Title: Colors
Fandom: The OC
Rating: Um, PG-13? Not smut, but may disturb some folks.
AN: One Shot. AU for The Truth. Come, live in Season One with me.
AN2: ctoan attempted to help me with this, but I am the worst person to beta for in the world. So all mistakes belong to me, and anything that actually works, was probably suggested by ctoan. But please do not blame her for the suckitude.
AN3: Disclaimer: I don't own anything OC related. I do not own the opening lyrics.
...Of all the colors that you've shined, this is surely not your best...
Red
The head is burst
When Oliver blows his head off in the hotel room that day, Ryan sees more blood than he's ever seen before.
Marissa's wail catches his attention and he sees blood dripping off her bangs. It's grotesque. Her smooth, porcelain skin is smeared with red and clumps of what he finally realizes are parts of Oliver are clinging to her shirt.
It is like someone popped a water balloon in the middle of the room filled with paint. An angry bang and then red.
Oliver's body falls to the floor. Ryan hasn't really processed the sound of the gun or Marissa's shrill scream and he really doesn't process Oliver's mangled, mutilated, devastated part of a head in the split second of eternity that it takes for the rest of his body to realize that he's dead. Oliver falls.
Thump.
Warm, red paint.
He feels like he's frozen in place.
Marissa is wailing and Sandy reaches over to touch him, shattering the moment of silence, his fingers tightly wrapping themselves in the collar of Ryan's shirt as Marissa falls to her knees and starts clinging to the headless boy. Natalie's crying and definitely doesn't go to Pacific and the security guard rent-a-cops finally take charge, moving over to check Oliver's vitals and push the shiny little gun out of the way.
Ryan doesn't really do anything. Marissa is sobbing, she's got her arms wrapped around the limp body that used to be Oliver and the blood is everywhere he looks, it's actually trickling onto her body, staining her clothes.
He stands there, watching the blood smear across her thin arms, coating her skin before the guard pulls at Marissa's shoulder.
She turns to Ryan with wild, panicked eyes. Like she just realizes what happened. That Oliver's not a boy anymore.
"Ryan, Ryan, are you all right?" Sandy asks, his words urgent yet reverent in his ear. His fingers release his collar and spread across his numb back, flat and steady.
"You should probably ask her that," Ryan replies as the guard guides Marissa over to them. She's choking on her tears, her hands clenched around the man's arm.
She wraps her arms around him like a vise and Oliver's blood is thick and pungent in his nostrils. "Ryan…" she sobs, clinging to him, chanting his name.
Her shuddering breath is hot on his shoulder, it burns him through the fabric and he can feel the blood from Oliver's head soaking through his shirt.
He glances at Sandy who has moved back to allow Marissa full access.
A few minutes earlier Sandy didn't think he'd been capable of making rational decisions, but now he was capable of comforting his stricken ex-girlfriend.
Sandy doesn't have a drop of blood on his clothes.
Ryan doesn't look at Sandy or Marissa. He looks at Oliver. The guard seems befuddled, like a new kid walking into the wrong homeroom, and he puts his hands on the chest of what used to be Oliver and starts to push down, but then he stops.
There's no mouth to breathe into anymore.
"Come on, let's get you guys cleaned up," Sandy says, pulling Marissa gently out of the room and glancing at him before disappearing into the hall.
He's never seen anyone die before.
He didn't know it would be so red.
Orange
Taste your shivering insides
He hears Sandy talking to the cops. He hears Luke talking to Marissa and helping her change clothes. Ryan knows that he's in for a long, explicit lecture about something as soon as he has to be alone with Sandy.
But he really doesn't want to do that now. He really doesn't want to do anything right now.
He's already given the cops his statement and Sandy seems to be talking to them about Marissa now so he doesn't see any reason to stick around. Sandy doesn't need him and he can't deal with Marissa yet. He's already in trouble with the Cohens, he just doesn't want to deal with anything right now.
He washes as much of Oliver's blood off his body as he can manage without scrubbing off his face. It's staining everything he sees.
He remembers the miles of stairs nearby that he'd sprinted up for New Years. Now that was a waste of energy. Seems like Newport was a big waste of energy.
Seth thinks he's lost it. Kirsten and Sandy believe Seth. He doesn't even want their apologies anymore, he's already seen how well the Cohens support him. How fast they'll take the rich stranger's word over the delinquent in the poolhouse.
He doesn't want to think about that now.
