[fic] Good Morning, Princess Greenwald! [ryan/alex, r]
Good Morning, Princess Greenwald!
Ryan/Alex. 54,027 words. R.
c/o provetheworst + softlyforgotten
An AU loosely inspired by the Sunglasses at Night music video.
Ryan’s roommate is gone. As far as Ryan knows, he hasn’t been arrested - he left, telling Ryan to “keep this a secret, but I’m going to go stay with my family for a while, and by a while I mean a really long time” - and Ryan hasn’t seen or heard of him since. He probably hasn’t been arrested.
Brendon’s family, near as Ryan can tell, live up in the hills of Utah now. They used to live somewhere else, but his family has family somewhere thirty miles north of Salt Lake, and the compound is well-armed and well-defended and Ryan supposes it must be a little better than the city. Maybe that depends on the definition of better.
Ryan hasn’t heard anything about Utah lately, but he still worries. There are regular reports in the news of uprisings being quashed, terrorist cells being rooted out, and extremist sects being brought to rights. Still, if anyone will be fine in the face of America’s finest, it’s Brendon.
It’s mid-October, twelve days after Brendon has left, and the weather is unusually warm for the season so Ryan’s sitting in front of the fan staring at the television even though it’s just reruns of some terrible sitcom.
Someone knocks on the door. Ryan isn’t expecting anyone, but he gets up and answers it anyway.
The cop at the door brushes by him, sitting on the threadbare couch with an arm thrown carelessly across the back and his legs wide. His expression is unreadable. “Christ, it’s hot today. Does Brendon Urie still live here?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Ryan says, still standing by the door. “I haven’t seen him in a couple days. Sorry. Did you need something?”
“Did he tell you where he was going?”
“No, sorry,” Ryan says. This is technically true. He gleaned Brendon’s destination - beyond just with family - mostly from context clues, because Brendon had told him about his family a few times before and Ryan put things together.
“If you learn anything, let us know,” the cop says. “We just want to make sure he’s safe. We saw that he hadn’t been here for a few days and thought that we should ask.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Ryan says. “I’ll let you know if I hear from him.”
“You know how to contact us,” the cop says, and leaves, and Ryan narrows a squint at his door and pushes up his sunglasses because they’d slid down a little on his nose. Despite his annoyance at the unexpected intrusion, he sits back down and manages to figure out what happened on his show while distracted.
A few days go by, and Ryan manages to forget about the visit entirely. He watches TV, even though it’s nearly eleven and he should be sleeping. The screen is awfully bright without his sunglasses, which he has on the table next to him so he can grab them in a hurry if he needs them. He’s wearing his comfiest pajamas and enjoying a show about the eventual heat death of the universe.
There are footsteps on his building’s stair. He can tell, because a few of the steps squeak. It sounds like a lot of people, but curfew is long since past. There shouldn’t be that many people awake and mobile, and Ryan startles. The realization of what that means gets him on his feet, shrugging his coat on before he realizes he’s picked it up. Ryan shoves his window open and scrambles down the fire escape before breaking into a run. He has no idea where he’s going.
He almost never runs. The sound of his feet on the pavement startles him, loud as it is in the empty night.
Everything seems wrong and he can barely remember the streets around his panic, just sprints as fast as he can, heels striking the pavement too hard. His knees hurt already and he’s only gotten a few blocks. He huddles down in an alley and tries to think of someplace to go. All his friends live in buildings that ID, and the curfew means he’ll be picked up instantly wherever he goes. He sits with his knees drawn up to his chest and wonders how long until they find him and lock him up. Utah is too far away to walk.
A pair of boots crunches over the gravel and broken safety glass of the alley, and Ryan sits there with his head in his hands and just wishes he had worn something more stylish if he was going to die tonight.
Ryan doesn't look up when the footsteps stop in front of him, even though he can practically feel that shadow washing over him. He thinks of all the things he wishes he had done, of songs he hasn't written and places he hasn't seen and was probably never going to.
No one drags him to his feet, though, and he doesn’t get a gun pressed to the side of his head. His grey matter doesn’t decorate the wall behind him. This late after curfew, everything is quiet. He can hear the other person breathing, slow and steady, and Ryan tries to match that because he’s close to hyperventilating. It helps.
Eventually, eventually, Ryan looks up and is rewarded with a reassuring smile.
“Hey. You’re that Ross kid they’re after, right?”
Ryan doesn't know how to respond. He stares, and the guy says, "I'm Alex Greenwald. I'm not with the cops, don't worry."
"Okay," Ryan says slowly.
"Yeah," Alex says. He scrubs a hand through his hair, looking around idly. He's not wearing sunglasses. "Anyway, there's, uh. There's people out here looking for you and some of them - some of them you might not want finding you. They're not very nice. Do you want to come with me?"
Ryan swallows. "Where?"
"Back to my place," Alex says. "Me and some of my friends, we've got this set up going on, we can help you out. Give you a place to stay, and then you can move on or hang out or whatever. It isn’t prison, at least."
Alex's voice is kind of stupidly reassuring, and he's got that smile, and Ryan's frightened and exhausted and aware that he's been very, very stupid. He wants more than anything to think that this is going to be some kind of help, some sort of savior, but. How likely is that, really? Not so likely, he thinks.
A girl appears at the guy's shoulder, and Ryan recognizes her from posters plastered all over town; she's one of the government's most wanted, her and these three other girls. Ryan heard a rumor about a jailbreak, even. She's got short bobbed hair and eye make-up and Ryan doesn't know if it's her real name or what but when people talk about her they call her Z. She says, talking to Alex rather than Ryan, "Yeah, that's him. C'mon, we haven't got much time."
Alex turns back to Ryan and holds out a hand, focusing that bright, hopeful grin on him again, and after a moment Ryan takes Alex's hand and stumbles to his feet.
Alex says, "Awesome, come on," and they set off, not quite running but moving quickly, Ryan's coat flapping open at the sides. He thinks they must be horribly conspicuous, Z from the wanted bulletins and Alex without sunglasses and Ryan all of the above and also in his pajamas, but they don't run into any trouble. Z leads the way, down little alleys and around corners Ryan doesn't recognize, and a couple of times they stop and lean up against a wall and don't say anything while footsteps sound down the street, so close.
They keep going until they get to this little apartment block, and Ryan waits to be led up into one of the buildings. Instead, Alex goes around the side, to a door that leads into a little power room, the kind electricians tamper with and everyone else ignores. Z shifts over a crate with empty paint tins in it, and there's a manhole cover there. It's too much like a spy movie to be real, Ryan thinks, and watches wide-eyed as Alex pushes it aside and gestures for him to shimmy down.
The lights underground are strung like a mineshaft and flicker intermittently. Ryan keeps thinking of canaries and coal mines, and collapsed tunnels. Everything seems too bright, like the colors have all been ratcheted up a notch. It feels like a dream, maybe.
They head down a few levels worth of stairs and end up in a partly-finished basement, with cement floors and drywall breaking up the space. Most of the walls are covered in murals and graffiti, all strange swirls of color and illegible text. The place is sectioned off into rooms, and a few narrow halls turn off where Ryan can’t see them.
Z says, “You hungry, cowboy?”
Ryan thinks about it for a moment, then shakes his head.
“Sure?”
After that run, and the terror still sitting heavy in his stomach, he doesn’t think he could eat without throwing up. If he’s going to be hanging out with some rebels for the night, he doesn’t want to insult their hospitality by vomiting. “Uh-huh.”
“Well, we’ve got a bed free right now,” Alex says. “You get a whole room to yourself, actually. Darren kept talking about taking it for himself, but he’s too lazy to move his shit, so you’re in luck.”
“Oh.” Ryan is hopped up on adrenaline but when Alex shows him a bed he collapses into immediate sleep to the sound of Z and Alex talking with a few other voices he doesn’t recognize. He’s too tired to care who they might belong to.
When Ryan wakes up in the morning, there are clothes put out on the edge of his bed. They're not the type Ryan would usually pick for himself - pretty simple, a pair of blue jeans and a green t-shirt with DANNY'S PIZZA emblazoned across the front - but Ryan's so sick of his pajamas he could cry, and he puts them on gladly.
When he comes out of his room Alex is sitting cross-legged on the table eating toast and humming an old pop song. The dingy basement fails to live up to the standards of the rebel alliance Ryan had vague, romantic ideas about. Ryan feels sort of guilty, though, because even though they defy expectations, he’s even less the romantic ideal of an underground rebel.
Mostly, Ryan is a scared kid with no idea what he did wrong. He lacks any relevant skills when it comes to rebelling, though he can’t imagine what they’d even expect him to do. Eventually, frowning, he says, "I can't do anything.”
Alex looks up at him and blinks. "What?"
"Anything useful," Ryan says. "I'm not really -- I'm not good at that."
"Okay," Alex says.
Ryan bites his lip. "But like, if they were looking for me -- I don't wanna give the impression that I'm particularly important, or that I’ll be at all useful or whatever.”
"Okay," Alex says again. “No big deal.”
Ryan stares at him, but Alex just rests his chin on his fist and smiles a little. Ryan says, "I mean, if there's something I can do. To help."
"That'd be cool," Alex says. "You want some breakfast?"
Ryan nods. Alex sets a plate down in front of him, and Ryan wolfs down the food without even paying attention to the flavor until he's almost done. “Hey, wait, hey, this is actually really good."
"Cooked it ourselves," Alex says and it shows as an obvious point of pride. Ryan is pretty used to rations, bland at best. There's color to his meal here, greens and reds and browns. "Black bean hash. I’m pretty sure it’s actually Sam’s recipe? Darren found the peppers for it, though. It doesn’t work without peppers.”
"Yeah," Ryan says. "Yeah, yes, thank you. Thank you." Ryan feels happy to be alive. Breakfast wakes him up, and he feels alert, now, and infinitely more awake. He looks sideways at Alex, who has such clear dark eyes. Ryan stares for a moment, then blanches, scooting back in his chair. "Oh, God. I forgot my sunglasses."
Alex laughs. Last night, Z wasn't wearing any either. No one else he's seen wandering through - there are at least two other people - had any. "That's probably for the best."
"But what if," Ryan says and then thinks about where he is and who these people have to be to have saved him. Ryan's not used to being allowed to look people in the eye, not strangers. He's not used to not having wireless and being able to pull up the HUD to get stats on where he is and who he's with and their entire personal and criminal backgrounds. "How am I," he starts, meaning to ask how he's supposed to check in for his rations, because he’s poor and can’t afford much else, but he looks back down at his plate. Right. Rebel underground, not relying so much on the government food supply. "Never mind."
"Yeah, things work pretty different here," Alex says. "You get used to it. Don't worry, I can, like, show you the ropes and everything. I'm going to need to get in on a call with some people in a bit here. I guess Casablancas is having some issues, and thinks I can give him good advice. Fuck if I know. But after that, okay? You can just hang around here for a bit."
"Okay," Ryan says. He isn't going to argue.
Alex looks down at him. He puts his hand on Ryan's shoulder, and for a moment Ryan thinks Alex is going to pat it or something weird like that, but Alex just leaves his hand there and cocks his head, says kindly, "This is probably all a bit overwhelming right now, but it's going to be okay. Seriously, we're cool guys." He grins, wicked and a little unexpected, though Ryan's not sure why that is.
"Okay," Ryan repeats, but he smiles back this time, and Alex nods and hurries away. Ryan sits and waits for a long time and constantly finds himself reaching for the bridge of his nose to push up his absent sunglasses.
Someone else sits down across from him after a while. Ryan can't check to see how long it's been. "Hey, I'm Darren. You're the Ross kid, right? Do you have a first name, or is Ross okay?"
Ryan is startled but then he remembers that no one down here can check either. "Oh, no, it's Ryan. I'm Ryan."
