Chapter Text
“Okay… I’m turning the light out.”
Ryan sucked in a breath, feeling dust and fear catch in the roof of his mouth. “Fuck you, dude! Why are you doing this?!”
It was a whisper shout up the stairwell, to where Shane held the only flashlight they had packed between the two of them. Of all the places they had forgotten to pack extra batteries, this is one of the places Ryan wished he’d remembered.
“If it makes you feel any better, I happen to think this is among the creepier of the haunted places we’ve visited together…” Shane admitted.
“How is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“It isn’t.”
“...Fuck.”
Ryan swore under his breath, glancing around him. Shane and his long legs had trekked up the stairs of the Florida lighthouse faster than his, and once they were far enough apart, Shane had proposed a moment of silence to welcome ghosts. Shane had given the supernatural the benefit of the doubt this time. He had admitted earlier that a few things were slightly out of place, and while the feeling of victory wasn’t there, the feeling of terror certainly was.
“You're an asshole!”
“A smart one. A smart, handsome one, yes.” Shane smiled, teasingly, like the asshole that he was. “Come on- I want to see what this alleged ‘Mona Lisa of Paranormal Sites' is all about.”
“Fuck you, too.”
“Seriously- I want to see these dead girls!” Shane said. “I want to… I don’t know, what do little girls do? Paint their nails with the blood of the innocent?”
“Talk about boys they like?”
“Yeah- we can talk about all the boys we like together,” Shane chuckled.
“The boys you ALL like? Together?” Ryan laughed.
“Ha ha. Very funny. They’d talk about boys, I’d talk about girls- happy now?”
A crow called from outside, croaking up sounds from its throat, as though it were chanting some eerie song that only it knew, and Ryan tried to swallow away his panic.
“Not that being gay or queer is bad- or anything!” Ryan jumped to say, to save himself from a comment section of enraged people- but mostly to drown out the creepy crows, and the equally creepy lighthouse.
“Okay… So- I, uh… I'm turning the light out now!” Shane called down, retreating to the outside of the stairwell to where he was outside of Ryan's field of view.
“Please, no!’
“You’re just being a wimp!”
“Shut up!” He felt a little riled up. He always did when Shane teased him. “This place is seriously freaky dude!”
“It’s a lighthouse! It’s been abandoned for like- forty years. What did you expect, a ghost running a fucking juice bar? Of course it’s freaky!”
“I’m putting that on your grave when you die here tonight,” Ryan threatened. “Shane Madej, believer in ghosts running juice bars and lover of umbrella murders.”
“Hey, I am a proud member of the Umbrella Man fan club.”
“Whatever, man…”
“Look- I’m turning the light off,” Shane warned again.
“I… Please- fine. One minute?” He finally gave in. Shane was the one with the flashlight anyway, and there was only so much he could do to bargain with him.
“One minute,” Shane promised. “It’ll be fine.”
“Classic last words,” Ryan joked nervously.
“Okay… One… two… three.” Click.
All the warmth and light sucked out of Ryan as the decaying lighthouse plunged into darkness. The only light he could make out came from far above, and was that of the moon- it was so dim that Ryan could only make out the inside of the winding staircase and its metal railings.
After a quiet moment, Ryan's heart thumping louder than it had ever in his life- he heard Shane shift.
“Ryan, what the fuck was that?” Shane’s voice from above echoed on every step of the stairwell. Ryan opened his mouth to inform him that he had no fucking idea what it was when Shane’s voice came again.
“RYAN! I swear to god!”
“Shane?! What’s happening?!”
“Fuck," was all Ryan could hear. “Ryan, come fast! Please! Help!”
Ryan gripped the railing, his heart flurrying in his chest like a wild animal attempting to burst free from a cage. “What the hell is happening?! Turn the light on!”
“It’s not turning on! Ryan, I’m getting scratched- what the fuck?!”
“I’m coming!” He called, looking to the staircase at his feet. The murky depths below promised that he couldn't see all the way down. “I'll be up there- just- hang on!” He drew his first hesitant footstep in the dark, overshot it, and nearly tripped as his foot jammed itself between the steps.
“Ryan-
I feel like I'm fucking dying, just take your fucking time!”
“Are you okay?!” Ryan gritted his teeth. He was ready to conquer his fear of open back stairs, and he quickly felt for a foothold through his shoe, before leaping up the stairs as fast as his fear would allow.
