Chapter Text

Chapter One

“Dad’s dead,” Arya declares offhandedly on the other end of the phone. Like it’s a usual occurrence, or something that happens every day, all the time. Arya can be so absolutely draining that sometimes it takes a whole week of mental preparation just to face her. The same applies to the rest of the Stark family. “It happened about an hour ago.”

“How’s Mom?” Jon gnaws on his cuticles.

“She’s Mom. She’s patting his hair and asking the nurse if he can still feel kisses.”

A smile finds its way across his face, even as he tries to fight it. There’s always comfort in his mother’s bizarre and unpredictable antics. Like if she were to do what Jon thought she would, the world would somehow implode. There is little to nothing his family won’t ruin with their trained minds in evasion, sarcasm, and irony. So Jon sits listening to his little sister crack wise about how their mother is handling their father’s death.

“Oh yeah and get this, this is where it gets good-“

“Jesus, Arya.” Jon quips.

“Okay, that was the wrong choice of wording, but listen: Dad wants us to sit Shiva.” Jon can practically hear Arya rolling her eyes.

“What?” His eyebrows furrow.

“Dad wants us to sit Shiva!” Arya was getting snippy and Jon could hear his Mom rambling in the background.

“But Dad’s dead.”

“Obviously.” Arya sighed, “That’s the time to do it, Jon. We sit Shiva in Mom and Dad’s home.”

“Mom’s home.” Jon corrects.

“God, Jon.” Arya is never in the mood to deal with being wrong and he'll admit it was a pretty shitty thing to say in the moment.

“Dad was an atheist.” Jon adds quietly.

“Well, now he wants us to sit Shiva.” Arya whispers something to someone beside her, “The funeral is tomorrow, so be there and bring your menorah. Maybe a Yamaka?”

The Starks have an oddly charming ability to act like a bunch of heartless assholes in any situation from how they were raised. In this case, they had been mourning for a year already. Ned had been diagnosed with stomach cancer around two years ago. He’d been having these stomach aches and popping Tums like they were little Life Savor candies, even offering them up to Arya’s boys. About the time when his shit turned red was when he finally listened to Catelyn’s constant badgering and finally went to a doctor. The CAT scans lit up like Las Vegas from outer space.

So began the predictable surgeries, rounds of chemo, and lots of awkward prayer blankets were sent around the family. None of them were church, let alone synagogue going people, but somehow they made it onto all of their lists anyways. Their childhood was littered with random and spaced out attendance to Ned’s childhood synagogue and a couple times attending church with friends whose houses they had spent the night at. Other than that, Jon doesn't think he so much as said grace before a meal since he was around 6.

Nonetheless, God didn’t take away Dad’s stomach cancer and neither did the medicine. Instead it wore him away. His limbs became knobby and lean, his jaw sharp and sullen. Ned Stark was a proudly handsome man, but the man that had lied in the hospital bed was not the same guy who taught Jon how to ride his bike.

When he slipped into the coma about a month ago, that was when the waterworks began. It was weird, surreal, and very uncomfortable. Jon was an expert at the whole evasion thing and had yet to really be able to form the words ‘my dad has cancer’ from his lips. Now it’s become ‘my dad had cancer.’

“Is Dom with you?” Domeric was Arya’s super important empire running husband. He owned some construction and contracting businesses about 8 hours away from where they had all grown up in Winterfell. When she first brought him around he was a pretty nice guy and he had an excellent mind for poker. Now he was just a stressful ball of energy anywhere he went, always worried about the plans, and the mergers, and who was buying where. Jon had learned to tune him out years ago.

“No, he’s home. He’s bringing the kids.” Arya’s voice had softened since the beginning of this phone call.

“You’re bringing the kids?”

“I’d rather not, but seven days is a long time to leave them behind.”

The kids were Cole and Matthew, they were 5 and 2, and were incredibly loud, messy, and cute. Penny was about seven months old now and from the pictures that had been sent via e-mail about a week ago, she looked just like her mom.

“Seven days?” Jon winced at the thought.

“That’s how long you sit Shiva for.” Arya sounded distracted.

“Is Robb going to do this?” The cherry on top of this all would be if it was just Jon, his mother, and little sister with her asshole husband and three screaming children pretending to be Jewish for a week.

Is that sick to think after just learning of his Dad’s death? Probably.

Jon shakes the guilt by reminding himself that they're not even religious. Jon had been banking on a small funeral with some kind words around the grave kind of deal. Then one of them would inevitably piss the other off, there was bound to be at least one fistfight, and tears would be shed. They’d say horrible things and say sorry without actually saying the words, and then part ways to privately grieve their dead father and come back together for another holiday. Dad had been “no fuss” for the entirety of his life, so it was completely random that suddenly they were all going to sit around and pretend like they even knew when Yom Kippur was this year.

“Dad’s the one who told Robb to do it.”

“Are we really going to do this?” Jon tried to remember if he still owned a Yamaka. The last memory he has of pinning one to his wild curls is when their neighbor passed away about ten years ago.

“It was his dying wish Jon.” Jon can almost hear the hurt in Arya’s voice.

“Okay, sorry, yes. I’ll obviously be there. What did Robb say?” Jon wishes he could make his sound anything other than flat, it had been his downfall for almost every serious moment in his life thus far.

“That Dad wants us to sit Shiva.”

Robb is older than Jon by seventeen months. For a long time my parents pretended like Jon wasn’t an accident, but Mom got too drunk at Thanksgiving when the boys were 14 and 15, and spilt the beans with some mumbled joke. Robb held it over Jon's head for the entirety of their teenage years and occasionally, still to this day. The thing is, all of them get along just fine as long as they don’t spend any longer than a few hours together in one place.

“Has anyone talked to Rickon?” There’s a pang in his chest at the thought of his baby brother finding out a month or two from now, after everything is done and over with.

Rickon was a modern day Casanova. He’d inherited every possible good gene from their parents and ran with it. Also, he’d been a major accident. Rickon turned a whopping 24 years old two months ago, a pale comparison to Jon's 36, Robb’s 37, and Arya’s 32. It's a major theory between the siblings that he'd been a reboot of their parent's aging marriage. 

Rickon had a horrible habit of losing every phone he got and dropping completely off the grid until randomly popping up at your house with a tan or a story about a little boy he saved from an avalanche. There was no telling with that kid, there never was. Rickon was better looking than all of them and had the charm of car salesman. Only he sold himself to models and actresses.

“I left a couple messages on a few old numbers but no word yet. Who knows where he is right now.”

“I hope he makes it,” There’s finally emotion peaking through my words, “It’d suck if he didn’t.”

“Speaking of sucking, how are things goin’ for ya?” Arya jumps back to the whole sarcasm and evasion routine once more; and again, there is nothing off limits to a snarky joke when it came to the Stark bloodline.

This façade of hers was exhausting years ago and for the past two months being under her direct heat of senseless prodding, Jon felt completely worn down. “I’ve got to go.” He tries his best not to sound as defensive and annoyed as he is.

“Jon, I’m just expressing concern.” Her voice is mocking and Jon traces the end button of his phone.

“Yeah, well.”

“Oh geesh, don’t get all passive aggressive. I get a daily dosage of that from Domeric by noon.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Fine. Be that way.”

Jon doesn't hang up and waits for a moment, just to hear her labored, angry breath. Arya finally speaks, “Are you there?”

“No.” And then hangs up. Images of her chucking her phone or yelling at our mom flicker in his mind as he shoves his cell back into his pocket.

xxxxx

Tuesday

His black Ford Escape is all packed up and ready for Winterfell when her white Mercedes pulls into their driveway. Her driveway. That’s a gray area currently.

“Jon!” Daenerys has the windows rolled down and her long, bright hair remains neatly combed despite the wind that had just been whipping through her car. That was something that Jon was always so lovingly infuriated by. Daenerys’ ability to look so perfectly put together no matter what, she could eat a dozen doughnuts and chase it with pizza and beer and still not gain an ounce. She could also eat all of that and still run a better mile than him.

A small smile tugs at her lips and a sigh escapes his. He knows every inch of her, every single pale square inch, what each breath means, or how to make her smile each of her smiles. Right now she’s looking at him with this mix of anxiety and excitement.

That was now a usual reaction for her. Other than the time she found out he had moved into the shittiest possible apartments in town. Daeneyrs looked at him like a wounded animal once that cat got out of the bag. But here she stood right in front of him, her sunglasses perched on top of her perfect head, a water bottle in her hand, his soon to be ex-wife.

Ex-wife in training? Do you call them your ex before everything is signed, sealed, delivered? No longer yours.

Jon slams his trunk, “Hey.”

They have been married 9 years and now they say “Hey” when they see each other and Jon tries to look everywhere but directly in her eyes.

“I’ve been calling you.”

“I saw.”

“I’ll bet.” The sting in her voice and the way her yoga pants were hugging her ass made Jon want to simultaneously pull her in to kiss her deeply and choke her until she turned blue. Neither was appropriate so he settles for swinging his keys on his finger and shrugging.

“We need to talk, Jon.”

“Can’t.”

She beats him to his driver side door and leans against it while she flashes him her brightest and best smile. The same one Jon used to tell her made him fall in love with her all over again. But she’s miscalculated and his dad just died and all it does is remind him of everything he's lost. “There’s no reason this can’t be civil.” Her voice is smooth as velvet in that charming way she has.

“You’re fucking my boss Daenerys. I don’t think civil is in your vocabulary.”

