Author's Note: Ok, here is the next chapter and I hope you guys enjoy. I will get to the issue of Kirsten being drunk in the next chapter. Be patient with me. I feel like I need to defend my decision to have Marissa find Ryan. I don't like her either and I agree that she is selfish and manipulative, but she can also hold it together long enough to help people she cares about. She helps Ryan with Trey and helps him with Sadie. She helped Johnny. She just always falls apart afterwards and this won't be any different. She isn't a bad person and wouldn't leave somebody to die if there was something she could do. Even with that she falls apart during the chapter. Ryan flatlines for the first time and John asks her to help him and she can't because she is so upset. I may have made Marissa a bit more heroic than she might have been in the show, but I feel like I still stayed true to her character. I understand that people weren't happy she found him, but going forward I can promise that she doesn't play a very big part in the rest of the story.

Sandy Cohen felt like he'd been fighting an uphill battle since he'd first brought his work home with him. The job of defending Ryan Atwood should have been simple; an open and shut case. No priors, a fairly respectful demeanor, obvious intelligence, and a damn good lawyer helped the kid go from time in the clink to running free on the streets with only the mild threat of probation over his head. Sandy could go home to his family in Newport and pat himself on the back for another job well done. Then he'd talked to the kid for the first time and Sandy's hope of an easy case went up in smoke.

It was the kid's eyes that first gave him pause. The way they shifted uneasily and never quite managed to meet his own. He'd seen that look on some of the kids he'd grown up with in the Bronx. Kids who had fathers that hit first and asked questions later. His file didn't mention physical abuse, but that meant little in a world where children would rather be beaten and alone than face child services. Sandy had wondered then what Ryan's hospital file might contain, but as his lawyer he wasn't privy to that information.

The other thing that struck Sandy as odd when Ryan had first sat across from him was how quiet the kid was. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Sandy had dealt with a number of clients who held their tongues in his presence, but with them it was used as a power play, a show of chutzpah to let Sandy know who was in charge. Ryan was different. Ryan's silence was not disdainful or macho. It was simply instinctual. And when he did speak? Sandy was both shocked and saddened to hear Ryan's outlook on life. It had been bleak and harsh and far too world weary for a sixteen year old to have.

Then Sandy met Dawn and things began to connect. The moment she pulled up, running over the curb in her obvious drunken stupor, it had taken every ounce of control Sandy possessed not to intervene and take Ryan with him. He couldn't stop himself from giving the kid a lifeline though. It was only his card and his phone number, which wouldn't offer him much, but he hoped that Ryan would take the gift for what it really was: a sign that he was not alone in the world.

He hadn't actually expected the kid to use it, but he had and Sandy realized the desperation Ryan must have felt in that moment. He was putting his trust in a person he barely knew and for kids like Ryan trust was a precious gift. There was no way that Sandy could turn him away without crushing what little was left of the kid's dignity. So he'd brought him home, not realizing then that his life would never be the same.

Since then there had been no shortage of obstacles for them to face. The Newport society was a judgmental group of people and sunk their teeth into new bloods with all the ferocity of a school of piranha. Ryan's lack of pedigree and background with violence made him an easy target for the Newpie's whispers and taunts. The kid acted like he didn't care, but Sandy saw through his tough guy act. It was clear that the pointed insults and judgmental glances stung him and Sandy watched Ryan's emotional walls grow thicker each day. The only person who seemed to have any luck breaching them was Seth, an unlikely but worthy candidate.

