Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.
Author's Note: I've clearly unlocked the sadist within. Dammit!

Trey lay on his back, listening to the soft snoring of his cellmate on the bunk below. His mind was running at a pace the like of which he hadn't experienced since the night he and Ryan were arrested. Sleep was out of the question. Moving carefully so as not to wake up his sleeping companion, Trey rolled over on to his side to look at the few photographs stuck on to his wall. A patch of buzzing artificial light filtered in through the window from the library down the block, faintly illuminating the small cell. After a few weeks here Trey had got used to sleeping only in the semi-darkness, but tonight the light drew his gaze inescapably to a picture of him and Ryan taken about four years ago. He couldn't believe how much younger, how much happier they looked. It had been taken by their mother down the coast when they'd gone on vacation for the July 4th weekend. It was without doubt the best trip they'd ever had. Their mom had been sober for a whole six months and the vacation was a celebration. The picture captured the beautiful moment of the telling of some long forgotten joke and the smiles on the brothers' faces reflected the hope they held for their bright futures together.

The trip was perfect; they spent the day building sandcastles, burying their mother in the sand and paddling in the shallows. Later, they'd sat up to all night to watch the fireworks from the beach huddled in sleeping bags around a campfire stoked with driftwood. They stayed awake to watch the sun rise out of the ocean and Trey and Ryan got into a fight about which way round the sun should be. Trey erroneously believed that the sun rose in the west and set in east, Ryan was trying to convince him that it was the other way, it was just the shape of the coastline that created the optical illusion of the sun rising and setting in the same place. It had culminated in a suncream fight, with both Trey and Ryan ending covered head to toe in cream, sand and in Ryan's case chocolate spread, when Trey went for what was handy in his mother's bag and came up with the left over ingredients of the smores they'd had the previous night. Their mother had rescued the camera from the crossfire and captured the moment. Trey smiled to himself, remembering how much fun they'd all had that day and how important it had all seemed. Two weeks later both brothers knew that the sun rose and set with A.J. In the photographs that Dawn had taken since he'd moved in, Ryan and Trey much looked older; detached from their surroundings and hardened to the world. Neither Trey nor Ryan had kept any of those.

Now lying awake in the eerie quiet, Trey couldn't remember feeling more alone. He missed Ryan more than anything; missed his dopey grin; his measured quietness, his dark sense of humor and the way he could destroy a well thought-out comeback with a single wry look. Most of all Trey missed looking out for him. Sure, he wished he didn't have to, but the Atwoods weren't born lucky and knowing that Ryan was out there on his own, without anyone from home to keep an eye out for him had kept Trey awake listening to the extensive range of his cellmate's snoring many nights before now. The problem was trouble just seemed to find Ryan. Like a heat-seeker missile hunting him down, Ryan could dodge it for a while but it was always there, ready to strike. Trey had a horrible feeling that tonight trouble had locked on to its target and exploded.

Being in jail had allowed Trey plenty of time to think and as he looked on the image of his brother's face beaming out at him from under a mass of chocolate and factor thirty, he wondered more than ever what had happened to turn the happy smiling kid into the tired, world weary shade who had visited earlier that day. It was more than a product of being to often on the receiving end of a cruel word or a hard hand, instead seeming to Trey the expression of an optimist too often disappointed. To see it on the face of his little brother was terrifying.

Trey wasn't an idiot; he knew that he had been much of the cause of the trouble in Ryan's life in the last few years; first when he still lived at home and used to fight with A.J., Ryan had sometimes gotten in the way of things. Sometimes A.J. had just plain gone for them both. Later, after Trey had finally moved out, things didn't improve. He remembered one time not long after he left, Ryan had begged him to come home, or even just to stay the night. He'd got himself so worked up about the situation with his mother, he'd started get breathless, something that he'd grown out of before he'd hit double figures and had never been much of a problem before then. Turning his back and walking away from his little brother as he'd struggled for breath between pleading words had hurt Trey even more than the day he finally realized what kind of man their father was. It was without question the single worst moment in his half-lived life. He was so angry; with A.J. for treating Ryan this way, with his father for not having been a better man and most of all with his mother, for having chosen her boyfriend over her sons, either through cowardice or indifference. It had only been the knowledge that A.J. would not tolerate having him back in the house and would have no doubt have expressed his displeasure physically that had stopped Trey from staying. That night, just to spite Trey, Ryan had picked a fight with A.J. for the first and last time. It wasn't long after he came out of the hospital that Ryan started to crash round at Arturo's.

