Author's Note: Another Sandy chapter for you to enjoy. PLEASE REVIEW!

"So, let me see if I understand this correctly," Sergeant Nick Grimes said to Sandy, staring at him from across his desk and fiddling with his turtle paperweight. "You want me to give you special permission to visit an inmate in my prison who is not a member of your family, has never met you before, and will most likely be less than thrilled by your visitation? Is that what I'm hearing, Sandy?"

"I know how it sounds," Sandy began.

"Do you?" Grimes asked, his eyebrows quirked.

"Yes," Sandy sighed, rubbing his face in exhaustion. "I know that this is a lot to ask of you, Nick. I know this puts you in an awkward position, but you know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

Sandy glanced up at his friend through his hands. He didn't like the pensive frown or the way the old man's eyebrows furrowed. He needed this to work. Ryan needed it to work. He'd promised the kid he would find out who had shot him and he was going to keep that promise, come hell or high water. There had been one too many promises broken in the Cohen household. Sandy would put a stop to it right now. He just had to convince the old man in front of him to say yes to his request. A job easier said than done.

Visiting Sergeant Nick Grimes was a crotchety man, full of what The Nana used to call piss and vinegar. He'd been an L.A. cop for thirty five years before he'd finally retired, but it seemed domestic life didn't suit him in the slightest. It wasn't long after his supposed retirement that Grimes had taken a job with the California Department of Correction and Rehabilitation and become a sergeant within the walls of the California Institution for Men. He was the visiting sergeant and anybody visiting a prisoner inside the penitentiary had to go through him first. Normally, visiting privileges were attained through a rigorous application process that included a background check and a signed form of consent from the prisoner. It could take weeks for the screening process to be complete and Sandy didn't have that kind of time. Besides, he highly doubted Trey Atwood would ever give his permission to be seen.

Luckily, for reasons Sandy had never understood, Grimes had taken a liking to him. Even though he was a democrat and not a member of the NRA. The two men were as different as could be, but they got a long well and Sandy knew that he could count on Grimes to help him out of a tight spot. Unless, of course, the favor went against the sergeant's strict moral code or abused his power in any way. Nick's general fondness had its limits and was a fine line to walk on the best of days. Unfortunately for Sandy, his request straddled that line like a Texas harlot would a mechanical bull.

"Listen," Sandy said. "I get that this is unorthodox, Nick, but—"

"Unorthodox," Grimes snorted. "Shit, son, this goes way beyond unorthodox. You're asking me to let you see a man who doesn't want to be seen. I could get into a lot of trouble for that, Sandy." He shook his head. "Why are you so desperate to talk to this prisoner? You aren't his lawyer. I know that because if you were we wouldn't be having this discussion. So, why?"

"My son," Sandy said softly. "I think Trey had something to do with why he's in a coma and I mean to find out."

"Shit," Grimes rumbled. "Seth's in the hospital? Jesus, Sandy, why didn't you say something when you came in?"

"Not Seth," Sandy said. "My other son. Ryan."

"Ryan?" Grimes said, scratching his head as if trying to remember. "Sandy, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't remember you having a son named Ryan. Maybe I'm finally going senile like Lucille always said I would, bless her soul, but—"

"Nick," Sandy said, smiling despite himself. "You aren't going senile, you old coot. We just haven't talked in a long time. A lot has happened."

"I blame you for that," Grimes told him, groaning as he got up from his chair. "I'm an old man now. I can't keep up with you baby boomers anymore so it's your job to come see me. Not the other way around."

"I'll try and do better," Sandy promised. "Scout's honor."

"Scouts? Scouts?" Nick grumbled. "What the hell do the scout's know, Sandy? Nothing but a bunch of pansy ass milk-drinkers."

"I was a scout once," Sandy told him, grinning.

"Bah," Nick grunted. "Explains your lady fingers, I suppose. How did you become a member of the scouts anyway? I thought you were one of those Eastern city boys. All tender meat and no gristle."

"A summer camp when I was a kid," Sandy said, shrugging. "We used to go up to Brookhaven State Park and learn how to be heathens."

Grimes was quiet and stared out his office window with all the intensity of a crow who'd just spotted the worm. Sandy knew his silence was a part of his process, a part of how he thought things over. Normally this particular trait was endearing to Sandy. Now it was just driving him crazy.

"I don't normally ask favors of you," Sandy told him breathlessly. "You know me, Nick. You've known me for a hell of a long time. When have I ever pushed the limit with you? When have I ever asked you for more than you could give?"

"You're making a pretty good go of it right now," Grimes said softly. The old man heaved a sigh and turned back to face Sandy with tired eyes. "I never thought in a million years I would get a long so well with a damned lawyer. Sandy, I like you, but I don't know if I can help you. All I can do is listen to what you have to say. I can't promise anything more than that."

"That's all I wanted," Sandy told him. "I swear if you don't like what I have to tell you I won't mention it again."

"Bull shit," Grimes snorted with an amused shake of his head. "I've seen you in court, my friend. A damned shark if I've ever seen one."

"What does that mean?" Sandy asked sharply, reminding himself that his emotions were raw and sensitive.

"It means," Grimes said pointedly. "That once you've tasted blood you don't let go. I can tell you no until I'm blue in the face and it wouldn't do a damn thing to weaken your resolve. That's one of the things I like about you, Sandy. Just…just not today, I'm afraid."

