I do not own "The OC" or any of its characters. I just try to get inside their heads and mess with them for a little while.

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"C'mon, Ryan, we've got to go." Dawn stands in the open doorway to the boys' room. She's exasperated that he hasn't acknowledged her two other requests to get moving. Especially since he's already in for a world of trouble tonight. So, as she stands there, she begins to drum her fingers on the doorjamb in a way that lets him know that she's not going to take much more of this. She notes with growing frustration that he still hasn't put on his shoes. He's sitting, Indian-style on the bed and she knows that he's still hoping she'll change her mind. That she'll let him stay at home with Trey, instead of dragging him with her to the church.

"How come Trey doesn't have to go?" Ryan looks at his brother, who is sitting opposite him on the bed they share. There's a pile of baseball cards between the two boys and Trey is methodically going through them, quizzing Ryan and himself on the stats of their favorite players. Prepping them both for the start of the season. Assuming the season ever starts, or starts for real, considering the players are on strike and there wasn't even a World Series last year. But, she knows that Trey allows himself to be optimistic that the strike will end any day now and that it doesn't hurt to be well-prepared for when it finally does.

"Because the cigarettes weren't found in Trey's drawer." And the way she looks directly at Trey when she says it lets Trey and Ryan know that she doesn't believe for one minute that her 8-year-old took the contraband. But, John found the missing pack rolled in Ryan's balled-up t-shirt right after the kids left for school and Trey's not talking. So, unless there's a dramatic turnaround of events, Ryan will take the fall when his dad gets home tonight. Even though Trey has steadfastly refused to meet his mother's eye all afternoon and Dawn thinks he's concentrating just a little bit too intensely on Mike Piazza's statistics from a strike-shortened season.

"This is your last chance to come clean, Trey." Dawn crosses her arms in front of her chest and taps her left elbow with the fingertips of her right hand. She's impatient to get moving, but Trey's running out of time to own up to what he did. And Ryan's running out of time, too.

"Hey, Mom, did you know that Mike Piazza had an on-base average of .370 last year? That's pretty good, huh?" Trey reads from the back of the card and Dawn sighs audibly, knowing that there will be no confession forthcoming.

"Mom, I already told you I took them." Ryan offers quietly. And her younger son looks miserable. He's addressing his mother, but staring at Trey, like he's desperately trying to get his attention. Like he's desperately hoping that Trey will look back at him and Dawn's just certain he's sending his brother a mental message to let him off the hook. But, Trey's not biting.

"His slugging percentage was .541 and I bet it'll be even higher this year if the stupid strike ever ends." Trey's still concentrating on the back of the card and throwing around numbers that mean nothing to Dawn. She knows that he's purposely avoiding meeting his little brother's eyes and the silent plea contained therein. If asked, she'd freely admit to being more than a little surprised that Trey hasn't confessed already. That he didn't immediately give himself up. Because, despite Trey's wild streak, despite all of his cockiness, his backtalk and sass, he's always been the first to stand up and be accountable for his own actions. And he's always been protective of his little brother.

Too protective, if you asked Dawn. Too willing to stand up and divert attention away from Ryan, even on the rare occasion that it's Ryan who actually deserves the punishment and it's Trey who hasn't done anything wrong. Not that Ryan doesn't hold himself accountable on those occasions as well. He does. But, Trey has made an absolute art form out of getting his father to forget all about Ryan and to focus completely on Trey.

So, even though she has no doubt that Trey took the cigarettes, it's Ryan she can't leave here. Not when his father will be home before she has time to make it back from the church. And John had been so enraged when he'd left her with the angrily shouted instruction to get a confession. To let the boys know that if neither of them copped, Ryan would be the one on the receiving end of his dad's belt tonight. Because the cigarettes were in Ryan's drawer when they were found. Even though everyone knew that Trey's the one who took them. So, she'd delivered the message the minute they came through the door after school. Held up the cigarettes, told them where they'd been found and watched as both boys turned red, fidgeted and avoided her eye. Waited for Trey to tell her what they all already knew. So, she was surprised when it was Ryan who finally spoke. But, even as he admitted his guilt, she couldn't help but think that it was only after it became clear that Trey wasn't going to step forward.

"I took them, Mom. I'm sorry. " He spoke in a voice so low that Dawn had to strain to hear him. And Dawn's face showed her complete and utter disappointment in both boys. She was disappointed in Trey for not standing up and acknowledging his wrong and disappointed in Ryan for lying to her. For taking the blame for something he didn't do. He just seemed so little right then, so vulnerable. And it's really no great surprise, since he is little. He'd been appalled to discover that he was the shortest boy in his class when school started up again last fall and he'd gotten into a couple of minor scraps with some of the other kids because of it. Fighting that was encouraged by his dad, who thought it was the only way to stop Ryan from being bullied, since his diminutive size made him such a natural target.

And Dawn can't help but ask herself why Ryan is making such a fuss over going with her, since there's no way he can be looking forward to John getting home and the night he's facing ahead. At least if she takes him with her, his dad won't get a chance to punish him without her there. And, although she's not entirely sure why, she thinks it's important that she's present. She knows that John won't listen to her when she tells him to go easy on the boy. Or if she tells him that Ryan's had enough. But, she can at least say the words. And Ryan will know that she loves him, because she's trying to protect him. Even if she can't.

"Let's go." She jerks her head impatiently. Ryan looks at her plaintively, willing her with his eyes to let him stay. She can sense that he's got a reason why he's so desperate. That there's a reason why he wants her to let him stay. Even though his dad will be home before she will. Even though she won't be here when his dad takes out the belt. And she can't have that, because she has to be here to at least say the words. So, she shakes her head and turns down his silent request.

"Now, Ryan!"