Trey recalled going round to his friend's house one morning and finding Ryan sleeping on the couch for the first time. He was instantly frightened, wondering what A.J. had done to make him flee, but his concern turned to relief as he comprehended how deep and peaceful Ryan's sleep was; the first time it had been since A.J. had moved in. If it wasn't for the crutches on the floor and a foot in a yellow cast sneaking out from under the blankets, no-one would be any the wiser that this wasn't just a kid crashing on his friend's sofa. In a rare foray in to the world of cooking, Trey had made pancakes, bacon and eggs and he, Ryan, Arturo and Theresa had eaten breakfast together, laughing as they flicked the burnt bits at each other. Even though he didn't feel he deserved it, Trey knew that Ryan had forgiven him. But something in his brother had shifted. It was subtle, but unmistakable; the bursts of laughter ended quicker, the smiles faded faster. Ryan had never been a big talker to begin with, but before long, he rarely spoke unless spoken to. Right now, Trey would have happily doubled his sentence just to be able to hear Ryan's voice telling him he was okay. They had both known what Trey was asking of his brother that afternoon; the fact that Trey would have and indeed had done the same for Ryan didn't make it any easier. It wasn't fair and they both knew it. Trey just hoped that Ryan had had the good sense to tell Arturo where he was going and that Arturo had shown the loyalty to follow him. For now, all he could do was wait for morning.

Ryan drifted on the edge of sleep; his tiredness trying to pull him into blankness, losing a battle against the increasing pain in his arm as it dragged him back to the waking world. He could hear a rhythmic sighing and wondered whether he himself was the cause of it. Probably not, it sounded healthy. Ryan's right arm tingled and he groaned inwardly as he recognized the telltale signs of a too-tight cast. Perfect. There was no way he was going to be able to get back to sleep now. Except it was pain pulsing through his other arm that had caused him to wake up in the first place; he'd broken his left arm... this was confusing. Both felt so heavy. Admitting defeat, Ryan opened his eyes. Sandy was fast asleep by his side; the chair he sat on balanced precariously on its front two legs, his head on Ryan's hand, squashing it in to the bed and cutting off the circulation. Ryan smiled to himself; Seth could also drop off anytime, anywhere, this must be where he got it from. It was quite a skill, and one that he envied, being personally unable to sleep any place other than beds and sofas. Ryan watched Sandy sleep in quiet jealousy for a little while before starting to gently try and pry his hand loose from under his nodding head.

Sandy awoke with a jolt, startling both himself and Ryan as the chair toppled and he found himself in an undignified heap on the cold linoleum floor. He shook himself awake before looking up at Ryan.

"Hi Kid," he said, casually, as though nothing deeply embarrassing had just happened.

"Hey," replied Ryan. It was strange, he'd wanted to see Sandy so badly earlier, now he was here, all Ryan could do was think about how disappointed he must be. As if to confirm his thoughts, Sandy sighed.

"God Ryan, you look awful," he said sympathetically, getting to his feet and righting the chair. He pulled it in close to Ryan's side and took the boy's hand once more in his own. Ryan let him, comforted by the gesture. "What are we going to do with you?" asked Sandy wearily.

"Boot camp?" suggested Ryan, joking half-heartedly. Sandy smiled a little.