"This isn't about some case," Sandy told him desperately. "This isn't about how I look in a court room or anything else. This is about a kid who has been beaten down his whole life, Nick. This is about a young man that has so much to offer the world if only he had the chance to do it. Kirsten and I, we're trying to give him that chance."

"Ryan," Nick said slowly. "This is the kid you're talking about? The one you call your son?"

"Nick, do you remember those stories you used to tell me? About the kids on the streets and how it broke your heart to not be able to grant them justice for what the world had done to them? Ryan was one of those kids. He breaks my heart almost every single day, Nick. He deserves justice. You can help give him that."

"Sly move, lawyer," Grimes grimaced, picking up his empty coffee mug and looking at it distastefully. "You've certainly got my attention." Picking up the coffee mug and coming to stand next to the coffee maker he glanced down at Sandy and sighed heavily as he filled his cup. "Go on. Tell me about him. I know you're dying to."

"It's a long story," Sandy warned him.

Grimes sat down heavily in his chair and took a long drag on his coffee, smacking his lips against the edge of the mug in pleasure. He set the mug on the desk, leaned back in his chair, and said, "Does it look like I've got somewhere to be?"

Sandy grinned then began his tale. Ryan's tale. He poured his heart out to Sergeant Nick Grimes in a way he'd only done once before when he'd asked Kirsten to marry him. He told the old man of their ups and downs, their awkward silences at dinner when nobody knew exactly what to say. He told him how Ryan had come to stay with them and the horrors he'd faced before his life in Newport. He explained how he felt about the boy from Chino, how he saw aspects of himself in Ryan and somehow felt closer to him because of it. He told Grimes how desperately he wanted to be like a father to his new son and how he felt he'd failed in that. He told of Ryan's relationship with Trey and how tight the noose was that Trey held around Ryan's neck. And he told him of their Thanksgiving, of the nightmare it had become, of seeing Ryan near death and being unable to do anything, of breaking down inside his hospital room. By the end, an hour had passed and Sandy was forced to wipe tears from his eyes before he could look at the sergeant.

"This is why it's so important," Sandy finished hoarsely. "This is why I have to see Trey. I can't give Ryan his life back, but I can at least make sure the son of the bitch that did this to him is rotting in prison, Nick. He doesn't get to take Ryan's life away from him and think he still gets to live his free and easy."

Grimes stared at him from across his desk, his expression unreadable. Sandy fidgeted in his seat and bit down the urge to scream at the old man to hurry the hell up and give him an answer. He'd already been away from Ryan's side far too long and every minute spent in Nick's dingy little office was another minute Ryan could slip away from him. Forever.

When Kirsten had arrived the next morning to find her husband passed out in the chair, with Ryan's hand clasped in his, she'd ordered him to go home and sleep. He hadn't wanted to leave the kid, especially not to do something as ridiculous as sleep, but Kirsten had her death glare plastered to her face. Besides, Sandy knew that the body wasn't an immortal thing. He knew that better than ever now. If he was going to be there for Ryan's journey in the way he knew he would need to be, Sandy had to make sure to take care of himself along the way. So, despite his guilt and reluctance, he'd gone home and managed to sleep for a couple of hours. In his dreams he watched Ryan die over and over again, unable to help, frozen to the spot. When he'd finally jerked awake he had rushed to the bathroom and threw up a nights worth of coffee and No-Doz. It had come up harsh and acidic in his throat and Sandy was forced to his knees by the strength of his heaves. When he was done he'd lain his head against the cool tiles of his bathroom and cried, gripping the stones with his fingers as if he could anchor himself to them and stay afloat on the sea of emotions that threatened to drown him.

He'd called Kirsten the second he'd gotten control of himself for news on Ryan, but his wife had little to tell him. He was still waxy and gray. Still on the brink of death. Still comatose.

"I'm going to talk to Trey," he'd told her. "I'm going to get him to talk about what happened."

"Do you think that wise, Sandy?" Kirsten asked him. "Couldn't you get in trouble for that?"

"For what?" Sandy snapped. "For visiting an inmate? For giving the kid news on his comatose brother? Who is going to stop me, Kirsten? Who is going to question my motives?"

"Sandy," Kirsten sighed. "Maybe we should just let the police do their jobs. I think you might be too close to this. You aren't sounding like yourself."

"How am I supposed to sound?" Sandy had croaked. "Kirsten, tell me how I am supposed to fucking sound! Our son is dying, Kirsten! Dying! And the only two people who can tell me why aren't talking. What choice do I have? Marissa is a minor and I can't do anything with her. But Trey? I can talk to him, Kirsten! I can do something!"

"Sandy," Kirsten began, on the verge of tears. "I just—"

"Just let me do something," Sandy shouted. "I can't sit here any longer and not do anything. I can't do it, Kirsten. I'm sorry, but I just—I just can't."

"I understand," Kirsten whispered, her voice tinny and weak through the phone speaker. "Do what you need to, Sandy. Just…just be careful, okay?"

"Yeah," Sandy muttered, anger rushing from him as quickly as it had come. "Yeah, I will. I won't be long. I'll stay the night with him again. I like talking to him when it's quiet." He sighed and tried to dull the headache that was forming at the base of his temples with his fingers.

"I love you," Kirsten said softly.

"I love you to," Sandy said hoarsely. He went to hang up the phone, but thought better of it at the last second. "Kirsten?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't leave him alone," Sandy ordered her quietly. "Not even for a second."

"I wasn't planning on it, Sandy. I haven't left his side since you left."

"Good," Sandy grunted. "I'll call you when I'm done."

