Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11055987.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Other
  Fandom:
      The_Walking_Dead_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Carl_Grimes/Rick_Grimes, Carl_Grimes/Other(s)
  Character:
      Carl_Grimes, Rick_Grimes, Morgan_Jones, Michonne_(Walking_Dead), Walking
      Dead_Characters, The_Wolves_(Walking_Dead), Daryl_Dixon
  Additional Tags:
      Major_Character_Injury, Hurt_Carl_Grimes, Memory_Loss, Parent/Child
      Incest, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Artistic_Liberties,
      Traumatic_Amnesia, Alternate_Universe, Accidental_Incest, Character
      Death, Implied/Referenced_Rape/Non-con, Rape_Aftermath, Rape, Violence,
      Mute_Carl, Voyeurism, Sign_Language
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-08 Updated: 2018-01-15 Chapters: 11/? Words: 71216
****** Lostmyhead ******
by RickGrimes
Summary
     Everything about The Walking Dead show is the same, except Rick never
     reunited with Carl and Lori, which means nothing is the same.
     Or: Carl still gets shot by Ron, but he loses his memory and is taken
     prisoner by the Wolves. Rick and Morgan save the boy in their attempt
     to find Duane, but so much time has passed, and so much harm has been
     done that Rick doesn't recognize his own son, and Carl doesn't
     remember he even has a father.
Notes
     Story and chapter titles are taken from the 1975 because they are my
     lifeblood.
     Also: Let me know what you think would happen. Do you have any
     headcanons based on Carl growing up without Rick?
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Can You See It? *****
Chapter Summary
     Carl grows up believing that his father Rick really did die in the
     hospital. Unconscious and alone.
     This chapter outlines Carl's life from the beginning of the
     apocalypse to the point when he gets shot.
     It is a retelling of Season 1-6. How would everyone's life be
     different if Rick had never reunited with his family? How would Carl
     grow up?
Chapter Notes
     **spoiler warnings in the endnotes*
See the end of the chapter for more notes
        
When Rick was shot, Carl couldn’t handle it. He wanted to do something, but his
mom wouldn’t let him give blood. Carl thought he was going to die if his dad
didn’t wake up. It hurt so bad not to have him around. Carl didn’t like the
word coma. He thought it sounded stupid.
Carl went to the hospital with his mom to see his dad everyday. Nothing ever
changed. Rick didn’t wake up. The only thing he could do was watch is mother
grow more distant. At first he enjoyed having Shane around, but it eventually
just reminded him of who wasn’t there.
It became more difficult to cope with the pending loss of his father since he
was the only one who seemed to care anymore.
 
When Lori and Carl packed their belongings to leave with Shane to escape the
disease spreading across the town, Carl cried and wailed for his dad.
“We have to go back,” he blubbered. “We can’t leave him. Please. We have to get
him from the hospital!”
Lori put her hand to her head, “Carl it’s not safe. We have to leave right now.
I’m sorry, sweetie. We just can’t!”
“How can we go without Dad?”
“Shane will go. I’ll ask him. He’ll go,” Lori explained.
“Can he do it by himself?”
“He’ll have to. I’m not bringing you to the hospital, Carl. It’s dangerous.”
Carl never got to hear Shane’s explanation, but by the distraught look on the
man’s face, he knew his father was dead. Carl didn’t speak for a few weeks.
 
He watched his mother turn to Shane after that. Shane had gotten them out of
the city, but Carl always held it against Shane for not getting his father out
too. He missed Rick every day.
Carl enjoyed the first camp. Sophia was really nice, and Shane taught him how
to fish. He really liked Glenn too. He was scared when Andrea, Glenn, Jacqui,
Merle, T-Dog, and Morales went to the city on a run. He knew what those
thingscould do, and he didn’t want them to get hurt. Plus he knew that those
group members were strong. What if something went wrong when they were away,
and there was nobody to protect the rest of the group. Carl knew he couldn’t
help because he couldn’t shoot.
It took a couple of days for the group to come back because they ran into some
problems in Atlanta. Carl never got to hear many details about anything. Carl
figured it didn’t matter much since Merle ended up trying to take over the
camp. The man waited until his brother Daryl was back from hunting so he could
have back up, and then he pulled a gun on T-Dog. Carl had never heard words
like the ones Merle said, but he knew they were bad. Later his mom told me that
the words were insults against black people. Carl didn’t understand. He was
just scared. Carl thought T-Dog was going to die. He was scared they would all
die. Merle wasn’t very nice as it was, but when he had a gun, he looked
terrifying.
Shane killed the man with one shot. Carl wondered what Daryl would do since it
was his brother.
He hid behind his mom. All he could think about was his dad. Did it hurt when
he got shot? How had he survived long enough to slip into a coma when Merle was
killed instantly? Carl realized that his dad didn’t survive; he may have been
in a coma, but he didn’t make it. This was no different. Shane killed Merle
like that criminal had killed  his dad.
Daryl didn’t do anything, but Carl could tell he was thinking about it. Shane
pointed the gun on him anyways, “You thinkin’ of tryin’ anything either?”
“I don’t need none of y’all. All a bunch of pussy murderers. I’m leavin’! See
how you all do without me and Merle. Y’all’ll be dead in a week!” He left. Carl
guessed that the man knew he couldn't take on everybody.
Carl never saw him again. When he asked his mom about it, Lori just shrugged,
“It doesn’t matter if he was sorry. His intentions were bad. He would’ve done
anything Merle said. Daryl should be glad Shane didn’t just kill him. That was
the same time that Carol’s husband and Andrea’s sister, Amy, died. Carl asked
Sophia if she was okay, but she just shrugged. Carol buried the man and never
brought him up again. Carl got the impression that Carol and Sophia didn’t
care. He didn’t understand. Losing his dad still hurt every day. When he asked
Lori about it she just said, “Some people grieve in different ways.”
 
When Shane decided they should leave for Fort Benny, Carl couldn’t wait to go.
He didn’t like seeing the blood all over the grass, and he wanted to get away
from the pile of burning walkers. He felt unsafe being out in the open. He knew
anything could be hiding in the trees.
Carl felt indifferent when Morales and his family left. He didn’t really know
them that well.
He wondered what his dad would say if he were here. He missed him. Carl wanted
to ask Shane about his dad, to find out what really happened, but he couldn’t
find the words, and Shane was miserable most of the time.
“What if we check to see if the CDC is still around?” Lori asked Shane on the
way. “You never know. Maybe they’re working on a cure.”
“Ain’t no cure for this,” Shane spat. “Jim’s dead. Don’t matter no more.”
Lori wanted to argue, but by the time she felt like saying anything more on the
subject, they were passing the Centre, and there was nothing left but rubble.
 
When they broke down on the highway, Carl was grateful. He was getting tired of
sitting in the car all day; he wanted to explore. He found a cool weapon set
and some tools.
The best thing he found was a hat. It was almost exactly like the hat his dad
used to wear as a deputy. It was brown with a gold tie. It was a little big on
him, but he wore it anyways. He didn’t care if it looked silly. It reminded him
of his dad.
“What’s that you got, Carl?” Glenn asked.
“My dad used to have a hat like this,” Carl explained sadly.
All of a sudden Shane was grabbing him and he was under a car. His hat was on
the ground. Glenn got under a truck across from him.
“Keep quiet,” Shane whispered.
Carl watched the feet of the passing herd. There were at least 50 walkers only
inches away from him. His heart pounded and then it was over. Sophia screamed.
Carl didn’t think twice before running out after her.
“Carl!” Shane shouted, “Goddamn it.”
Shane ran after Carl and the girl, not wanting the two walkers to pursue the
children any further.
He kept on Carl’s trail, but Sophia was damn fast. She was already out of
sight.
Shane took care of the walkers, but he had to keep running after that. He felt
rage when he heard others following him. He was getting ready to turn around
and put them down when he realized it wasn’t the dead chasing after him, it was
the rest of the group. Only Dale, T-Dog, and Jacqui stayed behind. Andrea,
Carol, Glenn, and Lori were all booking it, trying to back him up.
Lori shouted for Carl.
Carol shouted for Sophia.
Glenn and Andrea just called out for anybody who could hear.
Shane told them all to go back. He didn’t need any help.
He finally got Carl to stop, but Carl was pissed off. “We have to find Sophia.
She’s lost.”
“How the hell did she get away so quick?” Shane asked incredulously. “She can
run faster ‘n me.”
Carol wept, “My baby.”
“We have to find her,” Carl said to his mom. “We have to look.”
Lori looked to Shane, “Will you stay out with him?”
“I don’t want anyone out in the woods stumblin’ around lookin’ for some little
girl who’s long gone by now.”
“She can’t have gotten far,” Carol howled. “Please. We have to look.”
Shane sighed angrily. “Carol, go back to the trailer. Lori, you too. I don’t
want you out here. It’s not safe.”
“I have to do my part,” Lori argued.
Lori, Glenn, and Andrea made up one team. Shane and Carl made up the other.
They looked for two days and found nothing. Shane was certain that the girl was
already dead. He couldn’t understand why they couldn’t find her. She had to
stop for a break some time…it just didn’t make any sense. Then he realized
somebody probably took her. Happened before the dead, and it would happen
after. She was kidnapped or dead. Only options as far as he was concerned, but
he knew that either way a healthy, safe little girl wasn’t in the woods
anymore.
Realizing this didn’t stop Carl. And that’s how Shane ended up carrying the boy
in arms. By the time he realized what was happening, Carl was on the ground
next to the dead deer. Some stupid fuck named Otis was crying on the ground,
apologizing.
Shane almost beat him to death, but he needed to get Carl to safety. The boy
was bleeding badly from his bullet wound. Shane had to hold one Grimes while he
bled before, and he wasn’t happy about doing it again. It made him feel the
agony of leaving Rick all over again. He couldn’t let Rick’s boy die either.
When Carl woke up, strangers were around him, and his chest burned as if it had
been ripped apart. He couldn’t breathe.
“Dad?” he called.
Lori stood up from her chair immediately, “Sweetheart, it’s Mom,” she corrected
sadly. Even with her husband gone, she was still last resort. She loved Carl
regardless, but it stung.
“What happened?” He asked. Then he started shaking.
“Hershel!” She called, “Help!”
Shane and Hershel ran into the room immediately to help Carl.
She had a feeling she was going to lose her son too. Lori didn’t know how a
veterinarian was supposed to perform a bullet-removal surgery on her
son—especially when the only person who would’ve been able to give the boy
blood had died.
 
When Carl found out Otis died, he felt sad because it was his fault. Otis had
shot him by accident. How could he have known that he was behind the deer?
Shane and Otis had gone to the high school to get supplies for his surgery, and
only Shane had come back. Carl was glad, but he still felt guilty about it.
Otis didn’t deserve that.
In fact, Carl wasn’t upset at Otis at all, not like Shane and Lori. He was glad
that he’d been shot. He had never felt closer to his dad than in that moment.
He felt like he was his father, and he imagined the pain, wondering if that was
exactly how it had been for his dad. God, Carl missed his dad. More than
anything. Maybe he should’ve died. Then he could’ve seen him again. He
remembered Sophia too. He wasn’t happy that she was still missing. Why was
everybody so focused on him instead of her? He wished his dad were there. He
knew his dad would look for Sophia more than Shane was.
Carl smiled when Glenn came into the room.
“Hey buddy, how are you?” Glenn asked softly.
“I’m awesome,” Carl replied. “This is so cool. I’m like…like a badass,” he
whispered.
Glenn laughed, “I brought you something, man. You left it behind that day.”
Carl’s eyes lit up when he saw the hat he’d found on the highway. Just like his
dad’s.
“Wow, thank you!” Carl said, “I can’t believe it.”
Glenn smiled, “I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said seriously. “I don’t want to
lose anybody else.”
A couple weeks later they found Sophia in Hershel’s barn. She was a walker.
Carl’s disappointment was so overpowering that he couldn’t move when he saw her
there. But he finally managed to overcome his fear. He got the knife he had
found in Shane’s bags, and he walked up to Sophia. Everybody was simultaneously
silent and shouting. Lori was screaming for Carl to get away, but he knew what
he had to do. He stabbed Sophia in the head, just like he knew his dad would
do. He had to be strong.
It was worth it even after Shane and Lori tore him a new one. Getting yelled at
by them didn’t really bother him. He was used to it. Everybody always seemed to
have something to say to him.
 
When Carl found out his mom was pregnant. He didn’t know how to feel about it.
He was excited to be a big brother, but it felt wrong somehow that his mom was
already having a baby with Shane. It had barely been a few months since his dad
was gone, and now Lori had someone else. Obviously Carl knew that his mom and
Shane were together,but he didn’t think they were going to do anything like
have another baby. Carl liked Shane, but he felt wronged for his dad’s sake.
 
Carl wasn’t the same after Dale died. He knew it was his fault. He had been
teasing that walker stuck in the mud. He had been too scared to face the
zombie, even though he had faced Sophia. He had been her friend—it was
different. He should’ve just shot it when he had the chance, but he didn’t. His
dad would be ashamed of him. When he told Shane about it, the man wasn’t even
upset. That was worse.  He wanted to be punished for his mistake.
 
 
Carl was in shock when the farm was overrun. Shane got them out, with only
Patricia, Jacqui, and Jimmy as casualties. He looked around on the highway
where Shane decided the group should meet up. Maggie, Glenn and Hershel. Carol,
Beth, and T-Dog. Andrea and Lori.
He could tell that the group wasn’t very happy with Shane. They found him too
impulsive and insensitive. Carl didn’t know what to say. He didn’t really care
who was leading as long as people didn’t die. He could feel the group starting
to crumble. Even his mom was starting to have her doubts. It would've been just
him, Shane, and his mom, but everybody else had no choice--nowhere else to go.
The winter months on the road were rough. Carl wondered every day whether his
mom would die, or whether the baby would inside her. Shane became more and more
unhinged, and Carl didn't know how much longer they would last.
 
Carl was scavenging a warehouse with Glenn and Andrea when they heard quiet
moans coming from the back of the building. Carl went around the back and Glenn
came up the other side while Andrea confronted the noise head on.
It was a woman holding two disfigured walkers at a chain’s length.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Andrea shouted calmly. “What are those?”
The dark woman just smiled ominously. In a flash she let go of the chains and
whipped out her sword.
Carl was in awe. The woman’s hood fell revealing her long dreadlocks. This
person was cool, but Carl was scared. What kind of person kept walkers on a
chain?
“Look,” Glenn said. “We’re not here to kill you. We’re part of a larger group.
We’re just looking for food.”
The woman stared at the man skeptically.
Carl tried his way with the woman, “Ma’am, what’s your name? I’m Carl. These
aren’t my parents,” he said, pausing. “My mom is back with the rest of our
group. She’s pregnant. My dad is...dead. We don’t want to fight with you. We’re
just looking for food, probably like you. You can come with us. It’s good to
have other people in your group.”
The woman glowered, lowering her sword. She shook her head and backed away,
leaving the building through the back door.
Carl shrugged.
 
Shane didn’t want to take over the prison at first, but Carl talked him into
it. It was the perfect place. He didn't really think they could swing it; they
didn't have many weapons, and most of their group was weak. Carl didn't
acknowledge the thought that he might have been trying to get them all killed.
It would've been a nice escape from this miserable existence. He didn't have
anymore delusions that his dad was waiting for him on the other side. If Carl
allowed himself one delusion it was that living in a prison was the closest to
his dad he would ever get again.
“I don’t know man, it’s too big to contain. The field’s all full of walkers.
It’s a death sentence,” Shane argued.
Carl nodded, “We have to try. For Mom at least.” He didn’t say out loud that he
knew his dad would do it. "Besides, Shane, you know prisons...you're a...you
were a..." Carl just stopped talking.
Shane nodded thoughtfully, "Y'know. That ain't a bad idea. Most prisons are set
up the same. It definitely puts us at an advantage despite them," he didn't
bother to lower his voice as he gestured to the rest of the group.
Over their months on the road, people stopped viewing Carl as just another
child. Lori included. Carl was becoming tough. Shane had given him gun
training, and Glenn had taught him how to be quick. Maggie had even shown him
how to ride a horse on the farm. Not that he was riding horses anymore, but his
balance was impeccable. Carl loved feeling capable. He didn’t like the scared
little boy he used to be at the first camp. He was becoming a man. He could
protect his mom and the baby. He could protect the entire group. Carl knew who
he had become. He lived in his father’s image. Someday when he died, he hoped
he could see the man again, but he really didn’t think Heaven existed.
Clearing the prison was difficult. There were close calls, but they did it. It
only took two days before it all went to hell.
Beth, Carl, and his mom had been the only ones to stay in the cell block.
Maggie, Glenn, Hershel, Shane, Carol, T-Dog, and Andrea had all gone to the
tombs.  Carl figured it would only take a solid hour to get the job done, but
one hour became two, and then Lori's water broke.
The woman insisted on going to see why nobody was back yet. She needed Hershel.
Carl couldn’t argue with that; he had no idea how to help deliver a baby, and
Beth was terrified.
They were clearing the tombs when Hershel got bit. Four prisoners came out of
nowhere; one of them pointed a gun at Hershel. Shane shot the prisoners on
sight. He didn’t care much for Hershel, but he respected the man for saving
Carl. He could at least say that. When the man got bit, he cut off his leg not
to save him for saving’s sake, but for Lori. She needed Hershel for the baby.
It was a strategic rescue.
In all the chaos in the tombs, the group took yet another loss. T-Dog, and
Carol. It had been stupid on Shane’s part to have everybody down there. They
should’ve just had a small, controlled group—less people to keep track of. Carl
was used to it by now. Everybody died.
It didn’t take long for ten to become eight. It took even less time for eight
to become nine with the birth of Lori’s baby. With one bullet, Carl put the
number back to what it was. Beth carried the baby to Shane, but he just handed
it to Carl, having no idea what had just happened.

“Where’s Lori?” Shane yelled. “You couldn’t even deliver a baby? You killed her
didn’t you?”
Beth cried in anger. Carl tried to speak, “It wasn’t her fault.”
“Shut up!” Shane screamed.
Glenn walked up to Shane and punched him in the face before grabbing Maggie,
and Beth, bringing them into the cell block to check on Hershel. Shane just
stayed on the ground. Everyone walked away and left him there, including Carl.
 
Hershel was hanging on by a thread, but Carl was confident he would pull
through. He felt numb. He was now an orphan. He’d killed his mom. His dad was
gone. Shane was distraught. All he had was his sister, Judith. She already had
blue eyes, just like his dad had. Carl knew Judith didn't belong to Rick, but
he could dream.
Carl was so grateful when Hershel was okay. That man had saved his life, and
even if that weren’t true, Carl didn’t want to see anyone else die.
 
Carl found himself wondering about the woman he’d seen. The one with the
walkers on chains. He really wanted to know her name. She seemed so capable,
like someone he wanted to have on his side.
He hadn’t seen Shane in a long time. The man was always angry, so he stayed in
the tombs, boarding up all of the walls and weak spots of the prison. He was
making it impenetrable. Carl figured there weren’t even any walkers in the
entire building by now. A little too late, but better than never. He didn’t
speak to Maggie much, but he hoped she knew he wasn’t mad at her. It wasn’t her
fault. Carl was just grateful the baby hadn’t died too. It would’ve all been
for nothing.
He found himself wishing the Shane would die. It’s like he didn’t even care
anymore. Now that Lori was dead, Carl and Judith didn’t seem to matter. Carl
figured it was for the best. He only had one father.
Carl adjusted his hat. He wished he could go out on a run. He was getting bored
of the prison. It was lonely there. Carl grew more hateful as the days passed--
resentful that he'd lost so much when he was so young. He was scared that he
was starting to take after Shane with his skeptical and harsh attitude. Shane
refused to believe they were ever safe, or ever good enough. He thought of the
others as weak and useless. Carl didn't want to see it that way, but he
couldn't help but wish for a stronger, tougher group. A bigger group. One that
wasn't to be fucked with. There was only eight of them, and Judith was just a
baby. That left Maggie, Glenn, Beth, Hershel, Andrea, and Shane. If anyone got
sick, or injured they would be absolutely fucked.
 
Michonne was at the grocery store trying to find medicine for the cut on her
leg. She’d gotten into a fight with some thug. Thankfully she escaped, but she
was pursued. Now the people who were after her found a different woman to
steal.
She watched the men approach the blonde woman and the Korean boy she’d seen
with that kid, Carl. She knew she had to stop them. She sneaked up on the
thugs, beheading the two men in one swift movement.
After that, she was part of the group. She didn’t stow her sword for a full
week, and even after that she still didn’t talk much. That was fine by the rest
of the group. They were just glad to have another able body.
Carl adored Michonne, finding himself attached at her hip. At first she acted
indifferent, but then she started cracking a few smiles when he acted goofy. He
was glad to have a friend who hadn’t known his mom or dad. She didn’t pity him
like they all did, and she didn’t treat him like a child. Plus it was one more
able body to help around with things. Carl figured that Michonne was the good
to be found in all of the bad.
 
They lasted at the prison another few months until the men Michonne had once
thwarted found it. It wasn’t long before their leader, the Governor, burned the
prison to the ground. They hadn't stood a chance. Carl didn’t understand why
they couldn’t just live peacefully together in the prison, or just separately
in their own groups. Giving up the prison didn’t matter to him because it
didn’t feel like a home. That was where Shane, Lori, and his sister died. Why
should he live there?
He escaped with Michonne, and he didn’t know who else lived. He didn’t bother
sticking around long enough to find out. That part of his life was over. He
wanted to start over and forget everybody he’d lost. He wanted all of the pain
from their deaths to go away. Carl didn’t want to remember anymore. It had all
started with the greatest loss of all, his father. Now everybody was dead, and
he knew he couldn’t have done anything to stop it. There was nothing anybody
could do. Death was just something that had always happened. It was no
different now. Just more frequent.
Michonne was a good road companion because she was fearless and only minimally
annoying. Carl didn’t regard her as a mother, sister, or friend. He simply
loved her. They both agreed that it was a bad idea to join any new communities
for a while. They were happiest on their own, and it was easier to hide and
find supplies for just two people. Every time Carl passed a sign for a
community called Terminus he wondered what his dad would do. His gut was
telling him no. He didn’t want to be part of another community just to lose it
again.
A couple months after Carl had first seen the sign for Terminus, he and
Michonne decided to go and case the area, just to see if it was legit. They
were starting to get desperately hungry, and they needed shelter above all.
Carl was both relieved and horrified when they discovered that the people who
went into Terminus never came out. He and Michonne wanted to help, but they
were just two people. They had no choice but to leave before they were caught.
The only thing they could do was take town the Terminus signs and warn anybody
they saw…if they saw anybody worth talking to.
The first person Carl saw was somebody being eaten next to the tracks. After
that, he and Michonne kept close to the treeline. He wished he was someone his
dad could be proud of, but he felt like he grew further away from that every
day. Carl always wondered what his dad would've done in these situations. Would
his dad have risked everything to fight and to protect? Would his father have
only lasted a few days on the road? Carl would've given anything to know for
sure. How could he emulate his dad if he didn't even know what kind of man his
dad would've been?
After a few days of walking Michonne and Carl stopped on the road. They were
exhausted and starving. The car sitting in the middle of the pavement seemed
like a godsend. They decided to sleep in the abandoned vehicle for the night.
They had a couple hours of sleep before a scrape at the window woke them. Carl
had insisted that he would keep watch, but he’d fallen asleep. He figured that
even if he’d seen the group coming, it wouldn’t have mattered. Five against two
wasn’t really going to work.
Michonne managed to slice one of the bandits while Carl stabbed another. Three
men left still didn’t leave them at an advantage. One man held down Carl while
the other two struggled to get Michonne on her back. Carl watched Michonne
squirm and kick. He had never seen Michonne unable to get away before, but
these guys were strong, and they looked like they’d done this sort of thing
before. One of the disgusting men grunted, "Claimed". They raped Michonne. Carl
couldn’t watch or do anything because the man on top of him was so heavy. Carl
didn’t think he was going to be hurt because he was just a kid, and he didn’t
think the guys would want a boy, but he was wrong. None of the three men had
any problem raping him either. He didn’t want to be weak, but he screamed more
than Michonne did. Seeing Michonne’s expression while it happened was worse
than the feeling. He felt disgusting and pathetic for not being able to stop
it. He hoped the men would kill them after, but they didn’t. They tied them up
and had a second go.
Carl had a strange feeling that they weren’t ever going to be let go. He knew
that they were either going to be brought along with those men to be used, or
they would be killed very soon. Carl wasn’t going to let that happen. He didn’t
come this far for nothing. He wasn’t going to let Michonne die either.
He found it in himself to buck off his attacker when it was the weakest one of
the three, and he immediately rolled on top of the man to slit his throat. When
the two men with Michonne tried to get their guns out, Carl shot one first
while Michonne rolled away to her sword, finishing off the last one with a nice
chop.
The boy didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. He just helped
Michonne get the weapons of the rapists’ corpses and they walked off together.
Michonne held his hand after, and he let her. It was a while before they could
find clothes without dried blood on them. It was even longer before the word
"claimed" stopped replaying in Carl's ears. He couldn't help but wish his dad
had been there to protect him.
 
 
It was another year before they found Alexandria, or Alexandria found them
through Aaron, the recruiter. Carl didn’t have it in him to be skeptical or
suspicious. He just wanted to sleep somewhere safe for once in his miserable
life. Carl ended up being immensely pleased. He hadn’t had hot running water
since before… Everybody was incredibly welcoming, and there were other kids his
age there.
He and Michonne didn’t fully trust the place, but they were beginning to. They
didn’t feel safe because the residents of Alexandria didn’t seem like they knew
what the real world was like. Carl’s suspicions were confirmed when the Wolves
came. It was a slaughter.
Michonne killed her share, but she couldn’t save everybody. Carl was able to
lead some of the residents to safety. A girl named Enid, and two brothers, Sam
and Ron. Their parents didn’t make it though. Michonne could only save one
before she had to flee, knowing the fight was lost. A woman named Denise. After
the Wolves took over Alexandria, Michonne and Carl left the area, not wanting
to be near yet another location of tragedy.
Carl teased Michonne that she was like Peter Pan and the lost boys, taking care
of all these children, but there was sadness behind her laugh. Eventually, Carl
found out why. Michonne had lost her baby. It wasn’t the same as losing Judith,
but he could understand the pain.
They lasted a lot longer than Carl thought they would. One year in the
wilderness, scavenging cabins, houses, and small gas stations. There was not
much of anything to be found anywhere. Their group was close-knit but tense.
Sam was constantly terrified, Ron was jealous because Enid was his girlfriend
yet still spoke to Carl, Enid always wanted to be alone, and Denise had panic
attacks. Michonne was the most normal one with Carl coming in second despite
how broken he was after everything that had happened.
Nobody had ever really agreed upon it, but eventually the group found
themselves wandering back in the direction of Alexandria. They stayed outside
of it for days, just watching. They only saw three group members. It seemed as
if the others had died or gone off for some reason. Michonne wanted to take it
back, and although the others were fearful of the plan, they wanted their home
back too.
The six of them were just about to make it over the wall to surprise the Wolves
after killing the two on watch. The group was thinned out, and it was the
perfect time to take back their home. Three walkers came out of nowhere,
descending upon Enid and Sam before they even realized what was happening.
Before Carl had a chance to protect them. He watched in horror as Enid and Sam
collapsed to the ground, screaming.
It only took a split second for Ron to react, shooting Carl in anger for not
being able to save them. The last thing he saw was a sword plunging through
Ron's chest. His last thought was that he had died, just like his father.
 
                        Broken heads in hospital beds
                     Saving ends and pulling your friends
                     While you're chasing the first line
                              We made it through
                       He's black and blue and facedown
                          She's rushing in your bed
                  You take draws to sort your head facedown
                         Then he said I lost my head
                                Can you see it?
                                        
Carl woke up in agony. He couldn’t see anything, and his face felt torn up and
ragged, just like his chest had once upon a time, not that he knew it. He
wanted to put a hand to his face, but he knew that it would be bad to touch.
The last thing he needed was an infection. He saw lights and white walls and
thought he was in the hospital. He slowly brought up one hand to his face to
inspect the damage, but all he could feel was gauze. That relieved him
immediately. Someone must’ve treated his injury. He wished the pain would go
away.
He lay there for a while, waiting for something to come back to him, waiting
for a memory or a prompt to get him up. He tried to think, but his mind was
just numb and calm. He panicked. Where was he? Why was he alone? Shouldn’t
someone be doing something about the pain on his face? He crawled across the
ground, noticing that there was a body face down next to his bed. He felt his
stomach lurch as he turned the woman over. She’d been stabbed in the neck.
“What the fuck?” Carl wondered. Who the hell was she, and why was he alive if
he was this close to a corpse? It didn’t add up.
He needed to find help, or at least a mirror to see what happened. He searched
the room around him. The bloody woman looked like a doctor. She was wearing
gloves and scrubs. Was she responsible for saving him?
Was this some kind of sick joke? Carl wasn’t playing games. He needed answers.
He needed to find who had done this, but as much as he wanted to play
detective. He knew he needed to get the fuck out of there.
A movement caught the boy off guard and he fell to the ground. The woman was
crawling towards him, slowly. She snarled. Carl had never seen anything like
this before. She had been completely bled out, and it didn't make sense for her
to be alive. The woman's eyes were clouded over, and her snapping teeth were
bleeding. The skin on her body was purple and veiny. The closest word he had to
compare this sight to was zombie. He ran.
As Carl exited the infirmary, he noticed a cabinet with tons of pills and
medical supplies in it. He filled his bag quickly, but the zombie approached
him, opening its mouth to take a bite. Carl kicked the thing back, but it just
got back up off the ground.
Carl threw his bag to the ground, getting out his knife. He stabbed the dead
woman in the heart, but she kept snapping her jaw. Carl went for the head, and
finally put the thing down. He grabbed his bag and booked it.
Carl ran to the closest building, but it was hard to keep going. Every movement
he made jostled his bandage and irritated his wound. He kept running into
things since he could only see out of one eye. He wondered how long it would be
until he could take the bandage off, and have his vision back.
 The boy made it through the door of the house, but he couldn’t be sure it was
empty. He didn’t want to be attacked. The best thing he could think of was
hiding in the nearest closet. He had been trying to hold of the oncoming panic,
but it was coming now. He was almost certain that his eye was gone. He didn’t
feel complete within his head. He couldn’t explain it, but his face felt
unbalanced and lopsided.
He tried to remember anything about what had happened. How he got here, what
had happened to his eye, who that woman was...fuck, nothing was there. He
couldn't even remember his name.
He knew that the thing walking around the room was called a zombie, but he
couldn’t remember how he knew that. If the thing was trying to bite him, he
guessed that it or one if its friends had bitten the people on the ground.
Maybe that’s how zombies were made…bites? Seemed to make sense.
Carl sat in the darkness of the closet, trying to piece back his memory. He had
no fucking clue what he was going to do. Didn’t he have parents or somebody
looking for him? The boy had a feeling that if it was commonplace to have a
dead body rotting on the ground, then anything was possible in this strange
world. Maybe that woman was his mom. He had no point of reference or nobody to
help him along. He was completely alone, and worst of all, he seemed to be
alone in an extremely hostile environment.
He knew that he only had three goals: avoid everybody living or dead, try to
remember who he was, and survive.
He felt his pockets and searched his bag, but it was futile to see what
anything was since the closet was dark, and he didn’t have the best vision
anymore. This was so fucked. Carl knew enough to know that he was holding a gun
in his hand. He considered putting it in his mouth, but he couldn’t do that. He
had the feeling he’d been through a lot. He could sense that he’d come a long
way in this shit storm he’d just been reintroduced to. The best Carl could do
now was accept that the bullet had fucked with his memory, and he was on his
own to pick up the pieces. The thought that terrified him the most wasn't that
he'd never get his memory back, but he might lose this memory. What if it
wasn't the first time he'd woke up in a strange place with no recollection of
anything? What if it happened the next time he woke up too? Carl started
hyperventilating. Carl couldn't breathe, and he didn't know how to calm himself
down. The closet was getting smaller and darker with every breath he took. He
had to get out.
The boy counted to ten and opened the closet door, desperate for fresh air.
Maybe there would be clues somewhere in this place that could tell him who he
was, or at least what happened. He really hoped so. Having no memory and one
eye out of commission was extremely inconvenient.
Chapter End Notes
     come check out my tumblr: grimesobcest.tumblr.com
     Warnings:
     *Rape of a child*
     *Rape of a woman*
     *Violence*
***** Facedown *****
Chapter Summary
     Carl meets his captors and gets acquainted with his new home.
Chapter Notes
     I don't know much about the Wolves, so I don't know how much is in-
     character or realistic, but I needed somebody to hurt Carl...so I
     chose them.
     ...MAJOR VIOLENCE IN THIS CHAPTER...
Carl was almost grateful when someone hit him over the head immediately upon
his exiting the closet. Being knocked out was a comfort when the world was
terrifying.
Carl woke up eventually, but he wished he hadn’t. His entire body ached from
being seated on the concrete floor. As far as he could tell it was some
unfinished basement. He was handcuffed to a trivet in the floor. Fuck. He
jangled the cuffs, but they were obviously fastened well.
He brought a hand to his face, checking the damage being hit again had done.
His headache was proof of the hit, but he had no more blood on them than he had
before. His bandage was still intact, but it probably needed to be changed. He
hoped whoever had him locked up could fix his face. It suddenly occurred to
Carl that his eye might be permanently damaged. Was he half blind now?
Carl could feel his lungs struggling to get air. He needed to know if he could
see before he could breathe again.
Was anybody even coming for him?
 
 
Carl considered himself foolish to think that maybe he’d be released. After a
day, he wondered if whoever had locked him up had disappeared or died. It had
only taken a few hours of waiting for him to be convinced that he was going to
die. He wondered why his captors hadn’t killed him yet. What were they waiting
for? He hadn’t gotten a chance to identify the people who took him, but he had
a feeling they were bad. Obviously bad because they took him, but bad-bad. As
in they didn't take him for a logical reason.
 
As soon the man walked in, Carl knew he was about to get hurt. The man was
tall, and thin. The scraggly hair and dirty face screamed danger, but more than
that, the man had evil in his eyes. Carl gulped when his eyes landed on the W
that was deeply carved into his captor’s forehead.
“You killed our people,” the W man stated.
 
Carl looked genuinely confused. He didn’t remember killing anybody except the
zombie. His tongue felt useless in his mouth, and he couldn’t formulate an
explanation. “I’m not gonna kill you. Yet,” the man explained, “Cause you set
‘em free, but that don’t mean you’re off the hook, boy.”
Carl wanted to know what he meant, but he couldn’t speak.
“We got use for you,” the man continued. “Even though you must be braindead or
somethin’. You keep lookin’ at me like ‘duhh’,” the man mocked Carl, rudely.
Carl felt embarrassed, looking at the ground. He had no idea what was going on.
The stranger frowned, “You wonderin’ who fixed your face?”
Carl’s eye widened and nodded urgently. He found it within him to be grateful
that the man knew what he wanted to know—he couldn’t find the words to ask.
A woman stepped forward, pushing another darker woman in front of her and
placing a knife against her throat. The dark woman had tape across her mouth.
Her eyes widened in fear and she squirmed fitfully, trying to break free.
Carl could tell that the woman was desperate to speak. Here eyes were fierce,
and her muscles were straining as she tried to break free.
“This one here,” the man said, gesturing to Michonne, “She begged us to let the
other broad save you. Said she would do anything. I thought, ‘Why not?’. Havin’
a doctor around might be useful, so why not get her to practice on your ugly
face first?”
Carl frowned.
“Unfortunate for her, when she was takin’ that bullet out I realized we don’t
need no damn doctors. We can take the pain! Right?
A couple of people nodded.
“Fortunate for you, though, I let her live long enough to save you. ‘Cause I
like you. Somethin’ about you. You’re tough. You survive. And we’re gonna need
you to last, boy.”
Carl gulped. What did that mean?
“But, that leaves us with another dilemma,” the man explained. “What will I do
with this black bitch here, now?’ She ain’t no doctor. She’s a fighter, like
you, but keepin’ the both of you is dangerous. Don’t want you two plottin’ or
nothin’. Kind of a waste, really.”
Carl looked at the stranger questioningly. What would happen to the black lady?
Apparently they were friends. He didn’t want her to get killed too.
Before Carl could react, the black woman was on the floor. The W woman had
plunged her knife into his friend’s throat. Just like that other woman had been
stabbed.
NO! Carl thought. No.
The W man smiled. “There, problem solved. It’s just you now, bud. I like it
like that.”
 
They moved Carl to another room. Carl was grateful. He wished he could forget
all of this. He’d wanted to remember something—anything—so badly, and now he
wished for the opposite. Actually, he wished he was dead.
The W man went over to Carl and unlocked his cuffs, relocking them so both
Carl’ wrists were secured together instead of just one to the wall.
Another two entered the room then, and Carl knew what was going to happen. He
just had an obscene feeling in his gut. Already the eyes on him felt violating.
Carl was confused when a woman came in too. Was she there to watch? Or was she
a victim too? Carl wondered if this had ever happened before. He couldn’t say
why, but he felt like it had.
“He looks about 14,” the woman purred. She had a W too. Carl thought of the
words Wonder Woman when he saw her carved forehead, but that seemed like a nice
remark, and he knew she wasn’t nice.
The man who had been talking to him approached him first, cutting Carl’s pants
down the back and yanking down his boxers.
“Mmm, boy,” the man assessed Carl, then pushed him to the ground.
The captor pulled out his dick, stroking it until it hardened completely, and
then he gestured for his friends to come over. They held Carl down. The woman
grabbed hold of Carl’s exposed ass, licking her hand and wiping it across his
entrance.
“Good girl,” the man praised the W woman.
He twisted Carl’s hair, seeming to actually avoid the bandaged area. Carl knew
that must mean he was going to continue being of use to them for a prolonged
period. Otherwise the man wouldn’t have cared about hurting his eye further…
Carl’s entire body screamed for him since he wouldn’t allow any sounds to
escape his mouth. His ass felt intruded. Torn. His face turned red from the
embarrassment. Everyone was watching him, and all he could do was take it.
 
One of the W men got tired of holding Carl down, and removed his pants so he
could take part in the action. He put his dick in front of Carl’s face,
expecting Carl to take care of the rest, but Carl couldn’t force himself to do
it. He felt bile in his mouth at the dirty, musky, piss scent of the man’s
dick. Carl knew if it was in his mouth he’d bite it off. He wouldn’t be able to
help himself, and then he’d be killed.
“Fuck,” the man who was currently thrusting into Carl said, “Don’t do that.
Y’know better than that. Mouth is dangerous. He’ll bite ya.”
“Oh yeah, pretty boy? That what you were thinkin’?”
Carl shook his head, but he wasn’t sure what he’d really answered to. All he
could feel was burning and rubbing. He felt like he was bleeding, but it was
all going numb, and his brain was going fuzzy again. He figured the man must’ve
finished because he pulled out, and the man in front of him who’d wanted a
blowjob took his spot.
“Oh fuck,” the guy said, “He’s all torn up.”
“Poor baby,” the woman mocked. “He’ll get his own turn.”
Carl’s stomach twisted into an even tighter not. He would’ve given the guys
anything they wanted, but he didn’t want to do anything with the woman. He
couldn’t stomach that. In a way it was comforting to know something about
himself. He wasn’t interested in women.
The second man finished, and by then Carl was drooling on the ground, trying
not to cry. His lips were bleeding from biting them so hard to distract himself
from the pain in his lower half. He wasn’t sure if he’d survive this.
The woman turned him onto his back, and he looked down at his dick, completely
limp. He wasn’t sure what she expected of him.
“Suck him,” the woman said to the first W man.
“No fuckin’ way,” he spat.
“You’re the ones who made him so goddamn useless,” she said, grabbing Carl’s
dick and flopping it around. “Fix it.”
Carl couldn’t find a reason why the man would be so disgusted. It could’ve been
that he didn’t want to seem gay, well too late… or he didn’t want to give Carl
any pleasure…but that wasn’t going to happen no matter what nice things they
did…or…Carl couldn’t think of any other reasons. He just wanted it to be done.
His ass was seriously killing him, and he didn’t want to think about what
disgusting substances were in there besides blood.
The woman ended up sucking him herself. Carl was on his back, and he could
barely stomach the pain. She kept trying to get him hard, but it just wasn’t
happening. All he could focus on was the feeling of torn flesh and blood. After
a while his body just did what it was supposed to, and his dick hardened. It
was not from pleasure, but just a response to the touching. Plus, Carl knew if
he didn’t respond the way the woman wanted, things would get much worse for
him.
She lowered herself onto Carl, and her weight put pressure on his aching
backside. The woman rode him, touching herself beneath her skirts. Carl
couldn’t contain his disgust and nausea any longer. He puked all over himself,
turning over to his side as much as he could. He gasped for air. The men
laughed and the woman raged, slapping him across the face.
They didn’t bother to clean him up after they left. He sat in his own filth for
almost a day, nothing to occupy his mind but the pain and the look on that
woman’s face before she had been killed.
***** Black and Blue *****
Chapter Summary
     Carl finally finds reason to hope after the shit hand he's been
     dealt.
Chapter Notes
     Yay. :) The good part. :)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
2167 days later:
 
Carl woke up to gunshots. That was the norm where he was, so he wasn’t scared
or surprised. From what information he’d gathered over the years, people always
came to try and take the area from the people who owned him. Apparently there
were groups who wanted to live where he lived, but they were no match for the
Wolves. Carl wished that he could trade places with the people who wanted in;
he’d gladly live on the outside of the walls. At least he could be alone.
It had been a relief when he finally found out what the W's on everyone's
foreheads meant. It had also sucked though, since his game of thinking of words
that started with W was over. He had found that out on day 42 when some other
prisoner told him. He had never gotten that one's name.
He'd realized that his eye was completely gone on day 6. The gauze that had
been put on the wound had gotten completely soaked in blood after the first
couple days of abuse, but he knew he couldn't afford to take it off and risk
infection. Better a bloody eye patch than no eye patch. On day 6, the tape that
held the gauze didn't have enough stickiness to stay put any longer, and it
fell off.
Carl hadn't really known what he expected, given that he was almost 99 percent
sure he'd been shot in the eye. Most people didn't walk away from that with
full vision, but still. Carl had been more than upset when the gauze fell away,
and there was not even a sliver of light making it through. He was distraught.
Carl didn't want to touch, but he couldn't resist. There was no eye left at
all. Carl had wished he would just die.
Not much had changed.
He adjusted his eye patch. It didn’t fit very well, but he elected to wear it
nonetheless. One of his captors had unceremoniously thrown it at him one day.
“Tired of lookin’ at the hole, fuckface. Cover it up.” Carl had been grateful.
That was one of the nicest things that had happened to him while he occupied
the cell.
When the gunshots faded into yelling and fighting, Carl wondered if he was
finally going to be killed. He was on the verge of dying anyways, if how he
felt was any indication. Starvation had emaciated his entire body; the cuffs he
still wore were on the smallest setting and he still had a bit of room. This
was good—no more flayed wrist skin and blood. Carl’s beard covered most of his
face, and his hair was to his collar bones now. It would've been longer, but
every once in a while someone would come in and take a few inches of his hair
off with a knife. "You're startin' to look like a bitch" or something to that
effect was always said to him. Carl didn't really care what they said--as long
as they kept cutting his hair. It got itchy if it got too long. That was about
it as far as his hygiene routine was concerned. He knew he stunk, but he was
used to it by now. Everybody he knew stunk, but nobody cared because they all
did too.
The boy had half of a hope that somebody was finally coming to rescue him. It
was funny how he’d thought he’d given up hope a long time ago, but obviously it
was just taking a temporary leave. Every time he heard gunshots it ended in
disappointment. Nobody ever got past the wall. He smiled when a black man came
into the room and approached him. At first he thought he was delirious. He
wondered if this man was God. After a few seconds he realized that he was still
alive.
He got to his knees which was custom when a man entered the room. Carl had no
idea if this guy was friend or foe, but he looked…not exactly nice, but not
evil either.
“Morgan?” Some cowboy said, pacing into the room after the first man. He had a
beard just like Carl’s and curly hair. Better looking than most of the scumbags
Carl had seen in his years of captivity. Carl had become objective over the
years. Everybody he ever saw in his room was there to cause him pain or was
killed before he could even look in their direction. So Carl didn’t have it in
him to be attracted or excited to see new people. His defense mechanism was to
shut down.
“Hmm?” Morgan replied.
“Is he here?” The cowboy asked.
Carl wondered who they were talking about.
“No.” The black man answered evenly. “I didn’t know what I expected.”
“Who’s this? The mystery man asked, looking directly into Carl’s undamaged eye.
He didn’t wait for a response. “Have you seen a boy? Duane? We’re looking for
him.”
Carl frowned. His throat burned from thirst. He raised a cuffed hand to point
at Morgan questioningly.
"What're you pointin' at me for?" Morgan demanded. "Have you seen my son?
Duane."
Rick shook his head, "He's asking if he looks like you. Is he your son."
Carl marveled at the man who had successfully translated his gesture into
words. He nodded to show the man that he was right.
“How did you know that’s what he meant?” Morgan asked incredulously.
Rick shrugged. “Cop for 15 years. You learn to hear people even when they’re
not talkin’.”
Morgan accepted the response
“Yeah. He looks like me,” Morgan clarified. “He’s my son. Duane. He’s young. 20
by now.”
Carl lowered his head, and raised it, turning the motion into the slightest of
nods.
 
