Morts ou Vivants [Ch. 6/?]
Title: Morts ou Vivants [Ch. 6/?]
Author: Meeeee! cobrapandemic
Beta: cobrapandemic
Summary: Brendon should have listened to Travie. Now he’s dead too.
Pairing: ghost!Brendon/Ryan, eventual Spencer/Jon
Words: This Chapter: 4,588
A/N: This is based on a dream I had. I hope you love it!
::Chapter One:: ::Chapter Two:: ::Chapter Three:: ::Chapter Four:: ::Chapter Five::
BRENDON:
Brendon finds himself laughing hysterically, arm slouched across the back of Ryan's sofa, Ryan under his wing. The party- if you could even call it that- had long ago ended and most everyone had returned to their respective apartments and rooms. Brendon and Ryan or rather, Drunk and Drunker, were left to their own devices nearly two hours prior.
Ryan's eyes are squinted as he clutches his stomach, laughing so hard that only tiny squeaks come out. Brendon takes a deep breath and wills himself calm. Patience, Brendon. He has to remember that he has two weeks. No need to rush, right?
“Jace-” hiccup “-is it true-” giggle “-that everything tastes better with-” snort “-cool whip?” Ryan mimics Stewie Griffin for the umpteenth time, yet Brendon still finds himself in hysterics. He's never seen Ryan so free and blissful. It's actually beauteous in a way Brendon can not begin to explain.
“No, does it, Ry?” Brendon humors the drunk boy that's now clinging to him.
Ryan's eyes are half lidded as he nods with reverence. “Mhmmmmmmm. Do you taste better with cool whip, Jace?”
Now Brendon is uncomfortable. Ryan has made his way to a half straddle position, his long fingers tracing up and down Brendon's tight chest.
“Uh, Ry. I-We can't.” Brendon stammers out, lifting the petite, clearly horny, Ryan from his lap and setting him on the furthest cushion on the sofa. Ryan looks at Brendon under thick lashes.
“Why not? You don't think I'm sexy, Jace?” And dammit, Ryan Ross.
“No! I mean, yeah! Of course I think you're sexy. Very sexy. But we can't fool around. Sorry.” Brendon quickly stands, pulling his tee down where Ryan had stealthily slid it up his belly. Ryan pouts and stands too, crossing the small space to stand inches from Brendon's stiff figure.
“Who said we'd be fooling around? I don't play games, Jace. I want you to fuck me.” Ryan whispers into Brendon's ear, breath hot and sticky. The smell of weed, vodka, pizza and gum waft into Brendon's nostrils causing him to lean in.
Brendon's lips are inches from Ryan's and all former reasons for not doing this have been forgotten.
Ryan closes the distance, crashing his lips to Brendon's. His mouth is overly moist from drinking so much and he's all squirmy. And the kiss is heated and perfect and amazing.
Until Ryan moans.
“Please, Brendon.”
Ryan ends up missing Brendon's lips the second time by a great girth as Brendon jerks away. “What did you call me?” Brendon asks, carefully disguising his excitement. Come on Ryan. Remember me?
Ryan looks at Brendon as if he's lost his mind. “I called you Jace.”
“No, you called me Brendon.” Brendon corrects slowly. Because, God, let him remember.
Ryan is silent. He seems a little more sober than he'd been twenty seconds ago as he walks toward the front door. Brendon is frozen in the middle of the floor because, yes. Yes, Ryan had called him Brendon!
“I have work tomorrow. So I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Jace.” Ryan deadpans, opening the front door wide and stepping aside to allow Brendon a wide girth to get out. Brendon feels sick to his stomach and wants to cry but decides to be a pussy on his own time. He advances towards the open doorway, giving Ryan a longing glance.
“Night, Ryan.” Brendon says, hoping for a smile, hoping for anything that would suggest Ryan isn't pissed at him. Ryan just nods once and shuts the door in Bren's face.
