1Title: A Twist of Fate

Ratings/Warnings: In this chapter- 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 Three

Kirsten still couldn't believe she had agreed to let a teenage hoodlum spend the weekend in her home. She didn't know why she had been so shocked when Sandy had suggested such an idea. He had worked with kids like this for over ten years; it was a miracle he hadn't starting bringing home stray kids years ago. Sandy had a love for the underdog, and in turn, that was one of the reasons she loved him. But still, bringing this kid into their home, and exposing Seth to him was too much to ask of her. Despite his less than perfect upbringing and his daily dealings with criminals, Sandy tended to view people through rose colored glasses. She couldn't count on him to see Ryan for what he really was…a criminal. Obviously, it was going to be up to her to protect her family.

Sandy was too soft-hearted, making him an easy target. The kid was probably able to spot a sucker like him a mile away. She wondered how bad a kid had to be for his own parent, or even a step-parent, to kick him out. She couldn't imagine Seth doing anything that would cause her to turn her back on him. This Ryan had to be nothing but trouble.

She was glad she hadn't changed when she got home that evening. Her work attire would better portray the image she wanted to convey to this kid. She wanted it to be clear that just because her husband had fallen for his sob-story, she would not be so easily swayed. She had every intention of telling him that she didn't trust him, and she would be keeping a close eye on him. It's not that she didn't want her husband to be right about Ryan. But what were the odds that a car stealing juvenile delinquent from Chino would be anything more than a felon in the making?

She heard Sandy's car pull into the driveway. Smoothing down her jacket, she gave the pool house a final inspection. Everything was neat and orderly. She expected it to be in the same condition Monday morning when Ryan left. She made a mental note to tell him as much.

"So this is where you will be staying. And this is the queen of the manor herself, my wife Kirsten."

She turned to face them. Keeping her voice cool and crisp she said, "Hello, Ryan, welcome to our home." She paused, completely taken back by the teen standing in the doorway. She hadn't known exactly what to expect when Sandy said he was bringing home a car thief, but whatever she had envisioned, it was not this boy who stood in front of her looking so completely unsure of himself. She hadn't planned on him looking so vulnerable, so frightened, and well, just so young.

Ryan took an unsteady step into the pool house. "Thank you. Thanks very much."

As he entered the light of the pool house, she let out a gasp. In the shadows of the doorway she hadn't been able to clearly see his face. It was mottled with blue and purple bruises. His left eye was black and beginning to swell. There was a nasty looking gash above his right eye, and another cut just below on his cheekbone, his lip was split and still had a tendency to bleed when he talked, and there were odd looking bruises on both sides of his jaw. She looked at Sandy. Why hadn't he mentioned that he had been hurt trying to steal the car? Didn't the detention center at least have some sort of nurse who could have looked at him? Sandy was shaking his head, silently telling her not to ask any questions right now. Kirsten felt the tug of a mother's heartstrings and her resolve faded.

"You're hurt. Sit down while I go get something for those cuts."

He looked at Sandy cautiously, as if for approval. Sandy nodded toward the bed indicating that he was to do what Kirsten asked. Once again, Sandy observed again how gingerly the boy moved and the way his face contorted with pain as he sat down.

He watched as his wife began to gently clean the wounds on the injured boy's face. The contrast in Ryan's reaction to him and now to Kirsten was startling. Since picking him up an hour ago, Ryan had made a point in staying as far away from him as he could. The entire ride home from Chino, Ryan had practically sat on the door handle to ensure that there was as much distance as possible between them. Even during the short walk from the car to the pool house, he stayed just more than an arm's length away. The boy jumped at the slightest gesture from him, but with Kirsten he was entirely different. He sat there perfectly still, allowing her to work efficiently at her task. The only movement he made was the occasional wince when she touched a particularly sore looking area. However, not once did he take his eyes off Sandy. He watched and studied the man's every action; ready to bolt at the slightest inclination.

"I think I'm done." She stepped back carefully examining his face. "We might still need to put some ice on that eye to help with the swelling." Then for the first time she noticed his torn jeans and his banged up knees. She nodded at his legs. "I didn't notice those scrapes before."

