Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2590802.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      The_Walking_Dead_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Carl_Grimes/Rick_Grimes
  Character:
      Carl_Grimes, Rick_Grimes, ensemble_family
  Additional Tags:
      Father/Son_Incest, starts_at_the_beginning_of_season_4, Alpha/Beta/Omega
      Dynamics, Mating_Cycles/In_Heat, Episode_Related
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-11-09 Updated: 2014-12-15 Chapters: 3/? Words: 10973
****** Impossible Landscape ******
by llamajo
Summary
     Carl's heat comes early.
Notes
     building_a_desert mentioned it was her birthday today on tumblr, and
     while she was probably joking about gifts, I decided to write this
     for her anyway. So, happy birthday! I hope you like it!
     Also, I don't have a beta, so all mistakes are mine. I apologize in
     advance for my blatant misuse of commas; I just can't help myself.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Life at the prison has been going well since Woodbury. Rick had his doubts
about bringing the new people into the fold, but it has been better than he
expected. There’s a council now, and Rick’s not a part of it, though his group
still discusses their decisions with him even though Rick doesn't ask them to.
Everyone has their jobs; most often it’s Daryl and Michonne who go out on runs,
sometimes larger groups too. Beth takes care of Judith. Others have their own
chores to do. Most importantly, everyone helps to keep the fences secure from
the nearly constant danger of walkers getting through.
Rick, though, spends most of his time farming with Carl. When Hershel suggested
farming, Rick was skeptical. He didn't think he would like it at all, but he
was wrong. He finds a deep satisfaction in planting something and helping it
grow; likes to see his people eating the fruits of his labor.
It’s quiet when he’s farming, Carl a silent worker by his side. He’s even
started drowning out the constant drone of the walkers. It’s almost… peaceful.
He thinks a lot; about the prison, about his new family, about Carl, and ways
to make him smile. He thinks about Judith, about who she’ll be when she gets
older. Maybe she’ll be a beta, like her mother, or maybe an omega, like Carl.
Hell, maybe she’ll be an alpha, like him. There’s no way to tell, really. He’ll
have to wait and see when she’s older (and he’s determined that he will see it,
and Carl will too, no matter what).
Carl presented as an omega when he was eleven, a few months before the world
ended. At first Rick was worried. As an officer, he’d heard all the stories
about omegas being taken advantage of, of being helpless during their heats,
having no power to deny the alphas and betas alike that were drawn by their
delectable omega scent… Even before the world ended Rick knew he would protect
his son from anyone who tried to hurt him, and that is one thing that hasn't
changed.
Sometimes Rick worries about what he’s going to do when Carl gets old enough to
have his heats. However, he isn’t too concerned yet since Carl is only thirteen
(more or less; Rick lost track of how many days had passed a long time ago) and
omegas are known to have heats in their later teenage years when their bodies
are more developed.
At least, that’s what he thought.
                                       …
Something was wrong.
Even in sleep Rick could sense that there was something distinctly different
about his surroundings, how all of a sudden he was enveloped by a scent that he
has never smelled before - one that he would be happy to smell all the time for
the rest of his life.
Rick is awake now, can feel his mouth watering, and he opens his eyes to locate
the origin of that heavenly scent, already leaning towards it, wanting to be
closer. He stops short when he sees that it’s Carl.
“Dad,” Carl whispers, his voice breathy, “Something’s wrong with me, I don’t
know what’s happening.” His cheeks are flushed bright red, his hair is damp on
his head, and tears are shining in his eyes.
Rick can’t say anything for a moment; he’s overwhelmed not only by the fact
that his much too young to be in heat son is in heat, but also because the
reason why he’s rock hard in his boxers is because of his son.
“It’s gonna be all right, Carl,” he says finally, taking shallow breaths
through his mouth. He needs to get his shit together; he needs to protect his
son.
Ignoring his erection, and hoping Carl doesn't notice it, Rick quickly puts on
a pair of jeans. He doesn’t bother with socks and shoes, just takes Carl by the
hand and leads him out into the hallway. He needs to find a secure place where
they can get through this.
He keeps Carl close behind him as they walk past the other cells. He can hear
his family waking up, the smell of Carl drawing them out of their beds. He
doesn't look at them, doesn't want to see the looks of want on their faces.
They’re heading towards the warden’s office; there’s an old couch there that
they can set up on, and Rick can watch the door. They have to walk past the
other cell blocks to get there, and people are already crowded in the hallway.
Their eyes are glazed and one man reaches out to touch Carl’s neck. Rick growls
at him threateningly and turns around to pick Carl up by his armpits like he
used to do when Carl was younger. Carl doesn't protest, just wraps his arms
around Rick’s neck and his legs around Rick’s waist and lets himself be
carried.
Carl is hot to the touch and Rick can feel Carl’s little cock pulsing against
his abdomen, already hard. Carl rubs himself against Rick mindlessly, quiet
moans and whimpers falling from his mouth, and Rick shivers, his spine
tingling, when Carl starts mouthing at his neck.   
They finally reach the warden’s office. Rick hurries inside and gently lowers
Carl onto the old couch on the far side of the room. Carl lets himself be
detangled from Rick but whimpers at the loss of contact.
“It hurts, dad,” Carl says, his face scrunched up in pain. “What’s wrong with
me?”
“You’re in heat, son,” Rick says, “But we’ll get through it as best as we can,
and then we’ll start you on some suppressants. We can borrow some from Beth and
then run out and get some more.”
Carl nods but Rick is mostly talking just to distract himself from Carl’s scent
and from the sight of that pink flush of heat that travels all the way down his
neck and disappears under his shirt.
“We can’t put you on suppressants now; they only work to prevent heats, not to
stop them when they've already started. So we’ll just get through it,” Rick
repeats himself. He wants more than anything to touch Carl all over, to give
him everything he needs as an alpha should, but he can’t. He shouldn't.  
He starts to back away towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Carl asks. “Don’t go! I don’t know what to do!” He’s
squirming around on the couch, a few tears slipping down his cheeks, and Rick
swears under his breath.
Carl is too young. He’s too young and he hasn't had any real education about
his heats and he’s suffering and Rick doesn't know what to do. He knows he
could go find another alpha that could take care of Carl, but the thought makes
him want to howl and claw the hypothetical alpha to shreds. But as Carl’s
father, Rick will do whatever is best for his son.
“I could go and find another alpha…” Rick doesn't even finish his question
before Carl is protesting:
“No! I don’t feel safe with anyone else! Please, dad, please, I don’t want
anyone else. Please don’t leave.”
“All right, Carl,” Rick says. He locks the door to the office and makes his way
back over to his son. He’s heady with pleasure at Carl’s words, that Carl only
wants him and no one else, that Carl is his to take care of and no other alpha
is going to touch him.   
