DISCLAIMER: Because yes, I totally own The Walking Dead *rolls eyes*
After Ron walks Carl home, he practically floats back to his own house. He's feeling a funny mix of nerves and absolute happiness. He's scared that Eugene will slip up and say something, but he still has no regrets about being that close to Carl. Honestly, any reason to get close to Carl Grimes is a good reason in his book. He's a little pissed at himself for not kissing him when he had the chance, but he realizes that it was probably for the best that he didn't. If he had, Eugene would've gotten the pleasure of watching Carl awkwardly try to reject him without completely crushing him. But still...how great would it have been to kiss him? Just once, how amazing would it be, even if it ends in rejection. Ron quickly comes to the consensus that it would've been freaking awesome...until the whole rejection part.
Ron's dad gets home and falls asleep in his reading chair after blowing through a bottle of wine, Sam decides to play with his match box cars, and his mom declines his help with cleaning out the kitchen, so Ron resorts to his bedroom. He pops his ear buds in and listens to some mushy Elton John love songs, because that's just the sort of mood he's in. He's lost in his head and letting himself think about how it could've gone if Eugene hadn't shown up out of nowhere. Its a pleasant thought, imagining soft lips pressing back against his, even if only for a second. He likes to pretend that Carl actually likes him back and WANTS to kiss him back. He likes to think about kissing him until his lips are nice and kiss swollen and his cheeks are red and his hair I all messed up from his fingers being run through it so many times and his-
CRASH!
Ron jumps in surprise at the loud noise before quickly yanking his ear buds out and running downstairs to check on everything. The sound seems to have come from the kitchen.
"Mom? You ok?" Ron shouts as he runs down the steps. As he runs past the living room, he spots his dad waking up and looking startled by the sudden noise.
"Mom, are you ok?" Ron asks again as he rounds the corner and pokes his head in the kitchen. He involuntarily takes a step back when he's greeted by the sight of broken glass and vodka all over the floor.
His mom is shaking as she hurriedly digs around in the supply closet for a broom to sweep up the glass and some air freshener to mask the staunch smell of alcohol.
"Mom, are you ok?" Ron asks as she starts to sweep up the glass. Her hands are shaking so badly that she keeps losing her grip on the broom handle.
Ron watches her nervously. From past experience he knows that when his mom starts freaking out it means something terrible is about to happen.
"Did the crash wake your dad up?" His mother asks him with a brave face, but her voice quivers and gives away her fear.
Ron nods slowly. "Yeah, he's up."
Jessie pales and sighs shakily.
"Mom, here, let me sweep it up," Ron offers, feeling pity for her as she drops the broom for the seventh time.
Jessie looks at her son severely and shakes her head. "No, don't come in here in bare feet! You'll get glass stuck in your foot. Go upstairs with your brother, ok?"
Ron frowns, not appreciating his mom acting like he's still 10 years old and terrified of his dad and/or the possibility of a freak out. Its not like his dad is gonna flip his shit anyway, right? She just dropped a bottle of vodka on accident.
"Mom, what happened?"
"It was an accident, I dropped the vodka while getting something out of the freezer," she explains quickly, dropping the broom again.
The word 'accident' rings in Ron's head again and he forces a smile, trying to help calm his mom down. "It was an accident," he says quietly as he hears his dad start to limp down the hallway. "Just an accident, mom."
His mom looks him in the eye and mutters. "But that doesn't matter. Your dad won't think it is."
Ron shakes his head. "Mom, its fine. What could he possibly have to be mad about? It was an accident. Even a drunken asshole like my dad-"
"He won't think it is. Not after my alcohol poisoning rant, he won't. He'll think I broke the bottle on purpose to get rid of some of his alcohol. Go upstairs."
"Mom that was almost two weeks ago! He probably doesn't even remember..." Ron trails off, already knowing that he's wrong. His dad has an excellent memory, despite the alcohol abuse. He doesn't forget something important like that. Ever.
Jessie shakes her head and looks sternly at him. "You know your father. Does he hold grudges? Does he just up and forget things?"
Ron just looks at his feet and bites his lip. "Maybe..." He can't think of any positive spin to put on the situation. "Maybe I can keep him out of the kitchen for you."
"No, Ron, please just go upstairs," his mom begs, shaking her head. "It'll be fine, but I'd feel a lot better with you upstairs and out of the way."
"And what, leave you down here alone?" Ron asks angrily, starting to get pissed. He's sick of his mom having to face shit alone. He can't leave her down here alone, trembling like a leaf and clutching the broom like the last fucking pilar of her sanity. What kind of son would that make him? What kind of person would that make him? No way in hell, he's ready to blow it up like the fucking Alamo.
"Ey Rrrron. Come baaack 'eeere," he hears his dad call from the hallway.
Ron gives his mom a look of determination (which makes her almost burst into tears because she knows he's about to do something stupid) before he obediently walks back into the hallway. As much as he likes to be disrespectful towards his old man and piss him off, he knows that it always causes more trouble than its worth and this would be a dumb thing to get the crap beaten out of him over. "What, dad?" He asks, determined to keep him out of the kitchen until his mom is done cleaning up.
"D'ja heeaar 'at sssssound?" He asks.
"No," Ron replies, purposefully leaning against the wall and blocking his dad's path. "What'd you hear?"
"C-crasshhhing sound. Your mommm ok? Sssouned like it c-cccame from the k-kitcheeen," his dad slurrs, actually looking a little worried.
"Yeah, mom's fine," Ron says "You can go back to sleep. Everything's fine."
Pete, even in his drunken haze, looks confused. "You ssssure? Lllloud noise. I'm gonna ch-ch-check on 'er. Might've gotten 'erselffff hurttt."
"Nah, it's fine, dad," Ron says with a bitter snort of laughter. He finds it darkly amusing that his dad is worried about her being hurt since 90% of her injuries are inflicted by him, but it also saddens him because it reminds him that in a messed up distorted way, his dad really does love them and cares about them. The alcohol just makes it hard and confusing.
Pete gently tries to move his son to the side so that he can stumble into the kitchen. "Rrron, move, lemme th-through," he mutters, grasping him by the arms and tugging him back.
Ron digs his heels into the floor and pulls back. The struggle doesn't last very long, as his dad quickly manages to pull him back and stagger past him.
"Dad! Dad!" Ron starts to yell, grabbing at him and trying to yank him back. "Dad! Stop! Dad!"
Pete easily brushes his son off and walks into the kitchen. "Jesssss, wha'...wha' is going onnn? Are yoouuu alrigh'? Jesssss?"
