1Title: A Twist of Fate

Ratings/Warnings: In this chapter- strong language, minor violence, Ryan Angst

Beta: loracj2

Disclaimers: I own nothing in relation to The O.C. All mistakes are mine

Summary: Beginning of Season 1, AU, In The Pilot, Kirsten asks Sandy "What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?" In this story it is the truth, but not by Ryan's choice. For the purposes of this story Dawn is dead and there never was a Trey.

Twist of Fate: Chapter Two

"Get up! It's time for you to stop being so fucking worthless and finally start earning your keep." Art shoved Ryan with his foot rolling the boy onto his backsideHe cried out in pain as the bruises and open sores, courtesy of Art's belt, contacted with the hard floor. He tried pushing himself up on his elbows, but Art already had a hold of his arm, yanking him to his feet. Disoriented from the severity of his most recent beating, Ryan was only vaguely aware of Art dragging him toward the front door.

He grabbed Ryan's grey hoodie and leather jacket and shoved them into his arms, causing the boy to stumble out the door. Ryan grabbed a hold of the step's railing to stop from falling. He shook his head trying to remember exactly what he had done to deserve Art's fury this time.

"What the hell are you waiting around for? It's getting late. Get your lazy ass in gear and go make that phone call."

It came back to Ryan in bits and pieces – getting arrested, Juvie, a lawyer with a business card, Art's latest scheme, his refusal, a belt buckle catching the light as it bit into his skin again and again. He shivered as the memories fell into place. He remembered now - a phone call - he was supposed to call his lawyer and ask for a place to stay. He shook his head again; he knew he was still mixed-up, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out how he was to make this call when he was outside. He took a hesitant step back toward the house. Art gave him another hard push and he stumbled down the steps again.

"Damn, but if you don't get stupider every day. You can't even follow the simplest order. I swear I don't know what I'm going to do with you. Maybe I'm too soft on you. Maybe I need to start disciplining you more."

Ryan swallowed, trying to choke back the paralyzing fear that Art could make his life worse. "No…no, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so dumb. I just don't understand."

Art cupped Ryan's face in his hands, squeezing as hard as he could. "Exactly what don't you understand? Go – make - the - damn – call." He jerked Ryan's head back.

"I understand that, honest. But the phone…" He pointed to the house desperately.

"See, this is how you don't appreciate anything I do for you. I'm trying to help you. We both know that you can't lie worth a shit. If you called from the comfort of my home, you might not sound pathetic enough for this guy to feel sorry for you. This way, if you call from the streets, everything will sound real authentic. Now, get going."

Ryan turned and started walking down the steps. "Gee, thanks. You're all heart," he muttered under his breath. Art heard the comment and kicked him squarely in the back. Ryan fell down the remaining three steps, landing on all fours on the concrete sidewalk.

"You just never learn," Art said as he went into the house, slamming the door behind him.

Ryan picked himself off the ground, wiping the loose bits of gravel from his hand. His jeans were torn, and now on top of everything else his hands and knees were bleeding. He limped by his bike, propped against the old rusty chain-link fence, leaving it behind. He knew from past experiences it would be several days before he could comfortably ride again. Thus, on foot he began his search for one of the last remaining payphones in Chino.

It took him an hour to find one that had not been vandalized and another thirty minutes to work up the courage to pick up the receiver. Even then, he still had no idea of what to say to the man he had known for less than twenty-four hours. In the end, he decided the best option was to stick to as much of the truth as he could. That way, if too many questions were asked, it would be harder to get caught in the lie. He studied the card, committing the number to memory, and dialed the number.

"Mr. Cohen? Um, this is Ryan Atwood, from earlier today? I'm the one who stole the car. You said to give you a call if I needed anything. Well...I got into a fight with my stepdad, I said some stuff I shouldn't have, and then I took off. I just need a place to stay for a couple of nights…until things blow over, I mean, until I cool down. Can you...do you…do you think you could help me out?"

He held his breath waiting for a response. He had done his best to do what Art said, and make the fight sound like his fault. There was still no answer on the other end. Maybe, the lawyer was going to say no. Perhaps he hadn't sounded desperate enough. It was a lot to ask; Ryan knew that. Art reminded him every day how much trouble he was. Still, he had asked only to stay for the weekend. That couldn't be too much of a bother, could it? He wracked his brain, trying to come up with something else to say, so that Mr. Cohen would take pity on him. He hated this. He was tired of being nothing more than a charity case.

