Live and Learn

He’s still reeling. His soul, HIS soul, was nearly sentenced to 500 years of doing evil’s bidding. And what it came down to, in the end, was a game. His soul for a game. If Spengler hadn’t stopped them when he did…

Dammit, he isn’t even FROM this world! How dare that spirit even attempt to lay claim to his soul! He could understand if he’d made some sort of deal, but he hadn’t. If Good had lost that game, he would’ve lost his soul with absolutely no say in the matter. Who the fuck made them gods?!

500 years. He’d been one switch flick away from 500 years. 500 years of evil’s bidding.

500 years from Deitmar and Suzi.

Winston knew all along, he realizes. And not only knew, he volunteered to save his soul. It was no skin off Winston’s nose, he knew, but he gained nothing by playing either.

Nothing, that is, except Ryan’s respect.

He's insubstantial by the time they come to pick him up. He always is and apparently there's no way to stretch out that 3-day limit on being solid. It puts him in a grumpy mood that he can't grab anything unless he concentrates, though there's little to be done for it.

The Ghostbusters are running late, probably some early morning spectre making trouble. Eventually, the white vehicle pulls up the country lane faster than usual, even with Winston at the wheel. Ryan passes through the door on the passenger side before settling on the seat.

"Morning," he says distractedly, already concentrating on staying solid enough to not slip through the leather.

Another week’s gone by and Ryan’s still trapped in the animated Stantz’s world. It’s frustrating knowing he can’t open the Door to Milliways himself, that he has to rely on the other man to get back. Not that he’s unreliable, he just tends to get distracted. Ryan would ask him to try the doors more often, but he’s seen the man come home covered in slime. He deserves some downtime.

Which he had yesterday. When Winston was teaching him how to shoot, the other guys had the day to themselves. Stantz can open a few doors for him today and one of those will lead to Milliways. He hopes. Ryan steps into the main room just in time to here something about baseball. An American sport, he thinks, dismissing it and heading towards Ray.

It began with the earthquake. In the middle of the night when everyone but Egon had gone to sleep, the ground shook fiercely enough to knock them all out of their beds and shatter the glass in the windows.

Ryan hadn't thought New York was prone to earthquakes.

Regardless, he helped the Ghostbusters in cleaning the mess the quake had left behind, quietly listening to the bickering and laughing that went on around him.

"It was not a normal earthquake," Spenglar insisted before explaining what his machines had recorded. Something to do with a massive amount of psychic energy. When the police arrived to ask for help, Ryan slipped into another room to avoid being seen. The less attention he drew to himself, the better. A minute later, and the 'busters had a new case. Ryan just kept cleaning. It's not as if he had anything else to do, and it let him repay the men for taking him in during the past week.

The team's out for the rest of the day, searching for Marduk, apparently  the god responsible for the earthquake. They rush back in, siren blaring, in the early afternoon. Ryan heads to the garage to greet them and ask Stantz if he has time to look for the Door today. The moment he gets there, though, that doesn't look like a possibility. The men are rushing around, gathering equipment and supplies as they explain to Ryan what's happened and what they need to do next, Ryan included.

"You want me to do what?"

