DISCLAIMER: I don't own The Walking Dead.
Ron walks into his house with a smile as big as the Cheshire Cat's plastered onto his face. He's in a great mood after having dinner with Carl and his big family that puts the 'fun' in dysfunctional. He knows he can't ramble on about it like he wants to yet because its early evening so his dad is probably still up, but the second his dad stumbles up the stairs and flops into bed, Ron has a bazillion things to tell his mom. Despite whether or not she teases him about his 'Carl Infatuation'.
"Hey guys, how are-" he cuts himself off as he enters the kitchen, taken aback by what he sees. He only has to look around the room once to be able to tell that dinner at his own house hadn't been nearly as fun and easygoing as it had been at Carl's house: the kitchen table is flipped over, shards of glass and ceramic from broken plates and glasses are strewn across the floor, the food that Ron assumes was for dinner is also smeared all over the floor, puddles of water and what looks and smells like alcohol are everywhere, and many of his mom's paintings that are usually hung on the walls are lying on the ground. None of his family members are anywhere to be seen and the house is completely silent and still.
Ron stares at the scene of disarray in dismay, holding his breath as he looks around and takes it all in. The good vibes that he'd picked up at Carl's house quickly fade away and a feeling of dread makes its presence. This isn't the first time that he's come home to find his house trashed and seemingly desolate, not even close, but he still always feels shaken up when it happens.
"Mom?" He calls, not taking his eyes off of the flipped over table. He's not even sure why he calls her because if this is going to go how it's gone for the last four million times, he knows she's probably unconscious and can't hear him. He feels his heart sink. Why can't everything just go right for one fucking day? "Mom?" He calls again, looking at the room and feeling a little sick to his stomach. "Sam? Sam? Hey, can anyone hear me?" He weakly calls out. He doesn't waste his breath yelling. He knows no one is going to come bounding down the stairs to greet him. He looks at the trashed room morbidly and shoves his hands in his pockets.
He closes his eyes so that he can figure out how to even begin cleaning up this mess. 'Alright, this sucks. Its like whenever I think lifes improving everything just HAS to all go down the drain. I wonder why dad had a fit this time, besides the alcohol fueled rage of course. Ok, I guess I should start by setting the table back up, then sweeping up all the glass. Then I can mop the floor and pick up the paintings. I hope moms ok. Jesus, what if she has another concussion? If she gets too many will she have major brain damage?! What would ee do if she suffered major brain damage?! Ok, calm down, man. Take it easy. When I'm done cleaning, I'll go check on her. She's probably in bed. That's usually where she goes after dad goes ape-shit. I should check in on Sam too, this kinda stuff never gets easy. But first I gotta clean up this disaster,' he mentally instructs himself, still keeping his eyes shut and ignoring the mess. Its great to act like the kitchen isn't trashed and that everything's fine and dandy, but he forces himself to open his eyes and come back to suck-ass reality because he knows that there's shit he needs to get done.
He struggles to pull the heavy table back up so that its standing on all four legs again. As he tugs it back up, more shards of broken glass and plate slide off the tabletop and fall to the tile floor with a crash. Chunks of meatloaf and noodles tumble off the tabletop too and hit the ground with a splat. After the table is standing again, he fetches the broom out of the closet and begins to sweep up all of the pieces of glass and ceramic. He absent mindedly talks to himself as he sweeps to make some noise because the whole house being silent is starting to creep him out.
"Looks like they had spaghetti and leftover meatloaf for dinner," he mutters dryly, observing the clumps of noodles, meat, and chunky red sauce staining some of the broken pieces of plate and the floor. He scrunches up his face in disgust as he notices some of the shards of glass are a peculiar green color, the same color of the bottles that his dad's beer comes in. "Niiiice dad," he mutters, looking at the puddles of water and alcohol spread across floor and dampening both his mood and his sneakers. Anger starts simmering in the pit of his stomach as he thinks about the fact that his dad did this. His dad, a fully grown adult man trashed the kitchen like a three year old having a tantrum. But his tantrums are much more scary and dangerous compared to those of a toddler. Most people don't get bruises, broken bones, and black eyes from little kids' fits. He clenches the broom so tight that his knuckles turn white and his vision blurs with angry tears. He's so fucking sick of this sort if shit. He's sick of his dad yelling and screaming and throwing stuff around. He's sick of him hitting his mom and kicking her around like a fucking dog. He's sick of his dad looming around like a dark cloud and forcing them to live in constant fear and anxiety. He's sick of getting shoved around and put down. He's sick of his dad throwing tantrums and wrecking the house. He hates him more than words can express and he's just done. But...he knows this emotional and mental revolution won't last. He's gotten pissed and been 'done' billions of times, yet nothing has ever changed.
He finishes sweeping up the floor and throws the pieces of ceramic and glass in the trash. The kitchen still isn't clean, there's food, water, and beer all over the floor and the paintings are still lying on the ground. As he lugs a bucket and the mop out of the closet, he considers confronting Deanna about the shit his dad does. He wonders if she'd be able to straighten him out and sober him up. Would she help him, or just continue to ignore the problem like she has been for the last two years?If there's the slightest chance she would help...
Ron quickly dispels the idea. He's thought about telling someone and getting help thousands of times, but he can never bring himself to go through with it. He always convinces himself that it'll all be ok somehow, mostly because the consequences of getting help are more prominent to him than the rewards. If Deanna doesn't help him and his dad hears about him trying to get help, he might actually beat him or his mom to death or he might hurt Sam, and Ron would never be able to forgive himself if his dad beat the shit out of his baby brother because of something he did.
The biggest fear of Ron's about getting help though is that Deanna won't do anything. He's terrified that he'll finally ask for some long-needed help, and he won't receive any. He would honestly have no idea what the hell to do or where to turn if no one would help him. He's so afraid of the rejection that he keeps suffering in silence rather than feel completely deserted and helpless. Sometimes during his angry hazes after one of his dad's outbursts, Ron considers standing up to his dad himself. He thinks about hitting back or calling him out. But once the anger deserts him and is replaced with a sad hollow feeling, he finds his common sense and realizes that fighting back would be a fruitless death sentence and calling him out on anything would also end in his mom and brother having to bury him.
He finally manages to clean up all of the bits of food and scrub all of the sauce off the floor. He also wipes down the table and starts to rehang his mom's paintings on the wall. He feels bad when he sees that most of them are ripped, torn, and just generally damaged beyond repair. He hates that his dad goes after his mom's artwork during his rages. He sees how happy she is when she's painting and drawing and he knows that she spends days, sometimes even weeks, completing and perfecting her art projects. So when his dad ignorantly destroys them, he can't help but feel both pissed off beyond belief and disheartened.
