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“Um. So.” Ramsay stared down at the child in front of him. He was scrawny, all russet curls and dark eyes. Judgemental eyes. The boy was wearing pink stilettos for some reason and it added about five inches to his little frame. Ramsay, being short and stocky, was slightly intimidated by this boy and his heels. “So...you’re Rickon, right?”
Rickon nodded suspiciously. “I’m seven.”
“Oh. Cool.” He stared at Rickon. Rickon stared at him. Ramsay wondered how long it would be before Theon got back. The two of them had been fooling around upstairs in the Stark home. It had been hot as fuck. He’d lifted his lanky boyfriend up, legs around his waist, back slammed against the wall. Tongues licking filthy into each others’ mouths, snarling and biting like wild animals. Sucking bruises into each other’s necks, Theon pulling his hair out at the root. Worshiping Theon’s black eye with his tongue -- which is kind of gross, but somehow so fucking sexy -- and then the little weirdo had walked up the stairs sobbing because “EVERYONE HAS A LOVER BUT ME!”
Yeah, so apparently the littlest Stark was jealous of the fact that all of his brothers and sisters had significant others but him. He felt like nobody loved him. It had all built up so fast that he’d lost it. So Theon had gone to make the brat some macaroni and cheese and left him with Ramsay. That was very possibly the worst idea anyone had ever had. Ever. Ramsay hated little kids. He hated big kids. He hated pretty much everybody but Theon.
He reclined on Theon’s bed. Rickon was still standing in the corner, next to a giant fish tank. One dark eye was on the colorful fish drifting back and forth, the other was on Ramsay himself. Theon’s room was always dark except for a couple lamps and the fishtank. Rickon looked like a little horror movie kid in the shadows. “Um. Nice shoes.”
“They’re stilettos.”
“Oh.”
“It’s okay.”
“Um. Where’d you get them?”
“Sansa. She’s my big sister.”
“Oh.”
“She has a boyfriend.” Rickon sighed heavily. “ Everyone has a boyfriend.”
“I guess.”
Staring, staring, staring into Ramsay’s soul. What a spooky kid. For lack of something better to do, he patted the space beside him on Theon’s bed. “Uh. You can come up here if you want. Those shoes must be hurting your feet.” In response, he got a stare. A very long and drawn-out and creepy stare.
Finally, Rickon sighed. “My stilettos don’t hurt. But okay.” He walked over to the bed and clambered on, then methodically took his shoes off, one after the other. He was less creepy up close. After carefully placing them on the carpeted floor, he appeared to be considering something.
“What?”
With the sigh of a world-weary man, Rickon Stark snuggled into Ramsay’s side.
Ramsay tensed. He was pretty sure no one had ever snuggled with him before. Maybe Dom had. But he didn’t want to think about that. Dad sure as hell didn’t like to touch him. It was some weird masculinity thing. Even if their fingers brushed while they gutted an animal, he’d flinch. He had an inkling that his granddad had been like Dom. Maybe that’s why Dad’s affection was sterile and distant at best. Well, he cuddled with Theon, but it wasn’t all lovey dovey like this. It took him a minute to realize that Rickon was crying. He carefully put an arm around the little boy. “C’mon, kid, don’t cry.”
“Buh-buh-but Ramsay ,” Rickon sobbed, all traces of sinister gone, “nuh-nobody loves me! I don’t have a lover like everybody else.”
Ramsay tried not to laugh. “Kid, don’t say ‘lover.’ It’s gross. Look, just ‘cause you're not dating anyone doesn’t mean no one loves you. You’re way too young to be dating anyway.” He carded his fingers through the boy’s hair. “You don’t need romantic love. Plenty of people love you. Your mom and dad, Theon, Robb, Bran and Arya--”
“ But Arya left! ” Rickon wailed. He shoved his snotty face into Ramsay’s armpit.
Oh, God. Ew. Snotty little boys who didn’t wipe their noses or wash their hands or -- he started to gag. He drew Rickon away from his armpit. “Okay, look at me.” The little boy scrambled onto Ramsay’s chest and laid down so their bodies were pressed flush against one another. His face was right up in Ramsay’s.
“I’m looking.”
“Okay, yeah, I see that. You’re...really close.”
He wiped his eyes with a fist. He sort of looked like he would cry again.
“About Arya,” Ramsay said quickly. “I shouldn’t be the one explaining this to you. That should be your mom or something. But look -- Arya left because she’s a big kid. She’s really good at dancing and she got noticed by the right people. So now she goes to school in New York and she’s really happy. She could be a famous dancer --”
“I know all that!” Rickon howled. “But she left me.”
“I know this doesn’t make sense, but Arya left so she could be happier. New York will be good for her.”
“But I’m not happy.”
“Kid, Arya can’t live her whole life just trying to make you happy. That’s not fair. Our lives are about making ourselves happy, and then making other people happy. Or something like that.” Ramsay had never fancied himself much of an advice-giver. He was pretty sure he didn’t believe in anything he was saying.
Rickon sniffled. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. She left and now she’s gone.”
“Kid, grow up a little.” Rickon frowned. He looked like he was about to start whining. “Listen to me. Even if you didn’t listen to anything I said before. Listen to me now. Not everyone can stay all the time. Even if you really, really love them. Even if you really, really want them to stay. More than anything.” Jesus Christ, how long does it take to make some fucking mac and cheese? “I had a brother who left me too, when I was a little older than you, and it made me really sad.”