"Cool. Nice to meet you, man." Darren smiles at him, holding a hand out perpendicular to the table. Ryan stares at Darren's hand blankly.
Ryan looks back up at him, not sure what Darren is expecting. He blinks a few times, slowly, because his eyes feel dry.
"Not much of a talker, huh?"
Ryan blinks again and shrugs, and Darren laughs and claps his shoulder for a second and then turns away, back to what he was doing, though not in a mean way. Ryan's not much of a talker, really, but everyone seems pretty cool with just letting him drift around and do his thing.
At first he's wary about poking around, because he has no idea if -- he doesn't support the government, but he's seen a lot of bad press about the underground movements and maybe they'll take him off and torture him and all of this is just trying to lull him into a false sense of security. In the end, though, his curiosity gets the better of him, and he wanders around and pokes his head in doors and no one seems especially bothered when he interrupts. He watches two of them argue over something on the computer for a while until one of them notices him and says, “Oh, hey, new guy!”
Ryan just stares, then walks off to wander around a little more even though he’s mostly seen everything by now, and no one follows him or bothers him about it. They don't force conversation on him here, which Ryan likes. He hasn’t seen a clock in a while, but he’s hungry and thinks he remembers which hall to go down to get to the kitchen. He doesn’t see Alex, but Z is there, and one of the computer guys says, “Food’s on the stove, help yourself.”
Ryan looks down at the pot on the stove, then back over at the guy.
“What? Oh - yeah, bowls are in the cabinet right above, there.”
“Thanks,” Ryan says.
He goes to bed pretty early, but he tracks down Darren first, just to make sure it’s okay he’s sleeping where he is. “Did you,” he starts, and looks down.
“What’s up?” Darren says.
“Alex said you were thinking of taking the room I’m in,” Ryan says. “Before I was in it. You can have it, still, if you want, I’ll sleep on the floor or something.”
“No, it’s cool,” Darren says. “I can just take it whenever you decide to move on. I’ve been threatening to move in for months, I can hold off a little longer.”
The second morning he's there, Ryan spends a whole twenty minutes staring at the coffee maker, like it might do something without him actually touching it or putting in any coffee grounds, but the machine is stubbornly silent.
Alex shuffles in, sleepy-eyed in boxers and a ratty old striped shirt that drapes off him. The fabric looks really soft and light, and Ryan tries to figure out which of his friends it reminds him of the most, but he's not sure. Brendon's wardrobe usually fits pretty well, and Jon isn't one for stripes, but maybe one of the Nicks would wear that. Ryan decides it's a Nick shirt.
Alex gets out a fresh filter and then notices Ryan. "Did you need a little help there, buddy?"
"Uh," Ryan says. "There's not any coffee."
"No," Alex agrees, having to step around Ryan to get things ready. "There's not. I'm going to fix that."
"Thank you," Ryan says, softly. He smiles. "See, look, you just saved me again."
"I did?"
"I wouldn't have had coffee," Ryan says. "And I might have died. But you're a coffee mechanic."
"Oh, yeah, I got my certification and everything, you know." Alex nods, and then steps back waiting for the coffee to brew. "It's pretty tough working the machines every day. It takes its toll on a man."
"It's a hard life," Ryan agrees. "One I'm glad I don't have to lead."
"Oh, but you will," Alex says. "It's not all sunshine and daisies down here. Sometimes you even have to make your own coffee."
"Fuck." Ryan laughs a little, intentionally, because he wants to make sure Alex knows he caught the joke. "That's awful."
"Sometimes," Alex whispers, leaning in conspiratorially, "you even have to make coffee for other people."
"What?" Ryan asks, trying to sound taken aback and not sure if he manages. "Alex. Alex, hey, I'm not that kind of guy."
Alex sighs dramatically. "The things we do to get by. You're gonna have to get used to the way we do things 'round here, sugar."
Ryan snorts.
Alex says, "Anyway, whatever, few things - we don't usually keep any real creamer around, unless Jeff's being a little bitch again and sneaks some in. There's usually soymilk around, even though we have to make our own half the time, and there's usually sugar and whatever too. You don't have to drink it black all the time."
"Oh, good," Ryan says. He regards the machine warily, because it's making funny noises.
"Yeah, it's old," Alex says, laughing. "You get used to it."
"Okay," Ryan says. "Okay. If you say so. I'll trust you this time. That better be the truth."
-
The next day, around what Ryan hopes is lunchtime, Ryan manages to stub his toe against the wall. He stands there wincing for a second and picks his foot up and holds it tight where it hurts like the pressure might help. It doesn't, particularly, but it seems better than just cursing and whining about it.
There are five of them sitting around the table, with two chairs empty. They’re talking about some kind of file, and New York, which - that’s thousands of miles away and Ryan can’t work out why it matters but he doesn’t want to ask. One of them looks up and smiles. "Oh, hey, Ryan."
“Uh.”
“Oh, right, I’m Jeff,” he says, and introduces Sam, and Darren, even though Ryan’s already met Darren. “You know Alex already.”
“Yeah. Where’s Z?” Ryan asks, because he hasn’t seen her since yesterday and he liked her.
“She doesn’t really stay here most of the time,” Darren says. “She and her friends have their own place, but sometimes they’ll drop by, or we’ll go visit, if it’s not too sketchy up there.”
“Yeah.” Alex looks up at Ryan, like he's surprised Ryan is even there, and says, "You look like a bird."
Ryan looks down and considers the angles of his legs, the way he has his foot crossed in front. "What kind of bird?"
"Maybe a stork," Alex decides. "You've got the knees. And the skinny legs."
"I don't think I've ever seen a stork," Ryan admits after a moment.
"Just imagine you with feathers," Alex tells him helpfully.
Sam says, "Hey, anyway, so we were talking about some stuff."
"And things," Jeff says. "Stuff and things."
"Anyway," Sam says. "We were wondering - well, we were talking about who all we know that has room, and thought maybe if you wanted to get away from here, we could hook that up."
"What?"
"Like, we're happy to have you," Darren says. "But just in case you decided you wanted to be somewhere out of the city - it's a little safer out in the country. Or, hell, if you wait a week, there'll be this group traveling through, I think they're stopping at the Gray's place? And they'll be heading through just about anywhere you could ever want to go."
"You could go to New York," Alex says. "New York's really amazing. I was there for a year or so a while back."
"I've never been to New York, either," Ryan says, and then stops. He hopes this doesn't mean he's annoyed them all, and that he's getting kicked out already. Maybe they need the space he's taking up for something else. "I think - can I stay for a while, first, though? And think about it?"
"Yeah, no, of course," Jeff says. "You don't even have to leave, if you don't want to. Fresh blood keeps it interesting, right?"
"It's always nice to have somebody new to mess with," Darren tells him. "Alex is getting all predictable and shit, and Sam, well."
Sam flicks Darren off, but grins at Ryan and says, "Yeah, no, hang out with us for a bit. It's cool."
"You don't even have to do anything," Alex tells him. "Except, like, help with the chores. That's our big requirement. Dishes don't do themselves, and man, laundry."
"Fucking laundry," Jeff agrees. "If you can do the laundry, you can stay forever."
"Thanks," Ryan says, grateful and almost - not quite, he would rather be home - happy to be here. "Yeah, okay, thank you. Thank you. I can wash clothes. By hand, if I’ve got to.”
The food isn’t ready for a while after that, and Ryan is quiet while he eats, just listening to everyone else talk. He likes it better that way, trying to figure out everyone’s boundaries and personalities by observation, because he isn’t always quite ready to actually interact.
There's not a whole lot to do after lunch, though, and he feels kind of exhausted from the events of the past few days.
After meandering for a little while, he realizes he’s not quite sure which room is his, and doesn’t want to go poking doors open again. He ends up slumped in a corner, wriggling to get comfortable, and then he naps on the floor all curled in on himself with his hands underneath his cheek.
He wakes up when Alex pokes at his ribs, gently, and when Ryan blinks up Alex grins and says, "Hey, you want to sleep in an actual bed or anything? I can show you back to your room before I leave.”
Ryan says, voice rusty with sleep, "Where are you going?"
"I'm going to head further along the line," Alex says, "and you know, check some stuff out."
Ryan watches him. "Can I come too?" he asks, and Alex nods, holds out his hand to help Ryan to his feet.
-
Being outside and aboveground at this late hour is strange, and Ryan sticks close to Alex's side, sometimes falling a few steps behind because he doesn't want to seem too nervous. Up here, with the streetlights, everything is so much brighter than he remembers. It's night, but so much clearer, and Ryan finds himself wondering about daytime, if he'll ever get to see that again. Not that he ever saw it properly before. The sky is already bluer than he remembers.
Alex walks fast, but he talks to Ryan along the way, explaining little things - "Can't go down that street anymore because there's a checkpoint there, now. They just installed it maybe two weeks ago. It was bad enough when it was just buildings you couldn't go into, you know?"
Ryan thinks about how he's never going to see his apartment again, not that he owned a lot of things of value. He had some old records that, in hindsight, were probably illegal. "I guess so."
Alex says, "So yeah, we're going to see what's up at the 2300 block - nothing too crazy tonight. It's a little further than we usually go, but Sam was listening in on the dispatch and I guess some guy was taken in for gardening in an abandoned lot? Dude's been arrested already, but the plants aren't scheduled for seizure or destruction until tomorrow, so hey."
Ryan had thought maybe they were going to stage a daring rescue, break someone out of prison. Or try to find someone on the run from the law. Maybe meet some terrorist contact who would funnel them food and supplies and bomb-making materials. He hasn't actually seen anyone build any bombs, but they could be waiting for supplies, theoretically. Something exciting, anyway, except instead he's creeping around the back of a building, scanning his surroundings for any unexpected activity so they can steal fresh produce.
The air smells of fresh earth and of leafy things, and part of Ryan just wants to put his face down to the soil and appreciate it, but instead he keeps watch while Alex digs things up. There are greens Ryan doesn’t recognize, and root vegetables that pull up easy though they look a little small and early yet.
"Not as exciting as you expected, huh?" Alex keeps his voice even lower than before, and his body shakes a little with held-back laughter when Ryan stares wide-eyed and shakes his head.
Somewhere not too distant Ryan thinks he hears car tires on pavement, and he wonders if that's worth warning about, if that's the kind of thing he should be keeping lookout for, then decides that yes, yes, of course it is so he grabs for Alex's arm and they run, and Alex nearly trips and says, "Christ, what?"
Ryan shakes his head. He finds a fire escape to scramble up, because a few flights up he sees something they can hide behind. There aren't any open windows or lights on in the building. The metal structure squeaks and whines a little underfoot. He hopes it’s not too loud.
Alex's mouth narrows with disapproval but then he hears it too and he has the grace to look apologetic. A few car doors slam. They sit huddled close together, three flights up. They hide behind a messy pile of furniture and watch flashlights criss-cross where they just were and Alex puts a hand on the back of Ryan's neck and keeps it there. Ryan can't tell if it's supposed to be reassuring or to keep him still. It works both ways.
Alex still has a bunch of carrots in his other hand, held by the stalks, the tops a big leafy green spray of color.
The cops don't leave for another hour - their search only includes the ground, but they stand around occasionally sweeping the area with their flashlights, and Ryan closes his eyes and thinks about things like the color of the sky and what it must be like in Utah and how warm Alex's hand is.
They wait a while longer after the cops have left, and Alex whispers, "Up," so they go up to the roof instead of back down and walk along the rooftops of buildings pressed close together. They have to scale a brick wall at one point, but they're headed back the same general way they came until they hit an intersection. They head down another fire escape and travel at ground level from there. Alex still has the carrots in hand, even though he’s tucked the other greens away into his bag.
Ryan is hungry but he doesn't say anything about it. Carrots, he has learned, are very crunchy and loud when eaten raw.
