(no subject)
So, remember a few days ago when one of my convictions about the trailer was that rockin' afro kid was Ray's kid? Well, I sort of wrote it.
Title: Lemme Tell You 'Bout The Sad Man
Pairing: Ray/Christa, Ray/Frank/Gerard/Mikey, mentions of Ray/others and others/others.
Rating: pg
Wordcount: 1604
Summary: Sometimes living life is about altering old traditions as little as possible, and accepting what has to be changed.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Author's notes: I fully expect this fic to get Jossed at some point. But for now it works, so I leave it how it stands. Written for the prompt 'baby showers' on my Schmoop Bingo GSF table.
Like a lot of things, the concept of a baby shower doesn’t really work any longer. The world will never again be a place where a woman can sit down and get baskets wrapped up in clear cellophane with a blue or pink ribbon tying the top closed. There will be no more tied up diapers carefully strung together to look like a tiered cake, or cakes with congratulations written out in gender coordinated colour.
Like a lot of things, it’s something that Ray and everyone he cares about are going to try anyway. Because there’s accepting the things you can’t change, like having to eat fucking kibble from broken into vending machines, or that the Draculoids want them dead, and there’s the things that still work, as long as you’re brave enough.
Sometimes bravery comes in the form of eight people in a hideout, six of them giving him and Christa gifts. They’re not all wrapped in paper -where the fuck would they ever find that much paper?- but most are curled up inside plastic bags. You can always find a plastic bag, they’re like styrofoam containers, anywhere and everywhere.
Ray lets Christa open them. Sure he wants to, it’s not like he’s ever gotten a present, Christmas wasn’t exactly forefront in Lou’s mind after Mom and Dad got taken out, and Eddie went to the dark side. But it’s traditional for the woman to open everything and squeal over it. Technically he’s probably not even supposed to be here. It should probably just be Christa and Alicia and Lyn-Z. But just like he’ll never let Christa out of his sight, neither will Gerard let Lyn-Z or Mikey let Alicia. It’s not like it’s sexist, he’s sure in his knowledge that Christa would be pissed if he left to do his own thing, and he’s seen Mikey’s bruises the one time he took off for a week for provisions without bringing anyone else. There’s safety in numbers, is all.
Everything’s practical, of course. There’s no room for anything that’s not. But to the best of their ability, they’ve made everything fit. Beautiful and rebellious, as well as needed. Gerard’s sleeper has tiny smiling spiders drawn all over it, Alicia and Lyn-Z have dyed their miniscule t-shirts, Frank’s bibs are embroidered, and Bob’s bottles are covered in stickers. And holy fuck, Mikey’s found dehydrated milk. Ray has no idea how that’s even possible, but when Christa pulls it out of the yellow plastic he can’t help but cry.
Gerard’s the first to swarm him, pulling him into a hug, their slick sleeves squeaking on each other. But the others aren’t far behind. Except for Mikey, who’s holding Carmen. Carmen, his beautiful fucking baby, Carmen, just another reason to never stop fighting. Sure, there’s a good chance that Carmen isn’t actually his. Ray looks in her face, her tiny lovely features, and all he sees is Christa’s nose, Christa’s eyes. There’s nothing on his beautiful baby’s body to prove that she’s his. Except for the fact that she is, because it doesn’t matter.
When you live in a hideout with seven other people, it’s difficult to keep modest, and it’s difficult to keep secrets. It’s wrong to think of any of it as people having affairs. Sure, Ray was the one to first bring Christa into the fold, and Mikey found Pete who found Alicia. But nobody has ever tried to say that’s the way it should stay. Ray’s been with all of them at least once, and really, he’s more compatible with Frank than with Christa. Christa claimed that Ray was the father, once her belly began to swell, and true or not, Ray’s decided it’s true, so it is.
“Mikey, how did-” Ray’s voice breaks. He hasn’t had milk in years, and he won’t let himself have more than a taste. He’ll give everyone a taste, a finger dipped into the liquid and licked clean, because he can’t have some himself and not share. But to think that Carmen will actually get to swallow it, that she’ll be able to have it more than once? It’s fucking... It’s awesome, in the purest awe-inspiring sense of the word.