Their son had been a lifeless, soulless thing before Ryan came. He hated Newport, hated the bikini babes and the trust-fund attitude, hated the fact that he was invisible to people he'd been going to school with for years. Seth wanted out and Sandy and Kirsten had many arguments about what to do with their only child. Kirsten wanted him home where she could keep an eye on him, but Sandy knew that it was only a matter of time before Seth hightailed it out of there, with or without his parent's permission. He opted for the less painful solution: boarding school on the East Coast. They had already made numerous inquiries about a school in Massachusetts when Seth finally found a reason to stay exactly where he was. Sandy often wondered if that was part of reason Kirsten had allowed Ryan to stay, but never asked her. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Kirsten had been the first obstacle, of course. She was almost as hard to crack as Ryan and almost as difficult to read. It was like the two of them spent hours practicing their poker faces and Sandy could never tell what either of them were thinking. Watching the two of them bond was like watching two paraplegic turtles race on the beach. Painfully slow and any progress the two of them made was almost invisible to the human eye, but they had made progress.

It was clear to Sandy that Kirsten cared for Ryan more than the kid realized, but displaying affection had always been difficult for his wife. She tried to show it in other ways, but Sandy didn't think Ryan ever recognized them for what they were. To him it was Kirsten simply being the good mother the kid never had. He didn't realize that Kirsten buying him clothes and offering to decorate the pool house for him was her way of trying to get to know him. He didn't understand that Kirsten wanting to make a home-cooked Thanksgiving dinner for the first time in years was her way of making him feel like he was part of the family. The kid didn't hear the way Kirsten defended him from people like Julie Cooper or the many whispered conversations she and Sandy had at night about how he was adjusting to his new life. Ryan never knew that Kirsten had cried when she and Sandy had looked over his medical file or that his wife often looked in on him in the pool house when he was asleep just to make sure he was safe. It was clear to Sandy that Kirsten cared, but he wasn't the one who needed to be convinced. Ryan was.

Then there was Caleb. The self-righteous prick that had the audacity to call himself father. He was against Ryan from the very beginning and had no qualms about making it known. The kid had enough enemies in the world and Sandy tried to protect him from Caleb Nicholl as often as he was able, but Caleb had a way of seeping into every nook and cranny of their lives. Sandy couldn't stop the harsh, penetrating way the old man looked at Ryan and he knew that the kid from Chino had enough experience with people who hated him that the meaning of that gaze was not lost on him. Nor could Sandy stop Caleb from sizing up Ryan like he was his next opponent in the boxing ring and though he knew Ryan could outpunch the man with ease he wasn't sure the kid was up for the type of games Caleb liked to play. As sad as it was, Ryan was used to fists and Sandy was afraid he would be blindsided by one of Caleb's schemes that seemed to always lurk just beneath the surface of their lives like a monster of the deep.

Still, despite the troubles they faced, they were moving forward. Ryan's smile, so hesitant and feeble at first, had become a more common occurrence. The kid was still emotionally distant from them, but Sandy expected that he always would be in some way or another. As much as they would like to be, Sandy and Kirsten were not his parents and could never erase the years of hopelessness and abuse that had taken place. There were some scars that would never fade and the fact that Ryan was as functional as he was seemed like a miracle to Sandy. The first time they had opened Ryan's medical records had been a sobering and painful experience for both of them. No mention of abuse was ever made, but there were too many unexplained injuries in his file to suggest anything else and Sandy was furious that Ryan had slipped through the cracks for so long. Something should have been done after the first time the kid came in with broken bones and a flimsy excuse, but the Chino hospital was notorious for turning a blind eye. What else could they do? There were so many cases in that area that it would be easy for a quiet kid like Ryan to fade into the background.

After reading his file, Sandy felt like they had done the right thing more strongly than ever. They could offer him a life free from fear and constant doubt. They could give him a home where no hand would be raised against him, where he could focus on having the childhood he'd been robbed of. Sandy had hoped that Ryan would be able to leave the memory of his life before behind him, but there was one string that he couldn't bear to cut and as long as that tie remained Ryan would never truly be free. Sandy didn't think Trey was a hopeless case, but for reasons he didn't understand the older Atwood hadn't been able to withstand the siren's call of criminal activity and he had very nearly drug Ryan down with him. Hell, maybe he still would.

