It had all started out as a bit of joking between friends. Syd and Carmy had been trying out new things in his kitchen, messing around with flavours. Very much a fuck around and find out, they had entered the 'finding out' phase of the experiment. Carmy had gone first, humming around a mouthful appreciatively but not wanting to influence Syd's first impression as she popped a forkful in her mouth.
"Oh fuck me," she moaned.
"Right?"
"This is better than sex." An off the cuff comment but Carmy nodded along, only a little bit deflated. Syd fixed him with a stare. "What?"
"You're not wrong. But it's not exactly a high bar, right?" For a change Carmy actually sounded uncertain, struggling to meet Syd's eyes.
Gesturing into the air at large, Syd took a moment to swallow before nodding then shaking her head. "I mean, not according to the world at large."
"Oh."
"But if you ask me, then yeah, it's a shitty bar."
Something akin to relief relaxed Carmy's shoulders and he blew out a breath before laughing a little. "Yeah, it is. The first time-" he broke off, cheeks flushed as he steeled himself to soldier on, refusing to stop now that he'd started, "-I'm not sure I even, you know, finished."
"What?!" Torn between laughing and outrage, Syd tried to control her reaction. However, the food was forgotten in favour of the stilted conversation of awkward truths. "How can you not know that?"
Leaning against the counter, Carmy shrugged. "I don't know. It was nice, right? Just nice though, nothing more. Guess it felt good but I wasn't exactly a changed man after it. I wasn't hooked like I was after discovering truffle oil."
"Mhm, truffle oil is just the best, I get you."
A little relieved, Carmy offered a half smile. "What about you? You get the hype?"
After a moment of hesitation, as Syd weighed up just how honest she was willing to be, she shook her head. "Nah. I faked it just to put an end to his miserable fumblings."
Head tipped to the side, Carmy mulled things over and chewed his bottom lip. "Wish I'd thought of that."
"Kind of hard to fake it as a guy, isn't it?"
"Dunno, never tried it. Think you could tell?"
"You inviting me to try test your faking skills?" The words were out before Syd could think better of them and Carmy's head dipped. His cheeks were aflame and hers were burning too. "I mean," she tried to dig herself out, "I'd like to think you wouldn't have to? Not that I have much experience but if I do something, I put my whole into it."
A nervous giggle erupted from Carmy. "You mean you put it into your hole, don't you?"
She playfully thwacked his arm and they both laughed, embarrassment and tension dissipating with each breath. Eventually, Carmy risked a glance up at Syd.
"I wouldn't know to be honest. The few awkward fumbles that is the bredth of my sex life isn't exactly rife with formative experiences."
"Nor mine, don't worry. You're not alone."
After a moment, Carmy sniffed, nose crinkling, and fixed Syd with a stare. "Want to change that?"
"You mean-" Syd couldn't finish, eyes wide. "With you? As in, you and me, right?"
"Yeah. We work well in the kitchen, learn things from each other. Think of it as a chaos menu of the bedroom. Try anything we want, nothing is binding, mistakes are welcome."
If it had been anyone else suggesting that to Syd, she'd have had some choice words. But this was Carmy with his big, worried eyes as he realised just what he'd said, what he'd offered. Even so, she still needed a moment to assess, to weigh up the situation. It gave carmy just enough time to truly panic, mouth moving but no words came out beyond a soft stutter of horror.
"Alright," Syd cut him off. "Obviously we'll need rules. Like how we don't use the cheap shit in the kitchen, we don't skimp out in the bedroom either, okay?" Immediately Carmy was nodding along. "And if someone says no, that's final. No strings, no judgement, no pressure. We're both learning here."
"Right. Learning. Stop when we want, no ifs, no buts. One of us says stop, that's what we do."
They were going to need to sit down and hash things out, Syd knew that. But it was an opportunity she didn't want to pass up on. Learning and exploring in a safe environment had always been her jam. This was no different, it was just a much more personal topic. Oddly, she was looking forward to the 'lessons' they were going to be studying. She suddenly had a lot of reading and understanding to do in preparation.
Dates held no importance to Carmy. His birthday? Just another random day in the year. Holiday season? You mean ball-bustingly busy season. Which was why Carmy taking a day off out of the blue didn't have anyone asking questions. Mostly, the crew were relieved that he was actually taking time away from The Bear. It had been too long since he'd taken a break, near enough working himself into an early grave.
The day started off as usual, except there was no Carmy. Things were a bit more relaxed without his ever watchful presence. There were more cock-ups and laughter but customers were still happy when they came in. Unusually, Richie was rather somber, mouth ticked down in a thin pressed line. It was only when Ebra squeezed his shoulder in a quiet moment and they shared a sad look that the others began to question what was going on. Nobody needed to be a genius to figure it out.
While Carmy didn't care much about celebrating days, over the course of the last year he'd grown to regret not going to Mikey's funeral. It wasn't something to celebrate but it was closure he didn't have. Though, if given the chance, he still wouldn't have gone on the day. Facing his family was bad enough, but when it was something as emotional as his brother's funeral, Carmy couldn't do it.
The kitchen was filled with stories of Mikey. He had been the one to bring them all together, had given them all a chance. Even if he wasn't there to see through the fruit of his hard work, most of the crew was there because of him. In a way it was easier not having Carmy there, he wasn't part of their stories. But at the same time they all missed him, wished they could share the memories they had of his brother. Collectively, they agreed that after service they'd go to the cemetery, pay their respects.
It was late by the time The Bear was locked up. Tired from another long but satisfying service, the crew filtered into cars to get lifts. Nobody expected the text from Natalie.
[Has anyone seen Carmy today?]
Unlike expectation, Carmy hadn't taken the day to spend time with his family. When Nat had tried to visit him, needing her brother on the anniversary of their other brother's death, he was nowhere to be found. In an attempt to be respectful of his space, Nat had left him be. But fear had clawed its way through her chest, especially when she realised Carmy had taken the day off.
After some frantic messages, most of the crew was left at the cemetery while Richie and Nat left, heading towards a certain bridge with dread.
The night was late enough for there to be little in the way of traffic and pedestrians, which made it all that much more to spot Carmy. He was leaning against the railing, looking out over the water and fidgeting with something in his hand. Nat had a hand over he mouth but her gasp was still loud in the car.
Heedless of traffic rules, they pulled over and were stumbling out of the car in a mad rush.
"Carm?" Nat called, along with Richie's not so subtle yell of "Yo! Cousin!" at least had Carmy turn his head to look at them. His eyes were puffy and red rimmed but it wasn't exactly a surprise.
The smile sent their way was wobbly and small, as was the hoarse "hey". At least Carmy was talking to them and turned towards them as the approached. Clutched in his hand was a small bunch of spaghetti.
"This is where he did it, isn't it?"
As Nat hugged him tight, Richie ruffled his hair. "Don't scare us like that, moron."
Puzzled, Carmy looked between the two. "How did I scare you?"
"Think, idiot." Now that the fear was gone, anger was the next emotion Richie could muster. "You take the day off, go to where Mikey offed himself, nobody hears from you. What did you think we'd assume?"
"I just-" Carmy shrugged and sniffed. "I- The Bear was as much his as mine. He should have been there."
"Instead you weren't there either," Nat chastised.
"Couldn't face it. Not today. I haven't even been to his grave."
An arm wrapped around his shoulders, Richie steered Carmy towards the car. On Carmy's other side, Nat had a hand on his elbow.
"We'll go now. Everyone else is gathered there already."
Not resisting, Carmy let himself be ushered into the car. The drive was silent save for the noise of the spaghetti shifting in Carmy's grip. None of the pieces broke though.
At the cemetery, Carmy got out, a little lost and wide eyed. Syd was the first to beckon him over, giving him a tight hug. Together, they walked to the small grave, one among the many.
"He always made spaghetti," Carmy rumbled as a few questioning looks were sent to the pasta in his hand. He laid it like a bunch of flowers on the grave. The middle had slightly softened where he'd been gripping it in a sweaty palm for so long.
"That he did," Marcus agreed easily. "It was pretty damn good too."
"Except the time he tried to spice it up." Tina picked up the thread with a smile. All too soon, stories of Mikey were filling the air, even if he wasn't there in person, his memory was still a big part of them all.
To my absolute surprise, the friends with BDSM benefits fic has turned into a bit of a monster (so many kinks to try, so much learning to do, so many awkward situations to laugh off/talk through). So while that's brewing away, have some Carmy suffering. Dedicated to @trickstermoose67 who is a well of inspiration and patience. And to another very very dear friend who (probably) does not yet know this blog is run by a fool they know.
Yet They Came
All the shouting, arguing and stress was exhausting. Stuck in the fridge, Carmy sank to the ground. He'd chased everyone away, Richie was right, he was just like his mother. Claire was gone, he'd abandoned Syd when he promised he wouldn't, everyone heard his not so little meltdown so probably half the kitchen staff will never return. Absentmindedly, he rubbed at his lip. After everything, he'd still fucked up. Syd had been right, he was a piece of shit.
