The better version
by M. F. LuderPart four
"Oliver, put the gun down, man."
- Ryan Atwood. The Truth.
33. too much
It's not even midday, but Ryan has a schedule now, and Seth knows that Ryan's nurse, Andrea, keeps his schedule to the dot. Everything has changed, even though it's only been six months. Six months, God, at times, for Seth, it seems like a lifetime. It seems like only yesterday Seth was running off with his dad and Ryan when Marissa called from Oliver's penthouse, Ryan worried about that girl who used to pretend she loved him. But it's July, and January the 19th wasn't so long ago, yes, but it's been long enough.
Seth makes his way to the second floor of the house by way of the staircase. He could take the elevator, sure, but he tends to only use it when he takes Ryan out to the pool for therapy, or just to the see skyline and the horizon and watch TV in the den, like they used to. His chest is tight, suddenly, but it doesn't catch him by surprise. He's used to this, to the lingering guilt that comes with the memory of the before and after Oliver. It has become his second skin, to remember the way things used to happen and the way they are now.
Ryan doesn't have the pool house anymore, but the room next to Seth's own, though with major changes. The bed's different, of course, it needed to be a hospital bed with railings and stuff. There's always oxygen nearby, for when Ryan has a bad day. Heart monitor as well, because his mom's paranoid and she'd rather go broke than not have something Ryan might need in the middle of the night. And then there's Andrea, Ryan's permanent nurse, living in the room down the hall, one of the two added after the renovations, like the elevator.
Seth swallows, and pauses for a moment before the partially open door of Ryan's bedroom. He pushes it open and he sees, like he does every time he does this, making his way into Ryan's lunchtime, Ryan on the bed, propped up by pillows and in the slightly vertical position the bed can create. His head's to the side, and Seth can tell Ryan's having a not so good day, the way blue eyes that still fill with happiness and mirth on a good day, are almost closed.
Andrea's in her usual place, on a comfortable armchair by the bed -- because feeding Ryan can take up to an hour sometimes -- plate in her hand, a clear shade of yellow and orange and something dark, almost brown. Seth can recognize almost anything mashed now, the only way Ryan can swallow it. Mashed potatoes and carrots, because Andrea's very heavy on the vegetables, and meat squashed so much it's almost disintegrated and is nothing but soup. Seth has eaten more vegetables in the last five months Andrea has been with them than in the rest of his life, mostly because at times Ryan really doesn't want to eat and Seth has to help, join in.
January 19th marked a date, a change, the tilt of Seth's whole world, of his parents' whole world. One moment, they are rushing to Oliver's hotel, worried, his dad not quite believing Ryan at all. The next, well, the next's something of a blur. Ryan realizing that Natalie Bishop's really the receptionist, Ryan, by the door, yelling for Marissa and Marissa responding. All of them, the three of them and the fucking security guards that did nothing, the receptionist who should have called the cops, the SWAT, anything and everything. Ryan, trying to talk Oliver down. Seth can still hear now, even now, in his dreams and nightmares, the way Ryan was saying, over and over again, "Oliver, put the gun down. Put the gun down."
But it wasn't enough. God, Seth knows this now, and he should have known it back then, as well. He should have known and done something, but he was too much of an idiot and he blew it, and now Ryan's paying for it. Because, fuck, one moment Ryan's talking to Oliver, "put the gun down, put the gun down," and the next one Oliver turns around, points the gun at Ryan and shoots.
Seth swallows. Ryan groans, complains, and turns his head around, away from Andrea, pureed carrots drooling down Ryan's chin to his t-shirt because Ryan doesn't wear a bib, he hates it, used to thrash the few times Andrea tried to put one on him. So they gave up and now they change Ryan's shirt after each meal, seems to make Ryan happy enough.
There was blood next, so much blood, oozing from Ryan's head. And Ryan fell down, hard, too hard to the floor. Seth had no time to try to catch him. Security moved, finally, and got a hold on Oliver, but it was too late for Ryan. Ryan was oozing blood from his fucking head. It was the paramedics then, the hospital, his dad crying, his mom in hysterics, Anna trying to be helpful but failing miserably, at least no longer mad at him for giving Summer his attention and then leaving her when Ryan needed him the most. Something close to sixteen hours of surgery, but for them, it felt like a lifetime.
Brain damage, the doctors said the moment they walked out to see them. Brain damage. Never the same again. We're so sorry. Therapy, sure, but don't get your hopes up. It's a miracle he's not a vegetable. Hell, it's a miracle the boy's not dead. Half an inch to the left and you'd be buying a new parcel.
Seth snorts and that seems to catch Ryan's attention. He turns around, slowly, blue eyes wide and looking for Seth. Ryan finds him, smiles, front teeth filled with meat in its liquid form.
"Hey," Seth says, making his way into the bedroom. That's in their past now, though it has forever changed their present and future. The month and a half of staying at the hospital, with Ryan almost getting worse before getting better, is nothing but a distant memory now. This, Ryan in a bed, smiling at him is the present. "Hey, dude. Hungry?"
Ryan shakes his head, slowly, and seems to ponder before opening his mouth. "Arkkk. Oooo mchh'hh."
It takes him a moment to understand what Ryan's saying. "Too much?" He turns around to look at the plate in Andrea's hand, and she smiles at him.
"It's not more than usual, Ryan, you know that." Andrea lifts the plate enough for Ryan to look at it comfortably. "See? It's even carrots. You like carrots."
"Well, really, Andrea, I don't think anyone actually likes carrots," Seth says with a smile that Ryan returns, looking almost adoringly at Seth. "But yeah, he likes it better than broccoli or beets." Seth grins. "Though you do look like a vampire after beets."
Ryan makes a sound between a laugh and a word, and Seth smiles. Ryan's laughter has changed, sure, the tone, but not the way he used to laugh with his whole face. Seth sees blue eyes dancing, shining, and laughs back.
"Yes, dude, vampire." He leans forward, close, grinning, pleased he has been able to change Ryan's mood. "Such a cute vampire, though." His hand reaches for Ryan's chin and moves it slightly, side to side, and Ryan keeps on smiling.
Without a hesitation, Seth leans forward and places a small kiss on Ryan's nose, making Ryan laugh even more. Before this, Seth would have never dared to do such a thing, but their -- Ryan's and Seth's and his parents' -- therapist suggested that they try to be more affectionate with Ryan, so Ryan knows he's not a burden, has not turned into one. Seth has taken that suggestion to heart.
He turns around, nods at Andrea and reaches out for the plate. "It's okay, I can take it from here."
"Seth, you sure? I mean, I can do it."
He shakes his head. She keeps doing this, asking if he wants to feed Ryan lunch, even though Seth has been doing it since school let out. "Nah, it's okay. Don't worry. He's having a weird day." And Seth has seen them all so far, Ryan's good and bad, and really bad days, and Seth can almost catalogue them.
She nods, standing up from the chair, and looking at Ryan. "I told him that maybe he could have a bit of coke, afterwards, if he finishes all of it." At Ryan's frown, she sighs. "Okay, not all of it maybe, but four fifths, huh? What do you say?"
Ryan nods, frowning, putting all his concentration on something so simple. Ryan's motor skills, Seth remembers with a pang of guilt that expands through his whole chest, have gone to crap. He can barely hold his hand up and close his fingers into a lose fist when he's relaxed and well rested, and can't even lift his head up when he's tired.
Seth swallows. "Sure. Coke. Dude. Coke, that's like so cool. Maybe afterwards, we can go downstairs, watch some movies, what ya think?"
Watching movies is something of a stretch, because it'll be more like putting Ryan in his wheelchair and going down to the den, and just sitting there by the couch. Ryan can't recognize the movies anymore, not that Seth can tell, but there are some he likes. Independence Day, Ryan likes, very much, seems to laugh at most of the scenes, though Seth wonders if Ryan so much as knows what he's seeing.
Ryan tries to nod, but can only turn his face away from Seth. Seth smiles, free hand reaching for Ryan's chin and pulling his face toward him. "Movies, Ryan, but after lunch. Okay? After lunch." Seth leans forward and gives him a peck on the nose before sitting down.
Andrea closes the door after herself, not all the way, but half, and Seth turns back to look at Ryan.
"Okay. Carrots. And..." He pauses, tasting the meat with Ryan's wide spoon, to identify it. "Ohh. Hamburger, dude. She was treating you to something." Seth shifts in his place, making himself comfortable. He spoons some meat and carrots, which are easier for Ryan to eat with the meat mixed up, and places the spoon by Ryan's lips. Ryan frowns and Seth smiles, not wanting the mood to change. "Ryan, meat and carrots. Your favorite. Hamburgers, dude. You either eat it or I'm having it all."
It takes Ryan a moment, but he opens his mouth, and Seth spoons it all inside, using the spoon to pick up what little drools from the corner of his lips.
"See? I knew you liked it."
Lunch, for Ryan, is the most difficult meal. Breakfast goes by quickly, just a glass of chocolate milk, which Ryan adores, and soggy bagels in milk that Ryan eats in a second. Dinner, which is always with the rest of the family, doesn't even have half the hassle lunch causes for Ryan. It's a matter of having him focused, though Seth learned long ago that keeping Ryan focused takes just a little bit of imagination.
After about ten minutes, Ryan's focus on the grounded meat and the not so appetizing lunch shifts and it's long gone. He turns around, looking at the window, blue sky on the other side. Seth sighs, placing the plate on his lap for a second. Okay, so trying to talk to Ryan through lunch always failed up to a point. Next, well, next the big guns. They've learned to use everything and anything, as long as Ryan will finish the plate.
"Okay, so I take it you're almost tired of my voice. It's okay. Next thing on the agenda."
Seth places the plate on the nightstand, by Ryan's nightlight, Captain Oats and a couple of books his mom reads at night, when Ryan has trouble sleeping. Narnia, apparently, is one of Ryan's favorites. Seth has no idea if Ryan ever read the book before his mom introduced Ryan to it. Seth'd like to know, maybe ask him, but doesn't dare to. The before, anything from the before, is more like a dream than a memory. There's only the here and now, the present, and the future.
"Okay, you don't leave me any choice. Nightwing, right?"
Seth walks to the other end of the room, to a bookshelf, next to the two dressers. Ryan, apparently, does like comics, when Seth's not pushing them down his throat with the desire for Ryan to learn the difference between DC and Marvel.
There's a small collection of Nightwing, Ryan's favorite comic, in one of the shelves. Not many, because Seth was never really into Nightwing, but the few he did have, gave to Ryan. Those, along the ones they've bought in the last six months, make a tidy sum of almost twenty issues. Seth's been meaning to get out of the house, for once during this summer, and go to the store and buy as many Nightwing as he can find. It's either that or resort to Amazon, and Seth really doesn't like buying issues online, unless they are very old from weird places, like, New Zealand. Not that he has ever bought issues from New Zealand, but still.
He picks up one that Ryan seems to always enjoy, one Seth bought for Ryan, the very first one, actually: #88: The death of dreams. There's this skeleton on the cover, and though Seth was never really fond of this issue, Ryan likes it. He moves back to the armchair and sits down, opening the comic and placing it on Ryan's lap.
"How about we read this one, huh? You like it?"
Ryan nods, more enthusiastic than Seth has seen him in the last three days. Seth smiles, picking up the plate. Seth doesn't know what it is Ryan likes about Nightwing, he was always a fan of the old times between Batman and Robin. Spoon filled with mashed potatoes and carrots, he feeds Ryan, slowly, trying to keep as much as possible in Ryan's mouth and as little on the shirt. Maybe it's the way there are times in Dick's life. With Batman and without. Seth shrugs, inwardly, as Ryan nods again, passing the page with his clumsy fingers. He ends up flipping two, instead of one, and Seth smiles, flipping back one of the pages.
More than half the plate gone, Seth speaks. "Dude, really, I have no idea how Dick can do all those acrobatic things with that injury. I mean, it's his shoulder, right?"
Ryan turns around, looking at him with big and wide blue eyes, mouth slightly open. Seth takes advantage of it and places another spoonful inside.
"It should bother him, don't you think?"
