A/N- This little diddy was inspired by a friend who was apparently suffering from, and I quote, a 'hellacious hangover'. However, it was also inspired by that pesky TWoP thread, which proposed the challenge that required Ryan to, at some point, be sans clothes. Alas, combining those two ideas, this is what I came up with.

Anyway, this was just for fun. A little break from the hard-core angst. This one's for you, Brandy!

Hellacious Hangover

I don't know how long I've been unconscious, but I can say with certainty that it wasn't long enough. This yuppie town has made me soft. I can't remember the last time that a few drinks had this kind of effect on me. Then again, I think it was more than a few drinks. In fact, I don't know how many drinks I consumed, but I do remember someone cutting me off. I've never been cut off. I mean, who cuts people off? Especially at a party…a party in Newport, no less.

I turn over and blindly attempt hitting the snooze button. Somehow, my efforts only result in an increase in volume, so I swipe at the alarm clock until it falls to the floor. Unfortunately, it continues to work with a significant amount of additional static.

Fuck. I have to go to school. I have no idea how I'm going to make it, but it's gotta be done. The Cohens would kill me if they found out I skipped a day of class because of a hellacious hangover. That's what this is, hellacious. There isn't enough Advil in the world….

With my hands gripping the edge of the bed, and my eyes squinting out the limited but intrusive light squeaking through the poolhouse blinds, I manage to sit up and let my feet drop heavily to the floor. Even the measured and gradual change of position sends my stomach into an uproar. I bow my head, hold my breath and pray I don't mess up the immaculate décor of the room. So far so good…if you can call it that. Who am I kidding? This is a fucking disaster….

The radio crackles and sputters as it struggles to maintain its connection. I should really turn it off, but I don't want to bend over. Even though it lies only a couple feet away from me, I feel like I would have to climb Everest with only one leg to accomplish my goal. Instead, I stretch my right foot forward and fumble around the buttons with my big toe until, finally, the horrendous noise ceases. The relief isn't quite as sweet as I had anticipated.

The upside down numbers on the digital alarm clock show that I have ten minutes to get up, get dressed and get out. The mere thought makes me dizzy. This is not cool. When I feel like I can talk without puking, I'm going to yell at Seth. There should be a rule against major drunken parties on weeknights. Next year, if Seth's birthday falls on a school night, he's going to have to settle for an Imax movie and a piece of cake. This isn't working for me. Maybe all these preppy Newport kids can feign genuine illness and miss a day at school, but that's not an option for me. The Cohens would know…Dr. Kim would know. She's like the fucking she-devil.

A lingering shiver runs through my entire body and it's at that moment that it hits me. I'm not wearing any clothes. No boxers, no wife-beater, nothing. I'm completely, totally naked and that scares the shit out of me. I never sleep naked, and even if I was drunk out of my mind, I don't think I would have taken off my underwear. Who…shit…the thought alone makes me want to vomit. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think at all.

I push off the side of my bed and onto my feet, the cold floor against my skin provokes another shiver, and it's all I can do to stumble over to the side of the room and grab my boxers off the lamp shade. I don't want to know, and really, I don't care right now. Instant relief floods through my chest when I slide them on, but it is short-lived when I see that my pants from the previous night are folded neatly in a pile on the floor beside the chair. I wrack my memory for a grand total of three seconds before I realize that hurts too much. Everything hurts. I feel like I've been hit by a truck then steamrolled into the pavement. How the hell did my mom do this every single day? Alcohol's the devil….

I leave my pants where they are… again with the fear of bending over. Instead, I shuffle to the shelves where I grab some clean jeans, a wife-beater and a sweater, which I hope will stop my body from shaking so violently.

I lower myself onto the bed and toss the jeans onto the floor, where I try to direct my feet into the appropriate leg-holes. The process is tedious but more appealing than having to use my hands, which would require some sort of bending over. And let's face it, that's simply not an option this morning.

