OC Fic : Twelve Things That Never Happened to Ryan Atwood, 2
Title : Twelve Things That Never Happened to Ryan Atwood
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : Twelve things that never happened to Ryan. D'uh.
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.
AN. This one is slightly dark and disturbing-as in, it toes the line between non-con and dubious con. Read at your own risk.
AN2. Eternal gratitude to joey51, for her help and her comments.
memory lane
"Hey, man, isn't that your mother over there?"
With these few words, the sense of peace that Ryan has been enjoying for the past half hour dissipates, instantly replaced by a gut-twisting sense of dread.
Yes, it does indeed look like Dawn is waiting on the other side of the street, watching on as Harbor students lounge about in the sun, enjoying their mealtime to the fullest, relaxed and carefree.
Ryan ignores the anxiety that's already starting to gnaw at him. If Dawn is hanging around, less than five months after she abandoned Ryan with the Cohens, it can only mean one thing.
She needs money, or even worse, AJ needs money.
Maybe she wants you to come back, a small, tantalizing voice whispers. Ryan ignores it. He doesn't believe that, doesn't hope for it. It would only lead to hurt and disappointment, and he has had enough of that already.
"Ryan?" Luke is watching him with interest, the hostility that permeated their early encounters long gone. Luke now belongs to the outcasts and while he never says so aloud, it's clear he appreciate that some people are still willing to talk to him and be seen with him-even if these few people are a suspected arsonist, a geek, and a fallen princess.
"Yeah," Ryan replies absently. His breathing is even, he notices thankfully. Nervous sweat is running down his back, his hands are clammy, his guts is twisted into hard knots, but to all eyes, he appears calm.
He gets to his feet slowly. "I should go see what she wants." He dares a look at Luke, sees the worry already etched on his face. Fuck. He had hoped Luke would just take it in stride; he had hoped Luke wouldn't prove to be as much of a mother hen as the Cohens.
"You sure-?"
Ryan cuts him off before he can finish. "It's fine." He smiles unconvincingly. "If I'm not back in time for when classes start, can you tell the teachers I had to deal with a family emergency?"
Luke nods hesitantly. Ryan breathes a small sigh of relief when the other boy doesn’t ask the question that's obviously on his mind - "which family?" - and takes a step to the car where Dawn is leaning.
"The coach will have your head if you miss practice," Luke says behind Ryan's back.
Ryan takes another step towards Dawn, thinking that if the coach is the least of his problems today, he'll be happy.
For a moment, Ryan is grateful that Seth is home sick and not around to ask ten thousand questions, suggest that Ryan call Sandy, or even ask why Ryan is going when Dawn gave up on him-a very good question that Ryan couldn't answer to save his life.
***
When he reaches the car, Dawn throws herself at him, hugging him, whispering that she's sorry, she just didn't know what to do, and will he help his ma?
"Of course," Ryan says. He learned long ago not to push Dawn back when she's hugging him, not unless he wants to hear her complain about what an ungrateful waste of skin he is.
"That's my boy," Dawn says, smiling.
Ryan suffers the hug, steps back when she releases him and opens the car door, tries not to swear when he spots AJ sitting behind the wheel, a gun across his lap. Ryan remembers that gun from his first meeting with the guy. "That beauty once killed a cop," AJ bragged, the message clear. I can and will kill anyone who pisses me off, so shut up and be quiet.
AJ smiles at him, a smile that makes cold sweat run down Ryan's back. He swallows nervously as AJ gestures to the vacant seat next to him.
"Climb in," AJ says, almost sweetly.
Damn. The man is even more creepy when he's trying to play nice.
His limbs feeling like lead, Ryan slides into the car, slams the door behind him.
"We have an errand for you to make. Then, you'll go back to your fancy new family."
AJ starts the engine just as Dawn sits behind Ryan, her hand weighing heavily on his shoulder when she says, "I knew you'd come, baby. I knew you hadn't forgotten me."
***
The ride to Chino passes in absolute silence.
Ryan stares out the window, the fear growing with each mile that passes. AJ and Dawn haven't told him what they want him to do yet, but he has been through this enough times in the past to know that they probably pissed someone off, or that they owe someone money, and that they are going to ask Ryan to settle their debt.
"You've got such a pretty face," AJ used to say as an explanation, back when Ryan was living with them. "They're nicer with kids anyway."
As for Dawn… Well, Ryan doesn't want her to go see people to whom she owes money. He has heard what these men do to women, and the thought of his mother being put through that is enough to make him want to puke.
When AJ stops in front of an ATM terminal on the outskirts of Chino and shoves Ryan's shoulder, all he does is sigh and ask, "How much do you need?"
"I'm not sure I like your tone," AJ says. The gun vanished under his seat before they left Newport but just knowing it's here is enough to remind Ryan that AJ is not someone he wants as an enemy.
Wow, he sure trained you well.
"1,700," Dawn says conversationally. "Not as much as the last time, right, kid?"
Ryan is close to snapping at her-how can she be so flippant about it all?-but out of the corner of his eye, he sees AJ balling his hand into a fist.
At least Ryan has that much money in his account-the Cohens are generous and he still has some of the money he made working during the summer. There won't be much left once this is done but it's still better than having to drive a stolen car around, as he did only a few weeks ago for Trey. And this time, he might get messed up, but the chances he'll land in juvie are slim.
Silver lining to everything, he thinks. He'd laugh, if he wasn't so damn tense.
Forcing his hands to remain steady, he opens the door and steps out of the car, blinking in the hot glare of the sun. Fishing his wallet from his back pocket, he makes his way to the machine, and forces his now shaky hands to slip the card into the machine, focusing before he can remember his pin code. Maybe, just maybe, if AJ has the money, he'll let Ryan leave. It's still early. Ryan might make it back to Newport in time for practice and…
He stops. Wishful thinking won't get him anywhere. There are ATM machines in Newport, too. If all AJ wanted was money, he wouldn't have driven Ryan all the way to Chino.
He collects his money and puts his card back in his wallet.
He could attempt to make a run for it. He's fairly sure he wouldn't get far, though, and it would infuriate AJ, and Ryan thinks that maybe AJ's stoned. It's sometimes hard to tell with the guy, but the simmering anger is even less leashed than it usually is, and that's a bad sign.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Ryan makes his way back to the car, wishing he was anywhere but here.
***
AJ drops him off in front of a dilapidated house, not far from where the Atwoods used to live.
"We owe money to that guy," he says flatly. As if Ryan hadn't figured that part out on his own. "Give it to him, and tell him we'll want enough to last until the end of the week. The 1,700 should cover it."
And if they don't, AJ won't care, because he won't be around to withstand his dealer's bad mood.
Ryan keeps his fear from showing.
He can do this.
He has done this before, enough time to know the rules.
If he can keep his eyes down, be submissive and avoid making smart ass comments, he should survive the day.
"There's a Super 8 motel two blocks from here. We'll wait for you."
Ryan nods.
His hands feel like ice when he reaches for the door handle, but they're not trembling.
Dawn is sniffing in the backseat, but Ryan doesn't turn to face her.