Ron holds his breath as he watches his dad peer into the kitchen. The worried expression on his face quickly fades away and is replaced with one of suspicion. You can almost see the anger bubbling under his skin.
And then the gates of hell open up and everything explodes.
Ron can't even really tell what his dad is yelling, he just hears him start yelling. And yelling. And yelling...
He can vaguely pick up snippets of what he's shouting. "STUPID FUCKING BITCH! MY FUCKING...MY CHOICES MY CHOICES! ... THINK YOU CAN JUST GET RID OF IT IF YOU CAN'T MAKE ME STOP?! HUH?!...MY BODY, MY HEAD...FUCKING CHOICES! ...VODKA ON THE BOTTOM SHELF...FUCKING ACCIDENT MY ASS!"
He can also hear his mom desperately yelling back at him to 'please stop yelling' and to let her 'explain' and he can faintly hear Sam's closet door creak open upstairs as he locks himself up for the night.
Ron starts running towards the kitchen as he hears his mom's crying get louder and his dad's yelling intensify.
"It was an accident!" She sobs.
"ACCIDENTTT! R-REALLLY! AN ACCIDENT?! RIGHT AFTERRR EVERYTHING YYYYOOOU RRRRAANN YOUR MOUTH A-ABOUTTT?!"
Ron enters the kitchen to see his mom still clutching the broom as she backs up against the counter, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tries to reason with her husband.
Pete just keeps advancing towards her, shouting and screaming like a lunatic. His fists are clenched and his shoulders are drawn back, ready to take a swing. He reaches out and grabs her by the elbow, yanking her towards him and shaking her as he keeps yelling, his voice too loud and slurred to be understood. His mom just starts crying hysterically as he chucks her back against the wall. The sound of his fist hitting against the side of her face is louder than the screaming.
Ron hears another voice join the frenzied screams and cries, but it isnt making pleads or threats, its just yelling hysterically: "Get away from her! Dad, stop! Dad! Stop! Stop! Dad, fucking stop! Stop!"
He quickly recognizes the voice as his own and realizes that he's shaking just as much as his mother is. He keeps yelling as his vision blurrs with what Ron shamefully recognizes as tears. "Dad! Stop! Please, stop it! Dad!"
His dad ignores him, continuing to hit and shake his mother as he yells at her for being a 'stupid bitch' and 'not respecting' him. Ron just keeps screaming at him to stop, but he cant move. Its like his feet are cemented to the floor.
"Leave her alone! Stop! Stop! Dad, what the hell, you bastard! Stop!"
Jessie just cries harder when she hears her son screaming, trying to shout at him to get the fuck upstairs through her sobs and pleads.
"Dad, you're hurting her! STOP! Dad! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Stop! Dad!"
Pete's drunken hazy mind eventually registers his son's horrified screams, and he angrily throws his wife back against the wall again before turning around to face him. "Shhhhhut the f-fuck up!" He spats, all of the screaming making his head ache worse.
Ron just keeps yelling and cursing at him with angry tears running down his face, even as Pete stands up and starts staggering towards him. Its like the logical part of his brain has dozed off and left the crazy, irrational part to run things.
"P-Pete, get the hell away from him! Pete!" Jessie screeches, struggling to pull herself to her feet as her husband approaches their son.
"Shhhut the fuck up!" He yells, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. Ron just starts sobbing uncontrollably as his dad starts to practically throttle him, shaking him so hard that his neck feels like it's going to snap.
"PETE!" Jessie screams hysterically, smacking him across the back of the head as hard as she can as her son's eyes start to roll back into his head. "PETE, LEAVE HIM ALONE, GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!"
Pete throws Ron down to turn around and smack her off of him. Ron cringes as his back hits off of the tiled floor. His shoulders throb from how much pressure his dad had put on them and his head hurts like hell after being shaken so hard. It honestly feels like his brain has snapped off its stem and is rolling around in his head. He's impossibly dizzy, but he knows it'll just keep coming if he doesn't do something, so he quickly forces himself to sit up and starts to crawl away. He can hear his dad yell something at his mom, but his mind is too fuzzy and the ringing in his ears is too loud. He can hear his mom screech as he feels his dad grab him by the back of the neck and roughly pull him back up to his feet. His dad pins him up against a wall, their faces inches apart. Ron can smell the alcohol coming off of him and he gags and squeezes his eyes shut.
"Wheeeree the hell do youuu think youuuur going?" His dad asks. "Youurrr alwayyys runnin' offff to god kn-knows where. Where are youuuu goin'?"
His dad's drunken rages, as terrifying as they are, are usually rather insightful. His dad flips out about stuff that's secretly upsetting him, like his wife worrying about his health and his fear of her controlling him. It's flattering that Ron's prolonged absences are bugging him, but Ron can't really feel like his presence is missed and that he's very loved at the moment.
"Answeeeeer my question!" His dad shouts, as he grabs a handful of his sons hair and yanks.
Ron stupidly and impulsively decides to spit in his face, causing his dad to yell in anger and surprise and throw him back against the opposite wall. Ron's ears start ringing again and he closes his eyes in pain. He isn't all that surprised when he feels a smack against his face, he HAD just spit in the man's face, but he still loses his balance and falls on his side. He blearily opens his eyes to see his dad standing over him, glaring down at him. Rons shaking too much to do more than squirm around as he tried to scramble to his feet. His mom runs out of the kitchen and hits his dad over the head with the broom so hard that the handle snaps in half on impact. His dad clutches at his head in pain and turns around to face Jessie. Ron manages to scream out, but he can't even tell what he's trying to yell. Jessie backs away and narrows her eyes at her husband, which was odd, because she usually just backs down but one of her children being beaten is something she NEVER lets happen without a fight.
His dad just curses, gives his wife another shove, mutters that he Is 'fucking tired', and turns around to stumble back into the living room. Ron hears him mutter, 'stupid fucking kid' as he goed by, but the insult really doesn't even faze him, he's been called much worse before.
He's still shaking as he starts to stand up. It's not like he's terribly hurt. His head aches a little from being shaken and his back hurts from being thrown around and his face stings from being slapped, but besides that he's ok. He's more scared than he is hurt and he's been beaten worse before. He looks over at his mom, who's trembling. She makes a bleating noise before pulling him into what is possibly the world's tightest hug. Ron feels slightly guilty for not just getting his ass upstairs because he knows that it probably hurt his mom more to watch her son get beaten than to get beaten herself. He hates that he's caused her pain.
