Author's Note: I am a horrible person. I was stuck. I'm sorry. Lots of people e-mailed me and left reviews encouraging me to get the next chapter posted. I am very grateful for the support….I should have answered each one of them individually. I am so very sorry this update took so long.

Thanks to Fred and Jo for taking the time to read thorough this chapter for continuity and such. Huge thanks to Crash aka Jonah, my beta, who spent hours on this super sized meal deal. I still tinkered after she finished betaing. Please forgive any glaring errors. They are my fault. It's a long chapter, but the length felt appropriate. Hope it reads quickly.

Thanks for sticking with me.

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Best of Intentions

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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Sandy, an arm around his wife's waist, hovers over the paramedics as they kneel on the driveway, examining Seth. He listens intently to everything, every exchange, every clue, every syllable between the two medics.

Everything they are saying to, and about, his son.

"Seth, does it hurt to breathe…or do you feel like you can't breathe at all? You are breathing sweetie, even if it doesn't feel like it." Of the two paramedics, the woman, Angela, has done most of the talking. She was the one who finally coaxed a reluctant Seth out of the girls' car and onto the gurney, finally got the teenager to worry less about who was watching and be more concerned with what was happening with his body.

"It hurts," Sandy hears Seth whisper, his eyes closed and his face pinched in pain. His son is almost drained of all energy, reminding Sandy of a balloon in the final stages of deflating.

"Ok," Angela softly pats Seth's arm. "I'm going to give you a little oxygen to help, alright? Try and relax, take deeper breaths, slow down your breathing." She turns to her partner. "Jeff?"

"I'm on it," Jeff answers, carefully adjusting the oxygen mask over Seth's mouth as he trades places with Angela. She stands up and continues the conversation she started with the Cohens when she first jumped out of the ambulance.

"When exactly was Seth at HOAG?"

"Thursday, I brought him in late Thursday afternoon," Kirsten interjects quickly. "They told us it was mononucleosis. But he felt terrible all weekend. I knew something wasn't right. I should have brought him back to the hospital, but I didn't want to overreact. We had a doctor's appointment today. I shouldn't have waited. I should have brought him back yesterday."

Angela writes a few of Kirsten's comments on a small, hand-sized spiral and assures the distraught mother, "Obviously this is the first time your son has been in this much pain. I wouldn't beat myself up over 'what ifs'. We'll transport him to the hospital and let the doctors figure out why he's experiencing this much discomfort."

Without looking up, Sandy observes quietly, "It's his spleen. The hospital told us what to look for. This is exactly what the doctors warned us about."

"It may not be his spleen. That's a really rare complication of mono. Did he fall, come in contact with anything that could have ruptured it?" Angela inquires, kneeling back on the ground to assist Jeff with inserting an IV. "The ER will need to know."

"I don't know," Sandy shakes his head. "He hasn't really spoken since I called you guys. You've gotten more out of him then I have."

He glances down uneasily, grimacing as Seth reacts to the new pain of having a needle go into his arm.

"Um….," from across the driveway, Summer gets everyone's attention. The worried teenager stands huddled next to Marissa, nervously twirling the index finger on her right hand, with the thumb and index finger of her left. "I'm …um, I'm really sorry you guys. I think this is all my fault. I hit Seth with my car door, right on his stomach. He fell down. This all started when I hit him. I'm really sorry." Summer looks like she is about to cry. Frowning, she adds a soft, "I didn't see him. It was an accident."

"Oh hell, this isn't your fault," Sandy says consolingly. "Seth knew better than to leave the house today. As sick as he is, he had absolutely no business running around with you kids."

Angela ignores Sandy's input, instead zeroing in on the details provided by Summer. "Was he complaining, before you hit him, about pain? How long ago did this happen?"

Summer shakes her head no, but it's Marissa that answers the question. "No, I mean, Seth obviously wasn't feeling well before Summer…I mean…the door hit him, but afterwards, he was really in pain. It was different, after he was hit." She bites her bottom lip, shifting from side to side, "It happened about an hour ago, maybe a little less."

She tells the Cohens, "I'm…we're… really sorry, we didn't know it was this serious. Seth said just to bring him home."

Sandy's main concern is Seth, but it's obvious that the girls are feeling accountable for his son's condition. They both look miserable, on the verge of tears, and Sandy feels a parental responsibility to calm the flustered teens down before he and Kirsten leave them alone to accompany Seth to the hospital. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the female paramedic kneel down beside Seth. He takes a second before returning his full attention to his son to remind Marissa of his earlier words to Summer. "It was just an accident, Marissa. You didn't force Seth into the car. I'm sure everything will be fine."

Sandy watches as Angela lifts Seth's shirt up to his neck and presses down slightly on the upper left portion of his abdomen. The recoil is immediate, with Seth kicking his right leg up and down, the heel of his sneaker pounding on the gurney.

"Ok, sorry sweetie," Angela rubs Seth's arm, most likely trying to distract him from the pain she's causing. "That smarts, huh? I won't do that again."

His eyes squeezed shut, Seth shakes his head up and down, apparently grateful for the promise of less externally inflicted pain. Sandy frowns at Seth's discomfort and tries not to concentrate on the fact that he's never seen Seth like this, and quite frankly never, ever wants to see his son in as vulnerable position as this again.

This is awful to witness.

This is every parent's nightmare.

"Jeff, we've got abdominal rigidity and pronounced guarding in the upper left quadrant. We need to wrap this up."

Her partner agrees with a quick, "Yep," as he hands the IV bag off to a Newport police officer that has responded to the call.

Sandy glances warily at his wife, wondering how she's handling seeing Seth like this.

With the paramedics' actions seemingly more deliberate and brisk, Kirsten must sense that things are getting more intense, urgent. She cringes, hugging her midsection, her head turned away from the paramedics' ministrations, not watching, as Angela cuts a smooth path through the middle of Seth's shirt, once again exposing his thin chest. Jeff finishes a quick check of vitals, reporting to his partner, "BP's 100 over 52, pulse is 120 and thready, respirations 28 and shallow. Temps 101.7, skins dry to the touch with tenting. We should start a second line."

"Let's do it in route," Angela answers as she begins to secure the various safety straps around Seth's lanky frame.

"Sorry 'bout this," Jeff tells the teenager as he tightens the last belt. "I know it's uncomfortable. Gotta' do it, standard procedure."

Seth whispers something and Jeff leans in close, listens intently, and answers, "Just a little while longer, just 'til' we get to the hospital. They'll give you something for the pain there, ok? You're doing great Seth. I know you're hurting. I'm going take off now, be your chauffeur. Angela's gonna' take good care of you."

Maybe in an attempt to break the anxiety that is permeating the situation, Jeff winks at Sandy and Kirsten, "Angela's way better than me. I'm just around to do the manual labor and driving."

As Jeff stands up, Sandy's first instinct is to rush for the gurney, assist the two paramedics with lifting it onto the ambulance. It doesn't feel right to him, watching these two people contribute everything to his son's care, while he stands idly by. But they're trained professionals, used to doing this kind of thing and move quickly, loading Seth into the back of the vehicle before Sandy can even make an attempt to help. The Newport policeman hands off the IV bag to Angela as she climbs into the back of the ambulance. Jeff turns to the Cohens, informing them, "I can take one of you."

Sandy doesn't hesitate, nudging Kirsten forward, towards Jeff. "Honey, you go. I'll be right behind you. I'll find you and Seth at the hospital."

