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Shane bounced his leg in annoyance, staring at Ryan with squinted eyes.
Well, that’s not exactly right.
Sure, it was Ryan’s body, his hair, his eyes, his shortness. But Ryan wasn’t there, not really. Rather than the somewhat skittish, fun-loving best friend that Shane saw as a part of his family, there was the spirit of a dead mobster whose name sounds like it came out of a really bad episode of Riverdale.
Ricky Goldsworth.
“So, long legs. What’s with your invitation?”
Ricky was in Ryan’s body, but it was still so alarming to Shane how everything from his posture to his tone of voice was definitely not Ryan. His hands sat clasped in front of him. With his shoulders back and smug expression, he carried an aura of arrogance and superiority. Needless to say, Shane was pretty annoyed by the mere sight of him.
So, why did he invite the spirit to lunch in some random McDonald’s booth.
“Look, man,” Shane sighed, chomping down on some fries, “I just thought since we’re kinda stuck with each other we should set some ground rules. Like no maiming anyone or robbing banks-”
“-Or attempting to exorcise me,” Ricky frowned with a raised eyebrow.
Shane paused with wide eyes. He comically pursed his lips together. “Yeah, okay, I admit that that was a mistake on my part. And I totally get that you’d be mad or whatever at me. Which is why these ground rules are needed! So we don’t end up wanting to kill each other.”
Which is also why Shane picked a public location to chat so Ricky wouldn’t try and choke him out with Ryan’s baby hands.
Ricky’s eyes narrowed, and God it looked so alien on Ryan’s face.
“Why should I trust you?”
Shane’s laid back persona fell before leaning forward, voice low, “Because, you psychopath, for whatever reason are renting out my best friend’s body. If I hurt you, I hurt him. And I’d do anything to make sure that he doesn’t get hurt. Even if that means dealing with a Great Value™ Al Capone.”
Ricky’s hardened gaze had yet to follow as Shane met him with the same intensity. After a few seconds of this tense standoff, Ricky broke it with his usual maniacal laugh.
“Long legs, you’re either brave as all hell or stupid as shit.”
“I wouldn’t say either,” Shane smirked, “just loyal.”
“Like a lapdog?”
“Weren’t you the Mob’s lackey?”
Ricky raised his coffee to his lips with a sly leer. “Touche, Madej.”
Shane let the spirit finish his mug. He hadn’t realized, but he had been searching for a hint of Ryan in Ricky. Something in his posture, the way he laughed through his words, the exasperated way he’d say ‘Shut up, Shane.’ Still...nothing.
“Can Ryan hear me at all?”
Ricky’s eyes moved up over his mug. He set it down in deep thought. “If I want him to. Sometimes he’s able to hear snippets, but I don’t think he can ever remember them.”
“Do you know why?”
“Aren’t you two supposed to be the ghost experts?” he scoffed.
“I mean, we did use WikiHow to learn how to do a seance.”
The mobster’s eyebrows rose in disbelief before shaking his head. “Can’t say I blame you. Wasn’t one for believing in all that supernatural hocus pocus shit, yet here I am.”
Shane played with his straw a little, getting back to his inquiries. “Can you hear what goes on when you’re in the back seat?”
“Not really,” Ricky said, “everything’s muffled, like my head’s underwater. But there are some words that break through. They just...pull me out through that water like a line and a hook. My name’s a big one. The word ‘troubling’ for some reason. Mentions of shit I like.”
Shane nodded at that, noticing Ricky’s expression being more at ease. Shane’s brain halted at that. Could getting along with each other actually be possible? Sure, Ricky was still a murderous dick, but if he could get the mobster to be chill with him (hell, maybe even to like him) that would make this whole muddled mess a hell of a lot easier to deal with.
“Knives and screams also help me get near the surface. Fear, too. Though sometimes I sit back and just enjoy the free entertainment. Boy, do I have a field trip every time shorty here has one of his baby little panic attacks.”
Scratch that. Fuck this guy.
Taking a much needed deep breath to help calm his bubbling anger, Shane started, “so, about those rules I was talking about?”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it, big guy. No killing, no disembowelment, no torture, no fun.”
“Uh,” Shane sputtered out, “basically if it’s against the law, then no. Don’t...maybe don’t do that.”
Yeah, Shane’s all for moving up from the Ghoul Boys to the Crime Brothers (get a little series about Night Night and Chubby Bunny going) but he didn’t want to give the guy that considers disembowelment fun any leeway.
Ricky laid back in the booth with his arms crossed. “And for you?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, dipshit. No more attempts at exorcising me, no salt, no devil traps, none of that voodoo shit that fucks with ghosts.”
“Okay, that’s fair,” Shane said. “But the second you try to break your end of the deal, I’ll WikiHow all the ways to send your ass back to Hell.”
“Oh, I'm counting on it, big guy.”
Ricky stuck his hand out, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Ready to make a deal with the devil.”
Shane remembered back before his best friend was possessed, back when he thought Ryan was silly for believing in something that wasn’t scientific. Back when he could explain away the footsteps and the creaks with the wind. Back when the lousy spirit box was a ridiculous screech of static with ‘ghosts’ saying maybe one word through. Back before he found Ryan, terrified in Shane’s apartment with no recollection of how he got there. Back before he found Ryan with his shoulders back and vainess seeping through his bones. Back before he realized that these mood swings of Ryan’s wasn’t even Ryan at all.
Shane met his hand with ease. “Let’s rock and roll, bucceroo.”