Alex tells him, "We're gonna wander around a little bit before we go home," and Ryan figures it is home, now, and he likes that. Ryan smiles to himself, but since Alex smiles back Ryan figures that Alex can have at least a little of his smile. Just a bit.
-
"You!" Alex says a few nights later, and points a finger at Ryan.
Ryan looks up from the bowl of cereal he's eating dry. It's not a hugely appetizing meal, but there wasn't enough dinner for seconds and Ryan's still kind of hungry. "Me?"
Alex nods. "You need to come with me," he says.
"It's, like, half past ten," Ryan says. "Are we going out? I'm not sure I've recovered from the excitement of our last excursion."
"I have a surprise for you," Alex tells him, and grins, huge and confidential. Ryan bites his lip to keep from smiling, and stands up.
"All right," he says. Alex cheers.
Alex gives him a black sweater to pull on over the yellow shirt Ryan's wearing today so they can be more discreet. He's wearing a long black coat himself and he seems fairly confident, but Ryan can't help being a little bit nervous when they climb back up out of the basement and network of tunnels and into the night air. There's a dog barking somewhere nearby and Ryan shivers and walks a little closer to Alex, trying to match his footsteps to Alex's.
They don't wander as far as the other night, but they're walking further away from the city, anyway, into the hills. Alex leads Ryan to a big old house, and then they go through the garden and around the back, where there's a broken window.
Alex hands Ryan some rags to wrap his hands in, but most of the glass is gone anyway and Ryan doesn't get hurt climbing in through the window. Inside it's dark but furnished, and Ryan stands shivering with wide eyes until Alex tumbles in onto the carpet and laughs loudly.
"It's cool," Alex says. "There's nobody here, there was an old couple who lived here but the guy died and the woman left for a nursing home earlier this week. The people cleaning this out aren't being sent around until tomorrow."
"Okay," Ryan says. He squints around the dark. "Can we turn a light on, maybe?"
"It'd be a pretty obvious signal that we were breaking in if we did," Alex says, laughing. "But anyway, no. The electricity's shut off, and looters have already been here. They probably grabbed all the light bulbs and food in the pantry and stuff."
Ryan blinks. As his eyesight adjusts, he can see that the room does look like a bit of a mess; furniture thrown over or missing, what looks like the remains of a kitchen table; there are only the legs left now, badly hacked off from the surface. "What are we doing here, then?"
"Z told me about it," Alex says. "Come on."
He leads Ryan through the dark and up the stairs, rounding a corner and forcing open a tiny door. It's the attic, which is full of boxes and dust. Alex takes a flashlight out of his pocket and sets it up, pointing the light carefully away from the tiny filthy window.
"Okay," Alex says, a little out of breath from the stairs and the shoving of heavy boxes aside. "So, yeah, you know how you wanted to back to your apartment and get some stuff and that's - not a great idea, and I'm sorry, but. They've got a good stash of clothes here that didn't get touched. Z found them because she and her girls are really into like - retro sort of stuff, and they're pretty old-fashioned, but I thought maybe you might like some clothes you could pick out on your own, at least?"
"Oh," Ryan says. He grins, raking a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I mean." Alex brought him a big bag of clothes on his second or third day staying with them, explaining that they were hand-me-downs or things that didn't fit the others anymore, apologizing, but Ryan thought they were fine, and it had been cool. This, Ryan thinks, going over to open up the box that Alex was gesturing at, is cooler.
Alex sits and watches, offering commentary as Ryan goes through the boxes. He gets more and more amused, as Ryan pulls out vests and shirts with paisley patterns and goes into a little gleeful fit of delight when he finds an old blue blazer that looks like something from a marching band from long ago, a century old, even. There's a collection of hats, and scarves, though a few of them have had moths get at them pretty badly. Ryan picks out the ones with colors he likes, anyway, thinks that maybe he can make something out of them. There's a hat that he thinks would look awesome with a few fabric flowers, and Ryan had a friend a long time ago who showed him how to do that.
The pants are mostly a write off, because Ryan's taller than the man who used to live here. He finds two pairs of suit trousers that are longer, though, long enough that he'll only flash a little bit of sock when he's wearing them, and Ryan doesn't mind that so much. Mostly it's a landfall because of the truly amazing collection of shirts, and even Alex gets excited when Ryan unearths a couple of ponchos. Alex puts his on right away, over his coat, and sits there looking smug, his hair even more disheveled than usual. Ryan laughs and laughs, covering his mouth with his hand so he's not that loud, and Alex pretends to be offended.
Ryan finds a packet of guitar strings, too. There's no guitar in sight, and Ryan hasn't touched one in a long, long time, too long for him to justify the sharp, new ache in his stomach, but he stands there and holds them for a moment anyway. Alex comes up behind him and rests his chin on Ryan's shoulder, watching him.
"Do you play music?" he asks.
"A long time ago," Ryan says. He smiles. "And not very well. I was like -- I got really obsessed with old stories, you know, bands and touring and stuff. And my dad had a guitar that he gave me, even when you couldn't buy them anymore. But then they brought in the new sound laws and my dad threw it out, he didn't want to get in trouble, so."
"We've got some stuff," Alex says.
Ryan turns around and blinks. "Instruments?"
"Yeah," Alex says. "I -- they're not great, not really, just little things and we haven't got a guitar anymore. I, I broke mine a while ago, this guy got into the safehouse -- not the one we're in now, an old one -- and I hit him over the head with it."
Ryan gapes at him. "Did that work?"
"Well, it knocked him out," Alex says. "But it also broke my guitar, so."
"That sucks," Ryan says.
Alex gives him a small smile. "Yup."
Ryan looks at him for a moment, until Alex shrugs and breaks his gaze, looking away. "I'm going to keep the strings," Ryan says.
"Oh, yeah?" Alex blinks at him.
"You never know," Ryan says. "Be prepared."
Alex laughs. "Like the Disney movie?" he asks. "Or the Boy Scouts?"
"What?"
"Nothing," Alex says. "Nothing, I -- I'll show you some outdated pop culture some other time, never mind."
"Okay," Ryan says. He turns around and puts the guitar strings on top of the pile of things to keep, and when he turns around Alex is still watching him, eyes bright, so Ryan punches Alex in the shoulder. It's not the kind of gesture he usually makes, but he sort of wants to hug Alex and also knows that he might end up doing something really embarrassing like forgetting to let go if he did just now, so he settles for it. Alex laughs and says in a fussy little voice, "What is this, outright violence? I'm being abused by my dearest companion."
They get sidetracked from sorting through the boxes for a moment by having a quiet tickle fight. Alex works out Ryan's weak spot around his ribs pretty fast and Ryan falls onto the pile of clothes and it's all a little bit stupid, really, but it's a good night and Ryan forgets to be nervous.
The dawn is a surprise as they walk home. "Guess we were out longer than I meant," Alex says.
Ryan shrugs. "We don't have to do anything today, do we? We can totally just sleep."
"Yeah," Alex says. "Maybe in a little while? I'm not that tired just yet."
"Okay," Ryan says. He slants Alex a glance out of the corner of his eye. "You can show me your instruments, maybe."
"Hey, yeah." Alex beams. "I can do that. I have a mandolin, you know," he adds, and Ryan isn't quite sure what a mandolin is, has only ever read its name once or twice in old books, but he doesn't ask. He can wait for Alex to show him.
-
Ryan starts finding more things to do. Cooking takes up a fair amount of time, for example, and learning to do it takes even more because he keeps fucking up and needs a lot of oversight at first.
Darren chucks him a cookbook, and says, “Here, read the whole introduction. It’s got stuff about how to actually use kitchen utensils.”
“Oh, man,” Ryan says. “Is this a remedial level thing?”
“Yes,” Darren says, but he’s grinning so Ryan doesn’t feel too bad about it. “We’re hoping that some day you’ll actually graduate to being able to cook dinner unattended.”
“I can cook stuff,” Ryan says, defensively.
“Okay, you did make oatmeal that one time,” Darren says. “And only a little of it stuck to the bottom of the pot, that’s true.”
“It was hardly even burnt,” Ryan says, defensive, because it was really only the stuff at the very bottom, and he only forgot to stir for a little while.
“Yeah, fine,” Darren says. “You let me be the one to cook the oatmeal this morning, and I’ll let you read the cookbook. Deal?”
“That’s. Both of those are things you want to happen.”
“So it’s a deal, right?”
“Fine,” Ryan says, flouncing down in one of the mismatched chairs at the kitchen table. An old science textbook props up one of the legs, keeping the table even, and Ryan rests one bare foot on it and runs his toes up against the pages and the edges of the cover.
Sam comes in for a second, to ask if breakfast is almost ready, and when Darren tells him yes he wanders back off to fetch Alex and Jeff.
“Morning,” Ryan says to all of them, without really looking up, because he’s kind of fascinated with all the things you’re supposed to have if you want a well-stocked kitchen, like flour and salt and all these herbs and shit. “Darren, do we have dried beans?”
“Yes.”
“How about,” he says, running down the list with his finger. “Rosemary.”
“Probably,” Darren says. He pauses. “Jeff, do we have any rosemary left?”
“Nah, Sam made that sauce last month.” Jeff leans over to poke Sam in the arm. “The one you burned so we couldn’t even really eat it.”
“Yes, I remember,” Sam says. “I was there.”
“Why?” Darren asks. “You want it for something?”
“Just wondering.” Ryan shrugs and looks back down.
“Oh, hey, Ross,” Alex says. “Guess what I found the other night.”
“Uhm,” Ryan says. “Rosemary?”
“No, unfortunately.” Alex laughs a little, looking oddly pleased. “It’s better. You’re gonna like this. I’ve got a project for you, even.”
“Finally, some direction in my aimless and tragic life,” Ryan says dryly, and Alex nods solemnly at him.
“I don’t want you squandering your youth and falling in with the wrong sort,” Alex says. “It’s important to give a person structure in their life. Keeps ‘em from the dark side of the force.”
“The - right.” Ryan nods like he caught the joke, because he’s sure there was one there. “Of course, you’re right. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“Anyway, it can wait until after breakfast.”
“What? No. It can’t.”
Alex sighs, and turns to Darren, solemnly telling him, “I cannot teach him. The boy has no patience.”
“He will learn patience,” Darren says, equally serious, staring wide-eyed at Alex.
Ryan frowns, sinking down into his seat a little in the hopes that maybe sulking will get Alex to tell him what’s going on, but it doesn’t work so he just finishes his breakfast instead, and rinses his dish out while he waits for everyone else to be done too.
“Oh, are you doing dishes?” Jeff asks cheerfully.
“No,” Ryan says. “It’s your turn.”
“But you’re at the sink already,” Jeff says. “And you started cleaning that dish. Might as well do the rest, right?”
“I don’t want to set a bad example.” Ryan steps back from the sink, wiping his hands on his pants. “Like, what would it - what would Sam think if he saw me just letting you get out of doing them? Huh? What about Darren? They’ve got impressionable minds.”
“It’s true,” Sam says. “We do. Show us the light, Jeff.” He gets to his feet, giving Jeff his empty dish, and Darren stacks his right on top of that in Jeff’s hands.
Alex says, “Aha, you’re catching on. Now, c’mon, hup. Follow me.”
Ryan nods, following along after Alex, and - “I know how to get to my room.”
“Yes,” Alex says. “But do you know how to get to your room with paint?”
“No, what? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“But it does,” Alex says, leaning down to grab a can of paint. There’s another one sitting next to it, but he leaves it where it is. “I tossed some brushes on your bed. I kind of figured, you know. White walls are boring, yeah? Might as well go to town on it, and I thought it’d be fun, maybe?”
“Oh, yeah,” Ryan nods eagerly. “Yeah, okay. What color is it?”
“We’ve got.” Alex frowns, hoisting the can up to get a better look at the lid. “Some weird green, and I think the other one’s orange.”