But Ryan's isn't listening to him. He looks at one of the frames and laughs, head thrown back, mouth wide open. Seth's breathe catches in his throat and he can remember, something akin to a dream, when Ryan used to laugh like that, hands on the handles of his bike, Seth along his side on his skate. They were on the pier, going as fast as they could. Seth can almost feel the wind against his hair, and Ryan's laughter, loud between the two of them. Blue eyes wide, mouth set in a smile Seth will never forget.
"Seth, ok?"
The words catch Seth by surprise, and he blinks, focusing on this Ryan on this moment. One of his best days, apparently, from a not so good day. Ryan only speaks with that tone, one octave higher than it used to be, words clear and easily pronounced, on his best days. He hasn't had one in almost a week.
"Sethhhh?"
Seth grins, shaking his head slightly. He can hear the change in the name, the way the h is more pronounce, and he knows that if Ryan tries to say his name once again, it will barely be recognizable. Seth spoons more meat and carrots into Ryan's open mouth. "I'm being an idiot, that's it. Don't worry." Half the carrots make their way down the corner of Ryan's mouth and to his chin, and Seth cleans it with the tip of the spoon.
Spooning more potatoes, Seth lifts the spoon to Ryan's mouth but Ryan turns his head away, complaining in the back of his throat with a soft, "Nuhhuh."
"Ryan. Come on. We're barely four spoons from the end. It's not much." Seth tries again, leaning forward, stretching his arm, spoon touching the edge of Ryan's lip, but he turns his face away and Seth makes a line of carrots, orange puree, on Ryan's cheek, dripping slowly.
He sighs, putting the spoon back on the plate, and reaches for the small dishtowel over the arm of the armchair. Ryan turns to look at him, head tilted back, against the propped up pillows, eyes narrowed. There's no confusion in them, there's no suspicion, not even mirth, like Seth remembers Ryan's eyes showing whenever he'd narrow them. Seth swallows, using the dishtowel to clean Ryan's cheek. Ryan parts his lips, almost sedately, and sighs.
"I know you're tired, sweetie," Seth says with a small smile, fingers reaching out, touching Ryan's cheek lovingly. Ryan gives him a tired smile. "But you know we have to finish lunch. That or no coke, you know, right?"
Ryan doesn't say anything, Seth wonders for a moment if he can so much as hear him, understand him, in these moments when Ryan's at his most tired.
"How about some music, huh?" Seth says, standing up, hand still cupping Ryan's cheek. Ryan blinks, eyes opening for a second, before closing once again. "Oh, come on. You like music. I know you do."
He makes his way to one of the dressers in the corner, a small stereo on it. The CDs that sit by it are compiles of music Seth has gathered through the last months, mostly trial and error. He'd burn an album, put it on for Ryan to listen to, and depending on his reaction, Seth would choose a couple of songs from it and compile it with the other single songs from other albums. It was fun, in the way that it gave Ryan an opportunity to choose his music, in ways Seth has never tried before.
There's a soft knock on the door and Seth's gaze shifts to Maribel, peaking her head through the half-opened door, smile on her face. Seth nods, CD still in hand, he motions for her to come in.
"Seth, sorry, I brought Ryan's drinks," she says with a smile.
"Thanks. I was gonna call you for that."
Maribel places both Sippie cups on the nightstand, smiling at Ryan. "One with apple juice, and another one with coke. Andrea told me that you could have it, if you finished all your lunch." She looks over her shoulder at Seth. "Is he giving you trouble? I could call Andrea--?"
"No more than usual, no, don't worry." Seth shrugs, selecting one of the albums and placing it in the stereo. "It's just a couple more spoons." He hits play, the volume not too loud, because Seth only wants it loud enough that Ryan knows he's not alone in the room.
Maribel nods, touches Ryan's nose with the tip of her finger, and walks out of the room.
Seth watches Maribel close the door after herself and he thinks that, really, they were so freaking lucky to find her. After everything that happened, they realized that not only they were gonna need a live in nurse, but also a live in maid. Rosa coming by a couple of hours a day just wasn't going to cut it, not with all the special need Ryan was gonna require. No more sandwiches for lunch, or take out for dinner. No more impromptu breakfast standing by the sink, no more laundry only twice a week. They asked Rosa if she was willing to move in, but apparently, she's more of a freelance kinda gal.
"See? Maribel brought you apple juice, babe. What do ya think? Thirsty?" Seth sits down and picks up the Sippie cup with the apple juice -- the only drink Ryan can stand, besides coke. He moves his chair as close to the bed as he can, right knee touching the edge of the same. "Apple juice for now, Coke when you finish the plate, okay?"
Right hand on the Sippie cup, it's easy to reach out with his left and touch the back of Ryan's neck, as not to stress him too much. Ryan knows the drill by now, reaches with his left hand and his fingers barely even touch the plastic cup. Ryan doesn't really hold the cup, but Seth knows that it gives Ryan the feeling of drinking it himself. He likes this better than them just putting a glass with a straw by his lips.
The straw touching Ryan's lips, Seth tilts the cup a little bit and watches Ryan drinking it, slowly, swallowing with some difficulty.
"Okay, okay. Not too much. Don't want you to choke. You know what happened last time."
Last time, something about two months ago, Ryan choked on his juice when his dad was feeding him and Ryan must have breathed in just in that moment, because next thing they know, Ryan's coughing like he's about to throw up a lung. There was fluid coming from his nose that wasn't supposed to be there, and Ryan's eyes were bloodshot and there were tears streaming down his face, even though it was obvious that in between coughs, Ryan had no idea what the hell was going on and probably why his chest felt on fire.
His mom, Seth remembers, was in hysterics, almost as bad as back at the hospital when they first brought Ryan. She thought Ryan's heart might fail, he might stop breathing, and whatnot. It was Andrea who told them not to worry, rolled Ryan to the side, who ended up throwing up what little lunch he had eaten so far, and coughed until his jaw was so raw, Ryan couldn't speak for the rest of the day. They put him on fluids, not to dehydrate after the throwing up, and because there was no way now that Ryan was going to finish his lunch. Seth remembers, with a pang of something clenching around his chest that Ryan slept the rest of the day away. And his dad was shaking with guilt, leaning against the wall outside Ryan's bedroom.
Seth waits for Ryan to take a deep breath and wipes the corner of his lips where apple juice decides to make a run for it with the edge of his own long sleeve. He smiles as Ryan frowns. "Don't tell Maribel about it, okay? Nor mom. She's say we're a couple of pigs. And she didn't raise pigs."
There's a line of sweat on Ryan's forehead and Seth's hand moves to his hairline, over his right eyebrow, touching the break in sweat.
"You're all warm. That's weird, the temperature doesn't seem to have changed."
Ryan's wearing a long sleeve shirt, as he was yesterday, and yesterday Ryan complained of being cold. More like Ryan grimaced and shifted and moved until Seth started going over every single thing that could be wrong with Ryan, and finally came up with cold.
Seth's fingers pause as they touch the small scar from the surgery, not more than an inch where the bullet made its way into Ryan's skin and brain, where it decided to change them, the four of them, from a single breath into this new world. There are a couple more, where they had to shave Ryan's hair to be able to do the surgery, where the skin changes and Seth can feel the difference in the mere flesh when he washes Ryan's hair. Seth retrieves his hand and touches Ryan's cheek lovingly. "Short sleeve, then, don't worry."
Seth stands up, moving to the dresser and opens the second drawer. Ryan's short sleeve shirts on the right, long sleeves on the left, and Seth should really thank Maribel more than he does already. He's picking up a dark one, gray, short sleeves when the stereo changes the song and the first verse of the song catches him by surprise.
We get high in back seats of cars
We break into mobile homes
We go to sleep to shake appeal
Never wake up on our own
Seth closes his eyes for a moment, a second, and then turns around as he opens them, looking at Ryan with pain etched in his face.
And that's the way we get by
Way we get by
And that's the way we get by
Way we get by[1]Seth has no idea how this song found its way into this album. He hasn't... he told himself he wouldn't put any song from before, no songs that he had introduced to Ryan, pushed until Ryan caved in and listened and to Seth's half surprise, Ryan actually liked. Nothing from before. Too much, too cruel, too difficult and so fucking hard for Seth to breath.
His hands clench on the gray t-shirt and he blinks, staring at Ryan, head resting back against the pillow.
"Ryan? Ryan. Ryan!"
Ryan lifts his head, looking at Seth with wide blue eyes.
Seth's lower lip only trembles once before biting into it, hard. Nothing has changed, he tells himself. "See?" He says out loud, to Ryan, to himself. "You're still you." An hysterical short laugh leaves his lips and he breathes in, reaching for the stereo, "and that's the way to my heart", and skips to the next song.
"Come on," Seth says, moving to the bed, Ryan looking right at him, like he understands and doesn't mind, as long as Seth's still here, with him. Seth can't help it, he touches directly over Ryan's right eyebrow again, skin under his fingertips familiar and alien all at once, and he smiles, sighs, and lets his hand fall to the side. "We gotta change you. Don't want you sweating. You could get a cold, and you know mom would freak."
Ryan blinks, and in a whisper, Seth can hear, "mom?"
Seth nods, and with ease that comes with practice, he pulls Ryan's weight to his chest, pulling his shirt from the sweats Ryan wears nowadays as higher as it'll go. He rests Ryan back onto the pillow, then does the front of the shirt, and finally pulls it over Ryan's head, careful of his ears and nose. Ryan's not sweating on his chest, but there's some dampness on the back of his neck and on his lower back, so Seth uses one of the small towels to dry him before, in only a minute, changing Ryan to the gray t-shirt, more comfortable than before.
"See? All better now, dude. All better now."
The music does the trick, and it's easier to feed Ryan the last five spoons in the plate. The food is on the verge of going cold, and Seth'll have to tell Maribel that the water in the lower compartment of Ryan's plate should be hotter, in case it takes them longer to feed him.
"You want the Coke now, or during the movie?" Seth asks, placing the plate on the nightstand. He really has to start remembering to bring it down when he and Ryan go to the den. It's not really fair to Maribel to have to come to the bedroom when she has to wash it.
Looking at Ryan, Seth smiles, and once a upon a time, there would be a reflection of his smile mirroring in Ryan's face, just a curl up of the corner of his lips, but it would be more than enough for Seth. There isn't one now, only a blank space in blue eyes, and when Ryan blinks, it's gone, and Ryan focuses on Seth's face. Seth smiles, though there's a tightness in his chest. He reaches out, touching the edges of Ryan's hair, pushing back a lock behind his ear, and when he moves his fingers, if he touches the scar, it's not a conscious movement.
"Come on, we can go downstairs, have the coke while we watch the movie, it'll be just like going to the movies."
Seth retrieves the wheelchair from the corner of room, pulling the handles apart so that the seat stretches. He moves the armchair away from the bed, placing the wheelchair with the back against the nightstand. It's not exactly easy, but it's not the first time Seth does this, and after a while, one finds a way around things like weight and leverage, and finds a way that not only works, but neither hurts Ryan nor Seth.
He accommodates Ryan's feet on the footrests, makes sure Ryan's hands are on his lap, secures the seatbelt around his waist -- which is actually his mom, again, being paranoid in thinking that while they are moving Ryan around, Ryan might lunge forward and fall -- and looks at him. "Ready? We can watch The Day After Tomorrow." He picks up the plate and the two cups, trying to figure out a way to get it all down in one trip. He places both cups in between Ryan's thigh and the inside of the chair and the plate on Ryan's lap. "You have a thing for end of the world movies, did you know that?"
He pushes Ryan out of the bedroom and down the hall, to the elevator. As the doors open with a ding and they make their way inside, Ryan leans his head back as far as it'd go, the top of his head against Seth's stomach, and smiles.
Seth looks at Ryan and thinks that his smile shouldn't affect him as much as it does. In a movement that has become something of a habit of his, he reaches out and touches Ryan's hair.
He can't help but think that he'll miss this, this routine they've developed over the last couple of months and that has become more of a second nature this summer. He'll hate it, going back to school and not be able to spend every morning here, with Ryan, helping him, being with him. He doesn't know how he'll put up with that, how he'll deal. Seth grins. He'll probably cut class, borrow notes and whatnot. Better that than leave Ryan alone. Okay, so, not alone, but with Maribel and Andrea, and though Andrea is tons more qualified to handle Ryan, no matter the situation, Seth still believes Ryan would rather be with him, or the parents, than with her. Not that he doesn't like her, but. Seth sighs. Well, hmm. Whatever.
