OC Fic : Empty Diary (2/11)
Title : Empty Diary
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : Car accident. Ryan. Amnesia. There, that's clear, isn’t it?
Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N. This fic wouldn't be seeing the light of day if it hadn't been for Joey's enthusiastic comments and invaluable help. Thanks, again!
Chapter One
Ryan is walking aimlessly through the streets, trying to keep his mind blank. Funny how difficult he finds it, considering the circumstances.
All his memories, what he liked, what he knew about himself, who he was, neatly erased in a few minutes, leaving no trace-yet, he still can't stop his thoughts from twirling in his mind, can't stop the confrontation from playing again, and again, and again.
…send you back to jail…
…I'll be damned if I let my family…
…out of charity…
It's dark and surprisingly cold for Southern California. Ryan's starting to regret not having brought a jacket with him when he rushed out of the house.
Okay, "rushed out of he house" is a slight understatement.
"Ran like hell" might be more accurate.
Whatever.
It's not like he was thinking about jackets, or about anything else. He just wanted to escape Mr. Nichol's spiteful accusations and his gleeful look at Ryan's distress.
He just wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and Caleb Nichol.
Ryan realizes he's almost running and forces himself to stop and take a deep breath.
They think you're a good kid, but you're nothing but a street thug, Mr. Nichol said-no, yelled.
Ryan sighs and closes his eyes, remembering how he took a step back at the words and found himself hitting a wall, in every sense of the term.
Without memories, he lacks the weapons to defend himself.
For all he knows, Mr. Nichol is right.
After all, Sandy did say that Ryan stole a car.
"My daughter took you in out of charity when your drunk of a mother abandoned you, and you repaid her by killing my grandson, and she's still too nice to send you back to jail where you belong, but I'm not, and I'll be damned if I let my family-"
Ryan tuned him out at that point, his eyes meeting Kirsten's over Mr. Nichol's shoulders, and when she looked down, tears in her eyes, he snapped.
He looked at Mr. Nichol again, saw the hatred on his face, heard it in his words, and pushed him back forcefully, not caring that the old man stumbled, not caring that Kirsten called after him, just needing to get out of there before-
Without realizing it, he has started to walk again, and he finds himself panting at the top of a slope, his muscles aching from the strain.
Stupid.
He hasn't been out of the hospital for that long, he still gets tired easily, and he really shouldn't run that long, that fast.
Damn it.
He's sure that once upon a time, he would have been able to walk-run, even-this distance without feeling like an old man instead of a healthy sixteen-year-old.
Of course, he's not exactly healthy anymore.
He still needs to rest a lot, the doctors have been clear enough on that point.
They can't do much to give him back the sixteen years of his life that have vanished from his memory, but they can tell him to rest and take it easy.
Fuckers.
Ryan sits on the curb for a moment, trying to catch his breath.
What the hell is he supposed to do now?
He doesn't want to go back to the house in case Mr. Nichol is still there, and he doesn't have anywhere else to go.
He feels stuck in a doorless room, has felt that way ever since he awoke in a hospital three weeks earlier, his mind empty of everything that made him… him.
He doesn't recognize the house he lives in, doesn't recognize the things Kirsten and Sandy say are his, doesn't remember their son who died in the accident, can't mourn with them.
He can't remember his first family or the relationship he had with them.
He can't remember ever dating that weepy girl who came to visit him a few times in the hospital, but never since he has come back "home."
He can't remember that that other girl, Summer, and Seth were together.
He can't remember ever going out with them.
He can't share stories and memories with them.
He can't feel anything but blank and itchy-as if the memories he needs to be himself again are there, just out of reach, and that if he focuses enough, he'll be able to find them and everything will make sense again.
He spends hours, every day, looking for these memories and coming back with nothing.
Kirsten and Sandy keep saying that it's okay, that it'll come back when it will, and if it doesn't, they'll help him deal with it, and that other memories will come.
They're wrong.
It's everything but okay.
It's driving Ryan insane.
It's making Ryan wish he could…
Whatever.
He just wishes he could do something, anything about it.
As usual when he's getting worked up, Ryan can feel a slight pounding in his head.
