Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.
Author's Note: Buckle up kids, the chapters are getting longer.

Arturo finished copying the number of Ryan's cell phone on to the back of his hand before slipping the phone gently into his sleeping friend's hand. It had only been a few hours since they'd come in to the hospital, but even to Arturo's untrained eye, he could tell that Ryan was doing much better. Some of the color had come back into his cheeks and the unhealthy whistle of his breathing had gradually slipped into the sounds of a deep and peaceful sleep. Of course, he still looked like hell, but Arturo finally felt like it was time to respect his friend's request and leave before the Cohens arrived. He reluctantly stood up and headed for the door. Arturo knew that Ryan had asked him to be gone to avoid a confrontation with his foster family and to keep Arturo and his family out of trouble, but that didn't mean he had to like it. That was Ryan through and through; always looking out for others, even when he really needed to focus in on himself. A classic case of white knight syndrome if ever there was one. God help the person who mistook it for doormat syndrome. As he reached for the door, Arturo heard Ryan stir and turned to see him shifting in his sleep. He waited for a moment, watching Ryan settle once more before crossing the room back to his friend's side. Without exactly knowing why, he leant down and kissed his friend on the forehead.

"Take care of yourself Ryan," he whispered, gently smoothing the matted hair of the kid he thought of as his little brother before turning away and leaving him alone to dream.

After he heard the door close, Ryan counted to twenty before opening his eyes. He felt bad for pretending to sleep instead of saying goodbye properly and expressing the thanks that Arturo deserved, but Ryan knew it was the only way he was going get him to go. Next to Theresa, Sandy Cohen had one of the fieriest tempers Ryan had ever encountered. Unlike his mother's, which could be equally furious, Theresa and Sandy's fire came from a place of concern and Arturo was already going to have to extinguish Theresa's when he went home. It wouldn't be fair to subject him to both her and a disgruntled foster parent on the same day; making sure his friend was out of the way before Sandy and his eyebrows arrived on the scene was the least that Ryan could do.

Although it still ached, Ryan's head felt clearer than it had done all afternoon and he took a proper look around the room for the first time. He was alone in the dingy room, although there was another bed in the other corner. Curtains that looked like they had been rejected by the Von Trapp family hung around his bed and a cracked clock on the wall told Ryan it was just before quarter past ten. Sandy should be here soon and despite the fact that he knew there would be stern words and sympathy, neither of which Ryan was particularly looking forward to, still he glad he was coming. It had been one hell of a long day. Having assessed his surroundings, Ryan turned his attention to himself.

He was glad to see that there was no longer a blood bag hanging from the I.V. stand by his bed, and only one bag of clear liquid remained, but as he became increasingly aware of the throbbing in his head, the soreness in his ribs and the pain in his back and arm, he realized with slight disappointment that the morphine had worn off. Then again, if he wasn't been kept on heavy painkillers, that might mean that he'd be allowed to go home soon, maybe even tomorrow. On second thoughts, Ryan re-considered as he took at look at his left arm, this might be a little optimistic. It was encased in a vivid orange cast from just above his elbow, all the way down to his hand, where it also immobilized his thumb, although thankfully none of his fingers. He must have broken his hand after all. This was going to be a real pain in the ass. Finally, Ryan reached his good hand up and removed the bothersome oxygen mask from his face, casting it clumsily aside on his pillow. He gingerly felt his puffy and sore nose; it was as if a spaceship had landed on his face and released a crew of tiny aliens for a tap-dancing convention. His nose hadn't been nobble free in a long time, but he'd always hoped the bumpy look was endearing and he hoped very much he hadn't segued into the inbred look. Still, even that would be better than the freakishly too straight look that so many of Newport's citizens had opted for. Ryan could not understand why anyone in their right mind would actually pay anybody to have their nose broken.

Then again, there were a lot of things about Newport that didn't make much sense to Ryan. He knew he didn't really belong there and as kind and welcoming as the Cohens had been to him, he didn't think he ever truly would. Yet this afternoon, it had only taken a few minutes driving through Chino for Ryan to recognize that he didn't really belong there any more either. Somehow in the past few months he'd turned into Shirley Valentine; existing in two worlds, and living in neither. His brain ached. Ryan closed his eyes, trying to settle back into sleep. Sandy would be here soon and something told Ryan that he wasn't going to be as easily fooled as Arturo.

"This is just ridiculous," said Seth frustratedly as the taxi slowed down for yet another set of lights, "You wouldn't think it was statistically possible for one cab to be stopped at every set of lights in a sixty minute journey, but no! Here we are, grinding to another halt. At this rate, Ryan's going to be discharged from the hospital before we even get there." Seth sighed and leaned his head back against the headrest.

"He's going to be fine, you know, honey," said Kirsten as she laid a comforting hand on her son's knee. Seth turned to look at her, his eyes full of skepticism, as she continued, "I know it seems scary right now, but everything will be okay, you'll see."

"Mom, some guys attacked him with a crowbar. I know I said Ryan's the burly one, but that's gotta hurt. "

"I don't doubt it," said Kirsten, trying not to think about how much, "But Ryan's tough; once we get him home, he'll be back on his feet in no time."

