The night was quiet, their group sitting close together and keeping their conversation minimal. Having settled into another makeshift camp for the night, they had eaten and were shortly preparing to go to sleep, currently determining who would take the watch shifts that night. They had been forced to continue on, fearing that the side of the road was not safe for them to camp. The car accident had brought dozens of Walkers swarming from the woods, and even a mile up the road they had attracted more attention than they would be able to handle at night, especially with some of them sporting uncomfortable injuries.

They had piled into the cars and pushed on, using the last of their spare gasoline to bring them another forty miles to the next town. It had been dark upon arrival, and though they would have normally basked in the luxury of spending another night indoors, they were reluctant to risk clearing out a house and surroundings after night fall. Instead they had made their camp in the middle of an old sports field, parking the cars in formation against the brick wall of the sport club offices.

The hours since the car accident had passed slowly, as though time wanted to remind Rick of every single moment he and Carl spent alive. Prior to the accident the slow passage of time would have set him on edge, would have made him annoyed and frustrated, but not now. Given what had happened, the urgency of reaching the prison had eased a little…all that mattered to Rick was getting his son through the night. Abraham and Aidan both agreed that if Carl's health would deteriorate, it would happen in the next few hours. A blood clot or deeper internal bleeding…if there was something to hurt him, it would happen soon. So long as they got him through the night, Rick would breathe with ease…the urgency to reach the prison would return again in the morning. Until then, Rick was content, squeezed into the back of the minivan by Carl's side. It wasn't the most comfortable position seated on the floor, but there was no where else he would be.

Carl had been sleeping for a few hours now, the painkillers having a sedative effect on him. It was a relief for Rick to see, glad this his son wasn't awake any more. Though he appeared to be out of danger, the treatment to his leg was agonising, Aidan and Abraham apologising with every swipe of antiseptic, every application of pressure. It was necessary though, and working together they ensured that the process was concluded as soon as possible. A dressing had been applied to each wound, and with stern words for Carl to stay still and keep warm, Abraham and Aidan had started debating about which antibiotic he should take.

With Carl still sleeping, Rick slowly stepped out of the minivan, trying not to jostle the suspension and wake him up. Gritting his teeth through a momentary bout of dizziness, he pressed his fingers to the crook of his elbow, feeling the bruise he had been left with from the cannula. Accepting a second serving of cookies, tinned beans and orange juice, he made himself eat the extra rations, knowing his body would be craving it after a blood donation. Tobin was also enjoying extra rations, he too having type A blood. The moment he realised what Carl needed, he had rolled up his sleeve and stuck his arm out for Aidan, his blood draining into the same jar as Rick's. Between the two of them, Carl's blood loss seemed to have been replenished. With time, the colour had returned to his face, and his cheeks felt less clammy. Their concerns that he might slip into shock were fading now, everyone breathing a little easier, Carl included.

His movements slow and cautious, Rick finished his rations and headed for the medical kit, seeking out a little red pack of pills. Though he had played down the discomfort of his injuries so as to keep the focus on Carl, Rick's body was making a loud protest to him, each movement reminding him of the injuries he had sustained, albeit minor. Radiating from the right side of his head was a God awful headache, the dull throb reminding him of the way he had hit his head and fallen unconscious. Most uncomfortable of all was his left arm, the skin already turning blue from the repeated kicks Carl had given him to try and wake him up. If they made it to the prison tomorrow like planned, with the exception of Carl they were all going to have to help clear it, injured or not. Taking a couple of Tylenol and washing for an ice pack, Rick hoped they were on top of their game tomorrow.

Restless, Rick walked the perimeter of their camp and checked on the Walker alarms, despite the difficulty in actually seeing them. They hadn't been able to light a camp fire that night, feeling too exposed in the middle of a town, and so had to make do with the camping stove to warm their meals and boil water. Determining that they were safe enough for the night, Rick returned to where the group sat together, some already asleep in their sleeping bags, some staying up a little longer. Aaron and Nicholas sat atop the removal truck keeping watch, giving Rick a short nod when he glanced up at them. Checking that Carl was still sleeping, Rick approached Daryl who stood by one of the cars, a well-deserved cigarette burning between his lips.

"Hey," he greeted him.

Daryl responded in typical fashion, grunting and jerking his head a little.

"Thank you," Rick began, having said those words so many times that day. "For going back to the car."

Raising his eyebrows, Daryl made the effort of removing his cigarette to reply. "We wouldn't o' left you there."

"No, I mean the second time," he clarified quietly. "It was risky…a risk you didn't have to take. Thank you."

Daryl just shrugged, no doubt thinking about the expedition he and Rosita had made back to the overturned Dodge that afternoon. Completely engrossed in Carl, Rick hadn't even noticed their absence, hadn't even given thought to the fact that not only had he left all of his weapons behind, all three bags containing the listening devices were in that car. As soon as they realised, Daryl had insisted on returning. There was less attention to their presence this time, given that the commotion attracting the Walkers was over and done with. It had taken half an hour, but miraculously they had managed to retrieve almost everything that had been left behind, clearing out the Dodge and cramming all of it into Aaron's small sedan. Rick's weapons had been returned to him, as had Carl's duty belt and all of their spare gasoline.