After much fumbling, I mange to get my pants pulled up to my knees and lift my ass up off the bed just enough so that I can pull them up around my waist. I don't zip and button right away because I fear that would put pressure on my stomach…which would undoubtedly result in a mess.

I pat the bed behind me until I feel the familiar material of one of my many wife-beaters. I clench the fabric between my fingers and pull it into my lap, unfolding and slipping it over my head in one habitually swift motion.

"Oh God…."

I hear the words uttered in what sounded like my voice, but I can't recall saying them. However, it's obvious why they were said. Bright pink and white spots are dancing in front of my eyes and a jolting wave a nausea rips its way through my body.

I let instincts take over and it's almost as if I'm standing in the corner watching myself hold up my jeans with one hand as I stumble up the steps and through the bathroom door.

I can't say that I'm surprised. This was obviously going to happen. It was just a matter of time. I was just in denial thinking it could somehow be prevented. No such luck. Instead, I cling to the rim of the porcelain God and pray for death. Hellacious doesn't even begin to describe this hangover.

………………………

I hold onto the railing tightly as I pretty much fall my way down the stairs. This is so not good. There isn't a chance in hell I'm going to make it through a full day of school. I think I've been hungover, like, once in my entire life, and it doesn't even hold a candle to what I'm going through right now. How does Marissa do this all the time? Who cares…I shouldn't think. All I know is I woke up at four am with a blinding headache, wearing one of Ryan's wife-beaters. I don't even want to know how that came about.

I slowly shuffle into the kitchen and aim for the one vacant stool by the counter. On any other day, I would have been concerned seeing Ryan with his head resting against the counter, his face buried in the sleeves of an oversized sweater, but not this day. Nope. I know what's going on today. Too much beer…and vodka…and tequila. Shit, I think I'm going to throw up…again. In the past five hours or so, I've come to realize that the toilet's my friend. We're close.

Miraculously, I get to the stool before toppling over, pull my aching, shaking body up into the seat, and assume the same position as my booze buddy to my right. Seems to be working for him.

After what I assume is a few minutes of complete and utter agony, I hear a soft groan coming from next to me.

"Dude?" I manage to squeak out without giving way to the building nausea in my gut.

"Mmmm…." Is the only response.

I turn my head slightly to the right. All I can see is a mop of blond hair and grey fabric from his sweatshirt. "I don't know if I'm going to make it today," I moan.

For the first time this morning, he moves; his eyes peak out from underneath his hair and behind his forearm. Other than that, he's silent. I suppose he's agreeing with me…Ryan Atwood style.

"Do you remember coming home?" My voice cracks halfway through the question, but from what I can see, he has no reaction.

Finally, he lifts his head up slightly, squinting his eyes, apparently deep in thought. "Why was I naked?"

I want to laugh, I really do, but think better of it shortly after. Instead, I respond using as little breath and energy as possible. "You were naked? I don't remember that…."

"No," he starts in a forced whisper, closing his eyes and swallowing deeply. "This morning."

"I don't know, dude. Can't help you there."

He keeps his eyes closed and lowers his head back down against the counter. I follow his lead, allowing my own forehead to rest against the cool granite.

I think my head's going to explode. Even the sound of my own breathing adds to the monstrous headache pounding behind my eyes. Alcohol's the devil. I'm never celebrating a birthday ever again.

………………………..

I glance at my watch as I meander down the steps toward the kitchen. It's going to be tight. Really tight. I'll have to rush to get the boys to school if I want to make it on time.

I didn't even hear Seth come in last night. Kirsten normally waits up but she was out so early this morning that I didn't get a chance to ask what time they got in. Even though it was a school night, their curfew was extended a couple of hours because it was Seth's birthday. I suppose we'll have to do the same for Ryan's birthday if it falls on a weeknight, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

The second I turn the corner and enter the kitchen, I stop with a jolt. The boys are both slumped on the stools, their faces plastered to the counter, their hair mussed and standing up at awkward angles. I look behind me and around, then step closer to the two boys as I try to determine whether or not they're asleep.

