Where I'm from, having a dream doesn't make you smart.

Pre-pilot. Multi-chapter.

So why did Ryan go boosting cars with Trey that night? Didn't he use to be the good boy? What happened?

DISCLAIMER: Characters etc… are property of Fox and Schwartz. Not mine. Don't sue.

Thanks to BonnieD for being a cool, efficient, supportive and speedy beta!

Thank you all for the great reviews – do keep reviewing.

Warning – R-rated for language, sex and drug references. This chapter pretty hard R.

This version slightly edited compared to LJ version (very minor word changes)

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4. The Party.

It was, like, the third party that weekend, and Ryan was wasted. Seriously, booze-and-drugs, up-to-the-eyeballs-and-beyond wasted.

He was leaning against a wall – propped against it really – in a room full of flashing lights and colors, a steady beat humming into his bones, squinting at the girls and boys gyrating and thrusting to the music. He had no idea what time it was, or where exactly in Chino he was but it didn't matter. It was a cool party, he knew a couple of people, and there were enough pretty girls flashing cleavage to make the view interesting.

Besides, it had been a good night. Trey and he had sold all their stash pretty quickly, and then Trey had gone off to do some other deals – pills, it turned out – and now Ryan was carrying a fair amount of cash in his jeans and feeling quite relaxed. A couple of girls had come and whispered entreaties to join them on the dance floor but Ryan always shook his head. He didn't dance. He watched, but he didn't fucking dance.

The music, though, was getting just little too heavy, a little too loud, the bass line pounding into his temples, making his head throb. He had a metallic taste in his mouth and kept licking his lips. That stuff Trey had given him was beginning to make him antsy. So far it wasn't exactly what he'd expected. So far. Wait and see.

It occurred to him that he was spending a lot of his time out of his head, drunk or stoned or, now, coming up on some chemical approximation of E (but better, Trey had whispered as he slipped him the little white pill; Ryan had hesitated a moment before palming it and then swallowing it with a mouthful of beer; it tasted bitter and chalky). His memories of the last few weeks were beginning to blur at the edges. It was a deliberate move – he was happier not thinking too closely about the life he was choosing for himself – but it also reminded him way too much of Dawn, and that was never a good thing.

But hey, that was the kind of stuff Trey did – and if he was becoming Trey's sidekick, he might as well take advantage of the material benefits.

Right now though he was looking for a place to mellow out, because the noise and the people and the music were just getting too loud for his brain. He staggered towards the back of the house in search of an unoccupied room. The house was surprisingly large and after a trying a few doors he found a small empty bedroom with a few cushions and a mattress on the floor onto which he sank gratefully. He drained the can of soda he was clutching in his hand. His mouth was so fucking dry he could swear the liquid evaporated on contact with his tongue. He lay back on the mattress and closed his eyes, listening to the muffled beat.

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A door opened somewhere.

"Hey there, you OK?" A girl's voice. Nasal. He couldn't quite place it but he thought he'd talked to her earlier in the evening. Did he sell her something? Maybe if he kept his eyes closed she'd go away. He wasn't up for small talk. Through the open door, the music blared into the room, the tune winding its way into his consciousness. It sounded good. He could see the rhythm dipping and spiking in his mind's eye, as if his brain had turned the bass into a visual display. He suppressed the urge to mark the beat with his foot. A small part of him realized it would look stupid while he was sprawled on a mattress.

"Are you asleep, man?" Her again. Couldn't she see he was doing fine? Better than fine actually. Fucking girls. Never took silence for an answer.

Through half-open lids he peered at her. Even that demanded what felt like an effort of superhuman proportions. He couldn't for the life of him remember her name but she was a looker all right. A bit slutty, but with really good legs, which she was showing to her advantage right now with a cropped leather mini just barely covering her ass. And a thong under it, clearly visible from Ryan's reclining position. He could see her ass. It was nice. He felt a rush of blood to his groin as he stared up her skirt and almost gasped. Christ, the E or whatever was coming on strong. Even through his fogged brain he realized he had to do something to cover the fact that he was getting a massive hard-on. And maybe he should say hi, while he was at it.

