The Chronicles of a Broken Man [SA]
Title: The Chronicles of a Broken Man [SA]
Author harbored_secret
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon slightly
POV: 3rd, Ryan Centric
Summary: Now he had just a shell of what he used to have.
Disclaimer: As true as my love for the Jonas Brother. And if you have any common sense, you'd know this story is a lie.
Beta: skies_in_vegas
Author Notes: At the end.
He could smell the despair. The failure. The broken memories, emotions, hearts. He could feel it though it had been gone from the place for awhile now.
The skeleton of the building in front of Ryan was all that was left of the greatest thing that had ever happened to him. He had it all; an amazing girlfriend, a successful band, the typical house of a musician, hell he even had a sports car.
Now he had just a shell of what he used to have.
He walked around the back of the building slowly. He watched as the paint repaired itself, as the burnt pieces of wood rose from the ground like a phoenix being reborn. The glass from the windows that had exploded from the heat slowly fastened itself back into the window frames. By the time he got to the back of the house, it was like it was the last time he remembered it.
The first time he saw that building, it was a dream come true. He never thought he’d get to this point. It was the first thing he purchased when he got the money from his pay check. He lacked a permanent home when he was little. Home being used in the sense that he had a save place to go with people who loved him. Of course he had Spencer’s house, he always had Spencer house. But that was the problem; it was Spencer’s house, not Ryan’s house or their house.
When he drove past the house, it was pretty run down. It use to be an old farm house out in the country side of California. When he drove by, he knew that it was what he wanted. He wanted something that he could fix, something that he could make what he wanted it to be with his own hands.
He pulled into an empty space next to the house and got out of the car, removing his sunglasses and throwing them into the car through the window. He walked over to the front door and pushed it open. He loved the creaky sound it gave. The scream it gave to be repaired after being abandoned. Just like Ryan had been when he was younger.
The floors were sinking in and the roof was following close by. It was dangerous to be in there, and it made Ryan even more excited. Seeing the wallpaper peeling off the wall, he moved his hand to flatten it against the wall again. Once he removed his hand, it returns to its original position.
The stairs were almost gone, but Ryan’s weight was nothing more than a push of the wind. Once he reached the top he stopped to admire the destruction. There was nothing there. The floor was gone and one of the walls in the back was dismantled. There was half a window frame with a curtain rod hanging there, the curtain itself ripped and tattered, blowing in the wind.
Ryan didn’t even take a second look around. He turned around and made his way down the stairs, on his way he returned to the piece of wallpaper that was slowly peeling away and ripped it off. He took out his wallet and folded the piece inside of it.
That piece symbolized his chance at control, his chance to finally show that he had the ability to pick his own path. To create his own world.
The following months he had his band mates help him repair the broken house, the same way they had helped him repair his broken life. It wasn’t easy, but nothing ever is. It took hours and hours of hard work. They would go on tour, leaving the paint brushes on the newly done stairs covered in the white canvas that they would lay on the floor and would come back and pick up right where they left off.
At night, those days where they didn’t have any room, they would sleep in a tent laid out in the backyard, or Ryan and Brendon would spend the night out in the field looking at the night sky, just talking about everything that would come to mind. Sometimes there would be nothing on their minds and they would talk about that.
It would be quiet; the only sound was the natural sound of the earth spinning underneath them and Ryan would cherish it. Silence had always scared him because he thought if there was silence, than he was a lone. If there was silence there was no story to be told. But now as he grew older and he learned all of life’s lessons, he began to understand that silence meant you were never a lone.
Other times when he had his eyes closed and he would breathe in the air around him, a sudden laughter would break out from the tent behind him and he couldn’t help but laugh. At what, he never really knew. Maybe he was laughing at himself. Laughing at everything that had happened in the past, everything that was happening now and everything that would come in his future. He was laughing at things that he knew weren’t funny. He was laughing at things that were happy. He was laughing at life, the way it should be.
Time past by and in that time the house began to take shape. Everything was taking shape. What shape that was Ryan didn’t know, but whatever shape it was, it would form the rest of his life. This, this right here, in this peaceful time of bliss and memories, was were he wanted to spend the rest of his life. If he could stay in this very moment, he would.
He remembered the day when Spencer came over to his newly constructed house, put a hand on his shoulder, and told him that he had made it. That after years of wanting the ability to listen to his own heart, he had finally found the way. That the only person that could stop him now was himself.
Maybe Spencer knew. Maybe he didn’t.
Ryan stepped up the stairs, not creaking the same way as they first had the day that he had first taken them to the top. This time they screamed of pain, of suffering, not from neglect, but from fear. Fear of love, fear of agreement, and fear of change.
If something was the way that you wanted it be, would you change it? You work for it and at some point someone tells you that you’ve been hiding for too long, would you accept their escape?
Brendon and Spencer simply wanted to be able to work with their friends. Ryan simply wanted to stay in his little world of control. A world where nothing was chosen for him, a world were he picked his own destiny. And how does that work? You ignore what is going against you, you fight it, and you pretend it’s no longer there.
