Disclaimer: I own nothing remotely affiliated with The O.C.

Warnings: Story will contain strong language and violence.

Set in Season 1. This is my first fic so I hope the formatting's okay!

The Sanctuary parking lot was deserted. Twenty minutes after closing time, the only sound was the distant throb of music coming from a boom box on the nearby beach and the muttered sounds of an argument emanating from the sole van that remained parked in the lot.

"...we should have just taken him when he was walking to the car."

"With about twenty witnesses? Use your fuckin' head." The answering voice came from the right of the seat, courtesy of a hulking guy, muscles confined by a red plaid shirt.

"You got a better idea? We gonna drive up to the big fancy house and just ask politely?" The original speaker had a slight whine to his voice, nervously scrabbling at the lighter in his hand, flicking it on and off.

"Shut the fuck up, both of you."

The third speaker was sudden and harsh, silently motioning towards the figure that had appeared at the edge of the lot and was stumbling in the direction of the Sanctuary. He tracked the progression of the interloper, narrowing his eyes as he watched, slowly considering.

"Isn't that the kid who was with him earlier?"

"What?" The Lighter guy leaned forward in his seat, attempting to focus his gaze into the darkness of the lot.

"The skinny kid, remember? He cracked some joke about Batman or some shit like that". Another realisation came to him. "He's the rich kid he's living with. He was at the house."

"Oh yeah," said Lighter, as Plaid Shirt nodded in recognition. "Whadda we do?"

The third speaker paused, weighing his options.

"We go get him."

Seth Cohen was drunk. He had been drunk ever since the third beer, and the tequila slammer and Jack and coke hadn't exactly helped. He wasn't so drunk that he couldn't walk, but he was definitely drunk enough to find the fact he'd left his wallet at the Sanctuary Bar funny rather than annoying.

He hadn't realised this until Summer (the sole designated driver) had dropped him, Ryan and Marissa back at the Cohen's and driven off into the night. Ryan had offered to walk back with him but Seth could see that he wanted to say goodnight to Marissa and so Seth had nobly declared that the walk would do him good. It wasn't too far and besides, the night was balmy and the alcohol had infused a warm buzz through his body, a sense of well being. A year ago he wouldn't have been getting drunk at the Sanctuary. A year ago, he'd have had no friends to go with. But then Ryan had come and everything got a hell of a lot better for everyone. Except for Marissa with the whole suicide attempt thing. And Luke with the whole getting shot thing. And Jimmy Cooper with the whole fraud thing.

Okay, maybe things had just got better for him.

But still. Seth was smiling as he rounded into the Sanctuary parking lot, humming a Death Cab song under his breath as he (slightly unsteadily) made his way across to the entrance. He didn't even hear the guys approach until they were a few metres away.

"Hey, man."

Seth looked up to see a tall, wiry guy in front of him. He was almost good-looking, but something was slightly off – perhaps the faded white scar spanning his right temple, or the slight dangerous look in his eye that he couldn't quite disguise, even when smiling. Like he was now.

"Uh, hey," Seth said. He noticed the wiry guy was flanked by two others, a muscled giant in a plaid shirt and a small guy with a silver lighter in his hand. He felt a slight shiver of unease, but the drunken buzz persisted, overriding his nerves.

It's not like they can mug me, being sans wallet and all Seth thought and suppressed a giggle.

"Something funny, man?" Lighter suddenly spoke up, moving forward slightly. The wiry guy gave his friend a sharp look and he stopped, flicking his lighter as he moved back again.

"No, uh, no," Seth said, suddenly feeling like he had to justify himself to a perfect stranger. "Uh, I'm just on my way inside so..."

"You know Ryan Atwood?" the wiry guy asked.

"Yeah." Seth regarded him hesitantly. "You guys friends?"

"Yeah. We go way back. In fact, we've come to town to see him."

"Oh. Oh, great. Does he, uh, know you're here?"

The wiry guy smiled like a snake. "Not yet." Then his expression suddenly became sincere. "We wanna surprise him, see? You can't take us to where he lives, can you? We'll give you a lift," he said, jerking his thumb at the van behind them.

Seth wasn't stupid. He might have been drunk, but his instincts were telling him something was seriously off with these guys and he wasn't about to get into a confined space with them. Besides, friends of Ryan's were most likely Chino guys – and on the rare occasions Ryan talked about Chino, the people there sounded... unpredictable at best.

"Uh... actually, it's kinda late. I don't really have time to go to Ryan's house and then my own, you know? I gotta, uh, get up early so..."

No need to tell them Ryan's and his house were actually the same place. Still, Seth held his breath as he met wiry guy's gaze. To his surprise and great relief, the dude cracked a grin.

"No problem, man, it is pretty late. We'll probably go find a motel or something and try and hook up with Ryan tomorrow."

"Okay, cool. Well, I might see you some time..." Seth said, with a half smile, suddenly feeling like an idiot. For all he knew, these guys were Ryan's best friends and he was here treating them like America's Most Wanted.

"Sure. See ya, man," Wiry Guy said with a wave, turning back to his friends.

Seth shook his head at his own paranoia as he resumed his walk towards the Sanctuary entrance. Maybe we can all hang out tomorrow after they've surprised Ryan. Be nice to talk to some of the people he grew up with. Maybe we can all go out to that new-

Seth's musings came to an abrupt end as a crowbar made a solid connection with the back of his head. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

"Hope you didn't hit him too hard," Lighter said, smirking.

"Shut up and bring the van over," the wiry guy said, looking dispassionately down at the prostrate form of Ryan Atwood's friend. Atwood. Even the mention of his name induced such a choking feeling of rage in the wiry guy that it was all he could do not the hack the kid to bits there and then and leave him for Atwood to find in the morning. But, no. This way was better.

The van reversed up and parked alongside them. Plaid Shirt threw open the back doors before picking the figure up from the ground and throwing him in the back with considerable ease. As though he weighed nothing at all.