He'd flipped his phone shut without another word and pulled his suit from his closet. Suits were intimidating. Suits meant business. He unfolded the picture of Ryan from his wallet and studied it for a long moment. He'd taken a photo of his son in his hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and monitors, his flesh grey and lifeless. This was what he would show to Trey. It would be cruel, but it was what was needed. Guilt is more effective than any other interrogation technique if the suspect had it. And Trey had it. He had it in spades. Sandy just had to pull on it hard enough and make the man split wide open.

Grimes sighed, bringing Sandy back to the present. He stared at the old man expectantly, but was not encouraged by the expression on his face. Sandy could feel the anger and the guilt already beginning to tug at his belly, relentless in its quest to make him feel more pain than he already did. He couldn't fail in this. Failing in this was failing Ryan. Adding another broken promise to an already broken child.

"How sure are you?" Grimes asked. "How sure are you that Ryan's brother was involved in this?"

"100%," Sandy said immediately. "There is no doubt in my mind, Nick. Trey is involved in this somehow."

"Sandy," Grimes said gently. "I get that you love the kid and I get that you want to find the person who did it, but…but is it possible that you're reaching for straws on this one?"

"What?" Sandy said tonelessly.

"You have no proof," Grimes told him. "The fact that Ryan was talking to Trey before the shooting is suspicious, yes, but its not concrete evidence that he was involved." Sandy opened his mouth to retaliate, but Grimes held up his hand. "Just listen for a second, son. The kid was in Chino, Sandy. The place isn't fucking Sesame Street. People get hurt. Sometimes kids like Ryan. Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"No," Sandy growled vehemently. "I know Trey asked him to do something for him. I know it, Nick. Marissa Cooper, the girl that was with him, told the cops that Ryan was bringing a car to someone in Chino."

"So Trey asks him to take a car to a friend and he gets shot a long the way," Nick told him. "Still nothing criminal, Sandy. Nothing that would convince me to break protocol and let you talk to him."

"Think," Sandy snarled. "Think for a second. I told you that Trey has some kind of hold on my son. A goddamn noose around Ryan's neck. For whatever reason, Ryan seems to think he owes his brother something. The man convinced the kid to steal a car with him, Nick. If he could guilt Ryan into that, who is to say he couldn't do it on something else?" Sandy swallowed and closed his eyes. "When we were talking on the phone in the bathroom he kept mentioning that he'd done something bad, something he felt sure we would hate him over. Why would he say something like that, Nick, unless there was a reason behind it? Unless Trey talked him into one last favor. I can just see Trey sending his little brother into the lion's den with no protection. I just need to talk to him so I can prove it."

"Then what?" Grimes asked Sandy mildly. "Say the brother does spill the beans and gives you a name. What do you plan to do with it?"

"What do you mean?" Sandy asked.

"Son," Grimes said gently. "I was cop for thirty five damn years. I've been through my fair share of murders, rapes, abductions, and assaults. And almost all of them have someone like you. A father, filled with grief and rage, and ready to do whatever it takes to bring down the person responsible for harming their loved ones. And they all had the same look in their eyes as you do now. It isn't the look of justice I see in you, Sandy. It's the look of revenge." Grimes took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I can't let you talk to this kid and then have you go off on some vigilante suicide mission. I can't do that to you. I can't do it to Kirsten. And I can't do it to Seth."

"I give you my word," Sandy told him solemnly. "I swear, Nick, I won't do anything stupid if only because I can't leave Ryan alone. I promised him that. Just like I promised I would find who hurt him."

"Look," Grimes said after a long, pregnant moment. "I can't make the kid talk to you, Sandy, but I can try and coax him into it. If he gives his permission than you ask him what you need to. If not…then I'm sorry old friend, but there isn't anything I can do."

"Thank you," Sandy told him. "You have no idea how much this means to me, Nick. If you ever need anything…anything at all…you just have to ask."

"It isn't a favor if there is a price to it," Grimes told him. "Like I said, I like you, Sandy. It's a rare man that comes along and is willing to offer a kid like Ryan a second chance. No matter how smart or kind or loveable he is. It's an even more rare man that loves the kid like his own. You want to do something for me? Keep your promise, Sandy. If Ryan wakes up you make sure you show him that the world isn't completely rotten, that there are good people and that he deserves better. And…if he doesn't wake up…show him anyways. Any way you can."

"I think I can manage that," Sandy said with a small smile.

Grimes heaved himself out of his chair and slipped his glasses over his crooked nose. Despite being 76, Nick Grimes was surprisingly fit and though he was small in stature he certainly was no push over. Sandy could never be entirely sure, but he could have sworn he'd seen muscle definition in the man's lean legs. As a cop he'd made more than a few grown men cry and it wouldn't have surprised Sandy in the slightest if he could still manage it now.

"You stay here," Grimes ordered Sandy. "I'll go see what I can do about getting Atwood to talk to you. If he see's you he might get spooked."

"What about you, old timer?" Sandy teased softly.

"Me?" Grimes asked innocently. "What did I do?"

"I've heard the stories," Sandy told him. "They say you used to be a real terror back in the day."

"Who says?"

"The guards," Sandy said.

"Bah," Grimes grunted. "A bunch of slack-jawed buffoons, the lot of them. They yap their mouths so much because they haven't got a brain to share between them." He turned and grinned at Sandy with nicotine yellow teeth. " Just don't tell them I said that."

"Your secret is safe," Sandy said softly. "How long do you think you'll be?"