Steeling himself, he heads to the door of the house, feeling AJ's eyes following him until a man opens the door. Then he hears the car veer back into the traffic, leaving him alone.
***
Ryan bites back a cry as another fist connects with his stomach, adding its mark to the numerous bruises already forming there.
He can feel blood flowing down his back each time someone punches him, from the shallow cut one of these fuckers gave him with his knife-not deep enough to do real damage, but deep enough to hurt, and maybe even require stitches.
He blinks back tears of strain, gasps in a breath, tries not to grunt when a blow lands on his chest. Without the two men holding him up, he'd be on the floor now. At least, then, he'd be able to curl up and protect himself from the worst blows.
He hates this.
All his instincts are screaming at him to hit back, to struggle, but there are five men in the room, at least two of them are armed, and he couldn't fight them all.
A boot connects with his leg, just above his ankle, sending a nauseating wave of pain through his whole body.
His head snaps to the side when a fist connects with his cheek, his eyes watering.
Another hand holds his hair as another blow lands on his face.
And another.
And another.
The arms holding him up release him and Ryan collapses, panting.
Somebody kicks him, low on the back, twice.
Then, mercifully, they leave him alone and start whispering among themselves.
Ryan manages to drag his eyes open enough to see a pair of feet approaching him. He lets out a strangled shout when a foot steps on his hand, then one of the men grabs his shirt and hauls him up.
"Let's go see if the boss thinks this is enough payment," a rough voice says near his ear.
This is the second in command, Ryan knows. He's the one who told the big boss that the 1,700 didn't cover the interest that AJ had accumulated for over three weeks now and that at least another 500 would be required for the debt to be settled.
"You have that money, kid?" the boss asked, not un-gently.
Ryan swallowed, shook his head, knowing where this was heading.
He doesn't have near that much money left in his account and fuck AJ for not thinking about that-except of course, AJ did think about that. That's why he had sent Ryan to do his bidding.
The pain in his hand makes him want to throw up, which would be a terminally bad idea-these men wouldn't take kindly to having to clean up his mess, and he doesn't need them pissed. He could barely handle them when they were merely being professionals obeying their boss' orders.
***
Mr. Second-In-Command leaves him alone with the big boss, who gestures to a small bag on his desk.
"Consider the debt settled," he says, while Ryan uses all his willpower to remain standing. "I prepared enough for your mother and her boyfriend to last the week." He smiles. "But of course, only the debt is settled. If you want to take this with you, I have one more thing to ask."
Ryan stares at him, feeling stupid. He should have caught on already, all his instincts are screaming at him to get out of here, but he's not firing on all cylinders anymore.
The boss keeps smiling. "Normally, I'd just ask the boys to go on for a while longer, but under the circumstances…"
He approaches Ryan, slowly undoing his belt as he walks. "Well, maybe another sort of payment may be more… appropriate."
It dawns on Ryan with the subtlety of hitting a brick wall.
He shoots a look to the door, but he has no doubt that at least two men are standing on the other side right now, and won't leave unless their boss orders them to.
He could leave. He could say he doesn't want the drugs, he could say AJ will just have to pay for it himself. But Dawn knows where the Cohens live, which means that AJ knows, too. And Dawn is alone with AJ right now. If Ryan doesn't get back, there's no telling what he'll do to her to vent his bad mood.
Ryan meets the dealer's eyes, and sighs in defeat.
He drops to his knees, every movement painful as it jars the bruises.
He closes his eyes, opens his mouth, disgusted at how easily it all comes back to him.
Don't throw up, he tells himself. Whatever you do, don't throw up. He'll kill you.
The dealer takes a final step and slides his cock into Ryan's mouth.
Don't throw up.
Ryan thinks about the pool house-it must still be as he left it in the morning, an open book on the nightstand. He's pretty sure there's a comic Seth loaned him on the bed.
Don't throw up.
He should be in class right now.
Possibly Physics, but he doesn’t know how late it is.
Don't throw up.
He once thought he would rather be anywhere but in his Physics class.
The thoughts makes him chuckle around the cock, and the dealer makes a noise is response that makes Ryan close his eyes a little tighter.
Don't throw up.
He's still repeating to himself not to throw up when the dealer comes in his mouth.
When he swallows.
When rough hands put him back to his feet, when a small package is pushed into his hands, when he feels himself being dragged away to the door.
He manages to walk half the distance to the motel before he gets violently sick. He leans on a wall until it passes, shivering in the heat.
***
Once Ryan has made it to the motel and delivered the goods to AJ, who showed all his gratitude by snapping, "Now get the fuck out of here," while Dawn snored on their unmade bed, he spends a while considering his options.
The Cohens' car is sitting in Harbor's parking lot.
He doesn’t think a cab would take him in. Same goes for a bus-he has no idea what his face looks like but from the way it feels, it must be bad.
Fuck, at least when he still lived in Chino, he could walk back to his bed and wait it out. He didn't have to figure out the logistics for traveling across half California.
Ryan snorts bitterly.
Only one thing left to do.
He just hopes Arturo will accept a collect call.
***
"Holy fucking shit," Arturo says upon seeing him. "You should be in the hospital, Ryan."
Ryan sighs.
Maybe he should have chanced the bus after all.
"Can you just drive me back?" he asks. "Please?"
Arturo guides him to the car in silence. It's only when they're both settled that he asks, "You sure you don't want me to-?"
Ryan blinks at him, exhausted. "Yes."
"Okay." Arturo nods, clearly unconvinced.
I want to go home to my bed, and sleep, and not answer questions right now, so please just drive.
Arturo seems to hear his unspoken plea. "Theresa wasn't there when you called, but Ma was. She wanted me to tell you she thinks about you all the time, and she hopes you're fine."
Ryan smiles a little wistfully. "I miss her cooking," he says. "Tell her thanks, and tell Theresa I said, 'Hi,' okay?"
Arturo nods, keeping his eyes on the road. "Are you fine, though? I mean, you really look like…"
Like he usually did whenever AJ was having a bad day, Ryan surmises. Not surprising. He sure as hell feels shitty. He closes his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"The people you're living with… they…"
"They're good people," Ryan throws in.
"So today-"
Ryan's eyes snap open of their own accord. "Fuck it, Turo, today AJ needed a fucking favor, and I did it, okay?"
Arturo doesn't say anything else, flawlessly maneuvering his car onto the freeway.
Ryan closes his eyes again and allows the hum of the traffic to soothe his nerves.
He doesn't know what he's going to tell the Cohens.
He's sure that even if tells them the truth, there are some details he'll keep to himself, like what happened in the office of the dealer.
A fresh wave of nausea hits and he yells at Arturo to stop the car.
"What?"
"Stop the fucking car!" Ryan shouts, swallowing back painfully.
Arturo takes one look at his face and swerves onto the shoulder, swearing in Spanish as he brings the car to a halt.
Ryan barely has time to lean his head out the door before he gets sick again, the dry heaves even more painful than earlier in the day. He can feel fresh blood seeping down his back as the wound reopens.
