all marshmallows and no cereal - Remaining Relevant .:One:.

Title: Remaining Relevant .:One:.
Author: neverxnever
Rating: Pg13- R
Pairing: Ghost!Brendon/Ryan, various others mentioned
POV: Third
Summary: Sequel to Heedless in Rain. Brendon’s dead, he’s lost his love, his friends can’t seem to move on. And what happens when the psychopathic murderer who killed him shows up again?
Chapter Summary: Which is why when he sees Ryan, his Ryan, sitting Indian-style on the ground, he doesn’t just walk away and blame it on poor mental health. He isn’t even sure if ghosts can have poor mental health. Health kind of flew out the window with life, didn’t it?
Disclaimer: I do not own/know anyone mentioned in this piece of FICTION.
Author Notes: At the end, bbz.

-Prologue-



Chapter One

Brendon sings to himself sometimes. His voice echoes and bounces around like he’s singing into a bucket, but it’s still recognizably his voice. He never sings anything of any importance, just random snatches of songs he can still remember. He misses the feel of a guitar in his hands. He misses being able to press down on the keys of a piano and hear his music.

He wanders around aimlessly when no one is visiting him. Sometimes he approaches the very edges of his boundaries and watches the people walk past on the sidewalk. He’s so close. He feels like he could step onto that sidewalk and become a part of the material world again. So close yet so far away.

Sometimes, Brendon gets tired of being numb. Which doesn’t make much sense when he thinks about it, but it’s true. It’s like being trapped in an angst ridden chick flick, unable to claw his way out of his lead role. The thing is, though, he can’t figure out if he’s the hero or the damsel in distress. He’s certainly not going to save anyone any time soon, and no one seems to be coming to his rescue.

So maybe he doesn’t have a lead role after all. Maybe he’s just that guy that’s always in the background and never says anything. An extra.

Ryan would play the hero, Brendon thinks to himself. Ryan would come to his rescue if he could.

-

Brendon may be a lot of things, but he’s never been delusional and he’s never been actually insane.

Which is why when he sees Ryan, his Ryan, sitting Indian-style on the ground, he doesn’t just walk away and blame it on poor mental health. He isn’t even sure if ghosts can have poor mental health. Health kind of flew out the window with life, didn’t it?

But as he gets closer to the unmoving boy, he realizes that there are differences. This boy’s hair color is darker, for one, and styled different- a little longer. He’s dressed in an over-sized hoodie and tight fitting jeans, a definite change from the old fashioned clothes his Ryan could always be seen in.

But the long limbs and the pouty lips and the way he sits, hunched in on himself like he’s trying to become invisible, are all just the same as the Ryan Brendon remembers.

Brendon moves closer still, until he’s just in front of the boy, crouched down so he’s at eye level. Brendon can’t actually see his eyes, though, because of the darkly tinted sunglasses perched on the boy’s nose, despite the gray day.

“Who’s there?” the boy asks suddenly, going rigid.

Brendon jumps backward, afraid, for a moment, that he’s been seen. But that’s impossible, he tells himself, and then entertains the notion that this boy has a sixth sense for a moment.

“Who’s there?” the boy asks again, voice not shaking as he tries to sound demanding.

Brendon frowns in puzzlement. Experimentally, he reaches out to wave a hand in front of the boy’s face. As if on instinct, the boy’s hand flies up, trying to grab Brendon’s wrist and push it away. But of course, he only catches air.

The boy then jumps to his feet, and Brendon follows, standing up again. He understands now. “You’re blind?” he asks, and just like that, he’s solid. It feels odd, being suddenly able to feel the breeze on his face and the crunch of leaves beneath his feet.

“Yes,” the boy says, breathing a sigh of relief that he’s finally gotten an answer. He bends to pick up the cane that Brendon had failed to notice lying next to him earlier. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that in the future.”

“I’m sorry,” Brendon says, even though he isn’t really. He’s mostly just confused. “I didn’t mean to, um. Scare you.” There’s a significant pause before he adds hastily, “I’m Brendon.”