Reaching the first floor, the elevator doors slide open and they make their way out into the living room and to the kitchen. Maribel's wiping the counters and looks up when she hears them.
"He finished everything?"
Seth nods. "Yep. Every little bit. Could you--?"
She's half way to Ryan's side before Seth has finished the sentence, picking up the plate. "The drinks--?"
Seth shakes his head. "Nah, don't worry. He'll probably finish the coke before the movie."
"Oh, okay. You're gonna be in the den? I have to vacuum upstairs and didn't want to distract him. And I made you some sandwiches. You didn't have lunch today."
Seth smiles, nodding as he does so. "Yeah, we'll probably be here for the next two hours, and sandwiches are fine, thanks." He takes the plate Maribel offers, four tuna sandwiches on it, and hears the spigot being turned on as they make their way to the den.
Placing the plate on top of the corner table next to one end of the couch, he settles Ryan's chair at the end of the couch. It's somewhat easy, to find the leverage to move Ryan from the wheel chair to the couch with minimum effort. Patting Ryan's hair, he makes his way to the bookcase and getting out "The Day After Tomorrow". He looks at the DVD before turning to look at Ryan.
"Dude, don't you wanna watch something different? Two days in a row with the day after is just too much for me." He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He can feel the tendrils of a headache making its way toward Seth, undeterred. "You know we have more than just this movie, right? I mean, you like Demolition Man, and it's been over two weeks since we last saw that."
Please, oh please, anything but The Day After Tomorrow, Seth can't help but think.
And then Ryan smiles, head tilted back, cheek against the backrest of the couch, lazy and almost sleepy, and Seth knows that Ryan won't last longer than half an hour before falling asleep.
"I'm gonna take that as a yes, dude."
Seth slides Demolition Man and picks up the remote. Straightening, he sees Maribel placing Ryan's plate on the upper cupboard. "Mari, one favor, could you get me some cranberry juice? Once I sit, I'm not gonna get up."
She smiles and nods, and by the time Seth's taken a seat and placed the control on the small corner table, she's handing him a glass.
"Thanks," Seth says, finding a comfortable position, knowing the next time he moves will be when the movie is over or when Ryan wakes up, whatever comes first. He places the glass by the remote. Slowly, Seth's hand on Ryan's shoulder, he pulls Ryan to lay down on the couch, his head pillowed on Seth's thigh. Ryan seems to find this position more comfortable than with an actual pillow under his head.
Ryan looks up at him, eyes blue and wide, blinking, almost a smile on his lips, and Seth's throat closes, making it difficult for him to breath. He tries to smile, to let Ryan know that everything is okay, I'm just being a moron here, but he can't. He can barely even breathe. Instead, he does the only thing he can at the moment. He reaches out, hand touching Ryan's hairline, like a moth to the flame, and pushes back a strand of hair.
"I'm fine," Seth mutters, and Ryan seems to hear him, because he turns his head to the side, trying to see the screen. It takes Seth a moment to accommodate Ryan, lying on his right side, so they are both comfortable, but when they are, it's easy for Seth to run his fingers through Ryan's hair as Ryan breathes in and out, watching the movie with narrowed eyes.
It seems like Seth has seen this movie ten, maybe twelve times, in the last couple of months. He no longer watches it, not really, only lets the scenes pass him by, slowly, like time. Ryan has a very limited like interest in movies. It's either end of the world kinda type, or down right action.
"We're running out of DVDs, you know? Hellboy came out last week," Seth says in between scenes, watching the way they freeze Sylvester Stallone. "I'm gonna see if mom can pick it up, or I'll have to leave the house." The mere concept of the last option seems so foreign to him, so alien, even as he knows there was a time when he'd pester Ryan into leaving the house, get out, just do something, dude.
Seth didn't catch Hellboy at the theater. It was released sometime in March, or April, Seth's not sure. And back then, well, back then Ryan was really bad. They had just come back from the hospital, they still hadn't gotten used to the routine, Maribel was only starting to work and Andrea seemed to clash with the Cohens because they just kept getting in her way, wanting to be there, every single second.
They used to like going to the movies, Ryan and Seth. Seth takes in a breath, head hanging, eyes roaming Ryan's face. Ryan blinks, utterly mesmerized by the TV, the scenes, the action, the movement, Seth doesn't know which one, maybe all of them.
They liked going to the movies, almost every week. There was always something to watch, something new, and when there wasn't, there was always something not so new to watch all over again. Seth had never been the type to go to the theater, he didn't like going alone. Ryan had wanted to, but couldn't. Together, it just made so much sense.
They'd buy a bucket of popcorn, for Seth, because he loves popcorn with the movies. Ryan would say he didn't want any, he won't even touch it. Ryan would get the largest Coke there is, Seth would say no, thanks, popcorn is fine. They'd sit in the back, because Seth likes the middle and Ryan doesn't really care, so they kinda compromise with the back. Ryan would take the seat next to the aisle, Seth the one next to him. Ryan would warn about talking during the movie with a sideways look and a glare, Seth would nod, promise to keep quiet, don't worry dude, don't worry. Two minutes into the movie, Seth would start talking, about the way the actor moves, the background, and Ryan would answer, leaned back, head tilted to his left, whispering under his breath. Ryan would reach for the popcorn in Seth's lap, Seth would stretch his arm and take the coke on Ryan's right side. They would talk about the movie later on, rate it, consider if it was worthy of getting its DVD bought when it came out. It was a routine, it was something basic and fundamental, it was the roots to them, and now, gone, like a breath, like the sand on a hand, being blown away.
Seth shakes his head, his hand stilling, his whole chest hurting, aching, and it's like before, like not so long ago. There's not a couch under him but a chair, plastic, and there's the stench of ammonia and whatever it is they use to clean the white halls in the hospital. Seth breathes in and all he can think of, all he can hear are muttering words of hurt and blood and danger, and they are waiting for the surgery to be over, for the doctor to come back and say something, fuck, anything.
"But you're okay," Seth whispers, nothing but a breath leaving his lips, hand gripping the hair so tightly Ryan whimpers in the back of his throat. Seth loosens his hold, patting the scalp, soothingly. "Sorry. But you're fine. You're here."
It's not much, it's not even enough, it's not even reassurance because Ryan's not listening, he's not paying attention to Seth. Ryan has his eyes fixed on the screen, blinking rapidly, looking tired and fighting sleep still, even as the movie progresses and Sandra Bullock moves and talks on the screen.
Ten minutes later, when Sylvester is finding himself once again in a Police station and everything is so very fucked up, Ryan has finally fallen asleep. Seth sighs, petting the hair, touching a cheek down to his jaw, and he leans his head back against the couch, eyes closed. The volume is barely background noise and it's easy for Seth to rest, relax and sleep.
There was a time when Seth used to sleep like the dead. It'd take Ryan five minutes to wake him up so they wouldn't be late for school. Now, however, ever worried about Ryan, and something happening to him while Seth is deep asleep, Seth's patterns seem to have changed as well. From such a profound sleep, it has risen until it's nothing but light.
And that's why Seth blinks, surprised he so much as fell asleep, when after a second, when he's trying to get his bearings together, he feels the shift on his leg and then a loud thud and whimper.
Seth's eyes open wide, fear etched in his face, and when he looks down he can see Ryan on the floor, on his side, whimpering softly, tears running down his cheeks, a grimace on his face.
"Oh, fuck. Ryan." Seth's heart hammers inside his chest even as he kneels down on the carpet, trying to shift Ryan, trying to see where he's hurting, where he hit. And fuck, he shouldn't have let himself fall asleep. He should have been more careful. He should have watched over Ryan, because, otherwise, what the fuck is he doing here anyway?
Seth turns Ryan around, to lie on his back, and Ryan whimpers, a keening sound that makes Seth's soul ache.
"Oh, sweetie. I'm so sorry." Seth pushes the center table with his elbow, trying to put as much distance between that thing and Ryan. "Oh, fuck. Ryan? Ryan, dude, please, just pretend you are listening to me, okay? Just do something. Say something."
And all of this, of course, would be so much easier if Ryan could at least tell him where he's hurt, but that's just asking too much, and Seth has to settle with having his heart pounding in his ears and the back of his eyes stinging so fucking much it's hard for him to so much as breathe.
"It's okay. It's okay. I'm here. I'm right here, Ryan, baby. I'm right here." Seth's hand moves over Ryan's body, touching his right temple, where there's a cut. It's not deep, but there's a line of blood, an inch long, and it catches Seth's breath in his throat. Fuck. Ryan probably hit the corner of the table. His left hand stills for a second before touching the cut. Ryan whimpers, trying to pull away from Seth's touch. "Just let me check you, okay? Just a second. It won't hurt." Seth pauses. "I'll try not to hurt you."
Seth looks over the couch toward the kitchen. He can still hear the vacuum cleaner on the second floor, and he could very well let go of Ryan and run to the stairs, call Andrea, tell her to come down here and check Ryan. But it was just a fall, Seth tells himself. I've fallen from my skateboard countless of times.
Yes, and once you broke your arm, remember? Your mom confiscated the skate for a month even after it healed.
And the mere thought of Ryan getting hurt more than he already is, having something broken, makes Seth's heart pause and wonder for a moment if it should beat again.
"It's okay," he tells Ryan, his voice shaking, squatting before Ryan. "It's okay. It's just a shallow cut. Nothing major. I know you. You're strong. You're brave, baby. I know. It's okay. It's okay."
Almost trembling, Seth kneels on the floor and tries to find enough leverage to pull Ryan to the couch. It should be easy, comfortable, a familiar movement, but he's shaking and afraid and with his heart in his throat, and it all makes it much more difficult that it should be in any other given situation.
It takes him longer than it should have, than it would have, and when he has Ryan sitting on the couch, head leaned back, eyes clamped shut, Seth's panting, his breathing hard.
"Boys?"
Seth closes his eyes for a moment, a grimace on his face. "Oh, fuck."
It's not like he didn't know his mom was gonna arrive any minute now. Long gone are the days when she used to work until six, seven, go to a site afterwards to make sure the day's plan had been completed, to go to meetings, or to meet investors or contractors. She arrives at three, three thirty at the latest, and she doesn't leave the house unless it's really an emergency, something his grandpa can't handle. Even then, he knows not to call her. His mom actually hates leaving the house to go fix something.
Seth reaches out, hand touching Ryan's hair, running his fingers through it, trying to brush it. There're tear streaks on Ryan's cheek, and Seth wipes them with his thumb, slowly, and Ryan seems to breathe easier after that. "We're in the den," Seth says, out loud, and he can hear his mom's high heels as she makes her way.
Seth caresses Ryan's cheek lovingly one last time before straightening and making his way to the kitchen. She walks into the kitchen just as he reaches the lower cabinets, reaching for the first aid kit. There's one on every floor, not that the second one needs it, considering Ryan has enough medication and equipment to stock a small clinic.
"Hey, sweetie," Kirsten says to Seth, walking past the kitchen island and straight to the den.
"Hey," it's all Seth can reply. He places the medic kit on top of the island and opens it. He takes out hydrogen peroxide, cotton balls and band aids as he hears his mom talking to Ryan, placing her briefcase on the table on her way over.
"Ryan, honey. It's mom," Kirsten calls out, and Seth waits for the next words coming out of her mouth, the moment she sees him, scratch over his eyebrow.
Seth closes the medic kit just as he hears her gasp. He sighs, hanging his head for a moment, turning around and placing the medic kit back in the lower cabinet, muttering, "shit," under his breath.
"Seth?" Kirsten's voice is loud in the otherwise silent room and Seth realizes that the movie must have long ago ended. "What happened?"
Her voice, her tone, is controlled and clipped, and Seth knows that she's probably telling herself to count to twenty before freaking out completely, calling an ambulance and the fire department on the way. He gathers everything in his hands and makes his way out of the kitchen, toward the den and he can see her squatting before Ryan, hands probably all over his body, checking for further injury, for more blood, hoping against hope to hear Ryan complain. His eyes meet hers over the edge of the single armchair, and her eyes are blue and blazing, her lips pursed into a thin line, and the expression reminds him so much of Ryan.
"Seth, what the--?"
