Author's note: Set around the time of The Aftermath. A little one shot that came to mindwhen Summer asked Seth what Ryan eats and Seth replied "Dry cereal from a box and black coffee." Reviews are much appreciated as always.
Disclaimer: Don't own any of it
Dry Cereal From A Box.
Ryan Atwood couldn't sleep. It wasn't because of the nightmares that had recently been causing him to wake up in cold sweats. It wasn't because Trey had just left on a greyhound bus and out of his life. It wasn't because after three months Kirsten was still in rehab. Well, they weren't the main reason he couldn't sleep. For once, the thing that prevented Ryan from sleeping was a problem common to your average teenage boy.
Ryan Atwood was hungry.
And for once, this was a problem he could fix easily. The cure to this problem was simple. In the same way Sandy was all about the bagels, Ryan was all about the cereal.
Pulling back the covers, he stretched, flexing the muscles in his back. He grabbed a wifebeater and some sweatpants, threw them on over his boxers and padded barefoot across the patio to the kitchen. The lights were off and he left them that way, knowing he could find everything he needed in the half darkness. Ryan began his usual ritual. He took a bowl out of the cupboard and placed it on the work surface, followed by a spoon from the cutlery drawer placed that next to the bowl. He reached into the cupboard, selecting a box of cereal from the selection that filled the shelf. Poured himselfa large bowl of the brown wheaty goodness, placed the box back in the cupboard and headed to the fridge for milk. Pausing in the light of the open fridge, Ryan marvelled at the wonders of the Cohen household. Even with Kirsten away and Sandy caught up trying to sort out the Trey mess, the cupboards were still always fully stocked; there was still always milk in the fridge.
During the better times in Fresno, when there had still been such a thing as a weekly shop, Dawn used to let Ryan choose the type of cereal he wanted. He'd pick whichever box had the best free gift and then be stuck eating it until the box was empty. Of course, by that time the toy had usually been reprimanded by Trey and broken. Trey had always had a habit of breaking things that belonged to Ryan. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes by accident. Not that it made much of a difference when the outcome was the same.
Still, Trey had his moments. Ryan remembered one day when he was around eleven. His dad had been arrested a few weeks previously and he had returned home from school to find his mom passed out in an armchair in front of the TV, an empty bottle of vodka in her lap. It wasn't the first time Ryan had come home to a scene like that and it definitely wouldn't be the last. He didn't even bother trying to wake her anymore; he knew she'd be out for the night.
Ryan gingerly picked the empty glass bottle out of Dawn's lap and took it over to the kitchenette, balancing it precariously on the already over-flowing trashcan. He headed back over to the TV, changing the channel to cartoons but muting the sound. He tried to keep his eyes focused on the moving images in front of him and not the mascara stained cheeks of his mother in the chair next to him.
The front door slammed. Ryan turned his head to see Trey surveying the room. He heard his brother curse a few times as he obviously took in the drunken form in the corner.
Trey's eyes caught Ryan's as he dumped his faded denim jacket on the back of the sofa. "Hey little brother. Hey Mom." Throwing a look at his passed out mother he reached over and grabbed the remote out of Ryan's hands, turningthe volume up full blast.
"Trey!" Ryan exclaimed, trying to grab the remote back. ""Don't Trey! Mom's – she's sleeping."
"Bullshit Ryan." Trey pushed his little brother back down onto the sofa. "Mom's fucking wasted. She's not waking up any time soon." As if to prove his point he grabbed his mother's left arm roughly, lifting it and letting it drop like a referee in a boxing match. Trey took in the trail of drool coming from Dawn's mouth as her head lulled forward slightly. He grinned sarcastically as he helped himself to a cigarette from the open packet on the floor, "Yeah Mom, I had a great day skipping school, thanks for asking."
Ryan pulled himself back into a sitting position, biting his lip in an attempt to stop the tears that were threatening to spill down his cheeks. He should have been used to it by now. Trey looked over at Ryan as he sparked a match and lit his cigarette. He smacked Ryan around the back of the head as he wandered over to the kitchenette. "Quit being such a pussy Ry!"
Ryan wiped at his eyes furiously. He reached for the remote on the floor and turned the volume back down to a reasonable level. Not that there was much point considering the way Trey was opening and slamming shut cabinets and drawers cursing some more as he did so. When Trey returned to the sofa a few moments later he thrust a box into Ryan's arms. "Eat that."
Trey ground out his cigarette in the already full ashtray and grabbed his brother in a headlock as he dropped back down onto the sofa. He loosened his grip around Ryan's neck but left his arm around his shoulders. "You're too old for this childish shit, Ry," Trey muttered, nodding his head towards the TV.
But he made no effort to change the channel.
By the time Trey's appearances in the Atwood household had become sporadic at best and the weekly food shop had turned into whatever Ryan could buy using the money he'd managed to get from his mom or had found down the back of the couch, Ryan had still always tried to make sure there was a box of cereal in the house. Cereal could be eaten even when there was no milk in the house. It could be eaten when the milk in the fridge was out of date by a week. It could be eaten in his bedroom when he was avoiding the latest row between Dawn and her boyfriend of the week. It could be eaten straight from the box when all the plates and bowls in the house had been smashed during that row. Ready to eat any time. Day or Night.
Plus, it tasted pretty good.
Ryan closed the fridge door and headed back over to the work surface. He pulled the cereal box out of the cupboard, carefully opened the plastic packaging and poured the dry cereal back into the box. Then he rinsed the bowl, dried it and placed it back in the cupboard. Settling himself on one of the stools around the kitchen island Ryan reached into the open packet. One by one he dropped the wheaty flakes into his mouth.
Because sometimes - even in the fully fitted Cohen kitchen with two gallons of milk in the fridge and expensive crockery in the cupboards - all Ryan really wanted was dry cereal. Straight out of the box.