Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So this is room 302. It’s said to be one of the most haunted rooms in the building,” Ryan said, sweeping into the dark room.

“What makes this room so special?” Shane asked, following dutifully behind Ryan.

“This room was closest to the nurses’ station, so they would put their most critical residents in here. In the early 90s, reports started coming in that the men who stayed in this room would feel someone stroking their hair in a comforting manner.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It does, doesn’t it. People believed that it was a nurse named Maggie. She worked here in the 80s when this particular hospice was known for taking in men diagnosed with AIDS, who didn’t have anywhere else to go. One of these men was her younger brother George. So people believe that she tries to comfort anyone who reminds her of her brother by stroking their hair and humming a song to them.”

“That’s beautiful. Sad, but beautiful,” Shane murmured.

“It’s said that George was tall with dark brown hair,” Ryan swept his flash light over Shane. “Maybe Maggie will hum you a tune?”

“I’d love that. Maggie, can you hum a lovely tune for me? It’d make me feel better. A little head pat would also be nice too. Maggie? Can you do that for me? Maybe a nice little head massage.”

“We’re sorry to hear about your brother, Maggie. But we’re happy to hear that you were able to bring comfort to him and other men whose families abandoned them in such a sad and scary time in their life. You were a very good sister. George was lucky to have you.”

“Maggie, I myself am a younger brother. I know that -”

“Shh!” Ryan abruptly cut Shane off. “Did anyone make that noise? Mark, was that you?”

“Wasn’t me,” Mark replied.

“Lizzie?”

“I haven’t moved.”

“Ok, did anyone else hear that noise? It sounded like humming coming from that corner.” He pointed to the other side of the room.

Shane moved over to the corner to inspect where the noise had come from, flashlight sweeping back and forth. “It looks like there’s an old laundry chute over here. You probably just heard the metal vibrating from a rat scurrying around in the metal tube.”

“That wasn’t a rat. There’s no way that was a rat,” Ryan said, turning to Lizzie. “What would that go to? Is there a basement? It’s not on our list of rooms to visit.”

“No, they don’t have a basement here. That would go to a laundry and utility room on the first floor. It’s not out of bounds per se, but the owner warned that it’s really cluttered and hard to move around in, and there hasn’t been any activity reported in that area.”

“See, no activity. It’s not a ghost, it’s a rat. Because ghosts aren’t real. Plus, if it’s that cluttered, it’d be a pain in the ass to film.”

“Seriously? Guys, come on. The whole point of the show is to look for evidence of ghosts. Weird noises in the dark is the very definition of ghost evidence! How can we say that we maintain the integrity of the show if we’re ignoring evidence because it might be a little inconvenient to shoot?” Ryan stared, annoyed, as Shane exchanged looks with Lizzie and Mark.

“Okay, you’re right,” Shane conceded. “If the owner didn’t specifically say we can’t go in there,” he waited for Lizzie’s nod before continuing, “then let's go. Ryan is right, we owe it to the fans and the show itself to go investigate. Even if it is just rats.”

Lizzie led them back down to the first floor, to a standard locking single door. “This is it. It should be unlocked.”

“They probably needed the laundry chutes because the doors are so narrow. It’d be a pain to wheel one of those big ass laundry carts through here,” Shane said, testing the door and holding it open for Mark when the knob turned easily.

Mark stepped forward and took a quick glance at the room, moving off to the side where he’d have a decent angle of them coming in. With how antsy Ryan was to get in there, he’d have to live with whatever shot he could get and pray Shane’s handycam footage was halfway decent.

“Ok, I’m set up. You guys can head in.”

“Hurry up, we need to see if we can find the source of the noise,” Ryan said, trying to push past Shane.

“Hold up, let me go first, Burgoogoo. The ghoulies have been here for years, they’re not going to disappear on you now,” Shane soothed, moving past Ryan into the room.

“Going by the building layout, the chute connected to room 302 should be to the left over there,” Ryan said, shining his flashlight past the other man into the corner. “There, that’s probably it, right next to the old fuse box.”