Neither of them appears to be moving and I'm suddenly concerned.

"Guys?"

Two simultaneous groans emerge from the slumped forms. I know they were out later than usual, but this is a little bit over the top. What the hell's the matter with them? They're young; they should be able to handle it.

"So what did you guys do last night?"

Ryan turns his head and opens his eyes a crack, only to squeeze them shut shortly after.

"Went out," he replies breathlessly.

Is he…? No…maybe….

"Care to elaborate?"

He shakes his head 'no' and closes his eyes again.

"Seth?"

"Please Dad, no more questions," my son replies into the counter, his voice shaky.

I can't believe this. I can't believe they're hungover. Have I taught them nothing? I mean, I know kids are going to drink, but to drink so much that they can barely hold their heads up and…speak? That's just ridiculous.

I wasn't the perfect kid, but I always learned from my mistakes. My mother took such pleasure in teaching me a lesson. It's time to teach these two drunken idiots a lesson.

I walk up behind them and situate myself between the two boys. I place a hand on each of their backs and pat them both firmly.

Seth gasps and I can't help but worry that he's going to vomit on the counter…or worse, me.

"Well, I'm glad that you boys had such a good time last night, but unfortunately, I'm not going to be able to drive you to school this morning. You know, early meetings and whatnot. So, you guys can walk, or ride your bikes…or skateboards…whatever. But you better hurry or you're going to be late."

I don't bother suppressing the huge grin that's occupying my face as they both turn and give me incredulous looks through their sleepy eyes and green skin.

Ryan eventually nods and Seth just looks…sick. I better get out of here before things get messy.

"Hurry up, boys. You're not getting out of school today."

I slip my hand through the handle of my briefcase, pull it off the counter and stride out of the kitchen without giving them a second look.

Damn, I'm good. That'll teach 'em.

…………………………..

"Dude…."

I don't wait for Seth to finish his sentence. I don't actually think there is an end to his sentence. Behind me I can hear him heaving. I just keep walking at the snail's pace we've been maintaining since we started our journey. If I actually process what's going on back there, I'm sure I'd have to join him.

Finally, when I realize that Seth's probably a good distance behind me, I stop, shove my freezing hands into the fleecy pockets of my sweater and wait. I know I should be hot, but I can't stop shivering. Fucking alcohol….

"Dude, I don't think I'm going to make it…."

I slowly turn around so as not to jolt or jar anything with sudden movement. Seth's sitting on the curb, his head between his knees.

"Well you can't just sit there," I respond slowly and quietly, motioning toward the row of bushes behind him. "I think you've done enough damage to Mrs. Hunter's rose bushes." I try to ignore the fact that my voice is shaky.

"Crazy old nag deserves it…."

If either of us were capable of smiling right now, we would. Instead, I attempt to swallow my own nausea and Seth nods in defeat, slowly rising to his feet and squinting against the bright morning sun.

"Good call on the sunglasses," he mutters as he catches up to me and we proceed on our way.

"Hm." He's not getting them if that's what he's implying. They're the only thing keeping my head from exploding right this very moment.

"We should have called a cab," he groans.

"He'd know…."

From the corner of my eye I can see Seth nod before swiping at the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. Sandy was pissed. I don't want to give him another reason to yell at us tonight. I can already imagine the lecture we're going to get as it is.

We walk for a good ten minutes in near silence, save for the occasional moan or sigh. The past couple blocks have left me increasingly dizzy and finally, when we reach what I normally consider the halfway point to school, I know I have to stop.

"Seth?" I expect my voice to come out much louder than it does and I'm suddenly fearing that I'll have to make the effort to communicate again. Much to my relief, he appears to have heard my first, feeble attempt.

"Yeah?"

"Can we take a break?"

