Sandy's barely holding on. Meanwhile, Kirsten writes a letter to Ryan from rehab, before she learns of the shooting and surrounding drama. There are things she needs to explain. But a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed …

Disclaimer: I own nothing. No characters, no concept, nothing. Just borrowing, for a few pages, okay?

A/N: This is something of a segue, and rather short compared to most of my chapters. However, I'm traveling and the next section will take some time. Some things should not be rushed…

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Time: Uncertain…

The faces were not quite clear. Ryan felt like he had some type of filter over his eyes – like he wore contacts that had been smeared with grease. The men were big. Much bigger and older than he was, and they were far too close.

He tried to move away, but his hand was shackled to something and he couldn't retreat. He heard their laughter, as his heart beat faster. He heard the door closing behind him. Strange, he thought the barrier between freedom and captivity should sound louder as it falls into place… He'd remembered it sounding much louder when he was in juvie. More metallic.

He struggled to pull his hand from its padded restraint, but couldn't work it loose. This felt new, somehow. This soft restraint.

But not the rest. He knew the drill. Too soon, he'd have to strip, and submit to their inspection. His first step on the road to hell… He felt sick, and hot, and very scared. His breathing became more rapid and more shallow.

"Ryan," the guards said from far away. He was perplexed… they didn't use first names. He tried to respond, but couldn't manage. The faces came at him, distorted. He fought the restraint, but it held him fast.

The voice grew louder, "Ryan." He knew he had to answer. He didn't have a choice – his days of choosing were in the past.

He struggled harder, to no avail. He jumped as he felt a hand upon his shoulder, and sucked in his breath in alarm. He'd missed their movement toward him.

"Ryan? Are you okay?" The voice was right on top of him.

His eyes flew open, to see Sandy bending over him, his face concerned. Ryan tried to move, but his wrist was wound tightly in the sheet, and he had trouble extricating himself from the bedclothes to sit upright, disheveled.

His body clammy and breath erratic. His too familiar nightmare interrupted.

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Time: Morning of Day 5

Ryan struggled to focus as he rubbed the wrist that had been trapped, and flexed his tingling fingers. His guardian's face was overwritten with concern, as the man sat down on the bed beside him.

"Bad dreams?" his foster father asked, wrinkling his brow.

Ryan nodded, not wanting to elaborate. Still trying to make sense of time and place, he asked instead, "Did you just get home?"

Ryan watched a frown form and dissolve as Sandy looked at him closely, saying nothing for several seconds. "Sandy?" he prompted, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

His guardian put a hand against his back, as he finally responded, "You know you don't have to go it alone, right? That anytime you want to talk about what's going on in there …," Sandy moved his hand and ruffled Ryan's hair, "… I'm here for you…" The hand moved again to Ryan's back, where it rested warmly.

No way was Ryan going to talk about his nightmares. That was one burden he wasn't going to pile on top of all the others Sandy faced. One that he could keep to himself. He forced himself to smile a little, as he assured, "Thanks, but it's nothing. I'm okay."

He felt Sandy's hand rub across his back one last time before it fell away. In his world, it still felt somehow odd to be touched gently by a father-figure. He'd been so uncomfortable at first, finding almost any contact vaguely threatening, and an intrusion on his space. But now? He recognized an absence where Sandy's hand had been.

Another thing to miss…

Realizing his foster-father was speaking once again, he scrambled to tune into Sandy's words.

"Ryan, I'm sorry I didn't see you last night, but you were asleep when I got home, and I didn't want to wake you. But there's lots to talk about kid, and you know me. I do love to talk."

Ryan scrunched his face, observing, "Seems to run in the Cohen DNA. What time is it, anyway?"

"Six AM. You've got exactly twenty minutes to get cleaned up, dressed, and in the kitchen."

"Huh?" Ryan managed, confused. He didn't remember any plans…

He saw his guardian glance at the clock on his nightstand before answering. "That's nineteen minutes, now. See you inside, okay?"