Ryan looked at her mortified. He didn't know how she planned on cleaning his knees without him taking off his pants. Kirsten couldn't help but smile when she saw his expression. "It's okay, Ryan. Don't look so scared. They don't look too bad. I'll just leave the antibiotic cream and peroxide here on the bedside table. You can clean them yourself when you get ready for bed." She started gathering up her supplies of antibiotic ointments and Band-Aids from the bed and moved them to the table.

"You didn't have to do this. I would have been okay, but thank you, thanks again."

She smiled down at him again, if nothing else, he was certainly polite. "That's all right, Ryan. Do you want to put your things away?" She realized her mistake as soon as she said it. He looked down self-consciously and started picking at the frayed strands of fabric around the holes in his jeans. The image of him standing in the doorway empty handed flashed in her mind. She had forgotten that he had brought absolutely nothing with him. "I mean, why don't you get settled before dinner? There's a toothbrush and toothpaste in the bathroom and some other basic toiletries. If you need anything else, just let us know. Dinner will be here in about fifteen minutes. I ordered take-out. Just come in through the patio doors." She pointed in the direction of the main house.

"I don't have any money."

"Excuse me?"

"What?"

Kirsten and Sandy responded in confused unison.

"I don't have any money... for the food. You said you ordered take-out. I can't pay for anything."

The Cohens exchanged shocked looks; he actually thought they would make him pay for his dinner. Kirsten reached down to put a hand on his shoulder. This time it was her touch he shied away from. "Ryan, that's all right. We don't expect you to pay for your food while you stay with us. You're our guest. Just come in the house when you're ready to eat."

Ryan frowned in bewilderment as he watched them exit the pool house, not quite comprehending these acts of kindness. Alone for the first time, he looked around at his new surroundings. He couldn't believe the size of the place. The pool house was almost as big as his entire house…correction, Art's house. Then he began to do what he always did whenever he entered a room - he checked for all possible exits. At first he thought the only doors were the ones he had entered, but was relieved to see that one of the glass walls had another set of doors. It was always a good idea to have more than one way out of a room.

He opened and closed all the doors from the inside and the out. He studied the layout of the room, the walkways outside, and the position of the pool, trying to gauge the dimensions and distances to and from each place. He wanted to make sure he mapped out all possible escape routes for when he made Mr. Cohen mad. After all, he would be staying here for two days. He had never managed to go that long without being punished for pissing off Art.

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Kirsten watched him from the kitchen window, her brow furrowed with concern. "Why do you think he is doing that?"

"I don't know, honey. I really don't know." Sandy's voice was tired, as if trying to understand this kid in the short time he had known him had worn him out.

"What happened to him, Sandy? I gather from your reaction in the pool house, his injuries weren't from trying to steal the car and getting arrested."

"No, he was fine this afternoon. There wasn't a mark on him that I could see when he left with his stepfather."

"Are you saying you think he did that to Ryan?"

"I'm not sure. It's too soon to jump to any conclusions, but I have my doubts on whether or not that guy should be anyone's guardian. I might make a few calls and pull some strings to see if I can find out anything about him. One thing is for certain, we won't be getting information out of Ryan. When I questioned him about his face, he told me he fell off his bike."

"His hands and knees were pretty badly scraped. You could blame that on a fall from a bike. But his face? Seth's had plenty of skateboard accidents, but he's never had those kinds of injuries from falling. You didn't believe him, did you?"

"Not a chance, but when I pushed him, he shut down and didn't say anything. Something or someone definitely has that kid scared."

They heard the doorbell, and a moment later Seth entered the kitchen carrying brown paper sacks with the words "Thai-Phoon" printed on them. "Dinner's here. Hey Dad, where's your client?"

"He's in the pool house. He'll be in shortly. Seth, his face is pretty banged up. Don't say anything to him about it."

"Sure, no problem. I'm probably not allowed to talk to him anyway. According to Mom, I need to be careful just breathing the same air as him. Apparently deviant behavior is contagious."

"Very funny, son. Why don't you actually do something helpful for once and set the table for your mother?"

Kirsten rang her hands nervously. "I ordered Thai. I wasn't thinking. He might not like it, or maybe he's never even had it before. Seth, put away the chop sticks and get the forks out instead. I don't want Ryan feeling self-conscious in case he doesn't know how to use them."

