Written for the OC season 2 missing scene challenge. This scene belongs to episode 217 - The Brothers Grim. Set immediately after the end of the episode.

No pairing: and no smut.
Rating: Pg-13 ish for language
Disclaimer: I own nothing, it's all Josh and Fox and the WB's business, I'm just borrowing them for the ride...

Thanks to my beta Bonnie for giving this the onceover.

Love you like a brother, brother

Prelude:

It's like his little brother has become two completely different people, Trey thinks. He spends a lot of time thinking, lying on his back on the bed – he can't get enough of the huge soft bed, after 18 months sleeping on a thin Styrofoam mat on a hard metal bunk – trying not to pay attention to the fact that he's in a giant fishbowl.

To tell the truth, Trey is a little freaked out by all the space around him. He's used to being confined to a tightly circumscribed space, where his every move is controlled. And now, now he's here in a glass-walled room, which is now his bedroom, in this crazy-ass place where even the swimming pool has a house of its own, and he's trying to make sense of whatever happened to Ry.

It used to be that Ryan was Trey's little brother, period. Quiet, smart, and a self-righteous pain in the fucking ass, but Trey knew how to deal with him, and for better or worse they were family. It was the two of them against Dawn and her drunken fits, against AJ and all the other asshole boyfriends who treated them like trash, against the world.

Now – it's not the same.

Sometimes, all that Trey sees when he looks at Ryan is money. Just big fat fucking dollar signs coming out of his ass – rich boy haircut, rich boy clothes, expensive jeans, nice car, fucking model girlfriend with her high-maintenance, high fashion lifestyle – or not even girlfriend, whatever, because there's some majorly fucked-up thing going on there.

And then sometimes it's just his kid brother, tentative and wary, who's looking at him through Dawn's eyes, trying to figure out where they go from here, where they stand, what being brothers means now that they're not even part of the same family anymore.

Trey doesn't know what to think.

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When Ryan and Marissa turn up at the bar, Trey is genuinely surprised. He'd have thought Ryan would be happy to be rid of him after that stupid scene with the watch. Trey's still pissed of course, and stomps off to smoke outside, not quite sure how to react to all this, but when things turn ugly – well, he reverts back to type and rushes in to save the day. There's no way he'll let some random fuckers whale on his baby brother. Not then, not now.

Somehow, the shared complicity of the fight dispels a lot of the bad blood between them, and by the time they reach the Cohens' house, there's something of the old Trey and Ryan there.

The Cohens never cease to amaze Trey – they're so laid back about this whole gig. It's hard enough to believe they took Ryan on just like that, but he's yet to wrap his head around why they accepted a convicted felon straight out of jail into their home. And Trey knows he's not the stray puppy Ryan was last year – never has been.

When they walk into the Cohen's living room, he's amazed at how easy his return is. He doesn't know how much Ryan told them before driving down to Chino, but it's like nothing ever happened, like everything's all right. And then they're all sitting around the low table, munching on some delicious fancy canapés, and Trey speaks from the heart when he says it seems pretty great.

Family dinners were never like this back home. Not even when Dad was still with them and Dawn was sober.

Later, he's stretched out on his bed in the pool house, and Marissa's left but Ryan's still hanging there, still riding the brotherly vibe, and Trey feels unaccountably happy.

"It's for real, isn't it, Ry?" he says, staring at the ceiling.

"Huh?"

"The family shit. They really treat you like that – it's not an act."

Ryan shrugs. "What did you think? That my lawyer was using me as a house slave? That you'd find me cleaning the pool and scrubbing floors?"

Trey snickers. "Yeah, or on your knees giving him blowjobs, man." He looks up and catches Ryan's grimace.

"Prison warped you, man. Not everyone wants to make you their bitch."

"Sure, like you know what you're talking about." He doesn't mean to sound bitter – it's not like he was given such a hard time in jail, apart from getting beaten up by Gattas's boys, and that pretty much trailed off after Ryan delivered the car. And somewhere he figures that if Gattas hadn't picked on him, maybe some worse bastard would have. And he was lucky, in the end – he found some friends inside to have his back. Literally.