"You okay, Ryan?" Arturo asks when Ryan leans back against his seat, spent.
"Just great," he says through clenched teeth.
Arturo growls softly under his breath, cursing the Atwoods.
"That wasn't very polite," Ryan says, smiling.
"Screw politeness!"
Ryan starts to laugh, quietly at first, then increasingly louder, wrapping his arms around his midsection when the contracted muscles are put under even more strain. It takes him several minutes to get some control back. Arturo doesn't say a word in all that time, but Ryan can feel him patting his shoulder comfortingly.
Arturo knows a lot about Ryan and Trey's lives. He has seen them both like this before.
When Ryan is left gasping for air, wiping tears from his face, Arturo pats his shoulders one final time, an unspoken promise that Ryan would be fine.
He puts the car back into gear without looking at Ryan, who gratefully accepts that little privacy.
He remembers Trey taking care of him after such encounters in the past.
He remembers taking care of Trey.
For a while, despite what happened on Thanksgiving, he misses his brother so much that it hurts.
Then, the pain goes away, leaving him empty.
***
"Are you sure you don't want me to drive you home?" Arturo insists.
Ryan rolls his eyes. "I'm not leaving their car here all night." He's not even sure cars are allowed to stay here all night.
Arturo shoots him a look that says his logic is flawed and he'll come to realize that soon, but doesn’t insist.
Ryan watches him leave, waiting until the car has turned at the corner of the street before making his way to the Cohens' car.
He doesn’t know how late it is-his watch got broken during the beating up portion of his day-but by the way the sun is getting lower, Ryan would bet that he's late already. His cell phone is in his backpack, and his backpack must still be in his locker, but Ryan will see about getting it back later. If ever.
Right now, all he can think about is getting home, climbing into his bed, and sleeping for a few days.
It takes him what feels like hours to get to the car and once he reaches his goal, everything starts tilting around him, and he suddenly finds himself leaning on the car for all he's worth. That's still not enough to keep him upright, and he sinks to the ground as his knees buckle under him.
Okay.
So, maybe Arturo was right to give him weird looks.
That still doesn't mean that Ryan has to give up, though.
He just needs to rest for a little while, then he'll take the car and drive back to the Cohens.
Just a little while.
***
"Atwood?"
"Is he all right?"
"I don't know, Ward!"
The harsh sound causes Ryan to flinch away.
"Coach, I think he's…"
"Yes, I saw that. Now, call the damn ambulance."
A silence, a shuffle, then Ryan feels a hand shaking him softly. "Atwood?"
Ryan wants nothing else but to be left in peace; unfortunately, the voice is unrelenting. "Atwood?"
Apparently, more sleep is out of the question for now.
"Atwood, wake up. Right now."
Ryan tries to open his eyes, painful inch by painful inch. "What?" he croaks. The blurry face of his coach looms over him. Ryan tries to move away but hands on his shoulders keep him from moving.
"Try to sit still."
Ryan blinks a few times, struggles to get his bearings.
The ground is hard and uneven under his hands.
He's lying down.
He's almost sure he's lying down.
And the coach looks worried.
That's probably not good.
"The ambulance will be here in ten," Luke says, leaning over Ryan.
"No ambulance," Ryan whispers.
"Dude, seriously, you don't want to argue on that one," Luke says, at the same time the coach says, "You need it, Atwood."
"I'm fine," he insists.
Luke barks out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.
The coach shoots him a strange look, frowning.
"I'm fine," Ryan insists, just as his eyes start to close again.
"Stay awake," the coach barks. Ryan hears a last muttered, "He's fine, he says."
Then he allows sleep to claim him.
***
It takes three days for Ryan to start caring about his surroundings again. He can barely remember a few flashes of the two previous days-doctors telling him to take a deep breath, urging him to continue despite the pain, Sandy looking at him with a worried frown.
He vaguely remembers a whispered conversation in his darkened room, his coach's apologetic voice and Sandy's warm tone speaking too low for Ryan to understand.
His clearest memories are that of Kirsten holding his hand as he waited for the pain medication to kick in, and Sandy yelling into his phone.
He has no idea what it all means.
He had planned to get back to the Cohens and sleep it off, but that obviously didn't happen.
The Cohens never leave him alone, but they look so intense that Ryan doesn't dare ask questions. The way Kirsten keeps trying to make him more comfortable, the way Sandy keeps squeezing his hand, all makes Ryan wonder whether he's more seriously injured than he thought.
"Nothing that won't heal," Sandy says when Ryan finally gathers enough courage to ask how bad things are. "You were lucky. You broke two ribs, but they didn't puncture your lung. Your hand is badly bruised and swollen, and there are two broken fingers but the doctors assure us it'll heal just fine. The concussion worried them for a while, but they seem reassured now that you're coherent enough to reply to their questions."
Then why does everyone seem so on edge? Ryan wonders. "I'm sorry," he offers.
Sandy pats his good hand awkwardly. "It's not your fault."
Ryan isn't quite sure what to say to that so he goes with the tried and true method, and says nothing.
***
Ryan spends another two days in the hospital.
Seth is eventually allowed to visit Ryan on the second day. "I'd have come sooner, but with that cold, the rents didn't want me to make you sick."
"It's okay."
There's an awkward pause. Ryan shifts in his bed, trying to hide his grimace. The bruises all over his body are taking on interesting colors, an ugly bluish yellow, and everything hurts when he tries to move.
"You look like hell, man," Seth offers.
Ryan smiles sadly. "I know." He was pretty shocked the first time he saw himself in the mirror. His entire face is bruised, although thankfully the swelling is starting to go down.
It must have looked a lot worse when he was admitted, and maybe that explains a little why the Cohens look so damn freaked out whenever they see him.
"When can you come back home?"
Ryan sighs. Not soon enough, that's for sure. "Maybe tomorrow."
"That'll be cool."
Seth is having a hard time finding what to say to him, and that, more than anything, makes Ryan uncomfortable. He has never seen Seth hesitate before speaking to him, has never even known that his friend could be at a loss for words until now.
***
Kirsten is busy signing the discharge papers when Sandy drops his bombshell. They're both sitting on the hospital bed where Ryan has spent the last five days, both of them staring at the door. Ryan has only told the Cohens the barest facts; his mother needed money and he gave it to her. It took some questioning but Sandy eventually managed to get him to admit that AJ was involved as well.
He hasn't said anything about what he did to buy AJ and Dawn more drugs, nor does he plan to. There are some things about the Atwood family that Sandy will never learn if Ryan has anything to say about it.
"I hired a PI to keep an eye on AJ and Dawn," Sandy says. He's using his lawyer voice, the one that says, "I know you won't agree and I don't give a damn. Deal with it."
"For how long?" Ryan asks carefully. He doesn't want to tell Sandy that it's unnecessary, that it probably won't help in the long run.
"Indefinitely."
Ryan takes in a sharp breath. "Sandy-" he starts.
Sandy waves a hand at him. "I won't change my mind," he says.