Her eyes shut as she musters up the strength it takes to deal with him. Once upon a time, Jon used to kiss those eyelids and whisper goodnight to her in the darkness of her dorm room.

“You’re right. I’m a flawed human being and did something inexcusable. And you’ve always sulked but this is pretty unbearable and this whole victim charade is not anywhere near working out for you.” Her lips are puckered and Jon can't bring himself to care that she's upset.

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“Sure.” Daenerys looks at his grease stained t-shirt and immediately he feels like a total piece of shit for not just getting the boxes of his things she packed for him months ago. This t-shirt had always been his favorite but was ruined years ago. Daenerys would beg him to throw it out and made constant jokes and jabs at him for wearing it throughout their relationship, but Daenerys witnessing him wearing it currently makes him wish he could burn it right in front of both of them.

Daenerys crosses her arms and gazes up their home that cost the entirety of his life savings that she now sleeps in with another man in the sheets she bought from Nordstrom. Jon wonders if she still has the same beaten and worn pillows she’d been dying to replace right before he walked in on her fucking his boss. 

“You didn’t show up to the mediator.”

“No. I don’t like him.” Jon avoids looking at both her and their old place by pretending to be interested in their neighbor's yard.

“Oh?”

“All he does is stare at your tits any time I speak.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?”

Reporting the rest of this conversation would only be a complete waste of breath. It's a typical picture to paint of how a divorcing couple speak to one another, especially with all the hostility and barely repressed rage. At one point Jon used to love the woman before him so much he'd march straight into a burning building for her. But right now, if he's honest, he was currently feeling like setting fire to the very house he bought her for their one-year anniversary and using her as some kindling.

“I can’t speak to you when you’re like this.” She finally pushes off of his car and keeps her lips in a straight angry line.

“I’m always like this.”

My dad is dead! He wants to scream at her. He wants to shake her and punch the ground and scream up to the sky. But if he tells her now, she’ll get in. Daenerys will catch him as he falls and he’d let her and forget to be angry about her destroying their holy matrimony. So instead Jon watches her push her tongue to her cheek and try to dig a little deeper to continue looking at him. Tears pool in her eyes and Jon continues to fight the urge to gather her up in his arms and tell her everything is all right. Because it’s not and she made it that way. It’d be a whole lot easier if she weren’t so breathtakingly beautiful. Even now, after everything she’s done to him, he'd still have to fight the temptation to shelter and protect her from everything. If only Daenerys wasn’t Daeneyrs. But she is and no matter how much he loved, love, or cared about her all he could see when he looked at her was red.

“Jon.”

“I’ve got to go.”

“I’m pregnant.”

In Jon's 37 years of life, he's never been stabbed before but at that point in time he was pretty sure those words felt close enough. This moment of pure nothingness before it all catches up and you realize you’re gushing blood. If her words had been a knife he’d probably already be bleeding out. She’d been pregnant once before, before before. Before when Jon used to gather her up and kiss her good night. They had laughed and danced around their bathroom but that baby didn’t ever get a chance at the world. It died in her belly strangled by its umbilical cord.

“Congratulations, I’m sure you and Drogo will make wonderful parents.”

“I know this is the last thing you wanted to hear but I wanted you to hear it from me.”

“Thanks. Now I have.” Jon climbs hastily into his car but she steps in front of it to stop him from peeling off.

“Say something.”

“No.” Jon glares at her heaving chest and her red-rimmed eyes.

“Please.” She begs with those wide, watery, purple eyes.

“Okay, fuck you Daenerys. Fuck you and your stupid boyfriend. I hope that kid has better luck than mine did.”

Daenerys' voice is low, “You can’t really hate me that much, can you?”

He looks at her directly and sets his jaw, “Yes, I can.”

Maybe it’s the fact that his dad just died or the way she flinches as if he'd just reached out and slapped her, but the hurt pooling behind her eyes is almost enough to make him love her again.

Chapter Text

The first time Jon laid eyes on Daenerys  he knew he’d never look at another girl for as long as he lived. It was freshman year at Kings Landing University and she had her shiny white blonde hair swimming around her as she lay on a ratty old towel across the quad. Her pair of sparkly ballet flats were kicked aside and she had on these homemade cut off shorts that made her legs go on and on and a KISS t-shirt rolled up to expose her flat, snow-white tummy. Jon had been in a rush to go turn in a paper to his philosophy professor when he almost flattened her with his bike. Daeneyrs shot up to flick him off before squinting her eyes and smiling up at him. Somehow Jon gathered the balls to ask her out on a date in an attempt to prove how sorry he was for almost running her into the grass and ruining her time tanning. Daenerys was as pale as they came and Jon claimed he probably saved her from skin cancer anyways. They got pizza and she wiped some grease off of his chin with her thumb and laughed at all his lame jokes.

Things had been so easy. Never did it occur to him to take heeding of all the warnings of how things change over time, of marriage being hard work, or just how simple it was to touch with your spouse. Daenerys and Jon fucked like bunnies and spoke like best friends. It was all a shy bookworm kid like him could ask for. When she agreed to marry him he knew there was nothing better that could ever happen. There was no better sight than that girl walking down the aisle and promising to be only his forever.

Marriages fall apart all the time. You begin to sleep in different beds, the routine becomes too redundant, or you lose a baby. Daenerys never bored Jon like so often his friends complained of their wives doing. She was someone Jon always loved falling asleep next to and he would woke up each morning excited just to do it over again. Was it perfect? No. Did he fuck up? Yes. Did they fight? Yes. Did she annoy him? Sometimes.

But Jon didn’t run into anyone else’s arms.

It was Daenerys' 35^th birthday four months ago. Jon took off early to pick up her favorite dragonfly fruit cake from the bakery they'd gotten their wedding cake from. It had light pink frosting with these giant buttercream dragonflies she loved so much. Jon had helped pick out the designs with the baker a week before.

That morning they had brushed their teeth side by side before sipping their coffee together while Jon made her heart shaped pancakes. Daenerys kissed his cheek goodbye and said she was excited for their dinner date tonight. Holidays, birthdays, really any reason to celebrate was big to Daenerys. For St. Patrick’s Day she dyed all of their food and drinks green every year. She even had a stuffed Groundhog she set out every February 2^nd. But that was what he loved about her; when Daenerys loved something she gave it her all.

Drogo, as in Khal Drogo, was a talking head on the political news circuit. Sort of like a much more gruff, grim, and dark Wolf Blitzer. Sharp, self righteous, but he paid well. Drogo hired Jon a few years ago as a writer and eventually he climbed the ranks up to where he sat pretty as a producer and head writer. It was a cess pool of gossip, back stabbing, it was brain numbing, but it was never boring. Jon was lucky enough to actually enjoy his job and get along with his co-workers.

So when he took off early at lunch, it wasn’t a big deal. Everyone told Jon to pass on well wishes to Daenerys. Drogo had left a little before Jon had and promised everyone he’d be bringing back some bagels and coffee. And now that he really thinks about it, the week before all of this he had actually called Daenerys 'Danielle' and told Jon to tell her what’s up for him. What a fucking prick.

But that’s getting of track.

So Jon leaves work and goes to pick up the cake. Then he drives home merrily singing along to Sweet Caroline and thinking about how good birthday sex was going to be tonight, maybe she’d even wear that red dress he loved so much when they went out. Everything was going according to plan, and the only somewhat small red flag was that Daenerys' car in the driveway, but he just figured maybe she had bailed early. Again, birthdays were big for her. She’d played hooky for their birthdays pretty much yearly. So it wasn’t too strange seeing her Mercedes parked.

What was strange was her not answering when he called out her name as he entered their home.

Maybe she was napping? Jon tried to rationalize as he tiptoed his way into the kitchen to grab a lighter, right in the junk drawer by the fridge, and lit all the candles that littered the top of her fancy favorite cake.

There really had been no reason for Jon to be suspicious. No reason for him to think he was going to see anything but his wife sleeping soundly, or in a bathtub full of bubbles and a glass of wine, or in her favorite sweats watching Homeland on Netflix. So as he climbed the stairs, there had been no preparation, no noises, nothing to set him off and make him think he’d walk in on his wife doing anything besides relaxing on her birthday.

Sex is pretty gnarly when you think about it. If you take away the passion, and the love, and the whole feeling good part of it, it’s pretty fucking gross. Just body parts slipping and sliding and smacking. The noises from the skin on skin contact are almost medical and creepy when you’re far removed from the said sex.

Jon stood there in the doorway, her dragonfly cake in his arms, and watched Khal Drogo pound into his wife.

Daenerys' thin arms were reached high above her head as he whispered in her ear. Then there was this smooth transition to the next move, her bent over for him as he continued to plow into her. There was something in that fluidity that hit Jon like a truck. More so than the whole wife-fucking-his-boss-in-his-bed deal unfolding before his eyes.

The fluidity proved that this wasn’t a first time, one time only, birthday sex surprise kind of deal. This was a habit. They’d done this before. She knew the routine. Drogo pulled her hair back and Jon just watched as she let out this almost animalistic groan.

Then he took two steps forward and shoved the cake up Drogo's ass.

What happened next happened quickly and catastrophically. Drogo let out this awful, ear splitting howl as he sprung off of his wife and fell to the floor. Not just because of his asshole full of cake, but because right before fucking his wife he’d slathered up his cock with this performance enhancing cream that sponsored the damn TV show. Turns out it was highly flammable and all the lit candles for Jon's wife’s birthday caught his balls on fire, just as he was about to cum inside Daenerys.