He catches Ryan's look then, and there's a hint of panic in it, a silent question that he knows his brother won't ask but that might as well be written on his forehead in bright neon letters.

Trey shakes his head. "No, man. No. Not me. But I saw guys who... it's not a pretty sight."

Ryan closes his eyes, just for a second, and exhales.

When he looks back at Trey there's a faint smile playing on his lips. "Shame, man. There go all my bitch jokes."

"Oh yeah. Like you would fucking dare. After I had to save your ass back there?"

"Hey! There were, like, three of them and one of me! What do you expect?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…You've just grown soft in this place, Ry," Trey scoffs, and he ducks a pillow aimed at his head.

"Sure – and jail made you harder, right?"

Trey shrugs. There's some truth in this, and Ryan knows it as well as he does. There's silence, for a while, and Trey ponders whether or not to go outside and light a cigarette, even though he knows the Cohens don't approve, and Ryan might get pissy.

"What was…" Ryan sighs, stops, starts again. "What was it like, man?"

What was it like? It's funny, but in some respects Trey feels his memories of jail are starting to slip away already. It's only been a couple of days, but his brain has been busy scrubbing away all the little details that make it real – the smell of the place, sweat and greasy food and pungent disinfectant; the clanking metal sounds that punctuate daily life; the rough feel of the sheets and scratchy blanket on his bare skin at night.

He can remember how he felt, though.

"Humiliating," he says. "And boring, and scary as fuck. But you know that already – you spent a couple nights in lock-up, right?"

Ryan doesn't reply at first, and Trey wonders whether his brother's reminiscing about his experience in juvie, or just processing his answer.

"Yeah, I remember," he says finally, his voice rough. "And I was just in with other kids."

"I wish," Trey says with a smirk, because that would have been easier than dealing with real hard sons of bitches serving ten to fifteen, any day. But he's out, now, and he doesn't want to go over it too closely, or pick at it like a fresh scab. It's too soon, too raw, and it doesn't feel yet like he's left it behind for good. Not safe.

So he changes tack, throws Ryan a curve ball.

"Seen Mom lately?"

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Ryan blinks. Fuck. He's been wanting to ask Trey about her ever since he came to pick him up at the prison, and he just hasn't been able to broach the subject. Each time he steels himself to mention her name, he backs down at the last minute.

No escape this time.

He shakes his head. "No." He wants to ask, 'And you?' but there's a lump in his throat.

"Me either."

There's a pause, and then Ryan forces himself to break the silence.

"Last I heard of her was the Christmas before last. She sent me a present." A cheap acrylic sweater, a size too small. He's never worn it but it's still folded in one of his drawers, under a pile of T-shirts. "You?"

"My birthday last year. I got a card from Reno, with a twenty in it. I bet you she's still there, wasted, in some fucking downbeat motel."

Reno. Makes sense, Ryan thinks. Without AJ to keep her tied to Chino, and without him or Trey to cramp her style, Dawn would make tracks. And she always loved the gambling tables. He can feel his gut twisting at the thought of her alone, drunk, with some fucked-up guy she picked up at a casino smacking her around. He must be looking queasy, because Trey's voice is unexpectedly gentle.

"Don't sweat it, little brother. Mom's gone, and she isn't your responsibility any more. Chill."

"I know," Ryan sighs. But it doesn't make any difference to the pit of his stomach.

"You look like you need a drink, man," Trey says, pushing himself off the bed. He crosses over to the kitchen area, opens the fridge and pulls out a couple of beers. Ryan bites back a smile – Trey's just out of jail, still shy of legal drinking age, and he's keeping beer in the Cohens' kitchen. The motherfucker's incorrigible.

Trey pops the two caps and hands a bottle over to Ryan before sitting on the bed cross-legged and giving him a considered stare.

"Tell, me, bro, was tonight the first time you went back to Chino since that Thanksgiving? 'Cause I'm getting the feeling that you haven't kept in touch with the old neighborhood so much."

What is it with his brother and the third degree? First Mom, now this. It's not like Ryan wants to hide anything from him, but he knows that Trey is going to give him seven kinds of shit for last summer. On the other hand, if he finds out through the grapevine, and Ryan hasn't said anything, Trey might very well kill him. Or something.

