One year of peace. One year after they destroyed Negan, one year of peace, and then the sickness came. And the three colonies, Hilltop, the Kingdom and Alexandria were hit hard, leaving their numbers so small they turned it into one.
But they survived through that. They survived through their losses and bounced back. They lived.
Of course, a year later, something else was brewing on the horizon.
And what was it? Well, another group that they had to fight. A group that, like every other group that Rick had seen before, wanted to try to figure something out.
But Rick didn't give away trust easily.
And again, he was right not to.
Rick knew they were losing, and by the look on his friend's faces, they knew too.
He didn't know when they came but he guessed he should have seen it coming. But they were spending so much time fighting the living that they forgot how dangerous the dead could be.
And now, well, they were royally fucked.
There was a horde, and screams filled the air. Rick couldn't tell if it was his side or the other side's screams. Not that it mattered, not when the person was screaming because death was tearing their throat out.
Either way, Rick was devastated. He worked so hard. So hard, trying to survive and make it to the next day. To keep on living. But granted, he knew, deep down, down where he still had his humanity, that none of this was living, not really. Surviving, yes, but living, no. And that created an almost poetic irony amidst the chaos of the dead killing the living. Because the dead weren't killing the living.
But Rick couldn't find it in himself to care. He didn't care. The old Rick, the moral, humane, everyone-deserves-second-chances Rick was gone, destroyed over time by the grief and loss that was paired with giving people the benefit of the doubt. Because in a world of death and decay, of being surrounded by thoughtless, coldblooded figures, it was hard to remain human too.
So, it was kill or be killed.
And Rick had to protect his own, had to protect these people who he saw as family. But they were dying. Already. Almost everyone, the ones who didn't quite know how to fight, the children, the injured and the scared, were dead, the weaklings, the ones who didn't know what it really meant to survive. They all died because when they were faced with the desperate fight for survival, they didn't know how to fight for it.
And now they were dead. All of them. And all that was left was his family, and a handful more from the three communities. And he knew he couldn't save everyone. He knew that the horde was too big to be able to save everyone left. So, like always, Rick had to prioritize, and really, it wasn't a hard decision.
Glenn would be disappointed in him. Rick knew that. And he was disappointed in himself too. Because even when Glenn was the one who saved him, Rick couldn't save Glenn. And he couldn't save his loved ones.
Despite it all, Rick was glad her son, her little, one-year-old son, was knocked unconscious, almost dead, so that, unlike his mother, he couldn't feel as he was torn apart. Rick wished the same could have been said for her. Because he knew she felt it all. He knew by the look on her face that she felt it all.
Yet through the pain, her hands never let go of her son, not even to attempt to fight them off. No, she held on to him, so tightly, as if she would never be able to again, but her face remained stoic, as if she believed she could still save her child. Rick closed his eyes, trying to forget the blood. He never really noticed how much blood oozed out of someone when they were in the middle of being murdered, but this was someone he cared about.
So, he noticed.
He noticed how utterly unfair it was for her to go that way. To get killed by something so simple as walkers, after everything she had been through. And how utterly cruel it was that the world didn't care that she was trying her damn hardest to save her baby, didn't care that she was suffering.
Because in the end, children were born in blood and death now, and in the end, their hope was lost.
He knew, deep down, that eventually death would overcome life, he just didn't hope to see it for a while now. But what a funny thing it is, hope.
Because sometimes, in this world of death, it is very, very hard to find life.
"Rick," A voice pulled him away from Maggie's body. He looked over at Michonne, who was watching him carefully. He knew from the look on Michonne's face, that she knew that there was little hope as well. "Rick. You have to save Carl and Judith." Rick, unable to find the words, even to try to reassure her that it would be okay, simply nodded, looking away. Michonne reached out and took his hand.
"We'll be fine," He croaked out, but Michonne didn't rebut his claim nor agree, simply kissing him on the cheek gently. Rick leaned into the kiss.
"You know we aren't going to be okay," She whispered. "You know we're all going to die if we stay and fight." Michonne leaned her head against his shoulder. "We'll fight. But you've got to take Carl and Judith away. You've got to give them the best chance that they can have to survive. As a father, you have to."
He found himself nodding. "I love you. And I'll be back to help you."
Michonne only smiled, kissing him one last time before pushing him away gently. "I'll cover you. Run with Carl and Judith. I'll find you." And, not being able to find it in himself to protest, Rick nodded.
And he left. For the first time in a long time, Rick backed out of a fight. To save them, to save the last of his hope, because he knew, if they died, he wouldn't go on. And he'd rather die than risk their deaths, so he left.