"Aw," he murmurs sadly, picking up a painting of a field of tulips that's bashed in through the middle like his dad punched through it. He shoves it in the trash, biting his lip and feeling guilty as he disposes of the ruined painting. He always feels bad throwing them away, but they're always totally ruined and there's nothing he can do to fix them. His mom always acts like its cool, laughing it off and telling Ron that its ok that his dad destroyed them because she can just paint new pictures to replace them, but Ron can tell she's masking her frustration and sadness. Several other paintings and drawings that are torn in half and ripped into shreds are piled into the trash.
He does feel a little better when he discovers that three of the paintings are unharmed besides being knocked onto the floor. He smiles as he re-hangs them. The first is of two doves, the second of a log cabin in the woods, and the third is just a skyline with a sunset.
"So, you're the survivors, huh? You three managed to get out of the Rage Storm alive," he mutters playfully, stepping back and admiring the paintings.
As usual, the anger has disappeared, replaced by the familiar feeling of hopelessness and slight despair. It burns in his chest.
"Good job, you managed to clean up the kitchen all by yourself," he mutters to himself, looking around the room and feeling slight satisfaction with how nice the kitchen looks compared to the mess he walked in on. He starts to creep up the steps to locate his mother and brother.
He knows where Sam is. Whenever something bad happens, Sam hides in his bedroom closet and locks himself in, just like their mom taught him to.
Ron walks into his brother's room and gently wraps his knuckle against the closet door.
"Hey, Sam, its me. Can you unlock the door?" Ron gently asks.
A few shuffling noises come from inside the closet. "Is dad home?" A meek voice asks.
"No," Ron answers. He's not actually sure if his dad is asleep in bed or out staggering around, but he knows Sam never lets anyone in until the fit is over and their dad has left the scene.
"Are you sure?" Sam whispers, voice quivering.
"Yeah, I looked all over the house and I didn't see him," Ron says, kneeling in front of the closet doors. "He's not here. Can you let me in, Sam?"
He hears the lock click and he leans back as the door creaks open. Ron peers in the dark closet to see his little brother huddled up in the corner, knees pressed against his chest. He stares at Ron with eyes as big as an owl's. Ron crawls in and sits back against the wall next to him.
"You ok?"
"Yeah...dad and mom got into a fight...dad flipped over the table. I ran to my room after that."
"What was the fight about?" Ron asks.
"Dad had a lot to drink, like eight beers. Mom called him an alcoholic and told him that she was scared he'd die. Dad got mad and started yelling about how its his life and he can do what he wants. Mom eventually started crying and stuff got...bad."
Ron feels anger spark in his chest again. "He will eventually drink himself to death," he mutters. "Stupid bastard."
"That's not a nice word," Sam chastises.
Ron smiles over at him and laughs. "You're right, its not. But sometimes bad people deserve bad words to describe them."
"Is dad a bad person?" Sam asks.
Ron sighs and tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling. He's been contemplating that question for years. "No, he's just...messed up and he makes bad decisions."
Sam slowly nods, like he some what understands. "That's what mom says too. Anyway, how was dinner at the Grimes'?"
Ron stares at him in shock. "What? I told you that I was going to eat dinner with Mikey. Why do you think I ate at Carl's house?"
Sam rolls his eyes. "I'm not an idiot. You and mom always tell dad that you're hanging out with Mikey or helping mow our neighbors lawn or something else stupid, but I see you and Carl together all the time and I heard you tell mom that you were gonna eat dinner at his house this afternoon."
"You can't tell dad, do you understand?" Ron says severely, knitting his eyebrows together. He can only imagine what his dad would do if he found out...
"You're acting like I'm stupid, Ron. Why the heck would I tell dad? Dad would freaking kill you if he knew you and Carl were hanging out all the time!"
"I know. Trust me, I know."
"I hear dad talking about Carl's dad, and he makes him sound like a jerk. You met him, is he really?"
Ron laughs a little. "Mr. Grimes? No, he's a little bit too inquisitive, but he's not a jerk."
"Then why does dad think that he is?"
"Because..." Ron wracks his brain for an answer but can't think of any good ones that a kid Sam's age would understand. "Because dad doesn't know him very well."
"I don't know him very well either, but I don't think he's a jerk," Sam replies sourly.
Ron looks at him with pity, assuming that his brother is starting to have the 'my dad is a total jackass' realization that Ron had five years ago. "Yeah, dad's...different. But anyway, to make this horrible evening seem better, I brought you back something."
Sam's eyes light up with excitement. "Really?"
"Yep," Ron says with a smile. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a wrapped up piece of pie. He hands it to Sam.
Sam smiles as he unwraps it. "I love lemon meringue. Wow, it smells and looks really good!"
"Tastes even better," Ron says with a wink.
Sam smiles and starts to eat it, smearing some of the meringue onto the tip of his nose. "This is really good! Who made it?" He asks, cheeks bulging with chewed up food.
"Carol. She makes some really good desserts. They let me bring home the leftovers," Ron explains, licking his thumb and using it to rub the goo off of his brother's nose. He smiles as he watches Sam practically inhale the slice of pie. "I get the strangest impression that you like it," he jokes.
Sam smiles and nods,using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe off his mouth. Ron laughs quietly and smiles at him.
"Why don't you come eat your pie in the kitchen and I'll get you a plate and a napkin?" Ron offers.
Sam quickly shakes his head. "No."
"Why not?"
"I just... I wanna stay in here."
"I told you that dads gone."
"I know but he's gonna come back!"
"Of course he is, its his house too! But for now he's not here, so why don't you come out?"
"No."
"You gotta come out at one point. What are you gonna do, sleep in your closet?" Ron asks, feeling frustrated. He thinks his brother's petulance is annoying and he also really doesn't want to be alone at the moment and could use some company. Even his little brother's.
Sam nods. "Yeah, I am."
Ron gives him a funny look for a few seconds before sighing. He crawls out of the closet and walks over to Sam's bed. He yanks off the covers and grabs a pillow. "Here, you're gonna need these if you're seriously going to sleep in here," he says, handing his brother the blanket and pillow.
Sam swaddles himself up in the blanket and sets the pillow up against the wall. "Thanks. Hey do you think you could grab my flashlight and some of the comic books off my dresser?"
Ron nods and snatches the flashlight and a few Marvel comics for him. "A little bit of late night reading, eh?" He jokes as he hands them over.
"Only the classics," Sam replies with a smile, opening one of the comic books in his lap and turning on his flashlight. Ron watches him for a few seconds before closing the closet door and walking across the hall to his parents room.
"Hey, mom?" He whispers as he pokes his head into the bedroom. All of the lights are off and the blinds are drawn so that its totally dark in the room. "Mom?" Ron squints so that he can see better. He makes out a lump lying on the right side of the bed. "Hey," he whispers as he pads across the room and stands at the foot of the bed. "Mom, can you hear me?"