If someone has to drive this afternoon, better him than Kirsten. As it is, the worry over Seth is killing him. Sandy can't imagine sitting in the ambulance wondering if his wife is driving safely to HOAG.

Kirsten wipes away a tear, "Ok." She gives her husband one last anxious glance as she opens the passenger door of the emergency vehicle. "I love you."

"Everything's going to work out," Sandy catches her eyes with a series of decisive nods, "I promise."

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Ryan feels his phone vibrate in his pocket, but he can't take anymore, anyone else, picking away at him. The guy just got done giving him a huge fucking guilt trip in the hallway, Marissa wants him back at school, Sandy's pissed he went to the hotel, Kirsten's disappointed he didn't go to the house, Seth's angrier than Ryan has ever seen him and Ryan is simply exhausted trying to explain himself to everyone. Without even bothering to see who his latest caller is, he pushes down the 'end' button, cutting off power to the phone.

One thing at a time, one person at a time.

He's already at the hotel, so he might as well deal with his 'new family' first.

Expressionless, he re-enters Ed Carden's hotel room, an almost tangible trail of electric tension following in his wake.

"I'm gonna' go grab a shower," Ed tells Ryan, "then we'll finish talking, all right? I just threw a lot at you Ryan, plenty to think about. So, let's give it a few minutes, ok?"

Ryan doesn't even bother to respond to Ed's proposal. It doesn't matter what he thinks. The dye's been cast. It's entirely too late to turn around. He's shut out Sandy, Seth, and by default, Kirsten.

He's already told Marissa goodbye.

He stands in the hotel room devoid of feeling, too drained to even care anymore, about where he is or whom he's with, or where he's going.

"Ryan," Brad's quiet voice disrupts Ryan's thoughts, forces him to shake his head, clear a small path for possible verbal communication. "Can I show you my surprise now?"

So still, so calm.

Ryan's never seen the little boy move so little or talk so softly. He watches Ryan with careful reserve, big blue eyes waiting for acknowledgement.

"Brad, sweetie," Carol moves in from the balcony, watching Ryan closely from the corner of her eye. She tempts the child with her most effective weapon, "Let's leave Ryan alone for a second. You, me and Josh, what do you say we go grab some ice cream?"

"I'll stay here with Ryan," Brad quickly answers, continuing his cautious observation of the older boy. "I'll be quiet." He moves a little closer to Ryan. "I won't bother him."

"I'll go with you," Josh responds to Carol's offer, reaches for his shoes, seemingly oblivious to the strained atmosphere that Brad has picked up on. He slips on his sandals and waits for Carol to join him at the door.

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Carol studies Ryan.

Something's different about him. There's an unpredictable vibe about his person, as if the stressed out boy who walked out of the hotel room a few minutes ago has returned an empty shell.

Or the eye of the storm.

She can't read him, can't really tell what's going on with him. He looks so tired, even more worn out than when he first arrived, unannounced, an hour or so ago. His black eye is fading into yellowish-green, but it's only accentuating how hollow his eyes look. It's barely past lunch, and although she guessed earlier when Ed offered to bring them all out that Ryan wasn't hungry, Carol's wondering now if a decent meal isn't exactly what the kid needs. Maybe she could convince him to eat something and then get some sleep. It's usually an effective combination with Brad or Josh.

Ryan's still just standing there, silent, not interacting on any level.

He's so good at withdrawing, and she remembers from her first meeting with him, how very well the teenager can disappear even when he's in plain sight.

Ryan clears his throat, glances at Brad and then looks up at Carol through haphazard bangs.

"Um, chocolate chip."

Carol blinks, confused for a spit second and then realizes that Ryan is placing an ice cream order.

"Me too," Brads chimes in, breaking into an instant smile, "but make mine mint. And I want mine in a cup. And a double dip, please, Aunt Carol. Do you want two dips too Ryan?" He looks up at the older boy, smiling eagerly, clearly relieved that the teenager seems a little less tense.

"That's fine," Ryan answers. Staring at Carol intently, he tells her, "Brad can stay with me. It's cool."

"All right," Carol nods enthusiastically, reassured slightly at Ryan's small attempt at normal conversation. Thank God for Brad. And it is Brad, Carol has no doubt, that has caused Ryan's willingness to pretend that this is just an ordinary afternoon of an ordinary day and not, what she is sure, must be one of the most upsetting afternoons of his young life.

"I'll be right back, Ryan," she promises, opening up the hotel door. Josh rushes ahead of her, out of the room. Carol assures Ryan on her way out, "Remember Ryan, I want to make sure that your opinion is heard. I'll be back in a few minutes and then you can tell me what you want to do with the rest of your day."

Before he can answer her, Brad is pulling at his hand, steering Ryan towards the room's sole table.

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Ryan is still getting used to the fact that Brad grabs his hand whenever he wants.

He's not used to it, people just randomly showing him physical contact. He not used to holding people's hands. Marissa does it once in a while, and Ryan still has to suppress the urge to pull away. It's getting easier, the better he gets to know her, the more comfortable he is with her, and he hopes she never picks up on his hesitation. But that doesn't mean, internally, it's not there.

He forces himself to clasp a little tighter to Brad's hand, because the same as with Marissa, Ryan doesn't want to hurt the boy's feelings.

When they reach the table, Brad points towards a sketch and Ryan immediately recognizes himself in it.

A wifebeater and jeans.

The ocean, the waves, him and Brad.

Josh, alone on the shoreline, watching them.

"That's us Ryan," Brad beams proudly, "at the beach on Saturday. I drew you a picture of us."

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Angela continues to talk to Seth in a soothing voice, updating him on her actions in an attempt to keep the teenager as relaxed as possible.

It's an impossible task, she knows it. Who in the hell can chill out when a stranger is unzipping your pants?

"We're just going to loosen these up a little bit, ok, Seth? Give the doctors some wiggle room to examine your stomach."

She decides not to bother cutting the jeans off. She recognizes the brand as expensive and besides, sometimes, when there's no blunt trauma, the nurses can salvage some of the clothing.

"I'm going to hook you up to a monitor, sweetheart. It won't hurt a bit."

He's chalky, grey, not responding other than an occasional moan and painful grunt. Despite the elevated temp and hot, dry skin, he's shivering, slight tremors cascading throughout his body. Angela is starting to become concerned that what she thought at first glance was a routine run may turn pretty damn critical, pretty damn fast. Her patient is clearly losing ground.

In an effort to elicit something from the distressed teen, she casually asks him, "How old are you Seth?"

She knows the answer already. But it's been a while since he's spoken and she wants to hear his voice, make sure shock isn't rearing its ugly head.

When he doesn't answer, Angela raises her volume, leans in closer to him. "Seth, open your eyes. How old are you?"

The eyes stay clenched tight but he grinds out an answer, whispering through the oxygen mask, "Sixteen."

"My son is thirteen," Angela prattles, trying to fill the silence as she begins sticking the electrode pads to connect the ECG monitor. Seth's heart rate and rhythm instantly appear on the display screen, the frequent beeps providing a reminder of the boy's rapid heartbeat. It's too fast, registering at 120, but it's at least steady and a normal rhythm.

Moving on to the next task, Angela alerts the teenager, "I need to start another IV line, Seth. You're going to feel a little stick in your left hand, ok? You're dehydrated; it'll help you feel better. You're being a great sport about all this, Seth." He gives a slight nod in acknowledgment as she prepares to start the second IV. Angela hangs the new bag of fluid above Seth's head, watching as it sways with the movement of the vehicle, keeping in unison with the other IV bag.