He takes a deep breath once he gets outside. He can see the sky. The hotel is on the beach and he needs to see the ocean.
He wades through a cluster of officers and press that are gathered on the sidewalk and finally finds himself standing on the sand.
He's glad he worn his sneakers. Even if the laces are stained red.
He glances both ways and sees the coast stretching out of sight.
He's going to run.
As far as he can until he can shake the sight of Oliver's face exploding.
He's seen a lot of things in his life.
His dad dragged away in handcuffs. His mom passed out, naked and drunk on the porch. His brother foaming at the mouth after snorting too much coke.
He needs to run.
Everything mutes in his brain as he starts jogging, letting his feet carry him, pounding the beach and kicking up sand in his wake.
He hears Oliver's taunts in his head. His heart pulses as he remembers how the boy has twisted his life up.
He hears the gun and sick splattering sound that followed. He breathes fast and methodically, focusing on the air in his lungs to stop the tears for the life that just ended.
He hears Marissa's sobs bouncing off the bathroom walls. The pain in his legs gives him new purpose. His emotions are pushing his limits and he's got to push back.
Yellow
Look how they shine for you
He must've run for hours because when he finally has to stop the final time, the stars are sparkling brighter than the boats on the horizon.
He doesn't have a cell phone, he's never bothered to ask the Cohens if he needs one. It isn't like they'd call him anyway. Seth is home safe, they don't care where Ryan is. Now that Oliver's gone.
Sandy had probably taken Marissa home to her mother's and then went home. Seth will hear about it all from Summer. Kirsten, hell, she won't care unless it ends up on her father's radar. She'll probably be disappointed that the cops weren't coming to take him off her hands.
But he doesn't have anywhere else to go. And every time he closes his eyes he sees the red.
He sits down on the sand and pulls his wallet out of his pocket. Twenty bucks. It's what he has left from what the Cohens had given him for lunch the week before, when he was still allowed on Harbor property.
He doesn't even know where he is to call a cab.
At least when he lived with Dawn, he always knew what to expect.
He expected Dawn not to believe him, that's why he'd never told her anything.
But the Cohens had promised him. His mistake is in his interpretation of what they were promising him.
All he had to do was keep his head down and his nose clean and they'd pay for everything until he was eighteen. Don't get into trouble, don't upset the Newpsies.
And now Oliver's head is splattered on the walls of the hotel's penthouse.
He has to face them eventually. He has to settle up. But for now, he just looks at the stars and listens to the ocean.
Some things don't change. The waves, the sky.
He just has to remember what to believe in.
He'd meant what he said to Oliver. They were similar in so many ways. But Ryan's brains aren't plastered on the walls.
Some things don't change. And Ryan is a survivor.
And he sucks at walking away. He sucks at letting go.
He has to face Sandy. Seth and Kirsten. He has to listen to what they have to say and he has to take what they give.
He doesn't have any other choice.
Green
In my dreams I'm jealous all the time
He pays the cabbie at the gate and nods to the guard as he starts up the street toward the Cohens. Every step hurts his sore muscles.
Even now, after months of being here, he still can't get over the wealth that surrounds him. Even he thinks he should be cleaning the toilets instead of living here.
There are some things he just doesn't understand. Like the way they're able to spend money on things that they don't need. And still splatter their brains on the walls. Overdose on pills in Tijuana. They have all this money and opportunity but their lives are worthless to them. He doesn't understand. He doesn't know if he wants to.
He walks up the driveway and runs his hand along the fender of the Rover. They'd brought the Rover home covered with graffiti and got grounded for a single weekend. He remembers denting the fender of his mother's junker and getting his ass thoroughly kicked.
"Dude, where have you been?" Seth's voice hits him before he crosses the threshold of the house.
"I just took a walk," he replies. Seth doesn't matter right now. He's not the one in control. He keeps walking.
Sandy and Kirsten glance up in surprise when he walks into the kitchen.
"Hey. Sorry. I'm going to go get cleaned up," Ryan says evenly, avoiding their gaze.
"Wait, kid," Sandy replies before Ryan takes a step. "Where have you been? You left the hotel…"
"Did Marissa ask for me or something?" And immediately, he knows he's said the wrong thing.
Kirsten stares at him. Ryan looks at Sandy instead of trying to dissect her intent.
"Ryan…you witnessed something…"
"I'm fine. Everybody's fine, right? Unless something else has happened," Ryan states. He looks at Sandy before turning his face back to Kirsten.