Ryan beams, resisting the urge to clap his hands together. “Awesome.”
They spend the better part of the morning painting curlicues and swirls and flowers in Ryan’s room, until Alex gets the idea to take up most of one wall with a T-Rex. Ryan paints a little police officer waving his night-stick ineffectively under the dinosaur’s raised foot, or at least, that’s what it’s supposed to be. It’s more just a stick figure with a funny hat on, but the intention is there, which Ryan feels is good enough.
The T-Rex, at least, is pretty cool.
“See,” Alex says, as he’s finishing painting on some scientifically inaccurate spikes down the T-Rex’s back. “Now it’s actually your room. It’s got - panache.”
“Panache,” Ryan laughs, and he might be a little loopy from the paint fumes. He reaches over with his paint brush, getting Alex on the nose with some of the orange.
Alex scrunches up his nose, crossing his eyes before squinting at Ryan. “Oh, no fair,” he says, and lunges after Ryan with the green. Ryan’s already darting away, even though the room isn’t that big and there isn’t much of anywhere to go so he ends up with a long stripe down his arm, carrying onto the back of his shirt.
A lot of paint ends up on the floor as they both try to even the score, and more of it ends up on their clothes, and eventually Ryan sits down laughing and out of breath. “Oh, wow, I need fresh air.”
“Yeah,” Alex agrees.
“And a shower, probably,” he says, sort of contrite about having started the whole thing.
“Oh, no,” Alex says. “No, now I have to actually shower. Damn it, Ryan, I was going for a record.”
“What? How long has - when did you last shower, dude?”
Alex shrugs.
“How can it be a record if you don’t even keep count?”
“It just can,” Alex tells him, leaning forward with one hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “It can. You have to trust me on this. Believe in me.”
“Okay,” Ryan nods, and then laughs, nearly falling over backwards because Alex has sneakily kept hold of his paintbrush and painted a streak across one of Ryan’s cheeks. Alex pounces on Ryan, pinning him down for just long enough to get the other one so he’s got a matching set of lines under his eyes. Ryan nearly raises his hands to try and wipe it off but thinks better of it, laughing instead. “Fuck you. That was a low blow.”
“Yeah, but now you’re ready for the big game,” Alex says, informative and helpful as ever.
“Hmm.” Ryan gets back up, rubbing the back of his hand across his forehead before realizing he’s just smeared more paint all over his hair. “Ah, fuck.”
“It’s a good look.” Alex grins up at him, because Alex, the lazy fucker, is still sitting on the floor.
“C’mon, the paint fumes are fucking with my head,” Ryan says.
“Yeah, yeah,” Alex says. “Right. Okay. Up I go.” He doesn’t quite have the balance to actually get to his feet, so Ryan reaches out a hand and helps hoist him up, and he tries to ignore the fingerprints Alex’s grip leaves behind.
-
One morning, a few weeks later, Ryan gets a vacuum shoved into his hands and everyone spends the whole morning cleaning until a bunch of strangers show up, more than they have room for, and they seem to expect hospitality and Ryan has to hang one guy’s jacket up for him and fetch a glass of water for one woman. It’s all a bit frantic and no one bothers to tell Ryan what’s going on for far too long.
Eventually, when things have quieted down a little, Alex explains that it's actually just a bunch of people who are travelling across the country -- they go through all the cities, trying to spread word about how to get out and also because settling down is dangerous, they're high risk profiles. A truckload of them arrive to stay in Alex's safehouse for three days because the other people willing to take on guests are full up. If these are just the leftovers, Ryan wonders what it’s like elsewhere.
"So,” Alex explains, quietly, sitting right next to Ryan on the couch. Some of the guys staying with them are playing a raucous game of Scrabble, one of them insisting that Spanish should be allowed since they all need the practice with it anyway. “So some of these guys are going to be heading down to Mexico, right? I mean, the group’s splitting off here, but they’re headed to Mexico.”
“Okay, yeah,” Ryan says, because Darren told him that maybe ten minutes ago, oddly expectant, and Ryan doesn’t know what they want him to say. He’s been to Mexico before.
“I just - they offered, if we had anybody who wanted to go,” Alex says. “And like, I’m not going, and I don’t think the other guys are either, but I thought - you’d be pretty safe down there. You could try and find a job, and go swimming, or whatever, you know? There’s not a lot of work down there, but you could probably scrape by. There’re people who’d help you out as, like, a refugee.”
“Oh,” Ryan says.
“And it’s not like you’re that big a deal,” Alex says. “So the Mexican government wouldn’t bother with extradition or anything. They’ve been pretty fussy about that lately anyway.”
Ryan says, “What? I am too a big deal,” and is kind of - he and Jon went on a vacation to Mexico when Ryan was nineteen, four years ago now, before more travel restrictions were placed and they couldn't afford it anymore, and it was good down there, really amazing weather and wildlife and some of the cities seemed nice. Ryan thinks maybe he could do that, he could move there. He thinks about late nights breaking into houses and out of tune instruments and the packet of guitar strings he is still holding on to just in case. He thinks about a city he’s still getting to know, in whole new ways now, even though he’s lived here for years.
"No thank you," Ryan says, eventually.
"No?” Alex asks. “But -“
"It's okay," Ryan says, and Alex doesn't argue further. At dinner time, though, even though food is kind of stretched thin because of all the extra people, he is pretty sure he gets a little extra on his plate, and he is sure of it at dessert.
After dinner, trying to figure out sleeping arrangements, they realize that every bed is necessary and there are mattresses spread across the floor and Alex says, "Uh, hey, did you maybe want to crash with me? That frees up a bed and then we can, you know, economize and stuff."
Ryan blinks at him, and says, “Yeah, sure.”
Alex grins quickly at him and goes to explain to the bossy guy in charge of the new arrivals that yes, he's found another bed for the last two people, if they don't mind sharing, and that it's totally fine.
There's three people sleeping on mattresses on the floor in the same room with Ryan and Alex, and it feels a bit surreal, getting ready for bed, especially with Alex complaining in a harsh whisper about the guy in charge. "I mean, I get that it would be stressful and shit," he says, "but like. Stop being such a jerkwad, right?"
"Jerkwad," Ryan repeats solemnly, and Alex grins at him.
"Anyway," he says, "I forgot to change the sheets, sorry, and there's, like, none at all spare just now, but I washed them the other week? So it's not too gross, anyway."
"It's cool," Ryan says, a little surprised. He hasn't even thought of that, really, and he kind of likes it, when he climbs in. He likes the smell of fresh sheets, too, the way they smell when they've been dried recently enough that they still retain a little bit of warmth, but Alex's blanket is soft and worn and it smells like Alex, like the pillows smell like Alex, and Ryan curls up and tries not to sniff too obviously at them. It's not a weird thing, he doesn't think, it's just comforting, especially with a bunch of strangers living in the place he's kind of been clinging onto for safety of late -- strangers whose presence would have them all in serious trouble if they got found, too.
Ryan's cold, is the thing. It's turning into winter and normally they get a couple of blankets each, but they've had to share them out and Ryan's shivering, pulling his knees up as high as he can without hogging too much of the bed. His teeth are starting to chatter, too, and he tries to keep it quiet, not to disturb Alex. Alex is lying very close.
"Ryan," Alex whispers, like he's not sure if Ryan's awake, and Ryan says,
"Yeah?"
"Dude," Alex says, and laughs short and hushed. "It's fucking freezing."
"Yup," Ryan agrees, because it is, and Alex rolls over and looks at him. Their faces are close now, too, and if Ryan shifted even a little his nose would nudge Alex's. He touches Alex's nose with his finger instead, light and quick and says again, "Yup. Your nose is cold."
"Is that how you can tell?" Alex asks.
"Maybe," Ryan says. "I don't know. With dogs, it is."
"Really?" Alex shifts a little, propping his head up on his hand, elbow sinking into the pillow. "I thought that dogs are meant to have cold noses. That's how you can tell they're not sick, or whatever."
"Oh." Ryan admits, "I never actually had a dog."
"Me either," Alex says. "Sucks."
"Yeah," Ryan agrees. Alex blinks at Ryan, and Ryan thinks it's strange, how long Alex's eyelashes are, the way they lie against his cheek. He's never noticed before. Alex huffs out a laugh and says, "Hey, hey -- just -- c'mere?" and Ryan moves gratefully, without thinking, wraps one arm around Alex's back, and Alex tucks his chin over Ryan's head and shoves his feet in between Ryan's shins. his feet are freezing even though Ryan's pajama pants and Ryan huffs a laugh.
"Okay?" Alex says, and Ryan makes an agreeable kind of noise. They’ll have to sleep like this tomorrow and the next night, and realizing that, Ryan's not so cold anymore. He tucks a piece of Alex's hair behind Alex's ear so that it isn't tickling Ryan's cheek anymore and then he closes his eyes and goes to sleep.
Getting through the narrow halls in the morning is frustrating with so many new people here, since none of them know where they’re going. Ryan just wants to brush his teeth and grab breakfast but he has to press up against walls to let people wander past far too often.
Portions at mealtimes are a bit smaller for everyone, because everything needs to be stretched so much further, and Darren and Sam both seem to be spending as much time up aboveground as possible. Ryan doesn’t blame them. He just wishes he’d been asked along, even though he’s not skilled at anything in particular, just so he wouldn’t be down here listening to people whine about how much nicer it is in New York than LA, or ill-considered plans for Mexico.
Alex is busy during the day, playing the good host and housekeeper; when the toilet gets stopped up, he’s the one who has to fix it. He oversees the cooking of lunch, and he talks shop with the group leader for a while, and asks after people and gives advice about Mexico and getting back to New York. Ryan tries hard not to eavesdrop too much, but he doesn’t have anything to contribute so he wanders off again and tries to find a quiet place.
The computer room is off limits to their guests, at least, so Ryan hangs out in there with Jeff for a while. Jeff has hold of a broken pair of sunglasses he managed to find while dumpster diving a while back, and he’s messing with the code. Ryan doesn’t understand any of it, but he watches anyway.
After the group finally leaves, seen off with a miniature jam session and the flourish of the mandolin, Ryan gets to return to his own bed. Even with multiple blankets it isn't the same kind of warmth he’s already used to. He doesn’t sleep well that first night, not at all.
He wakes up because there are people talking out in the hall, and he cracks the door open and leans his head out to ask what’s happening.
Sam says, “I was listening to the police dispatch again, right, when there was a bulletin out for a girl, blonde, early twenties, last seen wearing a grey dress and red flats and without her sunglasses. Named Greta Salpeter, wanted for seditious activity, a noise complaint, and having too many people in her residence.”
"So she's wanted for a party," Ryan says.
"Yeah, probably." Alex is lacing up his boots.
"Sounds like." Darren buttons up his coat, pulling on a hat and scarf. None of them seem surprised that Ryan is awake.
Ryan goes for his own shoes and coat, but Alex says, "No, you're staying here. Keep an ear on the radio, make sure nothing else goes down. This is different from a food run."
Ryan stares at Alex, defiant, and starts to do up his coat.
Alex sighs and stands, putting a hand over Ryan's, stilling him. "No."
"Okay," Ryan says, hanging his head. He's so much better at meeting people's eyes now, but right now he just can't. "She can - my sheets are clean. When you get back, she can have my bed."
"Okay," Alex says, and smiles. There are dark circles under his eyes and he looks so tired. "That makes things easier. Okay. We'll be back soon."
Hours go by and Ryan sits at the desk with his arms folded, rests his head on them eventually and listens to the radio chatter. A lot happens that night, little things, noise complaints and domestic disturbances and a robbery or two. The dispatchers make fun of a call about barking dogs but then send officers to the scene anyway to put the animals down since they’re a threat to public safety.
Sam comes and sits for a while and they talk about music but nothing else important and eventually Sam goes back to bed. Ryan was told to keep listening, though, and he struggles to keep his eyes open but he’s awake when it matters.