"Yeah, 'cause having the crap kicked out of you is nothing that a good platitude can't cure."

"Hey!" snapped Kirsten angrily, "Do you think I'm not worried? For your information, I have a thousand and one scenarios running through my head about how Ryan might be, all of them hideous. I am trying to stay positive here, because I don't really want to think about what exactly happened to Ryan this evening when I was drinking margaritas, you were making out with two girls at once- which, by the way, is not how we brought you up to behave- and your father was complaining about the turkey. So, it's true, platitudes may not help feel Ryan any better, but right now they sure as hell help me, so just be quiet and let me get on with it." Kirsten sighed as she finished her tirade before lapsing into silence. After a moment, Seth stopped looking at his hands and looked up awkwardly at his mother.

"Sorry Mom," he said sheepishly, "You know how I like to embrace my inner cretin."

"Yes, well sometimes, I just wish you'd think a bit more before you spoke." Her denunciation over, Kirsten relaxed a little and offered Seth a small smile, "But I know these things can be a bit of challenge when you've got pressing things on your mind- like say, juggling two girls on Thanksgiving." She shook her head at her son, "Honestly, Seth, those poor girls. What were you thinking?!"

"Uh, yay me?!" Seth replied. Kirsten rolled her eyes in amused disbelief, as he continued, "I mean, come on Mom; have you seen Summer and Anna? They're incredible. And for some reason my inner cretin does it for them. How could I possibly choose?"

"I think that's what's known as growing up, kid."

"Well, I'm only sixteen. I've got time."

"Gosh, that's a relief."

"And I've got my wise old ma to guide my way. That is, if you're not too busy downing tequila." Seth smiled cheekily at Kirsten, who smiled back good-naturedly. He looked out the window as the taxi successfully made it though its first intersection without having to stop for a red light.

"Hey, look, we made it through," Seth said optimistically, "Shouldn't be too long now."

Kirsten's brow furrowed again. Seth reached out for her hand and took it in his own, squeezing it reassuringly. "You're right, Ryan'll be fine," he said, "After all, the guy can do one-armed pull-ups, what have we got to worry about?"

"Really? He can do that?"

"Yeah, it's actually very annoying. Girls just aren't as impressed by guys who can do the box splits."

"You know what, I always found it a little weird that you can do that. It's not even as though you did gymnastics."

"What can I say? I'm bendy." Seth squeezed his mother's hand again, in an attempt to offer some small semblance of comfort.

"He will be okay, won't he." Kirsten said, trying to make a statement, but still seeking reassurance.

"Absolutely," answered Seth resolutely, "Besides, now he's got us."

Ryan awoke with a start, making the med. student jump in surprise and drop his stethoscope. "Good grief!" he said, bending down to retrieve it, "You scared me."

"Sorry," said Ryan automatically. He looked at the clock on the wall; half ten. Sandy should be here any time now.

"Hey, no need to apologize," said the student as he made a note on Ryan's chart, "Traditionally, it's when my patients don't wake up that there's a problem. Besides, I have a jumpy nature; one of the side-effects of mainlining caffeine."

Ryan laughed in spite of himself, grimacing as his ribs ached and his breath caught slightly in his throat. The student frowned at him, noting the mask cast aside on Ryan's pillow, which still hissed as it released oxygen into the air. "You know," he said adjusted Ryan's unflattering gown slightly to listen to his chest, "the point of the mask is to help you breathe, not aerate your pillow."

"I feel stupid."

"Yeah, well, it's not a fashion accessory," said the student, listening intently.

"I'm fine," said Ryan trying to sound as healthy and upbeat as possible.

"Of course you're not," the med. student said kindly, his face screwed in concentration. "But you will be. Okay, deep breath in. And out." Ryan complied as he continued, "A few days sleep and a few weeks taking it easy and you'll be back to your old radiant self again; sparkling as I'm sure that is. And again." Ryan was less than a hundred percent convinced with this last statement, but he kept quiet. The student regarded him critically, "Alright, you can have your dignity back," he said, shutting off the oxygen valve and tidying the mask away somewhere behind Ryan's head. "Although to be honest, if I were you I'd be a little more concerned about what's going on under the blankets. There's a reason you don't need to pee you know."

This was a little more than Ryan needed to know, "I think I'm going to take your word for it."

"Very wise. But Ryan, you need to start taking better care of yourself. Playing the hero is going to get you in serious trouble one of these days." Ryan looked down, really not wanting to have this conversation with someone he didn't even know. Unfortunately for him, the med. student was determined to play counselor. "You know what I'm talking about. Follow my finger," he said, moving it first horizontally then vertically before Ryan's face. "You're incredibly lucky to be here at all. Do you realize how much worse things would be if the guy who attacked you had gone for your head instead of your arm?" Ryan wasn't really in the mood to tell the guy that that was exactly what had happened.