So as he sprang to the floor, his balls on fire, and cumming hotly into his hands, Daenerys also let out a blood curdling shriek. Partially because her husband not only busted her and caught her lover on fire, but when Drogo had fallen off, he’d pushed her. Daenerys had been on hands and knees, all fours for the fucker, and got her nose whacked into their brand new bedframe. Blood gushed from her nose as she clutched it and grabbed at their white sheets in a lame attempt to cover herself.

Then Jon joined in the screaming because what he felt was so much worse than burnt balls or a broken nose. Because before he had walked into that room he had a great job and a wife who he loved and in a matter of seconds it was all gone. His bed, the same one with the smashed cake, and the sheets, and his wife, had once been a safe haven. A place to rest his sleepy head and hold his loving wife.

But that was fucked. Literally.

As Drogo lay sprawled out on the wooden floor a broken, loud sob escaped Daenerys, her body lame and small on the large bed. And in that moment Jon felt the urge to crawl onto the bed and gather her up in his arms, like he would've under any other circumstance. And Jon actually felt himself moving toward her, until he stopped himself. It’d only been a minute since walking into his bedroom and his mind had yet to wrap itself around the fact that the woman before him was not the woman he thought he knew. That he now hated her.

And with that came a rush of violent emotions. The temptation to slam her head against the bedframe one more time, to light Drogo up again, or to shove them both out of the window. But the urge to flee was greater. The want to jump from a bridge, to scream, to kiss her, to be twenty all over again so he could get a redo on this whole thing.

Daenerys looked up at him with her shocked and ashamed eyes while the blood from her nose trickled down her plump lips and chin. He actually felt bad for her and he hated himself for it.

“Get out.” He found myself saying.

“Jon, Jon, I’m so sorry-“

Jon raised his hand to silence her frantic apologies and turned to the sack of shit naked man on the floor, “Get the FUCK out of my HOUSE.” He screamed in such a way he scared even himself.

That was pretty much the extent of that conversation. Because nine years of marriage was over in a heartbeat and there wasn’t much else to say about it.

“So what happens now?” Daenerys leans against the counter with her newly broken nose as she fidgets with the drawstring of her gray sweatpants. The paramedics and police left moments ago, taking a battered and burnt Drogo with them. The two of them stand awkwardly in their kitchen attempting at a conversation.

“Shut up.”

“I know this doesn’t mean anything to you now, but I really am truly sorry. Very sorry.”

“Stop talking.”

It wasn’t going very well.

“There’s no excuse for what I’ve done, I’ve just been so sad, so lonely for so long. I was lost-“

“Danerys.” Jon seethes at her and she jumped back like she expected him to reach out and swing at her. The bridge of her nose was swollen and purple and Jon was so sure that once word broke of the current state of them, it’d be a heavy accusation and rumor amongst Daenerys' fellow yoga loving housewives. Did Jon Snow really have it in him to hit her? He makes the best hamburgers for the Fourth of July pool parties and always waves when we jog past!

Jon rubbed at his temples, “I’m going to ask questions and you’re going to answer them as short as possible, okay?”

“Okay.” Her voice breathy and light.

“How long have you been fucking Khal Drogo?”

“Jon—“

“Just answer the fucking question Danerys.” Jon slammed a hand down on the counter.

“A year.”

A whole goddamn year. A year isn’t a flirtation, a mistake, a silly slip up. A year is a fucking relationship.

His wife was off fucking his boss and falling in love. You don’t just sneak around for a year and not catch feelings, there’s no way. On their first anniversary Jon had borrowed his roommate Sam’s guitar and played her the chorus of Free Falling by Tom Petty even though his singing voice was comparable to that of a dying moose. It had played at the pizza place where they had their first date and she had sung along to every word and Jon always marked that as the moment he had officially fallen in love with her. After playing her the song on the borrowed guitar she told him she’d never love anyone like she loved him.

Daenerys was meticulous when it came to anniversaries, again, with the whole holidays and birthdays are important, and Jon wondered what her and Drogo did to mark their first anniversary?

What exactly did they mark as their anniversary? First fuck? First kiss? First time saying “I love you?”

“A little over a year. You are some kind of lying bitch, huh?” Jon repeats it to himself to really understand that this is actually happening. That that is really his life, right at that moment.

“I’ve become one. Yes.” Daenerys held his gaze defiantly.

“Do you love him?”

She looked away and damn, if all the oxygen in his lungs didn't evaporate and leave him more breathless than before. That hurt. Jon was truthfully not expecting that. Daenerys drew out this long, pitiful sigh and rubbed at her eyes, “We had our problems long before Khal Drogo.”

“Yeah well, it’s nothing like the ones we’ve got now.”

She might have kept talking, maybe even called after him, but he tuned her out as soon as he headed for the front door.

xxxxx

Tuesday 11:15 AM

It’s sunny and it’s warm. In the movies funerals are always so dark and dismal with the presence of heavy rain. Everyone gathers around the hole in the ground with sunglasses and tear stained cheeks to toss dirt on top of the casket as the dramatic music plays. Then it usually cuts to a generally more pleasant scene.

But today at his Dad’s funeral, it’s a beautiful day. It’s warm and bright and his mom is wearing a much too short dress that he and Arya had already made pointed looks to each other about.

Other than lowering his father into the Earth, the craziest part of this day is the rabbi leading this ceremony. Robb’s shit head friend from high school, Theon, or more lovingly known as Eunuch, had gone off to rabbinical school to lead some kind of Holy life.

The same kid who could never get it up, used to steal from Jon's already staunch weed stash, and was gross enough to pretend to drop pencils to look up girls dresses at school, now stood before us all to read off the Torah and share his condolences.

Robb leans over their Mom to roll his eyes at Jon, earning a smack on the arm from her. “Oh come on, Mom.”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Her tone is sharp and poignant as her stiletto heels sinking into the mud.

“We’re gathered here today to say farewell to Ned, a beloved father, husband, and friend. Now, Ned was never one for-“ Eunuch Greyjoy begins.

“Holy shit, check it out.” Arya jabs her elbow into Jon's side and situates a sleeping Penny higher on her hip, pointing to the convertible vintage Mustang blaring Wu-Tang as it screeches to a halt right beside the ceremony.

Rickon slides his Ray Bans to rest them on his head of messy curls and hops over the door of his convertible to bound towards the family all gathered around the opened Earth. His leather bomber jacket flaps in the breeze as he jogs up in his moccasins. Rickon flashes a shit-eating grin as he chomps on his bright green gum, “Family!”

How long is Shiva again?

Chapter Text

Tuesday 11:30 AM

“Holy shit! Eunuch! Is that you?!” Rickon cackles until their mom gives him a swift hit to the chest. He still snickers as Eunuch Greyjoy eyes him and sighs dramatically, “Hello Rickon. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“You’ve got a fuckin’ Tallit prayer shawl on and everything! Is this for real?” Rickon looks around to everyone in attendance as if he’s just waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out. Maybe they all are expecting the same thing too.

“Rickon!” Arya is trying to stifle her laughter and grabs his arm to pull him in to stand between her and Jon. “Sorry Eunuch, please continue.” Rickon throws his arms up and whispers to Arya, “You look old.”

“You got fat,” She lovingly taps his stomach and they share a smile. Rickon, as troublesome and irresponsible as he was, was all of their first baby. Each of them had a soft spot for the shit head. Robb’s just so happened to be a lot smaller. He glares at Rickon from the other side of Catelyn, but she’s too busy beaming at her baby to notice, “Oh, I’m so glad you made it.”

“Of course I made it, Nice to see you, Mommy.”

Theon looks borderline homicidal as Rickon whispers, “I probably shouldn’t have called him Eunuch.”

“I think he’s been called worse.” Jon mutters. Theon Greyjoy was a real piece of work throughout childhood, and really, this whole Rabbi deal was the most ironic thing that he’d witnessed in a while.

“It was disrespectful.” Rickon sighs a bit.

Jon almost points out that showing up to your Dad’s funeral when it’s almost halfway done is more disrespectful but decides against it. Because at least the kid is here in once piece.

“Now, I’d like to call upon Ned’s eldest son, Robb, to come and say a few words…” Theon starts right as Robb leans over and shushes them, “Will you two shut the hell up?”

Robb looks just like their beautiful mom with the broadness of their father’s shoulders. While Jon looks like Ned Jr. with the unfortunate broadness of their feminine mother. It was tough in high school, but he managed to squeak by. Clearly, it didn’t matter when he landed a girl as hot as Daenerys. Occasionally, he would catch Robb looking between the two of them trying to piece together how it all worked, like how the hell did his noodle limbed little brother land this babe?

Arya is short, with a decent amount of pudge from producing three children pretty much one after the other. She used to have long, shiny hair that all the girls were jealous of and all the boys died to run their fingers through. Now it was short and pinned back tightly, and her outfits were a lot less showy. Rickon was a perfect mix of them all. Dad’s broadness, strength, and wit with a dash of Mom’s curls and bright smile. The kid could walk Calvin Klein fashion shows, but instead he stands beside his siblings at their Dad’s burial.

Rickon winks at Jon as Robb practically struts up to where Theon had been standing to speak his words. Jon would bet anything Robb’s been working on his speech ever since Dad got diagnosed. There is nothing Robb loves more than the spotlight, especially if it extenuates what a great son and human being he is. Talisa, his kind and lovely wife gives an encouraging thumbs up as he turns to face them all.

