AN: This is in a series of "shorts" that I'm doing for entertainment value as I rewatch some episodes. Some of them are interpretations/rewrites of scenes that are in each episode. Some are scenes that never happened but could have in "imagination land". They aren't meant to be taken seriously and they aren't meant to be mind-blowing fic. They're just for entertainment value and allowing me to stretch my proverbial writing muscles. If you find any enjoyment in them at all, then I'm glad. If you don't, I apologize for wasting your time. They're "shorts" or "drabbles" or whatever you want to call them so I'm not worrying with how long they are. Some will be shorter, some will be longer.

I own nothing from the Walking Dead.

I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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Greater than the fear of waking up in the hospital and understanding nothing, and greater than the fear of finding his family gone and the world apparently owned by the dead, was the fear of running as fast as he could with his wounded son in his arms, not sure if it was even fast enough, and not knowing if Carl was still alive or if he might remain so for any real duration of time.

Seeing that Lori and Carl were just gone—and seeing that they'd taken the time to pack—had given Rick hope. It had given him some kind of distance. It had given him some peace of mind and the ability to choose to believe that his family was safe because there was no evidence to the contrary. He could fashion, for himself, a hundred and one scenarios about where they might be, how they got there, and how they were doing. He could imagine anything from the very worst to the very best and he could choose to hold onto the very best as "likely" because each of the possibilities remained no more tested than the others. It was Rick's choice and, for the most part, he was in control of his imagination.

None of the his created scenarios, and none of his imagined responses to them, prepared Rick in any way for the feelings that robbed him of his breath—even more than the physical efforts put forth by his body—that he had while he ran with Carl and wondered if Hershel could help him and if Carl would ever even live to test the man's abilities.

Because of something as simple and stupid as a man out hunting that couldn't, or didn't, see Carl's clothes in the woods, Rick might lose his only son. His son had lived this long in a world filled with nightmare creatures. He had lived when others died. He'd come through the situation of almost certain-death at the CDC. He'd been through so much. Too much to die from something as simple as the carelessness of one man.

Otis.

Rick was sure that the man's name would be forever burned into his mind. The man's face would forever be burned into his memory. Otis. The man who shot Carl because he didn't see him. Otis. The man who almost cost him his son's life.

And if Carl didn't make it through this?

Otis. The man that cost Rick his son.

Rick knew that he was supposed to forgive the man for his mistake. That was expected of him. It was the right thing to do. He knew that what Otis had done was a genuine accident. Just seeing Otis's reaction to the situation had made it clear that he hadn't meant for it to happen and he would take it back, reverse the whole thing, if it were possible.

But it wasn't possible.

And Rick didn't know if he could forgive the man. Otis. Especially not if his actions cost Carl his life and whatever future this world might hold for him.

Rick wasn't sure that, as a father, such a thing could ever possibly be forgivable.

It wasn't until things were calm and Carl was safe—and enough time between the days had passed—that Rick realized that he had walked in Otis's shoes. He had been in Otis's position. He had been, for someone else, what Otis was for him and then some.

Rick realized that he was Carol's Otis.