Disclaimer: Although I truly wish that I did, I own nothing related to the O.C. So far, I don't even own any original characters. Maybe I will eventually, but so far, it all belongs to Fox. Sigh.

Back in the Hole

Chapter One

Terror Returns

Ryan sighed heavily, as he cleared the dishes off of his last table. It had been a long day at the Crab Shack, and his muscles were aching from the day's manual labor. As he had been all day, he reminded himself, "Just think of the money. It's worth anything." It wasn't that he was suffering in poverty; he just wanted to be able to pay his own way. He had only been with the Cohens' for a few months, but they had already spent so much money on him! They never acted like he was a burden, but Ryan felt like one, anyway. He really didn't like taking charity from people; it made him feel like he owed them. When you owe somebody, they have power over you, and that is a dangerous position to be in. Not that the Cohens seemed the type to hold these kinds of things against you, but you never knew. Better safe than sorry.

"See ya, guys," Ryan called to the few remaining employees, as he tossed his apron onto the counter, and headed out the back door. As the door slowly swung shut behind him, he took a moment to revel in the fresh night air. It was always uncomfortably warm in the Crab Shack, for the employees. The thermostat was set to a comfortable level for the "guests" who sat and let others serve them. It was unimportant, apparently, that the hard-working employees suffered to make the customers happy. "Oh, well," thought Ryan. "At least they tip well." As Ryan relaxed in the cool night air, he reached to his back pocket, feeling the bulge of tips. He thought that he may have made about $80 tonight! He considered counting it right then, but knew that this would be a bad idea. Living in Chino had taught him many things, not the least of which was to keep your money out of sight. Allowing others to know how much you had--or where it was kept--was asking to be robbed.

As Ryan walked over to the bike rack, he reached his arms behind his back and clasped his hands together, lifting them slowly up towards his head, to stretch the muscles in his upper back. Just then, he felt a pair of rough hands tightly grasp his wrists. Ryan's automatic reaction was that of a strangely calm panic. He hated physical confrontations--Hell, he hated any physical contact, whatsoever, but he knew how to handle them. It seemed that he was almost more comfortable when he was in the middle of a physically dangerous situation, because at least then he knew where the pain was coming from. Waiting and wondering about the next time was almost worse.

Reacting instinctively, Ryan used the force being applied to his upper body, and bent down faster, kicking out his right leg behind him. Unfortunately the man who held Ryan's wrists was prepared, and he had already stepped aside. Now that Ryan was bent almost double, his attacker shoved him forward, towards the brick wall of the Crab Shack. Stumbling, Ryan began to worry, as the fight left him. This always happened; when Ryan realized that he could not win a fight, he would shut down. The fear would take over, and he would submit. As he reached the wall, his attacker relaxed a little of the pressure on Ryan's arms, and he was able to stand up straight. Before Ryan had a chance to turn and see the person behind him, a fist grabbed some hair on the back of his head, and he was slammed, face-first, into the rough brick wall. Dizzy, Ryan saw bright specks behind his closed lids for a few seconds, and he almost passed out. However, the coolness of the bricks helped to keep him awake. "Don't pass out!" Ryan thought to himself, knowing how dangerous it could be to lose consciousness during an attack.

Groaning, Ryan struggled against the hand that held his wrists prisoner, simultaneously pushing against the hand between his shoulder blades. However, due to the pain and the inevitable weakening of his resolve, his attempts were fruitless. Years of violent and unpredictable beatings had taught Ryan that it is safest to remain silent in these situations, so he resisted the urge to ask who was hurting him.

Gasping quietly, Ryan waited.

As he felt increased pressure on his back, he realized that the man was slowly leaning in towards Ryan. Anxiously, he tried one last time to shake off his attacker, but it was still no use. As the man's face neared Ryan's, his eyes squeezed shut of their own accord. He began shaking uncontrollably, squirming and whimpering, trying to get away from the return of a nightmarish past, and hoping that this man would not take something from him that he had no right to.

What Ryan felt next was this man's hot breath on the side of his face, as the man pressed Ryan flat against the wall with his own body. Now, as Ryan squirmed, he felt the man's closeness all too well. The temporary bit of fight that had returned to the surface left him completely, and he tried frantically to send his mind far away. Before he had a chance, the man spoke.

"Well, if it isn't the little shit."

Ryan's eyes popped open in recognition. His stomach sank, and he felt dizzy again, but this time it was not from the pain in his bruised face and head.

"A.J." he whispered.

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Author's note: How is it? I have more already written, but I need to know if anyone is even interested. Please let me know what you think, but please be nice. I can take constructive criticism, but I'll probably cry if I read any nasty reviews.