There was fire. Bullets whizzing through the air. The vibrations from the tank rumbling through the ground. The heat of the sun on his back. The glint of light off a sword.
A man who filled him with such boiling, intense hatred that it burned through his stomach, rising from his throat in a scream, his vision turning red as his mind demanded vengeance. Demanded that mans death.
And blood.
So much blood.
A man with a beard of white, staining crimson. A car seat, wet and sticky and scarlet.
Everything swirled, nothing making sense, mixing all together.
Then it turned black.
And he screamed.
"Dad! DAD! WAKE UP!"
Rick thrashed, a ripping pain tearing through his body, originating from somewhere. What it was, his mind couldn't identify, still filled with panic and fear. Vaguely, he could feel his face was soaked with tears.
"Dad! It's Carl! It's me! You have to stop, you're hurting yourself!"
Even in his panic, that one name always managed to gain his undivided attention.
Carl.
Gradually, he stilled. His vision began to clear, the fog in his mind clearing as he realized he wasn't at the prison anymore. He shuddered as chills racked up his spine, his very skin aching and the familiar sensation of his leg feeling like someone set it on fire came to life. He mumbled incoherently for a moment, his eyes searching the dark room, taking in the aged furniture and dust floating through the air, illuminated by the sunlight beaming in through the grimy windows. Slowly, he settled on his sons blue eyes, a brilliant blue that reminded him of the sky, of the ocean, of when things were still good.
"C-Carl."
The boy's shaggy hair stuck out awkwardly from under that old sheriff's hat, his face horribly pale as he regarded his father. He pressed a hand to Rick's forehead, it still shaking slightly as if something had given him a fright (Or was it Rick shaking? He really didn't know...). Rick coughed, his lungs protesting in his chest as he did so. His throat was terribly dry and he debated asking for water, but part of him just couldn't do it. There wasn't any plumbing anymore and even in such a small neighborhood, Walkers routinely roamed the streets. He couldn't send Carl out there, alone, to get him water. He's deal with the thirst.
He couldn't be responsible. Not again.
Luckily for him, Carl seemed to know exactly what was necessary and held out a cup of water. He pressed his hand lightly to the back of Rick's head, lifting it delicately and tilting the liquid to his fathers lips. He forced Rick to drink slow, not wanting to upset his stomach like he had the day before, which resulted in it coming right back up again. Rick swallowed greedily, his base instincts momentarily overriding his concerns.
After a bit Rick sank back on to the couch, breathing heavily. His eyes searched the darkness and took on a feverish glow. Carl felt dread sink in his chest. Rick rarely had completely lucid moments anymore. Moving slowly, he moved down to inspect the bullet wound in Ricks leg. The flesh around it had darkened further, the heat of it nearly overwhelming, so warm he could feel it without even touching it. He pressed it lightly and swallowed thickly when pus pressed up from the wound, making Carl's heart beat faster.
He bound the wound again, wishing more then ever that he had spent more time with Hershel. Learned how to care for these kinds of things. But he pushed the thoughts away. Thinking of the man was simply too painful.
He prayed, not for the first time, that he would not lose the only family he had left.
"Carl?" Rick's voice cracked through the silence. He sounded calm, which was a relief. He had been screaming earlier, calling out of Hershel and Judith. Carl had panicked to silence the mans bellows, terrified of what they would attract. "Where's your Mom? I forgot to tell her I'd be home late tonight."
Carl forced himself to speak past the growing lump in his throat. "She, uh, she went out."
"Ah." Rick responded, sinking back again and closing his eyes, a strange smile on his face. "Oh well, did she take Judy with her?"
This time Carl couldn't stop his voice from cracking, tears rising in his eyes. "Y-Yeah, she did."
A strained chuckle broke past Rick's lips. "Good, it'll give you a break from baby sitting. I know you want to go out with your friends Carl."
"I'm alright."
Rick turned his blue eyes to his son, too bright and unseeing to truly be looking at Carl. "Such a good big brother. I'm so proud of you Carl."
Carl sat for hours, waiting for his father to fall back into a fevered sleep before allowing the panic to claw at his chest, anxiety choking him and making it difficult to breathe. He allowed himself to drift off, his troubled mind giving him dreams of a knife slicing through a belly, a baby carrier filled with blood and his father, his blue eyes misted over, a rasp escaping his throat and his fingers reaching.
He groped, wanting nothing more then to taste Carl's flesh and devour him.
