The End and the Beginning
The car is silent as he pulls up to the gates of Alexandria. So silent it hurts his ears. He looks around the car at his family as the gates roll open, wishes someone had something to say. He should say something, he is their leader, but he can't. He's just too heartbroken.
He drives through the gates, parks the car. No one gets out. Spencer approaches the car but stands quietly. Like he knows this is the hardest thing the group has ever had to do. Inside the car, he sits, breaths in, breaths out. He must get out. He is the leader. He must lead by example. It rings so false, though. Still…with a shaking hand, he grips the door handle, opens the door climbs out. His hand rests on his colt python. He squints against the sun, looks at Spencer. Behind him, the others get out of the car too.
"What happened?" he asks.
Spencer swallows. "There's this group. They're like fuckin' pygmies or something. Blends into the woods and shoots darts soaked in walker blood at people. Sometimes you don't even know you've been hit until you fall over sick, near dead.
He lowers his head, feels fingers intertwine with his own. The brown hand is delicate but strong. Carl looks over. Meets her eyes. She is second wife. After Enid died, he thought he'd never love again. He was wrong. Very wrong. Octavia is chatty, a petite ball of energy and deadly accurate with any type of gun. She literally knocked him off of his feet. Jumped him in the woods when he'd wandered too close to her community. That was seven years ago. They haven't been apart since. He wouldn't be able to get through this without her.
He takes a deep breath. "Where are they?" The question is barely audible. He nearly chokes on it.
"In their house," Spencer answers quietly.
Carl nods. Judith comes up beside him, takes his other hand. Now in her early thirties, Carl believes she must look very much like their biological mother. He only has a vague memory of Lori. So he likes to believe he can see her when he looks at Judith's long dark hair, lean body and creamy complexion. Behind him, their brother Ricky is breathing loudly. Carl knew, even though Ricky isn't the youngest, he would take this the hardest. He is a mama's boy through and through. Even at thirty, Ricky wrote letters to Michonne every week. Came to visit once a month. Never got a katana, but wields any blade with precision. Just like their mom. Two machetes crisscross his back like metal wings.
Carl glances over his shoulder at his baby sister, Micah. She looks so much like Michonne. Dark skin, dreads, long, lean corded muscles, serious expression, but she is their dad through and through. Hot headed, sometimes extremely viscous, especially if her family is in danger. She is a daddy's girl. Micah is able to make a weapon out of anything. He once saw her decapitate a walker with her shoelace. She followed Rick around like his shadow right up until they all moved to the Hilltop.
The need was greater there, so they all left. The guilt of that decision will haunt Carl for many years to come. One of them should have stayed in Alexandria even if his parents weren't the typical senior citizens. His dad's aim still as accurate as always. His mom still deadly with her katana.
He's stalling. With a deep breath and pain in each step, he makes his way to his parents' house. At the front door, he lets go of this wife's hand, Judith's too. Inside, a man waits in the living room. Doctor Nguyen. Carl has only met him once. Older man, salt and pepper hair. Kind eyes.
"They're resting as comfortably as possible in their bedroom."
"Thank you," Carl whispers.
He heads upstairs. Unable to stall anymore. Or so he thinks. When he reaches the bedroom door he stands there. Hand on the knob, but unable to turn it. Three deep breaths and nothing. Octavia's hand covers his. She looks up into his eye. He can only nod. She turns the knob for him, pushes the door open. Carl closes his eye at the sight before him. From behind, Ricky makes a choking sound. Judith sinks her nails into Carl's shoulder. Micah hisses out a noise that is a mix of anger and agony.
Carl opens his eye, steps into the room on legs that are made of jelly. He didn't know what he would see upon getting the news that his parents were dying, but this…he was not prepared for this. They lay together on the bed. Both on their backs. His dad's snowy white hair and beard are yellowish now. His face is gaunt, eyes sunken. His mom's once lustrous brown skin is grayish, ashy. Her long white dreads are broken in places and brittle. Their eyes are closed.
Pain lances through Carl's heart. Are they too late? Have his mom and dad passed away already? He rushes to the bed. Kneels beside Rick. Takes his father's hand. It is cool, not cold. Feels familiar and foreign at the same time. "Dad?" he croaks. "Dad?" He looks over at his mom. Reaches out, touches her cheek. "Mom?"
Ricky is already sobbing. On his knees, face buried in the mattress beside Michonne. Judith hugs Micah, but the younger sister is stoic. Silent, angry tears stream down her face as she looks at her parents, unmoving on the bed.
Then… "C-arl…Carl." It's no more than a whisper, but they all hear Rick. As one, the Grimes children converge toward the bed. Michonne's eyes flutter as if the lids are weighed down by glue. But they finally open. Rick's too. Carl has his dad's hand, brings it to his lips. Ricky places Michonne's hand against his wet cheek as he sobs 'mommy' over and over. Judith leans over Carl's back, kisses Rick on the forehead. She stretches her long body over and does the same to Michonne. Micah looks as if she is contemplating climbing on the bed between her parents and never leaving. As a compromise, she kneels on the foot of the bed, takes both their hands. Kisses them. Carl doesn't know where Octavia went, assumes she is giving him and his siblings time alone.