-
next
Ryan/Alex. 54,027 words. R.
c/o provetheworst + softlyforgotten
An AU loosely inspired by the Sunglasses at Night music video.
Ryan’s roommate is gone. As far as Ryan knows, he hasn’t been arrested - he left, telling Ryan to “keep this a secret, but I’m going to go stay with my family for a while, and by a while I mean a really long time” - and Ryan hasn’t seen or heard of him since. He probably hasn’t been arrested.
Brendon’s family, near as Ryan can tell, live up in the hills of Utah now. They used to live somewhere else, but his family has family somewhere thirty miles north of Salt Lake, and the compound is well-armed and well-defended and Ryan supposes it must be a little better than the city. Maybe that depends on the definition of better.
Ryan hasn’t heard anything about Utah lately, but he still worries. There are regular reports in the news of uprisings being quashed, terrorist cells being rooted out, and extremist sects being brought to rights. Still, if anyone will be fine in the face of America’s finest, it’s Brendon.
It’s mid-October, twelve days after Brendon has left, and the weather is unusually warm for the season so Ryan’s sitting in front of the fan staring at the television even though it’s just reruns of some terrible sitcom.
Someone knocks on the door. Ryan isn’t expecting anyone, but he gets up and answers it anyway.
The cop at the door brushes by him, sitting on the threadbare couch with an arm thrown carelessly across the back and his legs wide. His expression is unreadable. “Christ, it’s hot today. Does Brendon Urie still live here?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Ryan says, still standing by the door. “I haven’t seen him in a couple days. Sorry. Did you need something?”
“Did he tell you where he was going?”
“No, sorry,” Ryan says. This is technically true. He gleaned Brendon’s destination - beyond just with family - mostly from context clues, because Brendon had told him about his family a few times before and Ryan put things together.
“If you learn anything, let us know,” the cop says. “We just want to make sure he’s safe. We saw that he hadn’t been here for a few days and thought that we should ask.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Ryan says. “I’ll let you know if I hear from him.”
“You know how to contact us,” the cop says, and leaves, and Ryan narrows a squint at his door and pushes up his sunglasses because they’d slid down a little on his nose. Despite his annoyance at the unexpected intrusion, he sits back down and manages to figure out what happened on his show while distracted.
A few days go by, and Ryan manages to forget about the visit entirely. He watches TV, even though it’s nearly eleven and he should be sleeping. The screen is awfully bright without his sunglasses, which he has on the table next to him so he can grab them in a hurry if he needs them. He’s wearing his comfiest pajamas and enjoying a show about the eventual heat death of the universe.
There are footsteps on his building’s stair. He can tell, because a few of the steps squeak. It sounds like a lot of people, but curfew is long since past. There shouldn’t be that many people awake and mobile, and Ryan startles. The realization of what that means gets him on his feet, shrugging his coat on before he realizes he’s picked it up. Ryan shoves his window open and scrambles down the fire escape before breaking into a run. He has no idea where he’s going.
He almost never runs. The sound of his feet on the pavement startles him, loud as it is in the empty night.
Everything seems wrong and he can barely remember the streets around his panic, just sprints as fast as he can, heels striking the pavement too hard. His knees hurt already and he’s only gotten a few blocks. He huddles down in an alley and tries to think of someplace to go. All his friends live in buildings that ID, and the curfew means he’ll be picked up instantly wherever he goes. He sits with his knees drawn up to his chest and wonders how long until they find him and lock him up. Utah is too far away to walk.
A pair of boots crunches over the gravel and broken safety glass of the alley, and Ryan sits there with his head in his hands and just wishes he had worn something more stylish if he was going to die tonight.
Ryan doesn't look up when the footsteps stop in front of him, even though he can practically feel that shadow washing over him. He thinks of all the things he wishes he had done, of songs he hasn't written and places he hasn't seen and was probably never going to.
No one drags him to his feet, though, and he doesn’t get a gun pressed to the side of his head. His grey matter doesn’t decorate the wall behind him. This late after curfew, everything is quiet. He can hear the other person breathing, slow and steady, and Ryan tries to match that because he’s close to hyperventilating. It helps.
Eventually, eventually, Ryan looks up and is rewarded with a reassuring smile.
“Hey. You’re that Ross kid they’re after, right?”
Ryan doesn't know how to respond. He stares, and the guy says, "I'm Alex Greenwald. I'm not with the cops, don't worry."
"Okay," Ryan says slowly.
"Yeah," Alex says. He scrubs a hand through his hair, looking around idly. He's not wearing sunglasses. "Anyway, there's, uh. There's people out here looking for you and some of them - some of them you might not want finding you. They're not very nice. Do you want to come with me?"
Ryan swallows. "Where?"
"Back to my place," Alex says. "Me and some of my friends, we've got this set up going on, we can help you out. Give you a place to stay, and then you can move on or hang out or whatever. It isn’t prison, at least."
Alex's voice is kind of stupidly reassuring, and he's got that smile, and Ryan's frightened and exhausted and aware that he's been very, very stupid. He wants more than anything to think that this is going to be some kind of help, some sort of savior, but. How likely is that, really? Not so likely, he thinks.
A girl appears at the guy's shoulder, and Ryan recognizes her from posters plastered all over town; she's one of the government's most wanted, her and these three other girls. Ryan heard a rumor about a jailbreak, even. She's got short bobbed hair and eye make-up and Ryan doesn't know if it's her real name or what but when people talk about her they call her Z. She says, talking to Alex rather than Ryan, "Yeah, that's him. C'mon, we haven't got much time."
Alex turns back to Ryan and holds out a hand, focusing that bright, hopeful grin on him again, and after a moment Ryan takes Alex's hand and stumbles to his feet.
Alex says, "Awesome, come on," and they set off, not quite running but moving quickly, Ryan's coat flapping open at the sides. He thinks they must be horribly conspicuous, Z from the wanted bulletins and Alex without sunglasses and Ryan all of the above and also in his pajamas, but they don't run into any trouble. Z leads the way, down little alleys and around corners Ryan doesn't recognize, and a couple of times they stop and lean up against a wall and don't say anything while footsteps sound down the street, so close.
They keep going until they get to this little apartment block, and Ryan waits to be led up into one of the buildings. Instead, Alex goes around the side, to a door that leads into a little power room, the kind electricians tamper with and everyone else ignores. Z shifts over a crate with empty paint tins in it, and there's a manhole cover there. It's too much like a spy movie to be real, Ryan thinks, and watches wide-eyed as Alex pushes it aside and gestures for him to shimmy down.
The lights underground are strung like a mineshaft and flicker intermittently. Ryan keeps thinking of canaries and coal mines, and collapsed tunnels. Everything seems too bright, like the colors have all been ratcheted up a notch. It feels like a dream, maybe.
They head down a few levels worth of stairs and end up in a partly-finished basement, with cement floors and drywall breaking up the space. Most of the walls are covered in murals and graffiti, all strange swirls of color and illegible text. The place is sectioned off into rooms, and a few narrow halls turn off where Ryan can’t see them.
Z says, “You hungry, cowboy?”
Ryan thinks about it for a moment, then shakes his head.
“Sure?”
After that run, and the terror still sitting heavy in his stomach, he doesn’t think he could eat without throwing up. If he’s going to be hanging out with some rebels for the night, he doesn’t want to insult their hospitality by vomiting. “Uh-huh.”
“Well, we’ve got a bed free right now,” Alex says. “You get a whole room to yourself, actually. Darren kept talking about taking it for himself, but he’s too lazy to move his shit, so you’re in luck.”
“Oh.” Ryan is hopped up on adrenaline but when Alex shows him a bed he collapses into immediate sleep to the sound of Z and Alex talking with a few other voices he doesn’t recognize. He’s too tired to care who they might belong to.
When Ryan wakes up in the morning, there are clothes put out on the edge of his bed. They're not the type Ryan would usually pick for himself - pretty simple, a pair of blue jeans and a green t-shirt with DANNY'S PIZZA emblazoned across the front - but Ryan's so sick of his pajamas he could cry, and he puts them on gladly.
When he comes out of his room Alex is sitting cross-legged on the table eating toast and humming an old pop song. The dingy basement fails to live up to the standards of the rebel alliance Ryan had vague, romantic ideas about. Ryan feels sort of guilty, though, because even though they defy expectations, he’s even less the romantic ideal of an underground rebel.
Mostly, Ryan is a scared kid with no idea what he did wrong. He lacks any relevant skills when it comes to rebelling, though he can’t imagine what they’d even expect him to do. Eventually, frowning, he says, "I can't do anything.”
Alex looks up at him and blinks. "What?"
"Anything useful," Ryan says. "I'm not really -- I'm not good at that."
"Okay," Alex says.
Ryan bites his lip. "But like, if they were looking for me -- I don't wanna give the impression that I'm particularly important, or that I’ll be at all useful or whatever.”
"Okay," Alex says again. “No big deal.”
Ryan stares at him, but Alex just rests his chin on his fist and smiles a little. Ryan says, "I mean, if there's something I can do. To help."
"That'd be cool," Alex says. "You want some breakfast?"
Ryan nods. Alex sets a plate down in front of him, and Ryan wolfs down the food without even paying attention to the flavor until he's almost done. “Hey, wait, hey, this is actually really good."
"Cooked it ourselves," Alex says and it shows as an obvious point of pride. Ryan is pretty used to rations, bland at best. There's color to his meal here, greens and reds and browns. "Black bean hash. I’m pretty sure it’s actually Sam’s recipe? Darren found the peppers for it, though. It doesn’t work without peppers.”
"Yeah," Ryan says. "Yeah, yes, thank you. Thank you." Ryan feels happy to be alive. Breakfast wakes him up, and he feels alert, now, and infinitely more awake. He looks sideways at Alex, who has such clear dark eyes. Ryan stares for a moment, then blanches, scooting back in his chair. "Oh, God. I forgot my sunglasses."
Alex laughs. Last night, Z wasn't wearing any either. No one else he's seen wandering through - there are at least two other people - had any. "That's probably for the best."
"But what if," Ryan says and then thinks about where he is and who these people have to be to have saved him. Ryan's not used to being allowed to look people in the eye, not strangers. He's not used to not having wireless and being able to pull up the HUD to get stats on where he is and who he's with and their entire personal and criminal backgrounds. "How am I," he starts, meaning to ask how he's supposed to check in for his rations, because he’s poor and can’t afford much else, but he looks back down at his plate. Right. Rebel underground, not relying so much on the government food supply. "Never mind."
"Yeah, things work pretty different here," Alex says. "You get used to it. Don't worry, I can, like, show you the ropes and everything. I'm going to need to get in on a call with some people in a bit here. I guess Casablancas is having some issues, and thinks I can give him good advice. Fuck if I know. But after that, okay? You can just hang around here for a bit."
"Okay," Ryan says. He isn't going to argue.
Alex looks down at him. He puts his hand on Ryan's shoulder, and for a moment Ryan thinks Alex is going to pat it or something weird like that, but Alex just leaves his hand there and cocks his head, says kindly, "This is probably all a bit overwhelming right now, but it's going to be okay. Seriously, we're cool guys." He grins, wicked and a little unexpected, though Ryan's not sure why that is.
"Okay," Ryan repeats, but he smiles back this time, and Alex nods and hurries away. Ryan sits and waits for a long time and constantly finds himself reaching for the bridge of his nose to push up his absent sunglasses.
Someone else sits down across from him after a while. Ryan can't check to see how long it's been. "Hey, I'm Darren. You're the Ross kid, right? Do you have a first name, or is Ross okay?"
Ryan is startled but then he remembers that no one down here can check either. "Oh, no, it's Ryan. I'm Ryan."
"Cool. Nice to meet you, man." Darren smiles at him, holding a hand out perpendicular to the table. Ryan stares at Darren's hand blankly.
