter.
Her head, nestled on his chest.
Her voice, whispering a soft and lilting "Ryan" . . .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Before the car even came to a complete stop, Seth tumbled out, almost falling in his haste.
“Ryan!” he called as he raced to the slumped figure. “I’m here. I’m back, dude.” He dropped to his knees, shaking Ryan’s arm with awkward gentleness. “It’s okay. I brought help.”
The touch roused Ryan. He looked up, his eyes glazed, and managed a weak nod. “Knew . . . you would,” he murmured.
“Right here, kid,” a deeper voice declared. “You’re going to be fine.”
A faint smile flickered across Ryan’s face. “Sandy,” he sighed gratefully. He clutched the man’s sleeve, leaning into the arms that folded around him.
Frank’s mouth tightened. “No, Ry. It’s me,” he began, but Ryan’s head lolled suddenly to one side and he sagged, his lashes fluttering, his body limp.
He didn’t respond to the chorus of voices calling his name.
TBC
Disclaimer: Copyright rules hold, so yes, the characters still belong to Josh & company. The mistakes, however, are mine, since this was written in haste and given only a cursory edit.
The Value of O Negative
Ryan stared straight ahead. His gaze was stoic, fixed sightlessly on nothing at all. Ten seconds passed . . . twenty . . . thirty . . . and still he couldn’t make himself turn.
He couldn’t bear to watch Seth disappear.
Forty seconds . . . fifty . . . and the world settled into silence. There were no more footsteps.
Ryan was alone.
He and Seth were both alone in the fractured night.
“United we’re unstoppable,” his memory taunted. “Divided . . .”
With a shiver, he hunched forward on the curb. Instantly, his body curled into itself. His head started to droop and his lashes fluttered closed.
No. No, that was no good. Clenching his jaw, he forced his eyes open.
They had been making lists. That was how they had kept going.
He should do that now, Ryan thought.
A list.
A list of what, though? Not anything they’d already done. Not Newpsie appetizers. Not zombie movies. Not Sandy’s favorite show tunes.
What else had Seth suggested?
Cereals . . .
Right.
Ryan could list cereals, all those neat boxes aligned in the Cohen cupboard. Like their own private supermarket.
There were so many choices. He always had so many choices with the Cohens. So many options, even with the little things.
And always with everything that mattered.
Ryan’s eyes clouded. It took him a moment to blink them clear.
Cap’n Crunch, he whispered into the lonely darkness.
Apple Jacks.
Cheerios.
Cocoa Puffs.
Raisin Bran.
Chex.
Cap’n Crunch . . .
Wait. Had he said that already?
“Dude,” he heard Seth’s voice reprove. It sounded sad, dim and desolate. “No cheating. Now try again.”
Ryan shivered convulsively. Ducking his head, he licked his dry lips. When he looked up again, the sky had been erased. It was just . . . empty, a smudged, weary black.
Or maybe it wasn’t. Somehow he couldn’t be sure. Time, sound, his surroundings: they had all become blurs. Nothing seemed clear except the pain.
But that was real. The pain was alive, insistent and angry.
“Ignore it,” Seth urged, from far, far away. “Come on, man. You’re Kid Chino. You know what you have to do.”
Ryan took an uneven breath. Pressing his hand tighter against his side, he swallowed and started again. His mouth moved soundlessly, shaping the elusive words.
Wheaties, the . . . what? Right. The Breakfast of Champions.
Total.
Lucky Charms.
Life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seth was running. That was all he knew. Gravel spit out from under his pounding feet, his palms slipped on the sweat-slick handle of the shopping cart, his eyes strained forward, trying to penetrate the dark and the distance, and he ran. Robotically. One foot landing in front of the other, lifting and landing, lifting and landing, over and over and over again.
He never saw the car that passed him, didn’t notice when it shifted into reverse and began to back up slowly.
It took him a moment even to hear the voices calling his name.
“Seth? Seth! What are you doing out here?”
He kept moving, his heels striking the ground with clumsy urgency.
“Hello? Seth? What is this, a junk food emergency? Did you and Summer run out of snacks already?”
As though some internal control switch snapped off, Seth skidded to an abrupt stop. The shopping cart bounced backward, slamming him in the chest. In one motion, he shoved it aside, wrenched the back door open and tumbled onto the seat next to Kaitlin.