Michonne seems only capable of moving her eyes. She looks over at Ricky, hisses his name. He looks up, face wet, eyes flooded. "Yes, mommy?"
Any other time the rest of them would tease the grown man who still calls his mother, mommy, but now Carl feels it like a knife to his gut. His brother is going to be broken. It will be up to Carl to mend this family. He hopes he is strong enough to do it.
"Sword," Michonne whispers.
Ricky sniffs. "You want your sword?" he asks, confused.
"Yours," she breathes out.
He collapses into fresh sobs. From the time he could speak, it seemed Ricky begged Michonne for her sword. Her answer, 'When you pry it from my cold dead hands.' They would all laugh. It's not funny now.
They each take turns kissing and hugging—as best they can—each parent. Carl knows it won't be long. Both can barely keep their eyes opens and their breaths grow shallower with each minute. The children are all kneeling around the bed now. Micah has climbed off, kneels beside Carl on Rick's side of the bed. Every minute or so, she reached over, touches Michonne. Judith kneels beside Ricky. Does the same as Micah, reaching over to touch Rick.
"Carl," Rick rasps.
"Yeah, dad?"
Rick's lips move. Carl has to practically lay his ear against Rick's mouth to hear his father.
"Help…me…"
Fear quickens Carl's pulse. Is his father asking him to end it now…before they officially pass? He can't do it. But he can't deny his father either.
"Hel-help you do what, Dad?" Carl whispers, throat locking up.
"See…mich…onne."
Carl draws in a relieved breath. "Oh. Yeah, sure, Dad. Anything." He stands. "Dad wants to see mom. Help me. The other three stand. Carl gingerly takes Rick's upper body. Micah secures his legs and they roll him on his side, facing Michonne. On the other side of the bed, Judith and Ricky do the same with their mom.
A ghost of a smile curves Rick's lips. "There…she…is." That one sentence seems to cost him a great deal.
Michonne's lips quiver. "Love…my…life."
Micah makes a hiccup sound and falls into Carl's arms. Finally breaking. She quivers violently as silent tears wrack her body. Carl holds on. Judith takes Michonne's hand, places it against Rick's ear, fingers in his hair. She takes Rick's hand, places it on Michonne's hip. The four of them step back, watch their beloved parents hold each other like they always did in life as they take their last breaths.
Silence, not more tears, descends upon the room when they all realize their parents are gone. Carl swallows, lets go of Micah. From a sheath on this leg, he retrieves a metal rod. Thin as a coat hanger, but needle sharp.
"You all don't have to stay for this," Carl says. No one moves.
"We stay," Judith says. "It's not just on you."
He nods. Steps up to the bed again and positions the rod at the base of his dad's skull. Thrust in, yank out. Couldn't hesitate or else he would never do it. Moving swiftly now, he skirts the bed and comes up on Michonne's side. Thrust in, yank out. His parents lived as humans. Died as humans. Judith pulls the sheet up and over their heads. The Grimes kids exit the room, step into the hall and close the door. Carl comes up short when he sees his wife sitting on the floor, sobbing softly. She loved his mom and dad. He pulls her up into his arms, squeezes her. Now it is his turn to break and he does, loudly. A roar comes from him that he doesn't know he has. Vaguely he is aware that his siblings have closed in around him, but he can't feel past his pain. See past his heartbreak.
In this day and age, people who make it to seventy or close to it, have done something special. Carl knows he should feel grateful that he had so many wonderful years with them, but he is selfish. He wants another two, three, four decades with them. He wants them to see his five year old son grow into a man. See Judith's daughter become a beautiful woman. See Ricky and Micah find love and the kind of happiness he found with Octavia.
He doesn't know how long he cried, how long they stood in that hallway, but when he pulls back from the embrace with his wife, her shirt is soaked. He looks around at Judith, Ricky, Micah. They all look whipped. Drained of the very essence of life.
Octavia sniffs. "What do we do now?"
"We bury our mom and dad," Judith says.
Micah nods. "Yeah, we bury Mom and Dad." She cocks her head to the side, locks eyes with Carl in a look so similar to Rick's that it's scary, "Then we kill those motherfuckers!"
Carl draws in a deep breath. "Yeah," he says. "None of them gets to live."
A/N: So, um…that was a tough one for me to write. I cried with damn near every word I typed. The true inspiration for this story came from Andrew Lincoln himself. When asked how he would like for Rick to die, he said, Carl should kill him. Immediately, I thought, well, if that happens, Rick better be old as hell or I'm gonna lose my shit! Still, even with him being in his 70's like in this story, that's still not old enough for me. Hell, my father and stepfather are both 70 and I'm no more ready to lose them than I will be in 20 years. Nonetheless, the seed for this story was planted in my head and took root when Carl told Michonne he would kill her if she ever turned. I can't say there is more to this story. I know the title and the ending says there are more, but for now, this is the only part I have in my head.