(Take the path of least resistance)
He’s never had to pretend to be human before. It’s one thing to remember human behaviour, but entirely another to remember to implement it. It’s oddly challenging to not stare at each stranger’s eyes, to not guard his plate of food, and, perhaps hardest of all, not growl when he’s annoyed. The odd looks he receives are enough to remind him, but every time the moon approaches, he grows tense and agitated with remembering to pretend.
(Into the great unknown)
Needless to say, he’s glad for the three day escape to the countryside.
(No directory assistance)
It doesn't take long before he doesn’t stick out any more than any other human, and quite a bit less than certain examples. It’s the SAS training. If you don’t fit in when you’re on recon, you’re going to get caught, so you learn very quickly how not to draw attention to yourself. Ryan adapts, to the point that even with the moon only a few days away, he can pass a butcher’s shop with salivating. It’s hard, but he can do it. It doesn’t hurt that he’s found a weak minty chewing gum to muffle the scents. Eventually the only tell-tale sign that there’s more to him than meets the eye is the faint prowl to his step, and even that would be gone if he knew it were there.
(Now you’re on your own)
In Milliways, he never really saw a point to trying to pass as human. There he was just another odd patron, one of at least three werewolves in a sea of humans, gods, and aliens. Here, there’s nothing but humans. Anything else stands out like, well, a ghost. It makes it easier to slip beneath the radar when he doesn’t bare his teeth at people who bump into him every five minutes.
(But if you’re looking for a new world)
And he notices it’s easier on his housemates as well, so even when he’s away from the public eye, he still keeps up the charade. Oh, he never shows teeth when he smiles, but he stops bristling when others do. He contents himself to blinking when he makes eye contact, not backing down, but not challenging either. He even manages to cease growling when busting ghosts.
(Just open up your eyes)
Mostly. Sometimes the slime is just too much.
(Because it’s not quite paradise)
The thing is, when you start relaxing about some things, you start relaxing about others. Ryan starts smiling more. He laughs. He even jokes on occasion, which isn’t to say that becomes his usual state of mind. He’s just as aloof and grumpy as ever, but in a relaxed way that’s normal for him.
(But it sure feels like home)
One of the hardest things to adjust to has been the amount of publicity the Ghostbusters get. Every time they go to deal with a bust there are camera crews and Ryan can’t help but bristle, especially since they want to know who the newest Ghostbuster is. He had to give them a name, but knew he couldn’t use his own. Suppose he existed here? The last thing his counterpart would need is this attention. So he told them, in an American accent, that his name was Ryan Darley.
(Not quite paradise)
Fortunately, Venkman handles most of the questions and Ryan’s able to follow Winston’s lead and fade to the background. Still, he hardly ever drops the accent, just in case someone’s listening when they’re not supposed to be.
(We can learn to grow)
He's not a completely new person, but he's certainly changed from when he first arrived.
(Oh, it’ll be alright)
(No, it’s not quite paradise)

