fic: Made of Silver, Not of Clay (2/2)

[unphoenix]

Title: Made of Silver, Not of Clay 
Word Count: 13,622
Rating: R
Pairings: Brendon/Ryan, Pete/Mikey
Disclaimer: The concept is mine, the boys are not.  More's the pity.
Summary: Brendon wakes up to a world devoid of people.  At least, most people.
Notes: So...this is only sort of an AU, in that in reality, it could not have happened (I think), but it is....kind of?...set in our universe.  At least....well, I suppose you'll see, if you're reading it.  MUCH thanks goes out to

monanoche, without whom there would be no cafe, no name for Mr. Fluffy, and no beta.  Possibly, no story, considering how much she told me WRITE IT.  So, thank you.<3  Now, without further ado:

Part 1


“We might want to get a different car, or something.”

It had been ages since Brendon had been this embarrassed about driving his mom’s old, slightly beat-up purple minivan, but as he and Ryan carted bags of books out to the parking lot, his cheeks were flushed. They stopped beside the minivan and Ryan tilted his head to one side. “Why?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“Well…” Brendon gestured expansively at it, “it’s…it’s kind of…purple. And ugly.”

Ryan sucked one side of his lip into his mouth and blinked owlishly in the sunlight, pulling open the unlocked back door and hefting the bag that he was carrying inside. “So?” he asked, “I want to take it. It’s yours.”

The answer wasn’t what Brendon had been expecting, but he grinned at the ground and kicked a pebble at the front tires. “Okay,” he agreed, “We can take this.”

Ryan really liked things that belonged to Brendon. As they’d packed up books and a couple sets of clothes this morning (they weren’t taking a whole lot, since they could stop and get anything they needed practically anywhere), he’d said quietly, “Can I see your house before we go?” so that was going to be their first stop.

There were a few things Brendon wanted from his house anyway, though not many. While Ryan walked through the house, trailing his fingers over things, Brendon grabbed Mr. Fluffy and a family photo from his room, and then jogged back down the stairs. “Ready?” he asked Ryan, who was examining a dried flower arrangement with interest.

Turning away from the flowers (Brendon thought dried flowers were creepy. They were dead.), Ryan picked at his cuticle and shook his head. “No,” he said, “I want to…I want…you. In your bedroom.”

Heart somewhere around his throat, all Brendon could do was nod as Ryan took Mr. Fluffy and the picture out of his hands and set them on the counter, linking his fingers with Brendon’s and heading for the stairs.

Having Ryan in his bedroom seemed surreal to Brendon, as though his Before world was colliding with his Now in a way that it was never meant to do. Or perhaps it was in the way that it had always been meant to. He wondered if there was a Ryan who existed back in whatever world he’d left behind.

At the top of the steps, Brendon took the lead, pulling Ryan down the corridor past his siblings’ rooms to his own, which had only recently stopped boasting a bunk bed. “This is me,” he remarked, flinging his arms open dramatically.

Ryan looked amused (Brendon had never actually seen him laugh), and moved closer, wrapping his arms around Brendon’s chest. They both went to kiss at the same time, and as a result, their mouths came together harder than intended, and Brendon giggled into the kiss. Everything seemed more acute now that he was kissing a guy in his bedroom, even if his family would never know.

Then (and Brendon had had no idea that Ryan was this strong), Ryan actually picked him up, Brendon’s legs automatically going around Ryan’s waist. Ryan carried him the few steps to the bed, tumbling them both down on top of the covers and rubbing against Brendon, whose thighs were still clamped on either side of Ryan’s hips.

Both boys moaned, and it felt more real than anything had in the last few months. This was just sex, just BrendonandRyan, not some alternate plane of existence where Brendon didn’t know any of the rules.

Ryan had his hands on Brendon’s face again, and one of his thumbs slipped over to push against the edge of Brendon’s mouth, so Brendon turned his head enough to suck it into his mouth. He could feel Ryan shudder and thrust against him harder, and he had the feeling that this was going to be messy if they didn’t lose some clothes pretty soon. That idea fell by the wayside when he was distracted by Ryan sliding his thumb out and his index and middle fingers in instead.

