Disclaimers: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfic.
Nor do I own The OC. They belong to Fox, Josh Schwartz, and the actors and
actresses on the show who bring these characters to life. (For the most
part. cough BOT!!)
Spoilers: "The Ties That Bind" "The Model Home"
Rating: PG-13
Seth-centric, as always with me. A bit ramble-y, but that's the way I like it. And Seth is 17 years old.
Wanderlust of a Newport Loner By: Molly
At seven he didn't make it out of his bedroom. Newport was a strange and unfamiliar place. All of the kids laughed at his Power Rangers toys, and called him names he didn't understand. His mom was always at work, and his dad always had a headache. So he carefully packed up all of his most precious possessions, his baseball cards, his comic books, his Power Rangers, and his toy horse, Captain Oats into the Crayola backpack his mother bought him at the Marshall's in Berkeley. There was no Marshall's in Newport.
Then his dad came in, one of his goofily loving smiles on his face, claiming he wanted to have a man-to-man chat. His dad placed his Crayola backpack in the closet, as if he knew what lay in there, as if he knew what Seth had been planning. He proceeded to sit down on Seth's bed, scoop him into his lap, and tell him stories from his childhood that Seth had never heard before. His father went into great detail about his days in Brooklyn, most of his time spent hanging out in the street, getting into trouble and creating mayhem with his friends, all of whom definitely should have known better. Seth smiled as his father spoke, losing himself in the stories his father told so magnificently. An hour later he was curled up in a ball and fast asleep, the notion of running away distant in his mind. His father placed him gently under the covers and kissed his forehead tenderly.
At eight, it was Summer who stopped him, though she'd never know it.
Seth caught sight of her at lunchtime as he was fastidiously re-copying the note he was going to leave to his mother and father. He'd spilled jelly and a few tears on the first one, having scribbled it quickly after Luke threw his brand new jacket into a mud puddle. His year had gone like that, with all of the stupid bullies getting stupider and taller too, while all Seth seemed to get was shorter and more vulnerable to attack. And home was slowly getting worse too. His mom and dad were too busy to have movie night, and when they were home they were usually arguing in loud voices about his grandfather.
He looked up to see a small brown-haired girl attempting to discreetly feed what was perhaps the skinniest squirrel Seth Cohen had ever laid eyes on.
Seth crumpled up the note as he watched the girl, eyes transfixed on her motions. He felt a sense of kinship toward her, thinking that maybe there was someone in Newport like him. Some other "freak," who cared about weird things like skinny squirrels and kids who always forgot their milk money. Sometimes he spied the girl slipping the two quarters into the milk envelope and hastily scribbling down another kid's name. Seth had even considered forgetting his money one day, just so he could watch her write down his name, and relish in the fact that someone cared. But every morning, without fail, his mother pressed two shiny quarters into the palm of his hand, and made him cross his heart that he would use it for milk and not candy. And Seth listened to his mother. At least most of the time.
Sitting there, watching the tiny girl try to look nonchalant as she tossed bits of her sandwich over her shoulder, Seth knew he couldn't leave. Not when there was so much potential sitting right in front of him.
At nine, Seth didn't make it past the kitchen.
The tiny brown-haired girl, as it turned out, has quite the temper, especially when Seth tried to sit next to her one day at lunch. She made it quite clear that he was a dork, and dorks could not sit with her, especially not when they were attempting to sit in Holly's seat. His mom was always having problems with work, and his dad was again having problems with his grandfather. Seth occasionally got lost in the shuffle of it all. He was sure they wouldn't notice if he slipped out the door and caught the first bus to Berkeley, assuming there even was a bus to Berkeley.
Seth slipped down the stairs, with his unused Spiderman overnight bag bulging on his back. He sniffed the air, catching the faint aroma of something kind of gross. The distinct odor of something quite...burnt.
Seth dropped his backpack by the front door and strode into the kitchen, curiosity overcoming wanderlust for a brief moment. What was that gross smell?
His mother greeted him warmly, inviting him to sit down. Seth slid into a kitchen chair, eyebrows narrowed suspiciously. His mother was looking unusually maternal in the cooking apron his father had bought her for Christmas once as a gift.
"We don't talk enough," she explained gently, placing a plate of charred, half-black cookies before him.
And they talked. Seth even nibbled politely on a few of the cookies she'd whipped up in a grotesque attempt at cooking. They chatted about nothing much for almost two hours before his father came home. He wrapped his arms around his mother and suggested, his blue eyes twinkling, that they reinstate movie night, just for the hell of it.
And so they did. And after watching "Planet of the Apes" for the millionth time, Seth got up from the couch and placed his Spiderman backpack back into his closet, still unused.
At ten Seth was stopped at dinner.