(It’s just one of those days)
Being cooped up in the firehouse is starting to take its toll. With the Door refusing to open and Stantz not actively looking for it, Ghostbusters Headquarters has become a very small space indeed. Not that Ryan can blame the man. Ray has other responsibilities, to his team mates (pack mates?), his work, his life and Ryan would react in much the same way were their positions reversed. Well, no, he’d be much more irritated about the whole thing, and he’s irritated enough as is. He wants to go home. He should count himself lucky that it’s Ray’s world he’s landed on, even if it is animated. It’s just he can’t seem to open a door without running into Spengler, Stantz, Venkman, or that bloody green miscreant of a ghost they allow to hang around. He swears, if he loses one more sandwich to Slimer…
(Where you don’t want to wake up)
“Is there someplace where I can run?” he asks politely of Zeddmore after biting back another snarling reprimand at the green spud. He keeps his eyes on the bridge of the man’s nose, teeth hidden behind a thin-lipped smile. He doesn’t know how far he can push these people yet, and still isn’t willing to risk his way home, or to being corporeal.
(Everything is fucked)
Winston looks up from his own sandwich, one Slimer hasn’t touched (probably because Ryan had three). “Central Park isn’t that far. It’s a huge natural looking open space-“
(Everybody sucks)
“Where?” Ryan cuts him off, looking earnest.
(You don’t really know why)
Winston gives him the directions, “But you don’t want to go now. It gets pretty nasty at night.”
(But you want to justify)
Ryan allows himself to meet Zeddmore’s eyes, teeth bared in a vague smile. “I’ll be fine.”
(Ripping someone’s head off)
***
(No human contact)
This feels fantastic. It’s been far, far too long since he last ran, and now he turns himself over to it, pounding out all the frustration and anxiety of the past week, nearly slamming his boots into the trail, and not noticing as he gets deeper and deeper into the park. Or perhaps not caring, at least until the wolf whistle comes from ahead.
(And if you interact)
That startles him alert – surely that’s not for him – and he slows, looking for the source. Standing at the single park lamp is a young man, perhaps Deitmar’s age, watching him. Ryan snorts and begins to pick up his pace again when a younger man, more a teenager, steps out further up, cutting off his path. This one already has a small knife in his hand and Ryan arches an unimpressed brow but stops. Nose twitching, he glances behind him to see a third, with an even longer blade. No guns, though, and no one else hiding in the bushes.
(Your life is on contract)
Decisions, decisions.
(Your best bet is to stay away, motherfucker)
“We was wondering if you could lend us some money,” Lamppost says with a smirk, confidently leaning against the metal behind him. Ryan is well aware there is more than one way to work off frustration, and who would miss three street punks? Still, killing them would leave a problem of disposal, since he can’t just leave the three bodies in the middle of the park. (Part of him wonders what animated blood looks like.) No, a simple disarming should work wonders, he thinks. Unless he spooks them, which he might with the wolfish grin appearing on his face.
(It’s just one of those days)
“I don’t have any,” Ryan answers, locking eyes with the man. There’s a sharp hyena-like laugh from the man behind him.
(It’s just one of those days)
“All them pockets, and you ain’t got a wallet? You think we stupid?”
(Feeling like a freight train)
“Illiterate, perhaps, but decidedly moronic,” Ryan answers dismissively, still looking at the man in front of him.
(First one to complain)
“That’s a pretty funny accent, mister,” Hyena snarls, stepping forward. “You ain’t from around here. We charge extra for that.”
(Leaves with the bloodstain)
“So how ‘bout you dig out that wallet now,” Lamppost adds, standing up from his slouch and showing his own knife.
(Damn right I’m a maniac)
“I told you, I don’t have one,” Ryan annunciates, voice sinking into a growl that continues even when the words don’t. He’s showing more teeth now, and the silent man glances uncertainly at Lamppost, but he and Ryan are still staring at each other.
(You better watch your back)
For a moment, the four are still, the only sound Ryan’s low growl, but Lamppost is unfazed and when the growl stops so Ryan can take a breath, the man darts forward, knife extended. Ryan snarls, even as he catches Lamppost’s wrist and snaps it, sending the knife whirling away into the dark. There’s a sharp cry of pain and a sudden scent dump of fear, but Ryan’s already spinning to deal with Hyena. The werewolf grabs the knife arm, twisting the man around and wrenching the limb until there’s a popping sound, leaving Hyena blubbering in pain. The youngest mugger is gone, leaving a cloud of fear and his friends behind.
(Cos I’m fucking up your program)
Ryan drops Hyena with a sound of disgust and the man wastes no time in fleeing. Ryan turns back to Lamppost, who’s kneeling on the path, hand cradled in his lap. He looks up to see Ryan stalk forward, all predator menace, and lets out a low moan as he tries to back away. The werewolf’s grin grows at that as he catches the man’s shirt, hoisting him to his feet, catching the good wrist in his other hand.
(And if you’re stuck up)
“Please, man, no more!” Lamppost whimpers as Ryan’s nostril’s flare.
(You just lucked up)
“I could kill you,” he says a little dreamily, expression not changing. Lamppost starts kicking then, and Ryan shakes him with a growl. “Listen carefully and you may yet live and learn. I’m going to use these trails, and when I do, I don’t want to be bothered, understood?” When there’s no answer, Ryan frowns, annoyed. “Is that understood?” he asks again, bending the good wrist.
(Next in line to get fucked up)
“Yeah! Yeah! I got it, man!”
(Your best bet is to stay away motherfucker)
“Good. Make sure everyone else understands as well.” Lamppost nods frantically and Ryan releases the shirt, dropping him to the ground. The man looks surprised and Ryan arches a brow. “Well? Off you go.” Lamppost bolts.
(It’s just one of those days)
 ***

The door opens to admit Ryan, a great deal less tense. “Any trouble?” Winston asks from the sofa where he’s stretched out reading a Holmes mystery. He glances up at the captain, who meets his gaze with a slightly toothy grin.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he answers before the teeth are masked and his eyes slide to the bridge of Zeddmore’s nose. The Ghostbuster watches him a moment, but when no further information is offered, he shrugs and returns to his book.

“Just be careful,” he cautions. He doesn’t see Ryan’s look turn smug.

“Duly noted.”

Ryan hasn't been in a city since before he died. The scents are overwhelming. Not bad, mind you, just...wow. He doesn't even recognize half of these smells (though he could do without the car exhaust). Besides, it helps to distract from the whole cartoon world thing.

To his credit, he hasn't got his head out the window. In fact, he's sitting in his seat like any other human, though his head is thrust towards the influx of air, nostrils flared. What is that scent, and that scent, and that scent...

He feels like he's lived in the country all his life, and he shakes his head slightly as ECTO-1 pulls into the firehouse. He's ready to go home now.