Small Steps 10
Title : Small Steps
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : Oliver is back, and makes a mess of things again. Set in season 2.
Spoilers : Everything that's been aired up to The Rainy Day Women is fair game.
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.
Acknowledgements : Again, many thanks to my beta, Joey51.
Chapter 10 : The Chasm
Ryan took a long shower, hoping it would help him to relax.
He lay down on his bed, snuggling under the covers, making himself comfortable.
He closed his eyes. And waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
Half an hour later, still wide awake, Ryan began to wonder who he was kidding.
He had known, from the minute he had come back from the party, that the night would be a long and frustrating attempt at catching a few hours of sleep. He was simply too wired to rest, and there was no denying the fact that he was going to need hours to be able to unwind.
He sighed, rolled over, exasperated, and damned Summer and her bright ideas to hell.
"There's a party on the beach. Let's go," she'd said. It hadn't seemed like such a bad idea at the time.
And sure, nothing bad had happened -- no one had died, no one had been shot or stabbed or beaten.
It had just been awkward, strained, full of whispering people, of sideways glances and forced cheerfulness.
Ryan supposed he should have excepted that. In fact, he had expected that -- it was part of the reason why he hadn't left the Cohens' house for two weeks.
Ryan had always felt slightly different from people his age. He had been forced to become an adult fairly early in his life. Living with undependable people had taught him to rely only on himself, to make decisions without an adult perspective. Until that August night when he and Trey had stolen that car, Ryan had mostly kept his own counsel and hadn't minded doing so. After all, a mother dating scumbags like AJ probably wouldn't have had good advice to give him anyway.
Emotionally, Ryan knew he still had a lot to learn. He didn't know how to trust people, how to accept help, how to sit back and let someone else take charge. As far as dating and relationships in general went, he was as clueless as the next boy.
The Cohens had given him a chance to be a kid for a few more years. Ryan wasn't alone to make huge, life-changing decisions anymore. But he had been an adult before, and try as he might, he couldn't be as laid-back as his friends seemed to be.
Most kids in Newport had money and a family to fall back on. When they had problems, their parents were there, for moral support or to sign checks.
Ryan didn't have anyone. If the Cohens ever decided that they'd had enough and threw him out, Ryan would have only himself to rely on.
From day one, Ryan had felt different from these rich kids. His experiences with money, with family, with drugs and violence and sex, were so different it was almost laughable. Even as he got to know Seth and Summer, Luke and Marissa, Ryan could still feel a chasm between them.
The chasm had never seemed wider than this night, though.
No one had said anything about Oliver. Not Ryan's friends, who had pretended everything was just as it was before. Not Ryan's vaguely friendly acquaintances, who had nodded and smiled nervously before leaving him alone. Not even the people who still resented him for existing -- the bad boy who dared go to their school and breathe the same air they did -- who had kept their distance.
Ryan had killed, and it was yet another thing making him different from his peers.
He wasn't worried about his friends. They wouldn't treat him any differently; they would still accept him as he was. Ryan wasn't even worried about the other people, because he didn't care about their opinions.
He was just angry and sad because, once again, he had to deal with the kind of situation most people never had to deal with.
And these thoughts were not helping him unwind.
He rolled over again, hoping to entice sleep that way.
He stretched.
He hugged his pillow.
He discarded the pillow and rolled over again, exasperated that he was still that awake at two in the morning.
He lay still for thirty seconds before giving up.
He was just growing annoyed and even more edgy than he had been. Better accept it; sleep was not in the cards for now.
Ryan went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face in a futile attempt to clear his head.
His eyes fell on his reflection in the mirror, the water going down his face in rivulets. He looked tired and sad, which wasn't surprising. He felt tired and sad.
Ryan had honestly tried to be a normal teenager, doing normal teenagery stuff, but Oliver's death had changed that. Ryan knew that he had lost whatever was left of his childhood when he had pulled that trigger -- yet another line he had crossed That Night.
Knowing that he'd done what needed to be done was cold-comfort at best. Ryan would never be able to forget what had happened. But then, perhaps he shouldn't -- perhaps he should remember that his habit of rushing to the rescue had cost someone his life. Perhaps he should learn his lessons this time.
Ryan dried off his face, burying it into the newly washed towel, then turned off the light in the bathroom and went back to his bed, eyeing the piece of furniture warily.