There was the sound of some powertool or other but Carmy was only distantly aware of it. A hollow emptiness ate away at him, it weighed him so far down that he was almost weightless. Sparks were flashing through the crack of the door and while his eyes followed them, Carmy's brain was loud static. Maybe he should have been left in the fridge, let the rest of his body be as cold as his heart. It wasn't like The Bear needed him, not really. They had proven that in the space of one night.
The flashes were getting brighter and more frequent with sparks which burned out, so much like Carmy himself. His time to shine had been brief and he'd snuffed it out before anything could truly come of it. More sparks, there was a glow emanating from the lock. With a final clunk there was a bright flash and Carmy jerked back with rapid blinks, momentarily blinded by whatever the tool was.
Mind snapping back into his body, Carmy rose on creaky knees. He didn't want to think about how much it was going to cost to get the fridge door replaced. He didn't want to think about coming back the next day and looking the remaining staff in the eye. He didn't want to think about anything at all.
As expected, nobody was waiting from him on the other side except for the guy who freed him. He'd send an invoice and Carmy would settle the bill then. Watching him walk out, Carmy was left alone in the spotless kitchen. There was nothing left to do. They got it all done without him. Rather than anger at his own restaurant not needing him, Carmy felt a resigned acceptance. Deep down, he'd always known he wasn't needed by anyone or anything. But it would have been nice to be. Turning the lights off, he headed home.
The next day Marcus opened up as usual. But Carmy wasn't in at his usual time. Instead the others filtered in. Tina, Syd, Ebra, Sweeps, Richie. One by one they came and settled into the routine of morning prep. Nobody said anything about Carmy's absence even as they kept looking around.
As the lunch rush started kicking off, Nat came in looking flustered. She looked around the kitchen, stuck her head in the office then returned to the expo.
"Where is he?"
"We assumed he's taken a day off," Syd replied between calls. "Yesterday was pretty shit for him."
"He's not replying to texts. He's not here. So where the fuck is my brother?"
"Hey, Sug." Richie's voice had a soothing edge to it. "He's probably just feeling sorry for himself. Why don't I try and call him, have a bit of a man-to-man chat, yeah?"
Despite his words he looked a little wide eyed. Memories of Mikey still too fresh in their hearts. As the phone rang and rang without an answer, Richie bounced a little. Once the voicemail kicked in, he hung up. "Or we could just go to his place. He owes us all an apology."
Though not running, there was no denying the rush in their movements. Nat drove while Richie fiddled with the sleeve of his suit; he had half a mind to really rip into Carmy after all the shit he'd pulled the previous night.
Climbing the stairs, panic was taking over. By the time they got to the door, Richie banged with a closed fist.
"Open up, cousin!" He called loudly and banged on the door again.
The angry "what?" was both a relief to hear but also infuriating. If Carmy thought that kind of behaviour was okay, he had another think coming.
"At least he's not dead," Richie joked and Nat glared at him. "Sorry, too soon."
"Dick." Nat knocked a little more gently on the door. "Carmen, let us in please."
Noises from within the flat suggested Carmy was approaching the door at a slow shuffle, the odd bump and thump accompanied by a grunt. Through the closed door he growled "the fuck you want? Another round?"
"Carm, we were worried you hadn't come to work."
"Don't need to. I'm the boss."
"You're a little bitch," Riche snapped. His patience had worn thin. "Shouldn't have bothered coming to check on you. I was right, you're just like Donna."
The door wrenched open as Carmy near enough snarled. "Want to say that to my face?"
Except the desired effect was not reached. Sugar gasped as she stepped back, a hand over her mouth while Richie coughed out a laugh of disbelief. Standing in the doorway, Carmy was in ratty sleepwear which was fine. What wasn't fine was the blood smeared up his arm, across his forehead and in his hair where he'd obviously passed a hand through it. Even worse, his eyes were puffy and blinking rapidly where he squinted, except he was looking past them, not focused and gaze nowhere near either Nat or Richie.
"Carmy?" Nat reached out with shaking hands. It was only when she touched his arm that Carmy flinched, near enough violently and the hand that had been holding the door came into view. A badly wrapped dishcloth soaked in blood drew all attention. "What happened?"
"Nothing." A hand with blood crusted under his nails swiped at his face as Carmy tried to rub at his eyes before remembering he shouldn't. The long blinks and stare fixed vaguely on Richie's throat wasn't exactly encouraging.
Taking initiative, Richie raised a hand and waggled his fingers. There was no response. Flipping Carmy off had no effect either. Nor did doing the Macarena. Well, that one had Sugar looking at him like he was an insensitive asshole which...yeah, he was. As a last resort, Richie drew a hand back as if gearing up to slap Carmy. He stopped inches from his face and Carmy looked in the vague direction with a frown but didn't comment.
Nat cleared her throat. "Carmy, I'm coming in whether you like it or not. I need a drink of water."
Stepping aside, Carmy gestured vaguely towards the inside of his flat. "Help yourself. Just mind the remains of the coffee table."
Walking in on Nat's heels, Richie stuck his tongue out and scowled when Carmy didn't even look in his direction. But his attention was drawn to the coffee table, or rather, what was left of it. The glass top was shattered, most of the glass seemed to have been pushed to one side, there was a wet stain on the ground in the vague vicinity of the blood stain. Turning, Nat watched as Carmy stood near the closed door, not moving. She walked up to him, watching him blink rapidly as if just keeping his eyes open was agony.
"Carmy?" It made Carmy jump, he'd not realised Nat was so close. "What's going on? And don't say nothing."
The walls Carmy had been trying to hold up came crumbling down. His breathing turned rapid and shallow, hand running through his hair as he blinked away tears.
"I don't know. I don't fucking know!" Unmoored, he looked so lost until Nat wrapped him up in a tentative hug. All but folding into her, Carmy let out a small sob. "I can't fucking see. You shouldn't be here."
Gently, Nat rocked them, glancing over her shoulder at Richie for any kind of help. None was coming, neither of them were truly equipped to deal with such a thing. "I'm here because I want to be. Now, I'm going to lead you back to bed because I don't want you cutting your feet on the glass. Richie can help clear that up, can't you?"
As much as Richie wanted to protest, he nodded. Rather the broken glass and blood stains than a broken Carmy. Still, he kept an ear on the bedroom where Nat helped Carmy sit on the edge of the bed.
"Tell me what happened since last night."
Haltingly, Carmy began. Getting out of the fridge, his vision carrying the sparks from whatever tool he'd been set free with. Sleep coming for him eventually but he woke up to a headache in what he thought was the middle of the night. Except he couldn't see the streetlights, the TV was nothing more that a painful blur when he'd turned it on. The realisation that he couldn't see compounded by being so utterly alone. Even if he'd wanted to, his phone was impossible to use without being able to see it. Trying to find it, he'd tripped over the table, crashed through it and broke the glass. Knowing that nobody was coming, Carmy had tried to clean up as best he could, had no clue whether he'd succeeded or not.
"So what were you going to do?" Sugar asked softly. "If you thought nobody was coming, what did you think would happen?"
Carmy shrugged, twisting the bloodied dishcloth between uninjured fingers. "I don't know. It's not like The Bear needs me. You, Richie and Syd proved that last night. I just-" he trailed off with a hard sniff, "-thought you'd all forget about me and keep the place going."
The pained "Bear" from Nat was somewhat echoed by Richie as he barged into the room with a declaration of, "You're kind of impossible to forget, idiot. Now, did you say you stared at the pretty sparks and lights last night?"
Resigned to his not-to-be-forgotten fate, Carmy nodded and closed his eyes. They burned, felt like sand coated his eyelids, in short it was pain he couldn't really deal with. It was why he'd thrown his phone across the room, not when he realised he couldn't call someone but when he thought there was nobody that he could call. Yet Nat and Richie came anyway. Relief and guilt coursed through him but they seemed adamant in looking after him. Caving in, Carmy guiltily allowed the other two to take control of the situation. By the end of the evening he was on Richie's couch, eyes much less painful after being prescribed some drops and the reassurance that he'll be fine within a day or two.
Sure enough, the next day Carmy walked into The Bear, shoulders hunched as he braced for what was to come. He had a lot of apologies to issue.
While things had been better at The Bear, there were still times when tensions rose and not in a good way. Two kitchen staff down, Carmy had to all but beg Syd to come in for the evening service because they were drowning. Front of house was getting by, smoothing things over for patrons but back of house was chaos. And Syd couldn't get in early enough to truly help.
On the expo, Carmy was red in the face, calling out orders, screaming for hands and just generally losing his shit. Everyone was trying their best but it made no difference to him. If it wasn't going as he envisioned, it was a disaster and that was everyone's problem, not just his.
Walking into the kitchen, Richie didn't break stride or even acknowledge Carmy's hollering about making himself useful. He had a job to do, he was doing it. Ebra had done a good job at the window in the afternoon, left everything where it should be which made things easier for Richie. The "stop pissing about, cousin, do your fucking job" shouts went ignored. He picked up a hotdog bun and casually sauntered back to the expo.
Fury silenced Carmy as he stared at the hotdog bun that was placed on his expo. It sat there, in the way of everything, losing them precious seconds.
"Cousin," Richie said, face schooled into something serious, "if you wanna be such a weiner, at least make yourself useful."