His fingers tasted faintly flowery, probably from some hand lotion, and Brendon mumbled around them, “Sometime I’m going to suck you off like this.” The words were garbled by his full mouth, but judging by the way that Ryan’s bucking hips got even more desperate, he’d understood well enough.

Impressively, Ryan was still clear-headed enough to take his free hand and unbutton both of their pants and shove their shirts up slightly. He got both of their cocks free, wrapping his hand around both of them together, and it was about four strokes before Brendon was coming with an unintelligible collection of sounds. Ryan followed him pretty quickly, and they actually managed to contain the mess to their stomachs and Ryan’s hand.

“So,” Brendon said, sitting up on his elbows, “We’re going to the ocean together.”

It was strange to be driving with absolutely no one else on the roads at all. Judging speed was almost impossible with no one else to measure against. Ryan always drove faster than Brendon did, and didn’t seem to have the same temptations that Brendon did to pause at stop signs when they pulled off the highway to get more gas, or food, or new CDs.

When they could, they kept away from big cities, because it was eerie to be in them when no one else was there. It still felt like they were being watched, so they kept mainly to open areas and small towns.

Brendon hadn’t ever seen this much of the country, and even though Ryan seemed like he would have been happy enough to just drive straight to the East Coast, Brendon insisted on stopping now and then at natural tourist attractions. He wished he’d remembered to bring his camera, and then ended up just picking up a few of them in a Circuit City somewhere in Utah.

As they crossed Colorado, it rained again, real thunderstorms with crackling lightning that lit up the whole sky. Ryan pulled over and climbed out of the car, sitting up on the hood even though Brendon told him that was stupid and he was going to get himself killed. Eventually he had to give up, and clambered up next to him, cheek on top of Ryan’s head while Ryan leaned against Brendon’s chest and they both got soaked.

By this time, Brendon could always tell when Ryan was lying to him, because Ryan always looked him right in the eye when he did. The range of things he lied about was huge-anything from, “I’m not cold,” to “I don’t miss him.” Honestly, Brendon didn’t mind too much, because he knew the difference between the lies and the truth.

Besides, when Ryan whispered, “I love you,” brushing warm, rain-damp lips against Brendon’s ear, he wouldn’t meet Brendon’s eyes-and he always held Brendon’s gaze when he was lying.

It took three days to get across the country, including various stops here and there, and they wound up in New Jersey. Originally Brendon had been aiming for New York, but Ryan decided that was too much of a cliché, so they followed the signs and made it into New Jersey instead.

When they got off the freeway to pick up some more water and peanut butter, they probably would have missed the two boys entirely if they hadn’t been standing, kissing, in the middle of the street. Brendon, who was driving at the time, was so shocked that he whipped the wheel around to the left and stepped on the brakes hard, screeching to a stop just shy of a tree.

“Jesus,” he said, staring through the windshield with shaking hands as Ryan’s jaw dropped.

They scrambled out of the car at almost the same time, meeting in front and catching hands. For awhile, after he’d met Ryan, Brendon had thought maybe there were other people like them out there, stranded, floating through this strange existence. By now, he’d stopped expecting to meet anyone else.

As the two boys on the road detangled themselves, the shorter one moved slightly in front of the other-protectively, Brendon thought. They were both wearing tight jeans and Converse sneakers, and the taller had a Midtown T-shirt and plastic-rimmed glasses, while the other wore a black sweatshirt reading “love can’t save you,” with the hood up.

All the four of them froze for a minute, studying one another, until finally Brendon offered, “Hi.”

Slowly a smile spread over the first guy’s face, bright and open. “Hi,” he replied, “Who are you guys? And where did you come from?”

“I’m Brendon,” Brendon told him, “And this is Ryan. We’re from…Las Vegas, actually.” He nodded towards Ryan, who was looking as though he was trying to remember something, but couldn’t quite. Finally, he just raised a hand and gave a tiny wave.

