Chapter Text
It’s him.
Ten years ago, and scared shitless, not that he would have ever admitted that back then.
The boy is younger than he was, smaller, but the slump of his shoulders is the same, the darting eyes, the worried raw bottom lip.
Anyone else would keep going about their day. Anyone else probably wouldn’t have even seen him.
Kids like that are invisible.
But Ryan has been there. Ryan has been him and he can’t leave.
“Hey, kid!” he calls, “You need some help?”
The boy’s head jerks in his direction and then his gaze drops, and for a second Ryan is certain he’s going to say, “Nah, I’m fine.” He’s not sure what he’ll do if that happens. Maybe he’ll pull a Sandy Cohen and hand the kid his business card. But then the kid looks up again, shrugs, swings his leg over the stone wall and starts walking towards him.
“I’m Ryan,” he says when the boy gets closer.
The boys tilt his head at him, wary, “Dylan,” he mutters.
“You hungry?” Ryan asks.
Dylan shrugs, “I guess.”
Ryan smiles, “Come on,” he jerks his head, “We can put your bike in the trunk, I know a great diner around the corner.”
He lifts Dylan’s bike into the back and can’t help but think that the SUV is much better suited to this than Sandy’s tiny trunk had been. He’s half smiling to himself as he walks back to the driver’s side door.
“You hurt at all?” he asks when they break for a stop light.
Dylan ignores him, “You came out of that building, right?”
Ryan nods, “Yeah, I’m an architect, I drew the plans, and I was checking in on things today.”
Dylan’s forehead presses up against the glass, “What’s it gonna be?”
“Affordable housing,” Ryan tells him.
The boy snorts, “Well, aren’t you just gonna save the world.”
“Hey, a stable roof over your head can make a hell of a difference.”
“Yeah?” Dylan snaps, “And what would you know about it? With your fancy job and your fancy car and your fancy life to go back to when you’re done playing hero.”
Ryan turns into a parking spot outside the diner and closes his eyes, “A lot actually.”
And Ryan’s gotten better at talking about stuff. He’s told Taylor pretty much everything at this point. Seth too. He’s probably told his mom and dad (which is a thing he calls them now) more in the last year or so, then in the four years he actually lived in their house combined.
The point is that he knows how to talk about it. About Frank and Dawn. About Chino. But that doesn’t mean he’s about to go spilling his guts to some kid.
“Is this the part where you tell me you know what it’s like, but you turned it around and so can I?” Dylan asks.
And Ryan can’t help it, he laughs. He can hear his own voice echoing in his head, mocking Sandy, “And look at you now.” This kid really is him, “No, this is the part where I tell you to come inside and order a cheeseburger or something.”
***
“I do know what it’s like though,” he says after the waiter takes their order, “I grew up in Chino. Dad was in jail. Mom drank. I thought the whole damn world was against me. But someone gave me hand, gave me a roof over my head. I got lucky. You want a hand, kid?”
“You offering?”
Ryan smiles, “You could do worse.”
Dylan frowns, “Huh?”
“Sorry,” Ryan shakes his head, “just something my dad used to say.”
“The one whose is prison?” Dylan raises an eyebrow.
“Nah, the one who’s a lawyer.”
Dylan appears to consider this for a moment, then sits back against the booth and juts out his chin, “I’m not calling you dad.”
Ryan grins, “Noted.” So, the kid is funny, that’s different. Seth will be thrilled.
“I just need a place to crash for the night, maybe a few days, just until things calm down.”
“Okay,” Ryan says, and then because he never got an answer, “You hurt?”
Dylan glares at him, “I’m fine,” he grits out. Which is basically a yes, but Ryan lets it slide for now.
***
“You brought him home?” Taylor leans against the kitchen counter, the start of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“I …” Ryan sighs, “kinda, yeah.”
Taylor shakes her head at him, the smile winning out as her eyes crinkle at the corners, “Like father, like son.”
Ryan half smiles, “He didn’t have anywhere to go, Tay,”
“You,” Taylor steps forward, reaching up to cup his cheek, “are such a softy, Ryan Atwood.”
He tips his forehead down to rest against hers, “Shh,” he presses a finger to her lips, “that’s supposed to be a secret.”
Taylor rolls her eyes, “We don’t a have a pool house, so I suppose the guest room will have to do.”
Ryan heaves a put-upon sigh, “I suppose,” and then he kisses her, “I love you; you know that?”