"It's going to cost a fortune," Ryan points out. The Cohens are already paying too much for him, and he just gave 1,700 dollars to a drug dealer. They shouldn't have to pay even more. Not for AJ.
"I don't care," Sandy says, his tone fierce. "I will not have anything like this happen again."
Sandy doesn't even know the worst, or how many times Ryan has found himself on his knees before, frantically clinging to the certainty that he would go back home and everything would be fine. Oh, sure, he must suspect, but he doesn't know for sure. Yet what little Sandy does know was obviously enough to cause him to spend a few thousand dollars on keeping an eye on AJ's whereabouts.
Ryan would have thought that life in Newport would become easier after a while, but he's as baffled by the Cohens now as he was when he first sat at their table.
"It has happened before, hasn't it?" Sandy asks.
Ryan keeps his eyes on the wall, blinking slowly.
"Ryan, you'll need to talk about it eventually. You don't have to deal with this on your own."
What do you want to know, Sandy? Do you want me to tell you about the cops, the blood, the yelling, the drugs? The beatings? The alcohol? How I didn't speak for two weeks after the first time I had to do an "errand" for AJ?
How Trey held me up when I was too sick to stand on my own?
How I held Trey's hand the one time he cried himself to sleep, the last time I ever saw him cry. He went insane after that, you know. Most people didn't see it, but I did.
Which parts of my past do you want to know more about?
All of it?
He forces himself to meet Sandy's eyes.
He sees the fear and the compassion in them.
No, you don't. Not yet.
Maybe never.
They wait for Kirsten's return in silence.
***
"You still look a little rough, there, man," Luke says as he and Ryan sit down for lunch. It has been two days since Ryan left the hospital. The bruises are taking their time fading but at least they're not so painful anymore. Ryan is thankful for small mercies.
"I know." He takes a bite of his sandwich before asking, with a feeling of dread, "I don't remember much, but it was the coach who found me, wasn't it?"
"It was me," Luke corrects. "Practice ran late and the coach volunteered me for clean up duty, and when I saw that the car was still there, I went to check, and you were there." He stares at the ground, apparently mesmerized by the grass at his feet. "There was blood around you."
Ryan fights down an urge to apologize.
"I called the coach," Luke goes on, looking elsewhere. "He's the one who told me to call an ambulance. And you woke up for, like, a minute, before passing out again."
Ryan swallows, suddenly grateful that Luke is avoiding his gaze.
"I'm never covering for you again, by the way."
Ryan snorts. "Fair enough."
Luke shoots an embarrassed look in his direction, sips his coke, and the conversation shifts to safer ground-how bitchy the chemistry teacher was today and how much money did Holly's father waste on her last boob job?
***
"Atwood!" the coach barks as Ryan makes his way down the hallway to his locker, later that day.
Ryan starts and spins around, surprised. "Sir?"
"A word. Now."
The coach turns and heads to his office, leaving him little choice but to follow him.
The short walk to the office leaves Ryan slightly out of breath, and he grimaces inwardly. It will be a long while until the doctors allow him to play again. Maybe that's what the coach wants to talk about.
"Sit before you fall down," the coach says gruffly.
Ryan carefully lowers himself on the seat, mindful of his healing ribs.
The coach stares at him for a while, thoughtfully fingering a pen. Ryan tries to keep from fidgeting, uncomfortable with the attention.
"I won't ask you what happened," the coach says eventually. "Your guardians summed it up for me, and made it clear that I wasn't to know the details."
Ryan bites his lip, wondering what Sandy told the school. He hadn't thought about that before. Did he stick with the family emergency excuse, or did he have to be more specific?
"I'm not blind," the coach goes on. Ryan focuses on him again. "And I'm not deaf either. I'd bet six months of my salary that it wasn't the first time someone used you for target practice."
Ryan clenches his teeth, resisting the urge to slam his fist into something, or to run away.
"What I'd really like to know is why you went."
Ryan bites back a nervous laugh. The Cohens haven't asked him that, yet.
Is it because they understand that it didn't even occur to Ryan not to go?
Funny. He has made it a habit to read people's moods, to instantly assess the tension in a room and to make himself scarce when he doesn't like what he sees. But he has never tried to resist AJ when the man sends him somewhere to do his bidding.
He has never wanted to analyze why he does it. It has just always been easier this way. He can take a beating, and he doesn’t live with drug dealers. But AJ was always home, and having him pissed was dangerous so Ryan learned early on to comply. Anything to keep AJ off his back-anything to keep him from using Dawn as his punching bag.
Back in Chino, no one would have thought twice about seeing him bruised up but this isn't Chino, and people noticed. Even the coach.
"Why are you asking?" Ryan asks before he can stop himself. Why do you care?
"When I find a student of mine unconscious on school grounds, Atwood, I tend to wonder what happened. Don't tell me this is the first time you've been asked about it."
No, it isn't.
Of course, it isn't.
But back then, the teachers accepted what Ryan said at face value.
They knew, they had to know, but they also knew that their hands were tied and frankly, Ryan wasn't the only kid at Chino Hills who suffered from clumsiness.
"Well?" the coach barks, startling Ryan.
"No," he grinds out. "No, some of the teachers asked."
"And?"
"And what?" Ryan snaps. "They asked, I lied, life went on."
"They didn't know?" The coach studied, careful tone, doesn't hide his disbelief.
"Look at me," Ryan snaps. "Do I look like I fell down the stairs? Like I roughed it up with my brother? Like I had a bike accident?" The coach doesn't answer but the sympathy in his eyes makes Ryan want to take a swing at him. He doesn't want sympathy. He doesn't want anything but to forget this ever happened. "Everyone knew," he adds, in a calmer voice. "There wasn't anything to do."
"I…" The coach trails off, at a loss for words.
"Yeah. People suck, don't they?" Ryan says, not caring that he sounds bitter.
Sure, he lied when he was asked. Sure, no one would have been able to do anything. But not once did he feel like anyone really, genuinely wanted to know. Every time a teacher held him after class, every time the coach benched him because he was limping noticeably, no one ever truly looked at him, no one questioned his blanket, "I'm fine."
"Not all of them do," the coach says softly, bringing him back to the present.
Ryan meets his eyes, defiant, and the coach doesn't look down.
"It's different around here."
Ryan shakes his head, thinking about the Cohens, staying with him at the hospital, hiring a PI so that AJ won't get near him again.
He looks at the coach, who's still sitting there instead of doing one of the few dozens things he must still have to do before the day is over.
He doesn't believe it yet. He doesn't see why things should be different just because these people have more money. He has already seen that they're just as screwed up as people in Chino, they just cover it better.
"The Cohens must be waiting for me," Ryan says.
The coach nods. "Well, if you ever need to talk…" He adds with a sigh, "And try not to get benched too often, would you? It's not like I have many players who can replace you."
Ryan gets to his feet slowly, grateful that this uncomfortable conversation seems to be over, shakes the coach's proffered hand.
He still can't quite believe that these people truly mean it when they say they'll stick with him even if he screws up, even through the hard times.