“Great. Fucking fantastically great.” Brendon curses and kicks the wall by Ryan's door. It's no use. No fucking use. And now his fucking foot hurts.
He is about to contemplate walking into oncoming traffic when a tiny thing skitters across his foot. Brendon jumps backwards, looking down to see a little white mouse with beady blue eyes. He grimaces as he steps over it and stomps down the hall to his apartment.
“Go away, Maja.” He seethes when he feels a sudden current of wind and the presence of someone following him.
“Brenny, you can't just give up. You have 12 days!” Maja sings happily, skipping ahead of Brendon. Brendon ducks as not to be taken out by her thick wings. He reaches hurriedly into his back pocket for his house keys
“Contrary to popular belief, I'm damn good at giving up and that's exactly what I'm about to do. Thank you and good night.” Brendon gives an animated bow before entering his house and shutting Maja out. The similarity of this action to the one that had just occurred between him and Ryan is much too close. Brendon almost feels bad and opens the door for Maja.
Key word being almost.
With a tired sigh Brendon heaves himself to his bedroom, ignoring the fact that he had not showered, and strips down to flannel boxers and a Mayday Parade tee.
“Well, shit.” He grumbles when he realizes how his clothes just don't fit properly anymore. Too tight around the chest. Too loose in the crotch area.
He reaches up to pull off his glasses and feels a spurt of nostalgia when he realizes he no longer needs to wear them. Because Jace has perfect vision.
The apartment is mostly dark so he has to feel his way around to get to his bed. That's the one thing he actually likes about his current situation. The comfy bed. At least the screw up angel did something right.
Brendon grabs a pillow from the other side of the bed and holds it against his chest, curling around it and shutting his eyes. Maybe when he wakes up he'll be himself again. Better yet, he'll be alive and well and he'll have Ryan and they can live happily ever after.
But again, he realizes. This isn't a fairy tale. This is his life.
He only cries a little as he falls asleep.
* * *
RYAN:
Ryan can hear his alarm clock blaring but he refuses to acknowledge it. Starbucks doesn't need him today. Jon can handle it all by himself.
Jon can handle it.
Jon. Can...
Ryan reaches over and side swipes the contents of his nightstand to the floor, groaning as he sits up. No. Jon can not handle an entire coffee shop on his own. Because he's Jon.
He'll probably be high the whole day and try to sell the costumers complimentary Walker brownies.
Fucking Jon.
Ryan gets up and stretches, mumbling to himself- as is obligatory in the mornings- and heading for the shower.
In his morning haze, Ryan doesn't knock on the door (and since when does he have to knock on his own bathroom door? The fuck?) and walks in on a very naked, very wet Gerard Way.
“Fucking hell, Gerard! What the fuck are you doing here?! Where is Frank? Why aren’t you at home with Frank??!” Ryan shouts, shutting his eyes tightly and waving an arm blindly.
Gerard stares at him then continues to dry himself off. “Spence said I could crash here. Hope you don't mind. And Frank and I had a little argument. By the way, um, I think one of your vases is broken.”
Ryan frowns. Of course he flipping minds! And his 300 dollar vases...
“Spencer said...Spencer doesn’t even live here, Gerard!” Ryan flails his free arm. The other is placed over his sensitive, innocent eyes. “Besides, where is Spencer? Huh? And are you... decent?”
Gerard chuckles, wrapping one of Ryan's fluffy towels around his body. Not around his waist like a normal man, but around his entire body, like a woman. He also has a smaller towel wrapped around his head in a beehive/turban fashion.
“Oh, Spence went home with that Jon guy” Gerard picks up one of Ryan's razors and shaving cream. “And yeah, I'm...uh, decent, was it?”
Ryan spares a look through cracked fingers only to see Gerard using his razor. What the actual fuck?
“Ugh!” Ryan slams the bathroom door and grabs his car keys on the way out. Fucking Gerard fucking Way and his fucking...ways!
The hallway of the apartment building is humid and still dark as Ryan clambers to the elevator, still dressed in clothes form last night. He feels like shit. Probably smells like it as well. His life is just sucking right now.