The guy’s grin grew. “Brendon and Ryan,” he repeated, “Dude, it’s good to meet you guys. I thought it was just us left. Oh. I’m Pete, and this is Mikey. We’re in love.”

The statement was bald and challenging, and Brendon was taken aback.  He squeezed Ryan’s hand a little tighter and nodded. “Cool,” he said.

Mikey wrapped his arms around Pete’s neck and scooted a little closer, so that Pete petted his hands absently. “Nice vest,” he said to Ryan, and then, “Do you guys want to come with us? We live just around the corner.”

Hesitantly, Brendon glanced to Ryan, who nodded and said, “Thanks,” shyly.

Just around the corner turned out to actually be about half a mile or so, and Brendon was kind of wishing that they had driven. That probably meant that he was even more out of shape than usual-unsurprising considering that for the last however long the most exercise he’d gotten was walking across the mall or to the grocery store. It didn’t help that Pete set a brisk pace, and Mikey was apparently deceptively fast. Stealth speed, Brendon thought, and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

When Pete finally did stop, throwing his arms wide and announcing, “Ta-da!” Brendon could only stare. In front of them was a huge bus-a tour bus, it looked like. It was parked in the otherwise-empty back lot of a shitty bar, paint peeling from being constantly in the sun.

“Um,” he said weakly, “You live…in the bar?”

It seemed like a long shot, and indeed, Pete’s enthusiastic grin dimmed a little. He shook his head. “No. The bus. We live on the bus.”

For the first time, Mikey spoke, voice soft, but still radiating pride. “Pete drove it all the way here from Chicago to find me. He knew that with the rest of the world gone I’d be waiting for him.”

“Always, Mikeyway,” Pete said, both of them turning in towards each other until they looked lost in their own private world. Brendon wondered if that’s what it looked like to observers when he and Ryan talked. Well, assuming there were people to be observers.

Coughing with a touch of embarrassment, Brendon interjected, “Hey, I think I’m going to go back and get our car. It’s got all our stuff in it.”

Pete nodded without taking his eyes off of Mikey, and something prickled in Brendon’s spine. “Okay,” he said distractedly, running a hand through Mikey’s hair, “We’ll be here when you get back.”

“I’m coming with you,” Ryan told him, and Brendon nodded in relief, practically pulling a put-out-looking Ryan away in his haste to get out of earshot.

Once they had a block in between themselves and Pete and Mikey (PeteandMikey, from the impression Brendon was getting), Brendon slowed down a little. “Okay,” Ryan huffed, “What was that about?”

“Don’t they seem…” Brendon grasped for words that would describe it, “Doesn’t something about them seem…off? Not right?”

Face softening, Ryan wrapped an arm around Brendon’s waist so that their hips bumped together when they walked. It made the going a little harder, but Brendon just sighed and held on. “Yeah,” Ryan replied, “But I don’t think it’s dangerous. I think that they’ve been here for a very long time. And that they always will be.”

Brendon stopped walking. “What?” he asked, “Why? And, do you think we’ll always be here?”

An elusive smile slipped across Ryan’s face for a moment before his expression became enigmatic again. “That’s how they are,” he said simply, with a shrug, “And I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not.”

Pulling gently at Brendon, he started walking again, and Brendon let himself be led. Earlier that day it had been warm, summery, but it had settled into a chilly evening, and he didn’t have a hoodie on. The sooner they got to the car, the better, in Brendon’s opinion.

Driving back, Ryan fiddled with the CD player, even though it was only a two-minute drive.  They ended up staying in the car after they’d pulled into the gravelly parking lot, because from the sounds emanating from the bus, they weren’t going to be welcome inside yet. At least, Brendon assumed so, although he wasn’t sure if Pete and Mikey would even notice their presence.

“Hey,” he said to Ryan, “put on that one song. You know, the…the…I don’t know, the one I told you I liked? The one that goes…”

Without even thinking about it, he started singing.