"It's all righ'," Daryl commented roughly. "Besides…Carl left his hat there…could you imagine the whinging if he lost that?"

Rick smiled and nodded, remembering how pleased Carl had been to be reunited with his Sheriff's hat.

"You know, Rick…" Daryl started, smirking a little. "There's no use in packing those bugs in three separa' bags, if you're only gonna stick 'em in one car…"

Chastised, Rick nodded in agreement.

"How tha' happen?"

Groaning to himself, Rick looked at the ground and kicked the dirt. "I had Carrie pack the car today…I didn't think."

"Nah, nah, you were thinkin'. Yah just weren't thinkin' right," Daryl grinned.

"Sorry?"

"It's her…she's making all the blood up 'ere," he continued, pointing to his head. "Go rushin' down 'ere," he concluded, pointing to the front of his jeans.

"Daryl," Rick started in annoyance. God, had it really only been that morning that he resolved himself to having a stupid crush on her?

"I'm just sayin', ain't your fault…blame biology or somethin'."

"Daryl…"

"Go on…admit it," he encouraged. "You were thinkin'…just not with the right body part."

Sighing, Rick looked around the group, his eyes falling on Carrie who was unrolling her sleeping bag. It was his fault the listening devices had all been packed into the one car, despite their earlier plans to keep them separate. Not concentrating, he had told her to pack them anywhere, completely forgetting about anything else. Annoyance lingered, not towards Daryl's insight, but towards himself. What kind of person developed a crush on a woman they had known three days?

"Alright…I'll admit to thinking with the wrong body part," Rick began quietly, completely throwing away all dignity. "But it was just momentary, alright?"

"Momentary, huh," Daryl scoffed. "So you do got the hots for her?"

Rick rolled his eyes at this. "What, are we fifteen?"

"Could be…"

"It's just attraction, that's all," Rick insisted. "It's purely…."

He trailed off uncertainly. He was about to say that his attraction was purely physical, that just like everyone else, he found Carrie good looking…beautiful, even. But it was a lie…he knew that. Even now, as she unrolled her sleeping bag beside Michonne's, heavy bags under her eyes and cuts on her face, Rick wanted to go over there to her…wanted to sit beside her and strike up conversation. Once they got over the awkwardness of their mistrust, talking to Carrie was easy. Last night and that day, Rick had been forced to hold himself back from telling her everything there was to know about himself, feeling strangely loquacious for the first time in his life. It was a strange turn of events. Hadn't Lori always told him he didn't talk enough?

"Look," he began uncertainly, hoping he managed to explain himself properly. "Daryl…don't make this a big deal. Please."

"Why's that?" he asked, getting rid of his smirk when he realised Rick was serious.

Shifting uncomfortably, Rick tried to think…but how could he possibly articulate everything that was going on inside his head? "It's just…it's going to blow over, okay? I want it to."

Daryl grunted, prompting him to continue.

"I don't want anything from her…even though part of me thinks it might," he concluded awkwardly, glancing over at her again.

"'Cos o' Lori?"

He nodded. "Yeah, because of Lori."

"Man…she's been gone almos' a year now…a year these days is like ten normal years."

"I know…"

"Alright," Daryl nodded, his version of an apology. "I won't make a big deal of it."

"Thank you…and next time you and Glenn are gossiping, tell him too."

"Yeah, I will."

There was an awkward silence, Rick looking over to the minivan to check on Carl. He still lay there asleep, his leg comfortably propped up on pillows.

"Look…This is the last I'm gon' say of it," Daryl began quietly, sounding apologetic. "But there's no shame in it, man…"

"I never said there was," Rick countered, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I mean…no one's gon' judge you for wanting another woman…"

"Not even Carl?" he questioned, knowing he was putting Daryl on the spot. "He won't judge me for wanting another woman?"

"Alrigh', I'll give you that, he probably won' be pleased," Daryl admitted, stomping his cigarette into the ground. "But what you gonna do? Put your whole life on hold for him? Never do anythin' for yourself?"

Considering this, Rick glanced back at the minivan again. "If I need to," he said, the answer coming to him with great ease.

Daryl looked at him long and hard, finally giving a short nod. "Alrigh'…well that's the last I'll talk of it."

"Thank you," Rick said, preparing to head back to Carl. He stopped himself at the last minute, feeling the need to say something else. "And Daryl…thank you."

Leaving it at that, Rick returned to his son, giving short nods to everyone else as he passed them by. Though he knew he owed Carrie a great deal of gratitude, knowing how she had tried to protect Carl when he couldn't, Rick didn't let himself meet her eye. He would talk to her tomorrow, would thank her properly for what she had done. Tonight though, Daryl's words ran a little too true for him to face her just yet. He was attracted to her, and he had likely been thinking with the wrong body part that morning when he told her to put the packs in any car.