What Ryan didn’t realize was how much the band actual made his life the way it was. When that was gone, it was like taking a little piece out of a stack of blocks in a jenga tower. He was still able to stand tall, but how long that would last, who knows?
But that was for Ryan to decide. It was his decision. To himself he was invincible. It would be them that needed him. Him and his words. Him and his thoughts. They would need him, they would miss him, and they would be crawling to him, begging for him to come back. Because this was Ryan’s house. This was his world. This was his choice. He finally made it and he was not about to give it away for anything or for anyone.
If he did anything wrong, it wasn’t his fault. It was their fault, because it was his world. If he was hurting, it was somebody’s fault. His world, his rules.
Ryan sighed as he got to the top step. He took a seat on the top and put his head in his hands. After a few minutes, he pulled his hands away and looked at them. These hands that built this house. The hands that took it down.
He didn’t realize things were as bad as they were until he could remember everything that had happened. Too much had happened.
Now sitting here on the stairs, he realizes it all. He sees that each thing he ignored because he wanted too wasn’t gone, but building up. Each memory carved into the bones of his frail skeleton. Each memory burnt into his pale skin, each memory drilled into his skull. Each memory hanging in a shiny frame on the walls of this house that he built.
When he cheated; burnt on his arm.
When she left; burnt into his heart.
When Spencer left; carved into his spine
When Brendon left; carved into his chest.
His burnt down house; hanging in a silver frame on a crooked doorway.
His house was built on false hope. On False memories. On false love. On deceit and lies. And not from his friends that helped him build it no. No this house was built by his own hands. These hands that he stares at right now.
The last block was pulled from the tower in the moment and with it he allowed his house to fall with it. The painted peeling away, the wallpaper just quickening the burn. The wood creaking, screaming, calling out to Ryan as he sat there on the steps. He could hear the glass breaking. He could hear the sound of the guitar strings snapping under the heat. He could feel the warmth that came from the blaze, he could see it as it quickly crawled across his home, his life, his control.
And as the tears rolled down his face, as his breath came out slowly, as his mind unburied itself, Ryan could feel the wind blow through the empty house. The burnt curtains blowing as they hold on to dear life. Just as Ryan does the same.
Ryan slowly reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. He slowly reached in and pulled out the piece of wallpaper that he had taken the first day. It was worn and torn and bent and pulled. And as Ryan held it in his shaking hands, the wind carried it away.
A/N: So I wrote this one day when I wasn't feeling too happy. As you can probably tell. I was listening to Best Of Me by Sum 41 when i wrote some of it and I wanted to cry so I stopped. I return now with it finished. Not sure hw well the ending really came out because I wasn't in that state of mind any more. Hard to put myself back in those shoes.
Author harbored_secret
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon slightly
POV: 3rd, Ryan Centric
Summary: Now he had just a shell of what he used to have.
Disclaimer: As true as my love for the Jonas Brother. And if you have any common sense, you'd know this story is a lie.
Beta: skies_in_vegas
Author Notes: At the end.
He could smell the despair. The failure. The broken memories, emotions, hearts. He could feel it though it had been gone from the place for awhile now.
The skeleton of the building in front of Ryan was all that was left of the greatest thing that had ever happened to him. He had it all; an amazing girlfriend, a successful band, the typical house of a musician, hell he even had a sports car.
Now he had just a shell of what he used to have.
He walked around the back of the building slowly. He watched as the paint repaired itself, as the burnt pieces of wood rose from the ground like a phoenix being reborn. The glass from the windows that had exploded from the heat slowly fastened itself back into the window frames. By the time he got to the back of the house, it was like it was the last time he remembered it.
The first time he saw that building, it was a dream come true. He never thought he’d get to this point. It was the first thing he purchased when he got the money from his pay check. He lacked a permanent home when he was little. Home being used in the sense that he had a save place to go with people who loved him. Of course he had Spencer’s house, he always had Spencer house. But that was the problem; it was Spencer’s house, not Ryan’s house or their house.
When he drove past the house, it was pretty run down. It use to be an old farm house out in the country side of California. When he drove by, he knew that it was what he wanted. He wanted something that he could fix, something that he could make what he wanted it to be with his own hands.
He pulled into an empty space next to the house and got out of the car, removing his sunglasses and throwing them into the car through the window. He walked over to the front door and pushed it open. He loved the creaky sound it gave. The scream it gave to be repaired after being abandoned. Just like Ryan had been when he was younger.
The floors were sinking in and the roof was following close by. It was dangerous to be in there, and it made Ryan even more excited. Seeing the wallpaper peeling off the wall, he moved his hand to flatten it against the wall again. Once he removed his hand, it returns to its original position.
The stairs were almost gone, but Ryan’s weight was nothing more than a push of the wind. Once he reached the top he stopped to admire the destruction. There was nothing there. The floor was gone and one of the walls in the back was dismantled. There was half a window frame with a curtain rod hanging there, the curtain itself ripped and tattered, blowing in the wind.
Ryan didn’t even take a second look around. He turned around and made his way down the stairs, on his way he returned to the piece of wallpaper that was slowly peeling away and ripped it off. He took out his wallet and folded the piece inside of it.