Ryan stopped what he was doing and turned his head slowly, eyes wide as he looked at Brendon with something akin to amazement.

“…what?” Brendon asked, as he dropped out of the line that he was on.

Then Ryan was on top of him in the driver’s seat, smiling, really smiling, the corner of his lip cracking a little and bleeding because he so rarely used the expression. Brendon was pretty sure that his heart dipped and tried to burst, at that. As he clambered onto Brendon, Ryan smacked into the horn, and it honked loudly, so that both boys giggled. Giggled. Ryan. Brendon didn’t think he would ever get over that, not ever.

“What, Ryan?” he asked again, still laughing, settling his arms around Ryan’s waist and holding him clear of the horn.

“You can sing,” Ryan replied, breathless, as though it was a complete novelty. “I never knew…you never did that before. I’ve never heard something like that that wasn’t a recording, and all this time you were there.”

“I always sing,” Brendon answered automatically, and then paused, considering. “Well, at least, I used to,” he amended, “I guess I haven’t at all since the…since I ended up here. It just didn’t feel right.”

“Always sing, then, alright?” Ryan said, and it was less of a question and more of a command. “Always, always, Brendon.”

Still grinning, Brendon said, “Yeah. I’ll sing for you anytime, Ryan. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Ryan said, and there was no hesitation. Their eyes met, then, and Ryan leaned in to press a soft kiss to Brendon’s mouth. “I love you always, through every reality.”

A tap on the window startled both of them so badly that Ryan leaned back against the horn again for a good ten seconds. When their moment of frantic terror was over, they turned to see Pete leaning against the door and Mikey hovering behind him, so Brendon rolled down the window with narrowed eyes. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Are you guys coming in, or what?” Pete said, seemingly unaware that he might have interrupted anything.

Disbelievingly, Brendon stared until he realized that Pete was serious, and then sighed, smiled out the window, and said, “Yeah, we are.”

Just as he reached for the car door handle, Ryan took Brendon’s hand and held it up to his face, kissing each fingertip and then the palm. While his mouth was in the middle of Brendon’s hand he whispered, “Later.” The words vibrated against Brendon’s skin, and he shivered.

Since Ryan was on top, he climbed out of the car first, when Brendon right on his heels. They’d delayed long enough that Mikey and Pete had gone back inside, and just before they walked up the few steps to the bus, Brendon pulled Ryan into a lingering kiss that left them both flushed and wearing smiles that indicated happy secrets.

They’d been invited in already, so Brendon opened the door without a second thought, but stopped in the doorway so quickly that Ryan ran into him and then wrapped his arms around Brendon’s waist to keep from falling.

Inside, Pete was standing with his hands thrown up in the air, yelling something that Brendon backed out the door too quickly to hear much of. He thought he caught the name “Patrick,” and something about something being gone, somewhere in the diatribe. Mikey’s voice was battling Pete’s viciously, crescendoing on, “Well sorry, Pete, I love you.”

On the steps behind Brendon, Ryan was standing firmly, not looking as upset as Brendon had expected, but Brendon pulled him closer anyway, holding tight. Ryan made a little soft sound into his ear, and then whispered sensibly, “Maybe we should knock.”

It was such an obvious solution, and Brendon replied, “Oh. Yeah.” Turning back to the door he knocked loudly, and when Pete flung open the door, he looked ruffled and bright-eyed in a way that made Brendon suspect that in the short time between what he’d witnessed of the fight and now, angry words had turned into impassioned, hair-pulling kisses. Brendon did not understand these two.

Then again, he’d gotten used to not understanding things, so it wasn’t really anything new.

“Hey,” Pete said, stretching his mouth into a smile, “Come in. We were going to make pancakes for dinner.” Stepping aside to let them in, Pete almost ran right into Mikey, who caught him by the wrists and whispered something. When Pete turned around to kiss him, it looked so intimate that Brendon pulled Ryan towards the kitchen, away from the Moment.