"I don't know," Grimes said with a shrug. "Not long I hope. Why?"

"I was wondering if I could make a quick call."

"Sure," Nick said. "The phone is over there on the desk. I have one those old rotary telephones because these damned contraptions they make these days don't make a lick of sense to me. Just dial nine to make a phone call out."

"Thanks," Sandy told him, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his cell and the folded picture of Ryan. He put his hand on Nick's shoulder and pushed the photograph into the man's wrinkled hand. "Give this to Trey. I think he should see it."

Grimes studied Sandy's face for a moment then looked down at the picture in his hand. He unfolded it gently and stared at the photo for a long minute before folding it back up and placing it in the front pocket of his uniform.

"That's low," he told Sandy softly. "Making the kid look at that."

"Yeah," Sandy said. "But, sometimes you've got to be low to do what's right. This is partly Trey's fault and he's got to take responsibility at some point. If I have to guilt trip him into then so be it. I don't like it anymore than you do, but it has to be done."

"And if the brother is innocent?" Grimes asked. "What then, Sandy?"

"I already told you," Sandy replied stonily. "Trey Atwood isn't innocent in all this. He isn't a victim. The only person that's a victim in this whole mess is Ryan."

"Son, you're a smart man. A reasonable man. If Ryan did do a favor for Trey he wasn't forced into it. He wasn't threatened. He wasn't blackmailed. The kid had a choice, Sandy. He chose and he got hurt because of it, but he still had one."

"I don't think he did," Sandy replied sadly. "Not in his world, Nick. Something spooked him enough to take the risk of ruining everything he'd worked so hard for. Ryan wouldn't do that if there wasn't a reason and I will bet every penny I have that Trey is that reason."

"Alright," Grimes said. "If you think this is the right thing to do then I'll trust your judgment. I'll give him the picture."

"Thank you," Sandy said, watching as the old man walked out his office door and into the cool, chrome hallway beyond. "I'll wait here."

Grimes nodded in acknowledgement then strode down the hallwayto the prisoner blocks. Sandy watched him go, his stomach a whirling mess inside him. As soon as Nick was out of sight, Sandy closed the office door and sat behind Nick's desk, picking up the rotary phone and dialing. He heard the phone ringing on the other end, followed by static as the receiver was picked up.

"Hello?" a soft voice said.

"Marissa," Sandy said softly. "I hoped it would be you."

"Mr. Cohen," Marissa said in surprise. "I really shouldn't be talking to you. My mother—"

"So, you're listening to your mother now?"

"No, it's just…I—"

"Ryan is in a coma," Sandy told her bluntly. "The doctor doesn't know if he'll wake up."

"Yeah," Marissa whispered. "I know. Summer told me. Or, you know, Seth told Summer and Summer told me."

"He's your boyfriend, Marissa."

"I know."

"So where the hell are you? Why aren't you telling the cops what happened?"

"Mr. Cohen, I—I wanted to, but…"

"But what? Your mother told you not to? When have you ever listened to Julie, Marissa? The past five months you've been doing practically everything you can to piss her off, but the one time somebody actually needs you to give her the middle finger and you can't do it?"

"I tried," Marissa began. "I tried to tell them what happened, what I saw, but I couldn't, Mr. Cohen." The young woman was crying and Sandy felt his anger ebb away. "I couldn't live through it all again."

"That's too bad," Sandy said coolly. "Because Ryan is going to have to live through it for a long time, Marissa. And that's if he lives through it at all. He's been there for you, every moment you've needed him. Every time you get yourself into some kind of trouble Ryan is there taking the hit for you." Sandy shook his head sadly. "One might begin to wonder, Marissa, if you're any different from Ryan's family. Always taking, but never giving back."

"That's not true," Marissa cried. "Mr. Cohen, please, I want to help but—"

"I don't think you do," Sandy told her. "I think you want to pretend that none of this ever happened and that your world is the perfect dream it's always been. I used to have so much respect for you, Marissa. It's a shame you're becoming more and more like your mother every day."

"I don't—please, I just wanted—" Sandy hung up the phone.

He knew he was being cruel, knew he was taking out his anger and frustration on a girl that had little control over how she'd turned out. He knew it, but he didn't particularly care. He hadn't been planning on calling Marissa in the first place, but some strange need to confront her had filled him and before he really knew what was happening he was asking Grimes if he could use his phone.

Sandy leaned back in Nick's chair and groaned into his hands. His whole plan with Ryan was to make things less complicated for the kid…not more so. And now, not only was the kid comatose, not only had Sandy failed him in more ways than he could count, but he'd officially made things awkward with his girlfriend. Just add it to the fucking list.

Maybe Ryan would wake up and have no memory of Marissa Cooper. Maybe he wouldn't ever have to watch her drag Ryan down again. Sandy hated himself almost instantly. That was a horrible thought. Not the idea of Marissa being unable to have Ryan in her clutches again, of course, but the idea of Ryan not remembering. Not remembering…him? Seth? Kirsten?

Sandy had to put his head between his knees as the horror of that thought struck him. What would he do if Ryan woke and looked at him like he was a stranger? What would he say when he asked for his mother instead of him, for his brother instead of Seth? He wouldn't be able to handle the confusion and distress in Ryan's eyes, the distrust and caution he thought they'd finally surpassed.