He licked his lips again and attempted a grin as he propped himself on his side. Damn. She was giving him the once-over – and she couldn't have failed to notice his bulge. Way to go, Atwood. Fuck it. He was too wasted to feel embarrassed. Her eyes traveled back up and met his. She smiled. Hell, maybe that wasn't so bad; maybe she wanted a piece of him. He took a deep breath in, savoring the feeling of air entering his lungs. That shit was good. He was thoroughly buzzed, and in a good way, warm and fuzzy and happy and horny as hell.

"Uh, hey. Whassup?" He cleared his throat and crinkled his eyes at her.

"I'm looking for a place to chill. It's getting a little too wild out there."

He raised an eyebrow at her. She looked a little fuzzy around the edges. And her eyes had the same unfocused look he knew she could see in his own. "Been doing some of Trey's pills?"

"Maybe," she giggled "You?"

He nodded, weighing his options. If he wanted to get close enough to touch her, he'd either have to stand up, which felt impossible right now, or convince her to come down to his level. Which, if she was on the same shit he was on, was bound to be pretty easy. He reached a hand out.

"C'mere."

She dropped to her knees, still giggling, and let him wrap his arm around her waist and pull her all the way down to the mattress. She was willing enough, Ryan discovered, as he kissed her, sliding his tongue inside her mouth, and she let him run his hands down her shoulders to her breasts, which perked through her thin tank top. He rubbed her nipples slowly, enjoying the way they hardened under his fingers, and the effect it was having on him as he got off on her arousal. Her hands were slipping under his T-shirt, stroking his chest, playing with his nipples, and Ryan groaned as the sensations radiated through his body.

Jesus, Trey was right. That shit was fucking amazing. He shuddered as she grazed his skin with her nails. He felt hypersensitive, like every nerve ending was linked to his crotch, and the most innocuous of touches could trigger waves of pleasure. He pulled away slightly and started kissing her neck, licking and biting her softly as he descended towards her shoulder. She sighed.

"Oh, God, Ryan…"

Fuck.

What the fuck was her name? Why the fuck did she remember his? There was no way he could ask her now without sounding like a complete asshole. Then again, fucking a girl without knowing her name – that was major asshole behavior in his book. Or would have been, if he'd been straight enough to care.

And then Ryan's brain short-circuited briefly as her thigh pressed against his groin and he rolled her over and started dry-humping her against the mattress, overcome by lust. Nothing… mattered… anymore. Except. Except this, the feel of her body against his, the press of flesh against denim, the rhythm of his hips and hers. Her hot breath in his ear, as he continued tonguing her neck, and the little soft moans she was making. And the goddamn amazing tingling feeling that had taken over his body, that made him want to moan too, like a girl.

Ryan wasn't sure how far she'd let him go but he figured it was worth a try. His hand slid from her breast down to her hip, as he continued thrusting against her. In a foggy part of his head, he wondered whether he was going to come in his pants, and whether he cared.

The girl whose name he still couldn't remember was more than happy to let him go as far as he wanted, he realized, as she angled her body to allow his hand maximum access. It made sense if she was as horny as he was, he thought in a brief moment of lucidity. He slid a finger under her thong, and she arched into his hand and threw her head back. Ryan grinned and started tracing his tongue down to her breast, all the while stroking her, finding a rhythm. Just as things were beginning to get really interesting, he heard a noise at the door.

"Hey, man, sorry, but I kind of need my room…"

Fuck.

Ryan closed his eyes, trying to summon every ounce of willpower and every scrap of sobriety still at his disposal. Not that it amounted to much. He opened his eyes a fraction and looked at the girl. She was lying there, lips parted, eyes out of focus, panting. Which wasn't so surprising considering he still had his hand down her thong, and she was rubbing herself against it. Jesus, he could almost forget about the guy standing in the doorway and just…

No! Shit, he wasn't going to bring her off in front of an audience. With difficulty, he pulled his hand away and looked up into the eyes of another, very spaced out guy who judging by the girl wrapped around him was also in serious need of a private room. He looked very apologetic.