 
 “You have?” Rick asked, finally seeming like he actually cared about the
current situation. “When? Where is he?”
The boy brought his face and his hand together as close as he could, and he
dragged his finger across his throat.
Morgan choked. “Are you sure!" He approached Carl briskly and grabbed him by
the shoulders.
Rick watched Morgan carefully, but he didn't say anything.
Carl trembled, looking around the room wildly.
"My boy. We’re too late," Morgan said in an empty voice. "My son. Gone." Morgan
released Carl roughly, making the boy fall back.
“Let’s just shoot him and go. Put him out of his misery. He can’t even speak,"
Rick looked directly at Carl when he said this.
Carl had the feeling that the man wasn't actually going to do that. He felt as
if he was being tested. Carl didn't react except to look at the ground and wait
for the two men to make their decision. Whether he walked out of that room with
them, or they just killed him, he would be free.
“Rick. I’m not gonna do that.”
“Why not?” Rick asked, walking up to Carl to assess him.
“He’s a prisoner here. He can tell us more about Duane. We can do right by him
if we couldn’t for...my boy. Maybe he’s seen—”
Rick held up his hand, “No. Carl is dead. Has been for a long time. I can’t
keep lookin’ just to find. This,” Rick explained, gesturing to the room. “I’m
sorry, Morgan. I’m sorry for your boy, but I'm done.”
Carl watched the exchange wondrously. Both men had dead sons. Carl wondered who
is father was. Was he still alive? Would he come looking just like these two
men had looked for their sons? Carl felt reckless to hope for something so
grand. But if these guys could break through the Wolves’ wall and actually come
inside, these men could do anything. Anything was possible then.
Morgan closed his eyes, “We can save this boy. We can save him and we can do
right. For Duane. For Carl.”
“How’d you know he’s not brainwashed?” Rick demanded skeptically. “We take him
away and he kills us, wantin’ to go back.”
Morgan shook his head, pulling out a large knife. “Ain’t nothin’ to go back to
now. Everybody’s dead.”
Carl gaped. How had two guys killed two dozen men and women? Had they lost
someone in the fight? Did they have help? He couldn’t believe it.
“Lift your hands, son,” Morgan told Carl.
Carl put his hands out slowly, allowing Morgan to cut the chain that linked the
cuffs. It took a little effort on the man’s part, but he got it done more or
less quickly.
Carl didn’t make a move, waiting for instruction. That’s all he knew how to do
anymore.
“Will you come with us?” Morgan asked.
Carl got up silently and walked slowly to Morgan. He dropped to his knees once
more, the vertigo of standing up too suddenly crippling his balance.
Rick huffed, “Jesus Christ, this guy’s been through hell. He’s skin and bones.
Worse than us. I guess we can take ‘em with us. What’s another charity case?”
Morgan shook his head, “You’re free now. I won’t say safe. But you’re free.”
Carl’s eye watered. He crawled to the feet of the man named Rick, kneeling
before him in gratitude. He knew if Rick hadn’t said yes he would be dead. Rick
seemed to be the leader.
Rick rolled his eyes, but he helped Carl up anyway.
Rick stared at Carl for a full minute, scrutinizing him in his entirety. “Do I
know you?”
Carl didn’t reply. He didn’t know anybody.
“He’s a quiet one,” Rick commented, raising his gun and exiting the room with
Morgan and Carl following. Carl was grateful that the man didn’t force him to
speak. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn't know if he was able to
speak, actually. He'd never had reason to try.
 
They left the community through the front gates. Carl wondered if those bodies
he’d first seen the day he woke up were still rotting where he’d left them, or
if they were burnt or buried. He wished he could know. He hadn’t left that room
since he’d been abducted. As it was, he hadn’t really ever seen the sun. It was
incredible. Almost painful.
Carl wondered how just two guys were able to access the "community" behind the
fences if even entire groups couldn't. It seemed very unrealistic.
Carl stopped right outside the gate, waiting for one of the men to notice him.
Rick looked pissed. He wanted to get out of there. "What? Already wanna go
back?"
The boy rolled his eye. He gestured to the gate and the dead Wolf men, and then
he pointed at Rick and Morgan. He finished by holding up his hands and
shrugging.
Morgan tried to decipher the meaning, "You want to know why we killed them?"
Carl shook his head. He tried to appeal to Rick; he pointed at both of them
again and raised two fingers, and then he pointed at Alexandria and raised 10
fingers, flexing them a few times to indicated he meant 10 several times.
Rick raised his eyebrows, half amused and half in pity of the boy. "How did we
take them on when there was two of us and plenty of them?"
Carl nodded fervently.
Rick shrugged, "Their numbers have dwindled over the past few months. We've
tried to get in here before with...with others. We've been watching for a
couple weeks. Pickin' 'em off one by one as they come out to look for their
missing friends and gather supplies. After a few days of that, we got in real
easy. Took on about 20 or so, and then we got to you. You were the only one,"
he paused, searching for the right word, "left."
Carl frowned. It made sense. Nobody had come in to feed him--or fuck him--in a
while. They had more important things to do, he realized. He felt bad that he
couldn't help them with Duane, but he had nothing to say. The boy had been
there for two months tops and they'd never spoken except for Duane telling Carl
his name. Carl wouldn't have minded talking to the boy, but he didn't speak.
Duane fought too hard and the Wolves just killed him. That was that. It was a
miracle that the Wolves hadn’t killed him too. He got lucky, if that’s how you
wanted to see it. Maybe it was bad luck. Either way he had survived. Now he had
friends. Sort of.
The boy didn't know what he should do next so he just put his hands together
and bowed his head, and then he walked ahead of the two men, never looking back
at his prison. Carl couldn't help but wonder where his gesture had come from.
Often times, he thought of words and concepts, or he performed actions with his
body, and he couldn't remember their sources. He could remember that bees stung
and he knew what fire was, and he could recall what a siren sounded like, but
he couldn't fucking remember how he knew it. He knew that his language was
English and that he was a male...but no names, no dates, no faces... at least
no memory that was complete enough to mean anything. He knew there was such a
thing as a police officer—and now he knew that Rick had been one—and that these
people who called themselves Wolves would've gone to jail--or prison, his mind
provided the synonym for him, and he knew what a wolf was, even though he'd
never seen one. If he could remember all of this random shit then why couldn't
he remember who he was? It was unbelievably frustrating. He wished he could
remember that black woman who had died for him at the hands of the W woman.
Carl wished her death had meant more, but it was wasted on him, a useless
fuckface who couldn't even speak. He hated himself.
 
Carl didn’t speak to the men for days. He just nodded or shook his head or
didn’t react at all. Morgan and Rick didn’t seem bothered; they were quiet
themselves. Carl was just happy that they gave him food. He had learned to
outlast hunger pangs, but with these two he didn’t have to. Rick and Morgan
gave him their shares of food usually, unless they were particularly hungry.
Carl felt guilty, but he knew he couldn’t take any more starvation.
The first conversation they really had was eight days after Carl's release.
Carl knew the exact number because he was good at counting days.
Carl could tell Morgan wanted to say something. The man kept side-eyeing Carl
and slowing down as if he wanted to fall into step with him, but then he'd just
speed up and walk ahead. Finally he decided he could say whatever he needed to
say.
"How do you know it was Duane. Were you absolutely sure?" Morgan asked.
Rick was leading the two of them, and he looked back to see Carl's response.
"Why're you askin' him questions?" Rick asked. "He can't answer you."
Morgan directed his attention toward Rick, "Can't or won't?"
Rick rolled his eyes, "He doesn't talk. How do you figure you'll get an answer
to a question that can't be explained by hand gestures or a nod?"
Morgan glowered, "He will talk."
"Maybe, maybe not," Rick agreed, "But maybe till then you leave him be or get
him a paper and pencil."
Carl ducked his head and smiled. He appreciated Rick trying to call off Morgan.
He wished he could explain everything to them. He just...his mouth wouldn't
allow it. He did hold up his hands to the men though. He pointed at Morgan and
gave him a thumbs up.
"You'll answer my questions?" Morgan asked.
Carl nodded. After a second he pointed to himself and nodded, then he shook his
head.
"Yes or no," Rick told Morgan.
"I'm not stupid," Morgan retorted.
"Are you sure it was Duane?" Morgan inquired.
Carl nodded.
"Did you talk to him?"
Carl shook his head.
"How can you know then?" Morgan demanded.
Carl looked to Rick worriedly.
Rick tilted his head and supplied the next question, "You didn't talk to him,
but he talked to you?"
Carl nodded gratefully. Rick understood him.
 
“How long were you down there?” Morgan asked conversationally. They were
walking in the woods, getting as far away from Alexandria as possible. Carl
noted that they didn’t seem like they were on the run, but they moved quickly
as if they were aware of the dangers that could find them if they didn’t make
haste.
Carl scowled, stopping. He shook his head.
Rick and Morgan let it drop.
 
After a few days, the young man was ready to answer. Carl held up two fingers.
“Peace?” Morgan said, confused.
Rick regarded the boy impatiently. Then he remembered the question that had
hung in the air between the three of them for the past few days. Two was
somehow part of the answer of how long the guy had been held prisoner. Rick was
scared to know the answer, but the guy looked to be in his twenties, but maybe
if he was cleaned up he could’ve been younger. Who knew?
“Two years?” Rick guessed, annoyed but curious.
Carl shook his head, holding up two fingers then one finger then six, finishing
with a seven.
“2167 days,” Morgan surmised.
Carl nodded gravely.
Rick looked deep in thought and then he spoke, “Almost six years.” He shook his
head, looking at Carl with sympathy. He clenched his fist. Sick people. “Good
thing we found you.”
Morgan looked at Rick oddly. He wasn’t used to Rick saying anything so positive
or helpful to the people they encountered.
“What’s your name?” Rick asked.
Carl just shrugged his shoulders. He couldn’t answer even if he wanted to. The
first name that came into his mind was Fuckface since that’s what most of the
men at that place called him. They were sometimes nicer and called him
princess, but that was when he first got there and when they used him. Most of
the men stopped bothering him when he got too scraggly by even their own
standards. Still, there were a few Wolves who liked to fuck him once or twice a
week. Carl was just glad it wasn’t a few times a day like it’d been at first.
He learned to appreciate the small things.
 
Carl was skittish around the men for a while, especially when it was time to
sleep. He couldn’t explain why he was so scared. Being a prisoner for six years
meant that he was used to pain and violation. When someone threw open the door
to his space and grabbed him roughly, he barely jumped. He was always on alert,
ready for anything. But now that he was “rescued” he didn’t know what to
expect. He wasn’t used to being with semi-decent people, and if he let his
guard down, he could get hurt. Getting consistently abused and beaten by his
captors was one thing, but if he trusted these men, and they turned out to be
bad too…he would feel like a fool. That would mean true defeat. There would be
nothing left of his spirit.
The boy was used to exhaustion since his malnutrition meant that no matter how
much sleep he got, it wasn't enough. Not to mention that his captors never left
him alone for more than a few hours. He learned to sleep in intervals and sleep
through the pain. He was always ready to be had. He was always on alert. With
Rick and Morgan it was no different. He forced himself to stay awake. He
wouldn't be fooled.
Carl didn't know he'd fallen asleep until Rick had his hands on him, "It's
okay, shhh. It's okay. You're having a nightmare."
The boy flipped, backing away from Rick until his back hit a tree. He was
shaking in fear. Rick was a bad man.
"I'm not gonna hurt you. You were having a bad dream. You needed to wake up or
your noise would've attracted walkers."
The boy looked skeptical.
Rick insisted, "I won't touch you again, I promise."
Carl frowned in terror, looking around at the empty woods that surrounded them.
Morgan observed him, wondering just what kind of prisoner Carl had been. He
felt like a moron for not realizing it sooner, but it made so much sense.
Morgan didn't sleep the rest of the night.
 
Carl didn’t move the entire night--he was focussed on not drawing attention to
himself. He didn’t sleep at all. He was half conscious by dawn, alert just
enough to react quickly, but not enough to have his eyes open. The sound of
voices drifted to him in waves.
"How long, Rick?"
"Til what?"
"I want answers. About Duane."
"Give the kid some time. He can't even speak."
“It’s already been three weeks for God’s sake,” Morgan whispered exasperately.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Morgan. You’re the one the wanted to take him
in the first place. Don’t scare him off.”
"You thought about what he is?" Morgan asked.
"What do you mean?"
Carl recognized Rick's signature tone. It amused him.
Morgan continued, "Those Wolves...they kill anybody they come across, right?"
Rick was silent, "Yeah, and?"
Carl frowned. They were talking about him and the...people...who had him. He
felt embarrassed.
Morgan didn't answer right away, "They didn't kill him. For six years."
Carl had the simultaneous wish to see Rick's face and to hide from it.
Rick inhaled audibly, "Only two reasons they keep someone around for that long.
Leverage for a trade with another group, or sex."
"He didn't have no group," Morgan finished.
"Fuck," Rick breathed.
Carl could almost picture the man putting a hand to his forehead and running it
back through his hair. He was already so familiar with Rick's mannerisms
despite only knowing him a few days. Carl didn't know if that was a good thing.
It meant he was comfortable. He wasn't familiar with that. Not at all.
"I wonder how long Duane was there," Morgan said hollowly.
 
It was difficult to look the two men in the eye for the rest of the day. Carl
just ducked his head and stared at the ground as he followed Morgan and Rick.
He was on edge all day, waiting for one of them to mention it or ask him
questions, but they never did. Carl was grateful. He felt no inclination to
share anything about his past. As far as he was concerned, the only part of his
past that mattered was the one he couldn't remember. It was strange that the
absence of something was what haunted him. He wondered if anybody else knew
what it was like to not remember their name.
 
Carl had no idea where Rick was going, and he didn't think Morgan did either
They were all just kind of walking, hoping to stumble on some sort of refuge.
They walked for seven more days. Carl didn’t think he would survive much
longer. He didn’t have any fuel for his body.
The excitement was tangible when Rick led the group out of the treeline and
towards the outskirts of a small subdivision. Carl knew they were in America,
since Morgan had once said "Atlanta", but he didn't know what state they were
in now. There were no signs around either, since they stayed off the main
roads.
"All right, keep quiet," Rick whispered, ducking low with his gun at the ready.
Carl smirked at the cowboy. As if either he or Morgan needed to be told to be
quiet.
There was no time to check the entire subdivision, but they cleared seven
houses on the street and took up shelter in the middle house.
Carl had never secured a house before--that he could remember--so he was
surprised to find that the process was extensive. There were metal scraps
placed strategically all over the yard. Rick insisted that it couldn't look too
deliberate or it would be like painting a target on the roof.
"We need to be able to catch walkers, but other people shouldn't be able to
catch us," Rick said to Carl, going to pat him on the shoulder, but changing
his mind at the last second. He let his hand fall away awkwardly, and then he
walked away.
The job was made even more complicated because they had to do it quickly since
being seen by others defeated the purpose of securing the house. If they were
out there for too long they could be spotted.
They piled furniture in front of the door and windows after locking them--
quietly. Rick also made quite the show of finding every single weapon in the
house--even butter knives. He stowed them anywhere he could. Then they rounded
up every semi-useful piece of supplies or food that they could find, and they
moved into the basement. This included cushions and blankets.
Carl wondered if it was smart to be in the basement because they wouldn't be
able to hear their alarm system or get out if they needed to, but Rick always
had a plan. Rick picked that particular house for a reason. There were small
windows at key points of the structure, allowing them full vision of the
property. There was also a secondary room that had a door to the outside and a
stairwell leading back upstairs.
After all the work was done, Carl didn't know what to do with himself. He had
time to think, and he tried to avoid that, usually. He lay down on his cushions
in the far corner of the room, watching Morgan and Rick make strategic plans
and eat stale crackers. He had so many questions. Had they been friends before
everything happened or did they just meet on the road? What happened to the
world anyways? What shit had gone down to lead to him losing an eye and getting
captured? Carl wished he had the guts to talk. He wanted to know things. He
watched Rick eat, comparing him to his counterpart. Morgan was nice, Carl
thought. He was the one who had wanted to save him in the first place, but
something was missing. Carl started to get cozy, settling into his blankets and
listening to the low voices of his rescuers. He was just so tired...
Carl was disoriented when he woke up in the darkness. His fogginess cleared in
an instant when he saw Rick beside him. His eyes widened and he scrambled. This
was it. He knew it. He gasped for breath, grasping at his chest, needing more
air.
"No no no, son," Rick said calmly, putting his hands up. "It's okay. Nobody's
gonna hurt you. I won't let that happen."
Carl flushed, nodding slowly, pulling his blanket closer.
Rick smiled sadly, "My... my boy used to do that when he was scared. Hide under
the blanket."
Carl nodded curiously. He held his hands up and shrugged questioningly.
Rick thought for a second, looking behind him to locate Morgan. The man was
lying down, sleeping apparently.
"What happened to him?" Rick clarified
Carl nodded, happy that Rick could understand his gestures.
Rick shook his head. “He died a long time ago.”
The boy lowered his head in sympathy. He didn't really know what it was like to
lose anybody. Of course there was that woman. His first day of living with no
memory. He had lost her, but it didn’t feel like anything.
Carl furrowed his brows in frustration. He didn't know how to ask his next
question. He waited until Rick was looking at him, and then he just went for
it. He was glad Morgan was sleeping because he didn't want him to know at the
same time as Rick. For some reason he only trusted Rick with this. Maybe it was
because Morgan only kept him to answer questions about Duane. Rick didn’t have
an ulterior motive for his kindness.
Carl pointed at his eye patch, and then he made a gun with his fingers.
"You got shot in the eye?" Rick summarized.
The boy nodded, adding to his explanation. He pointed to his head, circling
around it, finishing it with a shrug of his shoulders.
Rick shook his head, "I don't understand."
Carl frowned, thinking of another way to explain. He tried again, pointing at
himself and then shrugging. He pointed at his head a second time and shrugged.
"You don't know..." Rick began, and then he realized. "You don't remember
anything?"
Carl put his head in his hands, his eye filling up with tears. He nodded. Rick
was the first person to come to that conclusion. He wasn't dumb; his memory was
gone.
"Oh my God," Rick said, strained. "You had no...no memory of anybody or
anything to get you through..." Rick was in shock. He didn't even think before
he reached for Carl, engulfing him in a hug.
Carl tensed his entire body, not sure what was happening. Nobody had ever
touched him this way before. He slowly let himself relax, moving his arms to
mirror Rick's. The word hug came to mind. Carl could see that Morgan was awake
now, and he was watching. He didn't know what to make of the man's expression.
 
Once again, Carl awoke to the sound of Morgan and Rick's conversation.
"I can't believe what I saw last night," Morgan stated.
"What?" Rick asked.
"You and the man. Hugging," Morgan explained. "What the hell was that all
about?"
Carl clenched his fists, wondering what Rick would say.
"The poor guy's been through a lot. I...I felt something for him. For him to
still be alive after what he's been through. I've never been more impressed
or...or moved," Rick said, emphasizing his words with his hands. "I can't
believe what he told me."
"He spoke to you?" Morgan whispered in disbelief.
"No," Rick admitted, "But for him to even open up to me like that. For him to
trust me. I feel like I've--" Rick stopped.
"You've what?" Morgan asked, looking in Carl's direction to make sure he wasn't
eavesdropping.
"I don't know. Maybe it's stupid," Rick said.
"Rick, we've been by ourselves for too long. I need a new piece of
conversation. What were you going to say?"
Rick huffed, "I feel like I've been given a second chance with Carl."
"Because you can care for him? Protect him?"
Carl guessed that Rick probably nodded.
"I want to keep him safe," Rick said.
"Then that's what we'll do," Morgan agreed.
Rick was quiet for a bit. "I'm so sorry about Duane, Morgan. I know you want to
know what happened, but maybe it's best that you don't.
Morgan sighed, "I don't know what's best anymore, but at least I know he's not
suffering anymore. When the boy's ready, I'll ask him."
"Thank you," Rick said quietly, putting a hand on the man's shoulder.
Chapter End Notes
     grimesobcest.tumblr.com :D :D :D :D
***** Belly Aches While You're in Bed *****
 
Rick suggested that they stay in the house indefinitely. Carl had mixed
feelings about that. On one hand, he enjoyed the security of their new shelter,
and he didn’t have nearly enough energy to trek across the country for days.
His body wouldn’t be healed and ready for a journey until he gained at least 30
pounds. With the lack of resources and food…that probably wouldn’t happen for a
while. On the other hand, Carl wanted to get out of the house. He’d been
trapped in the same room for far too long, and he was tired of being confined.
He knew it wasn’t the same thing, but it was too similar to be comfortable.
“I don’t know, Rick,” Morgan disagreed. “Should we be in one place this long?
It’s risky.”
Carl wondered why. His captors had been able to hold down their place for
years. Why couldn’t these two men hold down a house when they were so skilled?
Rick answered the question that Carl hadn’t voiced. “You’re right. Walkers
could tear this place apart, no problem. Another group could walk right up to
the front door.”
Morgan nodded.
“But,” Rick continued, “Things aren’t like they were in the beginning. Before,
walkers outnumbered us, but we’ve spent so much time killin’ them, and takin’
care of the live ones we kill…I just don’t think they’ll be much of a problem.”
Morgan frowned seriously, “I understand that. People take care of their dead
too. Not as many turn anymore. Most of them are isolated incidents. Accidents.
There ain’t as many walkers that travel in packs anymore.”
“That’s right,” Rick agreed.
“The people will be a problem,” Morgan added. “They always will be. We’re all
desperate. Starving. Any groups that made it this far are dangerous.”
Rick’s eyes became glassy, remembering the past, Carl guessed. The man quickly
regained his composure.
“I haven’t seen anyone for days. And we know how to hide.”
Morgan wasn’t convinced, “It don’t feel right. Staying here more than a few
days. Usually we’re gone before we’ve even shut our eyes to sleep.
“We have someone else to think about now,” Rick shrugged. “It puts us at risk,”
he admitted. “But imagine if we kept doing what we have been? Walkin’ for days?
He would never make it.”
Morgan looked to Carl who was sitting on the floor, listening fascinatedly. The
man sighed, “Yeah. Yeah you’re right.”
Carl was embarrassed. Rick and Morgan talked about him like he wasn’t even
there. Everybody seemed to do that. Carl held on to the phrase “It puts us at
risk.” That’s all he was. An “it”. A risk. Rick and Morgan were “us” and he was
just an outsider. Why had they bothered saving him then? If he was such an
inconvenience.
The boy hung his head, switching his position from sitting against the wall to
lying down on his blanket. There wasn’t anything else to do.
 
Rick and Morgan surveyed the house again, leaving Carl in the basement. They
double checked all the doors and windows, and secured them even more
thoroughly. They gathered the mattresses from the bedrooms and brought them
down to the basement. They ripped off the cupboard doors and used the wood to
board up windows. The abandoned house quickly became a fortress. Rick ensured
that it wasn’t noticeably fortified or else passersby would be attracted to it,
and try to take it.
Carl didn’t speak with either men all day, or rather, they didn’t speak to him.
The boy didn’t detect any animosity from his rescuers, but they weren’t overly
friendly either. Carl kept thinking about the thing he had seen when he first
woke up to his new life six years ago. He remembered the dead woman beside him
and the terror of being absolutely clueless in such a hostile environment. He
remembered the thing that had tried to attack him. The zombie. He had only seen
them from a distance on his journey with Rick and Morgan, but that was it.
Everybody he’d met always talked about them, giving them different names like
walkers, creepers, deadmen, and rovers…but he hadn’t actually seen one in all
that time. He kind of wanted to. Maybe he could start fighting too, instead of
just being a victim.

After another night in the house, Rick sat next to Carl’s bedside. At first it
had just been coincidence that he took his bed near the boy's corner, and then
it remained that way so Rick could calm Carl down after his nightmares. Now it
was becoming enjoyable. Rick liked to see their guest sleeping; it felt good to
have someone to watch over again. The mystery man with no memory spent a lot of
time sleeping, but neither Rick nor Morgan minded. Both of them realized that
their new friend needed to heal from years of damage. They weren’t going to
bother the kid to do chores.
 
Rick knew the boy had lost his memory, and so did Morgan, but they didn’t
realize that he hadn’t acquired the appropriate skills to deal with walkers.
Obviously he had been captured for a very long time, but they just never put
two and two together. There was not a single soul left on earth that didn’t
fight walkers anymore. In the beginning, the majority just ran away or shot
wildly until they hit one of the dead, but now, everybody fought. It was just
an unspoken truth. Rick and Morgan figured that the boy just knew how to do it.
As if it was instinct, and not a learned ability that took years to streamline.
“Hey,” Rick said calmly, trying to rouse the boy out of his relaxed state.
Carl looked to the man slowly. Sunlight wasn’t shining through the boards on
the windows anymore. It was nighttime. Carl focused on the man to let him know
he was paying attention.
“Tomorrow Morgan and I are gonna go on another run. Stock this place up so we
can stay here a while. We gotta get you some food before…”
Carl pursed his lips. He knew he wasn’t healthy. If he didn’t gain some weight
soon, his poor condition would deteriorate even further. He was far too skinny
to put up any fight if he got sick.
“You can stay here and keep this place safe,” Rick suggested. “That all right
with you?”
Carl didn’t want to give away his skepticism and fear, but Rick caught it
anyway,
“We won’t be gone more than a few hours. You probably won’t be bothered.” Rick
waited for Carl to agree before he got up.
Carl nodded slowly. He wasn’t looking forward to being alone, but it would be
interesting. He’d never truly been alone at that point in his life. When he was
left alone as a prisoner, he was never sure for how long it would be. There was
always the threat of intrusion. This time, Rick and Morgan would be gone for at
least a few hours. At least Rick had left him a knife.
Carl frowned, how long would they be gone exactly? He didn’t want to be left
unprotected for too long. He knew he wouldn’t be able to defend the house
properly. He didn’t want to disappoint Rick.
“We aren’t going too far,” Rick informed the boy, realizing he still wasn’t
sold. “But sometimes things happen. We could get held up, or we might have to
detour, or hide. If everything goes as planned. We’ll be back by noon tomorrow.
We’re gonna leave in a couple hours.”
Carl was amazed. They were going to go in the dark? He was confused. How could
they see? Why not just go in the day?
Rick answered Carl’s question. “Night’s better for this sort o’ thing. Animals
in the woods make enough noise to disguise our footsteps, plus any groups of
people nearby would be sleepin’. We’re used to seein’ in the dark now.”
Carl frowned. It was still risky. If the animals in the woods disguised
footsteps and sounds, how would Rick know if anything was coming? He was so
frustrated. Why couldn’t he just speak? He gritted his teeth, pressing his
tongue against the back of them. They felt disgusting. His mouth always tasted
bad. He tried to press his lips together in the beginnings of forming a word,
but all the escaped from his mouth was an exaggerated breath.
“It’s all right,” Rick said, watching the boy struggle. We’ll try and get you
some paper and a pencil or somethin’. Don’t worry. We’ll be back before you
know it.”
Carl put his hand to his head in shame. He was useless.
“Is there anything else you might want?” Rick asked gently, looking away from
the boy, almost pitifully. “No guarantees, but I can try.”
 
Morgan watched from across the room. Maybe it was a bad idea taking this boy
along with them, he thought. He was putting them at risk because he needed to
stay put, and he needed special supplies…he couldn’t even speak. How was this
even going to work? It was too late now, Morgan realized. Besides, the boy had
answers about Duane.
 
Carl shrugged, defeated.
“If you think of anything, let us know.”
The boy looked at Rick bizarrely when he spoke, that man’s teeth were white.
How strange. How did the man do that? He’d only ever seen yellow teeth.
Carl leaned forward suddenly pointing at Rick’s mouth.
“My teeth?” Rick asked, confused.
Carl nodded, pointing at his own.
Rick raised his eyebrows at the sight of the boy’s mouth. He didn’t know much
about dental hygiene, but he was sure that at least a few of the boy’s teeth
were rotten. He didn’t want to say disgusting, but that was the best word he
could think of.
“We’ll get you a toothbrush,” Rick suggested. “I don’t know if your…Maybe some
of them might need to be pulled, or something. A brush is the best I can do
though.”
Morgan spoke surprisingly, “We’ll get some baking soda. I’m sure there’s some
left somewhere still since you can’t really eat it.”
Rick nodded, “We might not be able to really fix your mouth up, but we can stop
more rotting from happening, I bet.”
Carl smiled despite himself. He wiped the smile off his face quickly to hide
the teeth. He was excited. He couldn’t believe it.
 
Rick and Morgan were only gone half an hour before the loneliness and
exhaustion set in on Carl. Alone in the basement. Hungry and scared. Those were
the only conditions he’d known for the past few years. Once he’d left the
Wolves, he thought he’d never have to feel those things again. Apparently it
wasn’t the place that was cursed, but his mind. It didn’t seem fair that he’d
gotten to forget all the better parts of his life, but all of the shit ones had
to stay. Carl closed his eyes. If his life had been so terrible after he’d been
shot, who was to say it wasn’t just as bad before? Maybe only having to
remember the most recent events was a blessing in disguise. After all. If he
didn’t have anyone that meant he’d lost people. At least he didn’t have to live
with that pain.
Carl stood up slowly, allowing himself to adjust to the change, so he wouldn’t
get dizzy. He peeked out the window. All clear. He started when he noticed
something in the yard, but it was just his reflection. Odd. He hadn’t seen that
before. This was new. He put his hand up to the glass, watching it wave back to
him. God, he looked terrible. Suddenly, the word mirror came to him.
It took Carl a few minutes to find the bathroom. He stared at himself for a few
seconds before having to turn away. He was disgusted. His beard hid half of his
face, and his hair was tangled and matted. The eye was the worst part. The
scarred, ravaged skin made him look like the dead things. His teeth were just
as disgusting. Carl closed his eyes in embarrassment and sorrow. What would he
look like if all of this hadn’t happened? Would he be handsome? He was scared
to look at the rest of his body. Even clothed it wasn’t pretty. He decided to
save that for another day.
He toured the rest of the house quietly, not really sure what he was looking
for. Carl didn’t want a weapon or a particular item per se. He was looking for
memories.
The house didn’t have a lot, but it did have an office. Carl was able to find
some notebooks. None of the markers or pens worked anymore, but the pencils
did. The first thing he had instinct to do when he sat down at the desk was
write the alphabet. The letters all looked like shit and the pencil shook in
his hand, but nothing had ever felt so good. Remembering the letters was the
first step. He knew if he could remember how to print then he could
communicate. He tried to think of what the letters all together were called,
but he couldn’t remember. He sighed. Carl was excited. He kept repeating the
letters on the piece of paper until it was filled. By the time he’d written the
alphabet 20 times over, it was starting to look legible. Carl grinned. He
couldn’t wait for Rick to get back so that he could write to him. And Morgan.
Maybe he could answer questions about Duane.
 
Carl took the notebook and pencils downstairs, taking care to keep his footing
in the dark. He’d spent so much time writing that it was nearing daylight. He
crawled into his cushioned corner, satisfied. He fell asleep, looking forward
to the supplies that were coming his way.
The contentment didn’t last long—Carl only got a few hours of sleep before he
awoke to some of the metal cans outside jingling and clattering. He wasn’t
thinking when he threw back his covers instinctually to get up and check the
window. The walker in the yard practically flew to the window. He didn’t know
that they reacted that way to sudden movements. He thought they were just
dumb…not event that threatening. Several years since he’d experienced one up
close must’ve dulled his senses. Carl’s stomach dropped. He wasn’t ready for
this. Rick and Morgan wouldn’t be back for at least another hour, and he
couldn’t handle this on his own. They were going to find out that he couldn’t
hold his own. Fuck. Carl hid under the covers, hoping that it would just go
away.
It took 20 minutes for Carl to work himself up to coming out from under the
covers. He looked to the window, eyes adjusting in the dark of the basement. He
could see shadows moving back and forth in front of the glass. There were three
of them pressing against the glass. The windows were too small to fit a body.
Carl was sure. Maybe if he didn’t move they would go away.
They didn’t go away. The longer Carl hid, the more aggressive the walkers
became. It was like they could sense him there, and they wouldn’t let it go.
Carl had to do something. He didn’t want Rick and Morgan to come back to a yard
full of walkers. They would think he was weak and incapable. Maybe they would
get hurt trying to neutralize the threat he’d been too much of a coward to.
Carl crawled across the floor, heading toward the backdoor. He listened to make
sure there was nothing on the other side. He opened it slowly, trying to ignore
the knot in his stomach and the dryness in his mouth. He needed to do this. All
he had was the knife that Rick had left behind for him.
The young man tried to do what he’d only done once before. He remembered that
stabbing the brain was the only thing that worked. He’d been able to do it
once. He could do it again. Carl tried to keep his breathing relaxed as he
looked around the corner of the house, he saw the walkers looking in the
window. There were 5 now. Carl’s body tensed, his muscles going jittery. He
needed to do this. He didn’t have any plan or strategy at his disposal except
just walking up to the group. It worked okay for the first couple.
Carl got the group of walkers down to three, but they were giving him a run for
his money. He was already exhausted and malnourished. He didn’t have an ounce
of strength left—moving up and down the stairs was enough to wind him. He
thought of the trek that he, Rick, and Morgan had been on. If he could walk
across the countryside for days, then he could muster up enough energy to kill
these dead fucks.
He used the knife to stab the third last walker, but the knife got stuck. He
had no choice but to abandon it. The other two walkers descended upon him
quickly. Carl tripped as he tried to make his way back to the basement. He
started to panic. After all of this. This was how he was going to go out. After
all the shit he’d been through, just to have it end like this…he couldn’t
accept it, but the out was welcome. He didn’t want to suffer anymore.
He lay back, waiting for the dead to tear him up. He passed out before he could
feel the contact of a bite.
When Carl woke up he remembered the last seconds of his last period of
consciousness. He jumped back, ready to fight, but as awareness crept in, he
realized he wasn’t in a fight anymore.
Rick and Morgan were looking at him, not startled but expectant. Carl patted
his body down, looking at his outstretched arms. Had he been bit?
“Hey,” Rick said quietly. “You okay?”
Carl looked at the man wide-eyed. He shook his head.
“You weren’t bit,” Morgan offered. “We got back just in time.”
Carl looked at the man confused, nodding in acceptance eventually.
“You killed three on your own,” Rick began. “That’s…that’s not bad.”
Carl frowned. He was embarrassed. It was shit. He couldn’t tell if Rick was
serious, or if he was just trying to be nice.
“You’re knife got stuck,” Rick continued. “Could’ve happened to anyone.”
Carl looked away, ashamed. He spotted his notebook next to his bed, and grabbed
it immediately, holding it up to Rick.
“Oh good,” Rick nodded. “We didn’t find one.”
The young man rolled his eyes. What would they have done then? Carl began to
write methodically. His only practice had been the alphabet, and it had been a
long time since he’d written anything. He hoped that Rick and Morgan would be
able to understand it.
--rik. I never killed 1 before—
Rick looked at the piece of paper Carl handed him. He glared. “Are you kidding
me?”
Carl looked down at his hands. He didn’t think Rick would be mad. He had kind
of lied by saying he had never killed one before, but it had been so long ago.
To give Rick the full explanation would’ve taken a lot more writing, and Carl
wanted to start slow.
“You let us go when you don’t even know how to take care of yourself? Why
didn’t you say—” Rick shook his head. “I’m sorry. You could’ve…”
“He could’ve died,” Morgan finished. “I can’t believe you were able to kill any
at all. Especially since you’re weak.”
Carl frowned at Morgan. He knew he was weak. That was exactly what Carl had
been trying to avoid.
Rick frowned at Morgan too, “Not weak. Just not strong because of your weight.
You’re not weak.”
Carl didn’t meet the men’s eyes. He’d already done enough. He just wanted to
forget the whole thing.
“Anyway,” Rick shrugged, sensing that the discussion was over. “I got your
stuff.”
Carl didn’t want to feel happy, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to see what
he’d been brought. Nobody had really ever brought him anything before.
Morgan even looked a little amused.
“Toothbrush, baking soda, floss, razor, scissors, boots, pants, socks,
underwear, shirt, jacket, and new eye patch,” Rick announced happily. “Now, I
don’t know anything about teeth, but I figure before we pull anything out we
should at least try to salvage what we can. So…yeah,” Rick shrugged.
Carl opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it, frustratedly.
Rick handed him the notebook back.
--I don’t no--
Carl gripped the note book in frustration. He couldn’t even write a stupid
note. He couldn’t think of how to spell the words. He knew what he wanted to
say, but he couldn’t get it out.
Rick looked at the beginning of the note. “You don’t know how?”
The man nodded, pointing to the empty space of his notes. Carl added a question
mark to the page.
--I can’t spell evrything—
Rick looked at Carl with sympathy. “It’s okay, we can help with the teeth, and
with the spelling.”
“Boy,” Morgan shook his head. “I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner,” he said
sadly.
Carl nodded in agreement.
“Well, we might as well get started on it right now,” Rick shrugged. “Nothing
else to say.”
Carl got up, remembering the bathroom. He gestured for the men to follow him,
but only Rick came.
“You two go on,” Morgan said. I’ll get together something for us to eat.
Carl wondered why Morgan really didn’t want to come.
 
When Rick and Carl got to the bathroom, Carl suddenly felt extremely awkward.
He didn’t really feel comfortable with Rick seeing him in this position, as if
he were some baby that needed to be taken care of, but he didn’t have a choice.
“All right,” Rick said, “I’ll get my own tooth brush, and do it in front of you
so you can see how it’s done, and then you can repeat after me I guess.”
Carl nodded, waiting for Rick to come back with his own supplies.
When Rick returned, Carl watched him in fascination. The man was quick and
efficient with his cleaning. Carl felt like he’d seen this all before. He felt
memories swimming around the periphery of his mind. He felt like he could
definitely do this, and he probably had thousands of times before.
“Do you want to shave?” Rick asked after Carl was finished brushing and
flossing.
Carl shrugged, pointing to Rick’s beard.
“Yeah,” Rick nodded. “We don’t shave because it’s like another layer of
protection on your face. From sunburn and windburn.”
Carl nodded thoughtfully, grabbing the tips of his long hair. He made a
scissoring motion.
Rick laughed, “Yeah. Definitely.”
“How about this,” Rick added. “We’ll trim your hair today, and tomorrow we’ll
find a pond or something, then you can wash it and trim your beard. It’s easier
to do when it’s wet.”
Carl shrugged. Whatever Rick thought was best.
“Let’s see your teeth,” Rick said easily. He really hoped the man wouldn’t have
to lose any.
“Wow,” Rick nodded, jutting out his lower lip in surprised approval. “They’re
looking better already.” There was still a long way to go, but Rick thought
that it would easier than he thought to get there. “It has a lot to do with
diet,” Rick added. “Since you were…uh… not eating much, and especially not any
sugar, your teeth don’t really have anything working against them.”
That was interesting, Carl thought. Maybe there was hope for him. He could be
handsome. Maybe. Of course the face half concealed by a ratty eye patch begged
to differ. Carl hoped Rick wouldn't make him take it off in front of him.
Carl was embarrassed to have Rick touch his greasy hair, but it was a necessary
evil. Plus, he was really starting to like spending time with the man.
“How short do you want it?” Rick asked.
The man pointed at Rick’s hair. His curls came to the nape of his neck. Carl
thought that was a good length.
It only took a few minutes, and it was far from perfect, but Carl was still
pleased.
“Tomorrow when we wash your hair I can even it up a bit,” Rick offered. It’s
just a little tricky because of the tangles, and we don’t have a brush.”
Carl held up his fingers in the “OK” symbol.
Rick grinned.
The man wanted something more to say. Anything to prolong this time with Rick.
He was feeling warm and pleasant in his chest. He’d never experienced that
before—as far as he could remember. It was so new and different. He was so glad
that Rick had found him. He felt safe…and cared for? Carl was surprised he’d
come to trust the man so quickly, but he didn’t really have a choice anyway.
Carl didn’t have his notebook, but he wanted to thank Rick. He tried to get the
man’s attention.
Carl reached his hand out to touch Rick’s shoulder, but he pulled it back in
hesitation, reaching out again and chickening out once more. He didn’t know how
to act. Rick smiled at him patiently, “What?”
He dragged his fingers across his mouth and through his hair. He put his hand
on his heart. He had no idea what it meant to do that, but it just felt like
something he was supposed to do.
Rick nodded, “You’re very welcome.”
Carl nodded back. Rick understood everything. He went to leave, but Rick
cleared his throat, “Uh..sorry I don’t know what to call you. Uhm. But I just
wanted to say that you don’t have to feel like an outsider. You’re one of us
now. We’re going to keep you safe.”
Carl turned back to Rick and smiled without revealing any teeth. He nodded his
head once and closed his eye.
 
