Work Text:
He’s like a ghost cursed to wander the shores, forever trying to atone for what he’s done.
It’s very quiet, and it’s very cold.
-
Carmy had insisted she take the bed, and Sugar wouldn’t have been surprised if an argument then just split him in half. She recalled his eyes being glassy and red-rimmed, his hands shaking from both cold and anxiety, and his voice sounding soft and hoarse.
When they were sitting in the car with the heat blasting and him refusing to elaborate any further than, “I fucked up. I’m sorry,” naturally, she used up the last ounces of energy she had on telling him that he’d be just fine. Eventually, they both meandered their way up to his apartment where she piled him in blankets. Sugar waited until she saw his eyes droop closed before she curled up in Carmy’s bed, covered by the thinnest blanket he owned.
Sugar had somewhat of an idea of the soul-sucking stress that goes into a service at a restaurant. She’d spent years and years listening to Mikey, the gentle, personable, infallible Mikey Bear, suddenly start shouting like the swift snap of a rubber band. Tomorrow, though, she determined that she’d have to complain that no one warned her about how immensely high stakes everything feels when you’re in the thick of that little kitchen bubble.
So needless to say, she was out like a light. Any plans she had of periodically checking on Carmy were stamped out from the moment her head hit the pillow. When she woke up early the following morning to the sound of honking on the road outside, she suddenly became aware that she hadn’t been woken up at all during the night.
She rushed out to the living room with as light footsteps as she could manage and peeked over the couch. All she found was a wad of blankets on the floor in front of it. Despite the violent drop in her stomach, she tried to convince herself that he could still obviously be somewhere around here.
She checked the kitchen, the bathroom, and his closet before considering her panic to be warranted. Sugar called Carmy and sat down on the couch, fingers rubbing over her earrings and smoothing over her hair. A few rings passed, and the inconsiderate son of a bitch refused the call.
She texted, ‘where are you?’
She called again, but it just timed out.
She texted, ‘Carm I swear to fucking god just tell me you’re ok’
He texted, ‘I’m ok’
She mentally cursed him with a level of brutality that hadn’t been seen since he “accidentally” splattered boiling oil all over Pete’s arm a couple years back.
She called. It timed out. She rubbed at her cheek, trying to stay in the present instead of going from how she’s going to chew him out when she sees him again to considering if she’ll see him again.
She called another 3 times before she figured this wasn’t getting her anywhere. It only took a couple rings for Richie to pick up.
“Sugar, what the fuck? It’s… it isn’t even 5 in the morning.”
“I lost Carmy,” she admitted.
“You- shit . Okay… that motherfucker.”
“I couldn’t find him anywhere, and all I’ve heard from him was ‘I’m ok,’ and I have a little fucking inkling that he’s lying on that one.”
“ Motherfucker ,” he growled, pinching the space between his eyebrows, “Okay, any guesses of where that little shit ran off to?”
“Bear, probably,” she breathed out a tense sigh, “I already know he’s going to be having a crisis when we get there.”
“Hasn’t gone a day of his life without one.”
She laughed bitterly, “So fucking true, Cousin… Okay, I’m heading to my car now.”
“Good luck, Cousin. I’ll help blow up his phone.”
“Thank you.”
-
Carmy had fallen asleep maybe an hour or two after Sugar collapsed into his bed, but a little less than an hour after that, he jolted awake. He dreamt that everyone was trapped in the walk-in and that it was all his fault. When he woke up, his skin still didn’t have the warmth of someone living.
While Sugar slept, completely unaware, he scrubbed the floors of his bathroom and kitchen, watched food network, chainsmoked until he lost count of what cig he was on (it was only 4, but he wasn’t even good at keeping track of things under normal circumstances), and felt like he was being suffocated.
That was when he resolved to get the hell out of his apartment. With his phone and pack of cigarettes shoved in his coat pocket, he softly closed his front door behind him at 4:36 am. There was something constricting his lungs and still a chill pricking his skin, but he had a fucking mission here to not die from the guilt twisting in his stomach.