"Man, I would wait, but, you know…"

"Yeah," Ryan said, trying to pretend this was a normal conversation and that he wasn't lying there, barely able to communicate, with a gigantic boner and a girl practically spread out under him, begging for a fuck. Not to mention a very wet right hand.

In the back of his mind he knew that he hated the situation, that he never ever did that stuff, that fucking with an audience was every kind of wrong and exactly the sort of shit that Trey got off on and he hated. But his control was slipping, and his dick had taken over, again, and he really wanted to go on.

But Ryan couldn't.

He staggered to his feet, pulling the girl up as he did. She was barely able to stand and he put a hand across her shoulders to keep her upright. The other guy shrugged at him as they went past, looking sheepish and horny and as the door shut behind them Ryan could hear a zipper being pulled open. No time wasted there.

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"Babe, what's happening?" the girl complained in his neck, pressing herself against him, making him lurch.

"Gotta move. C'mon."

"Oh, God, I'm so thirsty," she moaned as they made it back to the main room. The party was getting wilder, he noted even in his state. There were still people dancing, but there were bodies slumped in every corner, and he was pretty sure there was actual sex happening behind the couch. Ryan kept his mind focused on getting outside, where the fresh air would help straighten him out and figure what to do next.

He put her down gently on the porch, leaning against the wall of the house. There were fewer people out there, and he knelt next to her and kissed her, feeling the E or whatever the fuck it was peaking again as their lips mashed together and he sought her tongue with his. Her lips were hot and wet and warm and he lost himself in the moment, again.

"Thirsty," she mumbled against him after a couple of minutes. He pulled away. His mouth was dry, too, and he was desperate for a drink, now he thought of it.

"Okay. Back soon."

Ryan got up and steadied himself with a hand against the wall, scanning around him for another way into the house without having to walk past the fucking rutting going on in the living room.

"Ryan?" The voice sounded alarmingly familiar, just behind him.

Who the fuck?

He spun round.

Oh.

"Theresa? What the fuck are you doing in this place?"

She stood on the front steps, her dark curls piled on top of her head, looking grownup and hot in a tight red dress that showed a lot of leg. Her eyes went from the girl slumped against the wall to him and back again. She didn't look too pleased.

"And who's that?" she asked. He could hear the scorn in her voice. She quit looking at the girl, who was oblivious to her presence, and stared at him intently. Ryan squirmed. She was examining him detachedly, like a cat looking at potential prey, and he felt extremely uncomfortable.

"Cut it, Theresa," he attempted.

"Oh, Atwood. You are in a fine state. What the hell are you even on? You look – you look like a damn wreck. And…" Her eyes had stalled on his crotch and despite her glare Ryan was still hard. Worse, he was getting turned on as he saw her suck in her bottom lip in a gesture he knew so well. She was, too, he could tell, and that spurred him on. He reached his hand up to her cheek, instinctively, his fingers brushing against her downy skin.

Theresa flinched. "What the hell…"

"Hey, I'm… sorry," Ryan whispered. "About the other day, about Eddie..." He leaned into her, inhaling her scent, and promptly forgot where he was and what he was doing, and everything but the fact that he was close to her and she smelt like home, and he was horny and tingly and high, and this was Theresa for fuck's sake, and he wanted to kiss her and run his hands on her skin and lick the sweat off her collarbone and then bite here there because she liked it and…

"Get the fuck off me, Ry!"

She pushed him away, scowling. As Ryan struggled to keep his balance, he saw Eddie, straight ahead, looking at him with murder in his eyes, and he felt suddenly very ashamed, and very stupid, even through the thick fog of chemicals coating his brain.

Theresa turned on her heels and marched off towards Eddie. Ryan saw her grab his elbow and whisper into his ear, urgently, soothingly, but Eddie's eyes were still on Ryan and he felt like a complete, utter asshole.

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He stumbled back towards the door and got back into the main room, zigzagging through the prone bodies on the floor and past the dancers towards the kitchen where he blindly grabbed some soda and a beer before lurching out through the back door. Fuck, he could barely stay vertical.