“Yeah, I hear some rustling over there. It sounds like a rat chewing through old wires,” Shane said, sweeping his flashlight over the area too.

“Just get in so we can go check it out.”

Something in the corner shifted, rippling in the dark.

“Holy shit, I saw a shadow move. What is that? Did you see it?”

“Yeah, I did,” Shane said, backing up a bit, slowly nudging Ryan back through the doorway. “But I don’t think that’s our girl Maggie.”

“What! Of course it is, who else could it be?”

Sudden movement came directly from where they were both shining their flashlights, and Shane moved backwards, pushing Ryan the rest of the way out of the room and slamming the door shut.

There was a loud bang that sounded like a body slamming into the door, and a thud of it hitting the ground. Then nothing. Silence.

Until Mark started yelling.

Chapter Text

Ryan jerked from where he had fallen into Lizzie, dropping his handycam, and tried to push open the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Shane! Damnit, Shane, open this fucking door!” he yelled frantically, alternating between pushing on the door and banging on it.

Lizzie stepped up beside him to help push, calling out, “Shane! Mark! What’s going on? Are you guys ok?”

“Guys, stop pushing on the door!” Mark called back. “Shane’s blocking it, and I’m trying to help him move, but he hit his head and is a bit dizzy. You guys aren’t helping! Just give me a minute to get him clear from the door.”

Ryan was vibrating, trying to stand still. Listening to faint shuffling and grunts coming from the other side of the door.

“Okay, we’re clear—” Mark called, and Ryan was through the door and kneeling next to Shane before he could even finish the sentence.

“Shane, buddy, are you ok?” he asked, fear evident in his voice.

Shane nodded and grimaced. “Hit my head. Might have twisted my ankle. It hurts when I try to stand on it.”

Ryan gently put his hand on the back of Shane’s neck, careful to not jostle it, and leaned his forehead gently against Shane’s, just breathing. Trying to calm down and recenter, like his therapist had taught him to do.

“I’m okay, Ry-Guy,” Shane said softly.

Ryan closed his eyes and nodded gently. “Mark? Are you okay?” he asked, not moving.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Ryan reluctantly opened his eyes and pulled back, but didn’t move his hand. “What the fuck happened?”

“Turns out our shadow person was less of a shadow person and more of a person person,” Shane said.

“What the fuck! How the hell did that happen? We did a sweep of the building before we started filming, specifically to make sure there wasn’t anyone in here! How the hell did we miss them?”

Mark shone his camera light toward the other end of the laundry room. “He ran out that way. That emergency exit must have a busted lock, or be rigged open somehow. We must have heard him over there messing with whatever’s in that corner.”

“Jesus Christ, let’s just get out of here. We need to get Shane to a hospital.”

“It’s not that bad,” Shane protested.

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan snapped, then paused to visibly calm himself, taking a few deep breaths. “You hit your head and hurt your ankle. We need to make sure you don’t have a concussion or need a splint, or anything more serious. We’re going to the hospital. End of story. Do not argue with me on this.”

Shane paused, looking at his clearly agitated friend. “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay, we’ll go to the hospital so they can look me over.”

“Good. Thank you,” Ryan said, backing up to help Shane stand. “And why the fuck did you close the door after me? You could have gotten through too and avoided this mess.”

“I couldn’t have left Mark alone in a room with a potentially dangerous stranger. He has his camera rig, he wouldn’t have been able to easily get away.”

Ryan stared at his friend in disbelief before shaking his head and helping Shane hobble to the car.

Lizzie paused by the driver-side door, Ryan’s discarded handycam clutched to her chest. “Do you mind if Mark and I stay behind? I need to call the police and update the owner, and I don’t really want to be here by myself waiting for them.”

“Oh God, yeah. I got Shane. You and Mark stay in the other car with the doors locked until the cops get here, and then head back to the hotel as soon as you can. I’ll keep you guys updated.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep you updated on what the cops say, too.”

Ryan nodded and climbed into the driver’s seat, then headed toward the closest hospital.

“Ryan,” Shane tried, once they had pulled away from the old hospice.

