Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ryan starts off the Supernatural season with an easy one. Shane has been away on a short vacation and loathe as Ryan is to admit it, he missed him, so he's feeling merciful. He picks something lighthearted, a little silly, something he himself isn't going to be taking too seriously so Shane won't have to put the effort in to be respectful. Something they can cover from behind their desk on set, and won't have to stay up into the wee hours or trek through old dust. It's a welcome back gift, given without card or comment.

Shane comes in a few minutes late. Across the short distance from the front of the room to the back, he looks too tall for the doorway, just an inch or so larger than life, before he passes into the room and resolves into a normal person. He's fluffy haired and bleary eyed and soft. He folds himself down into the chair next to Ryan, knocking his knees all over the place like he somehow still isn't used to having seven miles of leg.

"Hey," he says. Ryan chews on his lip to keep his grin from getting too big, his heart picking up a beat in excitement that he gets to make Shane laugh in just a matter of minutes. He nods his own greeting in hopes that Shane won't cotton on too quick and Ryan might be able to take him by surprise - although he can't help but tap his folder on the table smugly. He pretends not to notice the narrow-eyed glance Shane gives him as TJ starts to count them in. Feeling dastardly, Ryan does wait until Shane takes his customary sip of coffee before he opens the episode.

"Today on Buzzfeed: Unsolved we will be discussing the legendary Unseelie Court," he introduces, and thrills at the expected choke beside him, "as part of our ongoing investigation into the question - is the supernatural real? So, before we get into it, Shane, do you believe in fairies?" Ryan laughs, feeling accomplished, when Shane shoots him another glare and clears his throat.

"That's a derisive term," he non-answers, and it's Ryan's turn to choke. Of all the things to turn around on him… But Shane gets that sly little tilt to his mouth that he always gets when he's gearing up to pull Ryan's leg until Ryan loses it, when he knows Ryan will never know for sure if he's fucking with him or not.

"I swear to god, Madej, if you say you believe in f-" Ryan can't help but laugh into the camera. Shane is just such an endearingly weird dude. Even though he frustrates Ryan to the point of boiling he's an endless source of entertainment too.

"Maybe I do!" Shane says, leaning back in his chair. His voice has an unusually combative undertone to it. Ryan glances quickly between his friend and Mark and TJ behind the camera, at Devon over by the sound equipment to see if they noticed, but it seems like it was just Ryan. "It makes more sense than ghosts."

"What- How- How can fairies make more sense than ghosts?" Ryan forgets all about Shane's vocal idiosyncrasies at that, and turns fully to face him. Now this. This is bullshit.

"The- the Folk are just people who come to be alive in a different way than human people." Ryan stares at Shane with eyes so wide they feel cold. He truly can't believe this is happening, but Shane is being completely earnest - maybe even defensive. He really believes in fucking fairies. "That absolutely makes more sense than, what, defective death or-"

"I'll give you a defective death," Ryan mutters, past his - justifiable! - shock, and Shane laughs.

"I'm just saying," he adds, gesturing the point. "Life can and will start anywhere, but it flows in one direction."

"Life, uh," Ryan intones, getting in a parody of both Shane and Jeff Goldblum simultaneously, trying to get the show back on track from Shane's typical weirdness, "finds a way."

"Wise words," Shane confirms, pointing into the camera. Ryan laughs, and then flips open his little folder with exaggerated officiancy.

"Well, now that we have confirmed once again that Shane is an insane person," he says with a faux-manic nod to the camera, "let's get into it. There are a lot of different definitions of what fairies actually are, but in this case we are talking about, quote - 'magical creatures with human appearance, small stature, magical powers, and a penchant for trickery' - unquote."

"A little bit presumptuous to think they're all the same height," Shane interjects, and Ryan cuts him an incredulous side-eye.

"What are you, like," he asks, "the one-man fairy defense squad or something?"

"Well," Shane says. "Apparently somebody has to be." And then he tsk s and wags his finger.

"Oh my God," Ryan laughs, rolling his eyes. "Anyway."

Ryan goes on to explain the Scottish folklore he researched for this episode. He covers the benevolent Seelie court and the more dangerous Unseelie court. He defines them with a few choice quotes from a professional folklorist for flavor. At the tail end for easy editing, Shane makes a rude noise and Ryan pauses expectantly.

"'The Court'," Shane repeats dismissively. He rolls his eyes for good measure, subtly exaggerating the gesture for the benefit of the camera, and probably a little bit to be a nuisance to Ryan too. "No. Law and Order, like capitalism, are purely human inventions."

"Law an- Are you an anarchist now?" Ryan laughs out with raised eyebrows. That, at least, is not so much of a surprise, unlike this apparent belief in Tinkerbell. Shane shrugs expansively, his skinny shoulders reaching all the way up to his ears.

"Hey," he says. "If the iron-on patch fits." Ryan barks out a laugh that dwindles into a definite, genuine wheeze. Pretty good one. Ryan moves on then to talk about the supposed monarchs of the two courts; Oberon and Titania of the Seelie, and Mab and Morgan of the Unseelie.

"Lesbians?" Shane asks, enthused.

"Uh, I think Morgan is a guy," Ryan admits, as much as he hates to let the big guy down. "But maybe? Uh, anyway, so, evidence. Frankly, there's not a lot that's reliable-"

"Nothing as credible this time around as the stuff on Underwater Area 51?" Shane wonders pointedly. Ryan glares at him as he takes another sip from his coffee, amused eyebrows raising over the rim of his travel cup.

"Shut up, Shane," Ryan mutters back. "I just mean that most of it is from children, like, explaining why they were late home or messed up their clothes or whatever."

"Excuses, sure," Shane acknowledges with a sideways nod, and finally deigns to let Ryan describe the anecdotes he has compiled. There are some from Ireland, from Wales, from England, and a precious few from the American northeast. There aren't many common denominators to the stories, aside from the fact that the fairies tend to ruin your day. Ryan goes in to the typical legends a little; the kidnappings and changelings and all, the names and the food, although direct sources were a little harder to find for those. Weirdly, Shane stays quiet for that, even when Ryan takes a long pause where he thinks Shane would have a comment. He shifts his weight back and forth at Ryan's side and stares at his coffee cup, turning it around and around in his hands. Ryan tells himself that it's probably nothing, that Shane is probably just still tired from traveling, and it's not anything to do with the content he brought to the table.

"So, now that we've gone over the evidence, uh, I have to say I'm not convinced," Ryan finishes, and finally Shane seems to come back to life.

"Ryan Bergara," he says, shaking his head. "First Bigfoot and now this. You're letting the Boogaras down."

"I think the Boogaras are smarter than to think, you know, Peter Pan and Shakespeare characters are real," Ryan argues.

"Careful now!" Shane shakes his finger again, and Ryan rolls his eyes. He consciously ignores the way Shane's shoulders seem a little tense, knowing it can't have anything to do with this. It's just his own stupid anxiety that's making him even notice.

"Whatever, dude," he says blithely. "I'm not afraid to say it." He faces the camera directly, jokingly confrontational.

"Don't say it!" Shane protests and tugs Ryan's hand down when he raises it to point. He's playing that really convincingly, actually. Maybe he got all tense for the camera. Ryan laughs and relaxes his posture, but he says it anyway.

"Fairies aren't real."

There's a loud scraping noise as Shane's chair scoots a few inches away from Ryan. Ryan has to admit he jumps a little, but the noise was sudden and Shane hadn't telegraphed that he was going to move at all. Ryan gives Shane a hesitant smile as he folds his arms across his chest and puts on a pout, caught off guard that he's taking the bit this far. But Shane looks forward into the camera without so much as a glance at Ryan.

"I don't know if I can be friends with a murderer," he says in a stuffy tone, sticking his nose up. Ryan laughs it off like any other bit but… something is really starting to feel a little off. He makes a mental note to ask Shane if everything is okay after they wrap; if Shane's family is doing good, or if Ryan did anything...

"Alright," he allows for now, while the camera is still rolling, as he slaps his folder shut. "How about a compromise? Whether fairies-"

"Fair Folk," Shane corrects, but Ryan can tell from his voice that he's just being contrary this time. Pain in the ass. He gives the interruption as much acknowledgement as it deserves.

"-are real or not is a mystery that shall remain... Unsolved."

Chapter Text

Ryan never gets a chance to ask Shane about whatever might have been wrong. The rest of the season comes at them fast, and Ryan forgets about the fairy episode and Shane's weird awkwardness during it so quickly it might as well not have happened.

They hit up another location on home turf first, keeping the budget tight, and then head all the way across the country to New York. The Buffalo Central Terminal is another episode that Ryan lined up for Shane's benefit, and it's a hit. Shane coos over the architecture and the history while Ryan shivers in the abandoned train station that is empty to the eye but still feels crowded. Despite the constant feeling that he's about to bump into someone and the sporadic brush of movement against his back, Ryan can't help but admire how bright Shane's eyes manage to be in the semi-darkness.

"This next one," Ryan says to his phone screen, filming with the scenery streaming past behind him as Mark drives up front. "I will be making my one-per-season demon sacrifice, and it's a location many of you have probably heard of." He taps and switches the camera mode away from selfie to catch Shane on the other side of the seat just as he stuffs his face full of pretzels. "Any guesses, big guy?" Shane just gives Ryan a peeved look and chews with his mouth open.

They spend the night in the hotel, and then most of the day trying and failing to find something touristy to do other than go to the haunted house they're about to film in. Finally, closing time rolls around and the ghoul boys and crew make their way into Amityville.

They film the intro in the entryway because TJ likes the way the light from the door falls across them in their metal folding chairs. Ryan explains the history, the murders, the memoir that inspired the movie.

"I thought there was a demon here?" Shane says when Ryan has wound down. Ryan takes a breath, eager to point out exactly what it is that Shane has said, but Shane beats him to it and adds, "Allegedly." Smug bastard. One of these days he won't be able to deny it, and Ryan will be there and he will laugh.

"I was getting to it," Ryan answers, pretending to be annoyed when of course he wrote his script so that Shane would have a perfect place to interrupt. "DeFeo has claimed that there was a voice in the house that told him to murder his family, and later the Lutzes said that they would see, quote, a pig-like creature with red eyes , end quote, watching them from the windows."

"Oh, that's your worst fear," Shane points out, laughing. Ryan's heartbeat picks up. It's a dual sensation - fear and something else. He laughs a little too, nervously, and shifts in his chair.

"Yeah," he agrees reluctantly, breathing out slow through his mouth. He can't get too freaked out already when they haven't even started yet.

They make their way through the house, asking to speak to the DeFeo victims and - in Shane's case - to the demon. Ryan knows he walks through a few cold spots, but Shane doesn't notice. He thinks they get his name and "get out" on the spirit box, which Shane shrugs at. They don't catch anything levitating or see any slime like the Lutzes reported, but even still Ryan can feel a sort of stickiness in the air that makes it hard to breathe and keeps him on edge.

Finally, they come to the room that they will be sleeping in.

"Okay, so," Ryan starts. His voice shakes a little no matter how steady he tries to keep it. "Supposedly the- the, uh, pig-like creature, uh, is most active at three-fifteen a.m. That's when the murders happened, and George Lutz claimed to wake up at that time every night."

"Pig-like creature?" Shane repeats, feigning confusion. Ryan loves him, loves what he brings to the show, but fuck he really hates him sometimes too. "Oh, you mean the demon ."

"Don't-! God, you're the worst."

They cut to throw down their sleeping arrangements, set up the static cams, bid the crew goodnight, and change into pajamas. Shane faceplants right into his sleeping bag at the earliest possible opportunity and starts snoring all but instantly. The one window in the room is behind him, outlining him on his farthest side in silver moonlight. All Ryan can really see of him is that one line; the long, long slope of his body, the jut of his shoulder, the tentaclish mass of his hair. He stays focused on that picture as long as he can, but before long he's itching to check the time.