He turns to look at me, as I am now trailing him by a couple steps. His eyes look a little clearer and I'm suddenly jealous that he appears to be recovering quicker than myself. I suppose he deserves to…after all, it was his birthday party.

We stand motionless in the middle of the street for several seconds before he gingerly lowers himself onto the curb. I do the same and stare at my feet until deciding my shoes are too bright and I close my eyes.

My mouth feels like cotton…we should have brought water. I shouldn't expect Seth to think of these things. He's probably only been hungover once or twice.

As if he could read my mind, Seth mumbles, "I'm thirsty."

"You don't say…." I don't know why his comment pisses me off, but I mean, c'mon, what does he expect me to do about it?

"Dude, don't…" he complains, his voice hoarse.

"Don't what?" I ask through my hands, which are supporting my dead-weight head.

"Don't mock me. Not today. Not when I've thrown up more than a geriatric cocker spaniel. Not when everything's spinning before my eyes. Not when my head's going to…explode and break into tiny little pieces any second now…."

Despite my protesting stomach, I can't stop the small laugh that results from his childish whining.

"Duuuuude," he moans, and punches my arm lightly.

I would hit him back, but it's just not in the cards today. I let my upper body fall back into the soft grass of some Newpsie's manicured lawn and stuff my hands back into my sweater pockets. I hear Seth do the same to my right.

A few seconds later, I hear a rustling from beside me, and open one eye to see Seth propped up on one elbow.

"What did you say earlier about being naked?" he asks, a smile playing on his lips.

"Yeah…I was."

"Naked?"

I nod and close my eyes behind the protective barrier of my sunglasses.

He lowers himself back down onto the grass. "I mean, I remember you had to take off your pants because Summer dropped her marg in your lap…but…I thought you dried them or something."

Yeah…that rings a bell, but that's not what I'm talking about. I don't have the energy to tell him so. He's rambling now and even though my head is pounding relentlessly, listening to him recall certain events is somewhat relaxing.

"Why was I wearing a mixing bowl on my head?" he asks suddenly.

I instantly picture Seth walking around with a steel bowl on his head and a wooden spoon in his hand, chanting something I couldn't comprehend at the time…. That's not surprising, though.

"I think you said something about communicating with the Clingons…."

"That's just…yeah. God, I hope Summer was too drunk to remember that."

My stomach rumbles, washing the smile off my face. "Fuck…what did we drink?"

"If I remember correctly…and don't put too much stock into this, Ryan…I think we started with beer, then did a few rounds of shots with, of all people, the water polo team…then finished off all the margs because Summer convinced us they would go bad otherwise…."

Yeah, that sounds about right…but something's missing.

"Didn't we funnel?" I whisper.

It all comes rushing back in a hurry. Double funnels running down either side of the giant staircase in Summer's mansion. Seth on one side, myself on the other. Lots and lots of beer…at least, I think it was beer.

We both groan at the same time. Seth must be having the same realization.

"Dude, what were we think --" A corn horn causes us both to jump, our upper bodies springing upright.

My initial thoughts are, 'Sandy's going to kill us" but the bright red car relieves those fears.

Behind the wheel, Summer pushes her sunglasses up on top of her head and leans over to her right, stretching to open the passenger side door.

"Get in, you drunken fools," she demands with a laugh.

Seth and I both stumble to our feet. I steady myself for a second, standing still, trying to put my raging stomach at ease.

"Ryan?" Seth says my name, pulling me from my trance.

"Chino, you look green…."

"I'm fine," I whisper, drawing in a shaky breath. "Just stood up too fast."

"Whatever. Just know that there will be no puking in my car. That rule applies to you too, Cohen."

"Yes, master," he murmurs.

As I climb into the back of the convertible, Summer runs a hand through Seth's disheveled hair.

"Nice hair, Cohen," she says with a smile.

A soft groan is the only response I can hear.

"Wow, you know Cohen's hungover when he lets you touch his hair," she teases, looking to me for some sort of reaction.

I nod and close my eyes again.