The boy smiles, bright and welcoming and not at all sharp, and nods his head. “It’s cool. I’m Ryan.” He holds out a hand expectantly in Brendon’s direction, and waits until Brendon is shaking said hand to add, “It’s nice to meet you, Brendon.”

Brendon suppresses a shudder as he releases Ryan’s calloused, long-fingered hand. It somehow feels different now, touching someone living. Not altogether pleasant. And the way he feels utterly unsurprised to hear this boy’s name is Ryan is not altogether pleasant, either.

Something clicks and Brendon remembers a conversation. The recent one with Gabe. “Didn’t you just move here?” Brendon asks curiously. He finds it odd that this boy, who looks so much like his Ryan that it almost hurts, would move here now, just after his death.

“Yep. Me and my psycho dad.” Ryan laughs a little, light-hearted even with the chilly atmosphere and eerie surroundings. “I came here to get a break from him. It’s probably the one place he’ll never think to look.” Ryan tilts his head to the right, thinking something over by the looks of it. He asks, “What’re you doing here?”

“Oh, uh. I…” Brendon works to think up a believable lie. Something that won’t make him seem insane. Or dead. “I come here a lot to… To relax, I guess. To get a break, like you.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow, smile still pulling at the corners of his chapped lips. He clearly doesn’t believe Brendon’s lie, but he says anyway, “Okay, so we have something in common. How old are you?”

Brendon stomach flips over at the thought of age. “I’m twenty. You?”

“Almost twenty-one,” Ryan says, not managing to squash the excitement completely out of his voice. “As soon as I’m legal, I’m headed to Vegas.” He grins, and Brendon can’t help but notice how pretty his smile is. He can’t help but wish his Ryan were here to smile at him.

“That’s…” Brendon pauses, searching for the right word. “Awesome,” he finishes lamely. It’s not, and he shudders at the mere thought of his birthplace.

“Sorry,” Ryan says cooly. “Did I do something to offend you?”

Brendon is reminded of the way his Ryan could pick up on his emotions so easily. They are so alike, and yet so different. For instance, Brendon had received a chilly and unpleasant greeting from the ghost living in his apartment. This Ryan standing in front of him doesn’t seem like one to be mean to anybody. Ever.

“Oh, no.” Brendon shakes his head out of habit, even being aware that Ryan can’t see it. “No, it’s just. I’ve… had some bad experiences in Vegas.”

Ryan opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by a yell coming from behind Brendon. Brendon turns to look over his shoulder and is momentarily stunned into immobility.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “I’ve got to go,” he says quickly to Ryan, and doesn’t give the boy the time to answer before he lets himself fade back into numbness.

“Ryan!” Gabe calls again, jogging up to the boy, a curious look on his face. “What are you doing in the cemetery?”

-

“I saw you talking to Ryan yesterday, you naughty boy.” Gabe is smirking down at Brendon’s tombstone, seemingly pleased with himself for catching Brendon in the act.

Brendon huffs and Gabe jumps slightly at his sudden appearance. “You, Gabriel Saporta, had better keep your damn mouth shut.” Unfortunately, even Brendon’s best attempts at being threatening fail, and Gabe laughs. “I’m serious,” Brendon pouts.

Gabe keeps laughing even as he grabs Brendon into a fierce bear hug. “You fucker! You’ve been out here all along! I knew it!”

“Shut up, you did not.” Brendon smiles despite himself and pushes Gabe off him. The smile quickly falls however, and he shakes his finger at Gabe, eyes narrowed. “You really can’t tell anyone, Gabe. I don’t need Frank thinking there’s still a chance… He needs to move on.”

Gabe studies Brendon’s face a moment, thinking. Finally, he nods. “You’re probably right. Frank’s a wimp. It would only make things worse.” He smiles brightly again.

Brendon scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Frank is not a wimp,” he says, defending his friend even though hearing Gabe back him up on this one is a big relief. And for the first time in what seems like forever he feels relieved.

-

An 2- The next chapter will be longer and better, I assure you.

Feedback is greatly appreciated. I swear I’m going to answer comments this time xD