He knows that it will get worse if he doesn't calm down, but he can't calm down, not after… this.
…back to jail where you belong…
Is that what people in this town think of him? That he's a criminal who deserves to be in jail?
And if he was a car thief, who's to say that they're not right?
Granted, he doesn't remember doing it-nor can he think of any circumstances where he'd ever consider doing something that dumb.
But none of that matters.
He did it.
He wishes he could remember something.
Some small glimpse of his past.
Some reasons as to why he's here, with these nice people, and not with his messed up family.
Or in jail.
As usual when he's trying to re-assemble the pieces of his past, he starts with his oldest memory-waking up in the hospital-and tries to work his way backwards from there.
As always, he comes up blank.
There's nothing, not even a vague memory of the accident, no flash of light, no memories of pain, of fear, of noise.
Just blackness and emptiness.
The pounding in his head is growing worse, but Ryan ignores it.
Rising to his feet, he starts walking again, ignoring the pain that now seems to be encompassing his whole brain.
Doesn't he have any friends? Aside from Marissa, Summer and Luke, he doesn't seem to know anyone.
Where is his mother? The Cohens have told him that they're trying to find her, which implies that not only did she abandon him, but she didn't even bother to stay in touch.
What does that say about her, and about the Atwood family at large?
Lost in his thoughts, he doesn't hear the car stopping behind him, doesn't hear his name being called, doesn't hear anyone following him.
Then all of a sudden, hands grab him, make him spin around, and he finds himself face to face with a concerned-looking Sandy.
Ryan closes his eyes, out of breath again.
Now that he's standing still, he can't ignore the pain anymore, and fuck, it really hurts this time.
"Ryan?" Sandy asks, his voice impossibly loud in Ryan's ears.
He tries to open his eyes, only to be blinded by the glare of the car headlights.
He closes his eyes again and drops to the ground, Sandy's arms around him, slowing the fall.
When he feels himself starting to drift away, he doesn't try to cling to consciousness.
***
Ryan blinks up at the white ceiling, hears the monitor beeping next to him, and swallows a bad taste of deja-vu.
He may have forgotten all about his past, but he can still remember the first time he woke up after the accident-quite a feat, considering how heavily sedated he was then. But all the drugs in the world weren't enough to stop the sinking feeling of panic when a doctor asked for his name, and he opened his mouth to reply and came up blank.
The panic didn't last long; after the first three questions, he just started to feel detached from the whole situation, hearing himself reply, "I don't know," to inane questions about his family, his address and his phone number.
Then, the doctor moved to who the President was-and fuck if the answer to that question didn't come easily to Ryan.
He hates this whole situation.
He hates the migraines, not remembering who he was, hates having to rely on people who have known him for a mere few months for answers, hates… well, all of this.
Sighing, he carefully looks around, having learned from past experience that it's best to move slowly when waking up from a migraine.
The first thing he notices is that it's still night out.
He hasn't stayed unconscious for long, then.
Then his eyes fall on the slumped form of Sandy, asleep on a chair next to the bed. His first reaction is relief-Sandy is a familiar face, a comforting one, and whatever his reasons are for sticking with Ryan, right this moment, Ryan's glad to see him.
Then Ryan notices that the man looks like hell, and guilt sets in. Sandy has spent enough time sitting next to Ryan’s bed for a lifetime already, and now here he is, adding to his problems.
Sandy stirs and opens his eyes, sitting straighter when he notices Ryan watching him. "Hey, kid."
"Hey."
There's a tense silence, broken only by the regular beeping of the monitor and muted footsteps in the corridor.
"I'm sorry," Ryan starts, at the same time Sandy says, "Look, Ryan, I'm sorry."
Sandy half-sighs, half-chuckles, and rubs his eyes tiredly. "I'm sorry," he repeats. "Caleb… Well."
He seems at a loss for words.
"Mr. Nichol told the truth," Ryan whispers.
"No," Sandy says quickly. "Caleb told the truth as he sees it. And frankly, his interpretation of events leaves something to be desired."
"Does it?"
