Rectify
Walking dead rewrite starting in 5B when the group arrived in Alexandria.
Prologues are normally pretty short, but I wanted to use this prologue as an opportunity to explore every character's initial feelings when they arrive at Alexandria, which is why we have this super long prologue split into fourteen parts – one for each character lol.
The italics are snippets from everyone's interviews with Deanna – some are taken from the show, others are written by me.
Prologue
XIV
I
Rick
"How long have you been out there?"
"Since the beginning."
The houses were large and sterile looking; imposing, almost. He found it hard to believe he himself had lived in a similar place less than two years ago. Carl's mouth had dropped open slightly when Aaron had announced they had these two houses all to themselves, and he was still looking up at them in astonishment. "Wanna check 'em out?" Rick asked. Carl nodded slowly, bouncing Judith lightly on his hip.
The door was lemon yellow; Rick pushed it open and crept inside to be greeted with clean white walls, soft furnishings, empty picture frames ready to be filled and hung. He ran his hand along the back of the sofa, slowly realising that there were probably actual beds upstairs, with mattresses and headboards and sheets.
The front door swung open again and Rick started, but it was Michonne, sword still slung on her back, clutching a cardboard box. She nodded at its contents and said, "Deanna gave me this, she's got a few more boxes to bring us as well. There's food, soap, clean clothes. Oh, and this."
She balanced the box on one hand and raked around a bit before pulling out a black leather pouch and tossing it to Rick. He caught it deftly and upon examining its contents, raised an eyebrow. "That a hint?" he asked, and she laughed.
"Well, you never put the last one to use, thought I'd give it another shot." She smirked at him and placed the box on the kitchen counter. "So, what do you think?" She posed her question to Carl, who was running his fingers along the countertop.
He shrugged half-heartedly. "I dunno. It's weird. Doesn't feel real." He tapped his fingers idly on the countertop and Judith babbled against his chest, her little fingers trying to copy him.
Rick joined them in the kitchen, rubbing his daughter's head gently. Carl was right; it didn't feel real. His grubby hands against the marbled countertop looked so out of place. He reached around his son to turn on the faucet, and immediately felt his mood surge. "Hot water," he whispered.
Fifteen minutes later found Rick in one of the bathrooms, relishing in the water streaming down his skin. He felt like a new person. He wrapped a towel round his waist, wiped the steam from the mirror and felt himself freeze. No wonder Michonne kept hinting about shaving. He was surprised Aaron had even approached their group; he looked feral, insane. He carefully unfolded the leather pouch Michonne had gifted him and pulled out a pair of scissors and a shiny metal blade. His jaw clenched, he began to cut.
II
Rosita
"I'm ready to pitch in. Wherever you need me."
Mostly everyone had congregated in the yellow-doored house in the aftermath of their interviews and were exploring both it and the house next door. Carol sat on the porch swing and bounced Judith on her lap. The baby gurgled happily. Rosita often wondered if she had any idea what was going on, if she knew that they'd found a safe place for her to grow up. Probably not.
Rosita examined the contents of the boxes on the kitchen counter. Toothpaste, soap, even floss. Who on earth thought to floss when there were literal dead people walking around?
Abraham approached from behind her. He'd been quiet, distant, ever since Eugene's confession. She understood. Eugene lying had been a real blow. That, along with the losses they'd suffered since…she shook her head to clear it. There was no use dwelling on that stuff. She didn't want to get stuck on it. "Deanna give you a job?" she asked Abraham.
"Construction," he grunted. "You?"
"Runner. With Glenn and Tara. I think we'll be working with Deanna's son."
Abraham nodded, and wandered off. Rosita fought the urge to shout at him. She understood his frustration, his anger. But his unwillingness to even converse with her was driving her mad.
A distraction arrived in the form of Rick, dressed in clean clothes for the first time since she'd known him, hair still wet and face shaved bare. He looked years younger, and it threw her for a moment to see him look so domesticated when she was used to him hacking away at walkers with an axe.
"Where's Carl?" he asked.
As the only one left in the kitchen, Rosita answered. "Next door. Checking out the other house. Carol has Judith on the porch."
Rick nodded and ran his fingers through his overgrown hair. "I can cut your hair if you want," she said. She didn't know where the words came from, and Rick looked a bit taken aback. "I mean, I used to cut my brother's all the time. And I've cut Abraham's a few times. Just if you want."