"It's my fault," he hisses through clenched teeth before she can keep on freaking out, before she stands up and scares Ryan into his shell once again and the boy won't talk with either of them for the next day or something horrible like that. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have fallen asleep." He sighs, placing everything on the armchair, and the back of his eyes burn.
"What happened?" Kristen turns around, looking at Ryan, her hands on his face. He's head is tilted to the side, back against the couch, eyes opened lazily with sleep. "Oh, baby. Sweetie. Did Andrea check him?"
Seth knows that the last question's for him, as much as he knows that the first two sentences were for Ryan. He shakes his head. "We were watching a movie. He fell asleep, and I must have fallen asleep at some point because," his voice falters and he bites the inside of his cheek, "the next thing I know, I'm waking up and he's on the floor."
He kneels on the carpet and reaches out for the oxygenated water, which he'll need to pour on the cotton balls to clean the small scratch, and his hand shakes, so freaking much that he groans in the back of his throat and lets the closed bottle fall back onto the couch.
"Give me that."
Seth turns to look at Kirsten, staring at him, one of her hands caressing Ryan's thigh, the other stretched. "I can do it. Mom--"
"Give it to me, Seth."
Her voice is short and to the point, and he knows he's so very fucked, he might as well call Andrea right about now, tell her to get her butt down here because Ryan's hurt and fuck, please, oh please, tell me we don't have to take him to the hospital again.
He sighs, giving in, and hands the bottle and the cotton balls a little bit harsher than he would have intended. He sighs, watching her, very slowly and carefully, open the bottle and pour the liquid onto the small cotton balls.
"Ryan? Sweetie? It's Mommy. This really isn't going to hurt, okay, baby? I might sting, but only for a second. You will barely feel it." She smiles at him, her hand moving to cradle his face, holding it in place as she applies the cotton on the cut.
Seth watches Ryan grimace, try to pull away from Kirsten, but Ryan's weak and slow, and Kirsten has no problem holding him in place. She nods, makes shushing sounds in the back of her throat, and after she's done, she leans over and gives him a kiss on the forehead.
"There you go, honey. I knew you were brave. See? Now I just have to..." She turns around, picking up the band aid.
"He fell," Seth says, his voice filled with wonder and surprise. Fuck. He shouldn't have tilted his head back. He should have watched Ryan. He should have done nothing but watch Ryan. "God. I just closed my eyes for a second, I'm sure. I just closed them--"
"It's not your fault," she tells him, her voice low, her hands peeling off the white stripes that cover the adhesive. She sighs, looking over her shoulder at him. She gives him a small smile before turning around and focusing on Ryan once again. "Just a band aid, baby, and then we're all set, what do you think, huh?" She places it over the cut, and notices that she should put another one next to it. "It's not your fault, Seth. Really."
"But he fell." Seth grimaces, shaking his head. Oh, for the love of God. "I should have watched him. I shouldn't have fallen asleep."
"And I shouldn't have let either of you boys to go that guy's house." She says, her tone cold and plain.
Seth looks up at his mother, surprised and shocked, his breath in a gasp. She has the other band aid in her fingers, and she waits a moment before putting it on Ryan's forehead. She doesn't look at him.
Seth watches her smooth both band aids with her fingertips. Ryan takes in a breath, lifting his head enough to look at her, and he smiles.
"Mom?"
Kirsten smiles back, both her hands cupping Ryan's face. "Oh, sweetie. I missed you so much. How are you? You okay? Does it still hurt?"
But of course Ryan doesn't answer, he smiles, chuckles with his mouth open and she can't help but smile back, and Seth notices with a pang to his chest and eyes, that her eyes glow with unshed tears. He could ask her about it, he could tell her that it wasn't her fault, it was his, and his dad's and Marissa's -- so very fucking much Marissa's -- and specially Oliver's, who Seth hopes spends the rest of his fucking life in that asylum, which so doesn't cut it for hurting Ryan. Except that now she's looking at Ryan, smiling at him, and Ryan's laughing, looking at her, almost like he can see her, recognize her, know who she is, who she was to him, and the moment of talking about that is long gone.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Cohen."
Kirsten looks up at Andrea, standing by the kitchen, smile on her face. Kirsten sighs. "Andrea, good afternoon. Hmm. I think we had an accident over here."
Seth will never stop thanking their lucky stars for finding Andrea, who must have known something was wrong the moment his mom looked up at her, because Andrea crossed the space before Kirsten had finished her sentence.
"What happened?"
Seth sighs, and watches Andrea kneel before Ryan, his mother moving slightly to the side. Andrea places her hands on either side of Ryan's face and looks into the blue eyes that used to recognize him and stare right into him, speaking with nothing but his gaze and a handful of words.
"Seth?" Andrea asks again, turning to look at Seth and catch his eye before focusing on Ryan once again. "What happened?"
It takes Seth a moment to find his voice and when he does, he tilts his head and looks at Ryan, recounting for Andrea what he already told his mother. He watches her, carefully and with the utmost concentration, check his eyes and his forehead, the small cut that's now under both band aids, the rest of his hairline, at which Seth can't help but lower his eyes and grimace. When he looks up again, she has moved to Ryan's neck and shoulders, as much as she can see with Ryan still in a t-shirt. As she touches Ryan's left shoulder, Ryan winces and whimpers in the back of his throat.
"Sorry, Ryan. Okay. Let me see it again, okay?" Andrea pulls the collar as far as it'd go, checking the shoulder, lifting the short sleeves of the gray t-shirt, touching the forearm with her fingertips. "He hit pretty hard. It's gonna bruise, but it hasn't swollen as of yet, that's good."
It takes her a good other ten minutes to finish going over Ryan's body, checking every single possible place for more injuries, only finding out that he has bruised his left hip, and it should be slightly purple come tomorrow morning.
"He's fine," she says after a moment, when Ryan hasn't even grimaced during her examination. She smiles, patting Ryan's thigh. "You're a very brave boy, aren't you, Ryan? Yes, and also you like to wiggle when you sleep, huh? Gave quite a scare to your mom and Seth, huh?" She touches Ryan's chin before standing up. "He's gonna be fine, bruised, but nothing major."
Kirsten can't help but let out a soft sigh of relief, and Seth can feel his heart pounding in his ears, but it seems to try to get back to its normal rhythm, even though he had no idea he was worried until Andrea started checking Ryan out.
"Are you sure?" Kirsten can't help but ask, her hand reaching out to touch Ryan's face, and to her surprise, Ryan leans into her touch.
She smiles, leaning forward to rub her nose against his. It's in the eyes, in her very expression, apparent that it's the small things like this, touches and emotional closeness that Ryan would have never allowed himself, allowed her or Seth, before everything happened, the one thing that keeps her, the whole family, alive and breathing. It's the small miracles, Seth thinks, and sighs.
"Are you sure?" She asks again, nuzzling Ryan's cheek with her nose, making him chuckle. "He's not... I don't think he'd cry if he was hurt. Ryan's just not like that."
Andrea seems to ponder this new information, and it's obvious in her face that the only thing that could prove to them that he was fine, that Ryan was unscathed, at least this once, was taking him to a hospital. Seth knows this is not something either of them could face.
When Kirsten pulls away, Andrea reaches for Ryan's left shoulder and looks at it once again. It has started to swell. She touches it, looking at Ryan's face for any sign of pain, but Ryan barely even flinches, only the slight twitch of the corner of his eyes letting her know that he's feeling discomfort. "It's just bruising," she says, nodding as she does so. "I'll keep an eye on it, though, just in case."
Those words ease Kirsten's mind, and she nods, turning Ryan's face toward her, and his eyes find hers. "See, sweetie? You're fine."
"Moom?"
She nods, slowly, big smile on her lips. When Ryan's his most tired, he always prolongs the o. "Yes, baby, it's me. It's Mommy." Ryan smiles at her, before leaning his head back against the couch, and she turns to look at Seth. "Did he have a nice morning?"
Seth sighs, nodding as he does so, tiredness etched on his every breath. "Kinda. Therapy in the morning was long, and he was cranky during lunch, though not overly so, but still." Seth shrugs. "I shouldn't have brought him here for movies. He was tired. I should have seen it. I should have put him to bed."
Kirsten reaches out, touching her son's knee. "No, you know he likes the movies. It gives him a sense of normalcy, I think. He should nap for a couple of hours, though."
Seth nods, standing up as he does so, but she shakes her head.
"I can do it," she tells him, and Andrea stands up to bring the wheel chair closer to Ryan.
Seth sighs, taking a seat on the now vacated armchair. He watches Kirsten and Andrea settling Ryan on the chair before wheeling him out of the den. He can hear them in the kitchen and then in the living room, and when he hears the elevator moving to the second floor, he closes his eyes and leans his head back. After a minute, he hears the distinctive sound of Ryan being moved to the bed, and Seth can let out a long sigh and relax, if only for a moment.
It's six in the evening by the time Sandy arrives home, flushed and with his briefcase in his hand, which he leaves in his office on his way to the kitchen.
"Hey. Hey. Hey. God, this stupid case got held up in court. In court. I mean," Sandy says as he gives Kirsten a kiss, even though she's on the phone, listening as carefully as she can while still listening to Sandy, "who sues the family next door because their kid gave a party and apparently, a few of the guests ended up making their way to the plaintiff's house." Sandy sighs, opening the fridge and getting out a bottle of water. He turns to look at Seth, who has the laptop opened on the island and is writing down names. "What are you doing, son?"
"Finding out what's new on DVD. We're running out of movies." Seth sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "If we have to keep on watching movies, I'm not going to watch them more than three times in two months. I fall asleep when I do," he says through clenched teeth.
Sandy frowns, head tilted to the side, and it's obvious that he knows something's in there, hiding beneath the words. "What happened?"
Seth looks up, glancing as his mother, who sighs before focusing on her call. "What? Yes, yes, I know. Call the architect; he was supposed to have this covered."
"Seth?"
Seth bites down on his lower lip and shrugs, telling himself that it's over now, it's fixed. Ryan's still asleep upstairs, going on three hours and they better wake him up if they expect him to get any sleep tonight. "I fell asleep watching movies with Ryan. He moved, shifted, I think, and fell. Onto the carpet." He sighs, clicking on the next link and writing down "The Whole Ten Yards", and "Kill Bill vol. 2" just because he actually saw the first part with Ryan. And it totally sucks that "Return of the King" doesn't go out in video until December. They saw that movie together, Seth remembers. They saw that movie together when it premiered.
"Is he okay? I mean, did Andrea--?"
Kirsten hangs up the phone and nods. "She checked him over. He cut his forehead and bruised his shoulder. She says he's fine and she'll keep an eye on him." She sighs, tiredness edging around her eyes. "We were lucky."
"I was an idiot," Seth hisses.
"Seth--"
"Really, mom, tell me he didn't fall because I was too much of a wuss not to stay awake--"
"And if we think that, then Ryan choked because I can't even feed my own son," Sandy says, placing his bottled water on the island. "We make mistakes. We..." He sighs, his voice cracking. "We're trying our best."
Seth snorts. "Then it's so not cutting it."
Kirsten glares at her son, her lips purse into a line. "Then we keep on trying until we get it right. And we only have one more chance, at the most." She takes in a deep breath. "Look, let's not fight, okay? Ryan's fine. We'll adjust the routine. We'll get more DVDs, so they aren't actually that repetitive, maybe start taking him out more."
Seth snorts again, seeming to be angry at the world at large, starting very much with himself. "Like that went over well the last time."
His mom doesn't say anything and he knew she wouldn't. Last time was worse than a disaster. It was horrible. It wasn't so bad for Ryan, because it seemed like he didn't even realized he had left the house, but it seemed to have double impact on the three of them. And Seth would rather eat glass than have to put Ryan through that again.
"Where is Ryan?"
His dad's question makes him blink, look up from his laptop and sigh. "Sleeping."
"Since?"
"Three fifteen. We should--"
"I'll wake him up." Sandy sighs, taking his jacket off and placing it over the crook of his arm. "I've missed him."
Seth nods, pinching the bridge of his nose as he knows he's on the verge of a massive headache. He watches from the corner of his eye as his dad leaves the kitchen just as Maribel walks in, ready to start making dinner.
