Say Anything

by menheratenshi

Summary:

Carl and Ron go to a stupid college house party, because what else is there to do.

Notes:

title is named after the song “say anything” by marianas trench! one of the best albums ever made imo

By the way this was very inspired by the roncarl fic “Additional Side Effects” by xxsmilexx, not exactly plotwise, but i adored the way the two were characterized and it made me have this idea! please go read it!

(i've never written roncarl or a modern twd au before so i'm still feeling around the writing style, sorry this is a bit different than my usual stuff i'll get the hang of it)

Chapter 1: Insurance

Carl and Ron had become really close around the time everything with Shane was going down, almost five years ago.

Carl was fifteen, back then. They’d been in school together a few years already but had rarely spoken to one another beyond pleasantries, the occasional hi and how are you? But it was that summer things changed – and they changed fast. 

Carl had invited Ron, Mikey, and Enid over, just to smoke some weed and play Call of Duty. He knew Ron because he knew Enid and the two of them had bonded over their obsession with first person shooters and his appreciation for her joint rolling skills, so when she asked if two others could come along, he trusted her judgement of them.

A few hours in, screaming and crashes erupted from downstairs. Carl had taken off his headset, practically threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a bang, only narrowly avoiding Enid’s head. Carl had thrown his bedroom door open and called out “Is everything okay?” from the doorway while the three others stared on.

There wasn’t a response, but he could make out a few muddied words from what sounded like his mother and Shane. A lot of fuck you and what the fuck is wrong with you?

This wasn’t a typical fight, certainly not the kind Rick and Lori usually had. At that moment what sounded like a lot of glass shattered and Shane screamed “you’re a crazy fucking bitch” and Carl bolted down the stairs. 

Despite the three blunts he had smoked that evening, he probably felt more sober in that second than he’d ever been in his life.

Shane had thrown a glass plate at his mother’s face. She was standing in the kitchen with a knife, now, trembling, as he came closer and closer to her.

“Get the fuck out of my house!” She screamed.

“Nah, you’re not gonna stab me. You really think the police force is gonna side with you over me?”

“My husband fucking will.”

Carl froze. For a moment he had no fucking idea what to do. Get between them, run, call for help? Could he fight him long enough for one of the people upstairs to call the police, hold him off for long enough that his dad would come home before anyone got hurt?

Before he could make a decision Lori saw her son standing in the kitchen doorway and her face fell. Her grip on the knife slackened. “Carl, you’re home?”

“Yes. What the fuck happened?”

“Nothing. Nothing, big guy,” Shane quickly asserted, “Your mom and me are just having a little spat. Go back upstairs.”

“No.” Carl took a step forward, “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I didn’t do nothing.”

It was now that he noticed his mother was crying, and she had a splitted gash running blood down her forehead, starting just above her left eyebrow. “Carl, call your dad and tell him to get home right now.”

“What did you do to her?”

Shane didn’t get a single word out before she responded.

“He raped me. I need you to go, get a phone, and call your dad right now. Can you do that for me?”

His heart felt as if it had stopped. Whatever protective veil had been in his mind before – the ability to think maybe what happened isn’t that –  was pierced like a needle through skin and his thoughts had come pouring out.

Carl wasn’t usually what you would call brave.

He got scared. A lot of times and over stupid things. He’d often find himself curled up in a ball in the corner of his room because he got a bad grade he was too afraid to show, or he was scared his parents were going to divorce, or that the boys at school would think he was weird.

But right then he didn’t feel like himself. He felt like the earth was coming down on his head and another soul had morphed itself into his body.

He strode forward and beat his fists against the man’s chest, screaming into his face, “Get the fuck out of our house!” 

Carl didn’t like to think about what happened after that.

Well, it wasn’t exactly that he didn’t like to think about it.

It was that he couldn’t.

If he did, he couldn’t breathe, and he couldn’t stop crying, and he would say things that he didn’t really mean. He would find himself remembering distressing flashes of red; knuckles locking against his teeth; his mother screaming and skin pulling; his head slamming against a wall.