Long seconds later, there was rustling as Pete and Mikey stepped apart, and Pete said too loudly, “Okay, so, there’s soda in the fridge if you want it, and coffee in the pot because we have to keep Mikey plied with caffeine at all times.” In a few seconds, everyone was in motion, breaking through the awkward, tense air.

Even though Pete jumped around, getting them all to “help” making “dinner,” it was really Mikey who got most of the credit. Pete’s pancakes kept getting burnt because he couldn’t stand still in front of the stove, Ryan’s were underdone because he fussily tried to take them off every few seconds, lest they burn like Pete’s, and Brendon-well, the one he made was alright, but he kind of spilled batter everywhere. Mikey, though, could apparently turn out perfect pancakes effortlessly.

Once they were all sitting down around the little table, Brendon all-but moaning at how good real pancakes with butter and syrup tasted, Mikey admitted, “That’s the only thing I can cook, practically, besides coffee. Normally I don’t mess with the kitchen.”

It was the most Brendon had heard Mikey say at one time, and he felt strangely proud, as though he’d done something to make Mikey more comfortable with them.

Pete jumped in with, “Yeah, I like it when I can show him off,” before launching into a long-winded story about Mikey almost burning the bus down when he was trying to make scrambled eggs and sausage that had Brendon doubled over laughing by the end. Mikey gave them a chagrinned smile, but didn’t look particularly put-out about being laughed at, and Ryan actually chuckled, too.

To Ryan’s reaction, Brendon thought, I made that possible.

After dinner, in a very domestic way, Ryan offered to help Pete with dishes. Five minutes later, Brendon heard them discussing some novel that they’d both read, Pete making loud commentaries that had soap bubbles flying through the air, and Ryan shyly venturing quiet opinions of his own. While that was going on, Mikey gave Brendon a “tour,” including pointing out which bunks were free for him and Ryan.

They played Pictionary that night. Pictionary. Brendon was struck by how-overly normal a thing to be doing Pictionary seemed, but Pete insisted that, “We’ve only had the two of us for so long, and now we have enough for teams.” Brendon was also delighted when he discovered that even though Ryan didn’t know how to play, he picked it up quickly, had a great vernacular, and was a decent drawer.

By the time they went to bed, Brendon was happier than he’d been in a long time, particularly when, as soon as they’d dropped into the bunk, Ryan hovered over him, bracketing Brendon’s shoulders with his arms and saying heatedly, “I think it’s later, now.”

When Brendon rolled over the next morning, mumbling Ryan’s name, his hands and words fell on empty air. Immediately his eyes snapped open, and he breathed out, “Ryan?” again. There hadn’t been a single morning since he’d met Ryan that Brendon hadn’t woken up next to him, and the sinking in the pit of his stomach coincided with the innate knowledge that Ryan had not just gone out to the bus lounge, or the kitchen, or the car.

Ryan was gone. Completely.

Eyes wide and dry, Brendon rose shakily to his feet and walked out of the bunk area. Mikey and Pete were curled together on the couch watching a movie-it was something set in Victorian London that made Brendon think of Ryan even more. “Ryan’s gone,” he greeted them, and both their heads snapped around. Mikey, Brendon noted, looked particularly sympathetic.

“Sometimes they get what they needed,” Pete said quietly, as if this were normal, “and then they go.”

Brendon turned around, clenching his hands on the edge of the countertop and taking great, shuddering breaths. He stayed there until a pair of warm hands closed onto him, one on his upper arm, and the other cupping the back of his neck. “Hey.” Pete’s voice was warm and careful, and Brendon was instantly resentful. “Hey, Brendon, you’ll get by. You’ll get out of here too.”

Jerking away from Pete’s kindness, Brendon said, “What do you know? If it’s so easy, why are you still here?”

He was off the bus in record time, but not so fast that he missed the spasm of pain flickering over Pete’s face.