“Nice,” Morgan commented when Carl came back into the room. “We’ll get you to
some water tomorrow so we can finish it up.”
“That’s the plan,” Rick added, entering the room slowly, leaning in the
doorframe and crossing his arms.
Carl sat in his corner with his notebook, rereading the notes that he’d written
to Rick.
“Morgan, what do you say we help him out with his spelling?”
Morgan grinned, “God, I can’t remember the last time I wrote anything down.
That actually sounds like fun.
The three of them gathered around Carl’s corner.
“All right,” Rick began, “First things first. We need to try and figure out how
old you are,” Rick decided, speaking to Carl directly.
“What does that matter?” Morgan wondered. Carl agreed.
“Well, if you were…” Rick scratched his head, skirting around the word. He
decided to just say it, “captive for six years, and this all started three
years before that, that’s nine years unaccounted for. Just by looking at you,
I’d say you’re about 20. So that means the last time you were in school was
between grades four and six. Approximately.”
Morgan nodded, “Right, so we have to think about what base knowledge you would
have anyways before we start pulling out Shakespeare or something on you.”
Carl looked at Morgan oddly. What was a “Shakespeare?”
Rick laughed, “Exactly. You don’t even know who Shakespeare is.”
Carl smiled bashfully, not having it in him to be offended by the teasing.
“Let’s start with words he’s going to have to write down all the time,” Morgan
suggested. “He should know how to spell our names.”
Rick nodded, “You have my name almost right.”
Carl looked at Rick sadly, how had he misspelled Rick? It was a small word.
“You just need to add the c,” Rick explained. “R-i-c-k.”
Carl made an o with his mouth. He understood.
“Mine is M-o-r-g-a-n,” Morgan explained.
Carl nodded once more. This was fun.
Carl pursed his lips, pointing to himself.
“We need to name you,” Rick said amusedly.
Carl immediately thought about what Rick was saying before about getting his
second chance with his son. Carl wanted to repay Rick by offering to let him
really feel like a father again. It wouldn’t be real, but maybe it could help
Rick.
He grabbed the notebook.
--you sun--
Rick looked at the note, showing it to Morgan.
Morgan whispered, “Your son.”
Rick looked at Carl oddly, “Carl. My son was Carl.”
Carl nodded with a shrug.
“Why would you do that for me?” Rick wondered.
Carl put his hand over his heart again.
“What do you think?” Rick asked Morgan.
“I…” Morgan paused. “If this is your second chance, I don’t think it could be
any other name. I think it has to be Carl.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Rick expressed in disbelief. “I could never repay
you for that.”
Carl opened a new page in the notebook,
--you saved me--
Morgan smiled knowingly at Rick. He waited for the man to hug the kid. He was
glad that Rick could have this. Truthfully he was surprised that Rick was so
cool with it. These kinds of things could go either way Rick. Morgan wouldn’t
have been shocked to see Rick blow up in anger. This kid was different though.
Rick already cared for him so quickly. Morgan cared too, but it was different.
“Carl,” Rick said, testing the word on his mouth. “C-a-r-l.”
Carl nodded, wincing when his head started to pound. He gripped his head
tightly.
“Headache?” Rick asked worriedly.
Carl nodded, scrunching up his face. The pain passed immediately.
“All right,” Rick said. “Maybe that’s enough for one day.”
Carl didn’t really want to stop, but he didn’t want to push it with Rick.
“How about you keep writing,” Morgan suggested. “Writing anything that comes to
mind. Words. Questions. Thoughts. Then we’ll correct it for you on the paper.
Then you can see where you went wrong and use it to learn new rules.”
“Good idea,” Rick agreed.
It was a good idea. Carl wrote throughout the rest of the evening. It was a
little difficult trying to think of things to say. He didn’t want to write
about himself, but he had nothing else to say.
--I am x cited for water tomarow--
--I wish I new wut hapind--
--hungr hunger hungery food--
--I am sorry I don’t no wut hapind to D--
--abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvqxyz--
--how to say kwestchins? 5 ws I think I remember that--
--stoopidstupid? Fuck--
 
Rick checked over the notebook first thing in the morning. He didn’t know how
to feel about it. It was simultaneously amusing and depressing. He felt so
terrible for all that had been taken away from the man. Carl. It was so odd to
call him that, but not odd at all. It was a relief to have a window into the
man’s mind, though. It would be easy to see Carl as cold or indifferent to
emotional issues, but that wasn’t the case at all. The boy shrugged or remained
silent because he couldn’t actually react any other way. It was awful to think
about how frustrating it would be to not be able to speak. Rick couldn’t
imagine all the things that Carl had to leave unsaid. He couldn’t help but
wonder if Carl physically couldn’t speak, or if it was just a side effect of
his traumatic experiences.
He corrected the sentences easily, and even responded to them.
--I am excited for water tomorrow-- Me too
-- I wish I knew what happened-- Maybe you will remember one day.
--hunger hungry food-- You were right. This one is tricky.
-- I am sorry. I don’t know what happened to Duane.-- Morgan understands. If
you want to make I am shorter, say I’m”
--How do you ask questions-- The 5 Ws. Who, what, why, where, and when.--
--You are not stupid.--
 
“You’re doing fine,” Rick said after he gave Carl the notebook back the next
morning. The man looked embarrassed and upset at the corrections. “It’s good
that you even know how to sound out the words in the first place. And that you
can write at all.”
Morgan agreed after he looked at the notebook. “He’s right. This isn’t bad.
You’ll pick it all up in no time.”
Rick noticed that Morgan didn’t comment on the sentence about Duane. The man
must’ve realized that Carl was good for more than answers. He was a human being
who had his own tragedies to live with.
“How about we go find that water,” Rick grinned, patting Carl on the shoulder.
“Time for you to get cleaned up. Then you can put on your new clothes.
 
They had to walk a few hours before they found a water source. It wasn’t the
biggest or clearest pond, but it was good enough.
Rick had Carl’s supplies in his own bag since Carl wasn’t strong enough to
carry a heavy backpack yet.
“Let me know when you’re ready,” Rick said, letting Carl undress alone.
Carl had never really had the chance to feel embarrassed about his body because
he never cared what his captors thought of it. Rick and Morgan were different,
though. Carl didn’t want the men to see him. Carl couldn’t decide whether it
was embarrassment or fear. He had no choice though; he had to bathe.
The young man took off his thin t-shirt slowly, hoping that there were no eyes
on him.
He looked down at his own thin body. He could see his ribs sticking out through
his pale skin. The extreme thinness wasn’t the worst of it. He had scars all
over his skin from what had been done to him. Some of it was from before. Some
of it was from after. He only had the memories to go with what had happened to
him more recently.
His back had always gotten the worst of it since that was what was exposed when
he was pushed face down into the floor. Cuts, bites, burns…any kind of scar he
could have, he did.
Carl couldn’t bear to expose his nudity to Rick or Morgan, so he turned his
back to them as he removed his pants. He couldn’t resist stealing a glance over
his shoulder to see if he was being watched.
Morgan was already in the water, but Rick was waiting. Carl didn’t know for
what. Carl regretted trying to catch the men looking at him. He caught Rick,
all right. There was no forgetting the look on the man’s face when he took a
double-take. Carl didn’t let on that he was watching. The man had that bad
reaction about his body. Whether the scars or his thinness were the issue, Carl
couldn’t be certain, but he couldn’t help but feel terribly self-conscious.
Carl could tell that Rick wasn’t disgusted. The man was shocked. Rick put his
head in his hands briefly once he looked away. Carl felt…not pleased, but
satisfied that Rick wasn’t disgusted. He didn’t want Rick to feel bad though.
None of it was his fault. He didn’t even know him.
Once Carl was in the water, he had the joy of feeling the grease and dirt leave
his hair. He scrubbed his skin red. He paid great attention to his ass and
groin, wanting to erase any trace of the Wolves’ mark on him. Half of his scars
didn’t look so bad when they were cleansed of the dirt and grime that darkened
them.
The new clothes felt best of all. Rick had guessed his size perfectly. Carl
noticed that Rick had chosen clothes that reflected his own style. They both
wore plaid button-up shirts, and dark jeans. Carl felt clean and almost worthy
of the kindness that Rick and Morgan were showing him.
It was worth it all when Rick finished up the haircut and trim. Carl could tell
by the look on Rick’s face that he looked a lot better.
“Wow,” Rick nodded contentedly. “You know, I should’ve been a hair stylist if
being a cop hadn’t worked out.”
“Yeah, and I should’ve been a stripper,” Morgan laughed.
“What?” Rick argued, “He looks great.”
Carl blushed. He was just happy that his beard and hair weren’t scratching at
his skin anymore. Realistically, he knew he would never be attractive. He
wasn’t even sure if he wanted Rick to think that he was.
For some reason, Carl felt like something was missing from the outfit. He
patted his chest down, feeling the soft material of his shirt. He’d never had
new clothes like this. He didn’t realize something so seemingly meaningless
could mean everything. He could feel his trust for Rick strengthen even more.
“Something wrong?” Rick wondered, watching Carl pat down his clothes. He
chuckled when the young man smoothed his hair, running his fingers through it
for the first time in what was probably a long time.
Carl didn’t want Rick to think that he didn’t appreciate the gift of clothing,
but he didn’t want to lie. He gestured to his head, trying a few different
combinations of hand movements. Everything conveying that he wanted a circle-
shape around his head?
Rick watched the young man try to make his point patiently. At first he naively
thought that the gestures meant Carl had remembered something, or that
something was wrong with his head, but Rick caught on after Carl emphasized his
last few motions.
“You want a hat?”
Carl smiled happily.
“A baseball cap?” Rick wondered. That was odd. Why would the kid even think to
want a hat. Most of the time they just got in the way, and it wasn’t Winter.
Carl shook his head slowly, holding out his hand flat and mimicking writing.
“Yeah, you can draw a picture when we get back,” Rick agreed. “We’ll get you
your hat, fancy pants.”
Morgan laughed, “As long as we can get you a tiara, princess,” pointing at
Rick.
Carl’s face fell. He didn’t like that word. He tried to banish it from his
mind. Princess. That had been his other name. Before he was named Carl. His
vision blurred, and his face grew hot. The boy fell forward in a daze.
“Shit!” Rick exclaimed, shouldering Carl before he could hit the ground. They
needed to get some food for him fast. Or he wasn’t going to make it another
day.
Rick didn’t know what to do. If they tried walking back to their hideaway, Carl
could become even weaker, but if they stayed out too long it was dangerous.
Rick considered going out to find some food while Morgan stayed with Carl by
the water, but there was no guarantee he would find anything. The only sure
thing they had was the few cans back at the basement, but even then, nine times
out of ten the cans were rotten from being so expired. That was the only option
at this point. Rick wished desperately that he’d encountered Carl two years
ago, when he had a place and a group. There were crops, livestock, and
unexpired preservatives…Carl would already be almost recovered if that fantasy
hadn’t blown up in smoke. Rick felt helpless. He wasn’t even sure how he and
Morgan had survived this long without an abundance of real food.
“We could find him some meat,” Morgan suggested. “There’s gotta be some animals
around somewhere…”
“I don’t even know if he can stomach meat,” Rick argued. “We need to find
something. Fast. Whatever it is.”
“Let’s head back,” Morgan suggested. When we’re close, I’ll branch off. There’s
gotta be something. Has to be. You can stay with him.”
Rick finished Morgan’s sentence in his own mind, “You can stay with him…in case
he doesn’t make it.”
 
Before they left the pond, they filtered as much water as they could carry,
saving it to boil later. Rick tried to see if there were any fish or frogs to
be found in the water, but as far as he could tell, it was empty.
 
Carl was lost in his mind. He faded in and out for days, coming to just long
enough for Rick or Morgan to pour some water down his throat. Carl didn’t have
it in him to even ask about the mushed-up food he was being fed in between
bouts of sleep. Carl could feel his strength slowly returning to him day by
day—the rest, water, and food making all the difference.
It was another week before Carl was even close to being able to sit up. After
the worst was over, Carl felt a stronger tie to consciousness. He had more
control to stay awake, and he was able to actually retain the words that Rick
and Morgan spoke.
“Carl,” Rick greeted when the man tried to sit himself up. “Here,” the man
offered, going to offer support.
Rick gave the man water immediately. He could see some colour in his friend’s
cheeks. It was the healthiest he’d seen him.
Carl was a bit disoriented, but he didn’t bother to ask for a play by play of
the time he’d been out. He was just happy to feel better.
“Morgan found some food for you, Carl,” Rick explained. “If he hadn’t…”
Carl nodded in understanding.
“We got really goddamn lucky,” Rick commented with a shake of his head. “Now
that we know you can stomach meat we’re gonna find you some more. It seems to
be healing you.”
Carl didn’t communicate anything, just listening to Rick’s debrief.
The word Morgan had used popped into his head again. Princess. Carl’s stomach
lurched, and his muscles tensed, but he didn’t pass out like the last time. He
needed his notebook.
 
--I do not like the wurd prinsess-- Carl wrote, handing it to Rick without
making eye contact.
Rick looked at the note, trying to put it into context. Why would Carl even be
thinking that? It took a minute before he connected the dots. Morgan had called
him a princess at the pond. What was the big deal? Rick wondered.
“Why not?” Rick wondered.
Carl started at his hands, twisting them together. He looked to Rick quickly,
and then looked to the wall.
“They…” Rick began. “Did they?” He didn’t know how to word the question without
upsetting Carl.
Carl whipped his head to face the man, his eyes wide. He nodded ever so
slightly.
“Jesus Christ,” Rick breathed. “I wish I would’ve known the full story before
dropping them. I wouldn’t have made it so goddamn quick,” Rick bit, getting up
and storming out of the room.
Carl went back to sleep.
 
When Carl’s condition became stable, and he gained a few pounds, Rick and
Morgan decided it would be best if they moved on from their refuge. It wasn’t
safe to get comfortable.  They packed as much as they could carry, and then
they left.
A couple of weeks later, when they were settled in a new basement, Rick
remembered what Carl had asked for at the pond. In all of the excitement, he’d
completely forgotten about the kid’s request for a hat. Carl hadn’t ended up
drawing a picture of what he wanted, but Rick knew what he was looking for.
 
--it’s perfict-- Carl wrote when Rick presented him with the hat. It was a
brown, wide-brimmed police hat. It had a gold rope around the cap. When Carl
felt the material of the hat, he couldn't help but feel that he'd felt it
before. There was a mysterious familiarity to it.
“I’m glad you like it,” Rick said earnestly. “I used to have one. Back in the
day. Probably still at the hospital.”
--hospitle?--
Morgan answered Carl’s question.
 "When this was all starting, Rick here was in the hospital. Coma from a
gunshot wound. He barely made it. Woke up in the middle of it. I found him."
Rick raised his eyebrows, "Yeah, and you hit me across the face with a shovel."
Carl laughed. He wished that Rick and Morgan had found him earlier. Maybe he
could've been part of that story.
Carl made his fingers into a gun and shot at Rick, and then he put his hands up
in question to ask "Where?"
"In the chest," Rick explained, lifting up his shirt.
Carl gaped at the tiny round scar. He had one just like that. Is that what it
was? A bullet wound? Had he been shot in the chest before he'd lost his eye?
The boy tugged at his shirt self consciously. He really didn't like being naked
or exposed, but he knew this was important. He pointed at his chest, and then
he grabbed his notebook:
--I have that mark to--
Rick read the note quickly before passing it to Morgan. When Carl had been near
the water, Rick had seen all kinds of marks on the man. Marks that made him
sick with rage. He hadn't been able to tell one mark from the other, but now
that he thought of it, there had been one on the chest.
"On your chest?" Rick clarified.
Carl nodded.
"Wow," Morgan breathed. "You survived a lot, kid. You're tough."
Rick nodded in agreement, "I think this means you have your first memory back.
Sort of."
Carl tilted his head at the man questioningly. That was kind of true. One
missing piece of the puzzle was finally at his disposal. It was one more thing
about his past that he could explain. It also completely validated one of the
first thoughts he'd had upon waking up--he'd been through some shit.
In a weird way, Carl didn't really know if he wanted to remember anything
anymore. If his forgotten past had been just as dark as his remembered past,
what was the point of uncovering the truth? Maybe he should just keep looking
forward and enjoy his freedom with Rick and Morgan.
 
***** Broken Heads *****
Chapter Summary
     Carl, Rick, and Morgan continue their journey...no destination in
     sight.
Chapter Notes
     Warning: Lots of talk about body disgust, PTSD, and rape.
     Nothing graphic happens, but Carl is recovering, and I don't shy away
     from details.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Carl started to improve after the big scare. Eating more meat and resting went
a long way. It was a positive feedback loop. The more Carl ate and rested, the
more strength he gained. With that extra strength, he was able to assist Rick
and Morgan on runs, which meant more food was recovered, and more opportunity
for him to gain muscle and confidence.
It only took a couple of months for Carl's spelling and grammar to become
flawless. Whenever they stopped, Rick would list words for Carl to spell out.
None of the group ever mentioned that perfect spelling didn't really matter
much anymore. As long as Carl could get his messages across, who gave a shit?
Carl was just glad to have something to focus on that didn't really require
much emotion or attempts at memory recovery. He just spelled his words, and
they were either right or wrong. Nothing unknown. It was comforting to have
certainties since he spent so much time unsure.
"Damn you're gettin' good," Rick complimented one night.
Carl ducked his head, trying not to let the compliment mean too much.
Compliments were dangerous. In an instant they could be thrown back in your
face or retracted. It wasn't good to let what Rick thought matter. If Rick was
kind to him, it would just hurt more later if things didn't work out. Carl
didn't want to get his hopes up about anything. He felt like any second he
could wake up in his cell on the floor. Any second, the Wolves could come
looking. They might kill Rick and Morgan, and then bring him back to finish
what they started. Carl shuddered at the thought. 
It was nice getting good at spelling and writing, but it still took too long.
It would be so much easier if he had a voice. He envied the way that Morgan and
Rick could communicate so quickly and easily. If he wanted to say something,
he'd have to make sure that Rick was actually looking at him, or he'd have to
pull out his notepad and pencil. It was dangerous to be concentrating on
writing a note, especially when he had to be alert for danger. Carl hated
himself. Such an inconvenience.
 
Carl wondered if he would ever get his memory back, or at least his voice. He
would rather have his speech than his memories, if he had to choose. The
forgotten past seemed like a devastating place if his current situation was any
indication. It was nice that Rick and Morgan were supportive. Of course, Morgan
was always a little distant. Carl reckoned that Morgan hadn't planned for him
to stick around this long. He was just supposed to be useful and answer
questions about Duane. Once they'd gotten past that, Carl figured he should've
been cut loose, but the men just kept taking care of him. He
wasn't...completely useless or dead weight, but he wasn't exactly an equal.
Rick and Morgan were fucking warriors.
Every day, Carl would keep a mental tally of who was more bad ass. Rick or
Morgan. Every day was different. Both men were so different. When it came to
fighting, Morgan was skillful and precise. He didn't hurt any more than he had
to, and he never lost his head. Rick was a ruthless scrapper when it came to
fights. The bloodier he got, the better. Rick didn't care about technique; he
just wanted death.
Carl always kept a close eye on his...friends? He never knew what word best
described his relationship with the two older men. Memory loss had nothing to
do with his inability to label the relationship. He just didn't know what they
were. Group members? Partners? Comrades? Carl wanted to consider Morgan and
Rick friends, but they were both more and less than that. It would've been
easier for Carl to label his relationship with Rick if he didn't bear his son's
name.
Carl would've considered Rick a friend, definitely. But Carl often thought back
to the night he'd exchanged words with Rick through his notepad. He cringed at
what he'd written. "You sun". Of course, he realized now that sun was the hot
yellow thing in the sky, and son meant child. He had mixed feelings about the
whole thing now. It was too...meaningful to have Rick's son's name. He couldn't
believe the man had actually accepted the suggestion. Now that he knew more
about Rick, he knew that the man hated talking about the past and the loss it
represented. If Carl had known Rick better, he would've never suggested taking
on the name Carl. It seemed a bit ridiculous, but it also fit. Carl liked the
name, and he liked having another certainty. It was something that he knew
about himself. His name was Carl.
Anyway, if Carl hadn't been named Carl, he could've considered Rick a friend,
but now he guessed he had to view him as a parent or something. Carl grinned at
the thought of having a parent. It made his insides ache, and his eyes burn.
 
They were in a new home a couple towns away from their first basement.
This house had an attic which was perfect. Rick preferred the houses with
attics.
"Nobody ever thinks to look there," Rick commented. "Everyone likes being on
ground level or below. The illusion of safety," he scoffed, shaking his head.
"You get up into the attic and retract the ladder? Who would ever look up? How
would walkers make the climb?"
Morgan rolled his eyes, "We know you're the smart one." He winked at Carl.
Carl smiled, trying to wink back.
"Sorry, son," Morgan laughed, blinking back the tears. He clutched his stomach,
"You can't wink when you only got one eye. It's just blinkin'!"
Rick's eyes flashed to Carl's expression instantly, expecting the boy to be
hurt. "Morgan," Rick chastised. "Jesus Christ."
Carl waved Rick away, flashing Morgan a thumbs up and rolling his eye.
"That was low," Rick suppressed a smile. "One of the meanest things I ever
heard."
"I know," Morgan admitted. "I feel a little guilty."
Carl used the moment to escape the attic. He didn't do so dramatically, but
calmly. After all, he wasn't leaving due to Morgan's comment. He just wanted to
find the mirror.
 
Every time they stopped anywhere, Carl's first order of business was finding
the mirror. Rick and Morgan didn't know. They probably didn't care, but Carl
did. He didn't want them to know that he cared.
Carl didn't want to look at himself. He hated his appearance. Even after Rick
had graciously cut his hair and trimmed his beard. Even now that he was
relatively clean... it wasn't enough. Carl hated the scar he wore where his eye
should've been. He hated the scraggly beard on his face. He was still on the
thin side, despite having gained a healthy amount of weight. Carl hated his
mouth most of all. Second was probably the scars that littered the entirety of
his body.
There were plenty of reasons why he hated his mouth most of all. His teeth
weren't in the best of shape, obviously, but it was deeper than that. His mouth
had been harbour to just as many sexual acts as his penis and ass. Carl knew
his mouth had only been good for one thing. Carl hated his mouth more for what
it couldn't do than for what it had done. He couldn't speak. It was infuriating
and pathetic. His mouth was either useful for others or useless to him...either
way he hated it.
Carl stared at himself in the mirror, opening his mouth to examine his teeth.
He was brushing and flossing constantly. Baking soda was plentiful and easy to
find. He had to admit it was helping. His teeth were nowhere near as appealing
as Rick's, but they were getting there. Luckily nothing had had to be pulled,
but Carl wouldn't surprised if that happened. 6 years without brushing was a
long time.
The boy took off his shirt, averting his eyes from the mirror as the fabric
fell to the floor. Gazing at his appearance in the mirror always felt like
getting splashed with a bucket of ice cold water. It took his breath away to
see his body.
He forced himself to look.
His eyes fell to the bullet wound he had to match Rick's. He inventoried the
rest. Several uneven, pink stripes all over his chest and back. Ragged bite
marks. Harsh nail marks. Burns. A lot of them were fading, but not quickly
enough. There weren't as many healed wounds on his lower half, but any wounds
he sustained there had affected him mentally more than physically. Carl hated
when he had to relieve himself. He hated exposing his groin. It felt so wrong.
He was never more vulnerable than when his pants had to come down. Carl refused
to even look at himself completely naked. The chest and back was one thing. He
would never look lower. He'd rather die.
Carl flinched when Rick appeared in the doorway. He scrambled to pick up his
shirt.
Rick looked away immediately, giving Carl time to cover himself. Rick hated
seeing all the scars, but only because he could tell that Carl was disgusted
with himself. He thought of the Wolves every day, and how he wished he could
drain the life from them slowly. He fantasized about gutting them all in front
of Carl, showing him definitively that he was safe.
"Hey," Rick breathed, standing beside Carl in the mirror.
Carl nodded minutely, embarrassed and uncomfortable.
"It's okay," Rick assured. "I'm just here to check your teeth."
Carl relaxed. He gave a thumbs up.
"I see you found the mirror," Rick said conversationally.
Carl blushed.
"I chose this place when I saw this thing. Thought you might....I don't know,"
Rick trailed off. "Never mind."
Carl frowned at the man. How could he have known?
Rick grinned, hearing the question in Carl's unspoken words. "When you camp out
with a person every night for four months, you get to know them. I know you
like mirrors. Like the challenge."
Rick crossed his arms, watching Carl fumble around for his notebook. His lips
twitched at the boy's annoyance.
--Challenge?????--
Rick shook his head. "Are you sure you want to talk about this?"
Carl hesitated, writing his words quickly. --thought mirror was secret-- He
used short form now that he was able to write more.
"I'm sorry," Rick offered. "I didn't want to intrude on the...ritual. I just--"
Carl waited.
"Challenge. You look at the mirror. You look at the scars," Rick began, "And
you force yourself to see it, and to remember. It's a challenge."
--Oh yeah?--
--How do you know?--
Rick didn't particularly like it when Carl got defensive, but it always meant
they were talking about something important. Rick liked nothing more than
learning new things about this mystery man. Rick had to remind himself
constantly that just because his name was Carl, didn't mean he was Carl. His
real son was gone, but now he had this Carl to take care of. He wanted to know
more about the man. Help him. That instinct for care and protection had never
left Rick. When Carl got prickly, it meant that Rick was on the right
track...the track to gaining information.
"Like I said," Rick retorted. "Four months together. You know someone."
Carl sighed.
"Look, I'm not trying to be a dick," Rick explained. "I know I'm not supposed
to know. This is your little thing. I just wanted you to know, that this
process is important to me."
Carl didn't bother writing his confusion down. It showed on his face.
Rick dragged his hands across his face, annoyed at himself for even starting
this conversation. "Your challenge. Lookin' in the mirror. Seeing how much of
it you can take...I care about you succeeding. I want you to be able to look. I
want you to be able to realize that all the shit that went wrong...the
leftovers from their..." Rick ground his teeth. "You need to be able to look,
Carl. You need to be able to see beyond that. Remember what happened, and
remember that it's over now. You don't need to hate yourself."
Rick left the room immediately, not wanting to face Carl after the words had
left his mouth. He was such a fucking idiot. Who was he now? A fucking
motivational speaker. What did he care if the kid hated himself or not? And
what did the kid care if he gave a shit. They were both broken. Rick stomped
down the hall. He didn't feel like going back into the attic with Morgan. He
went into the basement. Searching for what?... He didn't know.
 
Carl sat cross-legged on the floor for a long time after Rick left. He had no
idea what to say. He had never heard Rick speak that much in one shot. It was
intriguing, for lack of a better word. Why did Rick care so much? Carl
remembered that Rick hadn't even really wanted to take him in the first place.
Carl knew that Rick was just being skeptical. He couldn't blame him for having
that quality, since it had kept him alive on numerous occasions. No, Carl
didn't hold that against him. Like he'd been discovering, Rick and Morgan were
total badasses. He couldn't fault the men for being harsh when that was their
survival skill. Carl could even admit that he was harsh too. Not easy to get
along with. Defensive and angry most of the time. Still, Rick and Morgan tried.
Why did Rick care? He couldn't get past it. It had never occurred to Carl that
he shouldn't hate himself. He looked up to Rick. More than anyone he'd ever
met. The man was tough and ruthless. He adored that Rick was just a moral
dilemma away from being a bad guy. Rick was nice and caring, but there was a
darkness beneath the surface. Carl found himself drawn to that. Morgan was kind
and logical. Rick was those things as well, but he didn't struggle with the
killing like Morgan often did. Carl could tell that Rick enjoyed it. If the man
had been a cop like he said, it only made sense. Carl had heard someone say
once that a lot of  murderers were cops. Maybe it was true. Rick liked being a
killer. If someone as strong and complex as Rick was telling him not to hate
himself, maybe he should listen.
Carl frowned. Didn't make any sense. Rick really was hard to pin down. He
enough sentimentality to name a practical stranger after his son, but he was
also harsh enough to kill people in their sleep. It was bizarre that someone
like Rick could care.
Carl hated to admit it, but he liked being cared about. He liked that Rick had
cared enough to notice his mirror habit, and to realize what he was doing. He
liked that Rick was patient enough to wait for his notes and to decipher his
convoluted hand gestures. He liked Rick.
The boy put his head in his hands. He had never liked someone before. Ever. He
didn't know what the felt like. He'd never had any friends before. He'd never
had enough time to bond with anybody in captivity. He certainly hadn't bonded
with the Wolves. Carl guessed that the black woman who'd died for him was his
friend once, but all he had left from the friendship was confusion and
detachment. With Morgan, there was a polite understanding. An almost obligatory
bond for survival. With Rick, it was completely different than anything he'd
ever experienced. He appreciated the man and his company.
Carl had to put a stop to this immediately.
 
 
Carl ignored both Rick and Morgan for the next two weeks. He didn't write in
his notebook. He didn't make any extra gestures. He didn't make eye contact.
Carl completely dissociated. It was a defense mechanism he'd picked up within a
month of being a prison. He could fade away in an instant if he needed to. It
was probably the only reason he'd made it through six years of near constant
sexual torture...he hadn't really been there mentally.
Rick and Morgan weren't much of talkers, so they didn't comment. They were are
all relatively silent people, so Carl's mood didn't become obvious until days
after he'd begun distancing himself.
Carl was almost smug when he overheard Rick talking about him.
"What's with the kid?" Rick whispered to Morgan.
"What do you mean?" Morgan answered carefully.
"He's been different since the last house," Rick explained. "I can't say that
he hasn't spoken...but you know, he hasn't communicated in a while."
Carl listened to his comrades analyze his behaviour, half amused and half
embarrassed.
"Maybe it has something to with you," Morgan said carefully, evaluating Rick's
reaction while he paused.
Rick's questioning expression urged Morgan to continue.
"I don't know what happened, but you went into the bathroom happy, and you came
out pissed. Then he stopped writing," Morgan explained. "Then you told me to
check his teeth. We both know I ain't a dentist."
Rick scoffed, "What the hell does that have to do with anything? Who cares if I
check his teeth? I'm not his father."
Carl winced.
Morgan sighed, "Look, Rick. All I'm saying is that you and that boy have some
sort of understanding. You put up a fight when I wanted to take him, and then
you started caring for him as if he were your own. He isn't the same with me as
he is with you. He needs you, Rick. Whatever you said, or whatever he
said...get over it. I have to look at both of you every night. I ain't fighting
with you two in this close of quarters. Tension isn't safe."
Rick sighed, "I don't know what happened, really. I said something about his
scars. It was dumb. Not my place."
Carl strained to hear Morgan's response, "It can't be easy for him."
"No, it can't," Rick agreed. "I just wish he didn't have one foot out the door
all the time. It's like he's scared we're gonna do something to him. I don't
know what I can do to convince him he's part of our group. I don't know how to
talk to him."
Carl felt ashamed at once. Rick and Morgan just wanted to accept him. They
wanted him to feel safe, and they were offended that he didn't. Carl wished he
could feel safe. He wished he could feel like he was actually part of the group
and not a third wheel. He just wasn't there yet.
"It will take time, Rick," Morgan sympathized. "I think we're doing the right
thing. We can't coddle the boy, but we can't expect him to be one hundred
percent either."
Rick didn't speak.
Morgan continued, "He'll integrate eventually. He's already bonded with us a
little. To be honest, that's probably what scares him. He's never had friends."
Carl was amazed. He never realized that Morgan was so observant. He vowed to
give the man more credit in the future.
"When did you become so smart?" Rick asked Morgan. He knew the man was right.
They needed to give Carl space--show the boy that they were there for him
without overwhelming him.
 
Carl nodded at Rick the next day, an unspoken announcement that he had thawed.
Rick smiled back, accepting that Carl was back to normal--more or less.
Rick didn't bring up the mirror thing at all. Carl was glad. Carl just took it
for what it was, a sign that Rick was a friend.
Carl realized he didn't have to distance himself from Rick to avoid friendship.
Being friends with Rick and Morgan was in his best interest. These men were all
he had, and he refused to let his past get in the way of his potential
happiness. If Rick wanted to care about him, he would let him. Carl was going
to let himself care about Rick and Morgan, also. They were his friends.
 
"You've been with us five months," Rick announced one evening. They were in
another attic.
Carl nodded. He'd been keeping track of the days.
"Gotta say," Morgan began. "I didn't know if you'd make it, Carl. But here you
are."
Carl ducked his head.
Rick huffed, "You were 100 pounds soaking wet." He refrained from tacking on a
"poor thing" to the end of that sentence. He knew it was demeaning.
The boy shrugged, writing in his notepad quickly. --Now I'm bigger than you--
Rick and Morgan both chuckled, "Not quite."
Carl rolled his eye. He knew he wasn't. He was a couple inches shorter than
Rick, and anywhere up to 30 pounds lighter. Still, he wasn't as thin as he had
been. He looked almost normal now.
"Plus," Rick hesitated, "Your teeth are really coming along."
--Stop. You know they'll never be perfect.--
Morgan frowned, "I just want to take this opportunity to say that I'm the one
who thought of baking soda."
Rick laughed heartily, "Yeah, why don't I call the news crew. You can be on a
commercial."
Carl frowned. What in God's name was a commercial? He smiled, going along with
it politely anyways. It was true, though. The baking soda really made the
difference.
"And anyways, I found his hat," Rick argued. "That's a fine chapeau if you ask
me."
Morgan scoffed, "Give the kid a break. You're talking about shit he hasn't even
heard of."
That humbled Rick, "Oh... I--"
Carl waved it away. He didn't want Rick to feel bad for nothing. Just because
he didn't know a couple of words didn't mean it was the end of the world.
"Chapeau is a French word for hat," Rick explained.
Carl nodded, excited to learn a new word.
"What are some words you associate with French?" Rick asked, taking the
opportunity to teach Carl some more vocabulary.
--Fries--
--Ifull tower--
"Morgan, how do you spell Eiffel?" Rick asked, looking at Carl's paper.
"E-i-f-f-e-l."
Carl nodded as he corrected himself.
"Not a bad start to the list," Rick encouraged. "I think I can add some more.
How about braid, bread, wine, and cheese?"
Carl smiled briefly, but as usual, the happiness faded into melancholy and
resentment. He'd never eaten or drunk any of these things--that he remembered--
and he likely never would.
"Don't worry," Rick commented, catching the shift in Carl's mood. "You can make
new memories."
 
Carl had already killed 56 walkers by the time he'd been with Rick and Morgan
for five months. He knew it wasn't a lot, and he didn't have any humans on his
list...but still, he was proud. He'd gained another five pounds, and he was
getting faster.
Morgan had showed him how to use his stick to fight which was cool. It was
worth it every time to see Morgan's face while he explained that it wasn't
called a stick, but a staff. Rick had taken to calling it a twig. He'd howl
with laughter whenever Morgan corrected him. Carl couldn't help but grin. He
made fun of Morgan less after he actually learned how difficult it was to
maneuver the stick.
Rick preferred knives and guns. So did Carl. They felt harsher than the staff,
and with a strong weapon like that, he had more confidence in a favourable
outcome. If he pulled out a knife, he knew he'd win every time. With the stick,
it was 50/50.
Carl was grateful he had the knife that Rick had given him when two dozen
walkers emerged from the woods completely unexpectedly.
 
The boy barely had time to blink before there was a dead woman in his face. He
cursed himself for not being more careful. It was pouring rain, but Rick didn't
want them to find shelter. "Nobody will be travelling in the rain," he
reasoned. "We can cover more ground and stay out in the open. When the rain
stops, we'll find a place." Carl had agreed it sounded like a fair idea, but
the thunder and the sound of the rain decreased their ability to hear walkers.
Morgan lead the triad, dropping three walkers in a swift motion. Rick lunged
for the largest one of the group, severing its head with a swipe of his
machete. Carl concentrated on a tricky one; he was difficult to target because
his face was so badly rotted. Morgan assisted, sticking his staff right through
the walker's eye. Carl stepped back, about to engage the last couple opponents.
Carl gaped as he watched Rick slip on the wet grass. One of the dead descended
immediately, blocking Rick's access to his machete. The walker was only inches
away from taking a bite of Rick's neck. It could have been a kiss, Carl thought
morbidly. Carl darted forward, pushing off a walker without bothering to kill
it. He had to get to Rick.
The boy dove at the zombie attacking Rick. He wrestled it to the ground,
avoiding its snapping jaws expertly. Carl stuck a knife into its forehead.
Safe.
Rick finished off his share of the herd once Carl had won his fight for him.
"Thanks," Rick said, holding out a hand to Carl. He pulled the boy up, keeping
their hands joined until Carl was stable. "That was a close one."
Carl nodded. It been close, indeed.
"Good work, son," Morgan commented. "You saved his life."
Carl waved his hand as was custom. He pointed at Rick and then to himself
before giving a double thumbs up.
"We're even?" Rick smirked.
The boy nodded. Rick had saved his life. It was only fair that Carl save
Rick's.
"How do you do that?" Morgan complained in disbelief. "You can read his mind. I
don't know what half his little hand signals mean."
Rick rolled his eyes, picking up his machete from the ground. He didn't answer
because he didn't have an answer. He really didn't know why he could understand
the boy so well. It just came easily.
Carl brushed his hair out of his eyes, the wet strands sticking to his face
were starting to get itchy. He dropped his hand to his side, accidentally
brushing hands with Rick. He hadn't noticed that they were standing that close
together. Carl had the oddest urge to grab Rick's hand, but he abstained. He
walked forward instead, eager to get to their destination. Being soaking wet
was extremely uncomfortable. He couldn't tell if Rick had noticed the touch. He
hoped not.
 