And to dream Carl's horror, he let him.
Carl slunk through the trees, his eyes pinned on the pharmacy that sat just at the edge of this little town. It looked ransacked from a distance, he knew for a fact a few of his group had been through here during the months at the prison. The front windows shattered and the shelves looked bare. He noted movement inside and his hands clasped his pistol but he forced his hand to still. He couldn't be reckless about this. Firing a bullet now would be suicide.
Drawing on the months where they had been living on the road, Carl took a deep breath and emerged from the bushes.
He crossed the road as fast as he could, his eyes darting in every direction but seeing no movement other then inside the pharmacy. He pressed his back to the brick wall as soon as he could, moving along the side of the building towards the front door. He could hear the shuffling now and paused, trying to decide where the sounds were coming from.
He peeked, but didn't dare stick his head out too far. He couldn't make out much but his heart sank noting all the shattered glass on the ground. It would make moving silently impossible if he went through that entrance. Perhaps there was another way.
Moving quickly, he went around the back of the building and to his relief, there was a back door, still intact and ajar. A much better entry point.
Sneaking back around to the front, Carl searched and found the biggest rock he could. Testing the weight of the rock, he turned and hurled the stone as far down the road as he could. It connected, clattering and skittering, as loud as a gunshot in the silence.
The movement stilled for a moment inside but before long, it moved again.
Without waiting to see whatever was inside leave, and possibly be spotted by it, Carl raced back to the back door. Quickly looking the room over to make sure there weren't any Walkers hiding in the corner, he went behind the counter, crouching down to search. Shaking fingers groped around, looking for anything, but all his searching hands encountered were spider webs.
At the sound of broken glass shifting under someone's foot Carl froze, his eyes darting up to see shadows moving along the wall from over the counter.
Carl swallowed, watching as they grew darker as the one making them drew closer.
Something prickled at the back of Carl's mind, a warning. He kept perfectly still for a moment, wondering what it was, before it suddenly struck him. There were no moans. Other then the foot steps, the pharmacy was silent.
Shit.
They were still living. The living could still shoot. The living were a bigger threat then the walkers.
He moved as quietly as he could, away from the counter to crouch behind a filing cabinet, his eyes shooting to the door that lead to his freedom. He nearly bolted for in but a flicker of movement crossed his peripheral vision and he hid again, his finger hovering over the gun trigger. He slowed his breathing, reminding himself that he wasn't helpless and listened.
It was silent again. For a moment, Carl entertained that perhaps the others had left, but something told him it wouldn't be that simple. Hiding wasn't his style, he reminded himself, he was no coward. He would not whimper in the corner, waiting to be attacked. Taking one last deep breath to steady himself, Carl readied the pistol and whipped around the corner.
To be met with a crossbow aimed at his face.
Carl blinked, his eyes raising to the face of the person wielding the weapon.
Daryl Dixon blinked back, surprise flashing through his eyes before he lowered his crossbow, a scowl on his face.
"Carl!"
A feminine shriek from behind the counter caught Carl's attention. Beth whipped around the counter, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Daryl nearly shot you!"
"I nearly shot him." Carl responded, holstering his weapon. He willed his heartbeat to slow, the incessant pounding in his ears still raging full force, the blood racing through his skull and making him feel light headed. It was odd, considering how his knees were nearly weak with relief at the sight of the pair. He allowed a rare grin to break out on his face, which only got wider when Beth pulled him to her in a hug, her voice tearful.
"We couldn't find anyone... After." She whispered, shaking. "We were so worried about everyone."
Daryl scanned the room before settling his eyes on Carl. "You alone?"
"No, Dad..." Immediately the reality of the situation pressed down on him again and Carl broke off from Beth's hug, returning to desperately scanning shelves. "It's just Dad and me. But he's sick."
"Sick?" Questioned Daryl, watching Carl warily. "How bad?"
"Real bad." Carl replied, his movements becoming more frantic when all he was met with were empty shelves. "He got shot at the prison, in the leg. It's infected and he hasn't been doing good."
"There ain't nothin' here that'll help very much." Daryl said simply, shrugging his crossbow back on to his shoulder. "Although we did find a bottle of baby aspirin. Though' it might help Lil' Asskicker when we met up with ya'll."