Summer, the tiny dark-haired girl, had gone from openly insulting him to merely ignoring him. Seth wasn't sure which one was worse. Luke, ego bursting with water polo glory and a size zero girlfriend, went from mocking to physical abuse. Needless to say, the beatings were much worse than the mocking, and often left Seth scrambling to come up with believable excuses to feed to his parents whenever he came home with a black eye. And of course they never believed him. So, of course, they smothered him, never letting him out of their sight, always coddling him or cuddling him, trying to make him happy, but really just annoying him. He no longer wanted movie nights, but pretty soon every night was movie night. Or Chinese food night. Or video game tournament night. And all he wanted was to be left alone. He had his note written and his black backpack stuffed with the essentials. He was ready.
Seth slid down the banister quietly, anticipating what would be his Last Supper in the Cohen house. He smiled sadly to himself, wondering if he would miss the old place.
It was Thai night.
"So Seth, your birthday's coming up," his father said, a wide grin meeting him from across the table. "Anything special you're wishing for this year?"
And Seth thought about all of his birthdays in the past. His parents always went the extra mile to make it a nice day. One time they'd spent the afternoon at an amusement park, filling up on cotton candy and funnel cakes, and riding all of the rides until Seth ended up barfing his guts out in the grimy men's room. And even that was okay, because his father squatted down next to him in the stall, quietly telling him that jokes about the two pretzels walking down the street, while he rubbed his back gently. Another year they'd gone to the zoo and spent hours in the monkey house, his parents watching bemused as stood about a foot from the cage, making horrendously loud monkey sounds.
"Nothing much," Seth replied quietly, wondering what his parents had in store for him that year.
After his plate was clean, he ran upstairs and unpacked.
At eleven, he made it as far as the bottom of the driveway.
Summer didn't even look at him, even when she dropped her pencil and he was nice enough to pick it up. She just snatched it from his hand and told him to keep his grubby paws off of her things. Luke stole a pair of Seth's Superman underwear from his gym locker and showed them around school. When Seth made a half-hearted attempt to get them back, red faced and humiliated, Luke shoved him into one of the surprisingly spacious lockers. Seth was no longer open to any of his father's frequent attempts at physical affection, shrugging off arms hung around his shoulder and turning his face away from kisses goodnight. He was too old for that stuff. He caught his mother drinking liquor straight from the bottle after his father called and said he'd be home late again. She did it again when Seth got sent home for fighting (well, really got sent home for being beaten up). Things were weird. So he packed all of his comics, CDs and some food essentials into his black backpack, and scribbled out a hasty note. Thinking it over, he grabbed his plastic horse from deep underneath his bed, thinking he'd maybe need a friend.
His mother was busy working in the den. His father was, presumably, still at the office, working on some tough case. It was the perfect time to make his escape. He couldn't be stopped this time.
Seth grabbed his skateboard from the hall closet and slipped out the front door. He rolled quietly down the driveway, his head down, his heart pounding, but determined to do what he had to do.
"Where you off to?" A quiet voice inquired.
Seth jumped in shock, tumbling to the ground, his skateboard rolling to a stop a few feet away from him. Seth turned to find his father sitting at the end of the driveway, a sad, distant look in his eyes.
"You okay, Seth?" his dad asked, eyeing him in concern.
Seth pulled himself to his feet and nodded mutely, not sure what to do or say. He brushed the bits of gravel from the knees of his pants and stared blankly at his father.
"Why don't you sit down?" Sandy asked, his usually firm voice sounded choked in the night air. He patted the ground beside him.
Seth bit his lip slightly, before seating himself beside his father. He couldn't believe he'd been caught in the act.
"Nice night," Sandy commented, hugging his legs gently to his chest, looking strangely like a little kid.
Seth nodded, his voice stuck in his throat.
"You need a ride anywhere, Seth?" Sandy asked, looking at him pointedly. "Because I'm happy to take you any place you feel you need to go."
Seth shook his head, averting his eyes from his father. He shivered, suddenly cold, and pulled his jacket tighter around his body, an action that did not go unnoticed by his father.
"C'mon, kiddo. Let's go inside. We can play Mario Kart," Sandy offered, standing up. He held out his hand and pulled Seth to his feet.
Seth scooped up his skateboard, and began walking to the house. He felt a sudden weight on his shoulder, and recognized it as his father's arm. He didn't shrug it away. Seth leaned his head gently against his father's chest.
"Don't leave us, huh?" Sandy whispered into his hair so softly Seth couldn't be sure he'd actually said it.
Because whether he said it or not, Seth heard it.
At twelve, it was Summer who stopped him again.
It had been just a look and a touch, just a tiny smile and hand on his arm, but it was enough. It was enough to erase the memory of Luke's fist meeting his stomach for the hundredth time in his pitiful school career. It was enough for him to forget all about how his grandfather and his dad almost beating the crap out of each other at Thanksgiving while his mother got drunk and stumbled around the house in a daze, mumbling about liberal Jews and conservative Protestants.