Then he grimaces when he feels a dull pain awaken in his head. Sandy must have caught it.
"You need to stay calm," he says. "The doctors told you not to overdo it, and taking off in a run and walking a couple of miles qualify as overdoing it."
Ryan doesn't reply. What he did was stupid, he shouldn't have done it, but that's not the point right now.
"Okay. First of all, we didn't take you in out of charity," Sandy says. "We took you in because we liked you, and we thought you deserved a chance."
…killing my grandson…
"And you're not a criminal, no matter what Caleb says." Ryan hears a whispered, "He's one to talk, anyway." Then, Sandy focuses on him again. "You're a kid who had a rough life and made a mistake. You paid for it."
…back to jail where you belong…
"Ryan?" Sandy asks.
"I think I'd like to be alone," Ryan says, his voice hesitant.
"Fine," Sandy says. He rises up and puts a hand under Ryan's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "But Caleb was wrong. We love you, and we took you in because of that, and nothing will make us change our minds."
"He said I killed your son," Ryan states, hating that his voice sounds so plaintive. Please, say I didn't do that.
"Another driver killed our son," Sandy retorts, looking sad and old-the way he always does when he talks about Seth. "You didn't do anything wrong."
Ryan sighs, drops his eyes.
Sandy leans down, forcing eye contact again. "Look at me," he orders.
Ryan does, surprised. He can't remember Sandy ever speaking that forcefully before.
"Do I look at you as if you were responsible for my son's death?"
Ryan swallows convulsively, thinking about how nice Sandy and Kirsten have been to him so far, even in their grief-the room they set up for him, the support they give him through his more angry moments, when he wants to scream because that emptiness in his mind is driving him mad.
"You lost your memories, Ryan, not your intelligence," Sandy adds softly.
When Ryan meets Sandy's eyes he can't see anything but sincerity there.
Ryan nods slowly and drops his head back into his pillow.
"Okay," he says, his voice hoarse. "But I still want to be alone. Please."
Sandy nods, pats his shoulder awkwardly and steps out.
Despite how tired he is, it takes a long time for Ryan to fall asleep that night.
Chapter 2
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : Car accident. Ryan. Amnesia. There, that's clear, isn’t it?
Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N. This fic wouldn't be seeing the light of day if it hadn't been for Joey's enthusiastic comments and invaluable help. Thanks, again!
Chapter One
Ryan is walking aimlessly through the streets, trying to keep his mind blank. Funny how difficult he finds it, considering the circumstances.
All his memories, what he liked, what he knew about himself, who he was, neatly erased in a few minutes, leaving no trace-yet, he still can't stop his thoughts from twirling in his mind, can't stop the confrontation from playing again, and again, and again.
…send you back to jail…
…I'll be damned if I let my family…
…out of charity…
It's dark and surprisingly cold for Southern California. Ryan's starting to regret not having brought a jacket with him when he rushed out of the house.
Okay, "rushed out of he house" is a slight understatement.
"Ran like hell" might be more accurate.
Whatever.
It's not like he was thinking about jackets, or about anything else. He just wanted to escape Mr. Nichol's spiteful accusations and his gleeful look at Ryan's distress.
He just wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and Caleb Nichol.
Ryan realizes he's almost running and forces himself to stop and take a deep breath.
They think you're a good kid, but you're nothing but a street thug, Mr. Nichol said-no, yelled.
Ryan sighs and closes his eyes, remembering how he took a step back at the words and found himself hitting a wall, in every sense of the term.
Without memories, he lacks the weapons to defend himself.
For all he knows, Mr. Nichol is right.
After all, Sandy did say that Ryan stole a car.
"My daughter took you in out of charity when your drunk of a mother abandoned you, and you repaid her by killing my grandson, and she's still too nice to send you back to jail where you belong, but I'm not, and I'll be damned if I let my family-"
Ryan tuned him out at that point, his eyes meeting Kirsten's over Mr. Nichol's shoulders, and when she looked down, tears in her eyes, he snapped.