Any anticipated explosion turned into an implosion as Carmy took stock. Hand pressed against his forehead, he visibly held his breath for a few long seconds. It was all Richie needed.
"I got the expo. You go do your magic thing. Alright?"
Blowing a big breath out, Carmy nodded. As he stepped off the expo, he glanced back at Richie and rubbed a circle against his chest. Feeling magnimonious, Richie smiled and set the hotdog bun at the top of the expo as a reminder. They could all be dicks at times but that was okay.
New York Chef doesn't have a name, does he? And he seems to pick on Carmy the most, saying some truly horrendous and soul destroying things to him. No doubt he was an asshole but part of me can't help but wonder...how much of him was a personification of Carmy's self-doubts and fears?
Carmy's too slow, incompetent, should die. They all sound a lot like someone's internal negative talk. Given that we only ever see New York Chef in Carmy's memories, it does raise the question of where the awful truth meets his own projected insecurities.
The Beef wasn't exactly in the best location in the city. Sure, there was decent footfall but there was also a turf war and they were on the clash line. In a way it was inevitable that someone would take one look and decide it was the kind of place that could be robbed.
"Hand over your money and nobody gets hurt."
Richie almost laughed until he looked up and saw a gun pointed at him. Palms up to placate, he raised his eyebrows.
"Well fuck me, you're serious. You sure you want to do this?" The safety clicked off and Richie cleared his throat. "Sure. I hope you like disappointment. Let me just-" a hand slowly lowered to the till. "-get you all...uh...fifty three dollars and, heh, sixty-nine cents."
The robber stared at him, incredulous. "That seriously all you got?"
"Post-covid, most people pay card, you know?"
"Don't shit me. Where's your safe?"
Of course Carmy had to stick his stupid nose into things in that very moment. He took in the scene with almost amusement until the gun was levelled at him. Then his face shuttered off, blank and tight.
"Yo. Why you threatening my cousin?" The robber's hand wavered as Carmy approached and stood firmly in front of the counter, shielding Richie with his own body. "Are you seriously trying to rob us?"
"Get me to your safe. Now!"
Leaning in, arms crossed over his chest and cocky, Carmy was almost gleeful to reply, "No."
Richie half expected the gun to go off. Instead, the robber spun it and pistol whipped Carmy who staggered under the blow, trying to catch himself on the counter. Rather than rally, he sank down into a boneless heap as he lost consciousness.
"Shit." Richie peerer over the counter. "Cuz?" No response. "Carmen? Cousin? You good?" In the silence he looked up at the robber. "The fuck you do that for? Did you kill him?!"
The robber turned and ran, leaving Richie to vault over the counter as he rushed to Carmy's side. Thank fuck he was breathing.
"Can I get some hands here!" He yelled, trusting someone, anyone, to come help. Sure enough, Tina appeared a moment later and was sent running for ice. She returned with that and Syd in tow.
"Who's the first aider here?"
To Syd's question Tina pointed at Carmy. Of course it had to be him.
"Some jagoff pistol whipped him. Don't think that's covered in any course." Richie pressed the ice to where Carmy had been struck and he could have cried in relief that it seemed to help bring him round. That relief didn't last long though because the groan turned into a squirm then it was a matter of trying to help flip Carmy so he didn't choke on his own puke. Once he seemed done, eyes blinking against the lights, Richie leaned over him to get a good look.
"Cousin?"
"Fuck." Maybe Carmy was better than expected, if he responded in such a Carmy-like way. Except his eyes were looking around, squinting but his breath hitched. "Wha-? Why? Mikey's gonna kill me."
Heart squeezing, Richie was saved from having to try and reply by Syd butting in.
"Hey Carmy. How you doing?"
Blinking hard, Carmy obviously had trouble focusing. But that was probably the least of their worries when the next question out of his mouth was, "Who the fuck are you?"
"Oookay." Syd leaned back. "Is that weird? Because that's weird to me."
Only expletives crossed Richie's mind. They needed Carmy comfortable and out of the public eye in order to figure out what was going on. Nodding to himself, he came up with a plan on the fly.
"Syd, close up. Carmen, I'm going to take you to the office. Tina, call Nat then help Syd."
"No!" The protest was near panicked from Carmy and he groaned, hand going to his head which was probably pounding. "He can't see me. He'll kill me. Said I was banned."
There were only so many times Richie's heart could be ripped from his chest. He couldn't handle telling Carmy the truth about Mikey. Couldn't bear the idea of seeing him learn the truth again. So he lied. Lied to protect them both.
"It's his day off. He'll never know. Don't you worry."
Scooping Carmy up, he groaned. For all appearances, his cousin sure was compact. Thankfully the route to the office had been cleared and Richie deposited him on the couch. At the telling groan, he put the trashcan next to Carmy for good measure.
"Thanks. How's Tiff?"
Just when Richie thought things couldn't get worse, they did. He needed to stop being such an optimist about how much lower the bar could get. Bending the truth by omission, he cleared his throat.
"Good. She's good. You?"
The hollow laugh from Carmy was answer enough but he deigned to add words. "Banned from the family restaurant no matter what I achieve. Mikey won't pick up the phone anymore. Sugar keeps telling me to call Mom. I live for the moment service finishes so I can go for a smoke. So yeah, great."
Talking was good, right? Richie had a vague recollection of not letting people sleep if they hit their head. Or was it when they took certain drugs? He'd be fucked if he could remember.
Thankfully the office door clicked open and Nat stepped in. Richie wished he hadn't been watching Carmy. Emotions flashed over his face as Nat's appearance triggered memories. Disbelief, horror, grief, misery all followed in quick succession. At least he had the presence of mind to grab the trashcan to hurl into. Not that there was much to come up other than a bit more pepto.
"Oh Carm." Nat perched gingerly on the couch and rubbed his back.
All of a sudden, Richie felt like he was intruding. This was a moment between siblings and he was nothing more than an interloper.
Looking up, Carmy's eyes were large and watery. Whether from throwing up or the onslaught of emotions at remembering Mikey's death was neither here nor there. However, it gave Richie the perfect view of mismatched pupils and he cursed under his breath. They needed to get Carmy to hospital.
Growing up, Carmen's body had never quite felt comfortable. Then puberty hit and it got worse. It took a while to find the right words why a misery gnawed at his guts each time he had to look in a mirror, shower or even put on a dress. There was no escaping it though, his mother loved putting him in matching dresses at Nat and she made such a scene the one time he'd asked if he could match Mikey instead. After that he didn't dare ask about getting his hair cut, about playing outdoors with Mikey and Richie rather than having to stay and help Nat in the kitchen.
The kitchen at least was a kind of escape. While at school he was considered weird, never fitting in anywhere, with Nat, he could be himself. He could be Carmy. Until Donna entered the room at which point it was back to "girls, where's the wine?" and "I wouldn't know what I'd do without my lovely daugthers, you take such good care of this family." But those moments when it was just Carmy and Nat, where she helped him tie his hair so it felt shorter, sneaked him bandages and whispered instructions for how to tie them around his chest as she'd heard from one of her friends, it meant that the kitchen became a safe haven.
By the time Carmy left for New York, Mikey, Nat, Richie, they all called him Carmy. Mikey gave him his old coat, blue and brown, woollen and warm, saying he'd need it in New York more than the Chicago weather required it. They both knew it was utter bullshit but Carmy took it anyway, one of his most treasured possessions.
Arriving in New York, one of the first things he did was go get his hair cut, relishing how he could finally be himself. By the time he stepped foot in the restaurant, he had no doubts of who he was, who he wanted to be.
Returning home for Christmas, Nat beamed at him in pride. Their mother wailed, tugged at his shorter hair, pretended to be shocked that the chef Carmen Berzatto that the critics lauded as the next king of the kitchen was actually her daughter. Too tired to argue, Carmy let her rant. At least Mikey dragged him out for a smoke with Richie, ribbing him for being a short king. Then asked whether he was all set for the surgery that nobody except Nat was supposed to know about.
When Carmy returned to The Beef, aside from Richie and Nat, nobody knew him from growing up. His posture was no longer slumped, trying to hide the body that didn't feel like his. Facial hair was still a bit hit and miss but he could manage some decent stubble. The best part though? He finally felt like he could be himself.
It was hot as balls. Summer in Chicago was exceptionally brutal that year and the AC in the kitchen of The Beef was, to put it politely, had seen better days. Much better ones. As a result working there was becoming quite the challenge. Smoke breaks were gone in favour of water breaks in the walk-in chiller. It was an unspoken agreement that they took turns in there or, for a super quick cooldown, the walk-in freezer was employed. In for a minute to bask in the shocking cold then out. To actually need something from either walk-ins was a blissful treat.
Carmy had been by the stoves, too warm to even curse. Why he thought becoming a chef then working in a shitty little place like The Beef was beyond him. Everything was grating on his nerves and going outside for a much needed smoke was unthinkable. As much as he craved it, facing yet more heat was beyond sanity. So he'd not smoked since early morning, was jittery as fuck, too warm and in desperate need of a break.
"Get in the walk-in," Richie snapped at him.
"No time."