All of the things that were bothering him sailed right out the window as she smiled gently at him.
"Don't tell anybody, okay?" She whispered, her hand brushing over his arm.
Seth stared, still in shock, at the badly dented locker that had met Summer's fists and wildly over-priced boots dozens of times in what seemed like mere seconds.
"Rage blackouts," She explained, looking sheepish and insecure, very unlike the girl who shot venom eyes at him every time he tried to stumble through a greeting.
Seth nodded dumbly, and could only watch her as she gently patted his arm and sauntered off, her hair dancing lightly across her back. He placed his books carefully in front of himself and walked down the hall to English class, glad he'd asked for that pass to the bathroom.
At thirteen, it was a boat that stopped him. A tiny little boat he named the Summer Breeze, after the girl with the rage blackouts.
Seth knew he'd be a real jerk if he ditched his parents during the holidays, especially the holiday that he had taken the time to make up. And he couldn't help but be filled with some joy at the prospect of Chrismakkuh, even if Summer had gone back to ignoring him. Even if the animosity between his grandfather and father was still going strong, even if he and his dad were having frequent arguments about personal space and personal lives, and even if Luke Ward still regarded him as his own personal punching bag, Chrismakkuh was a strong enough force to keep him going. Jesus and Moses were not guys known to let him down. So he'd wait until after the holidays. Maybe after New Year's he'd thumb a ride. Maybe to Berkeley, or maybe somewhere a little less obvious. Hell, maybe he'd go to Chino and fall in with a rough crowd. He's always wanted to fall in with a rough crowd.
And then he'd seen it under his Christmas tree, the perfect present Seth hadn't even imagined to ask for. A boat, small compared to what other kids had, but just perfect. Perfect to perhaps quell that persisting wanderlust for awhile, make things a little easier to handle. He could sail away to some tropical island where nobody knew your name or your life until you decided to tell it to them, and even then you could always lie. Lies were fun. Made-up lives of popularity and excitement, not being shoved into lockers and hearing false accusations of "faggot" every time he turned around.
"Do you like it?" his mother asked eagerly.
Seth glanced up at the faces of his parents. Both were beaming at him happily. They trusted him with a boat, trusted him not to run away. Maybe he wouldn't go to a tropical island. Maybe he'd just escape bits and pieces at a time, letting his hellish school experiences slip away and bury themselves in the ocean floor.
"Yeah. Yeah. I do." Seth smiled. And he did.
At fourteen, he was beaten by the phone.
Seth had opened up his locker after gym to find the new skateboarding sneakers he had begged and groveled and finally received an advance on his allowance for, filled with the piss of each and every water polo jackass, who smirked at him as they changed their clothes. He was filled with so much anger that he ditched algebra and world history and ran to the Summer Breeze in search of solace. He'd tried to talk to Summer after school a few days later, when he was done faking sick to his unsuspecting parents, to be met with an "Ew, does your boyfriend know you're talking to me?" and she'd stomped rather angrily away. His dad was becoming even more annoyingly smothering, constantly asking him why he never went out with friends, or why he never had anybody over the house. The last thing Seth needed was for his father to know that he was some kind of outcast dork. So he played the loner card, and played it pretty well, seeing as he really didn't like any of those shitheads anyway, but still his father persisted with his stupid questions, like he was ashamed of his son, the social pariah. He wouldn't care if Seth left. He was the shame of their family anyway. His mom was pulling back gradually as his father pushed harder, which was okay, though she still hit the bottle a little too hard every time something bad happened. She seemed to have a pint of something or other close at hand every time his grandfather stopped by. She wouldn't care if he left. She'd just grab some Jack Daniels and be peachy keen.
Seth had his messenger bag packed to the gills with all of the essentials, including a considerable amount of water. He wasn't positive how long it would take to get to Catalina, but the last thing he wanted was to dehydrate and die surrounded by all that water. It was an even more terrifying thought than the prospect of Jaws lurking in the water, thirsty for the blood of fourteen year olds stricken with wanderlust. Well, okay, the shark may have been just slightly more terrifying.
Seth was just grabbing his plastic horse off of his nightstand, planning eager to head for the dock, which had become his second home in the year he'd own the Summer Breeze. He'd become, if he could say so himself, an expert sailor, and he was confident..well, mostly confident, that he could make it to Catalina without fault. And then, everything would be behind him.
The phone rang just as his hand reached for the doorknob.
"Hello," he mumbled into the receiver, slightly agitated.
"Hello, Seth. Thank God I got you. I need you to order in tonight. Your father's going to be home pretty soon and I have to work late and completely forgot about dinner. Pizza or something, okay?" Kirsten's voice came out in a rush.