Ryan blinked, and answered, "If you say so." He glared at the clock, which read 6:01 AM, and looked longingly back at his pillows. His eyes felt heavy as he turned his head back to Sandy, who had risen from the bed. "Are you sure you don't wanna' talk with Seth? He's become quite the morning guy lately …"

"I'm sure. I wanna' talk with you, sunshine. Eighteen minutes and thirty seconds …"

Ryan groaned as he rose and padded to the shower, grabbing clothes en route. "Apples and trees…" he muttered, as Sandy chuckled and left the pool house, closing the door behind him. Ryan froze as the sound echoed in the silence – as he thought back to the sound of prison gates closing, and his own family, his own tree…

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At 6:19AM, Ryan entered the kitchen, his hair still damp from his shower. He'd thrown on a blue button-down shirt over a white t-shirt, with good jeans and boots. If he needed to be more dressed up or dressed down, Sandy would just have to send him back with a little more information.

His foster father had changed out of sweats, and was now wearing chinos and a navy golf-shirt. He was sipping something out of a silver travel mug.

"Ryan. Just on time!" He held out a gold metallic mug for Ryan. "Here's your coffee – let's go!"

Ryan shook his head, more confused than ever. "Go where? What's going on, Sandy?"

Sandy smiled, as though there was nothing unnatural about this at all. He answered, "You. Me. Us. A little drive along the beach. Some breakfast. Some conversation … Come on, you're up. You're dressed. It'll be good for us."

Ryan tried to read Sandy's face, certain that he was up to something, and that the target of that something was himself. But to be honest, on this side of his shower, spending some time with Sandy sounded a whole lot better than drifting back into another nightmare. Or nervously waiting for some response from Kirsten.

He took the travel mug that Sandy offered, "Okay, but don't ya' think it's a little too early for breakfast?"

"That's why we're gonna' take a drive first." Sandy motioned for Ryan to lead the way to the front door.

"Seth's still sleeping?" Ryan asked jealously as they passed the steps. He'd give anything to sink into the sleep of the innocent. To really rest, without the intrusion of guilt, or fear, or memories.

Sandy looked at his watch. "Don't worry, kid. He's gonna' have an early morning, too."

"Ya' think?"

The phone rang, as if on cue. Sandy made no move to answer it. He winked at Ryan, as the teenager held the door. "Trust me, kid. I know."

When Ryan's eyes sought clarification, Sandy patted his shoulder and said, "I'll explain later. But unless you want to play twenty questions with Seth, let's get out of here." Sandy bounded out the door.

Ryan heard Seth moving about upstairs. He raised his eyebrows and grimaced, "Right behind you."

Sandy climbed into the Rover, much to Ryan's relief. The BMW held too many memories of coming and of leaving.

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Sandy glanced across at Ryan as they drove along the coast, wondering if they were doing the right thing. If what they had planned would reassure or traumatize the teen… Desperate times, he told himself. There was just so much this kid needed to hear, and start believing. The boy had exposed his heart to Kirsten – they would show him no less courage in return…

Ryan was staring out the passenger window, leaning back against the headrest. His face was only partially visible, with most of its bruises and now-healing scrapes turned away from Sandy's view. From here, the teenager's cheekbone and jaw line looked almost unblemished, and the eyelashes flicked over an unblackened eye. The only bruising on this angle of his face was almost hidden under blond fringe.

The teen held his coffee in his hands, but had not sipped from the cup for several minutes, as he stared trance-like at the passing scenery. Sandy knew the boy found comfort in his silence, but this was going to be a day for words. Starting now.

"I saw Trey yesterday." Sandy watched out of the corner of his eye as Ryan clutched the mug, and straightened up in his seat. However, the teenager remained silent.

Sandy continued, "He showed me the statement he gave the police."

At this piece of news Ryan sucked in an unsteady breath and wrapped his arms around his mid section, one hand still gripping the coffee. He turned his head toward Sandy and swallowed before asking, "Did he say anything that would hurt Marissa?"