The lump shifts and groans. Ron carefully crawls up onto the bed and sits beside his mother's sleeping form. He sets a hand on her shoulder and continues to quietly call her name. She eventually opens her eyes and rolls over to look up at her son. "Hey, when did you get home sweetheart?" She asks groggily, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. She reaches up and lays a cold hand on Ron's cheek.
"An hour ago. How're you?"
"Ah, I'm ok. A little worse for the wear. My head hurts. How are you?"
"Im alright," Ron whispers, trying not to talk too loud since her head hurts. "What happened?" He already knows from Sam, but he wants to hear the story from her point of view instead of that of a scared 11-year old that only witnessed part of the fight before running off to hide.
"Your dad got mad at me because I pointed out how much he'd drunk in one sitting. I swear I wasn't overreacting, he'd drunk a whole six pack within half an hour and was starting on a second. I voiced my concern about his health, telling him that he could very well get alcohol poisoning from his habits and die. He didn't listen to me. I should've shut up, I really should've, but I was upset and I kept nagging. Your dad eventually lost it and started yelling about how its his 'goddamn body' and that he can 'do whatever the hell he wants to it'. It just...escalated from there."
"Yeah, I could tell."
"The kitchen? Oh my god, its trashed, I know," Jessie weakly laughs. "He flipped the table over and started knocking my paintings off the wall."
"Did he get violent tonight or was it just a freak out?" Ron asks quietly.
"Well, he got a little psychical, but not much. When I tried to calm him down he threw against the wall and he kicked me in the head once while I was getting up. He did more damage to the kitchen than he did to me."
"Do you need an ice pack for your head?"
"Already have one," Jessie mutters, pointing to a bag of frozen vegetables lying on her pillow. "But thank you."
Ron thickly swallows. "You don't have to worry, I cleaned up the kitchen."
"Aw, honey, you didn't have to do that. Thank you."
"Its fine, mom. I checked on Sam too, he's ok, so you can just get some rest."
Jessie grabs her son's hand and gives it a squeeze. "I'm not sleepy anymore. Entertain me. How was your evening? Was Carl's family nice?"
"You look tired mom. We should talk later."
"I am tired, but I'm eager to know how it went. Besides, I bet you're just DYING to tell me all about Carl and his family. Its ok, I know you can't help it, what with your Carl Infatuation and what not," his mom teases.
Ron laughs. He both loves and hates that even after something awful happens, his mom manages to bounce back and stay humorous and positive. He loves it because it shows that she's strong and isn't going to break and it actually makes him less scared and gives him hope. He hates it because sometimes he feels her flippant reaction to his dad's behavior is her way of cooping without getting help because she's too afraid to. "Alright, his family members are all weird and zany, but they're really nice. Mr. Grimes asked me a bazillion questions, Judith cried a lot, Daryl has never heard of eating utensils, Abraham is one of those TMI people, and everyone stared me down like an animal in the zoo... but it was still awesome."
"That's good. What'd you eat?"
"Pork and salad. Carol made really good lemon meringue pie for dessert. I saved you a piece," Ron says, offering the tinfoil package to her.
"That's very sweet of you, but I don't think I can eat right now. Could you put it in the fridge?"
"Yeah, I'll go do that," he says, going to stand up.
Jessie reaches out and grabs him by the arm. "Thanks for everything. I love you."
Ron smiles at her as she sits up to place a kiss to his cheek. "I love you too. You want some Advil for the pain?"
"I already took some, but thanks. I think I just need to sleep it off," Jessie says, lying back down.
Ron nods and quietly slips out of the bedroom and back down the steps. He sticks the remaining three pieces of pie in the fridge before collapsing onto the couch and closing his eyes. He's emotionally drained and exhausted. "Fuck my life..." He mutters with a groan. He hates how he had been having a great day and then he got home and his dad managed to knock it down a peg.
As he lies on the couch, he considers going back over to Carl's house. Would Carl mind if he went back over for a little while? He just REALLY needs someone to talk to, and Carl is one of the best listeners Ron has ever met. He just wants to sit down and bitch about his dad... and maybe cry a little. He knows that Carl will listen, he always does. Every time Ron has vented about his dad, he's lent a sympathetic ear and given him comforting hugs. Ron always feels better after he's gotten it all out in and he can slump against his friend in relief. Everything just FEELS easier with Carl. He feels better and his head seems to clear, like his brain is some kind of crystal ball that Carl can read and help him understand.
But...stuff is sort of weird with Carl too. Its difficult for Ron to explain, he feels comfortable around him and trusts him and they have an amazing understanding of one another. Honestly, Carl Grimes is one of his favorite people. But sometimes Ron feels wonky around him. Like sometimes his brain gets fuzzy and he gets tongue tied around him. Sometimes when he laughs or smiles at him his heart starts beating so hard that he's certain Carl can hear it hammering away in his chest. He also knows that he spends an excessive amount of time thinking about Carl, and his lips always stretch into a happy smile when he thinks about him. The weirdest thing he does though, is sometimes he seriously contemplates grabbing Carl by the hand or grazing his lips over his cheek. He WANTS to be just as close to him psychically as he wants to be emotionally. He knows that that's freaky and weird, because last time he checked, friends don't hold hands or kiss each other. He's been having these bizarre feelings for almost 2 weeks now, and he doesn't know what to do. If he didn't know any better he'd think he mysteriously contracts the flu when Carl's around, because he suddenly gets all warm like he has a fever and clammy with nerves.
But the good feelings greatly outweigh the awkward ones, and Ron could really use a friend at the moment. He quickly decides that he'll go out into the yard, gather some sticks, run over to the Grimes house, and throw sticks at Carl's bedroom window until he comes downstairs. It worked last time.
"Yeah, that's what I'll do," Ron whispers, lips turning upwards into a smile. But as he stands up, he hears the front door bang open. He freezes and thickly swallows. The familiar scent of alcohol and hand sanitizer wafts into the room. The smile falls off his face as he grimly realizes who just loudly barged into the house. He turns around to watch his dad stumble into the room.
Pete doesn't look good (but Ron has very few memories where he DOES look ok and healthy). His eyes are bloodshot, his hair is a greasy mess, he looks like he's in dire need of a shave with graying blond whiskers covering his chin and cheeks, and he's wobbling as if struggling to stay standing on his own two legs. Ron just stares at him, feeling a mix of relief and anger. The relief is that his dad MANAGED to stumble home without injuring himself or anyone else, the anger is for the actions that he took before leaving the house.
Pete looks over at him, staring right through Ron, as if he's invisible. After a few seconds, Pete squints at him and his lips flicker into a smile. "Eeeeey. R-Ron, wh-wheeerree you been latelyyyy? 'aven't seen yoouuu around muuuch lately oooorrr a' dinner tonightttt," he slurs, tripping over himself as he tries to stagger over to his son.