“Please don’t. I just can’t right now. We need to just get you to a hospital and make sure you’re okay. Then I can yell at you for being a self-sacrificing dumbass and have a mental breakdown. But until then, I just can’t. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

~

“The owners send their profound apologies and swear they’re going to get the lock on the door fixed. The cops said that the guy was probably a scavenger, stealing copper wiring from the fuse box that was in the corner by the laundry chute. We’re going to send them any footage that we were able to catch of the intruder, but they pretty much said that unless Shane wants to press charges, there’s not much they can do. And even if he does want to press charges, it’ll probably be hard to find out who the person is,” Lizzie’s voice rang tinny over the phone.

Ryan sighed into the phone and rubbed his forehead. “And let's be real, Shane’s not going to want to press charges.”

“That’s what I told the cops, but I still got their number just in case. How’s he doing?”

“He’s doing alright. He has a mild concussion, and they think he just has a slight sprain, but they took him back for an x-ray just in case. They’re not super busy right now, so we’ll hopefully be good to go in about an hour.”

“That’s good. Let him know we’re thinking of him.” Lizzie stifled a yawn. “Mark and I are going to make the drive home tonight. I think we both need the comfort of our own beds after all the excitement. Are you guys going to get a hotel?”

“I’ll have to check with Shane, but I think we’re feeling the same. Home sounds too good right now. Be careful though. I know it’s only a 5-hour drive, but if you feel too tired to finish, please stop at a hotel. I can’t handle any other excitement tonight.”

“Same goes for you, boss. I can’t go back and tell Steven that I let two of our three founders get hurt on a shoot.”

Ryan snorted. “You let me and Shane deal with Steven. Anyway, I’ll update you when we get on the road later. Drive safe.”

“You too."

Chapter Text

Shane’s eyelids drooped heavily as Ryan helped him back into the car a little while later. It was well past midnight, and they would probably hit LA rush hour traffic, but they both agreed that they didn’t want to stay in a hotel that night.

“I know Sara watches Obi when you’re out of town,” Ryan said, pulling out of the parking lot and heading toward the on-ramp that would eventually take them to the PCH and home. “Do you think she could watch him for a few more days? My place has fewer stairs, and I’m not letting you out of my sight. I feel like moving Obi to a strange place, especially when you’re not well, is going to stress him out. Which will stress you out, which will stress me out.”

“Yeah, I’m sure she’ll be fine keeping him a few more days. She loves watching him.”

“Good. Try to get some sleep. The doc said you’re going to need a lot of it.”

“You know what would help me sleep?”

“Hum?”

“One of your special brownies.” Shane raised his eyebrows hopefully.

“Do I look like the guy who brings weed on a ghost hunt?”

Shane just tilted his head, and Ryan chuckled. “Fair. I didn’t bring any to this shoot, but when we get home I promise I’ll give you one.”

Shane grumbled and tried to get as comfortable as his 6’4” frame could in a sedan, settling in for the drive.

~

It was around hour three of the drive when Shane rolled his head toward Ryan, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over the car. “You know this wasn't your fault, right?”

Ryan’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, and he kept his eyes fixed ahead. “Dude, I literally dragged us into that laundry room.”

“Yeah, because it’s literally our job to chase the scary noises that go bump in the night,” Shane countered gently, leaning back against the headrest, knowing that arguing with Ryan’s anxiety was a losing battle, but needing to try anyway. “And you were right—ignoring evidence because it's inconvenient isn’t exactly stellar ghost-hunting practice. Definitely not a precedent we want to set for Watcher. Besides, nobody expects an actual living human to be the problem on our ghost show.”

Ryan’s grip on the wheel loosened slightly, his mind still insisting that everything was his fault, but comforted a little by Shane’s steady reassurance. “I just hate that I put you, and everyone else, in danger.”

Shane softened noticeably, turning to face him more directly. “You didn't put me anywhere. We're partners.” Shane reached across to lay a grounding hand on Ryan’s knee. “Honestly, Ry, nobody blames you. You reacted exactly how you should have. You trust your instincts; that's why the show's as good as it is. Don't second-guess yourself because something went sideways. Sometimes, shit just happens.”