What stood moderately clear throughout all of it was that, at some point, all his friends had gone home except for Ron, and his father had taken his mother to the hospital after calling the rest of his force to the house and removing Shane from it. A few of Rick’s coworkers stood on their porch for the rest of the night as a protective measure. Ron had promised Rick he’d look after his son until they got back, and he had.

“It’s okay, I know how to do this stuff.” Ron had said in a quiet, as-gentle-as-he-could-manage voice. He had sat Carl down on the bathroom counter, wrapped the fluttery white parts over his wounds beneath some beige gauze. 

“My dad’s gonna fucking kill him. Oh my god, my dad is gonna go to jail.”

“Uh, isn’t your dad the sheriff? How would that work?”

“Yes, but I–” Carl sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, sputtering out his words between sobs, “If I had just told someone about what Shane was doing to me before, he wouldn’t have been able to hurt my mom. I know my dad would have done something. He wouldn’t have been allowed over here anymore a long time ago.”

If Ron was surprised, he didn’t show it. He hardly even blinked at the information. 

Carl didn’t know this back then, but he was… desensitized to the kind of thing. Ron wasn’t the sort of person who’d clutch his pearls at the mention of abuse and dance around the topic, or to avoid ever using the word rape. To him it was just another fact of life, in the same way as a car accident or a shooting. Really bad, still, but it happens. “You couldn’t have known that.”

He couldn’t really breathe – but it didn’t matter.

Shane had been doing the same to him for years at this point – but it didn’t matter.

What mattered was that it happened to his mother. After Shane had promised nobody would get hurt, as long as he didn’t tell anyone. 

“Still, though. This is my fault.”

Ron paused. “Don’t say that, man. It’s not your fault. It’s his.”

 

—

 

In another world maybe he could have fixed things. Maybe his mother wouldn’t have had to get hurt because he was too afraid to speak up. But after four years of therapy and hours-long talks with his dad, things were okay. 

His dad had found him the best therapist he could, at least from what was available in the very small area consisting of King County – a kind old man named Dale who had experienced a very similar situation as a kid, so he could understand well enough.

Carl had dropped out of high school shortly after the incident, which his parents weren’t really happy about, but they stopped nagging him once he managed to bullshit his way into getting a GED. He then found a job at a nearby sandwich shop, which he was, honestly, only barely holding onto, but it was the best he could do, they knew that.

And, of course, Ron. Ron had stuck to him like glue ever since.

 

–

 

Carl pressed the phone to his ear. “What?”

He had been cooking pasta on the stove (or, well, trying ) when his phone started ringing. 

“Hello to you too,” Ron laughed from the other end as he pressed his phone to his ear, “I’m coming over.”

“Okay? You know you don’t need my permission,” Carl sighed as he poured more noodles into the boiling water. He could never get the amount right, and the sauce from the other burner was bubbling and springing up. He turned the heat down, but it wasn’t helping.

“Well I was warning you, just in case you’re busy.”

“I’m not.”

“Are Lori and Rick home?”

“Uh, no. They’re out for a date night,” Carl clarified.

“Shit, I forgot it was Valentine's day.”

“Aww, why,” Carl chuckled, “were you gonna get me a bouquet? Maybe some wine? Chocolate shaped like hearts?”

“Fuck off.”

“I can set out doilies, too. I’m making us a romantic dinner.”

Static crackled from the other side of the phone, “I’ll be over in ten, asshole.”

Carl had made way too much spaghetti. He got a container from the cupboard and forced the lid on the extra he had made but it kept popping back up around the edges, and by the time Ron got home he had just poured it back into the pot and stuck it in the fridge. Rick would probably get drunk watching the game with his coworkers and eat it later.

Carl had just finished his meager portion when Ron came barreling into the living room, and even over the Netflix blasting from the TV he could hear him huffing and sniffling. Without looking up from his bowl Carl shoved the last heap into his mouth with chopsticks and said while chewing, “Did you run over here?”