"Then the freezer. Just looking at you gives me heat stroke."
Syd was already next to him, ushering him out of the way for a much needed break. Annoyed, Carmy march away because if he stayed, if he argued, he might just punch someone. Wrenching the door of the freezer open harshly, he stalked in, relishing the slamming of the door. For a moment it didn't feel too cold, even as his breath curled in the air. Fuck but did the change in temperature feel good. Running hands through his hair, Carmy let out a groan, eyes shut. Maybe he had needed the cold break. Should probably get a drink too. He truly was the master of "do as I say, not as I do".
A shiver running down his spine, Carmy walked back to the door and tried to open it. Nothing happened. Giving it a shoulder shove, all Carmy got was the promise of a new bruise. Thumping on the door, he yelled.
"Yo! Cut it out!" There was no answer. "Yo! Cousin! This isn't funny!"
After a moment he slapped his hand repeatedly against the door, hissing at the chill that was seeping through him. Fuck the freezer and regulation temperatures.
"Cousin?" Richie's voice was filled with annoyance. "You trip and twist your knickers or something?"
The handle rattled but the door didn't budge.
"Carm, stop being an idiot. Come on out!"
"I'm trying, jag-off!"
"Then try harder!"
Carmy pushed while Richie pulled to no avail. The door wouldn't move. On the outside a commotion was growing as more and more of the staff tried to help open the door. Nothing seemed to be working and, as the minutes ticked by, Carmy paced the short few steps back and forth, teeth chattering. Goosebumps decorated his bare arms, the sweat that had been making his t-shirt cling to his back was starting to feel a little crispy.
"Hurry the fuck up! I'm going to literally freeze my balls off in here!"
"Not like you were using them anyway."
Richie's answer was a little muffled but it got Carmy seeing red. The anger at least gave him the illusion of warmth as he spun and snarled at the door. "Fuck you! You wanted me in here! Is this what you did to Mikey too? So desperate to take this shithole from us. Well guess what, dickhead! This will always be a Berzatto family restaurant and you will never be a Berzatto."
For a moment there was silence. An absolute stillness and even Carmy held his breath.
"I'm going to get you out," Richie said firmly. "Just so I can look you in the eye like a man before punching your lights out."
"Oi! Cut it out!" That was Syd, the voice of reason. She only served to irritate Carmy further.
"Are you in on this?" Because she had been there to take over and help get Carmy in the freezer. "What did he offer? 30% of the restaurant once I'm out of the way and Nat's refused to take over? Or 40% if you suck his cock once a week?"
"Jeff!" The outrage in Tina's voice brought him up short. "We're trying to help. You're not making it easy."
Which made Carmy question something. "Who the fuck is running the restaurant? Get back to work. You want to get paid? Get to fucking work! All of you!"
It was so cold. Carmy sank down to sit on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, arms hugging around them. His chin slotted perfectly into the divot between his knees. Shivering, he tried to ignore the noises from outside. It was pointless, they should prioritise the restaurant, make sure orders were being taken and filler. Not like he was going anywhere. Eyes closing, Carmy let his mind drift to anything other than the cold.
"Carmy? You okay?" Syd sounded closer and, against better judgement, Carmy shuffled closer to the door, leaning against it. His arm near enough burned from touching the metal of it.
"Yeah, hust fuckig fine. How're the orders?" Maybe his sense of time was fucked but he had only sat down a few moments earlier.
On the other side of the door was some muttering. He could just about catch snippets like "slurring?" and "keep him talking" and "hurry the fuck up".
"Uh, yeah, orders are good," Syd replied. "Got one in that I wanted to run past you. Guy wants gravy as dip. But wants it fresh and to the family recipe standard. Can you run me through the gravy recipe?"
"The fuck?" Carmy almost laughed, it even stopped his teeth chattering. "You hit your head and suddenly can't make gravy?"
"He's insisting. Wants the Berzatto special." From where she stood by the door, Syd shot Richie a glare as he tried to hold back laughter.
"Berzatto special baby gravy." The words burst from Richie right as Fak rounded the corner, ready to pull the freezer door apart.
Too tired, Carmy couldn't bring himself to rage at the stupid joke. He was too tired to do anything really. A nap sounded good. Really good actually.
"How long he been in there?" Fak asked the others.
"Too long," Richie said at the same time as Syd replied, "Coming up to half an hour. Regulations don't let you stay longer than fifteen and even that's with appropriate clothing."
Nodding, Fak discarded some of his tools. "So time is of the essence." More loudly he added, "I'll get you out in no time, Carm."
There was no response from inside the freezer. Alarmed looks were exchanged.
"Just get him the fuck out."
Tina had taken initiative and closed the restaurant. Nobody could focus as the wrong kind of tension mounted in the kitchen. They all crowded as close as sensible, just about leaving room for Fak to work. The entire door was coming off, hinges and all. Helplessness engulfed them. There was a sugar laden tea cooling on the side and someone had grabbed a throw from the office, along with a cushion.
Finally, the last bolt was out and, between Fak and Marcus, they managed to wrench it out of place, the broken lock slipping out of its socket with ease. As they moved, Carmy near enough spilled out of the freezer, flopped on the floor without the door to hold him up anymore.
Richie's excalamtion of "fuck" was coupled with him rushing to Carmy's side, rolling him onto his back. More pale than normal, breaths slow and shallow, Carmy was unresponsive.
"We need to move him, get him warm." Syd was on Carmy's other side hand hovering over him but not quite daring to touch.
"No shit, Sherlock." With that Richie scooped Carmy up, trying not to think about how cold he felt to touch. Thinking about heat, Riche set him down in front of the ovens, grateful that Syd was hot on his heel with the throw and cushion.
What followed were some agonisingly slow minutes. Nobody dared even move really, worried it might somehow set Carmy's warming progress back. At least the pallid colour of his cheeks was changing. Nowhere near rosy and healthy but better. Not to mention that the only time anyone had ever seen Carmy truly flushed was when he was red in the face from yelling in rage.
"Carmen?" Richie nudged him, desperate for a response but he got nothing. "Come on, cousin. Don't be a dickbag."
Reaching out, he patted Carmy's cheek, intent on annoying him into consciousness. To an extent it worked as Carmy left out a soft moan and tried to turn his head away. At least it was progress.
"Thank fuck." Ever the man of simple words, Richie sat back on his heels with a laugh. "Didn't think his insurance would have covered this."
Ever so slowly, Carmy returned to the land of the living. It started with a disgruntled little huff which turned into discomfort and pain as he turned to curl in on himself. At least he was shivering again by the time his eyes opened, blinking blearily at first.
"F-f-f-fuck."
"Here, drink." Syd held the warm tea while Richie helped sit Carmy up. Some of it spilled as Carmy got his hands around the mug, shivers making him shake violently. Before he could spiral, Syd was there with a steadying hand. "It's okay, just drink what you can. We'll take care of everything else."
A little cowed, Carmy let his hands be guided so he could drink the sugar laden tea, not ever recognising that the solid wall of heat behind him was actually Richie. At least, not until Syd was taking the mostly empty mug and a hand brushed fondly through his hair.
"Trust you to be the contrary fuck to get hypothermia in the middle of summer."
Too tired to care, Carmy shrugged and leaned back, content to let the others hold down the fort for the time being. Before he closed his eyes to relish the warmth he was surrounded by, Carmy managed a croaky "sorry" which was waved off. Whether he was apologising for getting stuck, for the shit he said or for just generally existing was hard to tell. But, in a way, it didn't matter because they were all family and forgiving each other was core to that.
Nobody expected the zombie outbreak. Especially not in Chicago. Maybe DC, probably New York. But Chicago? Fuck that. Yet that was exactly where it began, spreading silently until it couldn't be denied anymore and curfews were in place. Carmy did the only sensible thing. He messaged everyone at The Beef.
[Bring family to the restaurant if you need. It's secure and has food. We can weather this shit together.]
To his absolute surprise most of the crew turned up. And most of them didn't have family so to speak. Carmy didn't comment, just set about making more space, making sure there was enough food to go round while it was still rationed sensibly.
It worked. They were safe, zombies shuffled past but it wasn't too bad. Yet. But as more people were bitten there were more zombies and more taps on windows. Nobody knew how it happened, probably Carmy going out for a smoke but the door swung open unexpectedly and a zombie shuffled in, eyes vacant and mouth hanging open.
"Fuck! Cousin?" Richie hollered from the prept table. "We got a visitor."
Chaos unfolded. Richie continued yelling, backing away. Carmy was rushing in, as was Syd while Tina cursed, trying to shoo the zombie out. It wasn't working.
"Cousin!" Carmy was looking at Richie, completely ignoring the zombie. "Don't you dare use that knife for anything but prep. Don't you fucking dare!"
"You'd rather a zombie eat me?"
"I'd rather you didn't ruin a perfectly good knife on a zombie! Especially one nowhere near you!"
"Because it's about to bite you, you jagoff! Watch out!"
Indeed, the zombie was approaching Carmy who was red in the face with anger. Annoyance redirected, Carmy took a step back as the zombie bit at the air where he'd just stood.