Tuesday 1:00 PM

Jon's childhood home sticks out like a sore thumb on Winterfell Drive. It was the only one with white stones and deep emerald siding; as opposed to the brick, white siding, and painted front doors of all of the surrounding neighbors. The house was full of dark cherry and walnut wood for crowning and floors. Every square inch of shelving, wall space, and ledge had a family picture on it. Nothing had changed except for the addition of pictures over the years.

“Hey Gendry.” Jon throws up a weak wave at his long time neighbor and family friend. Gendry Waters stands in the entry way with a glass of water in his grip. He’s grown up across the street and more often than not, in the Stark house. His father had been a real sack of shit that never came close to deserving his mother, Bethany. She’d thrown him out after finding out he had gotten another woman from work pregnant and had been gambling away their life savings. Later that same night his three-year-old son found his dead body lying in the bathroom. Sleeping pills.

“Hi Jon.” Gendry' eyes drop to his shoes before flirting back to Jon, “Sorry about Ned.”

“Thanks.” He thanks him quietly and loosens his tie while looking around for his family.

Gendry had been a grade above Jon and a grade below Robb. Arya used to come to Robb’s baseball games just to watch him spit sunflower seeds and wave at her from the outfield. Somewhere along the way he fell in love with Arya, like most guys in their town, but he had an in after being around the family for so long. Gendry and Arya would make out in the basement and sneak out to watch the sunset in high school. They’d hold hands and he’d play the guitar for her. Unlike Jon, Gendry had actually been quite good at it.

Then, his sophomore year of college, a drunk driver collided into him driving to visit Arya. Now he is a 35 year old with brain damage who lives with his mom, can’t drive a car, or stay focused on anything for longer than 10 seconds. Gendry also gets these mini-seizures where his eyes roll and foam pours from his mouth, but you just have to wait until its over before he apologizes, wipes at the spittle, and then stares blankly after forgetting the whole thing ever happened.

Ned took him to work in the stockroom of the sports equipment shop he owned where Gendry would take lunch orders and stack boxes. But now that Ned is gone he’s working for Robb, Jon realizes. 

“Oh,” Arya’s voice comes out shaky from behind Jon, “Hi G.”

A twitch of a smile crosses Gendry's lips, “Winter rose.”

She fell into his arms in such an intimate manner that Jon immediately felt like an intruder. He shouldn’t be witnessing the way Gendry clutches her head or how his little sister rubbed the small of his back. So Jon pulls his eyes away until they land on the framed picture of his arm wrapped tightly around Daenerys right after their wedding. She’s got her head tossed back in laughter and Jon has a beer held to his lips. His mother had been so irritated with him holding alcohol when the picture was taken; but nonetheless, here it was, framed and right in his face.

“Don’t cry.” He kisses her scalp and Arya chokes on a sob, “I’m not.”

Tuesday 1:30 PM

The house is covered in a layer of sympathy food. Casseroles, dips, and veggie trays litter every flat space on the first floor. Jon is munching on a carrot smothered in ranch dressing when Talisa practically ambushes him in the dining room. “Where’s Dany?” She’s always had this funny way of asking a question and still making it sound like a commanding statement. It drove Jon nuts back in high school.

Daenerys, of course, is M.I.A. for this whole shindig. Jon hasn't exactly gotten around to telling her. Especially since he hasn't answered a single one of her phone calls since he left their house yesterday morning. He hasn't answered any of her calls since he filed for divorce, really.

Talisa reaches across and pops a piece of celery in her mouth and munches gracefully. “Well?”

“She hurt her back. I told Mom when I got in yesterday.” Jon avoids her hot gaze by looking at all the food, “Did Mom make any of this? Or Bethany? Or all strangers?”

“Who cares?” She dismisses, “I hope she feels better. How bad is it?” Talisa is digging. Jon sends her a warning glance but she doesn’t back down. “How’d she hurt it?”

Jon tosses his half eaten carrot onto a random discarded paper plate and buckles in to either tell her the truth or come up with a great story. Either way, he's more than ready to make her leave him alone and get her back to her husband. Since they've got an old history it doesn’t ever make Robb all too happy when he catches them hanging out alone together.

“Get over here! Now!” Arya hisses and beckons them with a crazed wave from the hallway. Talisa and Jon spin on their heels as if they've been busted, but Arya just keeps frantically waving for them to follow. Domeric is pacing the halls on some important call, although they’re really all important according to him, and completely ignores them as they push past him to the front of the house. Catelyn, Robb, Bethany, and Arya are all peering out through the blinds.

“What is it?” Talisa leans over Robb’s shoulder as Jon ducks beneath his mom.

Rickon is standing beside a Towne Lincoln car with his hands on his hips. “What is he doing?” Bethany Waters scoffs but is cut short as an elegant, clean, and well-put together woman climbs out of the back seat. Disbelief and silence settles envelops them all as they watch this graceful woman step onto the street and straighten her tailored dress skirt and jacket. Her honey blonde hair is pulled back into a low Grace Kelly bun and she has on these fashionable and very expensive looking sunglasses. She has zero visible tattoos, obvious boob jobs, or fuck-me pumps as she walks to greet their brother.

“Who is that?” Jon stares at the sleek stranger not bothering to shut his gaping mouth.

“It’s got to be his lawyer or something.” Arya bites her lip in excitement. “That is so like Rickon to fuck his attorney.” Arya shakes her head but doesn’t seem the least bit surprised.

“Rickon has a lawyer?” Talisa sounds concerned.

“If he’s in trouble.” Arya sighs.

“Is he?”

“Probably.” Jon quips as he backs away from the window. The woman has to have at least 20 years on him, and doesn’t fit any criteria for Rickon’s usual victims; i.e. the visible tattoos, double E boob jobs, and fuck-me pumps previously described.

As soon as Rickon closes in on her, their arms are clutching, grabbing, and sliding over one another. Their tongues are down one another’s throats as they tangle in a total inappropriate and porn-like embrace.

“Clearly not his lawyer.” Talisa sneers a little too condescendingly. Talisa comes from a family where everyone regularly says “I love you” and get together for willingly scheduled game nights. They talk about how they feel and call each other on their respective birthdays and send one another anniversary flowers. She doesn’t really get or fit in with the Starks. When Jon and her were kids in high school they dated for about three months until she grew tired of his complete and utter failure as a first time boyfriend. It took Jon a while to get into the hang of the whole girlfriend thing. Anyways, Talisa wasn’t a fan of brash, sexual, sarcastic, or dark humor. So she wasn’t a huge fan of the Starks in turn. Except when it came to Robb.

After they are done exchanging spit and groping one another, Rickon and his mystery woman were coming in hot towards their home. “Shit!” Catelyn hissed as they all stumble away from spying. “Be nice!” She points a warning finger at all of them right before Rickon pushes through the front door.

“Hey guys! I want you to meet someone!” Rickon calls out.

“Here we go.” Arya snickers in Jon's ear as they watch their little brother wrap a lazy and proud arm around his new lady. It’d be rude to call her a toy.

“This is Cersei, my fiancé!” Rickon shouts in delight. The woman has a tight smile and an even tighter ass, but her blue eyes go wide and she places a gentle kiss on his cheek, “Engaged to be engaged.”

Everyone stares blankly at the two of them. Except for Domeric who is still pacing, only now he is actually in the room with everyone. Cole and Matthew are running circles around his long legs and he nearly steps on them several times. Cersei smooths her skirt and smiles softly.

“That’s Arya.” Rickon begins the roll call by pointing to his jeering big sister. “Nice jacket.”

“Thanks.” Cersei nods in response.

“That guy walking in circles is her husband Domeric.” Everyone looks to her husband who just looks directly at Cersei and finishes his statement, “I can’t get out there for another week, you need to figure this shit out Barry.”

“He’s an asshole.” Rickon snickers.

“Rickon!” Cersei gasps.

“It’s okay he can’t hear me, honey. This is my older brother Robb and his wife Talisa. They don’t like me all that much.”

“Only because you’re a douchebag.” Robb rolls his eyes as he speaks for the first time since the burial. Talisa smiles too brightly, “Nice to meet you.” Her tone is soaked and steeped in sweetness and much too over the top as an apology for her husband’s jab at his little brother. She looks at the woman up and down and seems to be torn between hugging and smacking her. Talisa wants to say aloud that she once looked like that, a size two with a tight ass. She would insist that she has manners, unlike the Starks, and is only chunky from the IVF hormones.

“This is Jon, he likes me these days.”

“Hi Jon,” Cersei’s smile doesn’t meet her eyes.

“His bitch wife Daenerys-“

“Rick.” Jon quickly spits out his little brother's old nickname, which in turn stabs Rickon into silence. He nods in acknowledgement and miraculously shuts the hell up for once in his life. Rickon shoves his hands in his pockets and nods at Catelyn, “This is my lovely mother.”

Their mom is standing next to Bethany with a forced smile, her hair is lopsided and the mascara from earlier is smudged beneath her left eye, but she still reaches out to shake the woman’s hand. Cersei is probably only 10 years younger than her. “Hello Cersei, I hope you can forgive our behavior given the circumstances.”

“Of course, I should be the one apologizing for arriving unannounced during such a difficult time.” Cersei pulls her hand away and looks uncomfortable from all the stares and Catelyn's too long handshake.