Though he started out jogging, he’d slowed down to a walk by the time he got to the playground. It was tiny, just a circle of tanbark around a slide and a couple swings. Brendon dropped down onto one of the swings, facing away from the direction of the bus and trailing his toes in the woodchips. “Fuck you, Ryan,” Brendon said into the silence, “You never even got to the sea.”

Moments stretched by, and just as he was starting to think he ought to go back, he heard footsteps approaching slowly. He was expecting Pete, so it was a surprise when Mikey, looking fragile and lost without Pete plastered to him, sat down on the swing next to him.

“Pete won’t ever leave,” Mikey said without preamble. Brendon’s face must have showed his shock, because Mikey sighed and added, “I won’t either.”

“Why?” Brendon asked finally, “How do you know that? Do you know how this all works?”

Smiling faintly, Mikey said, “Gerard thought he had it figured out. He thought it was a place for…for people who needed saving the most. He called it The Land of Lost Souls-he has a flair for the dramatic.”

“Wait,” Brendon interrupted, “Who’s Gerard? Where is he?”

“Gerard’s my brother. He’s not here anymore,” Mikey said flatly, and didn’t elaborate even when Brendon cocked his head questioningly.

Finally Mikey continued, “I don’t know if he ever believed this place was real. He always talked like we were living in a metaphor. He thought it was about healing yourself. Learning how not to self destruct.”

Unable to help interrupting again, Brendon protested, “But I did. Ryan! Ryan was all I needed, and now he’s gone. You have to get that! I mean, you and Pete-” He cut off, uncertain now. Mikey was still wearing his little partial smile.

“Yeah. I know. You’re so young,” Mikey said, sounding so tired that Brendon wasn’t even offended. “Sometimes, contrary to popular ideas, love isn’t all you need in order to be whole. Sometimes you have to choose between what you want most and what you actually need. And…sometimes you’re never going to stop making the wrong decision. You know, it gets hard to remember there’s more in the world.”

There was an ache to his words that told Brendon that there was far more to it than Mikey had actually said. “Oh,” he replied, voice small. “I really miss him.”

“Yeah,” Mikey agreed, and Brendon thought, Gerard.

“I think he was waiting for me and I saved him,” Brendon added, and Mikey’s smile grew a fraction wider.

“Can I stay with you guys?” Brendon finally asked, feeling pathetic.

“Of course,” Mikey replied, and then (Brendon was starting to think Mikey was as enigmatic as Ryan), “until you decide to leave.”

Brendon fell into an easy pattern of life with Pete and Mikey. They were the worst kind of predictable, almost always cuddling or having loud sex, except for how Brendon always knew that any second they could be yelling at each other at the top of their lungs, arguments that always ended in sex and fierce promises of forever.

In the mornings, Brendon would go running, and make coffee when he got back. During the day, he read a lot of Ryan’s books, and then, when he remembered them, Ryan’s notebooks. Most of them were journals, Ryan rambling esoterically about what he’d thought or done, if it was distinctive. Sometimes there were short stories, full of pretentious language and imagery that made Brendon smile fondly even as his throat tightened. The characters were predictable and flat, the product of someone who had mainly known people through literature.

When Brendon got to an entry that read, The emptiness was about to take over, when the sun rose. Traded silk for skin and felt something real, he realized that he was reading about himself.

Half the time, Brendon had no idea what Ryan was actually saying, but that didn’t matter. It was enough to have a piece of him at all.

On the last page that had writing (Brendon reached it eternities after Ryan was gone, or maybe only weeks), there was a poem. It was too wordy, and the rhythm seemed off, until Brendon realized that the little marks in the margin were actually notes-vocal cues-and it was actually a song that Ryan had written, not a poem at all.

Brendon read it over and over, memorizing, and eventually climbed out of his bunk. He padded down the hall to the kitchen, where Mikey and Pete were giggling as Pete held a camera at arm’s length to take pictures of their faces pressed together: grinning, snarling, kissing.

“I’m leaving,” Brendon told them baldly, and they looked up, sobering, but devoid of surprise.