"Don't mention his face. Don't use the chop sticks. An hour ago you were telling me to stay clear of him because he was nothing more than a street thug, and now you're worried about hurting his feelings. What gives?"

"Please Seth, just set the table."

A soft knock on the patio doors showed a very ill-at-ease Ryan. He had taken off his leather jacket, but had left on the grey hooded sweatshirt. Kirsten almost made a comment about the warmth of the evening, but quickly decided against it. He must have his reasons for wearing it. He seemed to be self-conscious enough without her questioning him and adding to it.

"Come on in, kid. This is my son, Seth, the one I told you about on the ride home. Why don't you sit next to him?" Sandy motioned towards the empty chair. "You're just in time. The food just got here."

The boys exchanged awkward "Heys." Ryan walked to the table and pulled the chair out. Before attempting to sit down, he eyed the hard wicker chair with uncertainty. Then, once again, he seemed to brace himself before taking a seat. Three times, Sandy thought. Three times tonight I have watched this kid sit down, and each time he acts like his entire backside is on fire.

Everyone but Ryan started eating. He just sat there with his head bowed casting nervous glances at Sandy. He was still unsure if it was truly okay. With Art, he had to earn the right to eat. On a slow day, when he couldn't manage to steal enough to make Art happy, he was not allowed to eat. After all, Art said, he wasn't running some damn soup kitchen for orphaned teenage brats. Yet, these strangers had offered him a place to stay for the weekend, and now they were just going to let him eat their food, when they knew he couldn't pay for it.

Kirsten mistook his hesitation as a sign he didn't like the food. "I'm sorry, Ryan. Don't you like Thai food? I'm sure we could find you some leftovers instead."

Ryan tensed, braving another look at Sandy to see his reaction. He had been taught long ago to always be grateful for anything that you were given. Pickiness was not tolerated. "No, no, it's fine, really, Mrs. Cohen. I just didn't know what it was. I'm sure it's all really good." He still made no move to fill his plate, causing Kirsten to believe that he was still being shy. She reached over and began explaining what each dish was before giving him a healthy sized portion. Ryan's eyes widened at the amount of food Kirsten was putting on his plate.

Fear, intimidation, bullying, and physical violence had all been good ways to keep Ryan submissive. But Art had wanted more. Soon after his mother died, Art discovered that keeping Ryan underfed was a new means of power over the boy. Twelve year olds were always hungry. He learned that if he used the promise of, or the threat of withholding food, Ryan could be easily manipulated. It hadn't been difficult to make the boy believe that eating was a privilege he had to earn every day.

It was a fine line Art had mastered between starvation and malnourishment. If he went too far and the kid got too hungry, he could become desperate, and desperation could lead to rebellion. He gave Ryan barely enough to eat to keep him just above that point. The almost constant gnawing of an empty stomach made Ryan weak, diminishing the fight he had in him. Hunger gave Art complete control over Ryan; he did as he was told.

Ryan started shoveling the food into his mouth, surprised at how good the strange looking food tasted. His meeting with Sandy had taken place over the allotted time for breakfast in Juvie. Even before then, he had been disappointing Art, and it had been a couple of days since he had last been allowed to eat. There were times he thought about taking some of the money he had stolen, and using to buy food, but he always decided it wasn't worth the risk. Art had too many friends that were always happy to rat Ryan out. Hunger pains were nothing compared to what Art would do to him.

"So, Ryan," Seth began. "I understand you steal cars. Would you care to partake in a little of Playstation's version of Grand Theft Auto after dinner?"

Ryan nearly choked on his food, while the adult Cohens cried Seth's name in admonishment.

"What?' He asked, feigning confusion. "It's not like its some big secret. We all know about it. There was tension in the room, and I helped break the ice. Besides, I could really use some pointers."

Sandy shook his head in amusement. "Ryan, let me be the first to apologize for my bad-mannered son."

"You don't need to. It's okay…really." He turned the right side of his mouth up in a kind of half-smile. There was something about Seth he liked. It was obvious he had nothing in common with the rich, obviously spoiled and more than slightly geeky teen, but Ryan still found himself wishing that things were different and they could have been friends.

