Jun 26, 2008 14:12
Title: Well-Traveled Terrain (Chapter 2)
POV: Third
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
Rating: PG-13 for mature themes (later, romance).
Summary: Ryan is a teenaged misfit who spends more time in the guidance office than anywhere else. But will his band, his best friend, and maybe someone new help him get his life back on track?
Disclaimer: Uh yeah. I don't own Ryan, Brendon, Brent, Spencer, George Ross II, or any of the real people in this story. This is 100% unreal.
Author's Notes: I'm going to try to get the first chapter on SATD. *Crosses Fingers* Sorry it's a little shorter...I didn't think it needed anything else, but nonetheless, it's been many weeks too long between updates. Thankfully, I'm attempting just to finish the rest of the story now, which will definitely speed things up. Let me know if you think I'm going in the right direction; I rewrote this chapter about 5 times, and this felt the most natural to me.
“So how was he? Is he part of your band now?” Shirley leaned forward in her chair, giving Ryan the look he lovingly called the ‘Mommy Stare.’
“He was really awesome. He plays like, every instrument ever, too. Seriously. He knows guitar, piano, cello, drums, and the harmonica. AND I think he said he’s learning the accordion.” Ryan flipped his cell phone open and closed lazily, lying down on the quintessential couch in the guidance counselor’s office. He didn’t want to go back to class. His grades were okay, and the constant lectures, being talked at, didn’t appeal to him at all. He’d rather stay here and steal Shirley’s candy all day.
“What are you thinking about?” The Mommy Stare intensified.
Ryan sighed. “I’ve been so…I dunno, bored? Bored lately? But that’s not it. I can’t even describe it. I feel so useless, like I should go out and make my dreams come true, but every time I try, I realize I don’t know where to start. It scares me. Like, I’m stuck in this relentless cycle of wake up, go to school, go home. But I can’t really escape it. And if I could, I wouldn’t know what to do. It’ll all be over in a few months, but I feel like every day is just kicking my dead carcass in the side again. What does anything mean anymore? I’m supposed to have some kind of life plan between now and, like, next year during college, but I don’t know. I don’t have the money to do anything. The only reason I can even go is because UNLV is basically letting me go for free. Am I even worth it? Am I even going to end up doing anything? What if I just end up like my father? None of this will matter. Like, how do I know what’s worth it and what’s not?”
Shirley was silent for a second. “Well, Ryan, I have to say that honestly, I think most kids your age feel the same way. You’re at Point A, and you don’t know how to get to Point B. You know it can be done, but you don’t think you’re going to get there. I want you to stop worrying about the future so much. Don’t completely forget it, but let yourself have a measure of peace at least from one thing. Your home life is hard enough on you. Don’t add more to it. And as for ending up like your father…Do you remember me visiting you in the hospital last time at all?”
Ryan reached back in his mind, trying to remember that cold, papery bed, but he had been on so many medications to get rid of the many medications he’d taken that everything was slightly fuzzy around the edges, like an old-time movie. He remembered Spencer’s mom bringing him sweets and things to do, and Spencer himself fetching CDs and trying to make him laugh. He remembered his father, first breaking down and crying at the foot of his son’s bed, then yelling about how stupid he was. But after a few minutes of mental digging, he shook his head. He couldn’t see Shirley standing in the doorframe, her mouth slightly open in shock.
“Well, I asked you why you wanted to die that night. You were a little out of it, but you told me it was because you couldn’t escape the alcohol. That the smell of it was all over the house, and the bottles were scattered everywhere. You said you knew that there was a very real possibility that you could become dependent on it. And you couldn’t let that happen; that you’d rather die than live without control like that. And that’s why you have the chance to not become your father; you don’t want to. Sometimes, that’s all you need.”
Ryan sat still, thinking. “Maybe.”
“You need to get back to class.” Shirley handed him a bright yellow Post-It-Note and lightly shoved him out the door.
* * *
Ryan stepped up to the microphone and began singing. Behind him, the band was going strong; Brent was in attendance, so there was a strong bassline complimenting Spencer’s backbeat and Brendon’s strumming. Everything sounded fine, but he felt like something wasn’t right. He wasn’t used to hearing the guitar when he wasn’t playing it. Brendon played the parts perfectly, but Ryan felt kind of alone, front and center like this. He tried to ignore the feeling, but felt his voice begin to betray the doubts he was writing between the lines.
Finally, he found himself barely holding together. He felt Brendon’s eyes on him, curious and reassuring. But the melody began cracking until he stopped completely. He walked over to a wall and slid down it, pressing his knees into his chest.
“I can’t do this.” It was amazing how many emotions could be put into empty words.
“What?” Spencer eyed him with his classic ‘Since When Did You Have Seven Heads?!’ look. “You love music, you love this band. Isn’t this what you want?”
“That’s not what I meant. I just can’t…sing. I never sound right.”
“You sounded fine to me,” Brendon offered, walking towards him. “Do you want something to cheer you up? I have some gummy worms in my guitar case.”
“No thanks. I just…don’t feel well. Do you think we can wrap up a little early?” He flashed a warning look at Spencer, who was about to object.
“Okay. Do you want to stay over here, or what?” Ryan really wanted to sleep at Spencer’s. But his father was coming home from the hospital, and would definitely not be happy to find an empty house, so he declined.
Several hours later, Spencer received a phone call he wasn’t sure if he was ready for.
ryan ross brendon urie panic at the disc,
eek