“Ryan…” It came as a soft gasp from up the steps, “Help… please.”
Ryan squinted, straining his eyes as far as they could see. “Shane?!”
From what he could see as he fearfully flew up the steps, there was a lump on the floor- presumably Shane, crumpled on the steps. He turned his head slightly, as he picked up the faint sounds of- something else, something he couldn't quite register yet. It sounded like crying, with all the tell-tale sniffling, and suffocated releases of air.
“Shane! Oh, my God- fuck. Are you okay?!” He knelt beside him immediately. “Shane? Shane!”
Shane didn’t answer, his faint pleas only becoming weaker as though something was keeping him from speaking.
“Shane? Shane...?” There was nothing but silence and an eerily motionless pile of lanky limbs beside him.
“Shane!” He pushed on him, shoving him back and forth. “Oh, God- Shane- Shane!”
He heard a bubbling giggle emit from somewhere. The realization may as well have slapped him in the face when the sudden, overwhelming burst of understanding finally dawned on him.
“Shane?!”
Shane rolled over onto his back on the floor, clutching his sides as he burst into peals of laughter. He flicked the light on, the quiet tick received mutedly by the rest of the hall, alive with the sound of Shane's wheezing.
“You- Are you fucking serious?!” Ryan cried. “I thought you were dying!"
“That-” Shane wheezed. “That was the point, yeah! Man, you bought into that?!”
“Shut up!” Ryan’s face turned red with the colors of rage and disbelief “I can’t believe you would do that to me!"
Shane gasped for air. “I can’t believe you thought I was dying! I’m a terrible actor!” Howling, still, he tried to pull himself up onto his side.
“I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t care- goddamnit!”
A self-absorbed, trembling grin on his face, Shane finally managed to sit up. “I’m sorry, but holy shit, that was priceless.”
Ryan scowled, the outside of his lip catching under sharp teeth. "I fucking hate you. I hate you!"
Before he could reign in his own emotions, Ryan felt himself grabbing at the collar of Shane's red plaid flannel. He wrenched him off the ground, and brought his hand down across Shane's face in a resounding '
slap!'
“Ow! What the fuck?!”
Ryan's tone was on the brink of an animalistic growl. “How dare you scare me like that, you jackass! I hate you! I need you to be safe, and not dead! Why would you do that?”
Shane's hand met his skin at the right side of his face, stubble scratching under his fingertips as his cheek stung indignantly. “Why would you do that?!”
Ryan sighed, willing for his heart to calm. “Why would you pretend to die?! I really care about you!”
“You don't care about me, shut up.” Shane smiled. “Trust me, you shouldn't.”
“Well, I do! You're my best friend, for fuck's sake! Who would care if you died more than me!?”
“Okay, jeez… I'm sorry. It was funny, though.”
“It wasn't!” Ryan spluttered. “Look, I… that scared me.”
Shane looked down, looking somewhat ashamed for a change. “Okay… I admit, I would care if you died, too… I just didn't think you were capable of complex emotion beyond hatred and piss-yourself fear.” He looked up with his trademark shit-eating grin. “I
am
sorry though.”
“No, you're not,” Ryan accused, slowing down his frantic breathing the best he could.
“Yeah, I'm really not.”
Ryan stood up shakily, and offered his hand to Shane. “Look… I know that we bicker a lot… but I do care when things happen to you.”
Shane took it, and pulled himself up with less effort than Ryan figured it would take. His posture had been waiting for a heavy tug, and instead, he had received a light, fast pull. “I don't know what you're talking about. Ryan? With feelings?”
“Stuff it.”
Shane was on his feet, towering over him and still rubbing his cheek. Ryan couldn't help but step in closer, meeting Shane halfway. Wrapping his smaller arms around his waist, he hugged him for a moment that was all too quick in passing, and to uncommon in practice.
His face pressed into the buttons of Shane's flannel shirt, worn from wear, and smelling vaguely of cinnamon.
“Ah… okay, then,” Shane puffed questioningly from above- though after a moment, Ryan felt Shane's chin on his head. “I guess we're doing this now?”
Ryan hummed an affirmative as he hugged him closer. It was a friend thing, right? Most friends don't want their friends to die, and this was normal. It was a ghost of the truth, and a healthy helping of the spoon-fed lie he had crafted for himself.