"I spent some time there over the summer."

"Huh. Why? The Cohens get bored of you?"

"No. It was my decision. They tried to stop me."

"Stop you? Stop you from what – from going to Chino?"

Ryan grits his teeth. It's not getting any easier. "Stop me from moving in with Theresa, dropping out of school and going to work construction."

Now Trey is looking completely baffled. "The fuck?"

"Actually, that was pretty much the reason," Ryan says dryly.

There's a beat, and then Trey snorts.

"You're shitting me."

Ryan shakes his head.

"You knocked her up?"

Ryan shrugs, avoiding his brother's eyes.

"And 'Turo didn't kill you?"

"I guess he would've if he hadn't been locked up."

For the second time, Trey's jaw drops. "What the hell has been happening? I'm off eighteen months, my baby brother starts a family, my mom blows off, my best friend gets jailed and no-one tells me anything?"

"Didn't you know about 'Turo?"

"Man, I didn't see anyone while I was inside. He used to call me at first, and him and Eddie came around a couple of times, but it was… you know, weird. Eddie stopped coming first, and then – well, I guess I know now why I didn't hear from Arturo, either."

It's said in a very matter-of-fact tone, but Ryan feels a pang of guilt. A couple of phone calls over 18 months is pretty shitty, no matter what happened last time they saw each other. He wonders, suddenly, how their dad is doing up in San Quentin, and whether he'll ever hear from him again.

"Anyhow, I didn't start a family – just spent the summer working in Chino, staying at Eva's house. And then Theresa lost the baby and sent me back here. She's moved to Atlanta now." He debates briefly whether to tell Trey that the kid might not have been his, could've been, should've been Eddie's, but there's no point. Trey would just mock him for being such an ass. And it's not like it makes a difference now.

Besides, Trey doesn't need the extra ammo.

"Theresa, huh? She was always a nice piece of ass." And there's a suggestive tone in Trey's voice that makes Ryan's hackles rise. "So is your girlfriend, though. What happened?"

Shut up. Ryan shrugs, avoiding Trey's eyes.

But Trey is nothing if not relentless. "Marissa wasn't enough to keep you away from the barrio? Or did Miss Newport Princess keep her legs crossed and force you to get laid elsewhere?"

This is exactly why Ryan didn't want to tell Trey about the whole episode. Not only is his brother crude and irritating, he's also a goddamn sight too close to the truth for Ryan's comfort.

"Shut the fuck up, Trey."

"Oh, come on, Ry – don't tell me she didn't even put out."

"Trey…" Ryan's voice drops low, but the menacing tone is entirely lost on his brother.

"Jesus, man. You let her keep your balls in her designer purse? Hell, I knew you were pussy-whipped, but this…"

"For fuck's sake, Trey, will you back off? She's not my girlfriend now, she wasn't then, and this is none of your fucking business. Don't make me regret telling you this."

"Or what?" Trey says, amused, but at the murderous glint in Ryan's eye, he raises his hands in defeat. "Okay, okay, fucking touchy subject little bro. I hope for your sake you're getting some elsewhere."

It's the parting shot that kills Ryan. Trey always knows how to get his goat.

Despite the irritation, it feels good to know that Trey's in the pool house as Ryan walks out and shuts the door behind him. It's a little bit of home, right here, and for all that Ryan's tried to leave Chino behind him, it makes a nice change to have someone around who knows what his life was like without having to ask him about it in hushed tones. That was what made last summer bearable with Theresa.

Sometimes, all that Ryan sees when he looks at Trey is the jerk who landed him in juvie, the stupid ex-con who's willing to stake it all on a random car theft, the asshole who never thinks about consequences because there's always been someone else to pick up the pieces, the guy who bullied him throughout his childhood and made him do his dirty work.

And then sometimes it's the brother who used to look after him when Mom got too drunk, or her boyfriend of the moment too violent; the one who gave Ryan his first cigarette, taught him how to roll a joint, and fed him cheesy lines to pick up girls; and who wouldn't let Ryan get his ass kicked in a bar. No matter what.

Trey may be a son of a bitch – but at least he's his son of a bitch.