Inspired by TWoP, (yes, it was the Ryan thread again, but one of the old posts). I need to stop being so obsessed with this show. The amount of time I spent listening to the phone conversations during the pilot between Ryan and the various ass-clowns who turn him down (who could possibly resist his eyes? His eyes?!) Is ridiculous, and another exhibit that shows how much I need to get a life. I did find it cool that Ryan actually does say: "I already tried Eddie!" making it such an awesome touch by TPTB. It surprised me that they didn't just randomly make up a character, but he was from the pilot. Once again. My name is in the classifieds, looking for a life.

Title: Butterflies

Rating: PG (just in case)

Summary: Ryan decides that this Sandy guy probably isn't as bad as the others. Takes place after Dawn kicks Ryan out the first time, at the phone booth where he is so heartbreakingly rejected so many times. Sigh. One shot.

Feedback: Yes please! Although if you really, really hate it, I don't think there's a point in reviewing, unless you really don't like me.

Disclaimer: I don't own the O.C. or any of the characters (except that slut Missy, Alistair, Kylie, Johnny, Jonathan and that asshole Will. They're all mine. Hoorah.) The rest of them belong to Josh Schwartz. Brilliant man, he is.

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"Hi, Johnny? It's Ryan." He pauses, waits for his friend to recognize him.

He's never had to do this before. He thought he'd never have to. After everything his mother said about him all his life, even when it followed a slap or a succession of insults, he thought that she'd be different with him.

That she'd protect him and never abandon him.

It never fails to surprise him as to how much his judgement falls short sometimes. "Hey. Can I crash with you tonight?"

The silent refusal on the other end makes it clear to Ryan that his friend doesn't want him in his house, and that's ok with him.

He's never been wanted by anyone.

There's a long pause that serves to anger Ryan, but he keeps his anger in check.

"Listen, Ry, I'm real sorry--"

Ryan doesn't let him continue. He doesn't need this shit. He gives Johnny a half-hearted "Alright."

He'll try Eddie.

Eddie isn't home. He tries Theresa. She isn't home either. Great.

Next on his list is Missy. An on again off again fling with whom he's always felt safer with than other girls.

"Hey." His voice is gruff, but there's a trace of desperation in it that he can't hide. "It's Ryan. I was wondering if I could crash at your place tonight." He seems confident, proud somehow, even though he's homeless at the moment.

"Hey, Ryan!" Ryan holds his breath. That sounds good. He's hopeful for a moment. "I'm sorry, Ryan. I really can't. My mom says I can't see you anymore."

He almost explodes at the nonchalance of her voice. She doesn't know what it feels like to have no where to go.

No one that loves you. To be stranded with nothing but a few phone numbers lodged in your head and ten, maybe twenty dollars in cash.

Ryan hangs up. It's obvious that what Missy's saying is total bullshit. She's just mad because he didn't want to fuck her the last time she snuck into his room at night.

He was with Theresa back then. He doesn't cheat.

Last number that he has that he can remember off the top of his head. Alistair. Alistair's a good guy. Not exactly a great friend, but a good enough guy, nonetheless.

"Hey Al." His voice isn't hopeful anymore. He's far beyond that. It leaks with desperation, and fear that Ryan wishes he didn't have.

He's never been on the street before.

Never spent more than a night on it, anyways. The first and only time he did was when his mother passed out and he picked a fight with Will. He still remembered Will.

He was stocky, black hair, hard boots. He doesn't remember the color of his eyes. He never looked at them.

Will was never the type to be messed with, and after a drawn out fight in which he emerged victorious, he kicked Ryan out on his ass.

He stayed outside all night with a split lip, a killer headache, and some of the worst injuries he'd ever had.

After hours of walking, not knowing exactly where he was going, Ryan had ended up outside a dimly lit bar, where he promptly passed out.

He doesn't want to do anything like that again.

"Hey, Ry." Alistair's voice is monotone, low and gravelly, like Ryan's voice is sometimes. He's been through hardships, and he's come out of the wash with far worse stains than Ryan.

He's got a substance abuse problem, and he can't count past fifty.

"Hey. How are you guys doing?" he asks, swallowing hard and waiting a few seconds after Alistair answers to continue.

If Alistair is one thing, it's loyal. To his family, at least. Ryan respects him for that. His sister Kylie stood up to their father once, and Jonathan didn't have the chance to raise his hand before Alistair stopped it.

"Listen, I need a place to stay. For tonight..."

Alistair doesn't hesitate to state his disapproval. "I don't know, Atwood. Dad's drunk again." Ryan hears as his voice lowers considerably. "Mom's feeling under the weather..."

Ryan is far past desperate. He's clinging to this one last chance of a place to stay. "Come on. Please?" His voice borders on pathetic, and he makes it his duty to keep his frustration underneath the surface.

"Why don't you try Eddie?" asks Alistair, his normal monotone voice quavering as Ryan hears the sound of loud footsteps and yelling.

Ryan snaps, and he's reminded of all the times no one's cared. He realizes that the times he's actually asked for help instead of helping others he's been told, in much kinder words, to shove it.

"I already tried Eddie!" He knows he's all but screaming, but at the moment, he doesn't care. He wants someone to tell him that everything's going to be alright. He thinks that at least one person should care.

Alistair doesn't seem particularly angered by his comment, but his annoyance is clear when he speaks again.

"Listen, man..." Ryan doesn't need to hear this. He throws the phone back, not caring that it doesn't land on the hanger.