When they finally found a house that offered decent protection and resources,
Carl was elated. Rick started a fire in the middle of the concrete basement
once the windows were covered to hide the light. They needed the heat because
the rain had chilled them to the bone, despite the summer weather.
It was easier to ditch their soaked clothes and take what was in the closet of
the house. Waiting for clothes to dry would take a while, and none of them
wanted to sit around naked with one another. Carl shrugged out of his clothes
next to the fire. He was completely uncomfortable being exposed in front of
Rick and Morgan, but that's exactly why he did it. He needed to prove himself
that being unclothed in front of his friends wasn't going to kill him. Besides,
it was just a shirt. He didn't take off his jeans.
Carl didn't hesitate before leaving the room in search of a new outfit. He
found the mirror immediately afterward.
The boy cringed at his matted hair; he combed it before brushing his teeth.
Carl wasn't as disgusted with himself as usual. He felt...okay, even. He felt
capable after saving Rick's life. He'd never done that before...saved someone.
He'd seen many people come and go while he was in captivity, but he'd never
been able to save anyone. He hadn't been able to save that woman who'd saved
him...the woman with the bullet. He couldn't save the one who'd been killed
right in front of him. Besides saving Rick, he'd never really done anything
worthwhile on his life. It was a nice change from the dejection to feel
competent. He wouldn't go as far as to say hopeful, but he felt good.
"Hey," Rick said from the doorway, noting the comb and toothbrush on the
counter. "Mind if I check 'em?"
Carl shook his head, turning to face Rick. Getting his teeth checked was his
favourite part of the week. He tried very hard not to think about his bare
chest. He glanced down at it involuntarily. He didn't like this, but he needed
to get used to it.
"You don't have to do that," Rick said, purposely averting his gaze. He felt
like he was right back where he'd started with Carl a few weeks ago. Having a
dangerous conversation in a bathroom. He needed to learn not to engage Carl
while he was in this state of mind. It wasn't good for anybody. Carl was so
defensive when he was exposed. Rick didn't want Carl to feel like he had to be
defensive ever.
Carl stared at Rick, willing the man to see him. He didn't know what he
expected.
"You can test yourself all you want," Rick began, "But you don't need to test
me."
Carl tilted his head, questioning.
"You're waiting for me to say something. You want me to tell you that you've
got something wrong with you," he raised his voice. "You're waiting for me to
be like them."
Carl looked at the floor. Fuck Rick for being able to understand him. That
didn't mean he was entitled.
"Do you honestly believe that I'm going to see you without your clothes on and
transform into some animal? You're constantly waiting for the shoe to drop,
right? If I don't touch you, you'll be waiting for it to happen. If I do touch
you, you'll think that it's what you deserve, and that you were right all
along."
Carl opened and closed his mouth. He fumbled around for his notebook, but he
didn't have it since the pages were all wet. It was drying by the fire. He
shook his head, clenching his fists. This was all wrong. Why couldn't he say
the right thing? He didn't want Rick to be mad at him. He didn't mean to think
these things. He knew Rick wasn't bad.
Rick realized Carl couldn't respond. He already felt like an asshole, but he
wasn't going to tip toe around Carl just because he was sensitive. They needed
to talk about things. Rick looked at the mirror and realized that Carl didn't
need his notebook. He blew on the mirror until the steam covered it, and then
he wrote with his finger. "Write here."
Carl's eyes widened at the neat trick. He didn't know he could write on
mirrors. He did what Rick did.
--Can't do anything right.--
"Carl," Rick shook his head. "Just put your shirt on."
The boy flinched at the demand. Usually men were demanding him to remove his
clothes. Still, he recognized the commanding done.
Rick clenched his jaw when he saw Carl flinch. He was the one who should've
been writing "can't do anything right", not Carl. He wasn't trying to be an
asshole. It just kind of happened. A lot.
Rick tried to console Carl while the boy put his shirt back on, "I know this is
easier said than done, but you really need to relax."
Carl crossed his arms. Having the shirt on didn't make him feel confident, but
Rick had been right. He felt a lot better.
"Fuck," Rick breathed. "I don't know..."
Carl wanted to know what Rick didn't know. What was the man going to say? He
waved a hand at Rick before the man could even speak. He just wanted to get his
teeth checking over with. He and Rick obviously weren't meant to have
conversations in the bathroom. Carl didn't want to fight with Rick, so it was
just best to let this go. Whatever. He didn't forget that Rick hadn't corrected
him when he said he couldn't do anything right. Rick agreed, then.
Rick was about to say "open up", but he didn't want to see that petrified look
on Carl's face. He made a note to try and sound less demanding when he asked
the boy to do something.
"Let's see your teeth then," Rick tried to sound light, but he could tell Carl
was itching to bolt from the room. Rick wasn't far off himself. He forgot how
awkward it was to try and communicate with people that weren't Morgan. He
wasn't good with people.
Carl closed his eyes while Rick held his jaw. He remembered the first time
they'd done this. Rick had grabbed his face without warning, and Carl leapt
back in terror. He'd had his mouth held open way too many times to let it
happen again. Carl was ashamed for having that reaction when Rick was just
trying to help him, but he couldn't help it.
The next time, Rick was extremely reluctant to do it. "Do you want Morgan to
this? After last time..."
Carl had shook his head with a frown, pointing at Rick. He still had the piece
of paper in his notebook that said --Last time was an accident. I got scared by
accident.-- He had wanted to explain to Rick that he hadn't really done
anything wrong; it was just a reaction to a sudden movement. Carl didn't really
think Rick would hurt him...but who knew. Anything was possible.
Now, Rick knew exactly how to navigate the situation. He explained everything
he was doing before he did it: "I need to take a look at your gums, so I'm
going to pull back your lips a bit" or "I need to put one hand on your face."
Then the man would wait for Carl to nod his consent before proceeding.
Sometimes Carl thought he was getting to the point where he could do without
the step-by-step process, but some days he was grateful for it.
"Okay," Rick said, taking a step back. Some of the tension had dissipated from
the room now that they'd gotten back to a routine. "I don't think I'll need to
check 'em anymore. What looked bad before is a lot better, and what looked okay
before is great. They're almost white now."
Carl raised his eyebrows, turning hesitantly to the mirror to smile. Rick was
right. His teeth really were a lot better. His gums didn't really bleed anymore
either, and he could feel more strength in his jaw. Carl nodded at Rick in
thanks.
Rick opened and closed his mouth, trying to choose his words before speaking
them.
Carl tilted his head to the side inquisitively.
"Listen, I can compliment you until I'm blue in the face. I could call you
strong, capable, resilient, brave, smart," Rick listed. "I could say that you
saved my life. I could say that you're the most interesting person I've ever
met, but it would all mean nothing. It doesn't matter what I say. Doesn't
matter what I think. You're the one who has to live with yourself."
Carl regarded Rick with wide eyes. Nobody had ever said anything like that to
him. Ever. It was shocking.
Rick scratched his head, "I get you're scared, and a lot of fucked up things
happened to you, but for you to survive all of it without even having any happy
memories to get you through it? You have to be the toughest son of bitch I ever
met. Remember that if nothing else."
Carl schooled his expression and looked to the ground. He waited until Rick had
left the room before he allowed himself to look up. He stared at himself in the
mirror for the hundredth time, willing himself to believe the words that Rick
had said. Strong, capable, resilient, brave, and smart. He'd saved Rick's life.
Carl shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't help but associate the words to
his past. His psyche betrayed him when it came to compliments. His mind
wouldn't allow him to be worthy. For every compliment Rick had offered, his
mind provided a counter. Strong, but not strong enough to fight his captors.
Capable, but only to as a toy for the Wolves. Resilient, but not enough to get
over what had happened. Brave, but only because he'd been rescued and given
weapons. Smart, but not enough to speak. When it came to whether or not he'd
saved Rick's life, he tried to reason: maybe Rick would've gotten out at the
last second, or maybe he had just gotten lucky. No matter how hard his mind
fought against him, Carl couldn't be convinced. He knew that if he hadn't
acted, Rick would be dead. It was something he could hold on to. It was a
start.
Chapter End Notes
     I've decided to make this longer than 6 chapters.
     grimesobcest.tumblr.com
***** First Line *****
Chapter Summary
     Carl finally starts to feel like part of the group. He still has a
     lot of healing to do, but he has the foundation to do it.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"How long do you two have left in you before we need to stop," Rick asked.
He, Morgan, and Carl had been walking for the past four days. They had been
walking through the trees, keeping close to the road just in case they spotted
any vehicles or signs. It had been countryside since the beginning. The only
hint of shelter had been a toll booth at the beginning of what seemed to be a
dirt road or driveway. Rick didn't follow paths that led deep into the woods.
No visibility or escape routes. That had been the first day.
Carl didn't acknowledge the question. If he was honest, he had been ready to
stop after the first few hours of walking. He had recovered well from his
emaciation, but that didn't mean he was going to be 100 percent for 100 percent
of the time. Sometimes travelling took a lot out of him, especially in the
extreme temperatures. Being locked in a room for 6 years had made him extremely
sensitive to sunlight. Carl had endured a few sunburns before he'd decided to
alter his outfit choices. Long sleeves and long pants were his attire of choice
anyway, but now he adorned a scarf and gloves to cover up the exposed areas.
There was little he could do for his face, since he didn't want to wear
sunglasses and an eye patch.
Most often, it was the mental exhaustion that made him want to stop. He could
take the burning lungs and the overheating, but spending endless days wandering
from place to place was more than disheartening. Travelling with no
destination. Walking with no goals. Carl had been used to the stability of one
room. He was in a new place every night, and it was no longer exciting. Carl
wanted to settle down in one place. He wanted to establish roots so that he
could feel safe.
Morgan assessed Carl's non-reaction, "We better stop tonight."
"What?" Rick asked. "Why?"
"You know why," Morgan said lightly.
"Jesus," Rick complained. "We're never going to get anywhere."
As much as Carl liked Rick, and as much as he knew the man wasn't a threat to
him physically, he could still be a fucking asshole. Carl liked that about Rick
in a weird way. He often thought about the first day he'd encountered the
cowboy. Rick had wanted to kill him. Rick didn't trust him. It was almost nice
to know that Rick didn't hesitate to admit when Carl was being an inconvenience
to him. It made Carl realize that Rick told the truth. Always. Whether the
truth was ugly or flattering. Rick tried to be understanding, but sometimes he
was a prick. Carl liked that the man didn't tip toe around him; he didn't want
to be coddled. He'd been on his own for six years--he didn't need Rick to take
care of him. Although, it was nice when the man tried.
Carl rolled his eye, sliding his notebook out of his pocket with a pointed
glare at Rick. He smirked while Rick waited.
"Oh, here we go," Rick said with a hand on his hip.
Morgan bit back a smile.
Carl took his time writing out what he wanted to say. Let Rick wait.
"Spit it out," Rick crossed his arms.
--All we do is walk and walk and walk and walk and walk. Where the fuck are we
ever actually going? Let's find somewhere and stay there for more than 5
fucking seconds. Jesus. The more we move the more energy we waste. The more
food we need.--
Rick read the note once, looking at Carl without bothering to dilute his glare.
He read the note again, shoving the paper at Morgan afterward.
Rick whipped his backpack off and threw it on the ground, pacing  to a tree a
couple of metres away. He put one hand on the trunk and leaned for a few
minutes. Morgan and Carl watched silently, waiting for Rick to speak.
The man pushed himself off the tree. "Okay, smartass. You think we should find
somewhere and stay there. Morgan, what do you say?"
Morgan put his staff in front of him, resting both hands on the end and resting
his chin on top of his hands. "We've always been on the move, Rick. Since the
beginning, that's been our thing. We had a home...for a while. Since that
ended, we've been travelling constantly."
Carl watched Morgan speak, looking to Rick to assess the man's reaction. He
knew Rick didn't take to disagreement well. No matter what happened, Rick was
going to be bitchy for the next week. Carl smirked, adjusting his scarf.
Sometimes he really felt like Rick's son, with the way that it thrilled him to
see the man get annoyed.
"In the beginning, it made sense," Morgan turned to Carl. It made sense to
explain things to the boy since he'd never heard it before. He didn't know
their past, really. "When everything started, their were walkers everywhere. It
was easy to find survivors. Everyone was new to the life, and that meant it was
easier to make friends. If you were human, you were a friend. It was the dead
versus the live."
Rick crossed his arms, his frown turning from an angry one to a solemn one.
Morgan continued, "After a few months, people realized that this wasn't just a
temporary thing. This was the way things were going to be from now on. It
turned from all humans being friends to sticking to your group. It was tempting
to find a sanctuary and settle. People had their homes, or their bunkers, or
their land. No matter how hard they worked to fortify it, either the dead or
the living fought their way in. We've seen places with fences that were 15 feet
tall. Even that wasn't enough to keep enemies out."
Carl focused on Morgan completely, finding every single word that left his
mouth to be fascinating. Even Rick seemed to be enjoying the story.
"Once people realized that surviving wasn't just about fighting the dead or not
getting bit, but that it meant killing. Killing living humans. Taking supplies.
Taking shelter. Taking lives... People started to fear making sanctuary. What
was the point of building a home only to have the rug ripped right out from
under you? To have your family all in once place when it just meant that they
could all be targeted at the same time? That was what happened to our family,
Carl," Morgan said sadly. "When Duane was taken, that was an isolated incident.
When we lost others, it was one at a time. Every once in a while."
Rick interrupted, "We were wrong to think we were safe when we built a place
for ourselves. They all just died at the same time."
Morgan nodded, "When the most permanent thing we had since before the end got
taken from us, we realized it had been a mistake to ever think we could have a
lasting home."
Carl frowned. --Wolves had place 6 years.-- Morgan paused while he waited for
Carl to write his question.
"Exactly," Morgan agreed. That's what I've been thinking ever since you told us
how long you were there.
Rick tilted his head thoughtfully, "Things are different now. There are less
walkers. People know how to handle their dead, and most walkers from before
have been killed or trapped."
Morgan nodded, "Right. And the people...anyone who's strong enough already has
a sanctuary; they're not looking for homes now. Or if they are, it's not
Suburbia they're looking for. They want warehouses and gated neighbourhoods.
Shopping malls."
Rick raised his eyebrows, "Nobody that's made it this far wants a basement to
hole up in. Nobody around here had enough numbers to challenge those disgusting
Wolves. If nobody went after them for six years...you might be right. Maybe
it's safe to settle down now."
Morgan looked at Rick with a smile. "So, Rick. In conclusion, I think the boy's
right. We don't need to stay in a single house for months on end, but we can at
least start finding places to stay that have an expiration date of a few
weeks."
Rick put a hand on his hip, "I really don't know, Morgan. That's--. It's--."
Carl waited for Rick to explain.
"Asking a lot?" Morgan supplied.
Rick nodded, moving to sit on the ground next to his backpack.
Carl sat down on the ground immediately. He was embarrassed at having followed
Rick's movements so quickly. He could understand where Rick was coming from,
but at the same time, he didn't.
"We need to plan," Rick decided. "I don't want to stop in the first town we
land. I don't want to pick a random house. We need to find a place we know.
Then from there, we can case the surrounding areas. We don't want to walk into
some psycho's backyard. We need to do this right."
Naturally, that meant that Rick and Morgan decided on their hometown. King
County. Carl didn't know where his hometown was, so he didn't offer any input
beside asking if the town was nice.
"Used to be. A lot of shit went down there over the years. Half of it's burned
down."
Morgan nodded, "It'll be perfect. It's small enough to navigate quickly, but
worn enough not to draw any visitors."
Rick smirked, "We'll have to be careful though. Morgan and I lived there...with
Duane... for a while in the beginning, when I was still trying to find my son."
Rick's face fell, "There's a lot of traps still set, I reckon."
Carl shook his head in response. --Why stop looking for son?-- Now that he knew
how to write properly, it made him cringe to shorten form. He knew it sounded
dumb, but it took too long to write full sentences. Especially if they were out
in the open, exposed, he didn't want to waste time writing.
Rick turned away for a moment, "I never stopped looking. I left Morgan for a
bit...to go to the city. He stayed with Duane for...well anyway, I looked
everywhere. Eventually I realized that I couldn't do it alone, so I came back.
We fortified the entire town, and we rounded up every single gun there. I
wanted something for Carl to come back to once I found him."
Carl fidgeted. He didn't like hearing about the son as Carl. He felt out of
place and inadequate to be named after someone who was so important to Rick.
Nobody had looked for him that hard. He was jealous of the real Carl. It
occurred to him that he might've known this boy before he lost his memory. It
would've been special if he could provide Rick with useful information. It
would've been gratifying to tell Morgan that Duane had escaped. If he could
reunite these two men with their sons, and maybe find his own father...or a
father figure...Well, Carl couldn't think of anything better. Unfortunately, it
wasn't an option for Morgan, and Rick being his father wasn't an option either.
He refused to replace a ghost. He didn't want to be a replacement. It was
awkward enough that he'd claimed Carl's name. That had been an attempted gift
for Rick, but now he saw how dispiriting it was. Giving another person his
son's name was like Rick saying he'd never find his son. It was as if he'd
accepted the boy's death and wanted someone else to mean as much to him.
Carl wrote quickly --I don't think I should be named Carl.--
Morgan read the note, choosing then to take a seat on the ground next to his
friends. He didn't hesitate to pull Carl into a hug.
"Don't," Rick began, warning Morgan. "He doesn't like--"
As Rick watched Carl accept the hug, he couldn't help but feel resentful and
envious. He could barely extend an arm toward the boy without him flinching.
Carl didn't move to reciprocate the hug, but he allowed Morgan's grip to
enclose him. His chest tightened, and his jaw clenched. He couldn't tell Morgan
"no" the same way he could with Rick. Rick was different. He couldn't explain
it. It was almost like he felt comfortable making Rick uncomfortable because he
knew the man could accept it. Morgan was a good man, but Carl didn't want to do
anything that might make him turn. Besides, the man was just trying to be nice.
Did he really have a right to reject the man's gesture? Carl would've felt
guilty.
Morgan passed the note to Rick.
"Why?" The man asked. He had wondered what could've warranted Morgan touching
the boy. Rick guessed it made sense...Morgan was trying to comfort the kid.
Still, anyone with eyes could see that Carl was deeply uncomfortable. Rick
could see the boy's nails digging into the ground. He didn't say anything. He
would talk to Morgan later. Alone.
--I'm a stranger. Shouldn't replace your son.--
Rick looked at Carl, evaluating his expression. There wasn't much to see,
considering the hat hid his forehead, the eye patch covered a good quarter of
his face, and his facial hair covered his face from nose to chin. All that was
left was the boy's nose and a single blue eye. Rick looked away. Carl had blue
eyes. He couldn't bear to think of seeing his son going through this pain.
Surprisingly, it was almost worse to see his friend go through this pain. If it
had been his son, he would feel entitled to comforting him. He would feel
welcome. Additionally, his son wouldn't have to fear further abuse at his hand.
With this Carl, it was different. He didn't know this boy, and the boy didn't
know him. Not really. There was still a threat of violence, even if it was only
a perceived threat. Rick knew he could never hurt this boy, but Carl didn't
know that.  They'd only known each other for five months. How was Carl to be
absolutely sure of who Rick was? Rick understood that, and he accepted the
boy's apprehension to trust, even if it saddened him.
Rick forced himself to look back at Carl. The blue eye held so much pain and
fear, but even still, the eye was so youthful. He didn't know what to say. It
hurt to hear Carl call himself a stranger.
"You may feel like a stranger, but you aren't one," Rick argued. "Maybe you're
right about the name. Maybe's it morbid, but I'd like you to keep it."
Carl frowned. --Why? I can't be him.--
"Why did you suggest it in the first place?" Morgan interjected. "If you didn't
want that name, you shouldn't have asked for it." He wasn't trying to be harsh.
After all, he had wanted to console Carl after he'd admitted his wish. He was
curious, though. Why the change of heart? He'd been Carl for months now.
Rick watched Carl write his response. He suddenly had the urge to keep walking.
Why were they sitting here, exposed? Having a conversation during prime walking
hours? Were they going to start a fire and sing kumbaya next?
--I wanted to do something nice for Rick because of everything he did for me.
Thought it would be nice for him to get his son back in some way. Now I see
it's not right. Not fair to his son.--
"You were right," Rick offered. "You don't need to replace anybody. My son was
my favourite person. If you shared his name, I thought--" Rick paused, unsure
of whether he wanted to say the words. "I just thought it was a nice idea. I
wanted to accept that gift. Get my son back in some small way, even if it was
just getting to say his name."
Carl didn't write anything back for a few minutes. He adjusted his scarf a few
times, wondering if he looked cool because he was wearing gloves, or if he just
looked foolish. His mind wandered while Rick and Morgan shared a brief aside.
He couldn't hear what they were saying; his mind was far away. Carl didn't like
to spend too much time thinking, normally. It opened the gates to all sorts of
terrible memories and paranoid thoughts. He shook himself out of it, tuning in
to Rick and Morgan.
"We should leave," Rick said. "We can talk about our plans for King County once
we get there. We won't talk hypotheticals when we don't even know if the town's
standing."
Morgan and Carl nodded.
"I know you're tired," Rick admitted thoughtfully, "But it will only take us a
couple of weeks to make our way back there. Walking with a destination in mind
always makes the journey go by faster anyway. Can you make it?"
Carl nodded. If he had the hope of a sanctuary, he could walk as long as it
took.
"Good," Rick assessed. "We're several counties over, and we'll be taking the
long way around. We know of some settlements that need to be avoided at all
costs."
Morgan nodded, "Right, and we'll need to do a lot of travelling in the cover of
the trees. A lot of the way is choppy. Crowded highways, settlements with other
people, zones of walker herds that nobody has bothered to clear out..."
Carl shrugged. They'd been through this all before. Carl didn't know the lay of
the land as well as his counterparts, but he didn't foresee it being that
difficult. They'd done lots of walking through counties before.
 
The group kept walking until nightfall. They walked quickly enough to make it
back to the dirt road that Rick had wanted to avoid. Carl couldn't believe what
a difference it made to have a destination in mind. The group had needed
purpose. When they were wandering aimlessly, they walked at half speed. Carl
felt proud of himself for calling Rick out. He'd actually made a tangible
difference in group morale.
Rick sat in the toll booth for hours while Morgan and Carl hid on either side
of the dirt road. They needed to make sure that there was no comings or goings
before Rick would risk following the road.
It was almost sunrise by the time Morgan called it, "Rick, ain't nobody here.
We don't even know if there's anything at the end of this road."
"Why is there a toll booth on a road that leads to nowhere?" Rick criticized.
--It's probably a park. Might be equipment sheds or nature cabins.--
"How would you know that?" Rick asked skeptically. "There would be a sign or
something."
Carl shrugged. He didn't know, and that scared him. The only places he'd been
since he'd lost his memory were basements, attics, and on the road.
Morgan and Rick took the lead as they followed the path to its end. Carl could
see hear them whispering, but he only caught bits of the conversation since the
birds wouldn't shut up.
Carl was able to make out one sentence before Rick and Morgan broke up their
couplet: "You shouldn't have touched him."
Carl didn't know what to think about that. He had mixed feelings about Rick
saying anything. He was grateful and embarrassed. Most of all, it got him
thinking. Was his only personality trait "victim"? He couldn't have a
conversation or thought without it going back to the violence he'd endured.
Wasn't there more to him than that? Did he really want Rick to have to give
Morgan shit for something as simple as a hug? Was it Rick's right to do that
anyway? Carl didn't know. He did know that he was going to have to start
trusting himself more. He'd saved Rick's life, he helped scavenge, and now he
had set the group on a course of action that could change their entire way of
living. Carl felt strong for the first time in his life. He felt accepted by
not only his friends, but himself.
He walked up to Rick and Morgan with his notes prepared. One for each of them.
For Rick: --I know he wasn't trying to hurt me. Thank you for agreeing to find
a place to stay.--
For Morgan: --It's okay. We're friends.--
Rick nodded curtly while Morgan nodded gratefully. There wasn't much else to
say.
 
The three of them crouched down when they neared the opening in the trees. The
dirt road led to a small clearing. There were a few small buildings, some
picnic tables, and a bike rack with a couple rotting frames locked to it.
It was a small social area in the middle of the woods. Most definitely a
camping zone.
Carl was in awe. It was the most enchanting place he'd ever seen. The three men
split up to investigate the buildings.
One building was bathrooms and showers, another was a rental store--books and
VHS, another was a small canteen. The last was a convenience store.
 
Carl chose to peruse the cabin with the books. He needed a new notebook soon,
and he hoped the library had something to offer him.
When he opened the door to the building, he nearly choked on all of the dust.
Many of the books and tapes had been damaged by water. Carl traced the damage
to a hole in the ceiling. Most of the selection was weathered or destroyed, but
there were a couple isolated shelves of books that retained their integrity. He
chose a few comic books from the middle of the shelf. He opened them, scared to
discover that he couldn't read them. He knew it was illogical to believe that
he couldn't read since he read his own notes all the time, but somehow it made
sense for him to fear the books. He was elated to find that the words and their
meanings came easily too him. He'd always avoided the libraries that belonged
to the owners of the houses they camped in, but these books drew him in.
Carl abandoned the comic books when he saw the Non-Fiction/References sections.
There were a couple dictionaries and some atlases. He grabbed both. Learning
more words could never hurt, and learning more about his surroundings would be
a dream. Carl picked up one last book before he returned to Rick and Morgan--
American Sign Language: Basic Communication. He could spell his name without
having to think after a few minutes of practice.
 
"The showers draw their water from a well," Rick announced. "We can pump the
water and use them."
"Store's stocked too," Morgan added. "It's expired like everything else, but
it's all processed junk. Most of it'll be still good. Just stale."
"What'd you find?" Rick asked Carl.
Carl couldn't hide his smile as he pulled out his new book.
"Sign language," Morgan mused.
Rick's smile matched Carl's, "I learned a bit of it a while back when I was
training to be an officer."
"This is a good idea," Morgan commented. "Real good."
Nobody said it officially, but it was understood that their journey to King
County was on hold for now. This place was perfect.
 
The group wasted no time preparing their new home for unwanted guests. The
store had condensed hardware section, but that was good enough for Rick to
fashion some nail mats for the dirt road. Morgan dismantled the toll both at
the end of the road and rebuilt it on the outskirts of their refuge; it would
make good cover if they needed to shoot at intruders. Carl scouted the
surrounding area, gathering any abandoned tents or camping supplies. The rental
store had a lost and found bin with extra blankets and camping gear. The beauty
of it all was that it screamed disuse. Everything was dried, dusty, or nearly
destroyed. Nobody had been there for a long time, and they reckoned that nobody
except them would ever investigate.
Rick and Morgan knocked down a couple trees along the path, just to make the
way look unwelcoming. If anyone came down the road to move the trees, they'd be
greeted with nails to their tires or feet. Carl dug some holes around the camp
as well and covered them with leaf mats.
By the time the week was up, they had made the place all but indestructible,
and the shelves from both the library and the store had been refitted into
sleeping cots for the trio. All three men had also learned the first 10 pages
of Carl's book.
 
The most challenging thing for Carl about this new haven was showering. He'd
never had a shower before--that he remembered. It was a bit uncomfortable to
stand naked and exposed while cold water poured down, but it was tolerable.
When he'd bathed in lakes or ponds, half of his body had been concealed at all
the times--the part that made him most uncomfortable. In a shower, there was
nowhere to hide. He liked to wash himself thoroughly, and he enjoyed
cleanliness, so he didn't avoid touching himself. It was just hard. As time
went on, it became easier. If he couldn't trust himself with his own body, who
he could he trust?
It took four showers over the span of a month for Carl to realize that he
didn't have to be at war with himself. His body had proven that it was willing
to heal itself. He'd achieved a relatively normal weight, his mouth was
healthy, and his thinning hair had thickened. Even his mind and hands were
taking to sign language well. Who was he to fight himself when his body was
obviously trying so hard? After he internalized that philosophy, he didn't
cringe at taking showers at all.
Progress hung in the balance when Carl witnessed Rick doing something that he'd
only ever seen his captors do. To view Rick in the context was one of the most
confusing and off-putting things he'd endured.
Carl had experienced Rick's and Morgan's sexuality before. When they'd shared
sleeping quarters for over six months, it was difficult to conceal certain
things. For example, Carl had caught sight an erection or two when either man
was awakening from sleep. Always clothed, but visible nonetheless. Carl had
seen both Morgan and Rick nude while they bathed, or while they had no choice
but to relieve themselves out in the open. It was shocking at first, and it was
something both men were courteous about. Even before they'd known about Carl's
past, they weren't ones to whip it out in front of anyone. After they'd had
that discussion, they were extremely careful not to reveal more than was
reasonable.
As much care as they'd taken, Carl couldn't believe what he was seeing in front
of him. The man had gone into the trees to retrieve the animals from his
hunting traps, and to gather any edible vegetation he could find. Carl hadn't
wanted to go at first, but he'd changed his mind. It had been easy to catch up
with the man, but Carl hadn't expected to find this. If he'd have known, he
wouldn't have gone. He would've just stayed put.
Rick had his back toward the boy. He wasn't aware that he was being watched.
Carl had intended to go snap a twig to alert Rick to his presence since he
couldn't call out. He had the stick in his hands when he realized Rick wasn't
just standing still for no reason.
It would've been easy to miss since Rick was so still, but Carl knew the
silhouette of a man masturbating. It was sickening to him.
Carl froze, dropping the stick at his side. Rick was leaning on the forearm he
had pressed against the bark. Carl had seen him like this many times. While he
was urinating, while he was thinking, while he was briefing the group on a new
plan...but never while he was doing this. What really gave it away was the
man's arm moving quickly and rhythmically. Carl couldn't look away. He didn't
know what to do. It would've been awkward for anyone.
The boy stepped to his left, taking refuge from the situation behind a tree. He
tried to catch his breath and calm his heart. He kept reminding himself that it
was different. This was different. Rick was different. The man wasn't doing
this to him, or on him, or for him...Rick thought he was alone. It was
harmless, not hurtful or intentional. Still, Carl was mortified. He waited
until he was positive Rick would've moved on. He knew it didn't take long. Carl
peered out from behind his cache, praying that Rick wouldn't be there. His
stomach plunged as he even considered that Rick might be there, waiting. It was
paranoia; he knew. But it was hard to eradicate the poisonous thoughts. He
could barely touch his own penis for fear of the memories.
Carl counted to five before he revealed himself. Rick was gone. Carl felt
immense relief. He knew he was safe. He kept trying to make himself believe it.
He walked carefully to the tree were Rick had been moments earlier. Carl knew
he should stop.  He knew what would be there. Half of him wanted to see it, and
the other half was nauseated to even consider the sight. Carl decided he had
something to prove. He wanted to see it.
Carl nodded to himself when his suspicions were confirmed. He looked at the
product of Rick's movements for a long time before he decided on a course of
action. Before he decided what he wanted to think of the whole thing. All he
knew was that he was tired of being scared. He looked at the semen defiantly.
Rick was allowed to have this. Carl wasn't angry or scared like he thought he
would be. Carl reached out to touch the tree bark. He hesitated. He felt
perverted, but justified. Nothing happened when he felt the wetness on his
fingertips. He was still safe. Rick hadn't done anything wrong.
When Carl returned the camp, Rick was already there. He had some animals and
some berries. Not a completely unproductive trip then, Carl smirked. He
evaluated Rick carefully, trying to see if anything about the man had changed.
He didn't look hateful or dangerous. Rick didn't look calculating. Rick was
still the same. Carl felt relieved. He had expected to see Rick's face and be
disgusted. Carl didn't expect to feel indifferent. What happened didn't make
him feel anything but curiosity. Had Rick done this before? Did Morgan do this?
Carl wondered how often and why. What had made Rick decide that he would take
this course of action? With the Wolves, it was easy to tell what they wanted.
Carl knew they wanted to hurt him. Break him. What made men like Rick and
Morgan want sex?
The boy was thoughtful for the rest of the evening. He decided to read his book
when he started wondering if he could ever do what Rick had did. He'd gotten
over the disdain he'd had for his own nudity when it wasn't in a sexual
context. Could his body ever exist in a sexual context again? Carl wasn't sure,
but the thought scared him.
 
"Carl?" Rick asked. "Are you awake?"
Carl's cot was next to the wall of the canteen. Rick slept on the cot next to
him, a couple of feet away. Morgan had positioned his on the opposite side of
the small room.
Carl's heart began to pound. Was this it? Was Rick about to extend his
fantasies into reality and crawl atop of him? Take what he wanted. Carl
clutched his blanket, waiting for Rick to reveal his intentions. He nodded in
the darkness.
"You seemed off today," Rick whispered. "Are you all right?"
The boy relaxed at once. Of course. Rick wasn't evil.
Carl turned on the lantern, so Rick could see him sign.
"No", Carl gestured.
Rick smiled despite the negative answer. He liked to see Carl sign. It filled
his heart with pride. He signed back. "Why?"
The boy had difficulty remembering the gesture for his response. After all, his
book was only for beginners, and he didn't know how much Rick would pick up.
He settled on saying, "Hard explain."
Rick nodded, "Okay. You don't have to say anything."
Carl gave a thumbs up and then signed, "Later." He would speak about this to
Rick eventually. Rick understood. He'd known about the mirror, and he'd known
that Carl didn't want to be hugged. Carl knew he could tell Rick about his
feelings. Maybe he could get some advice on how to be less of a victim.
Rick shut off the lantern, pleased that Carl was willing to communicate with
him. Usually the boy shut down when ever Rick tried to talk about his well-
being. He was going to turn over and ask Morgan a question when he'd realized
that the man was half way across the room. Rick flushed. He and Carl were on
one side while Morgan was on the other...that wasn't usually how they did
things.
 
"Morgan," Rick greeted, slapping the man's cheek lightly. It was extremely
early, but Rick had been up all night. After he knew Carl was asleep, he'd gone
out to the booth to keep watch.
"Fuck sakes, Rick," Morgan complained.
"Get up," Rick said, leaving the room.
Morgan came out of the canteen a few minutes later, finding Rick seated on the
front steps.
"What?" Morgan smirked. "You don't usually give wake up calls. Somethin'
wrong?"
"Yeah," Rick retorted. "You moved your cot."
Morgan raised his eyebrows, "Yeah. I did."
"Why?" Rick asked.
Morgan signed Carl's name.
Rick laughed, "How do you mean?"
"If you don't know by now, you're delusional," Morgan commented.
"Do I need to move my bed too?" Rick wondered. "Did he say something?"
"No," the man responded. "He was there when I moved my bed. He just went back
to reading."
"Morgan, you're gonna have to lay it out for me. I'm still not followin',"
"Rick. The last thing that boy wants is for you to move your bed. Do you ever
think about where he first slept when he got here? Think about it a second.
What it looks like."
Rick frowned, "You and me on one side. Him in the corner."
Morgan nodded, "That's right. Ever notice how he slowly kept creepin' on over?"
"So, he's comfortable now. That's what we wanted."
"He never laid his blankets next to mine, and I'm the one who wanted him
rescued."
That never failed to make Rick feel guilty, "You know I wasn't gonna kill him."
"You would've," Morgan disagreed. "But you didn't. He fell at your feet. He
bonded with you the most."
Rick waved Morgan away.
"I don't know what it means. Not to you or to him, but I know what it means to
me. We're not a partnership anymore, Rick. You're the leader. Me and Carl are
with you, but the dynamic's different. You and him have something. You two need
your space."
"Are you saying that we're..." Rick tried, "romantic?"
Morgan signed, "Maybe."
There was no point in signing when Carl wasn't around, Rick noted. Rick
recognized it for what it was, a dig. A push to get Rick to think of Carl.
Morgan continued, "I don't know Rick. You're just so protective. Overly
protective. And he clings to you. You feed off each other."
Rick shook his head, refusing to entertain Morgan's observations. So what he
gave a shit about the boy? He walked away from his friend. How could Morgan
even suggest something so unpalatable. Carl had been with them nearly a year,
and he was only now starting to trust them. Carl was getting comfortable, Rick
reasoned. That didn't mean the boy wanted him. Morgan was reading into it more
than was necessary. Rick guessed that Morgan was jealous. He didn't get to have
Duane back, but Rick got to have Carl back...in a way.
Chapter End Notes
     grimesobcest.tumblr.com
***** Hospital Beds *****
Chapter Summary
     The trio's dynamic has changed since Morgan observed how close Rick
     and Carl were. Self-fulfilling prophecy?
     They are still enjoying their newfound home, and Carl realizes that
     he's not the same person he was when he left the Wolves.
     The group must prepare for Winter.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Carl woke up to find both Rick's and Morgan's cots empty. He tossed his covers
aside immediately, rushing outside to see if there was danger.
Morgan was sitting on the steps.
"Rick?" Carl signed.
Morgan pointed to the bathrooms.
Carl nodded. He went back inside to read. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to
speak to Rick about why he'd been upset yesterday. He sort of hoped Rick would
let it drop.
 
Rick wouldn't go as far as to say that what Morgan had said disgusted him, but
he wasn't pleased. Rick wasn't going to lie; he'd considered it. He would've
already proposed it if he hadn't known that Carl was more than disinterested.
Rick had been with a few people here and there. It'd been nearly 10 years since
he'd lost his wife, and he'd accepted that after two years of searching. He'd
lost Carl at the same time, but he still hadn't accepted it. It wasn't easy to
let go of Carl. That's why Rick wouldn't even entertain the thought of
approaching his new Carl with the slightest hint of attraction. He'd send the
boy running for the hills.
Rick was conflicted. He'd crossed a line by letting Carl be Carl. It was his
son's name, and if he loved this man as something other than a son...it wasn't
the most moral of situations. In the beginning, he was skeptical of the
character, but he kept his promise to take care of the boy. After he'd
discovered how strong the boy was, he'd only grown more fascinated. After
months of interaction, and push and pull, Rick didn't know whether he regarded
this Carl as a stand-in for his son, or a stand-in for his partner that
happened to share his son's name.
It would've been one thing if Rick had struggled with these feelings of
indecision and moral conflict independently, but if Morgan was right and Carl
had a crush...that meant that the hypothetical dilemma was now a very real one.
If Carl worked through his feelings and decided to act on them, Rick would have
to make his decision. If he rejected Carl, the boy would be devastated. If he
indulged Carl, it might confirm what the boy suspected all along--he had
questionable intentions. Either way, it still didn't answer his question. Would
he be turning away a son figure or a partner? How did he love Carl?
 
Rick decided to test Morgan's theory in a completely innocent way. He would ask
Carl directly about the bed issue.
He planned the conversation in his head as he showered.
When he was ready, he approached Carl in the canteen. The boy was sitting at
one of the tables, studying his book.
 
"Carl?" Rick began.
Carl turned to Rick questioningly.
"Morgan brought something to my attention earlier," he stated.
Carl frowned. What?
"He moved his cot," Rick pointed out.
"I know," Carl answered.
"Right," Rick nodded. "Well, he mentioned that he wanted to give us more
privacy."
Carl blanched.
"I wanted to know if you're happy where your bed is. Do you want me to move
mine to the middle of the room, or was Morgan right with what he said? I never
brought it up all this time because I could see you were getting more
comfortable sleeping next to me...us, I mean. I thought if you didn't want to,
you wouldn't."
The boy cringed. He removed his hat, and ran his finger along the elastic of
his eye patch. He needed his notepad for this one.
--I'm fine where I am. If you want to move, go ahead.--
Rick smirked, "Morgan thinks you like me better. I think he was jealous, just
between you and me."
--I do like you better.--
Rick didn't know what to say to that. He was torn between laughing and sighing.
As great as Carl was, he hadn't really learned many social skills. How could he
have known that people generally didn't admit stuff like that. Rick decided on
laughter.
"Don't tell him that, it will hurt his feelings." Rick still didn't have a
better understanding of whether Carl felt romantically or platonically. It
really didn't matter. Rick would never start anything with Carl unless the boy
acted first. He couldn't jeopardize the boy's stability like that. He refused.
--I won't.--
Rick nodded, about to walk away. Carl reached out to grab his arm.
Carl had never willingly touched him before.
"Stay," the boy asked.
"Okay," Rick agreed. "We can practice some more signing.
Carl nodded eagerly.
 
Carl decided that he was going to follow Rick into the woods again the next
time he went. Something had clicked in him after he admitted to Rick that he
liked him more. Before Rick had reminded Carl of social etiquette, Carl had
seen the pure satisfaction on the man's face. Rick liked that Carl liked him
better. Carl liked making Rick happy.
 
Carl was cutting Rick's hair when the man announced his plans to check the
traps. It was good because the man couldn't see Carl's calculating smirk.
Morgan walked over, "Jesus, must be nice to have a personal barber."
Carl laughed in his silent way, "Trade," he retorted.
"I single-handedly saved his teeth," Rick argued. "I found him the hat, showed
him how to trim his beard, and cut his hair."
"Exactly," Morgan rolled his eyes, "You know how to trim your beard and cut his
hair. Why do you need him to do it?"
Rick huffed, "Like he said, we trade. It's a lot nicer to have someone else do
it for you."
Morgan opened his mouth to speak, but Rick spoke over him. "Before you ask why
I never let you cut my hair, it's because I don't trust you. You bald son of a
bitch. I know you wouldn't be able to resist."
Morgan laughed. "All right, fine. Let's just pray that you get to keep your
ears after the haircut."
Carl snipped the scissors back and forth jeeringly. As if he'd cut Rick's ears
off.
"My turn," Carl announced after he finished trimming Rick's beard.
Rick nodded, signing at Carl, "Keep beard?"
Carl deliberated before nodding. He would wait a few months before getting rid
of the beard. He wasn't ready to expose his skin to the sun quite yet.
Carl stayed perfectly still while Rick navigated his head. He enjoyed getting
his hair cut, even though it meant Rick had to look at him for extensive
periods of time. Carl was slowing getting over that. Once he'd overcome the
fear of his bottom half, accepting his face didn't seem so bad. Plus, he
already know Rick accepted him, so it wasn't like there was anything to fear
there. Rick had been kind and understanding even when the teeth were rotting in
his mouth, if he was courteous then, Carl didn't expect that to change.
"Do you want to come with me?" Rick offered as he snipped the last uneven
section of Carl's hair. He smoothed the hair behind Carl's ears. The gesture
didn't go unnoticed by Carl.
Carl wanted to, but not more than he wanted to follow Rick into the woods
undetected. It was an addiction. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about it
since the first and only time it'd happened.
Carl shook his head. He was still frustrated at not being able to speak. The
sign language and notes could only get him so far. He was nowhere near perfect
at sign language, and there were only so may things you could learn from a
book. The notes were nice when they had time, but if Carl needed to say
something quickly, it was impractical. Carl sighed, times like now were when it
would be convenient to have a voice. If he had a voice he could explain to Rick
that he would go with him another time. Without a voice, all he could say was
no. To Rick, the no could've been final.
"Okay," Rick said, disappointedly. "Next time?"
Carl smiled in relief. Rick had spoken for him.
 
Carl was prepared to follow Rick when the man finally announced it was time to
check the traps.
Rick tracked him down to ask for his company again, but Carl waved his hand.
Carl made sure that Morgan wasn't watching when he sneaked off after Rick. He
didn't want the man to question him. Carl had to hurry. He didn't want to waste
too much time.
When Carl caught up with Rick, the man was checking a trap. He was
disappointed, but relieved, to be honest. He wasn't even sure he really wanted
to see Rick naked. He still felt uncertain. It was just... Carl didn't even
know. He knew he liked men, or more accurately he wasn't attracted to women. He
didn't know if he was capable of liking men anymore. Still, he was curious
about Rick. It was so odd to see sexual activity that wasn't hurting anybody.
He'd never experienced sex that was willingly given. Seeing independent sex,
really was the best word he had for it, was intriguing. He wanted to see it
again.
Rick didn't disappoint. The man had checked all the traps and found nothing, so
he said a resigned "fuck it", and he unzipped his pants.
Carl held his breath. He almost laughed when Rick had sighed at the empty
traps. Stress relief, then? Is that why Rick liked to do it. Interesting.
Carl was comfortable until he realized that Rick hadn't turned around. He was a
second away from getting an eye full, and he needed to decide whether he was
willing to see a full frontal. He felt like he could stomach it. Carl's regard
didn't waver. He was completely concealed behind a fallen tree, and Rick was
too enraptured to fully take in his surroundings. Carl internally chastised
Rick for being so careless with his safety. Was letting his guard down really
worth the excitement?
Carl almost missed it when Rick finished. He was awed by the look on Rick's
face. Just like before, when he'd watched Rick after the first incident, Rick
didn't look vindictive or dangerous. He seemed content. Carl was so
unaccustomed to associating sex with happiness. Even the Wolves never looked
happy after they used him. Carl wondered if Rick's wife made him happy. Carl
felt sad when he realized he'd never had sex with someone he liked. He wondered
if there had been anybody before he lost his memory. Carl smiled morbidly; he
would've bet anything that he'd never had sex, or that people like the Wolves
had done what people like that do.
 
Rick felt guilty when he returned to the camp. Nothing to show for his trip.
He'd gotten minimal satisfaction from jerking off. He didn't even know why he
did it anymore. It was a routine more than anything. He liked the seclusion.
He'd only done it once every couple of weeks before they found this place, but
now that he had more stability, he felt comfortable having a routine. Go out to
check the traps, jack off. Seemed reasonable enough. He wondered errantly
whether Morgan ever did anything like that. He knew that Morgan had loved his
wife. Rick knew that he and his wife were only a few years away from divorce
when he got shot. Rick wondered if Carl ever touched himself. He didn't relish
the thought of thinking about the boy sexually. It was not his place to do so
at all. Still, Carl didn't want to be just a victim, and he didn't want to keep
thinking of the boy as fragile. After a few seconds of consideration, he
figured that Carl didn't masturbate. Rick felt sad for Carl. He knew that the
boy could hardly stand to look at himself, and so he doubted the boy let
himself feel any pleasure. Rick wondered if the boy even considered it.
Probably not. Rick knew that Carl didn't even like going to the bathroom
because it meant exposure. Rick shook his head in disgust for the hundredth
time. He hated what had been done to Carl. It wasn't fair.
 
