Chapter Text
Ryan was a man trapped. By what was anyone’s guess. He wasn’t an open person, he didn’t talk about his inner desires or wishes or even the old lady waving to him across the street that no one else could see. He didn’t react to the whispers of people around him, the whispers of “Who is he talking to?” and “Doesn’t he realize he’s alone?” He didn’t want to give people any more material to ridicule him for, so he didn’t talk about the people that he could see that other people couldn’t. He used to, but had long since learned his lesson.
As a child with no barriers for his thoughts everything came pouring out of his mouth. Did you know that our house used to belong to a grumpy old man who hated company but adored hearing children laughing? Did you know that my school had to be rebuilt after a fire? Have you ever met our neighbor’s daughter? Yes, of course she has one. I talk to her all the time. Did you know, did you know, did you know?
His parents always humored him, assuming it was the overactive imagination of a child. They laughed at jokes they couldn’t hear and let him be when he talked to the air. When the room got colder or something moved that shouldn’t have they just assumed it was the wind blowing or the cat messing around. While they smiled at their son’s antics they never believed him or thought it would last. It was just a quirk he would grow out of with age. It was nothing to worry about, they said repeatedly, he’s just being a kid.
Soon enough, though, it stopped being fun or adorable. Soon he crossed a line that he shouldn’t have crossed, though how was he to know, as young as he was? The day his mom came home with smeared makeup and a bottle of something that didn’t look like soda was the day his life changed forever. The small hiccups of sound didn’t translate as a need to be alone to a child’s mind. It was something unfamiliar, something strange that he needed to learn about.
“Mom?” he asked innocently, not fully understanding the gravity of the situation. There was only one thing he understood, and it was the absence of a parental figure. “Where’s dad? He’s coming home soon, right? Right?”
There was no sound but the sloshing of the liquid in the bottle and the soft crying coming from his mother. Confused, Ryan stepped forward, trying to comfort her. As soon as his hand made contact with her back he felt a sting on his cheek and a hysterical widow yelling at him. "No, he's not! He's not coming back, he's not coming home! He's... oh, God, he's gone, he's dead." As his mother sunk to the ground Ryan felt tears gather in his eyes. Looking back he couldn't have blamed her for her behavior, after all, a death is a terrible thing for people who can't talk to the departed.
He didn't blame her for that night, but he blamed her for the subsequent years. He blamed her for the hell she put him through, and no amount of words would sway his decision. He was a child; he was a victim of circumstance. No amount of neglect on his mother’s part could bring her husband back. When his dad sat at the end of his bed that night he tried his best to console his son. "Don't blame your mother. She probably misses me a lot. It's... it's complicated. When people die they leave behind something. Sometimes it's a house, sometimes it's a history, but most of the time it's a family. People die every day and people are forgotten, but there is always someone out there, someone with a hole in their hearts that may or may never be filled again that will always remember them. I guess that has to be you and your mother now. And when your mother dies it will be you."
"But why?" He had sniffled, rubbing the sore spot on his cheek. Death was far from an unexplored topic for him but it seemed surreal to be happening to him. The ghosts he talked to weren’t people he knew, they were strangers. It didn’t matter how they died or who they were because they didn’t care about him unless he was willing to help them. To have it happen to his father was something he had never considered in his few years of life. It seemed more permanent. "Why did you have to die? I don't want you to be gone."
His father shuffled his feet a bit, making no noise for he couldn’t exactly interact with the world as he normally would. As he pieced together the right words to help his son to understand the house was silent. "It's... hard to explain. People are horrendously selfish, and sometimes that selfishness pushes them to do things they wouldn't if they considered who would be affected. I'm sorry I didn't think about you or your mother tonight. I'm sorry I was selfish."
Ryan whipped his eyes roughly, forcing a smile on his face. He wanted to hug his dad, he wanted his mom there too. But he couldn't touch ghosts unless they touched him first and his mother was drowning in booze somewhere downstairs. "It's ok. I forgive you."
His father smiled. "That's all I needed to hear." He leaned over and ruffled Ryan's hair. That was the last time he had ever saw him. That was the last time his mother had looked at him with anything but contempt. That night she stormed into his room, her face red and her eyes wet.
"Stop it!" She shrieked. "This has gone on too long. Stop talking to people who aren't there! Stop acting like your father is still alive, stop it stop it stop it!"
He could never forgive her for that.
As an impressionable child who had just lost his father and whose mother was irreparably shattered his childhood quickly turned sour. His mother didn't look at him nor did she interact with him besides the microwavable meals he found when he got home from school. Even those stopped with time, though. He didn't have many living friends except for the cheery blonde named Barbara who managed to keep his head above the waterline. There were others, though Barbara was one of the only ones to stay even after she learned about a certain quirk of his.
The only other friend that stayed was the therapist his mother made them go to. She was a nice lady, friendly but not cheerful. Serious but able to laugh. She stopped questioning the ghosts in his head when he passed on a message from her dead husband. Her name was Griffon. She managed to keep a professional attitude though Ryan could tell their relationship had gone a bit farther then a doctor and a patient. Geoff clung to him for a long time after that.
As high school and even college passed the harsh reality that he would have to start making a living deceased upon him. He found a slightly isolated house just outside of the Austin city limits. It was perfect, and it even had a friendly ghost living there. His name was Jack and he had designed and built the house himself. Soon enough an add was placed in the newspaper for a medium and he found a job in a small company as an animator, editor, and just about any odd job they could assign him.
It was time to start living.