He rested his back against the house wall and tipped his head back, breathing deeply. The sheer physical pleasure of breathing was almost overwhelming. That E-like stuff made him act like an ass, but it did have its compensations. He pressed a cold can against his cheeks, reveling in the coolness and the drops of condensation trickling down his face and dripping down onto his neck. His heightened sensitivity was focusing on every little sensation, the warm still air clinging to his skin, the muffled bass thump coming through the walls of the house, the smell of tobacco and marijuana smoke around him, tickling his nose.

How long had it been since he'd had a smoke? He pulled a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket, lit it with a flick of the wrist on Trey's Zippo – how did he end up with it? – and inhaled. The taste was unbelievable – the best cigarette he'd ever smoked. He felt his spirits soar with every drag, his mood lightening as he forgot all about what had just happened out front.

Hell, where was the girl he'd been kissing moments ago? Whatever her name was? Ryan panicked, briefly, and then remembered she was out front, and he was out back, and nearly giggled before deciding to go and find her again and maybe bring her the drink he'd promised her whenever that was.

As he turned the corner of the house, he suddenly recalled his encounter with Theresa and Eddie and stopped, checking the sparse crowd. They seemed to have disappeared, much to his relief. The nameless girl was still sitting where he left her, looking a little disheveled and, his dick reminded him, very available. Maybe it was time to see what he could do there.

She guzzled the cold can of soda greedily, and handed it back to him empty, with a little sigh and a smile. A lip-licking, definitely "get back in here and let's continue what we were doing" kind of smile that made him harden in anticipation. He took her hand and helped her up, then dragged her after him towards the other side of the house. The gap there was narrower, and it was dark under the jutting low roof, and miraculously, no one else had repaired there.

Ryan started stroking her face – she was pretty, if a little too made up for his taste, and she had the kind of mouth that immediately made him think of blowjobs – then let his fingers tangle into her hair and slowly, slowly make their way down to her shoulders, her arms, her breasts, her waist. She retaliated in kind, her finger tracing a line from his jaw down to his collarbone, and then down his chest to his waistband.

They just stood face to face, their hands caressing each other's body, their breathing hitching in sync as they got more demanding. His fingers slipped back under her thong and inside her, all the while keeping his eyes on her face. She was doing her damnedest to keep it together as she unzipped his pants and inserted her hand into his boxers. Until now, Ryan's sensations had been focused on his fingers exploring her. All of a sudden that dropped away and he concentrated on himself and on the amazing softness of her skin against his, on the assured touch of her fingers on him, on her grip sliding around his erection and turning his knees to jelly. Holy fuck.

He leaned towards her and captured her lower lip between his teeth, softly tugging until she opened her mouth and they kissed again. He pressed her against the wall, his fingers still pushing inside her rhythmically, as she spread her legs wider.

"Fuck me," she half whispered, half moaned into his ear, letting go of him and bracing herself against the wall. "Please baby, please."

He paused for a beat, his heart hammering, and then shook his head. Right, condom. Condom, now. Thank Christ he had some in his wallet. It took a few seconds for him to tear the packet and roll it on while she pulled off her underwear and then he grabbed her by the waist and gently pushed his way into her and stopped, overcome by a wave of pleasure. She moaned into his ear, egging him on.

His legs felt shaky. He was tingling all over, and felt pretty sure that he was going to come any second now, whether or not she did, because he had lost all control over the situation. He grunted and hoisted her up so she wrapped her legs around his waist although he could barely stand, and then he just followed his instincts and thrust up and hard into her welcoming wetness, and again, and again, until he heard her cry out and he let himself follow her, his whole body erupting into orgasm, with a loud groan and a muffled curse because fucking hell that felt good.

And then they both toppled over and fell in a tangle of limbs and lay there out of breath, trying to recover and tidy up their clothing.

"That was… whoa," she said, when she regained her breath. She smiled at Ryan, who wrapped her into a loose embrace and rested his head on her shoulder. He could feel the drug ebbing slowly, but he was still high, and insanely relaxed, and buzzed. For the first time in a long time he felt happy – and like he didn't have a care in the world. He knew it was an illusion, but it worked for him.