Ryan looks back up at him, not sure what Darren is expecting. He blinks a few times, slowly, because his eyes feel dry.
"Not much of a talker, huh?"
Ryan blinks again and shrugs, and Darren laughs and claps his shoulder for a second and then turns away, back to what he was doing, though not in a mean way. Ryan's not much of a talker, really, but everyone seems pretty cool with just letting him drift around and do his thing.
At first he's wary about poking around, because he has no idea if -- he doesn't support the government, but he's seen a lot of bad press about the underground movements and maybe they'll take him off and torture him and all of this is just trying to lull him into a false sense of security. In the end, though, his curiosity gets the better of him, and he wanders around and pokes his head in doors and no one seems especially bothered when he interrupts. He watches two of them argue over something on the computer for a while until one of them notices him and says, “Oh, hey, new guy!”
Ryan just stares, then walks off to wander around a little more even though he’s mostly seen everything by now, and no one follows him or bothers him about it. They don't force conversation on him here, which Ryan likes. He hasn’t seen a clock in a while, but he’s hungry and thinks he remembers which hall to go down to get to the kitchen. He doesn’t see Alex, but Z is there, and one of the computer guys says, “Food’s on the stove, help yourself.”
Ryan looks down at the pot on the stove, then back over at the guy.
“What? Oh - yeah, bowls are in the cabinet right above, there.”
“Thanks,” Ryan says.
He goes to bed pretty early, but he tracks down Darren first, just to make sure it’s okay he’s sleeping where he is. “Did you,” he starts, and looks down.
“What’s up?” Darren says.
“Alex said you were thinking of taking the room I’m in,” Ryan says. “Before I was in it. You can have it, still, if you want, I’ll sleep on the floor or something.”
“No, it’s cool,” Darren says. “I can just take it whenever you decide to move on. I’ve been threatening to move in for months, I can hold off a little longer.”
The second morning he's there, Ryan spends a whole twenty minutes staring at the coffee maker, like it might do something without him actually touching it or putting in any coffee grounds, but the machine is stubbornly silent.
Alex shuffles in, sleepy-eyed in boxers and a ratty old striped shirt that drapes off him. The fabric looks really soft and light, and Ryan tries to figure out which of his friends it reminds him of the most, but he's not sure. Brendon's wardrobe usually fits pretty well, and Jon isn't one for stripes, but maybe one of the Nicks would wear that. Ryan decides it's a Nick shirt.
Alex gets out a fresh filter and then notices Ryan. "Did you need a little help there, buddy?"
"Uh," Ryan says. "There's not any coffee."
"No," Alex agrees, having to step around Ryan to get things ready. "There's not. I'm going to fix that."
"Thank you," Ryan says, softly. He smiles. "See, look, you just saved me again."
"I did?"
"I wouldn't have had coffee," Ryan says. "And I might have died. But you're a coffee mechanic."
"Oh, yeah, I got my certification and everything, you know." Alex nods, and then steps back waiting for the coffee to brew. "It's pretty tough working the machines every day. It takes its toll on a man."
"It's a hard life," Ryan agrees. "One I'm glad I don't have to lead."
"Oh, but you will," Alex says. "It's not all sunshine and daisies down here. Sometimes you even have to make your own coffee."
"Fuck." Ryan laughs a little, intentionally, because he wants to make sure Alex knows he caught the joke. "That's awful."
"Sometimes," Alex whispers, leaning in conspiratorially, "you even have to make coffee for other people."
"What?" Ryan asks, trying to sound taken aback and not sure if he manages. "Alex. Alex, hey, I'm not that kind of guy."
Alex sighs dramatically. "The things we do to get by. You're gonna have to get used to the way we do things 'round here, sugar."
Ryan snorts.
Alex says, "Anyway, whatever, few things - we don't usually keep any real creamer around, unless Jeff's being a little bitch again and sneaks some in. There's usually soymilk around, even though we have to make our own half the time, and there's usually sugar and whatever too. You don't have to drink it black all the time."
"Oh, good," Ryan says. He regards the machine warily, because it's making funny noises.
"Yeah, it's old," Alex says, laughing. "You get used to it."
"Okay," Ryan says. "Okay. If you say so. I'll trust you this time. That better be the truth."
-
The next day, around what Ryan hopes is lunchtime, Ryan manages to stub his toe against the wall. He stands there wincing for a second and picks his foot up and holds it tight where it hurts like the pressure might help. It doesn't, particularly, but it seems better than just cursing and whining about it.
There are five of them sitting around the table, with two chairs empty. They’re talking about some kind of file, and New York, which - that’s thousands of miles away and Ryan can’t work out why it matters but he doesn’t want to ask. One of them looks up and smiles. "Oh, hey, Ryan."
“Uh.”
“Oh, right, I’m Jeff,” he says, and introduces Sam, and Darren, even though Ryan’s already met Darren. “You know Alex already.”
“Yeah. Where’s Z?” Ryan asks, because he hasn’t seen her since yesterday and he liked her.
“She doesn’t really stay here most of the time,” Darren says. “She and her friends have their own place, but sometimes they’ll drop by, or we’ll go visit, if it’s not too sketchy up there.”
“Yeah.” Alex looks up at Ryan, like he's surprised Ryan is even there, and says, "You look like a bird."
Ryan looks down and considers the angles of his legs, the way he has his foot crossed in front. "What kind of bird?"
"Maybe a stork," Alex decides. "You've got the knees. And the skinny legs."
"I don't think I've ever seen a stork," Ryan admits after a moment.
"Just imagine you with feathers," Alex tells him helpfully.
Sam says, "Hey, anyway, so we were talking about some stuff."
"And things," Jeff says. "Stuff and things."
"Anyway," Sam says. "We were wondering - well, we were talking about who all we know that has room, and thought maybe if you wanted to get away from here, we could hook that up."
"What?"
"Like, we're happy to have you," Darren says. "But just in case you decided you wanted to be somewhere out of the city - it's a little safer out in the country. Or, hell, if you wait a week, there'll be this group traveling through, I think they're stopping at the Gray's place? And they'll be heading through just about anywhere you could ever want to go."
"You could go to New York," Alex says. "New York's really amazing. I was there for a year or so a while back."
"I've never been to New York, either," Ryan says, and then stops. He hopes this doesn't mean he's annoyed them all, and that he's getting kicked out already. Maybe they need the space he's taking up for something else. "I think - can I stay for a while, first, though? And think about it?"
"Yeah, no, of course," Jeff says. "You don't even have to leave, if you don't want to. Fresh blood keeps it interesting, right?"
"It's always nice to have somebody new to mess with," Darren tells him. "Alex is getting all predictable and shit, and Sam, well."
Sam flicks Darren off, but grins at Ryan and says, "Yeah, no, hang out with us for a bit. It's cool."
"You don't even have to do anything," Alex tells him. "Except, like, help with the chores. That's our big requirement. Dishes don't do themselves, and man, laundry."
"Fucking laundry," Jeff agrees. "If you can do the laundry, you can stay forever."
"Thanks," Ryan says, grateful and almost - not quite, he would rather be home - happy to be here. "Yeah, okay, thank you. Thank you. I can wash clothes. By hand, if I’ve got to.”
The food isn’t ready for a while after that, and Ryan is quiet while he eats, just listening to everyone else talk. He likes it better that way, trying to figure out everyone’s boundaries and personalities by observation, because he isn’t always quite ready to actually interact.
There's not a whole lot to do after lunch, though, and he feels kind of exhausted from the events of the past few days.
After meandering for a little while, he realizes he’s not quite sure which room is his, and doesn’t want to go poking doors open again. He ends up slumped in a corner, wriggling to get comfortable, and then he naps on the floor all curled in on himself with his hands underneath his cheek.
He wakes up when Alex pokes at his ribs, gently, and when Ryan blinks up Alex grins and says, "Hey, you want to sleep in an actual bed or anything? I can show you back to your room before I leave.”
Ryan says, voice rusty with sleep, "Where are you going?"
"I'm going to head further along the line," Alex says, "and you know, check some stuff out."
Ryan watches him. "Can I come too?" he asks, and Alex nods, holds out his hand to help Ryan to his feet.
-
Being outside and aboveground at this late hour is strange, and Ryan sticks close to Alex's side, sometimes falling a few steps behind because he doesn't want to seem too nervous. Up here, with the streetlights, everything is so much brighter than he remembers. It's night, but so much clearer, and Ryan finds himself wondering about daytime, if he'll ever get to see that again. Not that he ever saw it properly before. The sky is already bluer than he remembers.
Alex walks fast, but he talks to Ryan along the way, explaining little things - "Can't go down that street anymore because there's a checkpoint there, now. They just installed it maybe two weeks ago. It was bad enough when it was just buildings you couldn't go into, you know?"
Ryan thinks about how he's never going to see his apartment again, not that he owned a lot of things of value. He had some old records that, in hindsight, were probably illegal. "I guess so."
Alex says, "So yeah, we're going to see what's up at the 2300 block - nothing too crazy tonight. It's a little further than we usually go, but Sam was listening in on the dispatch and I guess some guy was taken in for gardening in an abandoned lot? Dude's been arrested already, but the plants aren't scheduled for seizure or destruction until tomorrow, so hey."
Ryan had thought maybe they were going to stage a daring rescue, break someone out of prison. Or try to find someone on the run from the law. Maybe meet some terrorist contact who would funnel them food and supplies and bomb-making materials. He hasn't actually seen anyone build any bombs, but they could be waiting for supplies, theoretically. Something exciting, anyway, except instead he's creeping around the back of a building, scanning his surroundings for any unexpected activity so they can steal fresh produce.
The air smells of fresh earth and of leafy things, and part of Ryan just wants to put his face down to the soil and appreciate it, but instead he keeps watch while Alex digs things up. There are greens Ryan doesn’t recognize, and root vegetables that pull up easy though they look a little small and early yet.
"Not as exciting as you expected, huh?" Alex keeps his voice even lower than before, and his body shakes a little with held-back laughter when Ryan stares wide-eyed and shakes his head.
Somewhere not too distant Ryan thinks he hears car tires on pavement, and he wonders if that's worth warning about, if that's the kind of thing he should be keeping lookout for, then decides that yes, yes, of course it is so he grabs for Alex's arm and they run, and Alex nearly trips and says, "Christ, what?"
Ryan shakes his head. He finds a fire escape to scramble up, because a few flights up he sees something they can hide behind. There aren't any open windows or lights on in the building. The metal structure squeaks and whines a little underfoot. He hopes it’s not too loud.
Alex's mouth narrows with disapproval but then he hears it too and he has the grace to look apologetic. A few car doors slam. They sit huddled close together, three flights up. They hide behind a messy pile of furniture and watch flashlights criss-cross where they just were and Alex puts a hand on the back of Ryan's neck and keeps it there. Ryan can't tell if it's supposed to be reassuring or to keep him still. It works both ways.
Alex still has a bunch of carrots in his other hand, held by the stalks, the tops a big leafy green spray of color.
The cops don't leave for another hour - their search only includes the ground, but they stand around occasionally sweeping the area with their flashlights, and Ryan closes his eyes and thinks about things like the color of the sky and what it must be like in Utah and how warm Alex's hand is.
They wait a while longer after the cops have left, and Alex whispers, "Up," so they go up to the roof instead of back down and walk along the rooftops of buildings pressed close together. They have to scale a brick wall at one point, but they're headed back the same general way they came until they hit an intersection. They head down another fire escape and travel at ground level from there. Alex still has the carrots in hand, even though he’s tucked the other greens away into his bag.
Ryan is hungry but he doesn't say anything about it. Carrots, he has learned, are very crunchy and loud when eaten raw.
Alex tells him, "We're gonna wander around a little bit before we go home," and Ryan figures it is home, now, and he likes that. Ryan smiles to himself, but since Alex smiles back Ryan figures that Alex can have at least a little of his smile. Just a bit.