He didn’t say anything. Carl stood up and turned to him, abandoning his utensils on the coffee table. Ron’s nose was bloodied, and a crescent-moon of a bruise was beginning to form along his jaw.

Carl gestured to his face. “Pete?” 

“No, the empress fucking Cleopatra, who do you think?” Ron walked past him, fast, cut down the hall and into the bathroom. 

Carl followed and watched him from the doorway. Ron knew the Grimes’ house well, probably better than his own. Rick had given him a key without a word the second time he’d come over with visible injuries, and since then, he spent more time at their house than anywhere else.

Nobody really minded, although it did get a bit awkward when Carl’s parents got into one of their weekly screaming matches. 

In the first few months since the incident, Rick drowned himself in his work. He did everything he could to gather evidence for the prosecution. There wasn’t much of it – especially less considering he refused to let Carl testify, he knew how hard the court could be on sexual assault victims, and he didn’t want it impacting his recovery – luckily Lori’s rape kit had been enough. 

Shane got two years.

Only two years.

And most of that time was from the assault and battery charges directed toward a minor, courtesy of Ron and Lori’s testimony.

“Uh, you do remember that time you got into a fight with Mikey and had a black eye for two weeks?” Carl pried. “It’s not insane to assume it could have been something else this time.”

Ron grabbed a washcloth from the rack and wetted it before cleaning the blood from his face in front of the mirror. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Wanna finish the first season of Invader Zim with me?”

Ron stared at his reflection, a slight smile hiking up the corners of his lips. “I feel like you’re watching that show every time I come over.”

“It’s a masterpiece!” 

 

They were halfway through The Dark Harvest when Ron suddenly looked over at him and said, “So, there’s this house party going on tonight.”

Carl paused the episode and turned to look at him, a furrow in his brow. His parents had gone bar hopping after their dinner, probably just trying to feel like the kids they were when they first got married, and before much of anything bad happened. They’d be out a while and Carl was looking forward to a quiet night in, but it seemed Ron had other plans. He responded, a bit sarcastically, “Okay?”

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go. Nothing else to do.”

Carl shrugged, “We could just sit here and get drunk. Paid this scrawny blonde fucker, I dunno if you remember him, Dwight? The husband of that girl from the support group I used to go to? Anyway he was at the gas station and I asked him to run in and get me some stuff a few days ago.”

Ron grinned, laying his head back against the couch, “Or, we could stand awkwardly in the corner of a house we don’t live in and get drunk.”

Carl scoffed and stood up. It was a Saturday night and, well, there was nothing better to do. 

“Okay, fine. Why not.”

 

Carl turned the key in the ignition.

The car didn't start. It sputtered and stopped and Carl beat his fists against the steering wheel, a bit dramatically. “Oh, come on, you stupid piece of shit. Work. ”

Ron slammed the door of the passenger seat and put his feet up on the dash, “You really need to get this thing fixed.”

The car was given to him by Dwight – again, always trying to be the good guy – but it was half-fixed (at best) from his junkyard, rust encapsulating a decent chunk of the outside. Sherry had apparently used it in college ten years ago, and no fucking wonder because it ran like shit.

“Yeah, with what money?” Carl tried again. Nothing. 

“Don’t you have a job?”

“A really shitty one,” He retorted. Trying a third time the engine eventually came to life, and he tore out of the driveway, “Can you put one of the CD’s in the player?”

“Which one?”

“I don’t care."

Ron picked Nirvana, of course. It had been his favorite band since third grade.

Carl recognized the scratchy syllables at the beginning of Marigold perfectly. That song wasn’t supposed to go at the beginning of the album but this was a rip Ron had made for him a few months ago, burned it himself. 

“Is Enid gonna be there?”

“The party?” Ron tilted his head as he rolled down the passenger seat window, “As far as I know, no, and why would I care if she was? We broke up a year ago.”

“Just wondering why you wanted to go so badly.”

