Whumptober #11
A/N: I'm really excited about this one, y'all. This is a fic that I started writing an early version of when I was in high school. And now, a decade later, here it is! This is an alternate canon fic, set after 1x03.
xxx hidden injury
Ryan knows he got off easy. Helping Kirsten with stagings for a month is a far lighter punishment than he was expecting, given that an entire model home had burned to the ground. He'd rather help Kirsten with stagings for a year, ten, than spend any more time in juvie. The short time he'd spent there had been bad enough; any more time, and he knows it would've broken him, turning him into everything he's been trying so hard not to be. His ribs, which had already been sore after his run-in with Luke and his buddies, still ache from being worked over by Z. The sight of the bruising on his chest this morning had made his stomach turn.
So, yeah. Moving around furniture and vases and stuff really isn't bad.
The fact that Luke's father had given him the same punishment does suck, though.
Ryan's trying to figure out the best way to lift an awkwardly sized shelf when Luke appears. Ryan is instantly annoyed, because the house is huge and there are plenty of other rooms Luke could be working.
"That'd be easier with two people," he says, and irritation burns into something closer to anger.
"I don't need your help." Just because Luke dragged him out of that fire doesn't make them friends. He moves around the shelf, trying to figure out a better angle that will make it easier to carry. Luke makes a low, annoyed sound in the back of his throat.
"Atwood, come on. Just let me--"
Ryan wants to argue again, but Luke is already tilting the shelf back to take one end andâyeah, that's a lot easier. Damn it.
"Where we goin'?" Luke says, voice just slightly strained with effort.
"Uh â just over to that wall, I guess."
They barely make it three steps before Luke trips and stumbles forward, sending the heavy shelf into Ryan's torso.
Pain explodes through his chest, the air rushing from his lungs as he feels something give. He drops his end of the shelf, barely avoiding it crushing his toes, and doubles forward, wrapping his arms around himself and squeezing his eyes shut to stop any tears that try to well up.
"Shit!" Luke says. "Sorry, I lost my footing...Dude, you okay?"
Ryan is still trying to catch his breath and the horrible, sharp throbbing in his chest is making him nauseous. He's too busy trying not to throw up to respond.
"Oh, god. I didn't mean to do that, I swear."
Ryan's eyes snap open at the feeling of Luke's hand on his arm and he pulls away, staggering back a step.
"I'm fine," he gasps. "Just...I just need a minute." He forces himself upright and starts unsteadily toward the bedroom door.
"Where are you going?" Luke shouts after him.
"Bathroom!"
The closest bathroom is the en suite attached to the absurdly large master. The bathroom alone is probably bigger than Ryan's bedroom growing up, but he doesn't have the time or energy to figure out how he feels about that because his focus is mostly on the pain in his chest. He stumbles into the bathroom and slams the door behind him before sitting heavily on the edge of the over-sized bathtub.
He can't breathe.
He'd thought at first that the wind had just been knocked out of him. That's something he's experienced plenty of times. But minutes have passed and he still can't catch his breath...But the shelf had hit him pretty hard. Maybe he just has to wait this out. Yeah, that's probably it. A few more minutes and he can get back to work, and no one even has to know about this...
There's a banging on the door and Ryan swears internally. He really should have locked that.
"Atwood, I'm coming in!" Luke calls, and then the door opens. Ryan, panting, looks up at him. Luke's eyes are huge and round with panic, and Ryan can actually see some of the color drain from his face. "I think I should call an ambulance."
"No!" Ryan gasps. He doesn't know what's happening right now, but an ambulance will just freak people out. It'll cause trouble, and he promised the Cohens that there wouldn't be any more trouble. "No, no. Luke. Please."
"Okay, but Ryan â I have to do something, man."
"Sandy," Ryan says immediately. He doesn't actually want Sandy to know about this so he isn't sure why he says it, just knows that Sandy is better than an ambulance. "Get...get Sandy."
Luke nods, still with that wide-eyed fear, and backs into the bedroom toward the door. "I'll be right back," he says before turning and sprinting away.
Ryan doesn't trust people, not really. That's a luxury that he's long since realized he can't afford. But Sandy is the closest he's come.
Ryan really hopes this isn't the thing that pushes him away.
xxx
"Mr. Cohen!"
Sandy looks up and frowns, confused to see, of all people, Luke barreling down the staircase toward him. The frown deepens when he sees the expression on the kid's face.
"Luke? What's the matter?"
