First, as always, I want to thank for all of your wonderful reviews. Thank you so very much. Also a big big hug to Misty, my friend and editor. Themiserable day that Ryan have had is finally coming closer to the end. But for now, here comes another chapter. Hope you like it and take care, swenglish.

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to OC. This is purely fiction and not intended to hurt anyone.

Chapter 9

The walk to the main house felt like it was taking forever and stumbling once again Ryan felt Sandy tighten his grip of his shoulders and then whisper encouragingly, "That's it. Just a few more steps and then we're inside and you can rest. Take it easy…slow steps…that's it! Come on kid."

As if on autopilot Ryan walked, his head hanging low, as if it was too much of an effort to look up. Sandy had put a blanket over his shoulder and he shivered violently despite the hot feeling inside his veins. From past experience he recognized the sign as the fever rising. Just when he was sure that he wouldn't manage one more step Sandy opened the glass doors and he was inside the house. With wobbling legs he did his best to walk up the stairs while Sandy followed him closely, almost guarding him.

Suddenly Ryan swayed dangerously and he grabbed the banister with a shaky hand.

"You think you're going to make?" his foster dad asked and before he had a chance to react Sandy was there with his steady hand, holding him up.

Ryan nodded in slow motion. Both of them knew that it was a lie; still they continued to play the game. The game where Ryan said he was fine and Sandy acted like he believed him when in reality he was there with a helping hand. Why they did this Ryan had no idea but it made him feel good. Made him feel safe.

The water that Sandy had forced him to drink sloshed around in his stomach. His lungs hurt, his head felt like it would explode and the nausea that had been his companion all day was still there, lurking ready to attack. It would've been so easy to tell his foster dad that he was feeling absolutely rotten but that would mean he had to show weakness and that was one thing Ryan wasn't used to doing. It was enough that he'd lost control when the illness had gotten the best of him.

His legs felt so heavy and even though he knew that he was almost at his destination it was like his whole body refused to cooperate. Another dizzy spell swept over him and if Sandy hadn't been there, behind him catching him, he would've tumbled down the stairs, probably breaking his neck in the process.

"Whoa there kid, you all right?" Sandy asked as he supported Ryan's weak frame. This time it was too much of an effort to lie so instead he settled for a weak, "I got a little woozy, that's all." Bending over he coughed.

"We better get you to bed, here put your arm around my waist," Sandy decided as he more or less helped Ryan to take the last steps before they were by the guestroom. Too weak to object Ryan did as he was told, his eyes closed against the lightning in the hallway. The door pushed open only to reveal Kirsten and Seth in the full process of making the bed.

"Ryan, hold on I'll help you." Kirsten called out and then hurried over to help Sandy guide him over to the bed. It felt so good the way the smooth cool silk sheets touched his warm body and when his head connected with the pillow he was certain he was in heaven. Everything sounded so fuzzy around him and it was almost impossible to hold his eyes open even if they stung from pain.

Kirsten and Sandy were talking in the background but he felt too woozy to make out what they were saying. The word fever and doctor came to its mind but that was about all Ryan could follow before his body decided to take charge of him once again and his stomach heaved violently.

'Oh God please not now,' was Ryan's only thought as he did his best to scramble out from bed. He had to make it for the bathroom because there was no way he would allow a repeat performance of the accident back in the pool house. That would've been too embarrassing and disgusting if he'd decided to upchuck on the satin sheets too.

His legs were shaking all the time, he was doing his best to get out of the bed and even though he could hear both Sandy and Kirsten call out for him he was set to make it. With a hand covering his mouth he reached out like a blind man for the wall to support him when he felt strong hands more or less lift him up and then help him inside the bathroom. Ryan did his best to hold on and when he felt the cool tiled floor underneath him and Sandy's comforting voice, "It's okay kid, you can let go now," his stomach didn't spare any time and it revolted violently into the bowl.

It felt like all the energy had been sucked out of him, leaving him totally drained. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this sick and the way Sandy's face swam in and out of focus, he had to hold a tight grip around the toilet bowl or he was certain he'd fall down.