"Seth told me you were funny now." The light-moment passed. They sat in stagnated silence, both unsure of what to say next, both unwilling to admit it. Just as Ryan had earlier with the med. student, Sandy opted for the obvious, "How are you feeling?"

"Alright. Not great," said Ryan, his sense of foreboding growing.

"And your arm? Not too painful?"

"Just heavy," lied Ryan. They lapsed into silence again. Ryan knew what was coming and although he knew it was inevitable, he had never felt less like talking.

"Look, Ryan." said Sandy, breaking the stalemate, "We need to talk and we can either do it now, or wait until the drugs wear off. Either way, I think can both agree that it's best we do it without an audience."

"I guess." Even though Sandy recognized Ryan's response as resignation rather than as consent, he knew there were things that had to be discussed and letting them fester was not going to help anybody. So he began.

"So what happened?" he asked calmly.

"Trey needed me. He owed money. Six grand," Ryan answered, pre-empting Sandy's next question, "I settled the debt."

"You deliberately went and took a beating for your brother? To pay off a debt?" said Sandy, incredulous.

"Not exactly," said Ryan, feeling increasingly stupid, "I dropped off a car."

"Stolen?" asked Sandy, disappointed by the answer he knew was coming.

Feeling ashamed, Ryan nodded. "This was interest," he said, lifting his broken arm by way of explanation. "Trey didn't know. It's not his fault. Or Arturo's," he added quickly, not wanting to get his friend in trouble, "By the time he found me... I don't remember." Ryan trailed off. He could practically feel Sandy's disapproval radiating towards him.

Sandy let go of Ryan's hand and rubbed at his temples, trying to keep his growing exasperation in check. Finally, he spoke. "Why didn't you call us?" he said, deliberately measured and calm.

"Because it's my problem, you shouldn't have to deal with this stuff," said Ryan honestly.

"God, why do you do that?!" snapped Sandy, giving into his frustration. "Have you any idea how irritating you can be? Irritating, that's not the right word. Exasperating, that's it. You are completely exasperating, Ryan. Not all the time, but just occasionally, my God you're infuriating. Believe me, I don't regret asking you to move in, none of us do, not for a heartbeat. It's the best and easiest decision I ever made, but you sure as hell don't make it easy sometimes."

"I'm sorry, I never meant..." Ryan stammered, trying to keep his anxiety in check, hating the fact that he was somehow managing to make Sandy feel both uneasy and aggravated. He tried again.

"I don't want you think that I'm not grateful because I am, " he said apologetically, "I didn't mean not to show it, I just-"

Sandy sighed and Ryan fell suddenly silent. Sandy knew that the conversation was not going well. Not that he'd expected it to be bright and breezy, but Ryan's anxiety was obvious and clearly increasing in direct proportion to Sandy's frustration. Still, he pressed ahead. If he didn't get it all out now, he never would and that would help neither of them. He took a deep breath and making a conscious effort not to come off as aggressive, he made to continue, but Ryan got there first.

"But I don't know how... I mean, it's just hard..." he said, his voice small and submissive, "I know I'm not a big talker-"

"It's not the talking, Ryan," said Sandy, "Believe me, as much as I love him, I don't think I could keep my sanity with two Seth's in the house. It's what you talk about. Or rather what you don't. You expect total honesty from everyone, but you tell us next nothing about yourself and when we do, you seem to go out of your way to make people feel insensitive for asking. And it's exhausting."

"When I come back I'll be better, I promise, I'll try harder," said Ryan desperately wanting the conversation to end.

"It's not a question of trying, Ryan. It's a question of trust. I know we're not your blood kin, your biological family and God knows none of would ever want or try to replace them but Seth, Kirsten, you, me; the four of us, we are a family now. I just don't see why we have to be dysfunctional to prove it to you. Of course there's stuff that you're never going to share with me, there's stuff that I'm never going share with you. I know Seth and Kirsten have secrets from me, from each other; that's what families do. But there's a difference between holding cards close to your chest and not playing at all and you need to realize that."