"Do you know how often you do that?" Sandy asked, glancing at Ryan.

The teenager furrowed his brow, as he looked back at Sandy. "Do what?" he asked, sounding baffled.

"Think first of how something will affect someone other than you."

Ryan ducked his head, and set his coffee in the cup holder as silence filled the car. Just as Sandy was sure he would get no response, Ryan shrugged, and asked again, "But did he? Say anything that would hurt Marissa?"

Lifting his eyebrows and moving his head back against the headrest, Sandy mentally added another instance to Ryan's selflessness tally. A tally that ran higher than it should, for reasons Sandy was only beginning to comprehend. He answered carefully, "I don't think anything Trey said particularly hurts or helps Marissa. His statement was fairly vague with respect to the shooting itself – but it was specific concerning who was responsible for the fight, and its escalation."

Sandy saw the sideways glance that Ryan gave him. "What did he say?" the teen asked hesitantly, as though not sure he wanted to know the answer.

Sandy moved his hand to clasp the boy's shoulder, as he responded, "He took full responsibility, Ryan." He let his hand linger for a long moment, as the teenager's eyes widened.

They blinked as Ryan seemed to consider what he had heard. At last the boy spoke, "What does that mean? For Trey?"

Shaking his head, Sandy confessed, "I'm not sure what it will mean for Trey. He didn't include anything about grabbing the telephone, or his intentions at that moment. But the ADA could still prosecute." He turned his head momentarily toward Ryan, surprised when the teenager chose to make direct eye contact. The blue eyes were dark, and searched his own for answers to questions that Ryan wouldn't ask.

Looking at his foster-son as steadily as safety would permit, Sandy continued, "But Ryan, the statement should go a long way toward ensuring that the ADA doesn't bring any charges against you. We should know more this afternoon when I meet with her."

"Did you get him to do that? Make that kind of statement?" The boy's voice sounded like he was trying to reconcile facts and expectations, when the two were wildly at odds with one another.

Sandy refocused on the road ahead, as he contemplated his encounter with the older Atwood brother yesterday, with all its twists and turns. He snorted softly as he offered Ryan the still-surprising truth, "No, he did that on his own."

The teenager leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes. Sandy could see his shoulders rise and fall when he took several deep breaths, as though to steady himself. The boy needed a few minutes to consider what he'd just learned, so Sandy would not press him for further words just now. He tuned the radio station to soft jazz, and turned his attention to the highway, as he contemplated the day ahead.

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Sandy glanced at the teen, who had drifted into sleep a half-hour ago. His steady breathing and relaxed posture had seemed peaceful – in stark contract to the fitful dreams he had interrupted earlier this morning. Sandy was tempted to continue driving, and allow the boy to slumber, but they were waiting…

He pulled the Rover into the public beach access, and turned off the engine. Turning to Ryan, he saw the boy's eyelashes flutter, as the cessation of movement registered, and the teenager awakened.

He smiled at a sleepy Ryan, and asked, "Hungry yet?"

The boy's face scrunched up, as he rubbed it with one hand. The other hand massaged his neck, undoubtedly stiff from its angle while the boy slept. The teenager's voice was thick as he responded, "Not really…"

Opening the door, Sandy laughed, "Yeah, me neither. So, how about a walk? Work up an appetite?"

Ryan's eyes were still focusing, but he mumbled, "Whatever. Your call." He fumbled with the door handle, and slid out compliantly.

Sandy watched as his foster-son walked toward the water, and then stopped and looked back over his shoulder. Ryan's voice chided, "Walking requires movement, Sandy. Left foot, right foot…"

"Coming," he responded, as he caught up with Ryan, placing a hand against the boy's back as he drew beside him. "Let's go this way," he suggested, steering the teenager north along the coast. Toward what waited for them both…

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tbc

A/N2: Reviews greatly appreciated. And once more, so many thanks to those of you who have taken your time to send your thoughts and comments – it matters! I 'listen' to each one, and learn…