“Turn around!” he ordered. “Ryan--”
“What are you talking about?” Frank demanded. Automatically, he yanked the wheel right and hit the gas. The car squealed spitefully, throwing its occupants against their seats as it spun around. “What about Ryan?”
“He’s . . . hurt,” Seth panted. Vaguely, he became aware of a searing stitch in his own side. He hadn’t felt it at all until he sat down. “Have to . . . get him to a hospital.”
Frank shot a glance backwards. Seth couldn’t quite decipher his expression, but something about its sharp edge made him flinch. “What the hell do you mean, he’s hurt? How? I talked to Sandy. He told me Ryan was fine.”
“Yeah,” Seth explained curtly. “’Cause that’s what Ryan said. It’s kind of a code. Ryan-speak for ‘don’t want to worry anybody even though I’m bleeding and in pain and I’ve got a huge hunk of glass stuck in my back.’ Can’t this damn car go any faster?”
Frank gunned the engine.
“Oh my God,” Julie whispered. “Where is he, Seth?”
“Taylor’s taking care of him, right? At the house?” Kaitlin prompted. “God, Seth, what were you doing out here running around with a shopping cart?”
“Ryan didn’t tell Taylor--Turn left here--” Seth stuck his head out the window, scanning the road ahead. He continued absently, his words muffled by the rush of air. “I was driving him to the hospital, but we blew a tire. And then in the aftershock--the car fell off the jack.”
He broke off, shuddering. Helpless to stop himself, he lived that moment again. There he was, standing safe and useless at the side of the road. He could hear the crash, feel its impact, see Ryan’s face contort as the shard stabbed deeper into his body, sense his lifeblood pulsing out with each labored breath . . .
When Seth had left him, his skin had been so white. Not even white. Just . . . drained of any color. Nothing like living flesh at all.
Remembering how Ryan had looked at that moment, small, silent, and broken, Seth shuddered again.
Someone touched his arm and he glanced up, startled. Kaitlin was looking at him, her lips trembling, her eyes brimming with compassion and tears. With hazy gratitude, he felt her clasp his hand and squeeze.
Seth held on tight.
“For a while,” he recalled tonelessly, “for a while, we walked, but then Ryan just . . . he couldn’t anymore. I had to leave him to get help. I had to find some way to get him--There! Wait! That’s him up ahead!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was freezing. An icy current, knife-sharp and cruel, raged through his veins. Ryan struggled against it, but the cold sapped all his strength. He couldn’t fight it anymore. He was too numb, and so, so very tired.
If he could just close his eyes, just for one moment.
The darkness beckoned. It promised comfort and heat and blessed relief from the rabid, biting pain. Only something warned him away. Seth’s voice, insisting, “We’ve got to keep you alert. Make another list, dude. Come on, you can do it. A list of, of . . .”
Ryan wrapped his arms around his body and took a shallow, shaky breath.
A list of things that would warm him.
Like . . .
Dappled sunshine streaming through the poolhouse blinds.
Coffee with Seth at the kitchen counter.
Sandy’s hand fondly clasping his shoulder.
Kirsten’s tender smile.
Taylor’s buoyant laughter.
Her head, nestled on his chest.
Her voice, whispering a soft and lilting "Ryan" . . .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Before the car even came to a complete stop, Seth tumbled out, almost falling in his haste.
“Ryan!” he called as he raced to the slumped figure. “I’m here. I’m back, dude.” He dropped to his knees, shaking Ryan’s arm with awkward gentleness. “It’s okay. I brought help.”
The touch roused Ryan. He looked up, his eyes glazed, and managed a weak nod. “Knew . . . you would,” he murmured.
“Right here, kid,” a deeper voice declared. “You’re going to be fine.”
A faint smile flickered across Ryan’s face. “Sandy,” he sighed gratefully. He clutched the man’s sleeve, leaning into the arms that folded around him.
Frank’s mouth tightened. “No, Ry. It’s me,” he began, but Ryan’s head lolled suddenly to one side and he sagged, his lashes fluttering, his body limp.
He didn’t respond to the chorus of voices calling his name.
TBC