“Okay… whatever.”
Ryan had forgotten that the cameras were still rolling until he saw that they were hugging in the newest episode of Buzzfeed: Unsolved Supernatural when it aired.
Same time, next week.
“Ryan?” Shane blinked, trying to make sure it wasn't just his imagination. “Look, I know you get freaked out, but… are you okay, man?”
Shane set down his Sausage McMuffin which he had snagged from a McDonalds on his way to work that morning. He leaned back in his chair to get a better look at Ryan, shifting on his feet in the doorway.
Ryan didn't answer immediately, but his bag fell to the floor as soon as Shane asked, like he couldn't bear to hold it any longer.
“Ryan?” He prompted again, still to no effect. “My man?”
Ryan shuffled over to the seat beside him at the desk they shared, one case folder dropping onto the table. Little doodles of what looked like fireflies decorated the corners. Ryan dropped himself in the seat with all his weight, with not so much as a glance in Shane's direction before burying his face in his palms.
Shane peered at him confusedly, but he wasn't feeling up to ask again. Ryan seemed to be on the verge of snapping, or the verge of
something,
at least
.
It was hard to tell when he didn't even speak.
Shane just kept quiet, trying to relax a bit for Ryan's sake. Glancing at the folders he'd dropped down, he noticed the plane tickets for their next film location. It was a prison in Pennsylvania, which they were set to fly to that afternoon.
“Ryan… did something come up?” He asked carefully. There was a stone in Shane's chest. He wasn't the best when it came to helping people feel better. It tended to become personal and touchy-feely, and neither of those things were feelings he was well-versed in, particularly with Ryan. It wasn't something that had ever come up, and it was awkward to try to reach out to somebody who didn't fall strictly in the categories of friend or family. Frankly, he wasn't sure how to approach the situation, and so he didn't, even though he felt guilty for doing nothing.
Behind his hands, Ryan nodded.
“Do you… should I know? Do you not want to talk about it?”
Shane bit his lip.
'If you're going to get upset in a professional setting, call your girlfriend about it first, or at least tell people what the fuck your deal is.'
It was worse for both that Ryan didn't say anything. He was usually vocal about his problems, not that he ever had too many he couldn't handle alone anyway.
Ryan took a deep breath, obviously trying his hardest to repress whatever emotions were so painfully bubbling up inside him.
“Look… I'm not sure how to help you if you don't say anything, man. You don't have to tell me what happened, but… let's not have…” Shane gestured to him. “... This happening, okay?”
Ryan pee k ed out from behind his hands, his expression blank, and Shane thought for a moment that it might be a prank, as revenge for his faked death. But as Ryan spoke, it was painfully obvious that he was just fucked beyond expressing his emotions properly.
“It's… Helen,” He said finally, his voice watery and weak.
Shane felt his mouth form a perfect circle. “...Oh.”
Ryan's breath hitched for a moment, and he finally met Shane's gaze. A betraying pink rimmed his eyes, and his complexion was soft with the pallor of a lingering numbness.
“She… I don't know.”
Shane looked around at a room of inanimate objects for help with the situation, but nothing jumped out to help him. He lamely offered a travel mug of tea to Ryan, only for Ryan to push it away, as anybody would.
“Well… You might be just… going through a rocky bit. All couples do.”
And Ryan broke down sobbing.
A slur of broken swears slipped from between his clenched teeth, as he wiped the tears as they appeared. He was severe, intense about keeping it back, as though crying in front of Shane was the worst, most awkward thing ever. Which, to Shane, it was.
Between the varied array of “shit” and “I'm sorry" and all the repressed sniffling, Ryan eventually opened his phone.
He opened it with a shaky fingerprint that took a few tries. Each failed attempt seemed to break him a little more, and his mounting frustration reappeared in fresh waves of tears. Ryan opened a chat, and, between his wet sleeves and shaky breathing, scrolled up a bit and held it up for Shane to look at without touching.
TO: Helen <3
Helen: I can't fucking believe you would do that.
Ryan: So it's all MY fault? I'm sorry I give a shit about other people.
Helen: you know what? Fuck you Ryan. We've been thinking about it for a while and you can't fucking listen to me. We're over, I'm breaking up with you, and I'm not changing my mind. Good. Riddance.
