#drabbleverse

I remember growing up one day, when I met my palebro for the first time. It was nothing short of miraculous. He came by, knocked on my hive door askin’ to use the ablution shit. I waved him over to it, and let him do his biz before checkin’ in on him. He was tryin’ to bandage up his hand and it was bloody and red and I papped the fucker and told him it was a miracle before helpin’ him put the bandage on.

He helped me beat the sopor and saved my life time and miraculous time again and all I know is that I fucked up. I couldn’t stop him.

He was so much fuckin stronger than me, but he let himself die because of an addiction he couldn’t beat. He tossed me out like hot garbage, motherfuck what twisted misery he spat on me. Why do I feel so motherfucking guilty?

All I know is I wanted to pry myself open, give him fucking space between my ribs to curl up and hide so he wouldn’t suffer, and I couldn’t even do that for him. I was a horrible moirail.

Things are hardly perfect.  Nothing ever is, somehow.  Everything, one way or another, fails at something.

But that doesn’t mean it isn’t good.  

That’s what Ned thinks as he wakes up early on Christmas morning to make breakfast for everyone before they open their presents.  Rickon isn’t awake yet--a miracle in and of itself, because Rickon is the one who always gets up early for presents--and the house is still, except for the faint sounds of sleeping--a snore, a mattress shifting under someone who is tossing and turning.

Things aren’t perfect.  Cat and Jon are still coming to terms with everything, Robb’s nervous about Theon, Benjen’s still mad at him for how he handled everything.  But things are all right.  Arya laughs, Rickon’s making friends, Sansa seems content in her new relationship, and Bran is growing into a very thoughtful young man.

Christmas Eve at their house is always a lovely affair.  They have people over for drinks and nibbles, and the kids have a huge snowball fight outside.

It’s quieter than usual this year.  None of the Baratheons could make it--they had to go and “show face” to the Tyrell, which Robert was displeased with.  He didn’t like being dragged anywhere by his brothers, and if Renly was going to start dragging him places, well...

Lysa hadn’t come, and Catelyn couldn’t decide if that was for the good or not.  Edmure is there, with Roslin, and he promises he’ll look in on her tomorrow, but Catelyn wishes she’d come for Christmas. She can’t imagine what Christmas would be like alone after the loss of a son.  

Theon Greyjoy doesn’t join the snow fight, either.  He sits by the window and watched as Jon pelts snow at Rickon, and as Bran flies overhead and divebombs everyone from above.  He holds a mug of tea in his hands and smiles whenever anyone looks at him, but Catelyn can tell he doesn’t really want to be smiling.

Ned was right, of course.  She had been overthinking it.  Well, not entirely, but a little bit.  She can tell that Jon is still annoyed at her, but angry? No.  No, he isn’t angry.

If anything, it seems as though he’s less angry than he had been even before the start of term, that there’s something in him that’s...calm.  It’s reeling, perhaps, but there’s a sense of just...knowing the truth now.  Instead of wondering what he is and why he is, he can just figure out how to be.  

Rickon and Weasel are arguing about what’s the best kind of pudding.

Arya and Gendry are discussing Wigtown’s playoff standings, and quidditch tactics.

Sansa is singing quietly as she helps Catelyn cook dinner.  

Bran’s listening to Robb explain the latest updates about Theon to dad.

And Jon’s just standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, a butterbeer in his hand, his eyes flicking around to each of them, and whenever one of them catches his eyes, he sees warmth rise in their faces, that automatic, “You all right?  Come on over,” that he never really felt when he went over for tea at the Targaryens.

Arya’s the first one off the train when it pulls into King’s Cross Station.  She’s the first one through the barrier back into Muggle London, her head practically rotating on her shoulders like an owl.  She sees many wizarding parents waiting--she can tell them from the muggles because they’re all dressed in the style of muggle clothing that was fashionable when they went to school, if not a hodge-podge that looked mildly ridiculous.  

And then she sees him.  She lets out a squeal of glee and pelts at him, diving into his chest and wrapping her arms around him so tightly that he doesn’t even have the breath to say anything at all.  She’s got one of his arms pinned to his side with her hug, but the other one is free and he reaches up and runs his hands through her hair.

“I missed you,” she says into his jumper.

“What’ve you got to be anxious about?  It’s Christmas!” Jojen asks him over lunch.  And it is Christmas.  Tomorrow, he’ll beo n the Hogwarts Express home.  But that hasn’t stopped Bran from feeling like he’s sitting on the edge of his seat, like there’s something he hasn’t thought of, that there’s something he’s unprepared for.

“You’re right,” he lies, pushing his mashed potatoes around on his plate with his fork, “Nothing to worry about.”

But it doesn’t feel that way--it really doesn’t.  It feels like going home will be different this time.  Different, and what if mum and dad are still fighting, and what if Jon’s not there for Christmas, but he’s with his other family now, and what if Aunt Lysa’s refuses to see people because she’s still mourning Robert’s death and...And they aren’t his problems, but they’re his family and he cares.

So yes--yes there is something to worry about.  

He looks around the Great Hall.  Sansa is sitting next to her boyfriend, and he is whispering something in her ear that’s making her blush.  Arya’s arguing with Hot Pie and Lommy.  Rickon’s sitting at the Gryffindor Table too, a little further down, his face scrunched in concentration over some homework he’s doing with Weasel.

Catelyn reads Rickon’s letter over again, smiling to herself.  

Dear Mum, 

Very excited for Christmas, even if Dondarrion is giving us far too much homework to do over the holidays.  Bran says he always does that though and I should get used to it.  

I asked my friend Weasel if she wanted to come over for Christmas and she said she’d love to. She’d been planning on staying at school.  Hope it’s still ok that she’s coming.

Got to run.

Love you.

See you soon,

Rickon

“What’s got that smile on your face?” Ned asks.  He’s finally awake, and pouring himself some coffee.

“Rickon’s inviting a friend over for Christmas,” Cat explains.

“I thought he was having trouble making friends?” Ned asks, a look of delighted surprise crossing his face.  Cat bit her lip.  She’d tried to write to Rickon as often as possible, but especially with everything that had been going on with Ned...She’d tried.  She would keep trying.  And he would be home soon.