Sandy doesn't knock on the slightly open door, he only pushes it open, jacket still in hand, which he should have left in his bedroom before coming here. But he's here now, walking into Ryan's bedroom, posters on the walls, posters Seth chose and Kirsten bought, to make the space homier. Some of them are of bands, groups that Sandy doesn't recognize, two of them are from The Lord of the Rings, which he doesn't know if Ryan ever really liked, or Seth just pushed so much that Ryan realized that it'd be better for his safety to say that he liked. The first one's missing, and Sandy knows that even now, so long after that first strike that cut his family in half, still trying to find the pieces to put themselves together, Seth's still looking for that poster. To have the Trilogy together. Sandy doesn't know why Seth's so invested in that, but he is. Seth doesn't even own the posters himself.
He smiles, a turn of the corner of his lips, placing his jacket on top of the dresser as he walks toward the bed. Ryan's lying on his right side, eyes closed, breathing slow and controlled, and Sandy feels like his chest might crack from the sheer pressure.
where's my brother?
The very first words Ryan ever said to him, and it's always like this, each time he comes home to find Ryan either still napping, or on the couch, watching movies with Seth. Or those rare times when Ryan's not so tired and Andrea puts in a good hour of physical therapy during the afternoon. Each time he sees Ryan, he remembers them, those three words that changed his life, gave him another son, gave this much responsibility that now he can't imagine himself without.
"Hey," Sandy says with a smile, barely a whisper, as he closes the distance to the bed. He reaches out, touching Ryan's cheek, and he feels Ryan barely shifting under his touch. "Yeah, kid. Time to wake up." He caresses the cheek, the jaw, and then blue eyes blink and open, and it takes Ryan a moment for him to focus on Sandy.
"Addy?"
Sandy nods, smiling as he does so. Sometime ago, during those first weeks where everything was hell, where sleep was nothing but a memory and everything around them was worry and concern and sadness and desperation, Ryan seemed to meet them for a second time. He called Seth by his name, which made Seth cry into Ryan's chest. Ryan called Kirsten Mom, which Sandy imagines was the memory of Seth calling her mom not only a second before. And Ryan called Sandy, Addy, which neither of them will know if it's because of his real name or the word daddy. Sandy doesn't really want to know.
"Yes, kiddo. It's me." He leans over, giving Ryan a kiss on the cheek, and that seems to wake him up even more.
"Addy."
"You ready to get out of this bed?"
It's easy, days after days of practice, to do this with only half his mind on it. He pulls Ryan to his chest, adjusting the shirt that has scrunched up on his back, running the brush through Ryan's hair so he doesn't actually look like he's just woken up, drying the edge of his mouth, where Ryan always drools after a nap, and moving him to the wheelchair.
One day, the doctor at the hospital has told them a few times, Ryan might be able to walk on his own. Sandy doesn't know if he either looks forward to or dreads that day. There will be a whole new bag of worms to worry about then. What if Ryan falls? What if his legs are too weak? What if he falls down the stairs? Against the table? Into the pool?
Sandy shakes his head. "Come on, Ryan. There's a TV waiting for us, what do ya think?"
Smart kid like you. You got to have a plan. Some kind of a dream.
It's funny, the way his own words come back to haunt him, to remind him of all those things he did wrong, that he should have fixed back when he had the chance, the opportunity, and didn't take it.
Ryan's dream, he found out one night during dinner, two days before New Year, was that he wanted to be an architect. And Sandy only found this out because Seth mentioned that USC had a good English program, and an amazing Architecture program, and they could share a room. The conversation moved on from there, and Ryan spent most of that hour looking down at his lap, the tip of his ears red and Seth pulling every single word from Ryan's mouth as if with a spoon.
They make their way down the hallway and to the elevator, the very first thing that Kirsten set her mind to change in the house. It was a series of changes, making everything wheelchair friendly. Changing carpets that were worn, that might make him trip, changing the very floors and putting ramps where steps used to be. Neither of them ever knew just how many steps were all around the house until they stopped, took notice and changed them all.
you said if I needed help I could come to you
Sandy blinks as he presses the button for the first floor, stinging in the back of his eyes, and those are the words he hates the most, each time he remembers. It used to be often, those days following the 19th. Those few weeks after that day, all he could remember was Ryan's voice, Ryan's words, over and over again, like a litany, like a call for help from somewhere inside him, killing him so very slowly. Because Ryan asked for his help and he thought Sandy was procuring it, Ryan thought he was there, right there, protecting him, until a second passed by and Sandy blinked and the next thing he knew, Ryan was on the floor, bleeding out.
He was there, right there, not even two feet from Ryan's side, and he could have done more. He should have done more, and instead, he did nothing and only watched as his son got shot.
He shakes his head, and the words and the voice and the tone might have been pushed out of the foreground, into the very back of his mind, along with those things he'd rather never remember again, like how he dropped Seth from his arms onto the bed when the kid was only one year old, and he never told Kirsten that that's how the boy got that small bruise on one shoulder. Or how Ryan looked, that first day, bruise over one eye, and how he later learned from Seth's mouth that it had been his mother's boyfriend who hit him.
"I heard what happened," he says, lowly, taking in a deep breath as he does so.
Ryan leans his head back on the chair as far as it'll go, blinking at him, looking upside down. Sandy smiles and not for the first time wonders just how much Ryan can hear, can understand, can relate to.
"Yeah, Seth told me."
Ryan grins, big and wide, showing his white teeth, and that's a smile Sandy's certain he would have never been touched with, had this not happened. Ryan was always too closed for that, too wary, to let himself smile with that much abandon. Maybe with Seth, those times they were alone, just being two boys, but never with him, and neither with Kirsten. And Sandy's touched, by the mere sight of his son this happy, if only for a second in time, and even if Ryan himself doesn't know what he's happy about.
"You gave him quite a scare." Sandy smiles, leaning forward to kiss Ryan's forehead, and Ryan giggles, so very unlike him that Sandy can't help but chuckle. "And Kirsten too, I can imagine. I'm surprise you're even here. I would have pictured her taking you to the hospital to get x-rays taken."
Then again, perhaps the only reason they didn't do this, both Kristen and Seth didn't rush to the closest emergency room was the fact that it does feel as if they've been in enough hospitals to last them a lifetime.
"You're okay, though, right? They said Andrea checked you out." He reaches out, cupping Ryan's face as the elevator reaches the first floor. "Seth's out of his mind looking for DVDs. I'm sure you scared the daylights out of him." A pause as the doors slide open. "And Kirsten, and me there for a second."
Before wheeling Ryan out of the elevator, Sandy makes his way around and squats before Ryan, leaning forward, face close enough that he can't help but look at the small scar over the left eyebrow, close to where the band aid now lays.
"You would tell me, right? Tell us. If you were hurting." He pauses, reaching out, touching a cheek with his index finger, slightly bowed, soft skin against even softer skin. "You would tell us. I want to tell myself that you would tell us. That'd you'd say something. Shift, whimper, cry. Anything. You do know that there's nothing wrong with crying, right?"
And Sandy remembers, one of those hundreds of small memories he has of Ryan, small and most of them painful. And this is one of them, because it's from that horrible time. That time. When they practically lived in the hospital, watching, waiting, doing nothing but worrying and feeling so fucking helpless it felt like it was the end of the world, of their world.
There was a moment, then, back sometime in late January, when they were starting the physical therapy. Everything in Ryan's body used to hurt back then. They would touch, his arm, his leg, his cheek, and Ryan would whimper in the back of his throat. It wasn't like Ryan, really, to whimper or show pain. And Sandy used to think that maybe there had been so much trauma caused to Ryan's psyche, that he had almost forgotten how he used to respond to outside stimuli. And then, of course, Ryan got a better grip of himself. Seemed to find himself, someway, somehow, in early February and then Ryan started calling them Seth and mom and Addy.
And now, this boy sitting before him, though he might not talk, will not go to school and never even think about college, this boy is still his Ryan. The Ryan Sandy met not so long ago. The Ryan Sandy liked from minute one. And maybe there's more in Ryan's memory than they all give him credit for, and so, maybe Ryan remembers a time when showing pain only meant you were weak.
"You can tell us, Ryan, you have to know that. You can tell us anything. We love you. We're your parents. You can tell us anything."
There was a time, maybe, back when things were easier in a way, that neither Kirsten nor Sandy would have wanted to say we're your parents. Kirsten used to say that she wouldn't call herself Ryan's mom because, even though Dawn hadn't been the perfect mother, she was still Ryan's mom, and it was understandable that Ryan would want that memory to last. Now, when things have changed so much, when they haven't ever even thought about calling that woman and letting her know that her son has been hurt, would she like to come see him, they don't hesitate to name themselves what they feel in their hearts.
"We're your parents," he repeated, hand clutching Ryan's jaw, taking in a deep breath as he notices that he might be hurting the boy. His fingers loosen their tight hold. "We're your parents, Ryan, and you need to know that you can tell us anything."
Ryan tilts his head to the side and when he raises an eyebrow, Sandy can't help but feel his heart tighten. "Addy?"
"Yes, sweetie," he says, cupping Ryan's chin. "Yes. I'm your Addy."
Sandy waits for a moment, thinking that maybe Ryan will say more, open his mouth and explain how he's not hurting, he's fine, thanks. It was just a bump on the shoulder and you know how Seth gets. He gets all hysterical and stuff, and that comes from mom's side, you know that too. But instead, Ryan sighs softly, content, and leans back against the head rest of the chair.
Sandy straightens, wheeling Ryan out of the elevator even as he remembers that he left his jacket back in Ryan's bedroom. And he should have changed. Put on shorts and a sweatshirt, because staying with his suit the rest of the night didn't sound comfortable.
"You finished with your list?" Sandy asks Seth as he walks into the kitchen, Kirsten once again on the phone.
Seth nods. "Yeah. Close to twenty winners. At least that's something." He moves his head from side to side, and hears knuckles pop. "Oh, crap. Everything hurts."
"You can watch TV with us, you know?" Sandy pulls the chair next to the couch, putting on the brakes, before lifting Ryan up in his arms and to the couch.
Seth frowns, biting his lower lip. Ryan just like he sat him not even six hours ago, before he fell. He swallows, and nods. "Sure. Why not?"
Seth walks to the couch even as Sandy straightens and smiles at Ryan.
"Watch him for a minute, I'm gonna go change." Sandy touches Ryan's forehead and neck. "You sweating? Are you hot?"
"I think the temperature has risen, yeah," Seth says, sitting down by Ryan's side. "A change of clothes. Tank top and shorts, maybe."
Sandy nods. "Yeah, sure. I'll bring them down."
Easily, Ryan leans to his side, placing his head on Seth's shoulder, and Seth can only reach around with his arm and put it along Ryan's shoulders, pulling Ryan to his side. Ryan lets out a soft sigh of contentment, happiness almost spilling from him, and it's like Seth can finally let himself relax and breath and know that everything's okay now, everything's fine. He squeezes Ryan's right shoulder, and hears Ryan grimacing.
"Oh, right. The bruise." He sighs, rubbing the skin even through cotton. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm not going to let that happen again, I swear." Seth sighs again, not being able to do anything but. "God, I'm so sorry Ryan. Really. Mom'll buy more movies. At least then I won't be bored by it. And, hmm."
He doesn't know what to say. There are tons of movies left for them to see. The last time he went to the movies, actually, was to see The Return of the King, with Ryan, on premiere. And Ryan loved it, really did. It's been almost six months of movies not seen.
"There are tons of movies we haven't seen, you know? Tons of them. I'm sure at least a couple you're gonna love."
And he's grasping at straws, really. He's being desperate and on the verge of a nervous breakdown, probably, either that or a heart attack, and he's only seventeen, too young to have a heart attack. He's fine, Seth tells himself. He's fine.
Seth looks down at the head on his shoulder, Ryan's eyes almost closed even though the TV is on and the news's on, someway, somehow, and Ryan used to like watching the news for reasons Seth never understood.
It's almost like it never happened, for Ryan. Or maybe Ryan does know it has happened and he just doesn't mind, doesn't care about it enough to hold a grudge against Seth. He would have forgiven you, Seth thinks to himself. He would have told you it was okay, don't worry, Seth. It happened. Let it go. And Seth just might have.
It would have happened, you know? Either way. It was nothing. I feel. Ryan would have rolled his eyes. You're being stupid.
Ryan would have said that to him, you're being stupid. Seth can almost hear the words in the air. "You're being stupid."
