A/N: I am painfully aware that I last updated this fic a few years ago. If you remember it, kudos to you - if not, it's not really a surprise.

Some info, if you're lost: We last left poor dead!Theresa and dead!baby with the police, and woobie Ryan got driven home and sent to bed. It was all very climatic, I know. This chapter is ... well - incomplete. I'll get to that after the chapter itself. I'll probably get kicked off ff.n if I try and post it here. Eeep.

Anyways ...


A Jar of Disgust

Chapter Seven

That's right, biatch.


When Ryan shuffled into the kitchen, Seth froze.

His spoon was paused above his bowl of cereal, milk steadily starting to drip onto the tablecloth.

He watched silently as Ryan made his way past the bench stools and over to the bagels.

Where the hell were his parents? He couldn't face Ryan like this, alone.

They'd explained everything that morning, about Theresa, about the baby, about how they were expecting Ryan to act "off" and "possibly angry" and maybe "some tears". They'd told him chances were Ryan wouldn't even get out of bed. But …

Well, what was he doing here?

He watched as his foster brother picked carefully through the drawer, not looking at him, nor saying anything, bringing out a pair of knives and setting them on a plate.

Seth stared openly, mouth slightly parted, when Ryan got out the cream cheese and proceeded to smear it all over two bagels, and placed them carefully next to each other, whilst grabbing two glasses and pouring orange juice, then putting everything onto a tray.

Seth cleared his throat. Here goes nothing.

"Um … dude. What are you doing?" he asked, stretching his head forward to try and get a better look at the apples Ryan was piling onto the tray.

Ryan's eyes darted up, staring at Seth like he's crazy. "Making some breakfast," he said, speaking slowly.

Theresa's dead.

Seth was under the impression he wouldn't be that hungry.

"Oh." Seth looked down at the table, looking at his soggy cereal. "O-okay."

He glanced at Ryan again, not knowing what to say. "Carry on then, I guess …"

As soon as Ryan had left the room, his feet dragging noisily along the carpet, Seth pinched himself.


Sandy was quiet for a few seconds, frozen, fist raised, in front of the closed guest room door.

Maybe he should just leave the kid alone for a bit …

'… and I don't know how he's going to react when we suggest that …'

No. No. He had to talk to Ryan about it as soon as possible. Things get harder to do the longer you put them off, and he knew this for a fact.

It had to be today.

Tapping lightly, Sandy silently prayed that maybe Ryan wouldn't hear – that maybe he was sleeping, or really not up for guests.

"Come in." Ryan's voice was faint through the wood, and Sandy braced himself as he opened the door.

Frowning immediately, he was confused to see Ryan sitting on the floor beside the bed, two plates of food in front of him – one finished, one untouched.

" … Are you okay?" Sandy enquired, walking silently into the room, the door swinging shut behind him.

Ryan twisted his head, staring up at Sandy blankly. His knees were bent in front of him, hair unbrushed and dull, skin oily, and his eyes seemed glazed – though it could have been the angle Sandy was at.

He didn't answer.

Stepping forward, Sandy cleared his throat, "… Ryan?"

Glancing back towards the plates, Ryan nodded.


'How's about we drag you to a shrink and pump you full of anti-depressants, kid, what do you say?'

"Do … – well, ah … Rosa made some pancakes for breakfast, I was wondering if you wanted some?"


Wincing, Sandy told the voice in his head to shut up. Looking back down at the food on the floor, he fiddled with his collar. "Although, um … looks like you've already eaten."

"Oh, yeah, sorry. We got full, and …" Ryan gestured over at the food tray, looking wearily at Sandy.

Sandy backtracked immediately, "No, its okay Ryan, that's okay. I just wanted to make sure you were alright, kid, that you weren't sick or anything,"

Ryan gave Sandy an odd look, taking a deep breath, "I'm fine," he expelled, his eyebrows twitching downwards for a moment.

Ten minutes later and Sandy was making his way back downstairs, trying to tell himself that Ryan was speaking the truth.


The day passed oddly normally.

Ryan was rarely seen out of the poolhouse on a usual day, and Sandy felt terrible for thinking it, but there really wasn't much difference now.

By the time dinner came, Sandy was rather optimistic. Ryan wasn't fighting anyone, yelling, or doing anything other then his usual brooding.

He was taking it much better then Sandy had anticipated.

And Sandy liked it.

Maybe they had been too quick to jump to conclusions, assuming Ryan would go off the wall, when he wasn't. He'd quietly stayed in the guest room all day, and he'd eaten breakfast and lunch.

And here he was, picking at his dinner on the opposite side of the table, only a faint frown, tugging downwards at his chin.

Maybe the therapist suggestion could wait a few days after all.

Palming Ryan his sleeping pills, courtesy of the previous night's paramedic, Sandy continued on with his meal.


So, I'm going to have to cut off there. ... looks around for undercover ff.n officials ...

Listen up folks:

There most certainly is not an extra page to this chapter. No sir.

There is also, most definately NOT a link to a homepage in my Profile. Nor does this link point you in the direction of my journal. And there is absolutely NO chance that this journal has posted the full version of chapter seven. So do NOT go looking.

(Also, if you're a bit late reading this, there is also no chance of there being a link in this journal titled "User Info", that, if you scroll down far enough, has a link to the users "Memories".) I don't know what you're talking about.

But ... if you DID happen to come across something of the like - please heed the warning at the top of the page - because there would be a good reason it wasn't posted on ff.n.

Now ... flame me!