"Fuck off!" He bellowed and grabbed the nearest thing. The piece of raw steak slapped wetly against the zombie's face before plopping onto the floor. There was no chance to curse as the zombie launched after the steak and began munching on it noisily. The slurping was the only thing audible as they all stared dumbly at the scene before them.
"Well fuck me." Carmy rubbed his clean hand over his face.
Zombie fed, it was a relatively easy to herd it back outside. Leaning against the door, Carmy's eyes sought out Sydney's.
"New menu?"
"Oh fuck no." After a beat, Syd sighed. "Fine. But we're doing this my way."
"Heard, chef."
What followed was chaos. Figuring out how little to sear steaks, how to make blood jus and glaze to drizzle oveer veg because a zombie was still a human body that needed a balanced diet. Testing the meals was easy enough, they put the plates outside and peered through the window to see which one got cleared first. The technique also had the effect of training the zombies to linger around the restaurant like stray cats.
Eventually they had what felt like a zombie friendly menu. Even better, Nat had wrangled state funding for their zombie coralling and pacification programme. Nervous, armed with home made shields, The Beef opened its doors. Zombies shuffled in and, like the world's strangest domesticated humanoids, went to the plates set out.
Oddly, it worked. The zombies seemed content, government funding helped and The Beef was finally turning profit. It couldn't last.
Most zombies were polite, took the offered food, shuffled in and out the propped open doors. Rarely there were more...energetic...zombies. Thankfully they usually got distracted by the plates. However, one particular one burst through the doors and made a mad dash for the counter.
"Hey!" Richie yelled, trying to scare the zombie off. "Don't do it, just don't." It didn't work as the zombie scrambled onto the desk and Richie let out an incoherent shout.
Rounding the corner, Carmy was half shitting his pants that he was walking in on his cousin turning into a zombie. Instead, he heard a very outraged and muffled "rude!"
The sight of Richie spitting violently, blood around his mouth and dribbling down his chin had Carmy staggering backwards in shock.
"The fuck, cuz?" Carmy looked between Richie and the zombie slumped on the counter with a bite mark visible on its arm. "Did you just fucking bite a zombie?!"
"It was going to bite me first!" Richie spat again. "Taste of its own medicine."
A rather human groan sounded from the counter and Carmy looked on with horrified interest. "Did you-? You did. Fuck. Richie, how the fuck?"
Disbelief coloured Richie's laugh as the now ex-zombie stood up.
"You cured a zombie. Fuck me." Carmy laughed too. "Is it just you? Yo Syd!"
"Yes chef?" Syd appeared a moment later.
"Richie just bit a zombie. And it turned human again."
"No."
"Yeah."
Outraged, Richie wiped at his lips. "Oi! Are you surprised that it was me? Or that it worked?"
Carmy and Syd looked at him with an exasperated "yes" in unison. The offended crinkle to Richie's nose signalled an argument incoming. It wasn't a false sign either. He argued for testing the theory by someone else biting a zombie because it was disgusting and he wasn't doing it again. However, Syd thought that biting someone was unethical, even if it was in their best interest. Meanwhile Carmy wasn't sure they should be actively destroying their clientbase when they were finally turning a profit.
In the end Nat phoned the situation in and the decision was taken out of their hands. In three months The Beef was back to how it used to be, menu and all.
There was something comforting about the predictability of working at The Beef. Marcus liked to start early, get all the doughs he'd left overnight into the oven. It made the kitchens smell of delicious, fresh bread. Even better was the small loaf he put in which he'd slice, butter and leave laden with honey. One slice was for himself, another he'd put on a plate and take to the office where Carmy would be. Because no matter how early Marcus went in, the lights were already on and Carmy was there.
Which was why the morning that Marcus appoached The Beef and the lights weren't on, he hesitated. It was unheard of for Carmy to be late, to not be there. An even bigger problem was that Marcus didn't have keys. Only Carmy, Richie and now Syd had those. Looking around, Marcus puffed his cheeks out as he tried to figure out what to do. The sun was yet to rise, nowhere was open and, to make matters worse, he heard a harsh sniff from the darkness of the doorway to The Beef. As much as he liked working there, he wasn't paid anywhere near enough to investigate who was huddled on the doorstep. Though Marcus wasn't a coward, he wasn't prepared to engage with someone who could potentially be hostile.
Quietly backing away, Marcus decided to wait for someone else to arrive. In all likelihood it would be Sydne in about half an hour. Sure enough, her familiar footsteps approached The Beef and Marcus intercepted her a safe distance from the building.
"Someone's camped out by the door. And Carmy's not here yet."
Eyes wide, Syd tried to peer into the darkness. She'd heard about Richie's side gig and was almost certain it was one of his old customers hanging around, hoping to score a fix. Pulling herself to her full height, shoulders back, she nodded.
"I'll deal with it."
Steps filled with an assuredness she wished she could feel, Syd approached the doorway and the figure on the ground. In the half-light of the sun not quite yet poking over the horizon, it took her a long moment to realise what she was looking at.
"Fuck. Carmy?!"
At his name, Carmy left out a soft, broken hum. He looked up and Syd couldn't hold back the gasp at the sight. Even in the darkness he looked awful, one eye swollen near enough shut, blood trickled and was drying all down the side of his face, lip split and puffed up.
"Marcus!" Syd called loudly even though he was not two steps behind her. "Help!"
"'S okay," Carmy slurred. "They didn't get it. It's safe."
It was a rush to get The Beef open, Marcus picked Carmy up and carried him to the office, ignoring his mumblings for now. Just in time for Richie to waltz into work. Whatever he was spouting was throttled in his throat as he saw Carmy.
"Well shit, cousin. The fuck happened?" For his part, Carmy lifted the wrapped bag of ice from his cheek and blearily stared at Richie. Before he could try and formulate a reply, Richie was already blustering. "Why the fuck are you sitting? You should be lying down. On the floor so you can't fall lower."
"If he lies down he will fall asleep." Syd was sat at the desk, furiously scrubbling. "Can't do that with a concussion."
"He needs rest."
"He needs to stay awake."
"Can't heal if he's got no energy."
"Can't heal if he's dead."
"I'd rather die than listen to you two right now," Carmy interjected at long last. Even such few words seemed to be a lot of effort. "Just shut up. Go cook."
"No." It was the first and probably only time Richie and Syd were in sync.
Moving to crouch in front of Carmy, Syd looked up at him, taking note of the burst blood vessels in his eyes, the bruises starting to form, the scabbed over split on his lip. It all looked so sore and painful.
"What happened?"
At the question, Carmy's eyes glided to Richie before he sighed and scratched his eyebrow, flakes of blood falling to the ground. "Got jumped. Knew when I was in, when Marcus came in. Wanted money, needed drugs."
"So you just, what, let them beat the shit out of you for shits and giggles?" Richie snorted and shook his head. "I always did say you were the special one."
"Gave them keys and wallet." Carmy didn't look too bothered by it. "Got ugly when I didn't give them keys."
Richie's brows scrunched up. "To your place? How would they know where you live? Serious disappointment there when they realise the place is such a shithole."
"No. The Beef." Carmy let out a bitted huff. "I couldn't give them that."
As she listened, Syd kept watching, hating how she agreed with Carmy. Phones and wallets were replaceable but The Beef? The livelihood of so many people hinged on it. She too would have protected The Beef in favour of a beating.
"You idiot," Richie snorted at the same time Syd reached out and placed a hand on Carmy's knee as she said, "You did good."
The look Carmy shot her was one full of gratitude and surprise. But he wasn't going to refute it. Just quietly cherish the praise while cursing the fact that it was such a rarity, one that he'd never hear again unless some idiot tried to rob them again. Hopefully that wasn't going to happen again. Then again, Carmy couldn't help but wonder whether it might just be worth it.
Against all odds, The Bear was flourishing. Carmy's reputation had given it a good base and the food, along with the service, spoke for itself. Most nights were fullhouse with Fridays and Saturdays building up a waitinglist. It was nothing short of amazing. The whole crew were settling into the rhythm, finding balance and, even if nobody dared say the word, happiness.
Most of the people dining there had been lovely, the few who had tried kicking up a fuss were pacified by Richie and things were smoothed over without any real incident.So things were going well, each night was busy and stressful but in a way that was fun. Until the door was flung open as dramatically as a heavy glass door could be.
"What have you done to this place?" Donna called loudly, making a show of looking around. Immediately Richie was making a beeline for her, polite smile in place. "Ah! Richie. Go get Carmen for me, will you? And something to drink. Make it a stiff one. Seeing all this-" she gestured around the room, "-makes me need a strong drink."
Small smile firmly in place, Richie tried to herd Donna away from the centre of the dining area. It took a lot of inner strength not to comment on how she smelled like she'd already had a couple of drinks and didn't need any more. Despite his gentle attempts to usher, Donna was an immovable object.
"Richard. My son. Go get him." Tone sharp, Donna pointed towards the kitchen. "Don't make me call him."
Hands up to placate, Richie backed away. The quickest way to resolve the matter was to do as Donna demanded. He turned away to head for the kitchen when she gasped dramatically, near enough an inhaled scream.