Two-thirty passes. Ryan hears a creak in the hallway. He's squeezing his phone in his hands so hard that one of his thumbs is starting to get pins and needles. He tries to sleep, but mostly only manages to close his eyes and feel dizzy.

Three o'clock passes. Shane has changed positions, rolled onto his back, and now the sharp bridge of his nose is highlighted. Ryan follows Shane's new silhouette with his eyes and then, as his tired gaze is roving over the veins on the hand resting on Shane's belly, he sees the demon. It's in the window, just as the Lutzes said. Just red eyes and a too-wide smile underneath.

Ryan shrieks, jackknifes up, and reflexively throws his phone.

" Jeezus fuck , what," Shane gasps, sitting up too, his eyes wide and unfocused. Ryan points, but of course the demon has already disappeared.

"Oh, fuck, where did it go?" Ryan chokes out. His heart is beating so hard that it hurts. His eyes dart around in the dark, always coming back and back again to that fucking window. "I saw it, Shane, the red eyes in the window, I-" Ryan comes to an abrupt stop, forcibly swallowing down nausea.

"It was probably tail lights," Shane placates. He lifts one of his big hands like Ryan is an easily startled farm animal. "Ryan, c'mon."

"No, Shane, you- I swear to God-" Ryan insists. His voice breaks and he has to stop again. To his shame, he can feel that he's on the verge of tears.

"Okay," Shane murmurs. His smooth, kind voice is soothing now no matter how condescending Ryan may or may not find it in the playback later.

"I swear it was- fuck , Shane." Ryan hiccups in a painful breath, and then another too soon.

"Okay," Shane repeats. "Whatever was there, it's not now. Just lay back down."

"I can't," Ryan whimpers. He tears his eyes away from the window to look into Shane's face instead. His vision is blurry - blurrier than not having his contacts in can account for - but Shane still looks the same as he always does. Big, and soft, and preternaturally above-it-all.

"You can," he says. "You can. C'mon, c'mere." He reaches over and tugs at Ryan's sleeping bag with both hands. He ends up pulling himself closer to Ryan, rather than the other way around, because Ryan is too heavy for him. Ryan hiccups a little laugh. "Yeah, yuck it up at poor Noodle Arms. C'mon, lay down." Shane presses one gentle, long-fingered hand against the ball of Ryan's shoulder. Ryan swallows hard, shakily, but he lets the pressure guide him down onto his back. Shane lays back down too, petting Ryan's arm distractedly as he's already falling back into a doze. Ryan stays very still and works very hard not to look at the window.

Slowly enough to almost escape his notice, Ryan unwinds. He sinks into his thin sleeping bag like it could be as comfortable as an air mattress and every blink gradually gets longer and longer. On the verge of sleep, Ryan notices something strange. The room is a little chillier than it was the last time Ryan took note of the temperature, and his nose is filled with a matching sharp scent. It takes him a moment to place it, born and raised Californian, but soon enough he realizes it's the scent of coming snow. And he hears something too; a slow, rhythmic rush and sigh. Waves. He feels the urge to start panicking again, but the jolt of adrenaline simply never comes, and before he can think to look for the source of any of it Ryan is asleep.

Their last location in New York is not nearly as exciting, thankfully, and then they catch their flight over to Illinois.

"How close are we gonna end up to Schaumberg?" Shane asks in the car going toward the next hotel. "Maybe we can stop in and see the 'rents."

"Okay, first of all," Ryan protests with a laugh. He keeps his eyes ahead on the unfamiliar roads, but he can feel Shane's presence shotgun like they're still touching the way Shane comforted him on that floor in Amityville. "Don't call them 'rents , oh my God. And of course I wouldn't have us come all the way to upstate Illinois and not carve in enough time for you to visit." Ryan glances at Shane in his peripheral vision just in time to catch the tail end of Shane giving him the sweetest look. He snaps his own eyes back onto the road, biting down a giggle at the ticklish champagne bubbles in his chest.

"You could come with me," Shane murmurs to the windshield, and makes Ryan's situation exponentially worse.

The day before the shoot passes the same as all the others, with the crew mostly just kicking around and eating breakfast food at a local diner at lunchtime, hurrying up and waiting for their appointment with the proprietor of the property to arrive. Finally, it's time. Shane gets shotgun again, and the aux cord. He plays a really weird lo-fi cover of Hot In Herre and dances with his hands, deliberately trying to distract Ryan like they're reckless teenagers.

"What the fuck, Madej," Teej mutters, but it's far from the strangest thing Shane has ever put on. Shane only laughs at him where he's grumpily sat next to all their equipment in the very back of the rental van and starts to sing along. His voice is really compelling, actually, when he's not hamming it up. It ends up being somehow more distracting than the gesturing.

They pull up to the site just as John Mellencamp, jarringly, comes on the shuffle next. The proprietor is waiting for them in the doorway. She's standing right in the threshold in a way that Ryan won't admit out loud kind of creeps him out. He puts it out of his mind, turning his back to her even though it makes the spot between his shoulders tingle uncomfortably, to help unload.

Once they get all their shit together Shane leads the way toward the house, the most eager of them all to get started, as usual. Ryan is always gratefully surprised by how Shane never seems to bore of this. But then Shane stops so short that Ryan only just barely avoids running into him.

"Uh," he says. He tilts his shoulders to address everyone behind him without actually turning to face any of them. "Nobody eat anything here, okay?"

"What?" Devon asks from the rear end of their little party while Ryan is still catching up from the near collison.

"Uh," Shane repeats. "There's lots of reviews. Probably more than just the one complaint of food poisoning." Ryan narrows his eyes, more out of confusion than suspicion. Even if Shane's delivery had been better they all know he was kept in the dark about the place until the drive out, and he hadn't been on his phone on the way over, just selecting that first oddball song and letting it do its thing from inside the center console. There's no way he could have read the reviews. And that's not to mention that, as far as Ryan knows, this place doesn't offer any dining. He doesn't think they even have a gift shop.

"Okay," Ryan agrees anyway with a shrug at the others. It's not like he's never said some dumb shit apropos of nothing and then tried to double down on it out of embarrassed ego himself; he can give Shane this one free pass. Shane sighs in relief and Ryan bites down an indulgent grin. He'll have to tease twice as hard the next time Shane says something idiotic, but this is it's own little rush too.

The proprietor hasn't budged an inch when they get to the door. Ryan tries not to wonder if she's blinked in that time. Obviously she must have, and besides it's ridiculous to think he could have noticed either way. It probably takes someone at least a little bit creepy to own and run a haunted murder house, he assures himself. And they're here to find evidence of ghosts, not to examine the idiosyncrasies of the living who love them.

"Hey, good evening!" Ryan greets her, as cheerful and professional as he can be when the ghost-hunt jitters are starting to build in the pit of his stomach. He tilts the tripod he's got tucked under his arm to rest on the ground and holds out his hand for her to shake. "You must be, uh-" He flushes hotly when he realizes in the middle of speaking that he's somehow managed to forget her name. She takes his hand and smiles widely. Her teeth are rotten through.

"Blair," she reintroduces. "Don't be embarrassed, I forgot yours too." Unfortunately, that is only a little bit relieving because Blair is incredibly old and therefore has an excuse to have forgotten his name where he has none. But he takes the out because that's the polite thing to do.

"Ry-" he starts, but Shane cuts him off, proving himself well and above the ruder of the two of them.

"Is that a first or a last name, Blair?" he asks, or- really, demands. Ryan gapes up at him in shock, his hand hanging in the air for a moment after Blair lets him go. She turns her spotty yellow smile on Shane and stares him down - from like three feet below his eye level - for a moment. She doesn't answer.

"Come in, then," she says instead. She sounds reluctant, and frankly Ryan can't blame her. He shoots Shane a what-the-fuck look as he follows Blair inside, but all Shane gives him back is a half-hearted grimace. Unbelievable. While Ryan is debating whether or not he should apologize on Shane's behalf, Blair passes out of his field of vision. When she returns she's holding a tupperware filled to the brim with little croissant shaped cookies.

"Would you like one?" she asks. Her voice is pitched low like she's sharing a juicy little secret, maybe assuming from Ryan's physique that he might be on a diet or something and she's offering him something forbidden. The cookies look unremarkable but still mouth-watering, and Ryan for sure does want one. He lifts a hand, but then he notices how tense Shane has gone at his side and hesitates. Sure Shane is a dick sometimes, right now in particular apparently, but he follows Ryan into dusty abandoned shitholes for weeks on end. If he's having some kind of weird hang up, Ryan can maneuver around it for him.

"No, thank you," he says, minding his manners with extra care in the wake of Shane… not doing that. To Ryan's discomfited surprise, Blair looks visibly angry at his refusal. Her lip curls up over her teeth in a snarl and Ryan takes a reflexive step backward, but the glare she casts is at Shane. Ryan glances up at him too, beginning to feel desperate for some kind of clarity. Shane doesn't break eye contact with Blair, smiling placidly down at her until she looks away first.

Blair is reticent at best during her interview. Again, Ryan can't really blame her, but by the end of it he's kind of glad too. It's a relief when she leaves and Ryan doesn't feel like he has to mediate between her and Shane, while also simultaneously trying to follow Shane's lead. By the time they're finally ready to start the actual ghost hunt, Ryan's head is throbbing and he's exhausted and cranky. Due to his headache, he decides to forgo the spirit box, and Shane seems to be following some kind of choreography around the place that Ryan didn't get the memo about and they trip and bump into each other more than a few times.

"Well, this is gonna be a shitty episode," Ryan mutters, even as he's the one to call cut. Shane has the grace to look a little guilty, but Ryan's too worn out to be upset with him at this point anyway. He just wants to go to bed and forget the whole weird night. They pack it up. TJ drives them back to the hotel and Ryan rests his head on the cool window in the middle row of seats. Mark, beside him, is blessedly unobtrusive as he adds to his knitting.

Ryan climbs into bed immediately when they get back to the hotel and sleeps straight through until late afternoon. He blinks his gummy eyes open to find that Shane has taped the heavy curtains to the wall and paper-clipped them together in the center so that not one ray of sunlight can break into the room, and all is forgiven. Blair was creepy and mean anyway, and some locations are just stinkers. Ryan rubs his eyes clear and sits up, only to discover that Shane has also left a layered parfait, an iced coffee, and an ibuprofen on the center side table. Ryan's heart thumps once, hard, and he has to physically rub the smile off of his face when it starts to hurt his cheeks.

Ryan has it set up so that they have three days, including today, before they have to go a little farther down-state for the next shoot - just as he said, time for Shane to visit his family since they're here. He texts Shane as he stumbles out of bed, and then tips himself into the shower to rinse the last vestiges of last night down the drain. He returns, wrapped in a threadbare hotel towel, to Shane's response that he's out with a buddy from high school and that he'd made plans for dinner at his parents' house if Ryan's down to tag along. Ryan casts a dejected glance at his suitcase before giving his affirmative, knowing that he only packed ghost hunting outfits and sleepwear. Not that it matters. There's no reason he needs to impress Shane's parents. Obviously.

Shane picks Ryan up an hour later, Ryan having spent that time wracking his brain for some way to spruce up his graphic tee, hoodie, and holey skinny fit jeans in vain.

"Hey!" Shane says as Ryan climbs into the passenger side of the rental. "Bees out, knees out." Ryan laughs more raucously than totally warranted.

"Are the bees even out yet?" he asks, breathless for no fucking reason. "It's only barely spring." Shane rubs the thin bridge of his nose, which has gone pink, and then shrugs expansively. Ryan wants to touch that little flush, wants to know if it's from embarrassment or sun. Before he can do or say anything humiliating Shane pulls away from the curb, the motion thankfully bringing Ryan back into earth's orbit.

