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.
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.
Carmy groans and rolls over, then groans again when he sees what time it is. The clock reads two-thirteen. He’d thought it was at least four-thirty, maybe five--it feels like he’s been tossing and turning for hours. It’s been barely thirty minutes.
“Fuck you,” he says quietly to the glowing red numbers.
He closes his eyes, telling himself he’s going to try and fall asleep again even though he knows full well that that’s not going to happen. After a few minutes, he finally flops onto his back and opens his eyes, staring up through the darkness.
“Fuck this.”
He sits up and throws off the covers with a sigh. He’d managed to get three hours of sleep tonight before the nightmare hit, which is an hour more than last night. He doesn’t really remember the nightmare, but the aftermath is the same every time. He wakes up from it breathless with tight-chested panic until he realizes that he’s in his apartment, and then the feeling that is suspiciously like claustrophobia slowly fades until he’s left exhausted and sleepless and frustrated. It’s been like this for nearly three weeks now, since friends-and-family night. Since the walk-in.
Since Claire.
He doesn’t want to think about it. But it’s all he can think about. If things are quiet, if he’s still for even a moment, it all comes crashing down around him. He needs to keep moving, like a shark. It’ll get better on its own, eventually. Or--maybe not better. But quieter. Easier to ignore. In the meantime, he just needs to keep working.
He’s at The Bear by three.
xxx
“You okay, Carmy?”
“Fine, Chef,” Carmy says.
It’s a lie, of course. He’s been feeling off all day. More off than usual, that is. There’s a growing pressure behind his eyes that makes it difficult to focus, and he feels strangely detached from his body. He curls and uncurls his fingers that aren’t holding a knife just to remind himself that they’re still in his control. Sydney glances down at his hand then back up at his face, her eyebrows pinching, mouth pulling down at the corners.
“You sure?”
He stops moving his hand and forces a tight half-smile. “I’m fine, Sydney. Don’t you have your own prep to finish?” The words sound strange, feel strange coming out, like he’s talking in slow motion. Sydney doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does she doesn’t say anything, just goes back to her station without another word.
He turns his focus back to the cutting board and blinks, then frowns and blinks again. Something’s going on with his eyes. It’s like there’s static at the edges of his vision, and the world starts to blur. And there’s a ringing in his ears, getting louder and louder. He feels himself break into a cold sweat and he sets his knife down and waits for it to pass, but it doesn’t. Instead, the ringing crescendos to a roar and the static grows and grows until everything is black.
xxx
Richie swears as he sees the time and hustles out of the car. He’s late. Lateness was Old Richie’s thing. New-and-improved Richie shows up on time, early even. He definitely doesn’t show up twenty minutes after the start of shift, and he definitely doesn’t do that when he and Carmy are still on shaky terms. He goes in through the back.
“Hey, Chef!” he calls as he strides toward Carmy. “I’m sorry I’m late, it won’t happen again.” He frowns when Carmy doesn’t even acknowledge him. The frown only deepens as he gets closer. Carmy is standing, unmoving, at his station, both hands flat on the counter. His face is pale, eyes wide and staring at nothing in particular. Something is definitely up. “Cousin?”
Carmy doesn’t seem to have heard.
“Cous--”
And then Carmy is falling, eyes still open and vacant as his legs fold beneath him, and Richie's heart drops into his stomach. He lurches forward but he’s too far away for it to do any good. Carmy’s forehead connects with the edge of the counter with a sickening smack and he crumples to the floor.
“Carmy!”
xxx
Awareness returns suddenly and Carmy blinks up at the faces looming over him, then grimaces.
“Oww, my head…What ‘m I doing on the floor?” He starts to push himself up on his elbows and Marcus grabs his arm.
“Whoa, whoa. Take it easy. You fainted. Don’t wanna move too fast or it might happen again. Just give it a second.”
“Fainted?” Carmy says as Marcus and Richie help him ease slowly into a sitting position.
“Yeah, scared the shit out of me,” Richie says. “I’ve never seen anyone faint with their eyes open before. You feelin’ okay? Dizzy?”
Carmy’s still sort of confused, and he feels drained and a little embarrassed, but not dizzy thankfully. “No, I’m okay...” He reaches up and brushes his forehead above his right eyebrow, pulling his fingers away with a sharp hiss. They come away bloody.
Great.
“Fuck,” he mutters, and Richie shoots him a sympathetic look.
“Yeah, you hit your head pretty good on the way down. Hey, someone get me a damp towel?”
“I got it,” Marcus says, standing, and Richie nods at him before looking back at Carmy, pointing at his forehead.