In his ragged pursuit, he was almost run over as he dashed across the half-abandoned roads. A honk blaring and a car screeching to a stop maybe 5 feet to his left was far from what he needed right now, but he understood. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
He continued his bolting to the one place it always felt quiet. When he met eyes with the waves lapping against the shore, he took something resembling a real breath.
A soft ringing started in his pocket and spread out over the sound of the waves. His brow pinched together and his stomach twisted further as he tapped to decline her call. He let his hand hang by his hip, the sand below him dimming when his screen turned off. When it illuminated it again, he held his breath.
Sugar (4:47 AM) Where are you?
He blinked out at the horizon and rubbed at his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to be here, but everyone knows he’s not really made to be anywhere. It used to be “anywhere but a kitchen,” but it’s been a very long night.
He let another call ring out.
Sugar (4:51 AM): Carm I swear to fucking god just tell me you’re ok
He wondered how much worse guilt and shame and adrenaline could twist his stomach in sharp knots before he was gripping his knees for stability and voiding nothing but water and acid.
Carmy (4:52 AM): I’m ok
He flipped it to silent before he shoved his phone back in his pocket and drew in another shuddering breath. The moon’s reflection on the water shifted and contorted. Wind whistled past and made his cheeks sting and his eyes water. It was dark and quiet, and he believed, without a doubt in his mind, that The Bear and everyone in it would be better off without him.
-
Sugar’s trembling hands fumbled with the keys for a second before bursting through the doors of The Bear. Her eyes glided over the tables, giving a glance to every booth which all revealed nothing. It made sense; she figured he’d be in the back. She flicked the lights on and squinted into the pristine white kitchen. Every station was perfectly clear, and the only sound was her quick footsteps to the office. It was untouched, and she felt she was going to cry or kick something so hard she broke her foot.
The walk-in and the bathrooms were both deathly quiet. The parking lot was empty aside from the van which at least meant he was only within walking distance. She went back in and pressed her back into the wall beside the walk-in.
In some last resort, she called his name into the empty building. The answer she received was her phone ringing from her pocket, making her flinch into the wall.
“Any luck?” Richie asked, his voice tight.
“No, nothing, The Bear’s completely empty,” she explained almost indignantly, “ God , where else could he be?”
“I don’t know… fuck, I don’t know what to do.”
“Should we like report him as missing? Should we get a search party going?”
“No, it’s a grown ass man running away from home, not a kidnapping.”
“But is he…” she huffed. “I’m just really worried. He was so down on himself last night.”
A moment of silence passed before Richie realized, “Shit, you think he’s at the bridge?”
“Couldn’t hurt to check,” she decided, straightening up.
“Mind picking me up?”
“Not at all.”
-
His heart had been hammering so hard for so long his ribs were starting ache from the assault. If he looked closely enough, he could make out his frozen breath against his view of the inky black waves. He held his hands out in front of him, fingers stinging and red, even if they’d been shielded by his pockets.
His stomach was knotted, his eyes were red-rimmed, and his surroundings were horribly quiet.
He wanted to freeze his fingers off. He wanted to walk into the frigid water and never come home. He wanted to be eaten alive, thick claws dug in while its teeth tore into his flesh. He wanted to hurt himself in the names of everyone he’s hurt. He wanted to be unrecognizable as Carmy Berzatto, the worst person alive. He wanted his existence to be wiped off the map. He wanted for no one to make the mistake of missing him.
He didn’t want to be owner of The Bear or for anyone who worked there to know him. He didn’t deserve it.
He sucked in ragged breaths and shoved his hands back in his pockets. His head tilted back, and his eyes squeezed shut. This wasn’t good. His teeth tore through the inside of his mouth.
He knew he was the worst person alive, but this wasn’t good.
He placed his phone to his ear and rung out his other hand.
He mumbled, “Hi Sugar,” and there seemed to be some commotion on the other end.
“Where are you? What’s going on?”
“I don’t…” he breathed a sigh out through his nose, “I don’t know what to do.”
“About what, Bear?”
“I fucked up, a lot. I don’t know.”
“And we’ll forgive you.”
