STRANGELY ENOUGH, CHARLIE did not feel in the least bit overwhelmed by what had just happened.

He thought that maybe confusion would have surely been one of his strongest emotions following the aftermath of Kurt and Lindy's announcement. But if anything, Charlie only harbored a strange sense of clarity for life that had not struck him in all of his twenty-four years.

As soon as he had left his childhood home, Charlie had gotten in his car and drove aimlessly. He did not know where he wanted to go. In an attempt to sift through his mind, he'd allowed his hands to steer him blindly through the city.

He'd considered going to Aberdeen for the slightest, passing second.

Charlie had been plenty of times, especially to visit with his Grandma Wendy and Aunt Breanne. Aberdeen was not unfamiliar to him. He almost felt entirely comfortable there, like a part of his soul had once dwelled in the small logging town.

And of course, Aberdeen was the meeting place of his parents. It was the coastal setting for the starting mark of their relationship, back when Charlie had not even been a thought in their young minds.

Eventually, Charlie decided against it. Aberdeen was not exhaustively far away, but he didn't feel like making the drive back once he'd had his time to think there.

He wound up in Kerry Park, a little picturesque piece of recreational land that rested on Queen Anne Hill and overlooked downtown Seattle. There was relevance to the spot, relevance that recalled early memories from Charlie's childhood.

Together, Lindy and Kurt had taken Charlie there when he was young. He could remember walking between them, each of his hands in theirs while he swung his feet in the air and they helped give him leverage off of the ground. They would walk and walk and walk until Charlie grew tired, and either Kurt or Lindy would scoop him up into their arms and whisper stories in his ear until he was strapped into his car seat and they were driving home.

Charlie remembered watching excited young Nirvana fans bound up to his father, speechless and spluttering words as they attempted to express their adoration for Kurt and his band. Kurt had always been polite, signing autographs and speaking to his admirers conversationally. As technology advanced and the invention of the camera phone engulfed the world, ten-year-old Charlie had witnessed his father's devotees snap photos with him and also of him.

Kerry Park had been a place of growth for Charlie, whether he liked it or not. He'd secretly examined his parents in snatched glances, comprehending just how much they loved each other in a series of passing looks and loving smiles. He himself had felt the love that Kurt and Lindy shared, except it was extended into a different form that was reserved solely for both him and Frances. It was a parent's love for their child, whole and true and real.

And he'd also learned just how incredibly famous his dad was. It never got old or less interesting to see what kind of person would approach Kurt in the park, thanking him for his musical contributions. Those interactions had only made Charlie love his father more.

It had made him want to emulate Kurt so badly that it hurt.

Charlie recounted all these memories in his head as he sat on one of the park benches that directly faced the Space Needle, ever so imminent in the grey, cloudy distance. He clasped his hands in front of him, thinking about his life and if he was truly grateful for the way things had turned out.

He decided that he was -- it wasn't a hard conclusion to come to.

Yes, it was undeniable that Charlie had lived in and out of Kurt's shadow for years. But it had not been a painful experience. On the other hand, it had been a learning one. He'd figured out how to hold his own in the world and how to seek his own talent that naturally stemmed from his equally talented father; except Charlie branded it under himself.

He would never forget the times that he had grown temporarily angry at his father's fame. Most of the memories were not impacted by the harassment Charlie had endured as a child due to the world's knowledge of Kurt's drug use. When someone had even dared to call Charlie a 'crack baby' as they had done to his sister before him, he shrugged it off. From a tender age, Charlie had known his father at heart, and Kurt was no sloppy heroin junkie to him.

He was his hero.

Those times of annoyance that stuck in Charlie's brain mostly concerned music and his battle to define himself against the distinct, neon sign that was his last name. He would never forget his pursuit of starting a garage band at the age of fourteen, which ultimately ended with both his drummer and lead singer quitting on him when they disappointedly did not get to meet Kurt.

Or there was the occasion in which The Finks's first studio album was released. During one of the press conferences that trailed soon after it, Charlie had been hounded by a persistent journalist in the audience about his dad and the legitimacy of The Finks's music -- was their success all owed to Kurt's doing?