“Don’t think you’ll need stitches, but we oughta get that cleaned up.”
“I’m fine,” Carmy says, looking down at the floor. As his awareness sharpens, so, too, does the embarrassment. The whole kitchen has ground to a halt and he’s keenly aware of everyone’s eyes on him. He sort of wishes a hole would open up in the floor and swallow him whole.
“Have you eaten today?” Tina asks, and then Sydney says, “When’s the last time you slept?” Someone else says, “You’re really pale.”
Another voice. “Get him some water.”
“Should someone call an ambulance?”
“He doesn’t need an ambulance.”
Overlapping voices, talking to him and about him and it makes him feel small (not just because he’s currently sitting on the floor). He can feel himself getting overwhelmed, heart beat picking up, and he just wants to get out of here but he’s surrounded and everyone is staring at him.
And then Richie’s voice, cutting through the rest of the noise like a knife. “You haven’t seemed right since friends and family night.”
Something in Carmy snaps.
He looks up sharply.
“You left me in the fucking walk-in! You left me alone!”
Everyone goes silent and Carmy closes his eyes and it’s like he’s in there again, pounding on the door and pacing the tiny space and yelling and yelling but no one listens. Like he’s in there sitting alone with his phone and his heartbreak. He opens his eyes again, expecting Richie to say something--to argue, to defend himself. But he doesn’t. He just reaches up with the towel from Marcus and dabs it against Carmy’s forehead. Carmy flinches away, batting at Richie’s hand. Richie doesn’t say anything, just tries again. Carmy moves his head.
“Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Cousin,” Richie says quietly as Carmy dodges him again. “Cousin!”
He puts a hand on the back of Carmy’s head to keep him still and they make eye contact. Carmy isn’t sure what he expects to see in Richie’s expression--anger, or worse, pity. Instead, he sees guilt, and it surprises him. Richie presses the towel gently to the cut on Carmy’s forehead, and this time Carmy lets him.
“Service is in an hour,” Richie says. His voice lacks its usual weight, and he clears his throat. “Back to work!”
No one moves, and then Sydney says, “You heard him. Back to work!”
Everyone spurs into motion at once, moving around Carmy and Richie as they get back to their places. Richie ignores them, focusing intently on wiping the blood from Carmy’s head.
“There,” he says after a minute. “That looks better. You might want to put ice on there though, it’s already starting to swell. Won’t need stitches though…” He takes a deep breath, holds it, and then lets it out slowly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Listen, Carmy. I know you didn’t mean to hurt Claire.”
The words are like a sucker punch to the gut. Tears spring up in Carmy’s eyes and he blinks them furiously back.
“Anyway,” Richie continues. “You should go home and get some rest. I mean it. You look like shit. It’s a Tuesday, you know Tuesdays are slow.”
Carmy shakes his head. “You know I can’t--”
“Hey, Syd,” Richie calls, interrupting, and Sydney looks up. “Carmy needs to go home and sleep. We got this?”
Sydney nods. “Yeah, we got this. It’s Tuesday.”
Richie looks at Carmy with a smug expression. “See?”
Carmy heaves a sigh. He doesn’t feel good about leaving, but he also just doesn’t feel good. A hot shower and his bed sound really nice…
“Fine.”
“Good.” Richie helps him to his feet, and then the two of them walk to the back door. Richie stops when they get outside, so suddenly that Carmy almost runs into the back of him. He turns and Carmy is surprised to see that he’s crying.
“Cousin, you good?” Carmy says slowly.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about what I said that night,” Richie says. “I--” He laughs a little, a humorless, broken sound. “I wasn’t going to bring it up again because part of me hoped maybe--maybe you’d forget I even said it. But I know that’s bullshit.”
“Richie…”
“No, Carmy. I told you I wanted you to freeze to death. And then things have been so weird between us, and you’ve been so quiet and withdrawn, and I--” He lets out a harsh breath and puts a hand over his mouth. “I’ve been so scared that you--fuck.”
“What’re you…” He trails off as realization hits. “Mikey.”
Richie pulls him into a hug, and Carmy returns it.
“‘cept you are going somewhere,” Richie murmurs after a few seconds. “You’re going home to rest and put some ice on the goose egg on your head.”
Carmy snorts. “Yeah. But I’m coming back into work tomorrow.”
Richie releases him from his grip and takes a step back, swiping an arm across his nose. “Damn straight…I did mean one thing I said that night. I fucking love you, cousin.”
Carmy lifts one corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I fucking love you, too.”
You have this minute where you’re watching the fire and you’re thinking, “If I don’t do anything… this place will burn down, and all my anxiety will go away with it.” - The Bear s01e08
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