Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Carl came down the stairs, Debbie was clearing the dining room table. She looked like a little waitress, plates balanced on her forearm and glasses held by her fingers.

Debbie looked up at him when he hit the last step. “Liam’s asleep?”

“He’s in bed,” Carl replied, “but he wasn’t asleep when I left him.” When Debbie opened her mouth, Carl said, “And yes, teeth brushed, pajamas on. God.”

Debbie went to put the dishes in the sink but paused when she saw that it was already full. She sighed, putting the dishes on the counter. Carl walked up behind her and stared at the dishes in the sink. There were so many that the dishes filled both sides of the sink, some of them with food still left on the plates.

“I’ll dry, you wash,” Carl offered. Debbie nodded, pushing up the sleeves of her shirt, and grabbed the sponge.

*

When Carl stopped by Debbie’s room, she was throwing clothes around her bed and rifling through her dirty laundry. “What are you looking for?” Carl asked.

“My pink top, the one that buttons up,” Debbie said. “I want to wear it for my first day of school.”

Right. Debbie was starting high school in two days, Carl thought as he leaned against the doorframe. The thought was oddly depressing. They weren’t even going to the same school anymore.

“Sammi might have put it in the laundry,” Carl said. Debbie threw him an annoyed look. “I couldn’t stop her, she started blabbering about cleanliness.”

“When is she going to leave?” Debbie asked, brushing past Carl into the hallway.

“When are we going to kick her out?” Carl said instead.

Debbie stopped, grinning at him. “Do you remember where that rat poison is?” she said. Carl grinned right back at her.

*

Debbie came back from her first day in a mood. She angrily shut the door behind her, telling Carl to “Shut it!” when he raised his eyebrows at her. She walked into the kitchen and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. When she took the first drink, she grimaced. “This is so disgusting,” she said, placing it down on the counter.

“First day didn’t go well?” Carl asked from where he was sitting on the couch. He gave the remote to Liam and moved into the kitchen where she was staying. He’d been watching the clock all day. When it had hit three, a strange feeling had overcome him, because usually he’d be walking home with her at that point.

“This girl wanted to fight me,” Debbie said, angrily pushing her hair back. “Who does that? Who just wants to fight other girls because of one video?”

“It’s gotten more hits on YouTube,” Carl said. When Debbie glared at him, he punched her on the shoulder. “So you’ve got a reputation. That’s fucking awesome.”

“A reputation of beating people up?” Debbie leaned back against the kitchen counter, looking dejected.

“It’s not like you just randomly go up to people and beat on them.” Not like me, anyways, Carl thought. “You beat up two girls who were being bitches to you.”

“They were my friends,” Debbie said, looking at him.

“Were,” Carl pointed out. He paused, wanting to say something about his and Debbie’s friendship, and decided against it. “Besides, now they know.”

“Know what?”

Carl smiled at her. “You do not eff with Debbie Gallagher.”

*

Mickey didn’t even hesitate anymore, he just walked into the Gallagher house brusquely. He always seemed to be doing something brusque, like he always had something more important to do. By now Carl knew to just let him in, holding the door open.

“Ian needs some of his old ROTC shit,” Mickey said, standing by the couch in the living room. When Carl asked what he needed, Mickey shrugged. “Ian said it was a lot of shit, and most of it is in his bag. You know where that is?”

Carl nodded and called up the stairs to Debbie. “DEBBIE! GET IAN’S ROTC SHIT OUT OF THE CLOSET!”

“WHY?” she yelled.

“HE NEEDS IT!” Carl yelled back. He heard her door open, so she was going to get it. Mickey looked at him, amused for a second, before answering his ringing phone. Whatever was happening wasn’t making him happy, if the furrow between his eyebrows said anything.

Debbie came down the stairs, holding Ian’s ROTC bag in one hand. It was weird for Carl to see, knowing that Ian wasn’t in ROTC anymore. He wondered what Ian needed it for.

Mickey shut his phone angrily, muttering, “Shit.”

“There a problem?” Debbie asked, handing the bag to Mickey. Carl could just make out the Ian Gallagher sewed into the side of the bag. He wished, suddenly and viciously, that Ian would be back, doing morning pull ups on the door while talking to Carl. It seemed so long ago.