Rick kneels on the floor next to Carl, who looks at him imploringly, waiting
for instruction, waiting for his dad to tell him what to do, how to make it
better. There’s so much trust in that look; Rick will do anything to not betray
that trust, he’ll do anything to make Carl feel better, he’ll do anything that
Carl needs.
“Let’s get your jeans off first,” Rick says. Carl unbuttons them with shaky
fingers and Rick helps pull them down and off his legs.
“Underwear, too,” Rick says after a moment, carefully averting his eyes and
letting Carl take them off by himself. The smell of Carl in the room becomes so
pungent that Rick is dizzy from it, lost. He’s only brought back to himself
when he hears a distressed whine from Carl.
Rick has to clear his throat before he can speak. “Turn on your side, and reach
down in between your legs. Are you wet?”
Carl complies, turning his body towards Rick, and nods.
“That’s good,” Rick says in a voice that’s as soothing as he can manage. “Try
putting your finger in there, it’ll make it feel better.”
A moment later Carl whines again, his body twitching.
“Are you okay, Carl?” Rick asks.
“Yeah,” Carl sighs, “Feels good, daddy.”
“Good,” Rick says, trying to ignore his own reaction to the boy’s words and to
the knowledge of what he’s doing to himself. He’s still keeping his eyes
averted, focusing solely on Carl’s face.
“Try adding more fingers,” Rick tells him. He reaches out to push Carl’s damp
hair off of his forehead. Carl sighs and pushes his cheek into Rick’s palm,
closing his eyes as his body arches slightly off the couch. Rick moves his hand
down to caress Carl’s neck in the sign of affection he often uses towards the
boy, and when Rick’s hand is on the nape of his neck Carl cries out and comes
on his own abdomen, his cock untouched. Carl relaxes into the couch and Rick
carefully removes his hand.
Carl continues his ministrations and Rick uses every single ounce of willpower
he has to stay where he is, unmoving.  
Rick doesn't have a good concept of time at the moment, but it seems like
seconds later that Carl’s expression becomes frustrated again, and he starts to
whine. His movements become jerky and his face is scrunched up in pain.
“Something’s wrong with me,” he sobs, “It doesn’t feel good anymore. I can’t -
it hurts. Why does it hurt so much?”
Rick hates seeing Carl in pain, but he doesn’t know what he should do. The
worst part is that he knows what he could do to make Carl feel better, to make
him feel better than he’s ever felt in his life. He knows that he could fuck
Carl, that Carl would allow him to, would take his knot like a good little
omega, but Rick also knows that Carl isn't in the right mindset to choose at
the moment, and he doesn’t want to do something that Carl would regret later.
He doesn't want to ruin their relationship.
Rick knows that he has to do something, though, and when Carl starts crying
again Rick gathers the boy into his arms and sits with him on the saturated
couch, careful to keep his own erection away from Carl. Carl’s t-shirt is damp
with sweat and tears but Rick pays it no mind.
“It’s all right, Carl,” Rick reassures him, “I’m right here.”
“Dad,” Carl whines, his frustration palpable. He pushes his face into Rick’s
neck and takes a deep breath. “I can’t do it anymore, dad, it’s not enough -”
“Try going a little slower, Carl. Try to find that place inside that feels
good.” Rick knows it’s stupid advice, but he’s getting desperate. It’s not like
he has any toys that Carl can use.
“I need more, dad, please…” Carl says, “My wrist hurts, I can’t do it anymore,”
and then he grabs Rick’s hand with his slick-covered fingers and Rick pulls
away before he can think about it.
“Please, dad,” Carl sobs, “Please, please, make it better…”
And how could Rick possibly say no? His own convictions started crumbling long
before this point in Carl’s heat, and if he’s honest with himself, his
convictions nowadays are slightly dubious anyways...
Rick finally, finally, allows himself to look at the lower half of Carl’s body,
at his cock straining against his stomach, hard again and leaking. He allows
Carl to guide his hand down to the core of him, where it’s hot and wet and
tight, clenching muscle.
Rick breaches his son’s entrance gently, just one finger at first and then two.
He rubs his fingers along Carl’s inner walls, against the nerves on his rim.
Carl moans incoherent words and grips the front of Rick’s shirt, spreading his
slick all over it.
“Is this all right, Carl?” Rick asks.
“Yes, feels so good, dad, don’t stop.”
Rick stretches out his fingers, trying to reach deeper inside to find that
bundle of nerves that will make Carl see stars. With his other hand he reaches
around to rub Carl’s cock and Carl comes for a second time, his seed shooting
onto his own chest and dripping on Rick’s hand.
Rick stops moving his fingers, not wanting to overstimulate Carl, but Carl
starts moving his hips and says, “Don’t stop, dad, feels so good.”
He sounds completely punch drunk and he’s already getting hard again, and Rick
is starting to worry. Are heats supposed to last this long? He feels like
they've been at it for hours, though it probably hasn't been that long at all.
Still, he doesn't know how much more of this he can take, of Carl spread out in
his arms, wanton and unashamed of his desires, making the most exquisite sounds
and smelling so ripe, so perfect that it makes Rick ache, and maybe he’s in
heat too because he feels crazy with it, ravenous.
Still he searches gently for that little bundle of nerves within Carl, always
being mindful of Carl’s needs before his own, and when he finally finds it he’s
rewarded with a strangled moan from Carl, a hissed yesssss between clenched
teeth and an expression of pleasure on his face so intense Rick might have
thought he was in pain if not for his other signs of pleasure.
Carl’s fingers are gripping Rick’s arms, probably leaving bruises, but Rick
doesn’t care. He rubs against Carl’s prostate relentlessly and milks Carl’s
third orgasm out of him, Carl’s whole body going taught and his come merely
pearling at the top of his twitching cock, all spent up.
Then Carl whines, says, “Too much, daddy,” and Rick pulls his fingers out. He
gently cradles Carl’s limp form against his chest. He wants to give Carl words
of comfort, but he doesn't know what to say.
Carl rests his head against Rick’s shoulder until his breathing slows down.
Then he looks up at Rick cautiously from under his eyelashes, and Rick’s heart
pounds in apprehension, but Carl merely says, “Thank you, dad,” and then buries
his face in Rick’s neck. The tips of Carl’s ears are pink, but that might just
be residual from the flush that covered his body moments before.
Carl falls asleep within the next few moments, and Rick softly kisses his
temple. Soon he’ll get up and use his shirt to clean Carl as best as he can.
He’ll re-dress Carl, and carry him back to his cell and tuck him into his bed.
He’ll check on Judith. He’ll ignore any looks that he’s given when he walks by
his family smelling like sex and Carl. He’ll say he did what was necessary.
He’ll go to the shower room to wash himself, and he’ll jerk off guiltily to the
memory of his son’s body against his, the memory of his scent and his voice,
and when he’s done he’ll stand under the spray and wonder if their relationship
will ever be the same again, and if he wants it to be.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     Hey, so I decided to continue! This story is now officially a WIP.
     Thank you to everyone for all of your positive feedback, I appreciate
     it! I hope that you all like this next chapter - I had a little bit
     of trouble writing it only because I'm not quite sure where exactly I
     want to take this yet, so if anyone has any suggestions I'm
     definitely open! Also, as you'll soon read, I used some quotes from
     the show, and so I thought it would be good to mention that the
     credit is not mine.
     Also, Tennex beta'ed this chapter for me, and I think that with her
     help it has definitely been improved, so that's awesome.
     I hope you enjoy!~
They don’t talk about it. No one does; at least not where Carl can hear. Carl
wonders what they all think. He knows that he woke up in his bed the morning
after, dry but smelling of his own sex and of his father - a mixture that
brings Carl more pleasure than it probably should. He sees the judgmental looks
the others send Rick, and the curious ones they send him when they think he
isn't watching. But no one asks about it; maybe at Rick’s command or maybe
because they’re scared to know, or because they just don’t want to.
Carl kind of wishes that they would ask. If they did he would tell them about
the ache he felt deep inside himself; how he needed his father to help him. He
would tell them how he begged for it (something he remembers with only a little
bit of shame), and how he felt completely safe in his father’s arms. He
wouldn't tell them how good it felt when Rick touched him, because that he
wants to keep to himself, but he would tell them that even though it was an
unexpected experience, he doesn't regret it, because even during the worst
moments he knew that his father, his alpha, would take care of him.
But Carl doesn't say any of these things. He doesn't think they would
understand anyway, and soon enough life goes on as normal. Carl is taking
suppressants now; just the generic kind that Beth uses which is tailored for
all omegas. It’s the most common type of suppressant - the one most easily
found in abandoned grocery store pharmacies - so they have a rather large
supply.
Carl continues his chores around the prison; he does his fair share of laundry,
and helps his father with the farming. He’s still not allowed to help clear the
fences but he’s been working on that. His relationship with his father isn't
exactly as it was before, but Carl thinks that’s okay. At first they were both
a little awkward with each other, not quite sure where the other stood, but
when Carl asked, Rick assured him that he wasn't angry or disgusted, and that
what happened absolutely was not Carl’s fault. These words helped to ease
Carl’s worries, and eventually things went back to normal.
Well, sort of back to normal.
Whenever Rick caresses his neck Carl remembers when he did the same thing
during his heat, and a tingle spreads down along his spine and makes the hair
stand up on his arms and on the back of his neck; makes him catch his breath.
He wonders if his dad can smell the effect the gesture has on him, how it makes
him hot; even if he does, he doesn't stop.
And sometimes Carl will go to the warden’s office - a place that has been
avoided by most people - and he’ll push his nose into the couch cushions and
breathe in the scent of him and his father there, where the scent is buried so
deep it still smells potent even a week after.
It’s like his heat has opened up his whole realm of sexuality. Before the heat
he sometimes thought about sex, about what it would feel like, but it was only
in general terms based off of what he knew, which was not a lot.
Before his heat he had never been touched so intimately, and he still has never
been kissed, which is weird to think about, and also definitely something he
wants to experience in the near future - with one person in particular.
He touches himself now; not because of a heat but because of plain old sexual
desire, and when he does he thinks about his father. He just can’t help
himself. He tries to think of a faceless person, to think of someone neutral,
but it always comes back to his dad; how his dad touched him so gently but with
assurance, how his voice whispered words of encouragement in his ear, of how
good it felt when his father's fingers were inside of him. He tries to mimic
the way Rick touched him, but his own fingers don't feel nearly as good.
In the privacy of his own mind Carl thinks of his heat, except in his mind he’s
not helpless and confused. In his mind he reciprocates for his father. He wants
to make his dad feel good; he wants to see what he looks like when he comes. He
wants to feel his dad’s cock in his hand. He bets it’s big and thick; that he
wouldn't be able to fit his mouth around it even if he tried, and that thought
gets him hot, and he doesn't even know why; he just knows that he loves his
father and wants him to feel good, and he wants to be the cause of that
pleasure.
After he’s lax and sated from his orgasm he lets himself think about what it
would be like to kiss his father, to feel the man’s lips against his own. He
thinks about it a lot, about how his dad’s beard would feel against his skin,
how it would rub his skin red so that everyone could see what they were doing.
He thinks he would like that, even if it was scratchy.
He finds himself looking at his father’s lips now when they’re together; how
they move when he talks and how they look stretched out in a smile in front of
his straight, white teeth. He tries not to be obvious about it, and he knows
he’s probably failing, but he can’t stop (and doesn't want to, no matter what
the logical part of himself thinks).  
He knows that he has to hide these feelings because to share them with Rick
would mean a complete changing of their relationship, and not in a good way.
Carl is almost one hundred percent certain that Rick doesn't feel the same way
about him.
This is, of course, not only because Carl is Rick’s son, but also because Rick
is adamant that Carl takes suppressants. He watches carefully as Carl takes
them every evening with dinner. He doesn't want Carl to go into heat again, and
he shows no signs that the experience affected him in a sexual way - at least
none that Carl can see. Rick helped him through it because he’s a good father,
and nothing more. Carl knows this, and he's content to keep his current
relationship with his father. He doesn't want to mess things up with his
unwanted advances.
                                      ...
About two weeks after his heat Carl wakes up in his bed with the sun shining
brightly on his face. Disgruntled, he stumbles out of bed and almost slips on
the comic book he was reading the night before which had fallen on the floor
sometime in his sleep. He grumbles quietly to himself as he gets dressed and
heads to the bathroom. He picks up his toothbrush from the array sitting on the
bathroom counter and applies some toothpaste from the tube his family shares.
He used to dislike brushing his teeth, found it annoying and cumbersome, but
now he’s glad he can; not only because it feels good to have a clean mouth, but
also because having the supplies to brush his teeth implies that their group is
stable. Well, that’s how he thinks about it, at least.
When he's done getting ready he grabs a stale poptart from the makeshift
kitchen for breakfast. It’s cinnamon flavored which is not his favorite but he
won’t complain. It’s definitely better than dog food - not that he’d ever
actually tried it, since Rick wouldn't let them. That time on the run, after
the farm, feels like a lifetime ago. So much has happened since then. Carl
shakes his head, washes the poptart down with some water. There’s no point to
reminiscing. Before he goes outside he looks for Judith. She’s with Beth, who
gives him a tentative smile. A while ago Carl would have been happy to receive
a smile from Beth, but now he doesn't feel anything other than the affection he
holds for everyone in his makeshift family. Plus, Beth is with that Zach guy
now. Carl finds he’s not torn up about it.
“Morning,” he greets them, and leans down to kiss Judith on the forehead. She
blinks up at him with her big blue eyes, a sight that never fails to put a
smile on his face.
It’s bright when he finally goes outside, the sun high in the sky. He finds his
father working in the pig pen. “You didn't wake me up,” he says by way of
greeting.
“‘Cause I knew you were up all night reading comics with a flashlight.”
Carl smiles to himself. He hardly ever notices when his dad checks in on him,
but the thought of it makes him feel warm. They lean against the fence of the
pig pen together and Carl notices one of the female pigs is laying in the mud,
not moving. “What’s up with Violet?” he asks, not thinking.
“Carl, I told you not to name them. They’re not piglets anymore, they’re food.”
Carl looks at his feet, and then back up. “I just thought, you know, until…”
his did gives him an exasperated look. “Okay,” Carl agrees, feeling childish.
He hates feeling like a child, especially in front of his father.
Rick breaks the silence: “I don’t know what’s going on with her. She’s sick;
could be nothing.” He makes the noise they use to call the pigs to them, but
she doesn't move. “Feel better, Violet,” Rick says, and he turns to Carl and
smiles, those lips stretching out over his straight, white teeth. Carl smiles
back; not so much because Rick called her Violet, but mostly because Carl knows
his father is trying to make him happy, and he appreciates the effort.
“Come on, let’s get to it.”
Carl follows his father to the shed where they grab their farming tools, most
of them old, scavenged from nearby houses, but they work just fine. They head
out to the vegetable patch. They've got soil to turn, and Rick tells him he
plans on setting up a new patch for some cucumber seeds that Glenn brought back
from the last run. It’s laborious work but the two of them have a system by
now, and though Carl is against it Rick does most of the strenuous labor. It’s
well after noon by the time they've got the seeds planted. Carl’s stomach
growls loudly.  
“Go get some lunch,” Rick tells him, chuckling quietly. “I’ll go start checking
the tomatoes.”
Carl agrees, and brings back some meat for his dad. Who knows when the man
would eat otherwise. When Rick sees that Carl has brought back some meat for
him he gestures for Carl to feed him since his own hands are covered in mud.
Carl’s heart pounds in his chest as he carefully reaches out to place a piece
of the meat in his father’s mouth. The tips of his fingers touch Rick’s lips
and he suddenly feels very hot under the collar. He hopes his father doesn't
notice. He waits until Rick is done chewing and offers him another piece. He
watches intently as his father takes the meat into his mouth. His mind is
spinning at the amount of trust his alpha is showing him; that he’s letting
Carl hand-feed him. Carl gives Rick the last piece and he gasps when his
father’s tongue accidentally touches the tips of his fingers. He pulls his hand
back and looks at it as his father chews. He can see the wetness there, from
his father's tongue, and he has the strangest urge to put his fingers in his
mouth to suck it off, to taste that wetness. He shakes his head to try and
clear his thoughts, berating himself. He can feel his father's heavy gaze on
him, knows that the man can definitely smell him now, but thankfully he doesn't
say anything about it.
They continue working, and Rick goes to get Hershel when he sees some of the
leaves of their crop are dying. Carl watches as Hershel explains the finer
points of farming to his father. His head snaps up when they hear the whistle
signaling Michonne’s return.
Rick says, “Let’s go!” They run down to the entrance of the prison to let
Michonne in. It always amazes Carl how strong Michonne is. She leaves, but she
always comes back. If anyone can survive this apocalypse, it’s her.
“We’re glad to see you,” Rick tells her once the gates are closed.
“Glad to see you, too,” she tells Rick, and then turns to Carl. “Somebody hit
the jackpot,” she smiles brightly and hands Carl a stack of comic books.
“No way,” he says, taking them from her, “Awesome. Thank you!”  
“I get to read ‘em when you’re done,” she tells him, which makes Carl smile
even brighter.
Michonne turns to Rick, who had been smiling at the exchange, “And I found
this.” She hands Rick a razor and Carl holds back a laugh at his dad’s
expression as he takes it. “Your face is losing the war,” Michonne tells him.
Carl chuckles as he starts to lead Flower back to the stables. He feels kind of
stupid thinking of a horse as “Flower,” but Patrick named her and it stuck. He
sets his comic books down, thinking that his dad’s beard is the longest he’s
ever seen it, but he likes it. Maybe he’ll have to hide his dad’s new razor…
Carl stops with Flower when Daryl and the others come down to the entrance.
“Well, looks who’s back,” Daryl says. He turns off his motorcycle.
“Didn't find him,” Michonne replies. Carl knows they’re talking about the
Governor; a man he’s heard about but has never seen.
“Glad to see you’re in one piece,” the beta says, glancing to Rick for
reassurance. They all know Rick doesn't approve of Michonne searching for the
Governor, though he doesn't say it outright.
“I’m thinking of looking over near Macon.” Carl can’t see his father’s face
from where he’s standing but it must be disapproving because Michonne says,
“It’s worth a shot.”
“Seventy miles of walkers. You might run into a few unneighborly types. Is it?”
Daryl asks her.
Michonne has nothing to say in reply.
Daryl turns to Rick. “I’m gonna go check out the big spot, the one I was
talkin’ about, just seein’.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna go check the snares,” Rick replies, “I don’t want to lose
whatever we catch to the walkers.”
“I’ll go,” Michonne offers.
“You just got here!” Carl says.
“And I’ll be back,” she replies. Carl doesn't doubt that at all, but still. It
would be nice if she’d stay a while. Carl continues to lead Flower back to the
stables when Daryl and the others leave. He has just finished removing her
saddle when his father finds him.
“Going to check the snares?” he asks. Maybe his dad will let him come too.
“I am. You’re not,” Rick replies. Well, there goes that idea. “Do your chores.
Read comics, maybe some books, too. Hang out with Patrick.” Carl nods. “Maybe
go to story time.”
“Dad, that’s for kids,” Carl says.
“Yeah,” Rick agrees, giving him a significant look. Carl sighs, but doesn't
argue.
“Now brush her down.” He gives Flower a kiss and leaves to check the snares.
Carl goes into the stables to fetch the curry brush. Once he’s finished he
picks up the stack of comics he had left on the grass near the entrance and
goes to put them away in his cell. He contemplates starting to read the next
one but decides to find Patrick instead. He grabs their soccer ball on the way.
He’s getting pretty good at it.
He finds Patrick standing outside by himself, watching the fences.
“Hey,” Carl says in greeting. Patrick turns to look at him.
“Hello, young sir,” he says. He smiles, pushing his glasses further up his
nose.  
The title still makes Carl smile. “What are you doing?” he asks. Patrick turns
back to the fences and gestures to a spot where four kids from Woodbury are
standing. Carl can’t quite hear what they’re saying, but he can see that
they’re waving at the walkers.
 “Let’s go,” he says, and Patrick obediently follows him down. Sometimes Carl
is really surprised that Patrick is a beta since he always goes along with
everything. But, Carl supposes, everyone is different.
The kids from Woodbury are laughing. “Nick! Hi, Nick!”
“You’re naming them?” Carl asks incredulously. He and Patrick named the
animals, but that’s completely different. Pigs and horses don’t try to kill
them!
“Well, one of them has a name tag, so we thought all of them should,” Mika
says, shrugging.
“They had names when they were alive, they’re dead now,” Carl says, quite
reasonably, he thinks.
“No they’re not. They’re just different,” Lizzie says.
“The hell are you talking about?” Is she serious? “Okay - they don’t talk, they
don’t think. They eat people. They kill people.”
“People kill people. They still have names,” Lizzie says.
Carl can’t believe this. “Have you seen what happens? Have you seen someone die
like that?”
“Yeah. I have,” she says.
Carl wants to yell at her; he could argue with her all day about how the
walkers are nothing but monsters; about how they’re not deserving of names or
anything except to be killed, but he just says, “They’re not people, or pets.
Don’t name them.” He keeps his gaze firm, daring her to argue back.
Lizzie looks away. “We’re supposed to go read. Come on,” the two younger kids
from Woodbury follow her up to the prison.
Mika turns to Patrick. “You comin’ to story time today?”
“Uhh,”  Patrick turns to look at Carl, and then away. “Yeah.”
“See you then!” Mika says before she runs off.
Carl gives Patrick a look, but he can’t help the smile that forms on his face.
“I go sometimes,” Patrick says, “I’m immature.” Carl looks at his feet. He can
still remember when Patrick was playing with the legos that his father had
brought back for him.
“You wouldn't dig it,” Patrick tells him, “It’s for kids.”
Carl doesn't know why, but these words wipe the smile from his face. But why
should they? He’s the one who’s been insisting he’s not a kid anymore. Still,
he doesn't like it.
“I’m gonna head up there, too.” Carl looks back up. “I’ll catch you later,
young sir.”
Carl tries to give him a smile and probably fails. “Yep,” he says to Patrick’s
retreating form. So much for playing soccer.
Carl kicks the ball around lethargically. He thinks about his dad out there
checking the snares, about what he said, and he decides he’ll go to story time.
He tells himself it’s not because his alpha told him to, but only because he
doesn't have anything better to do, and maybe he’s a little curious, too.
Story time was Carol’s idea. They were all somewhat surprised to find the room
full of books near the offices and visiting room. They had no use for it until
the people from Woodbury came, and Carol thought it would be good to read to
the kids. Carl has never been to story time, but he knows where the room is,
and he waits outside quietly; Carol has already started reading.
Should he just go in? Would they think it was weird that he came? He decides to
sneak in. No one will be the wiser. He hides behind a bookshelf and listens as
Carol reads. Not even a minute after he gets there Carol stops and closes the
book. Carl sneaks a peek through the bookshelf and sees that Lizzie and Mika’s
father has left. He moves around the bookcase to get a better look.
One of the kids from Woodbury, Luke, goes to the door to “take watch”. What the
hell is going on?
Carl watches as Carol opens the chest she was sitting on and takes out a tray
full of knives.
“Today, we are talking about knives. How to use them, how to be safe with them,
and how they could save your life,” she says.  
What? Carl watches as Patrick leaves and then gets up from his hiding spot. He
doesn't understand. They’re supposed to be reading stories!
Carol’s face falls when she sees him. “Please,” she says, “Don’t tell your
father.”
Carl stares, a whirlwind of emotions coursing through him, and he leaves
without looking back. He doesn't know what he’s going to do, but he can’t be
there anymore. He can’t believe it. Everyone thinks that Carol is reading to
the kids, but instead she’s teaching them about weapons? What else has she
taught them? How dare Carol do this behind everyone’s back, behind his father’s
back? Deliberately hiding it from him? And she wants Carl to hide it, too. She
wants Carl to lie to his alpha.
Another part of him is hurt. They've been tricking him this whole time;
convincing him not to come to story time because he “wouldn't dig it” as
Patrick said, because “It’s for kids.” Carl scoffs bitterly. This isn't kid
stuff! This is serious, and those kids are not old enough to handle weapons!
They are right, Carl doesn't belong there, because he already knows how to
protect himself.
Carl finally gets to his cell and falls face down on his bed. He lays there for
a moment, trying to understand. Once the initial emotions have faded away and
he’s calmed down a bit, he begins to see why Carol is doing it. There’s always
a chance that the prison could be compromised, and the kids should know how to
defend themselves. He just doesn't like that they’re doing it in secret, and he
doesn't want to lie to his dad, even if it’s just lying by omission. It just
doesn't feel right.
Carl decides to read one of his new comics until it’s time for dinner, and
tries not to think about it, but it’s not easy. A lot of stuff happened today.
Out of all of it, Carl’s thoughts keep coming back to that moment in the field
when his father ate from his hand. He remembers how soft his father's lips
were, and how he looked into Carl’s eyes as he carefully took each bite into
his mouth, his teeth so close to Carl’s fingers. Carl starts to feel flushed
thinking about it again, his comic book forgotten on his chest.
The next moment the sheet in front of his cell is pulled back and his father
looks in on him, says, “Time to eat,” and Carl flushes guiltily. He hurriedly
puts his comic book away and jerkily moves past his father out into the hall.
Rick gives him a bemused look.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Carl says, composing himself. He doesn't have anything to worry about;
his father can’t read minds. And if he smells Carl’s arousal still, he’ll think
that Carl was thinking about someone else. Why wouldn't he? It’s plausible. It
could happen. There are others at the prison that Carl could be with, that he
could want.
Rick nods and they head outside to go eat. On the way there he places his hand
on the back of Carl’s neck; not guiding, but just to show affection, and the
knot in Carl’s stomach starts to loosen as he leans into the touch. Carl knows
he’s lying to himself when he thinks that he could want someone other than his
father. He knows he doesn't, not when just a simple touch from the alpha makes
him feel so safe and loved; makes his body feel alive.
Carl smiles up at his father for a moment, moves in closer to his side. He
knows he’s being obvious; he sees the looks that the others give them when they
walk in together like that, but in that moment he doesn't care. In that moment
everything is good, and he eats dinner with his family with his father by his
side.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     Chapter three is finally here! Thank you again to everyone for
     reading and leaving me comments and kudos, they are very appreciated!
     I hope you all like the next chapter! :3
     Also, this chapter was again beta'ed by Tennex. Thank you, Tennex!
Carl notices that Patrick isn't at dinner. Once everyone is done eating and the
tables have been cleaned up Carl goes to find him. He’s not angry at Patrick or
anything, he just wants to talk. He looks for Patrick in all of his normal hang
out spots, and eventually finds him in his cell. He’s lying down on his bed,
and Carl grips the bowl of rice and meat he brought for Patrick tightly in his
hand when he gets a better look at his friend.  
His face is covered in sweat and his shirt is soaked through. Carl’s first
thought is that Patrick is in heat, and he starts to back out of the cell. He
likes Patrick, but only as a friend, and he can’t handle that, so he’s about to
go and get someone (someone other than his father this time, because the
thought of his dad helping someone else through a heat fills him with
jealousy), but then he stops. He looks back into Patrick’s cell. Patrick’s not
moving at all, and when Carl had his heat he couldn't stop moving. Also,
Patrick is a beta, and Carl has never heard of a beta going into heat before.
Carl slowly re-enters the cell and moves closer to Patrick. “Patrick?” he asks
carefully. The beta looks bad; really, really bad. Carl might have thought that
Patrick has the Fever, but there’s no way that Patrick has been bit, so it
can’t be that.
“Patrick,” he tries again, a bit louder, “I brought you some food; you should
eat something.”
“Not hungry,” Patrick mumbles. “Don’t feel good. Jus’ gonna sleep.” The words
are just the barest of whispers; quiet and weak. Patrick doesn't even open his
eyes.
“Okay,” Carl says, standing awkwardly by Patrick’s bedside. “Umm… I just wanted
to tell you that I’m not angry at you for not telling me about story time. I
think it’s good that you want to learn how to protect yourself.” He stands
there for a moment longer, but Patrick doesn't reply.
“All right, well… See you tomorrow, then.” He leaves the bowl of food on
Patrick’s side table.
Maybe he’ll be hungry in the morning.
                                       …
“Carl.”
No, he doesn't want to get up yet, he was having such a good dream…
“Carl.”
He opens his eyes and turns over to look at his father.
“Come on,” Rick says quietly. Carl gets out of bed once the curtain is closed.
He doesn't even remember what his dream was about anymore. He sighs and starts
to get ready for another day of farming.
“How’d you sleep?” Rick asks Carl on their way to the tool shed.
Carl shrugs. “Fine.”  
They each grab a metal bucket for mulching before heading out to their garden.
On the way there they meet Michonne. She has their other horse, Pegasus, (again
named by Patrick) all saddled up.
“Be careful out there,” Rick says.
“I always am,” she replies. She leads Pegasus towards the entrance. Carl could
ask her to stay, but he knows it wouldn’t make a difference anyway.
“Any requests?” she asks, “Books, comics, some stale m and m’s?”
“You’re the one who likes stale m and m’s,” Carl chuckles, looking back at her.
“And I’ll definitely be lookin’ for some. I’ll look for some stuff you like,
too.”
Carl smiles.
“Why don’t you wear your hat anymore?” She asks him a moment later.
“It’s not a farming hat.” He looks back at her. “See you soon?”
“Pretty soon.”
Good enough. He turns back around and catches up to his father, who is smiling
at nothing.
Carl is curious. “What are you smiling about?” he asks.
“You,” Rick says.
Carl blushes the whole way out to the vegetable patch.
They check over the plants quickly and head out to the far fields of the prison
to collect cud for the pigs. Carl holds the bucket while his father picks up
handfuls of thick dirt, grass, and worms. There are only a few walkers over on
this side of the prison, but there’s a huge cluster of them over by the front
watchtower. They’re all pushing against the fence and actually making it move,
which is extremely worrying.
“They only took out one cluster yesterday,” Carl begins, “Probably gonna need
more people today… maybe we could help.”
“I got other plans,” Rick says, “Involving dirt and cucumbers; keeping people
fed.” Which, that’s true; they do need to do more work on the cucumbers they
planted yesterday, but still. Carl wants to help protect the prison, not just
grow fruit and vegetables. He also wants to stab all the walkers in the face,
but that’s definitely not something his dad wants to hear.
“Well, if you don’t want to, maybe I could,” he says. Rick doesn't say
anything, just looks down at the mulch in his hand. “Could I?”
“We have other plans.” Rick walks around him. “That’s what I should’ve said.”
Carl takes a moment to be disappointed and then follows his father to the pig
pens. There’s no point in arguing; he knows that from experience. Carl wants to
be angry but he knows that it’s his own fault; he knows why his father took his
gun away and why he insists that they farm instead of doing other work. He
knows it’s because he killed that boy from Woodbury; he knows it’s because Rick
is trying to keep him away from the bad things that happen outside. He knows
it’s for his own protection. He knows his father gets frustrated with him every
time he asks. Carl doesn't want that.
“Dad,” he begins, hesitant. His father looks up at him from where he’s pouring
the mulch into the tray for the pigs.
“I’m sorry,” Carl says. “I've been trying.” I know I disappointed you.
“Yeah, I know,” Rick says. “I’m proud.”
For once those words don’t make him feel any better. “Dad, when can I have my
gun back?” he asks.
His father gives him a steady look and Carl looks down in submission. Rick’s
silence is enough of an answer.
“Worms’ll give 'em some extra protein -” Rick’s attempt at changing the subject
is interrupted by a gunshot from the prison, and as they turn around they hear
one more.
“Stay close,” Rick says. Carl follows him out of the pig pen. He can hear
Lizzie screaming for help.
“Cell blocks?” Maggie yells from her perch in the watch tower.
“I don’t know!” Rick yells. He turns back to Carl, “Get in the tower with
Maggie; don’t argue. Go!” Carl closes the pig pen doors and by the time he’s
turned back around his father is gone. He desperately wants to follow him but
he starts running towards the watch tower instead. He’s almost there when he
hears Michonne’s whistle. He immediately starts running down to the entrance to
let her back in. More gunshots ring out in the prison.
There are some walkers inside when he opens the metal doors and he watches in
horror as Michonne fights with two of them. He can’t just stand there and
watch; he runs to the watch tower and grabs one of the rifles sitting against
it, then sprints back to the entrance.
The scene he sees when he gets back terrifies him. The walkers are on Michonne;
they’re too close, he can’t shoot. He's afraid if he did he might hit Michonne.
Carl has to watch, helpless, as Michonne tries to push the walkers away. 
“Hold on!” Maggie yells.
A moment later Michonne trips over the rope connected to the prison doors. Carl
is too scared to even shout, but when Michonne kicks one of the walkers off of
her he aims and shoots it in the head, killing it. Only then does he realize
that he disobeyed his father’s rule. He puts that thought out of his mind as
Maggie comes down. She opens the inner door and they both run out to help. Carl
takes Pegasus’s reigns and watches as Maggie shoots the second walker in the
face before helping Michonne to her feet. More gunshots ring out in the prison.
Carl quickly leads Pegasus back to the stables and runs back to Maggie and
Michonne, who are hobbling slowly back up to the prison.
“Are you okay?” Carl asks.
“I’m fine,” the alpha says shortly. She's clearly pissed off about something;
probably that she almost got bit, Carl guesses. “What the hell is going on?”
“We don’t know,” Maggie answers.
Carl gets under Michonne’s other arm and they slowly make their way back to the
prison. The gunshots have stopped by the time they pass the canteen, but Carl’s
heart still pounds with worry. As they get closer Carl sees Daryl and a few
others come outside across the grounds, but his father isn't with them. He
tries to stay calm. 
It’s not until he sees Rick that he finally lets out a breath of relief. He
runs to his father and throws his arms around him, not heeding his warning. He
feels his father’s arms come up around his back even though he told Carl to
stay away.  
“Dad, I’m sorry. I didn't see you come out,” Carl says, his voice muffled.
“It’s okay, I’m here. I’m fine,” Rick says. Carl wants to stay with his face
buried in Rick’s chest, his father solid and safe in his arms, but Rick gently
untangles himself. “Now back away.”
Confused, Carl moves back. “I had to use one of the guns by the gate,” he says,
“I swear I didn't want to.”
For a moment Rick just looks at Carl helplessly, and Carl's gut churns with
anxiety. 
“I was comin’ back. I fell,” Michonne explains. “They came out and helped me.”
Rick's expression changes to one of concern. “You all right?”
Michonne nods.
“What happened in there?” Maggie asks.
Rick is silent, and Carl watches as Chelsea from the Woodbury group walks by
with a bundle in her arms, crying quietly.
“Patrick got sick last night, some kind of flu - it moves fast. We think he
died and attacked the cell block,” Rick says. He bends down in front of Carl,
who is staring at him with wide eyes, dumbstruck. “Look, I know - I know he was
your friend and I’m sorry. He was a good kid. We lost a lot of good people.”
Carl doesn't understand. Patrick died? He’s dead?
“Glenn and your dad are okay, but they were in there. You shouldn't get too
close to anyone who might have been exposed, least for a little while.”
Carl slowly moves away from his father and jogs back to Michonne, putting her
arm over his shoulder once more.
“Carl. All of you,” Rick says.
Carl and Maggie help Michonne get inside. The two women send him worried looks;
it was no secret that Patrick and Carl were friends. Carl himself hasn't quite
grasped it yet. He went to see Patrick just last night; and sure, he was sick,
but Carl didn't think he was sick enough to die.
They take Michonne to her cell and Maggie leaves to get Beth.
Carl sits next to Michonne on her bed; he can feel her looking at him with her
careful gaze.
“Are you all right?” she asks him softly.
Carl sniffs and wipes his eyes. He’s not going to cry. “I saw Patrick last
night,” he says, “I knew he was sick. Why didn't I say anything?” His voice
cracks on the last word and he hides his face in his hands.
“It’s not your fault,” Michonne says. “Even if you had told someone, no one
could have predicted that he would die. There was nothing we could do.”
Carl nods, his face still in his hands. “I was in Patrick’s cell. I could be
sick, too,” he mumbles.
“Do you feel sick?” Michonne asks, worry coloring her tone. She doesn't move
away, though.
Carl shakes his head. “No.” He’s not physically sick. Heartsick, maybe. A
gentle hand rests on his shoulder and he breathes out shakily. He uncovers his
face. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says. Losing Michonne on top of everything
else… He wouldn't have been able to handle that.
He steals a quick hug from Michonne, who has become a true friend, and is
surprised when she hugs him back. “Thanks,” he says, and she nods at him in
understanding. He leaves when Beth comes with bandages for Michonne’s ankle.
His father is outside along with a lot of the others. Carl doesn't want to
bother them, so he finds some scraps of wood, a hammer, nails, twine, and a bag
of other tools - just anything he might need to make some wooden crosses.
They’re going to need them.
He’s been working for a while when he hears someone come up behind him. He sets
down his almost finished cross and looks to see that it’s Carol. He looks away
again as she slowly walks closer. He hasn't spoken to her at all since story
time.
“You know if Patrick was Catholic?” He asks her, showing her the cross; putting
off the inevitable discussion he knows is coming.
“He said he was a practicing Atheist,” Carol replies, smiling a little.
Carl sighs and takes the cross apart. Figures.
“Did you tell your dad what you saw in the library yesterday?”  
“Nope,” Carl says. He picks up a smaller piece of wood. He can make something
else for Patrick’s grave.
“Are you going to tell him?”
Carl doesn't reply.
“I have to keep teaching those kids to survive. You know that.”
“Did you tell their parents?” Carl asks.
“No.”
“Are you gonna tell them?” This time Carl looks up at Carol; he tries not to
seem accusatory but probably fails.
“If I do, maybe after this they’ll understand but maybe they won’t, and I don’t
want to take that risk.”
Carl nods to himself. “That’s between you and them,” he says.
Carol is silent for a moment. “No. It’s between you and me,” she says. “If you
tell your dad he’ll tell them, and like I said, maybe they’ll understand, maybe
they won’t.”
Carl understands that, he does, but, “I don’t want to lie to my dad,” he says.
“I’m not asking you to lie. I’m asking you not to say anything.”
Carol holds his gaze and Carl finally looks back down. He can’t promise her
that he won’t tell his father because that would be a lie. The more Carl
thought about it, the more important telling his father became. His father
deserves to know. This is still his prison.
Carol sighs quietly and stands up from the table. “I’ll take these outside,”
she says, gesturing to the crosses Carl has finished.
“Thanks,” he says, and then he’s alone again.
After he’s done with a few more crosses he cleans up and eats a late lunch.
While he’s eating he decides he’ll go find his dad and tell him. He doesn't
like to keep secrets, and maybe Rick won’t make a big deal out of it.
He meets Daryl on his way out of the kitchen. “Have you seen my dad?”
Daryl looks tired. “Yeah. By the pig pen.”
“Thanks.”
Carl heads outside. As he’s walking down to the pig pen he sees that his father
is taking it apart, and that there are no pigs anymore. He doesn't want to know
what happened to them.
As he gets closer he’s planning on greeting his father with a hug - he’s sure
they could both use the comfort - but as he approaches the broken gate Rick
says, “Not this time,” and Carl freezes like a deer caught in headlights. Then
he nods and takes a small step back. It’s not until Rick comes closer that Carl
sees the front of his shirt is soaked in blood.
“You think the pigs made him sick?” He asks. They both know who he’s talking
about.
“Or,” Rick replies, “We made the pigs sick.” He throws more wood onto his pile.
“I think we should stay away from Judy a while. Just in case.”
“Okay,” Carl agrees.
“I don’t like it, but -”
“I know, we have to protect her,” Carl finishes.
His father gives him a long look. “Yes we do,” he agrees.
Carl enjoys the moment of solidarity between them before he talks about what he
came out here for.
“Hey dad,” Carl starts.
“Yeah.”
“Carol’s been teaching the kids how to use weapons.” He says it slowly, finally
looking up at his father for the last few words. When Rick’s only reaction is
shock Carl continues, “How to kill. Their parents don’t know and… she doesn't
want you to know.” Carl can’t decipher exactly what emotion his father is
feeling, but he knows it’s not anger, so he says, “I think you should let her.
I know you’re gonna say it’s not up to you. But it can be.”
Rick looks away and pours some gasoline on his pile of wood. Carl doesn't know
what his father is thinking. Isn't he going to react at all? His father has the
power to change things; he could be the one running this prison and no one
would bat an eye. Carl doesn't understand why Rick insists on being the farmer,
on being left out of everything. He can’t help but look at his father
accusingly, because he just doesn't understand.
“Dad?” he asks.
“Thank you for telling me,” Rick says.
“Yeah.” Carl can’t explain why he feels so disappointed. Maybe it’s because
he’s trying to help but keeps getting brushed off.
Rick sets down the carton of gasoline and comes back to stand by Carl. “I won’t
stop her,” he says. “I won’t say anything.” He lights a match and sets his pile
of wood on fire. They watch it burn for a little while.
Carl knows he should be glad.  He got what he wanted, didn't he? Carol can keep
teaching the kids how to survive. That’s good. But Carl just feels
disappointed. Carol was purposefully keeping this secret from her alpha, and
Rick is acting like he doesn't care, like it’s not a big deal, when it is. It
really is.
“Carl,” Rick says, breaking Carl’s train of thought. Rick has moved away, and
Carl moves closer to him, curious, as Rick kneels down and opens his blue tool
box. Carl’s heart starts to beat faster as his father takes out something
wrapped in cloth. Carl has a good idea of what it is, and his thoughts are
confirmed as his gun is revealed. His father holds it out to him wordlessly.
Carl hesitates for just a moment before taking it from him. He doesn't know
what to say. Even just a day ago he would have been ecstatic to get his gun
back; but now, with everything that’s happened, he just feels numb. He watches
as his father puts on his holster and checks his revolver for bullets.
His father lays his hand gently on Carl’s head, then trails it down to softly
grip his neck, then shoulder, and Carl loses his breath. It feels so much like
a caress, this gesture of affection. Carl doesn't know what to do about all
these feelings; about how his body just reacts to his alpha’s touch.
His father turns away. Carl both wants to yell at him and to hug him. He leaves
instead of doing either. He has other things to do, less confusing things. He
can check in with Michonne. He can help with anything Daryl is doing. He can
help prepare the dinner. He has his comics to read.
He has his gun to clean.
                                      ...
As Carl walks away Rick wonders if giving him his gun back was the right
decision. He’s not sure, but after today he wants Carl to be able to protect
himself. He doesn't even want to think about what Carol has been doing, or
about the fact that she felt the need to keep it a secret from him. He buries
the sting of hurt deep within himself and decides to let it go. He has more
important things to worry about anyway.
He looks down at himself and sees that his shirt is covered in blood from the
pigs; his face probably is too. It feels like it is. He takes his shirt off and
wipes his face with the relatively clean inside before tossing it into his fire
to be burned with the wood.
He stands there for a moment, surveying the fences. They managed to draw the
walkers away for a little while with the pigs, but they came right back and are
pushing at another section of the fence. It will hold for now but not for long.
He’ll make sure to keep an eye on it.
Rick knows he should go back inside. He should help with the dead, help clear
out A Block so they can start to settle there. But he just stands there,
shirtless, staring at his pile of burning wood without really seeing it. How
could this have happened? They thought they were prepared for anything. They
thought they were safe. They slept with their cell blocks open, no one on
watch, protected from the outside but still completely vulnerable. How stupid
they all were. How naïve. What happened in D could have easily happened in C if
one of them had gotten sick and died during the night. And Rick knows it’s
wrong, but he’s thankful, so thankful, that D was attacked instead of C; that
the people most important to him have come out of this unscathed.
Rick will do whatever the council deems is best. They’ll get through this
together. They have to. And once this problem is fixed, Rick can finally decide
what to do about Carl. The problem isn't Carl himself, but rather the
suppressants he’s taking and the effects they have on him. Rick can still
clearly remember his conversation with Hershel just a few days after Carl’s
heat.
Right after Carl’s heat Rick had told his family not to bother Carl about it.
He said that he did only what he had to do, and that Carl would start on
suppressants right away, and everything would go back to normal. They could
just forget it ever happened. Some of his family seemed to agree (Daryl and
Beth), while others looked skeptical (Hershel, Maggie, and Carol), while others
seemed conflicted but mostly agreeable (Glenn and Michonne). In the end no one
argued, and for that he was grateful.
Still, he knew that they talked about it in their council meetings, and he knew
he wouldn't get off the hook so easily. That’s why he was not surprised when
Hershel approached him a few days later. However, the first words out of
Hershel’s mouth were shocking.
When Hershel said, “Carl shouldn't be on suppressants,” Rick had stared at him
in surprise. That was the last thing he expected Hershel to say. Before Rick
could respond Hershel continued, “It’s not good for a boy his age to be on
suppressants; they’ll stunt his growth, might even make him sick. Suppressants
are only supposed to be used after the omega is mature; fully grown.”
“But without suppressants, Carl might go into heat again,” Rick said. The
thought both terrified and excited him.
“Yes,” Hershel agreed. “The council has discussed it, and we've decided it
would be best if Carl had a heat contract. There are plenty of alphas who would
be willing -”
“No.”
The idea of it - of Carl in a heat contract with another alpha - was so
repulsive that Rick wasn't even going to think about it.
“Be reasonable, Rick,” Hershel said with his unending patience, “What other
choices do we have?” Rick opened his mouth to reply, to suggest anything else,
but Hershel talked over him. “This is how it works. When omegas go into heat
you set up a heat contract. Bethy had one; she spent her first few heats with
an alpha named John. Of course, back then there were alphas who specialized in
getting omegas through their first heats, but we’ll work with what we have.
Either way, you need to take Carl off of those suppressants.”
Rick was floundering. “I could help him through -”
“No.” Hershel was adamant. “Maybe you think we can’t see it, but we can. We see
the way your son reacts to you; the way you look at him. It’s not normal, Rick.
We know that you did what you had to do to help your boy, given the
circumstances, but that’s it. That’s the end. You can’t keep doing this.”
Rick felt like he had been gutted; stripped clean. “I understand,” he said,
“Let me talk to Carl first.”
Hershel had nodded in agreement and that had been that. But now it’s almost two
weeks later and Rick still hasn't talked to Carl, all for his own selfish
reasons. He likes how things are now. He knows his actions affect his son; he
can smell the arousal on Carl every time he scent marks the omega’s neck. He
sees the way Carl looks at him. He knows he shouldn't encourage these feeling
in Carl, that they’re most likely an aftereffect from his heat. He knows he
should allow Carl a chance to be with someone else, to have a chance at a
normal relationship, but he’s selfish. He doesn't want his son to be with
anyone else. Rick knows these aren't normal feelings to have, but his son is
his whole world, and he feels very possessive of him. Protective.
Back in the present Rick finally heads back into the prison. He’ll talk to Carl
after this whole fiasco. He will. Carl deserves to know about the suppressants
and he deserves to have a choice. They’ll figure it out, no matter what Carl
decides.
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