“I can always stand to hear it again,” she teases, twisting out of his grip.
“Where are you going?” he whines.
“There’s a child in our living room,” she reminds him.
Ryan blinks, “Oh. Right.”
***
Dylan stares wide eyed at the picture frames that line the wall as Ryan leads him up the staircase. There something like longing in his eyes as he studies the one of toddler Sophie, sandwiched between him and Seth, who are then sandwiched between their parents. He doesn’t say anything though, so neither does Ryan. Instead, he pushes open the door to the guest room and gestures inside, “This is where you’ll be staying.”
Taylor, who’s hovering nervously behind him, jumps in, “And please let us know if you need anything.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Dylan mutters, looking down at his shoes.
The three of them stand there in awkward silence for a moment, before Taylor adds nervously, “The bathroom’s right down the hall.”
Ryan smiles, shaking his head, and gently tugs her away, “We’ll see you in the morning, kid,” he says.
***
When Ryan glances up from his cereal the next morning to find Dylan hovering nervously in the doorway, he jerks his chin at him in acknowledgment, “Hey.” Dylan lifts his hand in a tiny wave but doesn’t move. “Help yourself,” Ryan urges.
Tentatively Dylan steps into the room and grabs a bowl for cereal, “So are you guys married, or what?”
Next to him Taylor splutters, “No!” she practically yells, “I mean not that that would be a bad thing! Or a good thing! It’s just we’re not…”
Ryan smirks, cutting her off, “Not yet.”
Taylor drops her head into her hands with a groan, and Ryan laughs, standing to carry his bowl to the sink and dropping a kiss on her head as he does.
Dylan is staring at him, “You get used to it,” Ryan informs him. Dylan shrugs, apparently willing to take his word for it.
They’re interrupted by someone knocking. Ryan frowns, confused for a second before it dawns on him, “We agreed to watch Sophie today,” he says to no one in particular.
“Who’s Sophie?” Dylan asks, trailing after him to the door.
“My sister,” Ryan tells him, swinging the door open.
“Ryan!” Sophie shouts, barreling straight into his waist and attaching herself to him like a barnacle.
Kirsten sighs, “I swear you are her favorite person,” and steps forward to give him a kiss on the cheek.
“Nobody tells Seth,” Ryan and Sandy say in unison.
“Who’s Seth?” Dylan asks, alerting Ryan’s parents to his presence. Kirsten starts doing the worried furrow thing with her eyebrows, and Sandy glances back and forth between them with something like nostalgia on his face.
Stalling, Ryan bends over and gently loosens Sophie's arms so he can pick her up, she's nearing the age where she'll be too big for this, the top of her head only a few inches shy of being level with his shoulders. For now though, he can still heave her up, and her gangly legs and arms snake around him easily. “My brother,” he responds casually to Dylan, “he thinks he’s everyone’s favorite,” he adds.
Sophie leans her head against his neck, snorting, "That's an understatement," she mutters, that apparently genetic sarcasm starting to show.
His parents are still staring at him and he gives in, “And this is Dylan, he’s staying with us for a couple days,” he tells them, and when Sandy raises his eyebrows, he adds, “It’s a long story.”
“Clearly,” Sandy says.
There’s an awkward silence before Kirsten remembers her Newport manors and smiles, “It’s very nice to meet you, Dylan.”
Dylan eyes her, “You too,” he says nervously.
Sandy and Ryan exchange a look and Ryan smirks, “Say goodbye to Mommy and Daddy, Soph.”
Sophie rolls her eyes and gives a little wave, inquisitive eyes darting between all her grownups, “Bye!”
Kirsten steps forward and plants a kiss on her head, “You be good for your brother and Taylor.”
Sophie ignores her mother, whipping her head around to look at Ryan, “Taylor?” she asks hopefully.
“She’s in the kitchen,” Ryan says and then Sophie is squirming to be let down and disappearing down the hall.
Kirsten looks after her for a moment, then she glances from Dylan to Ryan, “You’re all so grown up,” she looks at Sandy, “Remember how Seth used to cry when we left him anywhere?”
“Mom,” Ryan says gently, “Sophie is only nine. Besides, Seth calls, I know he does, and you see me at least once a week.”
“I know, I know,” she says softly, even if she does still look like she’s going to cry.
Ryan shakes his head, smiling, “Go. Go have some fun. I’ve got the munchkin.”