"Are you ok? Are you fine? Do you need an ice pack? Do you need stitches?! Do you need painkillers?! Did he break anything?! Let me see your shoulders, he had a death grip on you!" His mom fusses, starting to cry again as she fumbles around with Ron's jacket.
"Mom, I'm fine," Ron insists, feeling his eyes get glassy as he looks at the bruises starting to form on his mom's arms where his dad had been holding her. Her left cheek where she'd been hit a few times is turning purple and swelling. He gently swats her hands away and takes a step back.
"Come on back in the kitchen, you need to put a heating pad on your shoulders. It'll help-"
"I'm fine, mom, you should look at yourself," Ron says. "You're a lot worse off than me. Your lip is bleeding and your cheek is-"
"Ron, stop, I'll be ok. Its been worse, you know that. Nothing some Advil, icing, and make-up can't fix," his mom says with a tiny smile. "But I really want to get a heating pad on-"
Ron starts to back away from her. "I don't need a heating pad. I...I..."
He just ends up sighing. He doesn't know what he wants, but for some reason he doesn't want any help. He's still pretty upset and he wants his mom to go ice her cheek and take some painkillers before the adrenaline wears off and the pain sets in. He knows he isn't being rational at all but he's just upset and pissed off. He doesn't even know WHO he's mad at. He's obviously mad at his dad, but he's mad at himself too for not being able to stop it. He always feels fucking pathetic and weak after his dad goes on a rampage. He feels like a useless son of a bitch for not being able to do anything. He can't protect his own mom and he can't stand up to his dad. He feels like absolute shit.
"Ron, c'mon," his mom says, grabbing him by the hand and starting to pull him into the kitchen.
Ron quickly wrenches his hand out of her grasp. He bolts up the stairs and into his room before she can say anything to him. He digs a pair of socks out of his dresser and quickly laces up his converse. He just wants to leave. Everytime after his dad has a horrific lash out, Ron leaves to go wallow in hatred, clear his head, and get away from it all. He usually just walks around the neighborhood or hides in the library for a few hours. Once he even spent the night in the library, sleeping slumped against a shelf full of old English literature (Jessie had been very worried about him and had scolded him when he finally came home the next day around noon.)
"Ron?" Jessie asks as she holds an ice pack to her cheek and watches her son start to come back downstairs. "Where are you going?"
"Out," Ron mutters as he tries to brush past her.
Jessie grabs his shoulder firmly and spins him around, causing him to wince in pain. "Sorry," she says apologetically, moving her hand to grab his arm instead. "Where does 'out' imply?"
Ron frowns at her and tries to pull away. "Out, as in in, out of here."
Jessie retracts her hand and lets him go, helplessly feeling that the most she can do is let her son go off on his own for awhile to relax. She's noticed that he seems to handle everything better on his own without her coddling him, which upsets her but she's learned to accept it. "When will you be back?" She asks as he starts to walk away.
"Whenever the wind blows me back this way," he deadpans.
Jessie frowns angrily as he opens the front door to leave. "You better be back here by the time the sun is up or-" she's cut off by the front door slamming.
-
Ron sprints down the street, running as far from his house as he can go. It's already gotten dark out so he can't see very well and he ends up tripping a few times, but he couldn't care less. He just keeps going until his legs give out and his lungs feel like they might actually be on fire, and he collapses in someone's yard. He just lays face down in the grass for a minute, gasping for breath and listening to the crickets chirp. He doesn't know what to do with himself. He hates himself so much at that moment and feels weak and stupid and worthless and used and drained and just generally like a waste of space.
He groans and rolls over, looking over at the house he's lying a few feet in front of. He somewhat envies how no screams, sobs, or noises of distress are coming from it. Actually, he can hear quiet voices having a normal conversation instead of shouting, laughing instead of crying, and the quiet clatter of utensils brushing off of plates as people eat dinner together instead off crashing and banging as his dad throws shit around. He groans again, this time in jealousy as he looks at the house. Sometimes because he's always exposed to the stuff that happens in his home he starts to think that shit is how it is and forgets what normal functional families are actually like. Being reminded that his home life isn't ideal always hits a sore spot and manages to piss him off and upset him. A part of him loathes the people in the house simply for the fact that they get to enjoy a stress-free dinner together without the fear of someone having a wrathful outburst. He wishes his own home were like that: Congenial, laid back, and actually home-like.
And that's when Ron remembers that he DOES sort of have a place like that. As hectic as Carl's house is, it's an abuse-free zone where Ron always seems to feel welcome, liked, and worth something. He remembers being up in the tree with Carl about a week ago and Carl saying that he could come over whenever he wanted/needed to. Ron thinks he'll take advantage of that offer. He could really use support and Carl always has a way of making him feel better. Its not really being at Carl's house that makes him feel better, its being with Carl that does
'Would Carl mind? It's really late...and for all I know Carl is asleep or busy...will I still have the balls to go inside if Mr. Grimes answers the door?...I could always just go to the library instead...' Ron thinks nervously, the familiar presence of self doubt making itself known.
Ron starts to stand up as a woman from inside the house draws back the blinds and stares at him with a mix of confusion and worry. Ron awkwardly waves at her and starts to jog away before they come outside to question him. He honestly has no answer to: 'Sweetheart, why are you laying in my yard?' He starts headed towards the Grimes residence, growing more and more anxious and self conscious as he gets closer and closer.
'What if I get turned away? That's pretty friggin humiliating and then I have no where...' He thinks nervously, shoving his hands in his pockets and sniffling. 'I mean, Carl wouldn't do that, right? No way, he's not a douche. I mean yeah, its really late so its sort of understandable if he doesn't want to deal with my shit right now...I can just go sleep at the library again...I mean, I probably won't have to, Carl won't turn me away...right?'
-
Like every evening after dinner, Carl, Rick, and Michonne all stand outside on the porch and say goodbye to everyone as they head home for the night. As Eugene walks by Carl he symbolically zips up his lips, locks them up, and throws away the key. Carl blushes but smiles and nods gratefully. Abraham gives them a weird look, but the second he goes to ask Eugene sternly says, "Don't bother asking, its classified. I am not permitted to tell you. My hands are tied and my lips are locked...figuratively."
The ginger just shrugs, assuming that its something stupid (which it sort of is) before walking home for the night.
As Carol leaves, Carl catches her slipping a tiny, neatly folded piece of paper into Michonne's hand before continuing to walk away, not so much as glancing back at Michonne. Carl watches suspiciously as Daryl also slips a note into Michonne's hand (although his isn't neatly folded like Carol's, its wadded up into a tiny ball) Daryl also just keeps walking, not acknowledging Michonne or saying anything. He watches Michonne swiftly tuck the pieces of paper into her jean pocket. Carl looks over and sees that his dad is totally oblivious to the little note exchange that just happened.