-
"You!" Alex says a few nights later, and points a finger at Ryan.
Ryan looks up from the bowl of cereal he's eating dry. It's not a hugely appetizing meal, but there wasn't enough dinner for seconds and Ryan's still kind of hungry. "Me?"
Alex nods. "You need to come with me," he says.
"It's, like, half past ten," Ryan says. "Are we going out? I'm not sure I've recovered from the excitement of our last excursion."
"I have a surprise for you," Alex tells him, and grins, huge and confidential. Ryan bites his lip to keep from smiling, and stands up.
"All right," he says. Alex cheers.
Alex gives him a black sweater to pull on over the yellow shirt Ryan's wearing today so they can be more discreet. He's wearing a long black coat himself and he seems fairly confident, but Ryan can't help being a little bit nervous when they climb back up out of the basement and network of tunnels and into the night air. There's a dog barking somewhere nearby and Ryan shivers and walks a little closer to Alex, trying to match his footsteps to Alex's.
They don't wander as far as the other night, but they're walking further away from the city, anyway, into the hills. Alex leads Ryan to a big old house, and then they go through the garden and around the back, where there's a broken window.
Alex hands Ryan some rags to wrap his hands in, but most of the glass is gone anyway and Ryan doesn't get hurt climbing in through the window. Inside it's dark but furnished, and Ryan stands shivering with wide eyes until Alex tumbles in onto the carpet and laughs loudly.
"It's cool," Alex says. "There's nobody here, there was an old couple who lived here but the guy died and the woman left for a nursing home earlier this week. The people cleaning this out aren't being sent around until tomorrow."
"Okay," Ryan says. He squints around the dark. "Can we turn a light on, maybe?"
"It'd be a pretty obvious signal that we were breaking in if we did," Alex says, laughing. "But anyway, no. The electricity's shut off, and looters have already been here. They probably grabbed all the light bulbs and food in the pantry and stuff."
Ryan blinks. As his eyesight adjusts, he can see that the room does look like a bit of a mess; furniture thrown over or missing, what looks like the remains of a kitchen table; there are only the legs left now, badly hacked off from the surface. "What are we doing here, then?"
"Z told me about it," Alex says. "Come on."
He leads Ryan through the dark and up the stairs, rounding a corner and forcing open a tiny door. It's the attic, which is full of boxes and dust. Alex takes a flashlight out of his pocket and sets it up, pointing the light carefully away from the tiny filthy window.
"Okay," Alex says, a little out of breath from the stairs and the shoving of heavy boxes aside. "So, yeah, you know how you wanted to back to your apartment and get some stuff and that's - not a great idea, and I'm sorry, but. They've got a good stash of clothes here that didn't get touched. Z found them because she and her girls are really into like - retro sort of stuff, and they're pretty old-fashioned, but I thought maybe you might like some clothes you could pick out on your own, at least?"
"Oh," Ryan says. He grins, raking a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I mean." Alex brought him a big bag of clothes on his second or third day staying with them, explaining that they were hand-me-downs or things that didn't fit the others anymore, apologizing, but Ryan thought they were fine, and it had been cool. This, Ryan thinks, going over to open up the box that Alex was gesturing at, is cooler.
Alex sits and watches, offering commentary as Ryan goes through the boxes. He gets more and more amused, as Ryan pulls out vests and shirts with paisley patterns and goes into a little gleeful fit of delight when he finds an old blue blazer that looks like something from a marching band from long ago, a century old, even. There's a collection of hats, and scarves, though a few of them have had moths get at them pretty badly. Ryan picks out the ones with colors he likes, anyway, thinks that maybe he can make something out of them. There's a hat that he thinks would look awesome with a few fabric flowers, and Ryan had a friend a long time ago who showed him how to do that.
The pants are mostly a write off, because Ryan's taller than the man who used to live here. He finds two pairs of suit trousers that are longer, though, long enough that he'll only flash a little bit of sock when he's wearing them, and Ryan doesn't mind that so much. Mostly it's a landfall because of the truly amazing collection of shirts, and even Alex gets excited when Ryan unearths a couple of ponchos. Alex puts his on right away, over his coat, and sits there looking smug, his hair even more disheveled than usual. Ryan laughs and laughs, covering his mouth with his hand so he's not that loud, and Alex pretends to be offended.
Ryan finds a packet of guitar strings, too. There's no guitar in sight, and Ryan hasn't touched one in a long, long time, too long for him to justify the sharp, new ache in his stomach, but he stands there and holds them for a moment anyway. Alex comes up behind him and rests his chin on Ryan's shoulder, watching him.
"Do you play music?" he asks.
"A long time ago," Ryan says. He smiles. "And not very well. I was like -- I got really obsessed with old stories, you know, bands and touring and stuff. And my dad had a guitar that he gave me, even when you couldn't buy them anymore. But then they brought in the new sound laws and my dad threw it out, he didn't want to get in trouble, so."
"We've got some stuff," Alex says.
Ryan turns around and blinks. "Instruments?"
"Yeah," Alex says. "I -- they're not great, not really, just little things and we haven't got a guitar anymore. I, I broke mine a while ago, this guy got into the safehouse -- not the one we're in now, an old one -- and I hit him over the head with it."
Ryan gapes at him. "Did that work?"
"Well, it knocked him out," Alex says. "But it also broke my guitar, so."
"That sucks," Ryan says.
Alex gives him a small smile. "Yup."
Ryan looks at him for a moment, until Alex shrugs and breaks his gaze, looking away. "I'm going to keep the strings," Ryan says.
"Oh, yeah?" Alex blinks at him.
"You never know," Ryan says. "Be prepared."
Alex laughs. "Like the Disney movie?" he asks. "Or the Boy Scouts?"
"What?"
"Nothing," Alex says. "Nothing, I -- I'll show you some outdated pop culture some other time, never mind."
"Okay," Ryan says. He turns around and puts the guitar strings on top of the pile of things to keep, and when he turns around Alex is still watching him, eyes bright, so Ryan punches Alex in the shoulder. It's not the kind of gesture he usually makes, but he sort of wants to hug Alex and also knows that he might end up doing something really embarrassing like forgetting to let go if he did just now, so he settles for it. Alex laughs and says in a fussy little voice, "What is this, outright violence? I'm being abused by my dearest companion."
They get sidetracked from sorting through the boxes for a moment by having a quiet tickle fight. Alex works out Ryan's weak spot around his ribs pretty fast and Ryan falls onto the pile of clothes and it's all a little bit stupid, really, but it's a good night and Ryan forgets to be nervous.
The dawn is a surprise as they walk home. "Guess we were out longer than I meant," Alex says.
Ryan shrugs. "We don't have to do anything today, do we? We can totally just sleep."
"Yeah," Alex says. "Maybe in a little while? I'm not that tired just yet."
"Okay," Ryan says. He slants Alex a glance out of the corner of his eye. "You can show me your instruments, maybe."
"Hey, yeah." Alex beams. "I can do that. I have a mandolin, you know," he adds, and Ryan isn't quite sure what a mandolin is, has only ever read its name once or twice in old books, but he doesn't ask. He can wait for Alex to show him.
-
Ryan starts finding more things to do. Cooking takes up a fair amount of time, for example, and learning to do it takes even more because he keeps fucking up and needs a lot of oversight at first.
Darren chucks him a cookbook, and says, “Here, read the whole introduction. It’s got stuff about how to actually use kitchen utensils.”
“Oh, man,” Ryan says. “Is this a remedial level thing?”
“Yes,” Darren says, but he’s grinning so Ryan doesn’t feel too bad about it. “We’re hoping that some day you’ll actually graduate to being able to cook dinner unattended.”
“I can cook stuff,” Ryan says, defensively.
“Okay, you did make oatmeal that one time,” Darren says. “And only a little of it stuck to the bottom of the pot, that’s true.”
“It was hardly even burnt,” Ryan says, defensive, because it was really only the stuff at the very bottom, and he only forgot to stir for a little while.
“Yeah, fine,” Darren says. “You let me be the one to cook the oatmeal this morning, and I’ll let you read the cookbook. Deal?”
“That’s. Both of those are things you want to happen.”
“So it’s a deal, right?”
“Fine,” Ryan says, flouncing down in one of the mismatched chairs at the kitchen table. An old science textbook props up one of the legs, keeping the table even, and Ryan rests one bare foot on it and runs his toes up against the pages and the edges of the cover.
Sam comes in for a second, to ask if breakfast is almost ready, and when Darren tells him yes he wanders back off to fetch Alex and Jeff.
“Morning,” Ryan says to all of them, without really looking up, because he’s kind of fascinated with all the things you’re supposed to have if you want a well-stocked kitchen, like flour and salt and all these herbs and shit. “Darren, do we have dried beans?”
“Yes.”
“How about,” he says, running down the list with his finger. “Rosemary.”
“Probably,” Darren says. He pauses. “Jeff, do we have any rosemary left?”
“Nah, Sam made that sauce last month.” Jeff leans over to poke Sam in the arm. “The one you burned so we couldn’t even really eat it.”
“Yes, I remember,” Sam says. “I was there.”
“Why?” Darren asks. “You want it for something?”
“Just wondering.” Ryan shrugs and looks back down.
“Oh, hey, Ross,” Alex says. “Guess what I found the other night.”
“Uhm,” Ryan says. “Rosemary?”
“No, unfortunately.” Alex laughs a little, looking oddly pleased. “It’s better. You’re gonna like this. I’ve got a project for you, even.”
“Finally, some direction in my aimless and tragic life,” Ryan says dryly, and Alex nods solemnly at him.
“I don’t want you squandering your youth and falling in with the wrong sort,” Alex says. “It’s important to give a person structure in their life. Keeps ‘em from the dark side of the force.”
“The - right.” Ryan nods like he caught the joke, because he’s sure there was one there. “Of course, you’re right. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“Anyway, it can wait until after breakfast.”
“What? No. It can’t.”
Alex sighs, and turns to Darren, solemnly telling him, “I cannot teach him. The boy has no patience.”
“He will learn patience,” Darren says, equally serious, staring wide-eyed at Alex.
Ryan frowns, sinking down into his seat a little in the hopes that maybe sulking will get Alex to tell him what’s going on, but it doesn’t work so he just finishes his breakfast instead, and rinses his dish out while he waits for everyone else to be done too.
“Oh, are you doing dishes?” Jeff asks cheerfully.
“No,” Ryan says. “It’s your turn.”
“But you’re at the sink already,” Jeff says. “And you started cleaning that dish. Might as well do the rest, right?”
“I don’t want to set a bad example.” Ryan steps back from the sink, wiping his hands on his pants. “Like, what would it - what would Sam think if he saw me just letting you get out of doing them? Huh? What about Darren? They’ve got impressionable minds.”
“It’s true,” Sam says. “We do. Show us the light, Jeff.” He gets to his feet, giving Jeff his empty dish, and Darren stacks his right on top of that in Jeff’s hands.
Alex says, “Aha, you’re catching on. Now, c’mon, hup. Follow me.”
Ryan nods, following along after Alex, and - “I know how to get to my room.”
“Yes,” Alex says. “But do you know how to get to your room with paint?”
“No, what? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“But it does,” Alex says, leaning down to grab a can of paint. There’s another one sitting next to it, but he leaves it where it is. “I tossed some brushes on your bed. I kind of figured, you know. White walls are boring, yeah? Might as well go to town on it, and I thought it’d be fun, maybe?”
“Oh, yeah,” Ryan nods eagerly. “Yeah, okay. What color is it?”
“We’ve got.” Alex frowns, hoisting the can up to get a better look at the lid. “Some weird green, and I think the other one’s orange.”
Ryan beams, resisting the urge to clap his hands together. “Awesome.”