"Uh, sure," Seth replied in a tight voice. "Whatever. Fine."
"Thanks sweetheart. I'll talk to you later." There was an odd pause. "I love you, Seth," she said quietly. "Your father does too."
"I-I love you guys too," Seth stammered, wondering where this was all coming from. Kirsten Cohen was not an affectionate woman.
"I think I'll pick up a movie on the way home for us to watch. Something we'll like. No Steven Seagal, I promise." She chuckled slightly. "Okay?"
"Yeah. That'd be nice."
And it was.
At fifteen, Seth's perfect plan was foiled.
Something always managed to stop him from running, usually his parents. Well, he wasn't going to give them the opportunity. He meant business this time. Luke was getting increasingly more violent, especially after he caught the brute making out with some girl that definitely wasn't his girlfriend. Summer was still making her contempt for him painfully obvious. His dad was getting on his case more and more about making friends and fitting in like it was something so simple and desirable to be liked by fuckwits like the Newport crowd. His mother was his mother, distant but loving. She gave him no reason to go, but no reason to stay either. So he was gonna go. He was.
Seth dashed out of the double doors of Harbor School as soon as the bell rang, skateboard securely under his arm. He was going to the dock, no ifs and ands or buts. He was getting the hell out of hell.
A sharp honk penetrated Seth's ears.
"Seth! Hey! Seth!"
And there was his dad, waving at him from the Range Rover, wearing his goofy sunglasses and a goofy smile. Seth considered dashing away, but he knew his father would just follow him, the lunatic. Resigned, shoulders slumped, he shuffled to the car.
"Hey, buddy. Hop in," Sandy greeted him happily.
"You never pick me up," Seth grumbled. They had the rule clearly established. Sandy drove him to school, and Seth found his own way home. Or he skateboarded down to the dock in hopes of running away from home. Whichever.
"Well, I decided I've been working too hard. Felt like going and getting some ice cream, figured I'd need some company to make it really nice." Sandy reached his arm out and rumpled Seth's curls. "No better company than my home slice."
Seth groaned. "Please stop talking ghetto, Dad."
"Hey, it's what I do best." Sandy smiled.
"And we can talk about stuff," Sandy added, tearing his eyes away from the road briefly to look at Seth. "You look like you might want to talk."
Seth shrugged and averted his eyes.
"Maybe," he said quietly, knowing the answer was yes.
At sixteen, Ryan Atwood stopped him once, and then stopped him again.
It was the same with Summer and Luke and his mom and dad and his grandfather and father. It was always the same. And then Ryan came. And then Ryan left. And then his dad opened up to him when they were looking for Ryan after he disappeared for awhile. And he was like asthma, or something along those lines. And then Ryan came back for good, and Seth had no reason to leave. Because he had a friend, and Summer sometimes looked in his general direction and smiled. And when Luke tried to communicate his frustrations to Seth through his fists, Ryan was there to step in the way and beat him senseless.
For once, he had no reason to run.
At seventeen, Seth realized why all of his botched attempts at running away failed. He'd never had a diversion.
Somehow, through all of the things going on in their own lives, his mother and father had sensed every time he was on the verge of fleeing the state. And even though they might not have known specifically that he was planning on running away, they knew something was wrong. And they stopped him. Or Summer stopped him, with her eyes or her smile or her rage blackouts. But not this time.
Ryan was gone. Ryan was gone and that was all anyone could think about. Nobody came up for a man-to-man chat while Seth shoved bottles of water into his bag. There were no squirrels, no burnt cookies, no birthdays to mention, no meetings in the driveway, no rage blackouts or phone calls or ice cream. And no Ryan. And there would never be Ryan to stop him. Because he was gone. And nobody was there to stop him. His parents were preoccupied with the loss of Ryan, and Seth was easily able to slip out of the house unnoticed, leaving behind only two rambling letters to the three people in Newport he could honestly say he loved.
And he was sailing far away. Not to Tahiti probably, at least not at first. Maybe to Catalina, though there would be no catching any sort of fish off the side of the boat. That was just nasty. But maybe just to escape for awhile, escape into himself so he wouldn't have to go cold turkey into his life as the reject punching bag.
Seth had finally gone through with it, finally succeeded in getting the hell out of hell. It was kind of funny he thought as he consulted his compass for the tenth time that minute. All along there was only one thing he'd needed. All those years he could've pulled it off if he'd had that one thing. All he ever needed was a diversion.
Why the hell did Ryan Atwood have to be his diversion?
!
THE END
This is semi-based on a line from one of the episodes. It was Sandy saying "Seth's been plotting his exodus from this place since he was seven." (Or maybe it was six. I have a bad memory.) Hope you enjoyed, and survived this monstrously lengthy piece. I promise to have another chapter of "And the World Came Tumbling After" out soon, but this needed to be written. Please review and be kind. It's almost my birthday!