“So why don’t you?” Arya sneers.

“Arya!” Mom snaps.

“He called Dom an asshole!”

“I’m sorry. It is possible that Domeric stopped being an asshole since I last saw him, though unlikely.” Rickon beams before shrinking underneath Cersei’s gaze. “Rickon!” She snaps and he shuts up like a trained dog, even wincing from the force in her tone.

“Rickon is nervous. This is hard for him and I’m sure he wishes he could have introduced me under better circumstances. I am Rickon’s life coach, along with fiancé, and we both felt that during all of this it would help him greatly if I were here.” Cersei must’ve rehearsed that on the car ride over.

“Life coach?” Catelyn raises her eyebrow.

“Cersei was my therapist.” Rickon smiles.

“Christ,” Robb whispers under his breath. So definitely not a lawyer.

“You’re his therapist and you’re dating him?” Arya looks between the two of them like this is the best thing to happen to her in a while.

“As soon as we started acting on our feelings for one another I referred him to a colleague.”

Arya looks aghast and glares at each of them, especially her mother, willing any of them to join in her disgust. “Is this even ethical?”

“Yes.” Cersei looks at Arya pointedly.

“It just happened.” Rickon shrugs. That was Rickon’s excuse for everything, a man not entirely in charge of his own life. He’d set a barn in fire, get in a fist fight, or make out with someone else’s girlfriend and say the same thing every time. “It just happened.”

Just then Penny begins to scream at an awful ear ringing volume from the next room over where she had been jailed up in her pack and play. Arya looked over to Domeric with begging eyes, it was his turn, but he continued his conversation on the phone. “Dom, do you mind?”

He looks at her like he can’t help himself, like she should know better, like he’s scolding her for even suggesting that this phone call should wait.

Rickon was entirely right about the asshole thing.

“Hey, where is Daenerys?” Talisa looks back at Jon playfully. Jon all but sinks into himself before stepping back, placing a hand on Arya’s elbow and whispering, “I got her.”

And Jon jets away from the mess in the living room to go pick up his soft, squishy, and screeching baby niece. When he gathers her up in his stocky arms she instantly slows her sobs to rest her head on his chest and coo happily. Jon begins to rock her back and forth and take in her sweet baby smell.

“You are such a pretty girl,” Jon whispers to a very drowsy Penny, he can hear her breaths slowing against his chest. Penny stops her wiggling and cooing to finally shut her eyes to the rhythm of Jon's rocking and hums. 

“Eunuch is coming at 6 to help set up for the Jewish stuff!” Rickon yells from the next room over, startling Penny and making her cry all over again.

This week was going to kill them all.

Chapter Text

Tuesday 5:58 PM

Eunuch shows up with a few volunteers from the Hebrew Center that none of the Starks don’t recognize. Not that Jon expected to know anyone who had anything to do with the synagogue, but it’s still bizarre to stand silently amongst his family as these random Jews move around the contents of his parent’s home. They shove the furniture up against the walls and line up these miniature chairs that sink low to the ground for Shiva. A candle is lit on top of the piano with enough wax to burn for seven days, and they all recite a prayer that the Starks pretend to understand.

“You’ll have to thank the Smurfs from the village for letting us borrow their seats.” Rickon kicks softly at a chair.

“They’re Shiva chairs.” Eunuch sighs, “They’re low to the ground as a sign of mourning.”

“What’s with the mirrors?” Arya peers around at the decorative mirrors placed about the home that were now covered in cloth.

“During mourning it is important to grieve the loved one and not focus on vanity.” Eunuch motions around the house, “Your home is meant to represent your state of grief.”

They all nod along like he’s some tour guide showing them a museum none of them wanted a tour of. Jon tries to focus but he knows Eunuch's just parting his lips to begin another explanation or to teach them something about another tradition, but he's too focused on the Yamaka sitting on his scalp. When the hell did Eunuch find God? Jon lost track of him after high school. Not God, but Eunuch. God got lost sometime after Jon picked up Little League and they stopped being able to make the occasional pit stop at synagogue in exchange for Robb and Jon's weekend tournaments.

“Your father called me from the hospital a few days ago. Now, he wasn’t a very religious man, but he explained to me his regret in not instilling more Jewish values and traditions within his family.” Eunuch glares at each of them, which isn't entirely appropriate considering he's talking about their dying father's final moments.

“That doesn’t sound like Dad.” Arya sneers.

“It’s actually somewhat common for people facing death to reach out to God,” Eunuch says, in the same exact self-important, didactic tone he employed as a kid when explaining to them what a blowjob was.

“Dad didn’t believe in God.” Rickon says, “Why would he call you to talk about something he doesn’t believe?”

“I guess he changed his mind.” Eunuch grits his teeth. He obviously is not over Rickon calling him by his nickname in front of everybody at the burial.

“Dad never changed his mind.” Jon adds, because it’s the truth. That man saw everything in black and white, right and wrong. It never took him longer than 3 seconds to decide on anything.

“Your father’s dying request was that his family sits Shiva.”

“He was on a lot of drugs.” Arya points out.

“He was perfectly lucid.” Eunuch’s face turns bright red.

“Did anyone else hear him say it?” Rickon asks.

“Rick.” Robb has only spoken in one-word syllables for the past two hours.

“What? I’m just saying. Maybe Eun-Theon misunderstood.” Rickon shrugs.

“I didn’t misunderstand anything, Rickon.”

“Don’t some people just sit for three days?” Jon suggests. He's heard of it somewhere along the way maybe in a movie or a book, or even a TV show. But now that he think about it, he doesn’t think there’s a whole lot of Jews on actual TV, they just write, produce, and direct everything.

“Yes!” Arya agrees triumphantly while thrusting a victorious finger in the air.

“No! ‘Shiva’ means seven and you all will sit for seven days.” Eunuch retorts.

“Well, I can’t be away from the business for seven whole days. Dad would have never gone for that.” Robb speaks two whole sentences.

“Listen, Theon,” Jon steps forward, “You’ve done what he asked. You gave him a very nice ceremony. You’re a great Rabbi. But I think now we’re going to discuss this among ourselves.”

“Stop it!”

We all turn to see Catelyn seething beside Bethany under the archway of the living room. “This is what Ned wanted.” She states firmly as she steps into the room. “He was not a perfect man or a perfect father but we will all sit Shiva for him, dammit!”

“It’s okay Mom, calm down.” Robb reaches for her.

“Stop! Your father laid dying for the past 6 months and how many times did you visit him? Now, I know Arya, you live far and are a busy mother. And Jon, you’ve been going through a tough time, I understand that. Rickon…well, who knows what you’ve been up to. It’s like having a son in Iraq. At least then I’d know where you were. But your father made a wish and we are all going to honor it. We are all going to get on each other’s nerves, it’s going to get crowded, and uncomfortable, but we are all going to be under the same roof for seven days. For seven whole days you will all be my children again.” She takes another step and a big smile grows on her stern face, “And you’re all grounded.”

She spins hotly on her stiletto and plants herself into one of the Smurf chairs, “Well, come then.” She pats the seats beside her. They all follow sullenly, like the group of scolded children they are. 

“Um, Mrs. Stark,” Eunuch says, clearing his throat, “You’re really not supposed to wear dress shoes when you’re sitting Shiva.”

“I have bad arches.” She flashes him a look sharp enough for a circumcision.

7:30 PM

They’ve been stuck there for the past hour and a half. The crowds are starting to thin out and Jon couldn’t be any happier about it. Right in front of their seats is a line of regular sized foldable chairs, not from Smurf Village, and therefore everyone passing their condolences onto to the family has their crotch at Jon's eye level.

Petyr Baelish combs at his mustache and doesn’t even attempt to pretend he’s not staring at his mother’s tits. Baelish nods along as she talks about work and her grandchildren and the weather. Catelyn is an expert at chatty small talk.

“So where is Daenerys?” Mrs. Umber cocks her head curiously at Jon.

“What is it that you do again?”  Their neighbor asks Rickon.

“Kids any time soon?” Mrs. Tyrell bugs Robb.

“Working and motherhood. Wow. Do you miss the kids at work?” Theon's grandmother gives Arya a subtle jab as she sips at her sparkling water.

Christ.

“Hurt her back.” Jon.

“Actually I’m working at a small independent music company. I’m the owner and producer.” Rickon.

“Working on it.” Robb.

“Yes and yes.” Arya.

How much longer of this horseshit? Jon whines in his own mind and tries to swallow his growing temptation to fold up his Smurf seat and bow out. It’s only been about an hour and a half since their mother herded them into the shrunken chairs so that random people from Temple could come snack on the appetizers and get a look at the inside of their house. Actually, maybe some of them cared; Jon just didn’t care enough to take note of their sincerity.

Arya looks over at Jon with tired eyes as the two nosy ass people who were just interrogating her finally up and leave; “You know you’re going to have to tell Mom soon.”

“I know that.” Jon picks at the dirt underneath his fingernails.

“Do it. Do it or I will.” Arya is taking out her frustration on Jon like usual. So he simply ignores her and looks over at Rickon as he rattles off another made up job to the older lady in the seat before him. Something about law firms.

“Is she going to come?” Arya is dying to start something.

“No.”

“Then she’s even more of a bitch than I already thought she was.” Arya huffs.