He was lucky, he got that. But for the first time that evening, it struck him just how fortunate he was. He really could have gotten himself in a lot worse shape than this; what if the guy with the gun at the chop-shop had fired it, instead of just using it to break his nose? He could have been killed. That would have been one hell of a low way to repay the Cohens for taking him in. Ryan remembered the look of thinly veiled contempt on his attackers faces as they'd laid into him; they made him feel worthless, pathetic, de-humanized. It had been a long time since anybody had made him feel that way and tonight he'd actually volunteered for it. Not only that, but in doing so, he'd also managed to ruin the Thanksgiving of almost everyone he cared about and who cared about him. It made him feel sick. Suddenly, he didn't feel like talking, he just wanted to be left alone.

The student took a small light from his coat pocket and shined it in Ryan's eyes. Squinting at the brightness, Ryan scrunched his eyes shut to clear the purple-blue blobs from his vision. He could tell the med. student could sense his sudden quietness and was hoping for a sign of interest from Ryan in his own well-being, but still he didn't feel like complying. Sensing he wasn't going to be left alone unless he offered something, Ryan opted for the obvious. "When can I go home?" he asked. Guessing that this was as much as he was going to get from Ryan, the med. student relented.

"Tomorrow, hopefully. We'll see. I saw your friend leave, he said your Dad's on his way; we'll talk it over together when he gets here. In the meantime, stay put."

"Do I have a choice?" said Ryan, sounding only a little more disgruntled than he honestly felt.

"Does it look like I'm offering you one?" the med. student replied jovially, as he replaced the chart at the end of Ryan's bed. He put a kindly hand on the lump of blankets where Ryan's feet were, "Trust me Ryan, I've been here myself and I know what you're going through. But things can only get better from now." Sensing Ryan's skepticism, the med. student gave Ryan's foot a squeeze and smiled at him, "Plus chicks really dig the wounded hero thing; my advice is to milk it." Ryan returned the smile in spite of himself. The med. student headed for the door, switching off the light over Ryan's bed as he did so, slipping the room into semi-darkness.

"Sleep. If you need something for the pain, or you need anything else, just let me know; I'm on 'til eight."

"Okay. Thanks," Ryan said, as the med. student departed, the words coming out more softly than he'd intended. He felt absolutely exhausted; the effort of trying not think too hard about the last twelve hours suddenly catching up with him. His physical condition aside, he'd managed to piss off one of his oldest friends, scare the crap out of another, violate the terms of his probation, sign the death warrant of a beautiful car, fight with his girlfriend, further incur the wrath of her mother and last not but not least not only continue the Atwood tradition of disastrous of family holidays but also drag the Cohens along for the ride. Not bad for a day's work. And he hadn't even got to eat turkey! As much as he'd made fun of Seth earlier this morning, and even though he wasn't overly fond of festivities, the idea of eating of so much so he burst had seemed ridiculous, frivolous and fantastically appealing. Right now, however, all he wanted to do was sleep. Ryan closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind of all the conflicting feelings that cluttered it up. By the time Sandy entered the room ten minutes later, he was fast asleep.

Sandy had read enough of Ryan's file to know that the kid had been in hospital more than once before this and for variety of reasons, but seeing him now, small and sleeping brought home to Sandy for the first time the stark reality of Ryan's life and countless numbers of kids like him. He'd told Ryan when they'd first met that the two of them were not so different, but as he walked across the room to sit by Ryan's side, he knew that was a long, long way from the truth. Sure, Sandy's family and his upbringing were less than perfect, but with only a small nudge, Sandy had made his own destiny, had got himself a living, a family and a life that he was content with. Ryan, however, had been given a fairly hefty helping hand, but still had to fight tooth and nail to make his way forward in the world. Sandy didn't believe in astrology, considering it even in his hippie phase to be a load of crap, but if ever he needed proof that some people are just born under inauspicious stars, then it was sleeping in front of him now.

God, he looked awful. Sandy was deeply relieved that he'd insisted Kirsten and Seth join him in the morning. It was fantastically unlikely that Ryan's appearance would have improved significantly by the time they arrived tomorrow, but with any luck, Ryan would at least be awake and talking. Well, awake, at any rate. Sandy doubted that whatever had happened earlier that evening to his foster son, Ryan was probably not going to be overwhelmingly forthcoming. After all, he was not exactly what you'd call chatty at the best of times. Unlike Seth. Boy, could that kid talk. Right now he was probably going at full tilt, like a record on the wrong speed. Sandy supposed that if he'd have been left alone with him this evening instead of Kirsten, then he'd probably have slipped a valium into some hot chocolate and told Seth to drink it while it's hot. Still, Sandy wouldn't have traded Seth's terminal verbosity for anything. Looking at Ryan's sleeping form, he knew he wouldn't trade anything for Ryan's laconic nature either. Ryan had a measured quietness about him that Sandy found calming. Watching him sleeping so deeply now was a completely different experience; his quietness eerie, the result of great hurt, not a conscious choice and Sandy was deeply unsettled by it. Feeling older then he ever had in his life, Sandy leaned forward and gently took Ryan's good hand in his own, rubbing it lightly, hoping that morning and a better outlook would soon be here.

Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, particularly muchtvs for liking my Seth. I worry that I make him sound five!

More soon.