"Oliver's dead," Kirsten replies.
"I saw that," Ryan counters after a beat. "I'd like to go wash some of his blood off me before I get my lecture." He waits a moment. "Please."
Blue
You've got those crazy blues…
He showers until the water goes cold. And he still stands under the stream and lets the icy water pound against his body.
He's shivering when he steps onto the fuzzy mat. His feet are sore from running in the sand and he digs his toes in for a minute. Chilled. Numb.
He stands in front of the mirror.
He looks the same. He has the same scar on his collarbone. The same freckle over his hip. The same fists he'd slammed into Oliver's pathetic little face.
But he hadn't killed him.
Ryan couldn't kill anyone.
Not even himself. Especially not himself. He doesn't want to leave the mess. Oliver's parents are going to have to come home to bury their son. They're going to have to see the empty pews at his service. The girl that watched him die.
He walks out of the bathroom into the poolhouse. He'd only turned on the bedside lamp. He unplugs the phone from the wall and folds down the bed and enjoys the crisp sheets against his cool skin. They're new sheets.
Kirsten had changed the sheets. Probably didn't want him getting Oliver's blood on the other ones.
Sandy had told him that he'd been very worried and looked all night for him.
Ryan had told him that he didn't have to worry.
He isn't going to leave the poolhouse for a while. Not for the same reasons as before. He needs to see if he can get the image of Oliver's head turning to mush out of his brain first.
"Ryan?"
He glances at the door and then flips off the lamp. "Good night, Seth."
Indigo
I will never see the sky the same
His dreams are red and cold and when he wakes up and sees Kirsten standing over him, she's more startled than he is. He remembers what happened immediately. Oliver's death. He's seen it over and over a million times by now.
"Hey. I was just…checking on you. Brought you some coffee. Put the blinds down. Seth kept coming out and looking through the windows," she says tentatively.
"Great," he replies, taking the coffee as he sits up. The mug is hot to the touch and he wraps his hands around it, trying to soak up the head.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. I don't have to go to school, am I not allowed to sleep in?" he asks, keeping his voice soft.
"Ryan, you know that's not what I mean. I just want you to know…that we're here for you."
"Okay," he replies. But he doesn't need them to be here for him now. Oliver is dead. Everything's settled. He doesn't need them to believe him anymore.
Marissa isn't in danger now and Oliver doesn't need mental help anymore. Tidy.
"We didn't know that Oliver…would do something like this. It wasn't that we didn't take you seriously, we just didn't think that anyone would...die."
Ryan takes a sip of the coffee. "So, death's the only thing that makes something serious?" The coffee burns his throat.
"That didn't come out right…"
"Thanks for the coffee. I'm up. I'm fine."
"How can you be fine?" she asks after a beat.
He takes another swallow of coffee. He meets her gaze with steady eyes. "What do you want me to say? It's not going to change what you think of me. Maybe I don't care. Maybe I'm glad he's dead. Maybe I'm so fucking hurt that nobody believed me that I can't even process that I washed another kid's brains out of my hair last night. 'I'm fine' seems to be a nice summation of how I feel right now."
"Ryan…"
He holds up his hand to stop her. He tries to keep it from shaking but she stops so he doesn't have to do it long.
He hates making conversation in the mornings. Especially this morning.
Violet
Play boomerang with your demons
He takes another shower. He puts on fresh boxers and a set of clean sweatpants.
His legs are aching from the miles of beach he'd pounded the night before.
Seth is sitting on his bed, his foot bouncing as he fumbles with one of the random pillows that Kirsten and Rosa always puts on his bed.
"Hey."
"Hey."
Ryan goes to the shelves and pulls on a beater.
"So, I heard what happened. And I am so sorry…I mean…I can't even quantify the volume of sorriness that is me right now, I mean, dude…"
"Stop."
Ryan looks at him as clearly as he can with the image of Oliver Trask imprinted on his vision.
Seth wants forgiveness for not believing him. Seth is apologetic.
Ryan knows all about apologies. Everyone means them when they say them, in the moment. But when they really count, they're forgotten.
Loyalty doesn't really matter if only one person believes in it.
It's like an alternate version of Ryan Atwood with an alternate brother and an alternate family. But the same broken promises. The same hard work with no reward, the same communication issues with the same hurt. The same Atwood luck.
"I'm sorry," Seth says quietly.
"It's okay," Ryan says.
These are words he knows how to say.
He knows how to forgive. It's the forgetting that he can't get past.