He pushed thoughts of friendship and the kindness of Mrs. Cohen aside. They only served to make Ryan feel guilty. He couldn't let a couple of Band-Aids, a full stomach, and a round of video games interfere with why he was here. He had a job to do, plain and simple. He may not like it, but he had no other choice. He would either get it done, or suffer the consequences.

"So, is that a yes?"

"Sure, if that's okay?" He looked at Sandy and Kirsten to check if it was all right. "But I don't know how much help I'll be. I don't own any video games, and the one time I tried to steal a car in real life, I got arrested."

Seth and Sandy both laughed. Ryan looked around the table in confusion; he hadn't meant to be funny. But even Kirsten was hiding a smile behind her napkin.

"Dude, inappropriate humor, you fit in already around here. But seriously, you don't have any video games? What do you do all day?"

Ryan didn't know how to respond. He couldn't very well tell Seth him he spent his days picking pockets, stealing purses, and occasionally shoplifting. A rich kid like Seth would never understand how his life consisted of earning his keep or facing Art's wrath. He answered with a very noncommittal, "I don't know, just stuff."

Sandy saved him from any further questioning. "Son, not everyone in the world is as pampered as you and has to have the newest video game technology the very second it is released."

"Pampered? Me? Father, I don't know what you're talking about. You must mean someone other than yours truly." He placed his hands on his chest. "Besides, even it was the truth, which I'm not saying it is, I need it for research when I write my own graphic novel. Of course, someone of your advanced years wouldn't understand about modern video games anyway. You have never moved passed Atari." Imitating an old man Seth continued in a shaky, raspy voice, "Anyone up for a rousing game of Pong?"

Ryan gripped his fork, rubbing his thumb over the stem in nervous anticipation. Seth had smarted off to his father and there were bound to be repercussions. Mr. Cohen could not possibly permit Seth to talk to him that way. Ryan kept his head bowed, and tried to scoot farther back in his chair, hoping to go unnoticed. He felt bad for Seth and the beating that he was sure to get, but that didn't mean he wanted to draw attention to himself and risk sharing in the punishment.

After a moment passed, he looked up in astonishment. There was no hitting or cursing, not even the slightest hint of a threat. In fact, Mr. Cohen just laughed and made a wise-crack back to Seth. Ryan had never experienced anything like this before. Even when his parents were together, his only memories of family life were of drinking, crying, getting hit, and the occasional visit from the cops. Ryan continued to eat in silence while observing the strange family.

As he studied the Cohens, his eyelids began to grow heavy and his head started to nod. It had been a long two days, and he hadn't slept in over thirty-six hours. It was late Thursday evening when he had attempted to steal the car, and by the time he had been processed through Detention Center, it was already morning. It hadn't mattered to Ryan at the time; he didn't think he could have slept in the tiny jail cell, anyway. But everything that had happened to him in the past two days began to catch up with him. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally.

"Ryan, Ryan, I'm sorry, but you need to wake-up." He heard Kirsten's soft voice prodding him awake and felt the slight tug as she tried to pry the fork from his hand.

He awoke in a fright, realizing what he had done. He began to stammer a panic filled apology. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. I was just so tired. I'm really sorry."

Sandy tried his best to sound casual, in an attempt to calm the terror-stricken boy, "That's okay, kid. Don't worry about it. We know you've had a long day. Seth, I think your video games can wait until tomorrow morning. Ryan, why don't you go on to bed?"

Ryan nodded and stood, trying to slow his breathing down to normal. He wanted to make a break for the pool house, to get away from Mr. Cohen before he could change his mind, but he didn't. Instead, he began to gather his dishes to take to the sink. Kirsten stopped him, taking the dishes from his trembling hands. "Ryan, it's okay. I'll get these."

"No, I couldn't let you do that. You've done enough for me already. You shouldn't have to clean up after me too. I'm used to it; I always do the dishes at Art's."

She frowned for a moment; it struck her as odd that he would refer to his home that way.

"Well, I do the dishes here. It's one plate and one glass; I think I can handle the extra work." She smiled at him and tried to keep her tone light. "Go ahead and do what Sandy told you and go to bed. You look worn out. We'll see you in the morning."

He muttered a quick thank you, cast one last nervous look at Sandy, and headed out the doors.