Sandy knew that Trey had something to do with his adopted son's current condition. He knew that the reason Ryan was alone and bleeding was because his brother had somehow talked him into a favor. He knew this and his blood boiled. It wasn't fair. Ryan had already been through more in his sixteen years than most people went through in their whole lives. The kid deserved happiness. He deserved to be loved and cherished. He deserved peace, but it seemed life would only grant him that in one way. Death would be his peace, his final breath would be his resting moment.

Sandy shook that thought away. Ryan wasn't dead yet. He wouldn't allow himself to give up hope when there was still hope to be had. His finger's tightened on the steering wheel and he glanced over at Kirsten who was talking on the phone with the emergency operator. His wife said a hurried goodbye and slapped the phone shut. She closed her eyes and Sandy could see tears threatening to spill across her cheeks, but she wiped them away roughly with the back of her hand.

"They've got him," Kirsten said roughly. "They've got him, Sandy, but he's in bad shape. She wouldn't give me the exact details, but I could hear it in her voice. They're taking him to a clinic in Chino where they are going to life-flight him to the hospital in Newport." Her voice broke a little on life-flight, but Sandy didn't comment on it. "They want us to meet them at the clinic. She said one of us could go with him on the helicopter if we made it in time."

"How long did they say?" Sandy said hoarsely.

"Ten minutes," Kirsten whispered. "They won't have time to wait for us, Sandy. If we aren't there then we'll just have to meet them at the hospital."

"We'll be there," Sandy said quietly, pushing his foot down on the gas pedal. "I am not going to let Ryan go through this alone. You should go with him, Kirsten. I think he would want you there."

"No," Kirsten said, smiling sadly. "I'm not the one he trusts, Sandy. You were his knight in shining armor from the very beginning. You're the one he called and you're the one he'd want beside him."

"Kirsten," Sandy began. "You should go—"

"Stop it, Sandy. He needs you and I know you want to be there for him."

"And you don't?"

"Of course I do," Kirsten said earnestly. "But, this isn't about what I want. It's about what Ryan would want and he would want you. He needs you, Sandy. He needs someone to hold his hand and tell him everything is going to be okay. You can give him that. I can't."

Sandy opened his mouth to argue with her, but she stopped him with a small shake of her head. She was crying and for once made no move to hide her tears. Sandy pushed on the gas pedal a little bit harder.

"You know I'm no good at things like that," she told him. "When Seth was a kid and he got sick it was always you who sat with him. I made sure he had everything he needed, Sandy. I made the doctors appointments, got the medicine, made him chicken soup, got videos from the store that I knew he would like, but you comforted him. I am good with lists, Sandy. I am good at making sure everything is organized and you can be damn sure I will get everything Ryan needs when he needs it, but if I go in that helicopter I will only screw it up somehow. He needs your strength."

"Alright," Sandy whispered. "I'll go with him."

He would never admit it to his wife, but he was secretly relieved that she had given him permission to go with Ryan. Sandy knew Kirsten loved the kid and this would be hard on her, but Kirsten had a way of compartmentalizing emotions and storing them away. He knew she would be able to drive the hour or so back to Newport and remain as outwardly calm as a babbling brook. If Sandy made that drive he would be so beside himself with worry that he would probably cause a wreck and then both he and Ryan would be in dire straits. Besides, he wanted to be there for him. He wanted to show him that he wasn't alone and that he never would be again if Sandy had anything to say about it.

"Hurry," Kirsten told him, looking at the clock on the dashboard. "You need to faster, Sandy."

Faster? He was already creeping up on ninety and in California that was a miracle in and of itself. Still, he could coax a little more speed from the engine rumbling beneath the car's hood and he pushed it to ninety-five. He flew through a stoplight and hissed in a breath when he saw the flashing lights of a cop behind him. If Ryan were here he would find Sandy's misfortune with the police terribly amusing.

"Don't stop," Kirsten warned him.

"I wasn't planning on it," Sandy told her. "He'll just have to join us for the ride."

"Good," his wife whispered. "We're down to four minutes, Sandy. We aren't going to make it."

"Yes, we will. I can see the clinic up ahead. We'll pull in and I'll jump out. Tell copper back there that I'm sorry."