Ryan makes it to the elevator and presses the down button. The light lingers on the lobby for about a minute before counting down to three. When it opens, Ryan gets on, pulling out his cell phone and texting Jon.
Gonna be a bit late k?
Ryan presses the button for the lobby and begins to shut his eyes when an urgent yelling comes from the other end of the hall.
“Hey! Wait, hold the elevator! Hey! Wait...Fuck!” Ryan snaps his eyes open and cranes his head out of the doors to see a blonde headed guy picking himself up from the floor where he had obviously fallen. The guy wore a tight red tee, even tighter black jeans and bright green sneakers. Ryan's mind sparked at the sight and he instantly thought, Bren?
“Crap. Oh thank god, hey thanks for...oh.” The guy stops when he sees Ryan standing in the elevator looking completely annoyed.
“Great, it's you.” Ryan murmurs as the elevator doors close and Jace leans haphazardly against the opposite wall.
“What is that supposed to mean? Is there something wrong with me all of the sudden Ryan Ross?” Jace asks, touching his heart and looking like the kicked puppy that he is. Ryan rolls his eyes and averts his gaze to the dead cockroach in the corner.
“Don't call me that.” Ryan spits, crossing his arms and okay. Maybe he's being a tad bitchy but he kind has no fucking clue if he'll ever see Brendon again, and he doesn't need this constant, obnoxiously annoying reminder living on the same floor as him.
Standing in the same fucking elevator as him and when does it take five hours to get from the third floor to the lobby?
Jace makes to look amused but only manages to laugh in Ryan's face. “So what do I call you? Asshole? Bitch? Doucheknozzle? Gosh you're so dense, you know that?”
Ryan's mouth falls open at about the same moment as the elevator doors open and Jace steps out.
“I am not a doucheknozzle, you...you, fuck you!”
Jace pulls a face but smiles nonetheless. “So you admit that you are a dense, bitchy asshole? Glad we have an understanding, Ross.” Jace is smirking and his brown eyes are twinkling and okay, there it is again. He just looked exactly like Brendon just now! Ryan flails somewhat internally.
“I...” Ryan looks at his phone. 7:57. He's almost thirty minutes late. “I have to go to work.”
Ryan makes his way to the door of the apartment building, risking a glance over his shoulder at Jace only to see a blonde woman dressed in all white with her arms around him.
Ryan can't help but notice how his heart twists at the sight.
* * *
BRENDON:
Brendon curses himself as Ryan walks out of the apartment. Great, he scared him away.
“That you did, Brendon.”
“Go away Maja!” Brendon groans into his hands, stomping his feet like a spoiled child.
Maja croons at him, placing her thin arms around his shoulder. “Aw, don't be down on yourself, sweetie. It'll be alright. You still have... 12 days. And I think he's already falling for you.”
Brendon says something intelligible then lifts his head. “He kicked me out of his apartment last night. After making out with me and asking me if I thought he was sexy... Was a complete asshat to me in the elevator...yeah, he's so falling for me. And Bill Clinton did not have sexual relations with that woman. Blow me.”
He pulls away from Maja, stomping off in the direction of the exit.
Maja is there when he steps into the morning sun and he continues to walk past her. Yet and still she's around every corner he turns. Fucking curse her and her stupid angel prowess.
“Brendon.” She says at one corner. He keeps walking, not entirely sure where he's heading but he knows he needs to get the fuck away from her.
“You need to talk to me.” She says at the next corner. Brendon flicks her off.
“I didn't appreciate that in the least! Now you better listen to me, young man and-”
Brendon stops because he's standing on the steps of the hospital his family normally goes to. It's expensive and completely not worth the money, but only the best for the rich Mormon people, right?
Brendon feels Maja next to him. Well, to be more specific, he feels her wing bat him upside the head when she appears at his side out of thin air.
“Is this where...um?”