It's Ryan's turn with the aux. He puts on Meatloaf to see if he can trick Shane into speeding, but he's too caught up in watching Shane's hands on the wheel instead of checking the speedometer to know if it works or not. They arrive at casa de Madej just as the sun is setting, and the orange light catches in Shane's hair and on the rims of his glasses as he unfolds himself from the car. Ryan itches to take a picture of him.

"Ooh, hi, baby!" Mrs. Madej coos, reaching out for Shane as soon as he gets within range.

"Ma," Shane mumbles, but stoops down to wrap his noodly arms around her anyway. She tsks and clucks the way mothers so often do, and Ryan can practically already hear her remarking on how starved Shane looks…

"You're so warm," is what she says instead and Ryan blinks. In his experience, Shane's skinny ass is always cold - though he never seems bothered. Huh. Maybe Ryan is just a hot-blooded Californian or something, and northern giants run a little cooler.

" Ma ," Shane complains again, a little more vociferously, and this time she concedes.

"Alright, alright, go on," she blusters, and reaches out for Ryan instead. "Ryan! We've heard so much about you, dear, come on in, don't be shy." She tugs him forward and gives him a brief hug. The top of her head barely reaches his chin.

Mr. Madej is setting out plates with steaming food on them when Ryan follows Shane and Mrs. Madej into the dining room.

"Ryan!" he greets as well. "Wonderful to finally meet you after so long. Hope you like lasagna."

"Absolutely," Ryan says. Of course, that would have been his answer no matter what the Madejs had made for dinner, but in this case it also happens to be true. Once the plates are set, Mr. Madej comes around the table to shake Ryan's hand and clap him companionably on the shoulder. Ryan meets his eyes easily.

"Not sure if Scott's gonna make it or not," Mr. Madej announces as he releases Ryan and takes his seat. "His flight was delayed, you know how it is." Ryan does indeed know how that is. He takes his seat, and eats, and keeps up small talk as much as he can in between each bite, and doesn't laugh at how comical Shane looks with his head almost a foot over everyone else's.

When dinner is over, the Madejs serve coffee. Mrs. Madej pulls Ryan into a dizzyingly in depth conversation about ice hockey while Mr. Madej takes Shane by the elbow and stands on his toes to murmur in his son's ear. It's absolutely none of Ryan's business, whatever it is, so he washes down his curiosity with a too-large gulp of coffee. That is, until Shane snaps, "Dad! I'll get to it." Mrs. Madej stutters quiet.

"Alright, son," Mr. Madej says eventually. "We just want to make sure he-" Ryan doesn't hear the rest of his sentence, can't even read his lips, because Mrs. Madej jumps up into his line of vision and loudly asks him if he'd like to take home the leftovers.

Ryan ends up leaving the Madej house with the leftover lasagna, a tin of cookies, a bag of coffee, a ziploc baggie of cake flour, a reusable grocery tote, and no earthly idea how or when he came to be in possession of them all.

"That was an experience," he comments as he backs out of the driveway, knowing Shane wouldn't want to drive in the dark.

"Midwestern hospitality, baby!" Shane says, half proud and half embarrassed. The tote full of Ryan's mysteriously gotten goods sits between his feet. It's decorated with a rainbow of tulips.

"So, um-" Ryan starts to ask, once he's merged onto the highway that will bring them back to their hotel.

"Nunya," Shane interrupts quickly. Ryan laughs easily at the childish word.

"Fair enough," he says, and watches out of the corner of his eye the way Shane's shoulders sink in relief. Several comfortable semi-expectant minutes later, Shane shifts in his seat to face a little more towards Ryan.

"You, uh," he stutters. "Would you wanna go to the Lake with me tomorrow?"

"Lake Michigan?" Ryan asks, glancing at Shane as long as he safely can while going almost eighty.

"No, Ryan," Shane snarks. "Another, much less impressive lake. Yes, obviously Lake Michigan." Ryan laughs again, with a roll of his eyes. But he gets the impression that it's something personal to Shane to bring someone there, so he takes one hand off the wheel to gently nudge Shane's shoulder when he answers.

"I'd love for you to show me your big, impressive lake." Shane snorts, and puts Meatloaf back on.

They check out early in the morning and pile all their shit into the van, and the whole crew of them go out to the pier. Shane tugs Ryan by the shoulder, separating them subtly but firmly from the other three. Ryan sees them all give each other knowing looks as they let it happen without question. It's irksome, and kind of humiliating, that they all think they know something that Ryan only wishes were true.

Except… once they get a certain distance away, Shane slips his hand into Ryan's and curls their fingers together. Ryan's pretty sure he stops breathing.

"Dude," he chokes out, just for something to say. "Your hands are freezing."

"Mm," Shane acknowledges. "Feels nice." Ryan looks up at him to see that Shane is studiously looking away. The bridge of his nose is pink again, and the tips of his ears. Ryan doesn't know exactly what to read into this, but he knows what he hopes and tightens his grip.

Shane brings them to a stop at a spot that looks indistinct to Ryan, but that seems to have been the planned destination for Shane. He lets go of Ryan and tucks both hands into his pockets, facing out toward the water. Ryan mourns the loss.

"So," Shane prompts. "What do you think?" Obediently, Ryan looks out over the water too. It really is impressive, joking aside.

"It looks like an ocean," he says, quietly awed.

"Yeah, it likes to play tricks," Shane agrees. There's laughter in his voice and a grin on his face that Ryan has seen on Aunties when they brag about how much trouble they used to get into. "Weird to be back," he adds, and the playful mood is broken, replaced by something complicated that Ryan doesn't understand.

After a moment, Ryan decides to let Shane have his moment in his feelings, whatever they  may be, and turns back to appreciate the scenery as thoroughly and unobtrusively as he can. He watches the waves come in, smaller and faster than the waves of the ocean that Ryan is used to. The sound is different too, less like a dull roar and more like the sighs of some sleeping giant. The air is crisp and fresh, the sharp-damp smell of winter weather filling Ryan's nose with each deep breath. It's an immersive experience, something he knows he'd miss too if he'd grown up with it. As it is, even as a non-native, Ryan's mind is caressed with sense memory.

His mom with him on the beach, too early in the year because he'd insisted, the sand chilly under his bare feet. A rare snow day in middle school, when Jake had dumped snow down the back of Ryan's coat and gotten in big trouble.

The warmth of Shane pressed close by in his sleeping bag, the tickle of his sleep messy hair against Ryan's cheek, and the bone deep relaxation of knowing that whatever had frightened him wouldn't be back.

Ryan's heartbeat picks up as he realizes his brain isn't playing tricks on him, and the atmosphere here really is exactly how it was in that room in Amityville.

Ryan glances, more warily than he'd like to admit to himself, at Shane - only to find that Shane is already watching him. He looks wary too, or maybe... expectant?

"Does it… remind you of anything?" Shane asks softly. Ryan startles a little - it almost feels like Shane might have read his mind. But Shane looks so hesitant and genuinely curious Ryan can't help but give an honest answer despite his sudden tenuous suspicions.

"I mean, you, I guess." Shane gives him a small, relieved looking smile. Not a second later another shadow comes over his face and he's conflicted again. He takes a breath and opens his mouth, but then changes his mind and closes it. Before anything else can happen, Ryan's phone rings. He jumps a foot in the air. Shane frowns, but to Ryan's nitpicky eye he seems equally relieved as irritated by the interruption.

"Hello?" Ryan says into his phone.

"Hey, it's me," says Devon on the other side of the line. "We should head out about now if we wanna get some decent food before our flight."

"Uh, yeah," Ryan says, and hangs up. He relays the message to Shane, and he can't tell whether he feels relieved too, or cheated. They stand awkwardly on the shore for a few moments before Shane gestures back the way they came.

"We should probably…" He trails off. He seems like he's not ready to go but just as unwilling to stay. Ryan nods and decisively starts walking, forcing the new tension between them to finally break. The pebbles crunch under his sneakers. Shane is an indelible presence at his shoulder.

"I-" Shane says abruptly, slowing his pace sharply as soon as the van comes into view so that Ryan stumbles a little at the sudden lack of him and turns around to find where he went. "I, um. I'll tell you. What my dad was pestering me about, I mean. At some point."

"Uh, yeah, okay," Ryan agrees distractedly, edging backwards towards the van. It's just the Lake. It's- Ryan can't help but feel like the whole damn thing is following him somehow. He insists to himself that feeling can't be coming from Shane, who is in fact following him.

The atmosphere of the lake stays with them in the van all the way to the restaurant; the icy scent, the whisper of distant waves in the background. No one else seems to notice.

It's probably nothing, but if it isn't… Ryan isn't sure if he wants to be the one to bring it up.

Chapter Text

Ryan does not - absolutely refuses to - think about the Lake Thing until after the season is all shot and they're back home in L.A. After unpacking it's just weeks of editing ahead.

Plenty of time to panic.

But if Ryan had panicked every time he'd had cause and a moment, he wouldn't be where he is today. He's been an overthinker his whole life, even before he was a believer. He can handle most things, if not with grace then at least with method, this included.

He'll treat it like an investigation. Remove himself emotionally. Do research, formulate theories.

But what to research, exactly? There's no way Shane could be a ghost - or at least, not if anything Ryan has ever read about them is true. (And hopefully at least something Ryan has read is true, or he's really in deep shit here.) And as for if Shane is an alien, there's just no possible way for Ryan to confirm or deny that. It doesn't seem likely anyway, given the apparent connection to Lake Michigan.

A cryptid, then. (Please let him be a cryptid, and not—)

So in between the tedious work days of cutting together footage and recording voice overs, in the safety and privacy of his own home just in case he's being a paranoid idiot and embarrassing himself, Ryan researches Chicago native cryptids.

He finds one (1) claimed sighting of Mothman, and discounts it based on the relative novelty and the lack of corroboration. He wants to focus in on things associated with the Lake or with water in general anyway. In that vein he takes note of a serpent, of which there seems to be one for each Great Lake, and swamp creatures. He dismisses the possibility of Shane being a serpent pretty off hand too, because he doubts that anyone could mistake a person-shaped being for one and he doesn't find any claims of shapeshifting abilities. He supposes Shane could be a swamp creature, but they're called the Slobs and despite the fact that Shane would eat a pickle out of a pond as far as Ryan's noticed he's otherwise pretty fastidious.

And then there's just one thing left…

Ryan reminds himself that this is an investigation and he is removed emotionally , and also that theory number whatever - that he's just a paranoid idiot and Shane is a normal human being - is still on the table at this juncture.

It takes a full day of ignoring his problems for Ryan's heart rate to go all the way back down to resting normal after he realizes he's going to have to explore the demon possibility, but after that he's back in the zone. He is a professional paranormal investigator, and if this is how the cookie is gonna crumble then Ryan will be there to vacuum those demonic crumbs right up.

Step two, after the theory is established, is to compile the evidence. Ryan puts together everything he's already got on demons, and then starts digging into Shane. He watches several video compilations made by fans of Shane's allegedly demonic activity. Shane laughing at misfortune; talking about historical figures like he knows them personally; describing Hell as if he's been there, and it's not so bad; acting like he's invulnerable, fearless; being ornery with religious authorities; his uncomfortably macabre non-sequiturs.

But on the other hand: Shane is genuinely kind, respectful of religious practises if not authorities, and - most importantly - he is not a creepy little girl.

All in all, the established evidence is inconclusive. Ryan needs more to go on.

He makes a step-by-step recon plan, which is really just a list of demonic warning signs and weaknesses that Ryan might be able to discreetly test out. The first on the list is that if a person is actually a demon or is possessed they will smell like sulfur. It seems a little on the nose, but it's also the easiest thing in the world to test so Ryan's just going to go with it to get started.

It's a simple matter to corral Shane into the V.O. booth to listen to some audio evidence in hopes that the necessarily tight quarters will be enough for Ryan to catch a good whiff of Shane without being an obvious weirdo. And besides that, the clip in question is not too bad.