"Winter's nearly hear," Morgan announced one morning.
Carl pushed a strand of hair away from his face, and adjusted his hat. Good. He
liked Winter. More layers and less sunburn.
Rick nodded, "We're getting low on supplies, and we need to be prepared for
snow to ruin our traps."
"What do we need to do?" Carl asked.
"We need to start scavenging again. What was here when we first got here is
gone," Morgan responded. "We need to do more proofing on the windows and
doors."
Rick tilted his heard toward Morgan in ascent. "It wouldn't be a bad idea to
grab some more blankets. Winter coats, obviously. Could be worth it grab some
doors to block the snow."
"Snow?" Carl frowned.
"When we found you," Rick began, "The snow was already gone."
Carl nodded. "Cold, but why doors?"
"We might not even get snowfall this Winter," Rick shrugged. "It stays hot here
pretty well year round, but you never know. We don't want snow drifts in the
camp if we can avoid it."
Morgan agreed, "We lean the doors up against the trees, Carl. Any snow that
would blow in just builds against the door instead of reaching us. These
buildings aren't insulated for Winter, so we need all the help we can get to
stay warm."
Carl understood, "Too hot now. Too cold in Winter."
Rick smiled, "You're getting good."
Carl shrugged, "No choice."
Morgan laughed, "Some things never change. Complainin' about the cold in the
Winter, and complainin' about the hot in the Summer."
"We'll need to get Carl some more notebooks," Rick added. "Once it's Winter,
we'll want to travel as little as possible. It's dangerous in the cold. You get
caught out there. You freeze. Plus, snow holds footprints. Easy to follow
people. Animals hibernate. Less meat."
"Wow," Carl signed.
"That's why it was so hard when you got sick," Morgan sighed. "Tail end of
Winter. Nothing to eat. Nowhere to go."
"We got lucky," Rick shook his head.
Carl wanted to help his partners, but he didn't have his notebook, and to sign
would be too difficult. There were still a lot of sentences and words that
eluded him.
"Take," Carl began. "Animal. Keep it?"
Rick signed back, "Repeat."
"Take animal. Keep it for Winter."
Rick raised his eyebrows, "Instead of trapping an animal to eat it, we keep it?
It produces more, and then we wouldn't even have to hunt. Like farmers."
Morgan frowned, "It could work, but then we'd have to worry about feeding it.
If it made noise, it could attract walkers or other predators. Plus, I don't
know if I could stomach eatin' something I raised."
"True," Carl admitted.
Rick shrugged, "Not a bad idea, though. If we had a more secure camp, it would
definitely work."
Carl sighed. If he wanted to have a meaningful part in the conversation, he
needed to get his notebook. He hated not knowing more sign language. He needed
a more advanced book. He could only form half questions and vagaries. It was
infuriating.
 
--Do all 3 of us scavenge? Or 2 stay 1 go? Or 1 stay 2 go?--
"Good question," Morgan mused. "Rick, what do you think?"
"We've been here a month. We haven't even seen a single walker. Heard a peep
from anybody. The path leading right to us takes an hour to walk. I think it's
best to have one stay and two go."
Carl nodded. He agreed. Unfortunately, he knew that meant he would be the one
staying.
Rick picked up on Carl's solemnity, "Now, each of us has different things we're
better at findin'. We all have different things we need. Instead of a long haul
scavenge, I think it's best if we go in shifts. First, me and you, Morgan. We
scope out the area."
Morgan smirked, "Exactly. You and me can assess the land. Handle any people.
Best to get a feel before we send him out."
"After we get our base supplies. The wood, the hardware, and the weapons...You
and Carl can go back out. This will be for things that aren't absolutely
necessary. Entertainment. Non-edibles. Stuff that would be nice to have. I'll
stay here and hunt."
Carl was pleased. He could work with this. He couldn't help but wonder if Rick
considered his need for a more advance sign book a non-necessity.
"Last," Rick continued, trying too hard to look indifferent, "Me and Carl will
go. Round up the last of anything we need. Food will be a priority on each run,
but this will be the last haul of the Winter. Carl has an eye for detail. He'll
be good to have on the last run. Plus he'll know by then how many more books he
needs."
"Carl, what do you think?" Morgan asked.
"Perfect. Happy I go."
Rick was pleased, "If we get a mild start to the Winter, it's possible we could
go out on a fourth run, but if we do a good enough job the first time, we won't
have to. Like I said, food is priority. Next is building supplies, weapons,
tools, and anything for making a fire."
"Agreed," Morgan nodded once.
"I know it might not seem like a necessity," Rick began, "But we really need to
work on getting a more advanced signing book. We need to start practicing as
group more too."
Carl looked at Rick with an unreadable expression.
"If we're gonna make it, we need to be able to communicate fast. No room for
misinterpretation. Carl needs to be able to talk and give more input. He can't
always have a notebook," Rick said gravely. "It's an asset anyways. If we can
have entire conversations without making noise, it'll be difficult for anyone
to even know we're here until they lay eyes on us."
Carl nodded without smiling. He resisted even smiling a bit for fear that it
would turn into a full on grin.
"I like it," Morgan said. "Makes sense."
 
Carl had to admit that he was nervous for the scavenging. More than nervous, he
was surprised. Surprised that Rick wouldn't want to go on each of the three
runs. Rick lived for doing runs, and he was good at them. Carl figured the man
was giving him a chance to stretch his legs and prove himself. Carl didn't
mind. He hadn't killed any walkers in more than a month. He didn't want to lose
his combat skills.
When Morgan and Rick left, Carl spent the entire night awake. Every noise had
him on alert, and his shaky breaths filled the empty canteen they used as a
bedroom. Carl didn't shower for the entire two weeks he spent alone. He didn't
eat anything that wasn't from a can. He didn't write in his notebook. He sat in
the toll booth for hours on end, waiting. He read his sign book over and over
again. By the time Carl heard the approaching footsteps of his partners, he had
the book down pat--if it was possible for him to memorize it even more.
Every day that Rick and Morgan had been gone was a day that Carl feared their
camp would be taken. His paranoia ran rampant. What if someone had been
watching and waiting for an opportune time to pounce? What if they had just
been waiting for Rick and Morgan to leave so that they could take Carl down?
When Carl wasn't worried about losing the camp, he was worried about Rick and
Morgan's safety. What if they were already dead? What if they never came back?
What if it was like the last time they had left him alone. It had been a close
call. Carl was losing it. He'd never been alone so long. Rick had promised that
they'd be gone no longer than a week. The eighth day was the worst. Carl had
been counting on seeing Rick again, and when it didn't happen...Carl was more
than upset.
Carl comforted himself with thoughts of what Morgan and Rick had said before
they left:
"Don't worry, Carl," Rick had assured. "Nobody's coming for this place.
Everybody's doing what we are--hunkering down in a place they already have.
Nobody's lookin' for any shelter right now. You have weapons. You have food.
We'll be back in no time."
"You'll be fine, kid. Get through a week by yourself, and you'll realize you
can do anything."
Morgan had been right. By the tenth day, Carl had nearly accepted that he was
on his own from then on. He was able to sleep through the night, and he went
through all the supplies they had so that he would know what they needed most.
 
When Rick walked up to the camp, he didn't know what to expect. He made himself
prepare for anything. The entire camp could be gone, overrun, taken, or worse--
empty. He glanced down at the cart he was pushing, knowing it was slowing him
down.
With each laboured step, Rick grew more confident that everything would be
okay. The traps leading to the camp were still in place, and things were quiet.
He adjusted the backpack he was wearing.
"I'm gonna leave this here for a minute," Rick said hurriedly, picking up his
pace. He left his cart with Morgan and walked ahead.
He entered the clearing far ahead of Morgan. He scanned the camp for Carl. Rick
had experienced returning to an empty home. He knew what it felt like to get
back from a run and discover there was nothing left. He and Morgan had
specifically given up having a group so that they never had to experience it
again. If they had let their guard down with Carl... if they'd let that boy
into their hearts only to lose him, Rick didn't think they would be the same.
He and Morgan had both lost a wife and son. They'd lost dozens of friends and
partners over the years...Carl was the first friend they'd made in over two
years. If he was gone...let's just say Rick hoped it didn't come to that.
 
Carl thought he was hallucinating when Rick walked through the trees. He'd
heard the footsteps, but his imagination liked to play tricks on him. Carl
grinned, exiting the booth hastily to greet the man.
Rick grinned, holding an arm out for the boy without thinking. He was about to
drop it, presuming that the gesture would be rejected. To his surprise, Carl
immediately hugged the man back.
"Finally," Carl shook his head. "Two weeks? What happened?"
"Holy shit," Rick said in disbelief. "You've been practicing. I wouldn't even
know what the meant if me and Morgan hadn't--"
"So have we," Morgan said pointedly, pushing a shopping cart full of supplies.
He disappeared again, going to collect the cart that Rick had abandoned so he
could get to Carl faster.
"Yeah," Rick agreed. "We got stuck in a warehouse for three days. We had to
wait for a herd to dissipate. It was close," Rick admitted. "We practiced the
book for hours while we waited," Rick admitted. "You'll have some catching up
to do."
Carl frowned worriedly. "Scared. Lonely." He wasn't concerned about his book
right now.
Rick nodded understandingly, "I'm sorry."
Carl shrugged. Nothing to be done about it now. He was ecstatic that his
friends were back.
"I'm never staying behind again," Carl signed forcefully.
If Carl had been his lover, Rick would've smoothed his hair back. He would've
moved closer and placed his hands on the boys hips. He would've admitted how
much he'd missed him, and how much he'd worried. But Carl wasn't his lover, so
he couldn't.
"It's good to see you," Rick decided. "You won't be alone again."
"Help us get this stuff to the canteen," Morgan suggested. "We'll show you what
we got."
Carl nodded. He walked up to Morgan awkwardly, hazarding a glance at Rick for
encouragement. Rick nodded once. Morgan wasn't sure why Carl was approaching
him until he held out his arms awkwardly. Carl was welcoming him home.
Morgan didn't often look bashful, but Carl's hesitant embrace was enough to
lighten his heart. Rick watched his friends happily. He didn't have a name for
the emotion he felt. It was a mixture of regret and contentment. He was so glad
that he and Morgan had found an equal in Carl, but he was angry with himself
for how difficult it was to define what Carl meant to him. With Morgan, it was
easy. He knew they were like brothers, and he knew Morgan regarded Carl as a
young protege. Rick knew that Carl viewed Morgan as a friend and protector.
What did Carl think of Rick? Rick would've given anything to know what was
going on in Carl's mind.
Rick watched Carl push his cart to the canteen. He looked at Carl briefly
before turning to Morgan to ask a question, but before he could ask his
question his mind interrupted. He did a double take at Carl. Now that the
excitement he had for greeting the boy had faded, he could see clearly. Carl's
eye was bloodshot and lined with dark shadows. Carl was filthy, and his clothes
were looser than they had been two weeks before.
"Carl," Rick called.
Morgan walked ahead with his cart, and entered the canteen.
"What's up?" Carl gestured.
"How much did you sleep?" Rick demanded. He couldn't help but move  his hands
to accompany his words. He wanted Carl to feel double the impact.
Carl hesitated. "I don't know."
"Bullshit," Rick argued. He didn't know the sign for that one.
The boy frowned. "A few hours."
"A few hours a night?" Rick clarified.
Carl shook his head.
"Altogether?" Rick scoffed. "Jesus Christ."
"I was scared," Carl admitted. He shrank back, looking away from Rick.
"How much did you eat?" Rick asked gently.
Carl crossed his arms, and Rick could see the precise moment that Carl became
defensive. The boy stood up straighter, and his eyes looked wild.
Rick didn't think Carl would even humour him with an answer, but he did.
"Not a lot."
Rick frowned, "Do you even want to be alive?"
Carl raised his eyebrows, taken aback by the blunt question. "Not really."
Rick nodded, "Leave the cart. I'll push it."
Carl shrugged, "I can do it."
"I don't care," Rick said tiredly. "All I could think when we were gone was 'I
wonder what's he's doing right now'. I couldn't sleep, thinking about all the
things that could go wrong," Rick shook his head. "I didn't know what we would
come back to," Rick admitted. "I was hoping you'd be alive and that the camp
would still be here, but I couldn't be completely sure."
Carl looked at his feet while he listened to Rick speak.
"I thought out of all the things that could happen...all the things that could
kill you. Food poisoning, walkers, people, animals, exposure," Rick listed. "I
thought the most likely was people passing through. Someone might kill you
tryin' to steal what we have."
The boy met Rick's eyes.
"I didn't think that I'd have to put you on the list," Rick sighed. "Maybe
you're the biggest danger to yourself."
Carl remained silent throughout the berating. He had been so happy to see Rick,
but the man didn't seem happy to see him at all.
Carl held up his hands. He signed "I" a few times, not sure how he'd like to
follow.
He finally decided. "I didn't do it on purpose."
Rick frowned, "I don't remember what the means."
Carl rolled his eye, "Notebook?"
"Yeah, we brought you a notebook. Hold on."
 
--I didn't do it on purpose.-- Carl wrote angrily. So much for Rick and Morgan
practicing. Rick couldn't even remember a phrase from the basic book.
Rick frowned. "Then why?"
Carl threw his notebook at Rick's chest, waving his hands around like a mad
man. He was tired of fucking writing shit down, and he was tired of not being
able to sign properly. He was too angry to care. "Not easy being alone.
Couldn't sleep. Food sick. Scary noises. You were gone too long. Memories."
Rick sighed. "This is coming off all wrong. I'm not fucking angry at you," he
snapped.
Carl crossed his arms and jutted his chin out. Oh really?
"I just..." Rick started.
"Can we please just get on with the inventory?" Morgan interrupted, "I would
like to have a nap sometime today."
Carl nodded, pointing at Rick to explain why they were taking so long.
"Don't worry about him," Morgan said to Carl, "He's always moody after a run."
Rick stalked forward to pick up his cart. He followed Morgan back into the
canteen. He and Carl would have to talk later.
 
The next couple of days, Rick and Morgan recuperated from their run. Carl
recuperated from his time spent alone. He easily put the weight back on, and he
caught up on his sleep. The most relieving thing, surprisingly, was catching up
on his hygiene. Carl smelled absolutely rank, but he wasn't embarrassed because
Morgan and Rick smelled even more disgusting.
Carl had to admit that he was impressed by how much his friends had brought
back. It was smart for them to tote all the supplies in shopping carts.
"It wasn't easy getting doors off hinges," Rick explained. "One, everything's
rusted to all hell, and two, you need special tools. Three, you're like a
sitting duck if you stand there fiddling around with a door in broad daylight
in the middle of the street."
Morgan huffed, "We were able to get a few, but only so many can fit in the
carts. You and me will bring back more on our run."
Carl nodded.
"I'll set up the doors we do have while you and Morgan are gone," Rick
suggested. "I won't have anything to do besides hunt," he explained. "I can
also chop some wood."
"You'll take trees from further away," Morgan confirmed. "We need the trees to
be thicker around the camp."
Carl smiled. He never gave Morgan enough credit. He was extremely intelligent.
Rick rolled his eyes, "No shit, Sherlock."
"Anyway," Rick continued, "I'm gonna be chopping tons of wood. We're gonna need
it. Fire, for one thing. But we need some pieces for more sophisticated traps.
We'll need to have some to board up the windows and insulated the weak spots.
No doubt we'll need to patch something up after it rots through from being wet
for a few months."
"I have an idea," Carl added.
"Go ahead," Rick gestured.
"Wood for a ladder. Steps on the trees."
"What do you mean?" Rick asked. Usually he could understand Carl, but this was
convoluted. "Ladder for what?"
Carl sighed in exasperation, "I'll show you."
Morgan and Rick followed the boy outside.
Carl stopped by a tree, signing, "Steps on the trees, go up. Look down."
"Like a lookout," Morgan said.
Rick grinned at Carl, signing back. "Great idea."
 
Rick and Carl finally got to finish their conversation.
"Carl," Rick said, catching up with the boy as he exited the bathroom.
The boy tried his best not to look like a cornered animal, but he felt that
Rick could see through the facade anyway.
"I wanted to explain about the other day," Rick sighed.
Carl shrugged. A gesture for Rick to go ahead.
"I'm not mad at you, first of all," Rick said, looking at Carl pointedly. "I
know it came off that way."
"Doesn't matter" Carl responded without expression.
"It's not about the food or the sleep," Rick rolled his eyes. "I know you
didn't do it on purpose."
Carl nodded. He had explained that clearly.
Rick continued, "I know it was difficult to be alone. You're not used to it."
"So?" Carl signed exasperatedly.
"Jesus," Rick rolled his eyes. "It's not easy talking to you," he admitted.
Carl smiled darkly, "I know. Same to you."
Rick huffed. "I was worried about you. When I got back and realized that my
worries were valid...it pissed me off."
Carl frowned. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Of course he got lonely and
scared when his only two friends in the entire world ran off without him.
Obviously he was going to lose his appetite and fuck up his sleep.
"What did you expect?" Carl threw his hands out wildly.
"I don't know," Rick admitted. "I just...missed you, I guess. It's not easy
worrying about someone. I haven't had to do it in a while. I'm not used to it."
Carl pulled his head back in disbelief, "Missed?"
"Yeah," Rick scratched his head. "I missed you."
"God knows why, you miserable bastard," Rick laughed.
Carl laughed, "I guess," he signed with emphasis. "I guess I missed you too."
"And Morgan," Carl added with a flourish.
"All right," Rick nodded, suppressing a smile. "We good?"
Carl gave a thumbs up.
 
When Carl left the camp with Morgan, Rick was resolved. He had a ton of work to
do, and a winter to prepare for. He didn't have time to sit around worrying
about Carl, although he was tempted.
Rick packed Carl's bag personally, ensuring that it had the proper supplies for
being out a week.
"Morgan, you good?" Rick asked while the man stood next to Carl.
Morgan nodded, "It'll be quick. We did so well on our last run that it won't
matter if it's a bust.
Carl shifted his weight to his other foot. He was excited. He had never felt
such purpose before. He felt like this was a game, and he had to win.
Rick sighed, "Are you sure, Morgan? It's only been a few days since we got
back. Are you ready to go out again?"
Morgan looked annoyed at first, but his face shifted into a sly smile. "I'm
gonna let Carl here do most of the work anyways. He needs the experience,"
Morgan explained. "Plus me and Carl got catching up to do. We'll have plenty of
time to talk when we're away from you."
Carl smiled. "Any last requests before we go?"
Rick shook his head, "Try not to get killed."
 
Rick was out of things to do by the third day. He'd exhausted all of the wood
in their supply. He reinforced windows, doors, holes in the roof. He built
steps on over five trees, and he thinned out branches to allow for comfortable
seating within the lookout position. Rick positioned all the doors he and
Morgan had collected. He even fashioned a covering for the well so that it
wouldn't freeze so easily. After that, he chopped piles and piles of wood. He
ventured to the back of the woods and cut down enough small trees to fill his
cart 10 times. He hunted for small game the entire time. He knew they couldn't
preserve the meat for too long, but eating plenty before winter even came would
work just as well.
All he had left to do was hang around in the library. He read a few suspense
novels, but despite actually being a killer, it was a bit difficult to read
thrillers when he was in the woods by himself. Rick flipped through some
cookbooks, not even getting the bitter feelings of nostalgia. Too much time had
passed for him to even miss the old days. This was his life now, and he was
good at it. Why bother resenting the apocalypse? He actually found a cookbook
that was useful in present times: Cooking at the Camp: Cuisine from Cans and
Hunting. It was a book exclusively on how to cook the shit he was catching in
the forest, and how to "make the most of your canned goods". By the end of his
exploration, he'd found a few books on poisonous plants, edible plants, and a
self-help book. Rick deliberated over whether he should put the book back on
the shelf, or if he should keep it.
Rick sighed, deciding it was too much. He had no right to think he should be
making gestures like this for Carl. If Carl had wanted a book about surviving
sexual assault, he would've grabbed it himself. Rick took his nature books and
his cook books; he left the book for Carl on top of the other discards.
 
Rick walked the perimeter of the camp several times a day. He encountered one
walker a few miles deeper into the forest, but there was no other sign of life.
There was nobody this far out in the country. He doubted anybody would ever
come for this camp. He still had to be alert, though. He spent a few hours up
in the trees he had built lookouts in. Rick wasn't a huge fan of heights, but
it was exhilarating to be up in the treetops. The tree he was in wasn't tall
enough for him to look out over the entire landscape, but he could see fairly
far away. All he saw was a blur of green as he tumbled toward the earth.
The man moaned as he dragged his body across the dirt. He could tell nothing
was broken--it didn't hurt that badly--but he knew something was sprained.
"Fuck," he groaned. Carl and Morgan weren't due back for a couple of days, and
he needed to get back to the canteen--where they kept the medical supplies. He
needed to lie down.
Rick tried to stand up, but it was too painful. It took him a few tries before
he was able to bring himself up. His entire body ached with the effort. He
hopped back to the canteen on one foot, collapsing on the cot closest to him.
He passed out because of and despite the pain.
When Rick awoke, he jolted his body upright. He wasn't sure how long he'd been
asleep. He hadn't been alert. He looked around the room, listening carefully.
He didn't hear anything out of the ordinary, except the damn birds chirping.
There wasn't much to be done about his sprained ankle and wrist except wrapping
them in tensor bandages. Rick rolled his eyes. He felt stupid for losing his
footing--it was extremely unlike him.
Rick forced himself to stay in the booth outside and keep watch. He could feel
winter coming in the air. The breeze was crisp and nippy. He hoped Morgan and
Carl returned with a thick jacket for him. Man, he missed cell phones. How nice
would it be to just call them up and get a status report? Rick had nothing to
do but read. He read the nature books a few times over, and was pleased to find
that some of the information was actually useful to the state of Georgia. It
would be easier to find food with these books in his mind. Rick reread Carl's
sign language books a few times. Rick thought sign language was neat--sort of
like a secret code. He was proud of Carl for coming along so quickly, and he
had to admit that he was pleased with himself and Morgan for learning it as
well. It brought them closer together.
Rick hobbled back to the cots after a few hours of agonizing boredom. He fell
once again into the closest cot to him. He laid his gun across his chest, ready
to wake up at a moment's notice if there was danger.
"No!" Rick cried, his body screaming at him for the sudden movements. The image
of his two Carls faded away behind his eyelids. He had been dreaming of the
Wolves. His son was there, and Carl was there. Both of them were there, holding
hands. Rick didn't see anything else. He hadn't had nightmares about his son in
a long time. Fuck, he really wished Carl and Morgan would get back already. He
could see why people went insane when they were left alone for too long.
 
Carl enjoyed spending time alone with Morgan. The man had opened up a bit,
telling him more about his son and his wife. Carl hung on to every word,
pleased that the man considered him a friend now, instead of a source of
information. They had their entire conversation in sign language--they'd hit
the jackpot with books, and Carl figured they were both pretty much pros by
now. They would have to help Rick catch up.
"What was Rick like in the beginning?" Carl asked.
"The same," Morgan laughed, his eyes creasing.
"No," Morgan  shook his head seriously, "He was more hopeful. Younger, nicer...
Innocent."
Carl nodded in solemn understanding.
"He was so passionate about finding his wife and Carl," Morgan explained. "We
had Duane with us then. Rick loved him like a son, too, but it wasn't enough."
"Why?" Carl asked.
Morgan shook his head, speaking aloud now. "Rick's always been reserved and
private. Even with me. Even after ten years."
Carl waited.
Morgan continued, "Sometimes he says things that make me wonder about him."
"What do you mean?"
"He loved his son to death," Morgan explained. "I love my son. I would've done
anything for him. Same for my wife. Rick is different though."
Carl frowned.
Morgan sighed, "Rick can be a monster," he admitted.
Carl's heart sped up a little bit at the word. He'd always felt like a monster.
He couldn't really see Rick being one.
"Rick is a brother to me," Morgan clarified. "But he can turn. After we lost
our first groups. After Duane was taken... Rick changed. He had always hoped to
find his family. He spoke of his best friend, Shane. His wife, Lori. His son,
Carl," Morgan explained. "After a while it became Lori and Carl. After another
year, it was just Carl. He says he's stopped lookin', but I don't know. After
we lost our group, Rick didn't wanna find nobody. But I don't think Rick would
ever give it up. No matter what he says."
"I don't get it," Carl admitted. "How is he a monster?"
"Rick killed a lot of people," Morgan whispered. "Looking for that boy."
Morgan shrugged, "I don't mean to scare you. We're just talking."
Carl regarded Morgan excitedly. He felt...strange hearing about Rick's past. It
made him feel good to hear about Rick killing in search of his son. He had
imagined his own family fighting that way in search of him. If only he could be
so lucky as the real Carl.
"Rick is dark," Morgan said. "He'll kill anybody. He'll do anything to protect
his own. Sad thing is, I don't even know if he can remember what Carl looks
like. I never met the kid, so I don't even have a mental image. Rick never told
me what he looks like."
"Wow," Carl shivered. "Intense."
Morgan laughed, "I don't know what I'm getting at. Let's just say, Rick is not
the mild mannered police officer he was when we met. The only thing that hasn't
changed is that he's desperate to find his son. He just won't admit it
anymore."
"Why won't he admit it?" Carl asked. "We could help him find Carl."
Morgan frowned. "He knows I think it's a long shot, and he knows Carl's
probably dead. I think when he looks at you, he sees all of the things he
couldn't save Carl from."
"Does he want me to be Carl?" Carl wondered.
Morgan shrugged, "After all this time, I still don't know why he does certain
things. I honestly can't say what he thinks of you. I do know that Rick feels
intensely, and if he likes you, he loves you. If he is willing enough to let
you have Carl's name? You must be fuckin' special," Morgan breathed. "I pity
any fool that tries to hurt you. They're gonna have Rick to deal with."
Carl's eye widened excitedly. Somebody to kill for him? Somebody to love him as
intensely as he hated himself?
"He must feel that way about you too," Carl said to Morgan.
"We're close, but Rick doesn't love anyone the way he loved that boy."
Carl felt hot. He felt alive. Suddenly he was starving. Carl craved more words
about Rick. He wanted to hear more about the danger. About the monster. He
wanted to know exactly what Rick had done. He wanted Rick to love him like he'd
loved the real Carl. What if he had Rick to protect him? And what if he could
protect Rick, too?
"We should get back to him," Carl suggested. "Maybe he's not good alone."
Morgan smiled, "Wanna make a bet?"
"For what?" Carl asked.
"I bet you every knife I have that Rick's sleeping in your bed," Morgan stated
with a glint of mischief in his eye.
"Why would you say that?" Carl said, brushing his hair out of his eyes.
"Just a guess," Morgan said innocently. He had seen Rick do it before. When
they were with others. If Rick had a partner that left for more than a day,
Rick was taking up their space. He loved people fiercely--Morgan had observed
it first hand. If Morgan was right about Rick and Carl, and how Rick felt about
the boy, he knew what he would find upon their return. He just couldn't tell
what kind of love it was yet. He didn't think Rick knew either.
 
Chapter End Notes
     grimesobcest.tumblr.com
***** Pulling Your Friends *****
Chapter Summary
     Early October. Winter is nearly here.
Carl didn't know what to say when he walked into the canteen to find Rick
exactly where Morgan had said he'd be. His cot. The man had bandages wrapped
around him, and he looked pretty rough. He briefly wondered if Morgan and Rick
had set him up to lose the bet, but then he realized he hadn't bet anything.
Morgan had just wanted to be right--that was his prize.
Carl reached out to touch his friend gently. He wanted to whisper Rick, so he
wouldn't scare the man, but he couldn't speak. He couldn't sign Rick's name to
rouse him from sleep. This was kind of an awkward situation.
The boy decided to sit on the edge of the cot. He hoped Rick would open his
eyes in reaction to the movement. He peered at the bandages on Rick's ankle and
wrist. The man was hurt. His arms and face were also covered in scratches. Some
of them were shallow, but others looked fairly deep.
He placed his hand on Rick's face, feeling the cuts with the back of his hand.
They didn't feel too hot. Carl didn't think they were infected.
"Carl?" Rick mumbled dazedly. "Carl!" He said more purposefully. "You're back."
Carl smiled, adjusting his scarf nervously. He took off his hat and brushed his
hair away again.
"You're hurt," Carl signed with a sigh, shaking his head.
"It's nothing," Rick waved it away. He sat up to face Carl.
"You're in my bed," Carl smiled.
Rick blushed, "Oh...I--. Sorry."
Carl shrugged.
"What happened?" Carl finally asked.
Rick sighed, "I fell out of a tree."
Carl's happy mood evaporated. "This is my fault."
"What?" Rick asked, bewildered. "Why would you say that?"
"I told you to build the steps," Carl said, getting off the bed.
"No," Rick argued. "You suggested I build them, and I decided to do it. I
decided to climb the tree and stay up there. You didn't do this."
"I'm sorry," Carl apologized. He looked away, ashamed.
Rick stood up carefully. He faced Carl, placing his hand on the back of the
boy's head.
Carl's gaze shifted to Rick's bandaged wrist. It was right next to him. He
couldn't resist leaning his face toward it and resting his lips against it.
Rick slid his fingers down to Carl's neck. He put his forehead against Carl's.
It was a gesture of strength, forgiveness, and love. Carl didn't feel
threatened by it, and Rick didn't feel threatening. Carl felt like family in
that moment.
The moment became too intense for both men, and Carl pulled away.
"I missed you," Carl admitted on his way out.
Rick huffed, shaking his head. "Do I even have to say it?"
Carl smiled, "Yes."
The man grinned. The conversation was getting a little too lighthearted. He
wasn't used to friendly banter anymore. Him and Morgan had been in each other's
hair for so long that they talked strategics and planning. They barely ever
confided in each other anymore. They'd actually become closer since Carl
arrived. It created a buffer between them that allowed them to get off each
other's nerves.
Rick followed Carl out. "Let me show you and Morgan what I've been up to for
the past week."
 
 
It was another three weeks before Carl and Rick left on their partnered run.
They wanted to push it back as far as possible since Rick was injured and they
wanted to ensure other groups would be settled. It was likely, unfortunately,
that other groups might have the same idea and go on last minute runs. Carl and
Rick needed more weapons than they'd needed on their runs previously. Folks got
vicious in the winter.
Carl was pleased to have put on some more weight. Three weeks was a long time
to spend practicing sign language as well. There was really no need for anyone
in the group to use the books anymore. Carl felt lucky that Rick and Morgan
were willing to learn sign language for him. It was the kindest gesture he
could imagine. He knew that they probably weren't perfect, and it became all
too easy for them to create their own shortcuts and meanings. If the books
didn't have something they needed to say, they just made up their own. After
all, who the fuck was there to tell them that they were wrong? Once they
realized they could wing it and short form anything they wanted, the group had
much funner time using the language. Carl was elated to retire his notebook.
Writing every word he wanted to say was exhausting.
Carl thought a lot about what Morgan had said on their run. The conversation
had been really confusing. He still didn't get why Morgan would call Rick a
monster. Just because he'd loved his son enough to kill for him? Enough to
forget his wife? If that son of Rick's was anything like his father, Carl could
imagine why Rick would be so protective. He found himself loving Carl just by
proxy.
"You won the bet," Carl had told Morgan the same day they'd returned. "What do
you want?"
Morgan had laughed, "I just wanted to be right."
Carl had watched, fascinated, as Morgan and Rick had hugged. He could see what
Morgan meant now about their version of love. They two men were like brothers,
but it had been a bond forged out of necessity and time, not choice. Carl
figured that both men had lost too much and seen too much of each other over
the years to separate. Carl liked to think that he was bringing the two men
together. He wouldn't ever want to be put in the position where he had to
choose one over the other. He knew he would choose Rick, but that didn't mean
he wanted to hurt Morgan. Morgan was his friend, also. He loved Morgan.
 
The night before Carl and Rick were due to leave, Carl got the opportunity to
fuel his addiction. Rick announced that he was going to check the traps. He'd
been excited about hunting more than usual because his books had explained some
ways on how to preserve meat. Rick and Morgan had even made a little structure
for smoking and drying meat. They would be able to have meat all throughout the
winter.
Carl felt adrenaline course through his body at the mention of Rick going to
hunt. It had been more than a month since he'd had the chance to follow Rick
out to the woods. The man had been timing things inconveniently for Carl.
Once again Rick asked Carl to join him, and once again, Carl declined. He would
be joining Rick in a different way.
Carl waited carefully before pursuing the man. He wasn't even sure if Rick was
going to go for it. It was nearly winter now, and Carl doubted the man would
want to expose himself to the cold. They were all already wearing winter
jackets and doubling up blankets at night.
Rick wound his way through the trees easily, his ankle having been healed for a
while. He saw the traps were full, so he emptied them all into his burlap sack.
He tossed them aside when he decided to address the real purpose of his visit
to the woods.
Carl found the whole thing a bit morbid; retrieving dead animals in the shadow
of the woods, and then tossing them aside while one masturbated was kind of
dark. But Carl didn't really mind. He wanted to escape. He wanted to explore.
The boy crouched on the ground, observing Rick from behind a tree. As usual.
The man wasn't facing Carl's direction this time. Carl huffed, annoyed that
he'd have to move. He skirted around the tree trunk, trying to change his
viewing position. It was difficult trying to keep quiet.
Rick looked beautiful, Carl noted. The man didn't look like a monster at all.
Carl had never seen a beautiful man before. He'd seen dirty men, and disgusting
men. It had taken a while for him to think of Rick and Morgan as anything but.
Morgan, wasn't beautiful per se, but he was kind. Rick was different
altogether. He wasn't nice, and Carl couldn't say for sure whether the man was
dangerous...but Carl knew that Rick was something. Something Carl wanted to
have. Of course, he knew he couldn't. He knew Rick only saw him as a stand-in
for someone irreplaceable, but Carl was willing to accept what he could get. At
least Rick cared about him in some fashion.
Carl couldn't take his gaze away from Rick. He didn't really look at Rick's
genitals, or his hand as it moved. Carl was more interested in watching the
man's face. That's what he liked about the whole scene.
Carl could read Rick's face well, and he knew the precise moment when there was
no turning back. Rick was coming with a grunt.
The boy stepped forward involuntarily, wanting to join Rick in the aftermath.
It was a complete loss of control. It actually scared him to think that he had
felt so fearless in that moment.
He cringed when he heard his footfall on a noisy twig. Rick's gazed flashed
toward the noise in an instant, his dick still in hand.
Carl had never been so embarrassed or humiliated in his entire life, and that
was saying a lot.
"Carl?" Rick called out, refusing to let the boy run away without discussing
the situation first.
Carl stopped, allowing Rick to grab the bag of animals and catch up with him.
He wanted to bolt, but he also wanted to hear what Rick had to say.
"I'm so sorry," Rick apologized.
"Why?" Carl was confused. He was the one that had been watching. Rick didn't do
anything wrong.
"Well," Rick said, confused. Why shouldn't he be sorry? Wasn't Carl upset? "You
shouldn't have to see that."
"Wasn't..." Carl began his signs, "Accident."
Rick looked shocked, "Wait. You were trying to watch me?"
Carl put his head in his hands. "I know it's wrong."
Rick was in disbelief, "I don't get it. You...you can barely stand to be
touched. You can't look at yourself. Why would you want to see this?" He asked
disgustedly, gesturing to himself.
Carl opened his mouth uselessly. He shook his head.
Rick tried again, "I'm not mad. I'm just surprised. I thought it would hurt you
to see...sexual things." God he felt so awkward.
Carl shrugged, "No. I thought that too. It does."
"Then why?" Rick asked. Why would Carl do this on purpose if it hurt? Carl was
an enigma. More curiously, why would Carl admit to it? Rick would've never
guessed that the whole thing was intentional. The way Carl had looked shocked
would've made Rick think it was an accident. That's why he'd apologized.
"I like watching you," Carl pointed at the man with emphasis. "Only."
Rick raised his eyebrows. "Jesus," he breathed. He'd wanted Carl for weeks.
Months, if he was counting the time when he wasn't even sure of his own
feelings. He'd never even tried to broach the subject out of fear that Carl
would reject him, but he was actually into it? Fuck, Carl got more interesting
by the minute. He loved that the boy was so honest. Nobody would admit to what
Carl had just admitted to.
"Have you done it before?" Rick wondered. "Watched me?"
Carl nodded.
"Didn't it scare you?" Rick wondered.
Carl nodded.
"You are...complicated," Rick decided.
"I know," Carl agreed. "Difficult."
Rick shrugged, "Well, it doesn't bother me that you...were curious I guess.
But, watching people without their permission is kind of wrong, you know."
Carl's jaw dropped. He'd never thought of that. He'd felt wrong for different
reasons. He'd never once considered how Rick might feel about it; he'd only
been concerned about his own feelings the whole time.
"I'm sorry," Carl expressed. "Never thought. Didn't realize." He wanted to get
out his ideas as quick as they came. "Selfish. Disgusting."
"No, no, no," Rick argued. "Stop."
Carl froze.
Rick sighed, "Look, I don't know what to say. You don't need to feel bad for
what happened. It's no skin off my back."
Carl crossed his arms.
The man continued, "If seeing me do this helps you, then I can't be mad at you
for doing it."
"How do you know it helps me?" Carl frowned.
Rick shrugged, "I know you're not watching me so that you can...get off. I know
you're not interested in that. When I caught you, you were looking at my face.
You're testing me and yourself. It's the mirror all over again."
Carl pouted. Fucking Rick thought he knew everything.
Rick continued, "You wanted to see if you can handle it, and you wanted to see
if I was like them."
Carl nodded. "Exactly."
"Did I pass?"
Carl smiled, "Yes. Did I?"
"You standing here? Talking to me? I'd say hell yeah, you passed."
Rick was dying to ask Carl why he didn't elect to watch Morgan, or why he
didn't just explore his own body. Rick had learned enough about Carl to get
that the boy was at least curious about sex and nudity when it didn't involve
violence. He'd learned enough to know that Carl liked him, but nothing concrete
enough for him to know how. In what capacity? If anyone else had been watching
Rick masturbate, he would've known immediately that it was on...the voyeur
wanted to fuck. With Carl? The boy had no social awareness, and his entire
situation was unprecedented. How would one even begin to categorize Carl? A 20
something man-boy who only remembered six years of his life? Six years that had
been riddled with rape and torture? And on top of it all, to come out of the
ordeal half blind and mute? Rick couldn't say he blamed Carl for being a little
odd and a little curious. It would be weirder if the boy wasn't.
Rick shifted the bag of animals, "Well, I better get this back."
Carl nodded.
"Listen," Rick began, "I don't know how to...I don't know. Just. Are you sure
you want to come out with me?"
"Yes," Carl responded immediately. "Are you okay with me?"
Rick huffed, "If I had a problem with you, I'd let you know."
Carl raised his eyebrows in amusement. He believed the man.
"I don't think you should watch me, though," Rick admitted. "I know it helps
you, but I feel wrong."
"I understand," Carl agreed. "It was a mistake."
Rick began walking, "It's not that I'm shy," Rick shrugged. "I couldn't care
less, really."
"What is it?" Carl wondered.
"Sex is something that partners do together," Rick admitted. "At least that's
what it should be."
Carl waited for Rick to get to the point.
"You had bad experiences. Obviously, you know that. But you didn't experience
anything else. You don't really know the norm, just that what happened was bad.
That's it."
Carl pursed his lips.
"I don't want to give you the impression that watching your group members jack
off his normal. Like I said, I don't really care. If it had been anyone but
you, I just would've told them to fuck off. But other people wouldn't
understand. I'd hate to see if Morgan caught you," Rick chuckled.
"I would never watch Morgan," Carl frowned.
Interesting.
"Oh?" Rick urged.
Carl didn't have the guts to say it.
Rick frowned when he realized Carl wasn't saying anymore. Goddamn it, the whole
boy's life was a cliffhanger.
"Well, anyway," Rick bulldozed ahead, "I hope you're ready for tomorrow. I hope
things won't be weird."
Carl smiled, "I've seen a lot of naked people. Won't be weird. Trust me." He
knew it wasn't quite true to say it wouldn't be weird. He'd never seen anyone
he loved naked.
"Fuck," Rick breathed. "You're dark as hell."
Carl shrugged. His past had happened. Why fucking skirt around the topic?
 
 
Three days of the run was just walking to a town. There were no guarantees of
finding anything, and the town had already been picked through by Rick and
Morgan weeks ago. That was the point of this, though. Carl's attention to
detail. He swept the buildings that were accessible, and Rick covered him. Carl
searched spaces that nobody else had thought to search. He also had an
unprecedented sense of what the group needed. Sometimes he would pick up a
useless item and suggest a use that Rick hadn't even considered.
Rick couldn't help but think, sometimes, that Carl remembered more than he let
on. He also often thought about whether Carl was mute by choice. He knew it was
completely possible that Carl could get his memory or his voice back someday.
Maybe both. Rick wouldn't hold his breath. Obviously he liked Carl just fine
the way he was, but it would be nice to fill in some of the blanks about the
boy. He realized why Carl had become so skilled so fast after a few months of
knowing him. The boy had grown up in the apocalypse--even if he didn't remember
it. Rick hadn't underestimated Carl since he realized that. The boy had been no
more than 10 years old when everything started. Rick hadn't been lying when he
called Carl the toughest son of a bitch he'd ever met. The kid was a legend. He
sighed, wondering how far his Carl had made it. As much as he loved the new
Carl, there would always be a hole in his heart for his son.
 
Over the hours spent together, Rick and Carl developed a routine. They slept in
shifts, ate a half can each of anything that wasn't completely rotten,
practiced complex sign language structures, and cleared buildings.
The fourth day of the journey, the pair got to sleep indoors.
Rick cleared the house while Carl kept watch. Once the house was clear, they
went through the barricading process. Rick and Morgan had slept in the house
when they'd been on their run, so it didn't take much to fortify the space.
Unfortunately, it also meant that there was nothing worth having left in the
house. Rick and Morgan had taken the beds they'd constructed back with them. It
was fortunate that Carl had an entire cart full of linens.
"Why so many?" Rick had asked when Carl emptied out an entire linen closet at
one of their first stops.
"We won't be able to wash things in the winter if the water freezes," Carl
responded. "We can use sheets for bandages or slings if we need to. Maybe an
eye patch. We can nail comforters to the wall for insulation."
"That's my boy," Rick smiled. "I've been at this for ten years and never even
considered... damn." Rick approved.
Carl's heart swelled at the praise. It only encouraged him to be more clever.
He had been doing a lot of reading at the library. He had learned all sorts of
useful information that could be put to use.
 