Maja just nods and Brendon takes a step toward the glass doors.
“Brendon, you don't want to go in there. It's not-”
“What? It's not what, huh? What kind of angel are you anyway? You're supposed to help me, not...not turn me into this totally different person and make the only thing in the world that meant anything to me hate my guts. Fuck you, Maja. I'll do whatever the hell I want to do.”
He hears Maja breathe out a sigh. “Brendon...” But then she's gone and he's standing on the steps of the hospital alone.
Inside of the hospital is just like Brendon remembers it when his mom had given birth to his two younger sisters and the time he broke his arm. Or the time his bust his lip. Or the time he was hit by that ice cream truck. Yeah, Brendon is kind of a spaz.
There aren't many people inside. A couple of senior citizens and a kid with a bloody nose. Nothing too exciting.
Brendon makes his way over to the receptionist. She looks bored out of her skull and seems to be chewing on cow cud. Oh no wait...that's just gum.
“What do you want?” She huffs out, flipping incessantly through what looks like PopEater magazine. Brendon rolls his eyes and holds back the urge to pull her stupid blonde hair.
“I'm here to see Brendon Boyd Urie.” He says, hand on his hip. This chick is really urking his last nerve. She looks up at him and her demeanor changes. She begins to basically undress him with her ugly blue eyes.
“Um, Um...how are you related to the patient?” She stutters out and Brendon smirks. He personally doesn't find his new body at all attractive. Maybe because he has developed a type. The tall, brown haired, honey eyed type. But he may as well use his body to the fullest.
Gosh, he sounds like a hooker.
Brendon leans across the counter, getting his face mere inches from the receptionist's. She smells like whore and fear. “I'm just a good friend of his, is all. You can let me in right, beautiful?” He winks at her and she just about passes out. Brendon gags mentally because, ew. Vaginas!
“Of...of course, um...let me just...” She scrounges around in a couple of drawers and comes up with a visitors pass.
“He's in room 510. Um, just um..write your name on the visitor sheet, please.”
Brendon smiles at her. Well, more like smirks seductively, and Brendon knows seduction, okay? He freaking knows. “Of course, sweetheart.” He says, signing Br Jace.
“Thanks, love.” Brendon calls over his shoulder. Then, “By the way, I'm gay.”
The look on the dumb bitch's face is something that will never fail to crack Brendon up in the future. If there is a future for him.
It takes him all of twenty minutes to find room 510. The first try he found himself in the pediatric ward, cooing at little babies until a nurse kicked him out. The second time he found himself in the E.R. watching someone get their appendix removed.
Finally, after some trial and error, he made it to room 510 in the Intensive Care Unit.
The door is open and there is no one else in the hall, so Brendon goes right in.
The hospital room smells like antiseptic and bleach and the walls are too white and the linoleum floors are too shiny and Brendon just about rips his hair out when he sees himself on the bed.
“Shit...” He says. “Holy fucking shit...”
Brendon takes a slow step toward his own body. He doesn't look physically hurt but the tubes in his nose, crooks of his arms, snaking down his throat, tell a different story.
“Oh, oh my god.” He is standing over his body now, looking at where the skin on his neck is dried and dead from the heroin needles. Brendon's stomach twists and he has to turn away from the sight.
He'll fucking kill Gabe. He will fucking murder that perverted piece piece of-
“Excuse me, but what are you doing in my son's room?” A tiny female voice makes Brendon turn around. His eyes connect with eyes that are the same brown as his own.
“Mo-Ma'am. Um, B-Brendon was a friend of mine, actually. I...” Brendon trails off because he knows what his mom looks like when she's about to blow a gasket.
“Well, visiting hours are over for friends. Only family members now. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.” She deadpans, and Brendon wants to cry or hug her or something. Anything but leave.
He shuffles on his feet and looks at her from under his lashes and for a fleeting moment he saw recognition in her eyes. Then she looked completely baffled.
“P-please leave.” She says, voice shaky and eyes averted.
