Warnings: there are strong suicide and self-harm themes; while it isn't graphic, it explores the motives so read at your own discretion
Summary: A Glee/P!atD crossover where Blaine and Brendon are cousins etc. Kurt and Ryan are best friends, and best friends always find ways of taking care of each other.
I think the first time I met Ryan was in our freshman year of high school. At first, we barely acknowledged each other; we would just nod when we saw each other get beat up in the hallway and go on with our days. It's not really a conventional way to meet someone, but then I guess nothing about us is conventional. We tried to blend in, but then something we did or said would give it away that we were different. Who am I kidding-- that we were gay. With me, it usually appeared in my clothes. It was a kind of experimental phase. Fashion is kind of my thing. If I don't end up in music, I would end up at Vogue or something. Unfortunately, in high school, that's the kind of thing that gets you noticed, and not in a good way. Not if you're a boy, at least.
But Ry... Ry never really bothered to hide his queerness. I only say that because of his admittedly bizarre behavior. He developed eventually an incredibly creative way of keeping away people he didn't want near him, actually using to his advantage what otherwise made him a victim. Homophobia. He made it into a real fear. He would say all these weird things whenever anyone touched him, like one time a cheerleader bumped into him and he just said, "Our skin just had sex." And he always spoke in the most serious tone and always with a straight face, so there was no way to say, oh he's just joking. That Ryan. What a card.
I figured out what he was doing. I knew he had another friend who thought it was so funny every time: the drummer for the jazz band, Spencer. Well, I didn't know that then, but it was an interesting sight to see. He always cracked up at Ry's one-liners. Seeing Spencer was how I figured out there was an in, so to speak. And, I'll admit, I observed them for a little while. I was in mostly the same boat as him, but I didn't have any friends. No one would talk to me except to call me names. So, I tried to figure out how to talk to Ryan. I figured since we had something in common, maybe it would work out.
I saw my chance one day while he was washing some slushie off his face in the restroom. I had just been hit, too, and I had all my products and spare clothes. He was still trying to get clean when I finished with them.
"Here," I offered, placing my dry shampoo and pocket-size detergent in his reach. "It should help with the itching and staining." He seemed surprised that I was helping him. It was our first real interaction, and at that point I would have been surprised at a stranger helping me too. "Don't worry; it's not laced with nitroglycerin or anything."
"Thanks..." he replied tentatively. (It turns out, that's just how he talks. Slowly, deliberately, like he has to choose every syllable carefully. That's probably what also makes him such a talented writer.)
"Don't mention it," I nodded, slipping into a stall to change my shirt. "I'm Kurt, by the way."
"Ryan." He said nothing; I heard the click of the shampoo bottle and breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't going to avoid me.
"At least the blue ones taste good," I quipped.
"Yeah, the other ones taste like cough medicine."
"Exactly! Except they dumped in half a pound of sugar to try and make it appealing and watered it down so no one would notice." I heard Ryan laugh as I tugged my clean t-shirt over my head. When I exited the stall he was trying to negotiate the stain lifter with his own drenched shirt. "I might have another extra, if you want."
"Nah, I'm good," he mumbled.
"Really? Because you've only been rubbing the stain in with the pen instead of using the detergent. Let me. I'm kind of an expert." He unabashedly lifted it off and handed me both the shirt and the pen. I was a little taken aback (unexpected shirtless boy!) but went straight to work.
We talked a little as he waited for me to finish cleaning. He eventually asked me to get his gym shirt- there was no way he was going to wear this one for the rest of the day- and we mostly stayed in the bathroom. Not something one would expect from me, right? Playing hooky all afternoon with someone I essentially just met. But I saw his bruises from getting pushed around, and I couldn't help but empathize. I showed him mine. We talked about why we were getting bullied and how stupid the jocks were that they had to push us around out of spite. I offered to hang out with him after school at my place and he agreed.
I think that what initially led me to him was the fact that both of us knew what the other was going through. Like, it's hard enough being a teenager, but then adding on the fact that we were gay in a small town... It was like someone sent an angel. Not someone to protect me-- he couldn't do that any better than anyone else-- but a friend. A real friend. And back then, the only one.