Talking with Nick had kept his mind busy, his thoughts from slipping into a dark place, but now that the old man was gone and Sandy was alone once more, the demons began to lurk at the edges of his mind. He was so goddamn tired and all he wanted to do was sleep, hide away in the darkness until he could be sure there would be a pot of gold at the end of his rainbow. A happy ending to Ryan's story. But, he couldn't sleep. Not really. He could doze and recharge his battery, but it would never be peaceful. Never give him anything but nightmares. Not until Ryan was safe again. Not until his soulful eyes flickered open and recognized Sandy for who he desperately wanted to be. His friend, his protector, his father.

Sandy thought back to a night that seemed so long ago, but was only months before. They'd told Ryan of their plans to adopt him and the look on the kids face was something Sandy would never forget. That evening, Ryan had been laying out on one of the pool floats, staring at up the moon with almost enraptured intensity. The silver light had reflected off his eyes and Sandy had watched him smile for a long minute before he finally went out to join the newest member of their family for a late night swim.

"Care if I join you?" he'd asked the kid softly, watching as Ryan's eyes flickered over to him and followed Sandy's movements cautiously.

He wondered then if the kid even knew he was doing it. If he'd become so desensitized to having to watch his back that he wasn't aware of how he looked at people. Or, as equally disturbing, when he felt the need to submit to others. He'd done it to Sandy on more than one occasion, as well. Perhaps even more than simply following his movements. He wanted to tell the kid to stop, but he knew that his words wouldn't make a difference. The next time they spoke Ryan would still refuse to meet his gaze unless absolutely necessary and even then it would only be for a fraction of a second before they shifted downwards or away again. He simply had to prove that Ryan had nothing to fear from him. Something he knew would take time and effort. Sandy made it a point not to move too quickly and to respect the boundaries the kid had set for him. He had to remind himself to take this moment with Ryan slowly. If Ryan didn't want him here he wouldn't intrude.

"It's your pool," Ryan had told him with a small smile.

"It's yours to," Sandy said, sitting on the edge of the pool and dipping his feet in the water. "This is your home now, Ryan. What's ours is yours."

"Right," Ryan said softly. There was no sarcasm to his tone, no ungratefulness or disdain. It was clear to Sandy that the kid still didn't quite believe that they were serious.

"Kirsten wants to take you shopping," Sandy told him, kicking his feet and making ripples along the surface of the pool. "She's already made a whole list of things that she wants to get you."

"She doesn't need to do that," Ryan said, frowning. "You've already done so much that I can't even begin to repay—"

"Who said anything about repaying?" Sandy interrupted. "Kid, I told you. You're a part of our family. There is nothing to repay."

"I'll work around the house," Ryan said as if he hadn't heard Sandy. "I told Kirsten I worked construction for a summer. I'm pretty handy. I could do repairs or…or something. I can't live off of you forever, Sandy."

"You're seventeen," Sandy replied. "You should be out having fun. Not worrying about working around the house."

"I don't feel seventeen," Ryan whispered.

"No? How old do you feel? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty-five? God, what I wouldn't give to be twenty-five again."

"Old," Ryan said with the smallest hint of a smile. "That's how I feel sometimes."

"You don't have to feel that way anymore," Sandy replied, his heart breaking. "You know that, right?"

"I don't think it works that way, Mr. Cohen." He flicked water up into the silver light of the moon and watched it fall down again. "I read a book once about a man who was born old and aged backwards. I used to imagine that I would be like that, you know. Like I was born knowing that life sucks and fairytales don't happen, but I would forget all of that when I got older and be able to believe in magic like other kids do. Stupid, huh?"

"No," Sandy whispered. "That's not stupid, Ryan. There can be fairytales, you know. Dreams come true. You can make your dream come true if you have one."

"I already told you," Ryan said softly. "I stopped dreaming a long time ago."

"Then maybe it's time you started again, Ryan. What did you want more than anything when you were a kid?"

Ryan was quiet for a long time. Just when Sandy didn't think the kid would answer he swallowed visibly and said, "I used to want a lot of things. I wanted to be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle for years. My mo—" He had to stop and clear his throat. "My mom used to get so mad at me because I would walk around the house and karate chop anything I could lay my hands on."

"So what happened?" Sandy asked, grinning. "What stopped you from becoming a superhero?"

"I accidentally karate chopped the last of my dad's beer bottles off the porch," Ryan said with almost alarming calm. "I didn't do much karate chopping after that."

Sandy wanted to be sick at how collected the young man was as he talked about getting beat up. Nobody should be that calm. Nobody should be able to talk about something that horrible without any emotion at all.

"Right," Sandy said awkwardly. "Well, what else did you dream of doing when you were a kid?"

"Why are you asking me this, Mr. Cohen?"

"I'm just trying to make conversation, I guess. Find out who you are and what you want out of life."

"You know the funny thing about dreams?" Ryan said softly. "They always come with a price. They never tell you that, Mr. Cohen. They spend all day telling you to reach for the stars and that anything is possible if you believe in it hard enough, but its all lies, isn't it? They always forget to mention that you have to pay for your wishes…that nothing in this life comes for free."

"Ryan," Sandy began.

"I never believed in Santa Claus," Ryan told him. "Or the Easter Bunny or the tooth fairy. I told my friend Theresa that none of them were real when we were seven and I don't think she ever forgave me for that." Sandy watched him squeeze his hands into fists then release them before squeezing them tight again. "What did Seth dream about?"

"Summer mostly," Sandy said, pleased when Ryan laughed softly. "When he was six we finally took him to Disneyland. He'd wanted to go for so long, but when we got there he was too afraid to go on half of the rides and the other half made him sick. I think he got his picture taken with a bunch of the princesses though."