There's nothing else for her to do, so she continues her efforts to reassure the stricken young man, informing him, "We're almost there sweetie. Just another minute or two."

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The ride to HOAG comes to an end as Jeff adeptly backs the ambulance into the waiting bay. The doors fling open and Angela and Jeff swiftly go about the task of wheeling Seth into the ER.

Kirsten, unsure of her place in the frenzied activity, scrambles out of the front seat of the ambulance and shadows behind the gurney, rubbing her forehead and trying not to have an all out stress attack. Riding in the emergency vehicle has only heightened the anxiety swirling in her stomach. All she could do was listen to the female paramedic lead a one-way conversation with Seth. The medical jargon left her confused and feeling out of control. Now things are rushing at a breakneck speed.

Kirsten's surprised when the gurney reaches the emergency room doors that she's allowed in, but none of the medical team seems too concerned about her presence. She recognizes a familiar voice and turns to see the female doctor who treated Seth on Thursday. Holbrith, Kirsten recalls, that was the doctor's name. She watches as the young physician briskly enters the area where Seth's gurney has come to a stop.

Dr. Holbrith mutters to Angela, "Last name is Cohen, right?"

The paramedic nods. "He was admitted here last Thursday. Parents report he was discharged Friday with a diagnosis of mono."

"Yeah, I know," Holbrith reaches for Seth's wrist, glances at the monitors, tells a nurse, "Sara, we took a CAT-Scan on Thursday, go track it down for me please. And page Dr. Hughes, see if he's free. He was one of the attendings."

Doctor Holbrith's all-business manner is a sharp contrast to last Thursday's more laid-back persona, stroking Kirsten's internal panic to a new level. She scrambles awkwardly to stay out of the way as several more of the hospital staff hurriedly join the team.

"Get these straps off please," Holbirth instructs. The doctor orchestrates Seth's move to a slightly larger ER bed. Once freed, he immediately attempts to curl over to his right side.

"Severe guarding in the upper left quad," Angela updates Holbrith. "Quite a bit of rigidity as well. I've got confirmation that he was hit in the stomach, about an hour ago."

Holbrith manages to coax Seth to return to lying on his back, apologizing as her probing of his belly causes the teenager additional pain. Seth's feeble attempts to escape the doctor's actions, by pushing her hands away, come to a halt and he lies quietly, eyes clamped shut, puffing in and out. Kirsten's not sure if he's still having trouble breathing or just trying desperately to regulate the excruciating pain he's experiencing.

"Seth, my name is Dr. Holbrith. I treated you on Thursday. I was the one with the big needle, hard to forget. Are you hurting anywhere else besides your stomach?" He doesn't answer and the doctor repeats his name, frowning slightly when the boy still doesn't respond to her question. "Seth, can you tell me where you are?" She waits a moment and then gives up on her patient, asking Angela, "Was he alert in route?"

"Little bit," Angela answers. "He's not nearly as responsive as when we first answered the call."

Holbrith folds her arms, glances at Kirsten from the corner of her eye. "Ok, I want fresh vitals and pictures from the neck down. Find a portable unit; let's not mess with moving him. Set up for a lavage in case things don't hold steady long enough for the x-rays. Get an ultrasound in here and somebody call down to surgery, tell them we need a consult ASAP. Jarrod," Holbrith turns to a young resident standing next to her, "let's see what we can do about getting him cooled off and push five milligrams of morphine, that might ease the pain enough to increase his level of alertness. I'll get the mother up to date, be back in a sec."

Holbrith signals Kirsten over, smiles slightly, "Why don't you let Seth know you'll be in the waiting room. Just work your way around everybody, they'll clear a path."

Kirsten hesitantly excuses herself past several of the busy medical personnel, finds a small opening at the head of the stretcher, and tries like hell to ignore the fact that people are stripping the remainder of her son's clothes off.

It's unnerving in ways not describable, seeing strangers' hands all over her child.

She's the guest here and fast wearing out her welcome, expected to leave Seth alone and unprotected amidst this chaos. What can she possibly say to him?

She leans over the bed railing, whispering, "It's going to be fine, honey. I'm going to step out for just a minute while they help you feel better. They're going to take very good care of you, Seth. Your dad and I will see you in a little while. We'll be right outside. Don't worry about anything." She kisses a hot cheek; brushes back strands of sweaty, disorganized hair. Seth opens his eyes, but it's clear that he's barely aware of anything except the struggle his body is engaged in.

God, she was so angry with him earlier today, she was ready to kill him when she realized he had left the house. How could she have forgotten the frenzied events of Thursday afternoon so quickly and the feelings of intense fear associated with it? The promise she made to herself that day, the bargain, that if Seth were all right after Thursday's scare, she would be a little more patient, a little more tolerant.

"Mrs. Cohen," Holbrith says her name and Kirsten nods in acknowledgement, backs up slowly from the stretcher and follows the doctor out of the ER.

"Unfortunately, I think things are going to have to move fairly quickly," Dr. Holbrith tells Kirsten as they exit into the hallway. "I know this is overwhelming. In all likelihood we're looking at some sort of rupture of your son's spleen. Percentage wise, it's an unusual complication, but it can happen with mononucleosis. I'm a little unclear of how the injury happened, but I understand a blow to his stomach was involved. We need to do some x-rays in case something else is going on in his abdomen. We'll also perform an ultrasound, possibly a CAT-Scan if we can keep his vitals steady, to confirm the ruptured spleen diagnosis and determine, to the best of our abilities, how much bleeding is occurring. I don't want to throw too many details at you at once, but basically, if Seth's spleen has been compromised, we're going to give him a blood transfusion to try and replace some of the blood he's lost as well as administer some medications that are intended to halt the internal bleeding. But the medications can only do so much. Depending on the damage to his spleen, surgery may be needed. In the meantime, we'll do some cooling measures to get his temp down and continue to push IV fluids to try and get his pressure up. He's fairly stable, that should buy us the time we need to conduct the tests I've ordered."

The doctor places a hand on Kirsten's upper arm, offers a compassionate expression, "If his pressure continues to drop, I may have to do a more invasive procedure to determine how serious the bleeding is, but for right now, let's assume his body is going to cooperate with us. Dr. Hughes from pediatrics is on his way up, as well as a surgeon. As soon as the three of us know the absolute direction we're headed in, I'll get back to you."

Holbrith glances around Kirsten, "Is your husband here? Should we call someone else to join you?"

"Sandy's on his way," Kirsten mumbles, still trying to process the reality of the doctor's words. How the hell can this be happening? Seth should be at home on the couch, complaining and playing video games. Even though deep down she knew better, Kirsten was still holding out hope in the ambulance that there was a simple explanation for what was happening to her son. Internal bleeding was her biggest fear and the last words she wanted to hear.

"I know this is difficult, hang in there," Dr. Holbrith suggests before disappearing back into the ER.

A nurse approaches Kirsten and asks, "Can I show you to the waiting room?"

Kirsten accepts the offer and politely requests that the woman keep an eye out for Sandy and usher him to the lounge when he arrives.

It's a fairly large area, much different than the waiting room Kirsten spent time in during Seth's stay in the isolation ward. Several families have already set up camp in a few corners. They all glance at Kirsten as she finds a chair and settles in. A haggard looking woman around Kirsten's age, maybe someone else's mother, gives her a tired, sad smile.

She sits in complete silence for a minute, trying to steady her shaking hands, staring straight ahead.