Spoilers: "The Ties That Bind" "The Model Home"
Rating: PG-13
Seth-centric, as always with me. A bit ramble-y, but that's the way I like it. And Seth is 17 years old.
Wanderlust of a Newport Loner By: Molly
At seven he didn't make it out of his bedroom. Newport was a strange and unfamiliar place. All of the kids laughed at his Power Rangers toys, and called him names he didn't understand. His mom was always at work, and his dad always had a headache. So he carefully packed up all of his most precious possessions, his baseball cards, his comic books, his Power Rangers, and his toy horse, Captain Oats into the Crayola backpack his mother bought him at the Marshall's in Berkeley. There was no Marshall's in Newport.
Then his dad came in, one of his goofily loving smiles on his face, claiming he wanted to have a man-to-man chat. His dad placed his Crayola backpack in the closet, as if he knew what lay in there, as if he knew what Seth had been planning. He proceeded to sit down on Seth's bed, scoop him into his lap, and tell him stories from his childhood that Seth had never heard before. His father went into great detail about his days in Brooklyn, most of his time spent hanging out in the street, getting into trouble and creating mayhem with his friends, all of whom definitely should have known better. Seth smiled as his father spoke, losing himself in the stories his father told so magnificently. An hour later he was curled up in a ball and fast asleep, the notion of running away distant in his mind. His father placed him gently under the covers and kissed his forehead tenderly.
At eight, it was Summer who stopped him, though she'd never know it.
Seth caught sight of her at lunchtime as he was fastidiously re-copying the note he was going to leave to his mother and father. He'd spilled jelly and a few tears on the first one, having scribbled it quickly after Luke threw his brand new jacket into a mud puddle. His year had gone like that, with all of the stupid bullies getting stupider and taller too, while all Seth seemed to get was shorter and more vulnerable to attack. And home was slowly getting worse too. His mom and dad were too busy to have movie night, and when they were home they were usually arguing in loud voices about his grandfather.
He looked up to see a small brown-haired girl attempting to discreetly feed what was perhaps the skinniest squirrel Seth Cohen had ever laid eyes on.
Seth crumpled up the note as he watched the girl, eyes transfixed on her motions. He felt a sense of kinship toward her, thinking that maybe there was someone in Newport like him. Some other "freak," who cared about weird things like skinny squirrels and kids who always forgot their milk money. Sometimes he spied the girl slipping the two quarters into the milk envelope and hastily scribbling down another kid's name. Seth had even considered forgetting his money one day, just so he could watch her write down his name, and relish in the fact that someone cared. But every morning, without fail, his mother pressed two shiny quarters into the palm of his hand, and made him cross his heart that he would use it for milk and not candy. And Seth listened to his mother. At least most of the time.
Sitting there, watching the tiny girl try to look nonchalant as she tossed bits of her sandwich over her shoulder, Seth knew he couldn't leave. Not when there was so much potential sitting right in front of him.
At nine, Seth didn't make it past the kitchen.
The tiny brown-haired girl, as it turned out, has quite the temper, especially when Seth tried to sit next to her one day at lunch. She made it quite clear that he was a dork, and dorks could not sit with her, especially not when they were attempting to sit in Holly's seat. His mom was always having problems with work, and his dad was again having problems with his grandfather. Seth occasionally got lost in the shuffle of it all. He was sure they wouldn't notice if he slipped out the door and caught the first bus to Berkeley, assuming there even was a bus to Berkeley.
Seth slipped down the stairs, with his unused Spiderman overnight bag bulging on his back. He sniffed the air, catching the faint aroma of something kind of gross. The distinct odor of something quite...burnt.
Seth dropped his backpack by the front door and strode into the kitchen, curiosity overcoming wanderlust for a brief moment. What was that gross smell?
His mother greeted him warmly, inviting him to sit down. Seth slid into a kitchen chair, eyebrows narrowed suspiciously. His mother was looking unusually maternal in the cooking apron his father had bought her for Christmas once as a gift.
"We don't talk enough," she explained gently, placing a plate of charred, half-black cookies before him.
And they talked. Seth even nibbled politely on a few of the cookies she'd whipped up in a grotesque attempt at cooking. They chatted about nothing much for almost two hours before his father came home. He wrapped his arms around his mother and suggested, his blue eyes twinkling, that they reinstate movie night, just for the hell of it.
And so they did. And after watching "Planet of the Apes" for the millionth time, Seth got up from the couch and placed his Spiderman backpack back into his closet, still unused.
At ten Seth was stopped at dinner.