He should hang up the phone and take off. Turn around and keep walking, leaving all of this behind him, but he didn't. He had tried that once. A couple months after his mom had died, he tried to run away. He had made it as far as the highway before the cops picked him up and took him back to Art. The punishment for running away was something Ryan didn't want to experience again.

He was certain it was hopeless; no one in their right mind would let a kid like him stay with them. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he heard Mr. Cohen's voice asking him where to meet him. He thanked his lawyer and gave him the address. Ryan was surprised that his nervousness only increased with the offer of a place to stay. He hadn't known what he would do if the guy had said no, but he was just as clueless as to what to do now that he had said yes. He had a whole new set of problems. He didn't know anything about home security systems or robbing houses.

One thing that kept eating away at him was how wrong this felt. He was going to know these people, spend time with them. Not knowing his marks made it easier. They were nameless, faceless, non-persons. The wallets and purses he stole never had much cash in them, and the people wouldn't be held liable for all the credit card debt Art managed to accumulate before the card could be canceled. Even the cars were covered by insurance. Ryan tried to justify that what he stole wouldn't really be missed. People could afford to lose what little he took from them. A few bucks here or there wouldn't make anyone's life worse, except for his own.

But still, these people were willing to help him, and he was going to repay them by ripping them off. The helping him part had him questioning their motives. Why would they want to help them? What was in it for them? In Ryan's experience, no one ever did something nice for you unless they wanted something in return. This guy must be getting something out of the deal too. Ryan wracked his brain for what that could possibly be.

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"I'll be right there, kid." Sandy hung up the phone and turned to his wife. "Honey, I need to go back out for a while. Can you hold up on ordering dinner for about an hour, and order a little extra too? We're going to have a guest."

"Wait a minute, Sandy. What have you done?"

"It's a kid I met today. He's in trouble and needs a place to stay. It will just be for the weekend. I promise."

"You mean you told one of your clients he could stay here? In our home? Don't you think you should have discussed it with me first? I don't even know what this kid did to break the law."

"Now, honey, it wasn't anything too serious. He got caught trying to steal a car."

"You don't think that's serious? How much more serious of a crime do you need? What if this is all a scam? What if he's just using you to case the house?"

"Ryan's not a criminal mastermind. He's a scared kid, with no on to turn to and nowhere to go."

"I'm not saying you can't sympathize with him, or even feel sorry for him, but he is not our responsibility. You still met him in prison and he still broke the law; like it or not, he is a criminal. What kind of influence is he going to be on our family? Did you even think of Seth?"

"Seth's the reason I want to help him. He's fifteen, honey, the same age as Seth. You weren't there this afternoon. You didn't get a look at this kid's life like I did. His mom's dead, his dad's in prison. He lives with his stepdad, and in the five minutes I was with them, he called Ryan every name in the book before literally throwing him in his truck. I was scared for him. Now he's out there all alone. Imagine Seth having to go through the same thing. Please, honey, he's just a kid."

Kirsten felt herself weakening. "Was it really that bad?"

"Worse."

"All right," she sighed. "He can stay, but just for the weekend, and he sleeps in the pool house."

"You're the best, baby." He leaned down and kissed her before heading out the door.

Seth sauntered into the kitchen seconds after his father had left. "Hey did Dad just leave? What's he picking up to eat? I'm starving."

"Sit down, sweetie. We need to talk about something."

"If this is about the vase, I can explain."

"What? Which vase?" She looked at him sharply before remembering there were more important issues at hand. "Never mind about that now. Your Dad is bringing home one of his clients to stay for the weekend."

"Wow. When Dad brings his work home with him, he really brings his work home with him."

"Not even remotely funny, Seth. I need you to be careful around this kid. His name is Ryan. We hardly know anything about him, except how he got arrested."

"So what did he do? Knock off a liquor store? Organize a teenage gang war?"

"Honestly, Seth. No, nothing like that, he tried to steal a car."

"Really? And Dad went to pick him up in the beamer. I hope he has his cell phone with him in case this Ryan guy totally gives into temptation and car-jacks him."

"This is serious. Despite what your father thinks, I don't know if we can trust him and I don't want you spending a lot of time alone with him. He could be a bad influence on you."

"Oooooh, not a bad influence. I feel the need to give into peer pressure already. Perhaps I'll go raid the wine cabinet, get drunk, and hold up the closest Quicky Mart."

