Don't Worry, We'll All Float On [s/a]
Title: Don't Worry, We'll All Float On [s/a]
Author: meiloslyther
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Pairing: Gen
POV: 3rd, Ryan-centric
Summary: When Ryan woke up and everything was dark, he was a little suspicious.
Word Count: 1,815
Disclaimer: Entirely created from the recesses of my own diseased and fragmented brain case. This is what snorting word dust will do to you. :D Oh, and don't Google yourselves. Ever.
Beta: phoenix_vixen and ezdeeppornkittn
Author Notes: Wild card for my hc_bingo card. Meilo writing gen? No wai!
When Ryan woke up and everything was dark, he was a little suspicious. It was never totally dark on the bus, even in the middle of the night. He fumbled for the tiny window in his bunk and looked outside only to find nothing but a slight brightening of the dark around him. He heard a car go by, but he didn't see any lights. Flinging open the curtain of his bunk, he still saw absolutely nothing, but the dark was suddenly brighter. Rolling out onto the floor uneasily and steadying himself against the wall, he looked around frantically.
"Ry, are you okay?" someone asked, a vague shadow moving in front of him, and judging by the way the voice still sounded chill even when worried, he figured it was Jon. He couldn't see jack shit.
"Jon, fuck, what time is it?" Ryan breathed, very much on the verge of freaking out.
"It's almost noon. Ryan, seriously, what's wrong?"
Ryan stumbled a little as he realized what was going on, and two strong hands steadied him as he began to hyperventilate, Jon's hands. He was fucking blind, for god's sake.
"Ryan?"
Ryan scrabbled for Jon's shirt, managing to get a good grip on it and tugging desperately. "Jon, Jon, I can't see... God, I can't see..."
"Fuck," Jon whispered, tugging Ryan close. "We need to get you to a doctor. Fast."
***
"There's nothing we can do," were the last five words Ryan wanted to hear. "It's permanent, I'm sorry."
They gave him references, people to go to, organizations he could talk with.
He somehow managed to rip the paper from Spencer's hands in the hallway and crumpled it, chucking it as hard as he could.
"Ryan," Zack warned, a guiding hand on his shoulder as they trudged drearily back to the bus, but he didn't say anything else.
Ryan brought his hand up to clutch Zack's and tried not to cry.
***
After a few days of practice, Ryan could almost play through a whole song without screwing up. He was so used to being able to see the frets, the strings, his hands, god.
"You're doing really well, Ry," Brendon was saying, and Ryan was starting to be able to discern when Brendon was smiling just by his voice.
Ryan smiled back.
"One more time, then we can quit for now."
Ryan pressed his fingers to the frets once more, strumming out the beginning of Northern Downpour with practiced ease. He heard Brendon jump in singing, his voice somehow more beautiful now that Ryan couldn't see him, and then coming in with one of Jon's acoustic basses. Ryan couldn't help but smile as he chimed in on the chorus, suddenly feeling less useless, less helpless.
He decided that as long as he could still play music, being blind wasn't so bad.
***
Ryan slowly made his way to the front of the bus, trailing his hand along the wall as he went and stopping when he reached the counter of the kitchenette. He felt around in the cabinets for a mug before reaching for the coffee pot, carefully pouring some for himself, a finger pressed to the inside rim of the mug so that he knew when he was about to overfill it.
Heavy footsteps lead from the bunks and up to the front of the bus: Spencer. "Morning, Ry," he heard from behind him, one of Spencer's hands squeezing Ryan's shoulder.
"Hey," Ryan replied, lightly touching Spencer's hand in return. "Coffee?"
"Sure."
Ryan nodded and grabbed a mug for Spencer, pouring a cup for him. "Where are we?" he asked, handing the full mug to Spencer.
More footsteps and the soft flop of Spencer sitting on the couch. "We're in town. We should be at the venue soon."
Ryan hummed in response, picking up his own coffee and sipping it. "Looks like rain," he remarked off-handedly, carefully maneuvering to sit next to Spencer.
