Disclaimer: *checks* Yup, not mine and not earning money from this either. Darn.
Title: El Maleh Rachamim
Pairing: Ben/Riley, unseen.
Rating: Teen
Summary: The weight of the world was sitting on his shoulders.
Notes: Set in my National Treasure AU universe where Riley is deaf.
Warnings: Contains death of OCs.

He'd been home for a few hours when the patrol car pulled into the driveway, the officers slamming the doors of the vehicle and looking somber as Riley looked through the front window. The knock that followed was hesitant, intuition already warning the teen that something was very wrong.

In later years, he could almost recall those few terrified moments as he'd opened the door, let them in, and heard the devastating news they'd brought him. But even as he grew up, those memories were clouded by the anguish that had filled him with the knowledge that his entire life was about to change. It was that anguish that fueled his bitterness toward them for more than a decade, his blood still boiling a bit whenever he thought of the idiotic accident that had taken both his mother and his father from him.

While their family had never been perfect, Riley had always hoped that they'd loved him in their own way; subconsciously he knew they did – they'd picked him of course – but during the days between his father's death and his mothers, he did wonder.

Wonder that stopped the minute the nurses pulled him from the room and the lawyer showed up and it seemed like the blink of an eye before he was back home, tearing apart his father's office in the hopes of finding something that would tell him what to do. He knew what to do for his Jewish mother, having already asked the hospital to contact their rabbi, but he didn't know what to do for his father who'd never gone to temple or church, though he'd celebrated Christmas every year with a New York City symphony concert.

Riley looked around at the papers scattered across the floor, the white against the dull wood, and for a second felt the sadness rise in him. He choked it back brutally, refusing to cry as the reality finally sunk in that he was alone. There were no cousins or aunts or uncles or, if there were, none that the family had ever communicated with.

"Hey," the voice startled him from the doorway to the office. "Front was unlocked."

Sarah Sloane had lived next door to the Poole family for as long as he could remember. They'd grown up in each other's backyards, sharing secrets and jokes. She was a bit of a bright, peppy, geek of a girl and there were plenty of times Riley teased her for her tastes in scifi and mythology.

"Yeah, didn't think to," he muttered. "What's up?"

She blinked. "What's up? Riley, you were picked up via cop car a couple of days ago, no one's seen you – or your parents, and you haven't been in school. Did you get arrested?"

"I wish." Riley slipped from the room, ignoring the papers he stepped on as he went. If the will or information on what the hell his father wanted for a funeral was in there, he really didn't care at that moment. "Has there been anything in the news about a wreck over on Fir Place?"

"Are you kidding? Of course! That place is a deathtrap, anyway, and besides, the truck that hit the sedan was an Island Transportation tanker." She looked at him strangely, "Okay, even you watch the news in the morning, that wasn't a small accident. Both passengers..."

Maybe it was the twitch of his hands or the way he'd closed his eyes as Sarah had spoken, but whatever it was, she'd stopped and murmured, "Oh," softly, before moving quietly to him. A second of silence fell between them, ending just as soon as it had come when she pulled him into a hug.

Moments passed by, the two frozen in the middle of the living room, Riley resting his forehead on her shoulder while Sarah tried to think of something to say. Neither seemed in a rush to let go of the other; she could feel the weakness in his knees as Riley tried valiantly to remain standing as the exhaustion set in. "Can I stay at your house tonight?"

"Yeah," she answered. "You need clothes first though."

He shrugged as he parted, saying, "And a shower. I reek like hospital." Riley gestured weakly toward the stairs, but he knew from the look on her face that Sarah had no intention of letting him do so in his own house. "Right, clothes."

"Would be good. Make sure you grab your blanket, too."

"I am not dragging my blanket over there for one night," he countered, sincerely not wanting to have to bundle up his king-sized down blanket to bring with him. It didn't help that he didn't want to spend more time in the house than he had to, especially when his bedroom was across the hall from his parents' own.

The look Sarah gave him was melancholic. "Riley, get your blanket. We'll skip school and camp out in my living room if that'll make it worth it."

He relented, finally, and he disappeared up the stairs, trying desperately to ignore the open door to the master bedroom. It hurt too much to think of the day they'd died; how he'd crawled out of bed a half an hour early to shower before school, peering in their open door to see how they had slept curled around one another. Riley turned his head away from the evening sunshine that colored the white pillowcases gold and ignored the neatly made bed as he slipped into his bedroom and looked around at the piles of dirty clothing and textbooks.