Sandy's on his way. She just has to hang on a few more minutes.

She's not alone.

She doesn't have to do this by herself.

Kirsten remembers Thursday afternoon and Ryan, standing solitarily in the driveway, as she drove off with Seth, leaving Ryan by himself instead of taking him with her.

It's all happening again, Thursday's nightmare revisited.

Seth rushed to the hospital; Ryan's separated from them instead of with them.

She digs in her purse for her phone.

Minutes later, after trying Ryan's cell several times with no luck, Kirsten retrieves Carol Carden's cell phone number. Carol will help. She may barley know the woman, but she's sure that Carol will bring Ryan to the hospital, to her and Sandy, where he belongs, the way it should have been on Thursday.

And the three of them will wait together, as long as it takes, for Seth.

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Summer and Marissa loiter in the parking lot of Harbor.

"I can't believe we came back to school," Marissa announces, making absolutely no effort to get out of the car.

"I can't believe I may have killed Cohen," Summer says quietly, seemingly stunned. "Sure, I admit it, it's kind of fun to be cruel to him, but, I swear, the almost killing…not gratifying at all."

"You didn't kill Seth," Marissa tries to reassure her friend, holds up her hand in a slight wave of retrospection. "Ok, maybe hospitalized him, but the Cohens are really cool people, I'm sure they'll forgive you."

"Oh, God," Summer moans, drops her head into her hands, her long black hair completely obscuring her face. "I'm a monster."

"We need to do something, not just sit here. Find Ryan, go check on Seth, something. I can't go back in that building," Marissa points at school, "my brain will explode."

"We should definitely go make sure Ryan knows about Cohen," Summer agrees to the suggestion of blowing off Harbor. Looking up, she adds softly, "Coop, seriously, I'm freaking out here. Maybe we should just go straight to the hospital. I know Mr. Cohen told us to go back to school, but this is crazy. Like we give a shit right now about anything but our boyfriends."

"Boyfriends?" Marissa whips her head around, stares intently at Summer. "Did you just call Seth Cohen your boyfriend?"

"I meant your boyfriend," Summer backpedals, stammers, "your boyfriend…and his friend….boys that are friends."

"Whatever," Marissa teases, trying to ease Summer's mood, "You so like Seth Cohen."

Summer looks away, turning her face the opposite direction of her best friend. "What if I really hurt him Coop? This is totally not right. I'm like Carrie evil. What if I start killing everyone at Harbor one by one?"

It takes Marissa a minute to realize that Summer has silently started to cry. She leans over and puts her head on Summer's shoulder. "Listen Sum, it's okay. Seth was already sick. You didn't do anything wrong. You're not evil. Let me try calling Ryan again, maybe we can look for him real quick and then we'll go make sure Seth is all right."

Marissa lifts her head up, reaches out and pushes a clump of Summer's hair that is clinging to her wet face, back behind her ear.

Summer sniffs miserably and struggles to regain her composure.

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Ryan should be used to someone waiting for him to offer blanket reassurances about something they've done.

Seth does it all the time.

But Brad is different than Seth. He actually waits for Ryan to say something instead of just glossing over the desire for Ryan's input. In the time that Seth would have moved on, tired of waiting for Ryan to link together the sentences required for meaningful feedback, Brad stands patiently waiting for Ryan to respond, give him some kind of opinion about his drawing.

"Um," Ryan falters, "this is uh," he waves at the picture, "that's great man."

"Really?" Brad perks up in response to the positive comment. "You like it? I drew it for you. You can take it home."

"Thanks," Ryan flashes what he hopes passes for a smile. It's really a very good drawing. The kid has talent. But Ryan's mind is miles away from having the focus to genuinely appreciate it. He's tired but wired. He wants to collapse and sleep for a day straight, and he wants to run as far and as fast as he can, pounding out all his pent up frustration and doubt on the hot sidewalks.

"I'll show you a secret," Brad whispers conspiratorially, yanking Ryan's attention back to the boy. Brad places a finger on the picture. "See that? That's my mom."

Ryan squints, leans in close to the illustration, and can barely make out a small figure standing in the distance.

"I always put her in my pictures, 'cause that way she can see what I'm doing." Brad gazes up at Ryan, asks, "Do you think that makes me weird?"

Ryan stares back at the smaller boy, blinks slowly to buy himself some time.

Shit.

Words, words, words.

He hates the expectation of them and he hates the power of them and he hates his inability to master them.

Sandy would know what to say. Sandy wouldn't be too freaked out to answer, afraid of saying too much of the wrong thing, or not saying enough of the right.

"Um," Ryan glances back at the picture and wonders what it must be like, to really, truly not have a mother. Because as bad as his mom may be, she ain't dead, at least not physically. Eventually, she always shows back up.

Brad's still waiting so Ryan scratches his eyebrow and offers, "It doesn't matter what people think. You shouldn't let people's opinions bother you, ever." He's such a hypocrite. Assholes like Luke and their words get to him every time, even though he tries so hard not to let them.

His answer seems to satisfy Brad, who responds with a casual, "Ok." He grabs a pencil lying next to the picture and excitedly tells Ryan, "You know what? Look." Brad makes an addition to his picture, drawing in a minute black dot on the sun. "That can be for your mom. Get it? Dawn…sun. Now your mom can see what you're doing."

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"Your cell phone is ringing," Josh tells Carol.

Her brain is slugging along, weighed down and moving in molasses after the dizzying events of the past few days. Carol puts one foot in front of the other, but she's not paying much attention to the task at hand. Instead she's concentrating on Ryan and the surreal morning she has spent with him.

Even though she hardly knows Ryan, she's worried about him because he's family now and worrying about family comes naturally to her and besides, anyone can see that the kid is a mess and overdue for a crash.

"Aunt Carol?" Josh says her name again, points towards her purse. "Your phone is going off."

She wonders what the hell is taking place upstairs, in Ed's room, as she and Josh walk to the ice cream shop across the street from the hotel. Maybe she should have stayed with Ryan.

Yes, she definitely should have stayed.

But she wanted to give the teen some time alone, get the boys out of his hair for a minute, give him some time to think, to breathe.

That plan failed miserably.

Now Ryan is trapped in the hotel room with Brad and in a few minutes, when his shower is done, Ed.

"Aunt Carol!" Josh yells her name, waves his hand in front of her face. "Your phone is ringing."

Carol snaps to attention and fishes around her purse for the small cell. She flips it open quickly, inquiring a rushed, "Hello?" and motions for Josh to stop walking.

"Carol? It's Kirsten Cohen."

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Sandy's so very sick of HOAG's constantly full parking lot and circling for a damn parking space. He's had enough of this hospital for a lifetime. He doesn't want to walk into it, repeat Thursday's nervous march down the white halls, searching for his wife and ill son.

Panic.

It's almost a blinding panic that he's feeling.

It wasn't this way, Thursday, when he first arrived at the hospital. He hadn't understood Kirsten's franticness then. He had chalked it up to a mother's overreaction. But now he understands, now he knows what it feels like to walk through a hospital, distressed, wondering where your child is and who is with him and whether or not they are taking the time to reassure him and tell him he's going to be alright and help him not to be afraid.

Sandy takes a short breath, his heartbeat mounting, as he gets closer to the emergency room. He tried calling Kirsten's cell as soon as he parked the car, but was immediately directed to her voice mail. Sandy assumes she's in the ER waiting room, but God only knows where she could have ended up in the time took him to get through traffic, and arrive at HOAG and secure a parking spot.