"You might have to show those to me," Ryan said with a small smile.

"You ever go?"

"Go where?"

"Disneyland."

"Just once," Ryan answered, looking away from Sandy and studying the ripples his feet were making intensely.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Did you have fun?"

"Sure."

"Sure?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Kid, are you ever going to answer me with more than three syllables?"

"I'm a master at three syllable answers. Why throw out something I'm good at?"

"Have it your way then," Sandy laughed. "What was your favorite ride? That should only take a few syllables to answer."

"Splash Mountain looked fun," Ryan said softly. "And that one…what was it called…the Indiana Jones one…it looked neat."

"Looked? Did you actually go on any of these rides, Ryan?"

"No," Ryan whispered.

"Why not?" Sandy laughed nervously. "You were in Disneyland, kid. Did they make you sick?"

"No."

"Were you afraid?"

"No."

"Then…why?"

"I don't think I want to talk about Disneyland anymore, Mr. Cohen."

"Ryan, you can talk to me, you know. I'm here for—"

"She got drunk," Ryan said suddenly. "My mom…she got drunk and she punched Donald Duck because she said he grabbed her. Only he turned out to be a she and she hadn't grabbed my mom, she'd stopped her from falling flat on her face. We got kicked out of the park…banned for life or something like that. Trey and I hadn't even gotten on any of the rides."

Sandy absorbed what he'd been told for a moment and then, "Your mom punched Donald Duck?"

"Yeah," Ryan snorted. "Its kind of funny when you say it out loud."

"Would you like to go?" Sandy asked who didn't really think it was funny at all.

"Where? Disneyland?"

"Yeah. We could take you."

"No offense," Ryan said, glancing over at Sandy and grinning. "But, I think I'm a little over the height limit for the teacups, don't you think?"

"Naw," Sandy said. "You can never be too tall for the teacups. They are made specifically so kids can watch their parents blow chunks and tease them about it for the rest of their lives." Sandy wanted to smack himself the second the words were out of his mouth. Ryan had probably been holding his mother's hair back since the time he could walk on two legs.

"Its certainly not something that's easy to forget," Ryan said softly.

"I'm sorry," Sandy groaned. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm making a real mess of this, aren't I?"

"It's fine," Ryan said, something Sandy had heard from him more times than he could count in the last few days. Then he paused. "Making a mess of what?"

"Getting you to trust me," Sandy said without thinking.

Ryan blinked up at him, startled for the first time since he'd met Sandy in juvenile detention. Sandy watched as he tried to arrange his face in a neutral expression, but he couldn't quite manage it and he could see the unease and the bewilderment in his eyes.

"What?" he said.

"You don't trust me," Sandy shrugged. The cat was already out of the bag. The least he could do was be honest with the kid.

"That's…that's not true," Ryan said weakly. "I trust you just fine, Mr. Cohen."

"Kid," Sandy told him with a gentle smile. "You trust me about as far you could throw me and that's okay. I didn't expect it to be any different. I was just trying to show you that you don't have to worry about me. I'm not going to hurt you."

Ryan's eyes went dark at his words and Sandy thanked God that he'd drifted from beneath the pool lights. If he had to see Ryan's expression he didn't know what he would have done. He could imagine it; hard and flat without warmth or feeling.

"I didn't think that you would," Ryan whispered finally.

"Ryan," Sandy said softly. "I see the way you look at me, you know. The way you flinch sometimes. I don't mean to notice, but I do. If you ever want to talk about it you can always talk to—"

"I think I'm going to go to bed now," Ryan said, rolling off of the float and splashing into the waist deep water.

"Ryan, just listen to me for a moment. I know that it would be hard, but sometimes getting things out in the open can really help and—"

"Stop it," Ryan warned him, moving towards the pool stairs so he could make good his escape. "I don't want to talk about this anymore, Mr. Cohen."

"I'm trying to help you, kid. I knew kids like you when I was young to. It's a horrible thing, but I can help you get through—"

"I said enough," Ryan snapped, getting out of the pool and angrily wrapping a towel around his shoulders. "I appreciate everything you have done for me, Sandy. I really do, but I can't talk about this with you. I won't."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," Sandy told him, standing up as well. "Ryan, none of that was your—"

"Don't I?" Ryan said softly, tugging his shirt over his head.. "I have everything to be ashamed of, Sandy. I'm ashamed that my family is what it is. I'm ashamed that my mother can't go a day without drinking herself into a stupor. I'm ashamed that my father couldn't control his temper on the best of days and that he wound up in jail. I'm ashamed that my brother followed right along with him and that I—I almost did to. But, you know what's strange? I'm ashamed that I'm ashamed. They're my family, right? If I don't have them who have I got?"

"Me," Sandy told him. "You've got me, kid."

The look on his face had been something Sandy would never forget. It was the same wonder and hope Sandy had seen earlier when Ryan was told that he would be staying with them. He could still see the caution, the unease, but for the moment it was hidden. He'd hugged Ryan that night. It had been an awkward timid thing, but it had felt right. The kid hadn't responded that much, but Sandy hadn't really expected him to. The fact that Ryan had let him touch him at all was something of a miracle.

Even now, waiting in Nick's office, he could feel the phantom shadow of that first hug. It had opened a door for them. Ryan's smile had come easier and Kirsten often told him that Sandy was the only person that could make his adopted son beam, that could make him laugh out loud. He wasn't going to let Trey or anyone else ruin what they had, regardless of whether Ryan remembered him or not. If he didn't Sandy would just have to forge something new from the ashes.