If they don't leave soon, they'll never make it to the church before 6:00. Ryan finally looks away, admitting defeat. He takes a deep breath, holds it, releases it and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, pushing himself to an upright position. As he puts his foot in his right shoe, Dawn notices that the stitching has come away. She can see his white athletic sock poking through.

"Remind me to you need sneakers." She tells him. His small blond head bobs once as leans over and ties his laces.

Dawn looks to her other son. The one who favors John so much. And not just in looks, either. He's got that independent, defiant air about him that she used to find so attractive in her husband. Worldliness, she supposes, but also an intelligence that was hard to come by in the environment in which she grew up. Rare in the environment in which she's raising her children. Trey is a natural leader. No one could deny that for a second. He has a certain air about him that is unmistakable. And he's likeable. Too damn likeable if you ask her, despite his smart mouth and his rebellious streak and the constant pushing of boundaries. Just like his dad had been.

But, with John, the independence and the cockiness had somehow turned sour. Her husband doesn't seem so intelligent anymore. He seems beaten. Weary. And mean. He's turned into a bully who exerts power with his fists instead of the way he used to. With his intelligence and confidence.

Dawn seriously hopes that Trey won't follow in his dad's footsteps. And, while she decides that she's still angry and frustrated that Trey won't admit what he's done, she needs to know if shoes are a necessity.

"How're your shoes, Trey?" She asks.

"They're fine, Mom."

"Are you sure? It'll be another two months before we can pick up another pair."

"I said they're fine."

"And you're sure you don't want to come with us?"

"Yeah, right, Mom. No thanks. But, I'll dumpster-dive for dinner behind the McDonalds while you're gone, if it'll make you feel better."

Dawn considers reprimanding Trey, but decides against it. She knows how much the kids hate going to the church to pick up the box of food and the clothes that they offer every couple of months. Trey equates the process of going through the tables of clothing, shoes, coats and household items to picking through someone else's trash. Dawn doesn't think it's quite that bad. Not that it's her favorite activity, but they need the help. She's been unable to find work since the coffee house went out of business and John's only been able to pick up sporadic shifts lately. Like today's 10-6.

Rumors were that the plant was making more cut-backs, too. They'd eliminated all overtime and, while John had made it through the first two rounds of lay-offs, he was hanging on to his job by a thread. She wants a drink so badly, but knows that she can't. Not before she takes care of things at the church. Because if they smell it on her she risks losing the help. And they so desperately need the help right now. So she'll stay away from the bottle. She'll stay away until Ryan and she get home. Until John's finished punishing the boy and she's tucked him into bed and kissed his tear-streaked face.

Ryan finishes lacing his shoes and follows his mom out of his room, through the house and out the front door. He's sullen. Which isn't usual for Ryan, but makes sense considering what he's in for once John gets home. Dawn waits till they're walking the half mile to the church before she tries again.

"Ry, we all know that you didn't take the cigarettes."

"Yes, I did, Mom." He says quietly. And she can't help but note the inherent sweetness, the purity of tone he has. And, while she knows that adolescence will someday drop his voice by a couple of octaves, she floats a prayer that he keeps that innocent quality to his voice.

"You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do."

By the determination in his voice, Dawn knows that to argue would be pointless. So, her thoughts turn elsewhere. She remembers the first few times she went to the church. She'd so desperately tried to make the best of the situation and to get the boys clothing she thought they'd like. She remembers all too clearly her bitter disappointment when everything she'd so carefully chosen was received with little or no enthusiasm and never worn. She knew that the boys didn't like wearing clothing that had once belonged to strangers, but some if it was quality stuff and she'd mistakenly thought that sooner or later they'd have to relent. Because sooner or later they'd start looking like the Incredible Hulk in David Banner's clothing. The third time she went, she brought Trey home a red, white and blue Tommy Hilfiger rugby shirt and a Ralph Lauren polo. Small treasures she'd come across on a table that looked like it had been entirely picked over. She'd been close to tears when Trey barely looked at them, politely thanked her and put them away in his drawer, never to be seen again.

Two months later she'd insisted that the boys accompany her. That they pick out their own clothing. She told them in no uncertain terms that they had to wear what they chose. She'd been shocked when Trey agreed so readily. She was even more surprised with the boys' selections. Both chose well-worn t-shirts in solid colors. Trey added a few generic polos and Ryan settled on a navy blue Hanes' sweatshirt, even though there was a Nike sweatshirt in the same size. She'd gently tried to push the Nike on him, but he kept shaking his head, pleading with her to drop the subject with those big solemn eyes.

She'd been so relieved that the boys wore the clothes to school the next day that she no longer takes risks when choosing for them. Everything she takes home from the church is plain and threadbare and the boys wear them without complaint.

A few blocks from the church, Ryan starts acting up. He doesn't want to be there and is uncharacteristically asserting himself. Dawn listens to him gripe and moan. He starts whining about how he can wear Trey's old clothes, even though they both know he can't. Because Trey is tall and lanky and Ryan—Ryan isn't. They are two completely different body types and hand-me-downs will only work with the t-shirts. Ryan is desperate to go home and getting more desperate by the minute. Dawn finally snaps. She reaches down and grabs Ryan roughly by the shoulder. She smacks him once across the cheek, leans in and tells him to knock it the fuck off in no uncertain terms. Ryan grips the wrought-iron fence surrounding the church with his left hand and kicks at it with his right foot while his mother continues to scold him for his present behavior and for not telling the truth about Trey and the pack of smokes.

Father Kevin Fitzpatrick watches the scene unfold from his vantage point at the top of the rectory steps. He was about to cross the campus and head for the church's basement to oversee the end of the bi-monthly charity distributions when he observes the exchange between Dawn Atwood and her younger son.