"Sandy."

He hears his name, and turns to find Kirsten standing just outside of the large waiting room entrance, her arms around her waist.

"Where is he, honey?" Sandy asks, even though he knows the obvious answer.

"In the ER," she points a shaky finger in the direction of closed doors. "They um, they wouldn't let me stay," Kirsten apologizes, starts to cry, "I wanted to stay with him Sandy but they wouldn't let me."

Sandy pulls his wife into a hug, lays her head against his shoulder. He waits a minute for Kirsten to calm down a little before asking, "Did you get a chance to talk to anyone? What did they say?"

Kirsten nods, tells him, "It was the same doctor from Thursday. She thinks it's his spleen and that there's internal bleeding. They're running some tests to determine the extent of it." Kirsten spins her hand, says helplessly, "I don't remember everything she said. I'm sorry honey." She fumbles with the last of her words, "I'm sorry, I know that you were depending on me, and now I don't remember everything the doctor told me."

Sandy strokes her hair, consoles Kirsten. "It's ok honey, I'm sure someone will be out in a minute. They'll tell me everything. You were there for Seth as long as you could be, that's the important thing."

Kirsten nods into his shoulder, pulls away, looks off into the distance, hugging herself with one arm as she sniffs and wipes away her tears with the other. When she looks back at Sandy, she tells him quietly, "Sandy, he must be terrified. He was in so much pain, I don't even think he realized I was with him."

It's Sandy's turn to simply nod, because, after all, what can he possible say?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Brad and Ryan sit on the edge of one of the hotel room beds, Ryan pretending to watch the younger boy playing his Gameboy. As he interacts with the game, Brad narrates all his moves, which surprisingly, is not an annoying distraction, but is actually providing a decent amount of noise for Ryan to process his own thoughts.

He's worried about Seth's uncharacteristic anger, Marissa's hurt feelings, Sandy's disappointment, Kirsten's dejection.

He's worried, always worried, that his mom might be found dead somewhere or that Trey might get erased in prison. He's been too long separated from his dad to even remember how to care about him.

He's worried about Ed being a part of his life and that Brad is becoming too attached and expects him to be something he's not, or that the other kid, Josh, might, for some reason, hate his guts.

He's worried that he might give up on himself, stop trying to figure it all out, and run away from it all, and really, truly be on his own.

All alone.

And wouldn't that just be the Atwood thing to do.

"Hey," Ed says quietly, emerging fully dressed from the bathroom. "How are you two doing? Where are Carol and Josh?"

"They went for ice cream," Brad answers without looking up at his father, his legs swinging in reaction to whatever is happening on the video screen.

Ed nods, motions towards the balcony to Ryan.

Ryan gets off the bed and wordlessly follows Ed outside. He slides the glass door shut slowly, catching a last glimpse of Brad, still sitting on the bed, mesmerized into a Nintendo coma.

"So," Ed leans against the balcony railing, starts out hesitantly, "have you had any time to think about…what we talked about?"

Ryan smirks a little to himself. He loves how this guy always uses the word 'we'.

Fuck.

Nothing about any of this has involved 'we'. It's been all this guy, every time, talking and talking and talking, until Ryan's head usually ends up spiraling. It sort of does the same thing with Seth. Seth sometimes makes him dizzy until he zones him out. But this is different. With Ed, Ryan knows that he has to pay close attention, 'cause everything out of this guy's mouth seems to make things more and more complicated and disjointed.

"Ryan?"

Ed says his name, lowers his head so he can angle his gaze to meet Ryan's downcast one.

"Are you listening?"

This guy is so clueless, Ryan thinks to himself.

Sandy knows, Sandy understands. Sandy knows that he's always listening. Sandy realizes that even if he doesn't show it, he's still always listening.

"Yeah," Ryan finally answers Ed, still not offering any eye contact.

"Good," Ed nods enthusiastically, "that's great. Listen, so, I admit this is all very sudden and no doubt extremely unsettling, so, if you need us to, we could slow things down a bit. I could arrange for a few more days out here, contact my attorney in the mean time, and see about maybe setting up a temporary guardianship with the state of California."

"What about the Cohens?" Ryan mutters, 'cause even if he ends up going anywhere with this jerk-off, he's gonna' at least give the Cohens the respect they deserve.

"Um, yeah, sure, ok, of course," Ed fumbles with an answer, "Of course the Cohens will be involved…I mean…as much as they should be. To be honest though, Ryan, all they are to you are foster parents, and they don't really have any rights over you, other than to make sure you are safe while you're under their care. But legally, they aren't really a factor in this equation, especially since they have had you such a short time."

Ryan keeps his head down but unconsciously clenches his fists, a move Ed must pick up on because he scrambles to cover himself, adding, "But, I know, Ryan, how important the Cohens are to you. So we'll be sure and keep them posted, everyday if you want, on how you are doing. Ok? We'll allow the Cohens some input, I promise."

How very fucking nice of him, thinks Ryan.

God, what the hell is he doing here? It's renegade sperm versus Sandy, and so far, although Ryan doesn't want to completely admit it to himself, Sandy is definitely kicking the sperm's ass.

The first day he met Sandy, Ryan felt a connection.

He's known this guy for several days now, and still, despite the mutual genes, he's feeling nothing, zero, zip, towards this man. Maybe some contempt, but that would take a certain amount of effort on his part, and Ryan can't seem to work up the energy for any emotion. He understands, though, what his mom must have seen in this guy when she was having the affair with him. He must have been a welcome balance to Ryan's unpredictable, irresponsible dad. This guy seems to have a constant and steady flow of what direction everyone around him should be moving.

"Ryan," Ed says with an uncomfortable, small laugh, "Buddy, can you at least talk to me a little bit? Are you always this quiet? Doesn't any of this mean anything to you? You have a brand new family, aren't you even a little bit excited? I thought you came here today because you wanted to be a part of us."

"We've all talked about it. And we want to be your legal guardians. We want you to be part of the family. If you want to be..."

It feels like such a long time ago that Kirsten said those words to him, as she and Sandy sat with him the living room. That was the last time Ryan remembers feeling excited. So excited he thought his heart would burst out of his chest. And he remembers asking them if they were sure about permanently allowing him to live in their home, because he couldn't believe that it was actually happening, that these people wanted him.

That was the last time, maybe the first time, he remembers being excited about being a part of a family.

Ryan stares dully across and through Ed, into the street below.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Seth is vaguely aware of what is being done to him. The pain is much more tolerable, that he knows for sure. He's high as a freakin' sky high kite, or at least he feels high, if this is what high feels like. Before his recent hospitalizations, the closest he's come to taking drugs was an accidental double dose of Benadryl in the sixth grade.

Once again, he's reminded of how very choice the IV drugs can be.

People are putting their hands in and on places of his body that he's not even sure if, over the years, he's ever managed to touch. He's come to the conclusion, based on the current violations of his person, that he's either being molested or that he's at the hospital.

He's going with the hospital theory, because, well, that's less freaky.

"Seth?"

A woman says his name and Seth blinks several times, deciding whether or not he actually wants to open his eyes.

He makes a decision and clamps both eyes tightly shut.

He can feel an oxygen mask on his face. He's having easier time breathing and figures it must be the drugs.

Another voice instructs him, "Seth, open your eyes, Seth. You're at the emergency room in HOAG. Do you remember what's happening? Open up your eyes and talk to us, Seth."