Ryan finally cracked a small but genuine smile. “That’s oddly comforting, big guy, but I’m still going to feel guilty.”

Shane sighed and closed his eyes again, leaving his hand where it rested. “I know, bud.”

~

They pulled into Ryan’s apartment complex as the early morning sun started to lighten the horizon. Ryan gave Shane’s hand a gentle squeeze to wake the other man and circled around to the passenger side to help a dramatically groaning Shane out of his seatbelt.

“Carry me across the threshold like a bride on her wedding night?”

Ryan laughed, exhaustion evident. “I can do piggyback at best right now. I’m so tired that bridal-style would end up with us both in the ER.”

“Mmm,” Shane hummed, leaning his weight on Ryan, arm slung over his shoulder. “Rain check then.”

“Come on big guy, let's get you inside.”

Once Shane was safely on the couch in the living room, Ryan fetched a glass of water and the promised brownie.

Shane looked unusually vulnerable in the soft morning light, hoodie sleeves pushed up and a bag of frozen peas on his elevated ankle.

Ryan hovered awkwardly, momentarily stunned by the unusual sight—so used to Shane being this untouchable force, forced to realize just how touchable the older man really was.

“You know, you look more uncomfortable than I feel,” Shane observed, making grabby hands for the brownie.

Ryan sighed dramatically, handing over the brownie and water. “Yeah, well, your suffering is giving me anxiety. I just keep replaying it in my head—how much worse it could have been.”

“You always have anxiety,” Shane said around a mouthful of brownie. “But we can’t control everything, Ry. We made it. Everyone's okay, sometimes that has to be enough.”

“You’re obnoxiously reasonable sometimes,” Ryan muttered.

“And you’re a guilt-ridden worrier. We all have our flaws.” Shane smiled softly, taking another bite.

Ryan sat heavily in the nearby armchair, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Seriously though, I just, I need to say it again. I’m sorry for convincing everyone to go down into the laundry room. I know you don’t think it was my fault, but we weren’t supposed to go in there, and if I hadn’t insisted then you never would have been hurt. Mark and Lizzie could have easily been hurt too.”

“Are you done?” Shane asked, waiting for Ryan to nod. “Good. Now I know your anxiety isn’t going to let you believe this, but this wasn’t your fault,” Shane said, gesturing down to his ankle. “No one blames you. I don’t blame you, Mark doesn’t blame you, and Lizzie doesn’t blame you. We were all doing our jobs and happened to get into an unfortunate situation, and we handled it the best we could.” Shane winced, shifting positions, trying not to jar his ankle or head too much, and Ryan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I keep thinking--what if he’d done worse than just push you? What if he had a weapon? What if you hadn’t gotten up?”

“Thankfully that didn’t happen. I’m fine. Mark and Lizzie are fine, and you're fine. The only person to blame is the guy who broke in. Okay? You don’t have to punish yourself for something nobody saw coming.”

Ryan hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Good. Now shut up and let me enjoy my medicinal dessert.” Shane settled back dramatically, closing his eyes with exaggerated contentment, effectively ending the conversation.

Ryan just huffed and adjusted the makeshift ice pack, which was slowly sliding out of place. “You need sleep.”

“So do you.”

“I will soon, but I’m not the concussed one getting high on my couch. Just let me grab you some Tylenol, then you can pass out.”

Ryan stood to retrieve the bottle and returned with a blanket. He draped it gently over Shane, who blinked up at him.

“Thanks,” he said softly. Almost too soft.

Ryan just squeezed Shane’s shoulder and headed back into the kitchen.

Shane exhaled and let his eyes drift closed.

Chapter Text

By midday, sunlight filled the room gently, casting a warm glow across Shane, breath steady in sleep.

Ryan sat quietly on the kitchen counter, phone to his ear.

“How is he?” Steven’s voice was calm and steady on the other end.

Ryan glanced at Shane, watching his chest rise and fall. “Asleep. Finally.”