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Ryan just finished brushing his teeth when he heard a knock on the pool house door. He grabbed his sweatshirt and made sure it was zipped at least half way up before leaving the bathroom. His tank top left the welts on his shoulders exposed. An all too familiar feeling of dread swept over him as soon as he saw Mr. Cohen standing in the doorway.

He should have known better. For just a few minutes, he had allowed himself to believe that he was safe for the night. He thought back over all the things he had done wrong since meeting Mr. Cohen in Chino. He had made a smart ass remark to him, eaten too much when he hadn't deserved anything, fell asleep at the table, and had not done the dishes. On any given day, just one of those mistakes would have warranted a severe punishment from Art.

His eyes darted around the room, trying to remember all he had studied earlier. Mr. Cohen was blocking one set of doors, but that still left two more. There were two chairs and a table blocking the way out. He had to remember to be careful when he ran; there were just a few feet between the doors and the pool. But then what? He wouldn't be hard to catch without his bike. And get away to where? Going back to Chino wasn't an option. He couldn't very well tell Art that he had come back empty-handed because someone was going to hit him. Ryan knew that whatever Mr. Cohen had planned for him would pale in comparison to Art's fury over being disobeyed. He dug his hands deeper into the sweatshirts pockets, pulling the material around him like a shield. As if somehow the thin, worn material could safeguard him against the blows he was sure were yet to come. He was trapped… again.

He was completely taken aback when Mr. Cohen started talking and placed a pile of clothing on the bed.

"Kirsten thought you could use some clothes to sleep in tonight and for the rest of the weekend - a few t-shirts, some sweats, and a couple pairs of jeans. They're just some old things of mine, so they might be too big, but Seth is so scrawny. We figured anything of his wouldn't fit you. Don't tell him I called him that, he prefers the term lean. You can leave your things to be washed in the bathroom hamper."

Ryan blushed seeing the unopened package of boxers on top of the pile. "Thanks, but my clothes will be fine. You don't need to go any trouble. I don't mind wearing the same things for a couple of days."

"You may not mind, but believe me, Kirsten will. Women are funny about those kinds of things. It's not a big deal, trust me. It will be a lot less hassle if you just do what Kirsten wants. I learned that a long time ago."

"Okay, if that's what you want. Thanks again." He stood there staring at the clothes, not quite sure if he was suppose to do or say anything more.

"Good night, kid. See you tomorrow. Sleep as late as you want. Come on in the house after you wake up. Seth will probably be waiting to play that video game with you." With that, he turned and walked out of the pool house, leaving a stunned and completely confused Ryan behind him.

Ryan picked out a t-shirt and a pair of sweats and went to the bathroom to change. He winced as he peeled off his tank top. Some of the cuts on his back had begun to scab over, causing the shirt to stick to his skin as they dried and healed. He decided against taking a shower until the next morning, hoping it wouldn't be as painful if he gave the sores a few more hours. He slipped on one of the clean t-shirts. It was a bit too big on him, but other than that it was fine. Art had mainly confined his lashes to Ryan's backside. He was lucky; the only bruising on his arms was where Art had grabbed while throwing him out. He did need to be careful of that though. If he moved his arm too much the shirt sleeve rode up, revealing the dark bruise. That was a small price to pay for not having to wear his hoodie the entire weekend. A sweatshirt in the middle of summer was bound to lead to questions.

He crawled on the bed, lying down on his stomach. He had trained himself to not sleep on his back a long time ago. He grabbed a pillow, not bothering with the comforter. He knew that even the light weight of the sheets would add to the dull, throbbing pain that enveloped his entire backside.

He groaned, but this time not only because of his injuries. He hadn't paid attention to the locks, the security, or anything. He vaguely remembered Mr. Cohen driving through a gate when they arrived, but he wasn't sure if there was someone watching the entrance or not. He knew he would have to be better tomorrow. He had to figure out a way to see more of the house and learn about their security system. He didn't know how he was going to get any of this done. He needed a plan, and he needed it now. He couldn't afford to waste any more time trying to figure these people out. But his thoughts kept drifting back to them and how nice they had been to him. He was sure that would change; no one had been this good to him since…since forever. He couldn't even remember his own mother not being cruel to him. Why were they doing all of this for him? What was in it for them? Try as he might, he could come up with no answers before drifting off to sleep.

Tbc