He knows why they keep repeating his name. They want him to wake up. But it's grating on his nerves, because it's annoying, hearing your name over and over. It reminds him of when he was younger, being ridiculed on the school playground.

"Seth Cohen?"

Oh good God, they've tagged on his last name. He can't take multiple rounds of "Seth Cohen," so he barks an exasperated, muffled, "What?" just to stop the constant bugging.

"Oh, hello," answers a surprised voice. "Can you open your eyes?"

Seth complies, although he wishes people would stop tugging at the blanket and prodding all over him because when he does manage to open his eyes, he really doesn't want to see himself naked.

And he is sure, most unfortunately, that the naked is a most definite. His chest feels colder than the rest of him and he can feel the blanket pushed down to the very edge of his waist.

Could this be any more awful? What with the pain and the naked and the people doing things to him and, shit, that's right, Summer witnessed most of it.

He hopes like hell she wasn't around for the naked.

He opens his eyes and sees a white blur of a human being looming over him.

"Seth, it's Doctor Holbrith, from Thursday."

Ah, the bodacious doctor lady.

"Seth, I'm going to perform an ultrasound. See if we can figure out why your belly is acting up."

"That'd be just awesome," he slurs, having no clue as to what in the hell she is talking about. "Can I have more drugs?"

"Is the pain still bad?" The doctor asks.

"Not really, I just like the drugs," he answers lethargically.

Dr. Holbrith laughs quietly, "Well then, I think we'll hold off additional medication for a little while, ok?"

"Whatever." Because really…at this point, seriously…whatever.

He hears someone yet another faceless voice declare, "Pulse is 114, pressure 110 over 60, respirations 22, temp 101.4"

The doctor glances down at Seth, watching to see if he's listening and answers with a reserved, "Let's hang another unit of whole blood, see if we can up his pressure and keep things stable long enough to get this done. I'd feel better knowing specifically what we are dealing with."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Seth thinks a little time may have gone by, he's not sure, maybe he dozed off waiting for the test thing, but he wakes up fully when something is pressed against his stomach, causing him to flinch when a small amount of pain breaches the firewall of drugs.

"Easy," Dr. Holbrith says, putting a hand on his shoulder. "This will be a little uncomfortable but quick. I promise"

The thing rolls around on his stomach, leaving little echoes of pain in its path. Seth slides around a bit, agitated and unhappy with the sudden reappearance of somewhat intense pain. Someone places two hands on both his shoulders, bracing him to a firm position. It must be a guy. A strong smell of cologne momentarily distracts him.

Another round of pressing and Seth can't help himself. He fights the shoulder guy, wiggles his midsection.

"You have to lay still, Seth," the doctor tells him authoritatively.

And isn't that just damn easy for her to say.

A harder push triggers a flash of pain that engulfs his stomach and Seth barely has time to warn the room, "I'm gonna' to be sick."

He's rolled to his side, the oxygen mask whisked off and as he vomits, all he can think about is how badly he wants his mom or dad here.

He's never been this sick without one of them hovering.

Hell, he's never been this sick.

With the pain and the puking, he can barely breathe again, prompting the feeling of doom he had earlier, in Summer's car. And he's scared now, despite the IV sedation and shit, he should have lied to the doctor about the pain, and gotten more drugs when he had the chance.

He'd settle for a shot of Benadryl.

Someone rubs his back and someone else guides his head over a plastic bucket because he can't seem to stop vomiting and someone else tells him, "It's ok Seth."

He hears the doctor say, "I need an NG tube," and Seth shudders at the word tube and the thought of what exactly that's gonna' mean for him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Marissa has text messaged and called and basically clogged Ryan's cell with desperate pleas for him to answer her. She suspects his phone must be turned off, because he never would have ignored her last text message, telling him that Seth was in the hospital.

She and Summer have given up trying to find him. They don't know what hotel room Ryan's in or even if he's still there. Instead they are going directly to HOAG, although neither one knows if that's a good idea. Mr. Cohen told them to go back to school and maybe he just wants to be alone with Mrs. Cohen. But she's worried about Seth and her best friend, Summer, can't just sit in class wondering if she killed him. So to the hospital they go.

Marissa's cell phone rings and she grabs at it, feeling a surge of excitement that Ryan must have finally heard or read her urgent messages. But the number on the screen is her dad. When she answers, he immediately tells her that the school called, wondering if he knew that she was, evidently, skipping class. Marissa explains the entire situation to him, Summer glancing at her now and then throughout the conversation. When she hangs up, Summer asks, "Is everything cool with your dad? Do we have to go back to Harbor?"

"No," Marissa shakes her head. "Don't worry about it. He's fine. My mom would be a bitch about it, but my dad," she gives Summer a small shrug, "you know how laid-back he is."

Summer knows exactly how laid-back Marissa's dad is. Laid-back as in…a non-factor...as in… Julie Cooper may be a bitchy parent and somewhat psycho, but at least she parents, or tries to. Jimmy Cooper's not exactly what her alcoholic, pill-popping friend needs. And now with things up in the air with Ryan, how the hell is Coop gonna' react and handle everything? Ryan has become her rock, and evidently for reasons unknown to her and Coop, he's busy disintegrating, having his own private little melt-down.

Summer concentrates on driving, and tries not to think about the oh-so-super awesome afternoon she's having.

Her best friend is falling apart…again.

Something is wrong with the perpetually brooding Chino…again.

And she's not exactly stable herself, after assaulting Cohen with her car.

Yep.

Awesome afternoon.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ed blows out a breath and turns around to stare off his balcony, at the very road that Ryan is pretending to watch intently. He wonders if this kid is clinically depressed, if the Cohens have neglected his mental health in favor of his physical one. Ryan seems completely devoid of normal human emotions.

It's in his nature to problem-solve and Ed can't stop himself from asking a question, even though he doubts Ryan will answer. He turns to the teen, "Have you always been this quiet? My son, Josh, he's very quiet with me, ever since his mother died. But he used to talk all the time. Most kids do, at least the ones I've been around, up until I met you that is."

Ed gives Ryan a small smile and continues. "So, tell me, have you always been this reserved, or, like Josh, have you become this way because of recent circumstances?" Ed refrains from interjecting, 'Because your lack of communication is abnormal, Ryan.'

"Your kid is pissed at you," Ryan says out of the blue, sneaks a quick peek at Ed before dropping his head just as fast. "Maybe that's why he doesn't talk to you."

Ed turns around and carefully studies the boy, surprised by his directness. Josh's anger must be more visible than Ed realizes. That, plus this kid is perceptive as hell. That, he already has learned about Ryan.

"Well, I'll say one thing," Ed sticks his hands in his pockets, turns his back again to Ryan. "When you do talk, it's always something significant. No bullshitting around with you, huh, Ryan? Is that why you're not talking to me? Because you are…" Ed hesitates, before simply adopting Ryan's wording, "pissed at me?"

"Should I be?" Ryan whispers and Ed can't help but feel his temper and frustration escalate just a little bit.

He can't figure out anything about this kid. What does Ryan want? He appears bored or angry every instance he sees Ed, but at the same time, he came over to the hotel on his own volition. With his voice a little more tight than before, Ed asks Ryan, "Do you ever answer a question directly, Ryan? Because this habit of yours, of deflecting the conversation from the main issue, is a little disrespectful to the person you're talking to."