Kirsten glanced behind her at the cop who had turned his sirens on blaringly loud. Sirens suddenly loomed ahead of them as well and Sandy watched as cars parted like the Red Sea for an ambulance speeding into the clinic parking lot. There was a median between him and the clinic and Sandy would have to turn left. No time for that. He would have to take the tiny space between cars the ambulance had offered him. He grit his teeth and wrenched the wheel to the side, bringing the tires bouncing up over the median, and slammed on the gas pedal. He screeched through traffic and could hear horns blaring at him, but he ignored them. The cop swerved around the median and followed them into the parking lot, but before he could even get out of his car Sandy was running across the black top to the helipad where the ambulance had come to a stop.

He heard the cop shout at him to stay where he was, but he ignored him as easily as he ignored the wailing horns on the street. Kirsten would handle the cop. She always was better at escaping tickets than him, anyways. Sandy watched as the paramedics maneuvered a stretcher out of the back of the ambulance and his heart lurched. Ryan. Sandy ran faster.

The stretcher was well on its way to the helicopter by the time Sandy caught up with them. A paramedic heard his pounding feet and turned to stop him.

"Sir," he said, putting a warning hand against his chest. "This is a restricted area and you can't—"

"He's mine," Sandy growled at the medic, pushing his hand aside. "I'm his father."

The medic looked behind him at the woman who must have been his superior. She studied Sandy for a tiny moment then nodded, turning her attention back to Ryan. The medic who had stopped him stepped in front of him and helped the woman lift the stretcher into the helicopter then reached out a hand to give Sandy a boost up. He took it gratefully and pulled himself into the dark interior of the aircraft, trying to get to Ryan before he'd even made it through the door.

"Sir," the woman told him. "I know this must be difficult, but I need you to stay out of my way."

"He's my son," Sandy said. "You can't keep me from him."

"Sit beside him," the woman said. "But be prepared to move the second I tell you to."

Sandy nodded and made his way to the small seat on Ryan's left side. He wouldn't allow himself to look at the kid until he was seated, but he didn't even have to turn his head to see the dark blood that soaked his torn shirt. He wanted to be sick, but he swallowed hard and kept it under control. The paramedic would kill him if he threw up all over the floor.

He sat down heavily on the tiny seat and turned his attention on Ryan. Kirsten had said he was in bad shape, but words couldn't have prepared him for this. This was a scene from every parent's worst nightmare.

The kid looked lifeless. His skin was ashen and his lips, the tips of fingers, and Sandy imagined his toes were tipped with the lightest blue. A sign of blood loss. Major blood loss. Blood smudged his cheeks, his hairline, his throat, his arms. It was everywhere, bright and vivid against the white of his skin. They were signs of people attempting to help him, but somehow this knowledge made it no less disturbing. The male medic was pressing a large towel into Ryan's side in an attempt to stop the stream of blood, but in seconds it was sodden with a red darker than Sandy had ever thought possible.

The lead paramedic was pumping air into Ryan's lungs and keeping a close eye on the heart monitor he was hooked up to. Sandy didn't like the way she frowned at the screen, but he couldn't find the words to ask her to explain. Instead he took Ryan's blood crusted hand and held it tight, watching his son's chest rise and fall with every rhythmic pump of the medic's hands.

"BP is 60 over 40," she told her partner. "He's dropping, Collin. You've got to get his bleeding under control."

"I'm trying," Collin said. "I can't find an exit wound, Stacy. I think the bullet is still in him."

"Damn," Stacy hissed. "Do we know if it was a hollow point?"

"I can't tell," Collin said. "He's bleeding too much for me to get a good look at the entry point."

"Mr. Atwood," Stacy said, turning to him. "I need to help my partner get a look at your son's wound so we can figure out what we're dealing with. I'm going to need you to hold this and squeeze it every ten seconds or so. Then release. Can you do that?"

