Too Far Gone

The Broken Son

Synopsis:

This story is being written in a pov format with five main pov characters: Rick, Carl, Michonne, Negan and Asha (OC). The story follows the basic framework of the show but will include bits of the comic book that I liked better and some from my own imagination. In a way this is a compilation of all the good bits from both the show and book and some from my imagination. Chapter 1: The Broken Son
Carl finds himself in a swallowing darkness when the shuffling of feet sends a chill down his spine as he awaits what's impending.

Dad?

Dad, is that you?

Dad?

The boy called out for the umpteenth time into the blinding darkness. There was no sound except for his calls and the thumping in his chest accompanied by his shuddering breath. He felt the sweat trickle down his face and pool into the hollow of his neck.

"Dad!" he sobbed. "I am so sorry."

Hot tears spilled out copiously, streaming down his face and dripping on his hands. He looked down searching for his hands but the penetrating shadow of the darkness obscured every bit of him. He closed his eyes squeezing out the last drop of tears, letting the darkness engulf him.

He lay there for some time to be woken up by what sounded like a breaking twig and the crunching of leaves. He startled into consciousness, his hand finding its way to his waist, groping for his knife. A maddening fear gripped him as he heard the old peculiar groan and dragging feet. He jumped to his knees, crouching as he held his knife in one hand and his other hand mimicking the one that held the weapon. His breath was so laboured; he reckoned that the burning in his lungs would kill him before the walker reached him. His whole form was trembling and a continual chill attacked his spine. His clammy hands struggled to hold on to the knife and his knees began to shake as torrents of cold sweat started to drench him with the source of the sound progressively narrowing its distance from him. Unable to hold his ground he collapsed against the wall. He sat there, an arctic chill assaulting his body as he waited for his impending fate. His mind, a dizzy mess of memories, as he bid his family a silent farewell.

The groaning and shuffling of feet stopped just an arm's length away from him. He could hear its grating breath like sandpaper. He could feel the heat emanating off of it, putting him off guard. The warmth had this peculiar effect of abating his panic, his heartbeat placating to slow down. The smell of blood and sweat wafted into his face. And a scent so familiar that his inability to recognise it was nearly driving him crazy. As he pondered upon this strange situation he had found himself in, a raspy voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Carl? Carl. Be safe."

A gunshot pealed the otherwise silent darkness and Carl's knee seared with pain.

Carl lay under the white ceiling of his room as the moonlit breeze flooded it. He lay on the soft bed currently drenched in his own sweat. He felt like someone was choking him as he strained to catch his breath. He wheezed as he heaved himself up to sit. The strangulation deepening as his panic escalated. Disoriented, he jumped out of his bed kicking the duvet that tangled about his feet. His throbbing head weighing down on his shoulders. Spilling out of his room, his legs hurried him along the corridor to the room opposite to his. He opened the door to find the placid features of his kid sister snoring softly, untroubled and undisturbed. Gingerly, he closed the door back and limped to the room at the end of the hall. He deliberated for a while whether to knock but decided against it as he rationalised not to wake the inhabitants of the room for his own agitated heart. He just wanted to see them, he just wanted them safe!

His hand wrapped around the door knob. He gave it a careful turn and opened the door, cringing at the slight creak of the hinges. He stood at the door looking at the back of his mother and two year old Mickayla in her crib.

He stood there for some time taking in the emptiness. He swallowed hard and finally decided to leave them at peace. He motioned to close the door but the damned thing made that awful creak, again. His eyes immediately darted to see whether the noise had woken anyone up. To his great relief and guilt, Michonne stirred and sat up on the bed. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes she looked at the silhouette by the door.

"Bad dream?"

Carl nodded. He looked on with guilt ridden eyes as she gathered herself up from the bed and walked to him, the moonlight washing over the room. He followed her suit and stepped outside the room.

She reached for her son to pull him in a half hug, squeezing his shoulder as she released him. They silently walked down the stairs and to the porch. The navy sky was dappled with a thousand stars. A light breeze caused the cling-clang of the wind chime that he got Judy for her tenth birthday. For a moment Carl found some peace within him as the breeze washed over his face; the throbbing in his head waning. He let out a cool sigh and seated himself on the cold wooden seat of the porch-swing.

Michonne seated herself on a wicker chair. This was a routine for them. Despite Carl's guilt at regurgitating his mess onto her he failed to not end up on this porch with her, every night.

Many a night he had tried to bottle it up and go back to sleep and many a night he had failed. Being locked in his mind's chokehold he had sought solace in Michonne. He knew that she had as much on her plate as him, maybe more but he still indulged in selfishly dumping his pain to add to hers.

Tonight he was silent; gently swinging, balancing on his toes taking in the night. At length Michonne inquired, "You wanna talk 'bout it?"

Carl let out another deep sigh and brushed his hair off of his only eye. He sensed her features soften more than it was as he looked at her with that sad ocean of an eye.

"I saw him again. I didn't...see him. I heard him, smelt him."

He continued trying to keep the emotions out of his voice.

"I don't really hate these dreams, you know?" he decided. "I find them comforting, like he is still here, that I will walk down the hall to your room and find him lulling Micka back to sleep. It's only when I wake up in the dark that freaks me out. I am sick of waking up to this confusion every night, struggling to come to terms with reality. God! I have seen him in so many different ways; saw him dying in so many different ways..."

He paused to stifle a sob that was inching closer to his mouth.

"I sometimes wish I never wake up from these dreams."

"Don't you even think like that!" Michonne hushed her terrified eyes boring into his. "You have two sisters to take care of. I know what you lost." Her eyes glistening as she spoke. "But you can't give up. You have this community. You have me!"

"I miss him..." Carl let that itching sob escape; the tears glazing over his eye.

"I miss him too." the tears flowing freely from her eyes as well.

She got up and sat herself beside Carl on the swing and drew her son into a tight hug.

The end of their session was always heralded by the dawn and Micka's scheduled wail. This time it was no different. On her cue, Michonne got up from the swing, gave Carl a kiss on the head and marched into the house. She didn't have the luxury to mourn.

Author's Note:

This is my first fanfic so I am looking forward to any constructive criticism to help me improve. Also if you liked this chapter please let me know; based on the response I will publish the next chapter. Any questions regarding the fic is welcome. Also I hope this chapter hasn't thrown off any viewer, I intend to make the fic realistic and bittersweet.