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“A king's ransom in gold. Aye, blood money, and cursed it be...”
He mouths along to the words coming through the speakers. It's the fifth time that day he's ridden through the ride, sitting alone in the back of a boat by himself. It could be worse, he muses. He could be stuck in It's a Small World, doomed to spend eternity with that dumb jingle stuck in his head. At least his ride doesn't have such a bad song, and pirates are way cooler than a warehouse full of dumb singing dolls, inspiring showcase of multiculturalism though it may be. That said, forty straight years of “a pirate's life for me” occasionally gets old. Sometimes he can make it all the way out the front of the ride's facade to catch a glimpse of the real world, and most nights he manages to manifest on the roof of the old building in time for the fireworks. From there he can see the whole New Orleans Square and out over the river, the water reflecting the colorful bursts in the sky. Despite the noise of the explosions and the oohs and ahhs of the crowd, it's peaceful. More peaceful than animatronic drunken pirates, at least.
Most of the time though, Dean just wanders through his ride. If he's bored enough, he'll make a little trouble, spook some of the riders. What the hell is the point of being a ghost, if not to freak out some tourists? He's not corporeal and usually can't be seen, so he's mostly limited to the standard ghostly tricks. A cold brush against someone's shoulder or materializing in the window of the little cabin at Lafitte's Landing is good for a few laughs. Overall though, there are probably much better places to haunt. Time doesn't exactly pass the same way when you're dead, but forty years is a long time no matter how you slice it.
He's made it up to the roof again, sitting with his feet dangling over the edge of the curlicued eaves of the veranda. It's late now, and all the guests have gone home. The park is eerily quiet and still, the only noise the rustle of the wind along the river. He spots it in the corner of his eye, a flash of movement far to his left. Oh, it's him again. The boy is wandering through the graveyard in front of the Haunted Mansion. He touches each gravestone reverently before moving on to the next. He knows they're not real, right? Dean's not sure what the guy's deal is. I mean, this kid is the only other ghost he's ever seen, so he's not sure if all ghosts are like him. Are they all stuck in the place they died? Do they lose touch with reality eventually or go vengeful? He has no idea, but he can picture how another couple hundred years of this might drive him out of his mind. He doesn't think the kid's been here that long. He only sees him every couple of months and only for the last ten or fifteen years or so. Still, he wishes he could talk to him. The fact that he can see him means they could probably talk to each other, right? The boy flashes in and out a couple times before disappearing, presumably back inside the mansion to go do... whatever he does in there. Dean stays up on the roof, trying to imagine what the cool night breeze currently blowing through his hair feels like as he looks out at the park. The stars are out, like they are every clear Southern California night, and he spends the next couple hours gazing up at them, wishing he could just talk with the ghostly boy across the square.
–
It's a couple evenings later that Dean finds himself on the same spot on the roof, watching the nightly parade make its way through the street. He's literally seen it about a hundred times, though he doesn't recognize all the characters anymore. There have been plenty of hot new princesses over the last thirty years, including an Arabian princess with her belly showing, so sue him if he likes to sit and enjoy the eye candy once in a while. The floats and dancers glide down the road, heading toward Main Street. He watches it pass for a while, when his eye is drawn to a beautiful woman standing on the top layer of a float. She's wearing a sparkly blue gown with softly curled blonde hair. He recognizes her—the Blue Fairy, from Pinocchio. He remembers watching that one with Sammy when they were kids. The Fairy reminds him of his mom, with her soft smile and classic beauty. He sighs, remembering his mom's gentle kindness. The Fairy is waving her wand over the crowd when she slowly turns her gaze up to the roof of the old building. She's staring directly at Dean. She gives her wand a wave and a flick in his direction, and Dean's stunned. Can she see him? A couple seconds later and she's already passing out of his view, moving on to the rest of the park. Okay, that was fucking weird. Dean tries to shrug it off, but he finds himself replaying the incident long after the park is empty and dark.