"Yeah, I ate dinner at Mikey's tonight," Ron replies stiffly. When he had been younger, he'd forced smiles onto his face and acted like everything was ok for his dad's sake, but ever since entering his 'moody rebellious teenager' stage of his life, he hasn't even tried to be accommodating with his dad's 'special situation'.
Pete just looks him over. "Weeeell, gla-aaa-d your backkkkk," he splutters. "Miiiissssed ya, kid. Miiiisssed seein' 'ur face looookin' at me from 'cross the taaaable."
Ron flinches out of instinct as his dad approaches him. Pete pats him on the back and leans in close. Ron gags at the heavy smell of alcohol coming off of his dad. The scent is so overpowering that it makes his eyes water. 'He must sweat alcohol. Or instead of blood in his veins, he has booze,' Ron thinks with disgust, still coughing and flinching as his dad drunkenly smiles down at him. Pete gives his son a sloppy kiss on the forehead. It tickles when his facial fuzz touches Ron's skin.
"Geeeet ssssome sleep, kid," Pete slurs before patting his son on the back again and tripping up the stairs and disappearing into his and Jessie's room.
Ron watches him go and stands there in a daze. He runs his fingers over the spot where his dad gave him a whiskery whiskey kiss. It would actually hurt him less if Pete had hit him instead of kissed him. He hates when his dad is a good guy, as fucked up as it sounds. Because when his dad shows love and affection towards him, it makes Ron stop and think, and it forces him to realize that deep down, he loves his dad. A part of him will ALWAYS love his old man, no matter how hard he hits or how much damage he does. It makes Ron see that his dad isn't completely bad, that he's just broken and screwed up. And it makes him feel conflicted and lost to think that the man who causes him so much fear and pain loves him.
.-
When Carl gets back from dropping Ron off, he's bombarded by his family members and their playful taunting. He good naturedly rolls his eyes and laughs at their remarks. They mostly just continue teasing him about how much he talks about Ron, and its a little annoying, but Carl can deal with it.
After everyone has gone home for the evening, Carl's real torture begins. Michonne pulls him down next to her on the couch.
"So...did we manage to tell Ron all of your embarrassing stories?" She asks with a smile.
Carl dramatically and jokingly sighs. "I think so. He may never want to see me again after learning about my huge Scrabble defeat and how I accidentally got my head stuck in the bars of my cell at the prison. He now knows of all of my downfalls and shortcomings, thanks to you guys. Thanks for ruining my life."
Michonne laughs and ruffles his hair. "Aw, I'm sorry Carl. I thought that the apocalypse ruined your life, but I guess I'm so terrible that I did instead."
Carl smiles at her. "Yes, you did because you're synonymous with diabolical."
Michonne makes a face of fake shock and lightly slaps him. "How dare you! As I told you last night, I'm synonymous with flawless! And how the hell do you know the word 'diabolical'? You might've won that Scrabble game if you'd used words like that."
Carl groans and Michonne laughs. "If you're just going to sit here and insult my Scrabble skills, I'm going upstairs," he threatens with a smile, starting to stand up.
Michonne, still chuckling to herself, grabs him by the arm and keeps him on the couch. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry that I degraded your skills, you glorious god of Scrabble. I won't do it again."
There's a moment of silence between them as Carl shifts his position on the couch so that he can lay his head on Michonne's shoulder.
"So...Ron Anderson, huh?" She muses as she weaves her fingers through his brown hair.
Carl quirks an eyebrow and looks up at her quizzically. "Yeah, what about him?"
Michonne just keeps smiling and nudges Carl's foot with her own. "I'm glad I finally got to meet him. He seems like a cool kid."
"He is."
"He seems really nice too. And friendly."
Carl nods, still looking at Michonne in confusion. "Yeah."
"He also gives off a relaxed and unjudgmental feel." She drones, rolling a few strands of Carl's hair between her thumb and index finger.
"Mmhmm," Carl mutters with a yawn and a smile.
"And he's patient."
"Yep."
"And sweet."
"Uh-huh."
"He's also really cute," Michonne says slyly.
"Yeah... Wh-wh-what?! Huh?" Carl does a double take, his entire face turning as red as Abraham's hair. He bolts up and quickly pushes himself away from Michonne.
Michonne laughs at his stuttering. "I said that he's cute."
Carl looks at her like she's crazy, his right eyelid twitching. "What the actual fuck, Michonne?! Seriously?"
She just smiles at him. "Well, he is, isn't he? He's got nice brown eyes that are the same earthy color as dark coffee. And he has nice thick blond hair, but he hides it under that stupid beanie. He's got a pretty face in general, it has nice structure. The only off-putting thing about him is his dorky smile. It's all teeth and its too big, but besides that, he's cute."
"His smile is one of my favorite things about him actually. It's one of the best smiles I've ever seen," Carl murmurs without thinking, a dopey grin on his face as he pictures that toothy, twitchy, too-big smile Ron gets on his face when he's happy.
Michonne's laughter jolts him out of his reverie. "His smile huh? You think its cute?"
"I never said it was cute!"
"But you said that it's one of the best smiles you've seen. Why?"
Carl shrugs, still blushing. "I dunno. I guess..." He trails off awkwardly. He doesn't know why he loves Ron's smile. Its just...unique? Whenever Ron smiles, it makes his stomach feel weird, but in a good way, sort of like a trampoline with a bunch of people jumping on it. His heart also beats faster and his throat gets dry when Ron smiles at him. Not that he'd ever tell Michonne that.
Michonne watches his face turn red. She grins and lowers her lips next to Carl's ear so that she can whisper to him. "I think I know why you like his smile. Does his smile give you butterflies in your stomach? Does it make your cheeks feel warm and your palms sweat? When he smiles at you, does your heart flutter around nervously? Do your mouth and throat get all dry and tight and your mind goes fuzzy, like radio station static? Huh?"
Carl feels his heart skip a beat. His entire face and neck are bright red. He hates how easily Michonne can get into his head and seemingly read his thoughts and emotions. Granted, sometimes its good that she can, because Carl tends to get lost in his head and needs someone to pull him out, and sometimes his dad doesn't understand him or get where he's coming from and Michonne can bridge the gap and explain everything to his dad that Carl is too stubborn or scared to. But at times like this, Michonne's seemingly psychic abilities just embarrass him and piss him off.
Michonne smiles as she watches Carl's face flush more and more. "How about his laugh? Do you like his laugh?"
Carl just looks at his feet and licks his lips nervously.
"I bet when he laughs, you're heart skips a beat and you light up like a Christmas tree."
Carl groans. "Cliche much?" He manages to choke out, trying to be snarky and play it off but failing.