That piece symbolized his chance at control, his chance to finally show that he had the ability to pick his own path. To create his own world.
The following months he had his band mates help him repair the broken house, the same way they had helped him repair his broken life. It wasn’t easy, but nothing ever is. It took hours and hours of hard work. They would go on tour, leaving the paint brushes on the newly done stairs covered in the white canvas that they would lay on the floor and would come back and pick up right where they left off.
At night, those days where they didn’t have any room, they would sleep in a tent laid out in the backyard, or Ryan and Brendon would spend the night out in the field looking at the night sky, just talking about everything that would come to mind. Sometimes there would be nothing on their minds and they would talk about that.
It would be quiet; the only sound was the natural sound of the earth spinning underneath them and Ryan would cherish it. Silence had always scared him because he thought if there was silence, than he was a lone. If there was silence there was no story to be told. But now as he grew older and he learned all of life’s lessons, he began to understand that silence meant you were never a lone.
Other times when he had his eyes closed and he would breathe in the air around him, a sudden laughter would break out from the tent behind him and he couldn’t help but laugh. At what, he never really knew. Maybe he was laughing at himself. Laughing at everything that had happened in the past, everything that was happening now and everything that would come in his future. He was laughing at things that he knew weren’t funny. He was laughing at things that were happy. He was laughing at life, the way it should be.
Time past by and in that time the house began to take shape. Everything was taking shape. What shape that was Ryan didn’t know, but whatever shape it was, it would form the rest of his life. This, this right here, in this peaceful time of bliss and memories, was were he wanted to spend the rest of his life. If he could stay in this very moment, he would.
He remembered the day when Spencer came over to his newly constructed house, put a hand on his shoulder, and told him that he had made it. That after years of wanting the ability to listen to his own heart, he had finally found the way. That the only person that could stop him now was himself.
Maybe Spencer knew. Maybe he didn’t.
Ryan stepped up the stairs, not creaking the same way as they first had the day that he had first taken them to the top. This time they screamed of pain, of suffering, not from neglect, but from fear. Fear of love, fear of agreement, and fear of change.
If something was the way that you wanted it be, would you change it? You work for it and at some point someone tells you that you’ve been hiding for too long, would you accept their escape?
Brendon and Spencer simply wanted to be able to work with their friends. Ryan simply wanted to stay in his little world of control. A world where nothing was chosen for him, a world were he picked his own destiny. And how does that work? You ignore what is going against you, you fight it, and you pretend it’s no longer there.
What Ryan didn’t realize was how much the band actual made his life the way it was. When that was gone, it was like taking a little piece out of a stack of blocks in a jenga tower. He was still able to stand tall, but how long that would last, who knows?
But that was for Ryan to decide. It was his decision. To himself he was invincible. It would be them that needed him. Him and his words. Him and his thoughts. They would need him, they would miss him, and they would be crawling to him, begging for him to come back. Because this was Ryan’s house. This was his world. This was his choice. He finally made it and he was not about to give it away for anything or for anyone.
If he did anything wrong, it wasn’t his fault. It was their fault, because it was his world. If he was hurting, it was somebody’s fault. His world, his rules.
Ryan sighed as he got to the top step. He took a seat on the top and put his head in his hands. After a few minutes, he pulled his hands away and looked at them. These hands that built this house. The hands that took it down.
He didn’t realize things were as bad as they were until he could remember everything that had happened. Too much had happened.
Now sitting here on the stairs, he realizes it all. He sees that each thing he ignored because he wanted too wasn’t gone, but building up. Each memory carved into the bones of his frail skeleton. Each memory burnt into his pale skin, each memory drilled into his skull. Each memory hanging in a shiny frame on the walls of this house that he built.
When he cheated; burnt on his arm.
When she left; burnt into his heart.
When Spencer left; carved into his spine
When Brendon left; carved into his chest.
His burnt down house; hanging in a silver frame on a crooked doorway.
His house was built on false hope. On False memories. On false love. On deceit and lies. And not from his friends that helped him build it no. No this house was built by his own hands. These hands that he stares at right now.
The last block was pulled from the tower in the moment and with it he allowed his house to fall with it. The painted peeling away, the wallpaper just quickening the burn. The wood creaking, screaming, calling out to Ryan as he sat there on the steps. He could hear the glass breaking. He could hear the sound of the guitar strings snapping under the heat. He could feel the warmth that came from the blaze, he could see it as it quickly crawled across his home, his life, his control.
And as the tears rolled down his face, as his breath came out slowly, as his mind unburied itself, Ryan could feel the wind blow through the empty house. The burnt curtains blowing as they hold on to dear life. Just as Ryan does the same.
Ryan slowly reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. He slowly reached in and pulled out the piece of wallpaper that he had taken the first day. It was worn and torn and bent and pulled. And as Ryan held it in his shaking hands, the wind carried it away.
A/N: So I wrote this one day when I wasn't feeling too happy. As you can probably tell. I was listening to Best Of Me by Sum 41 when i wrote some of it and I wanted to cry so I stopped. I return now with it finished. Not sure hw well the ending really came out because I wasn't in that state of mind any more. Hard to put myself back in those shoes.