“Um, look, Mrs. Urie. What's going on with Brendon? I...” Brendon tries to think of a credible lie. “I phoned Pete but he seemed too torn up to give me much insight. I drove eight hours. I'd really like to know if he's going to be alright.”
Mrs. Urie frowns but nods. “Peter isn't taking things well at all. Which says a lot for Peter. He generally has too much energy. I guess that's why he and my baby were such good friends.” She says and Brendon catches the 'were' part.
“Brendon isn't doing well. The heroin has tainted his blood stream and nothing the doctors have given him has helped any. One detox counteracts with the other and it's all just getting worse. Right now, he's on life support. We were...we were going to pull the plug last Wednesday but...something told me that he could make it back to us. My baby is a strong boy. And no matter how many bad choices he's made, I love him. His father and brothers and sisters love him and...I just know he'll make it home to us...”
Brendon sees the tears streaming down his mother's face and he wants to go to her and hug her and cry with her but he can't. It's breaking his fucking heart seeing her like this.
“H-How long before you...you know?”
Mrs. Urie sighs, dabbing at her pretty eyes with a napkin. “Two weeks. Maybe less. The longer we keep him on life support the higher the chances of side effects. Memory loss. Brain damage. Speech aversion. God, I couldn't handle having him lose his ability to talk. My Brendon loves to talk. Loves to sing. We can't wait too much longer, I suppose.”
The air in the room is heavy and mournful and Brendon is choking. He makes a vague motion of goodbye before stepping out of the hospital room and shutting the door.
“God...” Brendon begins, then stops, leaning against the cold wall and sliding to the linoleum. This has to work. It has to work. If it doesn't then...
“God. That's my mommy in there. And I'm sorry for being such a stupid kid and not listening to her and not going to church or going on the mission after high school and for being gay and smoking pot and having sex. I'm sorry, okay? I just want to live again. I want my mom to be happy. And my dad and my sisters and brothers and Pete and Bill and...and Ryan. Especially Ryan. I love Ryan. Like, a lot. And... I promise, God, I'll do whatever it is you want me to do. Just...please help make this easier for me. Please help me get back home.”
“Your prayers have been answered my child.” Says a voice. A manly voice but not nearly as manly as what Brendon would assume God would sound like. He opens his eyes to find a guy, about his height, maybe a little shorter. The guy has shaggy, long brown hair and dark brown eyes. He's wearing a pure white hoodie and white jeans.
“Who're you?” Brendon asks, wiping the embarrassing tear trails from his flushed cheeks. The dude smiles.
“Name's Alex. Alex Gaskarth. Guardian angel etc, etc. You're Brendon Boyd Urie, Born April 12, 1987 are we done, dude?” The guy, Alex presses. And damn, what is with these angels and their impatience?!
“Where's Maja?”
Alex blinks. “Oh, the blonde? She was just an intern. Yeah, the Big Guy took her off the job, you know. Sucks and all. I remember when I was an intern. Back in '92 and-”
“Hey! What do you want, man?” Brendon asks, agitated and just about ready to give the fuck up. Alex again blinks. He seems to do that a lot. Like a confused puppy or something. Then his eyes brighten and he grins.
“Oh! Right. Well I'm your permanent GA from here on out unless you've got some kind of issue with that in which case you can take that up with Heaven Support. Or I mean, like Jack is free but he pretty much fucks every person he helps out so. I would stick with me if I were you, you know-”
“Dude!” Brendon throws his hands in the air and Alex frowns.
“Right, right. Sorry. Anyway, like I was saying. Maja sucks at life and I'm here to help you out.”
Brendon eyes the guy suspiciously. “Help me, how? You gonna make me myself again?”
Alex shrugs. “Well, no. Not exactly. I can't get you out of your little deal with Maja. But I can take some of the binding off of it.”
Brendon groans. “What fucking deal, man?”