Pleased he didn't have to take another night on watch, he took a pillow and blanket from the removal truck, saying a quick goodnight to everyone still awake. Kicking his boots off, he resumed his place on the floor of the minivan, adjusting the pillow behind his back. Situating himself, he rested his elbow on the seat by Carl's head, his fingers reaching down to stroke his hair affectionately. Weary, he put his head back and closed his eyes, ready to fall asleep. The very moment he found the most comfortable position, he felt Carl stirring.

"Dad?" he said groggily, rubbing his eyes as he twisted around to see him.

"I'm here," he said quietly.

Carl sighed, finding his bottle of water and taking a sip. "I want to get up…I gotta take a leak."

Rolling his eyes, Rick echoed his sigh. "You had to wait until I got comfortable, didn't you?"

Laughing a little, he apologised. "Sorry."

Silencing his groan of annoyance, Rick sat up and looked at Carl's leg. He pictured it bleeding again, the delicate injury disturbed as he got up. "I'll get you something."

"No" Carl protested, beginning to sit up. "I can get up."

Rick shook his head, wanting him to rest. "You shouldn't…you should rest."

"I'm not peeing into a bottle," he shuddered. "I can get up."

"It's not the first time you've peed into a bottle when you were injured," Rick argued, continuing when Carl looked at him in confusion. "When you first got shot…you were bedridden for a week."

"Yeah, I know," he said in embarrassment. "But I was a kid then…I'm getting up."

Remembering he got his stubbornness from Lori, and no doubt from him too, Rick reluctantly helped Carl sit. Pulling aside the blankets, he found Carl's shoes and slipped them onto his feet, securely tying the laces so that he wouldn't trip. Moving very slowly, Carl shuffled to the door of the car, groaning in frustration when Rick offered to carry him.

"Dad, no," he grumbled, brushing his hand away. "I can walk."

Seconds later Abraham was by his side, helping Carl to his feet and ignoring any protests he made.

"You'll do as you're told," Abraham told him gruffly, knowing Carl would listen to him without question. "Now let your father help you."

Pulling Carl's arm around his shoulder, Rick bent slightly and helped Carl bear only a small amount of his weight on his left leg, wishing his son wasn't too proud to be carried. He watched the expression on his face, hating each flash of pain that crossed it. They moved slowly, Abraham hovering behind them as they made their way around the cars and into the darkness where Carl could relieve himself.

"When does it hurt?" Abraham enquired in concern. "When you put weight on it, or when you move it?"

"Both," Carl ground out, gritting his teeth until they finally stopped. Letting Carl stand for a moment, Rick kept hold of his elbow, not wanting to leave him. "Dad…"

"Mmm?"

"Could I have some privacy?" he asked in annoyance.

Rick hesitated. "You've peed in front of me a thousand times."

"Dad…"

Sighing, Rick slowly let go of his arm and stepped back to stand with Abraham. "Don't fall over," he said, feeling that by saying it he might be able to prevent it. There was only silence, and after sharing a glance Rick and Abraham stepped back a few more feet. Finally content, Carl went about his business, Rick never taking his eyes off his dark form as they waited. When he was done they helped him back to the car, only feeling relief when he was seated and off his leg once again.

"Let me check the wounds," Abraham insisted, having Rick shine the flashlight. Having applied pressure to the injury for over an hour, Abraham was understandably concerned with ensuring there was no extra bleeding. "Not too much blood…not too much swelling. I'd say you're God damned lucky, kid."

Rick laughed shortly. "I have to disagree."

"Yeah," Carl echoed his laugh, swallowing heavily. "This is the second time I've been shot…"

"By friendly fire, no less."

"Hey, Dad…we've both been shot twice now. I caught up to you."

"You've both been shot twice?" Abraham questioned.

"Yeah," Carl nodded, lifting his shirt and showing him the scar on his stomach. "Dad got shot in the back, and then I got shot in the stomach. Then he got shot in the leg, and now so have I."

"Doesn't bode well," Abraham grunted, starting to leave.

"Hey, Abe," Carl began. "Thank you for helping me today…and sorry I kicked you. You were only trying to help…"

Abraham nodded, putting his hand on his hips. "That's alright," he said gruffly. He looked down at the ground, frowning. "Sorry for dropping the F - bomb when you did it…and the C - bomb."

Carl grinned, no doubt amused. "Thanks for teaching me a new swear word."

Grimacing, Rick closed his eyes. "You kicked him?" he asked when Abraham was gone

"By accident. It was when he was trying to look at my leg…before you got there."

"And what was this word he taught you?"

Carl hesitated. "I can't repeat it…if I said it, I'd owe you a dollar."

"Not a quarter?"