The pair didn't bother mentioning that food was worse than scarce. There wasn't
even a fucking grain of anything left. All they had were leftover cans from
their own camp. Those weren't even good, either. Canned didn't mean "good
forever". No medical supplies were really worth having either. Everything broke
down after a while. Still, if they found bandages or medication, they took it.
There was always a chance that expired shit could work. Even if it was minimal,
it was better than nothing.
"Are you hungry?" Rick asked after they'd been out a week. They'd happened upon
a small county that barely warranted four corners.
Carl had tears in his eyes his stomach was so empty. If there was one thing he
was good at, it was starving. He could go a long time without eating, even if
it made him shake.
"Fuck," Rick grunted. "We need to find something. Anything."
Carl agreed, "There has to be something we're not thinking of."
Rick sighed. "I've thought of everything I can. Old restaurants, church
basements, teenagers' goddamn sock drawers, and desks in offices. There's no
food left," Rick ranted.
Carl shook his head. "Even if we find something, it'll probably be rotten."
"You know? I remember," Rick laughed, his eyes far away. He had one hand on his
hips. "I remember being in a grocery store. 12, 13 years ago. I was with my
wife," he began, "She wanted us all to go on this new diet. She was on some
health kick, I don't know," he continued. "Anyway, she said, 'You know how many
preservatives are in canned food? They're full of sodium and crap to extend
shelf life'," Rick mimicked.
Carl focused on Rick without moving. The man had never spoken of his wife
before. Never. He'd only ever heard about Carl briefly once. Rick was private.
"I said to her, 'Are you serious? How bad can they be? It's just vegetables',"
Rick whispered, his smile fading. "She told me, 'these can last 20 years on the
shelves'."
"I told her that I thought it was ridiculous. 'No way'," Rick huffed. "She
argued about it with me for hours. It turned into a nasty fight like most
fights about nothing do," he sighed.
Carl still didn't look away. He wasn't sure where this was going.
"Turns out I was fucking right," Rick concluded. "And I would kill for her to
be right. 20 years? Please. It's only been 10 and everything's turned to shit."
He whipped a can of dog food across the room. It dented the wall and clattered
to the ground.
Carl didn't know what possessed him, but he grinned. He looked like a maniac.
He didn't know why it was so funny. He grinned so hard his face hurt.
Rick shook his head, "I don't know what to do, Carl. What the hell are we gonna
eat?"
"Maybe we need to stop thinking food. Cans. Packages," Carl said. "Start
thinking spices. Condiments. Anything that has calories or sugar. Even if it's
not even food. If we have the calories, we can survive."
A memory that hadn't entered Rick's mind for years almost knocked the wind out
of him...he had been such a moron. All along, he'd known this. This was the
second memory to ambush him in a span of five minutes. This memory...it was
more painful than the one about his wife. He hadn't even told Morgan anything
about...anything about his boy.
"We need honey," Rick said. "Honey, rice, and bouillon cubes."
Carl frowned, "What is a bouillon?" They didn't even have a sign for it, it was
so bizzare. They just spelled it out with letters.
Rick looked wild. "He did a school project on it. Foods that would last
forever. I'm such an idiot to only remember now. I could've been set all these
years...I just... I guess I didn't want to remember it until now."
Carl was confused until he picked up on the "he". No wonder Rick hadn't
remembered until now...he probably didn't let himself have memories of his son.
They were too painful. One must have slipped through the cracks. Carl frowned
with the realization that his memories were only a crack away from flooding
through. If Rick could remember his son, maybe he would have to remember his
own past. Carl didn't know if he wanted that anymore, or if it was even
possible.
"There were other things, but those are all I can remember. I think there was
something about jerky too, but Morgan's already making that back at camp with
the squirrels I caught."
Rick nodded self-assuredly. He was always more confident when he had a set
direction to follow. A goal. Now that he and Carl knew what they were looking
for, it would be easier to find. He was glad he'd found that book in the
library at the camp. It had a whole section on how to preserve meat. They could
probably survive for years on that, as long as animals didn't go extinct.
 
Another day of searching turned up mixed results. Lots of honey. No rice. No
anything else. Rick and Carl must have turned over at least 200 houses. All
they had to show for it was more linens, new boots for the group, some bungee
cords, some expired cough syrup, and a few more weapons.
Rick spent more time perusing the bedrooms than Carl ever did. Bedrooms made
Carl uncomfortable because he realized they were an integral part of humanity,
but he'd never had one. He'd slept on a floor for a lot of his life. Seeing
unused beds and bedrooms full of knick knacks and expensive belongings made him
long for a past he couldn't remember, and it was best to avoid looking. What
had his bedroom looked like?
Rick didn't know what he was looking for in the bedrooms. He had enough
clothes, and no worthy supplies ever turned up in a master suite. He couldn't
explain what drew him to the rooms--looking at the king sized beds, or the twin
mattresses...seeing suites with bathrooms and walk-in closets, and seeing
bedrooms that didn't even have windows. It was absolutely fascinating to him;
to see how differently everyone had lived before, and to see how everyone lived
the same now.
The man stood before a large dresser, hands on his hips. He looked through the
top drawers. Always. Lots of interesting stuff. Sex toys, expensive clothing,
and sometimes wallets. If Rick had taken every bit of cash he'd found over the
years, he could've been a millionaire. People hid money everywhere. He couldn't
help but smile whenever he found it.
"What's so funny?" Carl asked after tapping Rick's shoulder to get his
attention.
Rick jumped. Carl usually didn't fetch him when he was investigating the
bedrooms. They had a routine. Specific sections of the houses to scavenge and
certain tasks to be carried out. The upstairs was always Rick's territory.
The man shook his head, "It won't be funny to you."
Carl shrugged, "Maybe."
Rick held up a wallet with over $600 in it.
Carl stared indifferently. He couldn't care less about money. When had he ever
needed it?
"All people care about his money," Rick explained. "Well, cared."
Carl nodded. He'd read books, and people's greed even came through in writing.
The concept of money was one of the things he'd needed explained to him. A lot
of things he had only abstract notions of.
"Look at it," Rick grinned. "These people are probably dead. They're money is
useless."
Carl grinned, grabbing a few bills and tearing them in half.
Rick did the same, eventually tossing the wallet onto the ground. Fucking rich
people.
Rick continued rifling through the drawer, pausing awkwardly when he came
across some condoms. "Uh," he said, tossing them aside quickly. He hoped Carl
hadn't seen.
Carl noticed everything.
"What's wrong?" Carl wondered, peeking into the drawer.
The man sighed. He wasn't sure if Carl had known what condoms were. He doubted
that anyone had ever used one when they... Rick grabbed the box, handing it to
Carl.
He didn't know the sign, so he just spelled c-o-n-d-o-m.
Carl raised his eyebrows, "What are they for?"
Rick dug through the box to find the instruction sheet. He didn't want to talk
about this. He'd avoided it with one boy, and he wasn't going to put himself
through the struggle for nothing.
Carl read the paper carefully, eventually smiling with a shrug.
Rick let out his breath. "So?"
"Interesting," Carl decided. "Never thought of these. Never knew."
"You're lucky you can't get pregnant," Rick blurted. He immediately looked
mortified. He would not have blamed Carl at all for punching him the fuck out.
He could not believe he said that.
Carl nodded, "It's true."
"I'm sorry," Rick apologized. "I didn't mean to say that."
"I like your honesty," Carl admitted. "I know you're not a liar. Even if
sometimes you say the wrong thing."
Rick nodded. "Thank you."
Carl gave a thumbs up. "Should we take these?"
Rick gaped at Carl. "Why?"
"You never know," Carl admitted. "You or Morgan..." The boy paused. "You might
need them if there's a woman."
Rick had no idea what the fuck to say. Carl had gone from a silent, skittish
boy to a blunt, almost confident boy. He didn't seem scared of sex at all
anymore--or at least not of talking about it. The condoms were probably expired
and useless, but...what was the harm?
"I'm glad we found you, Carl," Rick said, since he couldn't think of anything
else.
Carl grabbed the condoms and put them in his bag. He had hoped that Rick
would've wanted to leave them behind. Did Rick plan on having sex with a woman?
If they were to stop pregnancy, then men didn't need them to have sex with
other men, right? He wasn't sure.
 
Carl tapped Rick on the shoulder a while after they'd collected the condoms.
They were on their way to another town.
"What?" Rick asked skeptically. "You need to stop?"
Carl shook his head. "Question."
"Shoot," Rick said.
"Who uses condoms?" Carl said.
"What do you mean?" Rick inquired quietly. He didn't sign when he needed to use
a certain tone of voice.
"They're for sex with women, right?" Carl signed without looking at Rick. "I
wonder why I've never seem them."
Rick stopped, the cart clattering to a stop. "Jesus Christ," he bit "I thought
I could let it go."
Carl looked startled.
"No not you," Rick clarified. "Not you."
Carl waited for explanation.
"Every fucking time I learn more about this shit I want to take my knife and
make them choke on it. I tried to hold it in earlier, but I can't. Give me the
condoms," Rick demanded.
Carl handed them over quickly, zipping up his backpack afterward.
Rick yanked the box away and threw them as hard as he could. "It's disgusting
what they did," he said. "It's even more disgusting to think that they didn't
use protection."
Carl folded his arms. He was desperate to hear Rick say more. He liked that
Rick was angrier than he was. He wished he could see what Rick would do if
given the chance. If Carl could bring back the Wolves, he would. Just to watch
Rick destroy them.
"Carl, people should use condoms whenever they have sex," Rick said, already
accepting that he couldn't avoid the sex talk. Carl had probably had sex more
times than anyone Rick had ever known, and the boy knew the least about it. It
made it all that more upsetting. Such an innocent boy, defiled when he barely
even knew what kissing was. Rick could've killed 100 people, and it wouldn't
have satisfied the rage within him.
"Unless both people agree they don't want to," Rick sighed, shaking his head.
He hated talking about this shit. "It doesn't matter if it's two guys, or a
woman and a man. They protect against diseases and from getting girls
pregnant," Rick explained.
"Diseases?" Carl wondered.
"I can't believe I never thought of that," Rick realized. It should've been one
of the first things he'd considered, but all he'd ever wondered about was
Carl's emotional well-being. The rest of it was secondary. "I wonder..."
"Do I have a disease?" Carl asked, his hands trembling.
Rick shook his head, "To be completely honest, it's possible. I don't know much
about 'em, but a lot of times there are symptoms. You'd probably know if you
had certain ones."
Carl didn't look convinced.
"A lot of them aren't really detectable, but..." Rick gestured his hand while
he paused to think of his next words, "We're not exactly gonna live until we're
80, you know? Even if you had something that could kill you...people really
only gave a shit about diseases because it was a social thing. Now? We're all
dead anyways. Who cares if we have--"
Carl continued walking while Rick was still speaking. This was insane. So he
was diseased now? How embarrassing. Rick would think he was disgusting. He was
disgusting.
"Carl, wait," Rick called. "I know it's a lot."
Carl ignored the man.
"Look, it's gonna be okay. We'll find a book on them or something. A medical
text. You can learn what the diseases do, and you'll be able to tell if you
have one."
Carl glanced at the man briefly.
"I bet you that you don't," Rick argued, "And even if you did...it wouldn't
bother me."
Carl stopped to glare at Rick. He wasn't really angry, but he couldn't hear
anymore. "We should split up," Carl gestured.
"What?" Rick asked. "You want to leave the group? Me?"
"No," Carl signed with a serious expression. "You and me. Split up to look
through more places."
"I don't know," Rick signed. "It's dangerous to be alone. I don't want you out
there by yourself."
"I want to be alone right now," Carl retorted, walking in the opposite
direction.
 
***** Saving Ends *****
Chapter Summary
     Carl and Rick continue their run individually. Carl encounters a
     stranger.
     Rick finds himself focusing on the past, and he realizes that to
     truly move forward with Carl...he needs to let things go. Oppositely,
     Carl needs to learn to embrace his past and use his pain
     constructively to create a future free of fear.
     Life moves cyclically for Rick and Carl, and although Carl doesn't
     realize it...events that unfolded in his past occur once more. How
     much will Rick's presence change?
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Carl wasn't sure whether he was actually angry at Rick, or if he was just
pissed in general. It seemed that no matter how much better he was doing,
something always came up to wreck his progress. He was just starting to get his
feelings under control, and then to learn he might have a disease? As if losing
his voice, memory, and eyesight hadn't been enough? As if he wasn't already
ashamed of his physical appearance? Now he could be sick... Carl didn't know if
he could take much more bad news. It wasn't Rick's fault, but Carl wished that
Rick hadn't ever thought of that. If Carl had a disease, he didn't want to
know. He didn't want to think about condoms or sex or anything.
Carl was surprised that Rick didn't come running after him or something. He had
kind of hoped that the man would, but it never happened. Carl had to fight the
temptation to turn around and check if Rick was following him. He felt a little
scared to be alone, but not unhappy.
The boy had no idea where he was going, but it didn't bother him. What would be
the worst that could happen if he got lost? He knew he could handle anything.
It was dusk by the time he was approaching the outskirts of the next town over.
He was proud for only having considered turning back once.
He knew it was a risk to be pushing a cart out in the open like this. The
wheels rattled, and it was possible the noise could attract unwanted attention,
but there was little he could do to avoid that. Only so much could fit in a
backpack. His cart was holding countless blankets, towels, cords, boots, glass
jars, and a bag of charcoal for filtering. It was a heavy cart to push, but it
was better than wearing it on his back. The humidity in the air had all of his
clothes sticking to him uncomfortable. He had to admit defeat and remove his
scarf. Carl was sweating. Despite it being October, the last tendrils of the
summer weather demanded to be acknowledged.
By nightfall, Carl was starting to get uneasy. He kept looking over his
shoulder, no longer expecting Rick, but someone else. He would stop pushing his
cart every few feet. He would stop and listen. He really wanted to ditch the
cart and look for somewhere to sleep without the burden of his supplies, but he
couldn't risk losing them. The cart was slowing him down, and it made too much
noise. He regretted leaving Rick. He shouldn't have let his pride get in the
way of having back up. He hated to admit that part of the problem was not being
able to cover his right.
A booming crack of thunder had Carl on his ass. He was already so on edge that
the noise had made him jump out of his skin. If he could have managed it, he
would've screamed.
If it was going to rain, he needed to get cover. Fast. Almost his entire cart
of supplies would be rendered useless if the rain got to it. The blankets would
need to be left behind--they'd never dry fast enough in the humidity, and
pushing soaking wet linens would cost him double the energy. If they sat wet
too long, they'd start to smell, and it just wasn't worth it.
Carl started to panic. He could feel the beginnings of a downpour. He only had
a couple minutes before the spit turned into rain. He started to sprint. No
matter which building he chose, he was going in at a disadvantage. He would
have absolutely no time to clear anything before settling in. He would have to
pick a building and pray that it was uninhabited.
Everything close to him was industrial. Too big for one person to be safe. He
needed something small and manageable.
A bolt of lightning lit up the entire sky in a frightening web of electricity.
It was followed by a sickening rumble of thunder that turned into a crackling
roar. His hands were vibrating as they clutched the cart's handle--he was
running so fast. He was sprinting towards the first building in his reach that
wasn't a factory. A small shack-y house by a railroad crossing.
He had barely gotten the door closed when he heard the gush of rain slam
against everything in its way to the ground. He was shaking with fear. He'd
never encountered a thunderstorm this bad in all of his time spent free. And
all those times, he'd had Rick and Morgan. He was alone for this one.
 
Carl could only see the house's interior when the lightning illuminated it
through the windows. He could barely hear anything since his heartbeat was
filling his ears. The pounding of the rain didn't help.
He left the cart by the door, and he drew his knife. Something told him he
wasn't alone in this house. He could sense another presence. Living or dead, he
couldn't tell.
Carl clung to the wall, peering around every corner with caution. He was scared
to move, but he forced himself deeper into the house. If there was a threat, he
needed to address it sooner rather than later. Going outside wasn't an option;
he could only go forward.
As he made his way up the rotted staircase, Carl felt confident that he would
be killing someone. He was ready. Unless his unwanted house guest was Rick,
they were dead.
Carl opened the first door on his right as soon as he'd ascended the staircase.
It squeaked awfully.
A bolt of lightning revealed a man kneeling before the window, his weapon
already drawn and aimed. The man had been waiting for him all this time.
Carl didn't have time to react before a crossbow was right in front of his
face. Right at his eye.
"Give me one good reason I don't put you on the ground," the man threatened.
Carl opened and closed  his mouth like a fish on land. He willed words to come
out of his mouth. He wanted to explain himself, but only useless squeaks
escaped. He dropped his knife, holding up his hands. He signed "please" over
and over.
Carl could barely see the person, but all of his fight from before had gone. He
wasn't ready to kill anyone. This man had already won. All of his time on the
outside had meant nothing. He was already caught again. Next he'd be dead. He
was foolish to think he could survive without someone protecting him. He
should've known he was too weak to be on his own. Carl realized he should've
told Rick that he'd wanted to be with him when he had the chance.
The man lowered his weapon, frowning.
"Do I know you?" He growled.
Carl stood wide-eyed, paralyzed with fear. Rick had asked him the same thing
once. His response was the same. He didn't know anybody.
"You talk?" The man apparently didn't care enough to pursue his initial
question.
Carl shook his head vehemently, thankful for a chance to explain why he isn't
answering.
"Good," the man grunted, retreating farther into the room.
What? That was it?
The man struck a match and lit a cigarette.
All Carl could see between the intermittent strikes of lightning was the orange
circle of the man's cigarette. He'd never smelled a cigarette before. It
was...interesting. Distinct.
He could see that the man was lying on a mattress half in the closet. He was
dying to know why he kept the mattress like that.
Carl backed into the farthest corner of the room. The stranger wasn't going to
kill him, so it wasn't necessarily unsafe to be in the same room. He considered
finding another room to stay in, but if anything happened, he wanted this man
on his side. Really, he just didn't want to be alone during the storm. This guy
seemed tough.
Carl peeked over the windowsill, watching the rain come down. The storm was
absolutely brutal. He could see trees nearly bending in half from the force of
the wind. He willed Rick to be okay. He hoped that the man had found somewhere
to hide. He couldn't wait to see Rick's face again.
"You should get away from them windows," the man's voice broke the silence.
"Ain't safe."
Carl started. He hadn't expected the man to speak again.
The stranger used the last of his cigarette to light a candle that was almost
completely melted down.
Carl found himself cowering in the corner despite having already decided the
man wasn't a threat to him. It was instinct to fear men. He stared at the
stranger's forehead, expecting a W to suddenly appear, branding itself into the
flesh.  The man's stringy bangs never revealed anything but tanned, dirty skin.
The man sighed when Carl didn't move. He lay down on the mattress, staring up
into the hanging clothes.
Carl had no idea how the man was so calm during such a savage storm. His eyes
started to droop after a while, all of the adrenaline and panic from before
wearing off. He was exhausted. He knew he couldn't fall asleep in these
circumstances. It wasn't safe. He suddenly remembered the cart he'd left by the
door. Even if this man didn't kill him, Carl countedt his supplies as good as
gone. He hoped Rick wouldn't be angry at him for losing everything.
 
Carl awoke slowly, unsure of where he was until the brain fog dissipated. He
remembered the stranger first. He scrabbled up against a wall, relieved that
the daylight illuminated the room. The man was gone. There were only a few
cigarette butts left to prove that he hadn't been imagining it.
He flew down the stairs, tears of relief flooding his eyes when he saw his
cart. He needed to find Rick. Immediately.
He did a quick run-through of the house, pleased to find a couple of tarps.
Those would come in handy. He also found a couple of flyswatters, and a new
eye-patch, surprisingly enough. Those were rare. He took everything out of the
cart and put the tarps in before replacing all of the items, finally covering
everything with the excess tarp. It was still drizzling, but he needed to get
out. Now that the storm was passed, and he had a way to keep the supplies dry,
he needed to find Rick.
Carl took the cart and ran, retracing his steps to where he'd left Rick the day
before.
He was stupid to have abandoned the man. It was foolish. Childish. Rick hadn't
even done anything wrong, Carl realized. He just...it was getting so difficult
to define their relationship, and Carl needed concrete things to hold onto. He
needed to know what to expect from Rick and what Rick expected from him. He had
signs for words, and he had definitions for concepts that had previous evaded
him. He knew the exact marks in his skin that were too painful to look at, and
he knew which ones didn't really bother him. He knew the precise amount of days
he could go without eating before the headaches knocked him out, and he knew
the precise amount of days he'd lived since being rescued. Now he needed to
know whether he had a sexual disease, or not. He needed Rick to define their
relationship.
Carl had his time alone--his "fun". Now it was time to let his frustrations go
and get some answers.
He was worried once more that the noise of the cart would attract unwanted
attention from the living or the dead, but finding Rick was his number one
priority. He needed to see the man's face to make sure he was okay.
Carl would've given anything just to have his voice back for a few minutes. He
wanted to call out for Rick.
He tried to think logically of where Rick might hole up--he scouted houses that
looked like they had strategic yards and attics. He looked for Rick's telltale
"alarms". Maybe even a note, or a sign in the grass...anything that would jump
out to Carl. Carl didn't see anything.
The boy entered a few houses around the area where he and Rick had parted. He
entered them and clapped a few times--he and Rick had established that signal
for when Carl was out of sight. Ask a yes or no question- one clap meant yes
and no claps meant no. Carl obviously couldn't ask any questions if Rick wasn't
in front of him, but if he clapped then Rick would know it was him. "Yes!" as
in "I'm here!"
Nothing ever came of the claps. Carl decided he may as well search the houses
anyway...make use of the time spent looking for Rick.
Carl gave up in the middle of the day. He wouldn't be able to make it through
the night alone; he was too worked up to sit in some house all by himself. If
he didn't find Rick, he would just head back to Morgan. He couldn't search the
whole town by himself--not because he was weak or unwilling, but because nobody
went it alone anymore. If he was discovered alone? He'd be fucked. He'd gotten
lucky with the smoking stranger, but he wasn't going to press his luck.
 
Carl figured his best shot at reuniting with Rick would be to let Rick find
him. He was going to stay put and wait. Carl sighed, taking off his jacket and
popping it in the cart. He dropped to the ground, sitting cross legged with a
knife at his left and a gun on his right. He propped up a small mirror against
the cart so he could cover his back. He waited.
Carl figured he might've gone mad if he hadn't been so used to being alone with
his thoughts. For six years he'd been in a room pretty much by himself. The
only company he'd had was when he was getting beaten or fucked, and the rest
was fellow prisoners--they never lasted long enough to matter.
The boy picked at weeds in the cement, counting the little veins in the tiny
leaves. He traced patterns on the rough ground, patiently waiting. He stood up
before he heard anything--his body must've sensed it before his brain could
process it. The telltale sign of wheels on the pavement; a rattling cart. Carl
whipped around to pinpoint where the noise was coming from.
Rick was 30 seconds away.
Carl ran without thinking, crashing into Rick with a loud smack.
"I should've come after you," Rick said after a moment, putting his hand on
Carl's shoulder after they'd finished their embrace.
Carl shook his head, "I shouldn't have left. It was a mistake."
"Are you all right?" Rick asked. He didn't sign, and Carl was glad. It was good
to hear the man's voice.
Carl didn't answer because he wasn't sure. He asked instead if Rick was okay.
"To tell you the truth," Rick scratched his head, looking away, "I was out of
my fucking mind, worrying."
The boy hung his head, ashamed. He'd disappointed Rick...hurt his
feelings...worried him.
"The next time you get any ideas of running off, I'll knock you out," Rick
admitted seriously. "I need to get some handcuffs or something." Rick looked
worried after he said that. Once again putting his foot in his mouth. Carl had
been handcuffed enough for fifty lifetimes...it was a joke in poor taste.
"Deal," Carl agreed, he waved off Rick's expression. He knew it was a joke.
Carl decided not to tell Rick about the man he'd met; he didn't want Rick to
worry more.
 
"I've had about enough of this town," Rick said a few hours later.
They were walking side by side down the middle of the street. The exposure made
them both uneasy, but it was a risk they had to take if they were going to use
the carts and make good time. You couldn't stick to the cover of the trees
while pushing a cart with 200 pounds of supplies.
"We have a solid two days left to scavenge, and then three more days of walking
back to camp," Rick explained.
Carl didn't respond.
"Let's push it a few more hours before we find somewhere to sleep," Rick
sighed. "This is our last run before it gets too cold to travel."
Carl froze seconds after Rick spoke the last word of his sentence. He'd just
seen something move by one of the houses in their path. They were in the heart
of what used to be an affluent subdivision. They were surrounded by houses on
all sides. For all they knew, they were about to be surrounded by bodies as
well.
Rick didn't need to think or ask any questions. He had his gun out before Carl
could blink. He knew how to read his group--especially Carl. He was attuned to
the boy's body language. It was clear that there was going to be trouble of
some kind. The only question left to be answered was walkers or people.
The trouble came at them from behind.
A group of four bandits. All dressed in black. All armed. Four men. No women.
The movement in front of them had been a diversion, Carl noted, as a fifth man
approached the group.
Rick knew what it meant when a group had no women. It wasn't always true...but
it was usually true.
The shortest man seemed to be the leader, "Give us what's in the carts."
Rick side-eyed Carl for a moment, gauging the boy's safety according to his
position. Both Rick and Carl had their guns drawn. They were standing with
their backs to the carts. They were the only thing standing between these
people and their loot.
"Or?" Rick tested.
One of the men lurched forward and disarmed Carl in a flash, moving quickly to
put the boy in a choke hold. He had a knife to the boy's throat instantly.
"I'll fuck him up," the man explained with a wink.
Rick almost smirked at how bored Carl looked with the whole situation despite
the fury building within him, but he could see the fear in the boy's eyes. Rick
felt the rage that had been lying dormant in his heart swell. He'd been fucking
waiting for this. He'd been waiting to punish someone for what had happened to
Carl, and this was his opportunity. It had been months since he'd gotten to
stick his knife in someone's head, and who better to end than someone who dared
put their hands on Carl? Blood was going to spill.
"You touch him and you're dead," Rick said simply. "Are you sure you want to do
this?" The question was a courtesy. He was going to kill them all anyway.
"He your fucktoy?" One of the men asked crudely. "We're having tryouts. Maybe
we can borrow him for a bit?"
Rick smiled, dropping his gun on the ground while simultaneously reaching to
his side. He gripped his knife expertly, throwing it at one of the guy's heads
while the leader attempted to pick up the gun. He kicked the leader in the head
while he was bent down. This was going to be so much fucking fun.
That left four alive, Rick assessed.
Rick dove for the gun he'd just given up, rolling away from the shots now being
fired by the rest of the thieves. He saw Carl struggling against the man's
grip, and he saw that the man was pressing the knife deeper into the boy's
throat.
"Don't kill the pretty boy," the leader barked, grabbing hold of Rick and
throwing him to the pavement. "This one needs to learn some manners. He needs
to learn to share."
Rick wanted to kill Carl's attacker first, but he wouldn't be able to get a
good shot. Besides, he wanted to do more than shoot the man.He allowed himself
to be tackled to the ground, but he wasn't anywhere near done. He still had
more than enough weapons on him. He struggled against the weight of the man
when he saw Carl get pushed to the ground. Rick couldn't stand to watch
anymore; it had gone on long enough. He strained to reach the knife that was
embedded in the corpse on the pavement. He slit one of the guy's ankles as he
walked by to aid his leader.
Rick bucked the leader off of him and lunged at Achilles. That left two dead,
two coming at him, and one on Carl.
Rick was proud to see Carl fighting the man descending upon him. Carl was
holding up a good fight, but he was still too small and too inexperienced in
hand-to-hand.
"Hold on," Rick grunted to Carl, rushing number 3. He patted his belt for his
hatchet, splitting the fucker's head in two without blinking.
The leader gripped Rick in a bear hug, blocking his access to the arsenal he
kept on his utility belt. Rick was stuck. "Carl," he managed, looking over his
shoulder wildly to see the man seconds away from achieving his goals.
"What now, Sport?" The leader asked smugly.
Rick didn't hesitate before he bit, sinking his teeth into the man's neck with
everything he had. It tasted revolting, but he had no choice. He bit the blood
and the meat and the veins eagerly, spitting out the red mouthful onto the
ground. The man dropped with a thud.
The man on top of Carl was smart enough to back away, leaving the boy
struggling on the ground. Rick had never felt rage like he had when he saw Carl
faced down on the ground, ass exposed. His vision went fuzzy at the stress. He
couldn't allow himself to be overwhelmed at the obvious scars Carl sported on
his bottom. Rick used the rage to his advantage. It had been a close call--Carl
almost being taken--but it was almost over. Rick stalked toward Carl's attacked
like a lion, barely registering Carl doing his pants back up.
Rick plunged the knife so far into the man's guts that it came out through his
back. He pushed the knife up, slicing until it hit a rib barrier. He pulled the
knife down until it reached the man's pelvis. The blood was hot and sticky, but
Rick kept going. He plunged the knife in and out of the man dozens of times,
listening to the comforting slashes. He wanted to drown out the images of Carl
on the ground, hurt. It had been so close. He wouldn't have been able to
forgive himself.
Carl walked around to kneel by the slaughtered corpse. He sat opposite Rick,
looking up at the man with wide eyes. He nodded at the man in understanding,
smiling with dark intent. Rick nodded back, taking his knife out of the man's
face and sitting back on his heels. Carl sat across from the man calmly,
looking at the body before him admiringly.
Carl couldn't describe his mood as anything other than pleased.
 
Rick collected his weapons quickly, wiping them on his clothes to remove the
blood. He needed to get some water and wash the blood off his skin, but they
didn't have much left in their canteens, and that was for drinking.
"Let's go," Carl said after Rick had collected his weapons. "We need to leave."
They moved quickly, exiting the block without issue. They needed to get back to
Morgan sooner than later, and they needed the water supply of their well unless
they could find some more before then. The previous plan was scrapped. They
needed to start their walk back tonight.
"We need to get to Morgan," Rick muttered when they were half an hour out from
the fight scene.
"No," Carl signed forcefully. "More supplies."
Rick sighed, "I'm covered in blood for fuck's sake."
Carl shrugged, "It'll rain again."
Rick unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it on the ground. No point keeping it now,
and it was fucking hot for October. Humid as hell from all the rain, too.
Carl looked away from Rick, glancing at the man appreciatively the second he
thought the man wouldn't notice. Not that Carl was shy...Rick had caught him
spectating more intimate things.
"Maybe you're right," Ricked. "Damn it. It's not safe out here."
So Rick was going to avoid saying anything specific about what had happened,
Carl noted. That was fine, and he hadn't expected Rick to fret over him or ask
if he way okay anyway... That wasn't Rick's style. In any case, Carl wasn't
really interested in talking about it; he wanted to sleep, actually. He was a
little rattled, sure, but what had happened was nothing he couldn't handle.
Carl stole glances at Rick whenever he had the chance, ogling the man's bloody
hands and face. He looked at the man's hips carrying all the weapons he'd used
to defend them. Carl's heart raced when Rick adjusted the hatchet in its
holster. He was riding a high like he'd never felt in all of his life. During
the fight he'd been numb. He'd checked out as soon as the knife was at his
throat--it was nothing new. He had been completely prepared to be violated. He
had been since Rick and Morgan found him. Carl knew that Rick had been looking
for a fight, and that he was a strong guy...but he hadn't ever seen anything
like this before. Seeing Rick fight like that for him was a dream. Now that the
fight was over, he was anything but numb. He felt electric.
"Why do you keep looking at me?" Rick snapped after they'd been walking for
three hours. They were heading to a small four-corner town that Morgan had
mapped out from the last run. It was safe there--presumably.
Carl's face grew hot at once. As if Rick didn't know?
Rick glared ahead. He knew it'd been overkill--everything he'd done, but he
didn't regret it. If Carl wanted to think he was a monster, then let him. He
could feel Carl silently judging. The boy was probably afraid now. Rick felt
like telling him to wake up. To realize that killing was necessary. If he
hadn't acted, then everything would've been lost. Rick was used to being judged
for how he chose to defend his life and the lives of his group. But that was by
Morgan. Judgement was different coming from Carl.
Carl hadn't seemed upset when he was kneeling by the body, but Rick guessed
that the boy was having second thoughts. Carl had never seen Rick kill like
this before.
"Why'd they call me pretty boy?" Carl used the question as a distraction. Rick
looked a little pissy anyway, and Carl didn't want to set him off. It would do
no good to bring up how empowering and beautiful it had been to see Rick defend
him. He didn't want Rick to think he was a freak for having enjoyed the bloody
scene. He went the more innocent route.
Rick huffed a laugh. Damn. He hadn't really figured they'd be talking about it.
He wouldn't have thought that Carl cared about that at all. Wasn't he used to
being called names? Rick remembered how hearing the word princess had set him
off. If pretty boy didn't have the same effect, then maybe Carl hadn't heard it
before.
"You won't understand," Rick signed. "You won't believe me," he corrected.
Carl frowned. He wanted to ask "What the fuck?" but he didn't know how to sign
it in a phrase so he just spelled the whole thing out.
"Answer me this," Rick said aloud. "What are we?"
Carl frowned. He hadn't expected that.
Carl looked away from Rick immediately. Geez. Blunt much? Carl's stomach
twisted. Earlier he had felt uneasy because he'd wanted his and Rick's
relationship defined. He had wanted to know what expectations there were for
him to fill. Now that he was faced with a real question, and a real possibility
of Rick wanting something from him...Carl felt put off. Not by Rick, but by
knowing the truth. Could he handle it if Rick knew how he really felt? If
anything, he wanted Rick to say what he wanted first. Carl could not be
rejected. Not by Rick. It would break him.
"I asked a question first," Carl signed triumphantly.
"Well I'm not going to run my mouth about why you're a 'pretty boy' if I don't
know..." Rick trailed off. "Never mind."
Carl sighed exasperatedly. As much as he loved Rick, the man could be a huge
pain in the ass. He missed Morgan's simplicity desperately.
"You know what?" Rick said after a while. "Screw it. I'm done tip toeing."
Carl kept his face neutral even though he wanted to laugh victoriously.
"You're good looking, okay?" Rick signed. "You might think you're not...but
that's not what other people see."
Carl raised his eyebrows in disgust. What the hell? "Are you dumb?" He signed
quickly. "Or are you more blind than me?"
Rick glowered, "You're..." he started. Sometimes he wished he didn't have to be
so careful around Carl. If it had been someone else, Rick would've ripped him a
new one for saying something like that. For insulting him.
"I am missing an eye," Carl signed slowly and exaggeratedly as if Rick was too
dumb to keep up. "I have scars everywhere. My beard is disgusting. I... I'm not
pretty at all."
Rick held up his hand to stop Carl. He pointed to a house in the distance.
"That one."
Carl picked up the pace now that they had a destination. Finally. He was tired
of walking. He was a bit miffed that Rick had cut him off, but he let it go.
Rick shook his head, "Carl, I don't know how to answer you. I don't do...touchy
feely stuff. I'm not here to tell you that you're a good person and you're
beautiful or something. That's not going to help anything."
Carl nodded in agreement. Rick was right.
"I'm going to be blunt," Rick said, pausing for a moment. He looked around to
make sure it was safe to stop.
Carl waited patiently, eager to hear what Rick had to say.
"And before I even say anything," Rick twisted his face is exasperation, "I
offered to shave your beard. If it's so disgusting to you why haven't you
gotten rid of it?" It was like Carl was searching for reasons to hate himself.
Even if they were illogical.
The boy picked at his nails. He felt a bit humbled that Rick was calling him
out. He sighed, "You're right," he replied reluctantly. "I guess I kept it
because you have one. It works for you."
Rick laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, well what can I say?"
The man frowned before launching into a response to Carl's original statement.
"Not many kids survived the first years," Rick explained. "Not many people are
having kids now. That means that people your age? They're about the youngest
you get. Twisted fucks like the young ones--prefer them, and right now that's
you. Missing an eye and having a beard doesn't stop you from being--. They can
tell you're young. Practically a teenager. That's what they want. And
especially since we cleaned you up and fixed your teeth? You're probably the
best looking person I've seen in years."
Carl pursed his lips. "I still don't understand," he admitted.
Rick shrugged. He didn't know how else to put it.
"I thought pretty boy meant that someone did their hair and dressed nice," Carl
began. "Like, you would be a man. Kind of rough, and pretty boys were kind of
the opposite."
"Well, yeah. That's exactly what it means. I don't understand your question,"
Rick tried to respond politely.
Carl rolled his eyes. He should've picked a different question to distract Rick
from his staring. This topic was getting irritating.
"I don't know," Carl admitted. "I just thought I was rough too. I didn't expect
to be labelled pretty-boy."
"Oh," Rick responded lamely. "I guess. I mean you're kind of scruffy with that
long hair," Rick teased. "To be honest, I don't know if the beard really suits
you, either."
Carl lightened his glare with a small smile.
Rick shrugged, "I don't know, Jesus. You ask too many questions. You're good
looking. Plain and simple. I'm not gonna go over the intricacies of your
appearance to try and understand the reasoning behind all these psychos coming
after you. If you ask me, it's not even worth talking about. People like that
deserve to be put down. Regardless of why they do what they do. Whether it was
you or the ugliest son of a bitch on the planet...they were scum. Disgusting.
That's the only thing you need to know."
Carl nodded in agreement. Rick meant business about this. He was going to let
this drop.Carl would've loved to see the expression on Rick's face if he'd
asked why he'd been called a fucktoy. Rick probably would've started blowing
smoke.
"You're good looking. They don't try to have sex with you," Carl pointed out.
Rick huffed, "If they wanted me they'd have to kill me first. They know that.
Same goes for you." The man looked scary for a moment, "If anyone even looks in
your direction, you'll be the last thing they see."
Carl nodded once in acknowledgement, not allowing his face to betray his real
thoughts on Rick's words.
"Anyway, never mind all that," Rick said. "Let's clear the house. Then we'll
talk."
 
Carl had never been happier to sit down. He was exhausted beyond belief.
He didn't hide his stare when Rick removed his pants. It was the first time
either of them had even remembered to feel awkward about what Rick had caught
Carl doing in the woods--and vice versa. Rick already knew that Carl watched
him, so Carl wasn't really sure why he should bother hiding it.
Rick shook his head. "This is exactly what I'm talking about," he began,
standing in the middle of the basement in nothing but boxers.
They'd managed to find some rain water collected in some garden decor, and Rick
had washed the blood off in a bird bath. It wasn't glamorous, but it was
effective. The man's hair was still a little wet, and Carl appreciated the
look.
Carl ignored Rick. There was an energy buzzing between them that Carl
identified as kill bonding. Rick had protected him just as he'd wanted the man
to protect him. Now he had to endure the other side of Rick, the brusque one.
Carl figured that Rick had his moods set to random timers. One second he was
emotionally sensitive, the next he was slitting someone's ankles, and then the
next he was saying something dickish and rude. Carl found it difficult, yet
exciting, to keep up.
"You watch me in the forest. You stare at my body. You worry when I get hurt.
You run to me like you're starving for me..." Rick listed. "What do you want
from me, Carl. Just tell me."
Carl bristled at the accusations. So what? He wasn't allowed to show affection?
Why was Rick attacking him like this. He adjusted his position on the mattress.
Who did Rick think he was? He wasn't ready.
Rick walked over to Carl's mattress and sat next to him. He put a consoling
hand on Carl's shoulder.
"Look, you don't have to answer. I'm sorry," Rick sighed. He pressed a kiss to
Carl's cheek before getting up to move to the other side of the room.
The question "What are we?" hung over both of their heads.
Carl turned over immediately to glare at Rick's retreating figure. He snapped
his fingers to get Rick's eyes back on him. "Where are you going? He signed
with a pout.
Rick looked confused. "I'll sleep over here." Carl wasn't exactly forthcoming
with his feelings.
"No," Carl answered, moving the blankets aside. He would accommodate Rick.
Neither of them said anything as Rick slid under the covers in only boxers.
Carl was nervous. Not petrified nervous or uncomfortable nervous. Just... a
little on edge.
Carl could tell that Rick felt awkward and uncertain, but that only made him
more sure of his decision. Carl decided that having his back to Rick was a
little too much, so he turned around. He needed to see Rick and avoid any
surprising touches. He didn't know if he'd be able to handle having someone
this close. The trust it required was overwhelming. Carl hadn't really been
bothered by being held down only hours prior, but for some reason, sharing a
bed with Rick warranted more of a response. Carl guessed it had something to do
with expecting bad things from strangers. With Rick, he wasn't used to the
kindness or the affection--it was all new, and he didn't know what to expect.
That scared him more than being attacked. That, along with the fear of losing
Rick's affection.
The boy couldn't see much, but he was close enough to see the broad expanse of
Rick's back. He had a few scars of his own.
Carl hesitated before reaching his hand to trace over the man's exposed skin.
They didn't touch the entire night, apart from that. Rick purposely remained
aware of Carl in his slumber; he didn't want to frighten the boy by
accidentally rolling onto him.
Rick spoke quietly after they'd been next to each other for a few minutes. He
enjoyed the feeling of Carl's touch. It was more soothing than anything he'd
ever felt. The boy's fingers were smooth and light, and somehow calming.
"Are you scared of me?" Rick whispered. "I'm a killer."
The boy pondered the question. He didn't know how to answer if Rick didn't turn
around. He settled for tracing NO in big capital letters on the man's back. He
followed it with a heart. He didn't know if Rick managed to catch it all, but
the man was quiet after that. Carl wished he had the words and the eloquence to
tell Rick that he loved seeing him kill. He'd never felt safer than he had
while watching Rick spill blood in his name. Watching Rick protect him was
indescribable. Even if Carl had a voice, he wouldn't have been able to explain.
 
Rick found clothes in the morning before he and Carl even spoke. He made sure
to find Carl a new outfit as well. They decided to take the boots out of their
carts and use them right away. They wanted all of their bloodied stuff gone.
Neither of them picked up the discussion from the night before, and neither of
them mentioned their shared mattress.
The question of whether things would be different when they returned to Morgan
and the camp joined the array of questions and non-answers that hung between
them. It wasn't like their cots could be any closer together anyway. Why not
just share?
 