For them. Always for them.
"Dad, we can't leave them!" Carl shouted, but Rick wasn't listening as he led them away, leaving the others behind. Rick shook his head at his son, his 19-year-old son that had lost everything in one fell sweep the day the apocalypse started, holding his three-year-old sister, who had grown up amidst the blood, death and walkers. Rick almost thought it was better that way. She didn't know what she was missing, and so she didn't mourn the loss of the civilizations long gone, didn't wish for something better.
Rick wished for her. He wished for her a life that once was, so he had no qualms about doing this. Because he was doing it for them, and everything he did boiled down to that.
"Carl," He said, voice harder and steadier than he felt inside. "Do this for me. Please." The expression of loss on Carl's face was almost enough for Rick to give in, but Carl, after only a few seconds, schooled his expression as he looked down at Judith in his arms. He swallowed, before catching Rick's eye, nodding.
And Rick and the two people he loved most in the world got into the last car, leaving the others behind.
The walkers were barely there after a couple hours of driving and Rick pulled over to the side of the road when the gas gage was just enough for him to get back, and maybe half an hour back trying to find them.
Carl watched Rick carefully, and Rick knew his son was figuring it out, connecting the dots. There must have been something in his expression because Carl inhaled sharply, and Rick felt his heart break.
"You're coming with us, right?" Carl asked, but Rick only looked away, not saying anything. He knew there wasn't any use making promises that he didn't know if he could keep. Didn't even intend on keeping.
"Take care of your sister." Rick's hands were shaking and sweat was trickling down his spine. His son whipped his head towards him, eyes wide, and hands clenching the seat.
"What?" Carl asked hoarsely. "Dad? What do you mean?" Rick still didn't answer.
"Don't come back. You go with Judith." He glanced at Carl, who was watching him with a betrayed look on his face, almost breaking him. Rick swallowed, looking back out at the road. "Go to the sanctuary we heard about. You go and you don't come back. For anything." Rick reached back, pulling a bag out, placing it into Carl's lap. "There should be medicine in here, a gun, knife, extra bullets, clothes, water and food. It should last." Rick cuffed Carl's jaw lightly, whose eyes were bright.
"Dad," Carl whispered, and Rick closed his eyes, pulling his son into his arms.
"I love you," He whispered into Carl's hair, who was shaking in his arms. "If I make it out, I'll find you."
Carl pulled away, eyes fierce. "Do you promise?" He asked severely. Rick hesitated, and Carl glared, grabbing Rick's hand. "I know you don't like making promises, but you've got to make me this promise or I'm not leaving." Carl was giving him a mutinous look, and Rick cupped his hands around Carl's chin, putting his forehead against his son's. His strong, brave and amazing son.
"I promise," He whispered. He felt Carl shudder. They stayed like that for a few seconds, before Carl pulled away, handing Judith over to Rick. He smiled at the two of them. "I love you both. So much." Carl was watching him, eyes watery, and Rick knew, even without him saying it, that Carl loved him too.
Judith's lip wobbled, and Rick swallowed thickly, hugging her tighter. "Where are you going?" She asked.
He was silent for a few seconds before answering. "I have to fix a few things before I come back, okay?"
Judith was watching him solemnly. "But you will come back, right?" Rick felt his heart clench.
"Yes," He whispered, kissing her on the forehead. Judith frowned, holding out her small hand and placing it over his chest, right above his heart. She looked up at him.
"Cross your heart, Daddy?" She asked quietly, as if she knew that he might not. Rick nodded.
"Cross my heart."
Rick pulled out the knife he had plunged into a man's neck, letting the body drop, before turning to Michonne, who was pulling her sword out of another woman's chest. She nodded.
"What happened?" He asked quietly, walking with her through the walkers, their clothes covered in walker guts. Michonne looked at him somberly.
"Almost everyone died. Eugene, Rosita, Aaron, Tara, Gabriel, Morgan. Carol is gone, we don't know where she is. Daryl is severely injured when I saw him last. They took him away, so I don't know if he's alive or not. Most likely dead." Michonne's voice was flat, as if she was spouting out common facts. "All the civilians, they're dead. Didn't stand a chance when the fighting started." Rick was silent.
All the hard work, all the suffering to finally get something safe, and to have it taken away in a mere couple of days, was devastating and overpowering. Days of fighting and struggling to survive. It was cruel, but it was life these days, and Rick couldn't really expect anything else. He had already lost his hope, and until he got it back, he couldn't really be optimistic.