Michonne smiles and pulls him into a hug. "Well, HE sure as hell lights up when YOU laugh."
"Does not," Carl mutters, almost looking a little down-cast.
"Does too! He stared at you throughout dinner, honestly, his eyes never left you. And everytime you smiled, he beamed."
Carl looks at her, trying to find a way to end this horribly awkward conversation. "Why are we talking about this? Seriously, why?"
Michonne sighs happily. "Because I forgot that you've become a hormonal teenager and that you're growing up."
"Yeah, before you know it I'll be going off to college," Carl replies, regaining some of his sarcastic grace.
"You can't go off to college! Who will I play charades and I Spy with? Who will I share my candy bars with? Who's hat will I steal? Who will I tease?!"
Carl laughs, wrapping his arms around Michonne. "Alright, I'll stay, but only because we're friends and I love you."
Michonne gives him a squeeze. "I love you too."
After a few seconds Carl untangles himself from her and stands up. "Goodnight. Im gonna go to bed. Enjoy playing charades by yourself."
Michonne smiles. "Goodnight. Go to bed and dream about how cute Ron's smile is."
"I never said that he's cute, he's my best friend," Carl says sounding exasperated and embarrassed.
Michonne shrugs. "It doesn't have to mean anything. You're one of my best friends and I think that you're pretty fucking adorable sometimes."
"Well of course you do. I AM adorable," Carl replies jokingly.
Michonne smiles and tilts her head to the side. "You are adorable and you have a stunning smile."
"Why thank you, I try," Carl says sarcastically, batting his eyelashes.
"Hey, maybe since you have a great smile, you can teach Ron to smile better so that his isn't so awkward and dorky!" Michonne teases.
"His smile isn't dorky and awkward, its cute," Carl replies seriously, crossing his arms over his chest. It takes a second for what he said to sink in.
His eyes get as wide as saucers when he realizes what he said. He buries his face in his hands and cringes as Michonne nearly dies of laughter, her face turning pink and tears of laughter rolling down her cheeks.
"I'm going to bed. Screw you, Michonne," he mutters, starting to run for the staircase.
"W-wait! Hahaha! Seriously, Carl, c-come back! I'm sorry! I'll s-s-stop teasing you and we'll play some charades!" She chokes out through her laughter. "H-here, guess who I am!"
Carl turns around to see her wearing a really big, awkward, twitchy, smile. He groans out in exasperation and throws his head back. "His smile doesn't look like that! You're just being mean now."
"Aw, y-your right, I'm sorry, it wasn't cute enough," she manages to say before going into another fit of hysterical laughter.
Carl groans again, feeling like an idiot for letting that slip out. The sound of Michonne's laughter chases him up the stairs.
Rick walks in just in time to see his son retreating up the stairs hurriedly and telling Michonne to 'screw off' while Michonne is practically dying of laughter on the couch, yelling for Carl to 'come back and finish playing charades'.
"What'd I miss?"
-
"Hey, c'mon sleepy head! Get up!" A voice chirps in Ron's ear. He groans and rolls over, trying to ignore the hand laying on his side and gently shaking him. "C'mon, get up!"
"Whaaaat?" He groans with irritation.
"I made waffles for breakfast and if you want any, you better get up and come get some before your brother eats them all," his mom says in a sing-song voice.
Ron just groans again, rubbing a hand over his face.
"C'mon, get up. Hey, did you sleep on the couch last night?"
Ron's about to lie and say 'no' but he realizes that its the stupidest lie ever since he's lying on the couch wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday. "Yeah. Sue me."
Jessie laughs. "There must be something wrong with the beds in this house. You slept on the sofa and your brother slept in his closet. Now, c'mon get up! If you don't come eat now, I'm going to start singing."
"See, that's a dumb threat. If you said 'I'm going to kick your ass' or 'I'm going to skin you alive' I might actually get scared and get up. But no, you'll start singing and I can just block you out," Ron says, still keeping his eyes shut.
Jessie smiles and clears her throat. "Come gather 'round people wherever you roam! And admit that the waters around you have grown! Accept that soon you'll be drenched to the bone!" She sings loudly in her son's ear. "If your time to you is worth savin' then you better start swimmin', you could sink like a stone! For the times they are a-changin'!"
Ron groans and opens his eyes. "Ok, ok, I'm up, Mr. Dylan!" He mutters. He looks over at his mom to insult her singing skills, but the words dry up in his mouth when he spots the huge purple bruise on her forehead. Ron has seen his mom scuffed up before, but he's never been able to get used to it and still finds it upsetting. He can't help but stare at it with narrowed eyes.
Jessie seems to automatically know what he's staring at and quickly says, "Yeah, nice bruise, huh? I'm such a clutz, I need to be more careful when getting in and out of the bath tub."
Ron rolls his eyes at her as he stands up. "Fell in the bath tub, huh? I wasn't aware that bath tubs were able to power kick you in the head."
Jessie groans. "Please don't start this shit today, Ron. Your brother's been staring at the bruise all morning and I don't want to-"
"Don't want to talk about it? Ok, fine. Anyway, where is the bath tub that kicked you in the head? Did it go to work already?"
"Your father left really early this morning. Someone got shot and needed surgery right away," Jessie says, putting as much emphasis as possible on the words 'your' and 'father'. 'Luke, I am your father,' Ron thinks bitterly with a smile.
Ron scoffs as he walks past her, but he doesn't say anything else. He's still in a pretty foul mood from last night, and all he wants to do is get out of the house. But first, he thinks he's going to eat some breakfast, because his mom's waffles are literally the best thing on the planet. Besides Carl Grimes and headphones. He follows the sweet aroma of maple syrup and strawberries into the kitchen. He spots Sam already sitting at the table with a plate full of waffles that are drenched in syrup.
"Want some waffles with that syrup?" He asks his brother as he fixes himself a plate.
Sam just blows a raspberry at him as he shovels another forkful into his mouth. "Want some friends with that attitude?" He quips back.
Ron ignores him and seats himself at the table. Jessie sits beside him and smiles. "So...I was tired last night and didn't get to hear all about your evening," Jessie prompts, looking at her older son.
"I did tell you about it, remember?"
"Yeah, you told me the basics of what happened, but not everything. C'mon, I know you've got a lot more to tell me!" She says with a smile.
"Not really," Ron lies. Truthfully, he could talk about having dinner with Carl's family for hours, but he's just not biting the bait that his mom set out. He knows she's just trying to get him to talk about something the makes him happy so that he feels better. He's perfectly happy being miserable without her and her stupid bath tub bruise trying to help him feel better, thank you very much.
"Oh c'mon, we all know that that's a lie," Jessie says, nudging her son with her elbow. "You usually spend at least an hour telling me about your day and you only talked for like a minute and a half last night!"