Ryan: WHAT?!!! Fine! Maybe I will go find better people who aren't this hung up over my personal life, bitch
Helen: IM THE BITCH?!?!
(Enter a message... )
The screen flicked off.
Ryan, still hiccupping slightly, stared straight though Shane to the wall behind him.
“Well… I... Shit.”
“Yeah…” Ryan croaked. “... Yeah.”
“Ryan…” Shane tried again. There was something very comforting about saying his name.
“I… don’t know what to say.”
“I’m-” Ryan took another deep breath. “I’m not sure, either.”
“Why did she- why?”
Ryan just trembled, dropping his hands as he stared blankly at the tabletop before him, devoid of emotion.
“I… I don’t want to talk about it."
How would Ryan want him to respond? He’d have no idea. He wasn’t comfortable in situations like this, and in the wake of being thrust into an intensely personal crisis, he had no idea what to do.
“I’m so sorry… If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know, okay?”
Ryan nodded listlessly, avoiding his gaze again, seeming smaller than he usually was. “Thanks." He looked away again. “I’m sorry- I… I need a minute.”
Shane stood up with Ryan, suddenly feeling the very real urge to reach out and catch his shoulder. He shook it off. He wasn’t sure if that was standard protocol, or if he should play it safe. Both on their feet, Ryan headed for the door first without looking up.
“O-Okay... I’ll be here if you need me!” Shane called out after him.
The clap of the door against the frame was the last viable response he got from Ryan as he departed. A swinging door, and an empty silent room. Shane alone, a disarray of papers on the table, and the muted, lonely song of crows outside the closed window were all the room held.
Nothing moved for another moment, and Shane gave up on standing, flopping back down into his desk chair. He leaned over Ryan’s obnoxious files and grabbed his red pen off the table to spin between his fingers as he read a part of the scripts that was peeking out.
Something told him that they wouldn’t be boarding the flight to Pennsylvania today.
Shane wasn’t heartless. If Ryan was so upset over his very real life right now, why torture him with some haunted prison in Pennsylvania? It was stupid, and cruel, and even though Ryan annoyed him to no end, they were friends.
Friends.
He had to wonder what Ryan did for Helen to break off from him so suddenly. He couldn’t imagine Ryan doing anything
that
bad
.
Ryan wasn't in the habit of being disrespectful, and things hadn't seemed tumultuous as of late.
The worst part was that Helen never made empty promises. She had always been a strong woman of her word, with pride and integrity to plate it.
He wondered where Ryan would’ve gone off to. Somewhere alone for a minute, maybe for a walk. He didn’t seem to want to see anybody, though, which makes Shane question whether he would really duck out for fresh air at all. A part of him wants to chase after him, but it might be worse if Ryan did finally return to an empty room.
Shane drew his phone from his pocket and slid it open. He began to scroll though the Buzzfeed: Unsolved Facebook page.
It took him three minutes before he realized that he was reading the words without understanding them.
He glanced over at the door. Was Ryan even coming back at all? He was beginning to doubt it.
He stared back at the comment thread he was trying to read, not recognizing the usernames he’d read only moments ago. Clueless, thoughtless Shane. His eyes stared blankly at the screen a moment more as he tried to gather his thoughts- not just what he was reading- and finally gave up.
Finally, he closed out of Facebook, saving the stupid thoughts and people who made no sense for another day. Or, later today. They didn’t matter. Only one person really did at that moment.
He scrolled down shallowly into his message history and picked out Ryan’s name. Yesterday's messages were left unperturbed.
TO: Ryan Boogara
Ryan: DUDE!!! I swear to god it wasn’t fuckn cool you scared me real bad!
Shane: I promised I would treat you to Chipotle CHILL
Ryan: Your life is more important than a meal at Chipotle
Shane: That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Who are you, and where is Ryan?
Ryan: Haha, very funny
Ryan: You know I care. Please never do that again.
Shane: I promise… you’ll need more than some imaginary dead people to kill me
Ryan: THEY AREN'T IMAGINARY I SWEAR TO GOD
Shane: There he is
Ryan: I hate you
Shane: Love you too, buddy.
TODAY:
Shane: Ryan you running late?
Shane: Jet lag, now that we’re back home?
Shane: Wait- wouldn’t jet lag be the other way around?
Shane: ???