But when he sees Sandy waiting for him at the wheel of the Rover, Ryan thinks that maybe, someday, they'll manage to convince him.
end
words
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : Twelve things that never happened to Ryan. D'uh.
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.
AN. This one is slightly dark and disturbing-as in, it toes the line between non-con and dubious con. Read at your own risk.
AN2. Eternal gratitude to joey51, for her help and her comments.
memory lane
"Hey, man, isn't that your mother over there?"
With these few words, the sense of peace that Ryan has been enjoying for the past half hour dissipates, instantly replaced by a gut-twisting sense of dread.
Yes, it does indeed look like Dawn is waiting on the other side of the street, watching on as Harbor students lounge about in the sun, enjoying their mealtime to the fullest, relaxed and carefree.
Ryan ignores the anxiety that's already starting to gnaw at him. If Dawn is hanging around, less than five months after she abandoned Ryan with the Cohens, it can only mean one thing.
She needs money, or even worse, AJ needs money.
Maybe she wants you to come back, a small, tantalizing voice whispers. Ryan ignores it. He doesn't believe that, doesn't hope for it. It would only lead to hurt and disappointment, and he has had enough of that already.
"Ryan?" Luke is watching him with interest, the hostility that permeated their early encounters long gone. Luke now belongs to the outcasts and while he never says so aloud, it's clear he appreciate that some people are still willing to talk to him and be seen with him-even if these few people are a suspected arsonist, a geek, and a fallen princess.
"Yeah," Ryan replies absently. His breathing is even, he notices thankfully. Nervous sweat is running down his back, his hands are clammy, his guts is twisted into hard knots, but to all eyes, he appears calm.
He gets to his feet slowly. "I should go see what she wants." He dares a look at Luke, sees the worry already etched on his face. Fuck. He had hoped Luke would just take it in stride; he had hoped Luke wouldn't prove to be as much of a mother hen as the Cohens.
"You sure-?"
Ryan cuts him off before he can finish. "It's fine." He smiles unconvincingly. "If I'm not back in time for when classes start, can you tell the teachers I had to deal with a family emergency?"
Luke nods hesitantly. Ryan breathes a small sigh of relief when the other boy doesn’t ask the question that's obviously on his mind - "which family?" - and takes a step to the car where Dawn is leaning.
"The coach will have your head if you miss practice," Luke says behind Ryan's back.
Ryan takes another step towards Dawn, thinking that if the coach is the least of his problems today, he'll be happy.
For a moment, Ryan is grateful that Seth is home sick and not around to ask ten thousand questions, suggest that Ryan call Sandy, or even ask why Ryan is going when Dawn gave up on him-a very good question that Ryan couldn't answer to save his life.
***
When he reaches the car, Dawn throws herself at him, hugging him, whispering that she's sorry, she just didn't know what to do, and will he help his ma?
"Of course," Ryan says. He learned long ago not to push Dawn back when she's hugging him, not unless he wants to hear her complain about what an ungrateful waste of skin he is.
"That's my boy," Dawn says, smiling.
Ryan suffers the hug, steps back when she releases him and opens the car door, tries not to swear when he spots AJ sitting behind the wheel, a gun across his lap. Ryan remembers that gun from his first meeting with the guy. "That beauty once killed a cop," AJ bragged, the message clear. I can and will kill anyone who pisses me off, so shut up and be quiet.
AJ smiles at him, a smile that makes cold sweat run down Ryan's back. He swallows nervously as AJ gestures to the vacant seat next to him.
"Climb in," AJ says, almost sweetly.
Damn. The man is even more creepy when he's trying to play nice.
His limbs feeling like lead, Ryan slides into the car, slams the door behind him.
"We have an errand for you to make. Then, you'll go back to your fancy new family."
AJ starts the engine just as Dawn sits behind Ryan, her hand weighing heavily on his shoulder when she says, "I knew you'd come, baby. I knew you hadn't forgotten me."
***
The ride to Chino passes in absolute silence.
Ryan stares out the window, the fear growing with each mile that passes. AJ and Dawn haven't told him what they want him to do yet, but he has been through this enough times in the past to know that they probably pissed someone off, or that they owe someone money, and that they are going to ask Ryan to settle their debt.
"You've got such a pretty face," AJ used to say as an explanation, back when Ryan was living with them. "They're nicer with kids anyway."
As for Dawn… Well, Ryan doesn't want her to go see people to whom she owes money. He has heard what these men do to women, and the thought of his mother being put through that is enough to make him want to puke.
When AJ stops in front of an ATM terminal on the outskirts of Chino and shoves Ryan's shoulder, all he does is sigh and ask, "How much do you need?"
"I'm not sure I like your tone," AJ says. The gun vanished under his seat before they left Newport but just knowing it's here is enough to remind Ryan that AJ is not someone he wants as an enemy.
Wow, he sure trained you well.
"1,700," Dawn says conversationally. "Not as much as the last time, right, kid?"
Ryan is close to snapping at her-how can she be so flippant about it all?-but out of the corner of his eye, he sees AJ balling his hand into a fist.
At least Ryan has that much money in his account-the Cohens are generous and he still has some of the money he made working during the summer. There won't be much left once this is done but it's still better than having to drive a stolen car around, as he did only a few weeks ago for Trey. And this time, he might get messed up, but the chances he'll land in juvie are slim.
Silver lining to everything, he thinks. He'd laugh, if he wasn't so damn tense.
Forcing his hands to remain steady, he opens the door and steps out of the car, blinking in the hot glare of the sun. Fishing his wallet from his back pocket, he makes his way to the machine, and forces his now shaky hands to slip the card into the machine, focusing before he can remember his pin code. Maybe, just maybe, if AJ has the money, he'll let Ryan leave. It's still early. Ryan might make it back to Newport in time for practice and…
He stops. Wishful thinking won't get him anywhere. There are ATM machines in Newport, too. If all AJ wanted was money, he wouldn't have driven Ryan all the way to Chino.
He collects his money and puts his card back in his wallet.
He could attempt to make a run for it. He's fairly sure he wouldn't get far, though, and it would infuriate AJ, and Ryan thinks that maybe AJ's stoned. It's sometimes hard to tell with the guy, but the simmering anger is even less leashed than it usually is, and that's a bad sign.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Ryan makes his way back to the car, wishing he was anywhere but here.
***
AJ drops him off in front of a dilapidated house, not far from where the Atwoods used to live.
"We owe money to that guy," he says flatly. As if Ryan hadn't figured that part out on his own. "Give it to him, and tell him we'll want enough to last until the end of the week. The 1,700 should cover it."
And if they don't, AJ won't care, because he won't be around to withstand his dealer's bad mood.
Ryan keeps his fear from showing.
He can do this.
He has done this before, enough time to know the rules.
If he can keep his eyes down, be submissive and avoid making smart ass comments, he should survive the day.
"There's a Super 8 motel two blocks from here. We'll wait for you."
Ryan nods.
His hands feel like ice when he reaches for the door handle, but they're not trembling.
Dawn is sniffing in the backseat, but Ryan doesn't turn to face her.