Weird thoughts kept popping up and for a moment Ryan thought he was going crazy and he was headed for the loony bin, just like his grand mother had done. It was the Atwood curse. The three A:s ; alcohol, abuse and asylum. There was a vague remembrance of his grand mother going all wacko and how an ambulance had taken her away. He didn't know when it had happened but he guessed that he had been rather young since his mom didn't look like a drunk back then. Shaking his head Ryan did his best to come to his senses again. This fever was really doing a number on his brain, making it hard; almost impossible to think straight.

His stomach heaved once again and this time Ryan couldn't help but let out a small whimper. It hurt so much and the dry heaves made it almost impossible to breath. Hands rubbed at his back and the voices kept whispering encouraging, soothing words like they had done all afternoon.

"Try to relax kid."

It was easier said than done and Ryan shook so bad from the cold sweats that dwelled over him every time another bout hit him. A cold towel was pressed against his neck sending shivers down his spine. Sandy stayed by his side, all the time rubbing his back and for once he actually felt grateful that his step dad was as persistent as he was. The door opened up and the high heels clicking against the tiles made him aware that Kirsten had entered the bathroom.

This made Ryan feel a bit uncomfortable. The last time Kirsten had been there for him he'd made a mess on the bed and he felt bad for her having to take care of his accidents. It wasn't as bad if Sandy did it. Why he had no idea.

"How is he doing?" There was concern in Kirsten voice and Ryan could hear Sandy answering something back. He didn't hear the words since at that moment his stomach decided to make another futile attempt to try to jump out of his mouth and he reached over the bowl once again gagging violently.

"When is this ever going to stop?" Ryan let out with a desperate cry when he didn't think he could stand throwing up anything more. His stomach was empty and all that came up was bile. It hurt so bad that he wanted to roll up in a ball, but all he could do was to wait for the attack to be over and done with, doing his best to try to hang on.

"Ryan, take a deep breath, one - two, good. Do it again. Okay, it's okay, Ryan. One more deep breath. Good," Kirsten instructed as she sat down next to him. In the corner of his eye Ryan noticed that she and Sandy had swapped places and just when he was certain that this was it, now he was going to pass out, a soft cold hand pressed against his forehead. Providing the comfort he so desperately needed. Normally he would've been too embarrassed but this time it actually felt good to have a mothers touch.

Kirsten pulls out a handful of paper towels and runs them under the tap, then starts wiping his face down. "Better?" she asks, and he nods. His diaphragm still hurts, but he can breathe. He kind of wants to burst into tears but doesn't allow himself to do so.

Ryan had no idea how long he'd been sitting like that in the bathroom but suddenly he felt himself being lifted up. "What are you doing?" he asked in surprise as Sandy's face swam into vision.

"I'm helping you back to bed," his foster dad said firmly as a strong grip held his waist.

This answer made Ryan feel horrified. He had to make sure that his stomach wouldn't betray him again and it was best to stay in the bathroom just in case he would be in for another round. This meant that he couldn't be moved. "Why? But I'm not…what if I…I can't."

"Kid its okay" Sandy said calmly. "Stop fighting and let us take care of you, okay?"

Ryan wanted to protest. Wanted to say that he couldn't do it. Not yet. He felt so sick that all he could do was nod and when he was placed back in bed, soft cool sheets and Kirsten's gentle touch, he was actually grateful that the older man had taken charge of the situation. It felt good to finally relax and let the dreams come.

And what a dream!

It was dark and Ryan was lying on something that looked like a coffin. The walls closed in on him and he had hard time breathing. There was no air and it felt like he would suffocate. Suddenly the coffin moved and it was making him feel carsick. Next thing he knew there were people surrounding him, strange people that he didn't know, and the lid opened to the coffin so he could breathe.

Looking up he noticed that he was in a big, bright room; a church and people that he knew and cared about; Sandy, Kirsten, Seth, Lindsay, Marissa, Zack and several of his friends in Chino were all dressed in black and they were all crying. As more and more clues fell into place it suddenly dawned upon him.

This was a funeral.

His funeral.