Sandy looked up when the door clicked open and Grimes shuffled through the doorframe. He wouldn't look at Sandy and his heart sunk. Did the pictures not work? Was Trey really that selfish and heartless? What the hell was he supposed to do now?

"What did he say?" Sandy asked, getting up to meet the old man halfway. "What did he say, Nick?"

"He'll see you," Grimes told him grimly. "You have an hour, Sandy. That's it. And I will be watching you for every moment of it."

"You don't trust me?" Sandy bristled.

"It has nothing to do with that, son. I trust you plenty, but like I said…it isn't justice you're after, Sandy. Its revenge. Understandable in your position, but I'm not interested in understanding. I'm interested in the law and keeping good men like yourself out of trouble. So, I'll be watching when you talk to him. Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it," Sandy said quickly.

"I thought so," Grimes nodded. "I can't imagine it will be very hard to break him, anyways. That photo really tore him up, Sandy. You should have seen the look on his face. You were right. He's guilty of something."

"It did what it needed to then," Sandy said walking to the door. "I'm going to go ahead and talk to him now. I want to be back with Ryan as soon as possible."

"You keep your chin up," Grimes told him. "And, Sandy, don't forget that anger and stupidity often take the same back-roads."

"I won't," Sandy whispered once he closed the door. "But that doesn't mean I won't walk them."

When Sandy finally saw Trey for the first time the man wasn't what he'd expected. He hadn't imagined a thug exactly, but he certainly never would have pictured Ryan's brother as the slim young man that sat at a visiting table, his leg moving restlessly up and down.

He glanced up at Sandy and his eyes flinched downwards. The expression was so like his brother's that Sandy had to bite his lip to keep from tearing up. He couldn't lose his cool in front of Trey. Or in front of Grimes who he was sure was watching from his office. The wonders of modern technology.

It wasn't until Sandy sat down across from him that he saw the litany of bruises on Trey's face. He stared at them for a moment, but didn't say anything. He wanted to let the kid stew in his own juices so he stared at him without blinking. Trey got more and more agitated as time went on until he finally snapped.

"What the hell do you want from me?" he snarled. "I don't have anything to tell you, okay?"

"I don't believe that," Sandy told him.

"Yeah," Trey said sarcastically. "Well, who gives a shit what you believe, old man?"

"I think you do," Sandy said softly. "I think you know who hurt your brother, Trey. And I think you were the one who put him up to it."

"No," Trey said, voice cracking. "I just talked with him, okay? That was it. Whatever Ryan did he did on his own."

"Ryan could die," Sandy told him coldly. "Do you understand that, Trey? Did you know that his heart stopped three times? That he practically bled out on the operating table?"

"Stop," Trey whispered. "I don't want to hear this."

"Why not? You're his brother, aren't you? You should know these things. I'm only being honest with you."

"He's strong," Trey said softly. "He always has been. Stronger than any of us. I always knew he would be the one to make it out."

"He didn't," Sandy said harshly. "Not really. You saw to that."

"I had nothing to do with what happened to him," Trey cried. "I swear…I just…we just talked."

"What did you talk about?" Sandy asked him. "Did you talk about where you got those bruises, Trey?"

"No," Trey said quickly.

"You're telling me Ryan didn't ask about why his brother was beat up? You expect me to believe that he wasn't worried about you?"

"Yes. I mean…I mean, we did talk about it, but I just told him what happened. You know, I got into a fight, and…Christ, I swear we just talked." Trey put his face in his hands. "I swear. We just talked."

"Trey," Sandy said earnestly. "You can help catch the bastard that did this to him. All you have to do is tell me the truth."

"I am," Trey snarled. "Who the hell do you think you are, anyways? Coming in here acting like you actually give a shit about my brother?" Trey laughed bitterly. "What are you really helping for, old man? Huh? A tax break? To ease a guilty conscience? Or, maybe you just like boys to—"

Sandy probably would have hit him if he hadn't needed the kid. As it was he slammed his fists on the table, drawing the eyes of more than one inmate and the cautious gaze of multiple guards.

"You shut your mouth," Sandy hissed. "I love him like he's my son. He is my son. That is the only reason I am helping. And if you loved your brother at all you would cut the bullshit and tell me the truth."

"I'm sorry," Trey said, looking away from him. "I shouldn't have said that. I just…fuck, this wasn't supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen."

"Why was Ryan bringing a car to a guy in Chino, Trey? What did you ask him to do?"

"I can't," Trey whispered, furiously wiping tears from his cheeks. "I can't, okay? They'll kill me if I say a word."

"Like they tried to kill Ryan?" Sandy said softly. "Trey, if you had anything to do with what happened to Ryan his blood is on your hands. Do you understand that?"

"I can't," Trey repeated. "Please, Mr. Cohen. I can't say anything."

"Fine," Sandy said coldly. "I'll make sure to let Ryan know if he wakes up. I'll let him know that his brother was too chicken to do what was right. If he dies he'll die knowing that you were too much of a coward to stand up for him."

"I always stood up for him," Trey shouted. "Don't talk about shit you don't understand, old man. You can take Ryan in, you can buy him clothes and fancy cars, and pay for fancy colleges, but you'll never understand where he came from. Who he is and why. You don't know anything about anything."

