THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE COHEN
By Allegra
RATING: R
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters. They are the property of Fox, Warner Bros., Capitol Hill Pictures, Wonderland and Hypnotic Productions (sorry if I left anyone out!). Please don't sue!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Having read such excellent O.C. angst fiction, I felt inspired to write some of my own. Unfortunately, I have a tendency to write huge epic stories accidentally and so this is a test I set for myself. Can I write a short, uncomplicated story with all the angst still present? Well, I hope this means I can. Since the series did such a good job of opening up some excellent angst avenues, I thought it would be a shame to knock them. So, here is the 'what if Kirsten hadn't rescued Ryan from jail at the beginning of 'The Gamble'?'
**********
PART 1 : CORNERED
The cell door slid open and Ryan stepped out into the communal corridor. Now was the hour he dreaded the most - when the inmates of the juvenile centre were allowed to spend some time together, trading war stories and bumming a couple of cigarettes off the guards. For those who knew how to play the game, it was a welcome change to the monotony of prison life. However, for those who couldn't figure out the rules, it was like being thrown to a pack of lions with no weapon to defend with. Ryan Atwood used to think he knew the rules but now he wasn't so sure.
This was big boy territory and, underneath the blunt exteriors, these criminals played a sharp game full of rules and regulations that dictated whether you lived or died, had a walk in the park or the worst nightmare of your waking life. Unfortunately, a new boy with a defender like Sandy Cohen didn't stand much chance of getting the cushioned option. Ryan had read the signs - he was in for one hell of a ride. Perhaps if he had been a cute little urchin, some burly con would have taken him under his wing and looked out for him, but past experience had taught the teenager to defend himself any way he could. Given the run-ins he'd had with AJ and his mother's past boyfriends, Ryan had learned to keep his chin up and adopt a hard edge that fooled most people. In prison though, such mannerisms were considered arrogance and were likely to be tested soon enough.
Ryan had already received a cut on the neck and some nasty bruising trying to defend himself from one punk with a penchant for him. Seth and Kirsten had witnessed the second incident and, for one joyous second, Ryan had almost believed the Cohens were going to take him out of there. Seth had pleaded with his mother enough but Mrs. Cohen was clearly too frightened to have the discussion in such a violent atmosphere. Hustled out of the room by a guard, her last vision had been of Ryan and a fellow prisoner being pulled apart by two other guards. Now he lived in fear for his life and this was the exact hour that his come uppance was most likely to arrive.
The teenager looked furtively up and down the corridor as the other prisoners moved into the open space, stretching and greeting friends from cells further down. Ryan decided to cut his losses and return to the relative safety of his own cell where he tried to make himself as small as possible at the foot of the bed. Seth had brought him a comic to read and, while it was hardly enough to sustain a guy for more than an hour, Ryan was happy to try and appear busy. For the most part, this course of action had worked wonders. Today, however, was going to be different.
It didn't take long for the various groups and cliques to assemble and start hatching plans, mouthing off about prisoners they disliked and Ryan knew it wouldn't be long before Nordlund came looking for him with his hefty entourage. It had taken Ryan a while to figure out the name of his regular assailant but, as one of the more formidable big wigs of the prison, word eventually got around, even to his victims. Similarly, news that Ryan was the Hispanic man's latest target had spread fast. Once, the teenager had even seen someone make the sign of the cross as he passed. The action had flipped Ryan's stomach. He didn't have anyone to cover his back so he could only try to stay out of Nordlund's way and pray for his safety. Unfortunately, if he stayed of Nordlund's way well enough, the guy just came to seek him out and make trouble. Ryan couldn't seem to win, no matter what he did.
"Hey, punk." Ryan felt the familiar tightness in his chest that he felt every time Nordlund's voice reached his ears. Bracing himself, he looked up from his comic book to see the formidable man and four of his henchmen hovering over him, crowding the small cell. "Hey," he managed, his voice hoarse and dry with fear.
"You ain't even got the balls to come out and see us now? Think you're too good for the likes of us, don't ya? Think you're better than me?" The man brought his face low and close to Ryan's until the teenager could feel the breath and spit on his neck. "Huh?"
"I'm just reading, man." He tried to keep his cool but he could already feel his fingers trembling as they clutched the pages of the comic. Nordlund stretched out one heavily tattooed arm and swept the comic out of Ryan's hands and onto the floor. Ryan flinched, anticipating a strike to his face.