Sandy stood up, and began pacing the room. Ryan watched him quietly, wanting all the time to say that he understood, that he was sorry, that he wanted to trust them all, that he wanted that more than anything, but that he just didn't have it in him, that he didn't think he could take being disappointed, or a disappointment again. But he couldn't trust himself to get it right, so instead, he stayed quiet, watching Sandy's anger boil. Suddenly Sandy stopped and turned back to him.

"Do you know what I realized the other day? That I don't even know when your birthday is. I had to look it up, to make sure we hadn't missed it."

"You haven't," he said automatically.

"But I didn't know that; that's the point. We don't need to know the crappy stuff, Ryan, we need to know the good stuff."

"I'm not used to celebrating birthdays," said Ryan, with absolutely no intention of explaining why. Slowly but surely, he could feel his anger rising to match Sandy's.

"Why not?" asked Sandy, predictably dissatisfied by Ryan's response, "You're not a Jehovah's Witness," He let out a grunt of frustration, "Then again, you could be, for all I know. You could come from a long line of blind Tibetan monks and I'd been none the wiser."

Ryan had had enough. Sandy wanted to talk, fine, they'd talk.

"I'm not a Jehovah's Witness, a monk, a nun or anything," he snapped, "I don't know what I am except terrified that I'm going end up exactly like my parents." He paused momentarily for breath, riled up, stressed out and becoming increasingly more so with each passing moment. He could feel his chest constricting the way it used sometimes when he was younger, but he was too angry to care and too anxious to make Sandy understand him to stop, so with fresh determination he carried on.

"It's alright for you, Sandy, you've moved on from your past and Seth's lucky and will never have to, but I'm not an idiot. I know what people think of me when they see me at school, or at parties and I hate it. I hate that they think that, and I hate it that when Kirsten first met she thought it too, and I hate that it bothers me so much and I hate that no-one knows what it's like to have to walk around feeling angry all the time and that you think you know what it's like, but you don't, you don't know, because nobody does, nobody. I come from a long line of people who take other people for granted and think nothing of it and I don't want be like that. When Dad went to jail I promised myself that I was going to make my own way; I only want what I've earned, otherwise I'm just the same as Dad, my Mom and all her sleazy boyfriends who freeloaded off her."

Just as suddenly as he'd begun, Ryan stopped. He was so angry he was shaking, and sweat was pouring off him. He drew in a ragged breath and finding it insufficient immediately fought for another. Unaware, Sandy responded, "You're right, Ryan, I am lucky, I don't know what it's like to be so angry, to have a past like yours hanging over me. But I do know that sooner or later you're going to have to get over it, or you're just going to end up wrecking your future." He looked over to Ryan, who yet again seemed to be detaching himself from the conversation. Sighing with frustration, he sat back down in the chair by Ryan's bed, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing, his tone becoming calmer.

"You need to open your eyes, Ryan. My wife just dropped a hundred thousand dollars on a trust fund idiot whose ego is bigger than his intellect. Do you think we'll see it back? No. Do you think we can afford it? Yes we can."

Ryan kept his eyes shut, hearing the sense in the words, but preoccupied by his rising panic as Sandy talked on, oblivious to his growing distress.

"You know, I'd be lying if I said that it didn't blow my mind that this is my life, that I am married to someone who has the financial capability to do that. But money is nothing without kindness, and it's the compassion and the generosity that matters. You have to make a choice; either to count your blessings and accept them or turn your back and walk away. You can't do both. A hundred thousand dollars, Ryan. What made you think we couldn't spare six for your brother?" Sandy rubbed at his temples again, looking down at the floor, hoping for an answer from the boy beside him. When none came, he added somewhat bitterly, "Just please tell me it wasn't because you missed having the crap kicked out of you."