"Yeah, c'mon! Even I know that you've got more to say," Sam says.
Ron groans. "This doesn't even involve you!"
"Sure it does! I know all about what you and Carl do cuz I eavesdrop on you and mom in the evenings! You do usually talk about him for more than a minute and a half."
Ron just rolls his eyes at him. "Whatever. I eavesdrop on you sometimes too and I know that you pissed the bed after watching Gremlins."
Sam cries out in outrage and Ron smirks triumphantly. "Why are you so mean?!"
"I'm not mean, I'm honest."
"It's none of your business!"
"Sure it is!" Ron mocks in his best Sam voice.
Sam scowls at him. "I only did that once! You talk to mom every day-"
Jessie rolls her eyes. "Alright you two, quit it!"
Ron just laughs as Sam glares at him from across the table. To avoid his full blown wrath, he quickly finishes his breakfast, sets his plate in the sink, and runs up the stairs to get changed out of yesterday's clothes before Sam can retaliate by saying something embarrassing about him.
"Where are you going?" Jessie asks as Ron returns back downstairs and puts his jacket on.
"Disney Land," he says with a straight face.
Jessie groans. "Seriously Ron, where are you-"
Before she can finish asking, Ron has run out the front door. Jessie just sighs and throws her hands up in defeat.
"Don't worry mom, he's going-"
"I know where he's going, I just don't want him shutting me out," Jessie says, shaking her head.
"He's not shutting you out he's just being...selective about what he tells you." Sam says, trying to make his mom feel better. "He isn't trying to upset you, mom. I think he knows that you know where he's going."
Jessie laughs a little. "Yeah, but I could live without the moody sarcasm."
"Anyone can understand typical jokes, but only smart people understand sarcasm. Its a great way to get your point across while insulting idiots," Sam says.
"That's cute," Jessie says with a smile.
"Oh, I didn't come up with it," Sam admits.
"Who did?"
"Ron."
Jessie laughs. "Of course he did. Justifying his own flaws. That's my boy."
-
Carl is enjoying his breakfast in solitude on the front porch. Its a nice morning and its early enough that the streets of Alexandria are still quiet and empty. He appreciates the quiet moments in his life because they are few and far between. Life out on the road was never quiet, and life inside the walls isn't either. Judith is always crying or fussing, and in those glorious moments that she's not, his dad decides to sing Johnny Cash songs at the top of his lungs or Michonne starts to sharpen her katana with a metal file and whetstone. (when she sharpens her katana it makes terrible screeching noises, much like that of a cat sharpening its claws on a chalk board while learning to play violin. Carl would rather listen to his dad sing every song from the musical Grease than listen to Michonne sharpening her sword for two minutes. That's saying something.)
His quiet solitude is ruined when Michonne comes out onto the porch and joins him. "Morning," she greets.
Carl nods. "Morning. Did you come out here to finish our game of charades from last night?"
Michonne cheekily smiles at him. "No, we both know that I'm the queen of charades and that I can kick your ass any day. I figured I'd be merciful and call it off instead of completely destroying you."
Carl rolls his eyes at her and laughs. "Gee, thanks. I feel so blessed."
"You're welcome!" Michonne says with a smile, stealing half of Carl's toast off of his plate. He gives her a look and raises an eyebrow, and she replies by stealing the other half.
"That's my toast."
"Sharing is caring," Michonne says simply, taking a bite.
Carl smiles and shakes his head. "So...what've you got planned for today since you're off duty?"
Michonne shrugs. "I was originally gonna crush you at charades, but then I remembered that you'll most likely be spending all day with Ron Anderson and his dorky smile. So...now I guess I'm going to spend my day alone...wondering what happened to us that made us fall apart."
"You're too obsessed with Wonder Woman. Seriously, I just felt like a side chick to you," Carl jokingly replies. "And you steal my toast."
Michonne makes a face of mock hurt. "I make you feel that way?!"
"Yeah, with all of the shrines and hairbrushes made of teeth that you made for her as gifts, I felt like I didn't matter to you."
"You know I love you! I'll make you a hairbrush out of teeth to prove it!"
"Uh, no thanks. A simple hug and bouquet of flowers will do," Carl says with a goofy grin. "No need to make me human-teeth hairbrushes."
Michonne laughs and finishes off the first half of toast. "You say I make YOU feel like a side chick? How do you think Ron makes me feel?"
Carl sheepishly laughs and rolls his eyes. "Aw, c'mon Michonne."
Michonne smiles teasingly. "Just saying. Its my day off and he's gonna steal you away from me. I'm pissed, ok?"
"Alright, alright, because I feel bad, I'll play a quick round of charades with you."
"Meh. I'm not in the mood for charades. How about I Spy?"
"That's fine with me. You can go first."
"Alright. I spy with my little eye somethiiiiing..." Michonne drawls as she looks around her. "Blue!"
"The sky?"
"No."
"Uh...that dream catcher?"
"No."
"Uh...my plate?"
"Yep. Your turn!"
"I see something-"
"What are you doing?! You have to say it correctly!" Michonne scolds with a smile. "The gods of I Spy will strike you down if you disrespect their rules!"
Carl rolls his eyes. "Ok, fine. I'm sorry, gods of I Spy, for being so disrespectful. Anyway, I spy with my little eye, something...teal."
"Teal? That's a very specific color," Michonne muses. "Is it...that butterfly?"
"Yeah, I didn't think you were gonna get that."
Michonne just smiles. "I AM the queen, am I not?"
Carl laughs and gives her a shove. "Whatever. You're turn, your majesty."
"Ok, I spy with my little eye," Michonne freezes and her face lights up with joy. A wicked smile spreads across her face. "Something that Carl Grimes thinks is cute."
Carl turns around in confusion...and sees Ron walking down the street. His face turns red and he whirls back around to face Michonne. "I never said he was cute."
"You said that his smile was last night," Michonne replies.
Carl groans. "Fine, whatever, his smile is nice to look at. I think you're overanalyzing everything and seeing things that aren't there."
"No, I'm simply observing what's being displayed in front of me and coming to a logical conclusion. Elementary my dear Watson."
"I never said he was cute, Holmes!" Carl hisses at her.
Michonne laughs into her hand. "Carl, you don't have to say ANYTHING. I know you and I can read you. I GET you. You don't have to say a word, I'll already know."
"There's nothing to know," Carl says shaking his head. "You're seeing stuff that isn't there."
Michonne simply clucks her tongue. "I'm never wrong about this kind of stuff Carl. Everyone else including your dad is terrible at sensing it and totally oblivious, but I'm like a fucking blood hound. I can SMELL the lovesick enamored scent wafting off of you."
Carl groans. "There's nothing WAFTING off of me! Get. Out. Of. My. Head."