When he turns back around, Ed expects Ryan to be heading for the sliding glass door, going back into the hotel room, away from the confrontation, or at the very least, hanging his head in an attempt to avoid Ed's questioning. But instead, the teen is standing rigid, eyes lasering in on Ed. It strikes Ed how dangerous Ryan looks, like Josh will be in a few years, strong and almost a grown man, breathing in and out with pent up anger directed at him. Ryan obviously hates him. He has no idea why or what he has done, but Ed recognizes the signs of a child who despises him. Josh has been running a fucking clinic on the subject since Sara died.

"Why did you come here, Ryan? It's painfully clear you don't want to be anywhere near me. Why did you bother?"

Ryan keeps his eyes locked on Ed and answers coldly, "I don't have anywhere else to go."

His words bristle up and down Ed's spine.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Carol pulls at Josh, dragging him along by the hand, the ice cream long forgotten, thrown away the instant she comprehended what Kirsten Cohen was telling her.

"What's happening? Why are we running?" Josh asks, out of breath. "Why did we throw the ice cream in a garbage can? I wanted some. What's going on, Aunt Carol?"

"Ryan's foster brother is very sick," she hurriedly informs Josh. "We have to bring Ryan to the Cohens."

"Who are the Cohens?" Josh asks. "Why can't they come and get him? Is this gonna' ruin the day? How far away is their house? Dad promised we'd do something fun today. Why do we have to spend any time bringing that kid anywhere? This isn't fair."

Carol has had enough.

Josh has been a brat concerning Ryan from minute one, and yeah he's hurting and still traumatized by his mother's death, but goddamnitt enough is enough.

"Listen to me, Josh," Carol stops abruptly, spins around and grabs the boy by the upper arms. "I have had enough with your constant whining and your on-going negativity towards Ryan. Brad knows darn well who the Cohens are and so would you, if you would bother to take a break from your self-absorbed attitude. The Cohens are the family that Ryan is living with and their son, Seth, Ryan's close friend, is currently in the emergency room. Kirsten Cohen is panic stricken and she's frantic and she wants Ryan with them and she's damn well going to get him and you are damn well going to keep your mouth shut and cooperate. Do I make myself clear?"

Josh stares at her wide-eyed, frozen.

"Yes ma'am," he answers timidly.

"Then let's get a move on."

Carol once again captures the boy's hand and rushes towards the hotel's entrance.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Doctor Holbrith and a man wearing an identical white lab coat emerge from the ER doors. Kirsten notices how somber Holbrith looks and the gentleman accompanying her is stone-faced. Kirsten guesses that the man has a lot of practice hiding his thoughts from patients' families. She takes a step towards her husband and encircles his arm.

Holbrith nods a non-verbal greeting in Sandy's direction before saying, "Mr. and Mrs. Cohen, this is Doctor Manning, a member of our surgical staff. I called him in for a consult. I'm going to turn the discussion over to him."

Manning takes a second to shake both the Cohens' hands before getting right to business. "As we suspected, Seth's spleen has ruptured. We've given him several units of whole blood to stabilize his pressure, but that's obviously not a permanent solution. The ultrasound revealed a tear and consequently, internal bleeding. I'm sorry, but surgery is really our only option. Once I see the extent of the damage to Seth's spleen, I'll decide whether or not it needs to be removed or simply repaired."

Holbrith steps in, tells Sandy and Kirsten in a reassuring but firm voice, "Seth is stable, but we need to proceed with surgery. Do you have any questions for Dr. Manning or me?"

Sandy asks a few but Kirsten isn't really listening to the answers. She waits for her husband and the doctors to stop talking before she asks, "Can we see Seth before the surgery?" She desperately needs to touch Seth one more time, hold his hand, tell him that they love him and not to worry and in just a few hours, he won't hurt anymore and everything will be fine and everyone will be together.

Holbrith shakes her head, informs Kirsten, "I'm sorry Mrs. Cohen, but he's already being prepped for surgery."

Kirsten thinks maybe that the young doctor can read her mind, sense her all encompassing worry over Seth's mental as well as physical health, because Holbrith smiles a quick, flash of a smile at Kirsten and tells her, "The nursing staff is taking good care of him. We've been assuring Seth constantly that's he all right, explaining everything to him as we go along so he understands what is happening. He's been given addition IV medication to help with the pain and anxiety as well as continued oxygen to assist his breathing. He really does appear as calm as possible, given the circumstances."

Kirsten nods, struggles to hold back tears.

Sandy asks, "If he's stable, what's the rush?"

Manning glances at Holbrith before answering, "Your son may be stable for now Mr. Cohen, but the bleeding needs to be stopped. We need to operate as soon as possible."

Dr. Holbith adds, "I'll have someone take you to the Recovery waiting room. You'll be allowed to see Seth when the surgery is over.

Sandy thanks the doctors, but Kirsten can't form words.

When Sandy puts his arms around her again, she lays her head against her husband's shoulder and tries not to imagine all the things that can go wrong and, despite the doctor's assurances, how frightened her son must be.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Carol bursts into the hotel room, startling Brad and causing him to lose his grip on his Gameboy.

"What's wrong?" Brad asks, puzzled at his Aunt's sudden entrance.

"Where's Ryan?" Carol ignores the question.

"Out on the balcony with dad," Brad answers, pointing outside. As Carol moves towards the sliding glass door, Brad asks Josh, "What's up? Where's my ice cream?"

Josh starts to tell his brother to shut up, then glances cautiously at his aunt, who is struggling to get the heavy balcony door open. He decides that being obnoxious to Brad is probably not in his best interest at this moment, given that his Aunt Carol has turned into Dr. Jekell.

"That kid's friend is in the hospital."

"Seth?" asks Brad.

"Yeah, I guess so," shrugs Josh.

"Oh man," commiserates Brad. "That sucks."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He's scared.

It's official.

He's fucking freaked out.

It seems like there are people everywhere, doing things that are all concerning him and he hates this new room he's been moved to, with everything made of shiny and polished metal.

He feels an oxygen mask, larger than the other one he had on before, form a seal around his mouth and Seth panics, forgetting for a second where he is and what is happening. He tries to shake his head back and forth to jar the mask loose, but it stays firmly over his nose and mouth.

"Shhhh," a woman says soothingly, runs fingers through his hair.

"You're ok sweetie."

Seth highly doubts that.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Carol interrupts Ryan and Ed, guessing from the way both of them are standing so perfectly still that she has made an appearance at an inopportune moment.

But there's no time for analyzing what the most current crisis between Ed and Ryan is, because she has another emergency on her hands. She calms herself down before saying to Ed, "Kirsten Cohen just called me. We need to bring Ryan…" she stops and glances at the teenager, "to them."

"Why?" Ed asks straight forward, obviously annoyed. "He just got here, we've just had a chance to start talking. Call Mrs. Cohen back and let her know I'll drop him off later." He tells Ryan, "That is if you want to go back. You're welcome to stay with us as long as you want."

"Ed," Carol says urgently, "it's an emergency. Ryan needs to go see the Cohens right now."

Ryan's turns his attention to Carol.

"What's wrong?" he asks quickly, then answers his own question. "Something happened to Seth."

Carol nods, "Yes Ryan, I'm sorry. He's at the hospital. It sounds like it might be serious."

Ryan instantly breezes past her, gently moving her out of the way of the door.

"Ryan, wait," Carol calls out to him. "Hold on a second. Let us drive you. I promised Kirsten we'd bring you over. She wouldn't want you going to the hospital by yourself."

He stops in the middle of the hotel room, staring at Carol. He looks worried and harried and ready to fly out and away. "We're leaving right now," she assures Ryan. "Ed, I'll take him, unless you think all of us should go."