He still didn't feel sleepy. He didn't want to read. He didn't want to pace his room until he was tired enough to go back to bed. He didn't feel like listening to music.
He frowned, standing in the middle of the room, then decided to go to the kitchen and fix himself a sandwich. Or cereal. Or a cup warm milk. Or hot chocolate. Or tea.
At this point, Ryan thought, anything would beat standing there like an idiot.
* * *
Sandy and Kirsten were half asleep on the couch in front of the TV. When Ryan hesitated in the doorway, Sandy's head shot up.
"Problem sleeping?" Sandy asked.
Ryan nodded.
Sandy patted the couch between Kirsten and him in invitation.
Staying would certainly mean needing to answer or evade a few questions, and Ryan briefly toyed with the idea of just grabbing something to eat and retreating to his room. But if he did that, he would have to go back to the poolhouse, and wait for sleep alone. And, even worse, if he did that, he'd add a few more lines of worry on the Cohens' faces, and they looked worried enough right now.
Making his decision, Ryan sat down between Sandy and Kirsten. For a few minutes, the three of them watched the movie in silence.
"Aren't you tired?" Kirsten finally asked. "You came home more than an hour ago."
Ryan shrugged. "Yeah. I know." She looked at him questioningly, causing him to elaborate. "Can't sleep."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"I'm just… I don't know. Edgy."
"Did something happen at the party?" Kirsten asked.
"No," Ryan said hurriedly.
For a few minutes, the Cohens seemed content to leave it at that. Then, as the movie was interrupted by commercials, Sandy spoke up.
"We didn't ask before, but you're having nightmares, aren't you?"
Ryan shook his head. "I used to. I didn't have one last night. I'm hoping it'll become a new tradition."
Sandy chuckled before turning serious again. "Are they bad?"
"They're usually just about what happened," Ryan answered -- which was another way of saying, "Hell yeah."
"Usually?" Sandy repeated.
Ryan fleetingly wondered if this was what therapists sounded like. But Sandy's tone was concerned and gentle, not detached or clinical. "Sometimes, I'm the one who dies," Ryan offered, keeping his tone neutral.
He thought he heard one of the Cohens gasp. He carefully avoided looking at them, focusing on the TV as he finished. "Or Marissa. Or both of us."
Kirsten’s arm came to rest on his shoulders. "I wish I was able to take it all away," she said
"I know."
"Me too," Sandy piped in.
Ryan laughed softly. "I know."
He relaxed a little and buried himself deeper in the soft cushions, his eyelids heavy. He didn't make the decision to talk, it just happened. "He realized what happened, you know. Oliver. We were… I looked in his eyes, and he was lucid, at that moment. He knew he was dying. He was surprised, but he knew what was happening."
There was no answer, which suited Ryan just fine.
"And I know that you don't know what to tell me," he added. "And I don't know what to tell you either." He shrugged. "Except that, well, it sucks."
"That it does," Sandy agreed.
His voice sounded far away, Ryan noted.
He heard Kirsten whisper, "He's falling asleep." The comment made Ryan feel like a five-year-old who had insisted to stay up late with the grown-ups and was failing to stay awake, but he lacked the energy to contradict her.
The last thing he felt before sliding into oblivion was a cool hand brushing his hair from his forehead.
* * *
Kirsten watched Ryan discreetly as he fell asleep between her and Sandy. She brushed Ryan's hair back from his forehead, pulling away guiltily when Ryan stirred and smiled faintly.
She couldn't remember ever seeing Ryan asleep. He rarely allowed adults near him when he was at his most vulnerable and the fact that he had managed to fall asleep in their presence struck her as meaningful -- even if she didn't know in what way.
Was Ryan simply too tired to care anymore? Was it his way of showing the Cohens that he trusted them? Was it both? Was there another reason?
Kirsten shrugged off the questions. It didn't matter. For now, Ryan was safe and, hopefully, he would be able to rest for a few hours. Considering what had happened in the last two weeks, she couldn't reasonably ask for more.
She looked over at Sandy and by unspoken agreement, they stayed silent, waiting for Ryan to fall deeply asleep before laying him down on the couch. Ryan shifted slightly when Kirsten draped a comforter over him and she waited until she was sure she hadn't disturbed him before stroking his hair once more.
Sandy had turned off the television and was waiting for her, a knowing smile on his face.
"What?" Kirsten whispered as they went to their bedroom.