“I need to find somebody to watch Yevgeny,” Mickey said, putting the bag over one shoulder. “Svetlana just called and said she can’t do it, and Nika is at work, and Ian and I have to go see his therapist later.”

Debbie looked at Carl, and he knew when he looked at her that they were having the same thought he was. “We can take care of Yevgeny,” Debbie said, looking back to Mickey.

Mickey stared at them for a second. “Right,” he said. When he saw that they were serious, he gave a laugh. “Look, I don’t think I’m comfortable leaving Yev with a couple of kids.”

Debbie and Carl were continuing the same thought thing, because just when Carl thought how fucked up that was, Debbie said, “A couple of kids?” She snorted. “You’re joking, right? Kids is when Carl and I had to look after Liam when Liam was a baby and we weren’t even ten yet.”

“Fiona’s not even here anymore,” Carl put in. “Who the fuck do you think is looking after Liam now?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Debbie ran a daycare, and some days she had more than ten kids that she looked over at one time. You don’t think she can watch over one baby?”

“When we got separated because of social services, it was Carl that looked after Liam,” Debbie told Mickey. She had that look on her face that said she wasn’t going to give up on this. “We’re not just a couple of kids. We’re Ian’s siblings. You can trust us.”

Mickey looked between them, and Carl could tell they had been convincing. Then Mickey sighed. “Fuck.”

*

“Yevgeny’s a lot chubbier than Liam ever was,” Carl said. He carefully placed him in Debbie’s arms, where she began to change his diaper. That was the agreement they’d come across: Debbie changed the diapers and cleaned up after Yevgeny in any other way, and Carl got the food and kept a watchful eye on him.

“He’s quiet though,” Debbie said. “He feels like a cliché baby, you know? Like you’d think babies only cry when they poop or want to be fed, but it’s always just more than that. But Yevgeny is exactly like the cliché. Once you feed or change him, he stops crying.”

“Should fat babies sleep that much? Or does it only contribute to his chubbiness?” Carl asked, watching Yevgeny’s legs flail in the air.

Debbie rolled her eyes, slipping on the new diaper. “It’s just baby fat, Carl. I’m sure you were just as chubby too.” She eyed him for a second. “Maybe more so.”

Carl flipped her off, which made her laugh, and she lifted Yevgeny back into her arms, rubbing his back and rocking him gently. It reminded Carl of all the times she spent in day care, soothing little kids and making them calm again. Suddenly the idea struck him as uncomfortable. “Debbie, you can’t end up like them,” Carl blurted out. Debbie gave him a bewildered look. “You can’t end up like Ellie, or Karen Jackson, or even Mandy.” Karen had the baby and Carl knew there was some shit with Lip not being the dad and Sheila stealing it. And Carl remembered Mandy had been pregnant too, before a bake sale fundraiser had changed that. “You can’t end up pregnant and stuck here. You have to get out. You’re smart like Lip. You’re a better person, too. You can do it. You have to, Debs, you have to get out of here. You can’t be like them.”

Debbie stared at him in shock, no longer rocking Yevgeny. Yevgeny was fisting the strands of her hair, but she didn’t seem to notice. “What about you, Carl?” she demanded, angry tears forming in her eyes. “Why don’t you get your shit together and pass a grade? Why the hell are you dealing drugs? You aren’t stupid, Carl! Stop being like this!”

“We need the money!” Carl exclaimed. “Fiona drops money off once a week and you don’t have a job and Ian’s money goes to Mickey and someone has to take care of this fucking house! Why do you think we even have electricity this month? I finished off the last payment!” Carl didn’t know why he felt the need to defend himself, but he did. Debbie’s words felt like an attack on Carl, but maybe that’s why she was so defensive also. Debbie clutched Yevgeny tighter, hiding her face behind his in the act of whispering in his ear.

“Debbie,” Carl started, and when she looked at him, her jaw was clenched. “You can do it. You can. You can go to college and be so much better than this place.”

Debbie bit her lip and looked away for a second. Then she shifted Yevgeny in her arms so that she was only holding him in one arm. “Alright, let’s make a deal,” she said, extending her right hand. “We both get out of here.”

Carl stared at her hand and then shook it. “We both get out of here,” he repeated, but he knew in his heart that it was only going to be her.