Steeling himself, he heads to the door of the house, feeling AJ's eyes following him until a man opens the door. Then he hears the car veer back into the traffic, leaving him alone.
***
Ryan bites back a cry as another fist connects with his stomach, adding its mark to the numerous bruises already forming there.
He can feel blood flowing down his back each time someone punches him, from the shallow cut one of these fuckers gave him with his knife-not deep enough to do real damage, but deep enough to hurt, and maybe even require stitches.
He blinks back tears of strain, gasps in a breath, tries not to grunt when a blow lands on his chest. Without the two men holding him up, he'd be on the floor now. At least, then, he'd be able to curl up and protect himself from the worst blows.
He hates this.
All his instincts are screaming at him to hit back, to struggle, but there are five men in the room, at least two of them are armed, and he couldn't fight them all.
A boot connects with his leg, just above his ankle, sending a nauseating wave of pain through his whole body.
His head snaps to the side when a fist connects with his cheek, his eyes watering.
Another hand holds his hair as another blow lands on his face.
And another.
And another.
The arms holding him up release him and Ryan collapses, panting.
Somebody kicks him, low on the back, twice.
Then, mercifully, they leave him alone and start whispering among themselves.
Ryan manages to drag his eyes open enough to see a pair of feet approaching him. He lets out a strangled shout when a foot steps on his hand, then one of the men grabs his shirt and hauls him up.
"Let's go see if the boss thinks this is enough payment," a rough voice says near his ear.
This is the second in command, Ryan knows. He's the one who told the big boss that the 1,700 didn't cover the interest that AJ had accumulated for over three weeks now and that at least another 500 would be required for the debt to be settled.
"You have that money, kid?" the boss asked, not un-gently.
Ryan swallowed, shook his head, knowing where this was heading.
He doesn't have near that much money left in his account and fuck AJ for not thinking about that-except of course, AJ did think about that. That's why he had sent Ryan to do his bidding.
The pain in his hand makes him want to throw up, which would be a terminally bad idea-these men wouldn't take kindly to having to clean up his mess, and he doesn't need them pissed. He could barely handle them when they were merely being professionals obeying their boss' orders.
***
Mr. Second-In-Command leaves him alone with the big boss, who gestures to a small bag on his desk.
"Consider the debt settled," he says, while Ryan uses all his willpower to remain standing. "I prepared enough for your mother and her boyfriend to last the week." He smiles. "But of course, only the debt is settled. If you want to take this with you, I have one more thing to ask."
Ryan stares at him, feeling stupid. He should have caught on already, all his instincts are screaming at him to get out of here, but he's not firing on all cylinders anymore.
The boss keeps smiling. "Normally, I'd just ask the boys to go on for a while longer, but under the circumstances…"
He approaches Ryan, slowly undoing his belt as he walks. "Well, maybe another sort of payment may be more… appropriate."
It dawns on Ryan with the subtlety of hitting a brick wall.
He shoots a look to the door, but he has no doubt that at least two men are standing on the other side right now, and won't leave unless their boss orders them to.
He could leave. He could say he doesn't want the drugs, he could say AJ will just have to pay for it himself. But Dawn knows where the Cohens live, which means that AJ knows, too. And Dawn is alone with AJ right now. If Ryan doesn't get back, there's no telling what he'll do to her to vent his bad mood.
Ryan meets the dealer's eyes, and sighs in defeat.
He drops to his knees, every movement painful as it jars the bruises.
He closes his eyes, opens his mouth, disgusted at how easily it all comes back to him.
Don't throw up, he tells himself. Whatever you do, don't throw up. He'll kill you.
The dealer takes a final step and slides his cock into Ryan's mouth.
Don't throw up.
Ryan thinks about the pool house-it must still be as he left it in the morning, an open book on the nightstand. He's pretty sure there's a comic Seth loaned him on the bed.
Don't throw up.
He should be in class right now.
Possibly Physics, but he doesn’t know how late it is.
Don't throw up.
He once thought he would rather be anywhere but in his Physics class.
The thoughts makes him chuckle around the cock, and the dealer makes a noise is response that makes Ryan close his eyes a little tighter.
Don't throw up.
He's still repeating to himself not to throw up when the dealer comes in his mouth.
When he swallows.
When rough hands put him back to his feet, when a small package is pushed into his hands, when he feels himself being dragged away to the door.
He manages to walk half the distance to the motel before he gets violently sick. He leans on a wall until it passes, shivering in the heat.
***
Once Ryan has made it to the motel and delivered the goods to AJ, who showed all his gratitude by snapping, "Now get the fuck out of here," while Dawn snored on their unmade bed, he spends a while considering his options.
The Cohens' car is sitting in Harbor's parking lot.
He doesn’t think a cab would take him in. Same goes for a bus-he has no idea what his face looks like but from the way it feels, it must be bad.
Fuck, at least when he still lived in Chino, he could walk back to his bed and wait it out. He didn't have to figure out the logistics for traveling across half California.
Ryan snorts bitterly.
Only one thing left to do.
He just hopes Arturo will accept a collect call.
***
"Holy fucking shit," Arturo says upon seeing him. "You should be in the hospital, Ryan."
Ryan sighs.
Maybe he should have chanced the bus after all.
"Can you just drive me back?" he asks. "Please?"
Arturo guides him to the car in silence. It's only when they're both settled that he asks, "You sure you don't want me to-?"
Ryan blinks at him, exhausted. "Yes."
"Okay." Arturo nods, clearly unconvinced.
I want to go home to my bed, and sleep, and not answer questions right now, so please just drive.
Arturo seems to hear his unspoken plea. "Theresa wasn't there when you called, but Ma was. She wanted me to tell you she thinks about you all the time, and she hopes you're fine."
Ryan smiles a little wistfully. "I miss her cooking," he says. "Tell her thanks, and tell Theresa I said, 'Hi,' okay?"
Arturo nods, keeping his eyes on the road. "Are you fine, though? I mean, you really look like…"
Like he usually did whenever AJ was having a bad day, Ryan surmises. Not surprising. He sure as hell feels shitty. He closes his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"The people you're living with… they…"
"They're good people," Ryan throws in.
"So today-"
Ryan's eyes snap open of their own accord. "Fuck it, Turo, today AJ needed a fucking favor, and I did it, okay?"
Arturo doesn't say anything else, flawlessly maneuvering his car onto the freeway.
Ryan closes his eyes again and allows the hum of the traffic to soothe his nerves.
He doesn't know what he's going to tell the Cohens.
He's sure that even if tells them the truth, there are some details he'll keep to himself, like what happened in the office of the dealer.
A fresh wave of nausea hits and he yells at Arturo to stop the car.
"What?"
"Stop the fucking car!" Ryan shouts, swallowing back painfully.
Arturo takes one look at his face and swerves onto the shoulder, swearing in Spanish as he brings the car to a halt.
Ryan barely has time to lean his head out the door before he gets sick again, the dry heaves even more painful than earlier in the day. He can feel fresh blood seeping down his back as the wound reopens.
"You okay, Ryan?" Arturo asks when Ryan leans back against his seat, spent.