“I thought she’d like it,” Mikey says, and he bounces Carmen a bit in his arms.
“Guys, I don’t know how to thank you. I just. I fucking love all of you.” Christa’s crying too, Ray can’t see her over the crush of arms but he can hear it in her voice. “I’m going to put this stuff away, and then I demand a snuggle party. Okay?”
So maybe the eight person one baby cuddle that’s in the near future isn’t a normal feature of baby showers. Ray thinks about the people of the past sometimes, and how fucked their priorities were. It makes perfect sense to him that every major event should end in a cuddle. If everything else in life is shit, how can you not turn to your family for comfort?
Christa’s done folding the tiny shirts, and the bibs, and the sleeper when it happens. The hideout shakes as a car rams into the side of it. Nothing breaks open, but the squealing of a car reversing is just audible over Carmen’s sudden screams. The second ram does it, the wall splinters open and the Draculoids pour in. They’ve got their guns, and it’s just barely enough. Mikey’s the only one with a shutdown controller, and Ray knows he’s not willing to get close enough for the damage to happen. He would risk himself by stepping closer, but never with Carmen in his arms.
Ray dives for cover, pulls down the table to protect himself and focuses on the creatures in front of him, making sure to not waste his bolts. He’s got a dozen guns in the other room, but he’s not sure he can make it there. He hears rather than sees Bob crash down beside him. Bob is a noisy marksman, a great shot, but every second is punctuated by a curse.
Gerard’s the one that calls it. “Bail, fuckin bail!”
It kills Ray to hear it, but it makes sense. Ray’s got just enough juice left to cover his back as he runs to the car, he can’t imagine any of them having much more power left, and Mikey’s foolproof win is nulled out. They can always fight again, they will fight again, but they need to get out first.
Ray and Bob stand. Bob sprints, Ray shoots two bolts directly into a fucker’s throat as he takes the slightest of detours to grab the milk and the clothes. He goes down as he stumbles over something, less worried about breaking his fall, more so about making sure his gun stays in proper shooting position. He looks down. He’s stumbled over Christa.
He wants to vomit. He wants to cry, and vomit, and kill the entire world. But Mikey is outside, which means that Carmen is outside. He shoots, and by the time he gets outside, there’s only one car. He climbs in, Frank doesn’t wait for him to close the door before he puts his foot flat to the floor, pedal happening to be in between the two.
“Alicia, Bob, and Lyn-Z are in the other car. We’ll meet up later,” Gerard informs him.
“When?”
“We didn’t have time to make a plan. But we will. I’m sorry about Christa.” Frank sounds cold, but Ray doesn’t take it personally. Frank has bad luck in love, every girlfriend he’s ever had has been murdered by Draculoids. That doesn’t mean that Ray can shrug it off as easily. He sinks into the seat and closes his eyes. If they start chasing, he’ll lean out the window and shoot, because the alternative is to let them take them out. Ray doesn’t care for himself, but he cares about the promises he made to Lou to never let them win. And he cares about making sure that Carmen knows how to fight the system.
*
Carmen’s eight, and they’re having a birthday party. Ray knows she doesn’t really keep track of the days, the idea of twenty four hours being a single day is meaningless to her, even ridiculous. She sleeps when she can get in the shade, and it’s not like she’s ever experienced school Monday through Friday, although they do try to teach her as much as they can. Sticks can teach math, spray paint can teach the alphabet. But Ray always knows, keeps a tally so he can say an extra prayer on the numerous anniversaries of deaths of those that he loved.
Every year they have a birthday for her. Gerard and Frank sing duets for her, Frank’s rough voice undercutting Gerard’s melodious one. Ray thinks wistfully of getting sparklers on a birthday cake, and instead lets Carmen shoot off a handful of bolts at whatever she wants. It’s truly a gift, normally she’s not allowed to fire unless she has a target to practice on. She’s at the age where she wants to decorate her own clothing, but Mikey always finds a bracelet for her.
Ray tries to keep his hope alive. He won’t believe Alicia and Lyn-Z and Bob are gone until he sees their corpses. They might never catch up with them, but every time they stay somewhere they leave their symbol and the date they were there. Maybe, one day. And until then, they have each other. Carmen might not have her biological mother, but she has four fathers that love her. Four fathers that love each other.