–
It's another day, just like the last ten thousand days. He rides his ride seven or eight times. He wanders around the animatronics, pretending he's a pirate too for a while. He messes with the diners at the restaurant down there, hiding forks and putting too much salt on their food when no one's looking. Same shit, different day. It's gotta be a weekend because the lines are ridiculous. He's sort of meandering around the waiting people, looking for a good ghostly prank victim. He can't shake the memory of the Blue Fairy from the other night, though. He's not sure he's ever seen her in one of the parades before. He's mulling it over while walking through the line, not really paying attention. Before he knows it, he's... outside. Like, way outside. He's never been able to go this far. He's all the way out in the square, surrounded by people. They obviously can't see him, and a lady even pushes a stroller right through him—ugh. He tests his limits and heads closer and closer to the river. So far so good. Normally it's almost like an invisible wall is stopping him, where he literally cannot go farther and it's painful to try. He's definitely gonna take full advantage of this right now.
For the first time in almost 40 years, Dean climbs up onto the grass and lies in the sun. He can't feel either of those things, but it's the happiest he's been since he “woke up” after the welding accident. None of the other workers could see or hear him, and he found himself trapped in the stupid ride they were doing maintenance on. A couple of weeks later, Pirates of the Caribbean reopened and Dean had come to terms with his new eternity—stuck inside a dark building with only robotic pirates and pushy tourists for company. By comparison, this feels like heaven itself.
Almost giddy with excitement, Dean jumps up and starts walking, just enjoying the sights up close. He's only ever seen most of this stuff from the roof, and almost all of it is new since the last time he was actually here alive. He finds himself in front of the Haunted Mansion and knows exactly what he wants to do. Sneaking through the gates, forgetting for a second that no one can see him, he climbs over the line dividers and tromps right through the graveyard. There are so many people, it's hard to get a good glimpse of the whole area. He's scanning around when he catches sight of the boy. He's sitting on top of the old hearse out front, looking forlorn as ever. Dean's never really seen him up close, but he's gorgeous. He's probably a couple years younger than Dean, with dark hair you could almost call a bird's nest and sad blue eyes turned down to the ground. Dean can see that he's wearing what looks like a formal outfit: a light blue button-up shirt, black slacks and a dark waistcoat with a blue tie. What the hell is he doing dressed like that at Disneyland? Hopping over the little chain barrier, Dean practically runs up to the carriage.
“Hey! Kid! Can you see me?” he hollers out. Predictably, the guy barely looks up. He has no reason to assume anyone's talking to him. Dean's coming up on him, waving a hand out to grab his attention. Finally, the guy's eyes widen.
“M-me?” he stutters out. He and Dean are making direct eye contact now, and it's obvious he's completely freaked out. “Yeah I can see you—why can you see me?”
Dean lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Interaction. With another human being. Well, if ghosts still count as human beings. Whatever. It's amazing and maybe almost makes him want to cry. “Are you... like me? Are you, uh, dead?”
The guy nods. “Who are you? How come I've never seen you before?”
Dean can't control the relief and hope inside him. He feels like he's going to explode. “I'm from the Pirates of the Caribbean and I've been in there for like four decades and I see you sometimes but I can't leave but I guess I can today and--” he takes a breath and notes the guy's slightly bewildered face. “God, sorry. I'm Dean,” he holds out his hand. “I uh, haven't really needed social skills for... a long time.”
“Cas,” the guy says as he shakes Dean's hand, and oh my god, Dean can feel it. Like, he can full-on feel where they're touching skin to skin. It's indescribably nice. “What did you mean, you can leave?”
“I don't know! I'm just free, I guess. Nothing was stopping me from leaving today. Let's go!” He gestures for the guy, Cas, to follow as he starts heading back to the gates. Cas is right behind him, and when Dean crosses the threshold with no issue, Cas tentatively inches a toe past too, staring at the wrought iron gates around him like they're going to slam shut any second. His foot slides right through the gates, and Dean finally sees a genuine smile light up Cas' face.