"Do you think we have enough?" Rick asked Carl while they were picking through
the last of the houses in the minuscule town.
Carl hesitated, looking at his and Rick's heaping carts. The backpack he wore
was starting to weigh him down, and his pockets were bursting with cool little
souvenirs and knives. Carl really liked small weapons.
"One more day," Carl decided. "We won't be able to leave camp for a few months
after this. We better be sure."
Rick wasn't convinced. They'd already been out way too long. Morgan was tough,
but one person was virtually useless against more than a few people. Rick could
see Carl getting thinner by the day, and it was disconcerting. The boy's health
was already so unstable, and all the walking wasn't helping him. They were
burning too many calories on their journey, and not eating enough to replace
them. The prospect of Carl having a disease hanged over Rick's head as well.
Not to mention his that Carl might have relapsed after what had happen with the
group of men.
Carl watched Rick's emotions play out on his face. "We don't have to," Carl
signed quickly before Rick had a chance to answer.
Rick's eyes flickered to the carts they'd left on the front step of the home.
He wanted to make sure nobody pulled a fast one and made off with their
supplies--two weeks of progress.
Rick reached forward and took of Carl's hat, looking at the boy's hat hair with
a smile. The kid only took the hat off when he was sleeping. God, it reminded
him so much of Carl. His son used to wear his hat even thought it buried half
of his head. "Daddy, I want to be a police too." Rick could barely remember
what the boy's voice sounded like. He knew he'd never hear it again, but he
couldn't let go. He had to turn away to hide his eyes.
Carl could see that Rick looked upset, but he didn't know why. He felt a little
odd without his hat. Carl wasn't good at comforting people. He never knew what
to say. Rick was usually the one comforting him. He had always seen Rick as so
hardened and unbreakable. What had him so upset? Carl figured Rick didn't want
to talk about it as usual.
The boy reached forward hesitantly to put his hand on the man's shoulder. It
was Rick's signature move, so maybe the man would understand what it meant if
the gesture was returned. Carl felt so helpless. How was he supposed to be
strong for the both of them?
"Thank you," Carl signed, removing his hand from the man's shoulder. "You saved
me." Carl's eye glazed. He remembered the blood and the fierce expression on
the man's face as he'd killed the five men. No words would ever accurately
describe his gratitude or the utter elation he felt.
Rick had always felt the weight of not being able to save his family. It had
been more than ten years since he'd even laid eyes on his son. Now there was a
new boy in front of him that he had to save. He couldn't tell if it was a
second chance or a punishment. What if he lost his new Carl just like he'd lost
the old one? He'd never even got the chance to save his son, really. Could he
blame himself for being in a coma when everything began? Would it have made a
difference in the end if he'd reunited with his son? Maybe Carl would've died
anyway, and it would've been worse. Having the hope in the first place would've
been worse.
Rick wiped a hand over his face. He didn't know why he was letting his emotions
get to him. It was either the hunger or the exhaustion. Maybe the crash from
the previous high he'd felt after fighting for Carl's life.
Rick held the hat in his hands, feeling the crisp brim. The hat was so much
more than what it appeared to be. It was a symbol of Rick's old life, all that
he had lost, and all he had gained upon meeting the person in front of him. His
old life was gone, but it found a way to manifest itself in this new world--he
still fulfilled his role as protector even if he was no longer a law enforcer.
His son, Carl, may have worn the hat--childishly declaring that he would one
day become an officer like his dad. Now, the hat was worn by a new friend. A
partner. Rick found that the hat suited this boy best, more than it had ever
suited him or an innocent child.
"Why is it so hard?" Rick muttered, holding the golden hardware from the hat
between his fingers.
"What?" Carl inquired desperately. He wanted insight on what was hurting Rick.
Why was the hat making him so upset? The man looked utterly devastated--his
usual mask of indifference replaced by a show of actual emotion. Was it him
that was making Rick so emotional? Was the man tired of not having his
questions answered? Carl gulped. Maybe Rick was hurt because he thought Carl
didn't want him back.
Rick placed the hat back on the boy's head. "I used to have a hat just like
this," Rick explained. "I was the sheriff's deputy."
Carl was confused. Did Rick miss his old life? Was that the root of the
problem? Rick had mentioned having a hat like this when he'd first found it,
but he hadn't looked sad then.
"I don't have to wear it," Carl responded. "I can find another hat."
"No," Rick shook his head. "It's not the hat."
Carl frowned.
"It's you," Rick breathed sadly.
Carl's stomach dropped. He felt so hurt that he couldn't move.
"I want... I want to be with you," Rick struggled, "But how can I do that when
we've both lost so much. Is it selfish to move on?"
Wait... Carl hadn't expected Rick's words to take that turn. What was he
supposed to say to that?"
"I don't think so," Carl signed simply. "It's easier for me because I had no
choice. I don't remember what I'm moving on from."
Rick nodded. "How do you see me?" He was starting to feel desperate asking Carl
all these questions. Maybe he was pushing the boy too hard.
Carl frowned. He didn't see Rick as father because he didn't know what it meant
to have a father. He knew the ideas of fatherhood and childhood, but they were
nothing but abstractions to him. He knew a lot about sex, but not love. He'd
never been loved, except maybe...he hoped...by Rick.
"I don't know," Carl admitted. "You're Rick."
For some reason, that made more sense to Rick than anything had ever said to
him. It was obvious, and maybe borderline mocking...but so clear.
That was it. He was Rick. The boy was Carl. It didn't really matter what else
was between them. Rick's memories of his son and past, or Carl's void...they
had each other now, and it didn't matter in what capacity. The details and the
definitions were irrelevant. Why not just love each other without complicating
things? Without asking questions.
Rick smiled. He nodded. "Well all right."
Carl smiled uncertainly. Rick hadn't expected an answer to his admission, and
Carl wasn't exactly ready to give one. Rick wanted to be with him? The notion
settled over Carl like a warm blanket. He was wanted. He was loved. He
mattered. Carl didn't act right away, but he held the idea of love in his mind
like a child holding a seed. Carl could do whatever he wanted with the seed:
plant it or destroy it. Would it even grow or amount to anything? Would the
dirt smother it or the sun scorch it? Carl couldn't be certain if it was even
worth it to try. If it had been anyone other than Rick... Carl realized that if
it had indeed been anyone other than Rick, he wouldn't be alive. He wouldn't
have even made it this far. There would be nothing to consider.
 
 
Before they departed the town, Rick made sure that his and Carl's guns were in
working order. He also checked to see that Carl had all his knives.
Rick stuck an extra knife in his boots for good measure.
"Doesn't it hurt walking in high heels all the time?" Carl covered his mouth
after he'd finished signing the question. He tried not to laugh.
Rick looked down at his cowboy boots with their modest heel, "Doesn't it hurt
being a smartass all the time?" Rick retorted.
Carl nodded seriously.
Rick shook his head, the laugh fading naturally. He regarded Carl easily,
checking out the boy's new outfit. Brand new Dr. Marten boots in black, dark
wash jeans, white undershirt masked by a black v-neck, a black and blue checked
shirt, and a black puffy vest. The boy also wore a grey scarf and his usual
hat. He looked pretty stylish, Rick had to say. He'd never been much good at
picking out clothes...and really he hadn't picked the clothes for Carl based on
aesthetics. Clothes needed to be neutral colours and they needed to fit well.
Rick had strategically picked this outfit for its layering function. Rick
didn't want to agree with the pigs he'd slaughtered, but he had to say that
Carl really was quite the pretty boy. Despite all the shit he'd been through,
Carl maintained a sleek head of hair, and what little skin showed was a
beautiful cream colour. Rick couldn't imagine what the boy's lips and jawline
would look like when the weren't obscured by that unnecessary beard.
It was Carl's turn to ask what Rick was looking at.
Rick knew it was only fair that Carl return the annoying questions, but that
didn't mean he had to like it. "Just thinking that your feet are probably gonna
hurt really bad soon."
"Why?" Carl wondered, distracted.
"New boots hurt like a bitch. Especially leather."
Carl shrugged, "I can take it."
Rick didn't doubt that.
The boy decided to remove his scarf. The air hadn't cooled enough for him to
justify having it on anymore.
Rick exhaled in frustration. Anyone with eyes could see the crimson welt that
covered the expanse of Carl's neck. Dark bruises spattered the area as well.
Rick hadn't realized that the attacker had been pressing the knife that hard.
The man approached Carl, resting his hand on the left side of the boy's head
while he examined the wound.
Carl hadn't realized that the pain on his neck was visible.
"This must be hurting," Rick commented, keeping his hand on Carl's cheek. "You
didn't say anything."
"I didn't think you could see it," Carl admitted. "I should've kept my scarf
on."
Rick felt sick. "No. You tell me when you're in pain. No exceptions."
Carl nodded at once, reaching his hand up to feel the burning welt. He hadn't
felt the man cut him, so he didn't realize that any marks would be visible.
He'd been choked and strangled plenty in his time with the Wolves, but he could
never see his neck. It hadn't ever occurred to him that the damage left
physical marks.
 
The sun was just starting to set, so it was a good time to leave. They had a
three day walk ahead of them, and they were already on their last legs...but
they had no choice but to go on.
It was almost a relief when they ran into their first group of walkers. It had
been so long that they'd felt uneasy--it was always difficult waiting for the
unknown, so when it finally showed, it was one less thing they had to
anticipate.
Rick and Carl had taken the small herd on easily--no more than 15. Rick hadn't
bothered to hide his smile when he saw how good the boy had gotten. Before,
Carl could barely handle one walker. Now he was dropping them left and right.
They fought side by side like a team, guiding the walkers exactly where they
needed to be. They covered each other as if they'd been fighting together for
years. It didn't go unnoticed by Rick that Carl was able to fight walkers a lot
better than humans. Rick knew it was because he wasn't used to having the
freedom to fight. If Carl had any instinct to kill humans, it was buried
beneath layers of restraint. Rick figured that the boy had a strong capability
to defend himself against humans, but he was just used to taking what was given
to him; if he'd fought the Wolves, no good would've come out of it. Rick hoped
to see Carl fight human enemies one day. He looked forward to it--it would
probably be therapeutic for the boy.
Rick would've given anything to see Carl in action before he'd lost his memory.
If Carl had made it this far with one eye, no voice, and no memory, then he
must've been one scary motherfucker before he'd been disadvantaged. Now he had
a quiet power, which was still admirable.
 
Carl decided to wait until they were a few hours from home before saying what
had been on his mind for the last stretch of their scavenge. It was time to
answer Rick. He'd left so many questions unanswered, and so many conversations
unfinished. Rick deserved more, especially if he was putting himself out there.
Both Rick and Carl were more than exhausted by the long journey they'd endured.
It had been a solid three weeks of walking, pushing, killing, and starving...
That was just the physical exertion--the tough conversations and revelations
they'd shared with one another were probably the most taxing.
The boy's hands were numb from having them on the handle of his cart
constantly. The sound of wheels rattling against the pavement filled his ears
even when they weren't moving. It was a wonder that they'd only attracted one
group of criminals, and one herd of walkers. The carts' cacophony bounced off
any surface in sight. It was more than jarring, and more than attention-
grabbing. It was alarming.
Rick and Carl were in the middle of the road when Carl slowed his pace. He took
a drink of water before responding to Rick's question.
"What's up?" Rick signed. There was really no point in being quiet since they
were making enough of a racket with their carts, but it was good practice
anyway.
Carl looked at his feet, taking a second to admire his boots. Even if Rick was
right, and they were highly uncomfortable, they still looked amazing.
"You asked me some questions," Carl signed hesitantly.
Rick furrowed his brows. He nodded in understanding. What are we? How do you
see me?
"I didn't answer before," Carl sighed. "Because I was scared."
"It's okay," Rick interjected. "You don't have to. I wasn't trying to push."
Rick added aloud, "I shouldn't have admitted what I did. About wanting to be
with you."
Carl shook his head. He approached Rick carefully. Rick shouldn't regret
admitting what Carl had wanted to hear. "Me watching you without you knowing is
worse than asking questions," Carl pointed out.
Rick shrugged, but didn't say anything. He didn't want to say the wrong thing
and prevent Carl from saying more.
"I don't know if I'm ready. I don't know how," Carl signed sadly. "I can't be
what you need."
Rick closed the distance between himself and Carl. For the hundredth time, he
placed his hand on the boy's cheek.
"I would never hurt you," Rick spoke clearly and assuredly.
Rick kissed Carl on the cheek, backing away from the boy slowly to show that he
would end it there. He had kissed Carl on the cheek before they went to sleep,
but this was different. Both Rick and Carl could tell that this kiss was more
meaningful. It wasn't an apology, or a sign of affection, or a precursor to
sex. It was a promise.
Carl's eyelids fluttered before flying open in surprise. Rick was kissing him,
and it was unbelievable. He'd never been kissed before, and now it was twice in
two days. He'd only ever been...penetrated, he thought with revulsion. Nobody
had ever done anything to his body that felt good. Rick made everything so
different.
 
"When are we gonna shave this thing?" Rick asked playfully, pointing to Carl's
beard when they continued walking. Both of them had grins they couldn't wipe
off. Rick was walking taller with the new realization that Carl did, in fact
want him. Carl's smile was more shy and uncertain. How were they supposed to
proceed now that they both knew they liked each other?
"I know it's getting cold, but I barely know what you look like. I want to see
your face."
"Soon," Carl decided, stroking his facial hair. He didn't particularly like it.
At first it had just been a part of his life with the Wolves. Everything became
overgrown and unkempt in captivity. After Rick and Morgan had rescued him, he
kept it as sort of a security blanket--enjoying that he had something to hide
behind. Morgan only grew stubble, and Rick trimmed his beard regularly. Carl
figured if Rick could pull off a wild beard, then so could he--especially since
the man had encouraged him to keep it for protection against the wind and sun.
It had occurred to him after a few months, that maybe beards were best left to
the Ricks of the world regardless of the consequences. Carl was almost scared
to see what he looked like without it.
Chapter End Notes
     grimesobcest.tumblr.com
***** Rushing in Your Bed *****
Chapter Summary
     Rick and Carl return after having been gone on a three week run. It
     doesn't take long for Morgan to see that the dynamic between his
     friends has changed. Rick and Carl take the first step toward having
     a real relationship.
Chapter Notes
     I was going to make this fic an even 10 chapters, but as I began
     writing this chapter, I realized how long it needed to be. I will be
     upgrading it to 11 or 12 so it's not so taxing to read.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
When Morgan caught sight of his boys walking up the path, his heart skipped a
beat. "You motherf--. I had my bags packed ready to come lookin'," Morgan
chastised. He wasted no time approaching Rick and Carl to hug them both. "I
nearly lost my mind spendin' all this time by myself."
Rick laughed, "Do anything useful while we were gone?"
Morgan happily signed "Screw you", sparing a teasing wink for Carl.
"I thought you might've forgotten," Carl admitted.
Morgan rolled his eyes, smirking at the lack of space between the pair before
him. He had wondered if anything would happen between Rick and Carl while
they'd been gone. He would be watching closely to see if his theory was
correct. "No," he shook his head, "I've been practicing."
 
It turned out that Morgan had been able to make over 50 pounds of jerky with
the help of the cookbook Rick had found. In combination with the food that Rick
and Carl had gathered, and the hunting that was still to be done, it looked
like they weren't going to be starving.
Morgan was extremely pleased with all of the spoils that his friends had
returned to him. He almost shed tears when Rick revealed several rolls of
toilet paper from beneath the tarp that covered the cart. Of course, that had
been fairly high on the list of necessities. If they were smart, the supply
could last them well into Spring.
"Anything happen?" Morgan asked hesitantly when he noticed Carl's injury. The
boy had put his scarf back on, but the red welt still poked out a bit.
Rick gnashed his teeth, "Group of bandits. The worst kind."
Morgan nodded in understanding. He knew just by looking at his group members
that nothing too unsavoury had happened. Rick held himself pridefully, and Carl
had a glint of triumph in his eye.
"It was quiet here," Morgan supplied. "It's good to see you, though. No man
should spend more than a couple days alone."
Carl agreed wholeheartedly. His time spent alone while Morgan and Rick had gone
without him wouldn't soon be forgotten.
 
Over the next few days, the group took shifts sleeping. All three of them were
exhausted for more or less the same reasons. They organized all of their
supplies and made game plans in case of severe weather or intruders. Game plans
included meeting spots, weapon burials, and tactical strategies. For example,
if a herd came through, they knew to make a run for it, and if it was just a
few walkers, they specified that Carl would take position in the lookout trees,
Morgan would lead with his spear, and Rick would cover Morgan from the sides.
Same went for human intruders. The main goal was keeping the food and weapons
safe. Carl made sure to hide knives in the trees that held the lookout perches.
He also sealed bags of jerky and bouillon cubes and stuck them in the trees as
well. It would be handy if they ever got stuck up there and had to stay there
for a few days.
Before Rick, Morgan, and Carl had made the small area their home, it had
obviously been a small recreational campsite. It wasn't noticeable at first,
but many pathways led away from the hub, and deeper into the woods. Time had
overgrown the paths, but they'd realized that the main site included bathrooms,
showers, the convenience store, the canteen, and the book rental building for
the casual campers who must've come up for an outdoorsy experience without all
the inconveniences. They used the concealed pathways to their advantage when
planning their escape routes.
Carl had been thoroughly impressed by the progress Morgan had made with the
safety measures. Usually Rick liked to make their "security systems"
unnoticeable, but since nobody would miss a mini-campground, there was no point
in being covert. Morgan had chopped an impossible amount of wood--effectively
providing enough material to build a  waist high barrier to surround their
outdoor home. He'd wound the spool of barbed wire he and Rick had collected
around the wood, and he'd sharpened dowels of wood--much like his own staff--to
stick out almost horizontally from the fence. Anybody who came upon them
suddenly would be impaled before they even had a chance to meet a human
opponent.
 
 
 
It only took Morgan two days of being around his group members to realize that
Rick had made up his mind about how he felt about Carl. Morgan wasn't sure how
he felt about it. Not jealous, necessarily. He'd lost everything--his wife and
son, but so had Rick. The only difference was that Rick had something to hold
onto now, and Morgan still had nothing. When Carl had told him of Duane's fate,
everyone seemed to forget it after that because Carl needed looking after.
Morgan's loss faded to the background, and Morgan didn't resent Carl for that,
but he felt as if he'd traded Duane for Carl in a way. Carl's admittance to the
group overshadowed his need to grieve, and he'd been holding onto the pain
since then. Rick hadn't even brought it up again, and Morgan felt like the man
owed him a little more sympathy than that. 
Morgan was happy for his friends, and he didn't mind becoming a third wheel in
the slightest--he'd spent more than 10 years with Rick, and it was time for
them to have a little distance. Morgan just wished that he could get something
back to ease his losses. Or at the very least, it would've been nice if someone
acknowledged his pain. He felt as if he could go mad, and he knew the only
thing that had kept him sane was Rick and Carl. For that, he was grateful.
Morgan could admit to himself that it was probably best that the focus of the
group had turned to Carl--if Morgan had had the time to dwell on Duane's death,
he wasn't sure what he might've become. He guessed that Rick had known that,
and that's why he hadn't brought up the subject of Duane since they'd rescued
Carl. Like they'd said countless times...you couldn't live someone for months
or years without coming to know the intricacies for their personality. Morgan
had initially taken Rick's silence as selfish and unsympathetic, but as he
watched Rick and Carl grow closer, he could see that Rick was the opposite of
selfish. There was a reason Rick was the leader--he knew what his people
needed.
 
Rick had always been affectionate towards Carl, so it wasn't Rick's behaviour
that tipped Morgan off. Carl had started initiating small touches. Morgan
would've told them to get a room if he hadn't known better. He knew that Carl
even looking Rick in the eye was a huge step for his confidence--if he decided
to point out every bold move that Carl made, it would only harrow his progress.
So Morgan, just watched, wondering what was going on in his friends' heads.
This little love story was the most entertainment he'd had in years, and he
wanted details. Of course, he'd always seen it coming, but now that it was
finally happening, he was unsure of what role he was to play.
"Should I move into the library," Morgan asked Rick after two weeks of watching
him and Carl sleep with their cots right against each other.
Rick had raised his eyebrows, "You're already halfway across the room. Not far
enough away for you?"
"You and the boy," Morgan said as way of explanation.
"What?" Rick asked, walking away from Morgan with his arms full of wood.
Morgan looked over his shoulder to make sure Carl was still out of earshot.
"Something's changed between you two. If you want me to move rooms, I will. I'm
serious."
"Come on," Rick said, "It's not like that."
"Not yet," Morgan said simply. "Your cots are practically right on top of each
other."
"Does that bother you?" Rick asked defensively.
Morgan rolled his eyes.
"Even if..." Rick trailed off. "We wouldn't need a room to ourselves. That
wouldn't be happening for a long time." He slept awfully close to Carl, and if
they had a larger bed, they would be sleeping in the same one. Even still, Rick
wasn't even going to say the word sex around Carl--especially after the condom
debacle.
Rick put the wood under the lean-to they'd built, and refastened the tarp. He
sighed, "We haven't even thought about talking about it. He's got a long way to
go."
"I know," Morgan agreed. "I'd probably knock your teeth out if you pushed him."
Rick looked happy at that.
"I'm just sayin'," Morgan continued. "Just cause we're living like animals in
the woods doesn't mean you can't share a bed with him. Have some sort
of...shred of normal life back. We can make some real beds."
"I don't know, Morgan," Rick began, dropping his defensive expression. "I
didn't expect this to happen. He was just some...just a kid we took with us on
a damn whim. Now..."
"You don't have to explain it," Morgan stopped Rick. "I don't know what you two
are...and I don't think anyone could put a label on it. I didn't even know you
liked men," Morgan grinned.
"Me either," Rick shook his head. "I couldn't lose him. That's all I know. I've
never...felt--" Rick cut off his thought. He hated to admit it, but he'd never
felt about anyone the way he did Carl. "Even if I wanted a room to myself with
him. I couldn't ask that."
Morgan shrugged, "Does he know that? Did you guys talk about it?"
Rick frowned, "It's not official if that's what you're askin'. I more or less
told him what I wanted...what I felt. He told me he didn't know if he could be
that for me, but I could see that he wants to. Or at least he wants to think
about it. I think he's scared."
Morgan nodded, "The way he looks at you...he's got hearts in his eyes." The man
chuckled lightly, finding it almost bizarre as it escaped his lips. Laughs
didn't often find their way into everyday conversation. Not anymore. 
Rick looked away almost bashfully. Morgan hadn't seen a look like that on
Rick's face in years.
 
Morgan took it upon himself to approach Carl. He found the boy in the library--
where he usually was in his free time.
 
Rick and Carl had resolved the unspoken bond between them. Agreeing to nothing
more than simply being together. They didn't need to proclaim it with
words...they didn't need to say it for it to be so. It just was. Although that
was taken care of, one thought still bothered Carl. It was what Rick had told
him before they split up on their run. He might have a disease from his time
with the Wolves.
Carl tried not to think about it because it didn't really matter; they couldn't
cure him if he had anything anyway. Regardless, he hadn't really planned on
having sex ever again, but now that him and Rick were a reality...he had to
consider it. He wasn't planning on doing anything with Rick this soon, but it
was something to be aware of at least. Even if Rick wouldn't say anything...he
would probably be expecting it.
The only thing Carl could think to do was go to the small selection of books in
the library, and see if he could find anything about medical conditions.
He located a tattered medical symptoms dictionary, but he didn't have time to
look inside before Morgan came in.
"Hey, Carl," Morgan greeted quietly.
Carl nodded at the man.
Morgan didn't really know what he was going to say to Carl. He didn't have a
goal in mind. He wasn't sure if he was going to go for a pep talk or just light
teasing...should he mention the bed thing? He decided to open with the same
line he'd used on Rick.
Carl shifted awkwardly in front of the bookshelf. He wasn't sure what Morgan
wanted. He didn't often communicated with Morgan without Rick around.
Obviously, they'd bonded after that run they'd gone on, but they were still
growing on each other.
"I just came from speaking to Rick," Morgan explained, glancing at the book in
Carl's hands.
Carl's face heated. Morgan must know he and Rick were together, and he was
upset. Carl waited for Morgan to go on.
"I noticed that you two were..." Morgan wasn't sure of his words when he was
speaking to Carl. He was always hesitant to say anything in case it upset the
boy. "Sleeping closer," Morgan finished lamely.
Carl couldn't meet Morgan's eyes. He just stared at the ground, observing the
spaces in between the slats of wood in the floor.
"I asked him if he wanted me to move into a different room," Morgan continued.
"He didn't know what to say."
Carl looked up, warily. Okay?
"I wanted to ask you," Morgan stated. "If you and Rick are together, you should
have your own room."
Morgan would've laughed at Carl's dear-in-headlights expression if the topic
wasn't so sensitive.
Carl had no fucking clue what to say. Of course he wanted to share a room with
Rick, but wouldn't that mean they had too much privacy? Would that mean that
Rick felt entitled to sex since they had the perfect setting for it? Of course,
Carl realized that he and Rick had slept alone almost every night for three
weeks on the run, and the man hadn't tried anything. As usual, he felt guilty
for even considering that Rick would do such a thing.
"How come Rick didn't give an answer?" Carl evaded.
Morgan chuckled, "I think he wants you to make the decision first."
Before Carl could respond, Morgan added, "You don't have to decide today...or
even tomorrow. I just wanted both of you to know that I'm willing to do it.
Unless..." Morgan mused, "you're not together, and I'm completely out of line."
"We're together," Carl signed abruptly. Of course. He hadn't been so blunt with
Rick, but he could speak freely with Morgan now that he knew the man wasn't
judging him for the relationship. "And, I do want to be..." Carl held his hands
up in the air for a few seconds before continuing, "...alone with him. I'm
sorry." Carl was surprised at himself for being so bold. Despite his fears and
aversions, being alone with Rick was something he'd been craving since their
run. He felt guilty, as if he was rejecting Morgan, but his desire to have a
real relationship with Rick was stronger than his guilt.
"Don't be sorry," Morgan laughed. "It's nice to get a straight answer. You're
better a decision-making than your new sweetheart," the man winked.
Carl blushed.
"Well," Morgan sighed. "I'll leave you to it. I'm going to go turn your cots
into one bed. Consider it a housewarming gift," the man laughed heartily.
Carl looked after the man wide-eyed. Morgan was so cavalier and open about
everything. Carl was beyond grateful. And inexplicably, he felt excited.He
grinned to himself after a minute. He and Rick were going to have a bed
together. He had a boyfriend. He was actually starting to build a life for
himself. The grin turned hysterical within seconds, and Carl found himself
sobbing. He was simultaneously happy and terrified. Only months ago, he was on
the verge of death, and now he had a life worth living. He had a friend in
Morgan, a partner in Rick, and a life in this new sanctuary. There was no other
word for it than unbelievable. The only trouble with having good things was
knowing the pain it would cause to have them taken away.
Carl left the book in an accessible spot on the bookshelf. He would leave it
for another day, he decided. He wasn't ready to face the possibility of being
diseased or having some leftover proof of his time in captivity...the scars
were enough. For the time being, he just wanted to focus on Rick.
 
 
The boy made himself scarce all day, hoping to avoid Rick until it was time to
sleep. Carl did a perimeter walk, patrolling the woods with his knife at the
ready.
Carl exactly sure what month it was, but Winter was no longer a far away
concept. It had arrived. Georgia didn't experience stable winters, normally.
One day it could be as hot as summer, and the next, snow flurries attacked them
for days. Morgan had noted that he and Rick had returned from their run just in
the nick of time since the first snow fell two weeks after. If they'd been
caught in that with their carts, and without their jackets...it would've been
one hell of a right to get back to camp. The thunderstorm they'd been caught in
was proof that temperatures were fluctuating erratically.
Carl enjoyed the quiet loudness of the woods. Because it was chilly, many
animals were hidden away, and the trees were easier to see through without
their distracting green leaves. It also meant the sun penetrated the woods more
easily. Without the dark green glow, Carl found it easier to concentrate and
aim. Days were short in the winter, though, and night came quickly.
The boy couldn't complain about the snow on the ground or the soggy ground that
dissipated snow left behind. Both conditions were perfect for showing tracks.
He'd only ever killed four walkers while on his patrols. Not many of the dead
seemed to be left, and if they were around, they weren't coming to the camp.
Carl remembered what he'd been caught doing last time he was alone in the
woods. Watching Rick. He was grateful that the man hadn't really brought it up
or judged him for it. It had really been the first time he'd felt
embarrassment. He hadn't been able to identify the emotion until later. It felt
strange...when he was on display for the Wolves and being brutalized, he'd
never been embarrassed or truly scared. He had learned to not feel when it was
happening. The fear and embarrassment came afterward when he was alone with
himself. When Rick had caught him watching, that embarrassment had come
instantaneously. Carl knew at once that he shouldn't have been lurking, and
that he didn't want Rick to think less of him.
Carl noted that he and Rick hadn't been together in the woods since. Both of
them went separately, but Carl noticed a strange expression on Rick's face a
few times--just before he'd disappear into the trees, Rick would make
meaningful eye contact with the boy and smile. A barely noticeable smile--
a twitch of the lips. Carl never saw it as an invitation, thinking it might
have been a reminder, or maybe an inside joke. Carl wished that he hadn't been
caught though because he missed watching. He wanted to see if Rick had changed
now that they were together.
 
The boy flinched when he heard his name. He barely had time to process his
senses and get his knife up before he realized it was Rick's voice. He relaxed
immediately, walking toward the sound. It was the oddest experience to be
thinking about someone and have them appear.
Carl clapped to identify his location. Granted, he could already see Rick, and
it was fairly easy to see in the current conditions, but the washed out grey of
the woods could dull one's senses. It was easy to miss things. Rick might not
be able to see him immediately, especially since he was wearing all black and
the sun's cast through the trees was dimming.
"Hey," Rick greeted, running his fingertip along Carl's hat.
Carl nodded. He and Rick were alone in the woods. The first time since the last
time...
Rick smiled, realizing the same thing that Carl had.
"You've been out here a while," Rick signed. Aloud, he added on, "Everything
all right?"
Carl twisted his lips, "I'm not sure."
Rick put a hand on his hips, "Anything I can do?"
"Just nervous," Carl admitted.
Rick nodded, "Me too."
Carl frowned. Rick was nervous? He had all the control. The power. Carl knew
just how easily Rick would be able to overpower him if that ever came to it.
Even worse, Carl knew the damage Rick could do if he even just asked for sexual
favours...Carl wouldn't be able to let Rick down. Could he even trust himself
not to let Rick do what he wanted? Carl felt sick. He hated the Wolves and how
they'd wrecked him. He couldn't even have a conversation with someone he loved
without being terrified of what was going to happen to him. He was constantly
afraid of being punished.
"Why are you nervous?" Carl glared. "You can do anything you want to me and I
wouldn't be able to stop it. How could I hurt you?" Rick had probably shared
beds with countless people. He'd had a wife, after all. What about this
scenario could possibly put him out of his comfort zone?
Rick stepped back like the words had physically pushed him. That hurt.
Carl felt all of his anger fizzle out at the sight of Rick's face. He'd never
seen that expression on Rick's face before, and he never wanted to see it
again. The man looked so devastated and hurt, Carl wanted to scream at himself
for what he'd said. Carl realized then that he could hurt Rick. In a different
way. Arguably in a worse way. As much as he'd hated what the Wolves had done to
his body, their insults had stuck with him more intensely.
"I'm sorry," Carl signed immediately. "I'm so sorry." He turned away, unable to
face the man. He was pathetic for ever thinking he could have something with
Rick. Something special.
"You're right," Rick said out loud. "I shouldn't be nervous. I know this is a
lot harder for you. I didn't mean it...the same way you mean it."
Carl cried freely now, why was he so useless. What he'd said was cruel. After
Rick had protected him and sacrificed his own life for him...after he loved him
despite how damaged he was. Still, it was a valid point. It was true. Rick just
hadn't deserved to have it thrown at his face like that.
"What I'm nervous for is exactly what just happened," Rick admitted carefully.
"You could hurt me in other ways. I already lost my wife, and my..." Rick
struggled to say it out loud even though it'd been over 10 years. "I lost my
son," Rick managed. "Everyone I've ever known apart from Morgan. I've had a few
girlfriends over the years, I'm not going to lie. When we'd join new groups or
new settlements... it happened. Lost 'em all. Lost everything. I've never been
with a guy before," Rick huffed a laugh. "I've never been with someone who's
been through as much as you. I'm nervous, Carl, that I'm going to say the wrong
thing or do the wrong thing. And more than that, I'm nervous that even if I say
the right thing, it won't be enough for you."
Carl listened to Rick, wishing he could cut his hands off or something. Reverse
time and assure his fingers never made that formation of words again.
Rick continued, "You've been through so much, and so have I. We have different
pasts. I can't tell if you're worse or better off for not being able to
remember most of it."
Carl turned around. "I don't deserve an explanation. You saved my life. Over
and over again. You've never hurt me. You didn't deserve what I said."
Rick shrugged. "Our relationship isn't going to be easy. One day you're going
to feel safe, and the next day you'll have a bad day. You won't be able to
stand me."
The boy looked at Rick oddly.
"It already happens now," Rick explained. "It's normal. When I first realized I
lost my family, I was broken. Then I would have a good day where I felt like I
could move on and truly accept it. I might have a second good day. And then the
third day," Rick's voice cracked. "I might wake up, expecting to see my son
pushing on my shoulder...wanting help getting dressed for school. We're not
going to have good days every day, Carl."
Carl wiped the tears from his eyes. He stepped closer to Rick, staring straight
at the man's chest. He wrapped his arms around the man desperately, letting his
hat be tipped off his head. He pushed his face against Rick's body eagerly.
Rick returned the gesture, holding Carl close to him.
When they finally detached, Rick bent down to grab Carl's hat from the ground.
He brushed it off and placed it atop the boy's head.
Rick reached out to grab Carl's hand, he held it in his own for a while,
watching Carl's reaction. The boy didn't hold return the grip. They both just
stood there for a moment, Rick holding Carl's hand. He examined it, letting his
eyes fall over the faded scars on Carl's wrists were he'd been handcuffed. The
boy's nails were chewed right down.
"Good?" Rick asked quietly before finally letting his arm drop back to his
side.
Carl nodded slightly, adjusting his hat. He eyed Rick's hand, having liked the
way it felt around his own.
"I'll head back now..." Rick said almost awkwardly, waiting for Carl to either
invite him to stay or come with him.
Carl frowned, not stopping Rick from leaving.
Rick nodded once, only mildly disappointed that Carl hadn't really carried the
conversation anywhere. He didn't know what he expected...he didn't want to push
Carl, but sometimes it could be frustrating.
 
Carl decided that he'd done enough patrolling for one day. It only took him a
minute to catch up with Rick.
It was worth it to see the pleased glint in Rick's eyes.
Carl found himself slipping his hand into Rick's as they walked, wanting to
make up for how cold he'd been.
Rick's warm, rough hand returned the gesture immediately.
Rick couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so content. Carl was with him
now. They could get past the broken parts of one another...live within the
cracks.
 
Morgan finished the housewarming gift right on schedule since he wanted it to
be ready before nightfall. The loud cracks and bangs of hammering nails and
sawing wood were a necessary evil of building. They always stayed up late
keeping watch after they'd had particularly loud afternoons--one could never be
too careful about what noise attracted. They'd been lucky to not have any close
calls so far; Rick had thought all the rattling from the carts would've
attracted an intruder for sure. It added to the magic of their camp that no
herds or groups of pillagers had even attempted to take their home.
"Thanks, Morgan," Rick clapped the man on the back. "It means...It's a lot."
Morgan nodded with a reserved smile. He was glad he could give something to his
friends, and he truly was happy...but he was only human. He couldn't deny the
envy that was smoldering within him. To find someone to love. To have a loved
one return to you in some form or another. Rick didn't have his son back, and
not even a surrogate, really, since he and Carl would soon become lovers, so it
wasn't like his pain was completely erased, but Morgan had no other way to see
it. Rick had acquired something equal in measure to what he'd lost while Morgan
had nothing. Duane was lost.
Rick saw the poorly concealed pain in Morgan's expression.
Carl hung back from Morgan and Rick, observing the exchanged without wanting to
be involved.
"Carl, you go on ahead," Rick suggested tersely.
 
Carl responded by entering the canteen and the group's quarters, leaving Rick
and Morgan to it.
 
Before Morgan had started his project, the building had just been one large
room with picnic tables and a small kitchen area in the back, separated only by
a swinging door. When the group had first decided to use the building for a
sleeping quarters, they tried squeezing into the back, but the abandoned ovens
and refrigerators full of long rotted food made it difficult for the three of
them to fit. They'd ended up setting up their cots in the dining room portion
of the building.
Morgan had completely transformed the room in only one day. Really, Morgan had
gone to town on the whole thing. Not only had he removed all of the appliances
from the kitchen, he'd used the cabinetry to construct a huge bed for Rick and
Carl. It even had a headboard. Carl couldn't guarantee its stability, because
as far as he knew, Morgan hadn't been a career carpenter, but it looked pretty
good. Now Rick and Carl had the back room, and Morgan slept in the dining room
portion. The green swinging door separated their quarters. It was so simple,
but so effective and heartwarming. Carl couldn't wait to see what they could do
with the appliances now that they weren't hanging around uselessly.
Carl entered his and Rick's room hesitantly, eyeing the two cots that had been
joined to make a bed big enough for two. Carl smiled when he noticed that
Morgan had placed his clothes, spare boots, and notebooks in the corner. Next
to his belongings were a pair of Rick's cowboy boots and his own mini wardrobe.
The boy put the back of his hand up to his mouth, trailing it up to wipe his
eye. This was incredible.
He toed his boots off, placing them neatly next to his other boots. He removed
his hat and his jacket before crawling into the bed carefully. He was still
wearing a sweater and jeans, but he wasn't ready to be in anything less if he
was going to be sharing a bed. Not yet, at least. Plus it was winter, and the
building didn't have the best insulation.
He awaited Rick patiently, the covers drawn up right under his chin. His
stomach was bursting with butterflies.
Chapter End Notes
     grimesobcest.tumblr.com
***** Sort Your Head *****
Chapter Summary
     Rick and Carl begin developing their romantic relationship. The quiet
     intimacy and the security of being with a loved one are just as scary
     to Carl as having actual sex.
     Carl progressing sexually has less to do with pleasure, and more with
     regaining his identity. His mind and his body were stolen from him,
     and now he can make his own choices. He will decide what he does with
     his body and when. Carl can try to make peace with his mind on his
     own terms--not Rick's.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Rick was eager to check out the new bedroom he and Carl would share, but he
wanted to make sure everything was good with Morgan first.
"You all right?" Rick asked.
Morgan shrugged, "It's nothing. Really."
"You can't lie to me," Rick urged. "Is this about Duane?" He wondered.
The man sighed, "It is and it isn't."
Morgan continued, "I was happy to do this. I wanted to do this. But I can't
help but see what I don't have when you and him..." He paused, "It's my problem
not yours."
Rick shifted awkwardly. "I..." He didn't want to apologize for finding solace
in broken, scorched world. He didn't want to apologize for finding Carl. For
finding something he'd never had before. This boy meant so much to him. He
wasn't just a replacement or a project. He loved Carl. He found strength in
this young man. He felt truly sorry for Morgan's sorrow and jealousy...but that
didn't make him guilty. He was allowed to have this.
"You don't need to say anything," Morgan insisted.
"I hope you'll find someone, Morgan. Carl and me...it's different, but you're
still his friend. You're not alone. You do have us."
Morgan looked away, "I know I'm never getting Duane back. Or Jenny. I know
that, Rick. It was easier when you had nothing either."
Rick put a hand on the man's shoulder, "I know, I know. I'm sorry," Rick
managed. It was the right thing to say. He was sorry that Morgan was upset, but
he didn't wish things were back the way they were.
"I love Carl like a son," Morgan added. "I'm not sayin' I'd trade it. You
understand?" Morgan asked with a hint of desperation.
"Of course," Rick responded definitively. "You can have this too. You will." He
surprised himself. He usually didn't speak so assuredly or hopefully. He
actually believed it though.
Morgan nodded. "I'm sorry, Rick. I didn't mean anything about Carl."
Rick shook his head. "Thank you for doing what you did for us. You're my
brother, Morgan. Don't do this to yourself."
The two men embraced.
"All right," Morgan answered finally. "Go on, then. Tell him I said goodnight."
 
Rick opened the door carefully, unable to contain his happiness. He was eager
to reconnect with Carl after the tension they'd experienced in the woods. He
would do whatever it took to earn the boy's complete trust. Rick wanted to make
it more than clear to Carl that he would never hurt him for any reason.
Rick looked at Carl with a reserved expression, not wanting to look overly
eager. He didn't want too intense of an emotion to put the boy on edge.
Carl peeked over the blankets.
"Hey," Rick whispered, looking around the room with interest before allowing
his eyes to settle back onto Carl's hidden form.
Only a lantern in the corner cast any light within the dark room.
Carl looked back at Rick, his heart hammering.
"So," Rick said quietly, "I'm gonna say it out loud because I don't want to
screw it up signing."
Carl waited.
"I don't want you to worry about anything," Rick began. "This bed doesn't mean
I expect anything from you. If you say the words, I'll go back out there with
Morgan. Don't be scared to hurt our feelings," Rick laughed lightly. "Okay?"
Carl shrugged. "Earlier was a mistake," he sat up to sign properly. "I'm not
scared if you. The bed."
Rick ducked his head.
Carl added, "We spent three weeks alone together. This won't be different."
"Okay," Rick affirmed. "Just let me know if I do anything wrong."
"Let me know if I do anything wrong," Carl signed with a knowing smile. "I make
mistakes too."
Rick nodded. "Well, for starters, that's my side of the bed."
Carl raised his eyebrows, "Not a chance."
"I should be closer to the door," Rick signed back.
"Fine," Carl signed reluctantly. "If someone comes in here to shoot us, won't
matter who's first."
Rick frowned, "Smart ass."
 
The first night passed with ease. Carl didn't lie completely still and alert
like had had the first time he'd shared a bed with Rick. Besides, they'd been
sleeping right next to each other for months. The only difference was that
there wasn't a frame between them. It was just one big bed. It wasn't the most
comfortable either; not like the mattresses they were able to find in abandoned
houses. This bed was makeshift, padded with sleeping bags and random soft
materials. It was better than sleeping on the ground, that was for sure. Carl
was used to sleeping on concrete anyway, so having a firm bed didn't really
bother him.
Carl tapped Rick on the shoulder on the fifth night. Rick always kept his back
turned to Carl out of courtesy, but Carl knew he wasn't a side sleeper. He was
tired of seeing the man being ridiculous.
"Hmm?" Rick rolled over to face Carl.
"Stay like that," Carl signed. It was a bit difficult to do since he was lying
down, but Rick understood.
"Sure?"
Carl nodded.
Nothing more than that really happened in the bed.
They didn't have any more heart-to-hearts. They didn't cuddle. They didn't
discuss their relationship. They just slept next to each other.
 