*

“Debbie, I can’t believe that you're super smart and can do a ton of different things and yet you always burn the fucking mac and cheese.”

“And I can’t believe that the only thing you can do is make mac and cheese, Carl.”

*

Carl woke up at eleven o’clock at night. He’d been having a strange dream about Monica, and he woke up confused and hurt for no good reason.

He couldn’t fall back asleep, no matter how hard he tried, so he slipped out of his bed, careful not to wake Liam, and walked out of the room. He stopped by Fiona’s room in the hall, peering in through the door. There was an empty room. Day eight, Carl thought, and then thought it was funny that the only day she’d stayed over in two weeks was the day she slept with Jimmy.

Carl noticed that the kitchen light was on, so he padded down the stairs. Debbie was sitting on the kitchen counter, eating a bowl of cereal. The milk carton and cereal box were right next to her on the counter, and Debbie stared at the pictures on the fridge while she chewed.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Carl asked. Debbie jumped and then pressed a hand against her chest.

“Christ, Carl, don’t sneak up on me like that,” she said. She adjusted her top. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep. You?”

Carl sat at the bar, leaning on one elbow. “I had a dream about Monica. It was weird.” Debbie turned on the counter so that her back wasn’t to him. “You?”

Debbie ducked her head, exhaling through her nose. “I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking about Derek.” She put her bowl down on the bar in front of Carl. “I feel like I fall for people way too fast. Here I am, unable to sleep just because of some dumb guy. It’s shitty.”

Carl pushed the bowl away from him. “You need me to beat him up?”

Debbie laughed at that, but it wasn’t mean. “No,” she said, smiling at Carl. “Besides, he’s a boxer. He’d totally beat you up.”

Carl shrugged. “He’d fight fair. I’ll fight dirty. Dirty always wins.”

“Never mind that it’s not honorable.”

“Who gives a shit about honorable?” Carl said. “If he hurts you, that doesn’t matter at all.”

Debbie looked down, smiling, before looking back up at Carl. “You ever like somebody that much?” That much meaning can’t sleep. That much meaning them invading your brain in such an affecting way.  

Carl shifted in the chair, but for some reason he didn’t feel uncomfortable. The house was dark and felt big, too big, and for some reason, talking with Debbie made all that go away. It was as though talking like this made everything small and easy, just the two of them. “I mean—yeah, I guess,” Carl said. “Two people, really.”

“Who?” Debbie asked, looking more excited. She spun around on the counter, sitting with her legs crossed. It reminded Carl of the times Fiona would let Debbie and Carl sit on the bar, where they would eagerly wait as she made cookies, moving around the kitchen with her hair pulled up and the oven mitt on her right hand the entire time. “Bonnie?” Debbie asked, and Carl nodded, feeling as though he suddenly couldn’t speak. “Who else?” Debbie put her hand on her fist. “The only person I can think of is Holly.”

“It wasn’t Holly,” Carl said, leaning forward on the counter. “I only really knew her in a sexual—”

“Ew, Carl, please!” Debbie scrunched up her nose. “I don’t ever want to know about that.” She shook her head like she was trying to get rid of the image. “Stop being one of those girls at school who like to know all the gossip and just tell me.”

Carl knew he could trust Debbie, but even then, he didn’t really know how to say it. She’d had a crush on Little Hank too, but he wondered if she’d react badly. “You’re going to laugh,” Carl said, and he really did feel like he was gossiping, but that was okay. It felt good to gossip with Debbie. “Little Hank.”

Debbie’s mouth dropped open, and she hit Carl on the head. “No shit!” she said, and when Carl just nodded, she hit him again. “No way! You asshole!” Carl dodged her hits by leaning back in his chair. Debbie didn’t actually look mad, though, only shocked. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, you jerk,” she said. “How could you keep this from me?” Carl shrugged again, not really knowing how to place his thoughts. “You mean we liked him at the same time?” Debbie said, and when Carl nodded, she started laughing. “I was already jealous of you in the first place. Turns out I had even more of a reason.” Debbie stopped and just looked at Carl for a little. It felt like she was assessing him. “So you’re—”

“I’m not gay,” Carl interrupted.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Debbie said, sticking her tongue out at him for a moment. “There’s more than just straight and gay, you know. You’re probably bisexual.”