It had been around eight months since they’d hung out with her – even if invited, she didn’t want to come, as the breakup had apparently been pretty messy, or at least that was Carl’s assumption from an outside perspective – but Carl wouldn’t have been surprised if Ron wanted to see her again, even from a distance. She was a pretty girl, and the two were together for a long time, at least by their standards.

“I don’t . I just wanted to find something to do, and honestly, you’re nice to have at parties.”

“Well, one good thing about going with me is, if it gets too crazy and we get busted,” Carl laughed, “You can pretty much guarantee neither of us are getting arrested. I’m insurance.”

“I think your dad still has a line.”

“Well, obviously.”

“What do you think that line is?”

“Uhh..” Carl shrugged, “I dunno. He’s looked past a lot of shit I’ve done. I think he feels guilty about… You know.”

“Yeah.”

Chapter 2: Black Cherry

“If you really don’t wanna go, you don’t have to,” Ron clarified, biting onto his bottom lip, “I mean, I know a give you a lot of shit, but–”

“No, it’s okay. I’m glad you talked me into getting out of the house, honestly.”

As soon as they pulled into the driveway and shut the engine off, the car made a very odd noise.

Carl decided to throw the keys back into the ignition and try to start it again, which might have been stupid, but his suspicions were confirmed when it refused to jolt back to life no matter how many times he turned it.

It’d probably cost more to get the thing fixed than to just buy a new car eventually. Carl didn’t know much about cars, but he knew this one was probably gonna be beyond saving. “Fuck it, let’s deal with it later. If Mikey’s here, maybe he can give us a ride home.”

King County was in a small town. Good enough chance someone they knew would be here.

“That’d be awkward. I’d rather just call an uber.”

“Again, with what money?” Carl slammed the door as he stepped out, “I have ten dollars in the bank until Friday.”

The house was pretty big. It was in a neighborhood not too far from Carl’s – maybe ten blocks – two stories with a wrap-around porch. Carl started walking toward the steps when Ron ran up behind him and said, “Jesus, you already spent your whole paycheck? It’s Saturday.”

“Dad needed help with bills and I only work part time, so yeah, between that and the beer, that’s it.” He pulled the door handle open and music and laughter and the rumble of voices spilled out into the street. There were many more people here than he would have thought.

“Well, I guess we can worry about it once we actually wanna leave.”

“What?” Carl yelled back. The bass felt as if it were shaking the walls – in the entryway was a pile of coats and shoes. Crowds of people littered the living room.

“I guess we can worry about it when we actually wanna leave!” He repeated, yelling over the music.

Carl dramatically threw his hands in the air, “Let’s hope it doesn’t fucking suck!”

And, as if God himself had materialized her just to piss Carl off, was Enid, within the bounds of a small group chatting in the kitchen over beer pong. 

“I thought you said she wasn’t gonna be here,” Carl said, turning to Ron.

“I mean, I didn’t know for sure. I didn’t text her to ask. Wouldn’t it have been weirder if I had actually asked?” Ron retorted, practically screaming into his ear,  “And why do you care?”

“Let’s just go get a cup.” Carl took his hand and led him past the living room, bumping shoulders with crowds of college students along the way. When they reached the kitchen he bolted right to the fridge, but Ron hung back. 

Enid turned to Ron with a wide-eyed stare. A few of her friends took her hand – a subtle sign of asking if she was okay, but she just brushed them off and replied, “Oh. Ron. Hi.”

Carl grabbed them both a bottle of Mike’s from the fridge, listening in on the conversation. The alcohol was pretty weak percentage wise, but there were a ton of bottles still in there, along with two full things of vodka. 

Where people got the money to throw these sorts of events, he had no idea. Three cases of Mike’s was sixty dollars. Two bottles of bar-grade vodka was forty. All together…

“Hey, Enid. Happy Valentine's Day.” Ron suddenly said, cutting off his thoughts.

Oh Jesus christ, he’s an idiot.

Enid’s brows furrowed. She glanced at her friends and back at Ron and mumbled, “Um.. Thanks?”

Carl chugged down the rest of his drink. It was going to be a long night.