Nordlund moved his face so it was close to Ryan's ear and the boy could feel the man's stubble against his own cheek. Then, Nordlund whispered, "I've been looking forward to this. I've been working my muscles all week just to give you a pounding, puppy. Don't you feel privileged?" He pulled away with a grin, admiring the expression of sheer fear he had etched so thoroughly across the teenager's face.
Drawing himself up to his full height and cracking his knuckles loudly, Nordlund nodded to his companions, one of whom went to the door. Within minutes, the noise level in the prison corridor had risen just enough to drown out any moans or punches. Two others pulled Ryan to his feet and wrenched his arms behind his back, pinning them. The teenager struggled to free himself but their grip was like an iron vice and all he could do was try and prepare himself for what was to come.
The first punch winded him harder than AJ had ever managed to do and Ryan doubled over as much as the goons behind him would allow. He struggled for breath as his face grew crimson with the strain. There was barely time to draw in ample oxygen before the next onslaught. Nordlund sent a flurry of punches in perfect formation directly at Ryan's stomach, each fist like an iron bowling ball thrust against his flesh.
"You think you're a tough guy? Look at you…" Nordlund smiled, leaning close to the teenager's face once more, "…and I've barely started." He cracked his knuckles again and flexed his decorated biceps proudly. Ryan looked up at him from under pained eyelids. He could pretend to give in right now and pray that they left him alone or play it strong, drawing out his torture for longer. Even as he recomposed himself, Ryan was thinking clearly. If he acted like a wimp, he was likely to get one beating after another. Sandy Cohen had given him a ball park release date of anything from one to two months unless his elusive mother decided to miraculously turn up. That would be the first time she had rescued him from something worse than he'd find at home with her latest squeeze. Ryan wasn't sure how many more beatings he would be able to take. He had to try and be strong, pray that it was enough to garner Nordlund's respect so that he could get a little piece…if he made it out of this alive, that is.
He pulled himself up straight, wincing at the dull ache it conjured in his stomach. Nordlund grinned, clearly pleased that his victim was going to give him a decent round. Grabbing the hair at the back of Ryan's neck, he yanked the boy's head backwards and whispered crudely in his ear, "Ooh, you're so strong…. I'm gonna fix that attitude of yours."
Ryan desperately wanted to plead for mercy but he knew that was the quickest route to being made one of Nordlund's lackeys, probably pinning the next poor inmate to the wall. The blows rained harder and harder, never relenting or missing the target. When, he was done with his chest and stomach, Nordlund took a turn on Ryan's face, whipping the boy's head to and fro with the sheer force of his leaden fist.
The teenager's mind swam in and out of coherent thought, sometimes plotting the best course of action, sometimes focused entirely on the labour of drawing in one painful breath before the next onslaught of pain. A particularly hefty blow caught his chin, forcing him to bite down hard on his tongue. Blood flew from his lips and spattered against the whitewashed wall opposite. A second punch followed and Ryan heard an audible crack as his cheekbone shattered. Milliseconds later, unbelievable pain coursed like fire through his face, jarring down every nerve, from his ear to his teeth and down his neck, then back up again. Black dots danced in front of his eyes and Nordlund's demonic face fell into shadow then came back into sharp, bright focus as if a spotlight were shining on him.
"Hey, stay with me, punk!" a voice reached him. Ryan was slumped heavily against the two sidekicks holding him firm, and his head lolled lifelessly against his chest. Blood dripped from his swollen lips onto the blue jump suit. Dimly, Ryan felt his head wrenched upwards, sending an icy pain shooting down his neck and spine. "You need a little pepping up?"
The teenager felt the strong arms release their vice-like grip and he fell listlessly to the floor. The impact of concrete floor against his mutilated cheek made him cry out. He stared at the comic book mere feet away from him on the floor, its pages bent…and was that blood on the cover? Man, Seth was going to kill him. He treated his comics with the utmost of care. Ryan could still remember the first time Seth had dragged him into his room, directing him to a bean bag on the floor and showing him a ton of his favourite limited edition copies. They were all lined up in release order, some carefully preserved in plastic folders.
That world barely existed to Ryan anymore. In the excruciating haze enveloping his mind, it was all he could do to cling to that single fond memory with his friend. That comic book would probably be the last familiar thing he saw before he died.