"No. This one's definitely worth a dollar." Shifting a little, Carl looked up at the ceiling with a long sigh. "He's really good at combining swear words, isn't he…you know, like Mother Fu-"

"Don't," Rick warned him. "You want to know the difference between you and me getting shot?"

This piqued Carl's interest. "Yeah."

"Both times I got shot, people intended to shoot me. You only got shot by accident."

In the dim moonlight, Rick caught a smile from his son. "That's because people like me more than you."

Shaking his head to himself, he stroked his hand over Carl's hair, leaning down and kissing the crown of his head. He never let him do that any more, protesting he was far too old, but Rick took the opportunity when it was presented to him. "Go to sleep."

"You know it's true."

"Go to sleep," he repeated sternly, getting comfortable again.

It wasn't long before Carl's breaths evened out, soft puffs of air audible in the silent night. Though he was exhausted, Rick struggled to fall asleep, his mind too active with worry. He rested his eyes but did not slip away, unable to let his guard down again.


The moment Nicholas whispered her name, Carrie awoke with a start, her eyes bursting open. It took her a moment to remember where she was, to recall that she had agreed to take a shift on watch that night, and for a moment she lay there frozen. Seconds later Nicholas disappeared, wearily making his way to his own sleeping bag and collapsing down to sleep. As the mental process of her chore began to sink in, her sleepiness disappeared and she sat up to stretch, waking herself up properly. This was not the first time she had ever been awoken in the middle of the night to take over watch, but it had been many months since she had handled such a responsibility. Being on her own meant she slept unprotected, with no one to watch for Biters and keep her safe.

Getting to her feet, she laced up her boots and slipped Rick's jacket on, reminding herself to find one of her own at the first opportunity. Winter clothing was difficult to come by, given that the outbreak had occurred in the early summer, and she felt bad that she was wearing Rick's only jacket. But he refused to take it back from her, at least until she had one of her own. Zipping it up, she grabbed her canteen of water and looked around, trying to find her watch companion. Daryl was awake now, standing in his designated smoking spot by one of the cars. He nodded at her in greeting, taking a long draw from his cigarette as he checked the ammunition in his rifle.

"How you feelin'?" he asked when she came over, keeping his voice low.

"A bit sore," she admitted, rubbing her collarbone. Aside from the nasty bump on her head and a few cuts and bruises, the long bruise that ran across her chest was the only injury giving her trouble. Given how uncomfortable the seatbelt had left her, she hated to think of how much Carl must be hurting, given that he was suspended by his for quite a few minutes. At this thought she looked over to the minivan, where Carl and Rick were spending the night. The sliding door was left open, giving Carrie a clear view to the two sleeping inside. Carl slept comfortably, his leg propped up and a warm blanket tucked around him, while Rick appeared to be awake. He sat on the floor of the back seat, his elbow resting by Carl's pillow to prop up his head.

"Is he alright?" Carrie asked in concern. Rick had hardly spent more than a few moments away from Carl that evening, always hovering close by. Even when Rosita had taken him aside to pull fragments of glass from his arms and face while his blood drained into a jar ready for transfusion, Rick showed little concern for his own injuries.

Daryl grunted in answer, grinding the cigarette butt into the ground. "He's fine," he dismissed. "You sure you're up for taking watch?"

She nodded. "Yeah. It's been a while, but I'll be fine."

He didn't fuss or question her any further, just jerked his head in the direction of Aaron's sedan. "You take that one…I'll help yah up."

Allowing him to help her, she climbed onto the roof of the car and sat down, taking the flood light and binoculars when he passed them up to her. Seconds later he was also situated, taking his place on top of the flatbed and shining his own flood light around. Taking his lead, Carrie did the same, carefully scanning the sports field and finding no threat. They turned off the flood lights and settled in for the remainder of the night, Carrie mentally preparing herself for the long wait until morning.

Tucking her hands into the pockets of the jacket, she turned her back on the group and looked out into the darkness, straining her ears to hear an approaching threat. There was only peaceful silence, coupled with the serene moon that cast light on the small town around them. The others had taken a quick drive around when they had first set up camp, looking for trouble, and having found none they returned with good, but cautionary news. They had found the petrol station where they would go in the morning, knowing that most of the cars would have been siphoned months ago. Between Aaron and Rick's group, who knew these areas well, they generally knew where they could find abundant sources of fuel and safe places to stay. However they hadn't planned on passing through this particular town, and so were crossing their fingers that they found what they needed.

Despite the tediousness of the task, Carrie was pleased to be on watch that night. She had been genuinely surprised when her offer to take the second shift had been accepted, knowing that they hadn't quite accepted her as part of their group, that she was worthy and capable of protecting them. Either they were all exhausted, or Carrie had been doing something right, for her offer had been enthusiastically supported. Even though she still hadn't been given a weapon to use, her spotlight and binoculars dangerously ineffective against Biters, she felt it was a step in the right direction. Remembering what had happened that day, Carrie began to reassure herself. She was definitely becoming a part of this group…perhaps it would be slow and awkward, but they were accepting her.