Title: Lemme Tell You 'Bout The Sad Man
Pairing: Ray/Christa, Ray/Frank/Gerard/Mikey, mentions of Ray/others and others/others.
Rating: pg
Wordcount: 1604
Summary: Sometimes living life is about altering old traditions as little as possible, and accepting what has to be changed.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Author's notes: I fully expect this fic to get Jossed at some point. But for now it works, so I leave it how it stands. Written for the prompt 'baby showers' on my Schmoop Bingo GSF table.
Like a lot of things, the concept of a baby shower doesn’t really work any longer. The world will never again be a place where a woman can sit down and get baskets wrapped up in clear cellophane with a blue or pink ribbon tying the top closed. There will be no more tied up diapers carefully strung together to look like a tiered cake, or cakes with congratulations written out in gender coordinated colour.
Like a lot of things, it’s something that Ray and everyone he cares about are going to try anyway. Because there’s accepting the things you can’t change, like having to eat fucking kibble from broken into vending machines, or that the Draculoids want them dead, and there’s the things that still work, as long as you’re brave enough.
Sometimes bravery comes in the form of eight people in a hideout, six of them giving him and Christa gifts. They’re not all wrapped in paper -where the fuck would they ever find that much paper?- but most are curled up inside plastic bags. You can always find a plastic bag, they’re like styrofoam containers, anywhere and everywhere.
Ray lets Christa open them. Sure he wants to, it’s not like he’s ever gotten a present, Christmas wasn’t exactly forefront in Lou’s mind after Mom and Dad got taken out, and Eddie went to the dark side. But it’s traditional for the woman to open everything and squeal over it. Technically he’s probably not even supposed to be here. It should probably just be Christa and Alicia and Lyn-Z. But just like he’ll never let Christa out of his sight, neither will Gerard let Lyn-Z or Mikey let Alicia. It’s not like it’s sexist, he’s sure in his knowledge that Christa would be pissed if he left to do his own thing, and he’s seen Mikey’s bruises the one time he took off for a week for provisions without bringing anyone else. There’s safety in numbers, is all.
Everything’s practical, of course. There’s no room for anything that’s not. But to the best of their ability, they’ve made everything fit. Beautiful and rebellious, as well as needed. Gerard’s sleeper has tiny smiling spiders drawn all over it, Alicia and Lyn-Z have dyed their miniscule t-shirts, Frank’s bibs are embroidered, and Bob’s bottles are covered in stickers. And holy fuck, Mikey’s found dehydrated milk. Ray has no idea how that’s even possible, but when Christa pulls it out of the yellow plastic he can’t help but cry.
Gerard’s the first to swarm him, pulling him into a hug, their slick sleeves squeaking on each other. But the others aren’t far behind. Except for Mikey, who’s holding Carmen. Carmen, his beautiful fucking baby, Carmen, just another reason to never stop fighting. Sure, there’s a good chance that Carmen isn’t actually his. Ray looks in her face, her tiny lovely features, and all he sees is Christa’s nose, Christa’s eyes. There’s nothing on his beautiful baby’s body to prove that she’s his. Except for the fact that she is, because it doesn’t matter.
When you live in a hideout with seven other people, it’s difficult to keep modest, and it’s difficult to keep secrets. It’s wrong to think of any of it as people having affairs. Sure, Ray was the one to first bring Christa into the fold, and Mikey found Pete who found Alicia. But nobody has ever tried to say that’s the way it should stay. Ray’s been with all of them at least once, and really, he’s more compatible with Frank than with Christa. Christa claimed that Ray was the father, once her belly began to swell, and true or not, Ray’s decided it’s true, so it is.
“Mikey, how did-” Ray’s voice breaks. He hasn’t had milk in years, and he won’t let himself have more than a taste. He’ll give everyone a taste, a finger dipped into the liquid and licked clean, because he can’t have some himself and not share. But to think that Carmen will actually get to swallow it, that she’ll be able to have it more than once? It’s fucking... It’s awesome, in the purest awe-inspiring sense of the word.
“I thought she’d like it,” Mikey says, and he bounces Carmen a bit in his arms.