"I don't know what to say, Ryan," Shane mutters even before the clip finishes, pressing the headphones tight over his ears to listen. "It's just the same radio static it always is." Ryan rolls his eyes even as he inches carefully closer into Shane's personal space.

"It says 'I'm late'," he corrects distractedly, breathing deep. Shane laughs and, noticing Ryan leaning in, angles himself sideways, his body giving Ryan's an implicit welcome.

"What, did we catch the ghost of the White Rabbit?" he teases.

"We were at a train station, Shane, someone saying that they're late makes sense," Ryan argues. He glares up at Shane, the angle even sharper than normal when he's standing this close, momentarily distracted from his olfactory quest by Shane being irritating like usual. Shane lets Ryan catch his eyes, smiling down at him. The overhead lights shine down over his head like a halo. Ryan suddenly needs Shane to look away immediately. "Just- Listen again, I swear to God-"

"A'right, a'right, I'm listening!" Shane presses the replay with one hand and throws the other up in put-on exasperation, smile still curling his lips - and with that motion, Ryan finally catches the smell of him.

It catches him off guard, how strong such a mild aroma manages to be. Cool and fresh, a little bit earthy. It's deeply soothing, and Ryan's eyes flutter closed without his say so as he breathes it in again. Shane smells like nothing so much as like winter, sharp and cutting and clean. His breath is cool against Ryan's temple when he chuckles quietly.

"Can I help you with something?" he asks, his voice fond and warm. He cups his hand around Ryan's elbow as Ryan blinks eyes open to discover that his nose is practically pressed up against Shane's chest. Ryan's face goes so hot so quickly it's a wonder he doesn't get an instant headache.

"Shit, sorry!" He tries to fling himself as far out of Shane's personal space as the V.O. booth will allow but Shane's hand tightens and holds him still. "You, uh- Sorry, you just smell really good?" Shane's smile breaks into a wide grin and his sleepy eyes go all squinty with it.

"Thank you," he murmurs. His voice is low and close, rumbling from his chest into Ryan's. It makes Ryan shiver, makes him forget exactly what he'd been sniffing around for. Whatever the question was the answer is Shane. Shane, who smells good and sounds good and looks so good…

"Um," Ryan squeaks. "What- What is that?" Shane tilts his chin down and blinks at Ryan real slow in a way that makes Ryan's breath catch in his chest.

"It's just me, baby," he says, and the way he says it is different here and now, without a table and a script in front of them. Means something else, just because of the way he moves his mouth around it. Makes Ryan think about what it would be like to feel it against his lips… The tip of Shane's nose brushes gently, deliberately against Ryan's and Ryan's eyes flutter again.

"I probably don't smell as good," he warns in a nervous whisper, but he hardly dares even to breathe for fear that Shane might think he's pulling away. Shane only laughs again, almost soundlessly.

"You smell great, Ryan," he reassures, and then Ryan is standing on his toes and they're kissing.

Shane's lips are warm and dry, slightly chapped, but sure and firm against Ryan's. He wraps his arms around Ryan and pulls them in flush together. Ryan can feel his heartbeat, gets a heady rush of power when he gives Shane a little love bite and he can feel it skip a beat. Shane sucks on Ryan's bottom lip until Ryan licks into his mouth. He tastes like whatever hipstery kale smoothie he must have had for breakfast, but his tongue is warm and wet and skilled.

It feels humid in the room when they finally manage to pull themselves apart, and Ryan hears the sound of slow waves on a pebbled shore. If he'd forgotten - and he had - he remembers now, with a lurch in his gut.

"Well, that got out of hand," he mutters to himself, feeling a little faint. Shane clears his throat and pulls away with clear reluctance. Ryan is reluctant to let him go, despite the continuing inexplicable seashell soundtrack echoing around in his ears.

"Yeah," he agrees, turning his head away so it's easier for the both of them to avoid eye contact. "Probably not the best choice to… do that at work."

"Or without talking about it first," Ryan agrees. "And, like, making a well thought out adult decision."

"Ugh," Shane jokes. "I hate those." It falls a little bit flat, but only a little. It's a relief of the tension on its own that he tried. Ryan breathes out slow through his mouth, pointlessly straightens his un-mussed hair.

"Okay," he says. "Next clip." He queues it up and Shane tucks the headphones back over his ears and they act like nothing happened. Ryan stares distractedly into the middle distance while Shane refutes his evidence, making a mental note to cross sulfur off of his list. And if he can't stop thinking about what Shane does smell like, and about how it feels to be held by him, that's between him and his thoughts.

Ryan avoids Shane after that, out of a truly nauseating combination of embarrassment and uncertainty. Holding hands on the Lake had been one thing. Everything had seemed so strangely emotional for Shane there, so inherently intimate in a way that Ryan couldn't dream of understanding, that holding hands had somehow seemed like a matter of course. And Ryan can acknowledge to himself that he's been pining away after Shane for years, but he'd been so sure it would never come to anything that now that it seems like a possibility it suddenly feels new and unclear again.

Does he really want it? Will it be what he thinks it is?

Is it all irrelevant because Shane is a fucking demon?

But still it's all about the method. One thing at a time, and Ryan can handle anything. Just one thing at a time. And he's already started on this thing, so…

The next test Ryan decides to check off is that a demon or possessed person won't be able to touch holy artifacts or blessed objects without pain or discomfort. This should also be relatively easy because Ryan already owns more than one rosary. They kind of come part and parcel with being Mexican Catholic. It's only a matter of remembering to bring one to work.

Ryan goes in the Monday after the first episode of the season drops, bright and early, with the rosary his abuelita had passed down to him when he was born (he figures that having multiple generations pray on it might have made it holier) in his pocket. 

There is Shane where Shane always is, at his desk with his back to Ryan. His hair is mousy, wild everywhere but where the band of his over-ear headphones flatten it. He's wearing a collared shirt and a cardigan, like a big nerd. The soft heathered material makes his broad shoulders look somehow delicate. Ryan has a moment of second thoughts so strong he trips over his feet for a step. How bad will the rosary hurt Shane, if it hurts him?

(If something holy hurts someone… do they deserve it? Can Ryan hurt someone on purpose, whether they deserve it or not? Can Ryan hurt Shane?

...Would Shane hurt Ryan?)

The moment of hesitation breaks when someone else overtakes Ryan on their way to their own desk and deskmate, brushing past him and briefly catching his eye. When he looks where he's going again Shane has noticed him, his headphones tugged down around his neck and his chair swiveled to the side so he can give Ryan a half hopeful, half sympathetic smile. He's been letting Ryan dance around the subject of their kiss, accepting all of Ryan's soft no s for his every offer to hang out for the last week without even a hint of pressure or impatience.

Ryan's resolve hardens. When Ryan knows if Shane is a demon or not then the situation will suddenly be so much simpler. The right choice will be so obvious then, the decision easy…

"Hey." Ryan gets right into Shane's space without any other ado, eager to test this test and get his answer. Shane raises his eyebrows at Ryan's apparent about-face, but he doesn't question it. He unhooks one foot from around the wheels of his chair and lets it fall between Ryan's ankles as Ryan leans back against his desk.

"Well, hello. Good morning!" he greets enthusiastically, allowing Ryan to take his attention completely away from his work and their surroundings without so much as a thought. Ryan knows exactly nothing about what he's doing right now, except that Shane is going to let him. He almost feels like he's having an out of body experience - he wants it to go on forever and he wants it to end immediately and he wants it to have never started, but most importantly he can't stop it. He rubs the inside of his ankle against the inside of Shane's, his covered by a sock and Shane's bare.

"You look good today," Ryan says, utilizing his lower register. Shane's eyes go bright and the bridge of his nose is pink again. He leans in, totally captivated by Ryan as if Ryan is the one with an ambiguously-gotten supernatural gift of some kind. "Your hair-" Ryan adds on impulse, egged on. "It looks like you just had a pretty good time." Shane's flush spreads over his cheeks.

"I thought we weren't going to do this here?" he murmurs, even as he puts his hand on Ryan's knee. Ryan shrugs belligerently. He inches his legs a little further apart to sink his body down so that Shane's hand slides up his thigh - closer to the rosary in his pocket. He wonders if it will even work through the fabric of his pants.

"What's that in your pocket, Bergara?" Shane quips. "Or are you just that happy to see me?" It's deeply obvious that Ryan has something in his pocket; the rosary is too lumpy and irregular to be anything else. It's Shane's attempt to de-escalate, to keep them from stumbling out of the realm of flirting and into something more exhibitionistic. Unfortunately, Ryan has an agenda.

"Why don't you find out, big boy," he tempts. Shane's eyebrows jump up his forehead again, but Ryan knows he'll go for it. There are many ways to describe one Shane Madej, but to say he's someone who'd turn down a challenge would be comically false. Shane looks up at Ryan from underneath his lashes as he deliberately moves his hand again. Ryan does his damnedest not to get too mixed up in the combination of that dark gaze and the warmth creeping up his thigh.

"Should I guess?" Shane asks, but he's already sliding one finger underneath the rosary and pulling it out before Ryan can formulate an answer. "Oh." The flirty smile drops off of his face and he sounds disappointed as he coils the long strand of holy beads in his palm. Nothing else seems to happen - Shane doesn't yell or throw the rosary away from him, there's no sizzling or smoking, nothing - but Ryan doesn't feel relieved.

The line of Shane's shoulders is tense. Ryan dips his head to look into Shane's face as best as he can when Shane is staring at the rosary in his hand. He doesn't look like he's in pain, but he's certainly not laughing it off either. He seems to chew on his tongue for a moment before he abruptly looks back up at Ryan. There's a challenge in his eyes, but a shadow behind that… like he's already lost but he's going to take Ryan down with him if he can.

"Something you wanna ask, Ryan?" he wonders tightly. He moves the rosary around in his hand so that the beads click together, switches it between his hands, as if making sure Ryan gets that it's not doing anything to him. Ryan doesn't look to check. He already got it, and it's almost worse to have not hurt Shane physically but to have so clearly done something . Ryan takes a long time to decide on his answer. He wants to be honest with his friend, but he just- ...He doesn't want to show his hand, is all.

"Not at this time," he finally decides on. It's an obvious cop out but Shane doesn't call him on it. Instead he just sighs and looks away, his jaw flexing. Ryan can't tell if he's pissed off or hurt, but he can't deny which one of those he'd prefer.

Shane is a champ and he pretends it never happened. They film the post mortem and it goes fine. Nobody notices anything off between them. They eat lunch separately but that's not that unusual. Nobody comments. The rest of the week is normal. Shane doesn't even give Ryan a cold shoulder, despite how certain Ryan is that he wants to.

Ryan debates dropping the investigation. The rosary didn't do anything, so Shane probably isn't a demon. That can be enough, right? But Ryan just can't find it within himself to let go yet. The way Shane reacted to just knowing Ryan suspected him… There is an unimpeachable correct answer to this that Ryan can find. All he has to do is keep following his methodology, just check off one step after the other, and he doesn't have to be so unsure anymore.

So. Salt.

Ryan invites Shane over to his place for a movie night on Thursday after they spend most of their work day tweeting and posting instagram stories about tomorrow's episode. Shane visibly hesitates and Ryan grimaces, feeling both hurt and guilty. The latter only gets worse when Shane eventually says yes.

Ryan had debated putting a salt line in the doorway but he'd convinced himself not to over and over with a dozen different excuses. It'd be too easy for Shane to notice. People say it has to be a closed circle to work as a boundary. It's wasteful. It could damage the floor somehow and then Ryan won't get his deposit back. And on and on. Ryan hadn't ended up doing it, and he doesn't yet know how (if?) he will test Shane for a demonic salt reaction instead.

