As the Claimer stood up with Carl, Michonne had her gun pointed at him, and he had his knife to Carl's throat. The only thing Michonne could see was the fear in Carl's eyes. She stared at his wide eyes, dilated pupils, the tears on his cheeks, and noticed his throat contract as he swallowed nervously. She tried desperately to shut out the sound of his whimpering. She had saved Daryl, Rick had saved himself, but the most vulnerable member of the quartet was in danger. They could kill the Claimer, but he would take Carl with him, so what was the point. Michonne felt helpless until she saw Rick take furious steps toward the Claimer.
The Claimer, having just seen Rick take a chunk out of his vile leader, let Carl go, and now his whimpering was the sound Michonne heard, and she wanted this man to suffer. Carl clung to her, and she held onto him, wanting to shield him from what his father was about to do. She could tell that Carl was watching, because she was too. Despite how horrific, this was a death that she didn't mind watching. Carl shouldn't have watched, she knew that, but she couldn't stop him.
After Rick was done, Carl turned into her and began sobbing. Rick touched his shoulder and Carl shrieked. Rick snapped his hand away. Looking into his eyes, Michonne saw the conflict and the pain. He wanted to know why protecting his son had made him afraid. Michonne and Daryl exchanged a look and Daryl, breathing heavily and obviously physically hurt walked over to Rick, and muttered, "Hey man, let's take a walk."
Rick went begrudgingly, watching Michonne as she guided Carl to the truck. She knew the way he felt. Her mind flooded with images of André, Mike, and Terry, both human and walker. She couldn't help them, because she was out saving them. Rick couldn't help Carl, because he was protecting him. And so, Michonne got a second chance to save a little boy. She took him into the truck and his soft whimpering permeated the air. She stroked the boy's back, remembering, Carl was just a boy, who shouldn't need to see this world. Adults could barely handle it. She used the corner of her jacket to wipe the blood from his cheek. He shied away from her and she stopped trying, but opted to continue stroking his back. He settled his head in her lap and shook until his breathing slowed and he was asleep.
He cried out in fragments throughout the night. Michonne was sure that he could be heard from the outside, but she felt no need to stop him from grieving and going through this process. It was the only way he would feel better; to continue to relive his pain until it did not impact him. It worked for Michonne and she prayed to God it would work for her son- for Carl. This wasn't André and she could never go back to that, but she could damn well be there for Carl. She watched as Rick and Daryl kept watch throughout the night for walkers. None of the living crossed their path, and for once, none of the dead.
However, she was sure that if Rick had to choose between hearing Carl cry, even if it was only for a split second at a time, and biting a man's neck again, he would choose the latter a thousand times over. The first five or so times it happened, she watched him visibly flinch.
The next morning, Michonne had slept intermittently, waking with Carl's night terrors, and then remaining awake until she dozed off again. Rick finally spoke to Daryl. She heard Daryl encourage Rick to wipe the blood from his beard, to clean up for Carl, and she heard Daryl confess, and speak of regretting joining the Claimers. She heard Rick voice his fear of being a monster. Somewhere in the middle of all of this, Carl woke and from the boy's raspy little throat, she heard a word she hadn't since everything truly went to shit. "Mom."
Her heart broke. Lori had been dead for a long time now, and Carl was so afraid of his father he cried out for a dead woman. "I'm not Mom, sweetie," she whispered.
Carl's face flushed and he looked terribly embarrassed, "I'm sorry."
"It's alright." She paused then spoke again, "He loves you very much."
"I know."
"Listen."
Carl softened, but Michonne could tell he was still afraid. He sat up, but pressed against her. She lifted an arm around him and pulled something out of her bag. "I lied to you Carl."
"About what?"
"That was the last Big Cat bar out there."
He looked up at her hopefully. She handed him the last bar and he said, "We always share."
"Yes we do."