Ryan tried to move to show them that he was not dead. That it was all one big mistake. His hands were strapped to the sides the coffin every attempt to get up was futile. It was like he was paralyzed. He tried to yell at them, trying to communicate but his voice wouldn't co-operate. Then the faces of his mother, father and Trey appeared above him. Once again he tried to tell them that this was a mistake. That he wasn't dead but his lips didn't want to move. Suddenly his mother held a torch in her hand and then it dawned upon him. As if things were not bad as it was he was going to get cremated.

Typical Atwood luck!

Once again he tried to make his voice heard, tried to make anyone see that he was alive. Inside his brain he yelled "Seth, Kirsten, Sandy listen I'm not dead!" But they couldn't hear him. His mother took the torch and then set the coffin on fire.

"NOOO, NOOO!"" He screamed thrashing back and forth, doing his best to get out off the coffin. But no one was hearing him and the flames caught up with him. It was sweltering hot and he knew that if he didn't get out off the coffin he would die. "Nooo, Nooo don't."

Then suddenly someone was calling his name, "Ryan, Ryan." The heat was catching up with him and suddenly he noticed that his clothes were on fire and his fleshed burned. But what was worst was that the smoke was starting to choke him, suffocating him and soon he felt like he couldn't breathe.

It was then Ryan woke up. Drenched in sweat and gasping for air.

"Ryan? Hey come on buddy, wake up." Seth shook his brother's shoulder in an attempt to wake him up. By the look of it a nightmare had him in a tight grip and Ryan was absolutely drenched in sweat. He was thrashing back and forth like something was burning him while he kept mumbling over and over again, "Nooo, Nooo don't."

This whole picture scared him and for a brief moment he wondered if he should go and get his mom or dad. He'd just stuck his head in to see how Ryan was doing, ask him if he would feel up to talking a little, since he was feeling too lonely and needed to discuss Summer with someone. But the scene that met him told him that Ryan was not up to anything of that sorts and after trying to wake his brother up for the past five minutes ( that was what it felt like), he was afraid that Ryan had actually caught a brain damage from the high fever.. Not that it was totally out of the question that he had one before, Ryan could be crazy enough at times, but still the condition his friend was in made him feel worried.

Then out of nowhere Ryan started to choke like someone was suffocating him. Seth shook his shoulder even harder in an attempt to wake him up and too his relief the choking stopped and Ryan's blue eyes squinted back at him. Bleary and confused he coughed violently.

"Seth?" The voice was barely audible when the attack was finally over.

"Yeah dude it's me." Seth grinned widely at him, not trying to show the mixture of relief and concern he felt. "I thought for sure that you were going to choke on me. What happened?"

Licking his lips Seth could see that Ryan was doing his best to remember and after a pause he said with a weak voice, "I don't know. It was this dream…" Another pause while Seth waiting patiently for his brother to continue. " I was in this coffin and it was my funeral and…"

"Your funeral?"

Not answering Ryan went on, "And then the coffin started to burn and…"

"Dude that's rather bizarre, even for you," Seth frowned. Seeing Ryan start to pant as if he was either going to get sick or something was really troubling him, he asked in a worried tone, "You all right? You want me to get mom or dad." To be on the safe side he moved over and grabbed the orange coloured basin on the bed table. "You need this?"

"No,…it's just...it's just that it was Mom that held the torch. She set me on fire."

"Your mom? Dawn?" Seth felt confused, and then everything fell into place. "Oh you mean in your dream?"

Ryan nodded.

"Pretty scary dream you had there buddy," he said before putting the basin down on the bed side table again. Noticing how sweaty his brother was he asked, "You thirsty or something? You want some water?"

Ryan shook his head.

"You sure? You should really drink something so you don't dehydrate. Dude, you know… I've never seen anyone purge as much as you did today." Seth grinned.

Ryan put on a weak smile, "Sorry."

"That's okay. Sure you don't want me to get some water then? I mean come on; you're practically burning up with fever. Seth asked, trying to show his concern. There was also this nagging feeling that told him he should tell Ryan about his little chat with Lindsay earlier on. But one look at his friend told him that would be the last thing he needed right now. His skin was as pale as a ghost, (if you didn't count the sweat running down his forehead and the unhealthy green tint on his cheeks) and he looked like he'd been hit by a truck.