'Mr. Grimes! Mr. Grimes! I caught Michonne, Carol, and Daryl passing notes!' Carl thinks with a smile. He accidentally laughs out loud when he envisions them all sitting in a classroom and Daryl turning around in his desk to glare back at him and hiss, "Snitches get stitches!"
"What's so funny? You laughin' 'bout me, kid? You makin' fun of me?" Daryl asks playfully as he pulls Carl into a side hug. He knocks his knuckles down on the brim of Carl's hat, knocking it down over his eyes.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Carl replies as he fixes his hat.
Daryl smirks. "Good, cuz it ain't your job to tease me, its MY job to tease ya."
Carl laughs and shakes his head. "I think Michonne already takes care of that. So uh...what was that about back there?"
"What?" Daryl asks, playing dumb.
"That note you just gave Michonne?"
"What note?"
Carl groans. He should've known it was stupid to ask, it's not like there had been a chance in hell of Daryl telling him what was actually going on. "The note. I literally just watched you give it to her!"
"Not ringin' any bells, kid."
Carl just sighs, giving up. He has a feeling that he'll find out sooner or later. He gives Daryl a hug and watches him walk away.
"Carl, when you come back inside I need you to watch your sister for a little bit," his dad calls from the doorway.
"She giving you a hard time?" Carl asks teasingly, following his dad back inside.
Rick groans. "She's givin' me gray hairs. She's kept me up all night for the last week. Whenever I start to doze off, she starts bawlin'. I swear she must be tryin' to keep me up. Anyway, I have a feelin' tonight won't be any different, so I'm gonna catch a few Z's on the couch right now before bed so that I get SOME sleep. Do you mind watchin' her?"
Carl shakes his head and takes his sister out of his dad's arms. "Sure, I can watch her."
Rick smiles gratefully before flopping onto the couch and closing his eyes. He really does look utterly exhausted.
Carl heads back out on the porch to find Michonne. Watching Judith is fine and all, but it'll be more fun with Michonne there to tease him and crack awful jokes.
Carl's surprised to find the porch totally devoid of human beings other than himself and Judith. "That's bizarre, she's not in the house and she's not out here..." Carl mutters, looking around the porch and out at the empty street. Michonne doesn't usually go anywhere after dinner, so her sudden disappearance is very weird. "She must've slipped out as everyone was leaving," he mutters. He briefly considers going out and looking for her, but decides against it. Much like his friend Enid, when Michonne wants to disappear, Michonne disappears.
Judith starts to squirm, so Carl takes her back inside and upstairs the nursery. He gives her some stuffed animals to play with (and chew on) while he reads one of the novels that Aaron lent him. Well, sorta kinda not really 'reads'. He's looking at the words on the page, but not really focusing on them or comprehending them. His mind is too preoccupied replaying the day's crucial events, like the horribly awkward conversation with Eugene. Out of everyone in his family, Eugene had to be the one to see...
But the more Carl thinks about it, the luckier he feels. After playing the other scenarios through his head, he realizes that maybe Eugene being the one isn't that bad. If his dad had seen them, he would've thrown Ron off of him and jumped into some really awkward spiel about personal space and Carl would've died of embarrassment. If it had been Carol she would've used what she saw as blackmail against Carl and used it to make him do the dishes and clean up the kitchen every night. If it had been Glenn, Carl's life would be over. As nice of a guy as Glenn is, he can't keep a secret to save his life. Even if he'd managed to make it through dinner without blurting out what he'd seen to someone, he definitely would've gone home this evening and told Maggie through a fit of giggles and a flurry of 'don't tell anybody's. And the next day Maggie would tell Carol, and Carol would tell Daryl, and Daryl would tell Michonne, and Michonne would tell Tara, and Tara would tell Rosita, and Rosita would tell Abraham...by the end of the week everyone would know. And when Carl would angrily confront Glenn about being loose lipped, Glenn would sheepishly shrug and say, "Hey, man, I'm sorry. I told Maggie not to tell anyone."
To which Carl would heatedly reply, "And I told YOU not to tell anyone!"
So yeah, maybe Eugene made it more awkward than it had to be, but at least he didn't freak out, blackmail Carl, or tell anyone (yet).
After analyzing the conversation, Carl starts to think about the event that caused the most awkward conversation in the history of mankind to take place on his front porch in the first place. The event Eugene managed to somehow make even more confusing and awkward. Recalling the little details, like how pleasant Ron's weight had felt on top of him after he'd relaxed and how his breath whistling in his ear tickled, are the best. Carl can't help but smile as he remembers how nice Ron's hair had felt in between his fingers and how close they were.
He dangerously lets himself wonder if Eugene was right earlier when he said that Ron was going to kiss him. It's the best feeling ever to think that the person he's in love with loves him back, but it also nauseates him and makes his heart sink from his chest down to his feet. Its difficult for Carl to comprehend. He desperately WANTS Ron to like him back and naturally craves the human want of being loved romantically, but he's absolutely terrified to think that Ron might like him back. Carl knows that Michonne was right when she said that he's afraid of being in love. He IS afraid of falling in love and then losing that person. He can't even imagine how that must feel and he's afraid of losing someone like that or dying himself and leaving that person to mourn him. Honestly, Carl thinks that Maggie and Glenn are pretty brave to be openly love one another in a world where there's a 50% chance that one of them will be ripped to shreds by the living dead or killed by whack jobs like the Governor.
But maybe the living nightmare that has become reality is easier to face with someone like that in your life. Carl's heard people say that love is what makes life worth living. Nowadays, that phrase is scarily true. Love, whether platonic or romantic, is what keeps everyone going and inspires them to keep fighting. The only problem with love is that being involved with anyone means that Carl has to open the dark recesses of his mind to them. He has a feeling that most of his darker secrets are enough to scare most people away. He's even jokingly dubbed them as People Repellent. He doesn't want to scare Ron away or make Ron feel obliged to 'fix' him. Carl knows he can't be fixed at this point, and doesn't want to drag anyone down with him, which is why he seldom talks about things that still haunt him and upset him. Only Michonne has ever even scratched the surface of his problems.
But once again, that brings Carl to a cross roads. If he's afraid to be honest and let himself freely love, he's not living to his fullest capability. He's not what Michonne would call living, he's what she'd call surviving...
Speaking of Michonne, Carl idly wonders where the hell she is. Her absence is kind of random and out of the blue since she doesn't usually go anywhere in the evenings. Carl remembers the note exchange he saw earlier and wonders if that has anything to do with her disappearance. He decides that it probably does. It would appear that she's conspiring with Daryl and Carol, but Carl doesn't know what their conspiring about or why. Carl laughs, picturing Michonne, Daryl, and Carol all sitting in detention because he ratted them out for passing notes.
KNOCK KNOCK!
Carl jumps and ducks down when he hears the noise, his slight PTSD kicking in as the sound reminds him of gun shots. He starts to quickly crawl over to Judith to grab her when there's another knock. Carl then realizes that someone is knocking on the door, not firing at him.
"I'll be right back, Judy," Carl mutters to his sister before hurrying down the stairs to answer the door before the knocking wakes his dad up. Carl's a little confused as to who it could be. If it were Michonne she could just walk in since the doors unlocked and its her house too...maybe the door IS locked on accident and Michonne can't get in? Its late, the sun has set and its dark out, so if its anyone else it must be pretty important and urgent. Maybe someone went over the walls by themselves and got hurt (although Carl has no idea who'd be stupid enough to go over the walls after dark by themselves). Maybe its Aaron looking for Daryl to accompany him on a run for emergency medical supplies? There's another loud knock on the front door as Carl rushes across the living room. He looks over and is relieved to see his dad still fast asleep on the couch despite the loud knocking.
"Hello?" Carl calls as he swings open the door. Its dark outside and Carl has trouble seeing, but his eyes quickly adjust and he's able to make out a familiar figure trembling in his doorway. Carl squints, trying to see any facial features, and is quickly able to recognize the person standing there as none other than Ron Anderson.
"Hey man, what's up?" Carl asks worriedly, still taking notice to Ron's shaking.
Ron doesn't reply at first and just awkwardly clears his throat and shuffles around a little. "Uh, I know it's late and all...but, is it ok if...if I come in for a little bit? Like I said, I know its late and I know its inconvenient as hell, so I totally understand if you say no," He asks so quietly that Carl has to strain his ears to hear him.
Carl steps out onto the porch with an extremely worried look on his face. "Of course you can come in. I did give you 24/7 access to the Grimes residence, right?"
"Yeah, but...a lot of people say stuff and don't literally mean it. I'm not saying that you lied, of course not, I'm just saying that its still a pain in the ass to deal with and inconvenient and I completely get-" Ron cuts himself off when Carl pulls him into a hug.
"I meant what I said. You're welcome here any time. My home is your home," Carl mutters, holding him tightly as if trying to make him stop shaking.
Ron lets out a relieved sigh and hugs Carl back. He realizes that he REALLY needed a hug as he feels himself relax. He feels like he could start crying again. It's really the best thing ever to hear Carl tell him that he's got a safe haven here with him. He just needs somewhere to run to besides the goddamn library when his house starts to feel more like Auschwitz than home. "Thanks, you really don't know how much this means to me," Ron breathes, resting his head on Carl's shoulder and clutching onto him.
Carl pats his back before pulling away and grabbing at his wrist. He smiles sadly at him. "No problem. Come on inside. We just have to be quiet because my dad is asleep on the sofa."
He's really worried about Ron and anxious about what happened to him. Carl naturally assumes something really terrible must've happened to drive him to come here since he already seems so unsure about being here and worried about being 'Inconvenient' (which is ridiculous, because Ron never has been and never will be an inconvenience to Carl.) The way he's trembling is also disconcerting. Its too dark outside for Carl to really see his face, so he can't tell whether or not he's got a black eye or broken nose. Its already decided in his head that if he needs a bone set or stitches that he'll take Ron to Maggie to be fixed up. Since her dad was a vet, Maggie has basic medical skills. Carl reaches out and grabs his friend by the wrist and starts to lead him in the house so that he can take care of him.
"Come on," he whispers in the softest voice Ron has ever heard. As Carl backs into the doorway some of the light from inside the house shines out, seeming to make a halo over Carl's head. Ron can't help but smile and find it fitting.
Carl gently tugs Ron into the house and shuts the door behind him. He's relieved to see no major bruises or black eyes or dislocated shoulders when he looks at Ron. However, the skin under his eyes is red and swollen like he's been crying and his one cheek is painfully red and looks like it hurts pretty bad. He's still shaking and a little skittish, avoiding eye contact and fidgeting.
"Are you ok?" Carl asks worriedly.
Ron sucks in a deep breath and shrugs, causing him to wince as the simple action causes pain to shoot up his shoulders and lower neck.
Carl notices his pained expression and gives his wrist a squeeze. "Hey, what's up?"
Ron licks his lips, still feeling riled up and scared. "Uh...m-my dad freaked out a-and-" Ron doesn't know how to explain. "He started hitting m-my mom...I was there...uh," Ron cuts himself off and clutches his one shoulder and winces, sourly wishing once again that he had taken his mom's advice and put the heating pad on his shoulders. His head is starting to really kill now too. Its like all of a sudden he's realizing just how badly everything is hurting. His shoulders still feel like someone's got them in a vice grip and ache.
Carl looks at him in worry as he watches his friend grip his shoulder and scrunch up his face in pain. "Hey, are you ok?"
"Do you have any ibuprofen?" Ron asks, wincing and rubbing his shoulder.
Carl quickly nods and leads Ron back into the kitchen before beginning to dig around in the cupboard for some painkillers. "I know my dad has some in here..." He mutters, standing on his tiptoes and digging around. Ron leans against the counter and watches Carl search. After a few seconds, Carl turns around and tosses him a tiny bottle full of little yellow pills. Ron honestly has no idea what they are, but he trusts Carl not to drug him, so he swallows two.
"Do you want an ice pack or something? Your cheek is starting to bruise pretty bad."
"Yeah, thanks," Ron says, screwing the cap back on the bottle of pills and walking over to place it back in the cupboard. The pain from raising his arms up is enough to almost make him cry.
Carl hands him a bag of frozen vegetables wrapped up in a dish cloth to serve as a makeshift ice pack. "C'mon upstairs. I've got to watch Judy and we can talk up there, I mean, if you feel like talking obviously," Carl says gently. He really wants to know what happened, but if Ron doesn't want to talk, Carl won't force him. Carl completely understands having things that you don't want to talk about because they upset you.
Ron smiles a little and follows Carl up the stairs. His face still stings from being hit but the ice pack really helps. And so does Carl holding his wrist and telling him that he only has to talk if he wants to. He loves how comfortable and easy going Carl tries to make things.
Carl leads him into what looks like a nursery. Judith is sitting on the floor, chewing on a stuffed Chihuahua like its an enchilada. She makes a burbling sound when she spots Carl and starts to crawl over to him. Ron smiles down at her as she looks back up at him, almost curiously. She then looks over at her brother, as if asking, 'who the hell is this guy?'
"You've met Judy before, right?" Carl asks as he picks her up.
Ron nods. "Briefly that night I ate dinner over here. Nice to see you again Judith."
Judith just ignores him and sticks her fist in her mouth and starts sucking on it.
Ron smiles sweetly at her. "I remember when Sam was this tiny."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I remember when my parents first brought him home. He was just a tiny bald thing wrapped up in a green blanket. I remember being really nervous when my mom handed him to me. I was terrified that I was gonna drop him or break him or something because, damn, he was so small and fragile. And I remember when he was about your sister's age he'd suckle on my shirt everytime that I held him. It always annoyed the piss out of me."
Carl laughs. "She doesn't suckle on me, but she chews the hell out of all of her toys. She bites sometimes too. We're trying to get her to stop, because she bites Abraham every time that he tries to hold her."
Ron laughs. "Aw man, really? She doesn't look like much of a biter."
"She is. You need a muzzle, don't you Judy?" Carl coos.
Ron smiles and shakes his head. "She's too cute to be vicious."
Carl laughs. "Some cute things are vicious. I mean, according to Mikey, Enid is beautiful and vicious at the same time."
Ron laughs and nearly says that he thinks Carl can take care of himself and that he's cute at the same time too, but he catches it before it slips out.
Carl sits down on the floor with Judith in his lap and Ron sits down next to him.
"So...how bad are you hurting?" Carl asks, looking him over.
"It could be worse. Its just my shoulders, back, head, and cheek. I think I just need to wait for the painkiller to kick in," Ron replies, shrugging and wincing again.
Carl looks at him sadly. He wishes he knew what Ron's dad did to him so that he could have some clue of HOW it hurts and if he can do anything else to help ease the pain. He also really wishes there were more he could do. It breaks his heart when Ron mentions his dad beating him or his mom, mostly because Carl can't even imagine being afraid of his dad or his dad beating the crap out of him. It just doesn't seem fair. Your parents are supposed to love you, care for you, and be there for you. Not terrify you and cause you harm. It also always breaks his heart when Ron seems to think that he DESERVED to be hit or degraded or thinks that he's unworthy of being treated any better. When he says shit like that, Carl goes full out Carol with a supportive speech about how he IS worthy of loving parents and that there's no way in hell he deserves any of the pain, physical or emotional, that he's put through. Because to Carl, Ron is worth a whole lot more than what he seems to think he's worth.
He wishes he could tell him that he deserves everything.
Ron is quiet for a minute before noticing the extremely concerned look on Carl's face. Ron feels bad for stressing him out, so he quickly begins to explain himself by saying, "My mom dropped a bottle of vodka while cleaning out the kitchen. It was an accident."
Carl looks at him and nods, indicating that he's listening.
"My dad gets paranoid when he's drunk, and of course thought that my mom broke the bottle on purpose as a way of getting rid of more of his alcohol. He thought this all because of the alcohol poisoning spiel my mom went off on a week ago. So, he started to hit her and I...I was right there so I just started yelling. I didn't even really seem to have control of my brain, I just started screaming and yelling. And...my mom was crying and screaming and my dad was yelling at the top of his lungs...it was fucking chaos at its finest. So, my dad eventually realized that I was screaming and he turned on me...I still didn't shut up. I should have shut up. I really should've. But I didn't. Of course not, because that would be logical, right? So he started yelling at me to shut up and he shook me really hard until my mom smacked him. I tried crawling away, but he grabbed me by the back of the neck, pinned me up against the wall, and demanded to know where I thought I was going. I did the stupidest thing ever: I spit in his face. So he threw me and hit me and I fell. Really, my mom saved me, she bashed my dad over the head with her broom and he just sort of deflated and went back to sleep in the family room. And that was the end of it. I feel like shit."
Carl looks at him sadly. He can't help feeling angry at Pete for doing this to his own wife and kid, but Carl always feels a little angry when Ron tells him about this kind of stuff. But he's always more sad than angry and the way Ron seems to curl into himself as he talks is hard to watch. He sets a hand on Ron's shoulder. "That's really rough, man. I'm glad you came over here."
Ron sighs, feeling his eyes get wet. "I still hate myself. I tried to stop him, but I couldn't. I tried to do something, but I didn't. I just screamed like a scared little kid and almost got beaten up."
"You shouldn't hate yourself. You did all you could. Really, even if you attacked him, he'd just wipe you out. He's got a good foot and seventy pounds on you," Carl says gently. "It wouldn't have done anything but get you hurt."
"Whatever, I still feel like I failed my mom. I can't protect her, I can't even protect myself from him. I'm just really sick of it all. Everytime I think its getting better it gets worse. My dad was nearly sober for the last four days. He even brought my mom a bouquet of flowers the other day... I really thought it might be getting better. Stupid wishful thinking, I guess...i hate it. I hate him, I hate my house, I hate myself."
"I don't hate you," Carl says quietly. "And you shouldn't either."
Ron sighs but smiles. "Thanks."
Carl scoots closer. "Im not gonna lie and say that everything is totally ok, but for the time being, some stuff is ok. Your mom is ok and so are you. You did all that you could. Hell, everytime something like this happens you do everything you can possibly do. You aren't a failure, don't even say that. You try and try and try...and I seriously respect that and I wish I was more like that because I'm not as persistent as you. You...you sorta inspire me. There are some days when I get dragged back into the black and I try to think like you, because you manage to balance it out. You know how to acknowledge that stuff isn't right or good, but you live with it without letting it totally consume you."
Ron smiles and holds the makeshift ice pack to his face. He's totally blown away by the mere notion of Carl being motivated by him. "That's really nice of you. I'm honored to be a motivation for you, but sometimes I do let it consume me. I think everyone gets lost in the dark and does from time to time."
Carl nods in agreement. "That's true...but you always seem to handle this shit so well. I mean it, you're strong."
Ron just smiles at him. "I'm really not all that stable. I get by but it's not like I manage to change anything."
Carl shakes his head. "You stick it out though. And the fact that you still have the determination to WANT to change it is honorable. The situation would've worn out most people and left them feeling pretty damn apathetic, but you still feel like you can do something."
Ron smiles sadly. "Or I could just be stupid."