It would always be the same. Someone would always find a way to bring Kurt up in conversation with Charlie, no matter the subject. He could handle that just fine, as long as the questions were appropriate.

Charlie snorted lightly to himself when he recollected a visual from two years earlier. Both he and Frances had flown into Los Angeles together, getting off their plane and walking through LAX. A paparazzi had worked up the nerve to ask Frances if she thought her father's legacy would have meant more if he was dead; Charlie had very nearly killed the man on the spot.

Despite it all, Charlie was happy. He connoted his father's music, voice and image with nothing but good feelings. Ultimately, what the world tended to forget about Kurt and Charlie Cobain was that they would always be father and son first.

Not musicians in competition, not magnets for drama, and not rockstars with similar sounds.

They were family. Nothing would ever change that.

Charlie's inner monologue was interrupted by the sound of a voice in front of him, shaking him out of the hypnotized haze he was in.

"Charlie? Charlie Cobain of The Finks?"

Charlie blinked, adjusting his bleary eyesight that had been fixated for far too long on the horizon. He focused on the figure in front of him, a boy of about sixteen years of age with a mop of brown hair and a pair of wide eyes.

"Yeah man," Charlie said easily. "That's me."

"Holy shit," the kid cursed, shaking his head in disbelief. "My friend said it was you, but I didn't think . . ."

"That Charlie Cobain would be sitting on a random bench in Kerry Park?" Charlie finished, his lips tugging at a smile.

"Pretty much," the kid laughed, his gaze swooping down shyly to his shoes.

Charlie waited momentarily, expecting the usual commentary to be thrown his way.

Can I have an autograph? Can we take a selfie? You're a great guitar player. I love The Finks. I'm coming to see you in concert. How's your dad? I love Nirvana's work!

But the kid remained silent, either too nervous to speak or too unsure of just what he should say to a famous person.

"What's your name?" Charlie asked, opting to supply conversation rather than to sit in silence.

The kid's eyes flashed to Charlie's, shock reading across his face like words of a text. Charlie wore a friendly smile, a promise that he was being as genuine as could be.

"Tyler," he responded. Charlie outstretched his hand and though he hesitated, Tyler took it in his own firm grasp. Somewhere in the distance, his friends must have been watching with gawking expressions.

"Nice to meet you, Tyler."

"Nice to meet you too."

Tyler glanced nervously to the side, no doubt where his friends awaited him. "It was cool to run into you, man. I should go though . . . my mom doesn't like it when me and my brother miss dinner."

Charlie nodded. "My mom is the same way."

Tyler grinned halfway, appearing uncertain as to whether or not he had actually struck up a friendship with one of his favorite artists. He backed up a few steps, turning around before pausing. Charlie knew what was on his mind before he even said it.

"Hey man, can I actually have a picture?"

"Of course," Charlie agreed. Tyler excitedly took his phone out of the pocket of his hoodie, flipping the screen to camera mode and sidling up next to Charlie. He snapped his photo, and after a rushed thank you and goodbye, sped off to his friends.

Charlie could hear their exclamations of "dude! No way!" from across the stretch of sidewalk separating them. He settled back against the bench, still caught up in his own serenity.

It was like his memory all over again, except it was happening to him this time. Instead of watching his dad meet with a fan in Kerry Park while Charlie stood beside him, barely reaching Kurt's elbow, he had been the one to receive the attention and praise.

It was strange but invigorating. Charlie never grew tired of meeting his fans.

He did not have a chance to return to his myriad of thoughts before his phone started to ring. His heart swelled in hope that it was Billie. He could have called her himself, but she was busy and he didn't want to cling. When he checked the caller ID, he saw that it was only Emerson.

"Hey," Charlie answered, crossing his ankles in front of him.

"Hey Char. Everything okay with your mom and dad?"

"Yeah. It's kind of a long story, though. I'll have to tell you about it when I see you next."