"You pick the flick and I'll get the corn," Ryan says as Shane follows him inside and toes off his shoes onto the designated mat without needing to be told. Shane just clicks his tongue and shoots Ryan a single finger gun, meandering his way into the living room and Ryan heads towards the kitchen in the opposite direction. Shane knows where the movies are.

Ryan uses the whirley pop to make the corn, and dumps it in his fun striped bucket when it's done. He throws in just a bare palmful of salt, just the way he and Shane both like it - and then he hesitates. He stares for a moment at the shaker, his thoughts skip-skipping like some overzealous D.J. has been put in charge of them. Impulsively, Ryan dumps the whole fucking shaker over the popcorn, gritting his teeth against the knowledge that he's half-assing the hell out of this one. He marches determinedly into the living room rather than have to ask himself why.

The opening credits of Top Gun are rolling when Ryan throws himself down onto the couch next to Shane. The ever present smell of the cold mixes with the smell of the popcorn. It's like a winter faire in Ryan's nose. He reels at how he never noticed Shane's scent before. He could have missed all sorts of things, could be missing them even now. He certainly doesn't feel like he knows what's going on. Ryan pushes the bucket of popcorn into Shane's hands.

Shane tosses a few blooms into his mouth, and chokes on them instantly.

"Jesus, Ryan," he coughs, tearing up. "You get enough salt on there?" He hacks, and sticks his tongue out. But the ribbing humor on his face dies when he looks over at where Ryan is tense and guilty at his side. His mouth goes flat and his eyes narrow, and Ryan squirms.

"Ah, yeah," Ryan stutters, feeling his face get hot under Shane's scrutiny. "The- the top came off, and I didn't want to waste the kernels." There's a long pause where Shane just stares at Ryan flatly. Ryan can't help the way his own eyes skitter away. He's never been a great liar.

"Is that really what happened," Shane asks dully. He looks so resigned now, and maybe a little sad. Ryan's stomach sinks in shame. He doesn't answer. Instead he watches for long minutes as Shane stares straight ahead and forces himself to eat mouthful after mouthful of the disgusting popcorn, visibly miserable, neither of them absorbing any of the Tommy content on screen. Finally Ryan forcibly pries the bucket out of Shane's hands and goes to dump it out, his stomach all twisted up and sorry.

When he brings out the fresh - unsalted - batch, Shane is gone.

Ryan brings the vial of holy water in to work with him in the next day despite himself. He feels it as a heavy weight in his pocket, in his gut.

The morning has him and Shane alone in the V.O. booth again, recording the last few reactions for the final episode of the season. Shane keeps a respectable distance from Ryan this time, and Ryan can't find it in himself to get closer - not when he knows what he has, and that there's a non-zero chance it might matter.

Katie has it so that the Amityville episode airs last, because it's the most exciting. She kindly doesn't say how much the fans are going to love that Shane and Ryan end up almost cuddling on the floor, but that doesn't mean she's the only one who knows it. Anyway the audio recorder caught a lot of pretty good stuff, a lot of the same repetitive string of noises that for sure sounds like words.

"I… literally don't hear anything?" Shane says when Ryan plays it for him. Ryan thinks of a thousand and one witty faux-mean comments to make back, but every time he puts one on the tip of his tongue the vial of holy water moves against his leg and he thinks about how much worse it'd sound in retrospect if he used it. Eventually he just coughs to try to clear the knot from his throat, and plays the clip again.

When Shane closes his eyes in the effort of listening closer, Ryan slips the vial out of his pocket. He doesn't know what he thinks he's going to do with it. Probably nothing. But he twists the top off with the soft scrape of plastic against glass anyway.

Instantly, Shane's eyes snap open and he goes ramrod straight. Ryan freezes, but Shane only shoots him an alarmed look and then turns away again, still pressing the headphones over his ears. Once again it's like he'll just let Ryan-

And Ryan can't do it.

Fuck, Ryan's heart is racing so hard it hurts, because obviously the holy water would do something. Shane is something, maybe even a demon, but- But he's scared. And Ryan can't do it, can't do something to make that fear justified. It's not in him. That mystery, if nothing else, is solved.

Ryan twists the top back on, and tucks the holy water away.

They act like nothing happened. Ryan pretends not to notice how stiffly Shane holds himself, how he's pulled his chair over as far away from Ryan as he can without making it obvious to everyone else on the floor that that's what he's doing. Ryan takes it upon himself to go home early before Shane feels like he has to.

His apartment feels too big. Ryan turns on every single light, even though it's not even dark out yet. He makes dinner, but doesn't eat it. He lays on his back on the couch, with the holy water clutched in one hand, staring up at his ugly ceiling and thinking. Wondering.

Does he really need to know?

Shane has never hurt Ryan. He hasn't even hurt Ryan's feelings a statistically relevant number of times. And - as far as Ryan knows - he hasn't hurt anyone else either. At the very least no one that Ryan has personally met. The Shane that Ryan knows wouldn't. Can that be good enough for him?

The fact of the matter, it turns out, is simply this: if Shane was gone from Ryan's life tomorrow, Ryan would never stop missing him.

Late into the night, with his eyes gummy from tiredness, Ryan finally decides to take a page out of Shane's book and let this mystery remain a mystery.

He pours the holy water down the sink.

Chapter Text

"So, Ryan," Shane says with put-on cheeriness, from as far away from Ryan as he can be and still be in the shot, at the end of the post mortem on Monday. "What's coming up this week?"

"Let's see, this week…" Ryan hedges for effect, leaning back in his chair and rubbing thoughtfully at his temples. "This week Shane and I visit a little place where, uh, the boys… are lost." Friday's episode is the fairy episode. Ryan had reviewed the final cut when he got in this morning, but that line was still the best he could come up with given everything else that's on his mind.

Given, that is, that Shane may or may not be a demon, and that Ryan has apparently decided not to care even though that prospect is utterly terrifying, and even more terrifying still - now Ryan has nothing else to stall with when it comes to figuring out if he wants his relationship with Shane to take the romantic turn it seems to be trending towards. Or at least, that it was trending towards before Ryan implicitly and half-unintentionally threatened Shane with holy water.

Shane snorts at Ryan's clumsy teaser reference, and Ryan lets his shoulders sink with relief that despite how Shane is keeping his distance Ryan apparently can still make him laugh. He delivers the outro entirely while looking at Shane, despite the way TJ attempts to redirect him from behind the camera. Shane watches him back, looking curious. Finally TJ calls cut, a soft edge of frustration in his voice that is far from unfamiliar.

"What's up?" Shane asks him quietly. Ryan shakes his head. His guts are still squirming around, his heartbeat picking up every time he so much as sees the back of Shane's head. If it's the demon thing or the romance thing, Ryan hasn't been able to tell.

"Just marveling all over again about how you believe in fairies," he excuses. It's not un true. Shane gives him a stern look.

"Don't be specist," he scolds. Ryan chokes over a laugh.

" Specist? " he demands. He expects Shane to laugh too, to join Ryan in enjoying the bit, but the smile he gives doesn't quite reach his eyes. Ryan's laugh and his half-formed rejoinder (he was thinking something about 'Fairy PETA' and then Shane could roast PETA for being garbage) both die in his throat.

"That take look good, Teej?" Shane turns away from Ryan in a way that makes the short distance between them feel solid. He shifts uncomfortably, feeling confused and guilty and confused about feeling guilty. He's glad when TJ gives them the okay to leave the set.

Ryan sits at his desk and starts building a shared content folder for the True Crime renewal pitch on autopilot, airpods tucked securely into his ears and music objectively too loud (subjectively perfect). Pitching almost certainly won't be necessary, but Ryan hasn't been called a pessimist for no reason and it never hurts to be prepared.

He's still thinking about Shane. (Will he ever stop thinking about Shane.)

Ryan thinks about holding Shane's hand, about kissing him in the V.O. booth. He thinks about doing those things again, sweats, tries to focus on work instead. He thinks about sitting next to Shane on set, about making him laugh, the way the cameras can sometimes fade out of Ryan's awareness when Shane's eyes squint up above his smile. He thinks about meeting Shane's family, about the way Shane always seems to find an excuse to touch him, the way Ryan always, always wants him to, fuck- And tries to focus on work instead.

Ryan thinks about how fuckin' weird Shane has been about fairies. Touchy almost.

Interesting.

Ryan pulls up the episode that will air at the end of the week and watches it again, fixating on every detail the way he would if it was the raw footage from a location shoot. He even pulls out the moleskine notebook he keeps specifically for taking ghost notes.

Ryan takes note of the way Shane looks almost alarmed when Ryan introduces the episode's subject - not so much incredulous or irked the way he has been at aliens and secret societies. He looks… conflicted, maybe? before he gives Ryan that non-answer that 'fairy' is a derisive term when Ryan asks if he believes. He seems a little bit stiff, a little bit wooden, when he starts pulling Ryan's leg after that. It's so carefully concealed behind Shane's customary flippant attitude that Ryan isn't surprised that even he didn't notice it at first. And Shane had talked about the 'Fair Folk' and the Court (or lack thereof) like he had first-hand knowledge, in the exact same way the fans had pointed out he talks about Hell and historical figures.

And then there's that last bit. That bit that Ryan, as he restarts the episode one more time, is starting to suspect may not have actually been a bit.

It's not just that Shane didn't telegraph that he was gonna scoot away from Ryan when Ryan said he didn't believe in fairies. Ryan can't see Shane move at all. One second he's inside Ryan's personal bubble like normal, and the next his chair legs scrape against the floor and he's several feet away. It looks like some outside force beyond his own volition moved him. Ryan hadn't been looking at him when it happened, but the camera caught the split second look of stage-panic on Shane's face before he'd thrown together a line to yes-and what Ryan had thought at the time was Shane's own cue.

True, Ryan had decided only days ago that he was going to put Shane's ambiguous devilry to the side. But wouldn't it be such a relief if he wasn't a demon after all?

(Wouldn't it be such a relief to have a plan again, a method to follow, easy yes-or-no questions to answer, empirical tests to check off of a list…)

Ryan starts compiling the evidence for this new theory while he's still on the clock.

It can't be denied that Shane has an insatiable love for mischief and mild mayhem. He loves tricks and pranks and riddles and wordplay, and he joys in schadenfreude. He ignores (human) social mores at his own convenience and amusement. Much of the same evidence Ryan used to build the demon theory can be applied here. And… Ryan doesn't know, comprehensively, what exactly Shane's powers are - or if he even really has powers the way Ryan's thinking of - but what he does know, the wave sounds and the smell of cold damp earth, certainly seems like it could be something nature-related the way fai- the Fae? are purported to be.

The only counter-evidence Ryan can really come up with off the top of his head is that Shane is tall. That's it.

Ryan goes back over his own research notes from the episode, highlighting things he thinks are relevant. He re-traces his online steps, emails himself a few links, and just generally carries himself through all the way to clock-out time fully absorbed and focused and at last not sinking into quicksand thoughts about Shane's eyes and hands and lips.

Ryan picks up dinner on the way home, eats it in the car. He comes into the house in a flurry of keys, stumbling hurriedly out of his shoes and tossing his laptop bag onto the couch ahead of himself. He queues up the raws of every Unsolved episode he can think of in which Shane was particularly weird and settles in for a long night of unraveling this thing. There's an eager grin stuck on his face that he can't bite down, but it's just because he enjoys picking out clues and putting them together. (It's not because he's going to spend all night staring at Shane by necessity, excuse pre-packaged. Nope.)

In the wee darkest hours of the morning, Ryan makes it to the airing season. Ryan skips the fairy episode because he's already watched it twice today. Instead he goes over the footage from Amityville and from the Chicago location where Shane was acting like a dickhead. The static cam wasn't positioned to pick up whatever Ryan saw in the window at Amityville, and it doesn't show much else of interest either, aside from their somewhat embarrassing snuggle.