"You think I enjoy spending time in there? Its a scary place," Michonne teases.
Carl runs a hand over his face in frustration as Ron nears the house. "Michonne!" He whines in the most pathetic tone he can manage, because he's fed up and knows no amount of arguing is going to do anything.
Michonne just laughs at him. "Don't you whine, he's coming here to STEAL you away from me! If anyone gets to bitch and moan it should be me."
Carl just groans again, flicking a leftover piece of crust at her in annoyance. "No, you're teasing me and being a jerk, I get to bitch and moan."
Carl stands up as Ron walks into his driveway. He waves over at him before going to hug Michonne good-bye. "Have fun on your date," she whispers into his ear as he bends down to hug her.
Carl quickly retracts his arms and frowns at her. "Ok, you just lost your hug."
"Aw, really? Im sorry," Michonne says with a teasing smile.
Carl rolls his eyes and walks down the porch stairs to join Ron in his driveway. Ron smiles over at him. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you," he says. Carl notices how tired he looks, dark bags under his eyes. He is about to ask what's wrong when Ron wraps his arms tightly around Carl's shoulders and buries his face into the crook of his neck. Carl hugs him back, looping his arms around the taller boy's neck.
"Dude are you ok?" He asks as he feels warm breath ghost over his neck from Ron's relieved sigh.
"Yeah, but I've got a really long story to tell you later," Ron mutters into his neck. He hopes Carl can't tell that he's practically breathing in his scent. He wonders if its weird that Carl's smell helps him relax and chill out.
"Hey! That hug was meant for me!" Michonne yells from the porch.
Ron feels himself smile and Carl groans. "You don't get any hugs because you're mean!" Carl shouts back at her.
"Be careful, Ron. If you piss him off he withdraws his hugs from you!" Michonne jokingly warns. "Im going through 'Carl Hug Withdrawal' right now and it's the worst thing ever. The detox symptoms are killing me! You guys need to go hug somewhere else, watching someone else get to hug him is the hardest thing ever and I might just snap."
Ron laughs and Carl rolls his eyes. "Don't worry, I won't stop hugging you, I'm not hugging her because she's teasing me and she's mean," Carl jokingly tells the taller boy.
"I am not mean!" Michonne yells.
"Yes you are!"
"I don't know, she seems pretty nice," Ron says with a smile and a shrug.
Carl jokingly gapes at him while Michonne laughs."Nice?! She isn't nice! She's the epitome of evil!" Carl spats.
"Aw, thanks Ron! See Carl? Ron knows where its at," Michonne jeers.
"You stole my toast!"
"She stole your toast? That sucks. We can go to my house and I'll make you some more," Ron offers as he gently unwraps his arms from around his friend's shoulders.
"Aw! He's sweet, puts up with the family, AND can cook. He's a keeper, Carl!" Michonne yells.
Ron positively glows and smiles at her before turning to Carl and jokingly saying, "See? She seems pretty nice."
Carl just smiles and rolls his eyes before sticking his tongue out at Michonne. "See you later, Holmes."
"Elementary my dear Watson," Michonne shouts after them as they walk away. She smiles knowingly when she spots Ron awkwardly grab Carl's wrist and hold it as they walk down the street. "Deny it all you want Carl Grimes, the pheromones are so strong that I'm choking on the scent," she mutters with a smile.
-
Ron and Carl make their way to the park and climb up that stupid oak tree that Carl's so fond of. If Ron is being 100% honest, he hates climbing up that tree. He mainly dislikes it because he's not a fan of heights, and he gets nervous and tense as he climbs up. He always grips the branch that they sit on as tight as he can, as if afraid that the slightest breeze is going to knock him off. Carl finds it funny, and always teasingly acts like he's going to jump off and shakes the branch that they're sitting on until Ron warns that he's going to throw up. The only good part about climbing up the tree, in Ron's opinion, is that it gives him an excuse to stare at Carl. Since he's afraid of heights and can't look down, he reasons that he needs something else to look at to distract him from paying attention to how high up he is. And Carl's really the only thing worth looking at up in the tree. Or down on the ground for that matter.
Ron also assumes that he likes being up in the tree because when the two of them are up there, its just them. It's like the rest of the world below them doesn't exist anymore and nothing matters besides them and the tree. Its the best feeling ever and he loves how intimate and close it makes everything feel.
"Come on!" Carl calls from above him as he ascends the tree, pulling himself up onto the thick branch that they usually sit on.
"I'm coming," Ron mutters, nervously testing out his footing before pulling himself up after Carl. He lets out a deep sigh as he settles back against the tree. Carl gets that he's not fond of heights and always lets him sit with his back to the tree so that he feels more secure. It sort of works, but watching Carl sit out there on the limb makes him just as anxious.
"You look exhausted," Carl observes aloud, looking Ron over.
Ron just laughs and rubs his eyes. "Yeah, I was up really late last night."
"Ah man, did my family give you nightmares?" Carl jokingly asks.
Ron smiles. "Nah...well maybe I had a few, but they mostly involved your dad making me do a lie detector test."
Carl smiles at him. "The really scary part about that is that I can visualize it. Anyway, you said there was a long story you had to tell me?"
"Oooh yeah. So...I got home last night after you dropped me off. I walked into my kitchen to find my family members gone and the room trashed. And I don't just mean messy when I say trashed, I mean it looked like a fucking tornado blew through the room. The table was flipped over and there was glass and food all over the place and all of my mom's artwork was scattered along the floor. It was wrecked."
Carl stares at him, a look of sympathy on his face. "Holy shit. Your dad?"
"Yeah. I cleaned it up and went to check on everybody. Sam was in his closet, scared but unharmed and my mom was laid up in bed...apparently she told my dad that she thought he was drinking too much and warned him about the dangers of alcohol poisoning and he didn't take it so well."
"Oh man, is your mom ok?"
"Well, she's got a giant bruise on her forehead because when she tried to calm my dad down, he threw her against the wall and kicked her in the head. But yeah, she's been worse. I'm kinda pissed at her because she wants to tell anyone who asks about it that she got the bruise from tripping while getting out of the bath tub."
"She's just scared," Carl reasons softly. "I think she's afraid of what your dad would do if someone got involved. Or she's scared about what they'd do to your dad."
Ron nods. "I know, but I...I think its dumb. And I know it's hypocritical since I don't do anything to get help either but, I hate her for it. She's the other adult in the situation, if anyone is capable of making a change, its her."
"You can get help too," Carl says quietly, already knowing that it was a stupid thing to say. He and Ron have briefly talked about getting help before. It was a short conversation.