"Nothing," Sandy said, looking more at ease than he had in a while. "Just… is it me or is he--?"
"Getting better?" she asked. She closed the door behind her so they could talk without risking awakening Ryan.
Sandy nodded.
"I think so," she said. "But it won't…" She sat on the bed and Sandy joined her, hugging her close. "It'll take some time, you know that, right?" she asked.
She knew that Sandy desperately needed Ryan to be fine. He needed Ryan to go back to what he was two weeks ago, and Kirsten didn't know if it would ever be possible.
Kirsten was a WASP; she had led a privileged life and she had never given much thought to vengeance, death and killing. And then, Seth was born, and the first time she held him in her arms, she found out that the old cliché was true, that she was willing to die or kill to protect her child, that nothing was more important than Seth's well-being. It was obvious, unquestionable.
Until recently, Kirsten had never really thought about what the aftermath of self-defense was. She had always been convinced that she would just do whatever was necessary to protect her loved ones, but she had never thought about what would happen, once everyone was safe and the threat gone.
Could anyone who hadn't been in Ryan's shoes advise him on how to react?
Could anyone who hadn't been in Ryan's shoes truly understand what kind of impact Oliver's death would have on him?
Kirsten seriously doubted it.
She suspected that Ryan was busy kissing goodbye to whatever was left of his childhood. And what's more, she suspected that Sandy knew that, and felt guilty for not keeping the implied promise he had made to Ryan when he had brought him home. "Stay out of trouble, and let us offer you another shot at being young" had been the unspoken bargain, and they had failed to keep up their end of it.
Kirsten recalled Sandy's words a few days earlier -- "He was supposed to be safe, here." She had always known that there were things she couldn't protect her children from, but she had never appreciated being reminded of it.
"I hate having to see them grow up," she said.
Sandy didn't react for a while. As Kirsten was concluding that he must have fallen asleep, he said, "Let's just lock them up in a room. We live in a huge mansion; we can find a secret room somewhere, where they'll be safe. They'll get out when we die, that way we won't have to be scared to death for them anymore."
She smiled. "That's a plan," she said.
"Yeah."
Holding on to each other, they waited for sleep.
Epilogue
The epilogue will be posted soon -- as in, tomorrow.
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : Oliver is back, and makes a mess of things again. Set in season 2.
Spoilers : Everything that's been aired up to The Rainy Day Women is fair game.
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.
Acknowledgements : Again, many thanks to my beta, Joey51.
Chapter 10 : The Chasm
Ryan took a long shower, hoping it would help him to relax.
He lay down on his bed, snuggling under the covers, making himself comfortable.
He closed his eyes. And waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
Half an hour later, still wide awake, Ryan began to wonder who he was kidding.
He had known, from the minute he had come back from the party, that the night would be a long and frustrating attempt at catching a few hours of sleep. He was simply too wired to rest, and there was no denying the fact that he was going to need hours to be able to unwind.
He sighed, rolled over, exasperated, and damned Summer and her bright ideas to hell.
"There's a party on the beach. Let's go," she'd said. It hadn't seemed like such a bad idea at the time.
And sure, nothing bad had happened -- no one had died, no one had been shot or stabbed or beaten.
It had just been awkward, strained, full of whispering people, of sideways glances and forced cheerfulness.
Ryan supposed he should have excepted that. In fact, he had expected that -- it was part of the reason why he hadn't left the Cohens' house for two weeks.
Ryan had always felt slightly different from people his age. He had been forced to become an adult fairly early in his life. Living with undependable people had taught him to rely only on himself, to make decisions without an adult perspective. Until that August night when he and Trey had stolen that car, Ryan had mostly kept his own counsel and hadn't minded doing so. After all, a mother dating scumbags like AJ probably wouldn't have had good advice to give him anyway.
Emotionally, Ryan knew he still had a lot to learn. He didn't know how to trust people, how to accept help, how to sit back and let someone else take charge. As far as dating and relationships in general went, he was as clueless as the next boy.
The Cohens had given him a chance to be a kid for a few more years. Ryan wasn't alone to make huge, life-changing decisions anymore. But he had been an adult before, and try as he might, he couldn't be as laid-back as his friends seemed to be.
Most kids in Newport had money and a family to fall back on. When they had problems, their parents were there, for moral support or to sign checks.
Ryan didn't have anyone. If the Cohens ever decided that they'd had enough and threw him out, Ryan would have only himself to rely on.