"What. Is. That?!" A crooked finger was pointed at the painting on the wall. "Hideous!"
Slowly spinning on the spot, Donna had a hand pressed to her mouth and eyes brimmed with tears. Richie didn't run but he moved as quickly as polite to get Carmy. This was the last thing The Bear needed.
In the kitchen everything was in full swing, hectic but smooth. A freshly oiled machine that was a little too slick and spilling excess oil before it settled down.
"Yo, Cousin!" Richie was by the expo. "Your mother is here."
Usually Carmy could work through whatever was thrown his way, filtering his response into the calls he made. This though, such news had him frozen, brain and mouth stuttering to a grinding halt.
"Fuck." He ran a hand down his face. "Okay. Right. Uhm."
Shoulder bumping him out of the way, Richie took over the expo. "I've got this. Bring her out back if you can."
Rather than argue, Carmy ran a hand through his hair and took as deep a breath as his sudden panic could allow. With as much dignity as a man marching to his own slaugther could manage, he strode out to the front of house.
"Carmen!" Arms thrown wide, Donna crowed as she waited for Carmy to get to her. While she made a show of leaving loud air kisses next to his cheeks, Carmy was much more rigid and restrained, eyes fixed on the wall behind his mother.
"Mom." Words were difficult and Carmy was desperately trying to not make a scene. "Things are busy. I'm needed in the kitchen."
Wrong thing to say because Donna turned on him without any warning. "You don't want me here, is that it? After all I've done for you. Gave you this place-"
"Mikey, technically he gave me this place. It was Mikey."
"And I gave it to him!" Volume rising, Donna was in full swing while Carmy stared at the floor. "Look at me while I talk to you. I gave you all this. Now you don't even have the time to show me around. Next you'll be telling me you don't have even a table in the corner for your own mother."
"Why- why don't I show you around?" Appeasing had always been easier. Carmy's shoulders were hunched as he tried to hide not just from the eyes fixed on them, watching the spectacle.
Scoffing, Donna pulled herself up, not even conscious of how she thrived under the attention. "I can already see you have turned our family restaurant into a soulless nightmare. You call that art?"
"I-" Carmy cleared his throat. "I picked that."
"You should have let Natalie choose. Hell, even a Fak could have done better." Moving between tables, Donna sniffed with disdain. "You've really done a number on this place. Look at the scene you're causing."
Nodding, Carmy didn't say anything. He led them towards the kitchen, hoping things would settle a little if they were out of sight of the public. Wishful thinking was all that hope had been. As they stepped through the doors, Donna scrunched her eyes up and let out a small cry.
"Has Russia dropped an atomic bomb in here?" She squinted and shielded her eyes. "This is inhumane, this brightness. Someone turn it down." Thankfully nobody moved, just glanced in her direction and returned to their work. It only aggravated Donna and she turned to Richie. "Where's that drink I asked for? You wouldn't get this kind of service even in a White Castle."
"Mom, please-" Carmy tried to interject. He needed to get back to work, to try and make sure the orders were back on track. Already he could see Richie waiving drink fees to make up for the disaster. "I'll give you a tour. I'll get you a table for another night. But we're full. We're busy. And you're drunk."
Everything froze for a split second. Donna gaped at him. Nobody dared even breathe. Then all hell broke lose.
"Carmen Anthony Berzatto!" her voice was nothing more than a hiss as she reached with two hands to grab his head, cheeks slightly squished under her palm. "You are a disgrace to this family. A disgrace to this restaurant. Mikey was right about you. You have no place here." She let go and turned to look at the menu. "You think you're too good for us. Look at all this fancy food that barely fills the stomach."
Silence engulfed the kitchen, nobody dared move or look away. Waiting for Carmy to explode, to go red in the face as he screamed because nobody would dare be so disrespectful to him in his own kitchen.
"We're making something good here."
The slap near enough echoed through the kitchen, Carmy's head snapped to the side with the force of it. The handprint on his cheek was a violent red in contrast to the rest of his rapidly paling face.
"Not good enough. If I hadn't had to endure nine months of you in my womb I'd say you were your father's child and only his. You make it impossible to love you when you look like him and act like him, abandoning us for something hoity-toity. Turning your back on us. I'm not sure either of you ever even loved us."
"I do!" For the first time in a long while Carmy was completely still. No fidgeting, no moving, no shifting his weight.
"Prove it. Say the words."
A few long seconds passed before Carmy wet his lip, nodding.
"I love you."
Just like that, Donna beamed. "I love you too. Now, get me that drink. And one of everything on the menu. I won't take up much space, can even have it in the office. Don't worry, I know how to get there, you haven't changed this place up all that much."
With that she patted Carmy on the cheek and waltzed off towards the office. Sighing, Carmy rubbed at his face, and stepped back to Richie on the expo, a hand squeezing his shoulder in silent thank for taking over. Wordlessly, Richie stepped aside, face set into grim sympathy. Standing on the expo, Carmy took a shakey breath, looked over the orders and called out the next one. His voice was as sure and clear as ever, even if he looked haggard and beaten. Not twenty minutes later, rather than take a smoke break, he delivered the first of the dishes to the office.
It had been a bad idea, Carmy knew that. Yet all the same he and Richie were at his place, drinking, reminiscing, and celebrating the fact they were actually making a profit at long last. Well, that was how the night had started out. The problem was though, Carmy rarely drank and he hadn't exactly been indulging eith food either. So a couple of beers in he was three sheets to the wind. Conversation had a knack for meandering in all sorts of directions and, as the night progressed and they both got progressively drunk, their topics got more and more personal.
Come morning Carmy woke on his couch with a raging headache and no recollections of what happened last night beyond a certain point. Sitting up, his feet connected with Richie who was sprawled on the floor.
"Fuck me," Carmy muttered, clutching his head.
"No thank you. Too early for that."
Nudging at Richie with his foot was petty revenge as Carmy hissed "ass" and promptly regretted everything in his life that brought him to that moment in time.
It was inconceivable that such regret would be overshadowed by something greater but when Carmy looked at his bank statement he was overcome with disbelief. That night with Richie, he had managed to go an buy something for basically everything bar bare necessities. Just as well he lived on PBJ sandwiches rather than anything more pricey. The only problem was, he had no clue what he had bought. The name on the statement was generic, giving no ideas as to what on earth he'd gone shopping for.
Three days later there was a giant brown box waiting for him at home. It weighed a stupid amount and Carmy barely managed to get it up the stairs. Opening it in his living room, he stared. And stared. And stared some more for good measure. A Sybian. Of all the things he had imagined, that had not crossed his mind at all. Still, now that it was there, he'd already spent the money, curiosity was getting the better of him.
If he'd have had the brain cells left to care, he'd have been embarrassed at how quickly he'd come the first time he tried it out. But he was too busy trying to catch his breath to spare a thought to such a thing. The machine may have cost a small fortune but he was so very glad to have made the drunked purchase. It became a bit of an obsession.
Experimenting led to a couple more shopping adventures, though sober ones. In his spare time Carmy also did a lot of reading and trying thing out. Learning how to tie knots and rope around himself, he found peace that only came when he was in full creative swing in his kitchen. Finally, he was ready to try something out.
First things first, he got ready, tied a harness around his bare chest, wrapped his legs in intricate bindings which could easily be joined to keep him restrained. Cuff around one wrist, Carmy let the other dangle for now. At last he was ready. Sinking down onto the modest vibrator attached to the machine, he sighed and relaxed even as his heart rate picked up in anticipation. Fully settled, he pulled his legs up one at a time, letting his calves near enough touch his thighs, held in place by rope. Already hard, Carmy fumbled a little as he grabbed the blindfold to slip over his eyes and the remote. One last thing before he could start. He blindly wrapped the cuff around his other wrist, bound and helpless as he wanted to be.
Thankfully the remote was easy to use and he started the machine. The deep rumbling buzz worked through his core, making muscles tighten. It felt good but Carmy was impatient. He turned the setting higher, a soft cry leaving his lips as he endured the pleasure. Already his cock was twitching, precome beading at the tip. Head tipped back, Carmy panted as he turned the settings higher yet.
His first orgasm rocked through him and he groaned, lips open of heaving breaths. One wasn't enough though. Stopping at one had never been the plan. Determined to fulfil his ideas, Carmy gave himself a moment to ride the pleasure which was edging into too much before cranking up the speed two more notches. A near enough scream ripped from him, body pulsing around the vibrator and cock steadily leaking. It was as high as he could tolerate the machine going and he threw the remote to the ground.
Impaled on the machine, legs tied, hands cuffed and sight robbed, Carmy was utterly helpless to do anything but take the forced pleasure. He whined, pleaded with a god he didn't believe in as sensations began to build. In a way it didn't matter whether he was on climax number four already or whether it was still the second one that just kept going and going. All Carmy knew was that he was lost to the sensation of it all.
Hands braced on the front of the saddle, he ignored how it was all sticky with his come and tried to shift a little just to ease the relentless assault that kept him in such a state of unending pleasure. It was starting to burn, become almost too much. Maybe he shouldn't have chucked the remote so far.