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Ryan, I should say, is by no means an angel. If he was, he probably would have gotten kicked out of the angel academy on inappropriate behavior. There's the obvious, with his way of avoiding people, and then there's... behavior unbecoming.
I think it's always some kind of metaphor whenever I read a story about a kid who was born with wings, but ends up cutting them off and shaving them down. That kid was born different. And even though it's not a bad kind of different, he hurts himself in order to be just like everyone else.
Ryan and I got to talking about coping with the bullying. Neither of us were in a particularly good place mentally; there were the school issues, and then there were family issues. I lost my mom when I was 8, and my dad didn't really talk to me much. He and I didn't have a lot in common, and I think I reminded him too much of Mom (I know I take after her a lot more than I do him) for us to spend any real time bonding. Before Ryan, I didn't have any friends. And I wasn't about do actually do anything, but I thought a lot about disappearing. Dying. How no one would really miss me because they didn't really know me. I thought about ways I could get away with it. There was bleach in the cabinet, scarves in my closet, a bunch of pills that probably made a messy cocktail. I considered stepping into traffic once, but that was too risky and sounded painful. I didn't want that for my tragic, untimely demise. I thought about seeing my mom, too, in some afterlife I don't even believe in. Thinking is as far as it ever went.
It wasn't exactly the same for Ryan. I knew his family was terrible to him, far worse than simply ignoring him, and I knew he didn't take it well. In fact, it took him a while to start to tell me how he was really dealing with his problems. About the end of freshman year.
It always seems like he shrugged it off. But, after I talked to him one day about my secret thoughts...
"Me too," he admitted. In that same slow, careful tone. "Most people would say I don't deal well with my problems, but maybe you'd understand. I know it's not so pleasant and it sure as hell isn't normal, but..."
I could only stare, wide-eyed, as he tugged up the leg of his basketball shorts. He had lines and lines of red, freshly scabbed over. Like it just happened last night. Each one was long and deep and deliberate, just like his voice. I shook my head.
"Ry..." I began. My voice cracked. That only happens when I'm really scared, because my voice hasn't shown any signs of changing. I didn't understand. He was already getting hurt every day at school. There was no need to do this. "What happened?"
He sighed and pursed his lips, but continued. "My dad got drunk," he shrugged. Like this was a normal occurrence. I already knew his dad was a mad drunk. Ry told me that he was alcoholic, but refused to go to rehab or anything because he didn't see any problem. Plus, there was a danger that he would assault anyone who even suggested an intervention.
"But you're already hurt. Why did you...?"
"I suppose..." he said as he tugged the leg of his shorts back down, "it's not so bad when I know where it's coming from."
I hung my head and thought some more. What he said made sense. Cutting had put him in control of his own pain, as opposed to remaining at the mercy of everyone around him. I'd felt that, too, but I was way too scared to try hurting myself. I didn't want to suffer any more than I already was. "I'd miss you," I eventually said softly. "I mean it. You're the best friend I've ever had. The only friend I've ever had. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Ryan hung his head too and dragged his nails across the barely-healing cuts. He didn't speak.
"We should try to stay alive, for each other," I suggested. "And if you fall off the horse, I'm there to catch you. Next time you feel like doing this, call me instead, okay?"
"Yeah..."
"Because we've got to get out of here someday, and it's going to be hard to be rich and famous if we die before we even start," I grinned. "We're going to prove that we're better than them. We're going to make them regret everything."
He smirked. "You have to get better, too. If you have to hide my razors, I have to hide your scarves."
We laughed. I hugged him. "Whatever, Ry. Let's get some bandages and neosporin."
Summary: Glee/Panic! at the Disco AU where Brendon Urie is Blaine’s cousin and Ryan Ross is Kurt’s best friend. Brendon helps Kurt around on his first day at Dalton.
Summary: Glee/Panic! at the Disco AU where Brendon Urie is Blaine’s cousin and Ryan Ross is Kurt’s best friend. Brendon pays Kurt, and Ryan, a little visit.
WARNING: This chapter contains (the aftermath of) self-harm, which may be triggering to some readers.