Ryan felt his hand pulled roughly from underneath his body and was vaguely aware of someone kneeling down beside him on the cold floor. He struggled to turn his head and find out who this next person was. Had the guards finally cottoned on to what was happening? Had someone intervened to save him from certain pulping? A booted foot sank down onto his neck, forcing him to stay still. He heard one finger after another snapping and a distant voice screaming for it to stop. It was only when Ryan took a heaving sob that he realised that voice had been his own.
"Get up!" Nordlund barked. Ryan couldn't think of a single part of his body that didn't feel like a thousand knives were stabbing away. He couldn't even make it to his knees by himself. "Get up or I'll keep you down forever." Nordlund's hand appeared in front of the teenager's face and Ryan watched with detachment as a small flick knife was exposed.
Struggling to his hands and knees, Ryan grimaced as his injured hand touched the floor, trying to support his weight. His legs felt like jelly and his arms trembled with the exertion of pushing himself up. Suddenly, the strong hands of Nordlund's companions caught him under his armpits and dragged him firmly to his feet then slammed him face first against the wall at the foot of his bed.
The force made Ryan expel all the air from his lungs in one rush. He struggled to draw another breath but the action was cut short when blows drove into the small of his back, bashing his kidneys and spine with merciless ferocity. Ryan's cries had slowly subsided into small whimpers of agony but even that was too much effort now. He could bear no weight on his own anymore and Nordlund's cohorts now carried the teenager completely. He felt something give in his back and blinding pain filled his head.
Ryan's mind slowly detached itself from the reality of what was happening. He saw the beach, Marissa's face smiling at him as her hair, caught in a light breeze, danced like a golden brown halo around her head. Her fingers reached out to touch his and he reached out to meet her but the further he leaned, the further away Marissa seemed.
The boy's eyelids felt heavy, too heavy to support anymore. Ryan knew his grip on reality was slipping but he was happy to leave the discomfort behind him. He didn't care where he went or for how long, as long as it was devoid of sensation.
By the time Nordlund had kicked him to the floor, Ryan had drifted away into blissful blackness.
END OF PART 1
I know that was quite brutal. I promise the actual 'comfort' part of this 'hurt/comfort' fic will come eventually, if anyone wants to read it, that is?! (hint, hint).
By Allegra
RATING: R
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters. They are the property of Fox, Warner Bros., Capitol Hill Pictures, Wonderland and Hypnotic Productions (sorry if I left anyone out!). Please don't sue!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Having read such excellent O.C. angst fiction, I felt inspired to write some of my own. Unfortunately, I have a tendency to write huge epic stories accidentally and so this is a test I set for myself. Can I write a short, uncomplicated story with all the angst still present? Well, I hope this means I can. Since the series did such a good job of opening up some excellent angst avenues, I thought it would be a shame to knock them. So, here is the 'what if Kirsten hadn't rescued Ryan from jail at the beginning of 'The Gamble'?'
**********
PART 1 : CORNERED
The cell door slid open and Ryan stepped out into the communal corridor. Now was the hour he dreaded the most - when the inmates of the juvenile centre were allowed to spend some time together, trading war stories and bumming a couple of cigarettes off the guards. For those who knew how to play the game, it was a welcome change to the monotony of prison life. However, for those who couldn't figure out the rules, it was like being thrown to a pack of lions with no weapon to defend with. Ryan Atwood used to think he knew the rules but now he wasn't so sure.
This was big boy territory and, underneath the blunt exteriors, these criminals played a sharp game full of rules and regulations that dictated whether you lived or died, had a walk in the park or the worst nightmare of your waking life. Unfortunately, a new boy with a defender like Sandy Cohen didn't stand much chance of getting the cushioned option. Ryan had read the signs - he was in for one hell of a ride. Perhaps if he had been a cute little urchin, some burly con would have taken him under his wing and looked out for him, but past experience had taught the teenager to defend himself any way he could. Given the run-ins he'd had with AJ and his mother's past boyfriends, Ryan had learned to keep his chin up and adopt a hard edge that fooled most people. In prison though, such mannerisms were considered arrogance and were likely to be tested soon enough.
Ryan had already received a cut on the neck and some nasty bruising trying to defend himself from one punk with a penchant for him. Seth and Kirsten had witnessed the second incident and, for one joyous second, Ryan had almost believed the Cohens were going to take him out of there. Seth had pleaded with his mother enough but Mrs. Cohen was clearly too frightened to have the discussion in such a violent atmosphere. Hustled out of the room by a guard, her last vision had been of Ryan and a fellow prisoner being pulled apart by two other guards. Now he lived in fear for his life and this was the exact hour that his come uppance was most likely to arrive.