From day one, Ryan had felt different from these rich kids. His experiences with money, with family, with drugs and violence and sex, were so different it was almost laughable. Even as he got to know Seth and Summer, Luke and Marissa, Ryan could still feel a chasm between them.
The chasm had never seemed wider than this night, though.
No one had said anything about Oliver. Not Ryan's friends, who had pretended everything was just as it was before. Not Ryan's vaguely friendly acquaintances, who had nodded and smiled nervously before leaving him alone. Not even the people who still resented him for existing -- the bad boy who dared go to their school and breathe the same air they did -- who had kept their distance.
Ryan had killed, and it was yet another thing making him different from his peers.
He wasn't worried about his friends. They wouldn't treat him any differently; they would still accept him as he was. Ryan wasn't even worried about the other people, because he didn't care about their opinions.
He was just angry and sad because, once again, he had to deal with the kind of situation most people never had to deal with.
And these thoughts were not helping him unwind.
He rolled over again, hoping to entice sleep that way.
He stretched.
He hugged his pillow.
He discarded the pillow and rolled over again, exasperated that he was still that awake at two in the morning.
He lay still for thirty seconds before giving up.
He was just growing annoyed and even more edgy than he had been. Better accept it; sleep was not in the cards for now.
Ryan went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face in a futile attempt to clear his head.
His eyes fell on his reflection in the mirror, the water going down his face in rivulets. He looked tired and sad, which wasn't surprising. He felt tired and sad.
Ryan had honestly tried to be a normal teenager, doing normal teenagery stuff, but Oliver's death had changed that. Ryan knew that he had lost whatever was left of his childhood when he had pulled that trigger -- yet another line he had crossed That Night.
Knowing that he'd done what needed to be done was cold-comfort at best. Ryan would never be able to forget what had happened. But then, perhaps he shouldn't -- perhaps he should remember that his habit of rushing to the rescue had cost someone his life. Perhaps he should learn his lessons this time.
Ryan dried off his face, burying it into the newly washed towel, then turned off the light in the bathroom and went back to his bed, eyeing the piece of furniture warily.
He still didn't feel sleepy. He didn't want to read. He didn't want to pace his room until he was tired enough to go back to bed. He didn't feel like listening to music.
He frowned, standing in the middle of the room, then decided to go to the kitchen and fix himself a sandwich. Or cereal. Or a cup warm milk. Or hot chocolate. Or tea.
At this point, Ryan thought, anything would beat standing there like an idiot.
* * *
Sandy and Kirsten were half asleep on the couch in front of the TV. When Ryan hesitated in the doorway, Sandy's head shot up.
"Problem sleeping?" Sandy asked.
Ryan nodded.
Sandy patted the couch between Kirsten and him in invitation.
Staying would certainly mean needing to answer or evade a few questions, and Ryan briefly toyed with the idea of just grabbing something to eat and retreating to his room. But if he did that, he would have to go back to the poolhouse, and wait for sleep alone. And, even worse, if he did that, he'd add a few more lines of worry on the Cohens' faces, and they looked worried enough right now.
Making his decision, Ryan sat down between Sandy and Kirsten. For a few minutes, the three of them watched the movie in silence.
"Aren't you tired?" Kirsten finally asked. "You came home more than an hour ago."
Ryan shrugged. "Yeah. I know." She looked at him questioningly, causing him to elaborate. "Can't sleep."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"I'm just… I don't know. Edgy."
"Did something happen at the party?" Kirsten asked.
"No," Ryan said hurriedly.
For a few minutes, the Cohens seemed content to leave it at that. Then, as the movie was interrupted by commercials, Sandy spoke up.
"We didn't ask before, but you're having nightmares, aren't you?"
Ryan shook his head. "I used to. I didn't have one last night. I'm hoping it'll become a new tradition."
Sandy chuckled before turning serious again. "Are they bad?"
"They're usually just about what happened," Ryan answered -- which was another way of saying, "Hell yeah."
"Usually?" Sandy repeated.
Ryan fleetingly wondered if this was what therapists sounded like. But Sandy's tone was concerned and gentle, not detached or clinical. "Sometimes, I'm the one who dies," Ryan offered, keeping his tone neutral.
He thought he heard one of the Cohens gasp. He carefully avoided looking at them, focusing on the TV as he finished. "Or Marissa. Or both of us."