Summer, the tiny dark-haired girl, had gone from openly insulting him to merely ignoring him. Seth wasn't sure which one was worse. Luke, ego bursting with water polo glory and a size zero girlfriend, went from mocking to physical abuse. Needless to say, the beatings were much worse than the mocking, and often left Seth scrambling to come up with believable excuses to feed to his parents whenever he came home with a black eye. And of course they never believed him. So, of course, they smothered him, never letting him out of their sight, always coddling him or cuddling him, trying to make him happy, but really just annoying him. He no longer wanted movie nights, but pretty soon every night was movie night. Or Chinese food night. Or video game tournament night. And all he wanted was to be left alone. He had his note written and his black backpack stuffed with the essentials. He was ready.
Seth slid down the banister quietly, anticipating what would be his Last Supper in the Cohen house. He smiled sadly to himself, wondering if he would miss the old place.
It was Thai night.
"So Seth, your birthday's coming up," his father said, a wide grin meeting him from across the table. "Anything special you're wishing for this year?"
And Seth thought about all of his birthdays in the past. His parents always went the extra mile to make it a nice day. One time they'd spent the afternoon at an amusement park, filling up on cotton candy and funnel cakes, and riding all of the rides until Seth ended up barfing his guts out in the grimy men's room. And even that was okay, because his father squatted down next to him in the stall, quietly telling him that jokes about the two pretzels walking down the street, while he rubbed his back gently. Another year they'd gone to the zoo and spent hours in the monkey house, his parents watching bemused as stood about a foot from the cage, making horrendously loud monkey sounds.
"Nothing much," Seth replied quietly, wondering what his parents had in store for him that year.
After his plate was clean, he ran upstairs and unpacked.
At eleven, he made it as far as the bottom of the driveway.
Summer didn't even look at him, even when she dropped her pencil and he was nice enough to pick it up. She just snatched it from his hand and told him to keep his grubby paws off of her things. Luke stole a pair of Seth's Superman underwear from his gym locker and showed them around school. When Seth made a half-hearted attempt to get them back, red faced and humiliated, Luke shoved him into one of the surprisingly spacious lockers. Seth was no longer open to any of his father's frequent attempts at physical affection, shrugging off arms hung around his shoulder and turning his face away from kisses goodnight. He was too old for that stuff. He caught his mother drinking liquor straight from the bottle after his father called and said he'd be home late again. She did it again when Seth got sent home for fighting (well, really got sent home for being beaten up). Things were weird. So he packed all of his comics, CDs and some food essentials into his black backpack, and scribbled out a hasty note. Thinking it over, he grabbed his plastic horse from deep underneath his bed, thinking he'd maybe need a friend.
His mother was busy working in the den. His father was, presumably, still at the office, working on some tough case. It was the perfect time to make his escape. He couldn't be stopped this time.
Seth grabbed his skateboard from the hall closet and slipped out the front door. He rolled quietly down the driveway, his head down, his heart pounding, but determined to do what he had to do.
"Where you off to?" A quiet voice inquired.
Seth jumped in shock, tumbling to the ground, his skateboard rolling to a stop a few feet away from him. Seth turned to find his father sitting at the end of the driveway, a sad, distant look in his eyes.
"You okay, Seth?" his dad asked, eyeing him in concern.
Seth pulled himself to his feet and nodded mutely, not sure what to do or say. He brushed the bits of gravel from the knees of his pants and stared blankly at his father.
"Why don't you sit down?" Sandy asked, his usually firm voice sounded choked in the night air. He patted the ground beside him.
Seth bit his lip slightly, before seating himself beside his father. He couldn't believe he'd been caught in the act.
"Nice night," Sandy commented, hugging his legs gently to his chest, looking strangely like a little kid.
Seth nodded, his voice stuck in his throat.
"You need a ride anywhere, Seth?" Sandy asked, looking at him pointedly. "Because I'm happy to take you any place you feel you need to go."
Seth shook his head, averting his eyes from his father. He shivered, suddenly cold, and pulled his jacket tighter around his body, an action that did not go unnoticed by his father.
"C'mon, kiddo. Let's go inside. We can play Mario Kart," Sandy offered, standing up. He held out his hand and pulled Seth to his feet.
Seth scooped up his skateboard, and began walking to the house. He felt a sudden weight on his shoulder, and recognized it as his father's arm. He didn't shrug it away. Seth leaned his head gently against his father's chest.
"Don't leave us, huh?" Sandy whispered into his hair so softly Seth couldn't be sure he'd actually said it.
Because whether he said it or not, Seth heard it.
At twelve, it was Summer who stopped him again.
It had been just a look and a touch, just a tiny smile and hand on his arm, but it was enough. It was enough to erase the memory of Luke's fist meeting his stomach for the hundredth time in his pitiful school career. It was enough for him to forget all about how his grandfather and his dad almost beating the crap out of each other at Thanksgiving while his mother got drunk and stumbled around the house in a daze, mumbling about liberal Jews and conservative Protestants.
