(c) Catch Me a Star [PG-13]

Old story written and posted on Mibba about 3 months ago.

Title: Catch Me a Star
Author: me (vendetta)
Rating: PG-13
Genre(s): fanfiction, teen, death fic
Summary: Ryan asked Brendon to catch him a star.
-

Ryan told Spencer first. Spencer told his mum. His mum told Brendon's mum. Brendon's mum told Brendon, and Brendon smiled sadly.

"It isn't a big deal," he'd shake his head, tufts of mischievous hair dangling in his eyes, "It's probably benign."

"And if it isn't?"

"Then, well, I'm going to die."

"How can you be so calm about it?"

"We all die."

Brendon was undeniably crushed that he was the last to find out. Ryan could see his sadness, somehow, he felt abandoned, forgotten, but this wasn't Brendon's battle, it was Ryan's.

"Where is it?" Brendon marched into the kitchen where the 17 year old scrawny Ryan was sucking on a water-iceblock, the sound of his teeth crushing the ice sent echo's resounding through to his brain.

"Heart," Ryan knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Will it kill you?" he was anxious, pleading, pressing his palms together so that little pocket of air popped between his fingers.

"I hope not," he tapped his foot on the sticky floor. Tap tap.

"Were you going to tell me, ever?" Brendon got closer to Ryan. Tap tap.

"Of course, you're my friend," tap. Bite.

"And that's it?" he was frantic.

"Yes, Brendon, that's it."

-

The first test results were negative. There was definitely an abnormal growth on Ryan's left aorta, but the only harm it did was speed up his heartbeat on occasion.

"No sports or strenuous exercise. And no horror films."

"Yes doctor."

"And no sex," Mrs. Ross gasped inwardly.

"Yes doctor."

"I'm serious," Ryan had a light smile playing on his lips, "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No doctor," the Doctor raised an eyebrow.

"Boyfriend?"

"No!" Ryan and Mrs. Ross' protests were enough.

"Okay, just keep physical activity to a minimum."

"Yes doctor."

-

Ryan's first major collapse was unexpected. He was out shopping with Spencer for new shoes when his heart went fluttery, his chest cavity felt hollow and empty. He hit the cold hard ground of the mall weightlessly. Things started to get serious after then.

Rainbow assortments of thin tubes poured from Ryan's flesh. His fingertips were numb. His eyes stung.

"Call Brendon," he spoke in hushed hurried whispers to Spencer who was kneeling beside him in the back of the ambulance, "and ask him to catch me a star. Tell him to wish and make everything better"

"Uh, sure Ry," the paramedic looked at him bewildered.

"And Spence?"

"Mhm?"

"Tell him I love him," Spencer patted his forearm gently.

-

"Spencer rang me," Brendon never started their conversations normally. It was always mid-sentence. He was abrupt, anxious, never able to spit his words out quick enough.

"Yeah?" Ryan fiddled with the wailing flashing machine beside him.

"He told me what you said."

"What did I say?"

"You - you asked me to catch you a star, Ryan," he blubbered, tears threatening to roll out at any minute.

"I did? I don't remember, it was probably the medication they gave me," he exhaled heavily through his nose.

"Ry, why won't you look at me?" he sniffled.

"I already know what you look like, why would I need to?" he fumbled with the thick white bedsheets.

"Just look at me."

"No."

"Please?"

"I think you should leave."

-

More tests. The cancer was malicious. It had torn through his lungs, rendering only his right on usable. Occasionally he coughed up blood. Thick, red, oozing, and gluggy. Not like the shiny red blood he was used to seeing being spilled from his arms.

"It'll pass," the Nurse reassured.

It didn't. It got thicker and heavier and harder to breathe. Ryan was accustomed to the whitewashed walls of the hospital now, feeding through an IV. His skin was blotchy and pink, and sometime when he would touch it it burned. He didn't like visitors much, he just sat in his room alone, humming mindless tunes to himself.

He liked it that way.

The doctor told Ryan his hair would inevitably fall out. But it barely budged.

"It's a sign," his mother whispered, "You're going to pull through," she smiled wearily. The weakness in her face mimicked that of the feeling in Ryan's bones. Sore. Aching. He felt heavy.

Chemo went for three months. 2 days before his 18th birthday he was allowed home.

"We'll see you again on Monday," the doctors smiled false smiles and waved fake goodbyes.

"Yes doctor."

Later that afternoon, Brendon went over to give him his birthday gift. He entered through their back door nervously. He hadn't seen Ryan in months. He looked the same. Tired, but still Ryan.

"I brought you something," he presented his hands cupped together, "A star," they were empty. But not quite. The glow in Brendon's eyes was enough. Ryan fell into his arms and cried.

"I'm going to die, Bren, I'm so scared," splutters fell from his quivering lips.

"Don't be scared, you're an Angel."

"I'm sorry I pushed you away," he sobbed, "I didn't want to put you through this." Brendon's hands rubbed small patterns on his back.

"It's okay Ry, you'll be okay.I'm okay."

"No I won't. I'm going to die alone."

"You're never alone. God will look after you."

"No he won't, he made me sick."

"He loves you.

"No he doesn't," he shook his head in the same denying way he did when he found out he had cancer.

"... I love you."

"Thanks," he whimpered, "don't ever leave me."

"I wont, I promise."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Ry."

Silence screamed around them.

"Promise you'll live forever."

"I promise."

Ryan fell asleep in Brendon's arms on the lounge. He woke up to Ryan's last breath, quaking and shaking and being engulfed in agony. Droplets of glistening blood trickled out of his dry lips, pooling in the cracks. Brendon rocked his body, slowly, in rhythm with his own resounding heartbeat, tears sliding down his prickling cheeks.