"You know I can't wait to hear it," Emerson said, obviously hoping for an embellished tale. Charlie guessed that even though it wouldn't be what he expected, it would still be a bombshell of a news story to his bandmates.

"How did the rest of the day go at Ellen's?" Charlie asked, having nearly forgotten the important meeting he'd been in with his manager before Lindy and Kurt called.

"I'd say pretty good. We have the announcement all drafted up, but we won't release it until you review it."

"Review it? What's there to review?"

"Don't you want final say of what's in the letter before we show it to the public?" Emerson questioned, sounding as if the answer itself was already quite clear.

"I don't need to have final say. You guys wrapped the thing up, and it's your letter to our fans too."

"But you're . . ."

"Don't say the leader," Charlie quickly asserted. He wanted to stop Emerson before he could say the word.

"Dude, but you are the leader. We all know that."

Charlie would have normally agreed with Emerson. He probably would have agreed with him even just hours earlier, right back to the very moment he'd left Ellen's office in the last traces of rain and gotten into his car.

But his perspective had changed since then.

"Nah. It's our band. I don't have final say for anything. We make joint decisions, okay? I'm not going to pull a Liam on you guys."

Emerson was quiet on the other line, listening to the placid calm in Charlie's voice. He was not lying to him, nor was he exaggerating how he felt about their new band. Charlie saw both Emerson and Grant as his equals, something they had previously not known of in The Finks. But this change would be good. Charlie was very positive of it.

"Emerson," Charlie began. "Release the letter to the media. Do it tomorrow. I know you guys have put into words what we've all been feeling and I trust that everything is going to be represented for what it is in what you guys finally drafted."

"You sure, man?"

"Absolutely."

"Alright," Emerson complied, though he did not sound entirely convinced of Charlie's urging. That hesitance alone came from years of being beneath Liam's thumb, crushed by his apparent 'leadership.'

"I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Charlie said goodbye, hanging up the phone and feeling refreshed. It felt nice to release some of his power — power that he had not actually asked for in the first place.

He wanted to keep Residual Riot going for as long as he possibly could. He was smart enough to know that if this was to be accomplished, then it meant making fair trades with Emerson and Grant. Without each other, there would be no band. It then only made sense that their influence be equally divided.

Randomly, Billie's face drifted into Charlie's mind. He could hear her approval, telling him that he had made the right decision to allow Emerson and Grant to release The Finks's breakup announcement. Just as Lindy would have, Billie would have claimed that this was essential in relieving some of Charlie's stress.

There'd be no more stress, as far as he was concerned.

He had plans ahead of him, big plans that would fulfill most of his time. But they were pleasant plans, too. Plans dictated by time spent with family, his band and the girl he loved.

Charlie looked down at his phone, imagining himself dialing Billie's number and putting the speaker to his ear only to hear her voice in return.

He was going to tell her that he loved her that night. His mind was already made up, and now that he was on the path of making assured choices, he wouldn't go back on his word.

Charlie was going to tell Billie that he loved her and that he was pretty much sure that he was never going to love anyone else.

He smiled to himself, enjoying the radiant, sunny feeling in his heart that did not match the temperature around him. He'd always been a positive person, or at least he tried to be with the influence of his cheerful mother, but this was a different kind of positivity. This was total certainty of a great future ahead.

Charlie knew that there was only one person that he wanted to talk to in the moment. It was the same person he called for everything, the same individual whom he'd leaned on literally and hypothetically since he'd been old enough to talk.

He found their name in his phone and pressed call, looking out to the Space Needle once more as the phone rang.

"Hello?" she answered, surprised that he was calling. They'd only just been together an hour earlier.

"Hey Frances," Charlie said, the words coming out in a melded, relieved sigh as he said his sister's name.

One thing would ultimately always remain the same for Charlie Cobain; he was never going to be alone, not even as he sat lonesomely in Kerry Park on the bench with nothing but the Seattle skyline in front of him, just the same as he'd seen it as a child walking in the park between the two best parents he could have ever asked for.

Truthfully, he was never alone, not as long as he had Frances — his sister and his equivalent in both soul and mind — by his side.