“Whatever,” Carl said. When Debbie raised her eyebrows at him, he said, “I didn’t need a name for it or anything. I just—liked more than just girls. And I was okay with that. I didn’t need a label for it, you know?”

Debbie nodded. She pulled her hair over one shoulder. “Have you talked to Ian about this?”

“No,” Carl admitted. “But Ian already had a lot of shit to deal with, I felt like it would bother him.”

“Bother him? He’d be glad to help.” Debbie snapped her fingers. “And he and Mickey would be helpful. Mickey would know about keeping it hidden.”

Carl scowled at her. “I’m not keeping it hidden.”

Debbie sighed. “I never said you were, I just said Mickey would know.” She have him a reassuring smile. “You just shouldn’t keep it hidden, is all. It can be bad.”

“I’m not keeping it hidden. I told you,” Carl said. He didn’t tell her that it was more important that she knew, because he’d always more confident around her, and it just felt wrong to tell anybody but her first. They’d always came to each other first.

Debbie batted at the top of his head again, this time playful. He allowed her to ruffle his hair for a moment. “I’m glad you told me,” she said, leaning back. “We haven’t talked in a long time, you know?”

“I know,” Carl said. Of course he knew. For a time there—what had felt like a long time—he and Debbie seemed to be at opposite ends, always snapping at each other. “What about you? You have any confessions?” He wondered how many times she’d been asked that. Definitely not a lot by him. Or maybe the question wasn’t how many times she’d been asked—the question was how many times she’d actually answered. “You should tell me. I’ve heard keeping things hidden is pretty bad.”

Debbie glared at him, unimpressed. “You’re so not funny,” she said. She was quiet for a moment, head down, hair just long enough to cover her face so that Carl couldn’t read her expression. “I don’t know,” she said, looking up. “I’ve been thinking about—with Derek and all—I’ve been thinking about Matty. And, um, what I did to him.” She closed her eyes. “I mean, fuck. I raped him and—and how do you just move on from that? What do I do? I can’t see him to apologize, he wouldn’t let that happen, so what do I do? How do I forgive myself?”

Carl bit his lip. He hadn’t ever been able to put the two together, Debbie and what she did, and he’d almost separated them in his head. His Debbie and That Debbie. “You learn from it, I guess,” Carl said. “Don’t make the same mistake again. Obviously you know what you did was bad. And you know the consequences. And you should never stop feeling shitty about what you did, but you can grow from it.”

Debbie stared at Carl, lips pressed together. “When did you get so philosophical?” she said weakly.

“I had a very spiritual experience before I almost died. You learn a lot of shit.”

Debbie gave him an incredulous look. “When did you ever come close to dying?”

“Hello,” Carl said. “I had cancer.”

Carl knew that wasn’t true, but he scowled anyways when Debbie began to laugh. She was laughing harder than he’d seen in a while, so he was okay with it.

*

Carl was throwing the ninja stars at the bottom of his bunk, trying to see how many he could get to stick, when Debbie walked into the room. She sat down on Ian’s bed, back against the wall, and knees pulled up to her chest.

“What are you doing here?” Carl asked, spinning around in his chair.

“I’m bored, and the last time I noticed, there isn’t a ‘boys only’ sign on the door,” Debbie said. Carl didn’t tell her that wasn’t what he meant, that he’d wanted to know why she was hanging out with him. But he also knew that Debbie hadn’t talked to Holly and Ellie ever since she’d beaten them up, and she hadn’t made any other friends, really. She was stuck at the Gallagher house the same way Carl had always been. He’d never really had many friends either, or if he did, they always left him. Debbie had always been the steady one in his life.

Debbie looked around the room, at the posters on the walls and all the random items on the desk, each of the beds, and finally she looked at the desk to her left, which was cluttered with random papers. “Was it weird, sharing the room with them?” Debbie asked. “I mean, with older brothers, not younger ones.”

“No,” Carl said. “I’d always been doing it, kinda like the way Liam has always been doing it.”