At the mention of the name Carl felt the air leave his lungs, his muscles tensing and tears gathering in his eyes. He sniffed them back stubbornly. He kept his hat brim low, not allowing any sign of what he knew to telegraph to the other pair. Now would not be the time to tell them. If they thought Judith was safe somewhere else, with the others, then he would let them believe it until they got somewhere safer.
For now, he had to focus on his Father.
"We can try giving some to him, might help a little with the fever." Carl mumbled in response, his fingers brushing his pistol in an uncomfortable gesture. "We should get back to him. He has nightmares, makes him start screaming. He'll draw the Walkers in. I try not to leave him alone for long."
Daryl waved a hand in an impatient gesture. "Lead the way."
When he awoke, he was completely alone.
Rick shook, chills wracking his thin frame as he tilted his body to get off the couch. His head felt clearer then it had in days, which may have been an unfortunate thing considering the worries that were racing through his mind. He forced them down, reminding himself that Carl was a capable young man, no longer a child. He had been caring for him for days now, he would have to trust him.
Still, nature was calling and he needed some way to answer it. He looked around for any kind of thing he could use as a bedpan, but none appeared. It was a simple little room. A ragged couch sat in the center, which he had been laying on, with a nest of blankets on the floor. It had obviously been used recently, which Rick assumed was where his son had been sleeping. A lick of shame raced through him. This shouldn't be Carl's job, so much responsibility for one so young. But he was coping and for that, Rick was overwhelmingly proud.
In the corner sat a book cabinet with some picture frames and a number of mystery novels, the type you found in drug stores and check out tills of grocery stores. They, too, had been recently moved. Carl as well, most likely. He must have had a large number of hours to pass and no one to really pass them with, the books must have been a godsend.
A useless television sat next the shelf, in front of it lay a stained area rug. A few landscape photos hung from walls covered in tacky wallpaper. A simple little room with one window, leaving a quick point of escape should the door be compromised. However, for now, all was quiet.
He stumbled, hobbling awkwardly on his good leg and fighting to keep weight off the other. It seared with white-hot pain whenever his foot even made contact with the ground but Rick pushed through it, forcing himself to move.
He pushed the door open, leading in to a small entrance hall with a bathroom off to the side. He fumbled forward before unzipping his pants desperately and allowing himself to be relieved. When he finished he turned back, hobbling in to the entrance way, his eyes pinned on the door. Carl would have to enter through there, so here was where he should wait.
Leaning heavily against the wall he slid down, wincing when he hit the floor. Sweat poured from his skin, the ache in his bones and the chills through his body making even the small effort of what he had just done nearly unbearable. He swallowed, feeling his stomach clench as it threatened to convulse and empty itself, but he managed to keep it down.
He closed his eyes, allowing his mind to drift. It wasn't long before it began to explore topics he would really rather not think about.
Hershel, Judith, Lori, Shane, Tomas, Oscar, Axel, Andrea...
Countless faces. So much blood on his hands. Each of them, he was responsible for in some way or another.
He even thought about Carol.
Was she alright? Did he make the right choice? Would he ever see her again?
He had kicked her out to keep his family safe. To protect her from Tyreese's anger. To try and keep everyone together.
And now... What difference did it make? The group was split. Judith was gone. Hershel was dead. All of it, his fault. If he had just said something different, if he had just shot the Governor sooner, if he hadn't been so weak then they may still have been alive.
He thought back to the day where he sat with the Governor in that room. Why didn't he just shoot him?
Why? Why? Why?
He thought of Carl, firing on that Walker over and over, as if his determination and hatred could bring little Judith back. He thought of Maggie and Beth, watching their Father be slaughtered by a mad man trying to invade their home. He thought of Daryl's anger, hearing that he had left Carol on her own. He thought of Tyreese and punching him over and over until he had broken his hand. He thought of Glenn, to sick to move and nearly dying in quarantine.
So much misery and all his fault.
Part of him wondered what it would be like to die. Would the world be better off without him? Would it be a happier place without him in it?
Some part of him wondered what would happen if he were to just open that door and walk in to the arms of the first Walker he came across.
But then he would think of Carl, all alone in this big world that wanted him dead, and he felt sick with himself. He had someone to live for and here he was, wallowing in self pity and contemplating suicide. He comforted himself in thinking that it was the fever talking, that this wasn't Rick Grimes. Rick Grimes wasn't pathetic or weak. Rick Grimes was a survivor.
Raising a hand to cover his eyes, almost as if to block the world from seeing his tears, Rick Grimes allowed himself to sit and grieve.