"We'll have to fin-"
But he was cut off from the sound of an explosion.
They were knocked off their feet, and Rick gagged, his ears ringing, head spinning and body aching. He tried to reorient himself, swinging his head around to try and catch sight of Michonne.
She was several meters away, almost out of his sight. But not enough for him to be able to see the people that attacked them tying her legs, already having tied her arms behind her back. Her eyes were closed, and Rick couldn't tell if she was alive or not. But he swore he could see the slight movement of her shoulders as she breathed.
Rick went to stand up, but just before he did, Michonne's eyes flew open, and caught his eye. She didn't react, simply shook her head almost imperceptibly. Enough so only he would notice.
Rick opened his mouth to protest, but a shout of surprise cut him off. The explosion had drawn walkers towards them, and Rick froze, watching as they walked past him. Looking down, he was relieved to see that he was still covered in walker guts, and with a quick glance saw that she was too.
But the men around her weren't. And the walkers were attacking. Rick didn't hesitate, walking over to her. It took everything in him to remember not to run, to pretend to be like them so they wouldn't attack.
Michonne was struggling, shifting so she could pull herself along. Rick caught her eye, and she nodded, trying to go faster. But, as if in slow motion, Rick could only watch as it fell apart.
There was a brief cry of surprise as one of the other's tripped on her, falling, and bringing walkers on top of him. Rick went as fast as he could chance it, but Michonne shook her head at him. Rick ignored her, not caring about anything but her, of saving her because he couldn't save the others.
But she made him pause, mouthing something he couldn't hear, but could read easily from her lips, and the desperation in her eyes. He paused, and she nodded, struggling some more, nearly getting out from under him, when something else destroyed her chances, again.
The man pulled out a grenade, still crying out in pain and pulled the pin.
"Go!" She shouted, struggling harder. "I'll find you! Go to Car-"
Rick lost his hearing the second time that day.
Rick crawled into the car, slamming the door shut on a few walkers before feeling it roar to life, still temporarily unable to hear. He skidded down the road, slamming on the brakes to grab water, weapons, medicine and food, and picking up the last gas container with only a meager amount left.
Carefully pouring it into the car, he rushed back in, hands trembling as he drove down the street.
"I'm coming," He whispered to himself as he stared out onto the road. "I'll find you."
He stumbled down the road, the car having broken down a bit over an hour after he left Michonne, and he walked after that, focusing on each breath and every step, inhale, exhale, one foot and then the other.
His head lolled back as he walked, staring up at the glaring sun. It was almost night time.
And when it finally came, he nearly collapsed with exhaustion. He didn't even bother protecting himself, curling up on the pavement to sleep.
One day. He'd been walking already for a day and refilled his jug full of water one time.
Rick tilted his head back, staring up at the sky. "Just keep going," He whispered to himself, inhaling deeply. He paused for a few seconds, swaying on his feet. He wasn't fucked, not yet. He still had water, food, and more than enough medicine and bullets for the gun in his holster, though he used his hatchet far more than the gun. He was going to be okay. They were okay.
Rick closed his eyes, feeling the sun beat down on his face, letting himself sink into the grief briefly, letting a few tears fall for the amazingly strong woman he loved, before opening his eyes and continuing with a strength he didn't realize he still had.
He had to stay strong, he had to endure. For them, always for them.
Another day. Another refill of his water, another brief loss to his grief, and another burst of energy to continue. He huffed out a breath, clenching his teeth, willing his stiff muscles to cooperate.
"C'mon, c'mon," He gritted out, panting heavily. But the explosions had taken a lot out of him, and he sunk to the ground, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes in fatigue.
He took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, letting his exhausted gaze wander.
And that was when Rick felt his heart clench when his eyes landed on a hat. A brown sheriff's hat.
He rushed over to it, picking it up with trembling hands. He clenched his jaw, seeing nothing but orange spray paint on the tree above it. Hyperventilating, Rick reached out, touching the paint. It wasn't crumbling and looked new. It had to be them. It had to be. For his sake, it had to be.
Rick squinted into the horizon, down the road, and saw another speck of orange. He inhaled sharply, a brief laugh escaping his lips as he started to run.
His sore muscles lost their ache, the backpack lost its weight despite the jugs of water he was carrying, he forgot how grief-stricken he was and how much he wanted to sleep. The only thing he noticed was the orange dots of paint on some trees, only things he tried to look for.
So, he ran. He pushed himself and took it one minute at a time, embracing the feeling of hope as it bloomed in his chest the farther he got.