The teenager looked furtively up and down the corridor as the other prisoners moved into the open space, stretching and greeting friends from cells further down. Ryan decided to cut his losses and return to the relative safety of his own cell where he tried to make himself as small as possible at the foot of the bed. Seth had brought him a comic to read and, while it was hardly enough to sustain a guy for more than an hour, Ryan was happy to try and appear busy. For the most part, this course of action had worked wonders. Today, however, was going to be different.
It didn't take long for the various groups and cliques to assemble and start hatching plans, mouthing off about prisoners they disliked and Ryan knew it wouldn't be long before Nordlund came looking for him with his hefty entourage. It had taken Ryan a while to figure out the name of his regular assailant but, as one of the more formidable big wigs of the prison, word eventually got around, even to his victims. Similarly, news that Ryan was the Hispanic man's latest target had spread fast. Once, the teenager had even seen someone make the sign of the cross as he passed. The action had flipped Ryan's stomach. He didn't have anyone to cover his back so he could only try to stay out of Nordlund's way and pray for his safety. Unfortunately, if he stayed of Nordlund's way well enough, the guy just came to seek him out and make trouble. Ryan couldn't seem to win, no matter what he did.
"Hey, punk." Ryan felt the familiar tightness in his chest that he felt every time Nordlund's voice reached his ears. Bracing himself, he looked up from his comic book to see the formidable man and four of his henchmen hovering over him, crowding the small cell. "Hey," he managed, his voice hoarse and dry with fear.
"You ain't even got the balls to come out and see us now? Think you're too good for the likes of us, don't ya? Think you're better than me?" The man brought his face low and close to Ryan's until the teenager could feel the breath and spit on his neck. "Huh?"
"I'm just reading, man." He tried to keep his cool but he could already feel his fingers trembling as they clutched the pages of the comic. Nordlund stretched out one heavily tattooed arm and swept the comic out of Ryan's hands and onto the floor. Ryan flinched, anticipating a strike to his face.
Nordlund moved his face so it was close to Ryan's ear and the boy could feel the man's stubble against his own cheek. Then, Nordlund whispered, "I've been looking forward to this. I've been working my muscles all week just to give you a pounding, puppy. Don't you feel privileged?" He pulled away with a grin, admiring the expression of sheer fear he had etched so thoroughly across the teenager's face.
Drawing himself up to his full height and cracking his knuckles loudly, Nordlund nodded to his companions, one of whom went to the door. Within minutes, the noise level in the prison corridor had risen just enough to drown out any moans or punches. Two others pulled Ryan to his feet and wrenched his arms behind his back, pinning them. The teenager struggled to free himself but their grip was like an iron vice and all he could do was try and prepare himself for what was to come.
The first punch winded him harder than AJ had ever managed to do and Ryan doubled over as much as the goons behind him would allow. He struggled for breath as his face grew crimson with the strain. There was barely time to draw in ample oxygen before the next onslaught. Nordlund sent a flurry of punches in perfect formation directly at Ryan's stomach, each fist like an iron bowling ball thrust against his flesh.
"You think you're a tough guy? Look at you…" Nordlund smiled, leaning close to the teenager's face once more, "…and I've barely started." He cracked his knuckles again and flexed his decorated biceps proudly. Ryan looked up at him from under pained eyelids. He could pretend to give in right now and pray that they left him alone or play it strong, drawing out his torture for longer. Even as he recomposed himself, Ryan was thinking clearly. If he acted like a wimp, he was likely to get one beating after another. Sandy Cohen had given him a ball park release date of anything from one to two months unless his elusive mother decided to miraculously turn up. That would be the first time she had rescued him from something worse than he'd find at home with her latest squeeze. Ryan wasn't sure how many more beatings he would be able to take. He had to try and be strong, pray that it was enough to garner Nordlund's respect so that he could get a little piece…if he made it out of this alive, that is.
He pulled himself up straight, wincing at the dull ache it conjured in his stomach. Nordlund grinned, clearly pleased that his victim was going to give him a decent round. Grabbing the hair at the back of Ryan's neck, he yanked the boy's head backwards and whispered crudely in his ear, "Ooh, you're so strong…. I'm gonna fix that attitude of yours."