He hesitated a second longer before clearing his throat and saying, "I'll get the scissors."
III
Gabriel
"How long have you been with this group?"
"Not long. I was alone and then… they saved me."
The couch was comfortable. The entire house seemed comfortable. He didn't remember the last time he slept on something remotely comfortable; even the cot in his church made his back ache. He gripped the cushions under his fingers.
His companions all seemed uneasy in their new surroundings. Rick looked almost unrecognisable minus his beard. There was something unsettling about seeing him perched on a kitchen chair, towel draped around his shoulders, letting Rosita snip away at his hair. He seemed out of place in the sterile house.
Gabriel felt uneasy as well. His collar was digging into his neck, and he tugged at it distractedly. He watched as Rosita swept hair away from Rick's neck and removed the towel she'd slung there. Rick thanked her quietly. He made to head upstairs, eyeing Gabriel suspiciously as he went.
For a moment, he wished he was back in his church, safe in the pews, his hands running along the hard wood of the seats in front of him. But memories of that church were tainted now, had always been tainted, really. Memories of people screaming his name while they scraped at the doors, memories of the moans and the shrieks and the blood when he went outside the next morning, memories of men being hacked to pieces between the pews.
Gabriel shuddered. He reached out his hands to feel the smooth wood of the coffee table, ran his fingers on the shelf underneath. And his fingers felt soft leather; he grasped it tightly and pulled out what he had been looking for without even trying. He tucked the Bible under one arm, and made his way to the door; perhaps Deanna would let him open a church…
IV
Daryl
"Daryl, you want to be here?"
"The boy and the baby… they deserve a roof, I guess."
The porch swing creaked loudly. Very loudly. It was the loudest noise in the whole damn community. Daryl glanced at Carol, swinging back and forth idly, Judith babbling in her lap. She looked a million miles away. She caught his eye and he looked away quickly.
"What are you thinking?" Her voice was kind, but he heard the concern behind it. He wasn't sure if she was worrying about him or worrying about their newfound 'sanctuary'. He shrugged. Thankfully, she didn't push it, and a distraction arrived in the form off Michonne.
"The other house is nice," said Michonne, perching next to Daryl on the steps. "The others are still having a look around." Her wide brown eyes met Daryl's and she seemed to have a question poised on her lips, but perhaps Daryl's expression told her the answer, because she didn't say anything else.
"Did Deanna give you a job?" asked Carol. Judith was starting to fidget in her lap, and Michonne stretched out a finger for the baby to grab.
"Not yet. Says she's got one for me but won't tell me what it is. You?"
"Pantry duty. Domestic help in general, really. There's a few older people need help with cooking, cleaning, that sort of thing."
Michonne nodded, but Daryl could tell she wasn't really interested. She excused herself, heading off to ask Deanna about a crib for Judith. The baby began to whine and Carol rocked her gently, hushing her and mumbling under her breath. Daryl was glad of one thing, the same thing he had said to Deanna; Judith was safe. Carl was safe. If there was one good thing about this community, it was that those kids had somewhere safe to live. But there wasn't much else Daryl was grateful for. He wouldn't have fit in a community like this in the old world, let alone now. Maybe it was selfish, but he would have been happier out in the woods, foraging, hunting, sleeping under the stars.
It was easier to dull his thoughts out there too. Since they'd walked through those gates that morning, his mind had been working in overdrive. He could hear Beth singing. He could picture Tyreese laughing. He could see his brother's mangled face. Out there, survival was the only thing on this mind. In here, it seemed he had far too much to think about.
V
Abraham
"So, you're a military man."
"I was. Now, I'm… I don't know anymore."
A plump woman with glasses had taken all the guns. She hadn't taken anything else, though, for which Abraham was grateful. He still had half a bottle of scotch tucked in his pocket and he wasn't planning on parting with it anytime soon.
He left Rosita in the kitchen and wandered outside, joining Daryl on the porch steps. Glancing uncomfortably at the baby fretting in Carol's lap, he held out his bottle to Daryl, who grimaced and shook his head. "Suit yourself," shrugged Abraham, and he took a large swig.
Daryl eyed him for a moment and then offered him a cigarette. He shook his head, and Daryl grunted, "Suit yourself."