All of the things that were bothering him sailed right out the window as she smiled gently at him.
"Don't tell anybody, okay?" She whispered, her hand brushing over his arm.
Seth stared, still in shock, at the badly dented locker that had met Summer's fists and wildly over-priced boots dozens of times in what seemed like mere seconds.
"Rage blackouts," She explained, looking sheepish and insecure, very unlike the girl who shot venom eyes at him every time he tried to stumble through a greeting.
Seth nodded dumbly, and could only watch her as she gently patted his arm and sauntered off, her hair dancing lightly across her back. He placed his books carefully in front of himself and walked down the hall to English class, glad he'd asked for that pass to the bathroom.
At thirteen, it was a boat that stopped him. A tiny little boat he named the Summer Breeze, after the girl with the rage blackouts.
Seth knew he'd be a real jerk if he ditched his parents during the holidays, especially the holiday that he had taken the time to make up. And he couldn't help but be filled with some joy at the prospect of Chrismakkuh, even if Summer had gone back to ignoring him. Even if the animosity between his grandfather and father was still going strong, even if he and his dad were having frequent arguments about personal space and personal lives, and even if Luke Ward still regarded him as his own personal punching bag, Chrismakkuh was a strong enough force to keep him going. Jesus and Moses were not guys known to let him down. So he'd wait until after the holidays. Maybe after New Year's he'd thumb a ride. Maybe to Berkeley, or maybe somewhere a little less obvious. Hell, maybe he'd go to Chino and fall in with a rough crowd. He's always wanted to fall in with a rough crowd.
And then he'd seen it under his Christmas tree, the perfect present Seth hadn't even imagined to ask for. A boat, small compared to what other kids had, but just perfect. Perfect to perhaps quell that persisting wanderlust for awhile, make things a little easier to handle. He could sail away to some tropical island where nobody knew your name or your life until you decided to tell it to them, and even then you could always lie. Lies were fun. Made-up lives of popularity and excitement, not being shoved into lockers and hearing false accusations of "faggot" every time he turned around.
"Do you like it?" his mother asked eagerly.
Seth glanced up at the faces of his parents. Both were beaming at him happily. They trusted him with a boat, trusted him not to run away. Maybe he wouldn't go to a tropical island. Maybe he'd just escape bits and pieces at a time, letting his hellish school experiences slip away and bury themselves in the ocean floor.
"Yeah. Yeah. I do." Seth smiled. And he did.
At fourteen, he was beaten by the phone.
Seth had opened up his locker after gym to find the new skateboarding sneakers he had begged and groveled and finally received an advance on his allowance for, filled with the piss of each and every water polo jackass, who smirked at him as they changed their clothes. He was filled with so much anger that he ditched algebra and world history and ran to the Summer Breeze in search of solace. He'd tried to talk to Summer after school a few days later, when he was done faking sick to his unsuspecting parents, to be met with an "Ew, does your boyfriend know you're talking to me?" and she'd stomped rather angrily away. His dad was becoming even more annoyingly smothering, constantly asking him why he never went out with friends, or why he never had anybody over the house. The last thing Seth needed was for his father to know that he was some kind of outcast dork. So he played the loner card, and played it pretty well, seeing as he really didn't like any of those shitheads anyway, but still his father persisted with his stupid questions, like he was ashamed of his son, the social pariah. He wouldn't care if Seth left. He was the shame of their family anyway. His mom was pulling back gradually as his father pushed harder, which was okay, though she still hit the bottle a little too hard every time something bad happened. She seemed to have a pint of something or other close at hand every time his grandfather stopped by. She wouldn't care if he left. She'd just grab some Jack Daniels and be peachy keen.
Seth had his messenger bag packed to the gills with all of the essentials, including a considerable amount of water. He wasn't positive how long it would take to get to Catalina, but the last thing he wanted was to dehydrate and die surrounded by all that water. It was an even more terrifying thought than the prospect of Jaws lurking in the water, thirsty for the blood of fourteen year olds stricken with wanderlust. Well, okay, the shark may have been just slightly more terrifying.
Seth was just grabbing his plastic horse off of his nightstand, planning eager to head for the dock, which had become his second home in the year he'd own the Summer Breeze. He'd become, if he could say so himself, an expert sailor, and he was confident..well, mostly confident, that he could make it to Catalina without fault. And then, everything would be behind him.
The phone rang just as his hand reached for the doorknob.
"Hello," he mumbled into the receiver, slightly agitated.
"Hello, Seth. Thank God I got you. I need you to order in tonight. Your father's going to be home pretty soon and I have to work late and completely forgot about dinner. Pizza or something, okay?" Kirsten's voice came out in a rush.
"Uh, sure," Seth replied in a tight voice. "Whatever. Fine."