“Why?” He whispered.
“Because we love you, and you’re trying.”
“There,” he cleared his throat and went quieter, ashamed to admit it, “I’ve been thinking there has to be something out there that won’t make me do stupid shit, and I won’t feel like this anymore.”
“Do you actually want to find something new, or are you just running from us?”
He huffed a soft laugh and responded, “Uh both, I think?”
“You can learn how to both be a chef and not feel like that.”
“You seem so sure.”
“Seems pretty doable.”
He shook his head even if she couldn’t see it.
“You don’t have to be miserable all the time,” she murmured.
“I don’t- I don’t deserve good shit, Sugar. I tried to just-just find something nice, and now, I just… I’m fucking everything up.”
“God, you’re not fucking everything up. You made some mistakes, but you can fix them. But anyway… I’m sure you can find something that makes you happy that doesn’t keep you from cooking. You deserve good shit.”
He blinked, gnawing at the skin behind his bottom lip. He has never, in his entire life, found something pure and healthy that fell into both categories.
“It’s possible, I’m telling you,” she said, reading his mind and trying to shut it up.
She wasn’t all that successful, but she knew her chances were shit from the start.
“I uh… I know it’s a really shitty thing to do, but I still want to run away from you guys. Sorry.”
“We need you, Bear. Always.”
“You-you got through months of renovations, and-and-and you basically did Friends and Family without me.”
“Out of necessity. We’re better with you, you’re what holds that whole place together-”
“Just-just stop, please .”
“Only if you agree to come back.”
“How would- how would I even… I failed everyone.”
“You… you make up with everyone, you let us help you when something’s going on,” she listed slowly, “maybe you finally let me help you get into therapy. But first, you tell me where you are.”
He paused for a second, ran a hand through his hair, and breathed out uncertainly, “Oak Street Beach.”
“See you soon, Bear.”
“Okay.”
He crouched down to the sand below, feeling his breathing come a little easier, his heart beat a little softer. It was still horribly quiet, so he knew his tether to this semi-calm state was tenuous. He decided he needed a distraction.
-
“Oh shit, is that him? I think that’s fucking him!” Richie called out, hand pressed against the glass of the passenger side window.
“Holy shit, okay I know you guys got into that massive argument, but you can talk things through when he’s not having a mental breakdown. Okay?” she said as she pulled into a parking lot.
“Deal.”
-
When Sugar said with relief, “Carmy!” He damn near lost his balance.
He stood up and turned to face them, sand stuck into the knees of his pants. He was still holding the stick, but the moment his eyes became level with theirs, Sugar embraced him. Her arms wrapped tightly across his back, and she buried her face in his shoulder. Richie wrapped an arm around him which was enough to make him go teary-eyed.
“I’m sorry.”
“We can deal with that later, Cousin. Scared the shit out of us.”
“Yeah fuck,” Sugar gave a watery laugh, “If I ask, ‘where are you?’ promise me you’ll tell me right away. We searched half the fuckin city.”
“I promise.”
“And you’re completely freezing again,” Sugar fussed and rubbed a hand up and down his back.
“I know,” he whispered.
Richie released Carmy to look at what he had been working on.
“ Shit , Cousin.”
“What?” Sugar asked, also stepping back but refusing to take a hand off his shoulder.
In the sand, Carmy had started a portrait maybe 3x2 feet of Michael. Only a small section of the hair had been filled in, but the squint he got when he smiled wide enough and the way his canines poked out just a little from the rest of his teeth were undeniably his.
“It’s-it’s not done, and I didn’t use a reference, so-“
“Cousin, stop talking,” Richie mumbled, entranced by it.
Sugar nodded softly, “It’s beautiful.”
He sniffed and looked down at it. He hoped Michael knew they missed him and didn’t think it was a mistake to. Sugar pressed her head into his shoulder, and Richie placed a steady hand on his back.
“Fuck, okay,” Sugar blinked, “You’re freezing. C’mon Carmy.”
Sugar dragged him off to the car, and Richie took a picture of the drawing before catching up to them. With the heat blasting once again, they started driving Carmy home.