Ryan desperately wanted to plead for mercy but he knew that was the quickest route to being made one of Nordlund's lackeys, probably pinning the next poor inmate to the wall. The blows rained harder and harder, never relenting or missing the target. When, he was done with his chest and stomach, Nordlund took a turn on Ryan's face, whipping the boy's head to and fro with the sheer force of his leaden fist.
The teenager's mind swam in and out of coherent thought, sometimes plotting the best course of action, sometimes focused entirely on the labour of drawing in one painful breath before the next onslaught of pain. A particularly hefty blow caught his chin, forcing him to bite down hard on his tongue. Blood flew from his lips and spattered against the whitewashed wall opposite. A second punch followed and Ryan heard an audible crack as his cheekbone shattered. Milliseconds later, unbelievable pain coursed like fire through his face, jarring down every nerve, from his ear to his teeth and down his neck, then back up again. Black dots danced in front of his eyes and Nordlund's demonic face fell into shadow then came back into sharp, bright focus as if a spotlight were shining on him.
"Hey, stay with me, punk!" a voice reached him. Ryan was slumped heavily against the two sidekicks holding him firm, and his head lolled lifelessly against his chest. Blood dripped from his swollen lips onto the blue jump suit. Dimly, Ryan felt his head wrenched upwards, sending an icy pain shooting down his neck and spine. "You need a little pepping up?"
The teenager felt the strong arms release their vice-like grip and he fell listlessly to the floor. The impact of concrete floor against his mutilated cheek made him cry out. He stared at the comic book mere feet away from him on the floor, its pages bent…and was that blood on the cover? Man, Seth was going to kill him. He treated his comics with the utmost of care. Ryan could still remember the first time Seth had dragged him into his room, directing him to a bean bag on the floor and showing him a ton of his favourite limited edition copies. They were all lined up in release order, some carefully preserved in plastic folders.
That world barely existed to Ryan anymore. In the excruciating haze enveloping his mind, it was all he could do to cling to that single fond memory with his friend. That comic book would probably be the last familiar thing he saw before he died.
Ryan felt his hand pulled roughly from underneath his body and was vaguely aware of someone kneeling down beside him on the cold floor. He struggled to turn his head and find out who this next person was. Had the guards finally cottoned on to what was happening? Had someone intervened to save him from certain pulping? A booted foot sank down onto his neck, forcing him to stay still. He heard one finger after another snapping and a distant voice screaming for it to stop. It was only when Ryan took a heaving sob that he realised that voice had been his own.
"Get up!" Nordlund barked. Ryan couldn't think of a single part of his body that didn't feel like a thousand knives were stabbing away. He couldn't even make it to his knees by himself. "Get up or I'll keep you down forever." Nordlund's hand appeared in front of the teenager's face and Ryan watched with detachment as a small flick knife was exposed.
Struggling to his hands and knees, Ryan grimaced as his injured hand touched the floor, trying to support his weight. His legs felt like jelly and his arms trembled with the exertion of pushing himself up. Suddenly, the strong hands of Nordlund's companions caught him under his armpits and dragged him firmly to his feet then slammed him face first against the wall at the foot of his bed.
The force made Ryan expel all the air from his lungs in one rush. He struggled to draw another breath but the action was cut short when blows drove into the small of his back, bashing his kidneys and spine with merciless ferocity. Ryan's cries had slowly subsided into small whimpers of agony but even that was too much effort now. He could bear no weight on his own anymore and Nordlund's cohorts now carried the teenager completely. He felt something give in his back and blinding pain filled his head.
Ryan's mind slowly detached itself from the reality of what was happening. He saw the beach, Marissa's face smiling at him as her hair, caught in a light breeze, danced like a golden brown halo around her head. Her fingers reached out to touch his and he reached out to meet her but the further he leaned, the further away Marissa seemed.
The boy's eyelids felt heavy, too heavy to support anymore. Ryan knew his grip on reality was slipping but he was happy to leave the discomfort behind him. He didn't care where he went or for how long, as long as it was devoid of sensation.
By the time Nordlund had kicked him to the floor, Ryan had drifted away into blissful blackness.
END OF PART 1
I know that was quite brutal. I promise the actual 'comfort' part of this 'hurt/comfort' fic will come eventually, if anyone wants to read it, that is?! (hint, hint).