“And you?” Steven pressed gently.

“Exhausted,” Ryan admitted, glancing toward Shane. “And feeling dumb as hell. I thought the guy was a fucking ghost. I didn’t even realize there was actual danger. But Shane saw him, and his first instinct was to protect me. He reacted instantly. No hesitation.”

“Yeah, but that’s Shane,” Steven interrupted gently. “His superpower is being annoyingly calm when everything goes to shit. Especially when it involves you.”

“Yeah,” Ryan exhaled slowly. “Yeah, it is.”

“None of this is on you, Ryan.”

“My brain sure keeps telling me it is,” Ryan sighed.

“Sometimes,” Steven said gently, “we don’t pick what haunts us. We just decide what to do with it.

Take some time,” Steven continued. “Both of you. Re-center. Ground yourselves again. Just rest. And let Shane know that we’re all glad he’s still here.”

“I will,” Ryan promised quietly, ending the call. Slipping into the living room and into his armchair, for the first time since the incident, he let himself rest, eyes heavy, watching Shane breathe.

~

“You have fed me soup for the last two days. If that is another broth-based dish, I will jump out the window and flee for my sanity. I have a barely there concussion and a sprained ankle, not a cold.”

“Yeah, because you can totally make a clean getaway,” Ryan retorted, setting a plate and takeout boxes down before dropping onto the couch beside him.

“What’d we get?”

“Green curry, tod mun, and tum lao.”

“Ooh what level?”

“Three, I told them you were white and recovering.”

“Appreciate the cultural sensitivity.”

“You’ve earned medium heat, brave soldier.”

They ate in easy silence. The curry had a solid kick, and Ryan was already starting to sweat halfway through his plate.

“White and recovering, huh?”

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan said hoarsely, gulping water.

Shane chuckled and returned to his food. After a moment, he spoke quietly, “This has been... weirdly nice.”

Ryan glanced up. “Nice?”

“Yeah. The takeout, not dying, sharing the couch.” Shane shrugged lightly.

“You have been like an awkward baby giraffe sprawled out on my couch, I don’t know how much sharing went on,” Ryan joked gently.

Shane grinned warmly. "Still counts."

After another quiet beat, Shane finally asked softly, “We gonna talk about it?”

Ryan exhaled, meeting Shane's eyes earnestly. “I've thought about it—a lot.”

“I know.”

“I just, I didn’t know how scared I could be until I heard you hit the door, and I couldn’t get to you. I don’t know what I’d do without you, and I don’t know what this is, but I know it felt wrong that I wasn’t by your side. Now every second away, I expect something bad to happen, and I’m trying so hard to not mess us up.”

“You haven’t messed anything up.”

“I almost said something. That first night. When you were sleeping in the car. I almost said something out loud.”

“What stopped you?”

“You were injured. Wouldn’t be able to make a clean getaway if you needed to. It didn’t seem fair. I kept telling myself that I should wait until you can stand on your own again.”

Shane leaned his head back, gazing at the ceiling. “So you were ready to confess something real—finally—and decided to wait until I could limp out the door if I needed to?”

Ryan shrugged. “If I was gonna blow everything up, I wanted you to have an escape route.”

“And they say chivalry is dead.”

“I don’t want to ruin us.”

“You won’t. You can’t. It’s us.”

They held each other’s gaze for a long beat.

“When I can stand without wobbling,” Shane said with a smirk, “maybe try saying it for real.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

~

The school’s interior looked like every horror cliché stacked end to end—long, warped corridors, peeling paint, windows boarded or broken, and doors that didn’t quite fit their frames. A place meant to rot in silence.

Shane led the way with steady steps, flashlight beam cutting through layers of dust. His limp was gone. He walked like it had never happened.

Ryan followed a few steps behind, quiet and alert, eyes sweeping every shadow. Watching.

They rounded a corner into a room caught in time. Desks rusted in place. A map curled at the corners. Shadow clung to the floor.

“Watch the step,” Ryan murmured.

“I saw it,” Shane replied without turning.

Another few seconds passed.