"Just great," he says through clenched teeth.
Arturo growls softly under his breath, cursing the Atwoods.
"That wasn't very polite," Ryan says, smiling.
"Screw politeness!"
Ryan starts to laugh, quietly at first, then increasingly louder, wrapping his arms around his midsection when the contracted muscles are put under even more strain. It takes him several minutes to get some control back. Arturo doesn't say a word in all that time, but Ryan can feel him patting his shoulder comfortingly.
Arturo knows a lot about Ryan and Trey's lives. He has seen them both like this before.
When Ryan is left gasping for air, wiping tears from his face, Arturo pats his shoulders one final time, an unspoken promise that Ryan would be fine.
He puts the car back into gear without looking at Ryan, who gratefully accepts that little privacy.
He remembers Trey taking care of him after such encounters in the past.
He remembers taking care of Trey.
For a while, despite what happened on Thanksgiving, he misses his brother so much that it hurts.
Then, the pain goes away, leaving him empty.
***
"Are you sure you don't want me to drive you home?" Arturo insists.
Ryan rolls his eyes. "I'm not leaving their car here all night." He's not even sure cars are allowed to stay here all night.
Arturo shoots him a look that says his logic is flawed and he'll come to realize that soon, but doesn’t insist.
Ryan watches him leave, waiting until the car has turned at the corner of the street before making his way to the Cohens' car.
He doesn’t know how late it is-his watch got broken during the beating up portion of his day-but by the way the sun is getting lower, Ryan would bet that he's late already. His cell phone is in his backpack, and his backpack must still be in his locker, but Ryan will see about getting it back later. If ever.
Right now, all he can think about is getting home, climbing into his bed, and sleeping for a few days.
It takes him what feels like hours to get to the car and once he reaches his goal, everything starts tilting around him, and he suddenly finds himself leaning on the car for all he's worth. That's still not enough to keep him upright, and he sinks to the ground as his knees buckle under him.
Okay.
So, maybe Arturo was right to give him weird looks.
That still doesn't mean that Ryan has to give up, though.
He just needs to rest for a little while, then he'll take the car and drive back to the Cohens.
Just a little while.
***
"Atwood?"
"Is he all right?"
"I don't know, Ward!"
The harsh sound causes Ryan to flinch away.
"Coach, I think he's…"
"Yes, I saw that. Now, call the damn ambulance."
A silence, a shuffle, then Ryan feels a hand shaking him softly. "Atwood?"
Ryan wants nothing else but to be left in peace; unfortunately, the voice is unrelenting. "Atwood?"
Apparently, more sleep is out of the question for now.
"Atwood, wake up. Right now."
Ryan tries to open his eyes, painful inch by painful inch. "What?" he croaks. The blurry face of his coach looms over him. Ryan tries to move away but hands on his shoulders keep him from moving.
"Try to sit still."
Ryan blinks a few times, struggles to get his bearings.
The ground is hard and uneven under his hands.
He's lying down.
He's almost sure he's lying down.
And the coach looks worried.
That's probably not good.
"The ambulance will be here in ten," Luke says, leaning over Ryan.
"No ambulance," Ryan whispers.
"Dude, seriously, you don't want to argue on that one," Luke says, at the same time the coach says, "You need it, Atwood."
"I'm fine," he insists.
Luke barks out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.
The coach shoots him a strange look, frowning.
"I'm fine," Ryan insists, just as his eyes start to close again.
"Stay awake," the coach barks. Ryan hears a last muttered, "He's fine, he says."
Then he allows sleep to claim him.
***
It takes three days for Ryan to start caring about his surroundings again. He can barely remember a few flashes of the two previous days-doctors telling him to take a deep breath, urging him to continue despite the pain, Sandy looking at him with a worried frown.
He vaguely remembers a whispered conversation in his darkened room, his coach's apologetic voice and Sandy's warm tone speaking too low for Ryan to understand.
His clearest memories are that of Kirsten holding his hand as he waited for the pain medication to kick in, and Sandy yelling into his phone.
He has no idea what it all means.
He had planned to get back to the Cohens and sleep it off, but that obviously didn't happen.
The Cohens never leave him alone, but they look so intense that Ryan doesn't dare ask questions. The way Kirsten keeps trying to make him more comfortable, the way Sandy keeps squeezing his hand, all makes Ryan wonder whether he's more seriously injured than he thought.
"Nothing that won't heal," Sandy says when Ryan finally gathers enough courage to ask how bad things are. "You were lucky. You broke two ribs, but they didn't puncture your lung. Your hand is badly bruised and swollen, and there are two broken fingers but the doctors assure us it'll heal just fine. The concussion worried them for a while, but they seem reassured now that you're coherent enough to reply to their questions."
Then why does everyone seem so on edge? Ryan wonders. "I'm sorry," he offers.
Sandy pats his good hand awkwardly. "It's not your fault."
Ryan isn't quite sure what to say to that so he goes with the tried and true method, and says nothing.
***
Ryan spends another two days in the hospital.
Seth is eventually allowed to visit Ryan on the second day. "I'd have come sooner, but with that cold, the rents didn't want me to make you sick."
"It's okay."
There's an awkward pause. Ryan shifts in his bed, trying to hide his grimace. The bruises all over his body are taking on interesting colors, an ugly bluish yellow, and everything hurts when he tries to move.
"You look like hell, man," Seth offers.
Ryan smiles sadly. "I know." He was pretty shocked the first time he saw himself in the mirror. His entire face is bruised, although thankfully the swelling is starting to go down.
It must have looked a lot worse when he was admitted, and maybe that explains a little why the Cohens look so damn freaked out whenever they see him.
"When can you come back home?"
Ryan sighs. Not soon enough, that's for sure. "Maybe tomorrow."
"That'll be cool."
Seth is having a hard time finding what to say to him, and that, more than anything, makes Ryan uncomfortable. He has never seen Seth hesitate before speaking to him, has never even known that his friend could be at a loss for words until now.
***
Kirsten is busy signing the discharge papers when Sandy drops his bombshell. They're both sitting on the hospital bed where Ryan has spent the last five days, both of them staring at the door. Ryan has only told the Cohens the barest facts; his mother needed money and he gave it to her. It took some questioning but Sandy eventually managed to get him to admit that AJ was involved as well.
He hasn't said anything about what he did to buy AJ and Dawn more drugs, nor does he plan to. There are some things about the Atwood family that Sandy will never learn if Ryan has anything to say about it.
"I hired a PI to keep an eye on AJ and Dawn," Sandy says. He's using his lawyer voice, the one that says, "I know you won't agree and I don't give a damn. Deal with it."
"For how long?" Ryan asks carefully. He doesn't want to tell Sandy that it's unnecessary, that it probably won't help in the long run.
"Indefinitely."
Ryan takes in a sharp breath. "Sandy-" he starts.
Sandy waves a hand at him. "I won't change my mind," he says.
"It's going to cost a fortune," Ryan points out. The Cohens are already paying too much for him, and he just gave 1,700 dollars to a drug dealer. They shouldn't have to pay even more. Not for AJ.