Regret filled him – his mother had always been after him to clean his room and had always given him the most praise when he did. She'd asked him the night before, too, to take his laundry down to the washer, to make his bed, and could he please put his books on the bookshelf?

He yanked his blanket from the mattress and threw it into a pile on the floor, sniffing against the weight in his chest as he realized that his last words to his mother hadn't been "I love you," but "I'll clean up tonight, all right! Geez..." He'd yelled before shoving toast into his mouth and running for the bus and leaving her without a chance to scold him; he had treated her like someone to be abused rather than his own mother, and that hurt.

Riley pushed back the tears that had crept up on him, reaching into his closet for the blue duffel bag he used at holiday time for their trip to New York and tossing in a few pieces of clothing. He picked out the shirts his mother had always approved of without realizing it and then added two pairs of jeans his father had hated. Then he quietly snatched up his only clean pair of lounge pants, underwear, and socks, throwing them on top.

Zipping it up, he stood over it for a moment and breathed out; he didn't know where he'd end up living after the funeral, if he'd be put into foster care for the next year, or how he'd pay for college. They weren't rich people, even if his father had always believed he was – driving expensive cars (bought used, but still considered "expensive"), taking Riley and his mother Danielle to the Symphony, staying at five star hotels that destroyed their meager yearly savings.

The weight of the world was sitting on his shoulders.

Sarah came to stand in his doorway, saying, "You okay?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "I'm practically perfect. What with my Rabbi taking care of mom and no clue what to do with dad. I don't know if the house will be put up for sale so there's that whole homelessness thing that most sane people would worry about. And oh, I'm graduating soon with no idea how I'll pay for the college I got into because I am completely alone now."

"Hey, it'll work out," she told him, the certainty in her voice almost soothing. "And I promise you won't be alone – I'll be with you."

At that, she pulled him into a tight hug and refused to let go.

;;

Riley stood at the gate, staring down the uneven, gravel-laden road toward the people gathered together. It'd been fifteen years since he'd seen some of them and his stomach rolled at the thought of being around them again; fifteen years was a long time, but memories of their last gathering on Graduation night, the bitter goodbyes they'd said as they walked away from their high school reverberated through him.

So much had happened since his parents had died, since he'd been a part of that group.

Sarah had tried valiantly to keep him involved in their circle of friends, of course, especially after he was emancipated. He'd graduated a year ahead of the rest of them, hence the horrendously painful goodbyes, but moving to Massachusetts to attend MIT had made it difficult to keep in contact with everyone. Sarah had, five years later, ended up being his only link to the rest.

Now, standing beside his parked car with Ben and Abigail, Riley had to come face to face with people who knew what he had been like as a teenager and could comment readily on how he'd changed. It was not going to be easy, given his buffer between himself and them – Sarah – would not be there.

"Ready?" Ben asked for the third time in ten minutes.

Riley snorted.

No, he wasn't ready. Not for this – not to see the end of a relationship he'd had for nearly twenty-five years, but he had come to see Sarah buried and he wouldn't turn tail and run. She had seen him through the worst period of his life without hesitation or regret, the least he owed her was to throw the first shovel of dirt onto her coffin in place of the husband now jailed for her death.

It hurt to think of how long she must have suffered, the pain she had endured for a marriage that Riley had tried hard to get her to leave. It was anti-climatic that she should have died from a brain hemorrhage; Sarah'd had far too many lofty dreams to die at 30 by her drunk of a husband.

Suddenly, a hand on his shoulder pierced his thoughts and he looked at a man he had once been so close to Riley had jokingly called him 'the favorite cousin I never had.' Brody Harris, who had been the baby of their small group, was staring back, a tear tracking down his face and Ben translated his words into sign, "We hoped you'd come. You have no idea how much we've missed you.

"How much she missed you."

Riley nodded, closing his eyes for a moment as the ball in his throat grew. A memory came up of it's own volition and he reached for Ben's hand, glad to have the man at his side as he once again dreaded the grave he would soon be facing with people he had tried to block out of his mind for all that they had represented.

He breathed out, feeling like he was standing over that duffel bag all over again, and steeled himself to take the first step. It took him a minute more and before he could comprehend what was going on, Riley found himself standing before an open hole in the ground and the same Rabbi who had seen Danielle buried.

His hands went clammy, his heart twisted, and a breeze swept by, blowing Abigail's hair over her shoulder. Riley could almost swear he heard Sarah's voice telling him, "I'll be with you," and he choked out a sob, falling to his knees and pushing his fingers into the dirt.

No one dared touch him as he grieved, a last goodbye to the life he had departed from so long ago.