“She doesn’t know.” Jon snaps. When you’re with someone for so long it’s an instinct to protect them and defend them, so it comes out sharper than he meant it to. He used to believe he would crawl through 10 burning buildings just to save Daenerys, now he doesn’t know if he’d so much as sit next to her at his father’s funeral. What he does know is that he selfishly wanted her there. God, he wanted her to be in the next room over chatting with Talisa and playing with Penny. He wanted to sleep next to her so they could rake over my family and pick apart all the shitty things they had said and done all day. But she's not here and he is.

“Jesus Jon.” Arya whispers, “You’ve got a lot of things to tell a lot of people.”

Oh, don’t I know it, Jon thinks bitterly. Arya would combust if she knew about the baby in Daenerys' belly.

“Seriously Jon, you tell them or I will. You can’t keep this up for long.” Arya lets the last part of her sentence die down as Mom’s old yoga instructor sits in the empty seat in front of her.

“Tell me what?” Mom leans behind Arya’s head to look at Jon accusingly.

“Nothing.” Jon avoids eye contact and for the first time all night he's dying for someone to plop down and tell him how sorry they are about his dad as an opener to  grilling him about the intimate details of his life.

“You can always tell me anything.” Mom rattles off, “I have an open door policy.”

“Tell her what?” Rickon is finally free of his latest visitors.

“Nothing.” Jon repeats.

“What are you guys mad about?” Robb leans back with Mom.

“No. I have never done yoga. Never will.” Arya is dry and rude to the taut woman whose faces scrunches up at the harshness in her tone.

“Jon, there are no secrets in this home.” Mom prods.

“No secrets Jonny boy.” Rickon’s sing song voice comes from beside him.

“A secret?” Robb raises an eyebrow.

Mrs. Durrandon plops down in front of Jon, plump, red faced, and sweaty. Her brown hair is frizzy and dry looking. A plate of cakes and cookies rests on her lap and her breath is heavy as she peers down at him through her glasses. “Oh hi dear. Where is that lovely wife of yours?”

“Probably out fucking my boss!” Jon shouts. “At least that’s what she’s been doing for the past year.” He tosses his hands up and ignores everyone’s gaping mouths to shove through the crowds and get to his basement. Rickon cheers from behind and Robb calls out his name, not in a loving or concerned way, more of a ‘why does he get to leave and I have to stay’ type of tone.

8:00 PM

Bethany yells down to Jon from the top of the steps. He's holed himself up down in the dingy basement for about 20 minutes since leaving the shit show upstairs. Domeric and Arya are in her old room while their kids, Cole and Matthew are sharing the bed in Jon's childhood room. Penny sleeps in Rickon’s room, but he’s got a twin and since he brought Cersei he called dibs on the pull out couch with her. Robb and Talisa need to have sex twice a day at the times Talisa is most fertile, so they needed Robb's room to have passionless robotic sex. Leaving Jon to choose between sleeping alongside his mother, crashing with baby Penny, or in the basement.

He chose the latter because at least he has his own shower down there, even if it does smell like mold and the sofa mattress is at least 30 years old.

“I left you a sandwich in the fridge. Gendry and I are going home now.” Says Bethany from the door. Clearly, nobody else was in the mood to talk to him.

“Thanks Mrs. Waters. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jon tries his hardest to sound thankful. He is thankful, but he's a little too pissed off to sound like it; so it comes out false and wrong.

She closes the door and he continues to flip through an old elementary school yearbook he found underneath his Dad’s old boxing bag. There was a dent in the cover since he used it to even out the bottom of it. He can't remember his dad hitting the bag once.

Jon is 8 years old in his second grade picture and not quite grown into his ears. They’re a bit too large for his small pea head and his curls are cut very short because that summer Arya had chopped his hair with craft scissors and together they laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. His head is kind of tilted at an angle and he's wearing the most genuine smile out of any photo he's ever seen of himself. Even as a child, photographs were never really his thing. There's a clear view of his left ear with a black caterpillar like puff of stitches poking out from it. Maybe that was why he had tilted his head, he remembered feeling so badass showing up to class and having stitches.

That summer, Ned had started taking Robb and Jon fishing at a wide, shallow creek in the shadow of an overpass near some back roads a few miles north of town limits. Robb and Jon would hunt for smooth rocks in the water so that their Dad could tie them to their lines for weights. They would dig in the course, dark mud for worms that their Dad would then slice up and use as bait. Together they’d cast out their lines just as he had taught them. For Robb and Jon, the casting was much more fun than the fishing. They would reel in their lines as quickly as possible, just to reach back and toss the line in as far and hard as their little arms would let them. Robb was 9 then and both of them were really hung up on who was the fastest, the strongest, and the favorite.

About an hour into one of their fishing trips, Robb slung his rod back and managed to hook Jon's ear just before he launched his rod forward. He felt this sudden, hot pain as his ear cartilage tore, the rock in Robb's line flying back to smack Jon upside his skull. Suddenly, Jon was on his back in the mushy, brown mud looking up at the cloudless sky. Ned had to take off his T-shirt to stanch the flow of blood. Robb stood over Jon apologizing, but angrily, like it was all Jon's fault. Flecks of blood clung to his Dad’s curly chest hairs. He didn’t feel a whole lot of pain, he just remembers being amazed at how his Dad’s crumpled T-shirt went from white to completely red in a matter of minutes. The damage to his ear had been pretty gnarly, cosmetically. They ended up going to the ER so Jon could get stitched up and have his head checked out.

The entire family showed to the hospital, as in Arya and his mother joined them, and his Dad let him get an extra scoop of ice cream at Dairy Queen for being brave. Robb told Jon he needed to watch where he was going and Jon told him he needed to shut up. There’s still a small scar from that hook in Jon's ear and a little dent in the back of his head from that rock, like a fingerprint in hardened clay.

10:00 PM

Arya sips on glass of scotch and watches Rickon swim circles around Cersei in the pool. The lights in their backyard warmly illuminate the area, the lightning bugs are long gone, but the smell of summer air hangs lazily. Jon has his hand clutching onto a bottle of Coors, but he's not really drinking it. Talisa is lying out on a lawn chair fully clothed and reading a People magazine. Robb sits with Arya and Jon at the glass table smothered in crackers and other assorted snacks.

“I didn’t know Daenerys had cheated man, I thought it just wasn’t working out.” Robb is looking at Rickon spitting water in Cersei’s scowling face.

“Wasn’t working out? What?” Arya swirls the golden scotch.

Robb shrugs, “I knew it wasn’t good. When Dad got diagnosed Daenerys would call into the store to talk to him, and later me, but she hasn’t done it in the past month or so.”

“That’s shitty of her.” Arya notes.

“Yeah well, she’s not a very good person these days.” Jon begins to pick at the label on the bottle.

“Seriously, why didn’t you say something?” Robb sounds annoyed.

“I didn’t want to.” It’s the truth.

Silence falls between them but it’s far from uncomfortable, rather one of the most peaceful moments Jon has had in a long, long time. Robb knows he's not mad and Jon know Robbs’s only acting annoyed because he's hurt and he likes to be in the know about everything because he rarely ever is. Even Mom let on that she had a feeling about it. 

“How are things at the store?” Jon asks him. They lock eyes and hold it for longer than they have all day.

“Same old, same old.”

“Any plans to open any stores at new locations?” Its piss poor small talk and they all know it.

“No. Don’t you read the paper?” Robb raises an eyebrow. “Oh right. Maybe you haven’t had the time.” He sounds tired but Jon still takes it as an insult disguised as a shitty joke.

“Yes I read the fucking paper Robb. My being unemployed and cuckolded doesn’t make me any more of an ignorant asshole than usual.”

“Alright, alright,” Arya sighs, “Will you guys relax? We’re not even done with day one and you’ve been at each other’s throats the whole damn day.”

“It’s fine, we’re just catching up.” Jon looks at Robb’s face and follows his gaze to Talisa. Her eyes are closed, arms crossed over her round breasts, and she looks like delicate baby doll with the way her shiny hair falls all around her.

“I always liked Daenerys.” Robb’s tone is snarky.

“Yeah well, I’ve always liked Talisa.” Jon quips without missing a single beat.

Robb’s face is beet red, teeth clenched just as tightly as his fists, “Watch it.”

“Oooooo!” Rickon shouts from the pool. He’s managed to balance a skeptical Cersei upon his shoulders. Her stomach is tight and her breasts are surprisingly perky. Her soaking blonde hair shines in the moonlight, steam rising off of her toned arms.

“I’m going to bed.” Robb slams down his beer, waking Talisa with a jolt. Jon feels sort of guilty about his random jab, but Robb was really beginning to bother Jon and there was no way that conversation was going to end pleasantly. Might as well have gotten to the end of it where one of them was inevitably going to storm off.

“Drama queen,” Arya mouths and sips the rest of her scotch.

“Night brother!” Rickon waves frantically, purposefully dropping Cersei into the water. She emerges with a splash and a push. They’re back to playfully tugging and dunking each other while Robb slams the sliding glass door shut. Talisa looks between Arya and Jon, blinks, then hops up to follow her raging husband.

Maybe sex will actually be interesting for them tonight.

“Do you feel better now that everyone knows?” Arya places her glass down to the table.

“You forced me to. That was fucked up of you. I trusted you.”

Arya chews on her lip, “You did. I just wanted it out there and done with. I hate secrets.”

