Disclaimer: I of course don't own the OC, but fictional Fresno and all the punk ass kids are all mine :)

Please R/R

The moment, I let go of Ryan's neck, and felt the pain searing through me, I knew it was over. Ryan opened his eyes, looked at me. The same look I had seen a long time ago.

After the first night, they came to separate us. I went to the group home for older punk ass kids, who had all fallen in the cracks anyway. While Ryan was shipped away, to some home for younger punk ass kids, who had one foot on each side of the widening fault line, and were about to be sucked in. I knew as they dropped him off. That he was be eaten alive there. He took one back look, as he rounded the stairs, back at me, he looked scared to death. He was too young, too naïve, too smart for his own good. If I wasn't there to look out for that kid, who would?

I suppose they looked at the neighbour hood we came from, the condition of our house, the fact that our Dad was in prison, our Mom out on a bender, that I kept swearing at them, and that Ryan was silent and gave them his best scowling look. That they assumed we were some sort of troubled children. Who needed to be locked away in the group homes for the lifers. If I was alone, I would have ran. I was 14 I could handle myself, but I couldn't leave that kid. He was my little brother, and at this point, even though we were on opposite sides of town, we were all we had. And I had to stick around for him.

The place I was dropped off was in a rundown house, with locks on every door, and three rooms with bunk beds. And greasy Latino kids on the porch, glaring at me as I passed them. The man who ran it, looked a bit more like a warden at an institution, that a man running a foster home. But my first night, one my way back from the bathroom, I realized, this was an institution and I was locked in. Two guys jumped me from behind, and had enough time to whack my head against the wall, and lay a few well placed punches before the warden arrived. This was no big deal, hell I was used it. My Dad had a temper to be reckoned with. But I wasn't gonna be branded as some little bitch I would have to handle these guys. Because they just saw me, as some scrawny white kid, they all jeered at each other in Spanish, as the warden ripped the two guys off me. But I would have my revenge. And I did.

I caught up to the one, on the way to school, my first day at a new school, in an area worse than my neighbourhood, where I would be the outsider. I had to be make it shown that I was not a kid to be pushed around. I came up behind him, knocked him over, and smashed his face in the sidewalk, and pounded him. The way, I learned, over so many nights when my Dad would use his fists.

"Don't fucking mess with me bitch." I told him, giving him a kick in the ribs, leaving him bleeding on the sidewalk. Me walking away, with only bruised knuckles. I wondered about Ryan how he was doing, what he was doing, hoping for him. But I knew there wasn't much of that for him, us Atwood's never believed in hope anyway.

I stood in front of the school, and thought to myself, if I was branded some delinquent kid, I might as well act like it. I passed it, and kept going.

Our house was locked as I expected, but the window, for mine and Ryan's room was open, I crawled in, and stumbled into the living room. To find Ryan, sitting casually on the couch, smoking a cigarette, his face just as bad as mine. His right hand swollen.

"Hey little brother."

"Hey." He nodded.

I couldn't help but think of that Atwood luck. My Dad had gone to jail, he was locked up, maximum security, he was probably swinging to make a first impression. Yet somehow, Ryan and I had ended up locked up too.

And I knew I was right, if one night, one fight, had made him jaded. I feared what the rest of this stint would do to him.