Debbie nodded, wrapping an arm around her knees. She looked at the desk again, where five or so cigarettes were stubbed into an ashtray. All Lip’s, probably. Debbie picked one up, tapping it on the side so that the ash fell off. She brought it to her face and sniffed the end. “These are disgusting, you know that?” Debbie said, eyes on the cigarette. It wasn’t long, hardly bigger than her fingernail. “And I don’t just mean because they’re bad for your health. Like, these are gross.” She tossed the cigarette back into the ashtray, sighing. “I always thought these things that Lip and Ian and Fiona had would be awesome. I couldn’t wait to drink and smoke and be in relationships and go to high school. I wanted what they had so badly. But it’s not great at all. Beer and cigarettes are disgusting and relationships suck and high school sucks even more.” She leaned her head back against the wall.

“It’s like the image of it all, you know?” Carl said. Debbie tilted her head to look at him. “I always thought it’d be cool to be like them, too. Now I don’t want to be like any of them. Fiona is always acting weird and is tied up in some guy, and Lip always feels different when he’s back, and none of us expected Ian to be bipolar. I don’t want any of their lives. But I also don’t know what to do with mine.”

Debbie said, “God, I know exactly how you feel. I just miss waking up to Fiona making breakfast and all of us sitting down at the table and eating it in fifteen minutes.”

“Walking to school and back with each other,” Carl offered, thinking about Debbie’s first day of high school and how he’d felt.

“Stealing newspapers and cutting all of the coupons out,” Debbie said. “I’d always loved watching the amount we paid go down as we gave coupon after coupon.”

“Yelling at each other over taking the hot water,” Carl said, “and racing in the morning to get the first shower.” It was wonderful, of course, to have longer hot showers, but he still missed the scramble. He liked the way Lip would pound on the door and yell at Ian for getting in first.

“Leaving coffee or beer out for Frank, and putting a pillow under his head,” Debbie said. Then she frowned, rubbing her hands over her arms. “I don’t know about that one. Maybe.”

“Taking care of Frank is shitty,” Carl said softly. Debbie looked up at him, and Carl gave her a small smile. They’d both been there, cared for Frank. They’d both been shitted on.

“I know,” Debbie said, voice small. And then, louder, firmer, “I know. Except—except it was great. Lip and Ian and Fiona, they always looked down on me for helping him. They always thought it was stupid for me to be that compassionate towards Frank. But who cares if it was stupid? It made me a better person. A better person than them, anyways. More stupid, but better all around.”

“I know what you mean,” Carl said, stretching out his legs from the chair. “Fiona was the same when I tried to help Frank.”

“And me,” Debbie said. Carl opened his mouth to protest, but she said, “No, it’s true. I looked down on you for helping Frank, because I’d been in the same place and I learned my lesson and I thought I was better than you for it.” She snorted, staring at the ceiling a bit. “How could we have let them do that? How could we have allowed other things to pit us against each other? We allowed Fiona to pull the family apart, and you used my bad relationship with my friends to get sex, and I didn’t talk to you for weeks because you helped Frank.” Debbie clenches her fists in the blanket. “We were always super close. Ian and Lip always get the credit for being a year apart and close as fuck, and Fiona relied on them.” Carl clenched his jaw, a small weight forming in his stomach. “But you and me were just as close. We were never allowed in their adult world so we went off and created our own world. We stuck together because that’s what Gallaghers do. But we were there for Fiona too, and we protected Lip and Ian, and—and we don’t nearly get enough credit. And we let that bond between us be torn apart.”

“I’m sorry,” Carl said, after it was clear Debbie wasn’t going to continue. “We’re just fucking dumb.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Debbie said, fiddling nervously with her hair. “I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did.”

“We’re better now,” Carl said. He believed it, too. He and Debbie were slowly stitching all of the ripped pieces closed, and they were doing it without anyone else. If those stitches didn’t include Fiona or whoever else, that was fine, because Debbie was right: she and him had always been together. They’d always stuck together, even inside the Gallagher pack. Carl stood and walked over to the edge of Ian’s bed. “Let’s go do something,” he said to Debbie. “Just hang out, you and me.”

Debbie considered this, moving to sit on the edge of Ian’s bed. “Video game?” When Carl nodded, Debbie said, “And no throwing the controllers when you lose this time!”

“I promise I won’t,” Carl said. “Besides, that was because you cheated.” Carl followed Debbie down the stairs, grinning at the way she grumbled, “I did not cheat,” and they grabbed the controllers and put in a random video game.

Playing video games had been a good idea on Debbie’s part. Carl had missed the way she screamed, “EAT MY ASS!”