Some of the others had been exploring the other house; Carl, Tara, Noah, Sasha and Eugene wandered over and headed indoors. Eugene ducked his head as he marched past, but Abraham kept his eyes glued to Eugene's face. He didn't know how to feel towards him. He was angry, still, but he felt guilty too. For knocking him out. Nearly killing him. He should probably say something to him.
He took a drink instead.
VI
Sasha
"You're quiet. You haven't said one word since you walked in those gates."
"I don't think I have anything to say."
She wandered back to the yellow-doored house with the others; they were chatting absent-mindedly amongst themselves, so she wasn't drawn into the conversation. They walked past Michonne, who was heading back to Deanna's, past Daryl, Carol and Abraham, who were sitting outside with the baby, and into the kitchen, where Rosita was unpacking boxes. Noah and Tara immediately sprung to help her, while Eugene went to sit at the table, staring at his shoes, and Carl went upstairs to find his father.
Sasha stood in silence. She glanced out of the living room window. The community was so peaceful, it made her uncomfortable. She supposed it was a good thing. Before the prison, she had longed for sanctuary. After the prison, she'd striven to find a new place to fortify. But this... these sterile houses with their smiling, clueless residents... it made her sick.
Maybe she should play Bob's game. Always finding the positives, no matter that situation. But trying to do that now, after everything. After Bob and Beth and Tyreese... she felt numb inside. There were no positives, there was to good side to the world now. There was only living. And she wasn't even sure she could do that anymore.
VII
Carl
"This is the kind of place my mom wanted for us."
"I'm sorry you lost her."
"I didn't just lose her. I killed her. It had to be me."
He found his father in the twin room upstairs, peering into drawers. He was struck for a moment at how different he looked without his beard. It shouldn't have been strange; before the world changed, his dad never grew a beard. But he must have grown used to it, because the man in front of him was nearly unrecognisable.
His dad noticed him staring and gave him a shy smile. "Feels weird," he said, running his hand over his chin.
"Looks weird," Carl added, and his dad chuckled. Carl sat on the nearest bed, swinging his legs in front of him. "Deanna says I have to go to school."
His dad turned around, and Carl tried to keep his expression neutral. "Do you want to go to school?" he asked.
Carl shrugged. "I dunno. I kind of miss it. But it's not going to be like before, is it? And what use is math against a walker anyway?"
His dad sat next to him, hand resting on his shoulder. "It might be nice to do something that doesn't involve killing walkers, son. I mean, that's why we came here, right? For some kind of life?" Carl nodded. "So you go a couple of hours a week, learn something new. It might be fun."
"I know, I just…" Carl didn't know how to get his thoughts out. "I just feel like I could do more. I'm a good shot, I could be a lookout. And who's gonna look after Judith when I'm at school?"
His dad squeezed his shoulder. "I will. Or Michonne, or Carol, or anyone else. Look, Carl, if you don't like it, I won't make you go. But I think you should give it a shot."
Carl remained silent. School really wasn't something he was interested in. Why would he be? He supposed his dad was right, but he didn't have to like it. As if sensing his unhappiness, Rick said, "I think I spotted some candy bars in a box Deanna gave us. If I were you I'd claim a few before Michonne gets her hands on them."
He gave his father a reluctant smile, and his dad ruffled his hair. "I love you, son."
"I love you too, Dad."
VIII
Tara
"Thank you. For letting us in. It's…it's bad out there."
They had emptied nearly all of the boxes. The kitchen cupboards were full now, and Tara took a moment just to stare at them. Those weeks on the road had accustomed her to an empty stomach, to a gnawing, clawing, clenching while she desperately tried to think of anything but food. And now, here was enough food to keep them all satiated, to keep the baby well fed, to let them all go to bed with full stomachs. It was enough to make her want to weep.
Rosita lent back on the counter and the two of them stood elbow to elbow, mouths practically watering. Rick and Carl wandered in and they too looked astounded at the bursting cupboards. Tara slyly handed Carl a candy bar behind her back and he smiled and wandered off to sit with Noah and Eugene while Rick made his way outside.
It seemed so strange to Tara that a few short weeks ago, these people were strangers to her. Hell, most of them were 'the enemy'. That's what Brian had told her. That's what she had believed. How bizarre that in such a short time they felt like family; they helped fill the hollow ache inside that formed after the loss of her sister and niece. Sometimes her life before didn't feel real. Sometimes her life now didn't feel real. But these people… they were real.