He ran until the day turned into night, and only then did he slow to a jog, drinking some water, but continuing, like a mad man on a mission.
Because, quite frankly, he was definitely mad, and certainly on a mission.
"Cross my heart," He said hoarsely to the stars, his eyes dry, having already cried what he could. He paused, slumping down at the base of a tree. He was out of water, and half mad, but he was tired. Oh so, tired. Certainly, he could sleep for the last half of the night.
His eyes snapped open, the first rays of dawn shining in his face. Squinting, he sat up, hurriedly grabbing his stuff, only able to find some dirty water in a puddle, and then continued.
He yawned, rubbing his eyes as he glanced around him.
And that was when his heart sunk.
Because he didn't see orange anywhere. Nothing. Rick fought down the panic as he frantically searched, trying to recall the last time he remembered seeing the orange paint. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pull the memories from the depths of his mind through the haze of exhaustion that they were cloaked in through the hours of walking the other night.
Rick, pulling up nothing, sunk to the ground, shoulders shaking.
"No," He choked out. "No, no." He stood up, steadily and angry. He wasn't going to give up. Not yet.
With a strength and endurance that reminded him of when he was searching for Carl and Lori all those years ago, Rick started to walk, retracing his steps, going in the direction he thought the road was in, his clothes stiff with dried blood, guts and sweat.
He found some water, enough to fill one of his jugs, enough for him to hold out, and it gave him enough strength to keep going. But water wasn't what he needed to give him strength. He needed his hope back.
"I'll find you," He whispered, teeth clenched as he ignored the pain. "I'll find you." He closed his eyes as he walked, seeing their faces. "I'll find you."
By nightfall, he had found the road again, and he nearly cried out in relief. He started to run but jolted to a halt when the memory of the panicked feeling of yesterday crept into his mind, and he glanced around him frantically, sighing in relief when he saw the orange paint.
He walked over to it, placing a gentle hand on it before putting it to his mouth, sighing softly.
So, Rick was slower this time, staying near the edge of the forest so he could check each tree. But his body had other ideas, and Rick barely fought when his eyes drooped, and he dropped to the ground, curling onto his side. At least he found the road. He'll find them now.
The next couple days were blurred messes of blistering heat, cold nights, and harsh thirst. He was down to regulating his water, and the rational part of him, however small it was, pointed out the benefit of searching for a water source. But the larger, more convincing part of himself, that was determined in its perseverance, almost to the point of insanity, was louder, and he trudged on.
"I'll find you," He choked out to the sky. "I'll find you."
He was burning under the sun, and he swallowed thickly, his thirst unimaginable. He didn't know how he was still moving, how he was still managing.
He startled when he felt someone touch his shoulder. Shocked, he looked over, seeing Michonne's smiling face. She was clean, happy and healthy, and Rick blinked.
"Michonne?" He whispered, but she didn't answer, simply giving his shoulder a gentle push. He shivered, tensing, before clenching his jaw, nodding.
And he walked. And Michonne walked too.
Rick didn't know when she left and was replaced with Lori, but he found even more strength in seeing his wife, seeing his daughter and son in the face of the woman walking beside him.
Rick swallowed, his throat sore and dry.
"What're you doing here?" He croaked, but, like Michonne, Lori didn't answer, simply smiled. Where Michonne touched his shoulder, Lori took his hand, squeezing it lightly, and Rick watched her disappear. He stood there, for how long, he didn't know. It could have been a few minutes, or a few hours.
All he knew was when he finally moved again, he was shocked to notice he was crying.
The day was nearing dusk, but Rick kept going, kept looking at the trees, watching for the orange, when he noticed something off about one of them.
Reaching out with his hand, he touched it, before pulling his hand back and noticing that a bit of orange was left on his fingers. It could have been the light – the sun was at the time of day where it basked everything in a faint orange glow – or it could have been his dried blood, but Rick swore his fingers were orange. Rick's heart jumped. Because he knew, deep in his heart, that it was paint, and that it was done recently.
Whipping his head up, Rick looked down the hill he was on, and saw two silhouettes in the evening sun, shuffling down the road at the bottom of the hill, at least 200 meters away.
One tall, lean figure, and one small, little figure, both hunched over, either in pain or exhaustion.
"Carl," Rick could barely choke out, still frozen in shock, still standing with a joyful, elated smile on his face. "I found you," He whispered. And he knew that all the pain, grief and anger was worth it, worth it if it was them. Because he might have lost his hope, might have given it up and hid it away, but he had found it, he had it back, and he wasn't ever going to let it go again.
And then Rick was running.