Carl felt bile rise up in the back of his throat.

One moment later, he was vomiting his (recently eaten) breakfast of dry Rasin Bran next to some dead walkers he had (recently) killed. He made a mental note of how grainy the cereal felt coming back up and decided that he would never eat it again without some kind of liquid to accompany it.

Damn. If only there was milk in the fucking apocalypse!

With a smack of his foul-tasting lips and a wipe of his sleeve he picked up his gun. Standing before the walkers lying dead in their pile, he muttered in a bitter tone.

"I win."

The teen slowly stepped through the room, taking off the filthy button-down layered over his actual shirt. "I killed three walkers." He stated plainly as if it were no big deal. "They were at the door."

It was actually quite a big deal to him. He proved something to himself that he figured he never would.

"They were gonna get in...but," He paused. "I lured them away."

He placed a hand on the back of the couch his unconscious father was sleeping on. All of Carl's talking had been directed towards him even though he couldn't possibly hear.

The earlier attempt to wake him proved that much.

"I killed them."

The sound of his own voice pressed a weight in the atmosphere for the teen. It suddenly turned heavy and he felt bolder than before.

"I saved you." He said with growing emotion in his voice. His feelings were boiling over and what a better to release them?

"I saved you." He said again more insistently, slightly hoping for some response.

Rick still lay motionless. Unaware of his son's outbursts. This caused Carl to sigh with added frustration.

"I didn't forget while you had us playing farmer." He added. "I still know how to survive."

Another soft silence ensued between the one-sided conversation.

"Lucky for us." He whispered.

Carl shook his head slightly and narrowed his eyes at the man on the couch. "I don't need you anymore."

"I don't need you to protect me anymore."

He stepped closer to the couch, swaying. He didn't want his father to hear what he was saying but...he had to at least say it.

"I can take care of myself." He said with a rising voice. "You probably couldn't protect me anyways!"

Carl was on the verge of shouting and rage was quite evident on his face. The developing veins in his neck were somewhat visible, the baring of his teeth and the look directed at his father.

"You couldn't protect Judith!" He hissed. "You couldn't protect..."

He paused, thinking once more of the repercussions of his actions.

"Hershel. Or Glen. Or Maggie. Michonne. Daryl."

With every word, hatred and bitterness enunciated itself. Carl couldn't help how he felt. He had to direct it somewhere. And he found the place.

"Or mom."

He gave another throaty sigh. "You just wanted to plant vegetables."

"You just wanted to hide! He knew where we were and you DIDN'T CARE!" He yelled, balling up his fists. "You just hid behind those fences and waited f-..."

The teen backed off again. His eyes couldn't bear to look at his father again but they did. He felt like crying but desperation surfaced instead.

"They're all gone now!" He growled again.

"BECAUSE OF YOU!"

"THEY COUNTED ON YOU! YOU WERE THEIR LEADER!" He screamed.

With a defeated sniff to bite back tears he sat down on the floor near his father's feet. He rested his hands on his knees and looked down at the floor in front of him.

"But now... you're nothing."

The words were undoubtedly harsh. Even Carl realized that as he was saying them. But they needed to be known. By him or Rick, it didn't matter. As long as they had some kind of outlet it would be okay.

Slowly, the tears overtook him and he rested his hat adorned head on his arms.

The teen wasn't positive how much time had passed but he was certain of one thing. He had to go scavenging for supplies.

He wiped his nose on his sleeve and his eyes with his hands before getting to his feet. There was a canvas bag laying next to him that held their dwindling supplies. With a forceful jerk, he emptied the contents onto the floor and began to leave.

"I'd be fine if you died."

He didn't look back once as his feet crossed the threshold.

The walker attack left him breathless with his heart pounding mercilessly against his chest. Breath after breath he calmed himself, making sure he leaned up against the thick wooden door that kept him from the thing.

A white item laying on the floor caught his attention, so he picked it up.

Chalk.

He sighed and took a fleeting glance at his left foot which was missing a shoe. He had to commemorate the shitty memory somehow.

A minute later Carl stepped back from his masterpiece and gave a solemn smile.

'WALKER INSIDE. Got my shoe but didn't get me.'

The teen admired his handiwork before walking off to grab his pudding, bag, and empty gun. He sat on the roof, admiring that the walker couldn't get him and chowed down on the thick, chocolate-y goodness.

The sight of the abandoned neighborhood was eerily beautiful. Vines and overgrown brush seemed to wrangle the flowerbeds into submission as well as coat the sides of the houses. The crumbled asphalt road seemed to lead forever and had a great view of the entire street.

He felt like a king for once.

Then, he saw something. At first, he figured it was his shaggy hair that caused him to see an apparition of sorts. But no.

On closer inspection, he noticed the far away being was trying to get into a house. So, it couldn't be some sort of walker.

He watched as it slipped inside a white two story home that was nearly covered in brush.

Curiosity suddenly took over the teen but...he couldn't track this person down without a shoe.

Remembering that a boy had obviously lived in the home that he and his father were occupying, Carl figured there might be shoes about his size in the closet.

He was right.

In fact, the 'borrowed' hiking boots were just a smidgen too big. They were extremely comfortable and Carl cursed at himself that he hadn't thought of the idea sooner.

Just to check, the teen walked into the room where his father should've been sleeping.

His heart nearly dropped into the pit of his soul.

The couch had been ripped away from the door like someone had been in a hurry to get out (or get in). A cable that the teen had found and tied around the door handle had been cut, but that's not what scared him.

Rick was missing.

"Dad?!" Carl called, whirling around to look for any sign of the older man. "DAD?!"

A few hours later the teen returned to an empty house. He sat down at the kitchen table and cried. Now, completely alone, he thought about his previous actions.

Had his father heard him and decided to leave? Just the idea was crippling and he broke into even deeper sobs. Everything he had said earlier to the unconscious man was instantly taken back. He wanted to apologize tell the man he loved him unconditionally but...he was missing.

Speaking of which, Carl knew that person had to be responsible for his dad's disappearance. He had searched absolutely everywhere...except for the white house.

Maybe it was about time to pay, whoever it was, a visit.