Pete got up, them, walking over to take Brendon’s face in his hands in a painfully familiar gesture. Carefully he kissed Brendon’s forehead, then pressed his own to Brendon’s and said, “Hey, good luck. If you ever need anything, we’ll always be here.”

Leaning gratefully into the touch, Brendon said, “Thanks. I’ll remember.” He hesitated, then threw his arms around Pete, who hugged back just as hard. Finally Pete let go, saying wistfully, “You better leave before I decide to keep you.”

With a watery smile, Brendon nodded and withdrew. He hadn’t realized how hard it would be to say goodbye to the only people he knew of that were left in the world. Or maybe just to Mikey and Pete.

On the way to the door, he paused next to Mikey, and they shared a significant look. “It’s what I want,” Mikey told him eventually, and Brendon nodded.

It surprised him when Mikey gave a crooked smile and opened his arms, but Brendon moved willingly into the embrace. It was almost like hugging Ryan, all long, bone-thin limbs and awkward angles-Brendon sniffed a tiny bit against Mikey’s shoulder, but Mikey didn’t comment, just tightened his arms a little.

“I hate goodbyes,” he could hear Pete mutter behind them, “I don’t do goodbyes.”

When Mikey gave Brendon’s back a final quick pat and let go, rather than goodbye, Brendon said, “I love you guys.”

Mikey nodded solemnly, and Pete choked out, “Yeah, us too.”

Without looking back, Brendon pushed open the door of the bus and walked across the parking lot to where the purple van was parked, keys dangling in the ignition.

Brendon drove somewhat aimlessly for somewhere around an hour and a half in what he thought (hoped) was the right direction with his windows rolled all the way down, until he started seeing signs for the coast. He blasted bands that Ryan liked-The Misfits, My Chemical Romance, Smashing Pumpkins-until he could actually smell the salt in the air. Another hour was spent driving along the coastline until he found the right place.

There had been a half-formed idea in his mind that he’d find a white sand beach with crystal clear water, but that idea turned out to be entirely fantasy. East coast beaches were clearly nothing like the ones he’d been on when he was fourteen and his family had taken a vacation to Maui. To top it off, it had begun to rain in fitful bursts and pauses.

Eventually, Brendon just pulled over at a scenic overlook and got out of the car, sheltering Ryan’s notebook from the rain showers under his hoodie. He climbed up onto the guardrail and hooked one ankle around it, thudding his other foot against the metal as he looked out over the waves crashing into the rocks below him, whipped by the wind. Unbidden, for the first time since Ryan had disappeared, he started to really cry, full-on choking sobs ripping from his throat.

“I don’t believe in you, okay?” he shouted, “and if I did, I’d hate you, because you took Ryan away! Fuck you.” The rain mingled with his crying, and he thought that Ryan would have liked this place better than any pretty beach.

When his tears ran out, he squinted out across the gray water, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. “Okay,” he said finally, “I would forgive you, if you existed. Because you freed Ryan. Even though I miss him.”

Pulling out the notebook, Brendon flipped through it until he found Ryan’s song. The page was immediately spotted with raindrops, but he ignored that and held it up so that he could see the meticulously printed words, and then he started singing to the empty ocean.

He actually sang through Ryan’s song five times, making little changes every time until he was satisfied with his rendition. By that time, the rain had stopped, and he sat on the guardrail for a while longer, watching the waves crash and ebb, singing a couple other things, and finally he went back to the van and fell asleep in the backseat.

In the morning, he was actually less surprised than he expected that he probably should be when he turned over and came face to face with bright digital numbers slipping from 8:04 to 8:05. His bedroom door cracked open and he heard, “Brendon? Are you awake?”

“Mom?” he mumbled, caught halfway between sleep and wakefulness, still. Everything felt slow and dreamy, and he wasn’t sure if he was imagining things or not.

“Oh, good, you’re responding.” His mom sounded cheerful, but crisp, and she added, “It’s time for church. Your dad isn’t mad anymore, but you do have to go.”