“Language, dude. Language.” Alex says. And Brendon wants to remind him that he had just said fuck not two minutes ago. “And you know. The two week deal. Get Bryan to fall in love with you in this new body. Which I think is total fuckery, because c'mon. No one can get anyone to fall in love with them in fourteen days. Well, eleven for you, right? Unless the person is like...fucking Chuck Norris or-”
“Alex...the point. Find it.” Brendon warns, standing up and staring at the angel.
“Kay. Well, if you want dude, you can tell Bryan-”
“Ryan.” Brendon corrects grimly.
“-Ryan that you're you. I mean, he probably wont believe you but, whatever right? It's worth a shot. But here's the catch, guy.”
And Brendon was dreading this part. There is always a catch with these fucking angels.
“If Ryan tells you to leave again. As in, 'Hey, man, fuck off' and he really means it. You're screwed. Deal is void and you're dead. You come back with me and I'll assign you to be a GA to some lost soul or something. Or you can work in the mail room. Your choice.” Alex says, then scratches his chin.
“That's it? If he doesn't believe me and tells me to leave him alone, I get no second chances?” Brendon asks, eyes stinging. Alex shrugs and blinks.
“Best I can do, really. So, like..break a leg or something, dude. I gotta roll.” And Alex is gone just that quickly.
“Well, shit...” Brendon murmurs.
He needs to find Ryan.
* * *
RYAN:
Ryan sits on the counter during his break, drinking a latte and munching on one of Jon's special brownies. Jon is over in a booth talking on the phone like a school girl. With Spencer. The fuck, right?
Ryan jumps and almost falls when Jon lets out an obnoxiously loud laugh. “Oh, SPENCER! You crack me up!” He shoots Ryan a smug look and Ryan flips him off fondly. Little shit.
He hops down eventually, walking back to the other side of the counter just as a customer enters. Ryan doesn't look up from his cell where he is playing Angry Birds. Fuck you, he's still on break.
“Excuse me-”
“No.” Ryan deadpans, not looking up.
“No?”
“No.” Ryan says again. He's on break. He isn't fixing anyone anything, damn it!
There's a silence only filled by Jon's laughter and the sound of little pigs falling from block towers. It's quite peaceful, Ryan thinks.
“Ryan.” The voice whines, sounding sad and heartfelt and Ryan thinks, Brendon?
He looks up into dark brown eyes and for a moment, it is Brendon. It isn't anyone else. It is Brendon. And for a moment there's something that is communicated between the two of them.
'It's me, Ry. It's me.'
“Jace?” Ryan's mouth says but for fucks sake his mind is screaming, Brendon!
Jace shuffles from one foot to the other. “Yeah. Yeah. Um, I came to ask you something. Actually...” He scratches his neck and looks Ryan in the eyes, determination apparent. “I came to tell you something.”
Ryan doesn't know if he's breathing at all but the fact that he hasn't fainted yet is a good sign that he's breathing fine. Jace continues to talk when Ryan doesn't answer.
“Tonight. At seven. I'm picking you up from your place and I'm taking you to the carnival. And you're going to come with me and you're not going to be an asshat and say no. Okay?” Jace's voice is forceful but his eyes are hopeful and kind of adorable and Ryan nods.
“Really?” Jace asks, eyes bugging out of his head and Ryan smiles. Just a little.
“Yeah. At seven.” Ryan says, his mind not yet catching up with his mouth.
Jace grins that big grin that makes Ryan's heart hurt. Makes him feel like it is Brendon he's talking to.
“Okay...” Jace says then leans over the counter, placing a very short and chaste kiss on Ryan's cheek. “See you at seven, then.”
And then he's leaving. Out the door and down the sidewalk. And Ryan. Well Ryan is grinning.
And Jon is snickering and looking at him.
“Shut the fuck up, Walker.” Ryan says, but he is still smiling.
God...
What is he going to wear?
* * *
A/N: So, this took me far too long for it to be so damn short. But I had writer's block. And it sucked. But I fixed my stupid brain, and produced this for you all. I hope it's okay!!!