“Floor looks soft near the windows,” Ryan started again. “Just don’t—”

“Ryan.”

Ryan froze mid-step.

Shane faced him, calm but firm. “You gotta stop.”

Ryan furrowed his brow. “Stop what?”

“This.” Shane gestured vaguely between them. “The hovering. The constant monitoring. You act like I’m gonna vanish through the floor the moment you blink.”

“I’m just trying to be careful.”

“No, you’re waiting for something to happen again.”

The words landed heavy.

“I’m fine,” Shane said more gently. “But if you keep treating me like I’ll break, this shoot isn’t going to work.”

Ryan exhaled, eyes dropping to the scuffed linoleum. “I’m not waiting for something new. I’m still stuck on what already happened.”

Shane nodded, expression soft. “I know.”

“I keep hearing it—your head hitting the door. Not being able to get to you right away. Not knowing what’s going on. What I would have done if you hadn’t gotten back up.”

Shane stepped closer, slow and grounded. “And?”

Ryan didn’t look up. “I didn’t realize how scared I could be until that moment. I’ve said that before, but... I also realized it wasn’t just fear for my best friend. It was fear for someone I love.” He paused, breath shaky. “You. I love you.”

The room held still.

“I didn’t want to say it when you were hurt,” Ryan went on. “Didn’t want it to sound like panic. Because it wasn’t. I mean I was panicked, but the realization wasn’t just a panic response.”

Shane just smiled, lopsided and certain. “I know.”

Ryan blinked. Then he had to blink again, incredulous. “Did you just Han Solo me?”

Shane raised a brow. “If I say it now, you’re going to get misty-eyed, and we’ve got two cameras rolling and a ghost-infested teacher’s lounge to explore. Boogaras expect tears. Shaniacs? Bit more composure.”

Ryan snorted, eyes wet, but secretly glad for the levity. “Asshole.”

“Yours, apparently.”

Ryan exhaled, letting the tension slip. They stood quietly, staring at each other. Then Shane turned and kept walking, flashlight bobbing down the dark hall.

Ryan followed, this time side by side.

~

That night, the hotel room was quiet, lamplight casting soft shadows across unmade beds and tossed gear. One of Shane’s boots was by the door, the other halfway under the desk.

Ryan stood at the sink, brushing his teeth—shirt wrinkled, hair still damp from a quick shower.

Shane lay in bed, curled toward the window, hoodie sleeves bunched at his elbows. Not asleep. Just waiting.

Shutting the water off, Ryan stepped out, drying his face, catching Shane in the corner of his eye.

“You good?” Ryan asked, voice soft.

“Yeah,” Shane answered, still facing the window.

There was a beat of quiet—just AC humming and distant hallway noise.

“I keep thinking maybe I said it at the wrong time,” Ryan admitted.

“You mean when we were standing in a hallway surrounded by black mold and dead schoolmarms?” Shane deadpanned.

Ryan smiled faintly. “Yeah. That.”

Shane rolled onto his back, meeting Ryan’s gaze. “You didn’t.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to say it since the couch.”

Ryan nodded slowly. “I didn’t want it to be a reaction to you being hurt.”

“Didn’t matter,” Shane said. “I’ve known for a while. I was just waiting for you to be ready.”

They stayed like that. Breathing steady. All the tension melted away.

“So when you said ‘I know’...” Ryan began again.

Shane’s voice was quiet but certain. “It means I know. And when I said ‘I’m yours’? I meant that too.”

They took another moment, still easy and warm.

“Then what now?” Ryan asked, sounding almost shy.

Shane shrugged. “Now we sleep.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah. And tomorrow... we wake up, and I’ll still know, but this time you will too.”

Ryan exhaled, relief mixed with something lighter. “Can I—”

“Yes.”

Ryan crossed the space between the beds and settled beside Shane—both of them on top of the covers, not touching beyond the quiet curl of Shane’s fingers around Ryan’s wrist.

Ryan leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Shane’s temple.

Shane closed his eyes.

Ryan followed. They breathed together. No words needed.

For now, they had nothing else to say.