"I don't care," Sandy says, his tone fierce. "I will not have anything like this happen again."
Sandy doesn't even know the worst, or how many times Ryan has found himself on his knees before, frantically clinging to the certainty that he would go back home and everything would be fine. Oh, sure, he must suspect, but he doesn't know for sure. Yet what little Sandy does know was obviously enough to cause him to spend a few thousand dollars on keeping an eye on AJ's whereabouts.
Ryan would have thought that life in Newport would become easier after a while, but he's as baffled by the Cohens now as he was when he first sat at their table.
"It has happened before, hasn't it?" Sandy asks.
Ryan keeps his eyes on the wall, blinking slowly.
"Ryan, you'll need to talk about it eventually. You don't have to deal with this on your own."
What do you want to know, Sandy? Do you want me to tell you about the cops, the blood, the yelling, the drugs? The beatings? The alcohol? How I didn't speak for two weeks after the first time I had to do an "errand" for AJ?
How Trey held me up when I was too sick to stand on my own?
How I held Trey's hand the one time he cried himself to sleep, the last time I ever saw him cry. He went insane after that, you know. Most people didn't see it, but I did.
Which parts of my past do you want to know more about?
All of it?
He forces himself to meet Sandy's eyes.
He sees the fear and the compassion in them.
No, you don't. Not yet.
Maybe never.
They wait for Kirsten's return in silence.
***
"You still look a little rough, there, man," Luke says as he and Ryan sit down for lunch. It has been two days since Ryan left the hospital. The bruises are taking their time fading but at least they're not so painful anymore. Ryan is thankful for small mercies.
"I know." He takes a bite of his sandwich before asking, with a feeling of dread, "I don't remember much, but it was the coach who found me, wasn't it?"
"It was me," Luke corrects. "Practice ran late and the coach volunteered me for clean up duty, and when I saw that the car was still there, I went to check, and you were there." He stares at the ground, apparently mesmerized by the grass at his feet. "There was blood around you."
Ryan fights down an urge to apologize.
"I called the coach," Luke goes on, looking elsewhere. "He's the one who told me to call an ambulance. And you woke up for, like, a minute, before passing out again."
Ryan swallows, suddenly grateful that Luke is avoiding his gaze.
"I'm never covering for you again, by the way."
Ryan snorts. "Fair enough."
Luke shoots an embarrassed look in his direction, sips his coke, and the conversation shifts to safer ground-how bitchy the chemistry teacher was today and how much money did Holly's father waste on her last boob job?
***
"Atwood!" the coach barks as Ryan makes his way down the hallway to his locker, later that day.
Ryan starts and spins around, surprised. "Sir?"
"A word. Now."
The coach turns and heads to his office, leaving him little choice but to follow him.
The short walk to the office leaves Ryan slightly out of breath, and he grimaces inwardly. It will be a long while until the doctors allow him to play again. Maybe that's what the coach wants to talk about.
"Sit before you fall down," the coach says gruffly.
Ryan carefully lowers himself on the seat, mindful of his healing ribs.
The coach stares at him for a while, thoughtfully fingering a pen. Ryan tries to keep from fidgeting, uncomfortable with the attention.
"I won't ask you what happened," the coach says eventually. "Your guardians summed it up for me, and made it clear that I wasn't to know the details."
Ryan bites his lip, wondering what Sandy told the school. He hadn't thought about that before. Did he stick with the family emergency excuse, or did he have to be more specific?
"I'm not blind," the coach goes on. Ryan focuses on him again. "And I'm not deaf either. I'd bet six months of my salary that it wasn't the first time someone used you for target practice."
Ryan clenches his teeth, resisting the urge to slam his fist into something, or to run away.
"What I'd really like to know is why you went."
Ryan bites back a nervous laugh. The Cohens haven't asked him that, yet.
Is it because they understand that it didn't even occur to Ryan not to go?
Funny. He has made it a habit to read people's moods, to instantly assess the tension in a room and to make himself scarce when he doesn't like what he sees. But he has never tried to resist AJ when the man sends him somewhere to do his bidding.
He has never wanted to analyze why he does it. It has just always been easier this way. He can take a beating, and he doesn’t live with drug dealers. But AJ was always home, and having him pissed was dangerous so Ryan learned early on to comply. Anything to keep AJ off his back-anything to keep him from using Dawn as his punching bag.
Back in Chino, no one would have thought twice about seeing him bruised up but this isn't Chino, and people noticed. Even the coach.
"Why are you asking?" Ryan asks before he can stop himself. Why do you care?
"When I find a student of mine unconscious on school grounds, Atwood, I tend to wonder what happened. Don't tell me this is the first time you've been asked about it."
No, it isn't.
Of course, it isn't.
But back then, the teachers accepted what Ryan said at face value.
They knew, they had to know, but they also knew that their hands were tied and frankly, Ryan wasn't the only kid at Chino Hills who suffered from clumsiness.
"Well?" the coach barks, startling Ryan.
"No," he grinds out. "No, some of the teachers asked."
"And?"
"And what?" Ryan snaps. "They asked, I lied, life went on."
"They didn't know?" The coach studied, careful tone, doesn't hide his disbelief.
"Look at me," Ryan snaps. "Do I look like I fell down the stairs? Like I roughed it up with my brother? Like I had a bike accident?" The coach doesn't answer but the sympathy in his eyes makes Ryan want to take a swing at him. He doesn't want sympathy. He doesn't want anything but to forget this ever happened. "Everyone knew," he adds, in a calmer voice. "There wasn't anything to do."
"I…" The coach trails off, at a loss for words.
"Yeah. People suck, don't they?" Ryan says, not caring that he sounds bitter.
Sure, he lied when he was asked. Sure, no one would have been able to do anything. But not once did he feel like anyone really, genuinely wanted to know. Every time a teacher held him after class, every time the coach benched him because he was limping noticeably, no one ever truly looked at him, no one questioned his blanket, "I'm fine."
"Not all of them do," the coach says softly, bringing him back to the present.
Ryan meets his eyes, defiant, and the coach doesn't look down.
"It's different around here."
Ryan shakes his head, thinking about the Cohens, staying with him at the hospital, hiring a PI so that AJ won't get near him again.
He looks at the coach, who's still sitting there instead of doing one of the few dozens things he must still have to do before the day is over.
He doesn't believe it yet. He doesn't see why things should be different just because these people have more money. He has already seen that they're just as screwed up as people in Chino, they just cover it better.
"The Cohens must be waiting for me," Ryan says.
The coach nods. "Well, if you ever need to talk…" He adds with a sigh, "And try not to get benched too often, would you? It's not like I have many players who can replace you."
Ryan gets to his feet slowly, grateful that this uncomfortable conversation seems to be over, shakes the coach's proffered hand.
He still can't quite believe that these people truly mean it when they say they'll stick with him even if he screws up, even through the hard times.
But when he sees Sandy waiting for him at the wheel of the Rover, Ryan thinks that maybe, someday, they'll manage to convince him.
end
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