"I can't tell anyone. They'll take my dad away or ban him...and what if who I ask for help rejects me? Then what? And what if my dad knew about me trying to get him help. Do you think he'd appreciate that? He sure as hell appreciated my mom trying to help him by warning him about how he could die last night, didn't he?" Ron says sarcastically. He sighs shakily and wearily rubs at his eyes. "Sorry, I didn't mean to get all pissy. I know you're just trying to help. Sorry, man."
"Its no big deal," Carl says, looking at his friend sadly. He wishes there was something he could do to help without getting Dr. Anderson in trouble and losing Ron's trust. "Your mom has a point though."
"With the whole alcohol poisoning thing? Hell yeah. He's gonna drink himself to death in the next three years if he doesn't stop. Part of me doesn't care, you know? But a bigger part of me does. I was so mad at him last night. When he stumbled in the front door, I was ready to kill him. I almost WANTED him to hit me or harass me. And then, he looked at me and told me how much he missed me before giving me a kiss on the forehead and going upstairs. Is it wrong that I'd rather he had hit me instead of kissed me? Am I seriously just insane?" Ron asks, running a hand over his face. He looks frazzled and worn.
"You're not crazy. I get what you're saying. You were pissed, right? And rightfully so. And you were so worked up that you just wanted him to add more fuel to the fire. You wanted more reason to hate him. And then he goes and fucks with it by being affectionate. I think it confuses you because there's like two completely different sides of your dad: The drunken abusive asshole and the smart sweet sober dad. They sorta mixed last night though since he was drunk when he was nice to you...but still, do you get what I'm saying?"
Ron smiles at him, a smile that Michonne would call dorky but it makes Carl's heart start to beat faster. "No, I understand. That's how I sort of felt about it. I ...usually I'd like it if my dad told me that he had missed me and all, but last night I had been seriously confused and conflicted about it because of what he did, which makes me sad. Just sad. Its like Jekyll and Hyde with my dad."
"Jekyll and Hyde?" Carl asks in confusion.
"Yeah, its a famous book. There's this doctor and he makes this...long story short, he has two sides to him. Dr Jekyll is the nice guy and Mr. Hyde is a douche."
Carl nods. "So, Mr. Hyde wrecked your kitchen and Dr. Jekyll came home and told you he missed you."
Ron nods. "Pretty much."
"I'm really sorry about your dad, man. You should've came back to my house and gotten me. I would've helped clean up the kitchen." Carl says, looking at Ron with a sad smile.
"I considered going to your house but I didn't. I knew that If my dad came in and saw you, Rick's kid, in his house and flip his shit again and throttle you, then use your organs to choke me to death."
"That's a pretty picture. Anyway, you could've come back to my house and stayed for awhile. Just to help you relax, I mean, you look pretty tired right now."
"I am. After my dad went to bed, I couldn't sleep. Whenever something stressful happens I can't shut my brain up."
"That's when you should've come back to my place. You could've come and talked to me."
"It was like midnight."
"I don't care. If you need someone, you need someone. Life is never convenient, especially now days. Seriously, next time you need to talk, come get me."
Ron smiles at him, a bizarre but pleasant warm feeling buzzing around in his chest and stomach.. "I'd hug you, but I'm afraid I'll fall if I let go of the branch."
Carl smiles and scoots down the branch until he's right in front of Ron, almost sitting in his lap. He gives him a tight hug, his hat getting knocked off in the process and falling to the ground below them.
Its then, in a tree 23 feet above the ground with Carl Grimes hugging him, that it hits him. It's then that he realizes just how much he trusts the boy hugging him. Ron used to never talk about his dad to other people. Even when Mikey asked about the weird bruises on his arms and when Enid outright asked what the hell was going on, he kept his mouth shut. Only occasionally would he slip up and say something. But for the last few weeks, he's been openly talking about his family troubles with Carl, and it seems normal to him now to discuss some of the things his dad does. He's already told Carl about all three freakouts his dad has had in the last two weeks, and he's mentioned the insane amount of alcohol and what he does to his mom and him. There are still a lot of things Ron hasn't talked about yet, but he has a feeling Carl will be ready to listen once he's ready to talk. Ron starts laughing as he realizes just how much he must trust this kid since he's been open with him about it.
And he also thinks that maybe, just maybe, he might sort of kind of love him. He loves that Carl's not judgmental about anything and that he never blows him off or lets him down. Hell, he just gave Ron permission to come get him whenever he needs him 24/7. He loves that Carl doesn't just HEAR him, he LISTENS to him and puts himself in Ron's shoes to try his best to understand the situation. He loves that Carl is dependable and that he hasn't marked Ron off as a hopeless cause because he doesn't know what to do. And he appreciates how he can be himself because he knows that he won't judge him. He knows that he's free to talk about whatever, and that he's able to freely express himself because he knows that Carl accepts all of him, even the weird twisted bits.
And he loves Carl for being whatever the hell Carl Grimes is. He loves his smile, his laugh, his brilliant sense of humor, his compassion, and how he's a deep thinker. He loves how his family is fucking nuts and he loves that Carl has a quiet loner exterior but that he really does have some soft spots. He may be a little prickly on the outside, but he's sweet on the inside, and Ron loves that about him. He's sort of like a pineapple. But pineapples aren't what automatically come to Ron's mind when he thinks about Carl. Actually, he thinks that Carl is a Rubik's Cube for him to solve. Mostly because a lot of Carl's life before Alexandria is unknown to him (besides the awkward and hilariously embarrassing stories) But Ron is going to be ready to lend an ear when Carl's finally ready to talk.
His heart rate picks up, beating like a fucking drum as Carl pulls away and looks up at him with those amazing blue eyes that seem to see through every guise and straight to the core of what matters. Ron starts laughing breathlessly, because what else are you supposed to do when you basically just admit to yourself that you're in love?
"What's so funny?" Carl asks. Their faces are so close, that Ron can feel Carl's breath tickling his face. 'I could kiss him,' Ron realizes, his heart still beating one million beats per second and his cheeks flushing. He keeps laughing and smiling. 'If I just tilt my head down half an inch, our lips would be touching. I could kiss Carl Grimes.' Carl just smiles at him, and Ron can actually hear his heart pounding in his ears. He notices how pink Carl's cheeks are at the moment, and how he's flushed too. He can vaguely feel his temple throbbing and his tongue swipe across his bottom lip as he just stares at his friend.
He relaxes when Carl sits back on his haunches and slides a few inches away from him. He can't tell if he's disappointed or relieved as his heart rate slows down and his body stops trembling with nerves. He realizes that he's still laughing, only harder now.
"Seriously man, what's so funny?" Carl asks again, still smiling.
"I'm just really fucking grateful that I spotted you in this tree, squirrel boy," Ron says, wiping a few tears of laughter out of his eyes.
Hey everyone, sorry I updated this later than I wanted to. I'm honestly not sure if I like this chapter or not...but feel free to tell me what you thought. Thanks (: