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Natalie just wanted to have a peaceful week at home on break from college. Fat chance of that happening. The odds were looking up, though, as she pulled into the driveway; Mikey’s car was gone, and so was Mom’s. Breathing out a sigh of relief, she kills the engine and drops her keys in her purse, grabbing her backpack on the way out. She locks the car from the inside and slams the door, jiggling the handle for good measure. It’s a shitbox, but it runs, and she's grateful for it.
Stepping through the threshold, she takes note of the shoes haphazardly piled up. Richie’s beat up white air forces are directly in the path, which pretty much sums up her childhood with him around. There isn't a time Natalie can remember where Richard Jerimovich wasn't squeezing his way into the Berzatto household. She sighs and kicks them out of the way, bumping into Carmy’s black converse before she toes off her own vans.
That means they're both home. Richie, probably in the basement, blowing weed smoke out of the smallest window, and Carmy, maybe up in his room listening to his iPod, maybe on the family computer in the office burning more songs onto said iPod. She trudges up the stairs, her legs still stiff from the drive home. Smiling softly at the pictures lining the wall, she thinks of what the first thing her mom might say to her when she returns and the smile falls off her face.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Natalie stops next to Carmy’s room. She doesn't hear anything in there; Carmy must be listening to his emo crap. The door is ajar.
“Carmy, you in here?” Natalie pushes his door open and finds the room empty. She shrugs and leaves the room to go set her bags down before going downstairs to find a living soul in the house.
“Carmen,” she drags out his name, shouting through the house as she hops down the stairs. “Carmy? Richie? Where are you assholes?” She checks the dining room, kitchen, and office. No Carmen, no Richie. Weird. She didn't check Mikey’s room for either of them, but she’s closer to the basement now and heads down there first, likely to find Richie there as it was once his room.
Now halfway down the stairs to the basement, she yells to Richie, “Yo, fuckhead!” Opening the door, she turns the corner and quickly scans the room, her eyes falling on–
No, what? Carmy– What? Richie?! She grabs the closest thing near her (Mikey’s old football trophy) and holds it above her head, armed and ready to bludgeon. Carmy is standing next to the bed, facing away from Natalie and Richie, pants unzipped, trying his hardest to get his long sleeve tee back on. Richie is clothed, but his typical track pants, unfortunately, hide nothing. He’s sitting near the head of the bed, looking at anything and everything else aside from Natalie.
“Tell me why I shouldn't brain you, you fucking slime ball!” She stalks forward, leaning down and getting in his face, jabbing the corner of the trophy into his chest, and he winces. He still won't look her in the eyes. That pisses her off more. Her baby brother, in a state of undress, with the grown man they grew up with, and they call each other cousin. It's a little fucking concerning.
“Sug, please, list-listen to me,” Carmy starts, and for god’s sake, his shirt is on backwards, the poor boy. She snaps her head over to glare at him and he quiets down.
“I want to hear it from the twenty-seven year old man, who I assume was just defiling,” Richie winces, “and taking advantage of my seventeen year old baby brother.” Carmy tries to say something again and she covers his mouth. He swipes her hand from his face and moves away from her.
“Natalie, please, please just listen to me first, okay? Please?” Carmen is begging her. He’s stuttering, too. Nervous. This is the worst case scenario. He always knew she would hate them being together, but he at least wanted to have a choice in her knowing about them. He didn't even know she was coming home for Thanksgiving break so early; it's only Tuesday. He doesn't give her a chance to confirm whether he can explain for them and barrels on.
“I love him, Nat.” She snorts at that and he ignores it. “I really do. And he loves me too and he tried really hard not to, but it was me. I pushed him into this.” His voice is shaking, and he sounds so small. All she hears is a terrified boy and it activates her even more
“Bear, that is such bullshit. You sound like you're reading from a script.” Crossing her arms, Natalie levels Carmy with a look, “He is a full ten years older than you. You're a minor.”
“Natalie, I turned seventeen two months ago, age of consent and all that, and we’ve… Known. About our feelings.” Carmen reaches toward Richie for comfort, who is sitting stock still and continuing to avert his eyes, but he pulls away just short, realizing himself just in time. “For, um, uh, longer than that, so–” Natalie's face scrunches up and she brings her hands to her head, miming explosions.
“Do you even fucking hear yourself? You're saying this started before you were at the age of consent, moron!”
“No, no, I did not, I–”
“You fucking did! You said you knew about feelings–”
“–Feelings, yeah, just fucking feelings! And that was still just me! If you would let me fucking finish, Sugar, god damn it!”
They're both red in the face, anger and frustration breaking in waves against the thin skin of their cheeks. Richie has been silent this entire time. He looks pale and sickly.
“I told him I had feelings for him on my sixteenth birthday, Sug. It was all me, I started it, and he shook his head and walked away. He didn't come back around for like, a week.” Carmy shuffles on his feet a little, hands shaking, he reaches up to the neck of his shirt, realizing it’s backwards and he fiddles with the tag. “Um, do you remember? That week? Even Ma thought it was weird that he didn't even come over to hassle her.”
Natalie wracks her memory. She can't believe she's entertaining this bullshit explanation, but yes, she does remember. She couldn't make it into town on Carmy’s actual birthday, so she came up on the weekend instead. There was a bigger party that was really just an excuse for all the adults to get wasted, and she recalls a severe lack of a specific annoyance that night and it takes her a minute to realize it was because Richie wasn't there. Nobody could give her a real answer on why he was gone because nobody knew.
She remembers Carmy, too. It was his birthday, and he was miserable. She knows the feeling well; there isn't a birthday she's had that she hasn't cried on. Carmy has always been such a sensitive boy, but he was usually able to enjoy his birthdays, even if he didn't like being the center of attention. You could almost feel the sadness and ire and shame radiating off of him, and she practically got her head snapped off when she asked him what was going on. She asked him where Richie was, too, and he just stalked off into the basement like there was a fire to put out. She chalked it up to typical teenage angst and left him to it.
“Yeah. I remember that, Carm. So why the fuck shouldn't I be beating the shit out of the twenty-seven year old man yet?” She notices Richie wince and hang his head even lower at that. Sugar rolls her eyes so far back it hurts a little, “Better fucking yet, why shouldn't I tell Michael?”
“Nat, no! N-no, no, no,” Carmy gets stuck. She thought his stutter had faded away already, that he’d outgrown it. She stares Richie down, Carmy still stuttering out the negative. “You can't. You-you can't tell him. Or Ma, please.”
Natalie continues to stare at Richie. He looks like he's checked out. His brain left his body and flew first class to Timbuktu. Carmy enters her line of sight. He steps in front of Richie like he could be used as a human shield. Her little brother, protecting a grown man, baby fat still on his face and stomach. “God,” she chokes out, shocked to be suddenly overcome with emotion. “Carmen. Go upstairs. Please.” He starts to protest, backing up and reaching behind him for Richie’s hand.
Richie finally, finally, looks up. Sea meeting ocean. He looks sick, but he doesn't look away from her, not anymore.
“Carmy,” he stands as he speaks clearly, not loud. Carmy pipes down and turns to look at him. He has to crane his head up; the height difference between them is severe. There's no point, though. He's still looking at Natalie. “Listen to your sister, alright? It's gonna be fine.”
Carmy breathes funny, like he got punched. “Rich, no.” He sends a panicked look over his shoulder at his sister, begging her for god knows what. “It's not gonna be fucking– fucking fine! She's gonna take you away from me, please, Richie.” Carmy’s lip quivers. It breaks Richie’s heart a little bit.
“Go.” Richie jerks his chin in the direction of the stairs. Gives Carmy’s hand a little squeeze before he lets go. His heart fractures even more seeing the resigned look on the boy’s face. Carmy turns away, glaring at Natalie as he passes her, his eyes an electric blue from the unshed tears from Richie’s dismissal. Both Natalie and Richie watch him trudge up the stairs, needing the natural break before it all turns to absolute shit.
The silence is so thick as they stare at each other that you could cut into it with a spoon. Natalie is the first to give in, sighing and setting Mikey’s old trophy down on the worn fold out chair that served as Richie’s side table. She moves past him and sits near the foot of the bed, one foot drawn up under her. Richie looks at her hesitantly. He doesn't know what he should do. He can't recall a time in his life when he felt so wrongfooted.
“When are Mikey and Ma gonna be home?” She asks.
He blows out a shaky breath, cheeks puffed out, “I-I’m not really sure. You know Donna. Mikey’s at the girlfriend of the week’s place right now. Never sure when he’ll be done with ‘em.” Richie decides to sit down on the bed slightly turned toward Natalie. He hopes that's the right decision.
“Okay.” Natalie drags a hand down her face and fiddles with her chin a little. “Is Carmy telling the truth? Or is he covering for an adult lowlife loser?” Leave it to Sugar to bring the venom.
“Yes. Yeah, he's telling the truth. And he was covering for an adult lowlife loser at the same time. Fuckin’, fuckin’ seventeen year old can stand up to you better than I can. Ridiculous.”
“You better start explaining what you mean by him covering for you before I get violent.”
Richie chokes out a laugh, “Okay, fair. Fair. Yeah.” It's not funny. He pauses for too long and Natalie’s patience was already worn so thin it was close to snapping the moment she saw Carmen straddling Richie on the bed. The bed that's on the floor.
“Richard. Come on. Pussy,” she spits out. “You need to man the hell up and tell me the goddamn truth about my baby brother, now!” There are tears collecting in the corner of her eyes again and she feels utterly inadequate. She can't even protect her brother without letting her emotions stampede to the forefront. Natalie is severely ill-equipped to handle this situation.
“I’m not just– just fucking around with him, Sug. I'm not toying with his feelings, or- or taking fuckin’ advantage of his feelings just to,” Richie clears his throat, “just to get my dick wet. It's not like that. And he was right, I did avoid him. It was more like a month. Seen him in passing when I couldn't avoid coming here.” He hangs his hand and scrubs his hands over his closely shorn hair.
“So you never… Gave him looks? Or some weird hope that you'd like him back and creep on him?”
“No. No, fuck! He's fuckin’ persistent when he wants his way, you know. I never even considered him for… Anything. But I couldn't get him out of my head after he said all that shit. Thought he was having a fuckin’ shitfit again when he pulled me away, he was stuttering so bad.” The corner of Richie’s mouth quirks up a little at the memory of how awkward it all was. “I… Sug. All that matters is that nothing happens to Bear, alright? Whatever you decide to do about this, it's all on me. I don't want him hurt because of me. He's just a kid.”
“A kid that you're fucking.” Natalie sighs, tucking an errant chunk of hair behind her ear. “What about Mikey, huh?”
“He'd kill me. Surely.” He presses his lips together and nods his head. He's totally fucked.
“That's not what I’m talking about, Richard,” Natalie’s voice is cutting. Richie stares back at her like a deer in headlights. “I saw the way you looked at him. Our whole lives.” She narrows her eyes at him, chicken necking trying to make him meet her eyes. “You like Michael, don’t you?”
His eyes are wide, wild, looking for an escape route or some sort of excuse to get the fuck out of this. “Sugar–”
“Don't fucking lie to me. Does Carmy know?” She grabs the neck of his shirt and hauls him over to her, all up in his face. She lowers her voice to a whisper, just in case Carmy is spying on them. “Does he know you're hung up on his fucking brother? That you're using him to fill up on what you can't get from Mikey?” The silence rings out like a shot. They're both breathing heavily from the adrenaline of the situation. Richie gulps and tries to pull away from her, and she refuses to loosen her grip, “Next thing I grab is your throat when I strangle you to death, you pig.”
Richie gently grabs her wrist, “Yes. I liked Mikey. Of course. But that was dead and gone before it could even walk on two legs, Sugar. He’s not a fuckin’... Fairy,” He cringes and waves his free hand around, “Y’know that, right? Mikey’s not into dick. I know that for a fact.”
Natalie finally lets go of his shirt, “How do you know? How do I know you're not lying about still being into him?”
“Because I tried. I told him I, I liked him, right? Fuck, a decade ago now; we were still shithead teenagers.”
“I take it didn't go well.” Richie opens his mouth to speak, but hesitates. It's a long enough silence that Natalie finds herself panicking more. “Richie? Did he- Did Mikey hurt you?”
“Sug, no, he would never. Not like that. He says shit but he's not like, a fuckin’ gaybasher or whatever. He just…” Richie sighs and drags his hand down his face, she hears him sniffle lightly. “He wasn't exactly nice about it, that's for sure.”
“Can you maybe, I don't know, fucking elaborate? Please?” Trying to get a full, coherent story out of him is like splitting hairs. She's starting to feel a little empathy for him. Shit.
Richie has slowly hunched into himself, almost curling up in search of some comfort in the tense and stagnant air of the basement. He clears his throat and it doesn't help. His voice is thick as he speaks, “He told me I was being stupid, a-and I just felt like that because my parents didn't love me or some shit, that I couldn't be a homo, that it didn't make any sense. I dunno. More I think about it, more I realize how fucked that is.” Richie speaks through a grimace. His eyes are red and his lip wobbles. “My best friend said that to me, Sugar. My best friend. A-and I loved him so much and I had fucking nowhere else to go, fucking nowhere. So I stayed here. With him, with your family. I must've been about fifteen, sixteen when that happened.”
Natalie presses her lips together. She's shocked to find herself verklempt at his confession. She never thought her brother could be so cruel. Okay, well… Maybe not cruel in that way. To say the things he said to his best friend, sometimes his only true friend, and continue on like everything's fine? She almost can't believe it. Natalie wants to storm into whatever broad’s apartment he's at and hit and kick and bite him until he's black and blue, but she knows she can't. It would only come back to Richie, and with great reluctance, she does care about Richie, no matter how mad she is at him right now.
“Am I the first person you've ever told about this?”
“No,” He looks at her, raises his eyebrows, and looks in the direction of the stairs. “Carmy. He's the first one. He knows, Sug.”
Natalie can't help it, her jaw falls open in disbelief. “You… You really told him? And he's, I don't know, like, fine with it? Horrible age difference aside, that's a thing that doesn't affect your… Whatever it is, with him?”
“It’s a relationship, Nat. That's what we have.” Richie’s lips stretch into a thin line. It's clear he's still uncomfortable with the finality of it. “He is… Shockingly normal about it. Y’know, had a few moments there in the beginning where he was insecure, but he was fine with it soon enough.” Richie shrugs, hands open in front of him, elbows resting on his thighs. “Like he, uh, like he said earlier, we haven't done anything until, um. Y’know. Recently.”
He blushes. He honest to god blushes. Natalie has never seen him embarrassed like this, ever. Something new every day, she guesses. She exhales long and slow, and leans back to rest against the wall. She has a decision to make.
“Do you really love him? Like, really, really love him. Not just a weird wire cross happening here?” Natalie fidgets with her fingers, pulling at the seam of her (Pete’s) sweats. She’s nervous for the answer. She's pretty much already decided what to do, but this will be the dealbreaker.
“Yeah. Yes, yeah, I do. I really, really love him. He's Carmy-bear. I just love him.” Richie’s averting his eyes from Natalie, but she can see the crinkles playing at the corners of his eyes, the small smile he wears, the blush now ever present, high on his cheeks. He looks at her once again, “How can you not?”
Fuck. Alright. Fine, it's whatever. Fine! Fuck!
“Okay.” She nods, smiles a little, the side of her mouth quirked up at the corner. Natalie pushes away from the wall and stands. She's taller than him this way. “Okay,” she repeats, “That's good.”
Natalie scrubs her hand over his closely shorn hair, and he closes his eyes, shoulders relaxing. Then she smacks the back of his head. Hard. He yelps and cradles the injury.
“You fucking idiot! Ugh, fuck!” She kicks his shins and punches his shoulder, anywhere she can reach where he isn't protecting himself with his hands and forearms. “You're a fucking dumbass, Richie!” He falls backward on the bed. Because she tackles him.
“Cous– Cousin! Shit, ow! Fucking– What, I thought that meant you were cool?” Natalie pushes his face away in a slap and manages to pin Richie’s left arm and legs by winding her legs around him, ankles crossed for security. “Nat, fuckin’ say something! Please!”
“I am so cool! I'm freezing cold, I’m so cool about it!” Natalie pulls on his ear with her arm around his neck, her other hand holding the arm he keeps trying to push her off with. Richie should really know better. They both grew up with Michael. Gotta fight dirty to win against his natural brute strength. She's just waiting for Richie to stop squirming before she continues.
“Listen. I am not going to tell mom, and I’m not going to tell Mike. Got it?” She feels, more than sees him nod.
“Cool. Yeah, that's good. Thanks, Sugar.” Natalie releases her hold on Richie, unwinding from the octopus hold she had on him.
“I'm not fucking done.” She shoves him away as he rubs his hands over his tender head and body. “Carmy is not going to be your dirty little secret, alright? And since you love him, you're gonna be staying with him for the foreseeable future, right? Right?” He glances at her out of the side of his eye, nodding his agreement. “When he turns eighteen, you have to tell them. And you will not hold him back from whatever fucking future he has, alright? Whatever he decides to do. Go to college, get a job, join the fucking army, fucking whatever it is! He gets to do it, and you encourage him. You will not hold him back because he is going to get out of this hell house, you hear me?”
“I hear you, Sug, fuck! I would never hold him back for a fucking, fuckin’ relationship, alright?” She watches him rub his forehead, creating unsightly wrinkles under his dirty hands. “I’m the one pushing him to at least junior college, so he's not a complete fuck up like I am.”
Natalie hums, “Good. Now go check on him.” Richie nods and gets up from the bed, groaning as he does.
“You comin’?” Richie’s eyebrow raises and he holds a hand out to her to help her up, but Natalie shakes her head.
“No, I just,” she sighs, rubbing her cheek, “I need a minute. And Carm is probably super pissed at me right now. I’ll talk to him later.” Richie nods, muttering an alright before making his way up the stairs.
She sits there for a moment before she remembers the copious amount of wine in the house. She nods to herself and trudges up to the kitchen, seeking out a bottle, glass, and a wine opener. Things that are not hard to find in her mother’s kitchen. As Natalie pours herself a (large) glass, she thinks of Pete. They've only been together for about half a year. He’s nothing like her family, and that makes her nervous to introduce him to everyone. She sits on the counter while drinking, and hops down when she finishes, a little wobbly on her feet. She hasn't eaten yet today. Just an energy drink, and now wine.
She searches through the fridge, finding some salami slices and cheese. She shrugs, grabs both, and finally heads upstairs to eat and nap after the shitshow that was that afternoon. She takes the stairs slowly, head spinning from the wine, eyes half shuttered while the events play through her mind like a terrible daytime television show. Is she making the right decision? Is she setting her baby brother up for heartbreak and disaster by hiding this for them? There's no way to tell. She only hopes it won't blow up in her face later.
Halfway up the steps she can hear music playing at low volume. Carmy. His emo crap. Pausing at the landing of the stairs again, she notices his door is ajar still. Hand trailing along the wall, she steps closer, steps near silent to peer in through the gap. She's had a lot of practice with being sneaky; it comes with having a volatile drunk for a mother.
Without pushing the door open so as to not draw attention to herself, all she can see is Carmy and a little bit of Richie. His eyes are closed and his face is blotchy like it used to get when he was little and so frustrated, trying his best to hold back his tears. Richie’s freaky long arms are wrapped around her brother, rubbing his back slowly as they rock together, barely in time with the music, Carmy’s head resting on his chest, ear over his heart.
She can't hear what they're saying over the music, even with as soft as it's playing, but she sees Carmy sigh, deeply, with his whole body as he relaxes further into his much-too-older boyfriend’s chest. Richie’s hand sweeps up Carmy’s back, rucking his shirt up in the process, and caresses the back of his head. Natalie finally sees his face as he cranes down to press a couple kisses into the boy’s greasy hair and rest there. His eyes are closed and he mutters something into his hair, making him smile.
Carmy, still smiling softly, turns to kiss his chest, says something in response. Richie’s hand is on his ruddy cheek now, the other at the small of his back, and Carmy moves his hands up to rest on his shoulders, rises up on his tip-toes to bump their noses together in the grossest, yet sweetest fashion before they kiss. It's a simple kiss, no heat or urgency behind it. Just a press of lips, moving together gently, still swaying to the music flowing out of the speakers.
Natalie sighs, smiles, and pulls the door a little more closed.
They can have this.