Sandy didn't bother correcting her when she called him Mr. Atwood. There was no way he could explain the situation they were in and he didn't have the strength to do it anyways. He simply took the blue oxygen pump she held out to him and moved to stand where she had been. He squeezed and watched Ryan's chest rise.

This was it. This tiny little thing was the only obstacle standing between his kid and death. If Sandy let go of the pump he knew Ryan would not breathe on his own. It didn't matter if Sandy held his hand or not because the kid wouldn't even know he was there. He could feel himself beginning to spiral down and he pumped air into Ryan's lungs in response, using the task as an anchor to keep him grounded. As long as his heart kept beating Sandy would fight for him. And maybe long after his heart stopped to.

Sandy couldn't hear the whirring of the helicopter blades or the way the paramedics shouted orders at each other as they attempted to keep Ryan's heart pumping. The only thing he could hear was the ping of the monitor in the corner and it seemed like his own heart was keeping the same erratic rhythm. He didn't even feel it when the aircraft touched down, looking up only when the helicopter door slid open and he had to shield his eyes from the blinding sunlight.

The sun fell across Ryan's face and illuminated the circles beneath his eyes and the blood across his cheeks. Sandy jumped from the helicopter after they had gotten him down to the ground and jogged to catch up to them as they made their way to the hospital. He knew the emergency room staff were shouting to each other, but Sandy couldn't make out their words. All he knew was the iciness of Ryan's hand as he took it in his own, jogging to remain by his side, the rhythm of his heart still pounding in his head.

And then the rhythm stopped. Sandy almost fell with the shock of it and he released Ryan's hand in horror. The only thing reaching his ears was the incessant whine of a machine with nothing to record. No heart beat. Ryan's heart had officially given up on its hopeless duty and finally lay still in his chest.

"No," Sandy croaked out. "Ryan, come on kid. Don't do this. Wake up, Ryan."

He tried to take his hand again, but was stopped by two beefy hospital guards who kept him from following Ryan through the emergency room doors. Sandy tried to push them away, but they weren't like the tiny medic in the helicopter and they refused to budge.

"I've got to stay with him," Sandy tried to explain. "Please, he's my son."

"I'm sorry," hospital guard one said. "Nobody but staff is allowed through these doors. There is nothing more you can do but take a seat in the waiting room and be patient."

"Fuck patience," Sandy growled. "I can't leave him alone."

"He's not alone," guard two told him gently. "He's with the best doctors in Newport, sir. Let me show you to the waiting room. It's just around the corner here and—"

"No," Sandy said. "I don't need you to show me. I can find my way just fine."

"I'm sorry," guard two said. "I know this is hard, but the best thing you can do for him is stay positive."

Sandy hadn't felt like punching somebody since his teenage days in the Bronx, but he was thinking about it then. He knew the guard was trying to be kind and helpful, but it he was sick with worry and punching anybody sounded like a really good idea.

He swallowed hard and walked away, leaving the guard for another worried father to knock out. Sandy looked at the emergency room entrance stonily and shook his head. He couldn't go in there. Not yet. He needed fresh air. He needed to get the smell of Ryan's blood out of his nose.

Sandy found a quiet spot on the side of the hospital grounds. He sat against the wall, sliding down until he could feel the dampness from the concrete sinking into his pants. He should call Kirsten, call Seth, and Marissa. He should call somebody but he couldn't find the strength to get the phone out of his pocket. All he could do was sit there and breathe. In and out. Imagining he was breathing for Ryan.

Ryan. The kid who had come into their lives as unexpected as a snowstorm in California. The boy who had faced horrors no child should have to face, but still managed to be kind and good. The kid who brought Seth out of his shell and showed him that there was so much more to life than being invisible. The kid who seemed to be thawing the icy exterior of his wife without even realizing he'd been doing it. The kid who reminded Sandy what family meant and had brought them together, truly together, for the first time in a long time.

Ryan Atwood. Their deliverance. Their savior. Their second chance.

Their son.

Sandy Cohen put his face in his hands and wept.