"I'm not telling you again to behave yourself, young man."

"Okay. Okay. I understand, beware of the juvenile delinquent. So you want to kill time waiting for Dad by counting the good silverware?"

"Seth!"

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Even though the sun was beginning to set Sandy didn't have any trouble spotting Ryan. The street was all but deserted except for the teen barely lurking outside the circle of the city's street light. He stood there, shoulders hunched, hands shoved in his pockets with a cigarette dangling from his lips. To the casual observer, he gave the appearance of your typical brooding teen. But the truth was at the moment, it was taking almost all of Ryan's strength just to stand upright.

Sandy pulled up beside him on the street corner, and got out of the car. "See, I told you. You could do worse."

"Yeah, I guess. Thanks." As he spoke, he moved into the light, giving Sandy his first look at his battered face.

"What happened to your face, kid?" He reached out to get a better look, but Ryan quickly stepped back just out of the man's reach.

"Nothing, I fell off my bike."

Sandy looked around curiously. "Bike? I don't see your bike. Where's it at?"

"Damn," Ryan muttered under his breath. Not five minutes and he'd already screwed up. "I left it where I crashed. It's completely wrecked."

"Really?" Sandy questioned, not believing Ryan. "Between the look of your face and ruining your bike, it must have been a pretty bad accident."

Ryan remembered his badly skinned hands and held them up for proof. "Yeah, it was."

"How'd it happen?"

"It was just a pothole. I fell because I hit a big pothole. I wasn't looking where I was going. You know, I was upset about getting kicked out, I ... I mean the fight with my stepdad and running out and all."

The memory of Ryan's stepfather flashed in Sandy's mind. "Do you fall often? Because of the potholes, I mean?"

What was it with this guy and the twenty questions? Ryan couldn't figure it out. It wasn't like he had wrecked something that belonged to him, so why did he care if Ryan said he fell off his bike and trashed it.

"You work for the road commissioner when you're not busy being a lawyer? What do you care?"

"You know, for someone who only an hour minutes ago called me up because he had nowhere else to go, you might want to reconsider the attitude."

Ryan mumbled an apology, taking another unsteady step back, once again widening the distance between them. He had pushed this guy too far already. Art was always warning him about his smart mouth. He kept his head bowed, watching Sandy through his bangs. Nervously turning the cigarette between his fingers, waiting for the blow that was sure to come.

"Forget it, kid."

Sandy motioned toward the cigarette. "I'm not going to lecture you on the hazards of smoking, and how you're too young for that particular habit, but you won't be smoking this weekend. It's not allowed. Not in my car, my house, or even the yard. Are we clear on that?"

Ryan nodded and threw the still lit cigarette into the storm drain. Sandy opened the passenger door and motioned for Ryan to get in the car. He noted how slowly the boy eased himself into the car, and the grimace that crossed his features as he eased himself down on the vehicle's soft leather interior.

Sandy couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Ryan's injuries than a simple bike accident. "I take it the fight with your stepdad was about trying to steal the car. Did he get pretty mad at you?"

With his head still bowed, he glanced sideways at Sandy and shrugged his shoulders in response. Sandy was not going to be deterred by his silence.

"So how mad was he? Mad enough to kick you out of the house?"

"I already told you, taking off was my idea, not his."

Sandy could see this line of questioning was getting him nowhere. He decided to go for a new approach. "Why did you try to steal that car anyway? You're only fifteen. You don't even have your license yet."

Ryan was getting nervous. If this guy kept asking questions, he was bound to mess up and let something slip. He didn't know how long he could get away with not answering Mr. Cohen without him getting suspicious. If nothing else, he was bound to be getting mad. Art held true to the old adage that children should be seen and not heard. But if Art asked him a direct question, he better answer if he knew what was good for him. He decided to risk it and simply shrugged his shoulders once again. He hoped that Mr. Cohen would lay off the inquisition. The welts on his back protested with each unnecessary movement he made.

Sandy sighed in frustration. Getting information out of this kid was not going to be easy. He decided it was best just to give the kid a break.

"All right, kid. I'll let it go... for now."

Ryan didn't say a word for the rest of the ride back to Newport. Sandy figured the boy was all talked out for the time being. He filled the silence by telling stories about Kirsten and Seth. If nothing else, he thought it would help the kid's nervousness if he knew something about the people he would be staying with for the next couple of days.

Tbc