Usual disclaimers apply. Season one. AU or not AU, that's the question – I haven't really decided yet. Let me know what you think.

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Cold Comfort
by vivere

I died that night.

At least that's what they tell me when I wake up for the first time. But I'm so tired, I can't even make out the faces in front of me. Just shapes drifting like clouds in and out of my field of vision. As my eyes begin to close on their own, I feel a hand latch on to mine. A female voice accompanies the warmth that seeps into my bones. Her relieved whisper reaches my ears before I drift off completely, "You're back."

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Things are still lacking definition when I wake up the next time. The shapes have been replaced by unfamiliar faces that like to ask questions which I'm in no position to answer. I try hard to concentrate, but find that I just can't. Words escape my grasp and thoughts play hide and seek.

Without warning, a stab of pain slices through my skull and my world turns black, yet again.

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When I reach consciousness the third time, a splitting headache along with my mom's sober face awaits me. She's holding my hand and smiles teary-eyed at me. I gaze at her, confused. What was she doing here, or more importantly, where were the Cohens? As I try to ask exactly that, my throat refuses to co-operate and only a croak makes it past my lips. My mom seems to notice my dilemma and gives me some ice-chips. "Here you go," she says softly with a trembling voice.

I can't shake the feeling that something's "off" and take a good look at her. One thing I instantly recognize is that she appears different – frail somehow. And my mom may be a lot of things, but frail isn't one of them.

Frail and, perhaps, already broken.

Like a doll that's been handled too roughly for too long; left behind, sitting rejected in a corner where the world has ceased to exist.

She always reminded me of empty promises.

A doll of empty promises...

She squeezes my hand and pulls me out of my reverie. The ice-chips have given way to temporary relief as I clear my throat and manage to croak out, "What happened?" My eyes water at the unexpected pain that goes with just pushing those two words out of my mouth.

She looks startled for a moment, as if she can't quite believe that I don't know. A second later her eyes are starting to fill with tears and she asks me with a cracking voice, "Don't you remember?"

I try.

And try again.

Still, my mind draws up a blank. I look at her for help. Her tears are falling freely now, burning my skin like acid for a sin not remembered.

"Mom? What happened?" I ask tentatively.

She stares straight into my eyes and tells me in a quivering voice, "You and Trey had just stolen a car when the cops caught wind of it... Trey was the one driving... he was the one who crashed the car... and he was the one who died..." A sob catches in her throat and she shakes uncontrollably. Since she is still holding my hand like a life-line, my arm trembles in synch.

I feel numb.

Trey is dead.

Trey is dead.

Trey is dead?

But...

... that couldn't be... he survived the accident... that's why he was in jail...

... and I landed with the Cohens...

OK. Keep thinking straight.

What about the Cohens? Think!

I close my eyes, my mom's sobs are wracking both her body and mine. This as well as my headache isn't helping any. I sigh and gently try to distangle myself from her but she's shaking even harder and I resign myself to be her anchor, if only for the moment.

After a few minutes of violent crying she calms down a bit and brings herself to look at me. I try to hold her gaze, but I can already feel the strong pull of sleep and I can't help but succumb to it...

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Someone is caressing my hair. I let a relieved smile slip on my face.

Kirsten.

Without opening my eyes, I sigh, "Hey, Kirsten."

"Who is Kirsten, honey?" My eyes spring open and my head whips around so fast that my world keeps spinning for a moment longer before I fix my gaze on my mom.

My reaction seems to surprise her, because she knits her brows together in confusion. She reaches for my hand and cautiously repeats her question. "Who is Kirsten, Ryan? Is she a girlfriend?"

Kirsten. My girlfriend. I can't even wrap my mind around that one.

I slowly shake my head and tell her quietly albeit incredulously, "Mom, you know Kirsten. Kirsten Cohen? You've met her; she even invited you to a party..."

She's frowning now and looking at me with worried eyes, "Maybe I should call a doctor." As she starts to reach for the call-button, I intercept her. I lay my hand over hers and tell her again, "Mom? The Cohens... they took me in after the crash... don't you remember? AJ threw me out... and Trey... Trey, he's alive, in jail, but alive..."

Now I'm the one clinging to her for dear life.

But her frown only deepens. I have to make her understand somehow. But talking isn't my strong suit, never was.

I could use some of Seth's verbal communication skills right about now... That thought brings me to a stop.

Seth.

Sandy.

Kirsten.

My hands start to shake as I frantically scan my surroundings. Since there is no other available target around, I glare at my mom. "Mom, where are they? Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?"

As my irritation increases, my body develops a life of its own. I can't keep my breathing under control. My head's spinning and the world shifts out of focus.

I'm not aware when my mom calls for help nor do I feel the prick of the needle as a nurse injects me with a sedative.

My weight settles into the mattress easily enough but I'm afraid that I will drown as my leaden body sinks further and further into this heaven of supposed comfort. Panic begins to rise in my chest, grows and explodes, crushing my lungs. And suddenly, I can't breathe, can't quench my body's thirst for air.

The door bursts open and a white lab coat appears in my field of vision. Two strong hands turn my head, shake me a bit. Mr. White Coat mutters something I can't decipher. When he realizes that I don't understand, he shakes me harder and yells my name. Although my body screams in protest, I focus my attention on the flow of his words.

...n. Out. In. Out. In. Out...

OK. That I can do. I've always been good at following instructions.

And like a miracle, my heart ends its mad race against itself and a familiar feeling of cold washes over me, wraps me like a blanket. The meds are doing their job as my eyes finally slide shut to welcome me to the land of oblivion.

Reality ceases to exist.

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Dreams aren't supposed to hurt. Yet, they do. Because, in dreams, realities collide, merge and fall apart.

And I can see them, feel their existence next to mine.

Seth cracking me up. Sandy making me strong. Kirsten giving me comfort.

They laugh.

I cry.

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Where are you?

Tbc...