Thinking back to the car accident, she remembered the fear she had felt when everyone who had come to help had suddenly disappeared, carrying Carl to safety. The next few moments passed agonisingly slowly, and it occurred to her that they might leave without her. It would have made sense after all, one of their own had been shot, a child no less. She would have been okay, really…all she had to do was untangle her foot from the seat belt and she would have been free. Then she would have wasted no time in covering herself in Biter guts before laying low with the dead Biters. She would have scavenged the supplies that had been left behind, and then made another go of surviving on foot.

In seconds she had formulated her entire escape, mentally preparing to dig her hands into the first dead Biter she saw, but then she had seen Rick. After making sure his son reached the minivan, he had come back for her, displaying no doubt in his eyes for what he was doing. He had untangled her foot and then helped her to the car, the others joining them a moment later. They could have left her behind…she would have understood…but they hadn't.

Hours later, and Carrie was still in disbelief. She had never even been in a fender bender, let alone an accident that resulted in the car upside down. Her memories of the experience had been fuzzy at first, but had been clearing up in the hours since. Now remembering them with great clarity, the replayed in her mind the exact moment they hit the large deer that appeared out of nowhere, the way the car swerved out of Glenn's control and turned on it's side. It would have been graceful to watch, the car's fall onto it's side happening so slowly Carrie had expected it to correct itself. But once the dust had settled on the accident, the scariest thing wasn't the knowledge that they had crashed, or that the rest of their group were carrying on ahead without knowledge…it was the awful sound of Carl screaming for his dad.

Unlike the rest of them, Rick had been knocked unconscious by the force of the turn over, his position as front seat passenger meaning he bore the brunt of the impact. Shivering, she pictured Carl suspended in the air, twisting around so that his feet could reach Rick's arm. When he didn't rouse straight away, Carl had begun kicking him, screaming at him to wake up even as Glenn told him to be quiet. In the end it had been the rough blows to his face that finally roused Rick, Carl crying in relief when he began moving.

She wondered if Rick was going to take it easy the next day. Even though they were heading to the prison where he had come from, which they would need to completely clear of Biters, he had hit his head hard enough to knock himself out. Aside from that, Carl had put a decent bit of force behind his kicks…Rick was sure to have a pounding headache. Would he be up for the challenge of clearing out a prison full of Biters? Smiling to herself, she knew it wasn't likely that he would sit out the task. She knew leaders like him…he wouldn't send people in to do a job he felt was also his. She too had been the same.

A few hours later she heard low sounds coming from behind her, and looked around quickly. Breathing a sigh of relief, she noticed that the interior light in the minivan had been turned on, shadows moving about inside. Rick emerged, putting Carl's shoes on for him and lacing them up tightly. Letting Carl slowly emerge, Rick turned around and looked for the people on watch, frowning in surprise when he saw her atop the sedan. He gave her a short nod of acknowledgement, and then pointed behind the minivan, indicating their intentions. Understanding, Carrie got to her feet and turned on the flood light, checking out the immediate area. She was strangely pleased that he had asked her to do this, not Daryl, taking it as another indication that his trust had grown. Giving him a short nod, she turned off the flood light and watched for a moment as Rick put his arm around Carl's waist. The teenager looked like he was in pain, bearing all of his weight onto his father as they made their way into the darkness.

They were gone for some time, and just as she saw Daryl craning his neck in worry, they returned. Rick was carrying Carl now, setting him down by the door to the minivan ever so gently. They stood there for a moment, Carl taking a few deep breaths as he took the opportunity to stand. She was close enough that she could see Carl's face shining with sweat, his hands shaking a little as he began to hunch over. His shoulders heaved as he puked onto the grass, Rick holding him upright with obvious concern on his face. In a motion that every parent knew well, he pressed the back of his hand to Carl's forehead, feeling for a fever.

Seeing the commotion, Daryl leant down over the front of the flatbed cabin and peered in through the windscreen. Abraham and Rosita were asleep inside, and so he tapped on the glass to wake them up, requesting his assistance. Turning back to Carl, Carrie watched in concern as he took a small sip of water and then spat it out, still standing with his body hunched over. Rick rubbed his back as they waited for Abraham, probably more to reassure himself than Carl. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Abraham quickly saw to Carl, slapping a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm as Rosita began inspecting his leg.

"There's no bleeding," she said quietly, her voice only just audible to Carrie. "The swelling is the same, too."

"Hmmm…" Abraham mused, pumping up the cuff. "Carl, what's the date?"

Carl looked up at him incredulously. "I don't know…do you?"

"No," he admitted. "Do you feel confused? Disoriented?"

"Just faint…dizzy."

"Well lie down, your blood pressure is low," Abraham told him, releasing the cuff from his arm. "How's the pain?"