"Thanks sweetheart. I'll talk to you later." There was an odd pause. "I love you, Seth," she said quietly. "Your father does too."
"I-I love you guys too," Seth stammered, wondering where this was all coming from. Kirsten Cohen was not an affectionate woman.
"I think I'll pick up a movie on the way home for us to watch. Something we'll like. No Steven Seagal, I promise." She chuckled slightly. "Okay?"
"Yeah. That'd be nice."
And it was.
At fifteen, Seth's perfect plan was foiled.
Something always managed to stop him from running, usually his parents. Well, he wasn't going to give them the opportunity. He meant business this time. Luke was getting increasingly more violent, especially after he caught the brute making out with some girl that definitely wasn't his girlfriend. Summer was still making her contempt for him painfully obvious. His dad was getting on his case more and more about making friends and fitting in like it was something so simple and desirable to be liked by fuckwits like the Newport crowd. His mother was his mother, distant but loving. She gave him no reason to go, but no reason to stay either. So he was gonna go. He was.
Seth dashed out of the double doors of Harbor School as soon as the bell rang, skateboard securely under his arm. He was going to the dock, no ifs and ands or buts. He was getting the hell out of hell.
A sharp honk penetrated Seth's ears.
"Seth! Hey! Seth!"
And there was his dad, waving at him from the Range Rover, wearing his goofy sunglasses and a goofy smile. Seth considered dashing away, but he knew his father would just follow him, the lunatic. Resigned, shoulders slumped, he shuffled to the car.
"Hey, buddy. Hop in," Sandy greeted him happily.
"You never pick me up," Seth grumbled. They had the rule clearly established. Sandy drove him to school, and Seth found his own way home. Or he skateboarded down to the dock in hopes of running away from home. Whichever.
"Well, I decided I've been working too hard. Felt like going and getting some ice cream, figured I'd need some company to make it really nice." Sandy reached his arm out and rumpled Seth's curls. "No better company than my home slice."
Seth groaned. "Please stop talking ghetto, Dad."
"Hey, it's what I do best." Sandy smiled.
"And we can talk about stuff," Sandy added, tearing his eyes away from the road briefly to look at Seth. "You look like you might want to talk."
Seth shrugged and averted his eyes.
"Maybe," he said quietly, knowing the answer was yes.
At sixteen, Ryan Atwood stopped him once, and then stopped him again.
It was the same with Summer and Luke and his mom and dad and his grandfather and father. It was always the same. And then Ryan came. And then Ryan left. And then his dad opened up to him when they were looking for Ryan after he disappeared for awhile. And he was like asthma, or something along those lines. And then Ryan came back for good, and Seth had no reason to leave. Because he had a friend, and Summer sometimes looked in his general direction and smiled. And when Luke tried to communicate his frustrations to Seth through his fists, Ryan was there to step in the way and beat him senseless.
For once, he had no reason to run.
At seventeen, Seth realized why all of his botched attempts at running away failed. He'd never had a diversion.
Somehow, through all of the things going on in their own lives, his mother and father had sensed every time he was on the verge of fleeing the state. And even though they might not have known specifically that he was planning on running away, they knew something was wrong. And they stopped him. Or Summer stopped him, with her eyes or her smile or her rage blackouts. But not this time.
Ryan was gone. Ryan was gone and that was all anyone could think about. Nobody came up for a man-to-man chat while Seth shoved bottles of water into his bag. There were no squirrels, no burnt cookies, no birthdays to mention, no meetings in the driveway, no rage blackouts or phone calls or ice cream. And no Ryan. And there would never be Ryan to stop him. Because he was gone. And nobody was there to stop him. His parents were preoccupied with the loss of Ryan, and Seth was easily able to slip out of the house unnoticed, leaving behind only two rambling letters to the three people in Newport he could honestly say he loved.
And he was sailing far away. Not to Tahiti probably, at least not at first. Maybe to Catalina, though there would be no catching any sort of fish off the side of the boat. That was just nasty. But maybe just to escape for awhile, escape into himself so he wouldn't have to go cold turkey into his life as the reject punching bag.
Seth had finally gone through with it, finally succeeded in getting the hell out of hell. It was kind of funny he thought as he consulted his compass for the tenth time that minute. All along there was only one thing he'd needed. All those years he could've pulled it off if he'd had that one thing. All he ever needed was a diversion.
Why the hell did Ryan Atwood have to be his diversion?
!
THE END
This is semi-based on a line from one of the episodes. It was Sandy saying "Seth's been plotting his exodus from this place since he was seven." (Or maybe it was six. I have a bad memory.) Hope you enjoyed, and survived this monstrously lengthy piece. I promise to have another chapter of "And the World Came Tumbling After" out soon, but this needed to be written. Please review and be kind. It's almost my birthday!