He looked at Mr. Nichol again, saw the hatred on his face, heard it in his words, and pushed him back forcefully, not caring that the old man stumbled, not caring that Kirsten called after him, just needing to get out of there before-
Without realizing it, he has started to walk again, and he finds himself panting at the top of a slope, his muscles aching from the strain.
Stupid.
He hasn't been out of the hospital for that long, he still gets tired easily, and he really shouldn't run that long, that fast.
Damn it.
He's sure that once upon a time, he would have been able to walk-run, even-this distance without feeling like an old man instead of a healthy sixteen-year-old.
Of course, he's not exactly healthy anymore.
He still needs to rest a lot, the doctors have been clear enough on that point.
They can't do much to give him back the sixteen years of his life that have vanished from his memory, but they can tell him to rest and take it easy.
Fuckers.
Ryan sits on the curb for a moment, trying to catch his breath.
What the hell is he supposed to do now?
He doesn't want to go back to the house in case Mr. Nichol is still there, and he doesn't have anywhere else to go.
He feels stuck in a doorless room, has felt that way ever since he awoke in a hospital three weeks earlier, his mind empty of everything that made him… him.
He doesn't recognize the house he lives in, doesn't recognize the things Kirsten and Sandy say are his, doesn't remember their son who died in the accident, can't mourn with them.
He can't remember his first family or the relationship he had with them.
He can't remember ever dating that weepy girl who came to visit him a few times in the hospital, but never since he has come back "home."
He can't remember that that other girl, Summer, and Seth were together.
He can't remember ever going out with them.
He can't share stories and memories with them.
He can't feel anything but blank and itchy-as if the memories he needs to be himself again are there, just out of reach, and that if he focuses enough, he'll be able to find them and everything will make sense again.
He spends hours, every day, looking for these memories and coming back with nothing.
Kirsten and Sandy keep saying that it's okay, that it'll come back when it will, and if it doesn't, they'll help him deal with it, and that other memories will come.
They're wrong.
It's everything but okay.
It's driving Ryan insane.
It's making Ryan wish he could…
Whatever.
He just wishes he could do something, anything about it.
As usual when he's getting worked up, Ryan can feel a slight pounding in his head.
He knows that it will get worse if he doesn't calm down, but he can't calm down, not after… this.
…back to jail where you belong…
Is that what people in this town think of him? That he's a criminal who deserves to be in jail?
And if he was a car thief, who's to say that they're not right?
Granted, he doesn't remember doing it-nor can he think of any circumstances where he'd ever consider doing something that dumb.
But none of that matters.
He did it.
He wishes he could remember something.
Some small glimpse of his past.
Some reasons as to why he's here, with these nice people, and not with his messed up family.
Or in jail.
As usual when he's trying to re-assemble the pieces of his past, he starts with his oldest memory-waking up in the hospital-and tries to work his way backwards from there.
As always, he comes up blank.
There's nothing, not even a vague memory of the accident, no flash of light, no memories of pain, of fear, of noise.
Just blackness and emptiness.
The pounding in his head is growing worse, but Ryan ignores it.
Rising to his feet, he starts walking again, ignoring the pain that now seems to be encompassing his whole brain.
Doesn't he have any friends? Aside from Marissa, Summer and Luke, he doesn't seem to know anyone.
Where is his mother? The Cohens have told him that they're trying to find her, which implies that not only did she abandon him, but she didn't even bother to stay in touch.
What does that say about her, and about the Atwood family at large?
Lost in his thoughts, he doesn't hear the car stopping behind him, doesn't hear his name being called, doesn't hear anyone following him.
Then all of a sudden, hands grab him, make him spin around, and he finds himself face to face with a concerned-looking Sandy.
Ryan closes his eyes, out of breath again.
Now that he's standing still, he can't ignore the pain anymore, and fuck, it really hurts this time.
"Ryan?" Sandy asks, his voice impossibly loud in Ryan's ears.
He tries to open his eyes, only to be blinded by the glare of the car headlights.
He closes his eyes again and drops to the ground, Sandy's arms around him, slowing the fall.
When he feels himself starting to drift away, he doesn't try to cling to consciousness.
***
Ryan blinks up at the white ceiling, hears the monitor beeping next to him, and swallows a bad taste of deja-vu.