"You're wrong," Sandy told him quietly. "I've been in trouble before, kid. I was a lot like Ryan when I was younger, but I didn't have the courage your brother has. I didn't face the pain he has and I wish I could change that. But, I can't. The only thing I can do is make sure that whoever is making Ryan's life a living hell doesn't get away with it. You can do the right thing, Trey. Do what's right for Ryan. Just once."

"You should go now," Trey said quietly. "Just…just leave, Mr. Cohen. Let me know how my brother is doing."

"When he dies," Sandy told him. "Then you'll know."

"And if he doesn't?"

"When he finds out how you betrayed him I don't think he'll be very interested in seeing you, do you? The brother he practically killed himself for won't even help catch his killer."

"You can't keep him from me," Trey said boldly, but Sandy could see the guilt and the pain in his eyes.

"No, but I don't think I'll have to. I think you are doing that all on your own."

Sandy got up from the table and turned his back on the older Atwood. Slowly, and with deliberate steps, he made his way towards the exit. He bit his lip and prayed to whatever gods would hear him that his bluff would work. If it didn't there wouldn't be anything else he could do. He'd played his hand and—

"Wait," Trey called to him. "Christ, just hold on. I—I'll tell you what you want to know."

"Then spill," Sandy said, walking back to the table. "But, no bullshit, Trey. Just tell me what I need to know."

"None of this was supposed to happen," Trey told him earnestly. "I swear, Mr. Cohen. I never meant to ruin what he had going. He talked about you like you were some kind of god, you know. Sandy this and Sandy that. I swear he wasn't supposed to get hurt."

"What did you do?" Sandy asked quietly.

"I…I asked him to help me out," Trey said miserably. "Before we got busted for stealing that car I owed some people a lot of money."

"How much money?"

"You sound just like Ryan," Trey whispered. "Does it matter? A lot of money, okay? I was supposed to deliver that car we stole as payment, but we got busted and I couldn't pay up. There are some people in here that thought they should remind me of my debt."

"What did you ask him to do?" Sandy said, trying to control his anger.

"They would have killed me," Trey said. "If I didn't deliver the payment I would have been as good as dead. So, I set up a drop with a friend of mine. He had the car and—"

"You asked Ryan to take it to them," Sandy hissed. "What the hell were you thinking, Trey?"

"Christ," Trey sobbed. "I didn't know any of this was going to happen. IT wasn't supposed to go down like this. Ryan shouldn't have been in any danger, you know? I never would have sent him if I had known there would be trouble."

"Think about what you just said," Sandy snapped. "These men were willing to kill you in order to get payment, but you didn't think there would be trouble? He's seventeen, Trey! His life was finally beginning to go somewhere and you ruined it, do you understand that?"

"Of course I do," Trey rasped. "You don't think I've thought of that? That's what I've always done. Held him back when I should have been pushing him forwards. I needed him, Mr. Cohen. And now he's…" Trey put his head in his hands and sobbed. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

"Who was it?"

"I can't tell you that," Trey said hoarsely. "Please, don't make me tell you that."

"Who-Was-It?" Sandy growled.

"A guy named Munoz, all right? He owns a chop shop over on Ramona Avenue."

"What's his first name?" Sandy asked.

"I don't know," Trey answered. "I swear I don't know. He's always gone by Munoz."

"Trey, was this car stolen?"

"Yes."

"Did Ryan know?"

"No," Trey said quietly, but Sandy could see the truth in his eyes. Ryan had known. Ryan had known and had been convinced Sandy would hate him for it.

"You've done the right thing," Sandy told him. "We'll make sure you're protected in here."

"Right," Trey snorted. "Good luck with that."

"Trey, I—"

"Does my mom know?" Trey interrupted, wiping his eyes.

"No," Sandy said softly. "We don't know where Dawn is or even where to start looking."

"Yeah," Trey whispered. "That sounds like mom."

"Trey," Sandy said. "You'll repeat what you said to me to the police, right? You'll go on record? I can try and keep your prison time the same if you do."

"I don't have much of a choice now, do I?" Trey asked. "I'm sure you've got it all on tape or something anyways."

Sandy didn't, but he wasn't about to admit that to the kid. Instead he kept his mouth shut and let Trey draw his own conclusions.

"Send them over," Trey said tiredly. "I'll tell them what I need to." Sandy went to get up, but Trey stopped him with a hand on the wrist. "You'll tell me? You'll let me know if Ryan is okay?"

"I'll tell you," Sandy said.

"Tell him not to come see me anymore," Trey whispered. "Tell him I love him but he has to start living his life without me being his shadow. You'll tell him that?"

"I'll let him know."

"And…and tell him I'm sorry," Trey said, tears falling down his cheeks. "Tell him I'm so, so sorry."

"I will. You did right by him, Trey. I'll make sure he knows that."

Sandy turned away and was half way to the exit before he heard Trey call to him again. He turned and found the young man walking towards him. One of the guards took a warning step forward, but Sandy held out his hand.

"Make sure," Trey said, his eyes blazing. "Make sure they understand that Ryan didn't know the car was stolen. You'll make sure they know? Ryan didn't do anything wrong. I played him."

"Don't worry," Sandy told him. "I won't let anyone try and take him away from us. I can't promise you much, but I can promise you that."

"And Mr. Cohen?" Trey said quietly. "You'll make sure they catch the son of a bitch that shot him?"

"Dead or alive," Sandy said grimly.

Sandy was surprised to find, as he walked away, that he meant it. They would catch him and he didn't much care if he was alive or dead when they did.

For the hundredth time that day Sandy felt sick. Only this time it wasn't because of Ryan. This time it was because of himself.