"Fucking awful," Carl groaned, starting to move back inside the minivan. "Sorry, Dad…"

"It's alright," Rick muttered, helping Carl sit inside. "Does he need more blood?" he asked, coming to stand outside and leaving Rosita to sit by Carl.

"I don't know," Abraham said uncertainly, looking back at their medical kit. "Maybe just fluids…he hasn't lost any more blood as far as we can tell. He's going to need a cannula…" he trailed off, looking around at the sleeping figures. "Where's Aidan?"

"Went for a walk," Daryl supplied. "'Bout ten minutes ago."

"It's five o'clock in the morning," Rick said in annoyance. "Why didn't you stop him?"

Daryl sighed. "He's takin' a shit."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rick glanced into the minivan, hearing Carl retching. "Wake Nicholas up, tell him to go find Aidan…Abe, can't you do a cannula?"

Abraham hesitated and then shook his head, raising his large hands. "I can try, but these paws are not designed for delicate work. I'd only tear up his veins."

"Rosita, has Pete shown you-"

"I can do it," Carrie interrupted. She felt her cheeks go pink as they all turned to look at her, surprised by what she had said. "Just a cannula, right?"

Rick looked at her in disbelief. He tilted his head, scrutinising her in confusion. "You never mentioned medical training."

She hastily explained. "An aged care nurse in my first group taught me how."

Her answer was greeted by silence, everyone still looking at her incredulously. The silence was suddenly broken by Carl, puking again. The sound breaking him from his thoughts, Rick turned and looked in concern. He appeared hesitant, not that Carrie could blame him. Finally he got Carl's attention, and began talking to him quietly.

"It could be shock," Abraham said to her, clearly uncertain about what to do. "What do you think?"

Carrie shrugged apologetically. "If it's more than a cannula and attaching an IV, I don't really know…sorry."

"Right," he nodded, crossing his arms. "Mother dick…"

Carrie restrained the burst of nervous laughter she wanted to emit, knowing it wouldn't be well received. Rick turned back around and nodded his consent to her, stepping aside as Rosita emerged. Looking slightly green, she carried the bucket of puke far away and emptied it. Not wasting time, Abraham helped Carrie down off the car and showed her to the generously stocked medical kit, taking out a bag of clear fluid and turning on the camp stove.

"Rick, get her what she needs," he instructed. Setting a pot of water over the stove, he set the bag of fluid into the water, slowly beginning to warm it up.

Reminding herself that the situation wasn't urgent, Carrie took a few deep breaths before taking a bottle of hand sanitiser, rubbing it over her hands and wrists as she mentally took herself through the process. She had picked up the skill quickly when Debra in her first group had shown her, wanting to share her medical knowledge with as many people as she could. Having abundant medical supplies stolen from a refugee camp in Atlanta before they left, they had practiced on each other frequently. Debra had died a few weeks later, further highlighting the need to teach one another the basics. Despite the long length of time since Carrie had done this, the process came back to her easily, her confidence growing as Rick helped her slip her hands into a pair of rubber gloves.

"Erm…alcohol wipes, tourniquet, tape and the cannula…I'll need the flashlight too."

Getting the things they needed, Rick climbed into the minivan and told Carl to move over a little, making room for Carrie to take a seat. Carl lay on the bench seat as Carrie climbed in and sat by his knees, trying to give him a reassuring smile. Even in the dim light, she could see he looked pale and sweaty. Just as the thought occurred to her, Rick took Carl's wrist and pressed his finger tips to the inside, feeling his pulse. He pressed his lips into a thin line, looking outside where Abraham hovered.

"Someone get Aidan," he requested again. "Please."

"Didn't you work in advertising?" Carl enquired, looking at her gloved hands.

Nodding, she explained. "Someone in my first group taught me a few things."

"So…how many times have you done this?" he questioned in worry.

"Plenty," she promised, giving him a reassuring smile. "It's like riding a bike." Prepared, she removed the cannula from the plastic packaging and took the cap off the needle, seeing Carl's eyes widen as he saw it.

"Don't look at it," Rick said told him, making him turn away.

"Do you think Pete will teach me some medical things?" Carl asked trying to distract himself. His voice grew strained, and he swallowed heavily.

"He will if you ask him to," Rick replied. "But you're not quitting school."

Carrie hesitated, the mention of school taking her by surprise. Carl went to school? Unfortunately, Carl misunderstood her hesitation, and flinched his arm away before she even got close.

"Chill out. I got this," she lied, trying to reassure him. Don't be nervous…don't be nervous.

"You have to get it first go," Carl challenged. "Aaron got it first go."

"He took two tries to get my vein. I win." Rick teased, wiping the sweat off Carl' brow with a damp cloth.

Pressing on the chosen vein, Carrie prepared to insert the cannula, but Carl suddenly jerked away. "I'm going to puke again."

"No, you're not," Carrie said sternly. She took a deep breath, knowing that if Carl puked in front of her, she would probably do the same. Even the smell that already lingered in the air was making her stomach clench. "Wait…just wait."