But in the audio from the specialized recorder, Ryan can hear the sound of waves. He has that shit on fucking tape, baby!

Remembering how Shane had told them first and foremost not to eat anything on site - the number one fairy rule - and the explanation he'd given, Ryan lets the B-roll footage from Chicago run while he looks up the reviews from the place on his phone. There are over 1k reviews and when Ryan keyword searches for food poisoning, three come up. It's almost certainly coincidental, but just enough that what Shane said isn't patently false. He'd never said that he'd looked at the reviews, only that there were a lot and that there was probably more than one that mentioned food poisoning. A blanket statement that you could infer is true for most places.

When the A footage starts, Ryan is surprised to note that Blair had seemed creepier, uglier, and older in person than she appears on film. He remembers how he'd uncharacteristically forgotten her name with it right on the tip of his tongue, how Shane had interrupted so that Ryan didn't give her his. Ryan watches without blinking as Blair offers him the cookies, as he hesitates, and finally decides to follow Shane's lead. On screen, Blair sneers at Shane and Shane sneers right back, and between one blink and the next the cookies are just gone. She didn't even offer them to the rest of the crew, who might not have obeyed Shane, were certainly less likely to than Ryan, as if- as if she'd been targeting Ryan. Not a fun thought.

Ryan watches the rest of the footage with a new eye. Ryan had uncharitably thought that Shane must have been getting in his way on purpose, out of frustration, but it's clear now that he'd actually been right about that. Shane is obviously orienting himself to prevent Ryan from stepping into corners and touching banisters, making sure they go through doorways both at once or not at all.

Holy fuck. Blair has gotta be a fairy, right?

And Shane knew it.

By the time he finally goes to bed, Ryan has a new checklist to start testing through - although he almost feels like he doesn't even need it.

In the bright light of day, Ryan mainlining caffeine and deeply regretting his late night, the idea that Shane is a- a Fair Folk seems patently ridiculous. But Blair… The established evidence can't be ignored. So, already running late, Ryan grabs the list he made and stuffs it in his back pocket on the way out the door.

At work Ryan pulls his actual job up on his computer. Shane's stuff is at his desk but he isn't, either getting coffee or having been roped into some project or whatever. Ryan tugs out his fairy-finding checklist, smooths out the wrinkles on the edge of the desk, and flattens it out over his keyboard.

The first way to check for a fairy is that the Fair Folk are said to all have an abiding, and sometimes even violent, love of nature. That one is already checked off. All of their outdoor locations for Unsolved have been planned with Shane in mind, and the guy can't go more than a week without talking about how much he misses weather. And the way he'd looked out across the Lake, like it was a part of him… Yeah, this one is a sure thing.

Next on the list is that Fair Folk tend to give off their own sense of nature. This one is already checked too. The waves, the chilly scent… These things exude from Shane regularly. Once Ryan had noticed them he couldn't stop noticing. When Shane is pissed off or exuberant, there's the sound of Lake Michigan. And he always smells like snow.

Third up is that Fair Folk might glow. This one wasn't cited as often as others, and Ryan has been in a lot of dark places with Shane and doesn't think he's ever seen him glow. As such it's tentatively crossed out, for all that Ryan would love for it to be true (he can practically taste the jokes he could make at Shane's expense).

The fourth test is not really actionable, but Ryan is all but ready to check it off anyway. Allegedly, fairies can be driven away or confused by discordant or irregular noise. Ryan had read about little old Irish grandmas insisting on keeping their televisions on 24/7 if they thought their younger family members had offended the local fae, or hanging empty bottles and hodge-podge windchimes made of old silverware tied with string from the trees in their yards. Ryan is considering this half-checked given Shane's dramatic reaction to the spirit box. Ryan had always figured him to be hamming it up, had even played along more than a few times, but maybe it's been genuine all along.

Ryan shrugs to himself and tabs over to Amazon to buy a cheap set of windchimes. He giggles a little to himself as he checks out, imagining Shane trying to come over and getting all magically turned around and ending up somewhere ridiculous, having to call Ryan for help.

"Lookin' to spruce up the ol' porch, there, Bergara?" Shane asks from a respectable distance over Ryan's shoulder. His voice is half-strangled and Ryan grins up at him as he spins around in his chair, blatantly leaving the purchase confirmation page up on his screen.

"Oh, you know, figured they'd be harder to kill than a houseplant," he says. He's almost certain he's on the right track this time and he's been caught out, but it's such a relief that Shane is some goofy storybook sprite as opposed to a terrifying agent of sin that Ryan figuring him out feels like a game they're playing, and Ryan doesn't want it to be over yet.

So. Love of nature? Check. Aura of nature? Check. Discordant noise? Check, baby.

Next up: iron.

According to Ryan's research, steel won't cut it because it's forged differently than the anti-fae stuff. The kind of iron he needs is 'cold forged' - wrought. He does have a cast iron pan but that's not really something he can just lug around like it's nothing. Ryan vaguely brainstorms throughout the rest of the day, going through the motions of work. By the time the long shadows of evening are stretched out across the floor and Shane has already gone home, Ryan has accepted that he'll have to bite the bullet and ask for help. He hopes the man he needs is still here.

Ryan packs up his shit and then makes his way to the third floor. He can hear the Pero Like crew before he reaches them, which is not surprising. The workday is all but over and they're an animated bunch when they're together. When he's just a few desks away Ryan can see that the racket is coming from Gadiel, standing up and ranting on about something in Spanish while the others make cheerfully derisive noises at him. Maya sees Ryan first and waves him over, and when he gets in range he pretends to suffer through the vociferous welcome.

"Curly," Ryan addresses when the hellos have finally died down. "Do you happen to have any cast iron, like, little, that you could maybe wear or…?" The crew finally falls into an actual quiet, arranging themselves cinematically around Curly like it's only natural for them. Judging by the way their ensemble episodes turn out it probably is. Curly for his part looks his usual sly kind of friendly.

"What for, osito?" he asks. Ryan blushes a little at the flirty nickname, but the longer he's known Curly the more he likes it. It makes him feel welcome in Curly's social space, less and less just a coworker every time.

"Uh," Ryan says, suddenly realizing that he can't out Shane and that he doesn't have any other answer. "For protection? Stuff?" The quiet seems to get a little more dramatic in the pause. Maya and Jenny, at Curly's shoulders, have begun to look just as sly as him, while behind them Gadiel is pulling a face.

" Ryan Bergara, " Curly faux-scolds solicitously. "Are you getting into brujería?" Ryan's knee-jerk reaction is to deny it, but if you think it through it wouldn't actually be totally off the mark to say he is dabbling in witchcraft here. He still wants to deny it, but he doesn't like being dishonest as a general rule and he wouldn't put it past Curly to withhold anything useful unless Ryan tells him the truth for it (or if Ryan really needed it, which he doesn't). So instead he just grimaces and shrugs.

Curly, Maya, and Jenny hoot and holler and jostle him and each other around and just generally make a big embarrassing to-do about Ryan getting in touch with the energies or whatever, while Gadiel throws up his hands and makes a retreat that is a little too loud to be called strategic.

"Don't worry, chiquito," Curly laughs, giving Ryan another friendly shove. "I'll hook you up."

Ryan and Curly meet in the parking lot the next morning and exchange a tiny antique key on a chain for an iced coffee like it's some kind of shady illicit deal. Curly gives Ryan a knowing look and a wink even though there's no possible way he could know anything, and walks inside backwards so that Ryan can watch him take a long sip. Ryan rolls his eyes good-naturedly as he slips the chain over his head and tucks the key underneath his shirt.

Shane is there when Ryan makes it to his desk, and Ryan guesses that Shane must be able to tell that he has cold iron on him from the harried glance Shane shoots him as he sits down. After momentarily basking in smugness, Ryan gets to work. He actually applies himself today and ends up sucked into it, surfacing only for more coffee. TJ, Devon, Katie, and one of their fact checkers have all added some of their two cents on the pitch doc Ryan made on Monday, so Ryan makes a new shared folder to start mocking up a season outline and building case files.

Ryan is pulled out of his zone well after lunchtime by Shane making a low frustrated noise from beside him. He looks over to see Shane attempting to scoot his chair closer and failing as if there's some kind of ledge he can't get the wheels over. He has a sheaf of papers in his hand, covered in black typeface and red pen marks. He tries to hand it over, but like his chair his hand halts several feet away from Ryan. Finally, Shane gives up with a long shut-eyed sigh, and slides the packet over to Ryan across their desks.

Ryan doesn't laugh about it, because that would be mean, and because he's saving his laughter for the most opportune moment.

The packet turns out to be the draft of a script for a one-shot that Shane wants Ryan's input on before he pitches the video. It's surprisingly heavy, compared to Shane's usual content. He doesn't have a snappy synopsis yet, but from the looks of it he wants to do a short interview set exploring cross-cultural differences in the perception of wrong-doing and justice. More along the lines of something Ryan thinks Eugene might do if given free reign.

Despite the tone departure, Ryan thinks Shane actually has a pretty good chance of getting green-lighted if he really goes after it. It wouldn't be totally out of place on BUN, and Ryan would definitely support it. Better something interesting, and that one of them made, than something that has nothing to do with them or the show and is just there to keep the channel active. Ryan does a little creative nitpicking and then makes some title suggestions. The powers that be eat up a pitch that starts with a good click-baity title.

When he's done with his notes, Ryan slides his chair over just to see what will happen. Shane's chair goes rolling backwards, away from Ryan, proportional to Ryan's every movement. It's like Shane is encased in a magnetic field and Ryan's cold iron key has the repellent charge. Shane gives Ryan a baleful, pouty look and Ryan decides to have mercy on him. He slides the script back over and repositions himself in front of his computer, choking down his laugh (still not the opportune moment; when it's time Ryan will milk this shit for a full fucking set), so that Shane can scoot back to his too.

At quitting time, Ryan heads over to the Pero Like cluster again to give Curly back his necklace. He sets it down at Curly's elbow as Curly types away at something. Curly glances down at it and then up at Ryan, curious and amused.

"Changed your mind?" he asks. Ryan finally lets his grin stretch across his face, remembering the way Shane's chair had wheeled him away. He shakes his head.

"Nope!" he answers cheerfully. "I was just testing it out." Curly is obviously intrigued, plucking up the iron key and turning it around and around in his hand without taking his eyes off of Ryan.

"And did it work?" he wonders. And Ryan is in such a good mood he decides to partake in the harmless flirting this time. He shoots Curly a jaunty wink.

"That's for me to know," he teases. Curly thwaps him on the belly with the back of his hand with a string of mumbled Spanish curses, making Ryan cringe back with a winded laugh.

Ryan is riding high all the way home, even feeling good enough to look up a simple but yummy looking recipe to follow for dinner when he gets there. His windchimes have arrived, and he unpacks them and hangs them up in the front window while the pasta boils. As he eats, he checkmarks iron off his list with a flourish.

Ryan is almost completely certain now that Shane is one of the Fair Folk, but there's only one more thing on the list so he decides to go for broke and finish it out. Ryan had found at least one actual professional folklorist claiming that the four leaf clover is considered 'lucky' based on older lore. A four leaf clover, as far as Ryan understands it, basically functions like True Sight in D&D. When you hold one, it gives you the ability to see the supernatural world around you for what it really is.

Ryan is too impatient, and doesn't know where he'd go anyway, to find a four leaf clover organically. Luckily (ha), you can get literally anything on the internet. He buys himself one, checking and double and triple checking that it's really real, cackles to himself, and turns in for the night at a reasonable hour for once.

The clover arrives just in time for Ryan to take it to work on Friday. It's a little bit crushed but Ryan hopes it'll still work anyway. Ryan is infatuated with the timing. The Seelie/Unseelie Court episode of Unsolved is airing in a few hours, and on Monday Shane will be stuck answering the internet's most pressing questions about fairies on film with an in-the-know Ryan at his side, fully prepared to be obnoxious as all hell.