Pushing aside the covers and running his hands through his (shorter, clean-cut) hair, Brendon stood shakily and said, “Yeah, okay. I’m just going to go shower, and I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

His mom paused in the doorway, smiling back over her shoulder and replied, “Good.”

Just like that, life restarted.

Brendon wasn’t sure why he expected Ryan to be a part of his real life now, but for the first week, he went around waiting for something to happen, for Ryan to show up. He continuously berated himself for not finding out Ryan’s address (other than Macys), or a phone number-something. After that, he realized that he didn’t even know if Ryan existed. He didn’t bother trying to tell anyone what had happened, or ask about it, because it was pointless. No time had passed, apparently, and if it weren’t for his crystal clear memories of everything, he would have thought it was a very extended dream.

He started getting on with life. He mainly found ways to get out of church functions other than chorus and the obligatory Sunday services. His piano teacher commented on his huge, sudden improvements. Brent, from school, asked if he wanted to try out for a band, and Brendon shrugged and nodded.

When he actually went for his first practice, Brent took him in the side door of someone’s garage, and Brendon was too busy looking at all the instruments to actually take stock of the people inside, at first. Then someone drily said, “Hey.”

Head snapping up at the voice-that voice-Brendon spun to the side, to where Ryan was leaning against a washing machine, casual as fuck. It was definitely him, even though he looked about a year younger than the last time Brendon had seen him, his hair was longer, he wasn’t wearing any make-up, and he had on tight jeans and a Fall Out Boy T-shirt. “Ryan,” he breathed out.

Ryan didn’t smile, just cocked his head slightly. “Yeah,” he said tonelessly, “Good guess. What can you play?”

Blankly, Brendon stared at him, waiting for some kind of recognition to kick in. When it didn’t, he swallowed and blurted out, “Can I use your bathroom?”

On the way out, as Brendon drove Brent home in the purple van, Brent explained in a low voice to not worry about Ryan, he wasn’t a very open person with anyone other than Spencer and his LiveJournal communities, but it didn’t mean he didn’t like you. He just had a terrible home life where he was alternately smacked around and alienated by his father. Brendon listened carefully, nodding in the right places, and wished that the world hadn’t started up again. He wanted his Ryan, or none at all.

Three practices later, as Brendon sat on a metal stool with his guitar and Spencer counted off the opening strains of Dead On Arrival, Brendon surreptitiously watched Ryan’s blank, unsmiling face out of the corner of his eye. It was an expression he’d seen over and over when he’d met Ryan the first time, years or days or never ago, and he wanted to kiss it off Ryan’s face.

Instead, when Ryan started to sing, without thinking, Brendon did also, familiar words rolling off his tongue quietly, but not so much that the others couldn’t hear him.

Ryan stopped first, turning around slowly, a breath-taking smile overtaking his face, and Brendon’s pulse picked up.

“You can sing,” he said, seemingly oblivious to the shocked looks that Spencer and Brent were shooting at him as he grinned at Brendon like Brendon had hung the moon (or saved his life), “I never knew…that’s amazing. You’re always singing, from now on. Always.”

“Ryan, are you sure-” Spencer started, but Ryan cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“I’m sure, I’m sure,” he said, not taking his eyes off of Brendon.

After practice, Brendon hung around, helping to pack up, and when Ryan shyly smiled at him from across the room, Brendon went right over and gave him a hug, to Ryan’s obvious surprise.

A moment passed, and then Ryan sank into the touch and said wonderingly, “I feel like…” He trailed off, and then finished, simply, “Thanks. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah,” Brendon said, “I am too.”

A/N:  I love this verse so much.  I am sorely tempted to write a prequel to explain Pete/Mikey, Gerard, etc.  Or a sequel.  I DON'T KNOW.  If anyone wants to put anyone else into this (non)world to work out their problems....YOU SHOULD.  I am interested.

ETA: There is now both a sequel and a prequel to this.  The prequel should be read before the sequel, though, or else the sequel won't make sense.  Prequel.  And, sequel.