Shane: Dude pick up I can’t record this episode on my own
Shane: Ryan
(Enter a message... )
Shane frowned, suddenly gaining the capacity to read as he fluttered along the messages. He seemed so harsh, so rude and insensitive just for asking what was wrong. Why was he even going to try?
Still, he couldn’t just do nothing. He tapped on the 'type message' bar, waiting for his laggy keyboard and his own courage to appear.
[ Hey… you need me to get you? I’m worried. ]
Shane stared at the message after he typed it, somehow making three typos in the process with butterfingers. Should he even mention that he was worried? Would that let him know that Shane cared, or would that make him feel guilty for causing a problem- how could he even tell the difference?
He was too tired to really try rewriting it again, and even if it made Ryan feel guilty, it was the more truthful of his options, so he hit send. He held his breath, waiting for a response. When it didn't come immediately, he sighed. He flicked off his phone and slumped back into his chair.
His finger caught a piece of his flannel shirt over his heart, and he twisted it in his hand for a moment, realizing belatedly that the button that should be there
isn’t.
He figured that it was a good time to force his thoughts back into his big head, and he started to pick at the edges of his Sausage McMuffin. He felt the crunchy bits below his fingertips, felt them disintegrate into nothingness, leaving behind no trace that they’d ever been there. Despite the whole muffin being there, nobody would think that any of the outside was missing.
Pulling off and hiding the little things didn’t get rid of the whole problem, though.
Ryan stared at his phone.
There was nobody to be seen in the janitor’s closet.
He wondered if Shane ever hurt like this. Wondered if sometimes he wasn't the only one who felt like one thing could make and ruin your life at the same time.
It’s a specific thing to feel. It's something he wanted to explain to the world, but was afraid that nobody in their right mind would understand.
His phone had vibrated a little while ago, with an incoming message of worry and concern for him, but Ryan had his own sneaking suspicion that Shane didn’t give a shit about what he was going through. He probably only cared about being somewhere within the realms of social norm, and filming the next episode of
Unsolved
.
Shane wasn’t in tune with emotions the way every other human being was. His stature was large, and his heart was woefully lacking. He wasn't the person one deliberately looked for to find comfort and solace in, but there he was. It was refreshing in a way. In a way Ryan didn’t know how to put into words, either.
At least he’d had the courage to at least inform Shane about what was wrong. Not why, but at the very least, what.
The “why” might make things messy.
Especially for Shane, who couldn’t figure out how he should go about showing affection or discontent to his friends on a regular basis. What the hell would he think if he was forced into this abstract, sloppy situation of having caused his best friend’s break up?
What then?
Ryan had felt a little selfish in calling himself Shane’s best friend. But nobody else came to mind when he mashed the two terms together. The definitive difference was that best friends are usually the ones to help you patch up over a break up. they aren't as commonly the cause of them.
The texts between him and Helen had been sloppy, too. Disorganized, a multitude of things. The one thing that kept repeating over and over, though, was Shane.
'Shane this, Shane that, You care about him more than me, you never come to me with your problems, he’s all you ever talk about, you're disloyal, and you care more about his safety than mine, you and Shane, for Shane, for SHANE, Shane Shane, Shane, Shane.'
Shane.
The million-dollar question was whether they could afford to simplify the messy problem at their feet. Or would they be able to find a messy solution for the messy question?
Ryan smirked. That last one was stupid. There was no way they’d be able to do that- no possible reality in which they might somehow figure it everything out.
He stared at the wall of the dusty closet and was, somewhere along the line, taken back to his younger days. To sunlight and shadow, the incomprehensible scribbles of childhood. To worrying what other people thought, how they had treated him. People poking fun at the fact that he was alone- and helpless.
When he was little, he used to think that bad thoughts and self-hatred could be fixed with medicine, and every time he felt alone, he’d start sucking on a cherry cough drop. Since then, he'd taken to keeping them in the lint-filled pockets of his jeans.
He was ‘making everything more tolerable', one thick, sickening candy at a time. His childhood pockets had been filled with wrappers knotted in sticky pink residue.
The blanket of slime on his tongue made him gag, and he couldn’t eat cherries for years after learning that fixing your lack of love wasn’t so easy. The girls around him would bring cherries in their lunches, to share with their boyfriends, but he had cherry syrup in his pockets. Hardened and fake. Real cherries weren't for him, and he doubted that they ever would be.