Sometimes, Rick had dreams. Wonderful, wonderful dreams. Dreams of a normal family, a normal life, where nothing of that crazy shit with zombies had happened.
Sometimes, he dreamt about good stuff. About ending up meeting all those wonderful people he knew now in the middle of a road trip with Carl, or in a celebration vacation with Lori, maybe going fishing with Shane. He thought about those who were closer, who he had met earlier, like Glenn and Maggie and Hershel and he just dreamt about going with his family to a random city and getting lost, finding a farm in the middle of the way after being lost for hours.
Some other times, he dreamt about bad stuff, but still way better than their current reality, like him finding out that Lori and Shane were having an affair, or that he had suffered a job accident and couldn't walk properly anymore, or anything like that that was bad, yes, but not even one eight of what they had gone through all those years.
But specially, after losing so many, he dreamt about Carl.
He dreamt about him going to school and being picked up. He dreamt about his boy getting new video games every year, and even so complaining because he didn't have enough. He dreamt about Carl going to school, high school, getting accepted into college. He dreamt about his boy winning some school tournaments, running to him with a medal or a trophy in hand, and they would go home and celebrate it during a long and happy dinner. He dreamt about Carl having the life he had, and not the one they were currently living in.
Honestly, if he knew all of that was going to happen, Rick wouldn't even have brought Carl to the world in the first place. No one, specially no child, deserved to live like that.
But Carl was strong. Even in his dreams. He was stronger than Rick himself. After he had grown up, he always acted calm, centred, as if he knew everything would be alright, and Rick did not understand how he could be so calm, so collected.
Specially when someone is telling your father to cut your arm off.
Rick was sobbing. Everyone was sobbing. Negan was counting. He felt as if he was going to throw up and die at the same time.
And then, that soft voice, telling him to 'just do it'.
And he almost did it. But he was stopped in time. And Carl was sparred. But Rick didn't want to take any other risks. Not after Abraham. Not after Glenn.
Later on that day, however, when the adrenaline settled and they were only left with grief, he approached Carl, who was just sitting outside the truck, staring at the forest in silence. He sat down next to his son, the only reason why he was still alive, and looked at him.
"Carl..." He started, and then stopped. He was never good communicating. Lori told him that all the time. Carl, however, had learned how to interpret all his tones.
"I'm fine dad. No need to worry 'bout me" he said, slowly, shrugging his shoulder while still staring forward. Rick sighed and then nodded before staying quiet again, for a while.
"I'm sorry Carl" he mumbled, his voice breaking slightly as the memory of him almost cutting his son's arm off came back like a flash in his mind. That was when his son turned to him, eyebrow furrowed.
"Don't apologise. It was the right thing to do" he said, and then let out a sigh before turning his head back forward. "Also, I knew that as long as you were around, I wouldn't really get hurt"
Those words made Rick's chest lighten up a thousand lbs, before he nodded and stared at his feet again, in silence. He stayed still as Carl moved and leaned against his side, letting his head rest onto Rick's shoulder, too afraid to end up screwing everything up again, like he always did. And the two stayed there, for a long time, just waiting. And he felt as if, for one or two minutes, everything was normal.