Kirsten’s arm came to rest on his shoulders. "I wish I was able to take it all away," she said
"I know."
"Me too," Sandy piped in.
Ryan laughed softly. "I know."
He relaxed a little and buried himself deeper in the soft cushions, his eyelids heavy. He didn't make the decision to talk, it just happened. "He realized what happened, you know. Oliver. We were… I looked in his eyes, and he was lucid, at that moment. He knew he was dying. He was surprised, but he knew what was happening."
There was no answer, which suited Ryan just fine.
"And I know that you don't know what to tell me," he added. "And I don't know what to tell you either." He shrugged. "Except that, well, it sucks."
"That it does," Sandy agreed.
His voice sounded far away, Ryan noted.
He heard Kirsten whisper, "He's falling asleep." The comment made Ryan feel like a five-year-old who had insisted to stay up late with the grown-ups and was failing to stay awake, but he lacked the energy to contradict her.
The last thing he felt before sliding into oblivion was a cool hand brushing his hair from his forehead.
* * *
Kirsten watched Ryan discreetly as he fell asleep between her and Sandy. She brushed Ryan's hair back from his forehead, pulling away guiltily when Ryan stirred and smiled faintly.
She couldn't remember ever seeing Ryan asleep. He rarely allowed adults near him when he was at his most vulnerable and the fact that he had managed to fall asleep in their presence struck her as meaningful -- even if she didn't know in what way.
Was Ryan simply too tired to care anymore? Was it his way of showing the Cohens that he trusted them? Was it both? Was there another reason?
Kirsten shrugged off the questions. It didn't matter. For now, Ryan was safe and, hopefully, he would be able to rest for a few hours. Considering what had happened in the last two weeks, she couldn't reasonably ask for more.
She looked over at Sandy and by unspoken agreement, they stayed silent, waiting for Ryan to fall deeply asleep before laying him down on the couch. Ryan shifted slightly when Kirsten draped a comforter over him and she waited until she was sure she hadn't disturbed him before stroking his hair once more.
Sandy had turned off the television and was waiting for her, a knowing smile on his face.
"What?" Kirsten whispered as they went to their bedroom.
"Nothing," Sandy said, looking more at ease than he had in a while. "Just… is it me or is he--?"
"Getting better?" she asked. She closed the door behind her so they could talk without risking awakening Ryan.
Sandy nodded.
"I think so," she said. "But it won't…" She sat on the bed and Sandy joined her, hugging her close. "It'll take some time, you know that, right?" she asked.
She knew that Sandy desperately needed Ryan to be fine. He needed Ryan to go back to what he was two weeks ago, and Kirsten didn't know if it would ever be possible.
Kirsten was a WASP; she had led a privileged life and she had never given much thought to vengeance, death and killing. And then, Seth was born, and the first time she held him in her arms, she found out that the old cliché was true, that she was willing to die or kill to protect her child, that nothing was more important than Seth's well-being. It was obvious, unquestionable.
Until recently, Kirsten had never really thought about what the aftermath of self-defense was. She had always been convinced that she would just do whatever was necessary to protect her loved ones, but she had never thought about what would happen, once everyone was safe and the threat gone.
Could anyone who hadn't been in Ryan's shoes advise him on how to react?
Could anyone who hadn't been in Ryan's shoes truly understand what kind of impact Oliver's death would have on him?
Kirsten seriously doubted it.
She suspected that Ryan was busy kissing goodbye to whatever was left of his childhood. And what's more, she suspected that Sandy knew that, and felt guilty for not keeping the implied promise he had made to Ryan when he had brought him home. "Stay out of trouble, and let us offer you another shot at being young" had been the unspoken bargain, and they had failed to keep up their end of it.
Kirsten recalled Sandy's words a few days earlier -- "He was supposed to be safe, here." She had always known that there were things she couldn't protect her children from, but she had never appreciated being reminded of it.
"I hate having to see them grow up," she said.
Sandy didn't react for a while. As Kirsten was concluding that he must have fallen asleep, he said, "Let's just lock them up in a room. We live in a huge mansion; we can find a secret room somewhere, where they'll be safe. They'll get out when we die, that way we won't have to be scared to death for them anymore."
She smiled. "That's a plan," she said.
"Yeah."
Holding on to each other, they waited for sleep.
Epilogue
The epilogue will be posted soon -- as in, tomorrow.