Says the woman who’s kept a thousand in her lifetime. Jon rolls his eyes and Arya interjects, “I just don’t want to listen to everyone saying how sorry they feel for her and how they hope she gets better soon because of this back injury you made up to protect her. She’s not here because she’s a lying cheater who screwed my big brother over. Literally. And I’m angry.”

“You’re always angry.” Jon takes a sip of his lukewarm beer.

“Now I’m especially angry.” Her eyebrows are knitted together tightly. Jon lightly kicks her foot until she budges with a tiny smile and a smack at his knee, “Quit!”

“Thanks.” Nobody sticks up for anybody the way Arya Stark does.

She nods and reaches for a refill on her scotch. Domeric is still pacing inside their house on his ever important phone call. Cersei shouts condescendingly at Rickon while he just goes on splashing her anyways. She’s about to put the bottle back but Jon reaches across for it, it’s been a long day and it’s only going to be a longer week.

Chapter Text

7:12 AM

There's nothing quite like waking up to a pathetically optimistic boner in the morning, Jon pets at his hard cock and for a moment tries to forget how depressed, unloved, and unemployed he is. A combination of the musky basement smell and the shrieking springs from the mattress sofa upstairs help to deflate his erection faster than he could have hoped. He's somewhere between sleep and full consciousness when the gears in his head click to the realization of what the obnoxious noise must be coming from. Cersei lets out a tantalizing moan and for a brief disgraceful second he almost thinks to grab his cock, but then he hears Rickon's voice chanting her name. 

Jon frowns deeply at both himself and the current situation and pads over to his sad basement bathroom. The noises from the couch aren't getting any quieter, so Jon decides to hum along to the Star Trek theme on repeat to drown out the creaking and moaning. As soon as swings the bathroom door open, he sees his mother perched on the end of his lumpy mattress grinning up at him with a cup of coffee. "Good morning," She holds out the mug for him to take. 

Catelyn is in a much too small satin robe showing way too much skin that Jon has no desire to see. He hesitantly takes the coffee and decides against commenting on her morning wear and quietly murmurs his thanks. "How'd you sleep?" She nods to the mattress she's sitting on and Jon shrugs, "As well as I could."

Rickon picks up again and Cersei has no shame in letting them know how she's feeling, Jon cringes while his mother lets out a soft chuckle. "That silly boy," Catelyn moves a bit and in turn reveals more of her rounded breast. "He is clearly working through his mother issues." Cersei can't be that old, can she? Jon thinks as he shrinks away from his scantily clad mom. About 15 years ago they'd found a benign lump that Catelyn took as an opportunity to upgrade her boobs. Ever since then she rarely wears a bra, much to all of her children's dismay.

"Will you cover up, Jesus." Jon flits his eyes up at the ceiling and imagines dust falling from the impact of the sofa bed's movements.

Catelyn huffs impatiently, "No need to be so prudish."

"I wonder why anyone in this house would have mother issues to work out." Jon bites his cheek and Catelyn lets out a humorous laugh, "They're just breasts, Jon. The same ones you and your siblings suckled at." 

"God, please don't ever say suckle again." Jon grimaces and finally drags his eyes back to look at his amused mother. 

"Why is it so hard for you to accept that your mother is a sexual being? Your father used to-" Catelyn begins but Jon quickly cuts her off, "Mom!"

Catelyn crosses her legs and places her interlaced hands upon her knees, her classic therapist stance, and stares at him. His mother was a best selling author and therapist who had written three books all about the Stark children's childhoods. Everything they did was a lesson to everyone else. "Jon, I'm your mother and I love you." A classic line from her books and his upbringing. Jon steels himself for the inevitable "but" that follows that statement every time. "But your sorrow has become malignant."

Jon nods briefly pretending to take in what she is saying, "Thanks Mom, that wasn't the least bit helpful." 

Catelyn shrugs and pushes herself up and off of the sorry excuse for a bed to stand at the bottom of the basement steps to consider him. Dust mites dance in the sunlight pouring down the opened door upstairs, and Jon can easily see the graying hair at her scalp, the purpling beneath her eyes, and the acute sadness behind her eyes as she gazes at him. Somewhere beneath the psychobabble and boob job, there is a mother hurting for her child, and for reasons Jon can't explain without years of therapy, her pain fills him with a quiet, relentless rage.

"I miss your father." She sighs.

"I miss him too."

"Do you?" Her eyes open wider.

Jon nods and swallows before saying, "I missed him before he even died." 

"Your father was never comfortable with expressing himself but he loved you very much." Catelyn offers up a small smile. 

"Not like he loved you." Jon nods at her and her smile grows more somber as it widens. 

Rickon and Cersei mercifully quit fucking each other's brains out and the house goes quiet once again. Catelyn points above her head, "That sofa bed is fine for sleeping but not for sexual intercourse. You can hear that thing throughout the entire house." 

"I don't suppose I can stop you from telling me why you know that." Jon runs a tired hand through his hair and his mom thinks for a moment. "Your father and I made love on every bed in this house."

"Great." 

"Anyways, sorry you can't have your bed. All those kids need to be by your sister and I figured Robb and Talisa needed the bed for their own babies. I saw an ovulation kit in the wastebasket upstairs, so I think this is an important week for Talisa." Catelyn calmly explains herself while looking around the dark basement.

Discretion was never Catelyn Stark's M.O. It never even occurred to her to fake it, she forever had and always will look through all of her children's coat pockets, desks, phones, and diaries. Arya got so sick of it in high school that she just began writing fake entries just to freak their mom out and teach her a lesson: 

Mr. H'ghar still won't let me call him by his name even after the threesome. He swore to me that as long as I took an aspirin before he finished in me there wouldn't be any baby, but I still haven't gotten my period. I kind of hope I do have his kid so I can name it after him and it can have his eyes and my hair. 

I got these new pills that make me vomit up anything I eat so I don't have to use my finger anymore. It's way easier to keep it a secret and I can finally grow out my nails out. Skinny and I can get manicures again! Win-win.

I know incest is wrong but I just wanted to try it out once and now Robb won't stop staring at me or asking to do it all the time. It's getting so creepy. If only I had fucked Jon, and I would've, if he wasn't gay.

Catelyn believed that secrets only tore a family apart and insisted they all be completely transparent with her. So they spent the entirety of their childhoods lying their asses off and covering for one another as much as they blackmailed each other.

Once after doing a load of laundry when Jon was twelve, she handed him a bottle of lubricant at breakfast. Catelyn explained how it would be more enjoyable to masturbate if he used lube and there would be less chafing. She also added on that he could come to her with any questions he ever had about it. Arya and Robb both spat out their cereal while their father let out an annoyed huff, "Jesus, Cat!" He uttered those two words so often that for a very long time when Jon was young he believed that Jesus' first name was really Cat. At the time, Jon was unsure whether his dad was mad about the masturbation or his mother's confrontation. Jon sulked the entire rest of the day in his room and didn't stop hating him mom, until much to his chagrin, she'd been right about the lube. 

7:45 AM

In the middle of Jon's shower the lights flicker out and leave him in complete darkness. Shampoo is only halfway rinsed from his hair, but he's in a pissy mood and just wants one thing to go his damn way. Like actually having working lights as he bathes before sitting Shiva for his dead dad. So he hastily stumbles out of the shower and grabs up a towel to wrap around himself. Ned was a prideful man who insisted he do all of his own electricity repairs, which meant it was all complete shit. He was a smart man, but he was no trained electrician. The lights are forever doomed to flicker and cut off until a real professional comes to iron it out. As for the Starks, they're all used to ironing out the kinks themselves. Jon weaves in and out of the junk in the darkened basement and towards the direction of the breaker box.

Talisa stands open mouth gaping at his shirtless form, and Jon self consciously sucks in his stomach while clinging to his towel. "Lights." Talisa mutters motioning to the breaker box. 

Jon swings the metal door open to get started when she speaks again, "Sorry for coming up in your space like this." 

It's really taking the bed upstairs that she should be sorry about, not coming down to the basement, but Jon thanks her anyways and tells her its fine as he fumbles through the tricks of getting the lights to work again. Talisa is hovering closely beside him, watching as he traces the buttons in search of the right ones to press. Cold water drips from his hair and onto both of their feet until he finally shoves in the right button and presses the right cord, and ta-da, his towel drops just as the lights flicker on. 

"Shit! Sorry." Heat rises to his cheeks while he re-wraps the towel around his waist.

Talisa smirks and raises an eyebrow at him, "Nothing I haven't seen before." 

A rare light hearted moment between Talisa and Jon, which only goes to show him that he was the only Stark male who didn't get laid last night. 

10:00 AM

They're back in their Smurf chairs preparing themselves for round two. Jon managed to choke down a few bites of a bagel before catching Rickon tonguing Cersei and losing his appetite all over again at the memory of the screeching springs of the sofa bed. They were all supposed to think of sentimental stories to report to their mother so that she could write them down. It was something Jon hadn't even begin to touch on, and nothing immediately came to mind that didn't have to do with regular mundane fatherly things, like making him cereal or buying him a new baseball glove when he needed it.

"Oh! Mine is from when I was twelve," Arya becomes so animated, "I was watching TV when it happened."

"Oh, your first period." Catelyn sighs heavily, "I have one daughter and somehow managed to miss the day you became a woman. I'll never forgive myself for it."

"You've done worse." Arya smiles, "So I panic and I'm yelling out for dad, but he's nowhere to be found. I check all over the house before finally going outside to see him up on the roof. So I'm yelling his name over and over, but the deaf man can't hear me. So I look around for something to throw up on the roof." 