"Sandy," said Ryan quietly breaking the silence as he reached out clumsily for him. Looking up, Sandy knew instantly that something was wrong. Ryan's demeanor was full of tension, his face a picture of mounting panic and fear as he drew in wheezing breaths that failed to satisfy him. Sandy leant over Ryan's head, repeatedly pressing the call button to summon help, before reaching to where the frightened boy's hand clutched futilely at the blankets and taking it gently in his own.

"Hey, it's alright, " Sandy said softly, trying not to let Ryan sense the panic he felt at the sudden worsening in his condition. "Everything's fine, help's coming. Just try to relax."

"I'm sorry," Ryan mumbled, between labored breaths.

"Shh, don't be absurd," said Sandy quietly as the med. student who'd attended to Ryan earlier entered the room with a nurse in tow. Instinctively, Sandy stood up and moved away, allowing them access to him.

"Hey, Ryan, it's Ed, remember me? This is Steve," he said, as he reached for the oxygen mask hanging behind Ryan and slipped it over his unresisting head. Steve cranked the valve open, releasing the oxygen in an audible hiss as Ed took out his stethoscope and listened to Ryan's chest.

"Just concentrate on breathing slowly and deeply for me, Ryan," he said as he listened. Ryan shut his eyes tightly, trying hard to comply.

"When did it start?" Ed asked, turning to Sandy briefly.

"A minute or two ago, maybe more. I'm not sure. We were arguing, I was shouting at him," he said, feeling ashamed, "He got angry and I got carried away."

"Okay," said Ed as he took the chart that Steve held out for him and made a note, "I think it's probably best if you step outside."

"No, I want to stay," said Sandy, never taking his eyes off Ryan, a crushing weight of guilt pressing down on him.

"I know, but it's best if you give us space," Ed insisted kindly yet firmly, nodding towards Steve who moved over to Sandy and quietly led him to the door.

"We'll look after him. I promise," he said as he guided Sandy out of the room.

"Right. Just let me know when..." said Sandy, looking towards Ryan, feeling both sickened and helpless by the sight of him staring desperately back, still searching vainly for relief.

"We will," replied Steve, closing the door on him before shutting the blinds and cutting Sandy off from the scene inside.

Slowly sinking down against the wall to sit on the floor, Sandy couldn't believe what he'd just done, what he just witnessed. Instead of offering Ryan a friendly ear and unconditional support when he needed it most, he'd verbally attacked him, to the extent that the kid had literally ended up shouting the breath out of him. What on earth had he been thinking? As if it wasn't bad enough seeing the result of Ryan's misadventures, he had to make the poor kid relive them. Sandy shook his head in disbelief in his own stupidity. Whilst it was true he'd been fortunate enough not to have any prior experience of events such as tonight's, his performance had been shocking. He'd actually told Ryan he looked awful. He'd just been brought into the hospital after being attacked and Sandy had basically told him to grow up, get over it and even accused him of going looking for trouble. Sandy wasn't sure that even Seth suffering from an extreme bout of foot-in-mouth disease would have been so blunt. And he had no idea how he was possibly going to be able to make up for it. He wouldn't blame Ryan if he never spoke to him again.

Kirsten had given him the silent treatment once for four whole days after Sandy had got drunk at a Newport Group charity auction and had thrown up into what he'd thought at the time was just a fancy trash can and had actually transpired to be a vase specially designed by some famous designer and donated for the benefit. Sandy had finally won her round by commissioning a vastly expensive florist to re-create the vase using only roses. Somehow, he didn't think that would work with Ryan. He just hoped that he would be recovered by morning; aside from his deep felt concern for the Ryan's well being, Sandy knew that Kirsten or Seth, or more likely both, were going to kill him.

I realize I've strayed from canon; but I hope I haven't strayed too far from character. Although I figured if Ryan and Seth can occasionally be gay, Ryan can occasionally not be 100% physically perfect. No wait, that's much less believable! Hate it, love it, review it.

Incidentally I'm moonlighting on a happy fic for when I've truly finished embracing my inner Ryan-basher. God bless Kandy.