"Gee, thanks, dude. Really. Your love for me astonishes me." Seth would have snorted, and this Seth, sitting on the couch blinks, seeing the scene unfolding before his very eyes, the two of them, standing in between the den and the kitchen.
Ryan chuckled, in the back of his throat. "What? I'm being honest."
"You're being mean."
"And honest."
Seth snorted. "Right. Coz that's you. The honesty kinda guy." A roll of his eyes. "Whatever."
"Really." Ryan shrugged, his face akin to sadness. "I shouldn't have moved."
"Why did you, though?" And Seth can't believe his other part would question something like that.
Ryan looked down. "I think I just woke up." There's silence, for a moment, before Ryan nudged Seth on the shoulder, jerking his head toward the kitchen. "Come on. Dinner's here."
Seth understands what Ryan was referring to, because they would have asked for take out. They wouldn't have had Maribel, nor a reason to actually have cooked meals in the house, had January not happened.
He blinks and shakes his head, and the memory of that which didn't happen is blow away, like a dream he tries to remember but can't quite hold onto. He looks down at Ryan, who looks back at him. Seth smiles. "So, you really don't mind? I mean, you did bump your shoulder, you know?"
Ryan smiles at him, big and wide, teeth showing, and it's nothing like when they used to ride together. It's better and brighter, and Seth nods.
"Okay, okay. Dude. I get it. I'm being stupid. I know." He sighs, caressing Ryan's hair. "I'm being stupid. Thanks. Just what I needed to hear."
"I didn't find the gray shorts, only the black."
Seth looks up from Ryan to see his dad in shorts and a Berkeley sweatshirt, carrying Ryan's clothes in his hands. "It's okay. I think he likes the black better. I think they are bigger."
Sandy frowns, looking down at the clothes. "Weird. I'm sure your mother bought him all the clothes the same size."
"Well, some tend to be bigger either way, you know?"
Seth shifts Ryan so he's resting back against the couch. Taking off the gray Nike shirt, Seth gasps, looking at the darkening bruise on Ryan's right shoulder. It has swollen even more than before, and it's dark, blue and black almost, with tinges of yellow, and it looks like it hurts like a bitch. Ryan would say that, it hurts like a bitch. Seth's fingers hover above it for a second before sighing.
"I'm sure it doesn't hurt," Sandy says, and Seth wonders for a moment if he's saying it to himself.
"Still." Seth touches it for a second, seeing the way Ryan grimaces before lifting his hand. "Sorry. And dude, really, had you not forgiven me, I would have hated myself right about now."
Sandy blinks, unsure of what that means exactly. Ryan forgave Seth? He turns to look at Seth for a moment and notices the way Seth grimaces, hand cupping Ryan's chin, forehead against Ryan's, and Sandy had known Seth was feeling guilty, awful, but he hadn't imagined it'd be this bad. So bad, Sandy thinks, that Seth's sure he saw forgiveness in Ryan's eyes.
And he might have, because Ryan could always speak with his eyes like nobody Sandy ever met. He could say full sentences with his eyes, console and friend, love and cherish, with blue eyes alone, barely one word being said, when Seth had always been exactly the opposite. They had balanced each other, Sandy remembers, Ryan had been Seth's compass and steadying force. And now, well, now Seth was lost and weak.
Sandy watches with sadness and Seth leans forward, rubs his cheek against Ryan's, and then turns around and kisses said cheek. There's pain in the action, sorrow, grieving for that which has been lost and might never be found, but there's love in something so simple, which all three of them need to do from time to time, to reassure themselves that Ryan's here, safe and sound, though hurt deep within. But he's here, alive, and they should count their miracles.
"Just let me say it one last time," Seth whispers, so low Sandy can barely hear it, forehead against Ryan's shoulder. "Just one last time. I'm so very sorry."
Then, as if in answer, it's Ryan who turns his head around and kisses Seth's ear, sloppily and with something of a giggle behind it, but Seth laughs and understands, and Sandy can see easiness over pain in his son's face.
Seth pulls away, still laughing, looking at Ryan with a smile on his lips. "Okay. Okay. I know. I get it. We're way over that." He shakes his head with laughter and throws the shirt he has in his hands onto the back of the couch. "Come on Ryan, you're sweating like a pig. It's not that hot, you know? But still. We gotta change you, and then, you're gonna drink tons of water. The last thing we need upon everything is for you to dehydrate."
Sandy smiles, because that's his son, worrywart to the core, and specially now, after everything: Ryan comes first. Always. Until there are no more days in the calendar. Until there's nothing in them but their last breathe. And Sandy can't help but think that there will be a time when both Kirsten and he are too old, too weak to be able to take care of Ryan like they have to, and then it'll be Seth's responsibility, simple and totally, and he can't help but worry about how Seth will take it.
But Seth takes the t-shirt from Sandy's loose hands and then pulls Ryan to his chest, using the dirty gray Nike shirt to wipe the sweat from Ryan's back, before slowly and easily maneuvering Ryan into the clean white shirt. Every worry Sandy has, from time to time, pulling up onto the forefront of his mind, is blow away like the breeze in the afternoon, and he can breathe with ease and smile at both his sons.
Sandy helps Seth change Ryan into the shorts, which is tricky, because Ryan does have a couple of pounds on Seth, who has always been on the skinny side, and it takes them closer to five minutes to change Ryan. Ryan, who Sandy will always remember in jeans and a shirt, black shoes, looking older than he should have, only a curve on his lips and a sideways glance.
When Ryan looks much cooler than before, Sandy sighs, places the jeans and gray shirt on the back of the couch, where Maribel will pick them up later, coz that's how nice that girl is.
Sandy smiles, nodding at Seth as he runs a hand through Ryan's hair, kind of combing it a little. "Why don't we watch some TV?"
Seth nods, looking tired around the edges, and Sandy thinks that maybe now, finally, after about three hours from the whole thing, Seth will be able to relax without feeling guilty.
They sit, with Ryan in between them, and after a minute, Ryan shifts in his place, laying comfortably with his head on Sandy's shoulder. Sandy places his arm along the back of Ryan's shoulder, pulling him slightly to his side, and Ryan sighs. Seth smiles, patting Ryan's thigh, and then leaves his hand there.
Sandy reaches for the control and puts on the repeat of a basketball game from last season. Seth groans, Sandy chuckles, and Ryan laughs onto Sandy's shoulder.
They have dinner at exactly seven at night, have been for the last couple of months, even though Ryan has been drinking tons of apple juice during the sports, which Seth didn't understand a bit, but he's gotten used to this. To the three of them watching sports and every once in a while him asking, "Hmm, okay. And what exactly does that mean? What's that? Argh. Dad, really, you're torturing me here." They even had some chips with the game. Doritos, which Ryan adores -- always in very small pieces which pretty much dissolve in Ryan's tongue -- and his mom doesn't really like, thinking that it'll kill their appetite. But Ryan's always hungry after Doritos, and he always looks funny with his fingers filled with dark yellow extra cheese.
They have different sitting arrangements, born out of need and comfortableness for all four of them. Ryan sits at the head of the kitchen table, Kirsten next to him, with her back to the kitchen. Seth across from her and next to Ryan, and Sandy next to Seth.
It's easy for Kirsten, to pick up Ryan's plate in her right hand and feed him, giving him time to breath and look at them and listen to them even as she takes a couple of bites of her own dinner before picking up the plate once again and feeding him a couple more spoonfuls. Sandy talks about his day, summing up the craziness that the office is. He had to change firms after the accident, because the following weeks at work, he barely spent five hours a week there. Partridge, Savage and Cahn were understanding of their situation, but when Ryan was moved back to the house and he wanted to be home early, six at the latest, the firm wouldn't take it. In the end, Sandy found a new place that understood his situation. Anderson and Peach's run by two women, both mothers, who started the firm so they could spend more time with their children. It fit Sandy perfectly.
"Oh, I almost forgot," Kirsten says to Ryan, though she speaks to the whole table, "I ran into Luke yesterday." She gives Ryan a big smile, who opens his mouth wide in response and she gets another spoon into him.
Seth frowns, looking at Ryan eating mash potatoes, pureed chicken, thanks Maribel and one full minute in the blender, and green beans that look more liquid than anything else. "Really? I thought he went to his dad's for summer."
At least, that was what Luke had told Seth, one of the last days of school. Luke wanted to leave Newport for a while, get over Julie, which the idea in itself was a very ugly image. And the only reason Seth had ever known that piece of information was because, one of Seth's many visits to the hospital, sometime during early March, Luke went to keep him company. Back then, all Seth could think of was Ryan and corrective surgery and physical treatments and speech therapy and pain killers and EEGs. And Luke, trying to get Seth's mind off Ryan for the duration of his latest visit to the CAT-scan, opened his big mouth and said that he'd been sleeping with Julie Cooper. Seth almost had a heart attack.
Kirsten shakes her head and Ryan does the same. She chuckles, using the spoon to clean a little bit of beans trying to make a run for it. "He said he's been meaning to talk to you." It takes her a moment to convince Ryan to open his mouth once again, feeding him the chicken this time. "He didn't know if you'd want to talk to him."
Seth swallows, shrugging as he does so. Reaching the end of the school term, it had become more and more difficult to focus on school and papers and homework when he knew that Ryan was at home, still trying to get used to both Andrea and Maribel. Seth knew his mom had taken some time off from work, and back then his dad was working at home, and still not getting much done, but that didn't mean Seth couldn't worry his ass off. And also, the few friends he did have, the girlfriend he had broken up with and the girl who had had a crush on him, all had taken second place.
"I wouldn't mind," Seth says, lowly, looking at Ryan who looks back at him for a moment then opens his mouth. Tongue filled with chicken make its appearance and Seth chuckles at Ryan's face, and Ryan laughs with his mouth open, half the chicken flying onto the edge of the table. "Ryan, come on. Be nice to mom. Eat your dinner."
Kirsten shakes her head, Ryan looking at her, mouth opened wide, mirth in his eyes. "You're just having so much fun here, aren't you, sweetie?" Ryan nods, and Kirsten can't help but swallow tightly. "Not even half the plate to go, baby. Just a couple more spoons, okay?"
"Seth?"
Seth looks up from his plate to his dad, who has one eyebrow raised and he shakes his head. "Nothing. Luke got pissed at me, I think." He frowns. "Or maybe it was the other way around. I don't really remember. School and friends weren't exactly my priority back then, you know?"
Sandy sighs, giving his son a sad smile before nodding. And yes, he knows, because back in May all three of them were getting used to their new routine, the two new people in their house, the fact that the pool house had been locked until further notice and that Ryan needed help to eat, change, go to the bathroom and pretty much everything in between. "Still, but Luke's your friend. You can't just push him away."
Seth presses his lips into a thin line and Sandy recognizes the gesture from Ryan. "He was Ryan's friend, dad. Not exactly mine."
"You know what I mean."
"Still. He was Ryan's--" The ring of the phone cuts Seth's sentence and he shakes his head, placing his fork down and standing up for the phone. Listening to the man on the other end of the line, he sighs. "Yes, Grandpa. One sec."
Walking back to the table, Seth offers the phone to his mom as she sighs and puts down the plate. "For you."
Kirsten groans even as she picks up the phone with one hand and reaches for the dishcloth with the other, to clean her hands. "Sandy, could you--?" She asks over her shoulder, putting the phone to her ear and leaving the dishcloth against the back of her chair.
Sandy nods, standing up. "Yeah. Sure. Don't worry. I have it covered." He smiles at Ryan, taking Kirsten's seat, dishcloth on his lap, and picks up the plate. "Come on. Mommy's busy right now. Dad's in charge now, huh? Whaddaya say?"
"I thought I told you I don't like it when you call me at home," Kirsten says through clenched teeth, even as she makes her way out of the kitchen and toward the office.
Sandy looks over his shoulder at his wife before returning the attention to his son. He lifts a spoon filled with beans and mashed potatoes, and feeds Ryan slowly. Ryan opens his mouth, tongue, again, filled with food. Sandy smiles at him, trying to look as encouraging as he used to back when Seth was a baby, and pushes the food and tongue back in with the spoon. But apparently not only didn't it work on Seth but neither does it on Ryan, because Ryan opens his mouth once again, sticking his tongue out as far as it'd go.
Seth chuckles. "I think he's mocking you."