"It's Ryan. He needs help, he said to get you."
Sandy's heart drops, the words instantly putting him on edge. "What happened?" It comes out harsher than intended, and Luke looks stricken.
"I â It was an accident," he stammers. "We were carrying a shelf and I tripped and bumped into him and he â I don't know, but I didn't mean to."
"Okay," Sandy says, but Luke doesn't seem to have heard.
"I know we've fought but I wouldn't, like, actually hurt him. I promise you it wasn't on purpose, I--"
"Luke!" Sandy interrupts, and Luke's mouth snaps shut. "I believe you. Take me to Ryan."
Luke nods and starts back up the stairs, Sandy close on his heels. He doesn't know what to expectâgetting 'bumped into', if that's what really happened, doesn't sound that seriousâbut he knows that it can't be good if Ryan had actually asked for Sandy's help.
"In here," Luke says, striding through the master bedroom and pointing toward the en suite. Sandy moves past him and his stomach twists.
Ryan is sitting on the floor, pale-faced and sweaty. One hand is on his chest, clenching a fistful of the front of his shirt and he's gasping for air, his breath coming in too-short, too-fast bursts. Wide eyes look up to meet Sandy's.
"Ryan!" Sandy moves into the bathroom, crouching in front of Ryan. "Hey, what's going on?"
Ryan blinks. He looks terrified, and it's jarring to see. Sandy hasn't known Ryan long, but he knows the kid is tough as nails.
"I...I can't-breathe."
Sandy lowers his voice, doing his best to speak quietly enough that Luke, lingering worriedly out in the bedroom, doesn't hear.
"Have you had a panic attack before? Could this be that?"
Ryan's face furrows, and Sandy isn't sure whether it's confusion or embarrassment or both.
"No?" Sandy says. Ryan doesn't respond. "Hey, you're freaking me out a little bit here, kid. I need you to talk to me. Is this a panic attack?"
Ryan shakes his head.
"No," Sandy says. He didn't think so, but he'd hoped. Not because he knows what to do about a panic attack, because he absolutely doesn't, but because a panic attack can't kill you. He shoves that thought from his mind and looks over his shoulder at Luke. "Go call an ambulance."
"I was going to, but Ryan said-"
"I don't care what Ryan said," Sandy interrupts. "I'm telling you to call an ambulance. Now."
Luke nods and goes to find a phone. Sandy turns back to Ryan.
"What's goin' on, Ryan?"
Slowly, Ryan's tight grip on the front of his shirt loosens and he moves his hand down and grabs the bottom of his t-shirt and pulls it up. The breath rushes from Sandy's lungs as he takes in the sight before him: Ryan's chest is a mottled patchwork of bruising, deep blues and purples, so dark in some places that it approaches black. Sandy knows instantly that this didn't happen when Luke bumped the shelf into him. The bruises are a few days old. Sandy stares for a moment, then tears his gaze away from the horrible sight to look at Ryan's face. That sight is almost as horrible. Ryan looks apologetic, like a puppy that knows its about to be kicked.
"Why didn't you say something?" Sandy asks, and immediately chastises himself when Ryan shrinks back slightly.
"'m sorry."
"No, no, no. No, don't be sorry, Ryan, you're not in trouble." Sandy puts a hand on Ryan's arm, moving slowly so that he doesn't accidentally startle him. "I'm just worried about you. Were you having trouble breathing before Luke and the shelf?" If Ryan's ribs were already cracked, it probably wouldn't have taken much to snap one the rest of the way, puncturing a lung along the way.
"N-no."
Sandy takes a breath. Even if the shelf was an accident, if Luke is the one that put those bruises on Ryan's chest, Sandy is going to make sure he faces consequences. Right now, though, his focus is on Ryan. He isn't sure if he's imagining it, but he could almost swear there's a blue tint to his lips. He gives the kid's arm a gentle squeeze.
"Help's on the way, Ryan. You just hang on for me. Keep breathing."
Ryan nods, the movement choppy. "Tryin'."
"Good," Sandy says. "You're doing good, kid."
Ryan coughs harshly, and tears spring up in his eyes as he curls his arm around his chest with a groan.
"S-sorry," he murmurs. He blinks heavily and his head starts to dip down toward his chest.
"Ryan!" Sandy says in alarm, and Ryan jerks, his head snapping up.
"Hm?" His eyelids flutter, and Sandy can tell he's struggling to keep them from slipping shut again.