"Hey," said Rosita, gently grasping Tara's arm. "What's wrong?"
Tara gently wiped at her eyes. "Nothing. I'm good. I think I'm good."
IX
Carol
"Where do you think you'll fit in?"
"Hmm. Well, I'd like to be involved in the community. Do you have anything like a Junior League? I'm a real people person."
Rick meandered outdoors, clean-shaven, his hair much shorter than it had been in months. He looked like the man that had wandered into their camp by the quarry, decked out in his sheriff uniform. It was a jarring difference to the beard he'd sported earlier that day.
"Almost forgot what your face looked like," she joked, and he smiled tightly. Judith was whinging and he held out his hands to take her. The baby tucked her head into Rick's shoulder and within seconds her eyes began to flutter closed. Carol smiled, but really, she wanted to cry. She didn't know why.
"Did you see how much food they gave us?" asked Rick. "Rosita and Tara are sorting through it now. I think Carl's already stolen a candy bar."
"He'd better leave one for me," said Carol, and Rick chuckled. Daryl remained silent, scratching his fingernails into the steps. Carol was worried about him, and a glance at Rick told her that he was worried too. But there wasn't much they could do. Daryl was Daryl, and if he didn't want to talk, he wouldn't.
Carol and Daryl had that in common.
Abraham continued to swig from his bottle and Carol resisted the temptation to ask for a taste. But the more she looked at Judith curled up in her father's arms, the more she felt her chest begin to ache, and the more she felt the need to numb herself somehow. She excused herself and went back inside, past Rosita and Tara in the kitchen, past Noah and Carl playing cards at the kitchen table, upstairs into the first bathroom she found. She splashed cold water on her face and then knelt down, forehead on knees, willing herself to relax. But she couldn't.
The sight of Rick holding Judith wasn't exactly new. And she herself held Judith plenty, she was used to it. Maybe it was the fact that they were safe now. Lori's children would grow up here, with clean sheets and hot water and a roof over their heads. Maybe it was the fact that Sophia would never experience that. Nor would Lizzie. Nor Mika.
Carol pressed her face into her knees and began to sob.
X
Maggie
"We need this. We need somewhere we can just… just be."
"And after that? What is it you want to be?"
"I don't know think I know anymore."
Glenn was the last one to be interviewed. She was waiting for him on the steps outside Deanna's house, staring at her grubby fingernails. Her interview had been... interesting. Deanna wanted her to come and work with her; shadow her, she said. Maggie didn't understand why. She'd never been much of a leader. That was Rick, or Michonne, or even Glenn. Not her. But Deanna said she saw something in her. All Maggie saw inside herself at the minute was... defeat.
She had declined. Offered to help out in their infirmary; she knew a little, things she had learned from Daddy. Thinking of her father made her want to scream, but she had to do something, and the infirmary seemed safe enough. Deanna had smiled at her and agreed, saying if she changed her mind she was always welcome. But Maggie would not change her mind.
"Hey." Maggie looked up to find Michonne heading her direction. "You okay?"
Maggie didn't think she could answer that, so she shrugged instead. Michonne didn't push her. "Glenn still in there?" Maggie nodded. "I'll wait then. Gonna see if she's got a crib for Judith."
Maggie nodded. They sat in companionable silence. Maggie remembered with Michonne first arrived at the prison. She never spoke much then. She wouldn't push Maggie to speak now. She was grateful for that. The priest seemed determined to make her talk. Maggie spotted him at that moment, wandering in their direction, and she felt herself readying herself for a quick escape. Thankfully, Glenn appeared at that minute. Maggie stood, grateful to be back by his side again. His hand found hers and they said their goodbyes to Michonne. "You okay?" asked Glenn as they began to wander down the street.
She could answer him. She could always answer him. "No," she said, and she felt her eyes begin to water. "But I think I'll get there."
XI
Glenn
"We need to make this work."
"Why?"
"'Cause… we were almost out there too long."
He liked Deanna. He wasn't sure why that felt so strange to admit. Maybe because every other community they'd run into had been led by absolute maniacs. But Deanna was nice. Diplomatic, reassuring, confident. It felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop though. These people… Aaron, Deanna, the guy who opened the gate… they were all harmless. He was so used to bad people, it felt weird to admit that these people might actually be good.