"Yeah, it does. Lucky we're playing inside today."
Ryan laughed softly. "Always the optimist, Spence."
A different set of footsteps echoed down the bus, much lighter than Spencer's.
"Brendon's awake," Ryan muttered, taking another sip of coffee.
A few minutes later Brendon shuffled into the kitchenette, yawning audibly as he poured some coffee and grabbed a Poptart from the cabinets, the distinct sound of foil crinkling moving to sit on Spencer's other side.
"Morning, B."
"Morning," Spencer parroted, slurping his coffee noisily.
"Damnit," Brendon muttered, sounding put out. "How the fuck do you do that?"
Ryan grinned in Brendon's direction. "You notice some amazing things when you can't see," he answered wisely, only able to imagine the face Brendon was giving him. "Besides, I already knew Spencer was in here and Jon hates blueberry Poptarts."
Brendon was silent for a moment, and Ryan suspected he was staring at him in wonder. "How did you-?"
"Ate one yesterday. God, you're slow, Bren."
Spencer snorted.
"I hate you, Ryan Ross," Brendon muttered, but Ryan could hear the smile he was trying to hide.
Ryan laughed, but could still hear Jon's slow footsteps coming up to the front with them.
"You just hate Ryan because he's got super hearing powers now," Jon accused Brendon, pouring the last bit of coffee into a mug and sitting at Ryan's side.
Ryan shook his head, although the idea was pretty appealing. "I just pay more attention to things I hear now. It's a myth that your other senses become heightened when you lose one." He took a sip of his coffee. "You learn how to adapt to your world after a while."
"Is that why Zack has to keep you from running into walls at every venue?" Brendon asked, only slightly mockingly.
Ryan gripped his mug tighter, telling himself that Brendon was just being Brendon, not trying to be mean. "That's different," he mumbled defensively. He had become fairly independent after a month of being almost completely blind, but venues were a lot bigger than the bus and a lot more complicated. And he refused, refused, to use a cane. He was not disabled.
Spencer placed a comforting hand on Ryan's thigh and Ryan had to consciously relax his jaw.
"Sorry," Brendon whispered, shuffling in his seat awkwardly.
Ryan sighed and nodded. At least he was trying.
***
"Ryan!" Zack called from behind him, running footsteps echoing after his voice.
Ryan, onto this ritual by now, stopped before Zack even got to him, turning his head to raise an inquisitive eyebrow in his general direction. "What is it this time, Zack?"
"One of the techs left some equipment down this hallway. Didn't want you to trip," Zack informed him, and Ryan allowed Zack to maneuver him around the offending obstacles.
"Well, at least I wasn't about to run into a wall this time," Ryan muttered bitterly, reaching out for the wall again.
"If you'd just use a cane-"
"I'm not going to use a fucking cane!" Ryan snapped, turing around to glare menacingly in the direction of Zack's voice. "I'm not fucking disabled; I can do everything anyone else can, I just can't see."
"Ry, we all know you can do a lot of things, some things even we can't do. Everyone's just worried about your safety when one of us isn't around to warn you about stray cords, amps, speakers, etcetera," Zack tried, gently cupping Ryan's cheek.
Ryan deflated a little, turning back around. "I just don't like being treated like a cripple," he explained dejectedly, continuing his trek down the hall with his hand trailing along the cool stone.
He didn't hear Zack follow.
Ryan counted the doors as he passed them, knowing their dressing room was the fifth door. Once there, he stepped inside and followed the wall to the clothes rack, carefully feeling the the texture and cut of the fabric to make sure he had his outfit and not Spencer's. Satisfied, he started to undress, always keeping a shoulder or a hip against the wall so that he wouldn't lose his bearings.
"You look a little pissed off," Jon muttered from what Ryan suspected was the couch.
"Zack had to rescue me again," Ryan grumbled, dropping his shirt and jeans on the floor.
"From what? Don't tell me it was a wall again."
Ryan leaned his back against the wall as he pulled his pants on. "No, some asshole tech left some stuff in the hallway." He buttoned his pants and zipped them up, reaching for his shirt.