“I'm out! I can leave! Dean!” Cas looks close to tears, and Dean understands.
“Let's go, man,” Dean grins and takes Cas' hand as they head out to the rest of the park together. They're both too awed to speak much, just trying to take in their new surroundings. People mill around staring blankly at their maps and kids whine for churros and pictures with Cinderella and Dean can't imagine anything more human and real. They wander from Frontierland to Fantasyland and Tomorrowland together, pointing out everything that catches their eye. One attraction in particular gets Dean's attention.
“Oh hell yeah, Star Tours? I saw Star Wars in theaters right before the accident, loved that movie.”
Cas' eyebrows raise almost imperceptibly. “In theaters? So you weren't kidding, you've really been here that long?”
“Yeah man,” Dean replies, “1977. First damn welding job and I last all of a week before there's a minor explosion and I get crushed by a beam. Huge bummer.”
“'77? That explains your Led Zeppelin shirt. I think my dad might've listened to them.”
Dean levels Cas with a stare that dares him to keep talking. “You're one to talk, Mr. Junior Prom. Why the hell are you so dressed up?”
Cas casts a look down at his clothes, like he'd somehow forgotten what he'd been wearing for the past decade, then sighs. “Not prom, actually... Grad night. Class of '03, we'd just finished the graduation ceremony and came here to celebrate. We were all goofing around on the Haunted Mansion, and a friend dared me to climb out and go touch this one thing—a head in a glass ball that talks. I, ah, made it out of the buggy and went to step onto the platform, but I didn't see the drop. I think it was maybe 15, 20 feet. I just remember falling, but I'm sure I broke my neck.” Cas takes a breath. “Been there ever since. Alone.”
Dean knows the feeling. “It's horrible, isn't it? Most of my day consists of fucking with the tourists and singing along with pirates.”
“At least you get a reaction out of them. Mine is already a ghost ride,” he deadpans. “I don't think anyone's ever even noticed me, Dean.”
“I did.” Dean thinks of all the times he sat up on the roof, watching Cas wander through his little cemetery, wanting nothing more than to see him, speak to him, befriend him. “I could see you sometimes, from the veranda across the way. I just couldn't ever go over there,” he admits.
Cas' whole face softens. “I wish I'd been able to see you. I wouldn't have felt so alone, I think. Why do you think we can suddenly leave?”
He can feel his cheeks flush a little. “I, uh... I guess I wished upon a star,” he chuckles to himself.
–
By nightfall, the two have seen pretty much the whole park. They've talked about their lives, their families, things that have changed over the decades. Dean admits that the thing he misses most, besides his family, is a slice of his mom's freshly baked cherry pie with vanilla ice cream. Cas says he misses curling up on the couch and reading books on his e-reader, whatever that is.
Just then, the sky lights up with a burst of red and white. The fireworks have started, and the boys stand next to the castle and watch them with a quiet reverence. Biting his lip for a second, Dean looks down at Cas, whose face is awash in the bright light, colors reflecting in his eyes. He steels his nerves and takes Cas' hand, who startles and looks down at where their hands are joined. He smiles sweetly at Dean, a soft flush creeping into his cheeks.
“Do you trust me, Cas?”
Cas nods, eyes curious. The next second, the two of them are in the air, sitting on the balcony of the highest tower of the castle, their legs dangling over the edge, hands still entwined. Cas startles and looks to Dean, who ducks his head with a sheepish grin. “Better view up here,” he explains.
Dean's right. The pair sit side by side, enjoying the fireworks, staring out past the edges of the park to the Anaheim landscape. Cas rests his head on Dean's shoulder, sighing with contentment. Holding his breath, Dean turns his head toward Cas, who meets his gaze. They're drawn to each other, leaning in until the first press of their lips together, then suddenly they're kissing and the fireworks in the sky can't compare, and Dean finally knows why they call it the happiest place on earth.