Sandy sighs, keeping the smile in place though he knows he just might end up with half the food on his clothes. "I think he wants his mother."
After two more tries, Sandy finally finds a way around the problem. The trick, at least with him, is that after each spoonful, to tickle Ryan's nose. It's silly and Ryan wouldn't have liked it, or giggled because of it, in any other given situation. But in this, Ryan did giggle and scrunched up his nose and, in reaction, ended up swallowing the food.
"Luke's your friend too," Sandy says after a while, looking down at the plate in his hands. Only five more spoons to go, tops. "He might not have been at first, and I do remember he was kind of an ass back when Ryan first arrived, but he's your friend now." He looks at Seth looking at Ryan. "I think he just needs to learn how to behave around Ryan."
Seth bites the inside of his cheek, watching his dad feeding Ryan. Ryan would have hated it. He would have been so pissed off, the way his dad touches Ryan's nose and Ryan can't help but laugh, his body almost betraying what his mind would have done before the scar, and he sighs. "He'll try to treat Ryan like nothing happened." He waits until his dad looks at him. "I don't think he can handle that." Seth sighs, and he knows he's talking about Ryan. "I don't think I can handle that."
And it pains him to admit, but it has been difficult enough to fall into a routine now, to find pleasure in the little things, in the small words and smiles, but if Luke was to come in here and disrupt the whole thing. Remind Seth of what Ryan used to be capable of, of what Ryan liked, back then, when everything was so fucking easier. Seth really doesn't know if he could face it. Seth doesn't know if he could live after that.
"You want to try it yourself?" Sandy asks Ryan, offering the spoon to Ryan. "How about one try, huh?"
Sandy doesn't know what's worse, hoping that Ryan will reach for the spoon and be able to feed himself, or hoping that he'll turn down the option all together. Hesitantly, Ryan takes the thick spoon from Sandy's hand and Sandy nods, smile on his lips, patting Ryan's hand.
"It's okay, honey. It's okay."
Ryan holds the spoon tightly in his right fist, gripping it around the handle, and looks up at Sandy.
Seth wants to tell his dad to let it go, to take the spoon from Ryan, right now, before something happens. And maybe he's just being paranoid, or mediocre or settling for second best, he doesn't care, but right now the last thing he wants, the last thing he needs, is for Ryan to have a disappointment. Seth doesn't think Ryan could take it. And maybe, if he's being true to himself, Seth can accept that he doesn't think that he can take it.
"See? It's not that difficult." Sandy places his hand over Ryan's, holding the spoon, and with the other, he brings the plate next to the spoon. Instead of moving the spoon to take the food, Sandy moves the plate, filling the spoon with beans and potatoes, and places the plate on the table once again. "How about we do it, nice and easy, huh? Slowly."
His hand still over Ryan's, Sandy moves the spoon toward Ryan's lip. But Ryan's hand twitches, slightly, his fingers loosening and the spoon tilts. Sandy picks up the dishcloth from his lap and catches the food with it before staining Ryan's shorts and legs. Sandy sighs, hanging his head forward. Well, they tried. They can very well try again next week.
Neither Sandy nor Seth say anything about this. Ryan tilts his head, watching them both. Sandy smiles. "It's okay, sweetie, don't worry." He picks up the plate again, filling the spoon once more. "Don't worry about it."
"Your dinner's getting cold," Seth says absentmindedly after a moment.
Sandy shrugs, making sure Ryan eats the last spoon. "Nah. It doesn't matter."
Seth smiles at his dad. "I don't remember the last time mom finished her whole dinner, you know?"
Sandy cups Ryan's face in his hand, rubbing it slightly before placing the plate on the table. "Yeah. I know what you mean." He moves his head around, his neck starting to hurt. "But she's a mother, she'd tell you that moms don't really tend to sit down and eat." Sandy turns to smile at his son. "It used to be the same when you were a baby, you know Seth? I remembered. She spent half the time standing up and picking things up, or getting you something."
Seth nods, not quite remembering, but being able to imagine it easily. Her mom, things to get done, and still feeding him. Very much like she does with Ryan every single day. The one thing she gets to do with Ryan, every single night, no matter what happens, is this. And Seth thinks she looks forward to it almost as much as Ryan himself does.
"You think mom will finish that?" Seth asks, pointing at his mom's already cold plate.
Tilting his head, Sandy glances at the plate before shaking his head. "No, I don't think so, but we could--"
"I just hate it when my dad does this," Kirsten says, walking into the kitchen, phone in her hands. She places it on the island before walking toward the table. "God. I told him that architect said he'd take care of it, and Potter better take care of it or I'm firing him tomorrow. I'm tired of having to think about his sites after three." She sighs, looking at Ryan's empty plate and Seth smiling at her. "Oh. He's done."
Sandy gives her a sad smile. "Sorry sweetie, but he was hungry, I think." He shrugs. "Sorry."
"No, no, it's okay. It's good that he has a good appetite, after everything." She smiles at her son, reaching to place a lock of blonde hair behind his ear. "You were hungry, huh, baby? Really. Good. How about some juice?" Ryan seems to brighten at this. "Oh, I think Maribel made some pudding. And I know how much you love vanilla pudding."
Seth watches with a lazy smile how his mom gets a small bowl of pudding from the fridge, totally forgetting her now congealed dinner. She enjoys this, he knows, the way Ryan doesn't give her much of a fight when it comes down to food, especially dessert. He steals bites from the pudding, making Ryan giggle, before getting his very own. And his dad likes to give Ryan bites of Seth's pudding, and Ryan laughs, and Seth can only do the same.
Routine seems boring, lame, constant and tiresome, but life now is a constant and it's slightly boring, but it needs to be. Ryan needs the consistency and Seth would rather hurt himself than deny Ryan anything he needs. Constancy is good for Ryan's soul, the doctor said. Constancy makes Ryan feel like he can depend on his family to provide a safe environment. And constancy equals routine and routine is what they have now. Nothing but routine. If they are feeling daring, Ryan gets an extra hour of physical therapy in the afternoons.
The nights are slightly boring. His mom likes to tend to Ryan. Take him out into the backyard sometimes, no more than a couple of minutes, so Ryan can have some air on his face. His dad sits with him and just talks, at times, just talks. And Seth, because he has all the morning with Ryan now that school is out, lets them have their time. He had his, every single morning. When school begins once again, well, they'll have to take another routine for the nights, at least. It will probably pain them all a little.
And so, after going out to the backyard and watching the darkness over the ocean on the horizon, his mom wheels Ryan back into the house. It's late, past nine, and Ryan needs to get to bed. Seth hears from his room his mom moving Ryan, with Andrea's help, and he closes his eyes shut and bites on his lower lip, because he will not intrude into this time of hers, no matter how much he wants to make sure that Ryan is fine and well and in capable hands. And he can't help but think that no one can take care of Ryan like he can. And yes, that's stupid of him but he has every right to be stupid about this. Every right.
He looks down at his book, not seeing words nor sentences nor paragraphs. He sees his memories, Ryan, sitting on the futon, book in his own hands, studying for a test. He sees Ryan, sitting on the steps of the front door, because the Range Rover got totaled because of Seth's desire to go to the stupid party in Long Beach. He sees Ryan, sitting next to him in the hospital, Luke being shot. He sees Ryan again and again and Seth closes the book with a loud sound in the otherwise silent room.
"You're being an idiot," Seth hears the words in his mind, with Ryan's voice, with Ryan's tone, and Seth can almost imagine the curl of lips when those words leave Ryan's mouth. "You're being an idiot, Seth, so stop it, okay?"
And it fits, because this is Ryan he's thinking about, and Ryan knows him better than anyone ever knew him. This is Ryan and it fucking hurts because the Ryan his mom is putting in bed in this fucking second is not the same guy he met barely a year ago and--
Seth opens his mouth and screams, not a sound leaving his lips as he screams, his mouth twisted in anger and pain and desolation and despair and the corners of his lips hurt because his mouth has opened too much, too far and fuck if his eyes don't sting even as he feels the tears welling up in his eyes.
He places the back of his hand against his mouth and bites down, hard, until his hand hurts as much as his chest and his self and his fucking life, and then, only then, he covers his eyes with his hands. It's hard to breathe through his small nervous breakdown and he wants it stop, right now, fucking stop, because Ryan's in the next room and the last thing Seth needs is for Ryan to hear him, or sense something. Ryan needs Seth right now, this moment, and freaking out is not on the agenda. He's just --
trying to find my way the best that I know how
-- trying to breathe here.
He's panting, breathing so harshly that the air barely even makes its way into his lungs and this is too much, at times, too fucking much for him to be able to get through, get past, live with. And he will break, one of these days, he will fucking break in front of Ryan and Ryan will hate him for not being a better man, a stronger man, for not being able to do that which Ryan would have done without blinking: cover his back.
This is Ryan, and Ryan needs him, and the last time Ryan needed him Seth really wasn't there for him, so he's fixing it, right now.
He stands up, letting the book fall down onto the bed. He walks out of his bedroom and to the door next to his. The door is ajar, because they have this long standing policy that they will never, ever, fully close Ryan's door, just in case something was to happen, Ryan were to fall -- again -- or whatever.
He can see his mom, sitting on the edge of the bed, Ryan propped up by the pillow, half resting against her side. Seth smiles, can't help but, and thinks that this might be how he looked when he was a kid and his mom used to read to him.
Her voice is low and controlled, steady and easy, comforting and loving, and Seth leans against the side wall and listens to her read to Ryan. One hand on the book, the other running slender fingers through Ryan's blond hair, Seth smiles.
"I'm sorry," said Peter. "It's my fault for coming this way. We're lost. I've never seen this place in my life before."
The Dwarf gave a low whistle between his teeth.
"Oh, do let's go back and go the other way," said Susan. "I knew all along we'd get lost in these woods."
"Susan!" said Lucy, reproachfully, "don't nag at Peter like that. It's so rotten, and he's doing all he can."
Seth's smile is warm with touches of melancholy around it. Narnia, Prince Caspian probably, because that one is Ryan's favorite Narnia book, along with The Last Battle.
Kirsten looks down at Ryan, pausing in her reading. "You always did like Peter, didn't you?" She pets his hair as he looks up at her. She already knows the book by heart. All seven of them. "You think the land has changed? What do you think?"
Ryan blinks, looking at her with wide blue eyes, nothing but imagination in them.
"I know you have an opinion on this." She says, her voice sad and caught in the last word. "I know. Maybe, hmm. Maybe you just don't want to say it, right, sweetie?" She cups his upturned face and nods. "Yes. The land hasn't changed. It can't change, not in its core. It's the same, because things like that, important things like that, they don't change. Not where they really matter."
Her throat is tight and it hurts, to see him like this, looking back at her with wide blue eyes that seem to want to say the word but it's his brain and his body which stop him. She blinks, and her eyes sting, and her chest is tight and she wants her son back, her whole son, and she berates herself for underrating her son. She swallows and nods and picks up the book once again. This is not the time, nor the place, for her to think this.
She read the next paragraph, finally reaching the one she had been talking about,
"You knew this country hundreds - it may be a thousand - years ago," replied the Dwarf. "Mayn't it have changed? A landslide might have pulled off half the side of that hill, leaving bare rock, and there are your precipices beyond the gorge. Then the Rush might go on deepening its course year after year till you get the little precipices this side. Or there might have been an earthquake, or anything."
"I never thought of that," said Peter.
Seth watches his mother's hand resume her caress of his hair, and Ryan sighs comfortably against her side, almost lying on her chest. Ryan closes his eyes, nuzzling Kirsten's breastbone. This is his mother's time, Seth reminds himself, and with that thought in mind, he turns around and leaves the two of them alone.
Kirsten's voice starts to turn lower the more time goes by. The room is warm without being hot and she can even start feeling tiredness edging around her. Ryan's breathing has become even and deep for a couple of minutes now, and as she reaches the last part of Chapter Ten in the book,
"Then why can't I see him?"
"He said you mightn't be able to."
"Why?"
"I don't know. That's what he said."