Jon was silent for a bit. "And?"
Ryan sighed, realizing he was buttoning his shirt wrong and starting over. "Just..."
"Did Zack mention the 'c' word again?"
Ryan couldn't help but smile in Jon's direction, putting on his vest. "Yeah, he mentioned the 'c' word again." He bent down to pick up his street clothes and carefully ventured out from the wall, stopping when his hand hit the couch and sitting down on it.
"I think you do quite well without one."
Ryan let his head rest on the back of the couch, turned in Jon's direction. "You're probably the only one."
"No, we all think you're doing great," Jon defended, shifting slightly on the couch. "You only ever use the wall on the bus when you first wake up. As long as things are predictable..."
"I wish everyone was as predictable as you guys," Ryan muttered, sighing wistfully.
Jon shuffled closer and twined his fingers with Ryan's, squeezing slightly.
***
Ryan entrusted Brendon with walking him out onto the stage every night, getting him situated with his guitar in front of his mic. He, Jon, and Brendon all had small rugs placed in front of their mic stands, but Ryan's served a purpose much different from Jon's or Brendon's; his was his world while he was on stage. He knew exactly where everything was as long as he knew where he was standing in relation to the edges of his rug, which he could easily feel through the soles of his boots. Because of this, Ryan no longer moved much during shows, but he made up for it with enthusiasm and a lot more interaction with the crowd, something the other three never expected.
"I may not be able to see you guys, but I bet you all look beautiful tonight," Ryan greeted the crowd, plucking out a few notes to make sure the guitar tech had tuned his guitar properly. The crowd roared in response, and a bright smile broke across Ryan's face. "Who's ready for the show?"
The crowd gave another deafening rumble, and Ryan could hear Brendon chuckling into his own mic. "Well, don't mind if we do," Brendon chirped, then Spencer was counting them off for the first song.
And if Ryan smiled a lot more on stage than he used to, well, that was because he felt much happier being there than he did before, even if he couldn't see.
-----------------------------------------
A/N: More of my work here.
Author: meiloslyther
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Pairing: Gen
POV: 3rd, Ryan-centric
Summary: When Ryan woke up and everything was dark, he was a little suspicious.
Word Count: 1,815
Disclaimer: Entirely created from the recesses of my own diseased and fragmented brain case. This is what snorting word dust will do to you. :D Oh, and don't Google yourselves. Ever.
Beta: phoenix_vixen and ezdeeppornkittn
Author Notes: Wild card for my hc_bingo card. Meilo writing gen? No wai!
When Ryan woke up and everything was dark, he was a little suspicious. It was never totally dark on the bus, even in the middle of the night. He fumbled for the tiny window in his bunk and looked outside only to find nothing but a slight brightening of the dark around him. He heard a car go by, but he didn't see any lights. Flinging open the curtain of his bunk, he still saw absolutely nothing, but the dark was suddenly brighter. Rolling out onto the floor uneasily and steadying himself against the wall, he looked around frantically.
"Ry, are you okay?" someone asked, a vague shadow moving in front of him, and judging by the way the voice still sounded chill even when worried, he figured it was Jon. He couldn't see jack shit.
"Jon, fuck, what time is it?" Ryan breathed, very much on the verge of freaking out.
"It's almost noon. Ryan, seriously, what's wrong?"
Ryan stumbled a little as he realized what was going on, and two strong hands steadied him as he began to hyperventilate, Jon's hands. He was fucking blind, for god's sake.
"Ryan?"
Ryan scrabbled for Jon's shirt, managing to get a good grip on it and tugging desperately. "Jon, Jon, I can't see... God, I can't see..."
"Fuck," Jon whispered, tugging Ryan close. "We need to get you to a doctor. Fast."
***
"There's nothing we can do," were the last five words Ryan wanted to hear. "It's permanent, I'm sorry."
They gave him references, people to go to, organizations he could talk with.
He somehow managed to rip the paper from Spencer's hands in the hallway and crumpled it, chucking it as hard as he could.