The car starts to inch forward and the wind eases my headache to some degree.

"Good to see you've got clean pants on, Chino. Or any pants, for that matter."

My eyes shoot open. That got my attention. I can even see Seth's head turning at his girlfriend's comment.

"What?" I croak, clearing my throat and trying again. "When did…why was I naked?"

She laughs, and in the rearview mirror, I can see her cheeks blushing.

"Well, it's a little fuzzy --"

"What?" Seth nearly shouts.

"My memory, Cohen. Clean it up a there, pal. Anyway," she continues, making sporadic eye contact with me through the mirror, "I walked you guys home and… Ryan was complaining that his pants were stiff --"

"What?" Seth exclaims again.

"God, Cohen, I'm too hungover for this. Take it down a few notches; let me explain. Anyway," she starts again, glaring at Seth, "I think I spilled something on Ryan's pants and he was complaining that they were gross and stiff…so I told him that if he kept complaining, I would strip him down like I did to you when I put you to bed. My guess is he kept complaining because I remember folding his pants and placing them in a pile on the floor…."

That makes sense. I'm not saying it's right, but at least that explains why my pants were off.

"You've got to be kidding me?" Seth asks, slack jawed.

"You only took off my pants?" I ask Summer when we come to a red light.

"Dude…" Seth whines, placing his head in his hands. "This is so wrong…."

"As far as I can remember…" she replies casually. "Grow up, Cohen. It's not like I slept with him."

"No, but hearing you say that makes me feel so much better," he throws back at her sarcastically. "You know what is weird, though?" he asks, shielding his eyes from the sun with a hand as he turns to face me for a second. "I woke up wearing one of your wife-beaters…."

The only sound to be heard comes from the traffic surrounding us.

Seth's words trigger something in my mind, and fragments of memories start rushing back.

Seth stumbling into the poolhouse after Summer had left…. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was nude. But I think it was too dark to tell for sure. I was in bed. He was complaining he was cold. I told him to put a shirt on. He said he couldn't find one. Asked for my shirt…I pulled it off and gave it to him…I think. Told him I was hot. He reiterated he was cold. He told me to get naked and I, too, would be cold. My boxers whipped out from under the covers…flying through the air…landing on the lampshade. Laughter. Crash. Seth ran into the glass door behind him. More laughter. Opens the door. Leaves.

Shit.

I blink and come into focus on Seth's slack-jawed expression, his eyes are distant for a second before he blinks, too. We lock eyes.

I can feel the heat radiating off my cheeks. His face turns a dark shade of red.

"What?" Summer asks. I suddenly realize we're parked in the student parking lot at Harbor. She's standing outside the car, her eyes darting between Seth and me.

His eyes widen and he opens his mouth to say something. I set my jaw and shake my head 'no', as firmly as possible without causing fireworks to go off in my head. He looks stunned for a second, but eventually nods in agreement.

"What?" Summer asks again, this time demanding an answer.

"Nothing," Seth says, turning around and reaching for the door handle.

"Yeah…nothing," I add.

Summer's brow is furrowed and I am forced to turn away from her glare as I climb out of the car after Seth.

"Whatever," she says with a shrug. "Something tells me I don't want to know." She holds up her hands and cuts between Seth and I, pushing us both forward toward the stairs.

I catch Seth's eye for a split second and I am suddenly overwhelmed by nausea. His greenish complexion would tell me he's feeling the same way.

I realize we're not moving.

"You guys okay?" Summer asks, placing a hand on Seth's back.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"Shit," Seth groans, voicing my thoughts exactly.

I don't want to think about what happened last night. I don't want to analyze why Summer took my pants off, or why Seth was wearing my wife-beater, or why I was apparently putting on some sort of strip show. Right now, none of that matters. I just want to make it to the bathroom in time.

Simultaneously, Seth and I bolt up the stairs and into the school. We should never have done that funnel. This is the most hellacious hangover ever.