"Yeah, my lucky baseball." Robb frowns at the memory.

"You're the one who always left shit laying around everywhere!" Arya shouts and Robb opens his mouth to no doubt yell back the same things he's been yelling at her about for years. How special the ball was and how his team lost the play offs because he couldn't practice with that ball. But Catelyn shushes them both and urges Arya to continue with her story. "Anyways, I chuck it up there way too hard because of my weird man strength. I'd meant to just get his attention, but end up knocking him off the damn roof. Dad tumbles off and lands a few feet away from me face up. I swore I killed him, so I run over and shake him." 

"Jesus." Cersei gasps and covers her mouth.

Arya's encouraged by the response and smiles wider, "His eyes open up and he looks down to his crooked arm, the bone is almost poking out of the skin. It was kinda spikey and was bright-" 

"Arya!" Robb hisses at the gruesome details and she snickers in response. "Sorry pansy. So as I was saying, he's got this broken arm and it's just the two of us. Mom had taken Robb and Jon to some baseball tournament. We go to the ER where the nurses rush over to get him in a wheelchair, his face had blood dripping down it, and when they ask what happened, Dad goes 'my daughter got her period.' 

The room busts up in stitches, they all laugh because they can imagine their father's face as he had said something like that. "That is such a great story. Thanks, Arya." Catelyn beams as she continues scribbling her daughter's memory into her notebook. 

"God, then the nurse had to teach me how to use a tampon. It was the most awkward thing ever being crowded up in a tight bathroom as this stranger taught me how to shove something up my cooch." Arya laughs to herself.

"Wow, lovely. Any more stories about your period?" Jon scowls and Arya flicks him off before their mother can see. 

"Alright Jon, what's your story?" Catelyn taps her pen to the paper and Jon's mouth goes dry. He scans his family's faces and licks his lips, "Still thinking."

"I know!" Rickon interjects, "So, growing up I wanted to be just like my big brothers and decided to pick up baseball. I was god awful at it, even worse than Jon was. But it was the new day and age of 'everyone plays' so I still got to go out on the field even though I couldn't catch for shit. The coach hated me, and my incredible sense of humor, he really had it out for me. He said something to me while I was in the outfield about how bad I was sucking and how I was ruining the team. Dad got down in the dugout and I couldn't hear what went on, but then the coach was on the ground and Dad was yanking me up off the field to go get some ice cream." 

"Aw," Talisa's smile actually meets her eyes. 

"I hope that one day something like that happens so I can stick up for my kid the way my dad stuck up for me." Rickon places a hand on his chest and clutches it proudly. 

Cersei frowns, "Why not just go talk to the coach or wait until after the game?" 

Rickon's face sours, "Cersei."

"I'm just saying, maybe you should hope to set a better example for your kid rather than that of violence." Cersei's got on the same therapist voice their mother used when she used to ground them and explain everything that they should've done instead of kicking over a garbage can or once, in Arya's case, cutting her own bangs.

"Yeah, but if that had happened I wouldn't have a cool story to tell about my dad for you to ruin." 

Cersei flushes and wipes at her nose, "You're right, I'm sorry." 

"It's okay." Rickon doesn't look at her and she clears her throat before announcing she was going to go for a walk. 

"No one is mad at you, honey." Bethany calls out to Cersei as she speeds from the living room and out the front door. 

"She's a bit of a pill sometimes." Rickon picks at the invisible lint of his pants. 

"You were a tad harsh." Bethany scolds him, but Catelyn steps in. "I thought it was completely justified. It was a good story, baby." 

Bethany and Catelyn share a dark look before the spotlight is back on Jon, "So, what's yours?" 

Jon's throat constricts and he only shakes his head in response. Catelyn takes it as her son is about to cry and passes him a tissue, "Grief is perfectly normal, tears are nothing to be ashamed of." Jon takes the tissue and uses it as a brief distraction to wrack his brain for something, anything, that he could share. The only things that come to mind are ones about baseball, but that's mostly because he's coming right after Rickon's great story. 

Baseball was Robb's thing, he was spectacular at it. Throughout their childhood Robb always made all-star and MVP teams as Jon squeaked by on the wimpy rec teams with the other rejects trying to make their parents proud. Ned would shower Robb in appraisal, giving out play by plays of every great thing he did during a game. Of course he'd tell Jon he played well, but nothing like the star treatment Robb received. In high school, Robb went on to land a scholarship for school while Jon tried his best to fly under the radar and not get his ass kicked. 

The end of Robb's senior year was spent partying, fucking, and smoking a lot of stolen cigarettes from their father's not-so-secret stash. Jon's stomach rolled when he thinks back on the red hot jealousy he felt watching his brother shine brighter than he ever has. That year he shamefully spent the entire time hoping for something to happen to Robb, until something did. 

"Maybe later." Jon whispers and kicks at the ground.

8:42 PM

Day two was much like day one, in that the entire evening was spent staring at random crotches and lying about how they were all doing. Jon pretended he had to go to the bathroom so much that Arya finally caught on and started stealing his excuse. Catelyn was quick to shut it down and the rest of the evening went slower than ever.

As the guests finally left, the heaviness weighing on each of their chests lessened. Catelyn went to the backyard with Arya, Rickon, and Cersei to play with Cole and Matthew. While Domeric held his phone as tightly as he held Penny. Robb and Talisa were holed up in his room, leaving Jon to wander around the kitchen with Bethany.

“Mrs. Waters?” Jon says her name softly; it fills him with sadness to see her looking so burnt out.

“Yes dear?” She tosses out a watery veggie dip and looks his way.

“I can get Gendry from the shop for you, if that helps out any.” He wonders how often she gets offered help. Bethany’s eyes water just a tad and she nods, grabbing up her purse to fish for her keys. “You remember Sansa?”

He does. Sansa had been a year younger than him with bright, long hair and a ski slope nose. They had dated for a few months after he and Talisa fell out. Nothing serious, mostly just making out in each other’s basements and going to a spring dance. They slow danced to one song before they both told each other they were better off as friends. The thing he remembers most about her was what a talented ice skater she had been, and if only her parents had the money to put her in a real school, she’d be bound for the Olympics.

“Sure, why?” Jon is briefly caught off guard by Mrs. Waters bringing her up.

“She’s working at your Dad’s store. If Gendry wandered off, she’ll know where he went and can help you.” Bethany explains, “Also wanted to give you a heads up that she’s there, wasn’t sure if you knew she was working there or not.

He didn’t. The store was Robb’s thing. “Uh yeah, thanks Mrs. Waters. I’ll be back in a bit.”

When he gets to the store, he half expects it to look dismal and broken up, but it actually looks better than he’s ever seen it. Ned opened up the sports equipment store when he was in his 20s with his older brother, Jon’s uncle. Uncle Brandon moved away and then died, but Ned kept the business up and running on his own. Now it was Robb’s, and it looked a lot more updated than when Jon was last here.

Jon shoves the glass door open and a little bell announces his arrival. None other than Sansa herself comes busting through the stockroom door with a customer service smile that quickly melts into an expression of disbelief. “Jon?”

“Hey, Sansa.” Jon throws up a little wave. She is as beautiful as ever, with a pair of jeans hugging her thin legs and a purple sweater clings at her curvy body. Jon wipes the proverbial drool off his chin and nods to where she came from, “Gendry back there?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Sansa looks like she’s choking, “Uh, yeah, um, sorry about your dad.”

“Thanks.” Jon tries to give her a smile but he’s pretty sure it looks nothing of the sort. The mixture of his sadness and delight at seeing her makes it hard to relay his emotions properly.

“I saw you at the funeral.” Sansa crams her hands in her pockets, “I didn’t really have any idea what to say, but I saw you.”

“Thank you.” Jon says automatically, because that is what he’s been saying over and over for the past two days.

“How long has it been?” Sansa looks him over, “Eight years?”

A wry laugh bubbles up in his chest, “Sounds about right.”

“You look awful.” Sansa teases.

“Don’t I?” Jon waves a hand over himself, “Thanks for noticing. You look beautiful, though.”

There’s a pregnant pause as Sansa swallows the words she probably wanted to say, maybe she feels bad joking around in her dead boss’ store with her dead boss’ son, who happens to be her ex-boyfriend. “Thanks. I’ll get Gendry.” Then she’s turning back and pushing through the swinging back door. Her ass looks perfect in those damn jeans.

Gendry appears a second later, his jacket draped over his arm. “Mom sent you?”

“I offered it up, wanted to come see the store.” Jon answers honestly, but Gendry doesn’t buy it.

“She sent you to see Sansa.” He states plainly and a blushing Sansa pokes her head out from behind him.

Oh, Mrs. Waters. He wasn’t even surprised.

“Well, it’s a win-win.” Jon looks at Sansa’s reddened cheeks and feels something in his chest. “You still skate?”

“She teaches lessons every day at the rink.” Gendry answers for her.

“You should stop by when you’re done sitting Shiva.” Sansa grins.

“Shiva is at night.” Jon scratches his head, “So I will.”

“I’ll come by when you come by.” It’s meant to sound playful but her face falls to shock at teasing over his mourning period. Jon forces a laugh to save her, “Sounds good Sansa, good seeing you.”

He means it. It really is good seeing her.

Gendry and Jon climb into Mrs. Water’s car and Gendry flicks on the radio, “You love her.”

Jon doesn’t bother with an acknowledgment.