“Guys, I don’t know how to thank you. I just. I fucking love all of you.” Christa’s crying too, Ray can’t see her over the crush of arms but he can hear it in her voice. “I’m going to put this stuff away, and then I demand a snuggle party. Okay?”
So maybe the eight person one baby cuddle that’s in the near future isn’t a normal feature of baby showers. Ray thinks about the people of the past sometimes, and how fucked their priorities were. It makes perfect sense to him that every major event should end in a cuddle. If everything else in life is shit, how can you not turn to your family for comfort?
Christa’s done folding the tiny shirts, and the bibs, and the sleeper when it happens. The hideout shakes as a car rams into the side of it. Nothing breaks open, but the squealing of a car reversing is just audible over Carmen’s sudden screams. The second ram does it, the wall splinters open and the Draculoids pour in. They’ve got their guns, and it’s just barely enough. Mikey’s the only one with a shutdown controller, and Ray knows he’s not willing to get close enough for the damage to happen. He would risk himself by stepping closer, but never with Carmen in his arms.
Ray dives for cover, pulls down the table to protect himself and focuses on the creatures in front of him, making sure to not waste his bolts. He’s got a dozen guns in the other room, but he’s not sure he can make it there. He hears rather than sees Bob crash down beside him. Bob is a noisy marksman, a great shot, but every second is punctuated by a curse.
Gerard’s the one that calls it. “Bail, fuckin bail!”
It kills Ray to hear it, but it makes sense. Ray’s got just enough juice left to cover his back as he runs to the car, he can’t imagine any of them having much more power left, and Mikey’s foolproof win is nulled out. They can always fight again, they will fight again, but they need to get out first.
Ray and Bob stand. Bob sprints, Ray shoots two bolts directly into a fucker’s throat as he takes the slightest of detours to grab the milk and the clothes. He goes down as he stumbles over something, less worried about breaking his fall, more so about making sure his gun stays in proper shooting position. He looks down. He’s stumbled over Christa.
He wants to vomit. He wants to cry, and vomit, and kill the entire world. But Mikey is outside, which means that Carmen is outside. He shoots, and by the time he gets outside, there’s only one car. He climbs in, Frank doesn’t wait for him to close the door before he puts his foot flat to the floor, pedal happening to be in between the two.
“Alicia, Bob, and Lyn-Z are in the other car. We’ll meet up later,” Gerard informs him.
“When?”
“We didn’t have time to make a plan. But we will. I’m sorry about Christa.” Frank sounds cold, but Ray doesn’t take it personally. Frank has bad luck in love, every girlfriend he’s ever had has been murdered by Draculoids. That doesn’t mean that Ray can shrug it off as easily. He sinks into the seat and closes his eyes. If they start chasing, he’ll lean out the window and shoot, because the alternative is to let them take them out. Ray doesn’t care for himself, but he cares about the promises he made to Lou to never let them win. And he cares about making sure that Carmen knows how to fight the system.
*
Carmen’s eight, and they’re having a birthday party. Ray knows she doesn’t really keep track of the days, the idea of twenty four hours being a single day is meaningless to her, even ridiculous. She sleeps when she can get in the shade, and it’s not like she’s ever experienced school Monday through Friday, although they do try to teach her as much as they can. Sticks can teach math, spray paint can teach the alphabet. But Ray always knows, keeps a tally so he can say an extra prayer on the numerous anniversaries of deaths of those that he loved.
Every year they have a birthday for her. Gerard and Frank sing duets for her, Frank’s rough voice undercutting Gerard’s melodious one. Ray thinks wistfully of getting sparklers on a birthday cake, and instead lets Carmen shoot off a handful of bolts at whatever she wants. It’s truly a gift, normally she’s not allowed to fire unless she has a target to practice on. She’s at the age where she wants to decorate her own clothing, but Mikey always finds a bracelet for her.
Ray tries to keep his hope alive. He won’t believe Alicia and Lyn-Z and Bob are gone until he sees their corpses. They might never catch up with them, but every time they stay somewhere they leave their symbol and the date they were there. Maybe, one day. And until then, they have each other. Carmen might not have her biological mother, but she has four fathers that love her. Four fathers that love each other.