Ryan tucks the clover in its little baggie carefully into his wallet. He blares Black Magic Woman on the way to the office, deciding to fully lean in to the new hobby he's apparently picking up.

At the door to their floor, Ryan takes out the clover and holds it pressed between two fingers. He doesn't feel any different and nothing looks different - yet - but he's still giddy, eager to See, as he rounds through the doorway. His and Shane's stretch of desk is the first one closest to the door, and Shane is there. From across the open floor between the door, the little on-floor break room, and the start of the maze of open-plan desks, Shane looks the same as he ever does: mousy brown hair, printed button-up, broad shoulders hunched to make him fit over his keyboard.

But then Ryan gets closer.

Shane is- holy fuck, he's fucking breathtaking. He's- Ryan doesn't know, blurred around the edges? and he seems to fade back and forth from his usual size to something hazy and larger-than-life. And- aha! He does glow after all, in a manner of speaking. He has the cool white-gold glitter of winter sunlight in his hair and dancing over the bare skin Ryan can see around his clothes, looking clean and sharp and dazzling even under the washed-out fluorescent indoor lights.

And then Ryan gets closer still, and Shane- warps.

The thing sitting at Shane's desk is pale icy blue that ripples like water, swirls of darkness that Ryan knows to be scared of from growing up on the ocean. It's covered in sharp juts of frost that melt and freeze again, spiraling over its skin with barely audible crackling. It jabs at Shane's keyboard with one finger that is, objectively speaking, way too fucking long. From the side, when it turns its head just enough to reach over for the paper coffee cup beside it, Ryan catches a glimpse of its bottomless black eyes - and when it opens its mouth to take a sip, Ryan can see its pointed teeth. And if you can see something's teeth when it's not expressly baring them at you, that thing is absolutely, unequivocally a fucking predator.

Ryan drops the clover.

And there is Shane sitting at his desk and drinking his coffee, mousy hair and printed button-up. Shane, who is a fairy.

And fairies, apparently, are not as silly or harmless as Ryan thought they were at all.

Chapter Text

Ryan backs right out of the building without a word to anyone. He calls in sick from the parking lot. He's breathless and shaky, cold sweat on the back of his neck, so he doesn't even have to fake it. He sits there, breathing in and out through pursed lips with his eyes closed, for almost fifteen minutes before he feels like he can safely drive home.

Traffic makes Ryan feel normal for just long enough to make it through. But the second he gets home he's confronted with the windchimes he put up practically as a joke. That they might actually do something to Shane seems so much realer now, and less funny. Ryan reaches out and sets them to chiming in a daze. The gentle metallic tinkles seem to echo around inside his brain hauntingly, and he wonders as if from a distance if it would feel similar to Shane.

Ryan spends the rest of his day and his weekend in the same weird out-of-body space. Every now and then the image of Shane - changing from a breathtaking and delicate beauty into a terrible frozen monster in the blink of an eye - will float, blurred around the edges and half formless, like it's ready and willing to be forgotten at any moment, in Ryan's mind's eye. The windchimes keep up their quiet music from the windows, but they only make Ryan feel even more confused and detached.

He debates calling in sick again on Monday, but ultimately decides against it. Ryan has been many things in his life but a coward isn't one of them - and neither is a quitter or a bad friend. Shane might be something out of Ryan's worst nightmares, but they have a connection and Ryan can't imagine just cutting and running even if Shane is dangerous and has to be… dealt with, somehow (Ryan subconsciously begs, in the back of his mind where he still believes in the benevolent God he was raised with, for that not to be the case).

It seems to get colder and colder in the office the closer Ryan gets to their floor, to Shane, but maybe that's all in his head.

Shane is there, in his usual printed shirt and colored chinos, with bulky off-brand headphones over his ears. He gives Ryan a friendly enough nod in greeting when Ryan collapses into his own chair but doesn't smile or pull himself from whatever he's doing. Ryan's heart rate spikes, thinking in a panic - he knows. But Ryan breathes deep and counts backwards from ten, and then plugs himself in like everything is normal and gets to work.

The post mortem for that fateful episode on the Unseelie Court is scheduled for this afternoon, and the hours seem to count down simultaneously as fast as minutes and as long as days. Ryan reminds himself over and over again that he's felt like this a thousand times before, before he ever even met Shane, in spite of everything in his research that has told him that time passes differently in the presence of fairies. Not everything weird can be Shane's fault. If that was the case, everything would probably be a lot weirder.

Finally the time comes, and Ryan shuffles onto the set well after everyone else. He settles in at Shane's side, taking some comfort in the smell of snow coming off of the big guy for all that it's Shane's whole icy thing that is making Ryan nervous in the first place. It's familiar by now, and Shane has always made Ryan feel safe - before all of this. TJ calls action, and Ryan recites the intro, and they're off.

"Let's start with Facebook," Shane says, scrolling on his phone to pick one out. It strikes Ryan very suddenly as weird to see him with such a mundane - human - piece of technology, something he uses every single day. "Here we go. Cleo Jacobi wants to know what we think of the legend of Tam Lin."

"I don't know it," Ryan admits, watching Shane's long fingers as he taps his phone screen off.

"Oh, I thought you were an expert now," Shane teases, though his tone is maybe a little bit flat as compared to his usual falsely antagonistic banter. Ryan holds back a cringe in deference to the rolling camera, but Shane lets whatever bitterness he has go almost instantly with a sigh. He leans back in his chair instead and tells Ryan lightly, "Tam Lin was a Scottish knight who fell off of his horse into the arms of the Fae Queen and was taken into her Court, and then later he met and fell in love with a mortal woman. He told her to rescue him by having him fall off of his horse into her arms, and that when she caught him the Company he was with would turn him into various beasts to try to get her to drop him but if she held onto him then he would be hers."

Shane seems bored as he tells it, and given what he'd said in the original episode about Queens and Courts and anarchy and whatever, Ryan is disinclined to believe that the tale could be true. But…

"I actually kind of like that," he says. Shane raises an eyebrow curiously. "I mean, it's pretty typical fairytale, which are classics for a reason. And I like the, kind of, I guess, gender role switch? At least, compared to what we modern Americans are used to." Shane hums in subdued agreement.

"Yeah, I like that she has to hold on to him," he adds. "Like an allegory for how a real relationship is hard work, maybe. It's a nice story."

"Alright, um, let's try on from YouTube now," Ryan stutters when the weight of Shane's eyes on him starts to feel too heavy. "Uuh, A. E. says '#postmortem #boogara #whatistheworldcomingto never thought I'd agree with Ryan but f- oh, um well, just in case…" Ryan trails off as his shoulders jump up around his ears. He should've read the comment all the way through before picking it, because it finishes 'fairies aren't real'. Shane glances over Ryan's shoulder and snorts.

"I appreciate that," he says wryly, and Ryan swallows hard as he can't help but wonder exactly how much Shane does appreciate it - exactly how much Ryan saying that out loud may or may not affect him. "And for the record, A. E., fairies are real, thank you very much. Anyway! Let's take it on over to gramtown. Maybe we can find someone sensible over there." He picks up his phone again and scrolls, a small crease appearing between his brows as he skims.

"Here we go," Shane finally picks one. " noe.the.moose asks 'Would either of you ever step into a fairy ring? What kind of deal would you make if one showed up?' Sure." Shane shrugs expansively with a pout of careless nonchalance. Ryan is certain that only he catches the mischievous, knowing shine in his eyes. He's half thrilled to be in the know, to get the joke, and half wishes he wasn't. But he makes himself act as normal, as blissfully ignorant, as possible.

"You believe in them and you're still not worried about it?" he asks, with a thin attempt to sound incredulous like he would have if he didn't know any better. Hey, maybe if he's really really lucky Shane actually doesn't know Ryan knows, and-

And that hope is dashed when Shane meets Ryan's eyes with one of the blandest looks Ryan has ever seen on his face and answers flatly, "No, Ryan. I'm not worried about it." Ryan's heart skips a beat, and forces laughter.

All in all, Ryan thinks the episode is not a great one. Unfortunately, it seems like they have more than a couple of duds this season. Ryan tries not to worry about the potential dip in their overall hits before the numbers actually come in, before the season is even all the way finished. He can't tell if TJ is actually frustrated when he calls cut, or if that's just Ryan's own anxieties talking.

"Don't worry about it," Shane murmurs from beside him, and again Ryan reflexively relaxes at the quiet whisper of lake waves at the edges of his hearing. "Our fans find something to love even in our worst episodes. It'll do fine." Ryan nods gratefully, letting himself melt into his chair. He looks up at Shane only to feel his guts start to twist again at the look on his face, tight-lipped and serious. The two of them wait in unspoken agreement until the room clears out around them, waiting for privacy to descend in tense silence.

Finally, the set is empty except for them, and Shane sighs sharply through his nose. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, flips it open, and pulls something tiny and green from the bill fold. Ryan's heart stops again when Shane sets it on the table between them and Ryan sees that it's his stupid four leaf clover from Friday. Excuses fly through Ryan's mind, tumbling over each other, but each one is even less feasible than the one before. All Ryan can do is hold his tongue and wait Shane out.

"I know you've known for a while now," Shane says. His voice is soft and his shoulders are rounded and he doesn't meet Ryan's eyes again. "I know you've been- trying to keep me away. The holy water, the windchimes… I understand. You can do whatever makes you feel safe, but I just wanted to make sure you know- It's not necessary. If- if you want me to keep my distance, I will. And I would never hurt you anyway, Ryan. You're my friend.

"I get it if you don't want to be mine anymore," he continues. He gives Ryan a shaking, furtive glance. "But please- I can't help my nature." He sounds like he's… like he's beseeching Ryan, begging for his understanding. Ryan's head spins. He'd feared threats. He'd expected some kind of gotcha, maybe a reminder of all of Ryan's own pledges of loyalty, so many of them thoroughly documented. But for Shane to put- no, to acknowledge the power of the situation in Ryan's hands? Ryan can't begin to process that. When Ryan doesn't respond, Shane's face crumples and he looks away quickly to hide it.

"Okay," he says, his voice choked. "Well. I just wanted to make sure you knew that." And then he gets up, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor in a parallel to when Ryan said all those weeks ago that he didn't believe. Shane's sloped shoulders underneath his printed shirt - gulls, Ryan realizes with the fondness that comes from knowing - disappear through the door of the set and Ryan doesn't see him again for the rest of the day.

Ryan's windchimes are waiting for him at home. They sway and sing in his window, the same soprano tone again and again like a reminder of something important Ryan might have forgotten. Inside, Ryan makes dinner, and eats it on the couch, and listens to that chime-chime-chime. In his mind's eye, Ryan holds up the Shane from Friday and the Shane from today side by side. It's hard to reconcile them as the same person at first, but the longer Ryan looks the less difficult it gets.

Hindsight is a big help here. Ryan remembers all the times Shane comforted him in the past, be it on location or not. All the times Shane seemed untouchable in some way, or simply perfect somehow. The inescapably soothing quality to his voice even when he's saying shit that is annoying or ridiculous. The way he laughs at catastrophic bad luck, but rages at deliberate cruelty. The way he always seems to know something no one else does, and gets a kick out of it - that is, when he's not stepping in between it and them like he did with Blair.

And the fact remains: Ryan doesn't think he can live without him. He misses Shane already, actually, just contemplating the empty space Shane would leave in his life. He misses Shane's pretty eyes and his crooked smile and his infuriating jokes and his chill and his waves. His quiet voice in the dark, the touch of his hands on Ryan's waist. His kiss.

Ryan hadn't meant to push Shane away. He'd just wanted to know. He just wanted to be sure. He wanted time to figure it all out, to figure himself out. And now because of that, Shane thinks Ryan is trying to magic him away.

He has to undo it.