"You've gotta keep your eyes open for me, Ryan," Sandy says, staring him in the eyes. Ryan holds his gaze, his chest rising and falling in those short, quick breaths.
"'m tired," he whispers.
"I know. I know you are, but you have to hang on, okay? Hang on, kid. Help is on the way. Just a little bit longer."
He shifts so that he's sitting next to Ryan and loops an arm around his shoulders, mindful of the kid's battered chest. Ryan leans his head heavily against Sandy's shoulder, and Sandy looks down at his face to make sure his eyes haven't closed. They're still open, but barely.
"I..." It's so quiet that Sandy isn't sure Ryan had actually spoken, at first. And then Ryan continues. "I...don't wanna...leave you guys."
Tears spring up in Sandy's eyes and he quickly blinks them away. "That's not gonna happen. I won't let it." He can't believe that just a few short days ago, he didn't even know Ryan existed, and now his heart is being torn open by the kid.
"You're gonna be okay, Ryan," he says quietly, putting every ounce of reassurance he can into the words. "You're gonna be okay."
xxx
"How're you feeling, kid?"
Ryan smiles at the sight of Sandy in the doorway.
"Better, now that I can breathe. The chest tube feels a little weird, though."
"It doesn't hurt, does it?" Sandy asks, crossing the small hospital room to sit in one of the chairs next to the hospital bed. "They told me they were giving you meds for that, it's important that you stay on top of the pain."
"Naw, it doesn't really hurt, but I can feel it kinda shift every time I breathe."
Sandy makes a slightly disgusted face that reminds Ryan of Seth. He would've laughed, except he knows it'll hurt so he stifles it.
"I called Kirsten to let her know they're letting you have visitors. She and Seth are gonna be coming soonâif you're up for it, of course. If not, I can go call, try and catch 'em before they leave."
"No, they can come," Ryan says. He's still feeling tired and a little strange from the pain meds, but he doesn't think Seth or Kirsten will be too offended if he doesn't talk much, especially since he doesn't talk much anyway.
Sandy smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's quiet for a moment, and then he says, "The doctor doesn't think you'll need surgery, but they're going to keep an eye on that lung to make sure it doesn't spring another leak."
It's pretty obvious there's something else he wants to say, and that he isn't going to say it. Not on his own, anyway.
"What's wrong?" Ryan asks quietly, and Sandy sighs, looking down at his hands.
"You had me really scared," he says. "I thought I was gonna..." He shakes his head, unable to finish the thought. "Anyway, all I could think was that I should've known that there was something wrong. You were hurt, and I completely missed it. And I'm sorry."
Ryan frowns. "Mr. Co â Sandy. You don't need to be sorry. I'm the one who didn't tell you anything was wrong."
"No, you didn't. And I've been trying to figure out why. Did you think you were going to be in trouble? Because you will never be in trouble for that, Ryan. If you're hurt, or you need help, you can always always tell Kirsten or me. That's what parents are for."
A familiar pang of sadness rushes through Ryan, and he does his best not to let it show. And then Sandy seems to realize what it is he said and he grimaces.
"Damn it. I'm sorry, I...wasn't thinking. I shouldn't've said that last part."
"It's okay," Ryan says honestly. "I know mom wasn't good at it. I've known that...pretty much forever. But you are. And Kirsten. I think that's why I didn't tell you. I'm scared of messing it up. Again."
A smile that's equal parts soft and sad spreads across Sandy's face. "I don't think you're going to do anything worse than burning down a model home," he says, then adds, "As long as you tell us next time you've got cracked ribs."
"No promises. But I'll try," Ryan says.
"Oh my god. What is that?"
Ryan and Sandy both look up at the sound of Seth's voice. Seth is staring at Ryan's chest with a horrified expression.
"It's a chest tube, sweetie," Kirsten says. "I told you about that in the car?"
"I didn't know it looked like that," Seth murmurs, and he swallows thickly. "I think I'm gonna be sick."
"Okay, come sit down with your head between your knees before you faint," Sandy says, standing and grabbing Seth's arm to guide him to the chair.
"Sorry, Ryan," Kirsten says. "Seth doesn't do well in hospitals, I should've known he'd somehow get all the attention on him."
"Hey!" Seth protests, his head between his knees. "I resent that!"
Kirsten winks at Ryan, and he smiles. For maybe the first time in his life, he has something good. Really good. He's going to do whatever it takes to hold onto it for as long as he can.
xxx end