He groaned again, stretching out his arm for her. Taking her time, she tried to warm up his skin, pressing the vein to make it bulge. Carl had the type of nice, robust veins that were easily to cannulate…must be a kid thing. Sharing a quick glance with Rick, who held the flashlight steady, Carrie took a chance and pierced the crook of Carl's elbow. A tense moment passed before blood seeped inside the needle, signalling luck as opposed to skill.

"First go," she declared in relief, removing the tourniquet and taping the needle into place. "See?"

"Thanks," Carl muttered, closing his eyes and releasing a long breath. "I got shot today, Dad…I win."

"Fine," Rick rolled his eyes. "You win."

"What's my prize?"

"Glory."

"Oh," he sighed, his features clenching. "Dad…I really am going to puke…"

Hearing this, Carrie made a hasty retreat, exiting the car as Rosita passed the bucket back inside. She made it out just in time, Carl puking a third time and then coughing harshly. Glad that her job was over and done with, Carrie pulled the gloves off and threw them into the plastic bag that acted as their trash bin before looking around. Rosita hovered nearby, pacing nervously until Rick passed her the bucket full of puke to empty. Though repulsed by her task, it was clear Rosita was glad she had something to do, but Carrie didn't envy her. They waited impatiently, none of them sure of what to do next. Until Abraham returned, hopefully with Aidan, no one knew what to do for Carl, and so they were forced to wait.

A few minutes later, Daryl gave a low whistle, indicating that someone was approaching. "It's them," he said, looking to Rick who had come to stand outside the car.

Impatient, Rick nodded his head and slipped back into the car, quietly reassuring Carl. Moments later Abraham and Aaron emerged from the darkness, both of them looking tense and worried. Brushing past her, Aidan went straight to the minivan and looked in at Carl, shining the flashlight on his face.

"You took his blood pressure?" he asked, turning back to Abraham.

"About ten minutes ago…ninety over fifty five."

"Get me the cuff again. The stethoscope too," he added, gesturing to Rick to step out. Taking the equipment, he fumbled with the cords and cuff, doing his best to act quickly. Puffing up the cuff with one hand, he put the earpieces of the stethoscope in and listened to Carl's heart beat. "You woke up feeling sick? Are you confused?…Just dizzy?"

Releasing the blood pressure cuff and removing the stethoscope, Aidan requested the flashlight as he took a look at Carl's leg for himself. Though there had not been any more bleeding or swelling than a few hours ago, Aidan still looked worried. He scrutinised Carl closely, shining the flashlight on his face and then pinching his lower lip. He gave him a quick nod and then departed, going straight for the medical kit.

"What do you think it is?" Rick asked quietly, following him over.

Taking a blue display folder, Aidan began flicking through the pages. He looked up at Rick, tapping his foot as he thought. "His blood pressure is very low, and his heart's racing to compensate," he muttered, consulting one of the pages. "I think we should give him more blood."

Rick nodded, already pulling his sleeve up. "Carrie," he said, gesturing to his arm.

She nodded, but on the inside she groaned. She had been lucky to get Carl's cannula inserted with ease…it was unlikely she would achieve the same results the second time around. Taking a deep breath, she joined them at the medical kit, getting more of the things she needed. Her eyes widened when she took in the sheer volume of supplies there…bandages and dressings, cords and apparatus of various types, and more than a dozen bags of IV fluids…medicine containers and vials…where on earth had they found all of this?

"He hasn't lost any more blood," Abraham argued as he helped Carrie. "Shouldn't we give him fluids?"

Aidan shook his head, still looking through the folder. Carrie stole a quick glance at it, seeing that the pages contained extensive hand written notes and diagrams. They were instructions…medical instructions.

"He's sweating, and his mouth is wet. He's not dehydrated," Aidan argued. "He's showing symptoms of shock."

"But he came good after the transfusion," Abraham continued. "He seemed okay."

"Look…low blood pressure, rapid pulse…he's sweaty, and cold. Look at his lips…we didn't recover the blood volume enough," Aidan argued with certainty, showing Abraham one of the pages. "See? We'll get some blood into him, and then some fluids. Wake up Tobin, we'll need him too."

Going through the same process as before, Carrie slipped the tourniquet around Rick's arm and pulled it tightly, rubbing the crook of his elbow to warm up the blood vessels. Not paying attention to her, he craned his neck and looked into the car, seeing Rosita sitting with Carl now.

"You should sit down," she said, trying to lead him towards the driver's seat.

"No, it's okay. Go ahead."

"Alright…" she said reluctantly. "Can you shine the flashlight?"

Cleaning the skin with the alcohol wipe, Carrie opened the next cannula and prepared to insert it, choosing the vein to try. It took her three clumsy attempts to properly penetrate the tiny vessel, and she apologised profusely each time, feeling his flinches. Releasing the tourniquet, she taped the cannula down as Aidan flipped through the large folder, a frown on his brow. He turned to the medical kit and took something out.