“Uh.. Yeah, I’m just here with Carl, I didn’t know you were here like I swear I didn’t mean to bother you and–”

Carl turned on his heel – very quickly – and hurried toward the two of them, feeling he really needed to save the situation. Ron was so awkward he was practically digging himself into a hole.

“Got you a beer, here.” Carl shoved it into his hand. 

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Oh.. Hi, Carl.” Enid’s gaze softened, “How’s your mom?”

It was with a barely-hidden cringe Carl remembered how easily information got out in this town. How probably everyone here already knew what had happened. Especially considering Shane was a cop.

And he was now walking free.

“She’s fine. Good.” Carl nodded, reaching into the fridge for another beer, one he’d probably drink a lot slower this time.

“That’s good.” 

“Well, we should get moving, huh?” Carl turned to Ron, “Let’s take a smoke break. You have some spliffs, right?”

“Always.”

 

Out on the back porch, things were a lot quieter. The cicadas hissed and whirred and the noises of the party faded to a comfortable dim constant humming – which would have been very nice if peace and quiet for Carl didn’t also mean getting all in his head. He took a drag of the weed-laden cigarette and watched the grass and trees of the forest behind the house writhe in the wind, pushing his bangs from his face as it blew them over his eyes.

Ron leaned over the railing of the porch, one leg up on the first support beam. He looked to Carl and said, “I’m not still.. Into her. I just wanted to make sure she was okay. I’m kind of.. Bad at that sometimes.”

Carl shrugged, took a sip of his black cherry-flavored beer, and said, “You don’t need to apologize. I don’t care if you’re still into her or not.”

Nope. Why would I? I totally don’t.

(He totally does.)

Ron cleared his throat uncomfortably and mumbled, “I’m just saying I’m not, alright. I shouldn’t really be with anyone, anyway.”

Carl’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Too many reasons for them to worry,” Ron tilted his head, not once looking over at Carl, “It’s kinda hard to be tied to someone for life in that way when their dad’s beating them every night. Plus I’m bad at words. I’m bad at–”

“Ron, stop.”

“What?”

“What Pete does isn’t your fault. It doesn’t make you unlovable.”

“No–No, I know that. I know. That isn’t what I’m saying. I’m saying even though it isn’t my fault he’s a huge piece of shit, whoever I’m with is always gonna live with so much worry every time I go home for the night. And it’s not like I can leave. I have to take care of my mom and Sam,” He mumbled, and, with a small chuckle, added, “No rescue operation for me.”

Carl felt a hand twist around his heart, skipping beats like fingers curling, restricting blood flow. The worst part was that Carl knew exactly what he was talking about. 

He didn’t tell his father about Shane for the longest time – not until he absolutely had to – and not because he thought Rick wouldn’t believe him. Not because he thought his father would see him any lesser…

But because Rick would then know how much he failed. He’d failed to protect him. The monster under the bed and the creature in the hallway Carl used to sob endlessly about as a kid, peeling the skin off of his hands in his panic attacks and rubbing his skin until it burned raw, wasn’t a child’s imagination at all. It wasn’t anxiety or OCD like the doctors suggested. It was Rick’s best friend since middle school. Carl’s godfather, his babysitter. The man that had been allowed free access to his son since birth.

Carl reached for Ron’s hand. He held it in his and laid his head on his shoulder and said, “We’re just lucky enough to even know you. And one day, you’re gonna take Sam and you’re going to get out. Or your mom will leave Pete, or he’ll get into a bar fight or a car accident that’s the final nail in the coffin and go to prison. It won’t be like this forever.”

It won’t be like this forever.

That could have been a lie. Carl didn’t really know; it was impossible to know. But he hoped, even if selfish, that in this moment, this moment isolated, the thought made his best friend feel better. The pipe dream of safety that the both of them so desperately wanted. For only a moment they could just pretend they were already there, free from scary men and pain and bad memories, soaring off in some other plane of existence where safety wasn’t even considered. 

It just was.