The more Carl got used to sleeping beside Rick, the more he wondered if that
was all there was to a relationship? Was that it? It was kind of boring,
really. Nothing was different between him and Rick now that they had a bed.
Carl was disappointed if he was being honest. He'd been nervous and
excited...for things to be the same?
He wanted to step it up a notch. He didn't like seeing a normally brusque and
defiant Rick tip toe around his feelings. He wasn't interested in the
everlasting sensitivity Rick was showing. Carl was getting annoyed with it. He
wanted to make a splash. Feel something. He wanted to catch Rick with his guard
down. Maybe get into another fight. He wanted Rick to be aggressive again. He
craved to see the killer in Rick again. Carl needed to see it. He wanted to
feel protected again. Not emotionally like Rick was doing now. He wanted Rick
to kill for him.
Carl struggled with these feelings for a few days, opting to hide out in the
library and get through his reading list. They were already prepared for
winter, and there were no more chores to do since they'd been so diligent in
their preparations. Really, all they ever needed to do in a day was circle
their perimeter for walkers, keep the fire stoked, and make sure their wood
supply never depleted too much. All three men had nothing much to do, and they
all enjoyed their alone time. Rick liked to polish his boots and sharpen his
knives. Morgan liked to practice his fighting. Carl liked to read.
It was so difficult for him to concentrate, though. Things had been too calm.
He'd felt secure for too long, and the feeling was bizarre. He hadn't felt
danger or risk. For so long, he'd been tormented every day. Then after he'd
been rescued, he was constantly fighting--on the verge of death for weeks. When
he, Rick, and Morgan had been making the camp theirs, they were worried that
anything could come for them at any time. They weren't certain of the future.
Things had stagnated and frozen along with the winter. Carl hated it. He needed
something to take his mind off the roaring silence. He was so bored and
unstimulated.
 
Carl was on edge when he went into the bathroom. The small windows that lined
the wall above the sinks allowed him to see his reflection in the mirror
easily. He'd been obsessed with mirrors before, but as he became more
accustomed to his reflection and appearance, he needed the mirror less and
less. He wouldn't admit to himself that he wasn't completely done with the
process, though. He had never allowed himself to get comfortable with his
bottom half.
Reacquainting himself with the pain of viewing himself in the mirror was just
what he needed.
He took off his shirt and his pants despite the cold. He wore boxer briefs with
long johns over them since it was so cold outside, but he enjoyed the extra
layer so much, he knew he wouldn't be ditching them in the summer. Carl removed
them reluctantly. He let himself stand almost naked in the empty building,
allowing the chilled air to wash over his exposed body. He kept his eye closed
as he lifted off his hat and unfastened his eye patch.
Carl slowly brought his gaze up to the mirror. He had to back up fairly far to
see his entire body in the reflection. He cringed. So many of the scars were
fading, but others remained just as raw as they did when he'd received the
initial wounds.
His legs were thin, but he was lean. Despite how hardened he looked, there was
still a softness about him. Wherever there were long expanses of battered skin,
and wherever sharp bones jutted out...they were always rounded off with a
curved shoulder or his growing muscles. His stomach was flat,but soft too. He
had no ab definition or anything like that. Years of malnutrition had taken
away almost all of his body hair, as well. He grimaced at the irreconcilable
man boy before him. He looked like a little kid, but his height and his scars
told a different story.
Carl turned his back to the mirror, squeezing his eyes closed. He looked over
his shoulder, getting an eyeful of the worst of his scars. A long gash extended
from his left shoulder blade to the ribs on his his right side. Tears welled up
and burned when Carl looked at that one. It had been almost black when it first
scarred, but it had dulled to burgundy. Now it was just a rough welt. He turned
back around so he wouldn't have to look at any more. He leaned forward to brace
himself on the sink. He was panting with exertion. Beads of sweat cooled and
evaporated before they could even form. The boy shivered.
He put his clothes back on quickly, stomach rolling. He felt better when he
replaced the eyepatch and the hat, but he couldn't shake his mood. He wrapped a
scarf around his neck and went to fetch his jacket. It was another perfect day
to spend patrolling the woods. He didn't want to see anyone. Least of all
himself.
 
"What's the matter?" Rick asked aloud. Carl wasn't looking at him.
Carl sat on the edge of the bed. He'd spent hours alone in the woods, and that
was more than long enough to get his thoughts in order. Funny how all day he'd
wanted to avoid Rick and avoid confronting his emotions, but now that he was
with the man, he realized how wrong he'd been. Carl could feel his edge wearing
off just by being in Rick's presence. It was remarkable. Still, Carl couldn't
bring himself to let Rick in.
His hat was off, piled with his other clothes and belongings. He was down just
to his pants and a sweater. His head was in his hands, and all he could see was
the floor.
Rick repeated himself, approaching the boy carefully. He hadn't seen Carl all
day which was pretty normal, but it wasn't normal for Carl to look so bothered.
When Carl didn't react, Rick knelt on the floor in front of him. He was able to
see Carl's face and determine he wasn't crying. It was almost worse, though.
The boy's expression betrayed nothing at all.
Rick stood up, sitting beside Carl on the bed instead. "Carl," Rick tried.
"I...I don't know what to do."
Rick couldn't see it, but Carl smiled at that. Rick was honest.
Carl waited a minute before lifting his head up. He kept his good eye focused
down while he nimbly removed his eyepatch for the second time that day.
The boy brushed his hair aside, allowing his injury to be completely exposed to
Rick. He knew the man had seen it before...but never purposefully. Never this
intimately.
 
Rick averted his eyes reflexively before looking back. The boy's eye socket was
empty. Rick had seen people missing an eye before, but not people who'd had
their eye shot out. Usually they had an eyelid left, or a relatively intact
socket. The entire area was scarred and rough. The skin varied in texture and
colour, and the socket structure was basically ravaged--it was like a sunken,
shallow hole. It didn't disgust Rick. He'd seen all sorts in this apocalyptic
landscape. He was pretty desensitized to injuries considering rotted corpses
were walking around, and some of them got beyond ugly. They were grotesque.
Carl was not grotesque.
Rick reached forward to moved the boy's hair aside. He let the backs of his
fingers trace around Carl's eyebrow and around his eye. Let let himself feel
the imperfections of Carl's skin. Rick grabbed the stray strands over Carl's
hair and tucked them behind his ear.
"You think this makes you ugly?" Rick said.
Carl smirked.
Rick sighed. He still didn't know what to say because, yeah, the injury wasn't
pretty. Of course it was shocking and uncomfortable to look at. But, what did
any of that matter? It was Carl's face. It was Carl. Rick didn't love him
because of or in spite of his looks. He just loved him.
The man wasn't sure what Carl wanted from him. Was he waiting for a reaction?
An insult? A compliment.
Rick just leaned forward slightly. He pressed his lips to the scarred skin of
Carl's damaged eye. He kissed the boy, and then backed away.
 
Carl looked up at Rick in alarm. He frowned in confusion.
Rick shook his head, leaning forward to kiss Carl's forehead, and then his
cheek, and then his shoulder.
Rick looked at the boy mildly triumphant and smug. Now what was Carl's move?
Carl looked at his lap. He was frustrated and pleased at the same time.
He stood up. Fine then. Rick had something to prove? Let him prove it.
 
Carl stood in front of Rick with a neutral expression on his face. He
unbuttoned his shirt, took off his long sleeved undershirt, and then his tank
top. He'd been shirtless in front of Rick before, but not since they'd been
together.
Before Rick could figure out what he wanted to say, Carl unbuttoned his jeans
and slid off his long johns.
Rick stopped Carl before he could go any further and take off his actual
underwear.
"That's enough," Rick decided. His voice was threatening.
Carl stopped immediately, almost coming back to himself.
He crossed his arms.
 
Rick looked at Carl speculatively, not sure how he wanted to play  it. He had
been showing nothing but patience for this boy, but it was getting old. How
many times did he have to prove himself? He got where Carl was coming from, but
Jesus Christ, why did he keep doing this? What were the answers he was looking
for? Rick usually understood Carl even when the boy didn't say a word. Rick was
at a loss though.
"I'll play your games," Rick announced lightly. "Here," he began, standing up
to face Carl.
Rick traced one of Carl's scars lightly, staring at it with an unreadable
expression.
Carl flinched.
"Exactly," Rick said. He picked up the boy's long johns.
Rick was torn; he debated throwing them at Carl and walking out. He couldn't
though. Carl was hurting. He wasn't trying to hurt others. Rick could only hope
that his actions would make a difference in helping the boy.
The man sighed, sitting back down on the bed and holding out the underwear
while stretching the waistband out. He held them low so Carl could put his leg
through.
Once Carl had his first layer back on, Rick made him hold up his arms so he
could pull the sweater down over his head.
 
Carl stood by the bed awkwardly, fully clothed. He couldn't meet Rick's eyes.
Rick held his hand out.
Carl took it eagerly, not making the mistake he'd made in the woods before.
Carl didn't want to see the look on Rick's face when he thought he was walking
away from him.
Rick smiled at Carl when their hands joined. He pulled the boy closer to him.
"Keep your clothes on, Carl. You're going to drive both of us crazy."
Carl frowned in confusion.
"Nobody's expecting you to be a model," Rick joked. "Your body doesn't bother
me. You're trying to convince me that you're some monster...but I think you're
the one that needs convincing...Convincing that you're not..."
Carl rolled his eye. Know-it-all Rick.
"I'm serious, Carl." Rick realized that the boy responded to commands better
than pleas. He hated to use it against the boy, but desperate times called for
it. "You need to stop acting like this when something's bothering you. Use your
words," Rick suggested. "I can try to read into your stunts, but it's
exhausting. Just tell me what's wrong. Otherwise what's the point of being with
me?"
Carl nodded. Rick was right.
"Okay," Carl signed. "I will tell you then."
Rick smiled briefly, glad that he'd gotten through to Carl.
"We share a bed, but nothing's different," Carl complained. "I feel like I'm
doing something wrong. Like something is missing."
Rick considered his words before responding. He signed to be fair, "I'm moving
at your pace. I'm not going to touch you or consider touching you until I get
the go ahead. That's all."
Carl shook his head. "That's not you. I don't like it."
"What do you mean?" Rick signed.
"You are Rick. You do what you want. You don't lie or wait."
Rick huffed a laugh.
Carl continued. "You're rough and mean sometimes. I don't want you to act
different because you think I'm weak."
"Wow," Rick shook his head in wonder. "You're something," he spoke.
Carl waited, glowering.
Rick shrugged, "I see what you're saying, but I don't do those things because
you're weak. Think about it, Carl," he stopped signing mid way through because
he was getting into it, "I just touched you. On your shoulder. You almost
knocked me out."
"No," Carl argued.
"I saw your fist," Rick grinned fondly. "I saw you get angry before you got
scared."
"Anger is your first response," Rick said. "You only learned to be scared
because of them. Because if you hadn't been scared, you wouldn't have survived.
You would've fought too hard, and they would've killed you."
"If anyone had touched you like that before..." Rick speculated, "I bet they
would've been put down without hesitation."
"So, I don't hold back because I think you're weak," Rick continued. "I do it
because I don't want to make you uncomfortable, first of all. And because one
of these days, your fear is going to go away, and I'm not losing a hand."
Carl smoothed his hand over his beard. He was really starting to hate it. He
liked the way Rick's lips had felt on his exposed skin, but with this beard in
the way...he wouldn't be able to feel Rick's mouth there. He knew he would have
to cut it eventually, but he just wasn't ready for it. And Rick was keeping his
for the winter, too. Carl vowed to let it go in the spring.
 
That night was the first time Rick put his arm around Carl as he slept. If Carl
wanted Rick to start taking more risks and showing more affection. If Carl
wanted Rick to initiate more contact, then he would.
Carl had spent so long terrified of Rick touching him. How funny that the boy
was now terrified of Rick not touching him. He couldn't even say for sure when
that had changed. He had been so diligent in counting days and keeping track of
everything, but this had slipped right by him.
Carl found himself with his back to Rick, allowing the man to lie right up
against him. When Rick snaked his arm under Carl's pillow, and rested his
exposed arm on top of Carl's side, Carl was pleased. He enjoyed how strong Rick
felt. The man's body completely enveloped his. Carl was affronted that the man
could be so warm despite the cold weather. The boy smiled to himself at thought
of how much time he'd wasted shivering when he could've just cuddled with Rick.
He wished he had the words to say that he loved Rick, but all he could do was
press back against the man and let him know that his touch was welcomed.
 
 
Getting kissed on the forehead and on the cheek was nothing like getting kissed
on the lips. Carl added that to the list of important distinctions he made.
Just like getting held by Rick was different from the way the Wolves held him.
When Rick had first started kissing Carl on the cheek, the boy had been
surprised to remark how nice it felt. It had been a sign of intimacy he'd never
received. The Wolves had never tried anything with his mouth before because
they'd been scared of losing skin...so really, Carl had never been kissed
before as far as he could tell. Of course, after the Wolves had realized that
Carl had no fight, they'd used his mouth for other things...but not kissing.
When Rick first kissed Carl on the lips, the boy felt his face heat up. His
mouth watered. He felt shaky.
Carl had been in the library as usual. He'd been organizing all of the leftover
books, tapes, and random inventory alphabetically. He had also decided to split
the library into two halves. Material he'd already read, and material that he
still needed to. All of them had enough time on their hands that they weren't
picky about subject matter. If it was readable, they would consume it.
The boy was about half way through, strategically leaving the medical
dictionary he'd once found for last. He wanted to decide what to do with that
later.
"Carl," Rick announced his entrance although Carl had heard the man approaching
well before he'd appeared.
Carl snapped once in greeting, not feeling like clapping. Besides, Rick could
pretty well see him already.
"Need any help?" Rick asked quietly.
Carl deliberated. He was keen to say no, that way he could just stay in the
library by himself. However, there were a lot of books to me organized. Then
again, could Rick really take this seriously and do it correctly? It needed to
be flawless.
"I'm not sure," Carl decided. "I'm moving the books around. Putting them in
order."
Rick nodded in understanding. He knew that the library belonged to Carl. It was
his haven. Ten, or even five years ago, Rick would've never dreamed of having
enough free time to organize books. That would've been the least of their
concerns.
"Well," Rick hesitated. He could tell Carl wanted help, but didn't want it at
the same time. He wanted to see the project through by himself. "I'll just keep
you company for a little bit then. Me and Morgan just finished up with the
wood. He's doing the perimeter watch right now."
Carl nodded once. "Is Morgan...okay?"
Rick leaned back, surprised at the question. "Why do you ask?"
Carl shrugged. "Seems sad?"
Rick raised his eyebrows, "Yeah, but there's nothing to be done. Sometimes
people just need to be left alone."
Carl smirked, "You don't leave me alone." He was just teasing. Rick always gave
him lots of space.
"Oh, am I bothering you? Your highness?" Rick chuckled. He approached Carl to
give him a friendly shove.
Carl shook his head in protest, shoving Rick back just as lightly. "If you want
to spend time with me, maybe you should make an appointment with my assistant."
It usually took Carl a while to sign longer sentences because some of the words
needed to be explained with other signs, and some words needed to be spelled
out entirely. Obviously, they couldn't be perfect. But Carl's fingers had moved
so swiftly and precisely for this joke, Rick didn't know what to do. He was so
impressed and proud of Carl. He could count on one hand how many times the kid
had made a joke. It was always special to see Carl's face light up
mischievously. Rick lived for it.
Rick put his arm around Carl's waist and pulled him closer. He ducked his head
around the boy's hat, connecting their lips easily. More importantly than how
the kiss felt, Rick noted how Carl's body felt. There was no fear or
hesitation. Carl wasn't resisting or angry.
Rick pulled back to look at Carl, willing to give anything if he could just
hear one word of feedback. The boy's face said it all, though. A little
bashful, a little surprised, and, very happy.
The man left after the kiss, figuring that Carl would like to be alone with his
thoughts.
 
Carl left the library earlier than usual, wanting to make it back to his and
Rick's room before the man returned.
He was surprised to run into Morgan. Usually when Morgan did perimeter watch,
he was gone well into the night.
Carl waved, unsure if Morgan wanted to have a conversation. Certain social cues
were still lost on him.
"Hey," Morgan greeted, sitting down on one of the picnic tables still in the
canteen.
Carl nodded once. He wanted to ask Morgan how he was doing and why he was sad,
but it was so foreign to him. He was used to Morgan doing the asking. He was
used to reading Rick's mood on the man's face.
"You're sad?" Carl signed awkwardly. He was so out of his element that he
cringed at his words.
Morgan looked amused. "You always cut to the chase, Carl. I like that."
Carl shifted his weight. "Why?" It was a two-for-one question.
Morgan shrugged, "You got enough on your plate to worry about. I'm doin' just
fine."
Carl frowned, "No." Why did Morgan and Rick always do this? Act like he was
more important. Act like their problems didn't matter. Carl hated it. Hated
what happened to him. He didn't want it to make him different. He shouldn't
always be the one receiving support. He wanted to support his friend too.
Especially since he hadn't been able to support Morgan's son. Carl tried not to
think about it, but he'd seen a lot of people come and go in his time with the
Wolves. He always wondered if things would've been different if he had tried to
work with fellow prisoners to escape, instead of just watching them die.
"No," Carl repeated. "Tell me. Your sadness matters too."
"I miss Duane," Morgan admitted simply. "I miss my wife. I...I want to find
someone."
Carl gazed at Morgan in understanding, tilting his head to read the man's
expression.
"Do you wish it was just you and Rick again?" Carl wondered.
Morgan didn't say anything. "Did Rick tell you that?" He finally asked.
Carl shook his head, "He didn't say anything. I'm just asking you."
Morgan huffed. How easily that boy understood everything around him. Maybe it
was better to forget all the bullshit social cues and niceties poured on to you
while growing up...Carl didn't have any of that, and he was the most
sympathetic and real friend that Morgan had ever had. Carl wasn't a liar, and
he didn't waste words. He just observed and listened.
"I'm jealous," Morgan answered. "Rick found you."
Carl was confused at first. He thought that Morgan meant that he wanted him.
Carl wanted to say that he loved Rick, but then he looked into Morgan's eyes.
Morgan didn't look at him the same way that Rick looked at him. Morgan looked
at Carl wistfully, sure, but it was detached. Carl could see the difference.
"You want a partner?" Carl surmised.
"A partner. A child. Someone," Morgan listed. "You're my friend. Rick's my
brother...I want something more."
Carl reached forward hesitantly. He gently placed his hand on Morgan's
shoulder, bowing his head in sympathy.
He backed away after a moment. "I never thought anyone would come for me," Carl
told the man.
Morgan felt ashamed.
"But you did," Carl nodded with emphasis. "Somebody will come for you."
 
Carl waited patiently for Rick, nearly falling asleep in the comfort of the
darkness. The bed was warm, too.
His heart flipped when the door swung open.
Rick walked in quietly, not wanting to wake Carl if the boy was asleep.
Carl sat up when Rick entered, wanting the man to know he was there. He turned
on the lamp.
 
Rick undid his holster, lying it next to the bed for easy access. He took his
boots off with a contented sigh. If he was being honest, Carl was the reason he
was taking so long. He wasn't sure what thoughts had developed in Carl since
the kiss. He wasn't in a hurry to face the situation.
Carl snapped his fingers at Rick while the man's back was turned. He wanted his
attention.
Rick turned around with a smirk, "Oh, you wanted something?"
Carl rolled his eye, "Hurry up," he signed impatiently. He glanced at the lamp,
wishing they didn't need to leave it on. If he could talk, then they could have
a conversation in the dark. As it was, they needed to keep the lamp on if they
wanted to exchange words.
Rick would've loved to drag it out and make jokes. Make a show of walking to
the bed before turning around as if he'd forgotten something. Taking forever to
actually pull back the blankets...He wasn't in the mood though. Carl was never
this excited to see him. Rick wasn't wasting an opportunity.
As soon as Rick got into the bed, Carl was clinging to him.
 
Rick would've never even dreamed of this happening. Not even three weeks ago.
"What's this?" Rick asked hesitantly.
Carl didn't answer. He just held onto the man. He was trying to express
gratitude for Rick listening to him. The man had made a move. Carl had never
been kissed before, and it wasn't something he was bound to forget. He wanted
another one.
"Get the light," Rick said gently. "Unless you want to talk?"
Carl flew at the lamp, extinguishing it eagerly. No, he didn't want to talk.
Rick welcomed the boy back into his arms with a smile when the boy rolled back
over to him.
Carl waited for Rick to kiss him again or mention the kiss, or do something.
But Rick just remained silent.
 
The boy tried squirming and adjusting his position to alert Rick to his needs,
but the man never took the hint. It seemed as if Rick was content just to lie
there. Carl pouted in the darkness.
"Carl," Rick complained. "Why do you keep moving around?"
Carl glared at Rick even though the man couldn't see. He sat up in the bed,
crossing his arms.
Rick waited for any indication that Carl wanted to talk, but the boy never
tried to turn on their lamp. He sat up after a minute, realizing that Carl
wasn't lying back down.
"What is it?" Rick whispered. For a second, he couldn't help but wonder if Carl
had been bitten or injured in some way. Was it painful for him to lie on his
side? Panic set through him for a second before he remembered that Carl had
been in the library all day. Fuck.
Carl wanted Rick to be the one to figure it out, but this was getting
ridiculous. He held out his arms in the dark, feeling for Rick's face. His
coordination was a little off, but he was able to make Rick's face once his
fingers made contact with Rick's beard. Carl tapped a few times on the man's
lips. Maybe then he would get the hint.
Rick wondered why Carl was hitting him for barely a second before he was
laughing. He couldn't help it. This boy was a treasure. Such a privilege to see
a grown man asking for a kiss as if he were a child. Rick knew that his
assessment wasn't far off, considering the boy had spent so many years living
with an untreated head injury. Still, Carl was so grown up in other ways. Rick
couldn't be anything but fond of the boy.
 
Rick found Carl's mouth in the dark, finally giving him what he wanted. He
didn't dare involve his tongue or do anything to intensify the kiss.
Rick had never kissed a boy before, so that was a little different...Even more
strange was that he'd never kissed someone who'd never been kissed. As far as
he knew, he'd never kissed someone who'd been so terribly abused either. He and
Carl made quite the pair.
Carl pulled back first. It felt so odd to touch lips with someone else. He
didn't like the feeling of his and Rick's beards clashing either. There was too
much in the way. He was satisfied for the time being.
Rick noticed that Carl seemed to be done with the kiss. He lay back down,
waiting for Carl to join him under the blankets.
"Carl?" Rick said, pulling the covers up as far they would go so Carl would be
warm. "You can kiss me any time you want. You don't need to ask for it."
Carl nodded against Rick's chest.
 
Rick woke up to Carl writhing violently. The boy was whining and struggling. He
had no idea how long it had been since they'd both fallen asleep. Rick wasn't
sure what to do, so he got out of the bed. He found his way to the lamp and
turned it on.
Carl's face was contorted in pain, and his movements had forced his eye patch
off.
Rick stood over the boy hesitantly, reaching down to gently wake him.
"Carl," Rick tried.
No change.
"Carl. Wake up!" Rick said louder. He touched the boy's shoulder again,
gripping it more tightly.
Carl's reaction was terrifying. It was almost supernatural the way he reeled
from Rick's touch. He was crouched in front of the man, a devilish look in his
eye.
"Jesus Christ," Rick said, stepping back. Not much scared him, but waking up to
that in the middle of the night was fucked up.
Carl relaxed immediately when he saw it was Rick.
"What the hell's going on?" Rick frowned.
An image of the black woman hitting the ground with a knife in her throat faded
from behind his eye lids. The look on Duane's face before he got put down. The
feeling of his pants getting yanked down. The boy looked away. He was used to
these dreams. They happened all the time back when he was with the Wolves.
They'd happened a few times after Rick and Morgan had saved him. It had been
months since he'd had one, but apparently they were back.
"I thought..." Rick put a hand up to his eye and dragged it back down his
cheek. "What happened?"
 
"Everything all right?" Morgan asked from behind the door. He had the courtesy
not to enter.
Rick looked to Carl before calling Morgan in. Carl nodded.
"Come in," Rick responded.
"Are you okay?" Morgan signed to Carl.
Carl shrugged. "Dreams."
"You haven't had one this bad since we first found you," Morgan responded,
glancing at Rick. The man looked lost.
"I think it's because we kissed," Carl admitted.
Morgan glared at Rick before turning back to Carl. It was bad enough that the
boy didn't really know he wasn't supposed to talk about things like that
outside of the relationship.
Rick wanted to leave the room. What was the point of it all? He thought things
were going well. Progressing. Why was kissing Carl causing so much turmoil. He
would hate to see Carl's reaction if they got any further.
Morgan didn't know what to say.
Carl corrected the situation immediately when he noticed how pissed Morgan
looked and how hurt Rick seemed. Fuck. He hated signing. He hated being weak.
He hated these goddamn dreams. What the fuck was wrong with him?
"I asked him to," Carl explained. "I wanted it to happen. I don't know why the
dreams came back."
Rick looked appeased with Carl's words. It was nice to know that Carl felt just
as confused as he did.
"Maybe it's subconscious," Rick offered. "Taking all these steps so
fast...maybe your mind is trying to catch up with you."
Carl nodded eagerly, desperate to accept any explanation that didn't make him
look like an idiot. He wanted the kiss. He wanted to be more to Rick...do more
with him. Just. He couldn't escape his mind sometimes, and his mind was where
all of the terrors from his past waited. He felt like a ticking time bomb.
"I think this is private," Morgan said awkwardly. "I'm gonna take a walk."
 
"I'm sorry," Carl looked at Rick with one glistening eye. "I didn't mean to do
that."
Rick nodded, "I know. I know."
"What are you going to do?" Carl wondered.
"You can't help what you dream about," Rick shrugged.
"But I don't want this to happen every time you kiss me," Carl complained.
"It probably won't," Rick said honestly. "This was the first time. The first
day. Maybe... I don't know," Rick sighed. "Maybe it triggered something. A
memory."
"Well, I don't care," Carl responded defiantly. "I don't care if I wake up
screaming. I'm not scared of dreams. I'm going to do what I want."
Rick raised his eyebrows.
"Fuck dreams," Carl continued. "I'm not ruining this."
Rick looked at Carl for a moment before shaking his head. "You're not ruining
anything, Carl. They ruined it."
Carl pursed his lips.
"They'll rot in hell and you'll move on from this," Rick said. He moved to take
his place back in the bed, his feet freezing from standing on the ground
without shoes. "We'll move on together. As long as it takes, okay?"
Carl nodded gratefully. Rick wasn't giving up on him.
"Just don't kill me in my sleep," Rick joked.
Carl smiled with chagrin. He didn't think he could kill Rick even if he wanted
to.
 
Carl was tired of being a victim. Every time he looked at Rick, he was reminded
of what had been taken away from him. If he and Rick had met under completely
different circumstances, Carl knew that he and Rick probably would've already
had sex. He knew it. That's what normal people did, apparently. That's what
everyone in the books did. They met someone they liked, and they had sex.
Carl didn't want to do that. It was bizarre; he wanted to want to have sex. He
wished he could feel that desire, but all he could feel when he thought of sex
was pain. The worst part was that he knew Rick wouldn't hurt him, but he
couldn't help it. That was the worst of it all. He couldn't fucking help it.
It's like even in death, the Wolves were torturing him. He couldn't feel the
right way, and he couldn't be normal again.
He went back to the bathroom. He wanted to confront his fears. Rick didn't
think of him as weak, and he trusted Rick's judgement. Carl needed to prove it
to himself.
 
When Carl got to the underwear beneath his long johns, he didn't hesitate this
time. He took everything off despite the cold. He forced himself to look down
at his penis.
Carl grimaced so forcefully it was almost a snarl. All he could see when he
looked at the appendage was all the people who'd touched it against his will.
The women who'd made him penetrate them. The people who'd slapped and pinched
and grabbed. Carl shook his head, choking out a sob. He looked away for a
moment, but then he forced himself to look again.
There was nobody fucking here. Everyone who'd ever hurt him was dead. Everybody
who might want to hurt him wouldn't get past Rick.
He was taken aback by the thought, but it really was true, wasn't it.
Every single person who'd ever touched him against his will was dead.
That never had to happen to him again.
He put his clothes back on, having had enough. He stared at himself in the
mirror for a long time.
 
It took Carl a few more days to organize the library. After that was done, he
had nothing else to occupy his time but reading the books he hadn't already
read. Of course, he patrolled the woods often, trained with Morgan, and spent
quiet afternoons near Rick...but there was a lot of time left to think.
Everything slowed down in the winter, so many an afternoon were spent lazing
around the camp or napping. Sometimes they practiced sign language or came up
with their own constructions for things that constantly evaded them.
There was a deck of cards and a game of Scrabble in the library that Carl had
been pondering for a while. He'd come across them while organizing the
inventory, and he was interested. He had no idea what to do with cards, and
he'd read the rules to Scrabble over and over again. He didn't want to bring
these items to Rick and Morgan's attention if the men weren't interested. Carl
wanted to play, though. He was familiar with the concept of a game, but he'd
never played one. He was eager to see if it was fun. But, then again, he was
used to reacting differently to things that were normal to everyone else. Sex
was scary to him, not fun. Maybe games seemed fun to him, but perhaps Morgan
and Rick would see it another way.
He brought his finds to the picnic table outside. The sun was shining, so it
was crisp yet warm.
 
Rick was so attuned to Carl that he didn't even have to look up from what he
was doing to see the boy approaching. It was odd for him to be out of the
library so early in the afternoon.
"What's up?" Rick signed, finally putting his knife back into his pocket when
Carl got close enough.
Carl held up his armful of finds. Scrabble, a deck of cards, and Monopoly. He
didn't know the first thing about Monopoly, but it had a cool name.
Carl kept his expression schooled in case Rick wasn't impressed, but he
shouldn't have worried. Rick's face went from curious to elated.
"Games?" Rick signed.
Carl nodded, warming up to the situation since it was going well.
"Can you teach me to play?"
Rick's face slid into one of the most common expressions he used when speaking
with Carl. It was hard to label with just one word. He felt pity and pride. He
was paternal yet flirtatious. Resigned yet romantic. Teaching his boyfriend to
play a game was such a normal notion, but it had been unfamiliar for so long.
Carl needed to be taught things that others took knowing for granted. Rick
wanted to be the one to teach Carl all of these things, but it felt so morbid.
Playing games with your strange rescue child in the apocalypse. But Rick
couldn't think of anything he'd rather do, or anyone he'd rather be doing it
with.
"Yeah. I'll teach you," Rick decided. He'd taught another Carl before this one,
after all.
 
It turned out that Carl was the best at cards, Rick was the best at Monopoly,
and Morgan was the best at Scrabble.
Carl was happy to learn something new about himself. He was not a sore loser.
He enjoyed winning, like anyone. He would never forget to sign "I win" each
time the opportunity arose, but he would never fail to congratulate both Morgan
and Rick when they won.
Carl loved games.
Both Rick and Morgan showed him a few card games he could play alone if they
weren't around. Solitaire and Free Cell were the easiest to remember.
Carl couldn't really play classic Scrabble by himself, but he had fun
rearranging the tiles to make new words. He vowed to beat Morgan one day. And
fucking Rick with buying Boardwalk and Park Place. That smug fucking smile.
Carl hated it as much as he loved it.
 
Carl would've never guessed, but games went a long way to boost morale. It was
more than casual fun. It became a necessity. He and Rick were getting along
well. Not that they hadn't been before, but they were slowly closing the
distance they kept between themselves. Games were a great way to spend excess
energy and bond. Morgan looked happier. Less lonely. Rick could strategize
without real risk. Carl could express himself without having to sign or write
shit down. They didn't renege their other duties, but they spent less time
avoiding each other in their free time.
 
Carl couldn't stop thinking about the dream that had reminded him of how
precarious his stability was. Despite his improving mood and his ever-growing
attraction to Rick, images of the stabbed woman stuck with him. It had been
about seven years now. He could still remember her face clearly. He didn't know
her name or their shared story, but she had been the last living person to know
him before. In a way, he had died with her. Carl couldn't miss her or mourn
her, but he remembered her. He wished he had at least been able to remember her
name. She'd sacrificed herself for him, and he couldn't even verbally express
his thoughts when he'd watched her get stabbed. He'd been moved to another room
so quickly that he couldn't even remember the blood. How dark it was. How big
of a puddle it made. He was well acquainted with blood--his and that of others.
In a way, he would've liked to remember her blood. It would've been closure.
He got his closure in other ways. Carl looked for the woman in the books he
read. He tried to imagine her saying the words that characters spoke in books.
He tried attaching characters' names to her face. He tried reading about heroes
and heroines that he could imagine her emulating. None of it could be
confirmed. None of it was right or wrong.
He tried doing that with Rick and Morgan, too. With experiences he had or
didn't have... He found himself gravitating to romance novels lately. Imagining
himself as the love-stricken protagonist, or sometimes the object of the
protagonist's love.
Reading everything in the library was an easy way to get acquainted with the
old world. Mystery and thriller novels showed him that the world was violent
far before it ended. Fantasy novels showed him that nobody really liked reality
no matter what it was like. Non-fiction books showed him that the world was
always shitty and cruel. Romance novels showed him that he had no fucking clue
what he was doing--although he recognized some of the situations. That being
said, he still enjoyed reading. There were some books that were too difficult
to read that he planned on reading in the future. There were children's books
that were too easy. There were long books full of information that he stowed
away in case it could be of use later. There were short books that should've
never been written. He had an exclusive pile of books for his most important
category.
The books with the sex scenes. At first he'd just tossed them aside, too
uncomfortable to even continue reading after he'd realized what was going on.
But then he'd gotten curious. He'd watched Rick. He'd wondered.
Now, reading them was therapeutic. Carl was pleased that he could read them
without even blinking. It was safe. He could read a paragraph and know exactly
where it was going. There were no surprises after he'd read something once. It
was the same thing every time because the words didn't change. There were sex
scenes written in excruciating detail that he could recite from memory. There
were sex scenes that were written with nothing but metaphors and vagaries. He
didn't like those ones as much because they weren't always clear. Carl decided
it was better for everything to be exposed and out in the open instead of
concealed and indistinguishable. He didn't like when authors tried to colour
sex scenes with fancy words. Giving flowery names to things that weren't that
pretty. Carl liked learning things about himself.
He liked imagine himself and Rick in the situations presented to him in the
romance novels, but it wasn't always easy. Almost all of it was written about
men and women. Some of the ones he favoured were written without names. It
wasn't hard to think of himself as the one lying back on a bed, spreading his
legs. It wasn't hard to think of Rick as the tall, handsome hero of the books.
Carl didn't get excited thinking about it. It was like training. If he could
let his mind wander in the safety of his imagination--get used to filling a
sexual space within his mind--it would be easier in the future when he wanted
to do the real thing. He knew he was absolutely not ready for that. But he
wanted to be ready for it, and that was something he never thought he'd be able
to say. Books helped him. They taught him what he couldn't bear to ask Rick.
 
The most recent selection he made was called The Bluest Eye. It was tattered
like everything else in the library. He'd smirked darkly when he'd read the
title for the first time. He'd read the summary on the back before cracking it
open. It was about a black girl who wanted to fit in. Before he read a word, he
could see his friend's face. He wondered if she'd ever felt like this. Like she
wasn't good enough because of the colour of her skin. Carl had never really
understood racism from reading about it in the abstract--he'd had to ask Morgan
about that. Even still, he didn't really get it because it didn't make sense to
him. People were just people. But when he compared the protagonist in the book
to himself--feeling lesser and wrong because of how she looked...he kind of
started to get it.
He had no idea if the book would be good or not, and it didn't really matter
anyway. His goal was to read everything in the room, so everything needed to be
completed sooner or later.
Carl finished the book in only a couple of hours. He added it to his sex scene
pile, blushing lightly despite being alone. He'd already memorized his
favourite lines for later, but he would still want to revisit the words on the
page. He couldn't explain why he liked it. The author had done that thing where
they said things without really saying anything. But in this passage it worked-
-with the added bonus of not really saying outright that it was a man and a
woman. Carl was getting really tired of that.
My brain curls up like wilted leaves...I stretch my legs open, and he is on top
of me. Too heavy too hold, and too light not to. He puts his thing in me. In
me. In me. I wrap my feet around his back so he can't get away.
Carl was obsessed with it. God knew he'd experienced things like that enough
times, but this wasn't like that. The girl didn't want him to stop. She wanted
to keep him. That was how Carl had been feeling about Rick. Scared that he'd
lose him or that he'd decide that it wasn't worth the trouble...Carl didn't
want Rick to get away. He knew he wasn't ready for what the passage described,
and really, that only served to make him angrier considering he'd done it
hundreds of times. But being ready for it with someone he loved seemed so
different than all the times it had been with people he hated. It was getting
easier to dissociate Rick from the Wolves, but he was still a man, and he was
still dangerous. Carl knew it would take time, but he was getting impatient.
Sometimes he wished he could rip his brain out and rewire the parts that made
him apprehensive of Rick. He guessed he'd just have to try to do it from the
inside.
 
Carl didn't really count days anymore, but he knew he'd been with Rick and
Morgan for approximately a year. He'd been involved with Rick for a couple of
months. That meant there were a couple more months left of winter. It had
gotten so vicious outside that they spent as little time as possible out of the
canteen. They'd had to build a small fire pit indoors so they didn't freeze
while they slept. It was a win for everybody because Morgan slept alone and
closest to the fire, while Rick and Carl shared their body heat and slept away
from the fire. Carl didn't mind. Rick was always warm.
In two months, Rick and Carl did nothing more than that. Share a bed. Kiss
occasionally. Hold hands often. Carl was cool with it. He knew he could ask
Rick when he wanted more or less, and for the time being he found kissing
enjoyable. Rick had made out with Carl once just to show him what it was like.
It was overwhelming for the boy, but not completely ruled out. He'd decided to
leave it at that and consider how he felt about it before they did it again. It
wasn't like Carl was scared of a tongue, and it wasn't too different from
normal kissing. It was just the intense vibe that made Carl hesitant to add it
to their roster of intimacy. The kisses came fast, and it was an invasive
sensation. The way they had to move together seemed pushy and too progressive--
like it was supposed to be leading into something else. Like Rick was only
moments away from pushing Carl back on the bed. Making out didn't seem to be a
destination, but more like the journey. Carl wasn't ready to go any further.
Books and real life weren't the same thing.
 
Rick and Carl had taken to patrolling together once it got really cold. Both
Morgan and Rick knew that Carl liked his alone time, but they also knew he was
too proud to ask for company. Rick liked going with Carl to keep him safe and
to make sure he didn't let himself get too cold--he had no experience with
winter, really. He wouldn't know how cold was too cold. Walkers, as usual, were
minimal. Since Morgan had surrounded their camp with spikes, there had been two
guests... most of the walkers tripped in the holes Carl had dug and covered.
All together, they'd maybe gotten a couple dozen in the few months they'd
occupied the site. Things weren't like before.
"Can I ask you something?" Rick spoke softly while they walked around the
woods. His breath was easy to spot against the cold air. The smoke that mouths
made was something that fascinated Carl to no end.
Carl nodded.
"You...when you used to watch me out here. Why could you do that, but you won't
do more than kiss me now?"
Carl deliberated. He knew Rick well enough to know that there was no accusation
behind his words. He was just curious. Really, Carl couldn't blame him. He'd
been trying to figure that out himself. It was like he'd gone zero to one
hundred. It was backwards.
"I ask myself that," Carl signed. His gloves were really thick, so he couldn't
move his fingers fluidly. It was too frigid to take his gloves off. He could
only hope that Rick understood.
"We weren't together then," Carl explained. He paused, looking at the ground
before raising his gaze to meet Rick's. His mouth twisted in frustration. "I
want to say more, but it's a lot."
"Wanna go back? We can get your notebook," Rick suggested.
Carl nodded. There was no way he could sign everything that was going on in his
head. It was way too much.
 
Because of how far they'd ventured into the woods, it took half an hour before
they got back to camp. It gave Carl time to think about his response.
Carl took his time. He wanted to write his exact thoughts out. He wanted to
write to Rick exactly how he'd talk to him if he could. Despite only having
been with Rick for a short time, and only having known him for a year...Carl
felt like he'd known the man his whole life. Carl knew he was about 20, and 15
years of that was lost in his mind. Really, he had known Rick almost his entire
life--if his remembered life was the only thing considered.
--When I first saw you, it was an accident. I was scared of what you were
doing, but not scared of you. What made me keep watching was the expression on
your face. I was looking to see if you were evil. If you looked like you could
hurt me.--
Carl stopped writing, letting Rick read it before taking the page back to
continue.
--You didn't look like any man I'd ever seen before. It made curious. I wanted
to watch you more to make sure you were still good.--
Rick pondered the boy's words. It was difficult to understand the concept and
the thinking behind it. He'd never considered jacking off evil or good. It just
was. He'd never really thought so much about it. Rick knew it was an ignorant
stance and a privileged one since he'd never been hurt the way Carl had. He'd
never had his formative years or his youth taken away. Anything Carl had known
about his body was completely gone and replaced with toxic notions and
experiences. Nothing about sexuality was pleasurable or good in his eyes, so he
wouldn't be able to understand it if he saw it.
Carl still had more to say.
--I could watch you before we were together because it was just about you. If
you expected anything of me or wanted sex, you would just take it. Now that
we're together, it's about me too. Whether I can give you what you might've
taken. Whether you want it or expect it or think about it. If I'm ready.--
Rick met Carl's gaze. Curious how this boy was so thoughtful and eloquent when
his mind had been torn to shreds and his mouth didn't form words. Carl had
opened his empty eyes to savagery and violence, and yet he wasn't savage or
violent. Rick decided that he would've loved Carl before the apocalypse too.
Rick reached across the picnic table he and Carl were sitting at to grab Carl's
hand.
"You like kissing?" Rick asked.
Carl nodded once, taking his hand back from Rick's so he could write more.
--For now.--
Rick laughed, "'For now' like you might hate it later? Or 'for now' like that's
all you like right now?"
Carl smiled and signed, "Both."
 
Chapter End Notes
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End Notes
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