"Rick," he began, showing him a long tube with an orange cap. "It's an Epi-Pen…Pete's notes says the epinephrine will help raise blood pressure."

Rick frowned, looking at him expectantly. It seemed to take him a moment to realise that Aidan was asking for his permission. "You've worked with Pete," he said plainly. "If this is what you think you should do, then do it."

"Who's Pete?" Carrie enquired softly, watching as Aidan climbed into the back of the minivan and explained to Carl what he was going to do. Around them, everyone was beginning to rouse from their slumber, realising something was wrong.

"A doctor back at our camp…surgeon," he answered, looking around. "Abraham? Carrie's done."

She hastily stepped aside as Abraham came over, quickly attaching a long clear tube into the cannula in Rick's elbow. Watching in fascination, she observed the long line of red as blood filled the tube, slowly draining into a jar just as it had that afternoon. It was strange to see a group of people who seemed to know exactly what they were doing, and it was slightly intimidating. Whoever this Pete was, he had trained them well. Giving everyone some space, she peeled off the gloves and began to step back, watching and listening as Aidan pressed the Epi Pen into Carl's thigh. Carl swore in discomfort, muttering something unintelligible.

Aidan raised his eyebrows, a smirk crossing his face. "Woah, Carl…they're tough words for a kid with a hole in his leg."

"You're not funny," he groaned, clenching his teeth until Aidan finally removed the needle a few moments later. "You enjoyed that…"

"Only a tiny bit," he grinned, his charm making it easier on Carl, giving him something to laugh at.

Resuming her place on top of the sedan, Carrie tried to concentrate on keeping watch, knowing that the increased activity might attract Walkers. Already Daryl had taken out seven of them on their watch, the sound from the rifle echoing despite the silencer in use. Still, despite the sound it was easier than taking them on by hand in the middle of the night.

Thankfully morning came sooner rather than later, the rising sun putting them at ease now they could better see their surroundings. When Rosita swapped places with her, Carrie jumped down and began helping herself to some breakfast, glancing into the minivan as she dropped a tea bag into a mug. It hadn't taken long for Carl to start perking up, the epinephrine raising his blood pressure as the transfusion began a short time later. Though he hadn't sat up, his cheeks were already looking pink rather than grey, no doubt a promising start.

Tobin had joined Rick in the front of the minivan, the two of them donating blood just as they had the previous day. As Michonne fussed over Carl the rest of the group relaxed a little, reassured that he was going to be alright. Quickly setting about their preparations for the day, they opened a tin of sliced peaches and packet of old Pop Tarts, distributing them and making sure Rick and Tobin received extra portions. Even Carl managed to eat a little, coaxed into a few bites by a deal for Michonne's Kit Kat.

Not ever wasting time, Daryl, Glenn and Nicholas took one of the cars and checked out the town, keeping track of where the Walkers were and making sure they would be safe at their gas station of choice. As they waited for them to return, the others packed up their camp and prepared to depart, hoping to get an early start.

"Can you take this to them, please," Aaron requested, handing Carrie the last of the Pop Tarts and two juice boxes.

She didn't need to clarify which members of their group needed extra rations. Doing as requested, Carrie headed over to the minivan and gave Tobin the choice between two flavours.

"Rick?" he started, looking over his shoulder. "Apple Blackcurrant, or Orange and Mango?"

There was a short pause before Rick answered. "Lady's choice," he quipped, but it was clear his heart wasn't in it.

Taking his choice of juice box and a cookie, Tobin thanked her kindly. Heading around the other side of the minivan, she looked into the backseat where Rick was situated. Carl was sleeping now, using his father's thigh as a pillow. Rick's arm was extended uncomfortably, his blood still draining at a painfully slow rate. From the light of the morning sun, Carrie could see that while his face was pale, his cheeks were tear stained and his expression downcast. He didn't bother trying to hide it, not fixing a fake smile that no one would believe.

"You need anything else?" she offered, passing him the last Pop Tart and juice box.

He shook his head. "No, thank you," he said, taking the items from her.

Nodding, she started to turn away.

"Have you done that a lot?" he enquired, his question making her turn back. "Cannulas, I mean."

"Some," she shrugged, recalling a few instances. She didn't mention that the people she had cannulated before this had died from their injuries.

"You should…" he began softly, glancing down at Carl. "You should do some training with Pete…when we get back to our camp."

She smiled at this, noting that this was the first time anyone had actually referred to her joining their camp.

"You'd be good at it," he added.

"Thanks," she said, lingering a moment. "Maybe I will."

Leaving it at that, Carrie gave him a soft smile before heading back to the others. She didn't know whether or not God was listening, or whether or not she actually believed in him, but she thanked him anyway. Yesterday could have gone a whole lot worse, even without Carl getting shot. Though it had been awful, every member of her new group was alive.

Including her.