Carl looks over at him with a look of sadness and sympathy. He gets what its like to want to change something or to feel like a total wreck loose failure and he knows its impossible to talk someone out of feeling that way. He sets Judith down beside him, causing her to make a little unhappy noise. He gently grasps Ron by the arm and pulls him close and lies him down across his lap. Ron looks up at him in slight confusion, but he doesn't complain. He feels Carl gently run a few fingers under his hat and push it off of his head so that he can thread his fingers through his hair. Ron smiles at him before closing his eyes, remembering the days earlier events when Carl had run his fingers up through his hair. It still feels nice and makes his heart beat faster. Carl wraps his arms around Ron's upper arms and hugs him close. Ron just keeps his eyes closed and smiles. It feels nice to be held, its comforting and makes him feel worthy and needed.
...and loved.
Judith makes another squawking noise of indignation, obviously not happy with her brother putting her down to hold Ron instead.
"Do you think there's the slightest chance that you might have a concussion?" Carl asks quietly. "Because if you might I can have Maggie check."
"Nah, don't think so," Ron mutters. "My vision is fine and I'm not nauseous."
Carl nods and sighs. "I'm sorry."
"For what? What happened? It's not your fault. It's mine for getting upset. I mean, this kind of shit happens to me so often that you'd think I'd get used to it. But I'm apparently terrible at adapting because I still get way too upset and-"
"If watching your mom getting beat ever DOES become easy, something is seriously wrong. I don't think it's one of those things that gets easier."
"I don't think so either but still, you'd think I'd have a solution by now."
"Stop blaming yourself," Carl mutters. "Seriously, none of this is your fault. We don't get to choose what we're born into."
Ron smiles. "I guess you're right. You're the best. You know that, right?"
Carl smiles humbly and shrugs. "I wouldn't say I'm the best-"
"You are. You're awesome and you make me feel better. You're like a relatable therapist...but with no doctorate. And you're really sweet and patient and sympathetic and-," Ron could list the traits that Carl has that he loves for hours, but he knows that 'and that's why I love you' is what really should be added on to the end of the list. Ron doesn't dare say any such thing though. This evening has been horrible enough, he doesn't need to get beaten up by his dad, feel like a total failure, AND get rejected by the love of his life all in one night. So he just keeps contentedly rambling on and on.
Carl smiles and feels his face heat up as Ron keeps listing traits of his that he admires. Carl honestly has a difficult time seeing said admirable traits in himself, but obviously Ron sees them.
Judith makes a snuffling noise before going to grab Ron's hat off the ground and starting to chew on it.
"Hey Judy, that's not food!" Carl scolds, quickly leaning over to snatch it off of her. Ron falls off of his lap with a thud and a cringe in the process.
"Sorry," Carl mutters as he awkwardly hands him the slobbery beanie. "We can wash it if you want?"
Ron laughs sheepishly as he sits up. "No, its cool. I bet baby slobber is the newest conditioner rave."
Carl laughs.."That's pretty damn gross. Im sorry, like I said, she chews and bites."
"Its no big deal," Ron says, waving it off. He takes the hat out of Carl's hands and sets it across his legs. "So...its really quiet around here," he muses. Last time Ron had been over for dinner, the house had been noisy (and just as entertaining) as a circus. The house is currently silent besides them talking quietly to one another, Judith sucking on her stuffed giraffe's ear, and Rick's soft snoring from downstairs.
"Yeah. I don't know where Michonne is and like I said earlier, my dad's asleep on the sofa downstairs."
"Michonne's MIA?"
"Yeah. Did you see her on your way over here?"
Ron shakes his head. "Sorry."
Carl shrugs. "Nothing to be sorry for, I just have no idea where she is. The whole thing is a little weird. I saw Carol and Daryl both slip her notes after dinner, so that probably has something to do with it."
"Yeah, probably. Do you know what the notes said?"
"No idea."
"Maybe they're forming a secret underground government," Ron teases, starting to feel more like himself.
Carl laughs. "Secret underground government? I was thinking they were making a brotherhood of assassins."
-
Ron and Carl end up laying side by side on the floor, talking about everything and nothing. Judith curls up between the two of them and falls asleep. Ron feels a lot better, as he stares up at the ceiling and talks about whether or not it would be considered cannibalism if a fish ate sushi. He loves this nonsense, he loves how ridiculous and stupid the two of them are. He loves how Carl seems to know how to make him feel better and help him heal.
"What would be the grossest cologne scent ever?"
"Definitely sweat and pepperoni. Or maybe spray cheese and paint."
"Spray cheese? That stuff is fucking nasty."
"I know, right? Don't tell Michonne that though, she eats the stuff by the bottle," Carl says with a smirk.
"She likes that shit? EW," Ron mutters, making a face.
Carl laughs. He looks over and sees his baby sister is fast asleep. He gently picks her up and carries over to her crib. As he tucks her in, Ron stands up and looks in the crib with a goofy smile on his face.
"She's really cute," he mutters, watching Judith sleep soundly.
Carl nods. "Yeah, its a good thing she's cute because she can be a pain in the ass."
Ron chuckles quietly before looking over at the clock hung on the wall. "Its almost midnight. I should get going," he mutters.
Carl gazes at the clock for a moment. "You can stay here for the night," he offers quietly. "I mean, its really late, you might as well stay here. I'll walk you home in the morning."
Ron smiles. "I guess I could stay here. You sure your dad wouldn't mind?"
Carl shakes his head. "No, he probably won't even notice."
"Ok then, I'll stay here," Ron agrees quietly.
There's a moment of silence between them as they both watch Judith sleep.
"Are you tired?" Carl asks.
Ron shakes his head. "No. Are you?"
"No. There's actually something I really wanna show you. I just haven't gotten the chance yet."
"What?"
"Follow me," Carl whispers, as he starts to creep quietly out of the nursery. Ron follows him across the hallway and into what seems to be Michonne's bedroom. Carl slowly cracks open the window by the bed and steps out onto the roof. He motions for Ron to follow. Ron climbs through the window and follows his friend out onto the roof. He spots Carl carefully walking across the side of the roof and climbing up onto a small ledge. Ron, with his hatred of heights, nervously crawls across the side of the roof before awkwardly clambering up on the ledge and sitting beside Carl. Its become chilly outside, and Ron finds himself pulling his jacket closer to his body. Being up on the roof is even more unnerving than being in the tree because they're higher up and if he'd happen to fall, instead of falling onto grass he'd fall onto the cement sidewalk. Splat.
"What'd you wanna show me?" Ron asks, holding onto the ledge for dear life and looking down anxiously.
Carl laughs a little and points at the sky. "This."
