Brendon is not necessarily human, in fact, possibly the furthest thing from. What happens when he crosses paths with a troubled teen in an impassive hospital room? *Ryden
Another restrained cry brought me quickly back to my senses. I was here for one reason and one reason only. That was to take the man who was lying lifelessly under the sickeningly white sheets of the hospital bed. The teenager that was resting in the chair slowly lifted his head out of its hiding place in his hands. He ran his shaking fingers through his hair, pushing his bangs back, revealing his red puffy eyes. Something about him was captivating. It could have been the way his honey-brown eyes faintly glistened as tears ran down his white, porcelain cheeks. What does it feel like; sadness and pain? Is it a terrible sensation that would drive me to pure madness? Or would I be thoroughly thankful that I have emotions instead of being this numb, torpid individual. Once again, my thoughts were interrupted, this time by his voice.
“You were one sick bastard.” His voice wavered a little as he put emphasis on sick. His head fell back into his hands as he tried to steady his breathing. For some reason, I desperately wanted to comfort this tattered, broken boy. I had to stop myself from reaching out and consoling him by gently stroking his back. I came here to do my job, not heal the mourning.
Shifting my gaze from the slender teenager to the sick man cloaked in white blankets, I cautiously walked over to the bed. I don’t know why I took precaution because I knew no one could see me, hear me, or feel me. Unless I wanted them to, of course. When I reached his bedside, I took one good look at the man. He looked worn out and exhausted. He had grey hair which was slightly matted down to his forehead. There were various amounts of wires connecting him to his life support machine. He looked like he lived his life to his fullest. Why did this kid hate him so much?
Without giving anything a second thought, I reached out to the elderly man and placed my hand on his chest. Then, everything happened in a blur. The beeping of his heart rate monitor steadied to a long, high pitched, noise causing the young boy to quickly lift his head from his hands. Doctors began to pour into the room one by one. The whole scene was chaotic with paramedics trying to resuscitate the dead man. It was no use for them to keep trying. He was already standing next to me, both of us looking down at his lifeless body. The young boy who was seated on the chair was frantically pacing around the room, tears streaming down his face which was contorted with fear and pain.
After about ten minutes of cleaning up the frantic mess, the doctor walked over to the distressed boy and placed his hand on his shoulder.
“I’m truly sorry,” the doctor said, trying desperately to comfort the teenager.
“D-don’t be. He got what he deserved,” he spat out sharply as he turned and swiftly walked out of the room, the doctor following right behind. The only thing a human would see is an empty hospital room, which moments before was occupied by emotions of torment and sorrow. But it wasn’t just a vacant room, for his soul was there, standing right next to me.
“What are you?” The old man asked, his voice sounding hallow. I took in a deep breath and turned so I was facing him.
“We don’t really have titles for ourselves,” I said, pondering the question a little longer.
“We?” The aged man asked sounding even more confused, if possible.
“Yes. There are many of us. We watch over you humans, make sure your life is on track.” The elder’s jaw dropped a little in awe.
“So are you like a guardian angel?” I couldn’t help but to laugh a bit. He looked so perplexed, his eyes wide in amazement. They were the same color as the younger boys.
“Yes, I suppose you can say that.” Silence took over the conversation making it helpful to listen to what was going on around us. Suddenly, curiosity got the best of me.
“That person, who was sitting next to you, did you know him?” I asked the decrepit man who was still standing in the same place beside me.
“Ryan? Yeah, actually. He uh, he was my son,” he said with a slight frown on his face. He turned to look at me. “Yeah, I know. Not much of a son, eh?” Then, I felt my hatred towards the man grow, the disgust building in my eyes.
“At least he was here, right next to you, when you died. Now I don’t know about you, but I really think he loved you, even if you didn’t return the favor.” And with that, I touched the man’s chest once again and he disappeared, gone from the earth forever.
I turned on my heel and walked out the exit of the hospital room. A little distance down the hallway, I could see the boy by the name of Ryan stumble into the stairwell. I was determined in following him. I reached the stairwell and effortlessly seeped through the wooden door. Once inside, I heard muffled whimpers coming from the top step. There he was, sitting with his head in his knees and his arms wrapped around his legs as if he didn’t want to lose himself too. I slowly walked up the few stairs until I was face to face with him. Calmly, Ryan picked up his head and stared at me straight in the eyes, his honey ones melting my dark chocolate ones. He couldn’t see me, but I was sure he knew I was there.
“I should’ve been a better son! I should’ve helped the son of a bitch! I could’ve saved him!” He began to yell as his hands gripped furiously at his hair, tears falling from his eyes and onto the step where he sat. He was in misery and was suffering because of something he didn’t even do. And that’s when I promised to myself that I, Brendon Boyd Urie, was going to protect Ryan, no matter the cost.
A/N Okay so I know right now this story probably sounds really stupid, but I have so many ideas I want to play with. Let me know what you think of this so far! R&R