He can't do this anymore. He's scared, he's confused, and he has no place to go. No one that cares. He lets out his frustrations on the phone booth, and the ache in his hand takes his mind off things.

Then he remembers. The business card, from that guy. His lawyer.

Ryan searches his pockets for his one last glimmer of hope.

His heart nearly ceases its close to rhythmic beating when he thinks it's fallen out of his pocket, but his hands emerge victorious soon enough, holding a worn and folded business card.

Sandy Cohen. Public Defender.

The card has the number of his office, along with his home number.

His cell phone number is scribbled on the back.

Ryan goes for the cell phone.

Holding the card in his mouth for safekeeping, he dials the number, which now feels seared in his memory.

His tongue flicks the edge of the card, and he almost hangs up, but a happy voice on the other end holds his interest.

"Hullo?"

Ryan takes the card out of his mouth and clears his throat, trying to calm his nervous heart.

"Uh, hi..." He coughs, trying to waste time while he searches for words. "I'm-- It's Ryan."

His stupidity amazes him. This guy must have absolutely no idea who the hell he is.

"I'm sorry, Mr Cohen. I meant-- I mean, I was-- I'm Ryan Atwood."

He pauses and sighs. He doesn't understand why he can't seem to talk. "It's-- I'm..." He closes his eyes for a brief moment. "I'm-- One of your-- I'm a client of yours. You probably don't remember me, but--"

Sandy interrupts him. "Of course I remember you, Ryan. What's up?"

Ryan shrugs at the phone. "I was wondering if I could-- you know-- ask you for some advice. If that's-- I mean, you don't--"

Sandy stops him before he can make a complete fool of himself. "Is everything alright, Ryan?" His genuine concern breaks something in Ryan, and he blinks back tears as he continues.

"Yeah, yeah. It's-- Everything's--" His voice cracks, and he feels like laughing at himself for his show of weakness. He takes a deep breath. "Everything's fine. I just-- I wanted to know if I could ask you a question. Or two."

Sandy waits a moment before answering. "Sure. Would you like me to pick you up at your mother's?" He pauses. "Or I can meet you somewhere and we'll talk."

Ryan bites on his bottom lip.

"My mom--" He changes his choice of words before he goes any further. "I'm not at my mom's right now, so we can..." His words trail off.

Sandy seems to take a sharp intake of breath. He understands. "Oh."

Ryan takes his reaction negatively, and his voice changes from desperate to snappy. "Listen, I'm sorry for taking up any of your time. I'll--"

He makes a move to put the phone back, but a voice stops him. "Wait, kid." Ryan does. He has nothing else but this phone call right now, and even that will die if he doesn't insert another quarter now.

"Where exactly are you?"

Ryan looks around. "A shopping center on the corner of..." He leans over to peer carefully at the street names. "Fifth and Yates. But you don't have to come if you don't want to."

"Nonsense. I just finished work. I'll be there in 30 minutes. 45 tops.

Ryan smiles and nods. Things might be ok.

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He's surprised that this guy actually cares. In fact, he isn't so much surprised as he is suspicious. He grips his bag tightly as the man beside him moves around in his seat.

The fact that he keeps on staring at him when he thinks Ryan isn't looking bothers him, and he shoots him a glare the next time he does it.

"Sorry." he whispers. Ryan nods his acceptance.

"It's just--" Sandy points at him. "What happened to your face?" he asks.

Ryan shrugs. This guy won't get anything out of him. "I fell." he says. "Off my bike."

Sandy nods, obviously skeptical, but turns his attention back on the road.

A few minutes pass before Sandy turns to him again. "You fall off your bike a lot?"

Ryan frowns and shakes his head. "No, it's just--" He grips his back pack tighter than before, and his knuckles turn white. "There was a pothole."

Sandy nods. "Ok." They lapse into uncomfortable silence. Sandy sighs, and it seems fairly visible to Ryan that he likes to talk. "Listen, there's some ice packs in the cooler, if you, you know." He makes a hand gesture. "If you need it. We could pull over, take the bike out, they're back there somewhere, I know it."

Ryan shakes his head. "No. No, but thank you." He gives Sandy a small half smile, uncomfortable with the direction this conversation has taken.

"It's what I'm here for." says Sandy, and Ryan smiles.

At a stop light, Sandy briskly moves forward and turns on the air conditioning. His hand brushes past Ryan's knee, and the boy shrinks into the corner and eyes him, fear completely overpowering reason.

Sandy pulls back as well, and he looks guilty when he puts his hand back on the steering wheel. "Hey, I'm not going to hurt you." He frowns, knitting his eyebrows. "It's ok." he adds.

"I'm sorry." Ryan's on the verge of tears, but he takes a shaky breath and calms himself. He's good at keeping his emotions trapped in a box.

"You don't have to be sorry. It's not your fault."

Ryan sneers, and the conversation ends. He looks around the car, then looks at Sandy.

Sandy drums his fingers on the steering wheel, and Ryan hugs his back pack closer. He has butterflies in his stomach, and they won't go away, no matter what he does.

Sandy sighs. "I shouldn't have-- I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'm really sorry." He looks sorry. Ryan nods his acceptance again.

Ryan looks at Sandy for a long moment, who looks completely lost, guilty, and confused, and thinks that maybe this guy's different. Maybe this guy cares. But he won't let his wall be taken down.

"This is a nice car." he says. "I didn't know your kind of lawyers made money."

Sandy laughs a little, and Ryan thinks that his terrible judgement skills have improved. "I don't." he says, and Ryan's won over. "My wife does."

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I edited this to add a disclaimer because I don't want to get sued.