“You did?” Rickon had stopped staring at him and had instead laid his head on Ram’s chest. He wrapped his skinny little arms around him.
“Yeah, his name is -- uh Dom.”
“How come he left?” Rickon murmured into his chest.
“It’s sort of complicated. He’s my half-brother, y’know, we’ve got different moms. Dom was...a lot nicer than me.”
“I think you’re nice.”
“Well, thanks. That’s nice of you. I mean, when I was little, I was pretty awful. I liked to do bad things. My brain was -- uh, is -- sick, so I...hurt people sometimes. I don’t mean to, kid, and I won’t hurt you.” How to tell a rich child who’d never faced any problems that he suffered from bipolar psychosis with a sprinkling of PTSD and depression without scaring him. That was a new one.
“I know,” Rickon said seriously. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me. You’re good, Ramsay. You haven’t left me and you’re nice to Theon.”
Ramsay was stunned. He’d never...no one had ever...trusted him like this. Even Theon had his moments of distrust or suspicion. To be regarded by this innocent little kid with affection and kindness. It was new. It was unsettling.
“Keep telling about your brother.”
“Uh, right. Well, my dad was okay with my awfulness, because he’s a strong man. He thinks that if you get your business successful and work hard, then it doesn’t matter what you do when you’re alone or in your private life or whatever. We work in a taxidermy shop. It’s not fancy and we’re not super rich, but we make a good living. We’re strong. Our blades are sharp. But, see, Dom didn’t like it. He didn’t like that I was turning -- well, he said I was rotten inside, so he tried to fix me. To get the rot out --” His throat clenched hard. Remember your breathing, remember your counting. What the years of therapy had taught him. He peered at the fishtank and hesitantly put an arm around the child on his chest. “He was okay at first,” he said to the ceiling. “He meant well. But when he tried to fix me -- you see, he -- Dom did some bad things to me. And our dad found out and sent him away.”
I love you, Rams. C’mon, don’t gimme that sad face, baby. Say you love me. Say it, c’mon. Say it. SAY IT, GOD DAMN YOU!
I l-love you! I -- I l-love you too!
STOP FUCKING STUTTERING. It's weak.
I'm -- I'm trying, I swear.
Then say you love me and don't stutter.
I l-l-love you...
Fuck! You're a disappointment. And stop fucking crying, fag! Boltons don’t cry.
S-s-sorry...
Boltons don’t apologize, you little bitch!
I -- I’m...sorry?
Ah, don’t worry, Rams. You’re not really a true Bolton. Your mom’s just some whore, right? Say it. Say ‘My mom’s a whore.’
My -- my mom is a --a whore.
I can’t believe you’d say that. That’s a sick thing to say. That’s terrible.
But--but you s-said to!
Don’t argue with me, slut. It’s sick. Just like you. You like to do bad things. You skin cats and peep at littler kids. I saw you looking when Tommy Sanchez was in the bathroom. I saw what happened to Mrs. Chung’s cat. It looked like someone had turned it inside out. They said coyotes got to it, but I recognize bite patterns. It was a little boy. A sick little boy.
No --! I didn’t m-mean to! It wasn’t on p-p-purpose, I p-promise. My brain just told me to.
Exactly. Because your brain is full of rot. Your insides are like rotten meat. They stink . They’re festering and full of sickness. And we have to get all that sickness out of you, huh?
Y-yeah...
Take off your pants.
“Ramsay! I SAID what bad things did he do to you?”
Ramsay was rocketed into the present and realized his whole body was shaking. “Hold on a second,” he choked out. He held his breath and counted to twenty. Thought of the little kid on his chest, the kid who believed in him and said he was a good person. He thought of Theon downstairs, his loving boyfriend who was so sweet he’d make his bratty little brother macaroni and cheese in the middle of a makeout session. He was back.
“He hurt me, but he was sick too. I forgive him. It was a long time ago. A-anyway, let’s talk about that another day, huh? How about we talk more about you, kid? Your love thing. I -- I dunno what I was saying -- but...you’re very loved. And not everyone can stay all the time, but it doesn’t mean they don’t love you. Even if Arya is across the world, she still loves you.”
“She does?”
Ramsay nodded. “Of course she does.”
“Do you love me?”
“Uh -- uh, yeah. I do love you.”
“Okay, I love you too.” It was all quiet for a few moments before Ramsay realized the kid was asleep on his chest. He pulled his phone from his pocket and shot off a text to Theon before relaxing a little bit. A short nap wouldn’t kill him.
XXX
Theon had been waiting outside his door for what felt like an eternity, a tray of bowls and cups balanced in his arms. The mac and cheese was getting cold, but he couldn’t stop listening to his boyfriend counselling his littlest brother.
“Do you love me?”
“Uh -- uh, yeah. I do love you.”
“Okay, I love you too.”
It was quiet for a while after that. Theon entered the dark room and sat his tray on the bedside table. Rickon was asleep on Ram’s chest and Ram was staring at the ceiling in silent contemplation.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hey.”
“So he’s asleep, huh?”
Ramsay nodded. “Took you long enough to make that mac and cheese.”
Theon shrugged. He got into bed beside his boyfriend and relaxed. “We’ll heat it up in the morning.” Ramsay grunted and squeezed his thigh. As they both relaxed and fell into sleep, Theon marveled at the horrors his boyfriend had endured.
His heart ached.