"Oh, bother it all," said Edmund. "I do wish you wouldn't keep on seeing things. But I suppose we'll have to wake the others."
she sighs and closes the book. Very slowly, as not to wake him up, Kirsten pulls her arm from under Ryan, slowly easing Ryan onto the bed from his position lying on his side. He curls on his right, careful of his left shoulder, which she knows stills bothers him. He cringed the two times she touched him there, and she had to be very careful of caressing his hair and not hurting him. Placing the book back on the nightstand, next to Captain Oats, she tells herself they can continue it tomorrow. With a small smile, she runs one hand through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes.
"I love you," she whispers to him, lovingly, her chest suddenly tight. "You just rest, sweetie. Just sleep." She leans over and kisses his forehead, his nose wrinkling slightly, before his face relaxes back in sleep.
She turns off the night lamp and walks out of the bedroom. Leaving the door half closed, she walks down the hallway to her bedroom.
Sandy's in the bed, one file opened in his lap. He looks up at her as she walks in, smiling at her. "Hey. He asleep?"
Kirsten nods, walking to the hanger to pick up her nightgown. "Yeah. It took us two chapters, but he's finally down for the night."
He smiles. "Good."
"I think we let him sleep too much this afternoon," she says, taking off her clothes as she moves to the bathroom, to put them in the hamper. "Three hours were too much. He wasn't sleepy when I took him to his bedroom. I think two and a half are more than enough."
Sandy nods, half listening to her as he reviews the file on his lap. "Okay. Remember to tell Seth that tomorrow."
"I told Andrea."
"Good. She'll tell him tomorrow morning. Maybe they could schedule another hour of physical therapy in the afternoons."
"I don't know," she says, already in her nightgown, toothbrush in her hands as she leans against the threshold, "he gets really tired after physical therapy. He tends to sleep afterward and right before lunch, you know?"
Sandy nods, looking up at her for a moment, before she returns to the bathroom to finish brushing. "I know. But speech therapy is bad enough for him three times a week. You know he hates it."
"Maybe something else?"
"Like what?"
Kirsten doesn't say anything for a moment, and Sandy looks up to see her walking out the bathroom, thinking. "Andrea could start taking him out of the house, maybe?"
Sandy sighs, closing the file before turning to look at her. She sits at her mirror and starts applying her night creams. "You know he doesn't like it."
She pauses, hand hovering in mid air, before touching her cheeks with her cream filled fingertips. "It would be good for him."
"Kirsten--"
Placing her cream on her dresser, she turns around and looks at Sandy. "He has every right to leave this house, Sandy, you of all people should--"
"I know it, okay? It has nothing to do with right or no right. It has everything to do with the fact that we should be protecting our son."
She glares at him, undeterred. "Are you trying to say that I'm consciously putting my son in danger?"
"I'm trying to say that at times you think he can handle more than he can." He sighs, standing up from the bed. "And this is something that might have a greater impact on him than you might think." He places his hands around her waist and tries to pull her to his chest. She holds her ground. "Why don't we try it in a smaller scale, huh?"
Kirsten narrows her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Invite someone over. Your father. Luke. One of your friends." He reaches out with one hand, cupping her face. She sighs and leans into the touch. "Maybe that'll give you a notion on just how they treat Ryan."
"He's not something of which to be ashamed," she hisses through her teeth.
Sandy nods, tears in his eyes as he remembers the last time, people Ryan had talked with, friends from his school, staring at him. He nods once again and his eyes sting so bad that he pulls her to his chest, hugging her tightly, nuzzling her neck. "I know. But they don't. And we can't change them."
"I just want him to be happy," she says, and Sandy can hear tears in her words.
He nods against her hair, kissing the side of her face. "I know. But he's happy here. I think we should give him that much."
She places her arms around him and lets herself be comforted, and allows her husband to find himself in her arms.
Seth blinks, rolling around in his bed, pushing down the covers. He opens his eyes, rubbing them with his fists. He checks the small clock in his nightstand. Closer to two in the morning than he'd like. He sighs, sitting up, bare feet on the floor. The street light casts dim shadows around his bedroom, making it easy for him to recognize his surroundings without needing to turn on any lights.
He stands up, running one hand through his hair, and walks out of his bedroom. The door to his parents is ajar, and as he makes his way down the hallway, he notices that so is Ryan's. He pauses, hesitating for a second before walking into the room, pushing the door open with one hand.
Ryan's lying on his right side, eyes wide open, looking at the door.
"Hey," Seth says, walking inside, confusion with an edge of concern on his face. "You okay? Can't sleep?"
He smiles, the corners of his lips curling upwards, and he reaches out, touching Ryan's forehead, his hairline. His fingers fall to Ryan's cheek and he caresses it.
"I couldn't sleep either." Silences falls between them and Seth remembers the time when Ryan would keep quiet while Seth talked. "Things haven't changed much," Seth whispers, his voice harsh. He sighs. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."
Rubbing his curled finger over Ryan's cheek, Seth sighs once again.
"Scoot over," he whispers. "Can you do that? Scoot over?"Seth waits, and Ryan blinks, looking at him, and Seth wonders what Ryan thinks of him half the time, what he hears when words are spoken around him. And Seth can almost imagine Ryan blinking at him, one eyebrow raised, eyes narrowed and saying, "Hmm. What?"
He smiles, the action almost a grimace, because Ryan won't do that again. He swallows, and slowly he moves Ryan back on the bed, being careful of his bruised left shoulder. Ryan winces when Seth accidentally touches it, and Seth sighs.
"Hopefully," he says as he pulls the covers down, "you'll feel better tomorrow. Right?" He lies down on his left side, facing Ryan, who stares back at him.
He has done this before, Seth remembers, a few times when he would sit on the edge of Ryan's futon and then lie down, slowly, and Ryan would smile at him and nod, and everything would be right in the world once again.
Ryan sighs, shifting, and Seth's breath catches in his throat as Ryan finds a comfortable place with his head on Seth's breastbone, breath warm against the collar of his t-shirt. Seth lets out a shaky breath, and everything hurts even as he nuzzles Ryan's neck with his nose, touching Ryan's pulse, his chin, and feeling the strands of his hair. There are tears in his eyes, the way the back of them sting, so much, so hard and so quick.
"God, I miss you, you know?" It's a breathed confession, one that Seth can only allow himself in the darkness of the room, in the silence of the same. "I miss the way you used to look at me, mock me, make fun of me. I miss the way you used to nudge me in the ribs, in the shoulder, how you'd know what I was thinking by just looking at me." He breathes in and it turns into a sob, a broken sound from the center of his soul. "God, I miss you Ryan and you're right fucking here."
He looks up and Ryan's looking at him, straight at him, almost like he knows what Seth's talking about and understands, and the feeling's mutual. Something inside Seth breaks and pours and with his left hand cups Ryan's cheek, bringing his face close. Ryan's breath is against Seth's lips, and when he opens his mouth, he wants to scream but finds his throat empty and hollow.
"You were gonna take AP courses next year. You wanted to be a CE, you told me so. You told me a lot of things you probably don't remember. You told me--" Seth's breath catches in his throat. "It doesn't matter." After a moment, he sighs, leaning forward, and rubs his cheek against Ryan's cheek, and there's the harshness of a two day stubble. He chuckles, the sound deep with tears in his throat. "I'm gonna have to be more careful while shaving you tomorrow. I can feel the bristles."
And this is their life now, Seth doing his best to take care of Ryan in every way he can, of thinking of Ryan's need, of every little thing before thinking of himself, and this is what love is all about, to give yourself up for the other person.
"Seth?"
Seth smiles, nods, and pulls Ryan slightly closer to him, who shifts and relaxes against Seth once again, head pillowed on his collarbone, nose touching his neck.
"I love you," Seth says slowly, mouthing the words, nothing more than a breath in the room, nothing even similar to sound, "did you know that?"
He looks down at the blond hair, and he can imagine blue eyes blinking, staring at him, and he doesn't know what he sees in them: Ryan's recognition or Ryan's blankness.
"Did you know," he asks, himself and Ryan, at the same time, with nothing but air leaving his lungs, "is that why you put up with me, because you knew? Or did you love me back, before all this happened, and that's the reason you always looked at me like I mattered?"
There are no answers forthcoming. There's only silence and stillness and when Seth sighs, certain Ryan has fallen asleep once again, Ryan lifts his head from Seth's shoulders, blinks, and stares. Seth wishes he could see something in the blue eyes that used to say so much with nothing but a look so that Seth used to feel inadequate with all his words and no meaning behind them. But those eyes don't say anything now, and then Ryan smiles and Seth knows that he doesn't have to say anything for Seth to understand him.
It's so easy, for Seth, to reach out and touch Ryan's cheek, to breathe in and close his eyes and just enjoy the closeness of the two of them.
"You were there," Seth whispers, "and that was what I needed." He sniffs, chuckling in the back of his throat, and lowers Ryan's face to his chest. "Sleep," another whisper, "It's okay. I'm here. I'm right here. Close your eyes and sleep, okay, sweetie? I'm here."
And Seth watches with something akin to awe, how Ryan does, closes his eyes and breathes out, and it makes it so much easier for Seth to do the same.
It only takes her a couple of seconds for sleep to fade into a second place in her mind and she blinks, looking over her shoulder at Sandy, spooned behind her, and she smiles. She pats his hands holding her on top of her stomach, and still asleep, Sandy sighs and pulls back, letting her sit up in bed. She smiles, watching him turn slightly in his sleep, burrowing his face in the pillow and groaning in the back of his throat.
She stands up, reaching for the bathrobe, putting it on and letting it lie loose. She's a mother, and mothers do this, wake up in the middle of the night, wide awake in a second, standing up and walking out of their bedrooms to check on their children. She used to do it back when Seth was a toddler and he had the very bad habit of crawling out of his crib to sleep on the floor, a habit she never told him about, for fear of embarrassing him. He grew out of it, of course, when he was around three and a half, and that year and something months, Kirsten spent every night walking into his room to find him on the floor, arms wrapped around his leg, fast asleep.
And so, now, she does the same thing with her other son. She walks out of her bedroom and down the hallway. Seth's door is wide open and she doesn't find this unusual, for they have taken to the habit of not closing their doors anymore. She pauses by Ryan's door for a second before walking in, noticing that it's fully open instead of just ajar. She tells herself there's no reason to be surprised, but she is, Seth lying on the bed, on his back, Ryan half resting on top of him, head on Seth's shoulder. There's a comfortableness that didn't used to be.
She sighs, her heart clenching and her hand moves to her mouth for a second. It hurts, she knows, she acknowledges and let's herself see it to the face and then she closes her eyes shut, for she will not see it any more. She sees her loss staring back at her, in the two young boys that are now so different than they used to be before January. It's her loss, but she doesn't give it name, for to name it would be to give it form, and she refuses. It only hurts her, and it catches up with her from time to time, when she least expects it, and she knows she'll see it again, in her face, and will have to turn away, close her eyes and tell herself that this is her son and that she loves him, no matter what.
They need each other, she thinks, she reminds herself when she sees them, more than they ever knew. More than either of them knew. Ryan was Seth's compass, Seth was Ryan's lifeline, in a way. And how can they be themselves without the other?
She takes in a breath, closing the distance, touching Seth's hair before touching Ryan's, and lets it out slowly. She can imagine it in her mind, Seth waking up and coming here to Ryan's bedroom. Ryan, wide awake. She sighs. Ryan has been having trouble sleeping through the night for the better part of the summer so far. Nothing much, as far as Kirsten knows. Ryan would just wake up sometime around two and Kirsten would wake minutes after that as well, go to his room and read to him until he'd fall asleep once again. The action reminds her so very much of doing the same with Seth, so many years ago.
She smiles, because these are her sons, her life, her family, and she leans forward and places a kiss on Ryan's forehead first, his hair touching her nose, and on Seth's, curls against her cheek. She pulls the covers up and over them. She tucks them in, smiles, and sighs one last time before turning around and walking back to her bedroom.
She takes off her bathrobe and crawls back into bed, and Sandy rolls around, laying his face on her chest, and she chuckles low in her throat.
"He asleep?"
She reaches out, running her fingers through his hair, soothing him. "Yes," she whispers. "They are asleep."
"Good."
It's only a whisper, and in a second, when his breath is hot against the low cut of her nightgown, touching her in between her breasts, she knows he has fallen asleep once again. She places her other arm around his back, holding him close. She breathes in his scent, his self, and then closes her eyes and lets herself rest for the night.
[1] "The way we get by" by Spoon.