Ron looks up to see the night sky full of bright stars. They look astounding, glowing like thousands of little white Christmas lights in the sky. They almost seem to sparkle and burn like mini fireworks. Ron's always thought that the sky was beautiful, but he's never really gazed up at it and admired it like this. He finds himself breathless as he looks up at the stars.
"I'm always blown away by how beautiful the night sky is," Carl mutters as he gazes up at the sky. "The stars remind me of little candles burning way far away, so far away that you can just barely see the flame. Whenever I'm really upset, I like to look at the stars because they remind me that there's more put there...that I'm part of something way bigger than myself. It helps take me to a happy place...well a HAPPIER place, but still."
Ron smiles. "No I get it, happier places are awesome."
Carl sighs happily. It's a nice change to feel understood for once. He's so used to his dad making blind guesses as to what's wrong or what he actually means. "I wish I could knock you off your feet by pointing out a bunch of constellations, but I don't know any. Alls I know is that that's Polaris," Carl says as he points to the North star.
Ron chuckles and shakes his head. "That's more than I know."
Carl smiles. "My dad knows a lot of the constellations and he used to point them out to me. He'd point to a random bunch of stars and say that it was Orion, but I didn't see a bear, I just saw a shit load of twinkling stars scattered across the horizon. But I sort of like the stars better that way. I think you admire them more when you view them as individually scattered about instead of part of some big eccentric picture. You know what I mean?"
Ron nods and laughs. "It was a funny way to word it, but yeah, I get you."
There's a moment of silence between them before Carl quietly says, "I've been meaning to show you this for awhile now but I never see you after dark. Looking at the stars takes me to my happier place. Maybe it can take you there too. The main reason I love the stars so much is that...even though I'm not much of a believer at all, I like to think..."
"To think what?" Ron prompts curiously.
Carl shrugs. "...never mind," he mutters softly. "It's sort of stupid."
Ron looks over at him and his heart nearly stops. As beautiful as the stars are, he's totally transfixed with Carl. The starlight seems to make his face positively glow and catches in his eyes, which seem to be watery. He has the sweetest nostalgic smile on his face and a clouded over 'lost in my head' kind of expression in his eyes that he gets sometimes. He looks like the most kissable person on the planet.
"It can't be stupid," Ron insists quietly. "Yeah, my baby spit conditioner joke was stupid and so was the poorly timed chicken joke I made the other day, but this can't be."
Carl laughs a little and smiles, still looking up at the sky. "Ok, but you can't laugh or I'll have to push you off the roof."
"I won't laugh, I promise."
Carl sighs, not taking his eyes off the stars. 'He's gonna think I'm a total freak,' Carl thinks. 'He's going to realize what a messed up weirdo I am.'
"Even though I'm not a believer, I like to look up at the sky and think...and think that my mom is up there among the stars and moon, looking back down at me. I can't see her when I look at the night sky, but I sorta feel her...sometimes I can smell her or if I really focus on the stars I can hear her... I told you it's stupid, ok?"
Ron stares at him in amazement and knows that he was just given a glimpse inside Carl's head. Ron still doesn't know what exactly happened to his mom, but he's known since having dinner with Carl that she's dead. Carl is still looking at the sky, but his cheeks are red now and he looks a little uncomfortable. It's really the first time Carl's made himself so vulnerable; sharing his 'happier' place, welcoming Ron to make it his own too, and revealing how it helps him mourn his mom. Ron honestly feels honored to have been trusted enough. Carl doesn't seem like the most trusting kid, and Ron has a feeling no one else knows about this 'happier' place but them. Its their place.
Carl thickly swallows and avoids eye contact, clearly feeling ashamed. He feels a little stupid for making himself vulnerable and afraid that Ron won't understand.
Ron watches his friend fidget and look ashamed. He feels bad for him, his mom is obviously a very hard topic for him to open up about. Ron manages to sum up the courage to scoot his hand out further so that his finger tips brush Carl's.
"It isn't stupid at all," Ron says gently, "It's actually really sweet. How the hell is it stupid?"
Carl smiles bashfully, still looking up at the sky, and shrugs. "I don't know...because she's dead and I still try to talk to her..." He's honestly a little relieved that Ron doesn't think he's fucking mental or stupid.
Ron shakes his head and scoots his hand a little bit closer so that he can lay his fingers over Carl's. "Trust me, its not stupid."
"Thanks..." Carl sighs out. He feels butterflies in his stomach when he notices Ron's fingers laid across his own.
Ron slowly shifts his fingers down and laces their fingers up. He nervously holds his breath as Carl looks down at their conjoined hands with a look of mild shock on his face. Ron's heart starts to race again as Carl slowly turns his head back up to stare at him.
"Sorry, I was j-just trying to comfort y-"
Ron stops his nervous rambling as Carl starts to smile. He watches the shorter boy's cheeks flush and hears him let out a small breathy laugh. Carl gives his hand a squeeze, and Ron squeezes back.
Ron smiles at him somberly. This is a major display of trust on Carl's part, and Ron really does feel honored. He gives Carl's hand another squeeze when he hears him sniffle a few times. They sit there staring at the stars with their hands intertwined. One of them healing after being beaten by his father, the other healing after his mother's death. Ron knows Carl must be just as damaged as he is, there's no way in hell that he lived out there for years and isn't. But Ron's ok with it, and he's there for him. His heart aches for both Carl and himself, but he can't help but smile. The night sky now holds a much more prevalent meaning, but its not Ron's happier place. The library isn't his happier place any more either.
He realizes that his happier place is with the boy who's hand is in his own.
Ron smiles as Carl gives his hand Another squeeze, and he squeezes back.
"You say I'm the best, I think you're the best," Carl mutters.
Ron smiles. "No, you're the best," he replies playfully.
Carl laughs quietly and kicks Ron's foot with his own and gazes up at the stars. "Thanks..." He whispers.
"For what?"
"Being the wonderful creature that you are," Carl replies with a smile as he closes his eyes and inhales the midnight air and hints of his mom's perfume.
Ron smiles at him. "You're welcome. Thank you too for being the delightful being that you are."
Carl smiles and gives his hand a squeeze. "You don't deserve a happier place, you deserve a HAPPY place."
Ron grins as he rubs circles on Carl's wrist with his long fingers. "I don't know, my happier place is the best." He looks over at Carl and is tempted to steal a kiss, but restrains himself and settles for giving Carl's hand another squeeze.
Carl squeezes back and opens his eyes to smile over at him. They stay sitting their on the roof, holding hands and looking at the stars. Neither lets go of the others hand. When you find your happy spot, you don't let it go