Kirsten comes to give him another hug, “I know you do.”
***
Dylan sits on the kitchen floor across from Sophie, watching while she scribbles away with her crayons. And Ryan can’t help but think of him and Seth on the living room floor playing video his first morning in Newport. A minute later Sophie looks up and holds out a purple crayon to Dylan, “Do you want to color too?” she asks hopefully.
Dylan blushes, looking uncomfortable, but takes the crayon, “Sure,” he says awkwardly.
Sophie beams at him, then returns her entire focus to her own drawing with an adorable furrow of her brow.
And then Dylan just sits there holding the crayon, seemingly at a loss for what to do.
“Pro tip,” Ryan says, “you should probably start drawing. She will notice you eventually if you don’t and she will not be happy.”
Dylan looks up at him, rolls his eyes, but reaches for a sheet of paper anyway, “You have a really nice family,” he mutters after a minute.
Ryan nods, he’s not going to disagree with that, “Yeah, they’re pretty great.”
***
That afternoon, Sophie’s curled up on the couch reading and Taylor’s pulling the last batch of cookies they’d made from the oven when Dylan announces, “I’m going out."
And, well, it’s not like Ryan has any real authority to tell him no. Instead, he says, “You know your way around?”
Dylan shrugs, “I’ll figure it out.”
Ryan nods, “Let me put my number in your phone, just in case.”
Surprisingly, Dylan doesn’t put up a fight about it, just hands over his phone and waits, tapping his foot, while Ryan enters his number, “See you later, kid,” he says, when he hands it back.
And then Dylan’s gone.
***
“I don’t think he’s coming back,” he tells Seth on the phone that night when he’s done filling his brother in, swallowing hard.
“I don’t know, man, you always did,” Seth says, and before Ryan can say anything else, like explain just how many times he almost didn’t, he can hear Summer’s voice, muffled in the background, “Is that Chino?” and Seth is saying, “No, it’s my other brother.”
And then Summer’s voice is clearer, so he knows she’s stolen the phone, “Ry, your brother is driving me crazy.” And he can just make out Seth’s indignant squawk in the background.
Ryan laughs, “Hey, you’re the one who married him.” And the ache in his chest lessens some with the familiarity of it, but there must still be something in his voice, because Summer says, “Everything okay?”
“Ryan brought home a mini-Ryan,” Seth crows.
“Really?” Summer sounds excited, “Mini-Atwood?”
Ryan sighs, “Yeah.”
***
“You don’t think he’s coming back, do you?” Taylor whispers, walking up behind him while he washes dishes and wrapping her arms around his waist.
He closes his eyes and leans against her, “No, I don’t,” he sighs, “I wouldn’t have. Not in the beginning.” Not if it weren’t for Seth. And maybe a little bit for Marissa.
“Hey,” Taylor murmurs, “You tried.”
Ryan turns and hides his face in her shoulder, “I know,” he whispers.
***
The phone rings at 11:09.
“Hello?” he mumbles, half-asleep.
“Ryan?”
Ryan sits up, “Dylan?”
“Can you come get me?” he asks, and his voice quivers just a little.
Ryan is up and looking for his shoes before the sentence is complete. “I’ll be right there,” he promises.
***
“Come on,” Ryan says when the car rolls to a stop in front of where Dylan is standing at the end of the driveway of a rundown ranch house, “let’s go.”
Dylan shifts slightly, blinks, then jerks his head in agreement, bending over to scoop up his backpack and plod towards the car, while Ryan hops out to toss his bike back into the trunk.
It’s only once they’re both back inside that Ryan can fully make out his face.
He is significantly less surprised by the fact that Dylan is sporting a split lip and the start of a black eye then he is by the fact that he called. He must have been desperate, just like Ryan had been all those years ago.
Dylan won’t look at him, and they drive for a while in silence, with Ryan glancing at him every so often, “I’m glad you called me,” he says finally.
Dylan kicks a bit at the dashboard, “I wasn’t gonna come back.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t think you would come,” he’s actually looking at Ryan now.
“I know.”
“Why are you doing this?” Dylan asks.
Ryan sighs, “Honestly, I don’t know. I just saw you sitting there, and I couldn’t walk away.”
Dylan looks at him, “Anyone ever tell you you have a bit of a savior complex?”
Ryan laughs, “Many, many times. So, where’d you go? A party?”
“No,” Dylan says, “I went home.”