He may have forgotten all about his past, but he can still remember the first time he woke up after the accident-quite a feat, considering how heavily sedated he was then. But all the drugs in the world weren't enough to stop the sinking feeling of panic when a doctor asked for his name, and he opened his mouth to reply and came up blank.
The panic didn't last long; after the first three questions, he just started to feel detached from the whole situation, hearing himself reply, "I don't know," to inane questions about his family, his address and his phone number.
Then, the doctor moved to who the President was-and fuck if the answer to that question didn't come easily to Ryan.
He hates this whole situation.
He hates the migraines, not remembering who he was, hates having to rely on people who have known him for a mere few months for answers, hates… well, all of this.
Sighing, he carefully looks around, having learned from past experience that it's best to move slowly when waking up from a migraine.
The first thing he notices is that it's still night out.
He hasn't stayed unconscious for long, then.
Then his eyes fall on the slumped form of Sandy, asleep on a chair next to the bed. His first reaction is relief-Sandy is a familiar face, a comforting one, and whatever his reasons are for sticking with Ryan, right this moment, Ryan's glad to see him.
Then Ryan notices that the man looks like hell, and guilt sets in. Sandy has spent enough time sitting next to Ryan’s bed for a lifetime already, and now here he is, adding to his problems.
Sandy stirs and opens his eyes, sitting straighter when he notices Ryan watching him. "Hey, kid."
"Hey."
There's a tense silence, broken only by the regular beeping of the monitor and muted footsteps in the corridor.
"I'm sorry," Ryan starts, at the same time Sandy says, "Look, Ryan, I'm sorry."
Sandy half-sighs, half-chuckles, and rubs his eyes tiredly. "I'm sorry," he repeats. "Caleb… Well."
He seems at a loss for words.
"Mr. Nichol told the truth," Ryan whispers.
"No," Sandy says quickly. "Caleb told the truth as he sees it. And frankly, his interpretation of events leaves something to be desired."
"Does it?"
Then he grimaces when he feels a dull pain awaken in his head. Sandy must have caught it.
"You need to stay calm," he says. "The doctors told you not to overdo it, and taking off in a run and walking a couple of miles qualify as overdoing it."
Ryan doesn't reply. What he did was stupid, he shouldn't have done it, but that's not the point right now.
"Okay. First of all, we didn't take you in out of charity," Sandy says. "We took you in because we liked you, and we thought you deserved a chance."
…killing my grandson…
"And you're not a criminal, no matter what Caleb says." Ryan hears a whispered, "He's one to talk, anyway." Then, Sandy focuses on him again. "You're a kid who had a rough life and made a mistake. You paid for it."
…back to jail where you belong…
"Ryan?" Sandy asks.
"I think I'd like to be alone," Ryan says, his voice hesitant.
"Fine," Sandy says. He rises up and puts a hand under Ryan's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "But Caleb was wrong. We love you, and we took you in because of that, and nothing will make us change our minds."
"He said I killed your son," Ryan states, hating that his voice sounds so plaintive. Please, say I didn't do that.
"Another driver killed our son," Sandy retorts, looking sad and old-the way he always does when he talks about Seth. "You didn't do anything wrong."
Ryan sighs, drops his eyes.
Sandy leans down, forcing eye contact again. "Look at me," he orders.
Ryan does, surprised. He can't remember Sandy ever speaking that forcefully before.
"Do I look at you as if you were responsible for my son's death?"
Ryan swallows convulsively, thinking about how nice Sandy and Kirsten have been to him so far, even in their grief-the room they set up for him, the support they give him through his more angry moments, when he wants to scream because that emptiness in his mind is driving him mad.
"You lost your memories, Ryan, not your intelligence," Sandy adds softly.
When Ryan meets Sandy's eyes he can't see anything but sincerity there.
Ryan nods slowly and drops his head back into his pillow.
"Okay," he says, his voice hoarse. "But I still want to be alone. Please."
Sandy nods, pats his shoulder awkwardly and steps out.
Despite how tired he is, it takes a long time for Ryan to fall asleep that night.
Chapter 2