"Hold on, just slow down a minute," Ed walks into the room. "They're probably just taking their son in for a check-up. He's been sick, right? I'm sure everything is fine."

"Ed," Carol says forcefully. "I just spoke to Kirsten." She purses her lips together and says quietly to him, trying not to further upset an already twitchy Ryan, "This isn't a check-up. They had to bring him to the hospital," she whispers in the direction of her brother. "Via ambulance."

"How do you know that's the truth, Carol?" Ed raises his voice. "Isn't it a tad bit too convenient that right when Ryan shows up here at the hotel, the Cohens suddenly need him to leave? I bet this is nothing more than an exaggerated ruse to keep Ryan from talking to me."

"Ed!" Carol says his name in disbelief, "Kirsten Cohen would not lie to me about her son being in the hospital. The situation is an emergency."

"Yeah, I'm sure it is," Ed laughs sarcastically.

Ryan must be losing patience with the both of them. Carol watches as he continues to move quickly towards the door.

"Ryan, wait," Carol implores. "I'll take you myself. Right now."

Ed moves hastily to Ryan's side, grabbing him by the arm. "Everybody just slow down. I'll take Ryan myself, and when this turns out to be nothing but a hoax, Sandy Cohen is getting a call from my attorney. I'm sick of their shit. Their prolonged clinging is making this impossible on Ryan. They need to accept the inevitable and back the hell off."

Carol's mouth hangs wide open in disbelief at what her brother is saying. He's lost his mind. She's convinced of it. Nothing else can explain his behavior.

Finding out about Ryan has driven Ed to insanity.

"Let. Go. Of. Me." Ryan commands ominously, standing very still, but with every muscle tense, looking dangerously ready to pounce.

"Ryan? Dad?" Brad joins in on the fray, asks a nervous, "What's happening? Why is everybody so angry?"

"Carol, get the boys out of here," Ed says steely, refusing to relinquish his grip on Ryan.

"No," Carol and Brad answer simultaneously, Carol tagging on a definite, "I'm not leaving without Ryan. This is ridiculous, Ed. The Cohens aren't lying about their son's medical condition. You're being irrational and paranoid."

Ryan tries to shake loose of Ed.

The man tightens his hand around Ryan's arm.

"Listen to me Ryan, the Cohens have been trying since day one to sabotage the possibility of my family having a relationship with you. They have no right to keep pulling you in the wrong direction, sending you mixed signals. Your mother isn't coming back. She's abandoned you with strangers. The only thing that makes sense is for you to come and live with me. I can be your father. I am your father, Ryan. You know what I'm saying is true. That's why you came here. You already said it yourself, you have no where else to go, staying with the Cohens isn't a choice for you."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ryan can't process anything but getting this fucker's hand off his arm. He hears the tail end of Ed's aggressive plea, "You already said it yourself, you have no where else to go, living with the Cohens isn't a choice for you."

And maybe the guy's right about that.

But right now, at this second, all Ryan can think about is Seth, and how bad the teenager looked earlier, when he came to the hotel to find him. God, it's entirely fault his foster brother is in the hospital. Something probably happened when Seth was out searching for him, instead of where he belonged, with Kirsten at the doctor appointment.

Kirsten.

Kirsten called for him, told Carol to bring him to her and Sandy.

Just like she promised him she would.

She didn't leave him out of the loop this time, like she did on Thursday.

She kept her promise.

She called him to be with her family.

Ryan breathes in and out rapidly, his chest heaving with the effort to manage his anger. He can hear himself inhaling and exhaling, the sound dominating the now silent room.

He's losing control and the past few days of madness are dissolving into each other, coming together and forming a humongous boulder, which is starting to roll, with an uncontrollable momentum, down a steep, steep mountain.

"Let go of me," he repeats to Ed, uses his free hand as leverage against Ed's arm, trying to forcefully pull away from the older man.

When that doesn't work, he does what he always does.

What he can't stop doing no matter how hard he tries and no matter how many promises he vows to the Cohens.

He winds back with his right arm and punches Ed with all he's got.

It's more than adequate.

He watches Ed react, surprise instantly appearing on his face, as he goes down in one fell swoop.

Ryan stands motionless, surprised a little himself, that it actually worked, and maybe a little bit scared, because, shit…it actually worked…and he just punched 'his father'…and that's something not even Trey or his mother ever managed to do to Russell.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Dad!" Brad exclaims and runs over to his dad. He kneels down, glaring up at semi-stunned Ryan, before trying to help Ed up. But he's not strong enough, becomes unbalanced, and falls down, ending up sitting next to his father on the floor.

Ryan looks around the room in what seems to be slow motion.

Josh has backed up into a corner, clearly afraid. Carol stands with her hand to her mouth, and Brad, Brad is staring at him like Ryan is the Anti-Christ.

"You hit my dad," Brad says, seemingly bewildered, almost as if his brain is just now catching up with his reaction to seeing his indestructible father punched. "You can't do that, Ryan. Kids aren't supposed to hit adults. You're not allowed to hit my dad."

"Brad honey, it's ok." Carol clears her throat, says, "He didn't mean to hit your father. Let's go, Ryan. We'll deal with this later."

Her voice is soft, gentle, but she doesn't go near him.

She's probably nervous that she's next on his hit list, Ryan surmises.

He takes a step forward, towards Brad, tells the boy a stuttered, "I'm …I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hit him that hard. I just wanted…for him… to let me go."

Brad scoots guardedly away from the teenager, tears forming in his eyes.

"Ryan," Carol repeats his name, "not now, we'll deal with this later. We should leave, check on Seth."

She's got a patronizing tone, maybe laced with a tinge of fear, and Ryan feels all their eyes on him, like he's a wild, starving lion, suddenly let loose on a crowd of innocent people.

Ed sits up, using Brad's shoulder as a post.

Stares at Ryan.

"Very nice, Ryan," he says, swiping blood off his nose, his voice as cold as ice, "Would you like to kick me while I'm sitting here? Why not, seeing as though you have no problem sucker punching me in front of my children."

"Ed!" Carol shouts his name, looking up at the ceiling, exasperated. "God, what is wrong with you? Stop it. Don't make this any worse."

She hesitates and then gradually, tentatively, walks over to Ryan and places her hand on his arm.

"Come on, Ryan," she says softly, guiding him past a shell-shocked Brad and a simmering Ed, to the hotel door.

Ryan allows her to navigate, suddenly lifeless, no longer filled with anger.

He's dead inside to anything, everything.

He takes a glimpse over his shoulder, at Brad, who is staring at him while openly crying, periodically gulping in air, and stroking his hand in a gesture of self-comfort, up and down his dad's back.

The last thing he hears before exiting the hotel room is Ed quietly consoling the younger boy.

And Ryan wonders if after what has transpired, Brad will ever talk to him again, and if Seth will be ok, and if even though Kirsten called, he wonders if she and Sandy can ever forgive him for 'causing Seth to leave the house and be in the hospital in the first place. He wonders about everything else he's done wrong, and keeps doing wrong, because he's a flawed person, and it's no wonder he's got nowhere to go and probably, after today, absolutely no one who wants him.

It makes sense, that nobody would want him.

He never does anything right.

He always makes stupid, rushed decisions.

He never thinks things through.

Who would want to possibly deal with a kid like him?

He always regrets later, what he's done.

But still, he can never forgive himself for his actions.

So how can he expect any one else to?

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To be continued….