"Ryan," Zack warned, a guiding hand on his shoulder as they trudged drearily back to the bus, but he didn't say anything else.
Ryan brought his hand up to clutch Zack's and tried not to cry.
***
After a few days of practice, Ryan could almost play through a whole song without screwing up. He was so used to being able to see the frets, the strings, his hands, god.
"You're doing really well, Ry," Brendon was saying, and Ryan was starting to be able to discern when Brendon was smiling just by his voice.
Ryan smiled back.
"One more time, then we can quit for now."
Ryan pressed his fingers to the frets once more, strumming out the beginning of Northern Downpour with practiced ease. He heard Brendon jump in singing, his voice somehow more beautiful now that Ryan couldn't see him, and then coming in with one of Jon's acoustic basses. Ryan couldn't help but smile as he chimed in on the chorus, suddenly feeling less useless, less helpless.
He decided that as long as he could still play music, being blind wasn't so bad.
***
Ryan slowly made his way to the front of the bus, trailing his hand along the wall as he went and stopping when he reached the counter of the kitchenette. He felt around in the cabinets for a mug before reaching for the coffee pot, carefully pouring some for himself, a finger pressed to the inside rim of the mug so that he knew when he was about to overfill it.
Heavy footsteps lead from the bunks and up to the front of the bus: Spencer. "Morning, Ry," he heard from behind him, one of Spencer's hands squeezing Ryan's shoulder.
"Hey," Ryan replied, lightly touching Spencer's hand in return. "Coffee?"
"Sure."
Ryan nodded and grabbed a mug for Spencer, pouring a cup for him. "Where are we?" he asked, handing the full mug to Spencer.
More footsteps and the soft flop of Spencer sitting on the couch. "We're in town. We should be at the venue soon."
Ryan hummed in response, picking up his own coffee and sipping it. "Looks like rain," he remarked off-handedly, carefully maneuvering to sit next to Spencer.
"Yeah, it does. Lucky we're playing inside today."
Ryan laughed softly. "Always the optimist, Spence."
A different set of footsteps echoed down the bus, much lighter than Spencer's.
"Brendon's awake," Ryan muttered, taking another sip of coffee.
A few minutes later Brendon shuffled into the kitchenette, yawning audibly as he poured some coffee and grabbed a Poptart from the cabinets, the distinct sound of foil crinkling moving to sit on Spencer's other side.
"Morning, B."
"Morning," Spencer parroted, slurping his coffee noisily.
"Damnit," Brendon muttered, sounding put out. "How the fuck do you do that?"
Ryan grinned in Brendon's direction. "You notice some amazing things when you can't see," he answered wisely, only able to imagine the face Brendon was giving him. "Besides, I already knew Spencer was in here and Jon hates blueberry Poptarts."
Brendon was silent for a moment, and Ryan suspected he was staring at him in wonder. "How did you-?"
"Ate one yesterday. God, you're slow, Bren."
Spencer snorted.
"I hate you, Ryan Ross," Brendon muttered, but Ryan could hear the smile he was trying to hide.
Ryan laughed, but could still hear Jon's slow footsteps coming up to the front with them.
"You just hate Ryan because he's got super hearing powers now," Jon accused Brendon, pouring the last bit of coffee into a mug and sitting at Ryan's side.
Ryan shook his head, although the idea was pretty appealing. "I just pay more attention to things I hear now. It's a myth that your other senses become heightened when you lose one." He took a sip of his coffee. "You learn how to adapt to your world after a while."
"Is that why Zack has to keep you from running into walls at every venue?" Brendon asked, only slightly mockingly.
Ryan gripped his mug tighter, telling himself that Brendon was just being Brendon, not trying to be mean. "That's different," he mumbled defensively. He had become fairly independent after a month of being almost completely blind, but venues were a lot bigger than the bus and a lot more complicated. And he refused, refused, to use a cane. He was not disabled.
Spencer placed a comforting hand on Ryan's thigh and Ryan had to consciously relax his jaw.