Ryan leaves his dinner unfinished and instead goes to yank the windchimes down. Then he starts building a new checklist.

Ryan replaces the windchimes with hummingbird feeders, his own adaptation of the advice of a dozen different blog posts. He doubts that Shane, a grown man, would take food and drink off of Ryan's window sill even if he was coming around - no matter how rich or sweet or boozy, and despite preceding claims of willingness to eat pond pickles. But a lot of the sites Ryan is reading from suggest that it's the intention behind it that really counts, and Ryan's mother had always said the same.

Ryan already lives vaguely green, when convenient, but he starts making a point of it now. He picks up litter, recycles everything he possibly can even if it means bringing some stuff to plants himself, buys some potted vegetables, resolves to stop buying plastic. He hounds his friends, coworkers, and millions of followers to take his lead. Shane doesn't comment on Ryan's new lifestyle, doesn't even so much as like one of Ryan's eco-ed tweets. Ryan consoles himself that he should be doing this for its own sake anyway, and not just for Shane's attention, and keeps it up with as much fervor and self-encouragement as he can manage.

Next Ryan tries buying a live daylily and a real stone fountain for his desk at work. Shane did say, after all, that he would keep his distance. The feeders have been enthusiastically noticed by the hummingbirds and bees, and Ryan's own conscience is preening under his rejuvenated environmental friendliness, but Shane has no way to know that those things are also for him. To make the world, or at least the world around Ryan, just a little bit more welcoming to him.

The quiet trickling sound of the water in the fountain is calming and the bright yellow petals of the daylily are cheering, but even still Ryan can't help but long for waves and muted shades of icy blue instead. And still, Shane doesn't approach Ryan. He greets Ryan every day with that same civil nod and he turns down every group invitation. But every now and then Ryan will catch him with his headphones around his neck, watching the water in Ryan's fountain flow.

Ryan's yard is more lively than he's ever seen it, filled to the brim with birds and insects and squirrels. Every time he sees a mushroom out there his heart trips over itself in hope that maybe Shane has been by, maybe he stood at the door and almost knocked before sneaking away through the garden. Is Shane the type of Folk to leave a ring where he steps? Are there different types? Does the mushroom thing even work through shoes?

Does Shane miss Ryan back?

Before long Ryan has to admit the only way to get the answers to his growing list of questions is to… ask. He has to confront Shane directly. He has to swallow his pride, and steel his nerves, and finally follow through on this.

Ryan dawdles a little bit longer, psyching himself up. He braids two friendship bracelets, all his research having said that the fae like handmade gifts and jewelry and knots. He picks out naturally dyed hemp twine in shades of blue, green, and purple from a ridiculously overpriced specialty craft store. When the bracelets are done he ties his around his wrist and tucks Shane's into a little cheesecloth gift bag. On the way over to Shane's house he stops at a nursery and buys some harebells, counting himself lucky that he was able to find a Lake Michigan native in L.A. on a whim.

Shane's front door is intimidating in a way it has never been before. Despite still working right next to him, Ryan feels like he hasn't seen Shane in weeks. And he knows just enough now to feel like he doesn't know anything. It's like it's the very beginning of their friendship all over again, back when it was awkward and Ryan felt the pressure to perform the version of himself that Shane would like best. Only worse, because he has to apologize. And also that little fizzle of pre-friendship infatuation is gone now, replaced with real feelings.

And also Shane is a supernatural creature.

Ryan hesitates in front of the door for long enough that Shane opens it without Ryan ever working up the guts to knock. He looks a little haggard, his beard scruffy and his hair in disarray, shoulders slouched underneath a thin t-shirt.

"Uh," he says. "Hey."

"Hey," says Ryan. "Uh." He coughs awkwardly, and then thrusts the terracotta flower pot forward into Shane's arms in lieu of any other idea what to do or say. Shane blinks down at the harebells, and then back up at Ryan. The crease in between his eyebrows and the bemused tilt of his mouth underneath his stupid ass moustache is achingly familiar. Fuck, but Ryan missed him.

"I heard you like flowers?" he stumbles to explain, and feels both emboldened and embarrassed to see the be musement on Shane's face slowly begin to morph into a musement. "And those are native to, uh, your? Lake." Shane is giving Ryan that look now. That look that he gives him on shoot when Ryan has been startled by something dumb and he thinks it's- Well, he thinks it's cute, doesn't he? He's thought Ryan was cute this whole time, and Ryan was too busy nitpicking at himself to see it.

"The Lake doesn't belong to me, Bergmeister," Shane says, and Ryan is so fucking relieved to hear the nickname that he surges up on his toes on instinct and plants a sloppy one right on Shane's lips. "Oh!"

"Sorry," Ryan mumbles when he drops back down on to flat feet to catch his breath. He stays tucked in close to Shane's body, eager to feel that refreshing coolness that he's been missing. "I missed you." He cranes his neck to meet Shane's eyes without having to draw away from him. "I wasn't trying to get rid of you. I just wanted to know. "

"I said I was going to tell you," Shane points out softly, but he doesn't seem to be hurting over it anymore now that Ryan has explained himself, which is all that really matters to Ryan. He sets the pot of harebells on his entryway table so that he can wrap his long fingers around Ryan's waist instead. Ryan rests his forehead against the soft hollow just below Shane's collarbone, and lets his words filter into his brain at their own pace.

"Hm?" he says when he gets there. "Whe- Oh, when your dad…? Oh! Are your parents, and Scott…?" Ryan's head shoots up, nearly knocking Shane in the chin. Suddenly he's not feeling so slow and honey-sweet anymore.

He wants information.

Shane laughs, a quiet and breathy noise of relief. He tugs Ryan inside by the waist and shuts the door with his foot. He walks backwards, leading Ryan the whole way into the living room, and then deposits him on the couch. He leans forward and places a gentle little kiss on Ryan's mouth. The second he pulls back he tucks his face into Ryan's neck to hide his giddy expression, but Ryan can feel the wide shape of his smile against his skin. With a last brush of lips on the underside of Ryan's jaw, Shane stands and heads towards the kitchen.

Ryan listens, besotted, as Shane makes himself coffee and Ryan some tea. Just like that, it's like they've picked up right where they left off. Ryan can't remember anything in his life ever being this easy. He steadfastly ignores the part of his brain that wants him to speculate on what kind of shoe might be getting ready to drop.

"I guess the word you'd use is foundling, " Shane says as he brings their drinks over and flops down onto the couch next to Ryan, for once allowing his limbs to take up as much space as they want to. Their knees press together. Ryan doesn't move away. He takes a sip of his tea.

"What word would you use?" he wonders. Does Shane mean that the fae have their own language? Or do they just call it something different?

"Well, I personally prefer adopted, " Shane answers wryly. Ah, so there was no shoe hanging over him after all. It was just waiting for Ryan to put it into his mouth. He grimaces a little. Shane grins and nudges him to let him know he's being messed with, Shane's not offended. Ryan nudges him back.

After a few pensive sips of his coffee, Shane goes on, "As far as I understand it, we come from natural phenomena that, uh, sort of collect energy from humans." He gestures vaguely to himself, looking past Ryan into the middle distance as he talks. "I'm… I guess, made out of a superior mirage over Lake Michigan. I was just… that, at first. And then that but, uh, on purpose? And then that with something of a consciousness, and then a body, and then sentience, and then," he gestures again, "this." Ryan takes a big too-warm gulp of tea.

"So…" he hedges. "When you said you can't help your nature…" Shane sighs.

"I only exist because people died because I exist," he says. "It's complicated."

"But… People don't have to die for you to keep existing," Ryan asks, not sure what his response will be if the answer is yes. "Right?" Shane shrugs.

"Not if I don't mind aging." That makes some kind of sense, Ryan figures. He nods thoughtfully and takes a more mellow sip. Halfway through, he realizes something and chokes on it.

"Blair was gonna full-on Vain Sorceress me?" he yelps. Shane laughs and shrugs again, this time in a half-hearted consoling manner. Ryan shoots him a glare but all he does at that is hide his grin behind his mug, badly.

They spend a long time going over all the details about the fae that Shane knows from experience, with Ryan interjecting with this or that tidbit that he found online. Sometimes Shane denies it, sometimes he confirms, but most of the time he doesn't know.

"It's not like there was a manual attached when my parents found me as a screaming, naked, blue-tinged toddler on the shore of Lake Michigan," he says. Fair enough. Shane tells Ryan about the vague, shapeless memories he has of living on the Lake. He tells Ryan that he can't tell someone else something he knows isn't true. About how he has to keep all of his promises and repay all of his debts. He cooks Ryan dinner when it starts getting late, and over the noise of stir fry the copper skillet he tells Ryan about how he's not sure if he'll die like a human or if he'll go back to being a mirage or if he'll just keep aging forever and become one of those wizened old cooks who hands out quests. Ryan eats the food Shane gives him without a second thought.

"Why, uh," Shane asks once the food has all been eaten and they've been lounging together on the touch, pressed shoulder to shoulder, digesting. Ryan looks over at him to come face to face with that pinkness over the bridge of Shane's nose that really got Ryan all tripped up in the first place. "Why did you want to know so bad?"

"You mean besides the fact that it's my life's work to figure this kind of stuff out?" Ryan counters facetiously.

"Yeah," Shane agrees with nary a twitch of his lips. "Besides that."

"Oh, well, I was having an identity crisis and it was a good distraction," Ryan answers blandly. There were other reasons of course, but hindsight is 20-20 and now that he's come out the other side Ryan knows that was the main one. He was just so desperate to focus on some other problem, to work through something he could solve, instead of confront the nebulous ever-shifting grey areas of feelings.

"What," Shane laughs, incredulous. "Really?"

"Yeah. See, 'cause I knew I had feelings for you, like, hypothetically, right?" Ryan continues. "But then it was something real and then I had to figure out what that meant and what I wanted, you know? But anyway, whatever, because I solved both mysteries!"

"You did?" says Shane. He looks like he's struggling to catch up, and Ryan kind of revels in being the incomprehensible one in the relationship for once (or twice, or a few dozen times).

"Detective brain, baby!" he brags, and then he leans over Shane and kisses him again, soundly. Shane is frozen under him at first, and then he laughs, and then he kisses back with equal enthusiasm.

Ryan loses track of time like that, kissing and necking with Shane on his couch. Shane still tastes a little bit planty and Ryan realizes that's nothing to do with what he's eaten and it's just him. The sound of small waves and the scent of snow fill up the room along with the whisper of their mouths against each other and Ryan's cologne. Ryan runs his hands down Shane's arms until he can wrap his fingers around Shane's bony wrists. Shane shivers, but Ryan gets distracted remembering-

"I have another gift for you!" he says, ripping himself away ungracefully. "I forgot." Ryan lifts himself up so that he can dig into his back pocket and pull out his wallet where he'd tucked the matching bracelets he'd made before coming over. He pulls them out and slips his on, pulling the sliding knot to tighten it to the right size, and then does the same for Shane. Shane holds his wrist up to his face, going almost cross-eyed to look at the bracelet.

"It's got- It's got Tinkerbell on it," he says, voice slightly strangled. Ryan grins at him wickedly, but then he lets his expression go a little softer and holds out his own wrist. He turns it over so that Shane can see the Peter Pan charm there.

"We're a matching set," he says. Shane snorts indelicately, narrowing his eyes at Ryan because he knows that Ryan will absolutely be making fairy jokes for the rest of their lives - however long that happens to be. But even still, he slips his fingers in between Ryan's, letting their two charms knock together.

"Yeah," he agrees, his breath against Ryan's lips. "I guess we are."

Two weeks later, Ryan finds a pile of strange ancient-looking coins on his window sill. He asks, but Shane insists it wasn't him. Ryan hums thoughtfully to himself, and pulls out his trusty list-making notebook.

Looks like he has another mystery to solve.