Seth stared at the small slip of hotel stationary trembling in his hand.

            He lowered himself slowly onto the couch.

            Why did he need to sleep, anyway?  What was wrong with him?  How could he let him get away, and more importantly, why did Bike have to leave him?  What was that mysterious quality that led to Seth's abandonment, time and time again?

            He should never have asked that question.  If he'd just left him alone, if he'd minded his own business, let Bike tell him when he was ready... god, he was such an idiot.  He was an imbecile.  He was a loser.

            He crept to the cooler and pulled out one of the leftover water bottles, shaking off the excess wetness from the ice that had melted into a great puddle overnight, during the long night as Seth slept and Bike fled.

*

            Ryan leaned back against the awning of the closed law office and caught a drag on the cigarette he'd bummed off the guy in the Wookiee costume.  First time for everything.  Who knew Chewbacca was a tobacco fiend?

            He had to start moving soon, he couldn't wait here forever.  Though for the moment, the offices by the convention center seemed like the last place Seth would be looking for him.

            Somehow he knew Seth would be looking for him.  Seth, Sandy, and who knew who else?

            Austin was out of the question now, anyway.  He had to get past San Diego.  And Chino was definitely history.

            He started walking again, one arm clutching the strap of his backpack as the other worked on finishing the cigarette.  It was only a mile or so to the nearest on-ramp to the highway.

*

"Hey.  Dad."
            "Seth!  How's San Diego?  How's Wolverine?"
            "Super."  Seth fingered the hotel desk in front of him as he pushed back in his seat, the chair balancing precariously on two legs.  "Hey.  Question."
            "Shoot."
            He pushed further back, running his finger back and forth on the edge of the desk.  "When I was in your office Friday, that case?  The one you were talking about when I came in?"
            He heard the hesitation in his father's voice.  "Seth-"
            "I know it's confidential," Seth rushed.  "I know.  But... it's kinda been..."  He shuddered as he looked around the room, picturing Bike's face from just hours before.  "Could you just tell me what happened?  You know, in general terms.  Cause it's been haunting me," he finished.

"Oh, Seth..."  Now Sandy was concerned.
            Seth bit his lip.  "Is that kid okay?" he asked.  "D'you think?"

            There was another long pause.  "There's hundreds of 'that kid's."
            "I mean the one you were talking about right then.  It was the way you looked."  Seth held his breath.

            His father sighed.  "I know which one you mean.  Okay.  Car theft.  We were gonna get it down to a misdemeanor, the kid's smart as a whip and was clearly an unwilling bystander, but when we called his house, he was gone.  Mother didn't know where to.  Called again two days later, and she's up and vanished.  Gone.  No forwarding address."
            "But people don't just disappear," Seth protested.  "They have to go somewhere."
            "Yes.  They do.  But there's no way to know."

"You can't look for him?"

"I do what I can do.  But that's never enough.  And the chances of us ever seeing him again are slim to none."
            "So," Seth pressed, his voice shaking only slightly.  "What happens to kids like that?"

            "If he's lucky?" Sandy asked.  "He found a friend."
            Seth ran his free hand through his hair, tugging on the ends of his curls.  "And if he's unlucky?"
            "Probably on the street somewhere.  And then, who knows?  Usually, they wind up in big cities where the panhandling is good.  Maybe Los Angeles."

            "Oh," Seth said faintly.  Or San Diego...  Or Austin.

            "You asked."

            Seth swallowed.  "And then what?"
            "Then what?" Sandy echoed.

            "After they end up on the street."

            Sandy paused.  "They're long, long out of my reach by then."
            "I see," Seth said.  He straightened up, resting the chair legs on the floor.  "Thanks, Dad."
            "Any time," his father said, the concern evident in his voice.

            "Oh," Seth continued. "Did he... did he have a name?"
            "That's confidential."
            "Dad."

            "You're not putting this in a book, are you?"
            "Course not."
            Sandy was quiet for a long moment.  "Ryan," he finally said, his voice heavy with regret.  "his name was Ryan."
            Seth licked his lips.  "Okay.  Thanks.  I'll be home tomorrow."
            "Love you, son."
            "Yeah, shaddup," Seth said, finally smiling a little as he hung up on his father.  He tossed the phone at the bed and stared at it, the damn phone lying on the bed so smug and secure when some people didn't have beds.  Or phones.  Or any way to reach them, any way to make sure they were okay.

            Ryan.  

            Bike had a real name.  He had a life story, and a mother, and her boyfriends, and a home somewhere that he didn't want to go back to.  He was Ryan, and Ryan was still out there somewhere.  And Seth was starting to regret a lot of things himself.

            But if anybody knew anything about this, it was his father.  And if his father could do nothing, what could Seth possibly do by himself?

            All that he could think of to do was to throw himself onto the bed beside the cell phone and remind himself that sixteen year old boys weren't supposed to cry.

            Especially not for runaway kids they hardly knew.  Like Ryan.

*

            He glanced around the diner, taking everything in, absorbing and processing the smells and sensations.  He needed to eat.  Scrambled eggs and toast he could afford.  A quick glance at the menu confirmed it, and he slid into a stool at the counter, dropping the bag on the floor beside his stool. He'd probably stiff the tip.  Better to insult the waiters than run out of money right now.

            "Ew!  There's a speck in this – ew!"

            He glanced over irritably at the girl perched beside him picking at her bagel.  He didn't want human contact right now, and she was definitely acting on his auditory space.

            "Waiter?  Excuse me?  Hello!"

            He caught his reflection in the tray of muffins on display beside him and picked at his hair.  At least he was clean.  For awhile.  And he could seat Seth's snacks later.  Was it stealing?  Seth had offered.  Maybe he shouldn't stiff the waiter, either.

            "Could you, like, fix this?  Please?" The girl pushed back in her seat as the annoyed waiter finally reclaimed her bagel.  "Thank you!"  She turned to her friend.  "Swear to god.  This is the last time you drag me to one of these places.  Forget Tijuana, forget this whole road trip, I want Newport.  Now."  She hopped off the stool.  "I?  Am going to wash my hands.  Scrub them.  Same diff.  Be right back."  Okay.  He was definitely not stiffing the poor guy.
            Ryan looked over with interest at the girl's silent companion, who was picking at a plate of eggs.  She caught his glance from the corner of her eye and looked up, a hauntingly beautiful gaze.  He glanced away, then looked back in spite of himself.

            "You from Newport?" he asked haltingly.

            The girl bit her lip and nodded, appraising him herself.  "Um.  Yeah?"

            Ryan glanced around before asking the next, inevitable question.  He knew it was stupid, bad planning, typical Ryan Atwood, but he couldn't help it.  "Really.  You know Seth Cohen?"
            An indecipherable expression crossed her face.  "Um.  Yeah."  He cocked his head at her, waiting.  "He's my next-door neighbor, why?"
            "Oh, nothing," he said.  "I just... met him.  Once."
            A slow smile crept across her face.  "Yeah?  What's your name?"