To untangle, Carmy pulled the blindfold off first. Twisting to undo one leg, he had to pause and double over as he shivered through another wildfire of climax. His other leg was more difficult to undo, hands shaking as everything flipped from so good to too much. At last his feet were on the ground and he pushed up, groaning as the vibrator slipped free of his body. Not that he got very far, muscles shaking, legs barely able to move so he was no longer straddling his machine. That was going to have to do and Carmy gracelessly sank down onto the ground with a relieved groan. His whole body was alight yet leaden. Undoing the cuffs, he rubbed where the metal had left indent in his skin.
Once he had enough of his wits about him, Carmy reached for the remote and turned the machine off. Cleaning up could wait. In fact, everything could wait. The ropes around him were a grounding comfort and he curled up on the floor, eyes closed. What he planned to only be a couple of minutes to nap turned into on eof the best sleeps he'd had in recent memory. Waking to pleasantly aching muscles, Carmy took a moment to bask. Maybe he ought to play around like that more frequently.
This was perfect. Carmy deserves nice things, the miserable shrimp man that he is, and I love that while this was a drunken purchase he tried it and loved it. The giving up of control with the ropes, blindfold and throwing the remote were *chefs kiss* (see what i did there?) and a wonderful addition.
You did leave me wondering what would've happened if he'd thrown the remote and then gotten stuck in his ropes though 👀 who would be his "Hey Siri, call Person" person? 🤔
Miserable shrimp man will always be the most beautiful descriptor for Carmy. And yes, I see what you did there. Needless to say that I love you for it. As to your questions about who Carmy would call in a predicament...I have three potential options for you!
Syd - At first she'd panic because Carmy's voice is so tight and wrecked. Maybe all the panic attacks had finally given him a heart attack or something. Then she'd register the words beyond "I need your help" which are "please don't laugh". Not exactly something someone in the middle of a heart attack would say. So she listens, actually listens. She hears the muffled rumbling buzz in the background, the way Carmy's breath hitches.
The key to Carmy's apartment is, rather pathetically, under the doormat. Letting herself in, Syd follows the sounds of machine and hitching breaths interspersed with soft moans. The smell of semen and sweat is also quite a giveaway for Carmy's location. He makes for a rather appealing picture, hunched in the rope ties, fists clenched. Syd walks up to the remote and hands it over to him without a word. Not that he can meet her eyes.
Expectation would be to walk out and never speak of it again. Instead, Syd walks to the kitchen, fills up a glass with cold water and looks in the fridge for anything edible. But it's Carmy, aside from bread, jam and peanut butter, there isn't much else in there. So Syd makes a sandwich and cuts it into small, easy to eat squares. By the time she's done, Carmy is in a stretched t-shirt and soft sweatpants, looking ashamed and haggard. That just won't do. Putting the plate on the coffee table along with the water, Syd nods at the sofa.
"Sit. Get under the throw and get comfortable." Much to her surprise he does as told, still not quite able to meet her eyes. That's okay though. Once he's bundled up, she sits down in the chair a little way off and gets her phone out. Without looking up from it she says, "Eat the sandwich and drink all the water."
Again, silently, Carmy obeys and there's something thrilling about that. Usually he's so stubborn, determined to control everything. Yet now she could probably tell him to do near enough anything. Rather than be terrifying, Syd cherishes it and wants to be sure she gets it right.
Once the plate has nothing but crumbs on it and the glass of water it empty too, she hums her approval. "Good. Now get comfortable, have a nap."
The sigh from Carmy is undeniably one of relief. His eyes close as he snuggles down into the softness of the sofa and he falls asleep. Though it all Syd sits and waits, scrolling mindlessly on her phone. It's nice, being trusted to watch over Carmy. As expected, his nap doesn't last long but when he wakes he looks a lot more like his usual self.
"Welcome back," Syd greets warmly. "Feeling okay?"
After a moment Carmy nods, tongue wetting his lips but no words look willing to come. That's okay too, Syd doesn't need to hear them so she stands and pockets her phone. "Good. I'll leave you to your cleaning up then. If you get stuck in the future, you have my number."
~~~
Richie - When Richie gets the call from Carmy, voice shaking, he initially has a bit of a panic, mind going back to Mikey and the calls he got from him at times. He can't go through things with another Berzatto brother. Not again. Yet he can't say no. Can't refuse when Carmy asks in such a weak and shaking voice. Preparing for the worst, Richie lets himself into the apartment.
His first reaction is to double over from laughter. Relief mixes with mirth. Once he'd done, he straightens up, takes another look at Carmy and turns to the door, laughter bubbling through him again.
"Oh cousin, you've literally fucked yourself."
Laughter subsiding, Richie gets himself together enough to pass the remote to Carmy, ruffles his hair and walks to the kitchen. Carmy better have a beer in the fridge for his troubles. A couple of minutes later, when Carmy appears, Richie hands a beer to him too, lips curling into the ghost of laughter. It turns into full throated, head thrown back laughter when he hears Carmy's grumble of "this was your fault."
~~~
Fak - As soon as he's called, Fak is dropping everything to go and help. He drops the key several times before getting into the apartment and making a dash to Carmy's rescue. His step falters for half a second as he realises the issue, eyes immediately averting.
"What do you need?" There are some answers to that question which Fak near enough prays he doesn't have to hear. Someone must have been listening because Carmy's "the remote" response wasn't on the list of 'god please no' replies. After a moment of furious searching without actually looking at Carmy, Fak finds the remote. He wants to help. He really does. Turning off the machine shouldn't be too difficult.
The screamed "fuck" as Carmy doubles over is completely unexpected. As is the garbled "off! Turn it off!" that he tries to cry out. Panicked, Fak's hands fly up, trying to show he isn't doing anything. Except he has the remote. In front of him Carmy convulses and makes a noise Fak doesn't think he'll ever scrub from his nightmares. Because he just heard Carmen Berzatto's orgasm noises. His hands have never moved faster to turn the dial the other way and the machine finally falls silent. Which means Carmy's panting little huffs are all the more audible in the sudden silence.
"I'll just, uh, I'll just leave this here." Ever so gingerly, Fak places the remote just within Carmy's reach. "I think I'll go now."
The grunt from Carmy could be agreement. Fak decides to take it as such. He closes the apratment door quietly behind himself and puts the key back under the mat. That's another incident they'll never talk about.
It had been a bad idea, Carmy knew that. Yet all the same he and Richie were at his place, drinking, reminiscing, and celebrating the fact they were actually making a profit at long last. Well, that was how the night had started out. The problem was though, Carmy rarely drank and he hadn't exactly been indulging eith food either. So a couple of beers in he was three sheets to the wind. Conversation had a knack for meandering in all sorts of directions and, as the night progressed and they both got progressively drunk, their topics got more and more personal.
Come morning Carmy woke on his couch with a raging headache and no recollections of what happened last night beyond a certain point. Sitting up, his feet connected with Richie who was sprawled on the floor.
"Fuck me," Carmy muttered, clutching his head.
"No thank you. Too early for that."
Nudging at Richie with his foot was petty revenge as Carmy hissed "ass" and promptly regretted everything in his life that brought him to that moment in time.
It was inconceivable that such regret would be overshadowed by something greater but when Carmy looked at his bank statement he was overcome with disbelief. That night with Richie, he had managed to go an buy something for basically everything bar bare necessities. Just as well he lived on PBJ sandwiches rather than anything more pricey. The only problem was, he had no clue what he had bought. The name on the statement was generic, giving no ideas as to what on earth he'd gone shopping for.
Three days later there was a giant brown box waiting for him at home. It weighed a stupid amount and Carmy barely managed to get it up the stairs. Opening it in his living room, he stared. And stared. And stared some more for good measure. A Sybian. Of all the things he had imagined, that had not crossed his mind at all. Still, now that it was there, he'd already spent the money, curiosity was getting the better of him.
If he'd have had the brain cells left to care, he'd have been embarrassed at how quickly he'd come the first time he tried it out. But he was too busy trying to catch his breath to spare a thought to such a thing. The machine may have cost a small fortune but he was so very glad to have made the drunked purchase. It became a bit of an obsession.
Experimenting led to a couple more shopping adventures, though sober ones. In his spare time Carmy also did a lot of reading and trying thing out. Learning how to tie knots and rope around himself, he found peace that only came when he was in full creative swing in his kitchen. Finally, he was ready to try something out.
First things first, he got ready, tied a harness around his bare chest, wrapped his legs in intricate bindings which could easily be joined to keep him restrained. Cuff around one wrist, Carmy let the other dangle for now. At last he was ready. Sinking down onto the modest vibrator attached to the machine, he sighed and relaxed even as his heart rate picked up in anticipation. Fully settled, he pulled his legs up one at a time, letting his calves near enough touch his thighs, held in place by rope. Already hard, Carmy fumbled a little as he grabbed the blindfold to slip over his eyes and the remote. One last thing before he could start. He blindly wrapped the cuff around his other wrist, bound and helpless as he wanted to be.
Thankfully the remote was easy to use and he started the machine. The deep rumbling buzz worked through his core, making muscles tighten. It felt good but Carmy was impatient. He turned the setting higher, a soft cry leaving his lips as he endured the pleasure. Already his cock was twitching, precome beading at the tip. Head tipped back, Carmy panted as he turned the settings higher yet.