He and Maggie walked hand in hand to the houses they'd been assigned. Everyone was inside the yellow-doored house, except Michonne and Gabriel. He did a double-take at Rick; he was sat on the couch, Judith curled up on his lap, and his beard was gone. Rick caught him staring. "Looking good, dumbass," said Glenn, and Rick rolled his eyes.
"What do you think of this place?" Rick asked. Glenn and Maggie sat down next to him, careful not to disturb the sleeping baby.
"It seems nice. I like Deanna. I think it's gonna take some getting used to though," said Glenn. Maggie nodded in agreement and Glenn squeezed her hand.
"Yeah," said Rick. "I think, to be safe, we should all stay in one house tonight. See how it goes. It doesn't feel right to split up right now."
Glenn nodded in agreement. He didn't want to be far from anyone tonight, not even just next door. Judith started wriggling in Rick's arms and her little mouth widened in a yawn. Maggie gently stroked her head and Glenn watched his wife in contentment. Maggie wasn't okay, far from it. There was a sadness in her eyes that he didn't think would ever go away. But as she cooed at the baby, he thought he saw a trace of happiness there too. At least, he hoped.
XII
Eugene
"I heard you spun some tale about being a doctor. That true?"
"…I lied, that is true. But without that lie, we would not have headed in this direction. And we would not be sitting here now."
He watched Carl and Noah playing cards, now and again chiming in to help Carl out; not that he needed it, he seemed to be a natural. Now and again he glanced at Sasha, sat in the window seat, staring outside. If he were a different person, he might attempt to comfort her. But if there was one thing Eugene knew, it was his own skillset. He was not a people person. He did not know how to console someone who was grieving. So he left her alone.
Grief was an almost foreign concept to him. He had lost his own family so long ago. But the losses they had suffered recently; Bob, Beth, Tyreese… the grief had felt crippling. He did not know these people, not really. But the way they had died… that was another thing Eugene knew about himself. He feared death. He feared death more than he could begin to explain.
Rick made his way over to the table, depositing the baby in Carl's arms. She was awake, her wide eyes alert, and her hands started grabbing anything within her reach. Carl gently handed her a card and she waved it happily. Eugene did not know what it was like to be a sibling. He was an only child and had always loved it. The solitude, the independence, the attention of his parents. But since meeting these children, seeing the way baby Judith smiled when her brother held her, he wondered what it would be like.
He used to think he and Abraham were some kind of brothers. Dysfunctional brothers, maybe, but aren't all families a little dysfunctional? But as he looked over at Abraham, brooding in the corner of the kitchen, he knew that he was delusional. Eugene had no family. Eugene barely had any friends. He was alone, like he had always been.
And he was okay with that. He had to be.
XIII
Noah
"You don't have any family? Just your group?"
"No. My family… they're all gone. This group saved me. They're my family now."
For a twelve-year-old, Carl was surprisingly good at Texas hold'em. Noah was quite glad that they didn't have anything to bet with, because it was all but guaranteed that Noah would have nothing left. The game was pretty much over now anyway; the baby was fascinated with the cards and kept grabbing at them. Carl apologised, but Noah didn't mind. He couldn't be mad at a baby, and besides, she was preventing him from embarrassing himself at the game again.
He missed his brothers. Sometimes, Carl reminded him of them so vividly. And sometimes, just watching Carl and his sister reminded him of when Evan and Josh were little; they cried so much as babies, and fought so much as toddlers, but they idolised him. And he adored them.
Noah tried his best not to think about Shirewilt. Not to think about what had happened to Tyreese. Not to think about his massacred neighbourhood. His dead family. He hoped they had died quick. That's all he hoped. Tyreese had died slowly, and it was horrendous to watch. He had slunk back into the shadows when they'd returned to the group with his body, covered his ears when Sasha had begun to wail. He knew how she felt. He knew what it was like to lose everyone.
"Here," said Carl. He handed Noah a candy bar. "Tara gave it to me earlier, but I don't really want it." Noah realised some of his thoughts must have manifested on his face. No wonder Carl was so good at poker if he could read his face that well. He took the candy bar and twirled it between his fingers.
"Thank you," he smiled weakly. Carl smiled back, and even baby Judith gave him a toothless smile. She waved a card wildly at his face, and Noah took it, thanking her graciously. She began to chuckle, and Noah felt himself smile. He doubted she understood anything going on around her, but there was something about making a baby laugh that made you feel invincible. And everyone needed to feel like that now and again.