For his wife, for his baby girl, for his son, for all those he had met since the world went to Hell and for himself.
When Carl pushed the door open and was met with the sight of his Father laying motionless in the hallway, his mind immediately jumped to the worst.
"DAD!"
He went to race forward, only to be pulled back by a strong pair of arms.
"Keep 'im back." Daryl said over his shoulder and Beth's gentle hands came forward to pull him out of the doorway, allowing Daryl to step inside. Gingerly, Daryl's hand rested on his knife, drawing the weapon slowly as he knelt down by Rick's side.
Part of Carl was horrified at what Daryl was possibly preparing himself to do and part of him was in disbelief that he was allowing it to happen. He stayed, frozen in terror of what he may be about to witness. Beth whispered in his ear, telling him that his Father was probably okay, it was just a precaution, they needed to be sure. But Carl didn't hear a word, just watched in mute horror.
"Rick?" Daryl questioned, reaching out and tapping the older mans shoulder. "Rick, I need ya' to answer me."
Rick's head tilted slightly, his eyes opening blearily, not really focusing on anything. His hands raised and for a moment, Carl almost believed him to be reanimated. The sick mental visual of the knife driving through his Father's skull nearly brought him to his knees.
No, he couldn't be...
"Carl?"
Carl allowed himself to breathe again.
"Dad!"
He felt Beth give a tearful sigh of relief behind him, releasing Carl and they raced in towards Rick together, collapsing at Rick's side.
Daryl was already making himself busy, checking Rick over and investigating his leg. From the twist in the hunters mouth, he didn't like what he found.
Rick's eyes moved sluggishly between them, confusion in them. "Daryl? Beth?"
Carl nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Beth smiled, tears racing down her face. "Yeah, we're here Rick."
"...Are you really?" Rick questioned, his eyes bright. "I though'... What happened?"
"We can explain that later Brother." Daryl mumbled, reaching behind Rick's back and under his knees, lifting him up and carrying him back towards his room. Rick hissed in pain as his leg was jostled, biting back a curse. Carl followed behind like a lost puppy before jumping forward to open the bedroom door for the pair. "You need to stay here and get some sleep."
"How does he look?" Beth asked, moving forward to inspect the wound for herself.
"Ain't good." Daryl replied, "We're gonna need meds, that's for sure." He cursed quietly, standing and watching Rick like a hawk, his eyes roaming back over his wounded leg to his pale, pained face. "We just got all that we would need from the University too. It's all still back at the prison."
"We could go back?" Carl suggested, his eyes desperate. "We could get it for him, we know the prison and not many would have gotten inside the walls. It's just overrun outside of it."
"Too risky." Daryl replied, heaving a heavy sigh. "It took all of us to take it before, there are even more Walkers there now."
"But he'll die!" Carl argued furiously, "I've looked everywhere, that pharmacy was my last hope!"
"What about the feed store?"
Carl turned to Beth who was already mothering over Rick, taking a cloth from her pocket and dabbing it over his face. "What?"
"Feed stores carry penicillin, along with other drugs for live stock." She pressed, "It could still be there. It's safer then trying the prison."
"We passed one a few miles up the road." Daryl agreed, "We didn't go in, a few geeks hangin' around but nothin' I can't handle."
"I'll go with you." Carl agreed, standing up but Daryl shook his head.
"No, I think you should stay here."
Immediately Carl made to argue but a look from Daryl quieted him. "You need to stay and look after your old man and Beth. If anything should... Happen, you need to be here."
Carl paused, his eyes flicking back to his Father's pale face before he nodded solemnly. Daryl's face was tight with tightly guarded emotions as he considered the young man before him and he opened his mouth to say something, what it was he wasn't sure, but he decided against it and kept his silence, his eyes shadowing as he chose instead to look at Rick's face.
"Your old man's done a lot for us, the least I can do is try and save him." Daryl nodded to himself before turning and heading right back out the door. "I should be back by sundown. If not, lock the door and don't open it till I come back."
Carl sat up, meaning to thank the red neck, but by the time he realized what was going on Daryl was already gone. He paused before slouching back down, leaning against the couch and resting his head on his father's shoulder. Worry wriggled in his belly, refusing to leave him alone.
"It'll be alright." Beth said, touching his hand lightly. "Daryl and Rick are both tough, they'll pull through."
Carl simply nodded, hoping more then anything that she was right.
But then again, fate had not been kind recently. Why would it start now?