"Sorry," Brendon whispered, shuffling in his seat awkwardly.
Ryan sighed and nodded. At least he was trying.
***
"Ryan!" Zack called from behind him, running footsteps echoing after his voice.
Ryan, onto this ritual by now, stopped before Zack even got to him, turning his head to raise an inquisitive eyebrow in his general direction. "What is it this time, Zack?"
"One of the techs left some equipment down this hallway. Didn't want you to trip," Zack informed him, and Ryan allowed Zack to maneuver him around the offending obstacles.
"Well, at least I wasn't about to run into a wall this time," Ryan muttered bitterly, reaching out for the wall again.
"If you'd just use a cane-"
"I'm not going to use a fucking cane!" Ryan snapped, turing around to glare menacingly in the direction of Zack's voice. "I'm not fucking disabled; I can do everything anyone else can, I just can't see."
"Ry, we all know you can do a lot of things, some things even we can't do. Everyone's just worried about your safety when one of us isn't around to warn you about stray cords, amps, speakers, etcetera," Zack tried, gently cupping Ryan's cheek.
Ryan deflated a little, turning back around. "I just don't like being treated like a cripple," he explained dejectedly, continuing his trek down the hall with his hand trailing along the cool stone.
He didn't hear Zack follow.
Ryan counted the doors as he passed them, knowing their dressing room was the fifth door. Once there, he stepped inside and followed the wall to the clothes rack, carefully feeling the the texture and cut of the fabric to make sure he had his outfit and not Spencer's. Satisfied, he started to undress, always keeping a shoulder or a hip against the wall so that he wouldn't lose his bearings.
"You look a little pissed off," Jon muttered from what Ryan suspected was the couch.
"Zack had to rescue me again," Ryan grumbled, dropping his shirt and jeans on the floor.
"From what? Don't tell me it was a wall again."
Ryan leaned his back against the wall as he pulled his pants on. "No, some asshole tech left some stuff in the hallway." He buttoned his pants and zipped them up, reaching for his shirt.
Jon was silent for a bit. "And?"
Ryan sighed, realizing he was buttoning his shirt wrong and starting over. "Just..."
"Did Zack mention the 'c' word again?"
Ryan couldn't help but smile in Jon's direction, putting on his vest. "Yeah, he mentioned the 'c' word again." He bent down to pick up his street clothes and carefully ventured out from the wall, stopping when his hand hit the couch and sitting down on it.
"I think you do quite well without one."
Ryan let his head rest on the back of the couch, turned in Jon's direction. "You're probably the only one."
"No, we all think you're doing great," Jon defended, shifting slightly on the couch. "You only ever use the wall on the bus when you first wake up. As long as things are predictable..."
"I wish everyone was as predictable as you guys," Ryan muttered, sighing wistfully.
Jon shuffled closer and twined his fingers with Ryan's, squeezing slightly.
***
Ryan entrusted Brendon with walking him out onto the stage every night, getting him situated with his guitar in front of his mic. He, Jon, and Brendon all had small rugs placed in front of their mic stands, but Ryan's served a purpose much different from Jon's or Brendon's; his was his world while he was on stage. He knew exactly where everything was as long as he knew where he was standing in relation to the edges of his rug, which he could easily feel through the soles of his boots. Because of this, Ryan no longer moved much during shows, but he made up for it with enthusiasm and a lot more interaction with the crowd, something the other three never expected.
"I may not be able to see you guys, but I bet you all look beautiful tonight," Ryan greeted the crowd, plucking out a few notes to make sure the guitar tech had tuned his guitar properly. The crowd roared in response, and a bright smile broke across Ryan's face. "Who's ready for the show?"
The crowd gave another deafening rumble, and Ryan could hear Brendon chuckling into his own mic. "Well, don't mind if we do," Brendon chirped, then Spencer was counting them off for the first song.
And if Ryan smiled a lot more on stage than he used to, well, that was because he felt much happier being there than he did before, even if he couldn't see.
-----------------------------------------
A/N: More of my work here.