XIV
Michonne
"If this is how you're saying it is, then this is what we wanted. We're ready for this."
"All of you?"
"All of us."
The crib was heavy, so she recruited Gabriel into helping her carry it home. It reminded her of that day in King County with Rick and Carl. She doubted Carl still had the photo she'd saved him. She knew for a fact that her cat sculpture was still in the prison. That day in King County had been awful in a lot of ways, but it had been good too. She'd finally befriended someone in the group. Carl was a good friend. Gabriel was not as pleasant a companion, but he wasn't awful either. Just scared. She understood that.
Everyone was congregated in the living room. Abraham helped her set the crib up in the corner, and then she rooted through one of the boxes left in the kitchen for a toothbrush and toothpaste. She'd been waiting to do this all day.
It had been a long time since she'd looked in a mirror. She honestly couldn't remember the last time. There were mirrors at the prison, but she tended to avoid them. But now, in this pristine bathroom, it seemed unavoidable. She was skinnier than she had ever been. Her collarbones jutted out, her cheeks were hollow, her eyes seemed bigger in her thin face. Her hair was a mess. She'd given up trying to maintain it a long time ago, but now she felt oddly embarrassed. She pressed her fingers into the 'M' of her necklace and inhaled deeply, calming herself.
She had no idea how much she had missed brushing her teeth, but when she started, it was impossible to stop. She brushed, rinsed, and brushed again. And again. Her gums started to bleed, but she kept going. With each rinse, she felt reenergised. Who knew it could feel so good to brush your teeth?
She stepped out of the bathroom, back into the crowded living room. "How long was I in there for?" she asked no one in particular.
Rick's voice came drifting in from the kitchen. "Twenty minutes."
She hadn't seen him since she'd arrived back with the crib, so she headed to the kitchen to see him. "God I could not stop brushing."
She stopped in her tracks. Rick was dressed in a grey t-shirt, his hair had been cut, and his beard was gone. She'd never seen him look so… innocent. That was the only word that sprung to mind. "Huh. I've never… I've never seen your face like that." She felt her mouth split open into a wide grin and he smirked back at her, albeit a little embarrassed.
"That's what I felt, before and after."
She smiled wider. He made to pass her, but she reached out and gently lay a hand on his arm. "Look I get why we're playing it safe. We should. I just… I have a good feeling about this place." She squeezed his arm reassuringly and he nodded.
"Well, I hope you're right."
"Yeah, me too."
Rick went to Judith's crib and began stroking her hair gently. The baby was awake, and fussing, probably because she wasn't used to sleeping in a crib. Michonne observed the rest of the room; Noah, Carl and Eugene at the table, playing cards. Abraham and Sasha, sat by the window. Maggie and Glenn on the couch, holding hands. Tara and Rosita, sat on the ground, surrounded by blankets and sleeping bags. Daryl, in the corner, by himself. Carol, bustling around the kitchen. And Gabriel, quiet at the other end of the table, his hands clasped over his Bible.
She felt a strange sense of contentment. But it was tainted. She hadn't expected to arrive in a safe place and feel so lost. Feel so confused, and miserable. She wanted this place to work for them. She was going to make it work for them. But there was a little voice in the back of her mind, reminding her of the other safe places she'd had before. Terminus. The little white house where she holed up with Rick and Carl. The prison. The supermarket that she and Andrea spent six weeks in.
The refugee camp.
Her fingers found her necklace again and she gripped it tightly, fending off the wave of emotion threatening to engulf her. Rick was holding Judith now and the sight of him snuggling her to his chest made tears prick her eyes. Why now? Why, after all this time, was her son still haunting her? Would she ever look at that baby and not see her son staring back at her? Would she ever talk to Carl and not imagine Andre at that age, witty and brave and clever?
She inhaled deeply and pressed her eyes closed until she felt the rush of emotions pass. And when she opened her eyes, she managed to smile at the sight of Rick rocking his baby back and forth.
She was going to be okay. They were all going to be okay.
A/N
For a super long explanation of why I'm writing this story, why I'm making some changes, etc., please head to my profile.
Oh, also wanted to note that in this story, Carl is around 12 years old. Considering in season 1 he was around 10, and when they arrive in ASZ it's been just over a year and a half, he should be about 12 – this obviously wasn't possible in the show because Chandler grew up offscreen.