They spend the better part of the morning painting curlicues and swirls and flowers in Ryan’s room, until Alex gets the idea to take up most of one wall with a T-Rex. Ryan paints a little police officer waving his night-stick ineffectively under the dinosaur’s raised foot, or at least, that’s what it’s supposed to be. It’s more just a stick figure with a funny hat on, but the intention is there, which Ryan feels is good enough.
The T-Rex, at least, is pretty cool.
“See,” Alex says, as he’s finishing painting on some scientifically inaccurate spikes down the T-Rex’s back. “Now it’s actually your room. It’s got - panache.”
“Panache,” Ryan laughs, and he might be a little loopy from the paint fumes. He reaches over with his paint brush, getting Alex on the nose with some of the orange.
Alex scrunches up his nose, crossing his eyes before squinting at Ryan. “Oh, no fair,” he says, and lunges after Ryan with the green. Ryan’s already darting away, even though the room isn’t that big and there isn’t much of anywhere to go so he ends up with a long stripe down his arm, carrying onto the back of his shirt.
A lot of paint ends up on the floor as they both try to even the score, and more of it ends up on their clothes, and eventually Ryan sits down laughing and out of breath. “Oh, wow, I need fresh air.”
“Yeah,” Alex agrees.
“And a shower, probably,” he says, sort of contrite about having started the whole thing.
“Oh, no,” Alex says. “No, now I have to actually shower. Damn it, Ryan, I was going for a record.”
“What? How long has - when did you last shower, dude?”
Alex shrugs.
“How can it be a record if you don’t even keep count?”
“It just can,” Alex tells him, leaning forward with one hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “It can. You have to trust me on this. Believe in me.”
“Okay,” Ryan nods, and then laughs, nearly falling over backwards because Alex has sneakily kept hold of his paintbrush and painted a streak across one of Ryan’s cheeks. Alex pounces on Ryan, pinning him down for just long enough to get the other one so he’s got a matching set of lines under his eyes. Ryan nearly raises his hands to try and wipe it off but thinks better of it, laughing instead. “Fuck you. That was a low blow.”
“Yeah, but now you’re ready for the big game,” Alex says, informative and helpful as ever.
“Hmm.” Ryan gets back up, rubbing the back of his hand across his forehead before realizing he’s just smeared more paint all over his hair. “Ah, fuck.”
“It’s a good look.” Alex grins up at him, because Alex, the lazy fucker, is still sitting on the floor.
“C’mon, the paint fumes are fucking with my head,” Ryan says.
“Yeah, yeah,” Alex says. “Right. Okay. Up I go.” He doesn’t quite have the balance to actually get to his feet, so Ryan reaches out a hand and helps hoist him up, and he tries to ignore the fingerprints Alex’s grip leaves behind.
-
One morning, a few weeks later, Ryan gets a vacuum shoved into his hands and everyone spends the whole morning cleaning until a bunch of strangers show up, more than they have room for, and they seem to expect hospitality and Ryan has to hang one guy’s jacket up for him and fetch a glass of water for one woman. It’s all a bit frantic and no one bothers to tell Ryan what’s going on for far too long.
Eventually, when things have quieted down a little, Alex explains that it's actually just a bunch of people who are travelling across the country -- they go through all the cities, trying to spread word about how to get out and also because settling down is dangerous, they're high risk profiles. A truckload of them arrive to stay in Alex's safehouse for three days because the other people willing to take on guests are full up. If these are just the leftovers, Ryan wonders what it’s like elsewhere.
"So,” Alex explains, quietly, sitting right next to Ryan on the couch. Some of the guys staying with them are playing a raucous game of Scrabble, one of them insisting that Spanish should be allowed since they all need the practice with it anyway. “So some of these guys are going to be heading down to Mexico, right? I mean, the group’s splitting off here, but they’re headed to Mexico.”
“Okay, yeah,” Ryan says, because Darren told him that maybe ten minutes ago, oddly expectant, and Ryan doesn’t know what they want him to say. He’s been to Mexico before.
“I just - they offered, if we had anybody who wanted to go,” Alex says. “And like, I’m not going, and I don’t think the other guys are either, but I thought - you’d be pretty safe down there. You could try and find a job, and go swimming, or whatever, you know? There’s not a lot of work down there, but you could probably scrape by. There’re people who’d help you out as, like, a refugee.”
“Oh,” Ryan says.
“And it’s not like you’re that big a deal,” Alex says. “So the Mexican government wouldn’t bother with extradition or anything. They’ve been pretty fussy about that lately anyway.”
Ryan says, “What? I am too a big deal,” and is kind of - he and Jon went on a vacation to Mexico when Ryan was nineteen, four years ago now, before more travel restrictions were placed and they couldn't afford it anymore, and it was good down there, really amazing weather and wildlife and some of the cities seemed nice. Ryan thinks maybe he could do that, he could move there. He thinks about late nights breaking into houses and out of tune instruments and the packet of guitar strings he is still holding on to just in case. He thinks about a city he’s still getting to know, in whole new ways now, even though he’s lived here for years.
"No thank you," Ryan says, eventually.
"No?” Alex asks. “But -“
"It's okay," Ryan says, and Alex doesn't argue further. At dinner time, though, even though food is kind of stretched thin because of all the extra people, he is pretty sure he gets a little extra on his plate, and he is sure of it at dessert.
After dinner, trying to figure out sleeping arrangements, they realize that every bed is necessary and there are mattresses spread across the floor and Alex says, "Uh, hey, did you maybe want to crash with me? That frees up a bed and then we can, you know, economize and stuff."
Ryan blinks at him, and says, “Yeah, sure.”
Alex grins quickly at him and goes to explain to the bossy guy in charge of the new arrivals that yes, he's found another bed for the last two people, if they don't mind sharing, and that it's totally fine.
There's three people sleeping on mattresses on the floor in the same room with Ryan and Alex, and it feels a bit surreal, getting ready for bed, especially with Alex complaining in a harsh whisper about the guy in charge. "I mean, I get that it would be stressful and shit," he says, "but like. Stop being such a jerkwad, right?"
"Jerkwad," Ryan repeats solemnly, and Alex grins at him.
"Anyway," he says, "I forgot to change the sheets, sorry, and there's, like, none at all spare just now, but I washed them the other week? So it's not too gross, anyway."
"It's cool," Ryan says, a little surprised. He hasn't even thought of that, really, and he kind of likes it, when he climbs in. He likes the smell of fresh sheets, too, the way they smell when they've been dried recently enough that they still retain a little bit of warmth, but Alex's blanket is soft and worn and it smells like Alex, like the pillows smell like Alex, and Ryan curls up and tries not to sniff too obviously at them. It's not a weird thing, he doesn't think, it's just comforting, especially with a bunch of strangers living in the place he's kind of been clinging onto for safety of late -- strangers whose presence would have them all in serious trouble if they got found, too.
Ryan's cold, is the thing. It's turning into winter and normally they get a couple of blankets each, but they've had to share them out and Ryan's shivering, pulling his knees up as high as he can without hogging too much of the bed. His teeth are starting to chatter, too, and he tries to keep it quiet, not to disturb Alex. Alex is lying very close.
"Ryan," Alex whispers, like he's not sure if Ryan's awake, and Ryan says,
"Yeah?"
"Dude," Alex says, and laughs short and hushed. "It's fucking freezing."
"Yup," Ryan agrees, because it is, and Alex rolls over and looks at him. Their faces are close now, too, and if Ryan shifted even a little his nose would nudge Alex's. He touches Alex's nose with his finger instead, light and quick and says again, "Yup. Your nose is cold."
"Is that how you can tell?" Alex asks.
"Maybe," Ryan says. "I don't know. With dogs, it is."
"Really?" Alex shifts a little, propping his head up on his hand, elbow sinking into the pillow. "I thought that dogs are meant to have cold noses. That's how you can tell they're not sick, or whatever."
"Oh." Ryan admits, "I never actually had a dog."
"Me either," Alex says. "Sucks."
"Yeah," Ryan agrees. Alex blinks at Ryan, and Ryan thinks it's strange, how long Alex's eyelashes are, the way they lie against his cheek. He's never noticed before. Alex huffs out a laugh and says, "Hey, hey -- just -- c'mere?" and Ryan moves gratefully, without thinking, wraps one arm around Alex's back, and Alex tucks his chin over Ryan's head and shoves his feet in between Ryan's shins. his feet are freezing even though Ryan's pajama pants and Ryan huffs a laugh.
"Okay?" Alex says, and Ryan makes an agreeable kind of noise. They’ll have to sleep like this tomorrow and the next night, and realizing that, Ryan's not so cold anymore. He tucks a piece of Alex's hair behind Alex's ear so that it isn't tickling Ryan's cheek anymore and then he closes his eyes and goes to sleep.
Getting through the narrow halls in the morning is frustrating with so many new people here, since none of them know where they’re going. Ryan just wants to brush his teeth and grab breakfast but he has to press up against walls to let people wander past far too often.
Portions at mealtimes are a bit smaller for everyone, because everything needs to be stretched so much further, and Darren and Sam both seem to be spending as much time up aboveground as possible. Ryan doesn’t blame them. He just wishes he’d been asked along, even though he’s not skilled at anything in particular, just so he wouldn’t be down here listening to people whine about how much nicer it is in New York than LA, or ill-considered plans for Mexico.
Alex is busy during the day, playing the good host and housekeeper; when the toilet gets stopped up, he’s the one who has to fix it. He oversees the cooking of lunch, and he talks shop with the group leader for a while, and asks after people and gives advice about Mexico and getting back to New York. Ryan tries hard not to eavesdrop too much, but he doesn’t have anything to contribute so he wanders off again and tries to find a quiet place.
The computer room is off limits to their guests, at least, so Ryan hangs out in there with Jeff for a while. Jeff has hold of a broken pair of sunglasses he managed to find while dumpster diving a while back, and he’s messing with the code. Ryan doesn’t understand any of it, but he watches anyway.
After the group finally leaves, seen off with a miniature jam session and the flourish of the mandolin, Ryan gets to return to his own bed. Even with multiple blankets it isn't the same kind of warmth he’s already used to. He doesn’t sleep well that first night, not at all.
He wakes up because there are people talking out in the hall, and he cracks the door open and leans his head out to ask what’s happening.
Sam says, “I was listening to the police dispatch again, right, when there was a bulletin out for a girl, blonde, early twenties, last seen wearing a grey dress and red flats and without her sunglasses. Named Greta Salpeter, wanted for seditious activity, a noise complaint, and having too many people in her residence.”
"So she's wanted for a party," Ryan says.
"Yeah, probably." Alex is lacing up his boots.
"Sounds like." Darren buttons up his coat, pulling on a hat and scarf. None of them seem surprised that Ryan is awake.
Ryan goes for his own shoes and coat, but Alex says, "No, you're staying here. Keep an ear on the radio, make sure nothing else goes down. This is different from a food run."
Ryan stares at Alex, defiant, and starts to do up his coat.
Alex sighs and stands, putting a hand over Ryan's, stilling him. "No."
"Okay," Ryan says, hanging his head. He's so much better at meeting people's eyes now, but right now he just can't. "She can - my sheets are clean. When you get back, she can have my bed."
"Okay," Alex says, and smiles. There are dark circles under his eyes and he looks so tired. "That makes things easier. Okay. We'll be back soon."
Hours go by and Ryan sits at the desk with his arms folded, rests his head on them eventually and listens to the radio chatter. A lot happens that night, little things, noise complaints and domestic disturbances and a robbery or two. The dispatchers make fun of a call about barking dogs but then send officers to the scene anyway to put the animals down since they’re a threat to public safety.
Sam comes and sits for a while and they talk about music but nothing else important and eventually Sam goes back to bed. Ryan was told to keep listening, though, and he struggles to keep his eyes open but he’s awake when it matters.
-
next