"I'm fine." Ryan rolled to his side and then closed his eyes. Indicating that he wanted to be left alone.

"Okay, if you say so." Seth sighed. He knew that Ryan wasn't very talkative and to be honest he didn't blame him. He just wished that his brother didn't have to act like everything was fine and dandy when they all knew that it was so far away from the truth as anything could be.

The minute Seth had left the room Ryan's eyes snapped open. He knew it was a mean thing to do but he just felt like he had to be alone; he wasn't in any mood to talk. His head hurt so badly and every part of his body felt like he'd been run over by a truck. The dream disturbed him more than he would admit, mainly because it reminded him of his mom and family back in Chino.

Ever since that day when Dawn had walked out on him, last year after being drunk at the Casino party, he hadn't heard a word from her. His big brother Trey hadn't heard from her either and the word was that she was working at some sleazy diner in down town and that she was back with AJ. He didn't know if that was the truth, didn't care either even if there had been days when he was wondering what she might be up to.

Life with Dawn Atwood had never been easy.

Memories of her being drunk dwelled up inside him and he had to fight off the gag reflex only because thinking about it was so painful it made him feel sick. He remembered the times he used to come home from school, only to find her passed out drunk on the couch, an empty vodka bottle in her hand, almost like she was cradling a baby.

Ryan loved his mom, but he knew that he could never compete with one thing. The bottle. No matter how hard he tried to win her affection she would always choose the hard liquor before him or his older brother. And that hurt him.

If his mom had been invisible it was nothing compared to his dad. He hadn't heard from John Atwood since he had called him from juvie the day he met Sandy. When he'd called the prison to inform his dad of his whereabouts he'd been shouted at, straight in his face that he was a no good, useless bastard and that he would end up like Trey. In jail.

Sometimes Ryan wondered if his dad knew what kind of a life that he lived now and what he would think about it. There were days when he would've given anything to just talk to him and then there were days when he was so scared that his dad would turn up on the door step one day and drag him away from everything that meant the world to him.

The Cohen's. His family.

Feeling his eyes prick with tears Ryan did his best to wipe them away quickly, afraid anyone would see how miserable he felt, both physically and emotionally.

"You awake?" It was Sandy coming into his room.

"Mmm." Ryan stifled his crying and then looked up at his foster dad who had nothing but concern in his eyes. He knew that he'd seen what was going on with his emotional state yet the older man did nothing to let it show.

"All right." Sandy frowned as he felt Ryan's forehead. "You're very warm. Looks to me like your fevers gone up again. " The hand strokes away a sweaty strand of hair. "The Tylenol that you took earlier on should've had an effect by now." He was talking more to himself than to Ryan. "This is some nasty bug you've picked up. Your stomach still upset?"

Ryan nodded. That was all he could do today. Making conversation needed his brain to function properly and that was one thing it didn't do. Instead it felt like he was walking on clouds and the never ending buzzing sound in his head was making it impossible to think. To his relief Sandy seemed to know what was going on with him and with a then settled down in the armchair without making any further comments. Ryan had no idea how long he'd dozed off for but he was woken up by both Sandy and Kirsten hovering over him. Feeling his head with one hand he noticed that there was a soft cloth placed on his forehead. No doubt to lower the fever that seemed to rage inside him.

"No honey, leave that." Kirsten said softly, preventing him from taking it away.

He tried to object. The cloth felt warm and sticky even though he figured that it had been cold and wet a few minutes ago.

"Here take this." Sandy held up his head and then placed a water jug to his lips. Ryan shook his head. "No." The last thing he wanted, needed, right now was to have something inside his stomach since every jolt his body made had him searching for the basin by his side. The nausea was simply gruelling.

"Why not? You need to drink so you can conserve your strength." Sandy said as he made another attempt to make him to drink.

"I don't want any." His voice was as firm as he could muster. He noticed how the older man shook his head before placing the jug back on the table. Feeling too weak to hold his head or his eyes open Ryan sank back into the pillows again. Kirsten and Sandy were talking again and by the sound of it they were not pleased with Ryan's decision not to put anything inside his stomach.

Ryan on the other hand could care less. All he wanted was to try to sleep this misery day away, hoping that a new day. A better day would come soon.