His first orgasm rocked through him and he groaned, lips open of heaving breaths. One wasn't enough though. Stopping at one had never been the plan. Determined to fulfil his ideas, Carmy gave himself a moment to ride the pleasure which was edging into too much before cranking up the speed two more notches. A near enough scream ripped from him, body pulsing around the vibrator and cock steadily leaking. It was as high as he could tolerate the machine going and he threw the remote to the ground.
Impaled on the machine, legs tied, hands cuffed and sight robbed, Carmy was utterly helpless to do anything but take the forced pleasure. He whined, pleaded with a god he didn't believe in as sensations began to build. In a way it didn't matter whether he was on climax number four already or whether it was still the second one that just kept going and going. All Carmy knew was that he was lost to the sensation of it all.
Hands braced on the front of the saddle, he ignored how it was all sticky with his come and tried to shift a little just to ease the relentless assault that kept him in such a state of unending pleasure. It was starting to burn, become almost too much. Maybe he shouldn't have chucked the remote so far.
To untangle, Carmy pulled the blindfold off first. Twisting to undo one leg, he had to pause and double over as he shivered through another wildfire of climax. His other leg was more difficult to undo, hands shaking as everything flipped from so good to too much. At last his feet were on the ground and he pushed up, groaning as the vibrator slipped free of his body. Not that he got very far, muscles shaking, legs barely able to move so he was no longer straddling his machine. That was going to have to do and Carmy gracelessly sank down onto the ground with a relieved groan. His whole body was alight yet leaden. Undoing the cuffs, he rubbed where the metal had left indent in his skin.
Once he had enough of his wits about him, Carmy reached for the remote and turned the machine off. Cleaning up could wait. In fact, everything could wait. The ropes around him were a grounding comfort and he curled up on the floor, eyes closed. What he planned to only be a couple of minutes to nap turned into on eof the best sleeps he'd had in recent memory. Waking to pleasantly aching muscles, Carmy took a moment to bask. Maybe he ought to play around like that more frequently.
New York had been a mistake. Carmy regretted it near enough every day but never for the reason people suspected. Sure, he could have done without the stress, the abuse, the throwing up. But most of all he could have done without being turned into a fucking werewolf. Why Chef had singled him out was beyond him. It was all a bit of a blur, the memory lost between not wanting to remember it and not actually being able to recall it. There was something about being of the same cloth, of Carmy being his successor, of sharpened senses and unparallelled drive. To Carmy it was utter bullshit. All he knew was the pain of the bite and all the shit that came after.
Lycanthropy wasn't quite as the horror stories made it out. Full moons were definitely inconvenient but nowhere near the fabled compulsion to shift. Not once did Carmy go on a rampage through New York though he did get a visit from his landlord after someone complained about hearing a dog howling in his flat.
Rather than help him, Chef goaded him, ground Carmy down until he was nothing more than a burnt cigarette stub under the heel of an expensive shoe. As much as he didn't want to admit it, it did help. The constant war of wanting to retaliate but knowing he couldn't, of being told he was worthless and insignificant, it all helped keep control. Chef's words were poison but it eroded wolf and human at the same time until Carmy was just as apt at muting himself without Chef. Neither human or wolf, he was a husk, nothing more than a puppet that followed orders and ran the kitchen.
Going back to Chicago was another mistake. The absolute control Carmy thought he had wasn't quite as solid as he wanted to believe. Without Chef there to remind him of his place, Carmy snapped and snarled more. He yelled, lost his temper, became territorial of the expo - especially when close to full moon. But nobody was allowed to know. If they found out, Carmy didn't know what would happen and he couldn't risk it.
Quashing it all down, trying to hold back while still using the wolf's superior sense of smell, Carmy struggled. Adrift and alone, he was steadily losing grip of himself. The sleep walking got worse as he tried to keep himself under control. The one time he let himself shift to try and run some of the rage off, he ended up vomiting road kill and had to get flea treatment for his flat.
So things at The Beef got more and more heated, Carmy yelled more, smoked more and itched to just let it rip. The bastardised use of the words Mikey used to say burned. On some nights whenhe couldn't sleep, Carmy wondered whether Mikey had been turned too and that was why everything had gone the way it did.
Hatered for Chef grew with each day and Carmy had never felt more alone. Before Chef bit him he had already been alone but now there was a gnawing sensation of absolute solitude. Something was missing but he didn't know what. Until Syd walked through the doors of The Beef. Carmy's teeth itched to bite and he suddenly understood Chef.
The soft opening of The Bear was a successful disaster, everyone could accept that. By the time Carmy was excavated from the fridge nearly everyone had gone home. Some on better terms than others. The only ones left were Nat and Pete, giving him sad smiles and pats to the shoulder. Of course he'd fucked up, Carmy knew that all too well. But he didn't need be babied about it, didn't need their misplaced sympathy.
"So the night went well," he grunted as he pulled on a t-shirt.
Leaning against the wall, Nat nodded. "People seemed happy with the food and service. We just need to keep the momentum going."
"Good." Patting his pockets, Carmy made sure he had cigarettes and a lighter. "At least Mum didn't show up. That would have tanked the night."
As much as it looked like Nat wanted to argue, there was nothing but a pained expression in response. She watched as Carmy walked out to the front of house and looked around, scanning for anything out of place. If she had to be honest, it looked like he was pacing, trapped with energy that he didn't know how to expend.
"Carm-"
"No. Don't 'Carm' me," came the interruption. Carmy was standing by the large window, lights behind him illuminating him like some angel. Lights which were becoming brighter, closer and Nat realised far too late that something was amiss. Whatever Carmy had been about to say was lost in the sound of shattering glass, the crunch of broken tables and a body bouncing off the bonnet of a car, into the wreckage around them.
Screaming, Nat didn't know what happened or what to do. Carmy was lying motionless on the ground, twisted in an unnatural way while the broken light of the car flickered. For a moment she thought she could see their mother in the family car, in their living room at Christmas. Only, it wasn't their living room, it wasn't Christmas and it wasn't the family car. But it was definitely their mother trying to clamber out of the wreckage, stumbling drunkenly and leaning on the mangled hood of the car.
"I made it! I fucking came." Glancing around, she giggled. "This is as much of a shithole as it has always been."
The next few hours were a blur of flashing blue lights, of answering questions while Carmy was loaded into an ambulance. The bright white of the hospital as they waited. It wasn't just Nat and Pete, at some point Richie turned up, looking ashen. Then Fak was there as well, he had drinks for everyone, including Carmy and Nat just broke. Tears started streaming down her face as all the emotions of the night bubbled over.
"I shouldn't have invited her," she sniffled into Pete's shirt. "Or told her to come early and sober."
"She did." The chorus of "what?" almost drowned Pete out. "I saw her outside. She was there. Wouldn't come in. Told me not to tell anyone she was there."
There was so much going through Nat's head about how the situation could have been avoided. If she could have handled the talking, could have brought their mother inside then The Bear would still be in one piece and Carmy wouldn't be in hospital. Perhaps she should have prioritised Carmy in that thought but Nat was just too tired to analyse why The Bear had come first.
Finally they were shown to a ward where they could hear Carmy before they even saw him.
"I'm not pressing charges against my own fucking mother!" Voice loud and angry, the monitor beeped loudly next to him as his heartrate soared. "I don't care! Listen. Just listen! She's family, you hear? We don't do that to family." A very pointed and dismissive "thank you" saw to the departure of the policeman trying to take a statement. He eyed the group before huffing and walking out.
In the hospital bed Carmy looked decidedly small. Still red in the face from his anger, he was trying to get his breathing back under control. For a moment Nat could fool herself into thinking everything was fine. Except for the bulky casts that the thin blanket did nothing to hide. The drip that was attached to Carmy's hand. The bruises and scrapes on his arms and side of his face.
"Oh Carm," Nat whispered as she sank onto the edge of the bed, unsure where she could touch that wouldn't hurt him. "I'm so sorry."
They were either the best or the worst words she could have said because Carmy visibly deflated, shrank into the bed.
"How bad is it?"
"I don't know, I haven't spoken to a doctor yet. Needed to see you."
"I meant The Bear."
Expression closed off, Nat shook her head. "Insurance will cover it. Don't worry about that. We'll have it ready by the time you are."
For the first time ever, she could see hesitation in Carmy, a broken, haggard look that screamed defeat. He wasn't meeting her eyes. "I don't think I can. I can't start over again. I don't have it in me. Let Cicero take it."
"You don't need to make those decisions now. You need to focus on healing."
Richie butted in, frowning deeply. "Yo, Cousin, that's not just your call to make now. I get a say, Syd gets a say, and Nat, Tina, Fak, and everyone else. Heard?"
"Heard, chef," Carmy replied, eyes downcast. "You can call the shots."
It may have been too much to start over again. But that kind of decision wasn't one to make when still dosed up on painkillers, and nursing freshly set bones and a fractured pelvis. By the time Carmy was released from the hospital, The Bear was under construciton yet again, Syd, Richie and Nat working together to resurrect their dream.
