Ryan shocked himself by, once again, passing out the second his head reached the pillow. Sure the evening with his new family had exhausted him, but the activity had only lasted an hour or two before he found a chance to excuse himself back upstairs. He awoke just hours later with a shooting pain in his knee. How long was it going to be until the stupid thing healed? And why was he being such a big baby about it? He had been hurt worse than this on multiple occasions. And on those occasions he rarely went to the hospital and never took painkillers as strong as the ones he was taking now. Maybe the painkillers were what was making him weak.
But no matter how many times he tried to convince himself that he was going to be fine, he couldn't fall asleep in the empty, quiet room. The clock on the table read 3:25. If that was the right time, everyone in the house should be sleeping. When the clock read 3:57, he finally resigned to going downstairs for his pills. Maybe he should just bring them upstairs? But Sandy had put them downstairs. Would he be allowed to move them? At that point, Ryan didn't care. He just needed them now.
He slowly made his way through the dark house, into the kitchen. He was so thirsty, but he didn't know where the glasses were. And even if he took a glass, what was he supposed to do with it? Leave it in the sink? There was already a sink full of dishes. Should he wash them? Should he just wash the cup he used and put it back? Could he bring that upstairs? He didn't want to have any reason to eve go downstairs. If he could just hide away in that bedroom forever with the painkillers, some water, and maybe a book… He couldn't imagine a more perfect life.
Instead of dealing with the dish dilemma, he stuck his head under the sink and washed down his pill that way. He took his time going back to bed. He didn't feel tired, and he enjoyed having the entire house to himself. With everyone sleeping, it was so quiet. There were pictures everywhere. Family pictures, baby pictures, pictures of a smiling Seth and a scowling one. Ryan wondered if his mother had any pictures of him or Trey. What about when they had been babies? What kind of mother didn't take pictures of her babies? But Ryan didn't even think his mother had ever owned a camera, so maybe mothers like her.
Sandy spent his morning tracking down social service workers. He wanted to know more. He wanted to know why no one had helped Ryan. He wanted to know about the families he had stayed with when he was in foster care. He wanted to know more about his crazy mother. Mostly, he wanted to know how he was supposed to go about making sure Ryan never got hurt again.
Should he ask Ryan how he felt about staying with them permanently? He just didn't see any other options. If he didn't stay with them, where would he go? Back with his mother who abandoned him? With the man who raised him and beat him whenever he got out of jail? Into foster care? Staying with Sandy and his family was better than him bouncing around between foster homes whether Ryan thought so or not. Ryan was already sixteen anyways. If he had survived the life he had lived for sixteen years, he could survive two in Sandy's household even if he would rather be somewhere else. Sandy didn't care if he was being selfish by wanting Ryan to live with him. He was going to give the kid at least two years of living in a happy and safe household whether he wanted them or not.
With the DNA test already taken care of, the process was fairly easy. Sandy was his father and he was on the birth certificate. They would hunt Ryan's mother down and make her sign over her parental rights or Sandy would get her arrested for abandonment. That was that.
He went back and forth with the idea of wanting to speak or not. On one hand, he wanted to give her a piece of his mind. On the other hand, he wasn't sure if it would be worth it. It would probably be best to just focus on making Ryan comfortable.
The pain in Ryan's knee was surprisingly dull when he woke up in the morning. Had the painkillers from the middle of the night not fully worn off yet or was his knee actually getting better? He rubbed his face and got a hand covered with oils from his skin.
When had the last time he had showered been? It didn't really matter how long it had been since the last shower he had had been in the detention center. Those showers never really counted. For everything he hadn't missed about being at home, taking a shower in peace wasn't on that list. He knew there was a shower in the bathroom right across the hall from his room. He needed to at least rinse off.
He grabbed the cleanest clothes he could find in one of the boxes his mother had left him. They all needed to be cleaned. Could he use their washer and dryer? He snuck across the hall, making sure no one was around to talk to him. He thought about asking if he could use what was in the shower. What if they said no? He didn't have any money to go out and buy his own shower things. He decided to only use a little bit of everything and hoped no one would notice or care.