He just wished he could remember her damn name.

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I took Ryan an hour and a half to walk home – including several wrong turnings and shortcuts that weren't. By the time he made it to Trey's he was getting back to sober. Exhausted, jittery and weirdly hungover, but he wasn't on that sensual trip anymore, and parts of his evening were already starting to fade away with the dregs of his high. He had no trouble remembering the sex though. He still felt tingly and hot from that fuck against the wall, from her urgency, the incredible physical intensity of it all, and the amazing feeling of release. That endured.

He climbed the stairs slowly, and came to an abrupt stop in front of their door. Which was hanging off its hinges, propped against the doorframe awkwardly. Something had been spray painted on it, he couldn't quite make it out in the dim light of the landing, but the word SCUM was clearly legible. His heart missed a beat.

Ryan moved the door and let himself in. He was greeted by a spectacle of utter devastation. Everything had been ransacked, turned over, scattered across the room. The spray cans had been active there too, with messages scrawled across the wall. Trey was lying on the couch, asleep.

"What the fuck happened here, Trey?" Ryan whispered, in shock.

Trey started violently and almost fell off the couch.

"Fuck! When did you get in?"

Ryan didn't reply. He was still trying to process what the hell had taken place.

He waved a hand at the mess. "Who…?" His voice failed.

He tried again.

"What the fuck have you done, Trey?" And as he said the words he realized that was exactly what it was about. Because Trey looked fucking guilty. Not pissed, not affronted, but guilty. And scared, which made Ryan's stomach go queasy. Trey didn't scare easily.

Trey blinked rapidly – thinking up a lie, thought Ryan.

"Don't bullshit me, man. What the. Fuck. Have. You. Done?"

Trey sighed. "Okay – it's about this guy who I owe some money to. And he's not… patient."

Ryan ground his teeth in frustration. All the relaxed, mellow feeling from the night had evaporated. He was back in the fucking messed-up reality of life with Trey, except that now it looked a great deal worse than it had earlier in the evening.

"Are these guys going to come back or did you sort it?"

Trey said nothing but the look he gave Ryan was enough. Ryan groaned and closed his eyes, leaning back against the doorjamb.

"So are we fucked?" he asked, and as he said the words he could tell that yes, they were fucked, totally, and this was probably another one of Trey's spectacular, life-changing cock-ups.

He opened his eyes and squinted at his brother.

Trey shrugged and let his hands drop to his side. "Yeah. Can't stay here. These guys are no joke, man."

Ryan looked around him at the graffiti on the wall, the TV and DVD player, which had been taken apart with a baseball bat, the plates and the ashtrays smashed on the floor, his few possessions scattered about, the clothes flung around, the books ripped. He felt a lump in his throat. Just as he was getting used to this life, he thought.

"What're you gonna do?" he asked, hoping Trey had thought of something that would take him into account.

"Dunno. I guess I'll stay at 'Turo's for a couple nights. Or maybe Jackie's. She's kinda cool." Trey looked up at him and Ryan could read the apology in his eyes.

He wasn't headed anywhere but home, and Trey knew it. Time to reacquaint himself with the joys of living with Mom and AJ – the fighting, the beatings, the disgustingly loud fucking and the constant arguing… He couldn't wait.

"Just for a few days," Trey whispered. "Until I find us another place."

Ryan nodded. Yeah. Like that was going to happen in a hurry.

"So what kept you? Party that good, or was there more?" Trey added, in a feeble attempt at relaxing the atmosphere.

"Nothing. I just…"

Trey scanned him from top to toe swiftly, his eyes taking in Ryan's disheveled hair, his untucked T-shirt and his dusty pants. He flashed a knowing grin. "You've been getting laid, man! I told you that stuff was good."

"Yeah," said Ryan. "Yeah, it was."

"So who's the lucky lady?" Trey asked. And then he saw Ryan's uncomfortable look and started laughing. "Damn, little bro' you don't even know her fucking name, do you? You really are an Atwood." And he raised his fist in a mock salute.

Great, thought Ryan. Another fucking badge of honor to be proud of.

TBC